#hes like the . depressed once divorced long haired middle aged man

[leowifefang]

honeslty feels like there should be more accor simps

[markosmate]

lady

Pairing; Marko x Emerson!Reader

Summary; Moving to a different state with your younger brothers and mother just to live with your grandfather was hard enough, but falling in love with a vampire and then watching your brother do the same thing? Much different story.

Warnings; strong language

au://  Welp lovelies I had promised you a Marko series in February that I started writing while I was manic, then after writing a good five/six chapters I fell into a deep dark hole of depression and didn’t write anything but sad, worthless poetry about a boy I’m in love with who doesn’t love me back :) But now it’s May, a spark of inspiration and happiness has suddenly hit me and I’ve come back to this series to finally deliver it to you!! I hope y’all like it cause I literally stress cried over finishing it three different times :,)

I’d also like to point out that any kind of feedback at all is so so appreciated. Most of my inspiration comes from feeding off of people’s reactions to what I write. So if you enjoy it or have any recommendations or comments at all please please don’t be shy to send me an ask or DM or even comment to let me know :( Thank you and enjoy!!

Part 2

I wasn’t exactly mad about moving, there was nothing holding me in Phoenix that I would be particularly sad about leaving behind. The only thing that struck a nerve was that it was dumped out of nowhere on me. Suddenly Mom had divorced Dad, let him keep everything, and made plans with Grandpa for us to move into his place with him. A little prior warning would have been appreciated, but regardless when we were told it didn’t change the fact that everything we knew was changing. Sam wasn’t happy about it at all, leaving his friends, leaving Dad. Michael... well Michael didn’t really have an opinion. In my view, he was just indifferent. He didn’t really care where the hell we were as long as he had a motorcycle, a job, and some hot chicks to swoon over.

But here we were, packed into Mom’s truck and driving through a town that I’d most likely have memorized like the back of my hand in a good few days. As the three in the car argued over which station to keep on, I turned my head and leaned my forehead on the window of the car. I watched the beach as we drove along the road, and admired the waves hitting against the sand.

I was ready to drift off until we got to Grandpa’s house when a short, exited yell left Mom’s lips. “Oh!” She grinned happily as Sam landed on a station familiar to her. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Oh, that’s from my era! Grooving on a Sunday afternoon!” She sung along with the song as Sam threw his head back and groaned in protest. I laughed at her antics, enjoying seeing my Mom acting so carefree and happy. 

“Alright, keep going, keep going.” Mom and Sam agreed with each other at the same time, Mom leaning over to continue skipping through the stations. Finally, the next station was agreed on and my pounding head thanked the universe for the quiet that I hadn’t been able to achieve the entire drive here. “Hey we’re almost there!”

“Ugh,” Sam scrunched his nose up in disgust after taking a deep breath. I leaned forward to wrap my arms around his head-rest and pull my face closer to the open window. The pungent smell hit me, and I recognized it immediately, low tide, but it wasn’t bad - anything to do with the beach was calming to me regardless. “What’s that smell?”

“Ah!” Mom breathed in deeply and turned to share a knowing grin with me, “That’s the ocean air!”

I turned to look at the welcoming sign, taking in the colors and faded lettering. “Smells like someone died.” Sam muttered as Mom tutted at him softly. 

“That’s likely.” I muttered to Michael, nudging his head in the direction of the back of the sign, where in big red spray-painted letters sat the phrase “Murder Capitol of the World.”

“Aw guys, I know the last year hasn’t been easy. But I do think you’re really going to enjoy living in Santa Carla.” Mom tried to remain happy about the situation, but a shared glance with Michael after we both read over the sign revealed there wasn’t much he was excited for.

The rest of the drive only increased my excitement. Hippies galore filled the streets, a large amusement park covered most of the boardwalk, and the rest was filled with small shops and food stands. We stopped for awhile so Mom could give some teenagers rummaging through garbage some money to eat and so Michael could unhinge his bike and ask around for job openings, but before I could even think to step out of the car and get a look around we were already heading into the backroads to get to Grandpa’s house.

Grandpa’s house was farther into the plains than expected, but still only a good fifteen to twenty minute drive away from town. Before Mom could ever fully park the car, I had already jumped out and was looking around the property. Michael pulled his bike up next to Mom’s car, and they all took a good few seconds to look around at all the wood carvings and chimes before turning their vehicles off. I took note of the horses grazing in one of the back fields before walking around the front of the truck and seeing a man laying on his back across the front porch steps.

Sam lead the way towards him before Mom cut in front and marched up the steps to squat beside him. “Dad?” She questioned gently. “Dad?” The three of us leaned closer to get a better look.

“Looks like he’s dead.” Michael remarked.

“Like... really dead.” I quipped in, raising an eyebrow at Mom.

“No, no. He’s just a deep sleeper.” She brushed our comments off.

“If he’s dead can we go back to Phoenix?” Sam remarked, earning a snort from me and a sharp look from Mom. 

Suddenly Grandpa sat up, a cocky smirk apparent on his face. “Playing dead. And from what I hear, doing a damn good job of it.”

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation before Mom laughed faintly. “Oh, Dad!”

-

That night, Mom decided that it would be good for the four of us to leave the house after a night of unpacking and explore the boardwalk when it’s at its liveliest. I could admit it looked much more enjoyable now that it was dark and a little chilly, the sweaty people that had been occupying it earlier were now less sweaty and more stoned.

Almost as soon as Mom’s car and Michael’s bike were parked, Mom sent us off on our own so she could spend some time staking out a job in one of the family-owned shops. “Do you think she’ll be able to find one?” Sam questioned as the three of us weaved through crowds, trying to find our way to the beach concert. We could certainly hear it, we were just having a bit of trouble actually getting to it.

“One what? A job?” Michael scoffed as if it was hard to believe, still bitter over the fact there was no legal jobs for him to get hired in.

I laughed, elbowing him softly in the side, knowing that this place was exactly his vibe and in time he would most likely come to love living here. Sam was the only one I was actually worried about. “She’ll probably be able to find one. What, with all these missing people, there’s bound to be tons of job openings.”

“You’re telling me. It’s like there’s hundreds of bullet-boards around every corner with dozens of people missing. This place really is the Murder Capital.” Michael remarked as the concert finally came into our line of sight.

“Don’t say that!” Sam pleaded, shoving Michael’s shoulder with his eyebrows knitted tightly.

Michael just held his hand up in surrender and with one last shrug of his shoulders he turned to me. “You checking out the shops? We’ll find you once we get bored.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I agreed, turning sharply on my heel and blindly making my way back into the crowd. The concert was loud, sweaty, and crowded, and it wasn’t even my style of music - the last thing I wanted to do was spend my first night there. I figured it would be much more productive if I were to check out all the shops and stands running up and down the entire area, maybe find some new pieces of jewelry, or even a possible summer job opportunity.

Many places caught my eye, and I made a mental note to check them out the next time I had free money to spend, as it wouldn’t be wise for me to make an impulse-buy when I’m so close to being completely broke. Instead a small stand in the middle of the walkway drew me to it. A piercing stand. One person working on someone already sitting on the chair. There was a large wall selection of different studs, and many different kinds of disinfectants lined along the counter.

I walked closer to the wall, admiring all the different designs they had. I’d absolutely love to get a helix or orbital piercing, but I knew it wasn’t the wisest to spend money doing something like that at a small stand on a boardwalk in Santa Carla of all places. I was suddenly broken out of my thoughts when a voice spoke up directly behind me.

“It’s a scam, you know.” I jumped, hand flying to my chest, and whipping around to look at the owner. A teenage boy, my age, maybe a little older, with long curly blond hair and a grin that could have probably wooed me into his bed by the end of the night had he not literally just scared the shit out of me.

I laughed breathlessly, shaking my head. “What is?”

“The piercings. If you need one done, I could do it for you. But they use the guns instead of a needle which will definitely infect if you’re planning on doing a cartilage one.” He explained with a tilt of his head as he turned and began making his way towards the restaurants. I took that as an invite to follow, jogging to catch up and walking next to him.

“You know a lot about piercings?” I tried to make small talk, not wanting him to get away just yet.

He nodded with a confident smirk. “I did my own, and my friends. Someone had to learn.” I laughed a little at his mock-annoyed tone and shoved my hands into my pockets to appear to be doing something. He suddenly stopped and turned to me, holding out his hand. “Marko, by the way.”

“Ivory.” I accepted his hand and we both shook, hard and firm.

“You’re new.” He nodded as if finally understanding something that had been going on inside his own head. “I would’ve noticed you before if you’d been here all along.”

We dropped each other’s hand and I gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean by that?”

He barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Nothing rude, you’re just too gorgeous to go unnoticed around here.” Before I could reply, another voice cut in from a few yards away.

“Marko! Marko, man, we’re supposed to meet David in ten!” I looked over to see another punk-looking dude calling out to Marko with his hands cupped around his mouth.

I laughed and look back towards the curly blond. “See you around?”

He nodded in confirmation, sending me one last crooked smile before turning to jog over to his other friend. I turned as well, making my way back into the crowd and away from the middle lane stands. I didn’t make it very far before the body of my youngest brother crashed into my side. I glanced down at him in bewilderment as we used each other to steady ourselves.

“Sam? Aren’t you supposed to be with Michael?” I laughed as he looked as though he’d just had the weirdest conversation of his life.

“Well, I was. Then he saw some girl at the concert and wandered after her so I went to check out the comic store.” He explained, shrugging before letting his eyes wander around once more in search of Michael. I rolled my eyes, of course Michael left Sam behind to go chase after some girl. It didn’t take long to find him, he was only a little further down the stretch of restaurants. He was more towards the end, walking out of the crowd near where the last building - a bar - sat in place.

We walked up behind him, and as soon as I was at his side I followed his eyes to a girl who was walking behind a small child, hand on his shoulder, and steering him in a certain direction. She was pretty - with big, curly hair and a beautiful smile that curled her lips up as her eyes grazed over all the lights of the carousel one last time for the night. I followed her line of sight, trying to place why Michael was following her instead of just walking up and introducing himself, but I immediately realized what the problem was.

She hoisted herself up onto the back of a motorcycle, accepting the help of the blond driver. He had a spiked mullet, dressed in all black, and when he realized Michael was staring at his girl, a cocky kind of smirk crossed his face. His friends parked next him all revved their engines to a start, and I tore my eyes from the platinum blond to see the others. I didn’t manage to catch a good look at two of them, because my eyes immediately looked onto those of the punk from earlier who’d started a conversation with me over pierced ears.

He was already looking at me, and when he realized my attention immediately locked onto him, a predatory look filled the black circles of his eyes and his lips formed into a boyish smirk directed exactly at me. He lifted his hand in a short wave, laughing along with the friend who called him away from me earlier as he shoved Marko’s shoulder in a teasing way. I lifted my hand in a small acknowledging wave back, but was knocked out of my small trance by Sam, who began teasing Michael.

“Come on, she stiffed ya!” Sam laughed harmlessly, gently punching Michael’s shoulder and turning to probably go and find Mom. I broke my gaze away from Marko immediately, turning to follow after Sam and not bothering to look back at all as I heard the bikes pull out and speed off down the road.

“Too bad she left with Mr. Mullet, she was pretty.” I tried to break the tension with Michael, I really didn’t want him to be upset over the lose of the girl, he still had all of Santa Carla’s teenage population of girls to meet.

He cracked a smile and nudged his shoulder into mine. “She really was.”

Once we made it home for the night, I separated from both my brothers and made my way into my own room. It was the smallest of all of ours, but that’s the main reason why I had chose it. It was cozy, and cute. I liked the way it came out once I had finished decorating it.

I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to those boys on the motorcycles from earlier that night. Marko seemed nice enough, even if I didn’t know whether or not I was brave enough to try to pursue a friendship with his more than intimidating friends. Just as I came to the conclusion that I should just get over myself and approach them, a sharp sting of anxiety wedged itself into my gut and nauseous filled my stomach and rose up in my throat. No. I didn’t need to become friends with those boys, there was something off, something I didn’t need to meddle in.

If I saw them again, I’d avoid eye contact and conversation completely. I was never able to understand my anxiety, but I always listened to it when it struck me.

[fafulous]

Take Me Home (1/5)

Andy Barber x Reader (Post!Defending Jacob)

Summary: After the unfortunate events of the trial and after, a depressed Andy Barber decides to call it quits and start a mundane life far away from Newton. He decides it is best to have a fresh start away from prying eyes and alone, but he never thought his caring neighbor (and her son) would change all of that.

Themes: MAJOR D.J. SPOILERS ((The series is following the BOOK ENDING and not Show)), Sad and soft Andy Barber, Single Mother Reader. Cursing.

a/n: I hope you guys like it. We all know Andy deserves some softness :’)

The one thing you cherished about your neighbourhood was its calming silence.

Away from the hustle and bustle of the 21st century fast pacers. It did not give you any force to lead a rush life. No matter how hard life was you enjoyed this serenity, just like your neighbours.

You were the only one relatively younger in your neighbourhood, for this place was normally owned by retired elderly after experiencing everything life had to offer. But for you and your three-year-old little son, it was a second chance at life. All your neighbours except for that one loner house beside you was occupied by retired veterans and war heroes.

But that soon changed.

A man by the name Andrew Barber had moved to the house beside you. You got to know one day when you saw a huge truck with people going in and out of the house with clean and neat furniture.

Seeing all that, your vivid imagination went running and tried to picture how this man would look. Judging by the furniture (which made no sense), you thought your new neighbour was someone who would be simple and felt it wasn’t going to be someone who was, you know, old.

Oh boy were you right.

Once those packers went by, you saw him.

Andrew Barber was nothing what you thought out to be. Tall and broad, his back muscles would tell you its own tale. From afar you noticed his biceps never failed him too, for his arms screamed whenever he went in and out with a huge piece of cardboard boxes. His facial hair was a bit messy, like he is just moving into his new abode right after a sloth nap. You weren’t sure but his blue eyes had a dull finish that were deep embedded in his sunken face.

You also took notice of his sleek black Audi A6 which was parked by his driveway; It was not easy to peel your eyes away from its beauty.

This was wrong. You’re a single mother with the most adorable kid you could’ve ever asked for. After a struggle of six months your son Nikolai and you have found a hint of stability; single parenting is never easy unless you get the hang of it.

And you did.

Before you could offer any refreshments, your neighbours beat you to it. They were too kind. They were the elderly parents whose snobbish kids only visited once a year. Hence you decided to fill the gap in their lives. They loved you and you loved them back.

So now you decided that maybe when the time is right, you could meet him in a day or two and get to know each other.

Right?

 —

This was new for Andy. Very foreign too.

To live a life without Laurie and Jacob was something he never expected to happen after the trial. It’s been a good handful of weeks since it happened. He did not even have the heart to think more about his son. His eyes would cloud with tears and the whole day would go wasted in drowning himself in sorrow and liquor.

He was still mourning after all.

So he decided to move. Move away from his house that reminded of his 17 years of a marriage that only seemed successful, only for it go wrong in an impulse. Move away from all of the local tabloids that hinted at himself being a next murderer. 

Move away from his unsuccessful lineage.

Scattered around him were boxes of his stuff at his new house, his stuff alone. Laurie’s stuff was nearly packed and sent away to her parents’ home, the last time he’ll ever associate himself with her family.

Yes, her family.

Andy did file for a divorce while she was in prison, but that was a long procedure until it became official. However hard it was to sign those papers; it was as hard to let go of Laurie. Because if he lets her go, he has nobody.

A lone sunken soul.

The packers truck got in half of his belongings, the remaining which will come tomorrow. It was difficult moving especially with one single person. His neighbours were all elderly, so surely, he could not ask anyone for help. Also, it was another reason he chose this locality, he could be alone while he knew he lived in a tightly knitted community filled with respected war veterans. 

He was extremely taken aback when many of his neighbours offered him freshly cooked food and refreshments to get over the day. He was thankful. They knew about his past and still they accepted him and asked him to reach out if any help was needed.

Andy’s day went ahead unpacking his clothes first, which took his time. He wondered if he’d ever need the fashionable suits and ties, he wore to work. There was a job opening at a swimming instructor at the local community gym; all he needs are those Speedos. But nevertheless, he kept then all back, trying to keep his mind preoccupied in cleaning.

But all that effort seemed futile for every memory crashed down when he unpacked his wedding tux.

He felt too claustrophobic, buried his hand in his face. He no longer had a marriage. He no longer had anyone to look after.

He no longer had anyone to look after him.

But amidst all this chaos in his foggy mind, he hears a lovely toothy giggle of a child. 

He peeks out of his window to see a young mother and her small son sitting in their backyard with a picnic spread in front of them, while the little boy kept tripping over the grass purposefully just so he could laugh and make his mother laugh too. Andy had no idea he had a middle-aged family living nearby.

Seeing you and the son spread this familiar warmth inside Andy, reminiscing how he had this. It reminded Andy of a happier time. 

Soon to be replaced with anguish. He would never have that again. He missed feeling the warmth of family, the love of a wife. Life never really gave second chances he believed.

He noticed you, a caring mother placing the little one on your lap while you fed him all the scrumptious food. He didn’t fail to miss how your eyes shined with happiness. A happy woman is always a pretty woman at heart; it is something he used to tell himself. A soft chuckle left out of Andy’s lips as he saw the boy eat the food messily, but you seemed to be patient, responding lovingly towards his naughty antics. 

Her husband is one lucky son of a bitch.

He could watch you two all day, but that would be extremely inappropriate. Right now, Andy wanted his newfound house to look like a home.

Next day went by and it didn’t seem like he was getting anywhere near getting his house ready. He was waiting for another truck to get more of his stuff while he sipped on some bear till the movers arrived. They unloaded most of his stuff at his lawn and went away.

“Need a hand moving those boxes?”

Andy turned around to a gentle voice of the same woman who had he had seen yesterday with the small child.

You.

A chilly afternoon, he wasn’t surprised you sporting a loose, fluffy knitted woollen pullover with black leggings. Your hair was tied up in a bun and then noticed that he was probably staring at you for a long time.

“Uh- No. I’m fine, thank you.”

But you kept standing there looking at him smirking. He was literally struggling to carry all those boxes “Your body language says something else.”

When he looked up you saw his sunken eyes with even more detail as though the man hasn’t slept in days, “Would I be desperate man if I said yes?”

You chuckled, “Not at all. I’m Y/N Y/LN.”

“Andrew Barber”, he stretched out his hand for a warm greeting with a firm handshake. The feeling of his rough palms sends small jitters to you, but you ignored it; and just like that you resumed. 

You helped him lift the bigger boxes to his house even though you knew he carried most of the weight. Two could always get the work done sooner. Both of you didn’t talk much for these 20 minutes but it was a comfortable silence while both of you took sneaky glances at each other’s features.

When you neared him, you realized he was lot more than just handsome. Sunken face was holding two blue eyes that would be enticing if he had put any effort to put any life in them. His beard was neatly trimmed although scruffy, just like you saw yesterday.

Andy on the other hand was just too despondent to, you know, check you out. He thought you to be a beautiful woman with a kind heart, especially after seeing you and your son yesterday.

He even thought of asking you about your son and family, but that would be too intrusive he wondered.

Andy thought you’d leave after moving the boxes but you insisted you’d stay to help unpack his stuff and maybe cook some lunch for him since he didn’t even unpack his kitchen utensils out. He was ready to accept the help only for a second.

The Andrew Barber he knew before the events of the trial would have gladly accepted, maybe even made lunch for the beautiful lady, instead of you, who graciously offered him help. He was divorced now so there was nothing stopping him.

But do you really deserve a fresh start with a lady Andy?

Would she be here if she knew who you really were?

His mind was plagued. He moved here with the intention of a fresh start but, he wondered if anyone would actually accept him. He decided for himself that they wouldn’t.

“It’s alright Y/N. Thanks for your help.”

There was no way a man could set up his home all alone you thought. “Mr. Barber, are you sure? I really have no problem. I’m completely unoccupied at the moment. Besides Nikolai-”

“No.”

You blinked at his curt reply.

“I’m good Y/N. I can take care of the remaining stuff here. You can go now.”

Looking at him made you realise how conflicted he was. His words likely meant that he didn’t require your presence but his whole demeanour looked like just wanted some god damn company. He didn’t mind your help at first, but at the same time now he was pushing you away. What changed?

So much for making acquaintances with the new neighbour, you thought.

Without saying anything you stiffly nodded, Andy realizing the offence written all over your face, and saw you walk away from his abode closing his door politely.

It was probably for the best to keep distance from a kind woman like you. He knew you were trying to get acquainted with him like any normal person would, but Andy was firmly grounded that he and normalcy would never go back again.

The minute you left he opened another beer bottle to sink himself. This fresh start for Andy was just bullshit.

–

You rushed back the minute you closed Mr. Grumpy Cat’s door and made a beeline to your home, only to see your son playing on the countertop with one your elderly neighbour. 

“Thank you, Mr. Arthur, for taking care of Nikolai. I hope he didn’t cause much trouble.”

“I’d do anything for you sweet pea, Nikolai was a sweetheart.” The old man chuckled and turned to leave, “By the way last weekend’s pot pie was delicious. I had to make it up to you.”

Returning a hug, you thanked your neighbour again and leaped your son in your arms, attacking him with kissed while he spurted giggles. “Mommy it tickles!”

“Guess what happened peaches? I met our new neighbour”

Nikolai clapped his hand “Mista Wandew Bahhba?”

Your son was hell bent on knowing the name of the newcomer after he laid his eyes on the stylish black Audi. Boys always know their toys.

You nodded, “He’s a grumpy man peaches. I have no idea what to do with him.” And just like that you began speaking with Nikolai. He was your only company to talk. He never really understood anything, but your talented son did a fairly good job of putting up a pretense to hear.

“I offered him help and he says yes. Then I kindly ask him if I can help him more, you know like cook homemade spaghetti. But instead he becomes snippy with me?”

“Woh no,” your son whispered to your exclamation, which in reality was for his superhero figurines falling on to the floor. “I like his cahr mommy.”

“So do I Niko, but I so do not like him,” you paused and gave him a kiss on the forehead, “Guess we’re the only sunshine in this neighbourhood peaches.”

��

Days went by and you rarely interacted with your new neighbour.

Oh and when it did, it really never went well for you.

The first time was when a few standard posts under the name of Mr. Barber arrived at your doorstep, since he wasn’t available at his house. Like any other hospitable neighbour, you signed the post and made sure to drop it by him when he gets back.

"Uh Mr. Barber the post man dropped this by at our doorstep since you weren’t available. I thought I should give it to you.”

Andy opened the door with a few knocks and saw you standing with a few posts in a fluffy cable knit sweater. He took the posts from you, gently brushing over your hands. He perused through them quickly and gave you that conflicted stern look.

“I appreciate it Mrs. Y/L/N, but next time I’d like to collect my own posts irrespective of its nature. You can tell them I can collect it from the post office”

Was this man for real?

You crossed your arms and gave him back that stern look too. He wasn’t going to get away without you throwing shade. “Oh you know Mr. Barber I was just trying to be a good neighbour. It’s not like I’m dying here to get associated with you.”

He gave you a nasty grin which triggered you to make you leave away from his threshold.

Andy thought for a moment that he already crossed the line with the wrong woman.

The next time you met him was probably the last time you would ever meet him.

Your shift at the library got too late, for you were the Librarian of the local Library. You didn’t have to worry much about picking up your son late for he was at Mr. Arthur’s.

But coming home realising that he was sitting on the front porch of Andrew’s house made you park your car haphazardly in your driveway and run up to your child, ignoring Andrew’s presence.

“I’m so sorry sweetie. What are you doing here Niko?”

Andy interrupted, “Mr. Arthur had to visit the hospital. He was catching the flu and he didn’t want to give it to Nikolai here.”

You didn’t want to meet his gaze, but you forced yourself for you were grateful for this kind gesture. Maybe this Grumpy Cat has a kind heart after all.

“Mr. Barber, thank you so much for taking care of Niko. My phone must’ve been on silent if Arthur wanted to contact me.”

“Oh, don’t thank me Mrs. Y/L/N. I am just filling in the gaps of irresponsible parenting.”

It felt like a blunt hit to your heart. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, you heard me.” he whispered so closely that you could smell his musky deodorant with a hint of beer. Your son was out of earshot, sipping on a glass of lemonade that was probably offered by this man. “Trust me I know what happens to a child that is always kept away from their caretakers.”

He quickly went on to say how Nikolai was a special child when your son came near you both and how your family should take more care in your child. You never really listened for your eyes threatened to pierce with tears. No way were you going to cry in front of this man.

“Thank you Mista Wandi.”

“Anytime buddy.”

He went up and shut the door, like it was a personal aimed at you.

And you just stood there feeling numb while Niko tugged on your work coat.

“Let’s go home Mommi.”

The audacity to tell you how to be a parent. Did he even have a child? Does he even know how to it is to take care of a child single handed?

But those questions never mattered. No matter how positive you are in life, its never nice to hear someone spew your flaws on to your face.

Meanwhile minutes passed when Andy soon realised how he had royally fucked up. Everyday around 5pm you and your child would come along to the backyard and have a snack ritual while both of you played or read story books. For Andy, though he chided himself for his stalking behaviour, it brought him a sense of peace to see your son scream with shrills of laughter when he ran around the lawn.

He had nothing against you, yet he was being selfish.

I be mean to her; I stay away from here. Simple.

Today however, Nikolai sat facing away from his ypu munching on freshly baked cookies while you sported a tear stained face. He felt a twinge when he saw you staring straight ahead with a blank stare while tears rolled down. His heart successfully sunked when he saw Nikolai trying to wipe your tears and hug you. Andrew then sat down dramatically on his chair when he saw you breakdown into your son’s fragile shoulders.

Apologies wouldn’t fix this. It would, but Andrew Barber the resilient thought that being obnoxiously rude to someone he wants to be close to will make them hate him.

He never thought it would hurt you.

He decided not to take any efforts in an apology; or it could take more than an apology.

—

A few weeks passed by and you tried your level best and succeeded in avoiding banters with Mr. Grumpy Cat. Whenever you saw him, a flurry of rage fell over you. Was it your mistake you were trying to be friendly to your only attractive neighbour?

Strike out attractive. A mean soul was never attractive.

Andrew Barber on the other hand dreaded what had happened; he was a little too late to the party to realise that your house had no male inhabitant, except for that one man who had made a visit.

He soon deduced that you were a single mother.

Too late rather Andy.

And when he recalled what he had said to you, he wanted you to slap him in the face. Hard enough to have a bruise that lasted for a year.

Nikolai and you always woke up late on a weekend morning. Both of you always shared and slept in the same room for Nikolai had regularly occurring nightmares.

You never realised but you and Niko woke up a small commotion outside your house, or probably his house.

Plus, the other day it so happened Nikolai’s father paid a terribly long visit, pleading you to take him back into your life. He felt apologetic for what he did. But that lingering memory was soon cut off by Grumpy Cat’s voice.

Knowing his tendencies to irate his neighbours, (or maybe just you exclusively) you ignored it and began serving late breakfast pancakes for your son. But you soon stopped when you heard a loud, hoarse bellow.

“GET OFF MY LAWN!”

You looked outside of your window to see a bunch of vans and the reporters standing outside Andy’s lawn. Niko ran up to you and carried him over your hip for the little one heard the scary yell too.

Andy’s car was parked haphazardly on the pavement. A pair or more of reporters were taking pictures of him and his vandalised garage door.

“Oh my god.”

You put down Niko and asked him to play with his toys. Yes, you hated Andrew but what you saw on his now tainted garage door made you want to retch. It was such a distasteful thing to do. It appeared as if a spray can paint was used to write whatever it was on the door:

MURDERER, YOU WILL ROT IN HELL TOO.

Andy crouched down on his knees, his hands covering his face and ruggedly running his hands through his hair, while he kneeled down in front of the vandalism.

The very reason he moved away from Newton was now on his garage door.

You wanted to go out and help him, but your ego wouldn’t let you. Why should you help a man who was nothing but mean to you all this while?

Luckily enough you saw Mr. Arthur and a couple of his old friends admonishing the press. They threatened that this community was filled with retired war veterans and that they would charge them for community trespassing and disrupting the lives of people who have lost a limb and more for this country.

Hearing that threat made the desperate amateur reporters leave from the vicinity as soon as possible.

Andy stood up and tried to process this whole situation, looking around for any sort of help, only to lay his eyes on the faint image you from your window.

You expected him to shout and rage and ask you to fuck off from staring at his pitiful state. But he didn’t. You would never forget those embarrassed sunken eyes, silently pleading for help.

He didn’t deserve this. You have no idea about his past or who he was to garner such attention, but this was just cruel. He soon averted from your gaze and went on to thank his fellow elderly friends and made his way inside home.

Later in the evening, you caught Andy scrubbing the ugly writings with cloth and soap water. After a while, he took a few steps behind and saw that they words were still there but faded.

“I had some grey paint for Nikolai’s nursery, but never got the chance to do it.”

Andy turned to that sweet voice of yours and hesitated in meeting your gaze. He was embarrassed, for you stood there, giving out an arm to help him again despite his foul behaviour. He saw little Nikolai standing behind you with his shabby brown hair that reminded him of Jacob, clutching onto your legs while he peaked at him. He didn’t understand what you mean by the whole nursery thing, but he stood up and finally, both of you took in each other’s gaze.

Andy’s eyes were even more sunken than he had when he arrived, his blue orbs sunk in a sea of red. He must have been crying. He saw you were missing your feisty eyes that you always sported. Maybe it’s because you despised him so much.

“It’s not the exact colour of your garage door but it can do the trick I suppose.”

The second you handed over the paint to him, you quickly turned around to head towards your home. But Andy didn’t want to push you further anymore by being a dick. He was ready to apologise.

“Hey please listen up! I really am s- “

“No no no,” your voice trembled; this habit of crying while you were angry was just exasperating you wondered, “I think its best we don’t hold conversation Mr. Barber. This will be probably my last interaction with you; what happened to you was horrid and ugly. You don’t deserve that. That much I know”

Andy was hesitant, embarrassed. “Mrs. Y/L/N- “

“Quit calling me a missus! I am not even fucking married anymore-” you said drawing quotes in the air, to be interrupted by a little tug at your coat. You realised that your kid was standing next to you. And you swore in front of him. Great parenting.

“Oh Niko,” you picked him up and peppered him with a few kisses, “Sorry for that language. Mommy won’t swear again okay. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah”, the kid nodded and buried his head into your neck and hugging you tightly.

"Let’s go, sweetie. I’m done with this man.”

As you went away the little boy who was wrapped around over your shoulder waved with his short hands to Andy. To Nikolai, Andy was the one who had the coolest car and made the best lemonade (which he had when he was made to wait for his mom). He never really understood the intensity of adults’ arguments. He was just a grateful child.

It was only then Andy realised he had to make it up to you by any means for he stood there alone feeling like a real douchebag with a paint can in his hands.

—

Part 2

—

Taglist (IS OPEN): @sinner-as-saint @captainscanadian, @kakakatey @bluevelvetsam

@mrsbarneswillseeyounow

@anqelicstarc @lcandothisallday @https-bucky @readermia @chrisevansforever @ruthyalva96 @thedarkplume @sammyfresh @bloglovelylady @stuckys-dirty-girl @rindaastridfreakinreign @buckys-plums3 @marvelouspottering @sweetlittlegingy @emilykjhgsj @poppunkdork @bval-1lovepeacefood

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[lassieposting]

💘💘💘💘 + ghasdug

send me 💘 + A SHIP and i’ll tell you—

where they first met and how

So Skug says they stowed away on the same ship, but this is...not exactly true.

He stowed away on that ship, because he was running away from home and he was a snobby little lordling who'd never had to fend for himself a day in his life, so the furthest ahead he'd actually thought to plan was "they won't want to turn around and drop me off once they're underway".

Ghastly was not stowed away at any point during that trip. Ghastly was signed on for the journey as a deckhand, because Ghastly's mother told him he needed to, and it had to be that particular ship. Ghastly gets seasick, and did not want to go to sea in the slightest. But Ghastly's mother has visions and so Ghastly does as he is told. Apparently there was something important waiting for him on that ship.

Anyway Skug pops out once he thinks they're far enough away from shore that they'll leave him be rather than take him back to port, and he is incredibly mistaken. The captain is in favour of turning him around right there and then, because he's clearly some rich lord's brat, and whoever his father is will probably pay handsomely for his safe return. Ghastly manages to talk the ship's crew into letting him stay on, provided he pulls his weight like the rest of them.

Needless to say, even before they're attacked by pirates, that voyage is a rude awakening for poor Skug, and good lord does Ghastly hear all about it. He has blisters. His feet hurt. This shirt was expensive and now it's all sweaty. His hair is in his eyes all the time. He's tired. The guy in the next bunk snores. Some of these people look like they have lice. He didn't realise he'd be doing manual labour, this is servant stuff, how dare they.

Ghastly does. Not realise at that point what he has let himself in for.

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved

Poor Ghastly gets to pine for years. Baby Skug isn't a great boyfriend. He's less invested - he loves Ghastly, but they have two totally different outlooks.

Ghastly is ugly. He's always been ugly. He's got a face he believes only his mother could love. He's never believed he'd find someone who saw past that or loved him regardless. So as soon as he gets Skug into bed, he's over the moon and ready to commit. He's like 17, and would absolutely settle down there and then given half a chance.

Skug, on the other hand, was a weird-looking child who only recently grew into an attractive adolescent and he is loving it. For the first time in his life, girls are noticing him. He doesn't want to settle down, he wants to play the field and sow some wild oats and have fun. So there are periods of exclusivity with Ghastly, interspersed with periods where Skug basically drops him to chase after the latest pretty bit of skirt.

who fell for who first ( if applicable )

Ghastly's smitten by the time they make it back to Ireland - Skug is a bit soft and allergic to hard work and a pain in the arse, but he's flashy and charismatic and funny and pays attention to him without gawking at his face (past the initial "good god, what happened to you?") - but Skug is well and truly settled into living with Ghastly's family by the time he actually gives Ghas the come-on.

where their first date was and what it was like

They went to the local tavern and got drunk, and then rode home in the pouring rain once it kicked them out at closing time.

When they got home, Ghastly's parents had long since gone to bed, but that wasn't necessarily unusual - once Skug, who has a considerable allowance, is old enough to start drinking, Saoirse institutes a rule that if they're not home by the time she and her husband turn in for the night, she'll leave blankets in the barn and they can sleep there instead. She's not having them barging in, wasted, at all hours of the day and night, waking her up after a hard day's work.

So they put the horses away and give them a quick rub down, and Ghastly is trying to look anywhere but Skug because Skug's shirt has gone kind of see-through and poor Ghastly is an awkward, horny teenage boy, but he keeps shooting him these furtive glances over the horse's back and Skug notices because Skug notices everything and lowkey teases him about it. "Want me to sit for a portrait? It'll last longer," sort of teasing, and Ghastly tries to laugh along but he's also vibrant red because he's been caught staring, so obviously Skug realises something's up

And he's precisely as tactful about it as he ever is about anything, and jokes, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted me," and Ghastly's ears burn and he doesn't deny it quick enough and now Skug's eyebrows are inching towards his hairline and Ghastly panics because like, he's ugly, Skug is going to be disgusted or laugh at him and he can't cope with either, so he just? Freezes?

But like. Skug was a weird-looking, unfortunate child who very recently grew into an attractive adolescent, so he fucking thrives on attention. So his response to this awkward not-quite-a-confession is actually a moment of silence while he mulls this new information over (this feels like an eternity to poor Ghastly) followed by an early attempt at using The Hot Voice and, "If you want me, have me."

So, they end up having sex in the hayloft on the blankets Ghastly's mom left out for them. Ghastly has never even been kissed and doesn't admit that he has no idea what he's doing until he realises Skug is expecting him to take the lead. He also blurts that he loves Skug when he nuts, so like. It's your typical painfully embarrassing virginity loss.

It can't be all bad though, because Skug's up for doing it again.

who asks who out and how ( with a sign? spelled out on a cake? just a simple ‘will you go out with me’? )

So in my endgame-ghasdug AU, they get back together post-TDOTL. Ghastly survives being stabbed, but the blade nicked his spinal cord, so he's in a wheelchair for quite a while, and then has to do A Lot of physical therapy to relearn how to walk. Skug shows up at the hospital/facility where he's recovering every day unless there's an emergency, because Ghastly is very depressed and struggling with survivor's guilt over Anton and doesn't see the point in doing his physio because it hurts and he's exhausted and he shouldn't be alive anyway. And Skug annoys him into doing it, mostly by heckling him from the other side of the room, because he's not great at the whole emotional support thing. Ghastly will mutter, "Christ, I want to hit you," and Skug will tell him, "Well, if you come over here to do it I won't even duck." And if Ghastly gets his ass up and uses the walking frame support thing to cross the room, well, then Skug will take a punch like a man and be happy about it because Ghastly walked.

They also talk a lot during this period. Ghastly feels like shit, and he reminisces a lot about the good old days and how he never saw Ravel's betrayal coming and memories he has of Anton, and sometimes that veers into memories they share from when they were young men. And Skug, at this point, is old enough and has been through enough to admit that he wasn't great to Ghastly when they were boys. He was flighty and selfish and high-maintenance, and he would've hated to be treated the way he treated Ghastly. And he tells him that, at one point - that he's sorry, and if he could go back and do it differently, he would, assuming Ghastly was daft enough to be willing to put up with him a second time.

And Ghastly laughs and tells him, "I'd still have you now, you stupid bastard."

who proposes first

Ghastly. They're 19/20. Skug thinks he's joking.

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away

Neither - they don't announce it, but it's not exactly a secret either. Ghastly's parents notice pretty much straight away, but other than a few parental pointers on what is and isn't appropriate, it's not really a topic of conversation.

where the proposal happens and how ( kiss cam at a baseball game? on a hillside surrounded by ducks? at a disney park? )

Skug's sister Confelicity accepts the first proposal she gets at the age of 16, because she's desperate to get out of their parents' house and away from their toxic relationship and controlling behaviour. Their father disapproves and refuses to attend the wedding (and, of course, their mother is not allowed her own opinion), and Carver is out of the country, so Skug stands in to a) pay and b) give away the bride. He takes Ghastly for moral support, because he doesn't like most of his relatives and also doesn't like the groom (Thurid Guild - their relationship doesn't improve when Confelicity divorces him a few years later to marry a baronet). While they're watching the couple say their vows, Ghastly murmurs, "We should get married."

Skug is right in the middle of his hoe phase and does not realise Ghastly's serious.

who’s more dominant

Generally, Skug. He is one hell of a force of personality and Ghastly does get steamrollered quite a bit, although he does eventually learn how to say no. Skug always gets things his way, always does whatever he likes and be damned to the consequences, and Ghastly is always there with a handful of the back of his shirt, pulling his ass out of whatever fire he started.

In bed, though, it's Ghastly.

how into pda they are

As teenagers, Ghastly's mother has to reprimand them occasionally for being too all over each other, but teenagers be rabidly horny. As grown men, they're just sort of casually affectionate. Comfortable with each other. When they're relaxing in camp after a day of travelling, Skug will lean against Ghastly to read a book or put his head on Ghastly's leg while they chat. They can have a silent conversation just by reading each other's faces. They'll nudge each other when something reminds them of an in-joke. They have that easy intimacy that comes with having known each other forever.

where their usual ‘date spot’ is ( if applicable )

As boys, Ghastly has a particular flowery meadow he likes to take Skug to for picnics, because he's a romantic. Skug at that age is considerably less so, and more interested in whether they can screw there without getting caught.

In the modern day, they go to see old movies. Ghastly was very into the early films of the late 1910s and the 1920s, after the war finished. He associates them with a time where he finally got to just set up his shop and live the life he always wanted to live. Skug hasn't seen most of Ghastly's favourites, because he spent that period of history fighting the truce and then spiralling into a black hole of trauma and misery, but he got very into the noir detective era to the point that he's still clinging to the aesthetic like 80 years later, so they'll alternate who picks the movies and catch each other up on their favourites.

who’s more protective

They've both spent their fair share of time fretting in the chair beside a hospital bed. After Ravel's betrayal, though, it's Skug. Ghastly retires as soon as he's considered fit to make the decision, and decides he wants to go back to Dublin to reopen his shop and just sort of try and forget Roarhaven exists. And Skug is absolutely adamant that he gets to do it. There's a lot of interest in Ghastly for a while - groundbreaking healing magic was used to fix what should've been a permanent injury, people want to know if he suspected Ravel, they want his advice on how to rebuild after Devastation Day. He's more approachable than China, and a lot more popular. But he can't cope with it all, and anyone who tries to hassle him in Dublin will have Skug to deal with.

how long it is before they sleep together ( can be as in ‘had sex’ or as in ‘shared a bed’ )

The first night Skug stays at Ghastly's family home. Ghastly is an only child, and his family isn't wealthy - their house doesn't have a guest room. It's sleep with Ghastly or sleep on the floor, and Little Lord Priss isn't going to be sleeping on the floor.

Honestly, he's relieved there isn't a spare room for him. He's never really slept alone before. Like most children of very wealthy families back then, he grew up in a nursery with his four oldest brothers and sisters, and when he was too old to live with The Children, he shared a room, first with Carver and then with Francis. The thought of being on his own in a strange house is pretty intimidating.

He moves to his own bed as soon as they get him one, but he stays in Ghastly's room, and he's perfectly happy with that.

(Ghastly is less happy. He's very much crushing on Skug and he's terrified he'll say something incriminating in his sleep.)

who steals whose clothes and how often

Skug gets to steal Ghastly's clothes for a year or two after he moves in with Ghastly's family. After that, they're built too differently. Ghastly is built like a brick shithouse of muscle. Skug is lean and toned and tall. When they're younger, he can more or less wear Ghastly's clothes as a nightshirt, but after Skug's final growth spurt, Ghastly's clothes don't sit right on him at all, and he's gotten too vain and fashion-conscious by that point to just wear them anyway.

what their usual coffee / tea orders are

Ghastly is fussy about his tea. Plenty of milk, two and a half sugars, leave the teabag in.

Skug just inhales it black, which Ghastly thinks is an abomination.

if they ever have any children together

Ghastly thanks his lucky stars every day that they have a 0% chance of accidentally spawning a skuglet. One of him is plenty.

He's very involved with Skugbab when he comes along, though. He's godfather and a very present uncle.

if they have any special pet names for each other

Skug doesn't do nicknames, and would rather not be given them, either. Ghastly gets away with "Skul", primarily because he's the only one who's known Skug since he was all of 16, but also because "Skulduggery" is a mouthful when all your blood is rushing to your downstairs brain and it's his own damn fault that he didn't think of that before he picked it.

if they ever split up and / or get back together

So many times. They're on and off again more frequently than Saracen's clothes. Every time Skug spots someone new, he ends it with Ghastly to pursue them, and then comes back when he loses interest or it doesn't work out.

what their shared living space is like ( messy? clean? what kind of decor? )

Ghastly's family home is an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Dublin. It's simple, but cosy, and Ghastly's dad is incredibly houseproud, so it's very well-looked-after. Skug prefers it by miles to his own palacial, but cold and unwelcoming, family home, and he tries to replicate the vibe later on with Wifey. It's pretty small compared to what he's used to, so it sort of feels like they're all living on top of each other, and he has to get used to not having any servants and drawing his own water to heat his own bath etc, but he's loved there, and that makes all the difference.

what their names are in each other’s phones

They're both old-ass men about some things, and this is one of them. So no emojis or anything - they're "Ghastly Bespoke" and "Skul". How romantic.

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first

Ghastly wakes up first: he's used to rising early to get started on his chores. Skug is absolutely not a morning person at this point in his life and Ghastly frequently has to turf his ass out of bed by pulling his quilt off/dumping water on him/yelling in his ear.

Reversed with modern day ghasdug: Ghastly still wakes at a sensible time, but damn it he left the army a century ago and now he likes a lie in. Skug never really stopped being a soldier and still has most of his military habits, so he's up with the sun.

who’s the big spoon / little spoon

Ghastly is the big spoon. Skug likes to be Held.

who hogs the bathroom

Skug. The boy is vain as all fuck. There is a grand total of one cloudy looking-glass in Ghastly's family's home and Skug spends a good chunk of the morning hogging it to fuss with his hair and peacock at his reflection. Ghastly is under strict orders Never to mention this to Fletcher.

[minnochu]

Don’t Make Me Say It.

Officer!Yoongi x Reader Spin Off 

(A/n) I have finally finished my Officer!Yoongi spin off that I promised because I fell in love with his role in Interference and just want to give him some love. Hi. I spent a long time thinking up this one, and it’s kind of a mess and weird to be honest, probably rushed ‘cause I wasn’t about to pour my guts out for a whole chapter fic (sorry), but I do hope you enjoy it! 

 This mildly references Interference, but it can be read as a standalone if you don’t want to read it lol. Link to Interference if you dare!!

*Warnings: Death, mention of suicide and postpartum depression, mention of organ trafficking, mention of drugs, non consensual touching and kidnapping, explicit language, reader’s boss smacks her, a customer also smacks reader’s ass too.

Word Count: 17.6k

.

“Don’t you think you need to settle down with a woman of your own, hyung?” 

It’s a question Taehyung and now Jimin asks him. He always blows it off as something he doesn’t necessarily need when he’s married to his job and sleep. As he finds himself doting on Jimin’s new found relationship with a past and now solved case, the latter thought maybe it was time to keep the elder from constantly nagging them like a grandmother. Not like his girlfriend had any complaints to his and Hoseok’s unannounced visits.

“Like I said!” He drawls groggily, his voice heavy with sleep after he was promptly woken up, “Something like that isn’t for me.” 

“That’s what I said too hyung,” Jimin sighed exasperatedly while pinching the bridge of his nose, “But you were the one who pushed us together, and plus… you could use a little happiness in your life.”

The blonde scoffs at this, kicking his shoes up onto his desk nonchalantly, promptly ignoring Seokjin’s protests at the action. Closing his eyes, he crosses his arms behind his head and leans back in his chair, “I’m already happy enough seeing all your stupid faces everyday and sleeping when I’m not burning my eyes at the sight of homicide cases.”

“Wow I’m flattered,” Seokjin grits as he shoves the younger’s feet off the desk, “Sheesh, maybe a girl will teach you some manners.”

“I treat Jiminie’s girl just fine, don’t I?”

“Still, we don’t want our precious Min Yoongi dying a bachelor who only knows how to sleep and solve cases,” Hoseok teases as he slings an arm around his partner, “How ‘bout I set you up on blind dates like we did with Jiminie?”

The latter shivers at the thought of his past blind dates that ended up with his meeting with Jungmi. It was a relief to finally be rid of her and her conniving father and Jungkook too. The rest of the men seem to share the same thoughts as the second youngest.

“Considering your taste in women?” Yoongi clicks his tongue as he gives his partner a judging glare, only to tilt his head to the side when Hoseok launches a half hearted punch at his face with a pout.

“That hurts hyung!” 

After much pestering however, Yoongi ended up agreeing to a month of blind dates if the guys would finally stop bugging him about a girlfriend that he honestly didn’t have any need for. He didn’t even know why it was so important for him to have one. 

It’s a drag, are his only thoughts as he meets up at cliche date spots like the park, a cafe, or a restaurant. And the dates themselves? He wouldn’t call them back. He didn’t even bother trying to learn their names. Perhaps this was payback for setting up Jimin on those blind dates, ultimately resulting in him meeting Jungmi.

“Ah, Yoongi-ssi, do you mind walking me home? It’s quite dark…” one bold woman asks after the eleventh blind date so far. He wondered how many women his coworkers knew, but he decided he wasn’t going to see her ever again anyways so he might as well be civil for once. 

The woman tries to start small talk but he promptly ignores her when he hears noises coming from the alleyway that they happen to pass by. It’s almost pitch black, but he can make out tall figures surrounding a fallen and petite form on the ground. He almost tries to ignore it, but the officer side of him turns sharply into the alley without any explanation to his very confused date whose legs are shaking wildly in fear when he’s engulfed in the darkness the further he ventures onward.

“Call the police!” Is all he answers back with.

And from there on, he spots you among the crowd of men standing above your fallen body. He scrutinizes your messy hair and odd fashion that reveals your midriff, chest, and shoulders where your scarlet flannel is only held together by one button with the sleeves slid below your shoulders. The fashion of kids these days, he thought flippantly.

“Hey, it doesn’t seem very fair to gang up on a little girl,” he grunts as the thugs turn and glare at him venomously. Sizing them up silently, he wondered if he should take the girl and make a run for it or get his hands dirty.

“Who the hell is this asshole?” One scoffs, but the others are way ahead and already lunging at the detective. 

Yoongi effortlessly dodges and deflects the attacks, watching in the corner of his eye if you were in danger. But he’s surprised to find you holding your own ground against two of them. He momentarily forgets the men in front of him when he narrowly dodges the thrust of a knife. Narrowing his eyes, he redirects another thrust before twisting the man’s arm behind his back. Taking the knife, he pushes the thug harshly into the other guys. 

By the time the cops have arrived, Yoongi has incapacitated them to keep them from trying to get away when he didn’t have any cuffs on him. 

“I didn’t need your help,” you pout, looking up at him with a glare. Crossing your arms over your chest, he has to keep himself from pointing out your very visible and very black sports bra. 

“I couldn’t leave a child to fend for herself,” he shrugged, looking you up and down with a judging look.

Puffing out your cheeks, your eyes narrow at him, “I’m not a child!”

“Sure you aren’t,” he shrugged, catching your punch in his hand and pulling you forward and to the side to make you stumble over your feet. He quirked an amused upturn of his lips at your obvious annoyance, “Get home safely, kid.”

“I’m 20 dammit!” You pout then and even now as you storm into your apartment with your eyebrows furrowed, bruised fists clenching around plastic bags of ingredients for the next few meals or so. 

The place is rather cheap, the paint chipping off here and there with dark water stains discoloring the ceiling. The carpet is stained and flattened with age along with the drab furniture that completes the shabby appearance of the home.

“Unnie?” the familiar voice of your little sister, Hyemi, calls from the hallway. Her head peers around the corner before her whole body jumps out and she’s bounding towards you for a hug. “Welcome home!” she greets happily, going on about her good day at school and how much she missed you. 

“Yeah?” You smile softly, your sour mood simmering at the sight of your cute little sister who had just begun her first year of middle school, “Tell me all about it when I finish up dinner okay?”

“Dad’s not home again for dinner?” she asks as you pull your messy hair into a ponytail and move your conversation to the kitchen.

Shaking your head, you grimace as you begin preparing the items for dinner, “I don’t think so… I’m sorry..”

Sorry. You didn’t even know what you were apologizing for. For the absence of your father? For the living conditions you both had to endure because of him? It’s not that he was a terrible father… You could only blame it on the sudden bankruptcy his business fell into, which put your family in great debt. 

Your mother? She left. Father? He promised you both he would work to create a better living for you. Which meant going the whole day without seeing his once happy face around the house. And now? The little times you caught him sluggishly returning home in the middle of the night, his face was tired. It didn’t look as youthful as it did when you were still in high school. 

Must be why you changed. You mulled over how perfect your grades were in high school until debt and your parents’ divorce threw you in the deep end and persuaded you into delinquency. Instead of going to college like your past self wanted to, you went straight to working any kind of job that would hire you. Currently, you worked at a restaurant during the day, and a bar as a waitress during the night. 

The money always went to groceries, your father, and a little something for Hyemi you always saved on the side.

Despite all that’s happened, you still love your father dearly. Right now, all you wanted was for Hyemi to be safe and well fed. If something happened to her, you would surely go on a rampage.

After your sister has finally gone to bed, you’re left alone to your thoughts as you clean up the dishes and refrigerate the leftovers. You think about hours prior when that man interferes with your run-in with thugs outside the bar you worked at. Icy blonde hair, pale skin, and brooding dark eyes. Shivering, you placed a hand over your chest to ponder over the thumping in your chest.

Everything diminishes once you hear the door open and close, the rusty hinges whining as your father grunts, followed by a prompt thud of his weight hitting the couch.

“Welcome back,” you greet from the kitchen doorway, smiling as he casts you a weary smile back. 

“Sorry I’m late… again,” he chuckles forlornly, slumping against the back of the sofa and resting his head against the cushions. “I’m really trying my best… we’re so close to being free, but it’s like there’s not a lot of time left.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean your head against the wall as you observe the fatigue in his body… his eyes. 

“I know… we know.”

“Send my regards to Hyemi, it’s been really busy at the company, I’m sure she must really despise me for leaving you two by yourselves all the time.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. There’s no emotion, and you know that he’s so worn down from all the stress of paying back the people who’ve helped his company stay alive after its sudden fall.

“Or… you know… you could say hi before you leave again… or even leave a note,” you suggest nonchalantly as you move to take a seat beside him, “I’m sure she would rather hear it from you than through me... She only misses you, you know.”

He stays silent at that, and you know that in the end you’ll have to tell Hyemi once again that he loves her and whatnot. It just wasn’t special that way. Not at that young age. 

“I love you both, with all of my heart and soul,” he blurts out, turning to look at you with a crestfallen expression. Why? Why did he look like that?

You open your mouth to ask him why the confession all of a sudden when he pulls out two tickets from his coat pocket and practically shoves them in your face.

“One of my employees gave these to me,” he explains as you eye them quizzically, “A coupon to a really nice restaurant in town… You and Hyemi should go out and have some fun for the day, eat out and maybe watch a movie!”

“Sure… thanks.”

If only you had the confidence to tell him how much you wanted him to join you both. A family night out. Something you all haven’t been able to do since the company crumbled and your mother left. 

.

After that chance encounter, Yoongi couldn’t focus. He wonders if that girl is alright. He wonders if that’s a normal thing for you. Which makes him all the more worried that thugs are targeting you. 

“So… how are you liking the blind dates?” Hoseok asks as the former drives to the site they were supposed to search through, Jimin and Taehyung to arrive later on after their meeting. 

“Disgusting,” Yoongi drones blandly as they arrive at a worn down apartment complex. The place is shady, and a sore thumb in a place like Seoul. “Couldn’t you guys find interesting women?”

“Don’t be like that! Please tell me you at least texted back one of them!” Hoseok grins with a nudge to his partner’s side, but the male isn’t amused by him and shakes his head as he heads up the stairs to the second floor. He observes the dirty stucco and the peeling paint on the hand rails, frowning at the kind of place Namjoon sent them to.

“If I say yes, will you stop pestering me?” He asked as they arrive at the apartment, caution tape barricading the door along with two officers that nod their head in greeting.

Hoseok shrugged, obviously knowing that he wouldn’t, “Only if you’re telling the truth.”

The elder can only sigh as they enter to find other police officers already inside and taking notes. One of them perks up at the two’s entrance and hurry over. Over the former’s shoulder, Yoongi can make out a complete disaster of the room. The apartment was already worn down as it was, but everything was in a disarray from the couch being flipped over to the television smashed to pieces on the cruddy brown carpet to the blood staining the said flooring.

The liquid was not yet crusty brown upon further inspection after the officer filled in him and Hoseok about the neighbors reportedly hearing the firing of a gunshot. 

Hoseok searched the rooms, which must’ve been just as trashed, while Yoongi stayed in the living room to inspect the male victim. He had to be in his forties, no older than fifty, dressed in work clothes that were drenched in the pool of blood coming from the obvious gunshot to his head. Unable to touch the corpse just yet, he suspected the blow from a close distance, wondering if they did so in order to extract the bullet to keep from any evidence being left. 

Notably, dried tracks ran down his cheeks from the corners of his eyes. Crying? Was he threatened? He wondered why he found the last expression of this man turning out to seem more and more melancholy and simply tired.

Were they looking for something, he wondered? Burglars? Why did they go so far as to delivering a clean shot to the cranium? 

The messy hair reminded him of you. It just so happened to be the same hair color, and he wondered why he was suddenly thinking of you. An insignificant little girl he just so happened to help out despite your stubborn claims that you were just fine on your own.

“Miss, we cannot let you in!”

“This is my home! You can’t possibly be telling me I can’t go in!” A voice raises with ferocity, reminding Yoongi of a certain someone. 

“St-still… w-wait!”

He turns right at that moment to see you with fire in your eyes as you evade the grasps of the officers to head straight towards the sofa where you ignore Yoongi to set your eyes right then and there on the corpse.

The plastic bag of leftovers and a meal you and Hyemi picked out to bring home for your father is left abandoned on the ground when you set your eyes on your fallen father.

“D-dad?”

Well fuck. Of course it had to be your dad, making it all the more complicated for Yoongi. What a drag, he thought as he stood from his crouching position to halt your approach.

“What do you think you’re doing,” you grit, fists clenching as you stare helplessly at your father, “Get out of my way.”

“I can’t let you, you’ll only contaminate the evidence, and that includes your father’s body over here,” he explains calmly, biting his lip when he notices the traces of tears that gloss over your eyes at the severity of the situation. He sends a look to the officers to let him handle it, their shoulders relaxing after you pretty much shoved the guards out front to the side. 

Tears blur your vision as you ball your fists and recklessly launch a punch at his face in fury, but he catches it easily just like the night you both met. Your eyes travel between Yoongi’s apathetic eyes to the tear-dried face of your parent. Why were his eyes so cold? Why did he look as though he were belittling you for acting the way you did? 

Your knees shake and buckle, your weight folding underneath you as you crumple to the ground, wrist still held high from his hold. You refused to cry in front of him and all these officers. How could you face Hyemi? How could you have left your father alone at home? 

“I love you both with all my heart and soul.”

It clicked now. You figured he knew his time was up at that time. He intentionally drove you and your sister away for the day. But who would be behind this? Who wanted him dead?

You felt dizzy thinking more about it, stomach churning even more the longer you stared at his lifeless body. 

“H-hey!” Yoongi blinked in surprise when you fell face forward, his hands catching you by the shoulders. 

“You know her, Yoongi?” Hoseok asks as the blonde hooks his arms under your legs and back. 

Fixing your head against his shoulder, he gives a brief shrug, “More or less.” Bowing his head at the officers, he promised to return to aid in investigation later on once he deals with you. Outside the apartment is your little sister, who gasps at her older sister’s unconsciousness. 

“I-Is she okay?” She asks worriedly, her eyebrows furrowing, “What’s happening to our apartment? Is my dad in there?”

Hoseok seemed to catch on as he bows his head towards her, “Let’s move to our car, we can explain when we get your sister settled down.”

Yoongi allows his partner to be the one to deliver the news as you slowly regain consciousness laying down in the back seat of their car. He watches as you slowly sit up and glare at him leaning against the trunk of the vehicle. 

“Morning kid,” he says, causing you to frown even more at his nickname for you. 

“I told you I’m 20. I have a name too you know! It’s (Y/n)!”

He snorts at that, “20 with the behavior of a child.”

You turn away with a pout, letting him win this bout. The older man takes this chance to fully look you up and down, noticing the nice cropped blouse you were wearing along with high waisted jeans in contrast to your scandalous casual attire the other night. You both couldn’t have known, he thinks as Hoseok tries to comfort the younger sister. 

“So what now,” you grunt, leaning your head against the seats, “My apartment’s overrun by officers, there’s no way we’re getting in and having a good night’s rest just like that.” It didn’t appear like it hit you yet, but he can only assume that you were putting a facade, in contrast to the sniffles coming from your sister.

Suddenly, Yoongi felt something familiar with this kind of situation. His eyes jumped from you to Hoseok to your sister. This was all too familiar. He wondered why when he spotted Jimin and Taehyung making their way towards them. 

Fuck. This is just like Jimin’s old situation with his now girlfriend. 

“Any relatives, or friends you could stay with?” He asked, trying to avoid offering his place. His heart sped up at the thought and he cursed it for that. 

You shrugged, frowning as your sister sobbed and cried her eyes out, “Hyemi probably has some friends who would offer her a place, but me… not really… as pathetic as that sounds. I don’t even have enough money to stay too long at an inn.”

“Why not at Yoongi’s place then?” Jimin mentions, nudging the elder knowingly, “He and Hoseok would gladly offer you a place until your apartment is thoroughly inspected and cleaned up!” 

Yoongi glares at him for bringing up the idea, and the younger is aware of it as he ignores it to snicker at his distasteful frown with Taehyung who catches on. 

“With this old fart?” You snort, “I’ll just sleep on the streets then.”

“That wouldn’t be too advisable,” Hoseok cuts in, guiding a shaky Hyemi into your open arms to comfort her, “It’s only an assumption that this was an intentional killing. The files read that your father is well known businessman whose company went downhill until another organization stepped in to help pay, someone might be behind this... who knows if you two will be targeted as well.”

Yoongi gives a stern look towards the younger, who turns a blind eye.

“Yeah! It’ll be much safer with these two!” Taehyung grins, winking at the smirking Jimin. 

When it’s finally decided that you two would stay at their apartment, Yoongi vowed to get back at them later on. They exchanged teasing smirks, only for Yoongi to harshly pinch the closest one - Taehyung, who jumped and pouted at him. 

“You’ll all pay later,” He promised menacingly, eyes darting back to you and your sister waiting patiently in the car.

Hoseok grinned, “Not unless you’re thanking us for setting you up with the pretty older sister that you seem to already know!~”

“Now doesn’t seem like the best time, does it?” He harshly shoots back, remembering the despair written all over your expression back in the apartment.

The younger shrugs, keeping a lighthearted smile before turning to the other two more serious now, “We’ll take the two back then, we’ll be back soon.”

On the drive home, Yoongi wants boiling lava to burn him alive right then and there. They left a small crack in the divider glass, but all that can be heard are Hyemi’s faint sniffling. Even more than that, he can feel your burning gaze staring straight into the back of his skull.

“I’m gonna hurt you later,” he whispers harshly to his partner as they lead you and your sister into their apartment. 

“Make yourselves at home, I’ll try to see if I can retrieve some of your clothes tomorrow if they’re not too busy clearing the scene or looking for evidence,” Yoongi dismisses when you both stand awkwardly in the middle of their living room, “We’ll be heading back now.”

“W-wait!” You call out almost automatically, catching him by his elbow. He turns to regard you with a raised brow and you seem to deflate at that, “If there’s anything you find out about my father, please tell me.”

He wonders how you go from fiery and rowdy to timid and vulnerable. As much as he hated to say it, it was quite cute ignoring the situation— what? Frowning at his inner thoughts, he merely nodded and left them to their own devices as he and Hoseok went on their way after leaving you with their phone numbers in case of an emergency.

“You thought she was cute back there didn’t you?” Hoseok grinned knowingly.

The elder shot him a glare, but not denying it either as they drove back to the crime scene. 

“You guys are dumb, I’m only letting them in because they’ll be in possible danger otherwise. Plus I can avoid blind dates now since we’re busy being bodyguards.”

“No need for blind dates when you’ve got Miss (Y/n).”

“Shut up, I already told you, now’s not a good time for her,” he frowned as they made their way back to the apartment.

“So you would’ve considered if the time was right?” Hoseok concluded more than asked.

He shrugged, obviously knowing he couldn’t deny it in front of his partner. 

“Forensics took the body to look closely and search for any fragments left from the bullet if any,” Jimin fills them in when they arrive to only find the taped outline of the victim, “The bullet went straight through, whoever did this must’ve wanted to keep any evidence from being left.”

“The place is utterly ransacked, I don’t know if that’s to create confusion, but it just looks like they were trying to find something.”

Yoongi kept quiet, crouching down near a toppled over bookshelf. The contents were spilled haphazardly across the carpet, including picture frames, books, and photo albums. He didn’t touch but he can make out pictures of you, your little sister, and your dad. One particular frame contained a peculiar photo of a woman, possibly your mother, but she looked the splitting image of Hyemi, nothing like you. He bent down and squinted when he found another piece behind it from the end that was broken. 

Sliding it out carefully, his brows furrowed at the different woman in the photo that held onto an infant while smiling brightly. That had to be you, he thought, recognizing small features that reminded him of you. As embarrassing as it seemed for him to already recognize it.

He waved it off as not looking similar to your sister.

A mistress he supposed. 

He took the previous picture as well, pocketing both to research later for facial recognition. 

“We’re just about done for the day, you two head home and we’ll report back to Namjoon,” Taehyung says as they walk back to their cars, “Don’t wanna leave your lady friend alone at home.”

Yoongi frowned at his teasing, “She’s just someone I met. Besides, she tried attacking me when we met.”

“So she’s feisty?” Hoseok smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at him. 

“Can you do me a favor then?” He asks, ignoring his partner, “Find out what you can about these two women.”

He hands Jimin the two photos before nodding a farewell. Hoseok follows after him curiously, “What was up with the two photos?”

“I found them by the bookshelf, one of the photos was hidden behind the other, there’s a different woman in the hidden one,” He explained as they drove home, in the corner of his eye he could tell Hoseok was pondering over the new information, “I was thinking it could be a mistress, the two look very similar to their respective mothers if I’m correct that the father had an affair. Or he could have remarried if something happened to (Y/n)’s mother.”

“It’s all just speculation,” He shrugged as they started towards their apartment, “Hopefully Jimin can find something.”

Turning the doorknob to their apartment, he pressed inward and felt a tsunami of savory scents crash into him as soon as they entered. He blinked as he noticed only Hyemi was sitting on the couch watching television.

“If you’re wondering, unnie is cooking dinner!” she cracks a small smile when she greets them respectfully. Although her eyes were still quite puffy and swollen from earlier. Yoongi noted how so much differently she acted opposed to your feisty firecracker actions. Was that just a way to protect yourself, he wondered.

He nodded and made his way towards the kitchen to see you standing by the stove. You look over your shoulder and he’s almost spellbound by the sight of you cooking in his kitchen. Until you ruined it by shooting him a glare and turning away with a grunt.

“Hello to you too,” He raises an eyebrow, ignoring your attitude to step behind you and look over your shoulder, “Kimchi fried rice?”

“I hope you don’t mind me going through your fridge, Hyemi got hungry so I thought I’d make dinner… as thanks for letting us stay here...” you trail off the last part but he hears it anyway, watching you mix in chicken.

“It’s nothing, it’s just part of the job I guess,” he shrugs, turning away to grab a drink from the fridge. As he does this, he doesn’t realize the pout that puckers your lips. 

Just a job, you think blandly as you finish up the meal and start plating it.

“You’re right,” You smile half heartedly as you place the platter on the dining table.

“Anyways, I have a question,” He asks, sitting down at the dining table as you take out bowls and utensils, “Where’s your mother?”

“What about her?” You turn suddenly, squinting at him suspiciously, “She left us when my dad fell into deep debt and started a family on her own, that’s all there is to it.”

Yoongi wondered which you were referring to. Hopefully Jimin could figure out the women in the pictures, it’d make it easier on him what kind of questions he’d ask. He didn’t want to jump the gun and assume what happened.

“Right, sorry… just asking for any other connections to your father.”

“I guess,” you shrug as you call out for Hyemi who comes running along with Hoseok.

The latter gasps, “Wow! Haven’t had dinner this extravagant before! Besides from Jiminie’s girl of course.”

You frown at that, looking at him weirdly, which he catches with a knowing grin.

“We’re not that great at cooking, only simple dishes, other times it’s just takeout,” he explains, “Man! This must be how Taehyung and Jimin are getting by now, those two cannot cook for the life of them!”

“Jimin and Taehyung?” You repeat, thinking back to the apartment with the other two detectives, “Are they the two that were at the apartment today?”

“Yup, I guess you could say they’re like us, Yoongi and Jimin are both stone cold, while Taehyung and I are more wild I guess,” Hoseok grins back, “That being said, Yoongi is Jimin’s adoptive brother.”

Yoongi shoots Hoseok a glare, wondering why he was spilling details about him to them when they were just gonna be on their own once again after all has been solved and taken care of.

 When dinner was finished and you were washing the dishes, he cleared his throat to get your attention.

“I’ll be heading over to your apartment tomorrow again, I’ll see if I can find some clothes for you to wear.”

He waited for a response, but you merely continued your washing silently. Hoseok had offered to wash, but you said it would only be fair for you to do it as thanks. Pursing his lips, he decided to leave it at that and turned on his heel to leave.

“Take me with you,” you finally said, turning around to hold his gaze, “I have to work anyways.”

“Work?” He repeats with a raised brow.

“Yeah, remember the alley you met me? It’s near the bar I waitress at… usually I’d go work at a restaurant, but tomorrow’s my off day.”

He’d just learned about your father’s debt just now, he didn’t realize that meant you had to shoulder it as well. You probably wouldn’t want him to pity you, but he felt a sudden admiration for you taking care of your sister. It reminded him of his younger self finding Jimin that eventful day and taking him in. 

“Okay, but we’re gonna have to stop by the precinct.”

He was about to leave when it seemed everything was said and done, but he stopped himself when he turned to see Hyemi lying down on the couch. 

“Do you two want to use my bed? I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You turned at this but looked away with surprise to see him staring right at you.

“I-it’s alright, plus who would want to sleep in your bed you pervert. Who knows what you do on your bed!” 

He squints at you, raising his eyebrows at your accusation. Scoffing, he turned away, “Don’t make any assumptions about my sex life, suit yourself then.” 

“Who would??” You shriek, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks at the image that creates for your wandering mind.

“Ugh I hate him!” You mutter under your breath as you return to the couch with blankets and pillows that Hoseok had lent to you. Hyemi glances up to you wearily, lifting herself to take a pillow and a blanket from you. “How are you feeling?”

The younger smiles weakly, her eyes falling to her lap when she feels the threat of tears building at her eyes. Her teeth dig into her quivering lip as you wrap your arms around her and tuck her head against your neck. 

“I can’t believe…” 

You hush her solemnly, laying your head back against the couch to blink back the tears that have welled at your own.

Yoongi turned back towards his room with a grimace. You didn’t need pity. But he can’t imagine the anguish and sadness that you and your sister must feel, abandoned by your mother, and now your father had been possibly murdered. It just wasn’t something you or your sister deserved to experience, especially with Hyemi that young of an age and having to now grow up without both of her parents. 

.

“Be safe!” You call out the next day as you and the detectives drop off your sister at her school. Despite unable to retrieve clothes for the day, the school had allowed her to wear her physical ed uniform until the search in your home was done, unless you pay for a new uniform but that was unlikely. It appeared as though you were back to being well put together, Yoongi noted as you hug your sister briefly.

Hyemi only smiles as she nods, Hoseok promising to pick her up when she’s done. Her expression is tired, but she still attempts to put on a show to mirror the strength of your facade. 

“I miss having school friends like that,” you sigh as you watch Hyemi disappear behind the school gates with a friend.

“Did you even have friends, with that attitude of yours?” Yoongi scoffs playfully as he begins driving towards the precinct.

You glare at the back of his head while Hoseok tries to diffuse the situation, “I did actually. I had good grades at that time! That was all before… that happened…” Your voice trails off and Yoongi wonders if he went too far. It seemed apparent now that your father’s debt had something to do with your personality. Could it also have been the estrangement of your mother? If the one you were referring to was in fact your mother. 

“Just sit at my desk and be quiet, don’t talk to anyone except Hoseok,” Yoongi says when you all arrive at the precinct. You frown at this but quietly do what he says when all eyes are on you.

“Dang Yoongi, what are you doing bringing your girlfriend to work?” Taehyung snickers as he enters from the break room. 

The elder glares at him, although the other officers in the room join the younger in snickering and teasing the usually cold man.

“Oh hyung,” Jimin perks up at his sudden appearance, beckoning him over, “I found information on the pictures you found.”

“Pictures?” You ask, “From my apartment?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi grimaced, motioning for you to come over. He couldn’t keep anything from you after all, you would’ve argued it as your right to see if it had to do with your family. “I hope you don’t mind, I picked up a couple of pictures I found in order to find some kind of connection to your father.”

“Not at all,” You blinked, wondering what he was getting out until he peered over the brunette to stare down at the two pictures with noticeably two different women. You’ve never seen the picture with the woman holding an infant before, and it was way too obvious that the child was you. “Where’d you get this?”

“I was looking around and found a broken picture frame, that picture was hidden behind the family portrait,” Yoongi explained, tapping on the second picture with the unknown woman, “You’ve never seen it before?”

You shake your head with a frown, brows furrowed in confusion, “I’ve never seen this woman ever in my life… but I do know that that is me she’s holding.”

“How ‘bout this woman?” Jimin ask, pointing to the woman you called your mother, the one you claimed to have left you and Hyemi.

“Our mother,” you point out with a shrug, “She’s off on her own with her own family now.”

“Right, well this woman…” he points at the one holding the infant, “I found her file, but not as a homicide case. Long time ago, her body was found in the river. It appeared she drove her car into the water, according to witnesses, and drowned, there were no signs of foul play so it was deemed a suicide.”

“There was no records on her, her only reported family is a younger brother… mm Hong Suk, I believe.. I have yet to look up his files at the moment.”

“And the other?” Yoongi asks, peering at your expression, but you hide your emotions better than usual.

Jimin holds up the family picture, “No criminal history as well, she seems to be living in a rural town outside of Seoul.”

“Do you have the address? I would like to ask her some questions.”

Despite you not wanting to see your mother, Yoongi insisted on bringing you with him and Jimin to the new home of your estranged mother. It felt weird standing outside the front door with the two donning their uniforms as they wait for someone to open the door. Footsteps resound behind the door, followed by clicks of the locks before an older woman opens the door. You recognize her immediately as the woman who left you and your sister.

“(Y/n)?” She asks, her voice surprised as she regarded the two officers politely, “What’s going on?”

“Ma’am, if we could have a moment of your time to ask you a few questions, that would be great,” Yoongi says after bowing his head respectfully, “Of course, you’re not obligated to answer if you wish not to… but it would be very beneficial considering this concerns your former husband who was found dead in his apartment the other day.”

Her eyes widen at this, looking at you for affirmation. You can only look away sadly, rubbing your palms together when there’s nothing more to be said when Yoongi said it all already. It’s not like you had anything to say to her anyway for leaving your family to join another. You just couldn’t let that fact go, even as she invites the three of you in for some tea to talk over the details and questioning.

“I see…” She starts, sitting down across from the three of you while pouring cups of freshly brewed tea for you all, “It must’ve been hard on you and Hyemi, huh?”

“Don’t act like you care about us,” You snap back harshly, looking away from her saddened smile. You could care less if she pitied you. Even now, you wondered why Jimin and Yoongi wanted to question her. It didn’t seem like she knew anything other than the fact that he was going into bankruptcy. 

Yoongi clears his throat audibly, slicing through the tension between you both.

“Lastly, do you happen to know the woman in this photo?”

You mother’s eyes widen in recognition, holding the picture of the unknown woman and child, “Wow, haven’t seen this photo in such a long time, you looked so cute then, (Y/n).”

You squint at her, not knowing what she meant. Obviously, the child looked like you, but you had no recollection of who that woman was.

“You and your mother.”

Standing up suddenly, your eyes widen at her, “What?”

Her lips pull into a guilty smile, eyes staring right down at the picture, “This woman’s your mother.”

“How can that be so?” You urge on, biting your lip at the sudden news.

“Before your father and I got married, he was seeing another woman who bore his first child. As much as I tried despising you after her death, I just couldn’t even after I gave birth to Hyemi. I could only love you even more,” she explained, “I didn’t know too much about that woman, but she had such a big effect on him… it made me jealous how even after her suicide he cared a lot for her… I could only choose to drive myself away from him when I just couldn’t take being second in his heart over her.”

She notices the look you have on your face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration to remember but to no avail. It makes her smile weakly. 

“You have her looks too,” she laughs, “She was a beautiful and strong woman I’ll tell you that… she was great at hiding her emotions… maybe that’s why your father couldn’t tell her signs of postpartum depression until after her death…”

“Do you know much about her brother?” Yoongi asks, cautiously gauging your expression.

The woman shakes her head with a grimace, “I’m sorry, unfortunately I don’t know too much about him. This is as much I can offer to help.”

“No, thank you,” Yoongi bows sincerely, as does his partner, “We’re grateful you agreed to let us question you.”

As Jimin and Yoongi pay their respects and bow, the woman you had thought to be your biological mother catches you at the elbow. Her expression is meek as she looks down immediately and retreats her hand from you.

“Listen (Y/n), you have my condolences for your father and your mother… I know it doesn’t mean anything coming from me, but take care of yourself and Hyemi please. I… if there’s anything I can do… maybe a place to stay… I heard about the apartment… it’s not much but I can roll out a futon in the living room… my husband won’t mind much...”

“I know you may not ever forgive me for leaving you both, but I truly do care for you two.”

You smile sadly back at the older woman, “Thank you for the offer, I’ll bring it up to Hyemi, but as for me… I will not ever stay with you. If you had cared as much as you say, you would have stayed. ” Bowing deeply, you give her a silent nod before turning to follow Yoongi who had been waiting there for you. His mouth is sewn together in a taut grimace as he bows once again to your step mother and leads you towards the car. To him, you were prissy and hard headed but it was these moments where he remembers what you’re going through and how you’re handling it as maturely as you could. 

“I’ll see what I can do at your place, it’s only been a day so I can’t promise much clearance for your clothes.”

You couldn’t blame him if you had to wait another day for clothes, for now you had work to worry about. Although, you couldn’t keep yourself from mulling over the newly found information that is who your real mother is and the fact that she was dead. It was hard to accept, but you decidedly pushed the information to the back of your head for now as you wait for the two detectives to drive to your old apartment. From the parking lot below, you watch as the two approach other officers and converse, probably trying to get you a change of clothes.

They disappear into the home before the blonde reemerges and leans over the railing. He catches your eye and gives a curt shake of his head. You visibly slump, an action he later apologizes for when the two return to the car and explain how they have the apartment under lockdown still, clearance was still a possibility tomorrow and he’ll bring you first thing in the morning. 

“Do you need me to stay and watch over you?”

You blink at the man. Was he growing a third head? 

“I’ll be fine.”

Sighing, he glances at the bar front, frowning when a man walks from within the building, his appearance screaming exceptionally sleazy. Not to stereotype, but the ragged facial hair and barely made bed head, along with an inconspicuous beer belly threatening to pop open the straining button on his jeans, give Yoongi bad vibes. 

“The other night can beg to differ,” his harsh voice rasps, “You don’t know if your father was specifically targeted, they may also be going after you.”

“I can handle myself!” You start to retort, hand curling around the door handle to exit the vehicle.

However, Yoongi grips at your wrist to keep you from leaving, “Yeah? Because you totally had it covered lying on the ground while four men two or three times your size were about to do God knows what to you. I’d say it was well handled.”

Fucking sarcasm. Yoongi bit you in the ass where it hurt.

Your face flushes brightly at that. He had a point and you hated to admit that he was right. Without him there, you could’ve been taken advantage of or worse.

“I only say this out of worry, I know gross, but I’m serious when I say that you may or may not be targeted and we are not about to risk your safety because you can handle yourself.”

It’s safe to say that your conversation ended at that, and Yoongi drops you off momentarily so he can go home and change into civilian clothes. It would be too suspicious for a detective to be in uniform and hanging around in a bar until closing. For emergencies, he kept a holster fastened around his waist, underneath his shirt, in case something does happen. When he returns, you, dressed in your uniform, immediately catch his eye as soon as he enters. He sits casually in a booth in the far corner of the room where he has view of the whole bar. A subtle nod of his head suffices in greeting, but you still blow a raspberry and walk over. 

“Are you even allowed to be serving me alcohol?” He asks with a raises brow and you have to keep all you can from smashing the drink menu into his deadpan. You weren’t even sure if he was being serious or joking. Before you can retort, he waves his hand, “Forget it, just get me water, alcohol won’t do me good if something really does happen to you.”

“Why? Is your tolerance low?” You quip back venomously.

“I’d like to say the same to you, because apparently you’re an adult,” He mocks with an over-the-top scratching nasally tone. 

“Fuck off.”

And one point goes to Yoongi as you stomp back to grab him his water. His eyes narrow when you come walking back and a hand purposefully reaches out to cop a feel of your rear. His fingers tap over his lap, itching to shoot a bullet through the asshole’s hand, when you accidentally step on the guy’s foot with menace. 

Oh.

“Hey you bitch, you just stepped on my shoes!”

Fingers grip harshly to your wrist, yanking you back to the pervert’s table. Yoongi is already up on his feet and stepping in between you and the other man. He places a hand over the male’s wrist, the one keeping your struggling arm from escaping.

“I suggest you let go of her.”

The man raises a brow, narrowing his eyes in irritation at his meddling, “This has nothing to do with you, I suggest you sit down or I punch your pretty face and make you bleed.”

“And she obviously did not like you touching her ass, you pig, so let her go.”

“Hah?” The man balks at the insult, shoving your arm away in favor of standing to his full height, towering over the detective. “Say that again to me, pretty boy, I fucking dare you.”

The situation ultimately ends with Yoongi’s absolute domination and the two getting kicked out however. You’re still flattered that he stuck up for you nonetheless. Your boss had different thoughts however at the whole situation, especially when he’d definitely saw the deliberate stomp on his customer’s foot.

“How many times do I have to fucking tell you to just ignore the customers, we’ll be losing business because of your stupid pride!” 

The blonde waits within ear distance, receiving your text that you would be leaving out the back right now. He immediately stopped when your boss had followed you outside. A slap to the face and Yoongi’s breath hitches. His fingers dig into his thighs through the fabric of his pockets. 

“You’re lucky you still have a job, stupid bitch.”

When Yoongi steps out from the shadows, you can barely look him in the eye. You’re back in the clothes he had dropped you off in, your gaze downcast and your cheek raw and stinging from the hit. Where was the headstrong girl he’d met the few nights before? 

“Does this always happen?” he attempts as he walks beside you towards his car. A sidelong glance is sent his way, a raised brow to accompany the look.

“Which are you referring to? The ass grab or my ass of a boss?’

“Both really.”

Not sure what compels him, he opens the passenger door for you. A gesture that is met by an eyebrow raise, making him question his own actions. You don’t comment thankfully, ducking into the car. 

“It’s common, I’ve gotten used to it by now,” you reply once he’s situated in the driver’s side, both strapping in your seat belts. He hated that you merely shrugged it off, like you didn’t just get berated by your boss. You deserved better than that. 

“That’s concerning.”

You stifle a snort at that. “That’s new, coming from you.”

“Am I a jerk to you or something?” He raises a brow as he turns on the ignition, the car purring to life. Your gaze is drawn to his slender ivory fingers, wrapping around the emergency brake handle. How was it even possible for him to have such pretty hands? They move to put the car in drive and you’re faintly aware that he’s waiting for a reply.

“N-not really… like you’re an ass sometimes but it kinda feels like you’re being forced to babysit me.”

“You’re my case after all.” It’s nonchalant, shrugging as if it were natural, but you still couldn’t help the unintended sting they inflict in your chest. If only you knew how in denial he was, trying to convince himself that you were indeed strictly a job he had to take care of.

“That’s not the point fuckhead, you and Hoseok let me into your home, a stranger, and now you’re taking me to work and watching over me…”

“We couldn’t have you staying on the streets when you barely have enough pay to afford an inn, not like that was an option when it’s possible someone’s coming after you and your sister,” he sighs this time, barely taking his eyes off the road to regard you with a frown, “Speaking of your sister, what are you going to do about your… er her mother’s offer?”

“I’ll bring it up to her… she misses her sometimes you know?… She might want to stay with her… I guess it’s also better than staying in a house with two grown men.”

His eyes narrow.

“What are you insinuating, brat?”

“As for me though,” you continue, ignoring him to his discontentment, “I can’t forgive her, with or without her being blood related, Hyemi can stay with her if she wants but I will never accept her help.”

And just as you claim, your younger sister is almost ecstatic to finally see her mother again. The elder woman smiling meekly at the young girl who glomps her with a big hug, her things in your hands as you silently pass them off to the one you had once called your mother. She attempted to smile your way and offer to shelter you as well, but you choose to ignore it.

“Take care of her. Please.”

It throws her off momentarily, but she can’t blame you.

“I will. You be safe too.”

Hyemi hugs you tightly, frowning and the verge of sobbing a protest. But you kiss her forehead and ruffle her hair, “Be strong for me, okay? Yoongi and Hoseok are gonna bring justice to Dad, okay?”

“But you can stay here too…” She knows how much you despise your… her mother after she left. Even if she never stopped loving and missing her, you could not find it in yourself to forgive her for it, ever. 

“I’ll see you when this is all over, okay?”

You’re silent on the drive back home, cooking dinner, and then crawling onto the couch that is half empty now that Hyemi is going to be under her mother’s care for the time being.

The cushions dip under an added weight, your eyes glancing to the side to see Yoongi sitting there with his eyes trained on the television screen. He was clad in sweatpants and a tee shirt, a look that you had to silently admit looked very appealing on his lean body. His eyes slide to meet your gaze, your cheeks warming as you look away in embarrassment. He doesn’t comment on your staring, thankfully.

“You don’t plan on sleeping in your clothes from yesterday again, do you?”

You look to him again, confused this time.

“What are you implying?”

He sits there for a while, his mind thinking like cogs turning in his brain before he gets up abruptly and returns to his room. You don’t pay him any attention, glancing down at your phone when Hyemi texts you a goodnight followed by various heart emojis. A smile graces your face. Before it’s gone when Yoongi launches a shirt and shorts at your head.

Yanking the garments from your head, you shoot him daggers before glancing down at the clothes. His clothes. A romance trope that your high school persona would have gushed over. 

“How cliche, didn’t see you as the type.”

“Shut it, or I’m taking it back.”

Raising an eyebrow, you shrug and shift to get up from the couch.

“Wouldn’t your girlfriend be jealous to see me wearing your shirt?”

“What girlfriend?”

“The one you were with that night, when you… stuck your nose in my business,” you recall the woman he’d been with that night, the one who had clung to his side after the police had shown up to detain the rowdy customers that had cornered you.

“You mean saved you, brat. It was a blind date. The idiots are trying so hard to tie me down, but I just don’t need one.”

You had almost been excited to hear that he was single. 

“How ‘bout you? Got a boyfriend?”

“Do I look like I have one?”

Glancing you up and down, he shrugged with a quirk of the side of his mouth into a subtle smirk, “With that attitude? I’d be surprised if you even had a friend.”

He was relieved. 

...What?

You roll your eyes, should’ve seen that one coming. “Okay asshole, to answer your question, no I don’t have one.”

“Okay.”

“Yes.”

What even were these replies?! What even was the way you felt nervous around him? You take this chance to head to the bathroom to change quickly, his shirt slightly big on your form as well as tightening the drawstring all the way. Before heading out, you pause to stare into your reflection. 

How did it even come down to this? Dressed in the clothes of a man you hadn’t known for longer than two days. How did it even amount to the rosiness that bleeds across your cheeks and the muddled mess that’s your beating heart.

Returning, he’s taken a seat on the couch to your surprise, waiting for you to return possibly. You didn’t want to bring your hopes up. 

...What? No no no, you did not just think that. 

You muster up the courage to force down the lump in your throat and sit down beside him, pulling your legs up to your chest as you join him in watching the cartoon on screen. Then you break the silence once more.

“Can I ask you something?”

You cast him a glance, unaware of the heat burning at his cheeks and ears, his eyes flickering every now and then to drag over your form in his clothes. His adam’s apple bobbing with his swallow.

“What?” his reply comes out smooth, biting his lip in attempt to cool his head.

“Why are you so concerned?”

He deadpans, “Great question, you’re a brat, annoying, no ass on top of that, can barely fight for shit, get yourself into trouble quite often too…”

Irritated, you grab a pillow and launch it at his head, “So you are babying me you ass!”

“You’re my case, deal with it,” he scoffs, catching the item before it hits the side of his face.

After a moment passes, he breaks the silence that had settled after your outburst.

“Can I ask you something then.”

“What?”

“Why stay there?”

You blink, looking up at the ceiling as though the answer were there, “The bar? Not a lot of places take a girl with a delinquency record you know? I didn’t continue after high school, so I’m really limited.”

He wanted to ask you to quit. But that didn’t seem right. It didn’t even add up. Who was he to tell you to do so? You’re just a case. That’s why he cared. Because he was going to be the one who closes your father’s case and bring justice for what happened to him.

...Even if you were pretty and looked really nice in his clothes.

“I know what you’re going to say, even my dad didn’t like me working there. It’s shit. I know. The boss, an asshole, but it’s all I could manage to support my father and Hyemi. Sometimes I do wish I could go back to school.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Hyemi, remember? My father was busting his ass off when someone had paid his debts and salvaged his company, so he’s working hard to pay the him back.”

This was new.

“Him?”

“Father didn’t really talk about work too much. So I don’t really know who helped him, but it really stressed him out paying back whoever had helped him out.”

He hums, rubbing his hand over his mouth as you yawn beside him. The action was cute. 

“Speaking of,” He starts out, garnering your attention once again, “How are you holding up?”

You figured he was talking about your father again. How were you feeling? Sad? Empty? Angry? A mixture of anything and everything negative? He was no therapist, but as much as you can smile at Hyemi and act strong for her, the emotion never reached your eyes. You were exhausted and grieving, but it never helped that you still had to pick yourself back up for the sake of your sister and having to take life on despite the misgivings of the world taking your father away from you both. Moreover that, he wondered how you felt knowing your actual mother was not the one you’d grown up with. He wanted to know what was going inside your head, how you were able to just keep going despite everything being thrown at you in an effort to drag you down.

It all reminded him of Jimin, but in a way you were still very different from the boy he’d met many years ago. You, however, were very good at putting a smile on your face despite the exhaustion in your eyes from putting up a front. 

Just as he says, the ghost of a smile curls at your lips, your eyes glancing down at your toes.

“I’m not sure if it’s even hit me, to be honest, I’m not even sure how to feel about my mom not being my mom,” You say, followed by a humorless laugh, “I cried with Hyemi, yeah… but there’s no time for me to grieve or crumble… I’m sure even he wouldn’t want us wasting away because of his death…”

“You still should give yourself the chance to let it out.”

The sentiment was there, you suppose, touched by his concern for your emotional wellbeing.

“The night before, the night we met too, he gave me coupons to take Hyemi out to eat… I wonder if he knew… he said said he loved us… and it sounded so sad… even knowing that would be last time we got to say that to each other… I wonder if he expected this to happen…”

“Besides that… I just don’t want Hyemi to see me like that…” You say finally after a moment of silence, “I want to be strong for her. It might just seem like its the end if I can barely hold myself up, you know?”

He understood that.

“Enough of the sad talk, you might actually make me cry you jerk.”

You both continued to talk, and you were grateful for his presence. Although you both butted heads, quite a lot actually, you let him whisk you away from thinking about your father and the situation just for right now. You let him lead the conversation, talking about some of the disgusting things he’s seen as a part of the homicide unit, talking about how he’d gotten his adoptive brother to calm down and even get a girlfriend despite his stigma against women, talking about how Hoseok nearly set their apartment on fire trying to make stir fry one night. 

Yoongi didn’t notice how you both drifted off naturally, the lights still on and the television still running with the late night shows. His eyes blink away the remnants of sleep when a hand shakes his shoulder. Adjusting to the lights still on, he almost forgets where he was before he’d fallen asleep, Hoseok’s smirking expression coming into view as the younger points to the pressure on his shoulder. He doesn’t even need to look to know that you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder, your body shifting slightly to curl closer to him, the upright position no doubt uncomfortable for your back and neck.

Don’t even think about it, his eyes glare back at his partner who wiggles a suggestive brow, but still helps him remove you from his side and tuck you into a more comfortable position. 

Yoongi doesn’t want to look at you, but he steals a peek at your calm expression, heart picking up in speed as he reaches out to brush his palm over your head. 

The next morning, your neck is slightly uncomfortable for a reason you don’t know, but you choose to ignore as you cook breakfast for the day. 

“How is it over there, get some good sleep?” You ask as Hyemi’s face bobs around the screen at the excitement of your video call in the morning. 

“Mhm, they’re really nice to me, Naeun is really cute, you should meet her!” 

You never really knew the names of your two half siblings, that were biologically only Hyemi’s half siblings, but the awkwardness in what to call your supposed mother and her kids made your head hurt. The girl shifts the phone to show ‘Naeun’ who looks both shy and confused at your form cooking breakfast and still glancing at your phone propped up against a roll of paper towels.

“Hi?” You manage as Hyemi giggles and the camera is pointed back on her face. In the background, you can hear voices as your sister nods to the speaker before turning back towards you.

“I’m getting dropped off to school now, let me know if I can get my uniform soon! I miss you unnie!”

Her smile is the last thing you see before the call is ended and you feel slightly relieved. At least she was able to smile. That much was helpful enough to soothe your worries being without Hyemi for an indefinite amount of time.

Yoongi is noticeably stiffer around you today as they receive clearance for yours and Hyemi’s room only. You drop by to pick up some clothes as well as necessities and Hyemi’s things, that you drop off to the latter’s mother’s house. They drop you off at the restaurant you work at while they head back to the precinct and then your apartment again with Jimin and Taeyung.

“We got word back from forensics,” Jimin says as they once again go over the living room, your father’s body replaced by a taped off silhouette, “No prints, not even fragments either, I’m not surprised though, given the proximity he must’ve been shot at.”

“Did you get anything on Hong Suk?” Yoongi asks as they venture into the messy room of your father. The matress was thrown off its frame, planks scattered out of formation. The cubicles of the dresser were yanked out, clothes strewn all over. 

“His record is clean from what I could tell, although there was a file involving the mysterious death of their parents. I believe he’s the one taking over her father’s company at the moment.”

“I see, maybe we should pay a visit to the company,” the blonde hums as takes a step and pauses. Crouching down, the younger notices this and comes over as he raps his fist against the floorboards. Running his finger over the floor, he catches a noticeable square patch that he pries open to reveal a hidden compartment. 

Heroin. Their eyes staring down the plastic bag of the packaged substance. 

Was this what the killer was looking for? Why was your father hiding drugs in your home? What was going on?

Yoongi decides to keep the drugs a secret from you. They couldn’t draw too many conclusions from the pack when they returned to the precinct with the package as well as hair follicles that Hoseok had luckily found. He just wasn’t about to break it to you that your father was hiding drugs, it would break you. You obviously had no idea what he did or who had helped out his company, knowing this would only tear you down.

From the restaurant, it’s a walk away from the bar, where you feel an eerie feeling of being watched. You had hurried to work despite the feeling, but the discomfort never left when one customer in particular appears nervous and fidgety around you. He gives you a negative vibe that you try to avoid, but when you glance his way, his eyes are on you before quickly flicking away. He fumbles with his hands quite often, sliding his palms together as if they were sweating profusely. 

“Yo-you’re really cute,” He attempts very awkwardly when you take his drink order. You can only internally cringe and simply thank him, the searing eyes of your boss watching you after the scuffle from the other night. 

“I’m going to have to politely decline,” You force out when he offers to take you out for a coffee or something, definitely ignoring the way you shift from one foot to another and try to leave. 

It doesn’t help that you see him outside the bar, waiting for you, glancing at the entrance as you get into Yoongi’s car hurriedly.

The blonde raises a brow at your frantic state until you point out the man. “That guy was creeping me out today, he was there ever since I started my shift and kept staring at me and insisting that I go out with him.” The memory of his eyes constantly on you made you shiver.

Brown eyes narrow at the fidgety male, glancing over his appearance, watching the way he rubs his hands together nervously before driving away.

“Let me know if he comes back,” he says finally, briefly placing his hand over your head. A gesture that you’re thankful for.

“Did you find out anything new today?” You ask the inevitable question when you both have long returned to his apartment and finish up clearing the table from dinner. He helps wash the dishes while you dry. Yoongi almost curses your ability to somehow read the flash of hesitancy that shifts in his eyes. “You found something didn’t you?”

He also curses that he can’t find it in himself to lie to you about the drugs hidden in your dad’s room. It was unneeded stress on your shoulders, but you’re smarter than you let on as you wait for him to answer you. He notices the way you pout, and wills himself to keep a sturdy front, despite his heart exploding with butterflies.

“Stop that, you’re not cute,” He huffs, but if having to live with you for the past three days meant anything, he knew that you wouldn’t quit pestering him, as well as rip him a new one for calling you uncute. “We found a DNA sample in the apartment…”

“And?”

He blinks at you. God you were too smart for your own good. 

“...”

“Min Yoongi.”

Oh. That was new. You’ve never referred to him using his full name. He stuffs the thought that he quite likes the way you say his name, even if you were currently annoyed, away. 

“No,” He grumbles, ruffling his bangs as he finishes putting away the last of the dishes you towel-dried.

“You promised.”

“I didn’t promise shit.”

Fuck. There’s that face again.

“You’re an ass.”

He snorts, “At least I have one.”

You physically start punching him, although more halfheartedly. 

“We found packs of what we presume to be heroin, hidden in a compartment under his bedroom floor.”

All movement comes to a halt. Eyes wide as your hands fall to your sides. This is exactly why he didn’t want to tell you. An array of emotions glimmer in your eyes, he recognizes each stage of realization and hurt and confusion, your lips opening and closing. 

“You don’t think… he would never!”

“We aren’t jumping to conclusions, I just knew you would overthink and stress out your little head over it.”

You settle down at his words, shoulders slumping and your hands open and closing at your sides as you look down. Your father would never do such a thing, right? Given your new found knowledge of his mistress, your biological mother, was he resorting to desperate measures from the loss of not one but two women he had loved dearly. Was it the job? Was he trying to pay back his debt through nefarious means? Was this the reason he’s so worn down? 

Guilt dug itself into your chest. If only you could’ve done more, if only you could’ve been stronger. 

“You weren’t planning on telling me about this?”

Yoongi doesn’t flinch, but his chest squeezes, knowing you would have been upset with him either way. Hair blocks his eyes from searching for the hurt that’s probably found its way onto your expression, he’d only feel worse if he saw it anyways.

“You have plenty to worry about as it is,” He says with a gentle and hesitant hand over your head, “This was exactly what I was trying to avoid, you’re probably blaming yourself right now, aren’t you?”

Curse him for being able to read you so well. Then again, your head hung down wasn’t exactly a connotation that exuded happiness or anything that wasn’t sadness and frustration. Curse him again for inadvertently causing the influx of butterflies trapped in your chest at the slightest brush of his palm over the crown of your head. 

“I hate you,” You mutter, glaring up at him weakly.

“You’re so uncute,” He huffs back to your further annoyance.

The thought was appreciated though. He had thought about you, and that warmed you just thinking about it. For now, you frowned at once again being called not cute and leave him to get ready for bed.

Hoseok drops you off at the restaurant the next day after Yoongi heads to the apartment first thing with Jimin and Taehyung.

“How you doing so far?” The brunette smiles good naturedly as he turns on the car.

You never really spoke to Hoseok one-on-one before, but he radiated an easy-go-lucky air similar to Taehyung, if you remember his name right. His smile seemed to calm you down and soften any guard you had up. It was a polar opposite from the limited expressions that Yoongi expressed around you. Limited meaning, deadpan all day everyday, with the occasional frown and annoyed glare.  

“I’m holding up okay, I guess?” 

He hums at that, “Hyung get on your nerves last night?”

You balk at him, were you two that loud last night? The echo of his words calling you uncute last night haunted you suddenly and you looked away with a pout. It beats you that you mull over the statement rather than his unwillingness to keep you posted on your father’s case.

“He’s an ass.”

“He is,” He chuckles lightly, “But he seems a little more… human around you, you know? It’s quite refreshing.”

“What do you mean?” You ask curiously, interest piqued.

His eyes meet yours briefly as he comes to a stop light, “He’s a little cold, yeah? He’s barely expresses anything other than blank, and he doesn’t even talk a lot unless it’s around Jimin’s girlfriend… but lately he’s been different with you around.”

“Are you sure? He inadvertently called me ugly last night,” You say with a scornful frown.

“Those two share the same wavelength in a way,” He hums nonchalantly, “He’s not entirely socially adept, the same as Jiminie who calls his girlfriend grandma quite often… but that’s beside the point. What do you think of him?”

The question shocks you. What were you supposed to think of him after just a few days spent with him? He teased you, and yet he also took care of you in a way. He made you feel safe and calm despite everything that’s spiraling into hell around you. He made everything just a little bearable. That much you can admit… to yourself.

“You’re cute, you know?” The brunette says, yanking you out of your thoughts with the surprising compliment. He laughs heartily as your cheeks brighten at the sudden proclamation. “Hyung must think that too… ah, looks like we’re here, watch out for yourself heading to the bar after. Give us a call if you don’t feel safe or something happens, yeah?”

Your eyes linger on his carefree smile, huffing as you finally thank him for the ride. There was no point in dealing with thoughts of Yoongi right now, you had to work and just get through the day for now. 

Hoseok makes an amused sound before he’s interrupted by his message tone, his eyes tearing away from your form disappearing into the restaurant to appraise his cell phone. 

‘The guy who was creeping out (Y/n) last night was snooping around her apartment suspiciously. We took him in for questioning, meet at the precinct after you drop her off.’

A sigh leaves his lips as he sets down his phone to start driving again. 

These two are so oblivious, he thinks.

 Yoongi sits at the metal table, elbows propped up on the hard surface with his digits laced one over the other, his mouth pressed against his hands. His eyes are hard steel as they gaze down at his files, courtesy of Jimin’s research, before looking up to the fidgety man. The other flinches at the attention, nearly shitting right then and there when the door suddenly opens to Hoseok. 

Lee Hoon. The exact same features from the other night, as well as the same habit of rubbing his hands together. He’d thought maybe he had a small creepy crush, but it didn’t even make sense for him to show up at your apartment. Was he a stalker? That night was the first time you’d interacted, right? Had he watched from afar prior? Followed you home? 

The thought made him more irritated than he expected as he skims over the details of him being an employee at your father’s company.

Oh.

Under his scrutiny, the poor guy’s ready to wet his pants just by Yoongi existing. 

“Lee Hoon. Correct?”

“Y-yes.”

“You work under the late (y/l/n)-ssi’s company right?”

“Yes, I was part of the few who stayed after the business fell into debt.”

Yoongi hums as Hoseok’s airy tone seems to relax the suspect greatly. It didn’t lessen the grating sight of his chestnut hue glaring into his very soul.

“Saves us some time, I suppose, we were planning on heading over to the company to ask a few questions about your late boss,” the blonde muses this time, lifting his chin just slightly in indignance, almost gazing down on him, “Might I ask what you were doing lurking around (y/l/n)-ssi’s apartment?”

The man doesn’t answer, but he takes this into stride.

“And at the bar? His daughter mentioned interacting with you, you even stood outside waiting for her.”

“That couldn’t have possibly been me,” He manages firmly, but Yoongi watches his movements carefully, the way his eyes flicker and dilate, even the slightest bit, “I’ve never spoken to or seen his daughters before.

“Mm, I see,” Hoseok hums, noting how riled up his partner is more than usual, “Let’s back track a little bit shall we? While working under (l/n)-ssi, was there any malicious intent… or well any negative blood from other workers?”

The man shook his head, “Not that I’m aware, Sir was a good man and an attentive boss as well. Everyone spoke highly of him, even as the company took a nose dive. He worked harder than the rest of us.”

That was no lie. His hand rubbing never seized out of anxiety, but he had visibly perked at the question. 

“I see,” Hoseok nods at the information, before he laces his fingers underneath his chin, a cheshire smile curling at his lips, “I don’t suppose you know what comes with being indicted for homicide, do you?”

“Capital Punishment.” The two words are broken apart with heavy pauses for emphasis as he watches the man squirm uncomfortably, “His poor daughters are left without a father, nor an acting mother… I can only imagine the monster who was involved in such thing, how he’s able to live with himself and touch his wife and kids without a single remorse. Even the sick person who would be such a monster’s accomplice, guilty by association amirite?”

“It really beats me,” Hoseok smiles kindly, as Jimin and Taehyung shiver through the one-way mirror. 

“Hyung can be really scary sometimes.” The brunette rubs his arms, goosebumps littering his skin as Jimin makes a noise of agreement. The guilt that spills over Hoon’s face is evident, especially when facing Hoseok’s sardonic smile. 

“He’s happy go lucky, but really, he’s two-faced,” Jimin blows a raspberry, “You’d think he’s on your side, but that makes it all the more easier to manipulate you into his hands.”

They immediately clamp their mouths shut as Hoseok continues to coax the man into spilling, that damned smile never leaving his lips. Anyone would see the smile of an angel, they saw the smile of a wolf in sheep’s skin.

That side of the older detective never really came out often, but it never failed to make the two youngest uncomfortable, the hair on the back of their necks rising. Normally playful and bright walnut eyes turned dark and cynical, no space for mercy or the kindness that feigned on his curled lips. 

“Hong Suk killed him! I-I, he brought me long to find the girl, and take the drugs he still had, but… but I couldn't find it… and he sent me back or else he’d kill me and my family!”

Did he mean you? They all thought, perking up at the statement.

Yoongi takes a break from the interrogation, leaving the room to greet Taehyung and Jimin on the other side of the one way mirror. He nods firmly to them, as he slips out his phone to check the time. 

“Picking up your girlfriend?” Taehyung sports a small smile despite just finding out your father’s killer. His partner elbows him with a slight frown. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“But you like her?”

Taehyung takes his silence as a yes. The blonde’s eye twitches in annoyance, “She’s my case.”

“That you have feelings for?”

“Taehyung I swear to God,” he frowns, directing his attention to Jimin who looks like he’s thinking way to hard. 

“Her being your case is different from liking her, hyung. I mean, I had always thought of my girlfriend as being nothing more than my case… I guess I didn’t realize until late that she meant a lot to me. You know… ‘cause Jungkook got to her before I could.”

“Invalid,” he deadpans. “I met her three days ago, I do not like her. That’s highly inappropriate.”

“That’s like saying Jimin’s relationship is inappropriate,” Taehyung snickers to Jimin’s annoyance, followed by a weak punch to his arm.

“We got together after I closed her case, you ass.”

“Still inappropriate,” The blonde shuts down once again as the door to the interrogation room opens.

“But you find her cute, no?” Hoseok smiles as he emerges from the room, glancing slyly back through the mirror to see the man reduced to trembles and holding his head in his hands.

“Did you break him Hobi, what the fuck?” Jimin balks, but the brunette ignores the younger’s statement.

“Yoongi, you can’t possibly tell me that you have no dick and didn’t feel anything when you both fell asleep two nights ago on the couch with (Y/n) wearing your shirt.”

The reaction is spontaneous. Taehyung and Jimin gasping none too dramatically as they bat their eyelashes in his direction, but he’s already turning around to hide the heat tinging his ears.

“Great, I have no dick, now fuck off I have to go pick her up from work,” He responds icily, shutting them up with a finishing glare over his shoulder. 

Liar. They all, even he himself, thinks. 

Fuck.

Is his last coherent thought however as the shift supervisor explains to him that you had stepped out for lunch but never came back, your things still there as well as your phone left on the pavement in the back. 

Everything comes crashing down, and despite his steel-like expression, he’s actually panicking and terrified. 

“Hoseok!” Yoongi’s voice strains into the phone, heart pounding in his ears as he jams the clip of the seat belt into the buckle. Dread is building up in his system, forehead breaking out into a sweat.

‘I got it hyung, don’t worry, he spilled the location of Hong Suk and his plans on kidnapping (Y/n), we’ve got our units ready to head out, I’ll send you the location.’

.

You feel sick to your stomach. Still dressed in your work clothes, body very inconveniently tied to the chair. When you had finally come to, confused and lethargic, he was there, watching you, eyes gleaming with an emotion you weren’t sure you even wanted to know - was… was that drool? The sight of slick falling from his mouth causes your stomach to lurch.

“Finally awake?”

Your mind is all over the place, barely able to concentrate, shaking off the remnants of being knocked out. For now, you didn’t know where you were, or who this man was. It didn’t even help being bound to your seat.

“You know your father left behind a real hefty debt you know? With him gone… who’s gonna repay me for saving his business?”

All thoughts come to a screeching halt when he steadily approaches and you become more aware of the room you’re in and the man - your assumed kidnapper. He wasn’t the one who had approached you at the restaurant if you remember correctly before you were knocked out. It looks no more than a regular bedroom consisting of: a bed with a pink comforter set, some stuffed animals, a desk with photo frames, a vanity, and a closet. It was the average girl’s room. And the man? Tall, (e/c) eyes that were wide as they scraped over your form, his body clad in slacks and a white dress shirt and tie. 

“What are you gonna do about it? Eldest right? And an illegitimate child at that,” his voice grates, saccharine sweet but more like needles in your ears. 

“How do you kn… D-don’t fucking touch me!”

Is what you would’ve said if it weren’t for the tape over your mouth. 

You wanted to lean away as far as could, nearly gagging as his hands reached out to caress your face. A blissed sigh comes from his almost manic smile, tension releasing from his shoulders as his fingers drag down lower, the curve of your neck, then over your shoulder. Your body trembles, the sense of fear filling you.

Stop, stop, stop, you think, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. 

Which he does to your surprise. His face comes closer this time, too close for comfort that his breath wafts over your face. You turn your head with a scrunch of your nose and he expects this, gripping your jaw harshly in his hand and whipping your head towards him. 

Where was Yoongi? Where were you?

“Did you even know? Your father fucked over a really important person to me you know. Drove her insane, killed her.” He whispers the last part at the shell of your ear, back away slightly to gauge the shock that morphs your face. Relishing in the way your brain works to piece together the puzzle, eyes darting as you analyze his face and the picture frames on the desk beside you. One in particular is of a family, a girl you recognize and a boy and their parents. The faces of their parents, scratched out with a permanent marker however.

The man laughs. Covering his face with his hand as he bends at the waist, keeling over and shaking with euphoria at your expression.

“Hah look at your face! Didn’t know that did you? Didn’t even know who your real mother was. You and your father. You killed her! My beloved sister. She was my world. My everything. But she was stupid. Falling for a business man like your father and leaving me, her beloved little brother by himself. Was pretty easy to take down his company to be honest. Lawsuits? Childsplay.” His eyes peek through the slits of his fingers, leering down on you.

“Which brings me back to my point, my cute little niece. What should I do with you? Not like I have any use for you anyway. I’ve got what I wanted, your father out of my way, and his business is now mine. Simple right? But don’t think you’ll be able to go after hearing all this, quite silly don’t you think? Where’s your little sister? She doing okay? Doesn’t matter.” He’s talking quickly, erratically, and you can barely keep up as he steps around the room with his hands gesturing wildly before coming to a stop. Eyes turned toward you, pointing almost accusingly, “You. You got her blood, her face, everything. Should I keep that for myself? God I wanted her to be mine, only mine, she was mine until your father stole her from me.”

Circling around you, he reaches out to tangle his hands in your hair. You yelp against the tape, scalp burning at the pull. He ignores the sound and instead sniffs the lock of hair and sighs blissfully. Yanking your head to the side, his nose presses to your neck, slithering his nasty tongue down your length as you struggle and attempt to shout against the tape over your mouth.

His nail drags across your neck slowly, harsh and painful, as though he were scraping off your skin. 

“Or how about I harvest your organs? I’ll keep your cute little head, fuck, you look just like her, it’s getting me a little... excited. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her.”

Tears pour from your eyes, breathing as much as you can through your nose before it’s all cut off when his fingers dig into your neck. 

“But you’re not her, you could never be her! Why did you have to be born? Why did you have to kill her?” Anger burns in his eyes, nearly spitting in your face as he accuses you. Your arms attempt to thrash against the bindings, nails biting into your palm as his bite into your throat.  

Your vision is starting to thin, blurring before he stops at the abrupt echo of the doorbell. There’s barely enough time to register what’s happening, your ears ringing at the sound of gunshots and shouting. The door to the room was thrown open, but Hong Suk had already retrieved a knife and placed it at your neck, other hand yanking your head back by your hair. 

“Let her go Hong Suk.” That’s Yoongi’s voice. You blink multiple times, trying to focus on the figures that seem to melt together in your haze. Yoongi’s face is blurry, but you recognize the frown that marrs his pretty face, fire in his eyes when he takes in the state you’re in.

“Isn’t she cute?” Your biological uncle grins, taking a long sniff of your hair bunched up in his hands. He takes extra care in dragging his tongue over your cheek, revelling in the way the blonde growls. 

“I was thinking of experimenting on her too, reduce her to a begging little bitch once she’s gotten a taste of this,” his eyes dart to the plastic bag of needles on the desk, causing the blonde to stiffen.

I’m gonna kill him, Yoongi bristles, to which Jimin notices and nudges him subtly but keeping his aim trained on the deranged male. It was no use for him to get worked up, you were being held captive, it only mattered now to extract you without getting you hurt or even killed.

“How’d you find us?” He asks flippantly, pressing the knife to your neck, but not enough that your skin breaks underneath the sharp edge. 

“Your accomplice broke after half an hour.”

A moment passes as he seems to connect the dots and figure out just who they were referring to.

“That useless piece of shit! I should’ve killed him earlier!” He fumes at the realization, “Couldn’t find the drugs or the girl, making me do all the dirty work.”

Hoseok notices the dart of Hong Suk’s eyes, licking his lips carefully. “Put down the knife, you’re surrounded with no one coming to help you.”

He’s was right, and even the man knew that as he forced down an anguished sigh as he let the knife falter and his hands raise above his head in defeat. There was no use in resisting when every gun in the room pointed at him. 

Even when he did make a jolt for the gun lying in wait nearby, Yoongi was quick to put a bullet through his hand, causing the man to fall to the floor, clutching his wrist with a pained cry.

.

Yoongi comes rushing to your side outside after detaining Hong Suk and others in the home, other officers currently searching the home for anything pertaining to the heroin found in your father’s room. 

You sit on a gurney by the ambulance, finishing up the last of the check up from the paramedic. Your eyes finds his, examining his distraught expression, heavy with guilt at the same time. This was more of Yoongi than you’ve ever seen. The anger and disgust directed at Hong Suk, the subtle relief when you were extracted safely. So many emotions in one man, that you never knew he could experience when he appeared rather cold during your first meeting. 

“Thank you, for everything,” You smile wearily as he makes his way over to you, placing a fond hand over your head. When had that become your guy’s thing? Especially after barely a week of knowing one another. 

“Just shut up for a second,” he mumbles softly, his other hand balling into a tight fist at his side. The hand on your head slides back to press your face against his neck. His heart beats and he lets out a long sigh of relief. All the tension from earlier dissipates.

“You did well, you were so strong, and I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner… and let him touch you like that...”

“You’re here now,” you mutter meekly, pursing your lips as you inhale the calming scent of his body wash. 

“I am,” his voice replies lightly, a slight hint of a chuckle but not quite. 

Nothing changes that fact that you still stay at Yoongi and Hoseok’s apartment for a while longer, although you grow busy with handling your father’s cremation and funeral (an event that has you and Hyemi crying nonstop)  and the court proceedings leading to the indictment of Hong Suk and his accomplices. Your father’s company had ended up being stripped, with Hong Suk as the acting head, he’d used it to further his drug production and distribution and organ trafficking (which is overturned to the narcotics unit and NIS respectively). Not that you could’ve done anything if you had inherited the company from your father. 

Yoongi finds you in your apartment looking through old photos of you, Hyemi, and your father. Most of which were pre-bankruptcy since your quality time together had taken a nose dive and joyful memories just weren’t made anymore. 

“What do you plan on doing from now on?” You look up, he’s there in casual clothing, hands shoved in his pockets of his slacks. Wow. The thought bubbled in your head, heart beating just a tad faster. He had always looked good to be honest, from the first you had met him on his post-date commute home, and when he came to watch you at the bar. Denim jeans and a plaid flannel over a plain tee? So simple and still drool worthy.

Okay.

No.

Not drool. The thought made you shiver, remembering Hong Suk that day.

Then you remember that you haven’t answered his question yet and you’re basically checking him out at this point while having an eternal thirst-driven panic.

“I don’t know to be honest,” You finally start shakily, brushing your fingers over a picture of your father tossing little Hyemi into the air, a huge smile on his face. His face was youthful and lively, no worries in the world and simply content. “My apartment is trashed and I don’t even know if I’d feel like staying here again when my dad’s gone and having to pay for rent and groceries by myself. I can’t have Hyemi staying with… her mom for too long as well.”

A moment passes and Yoongi takes a deep breath, soothing his nerves temporarily as he takes a determined step up to your side.

“What about staying with us… permanently?”

Your head snaps up to his, eyes widening a fraction as his warm gaze stared back. Heat rises to your cheeks, breaking the stare to look down at the frame in your hands with furrowed brows.

“That’s nice Yoongi, but I’m sure I’ve overstayed what’s acceptable of just a case, and I’ve got Hyemi too, your apartment is two roomed as well... ”

“You’re not just a case anymore,” He says simply when your voice finally falters.

“Why are you so concerned?”

Ouch.

You got him there. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, trying to read your tone and expression, but you refused to look up at him. Especially with your cheeks burning, you kept your head down. Were you teasing him? You had asked the same thing that night as well.

“Don’t make me say it.”

You prove your point by moving to leave, setting down the frame promptly as you did so, when his fingers wrap around your wrist to tug you back towards him.. 

“I hate you.”

You deadpan, “Very concerned, thank you for the past month Yoongi, but I should start figuring out what I’m going to do with my and Hyemi’s life.”

The utter frustration is so palpable in his low groan, you were so stubborn and he fucking loved it. 

“We’ll find a bigger place to stay (Y/n), we’ll take care of you two, you can quit that stupid bar job, start school again, you can rely on me.”

“Why?” 

God you were such a brat. His fingers squeeze your wrist briefly, hardened mocha staring into your own before he glances away. 

Do it.

It’s now or never.

“I like you, you stupid brat,” He finally admits. It had all pieced together that he stopped seeing you as a case to close. Although his time with you was short, way shorter than Jimin’s case with his own girlfriend, he fell face first into your charms. Annoying, but still goddamn charming. 

You look up at him, lip trembling as this flatten into a frown and you’re furrowing your eyebrows up at him, “You don’t mean that. I’m troublesome and bratty, all just like you said. We just met weeks ago, I only stayed with you because there was no other option and… and now you want us to stay with you… permanently? Why would you go so far? For someone like me?”

“I’m doing this ‘cause your sister’s cute,” He deadpans, and you almost take him seriously when he jabs your forehead with his index, “Fuckhead, did you not hear me? I like you.”

“Yoongi..” You gasp obnoxiously with a hand covering your mouth, “I didn’t know you were a pedophile.”

“I take it back, I hate you,” He grunts, “My offer still stands, we’ll take care of you, I’ll take care of you.”

Fuck. 

Were you crying?

Were you seriously about to cry because of him?

He anticipates this and looks away while casually opening his arms to beckon you close. Although, he wasn’t expecting you to throw yourself, face first, into his chest. His palm settles over your head in that way he does that emits a sense of security that just calms. You don’t know what it is about him patting your head, you were no dog, you just liked it. A lot. You liked him. A lot. That much was evident with the creeping blush dusting over your cheeks.

It never helped either when you found yourself gradually nuzzling back against the pressure of his hand, urging him to keep his palm there. If you ever did get addicted to something, it would be the bubble of feelings that erupt in your chest, the quickening pace of your heart when he’s around, the glow of your cheeks when he’s got you so very flustered. 

“Is this how you flirt?” You ask when you finally calm down, as though you weren’t just smothering your snot and tears in his shirt and coddling his hand like a mutt, “Pick up a girl off the street and ask her to live with you. No dates. You’ve skipped quite a lot of bases.”

“I didn’t pick you off the streets you brat, I picked you up when you fainted here.”

“Okay listen, I don’t need to remember that.”

“Busted through the officers at the door like an absolute badass, can you imagine how exasperated I felt when I realized this was your apartment, especially after our encounter the night before?” 

“Even now is kind of not the best way for me to confess my feelings like a stupid teenage boy, but you’re so fucking stubborn.”

“What do you even like about me?”

“Despite being annoying, and a brat with no ass, and absolutely fucking stupid--”

“I don’t even think you like me, you bitch, stop insulting me.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you, not even when we first met, I could only think about that dumb brat who managed to find trouble in an alleyway just begging to be kidnapped. To be honest. This was how Jimin found his girlfriend… he took on her case when she’d finally woken up from a coma… they didn’t necessarily like each other at first but he’s crazy about her. And I thought, fuck, this couldn’t be happening to me. This is a case, keep it professional. But then my dumbass offered you my shirt that night. You cooked for us. You’re so incredibly stubborn and hardworking, just for your sister and father, its admirable, I would go through the same for Jimin if I were in the same situation to be honest. When that bastard got to you before we could, I was scared. So fucking scared. He touched you, and I wanted to shoot him dead.”

He composes himself, emotions gone out of control just remembering the fear that built up inside him at the realization that you were gone and in the hands of the man who ordered your father’s death. Even Jimin had been surprised to see Yoongi directing more emotion than usual, especially when it didn’t have to do with his girlfriend. 

“Tell me it’s the same for you,” he whispers softly, so soft, you’re not sure he spoke. But he’s slightly embarrassed at his own courageousness and cheesiness. 

Your words fail you. Taking his hand on top of your head in your own hands, his heart jumps in his throat, were you going to reject him? After he finally stripped himself of his usually cold demeanor and calm facade? He was basically pouring his guts out in front of you, almost desperate to keep you with him when you’re the only girl, other than Jimin’s girlfriend, he’s expressed more than grimaces and frowns at. His heart pounds, like he’s fucking dying, palms clammy. He wanted to deny that he was ever attracted to a brat like you, but everything felt too domestic and he found himself caught in the snare of your fiery determination to work hard for your father and sister. 

He’d always thought that maybe he’d settle with a girl just as quiet as he was, collected, feminine, the type that he’d let dote on him and take care of him. But as you press a kiss to his cheek, the skin flaring with heat, he’s floored. 

“I might like you too…”

Safe to say that the boys won’t let Yoongi hear the end of it when he casually mentions that he and Hoseok found a new apartment with three rooms. He doesn’t even imply or mention your name and they’re hooting and hollering, Namjoon coming out of his office to join in on the fun to his exasperation. 

Please I needed this bonus ending:

You’re helping Hyemi organize her room, opening up the cardboard boxes with her things from your old apartment. Folding clothes and putting them into her dresser, you hum in response as she talks about the recent drama at school. You had sucked it up and thank her mother for taking care of her, stiffly smiling when she reminded you that she cared for you no matter what. It was just not an option at the moment to be able to forget how she abandoned you three. But you were still grateful that she took care of Hyemi for the past month, even with two kids of her own and new husband. 

“Mind if I steal her for a second Hyemi?”

A chirp comes from your sister in response and you barely have to look up to know that it’s your boyfriend. She shoos you when you make a face at her, giggling behind her hand as you cast scowls at her while Yoongi leads you towards your shared room. 

Despite only sleeping together once, on the couch at that, you could never get over the idea of jumping head first into a relationship and sleeping in close quarters immediately. Although, Yoongi had politely offered that he slept on the couch until you felt comfortable enough to sleep together. You were grateful for that, although he didn’t waste a second to tease you about being a middle school brat who couldn’t handle sleeping with a man, because hormones. In which you promptly dragged him to the bed to sleep together for the first time, although you could barely sleep a wink when he was just right there, breathing and existing. 

“Idiot, go to sleep, I can hear you overthinking,” He had whispered towards your back, voice raspier than usual and you just want to slam the pillow over your face and kindly die. It’s safe to say that he silently splayed his hand cautiously over your stomach, dragging you backwards until he’s flush behind you. Yoongi had waited until you protested or even moved away, but you relaxed against him, listening to your hearts beat in tandem and enjoying the way his thumb circling over your stomach soothingly. 

Hoseok finds you two the next morning and made it his mission to take a picture and send it to the other guys. A fact that Yoongi beats him up for.

Getting the new place, Yoongi had teased you endlessly about being fine with bunk beds since you were still a brat and could not handle your hormones around him. To which you punched him and demanded that one bed was fine, unless he couldn’t stand sleeping beside you without popping a hard one. 

Your room is for the most part put together, some boxes of miscellaneous items still yet to be put away. 

“What did you need?” You ask, not even realizing why he even needed to steal you from helping your sister.

“Nothing, really…” Arms wrap around your body and he’s pressing himself behind you, engulfing you in his warmth with his face tucked into the side of your neck. You weren’t convinced but he didn’t make any moves to say any more or move from his position.

“Yoongi.”

“Don’t make me say it,” he huffs.

“Yoongi.”

“Fuck off brat.”

He really just wanted to hold you in his arms after helping out Hoseok set up the living room and kitchen, but you’d just have to make him spit it out.

.

*I suddenly want to write one for Hoseok with the way I portrayed his character here... I also thought about just writing spin offs for the rest of the boys too. Minus JK, but then if I did... I do have a idea for him. :’) Just some afterward thoughts.

Just some tidbits of small details I added but weren’t really too important, but I wrote them in thinking they would be lol: 

I had mentioned in Hong Suk’s file that there’s a case found on the mysterious death of his and reader’s mom’s parents. He killed them. It’s not an important fact that I incorporated, but it was an idea to further that he had a sister complex and obsessed over her to the point of killing his parents when he felt threatened.

It was implied, but to make ends meet, Reader’s father dealt the drugs that Suk made - as a part of repaying him and manipulation out of guilt when Suk revealed to Reader’s father of his ties to Reader’s biological mother. It’s a small detail that didn’t have much importance, but I thought I would allude to the lengths the father would go to.

I realized lol that Hyemi wasn’t present for the rest of story, her role was only meant as the reason why Reader works so hard and keeps her emotions in check for the most part. Made her stay at her mom’s house because. PLOT. LOL I wasn’t just about to have Yoongi only give his clothes to reader and her sister is like tf am I?

I also tried to down play the attraction because they literally just met, but its a romance fic so there is still an attraction between the two and Yoongi just finds himself drawn to wanting to protect her especially when he admires her for being strong despite always getting on her nerves. The same goes for Reader who finds comfort with Yoongi protecting her when she stopped having someone to dote on her and protect her. Obviously I accelerate that by having a small time skip in the end where she still stays with them during the indictment and funeral service, so Yoongi and Reader are around each other for a little longer to develop more feelings. It’s just implied but I couldn’t find any other way to write it in lol...

I didn’t find a good place to mention in the bonus, but Reader will visit her biological mother’s cemetery at the crematorium. I’d like to say this may or may not be the same one that Interference’s MC’s family resides at, but well it’s just an idea. Despite not knowing her, she still pays her respects. Eventually, she comes around when Hyemi’s mother makes it her purpose to call every now and then to check on them. She was trying at the very least, especially for Hyemi, and it still never changed the fact that she grew up with her as her mother and not her own biological one. 

Anyhoot! Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed and please let me know what you think!! 

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Yamal Mission

In the first book IV quest of Dragon Raja appears to take place immediately after Luminous is installed as the Student Union President. However, this is not the case in the novels.

In the game, right after you celebrate Luminous’s new job, you are called in for a mission from EVA that will send you on a mission with Johann on the “Luxury Cruise ship.”

However, in the novel, Johann’s mission takes place a full year after these two scenes!!! I’m not sure why they did this, your character in the game should have reflected a whole year’s worth of new dragonslaying experience. At this point, your character is not a freshman, but a student well into their second year.

It also doesn’t make sense that Johann is in charge of the mission when the School Board tends to prioritize Hybrid bloodline over experience. For example, in Book 2, Johann is reporting to Luminous in the Quest to find the King of Earth and Mountains even though Luminous is otherwise inferior in everyway. It makes no sense that on a lesser quest of investigation, he’s your supervisor.

I just wanted to clarify these things to anyone who is going to do these quests in case they become confusing later.

Anyway, below is the translation of the second half of the Story Quest for 118

72 degrees north latitude, Greenland Sea

Under the dark night, the big scarlet boat rushed through the broken ice, leaving a 20 meter wide blue-black waterway behind.

This place is well within the Arctic Circle, and it is in the dead of winter. Although the sea surface is not completely frozen, the floating ice is all over the sea surface. Only this monster-class ice breaker dared to continue to rush towards the North Pole at this time.

The YAMAL, the world’s largest icebreaker, belonged to Russia. Two heavy water nuclear reactors provided it with almost endless power. The thick armored bow can easily smash a 6 meter iceberg. Among the icebreakers in the world, except for a few military monsters who identities cannot be disclosed, only this ship has sailed to the North Pole.

The tragedy of the Titanic will never happen to the YAMAL. What is an iceberg when you can just ram into it? The crew of the YAMAL has always  thought about the problem this way, which is why they can’t be hired by other polar cruise companies after they are retired... This group of people might end up driving an ordinary ship into an iceberg just out of habit.

“Hello! Hello! This is the YAMAL. We are sailing on he 72 degree North latitude line. Is there a dear friend nearby who can chat? I hope you’re an American with a sense of humor, ha! I met one German guy before who lived in Munich and he told a really cold joke. I didn’t get it until a week after I went ashore. Everyone thought I was crazy when I suddenly burst out laughing in the middle of a bar.”

A middle-aged Russian captain drank vodka straight from the bottle and yelled into the radio system, as if he were the host of an evening radio show.

The radio remained absolutely silent, without so much as static.

This was par for the course. In this season, there may be ten ships in the world that dared to sailed openly in the Arctic Ocean. At this moment, other ships  are either docked at military ports or scattered in other corners of the Arctic Ocean and the most advanced long-wave radio can only call a few hundreds of kilometers out.

In other words, they sail in a dead end space where almost no one can reach. A crew who frequently runs this route can suffer depression if they’re not careful and the best medicine on board for this malady is alcohol.

The captain was just trying his luck after having a drink. If he happened to be able to call other polar ships, usually everyone would change voyage a little and go for a short period of time, staying close enough to each other to talk over the radio for an hour or two.

“Oh! I can’t find anyone to chat with tonight!” The captain sighed, “Then I’ll go to the casino to try my luck, Mr. Chief Officer, this ship will e handed over to you temporarily!”

He staggered out, completely unaware that the first mate entrusted with the task was drunk and had been lying on the steering wheel for half an hour.

The casino on board was magnificent. The warm air was wrapped in the rich smell of whiskey and high-end perfume. The Belarusian girl, standing 5′9″ and wearing high heels acted as the dealer. A waiter who can speak various languages enthusiastically advised the guests to experience the richness of Tibetan wine and hand-rolled cigars from Cuba. A source of enormous wealth has created a small Las Vegas in this lifeless dead-end space.

The YAMAL was originally planned to be used as a scientific research ship, and it assumed the strategic goal of the former Soviet Union to head towards the North Pole. However, after the disintegration of the Soviet Union, this strategic goal also fell into disuse. The hugely-built ship could not be left idle and was put to civilian use, transformed into a luxury gambling ship, cruising on the Arctic Ocean all year round.

The Arctic Ocean is the high seas, you can’t help but gamble. Plus, you can enjoy the polar scenery on the way. So even if the tickets are expensive, the ones for this “Christmas Journey” are sold out.

There are eleven floors on this ship. Six floors have been transformed into luxurious cabins. At the moment, these cabins are full of 1,200 tourists, plus a crew of almost 1,000 people and service personnel. This ship can be said to be a small city floating on the Arctic Ocean.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please look out from the porthole on the left. You will see a medium sized iceberg with a height of more than 25 meters. Anyone who knows ice bergs must know that only 1/10 of the volume of an iceberg will surface. The underwater part occupies 9/10. This means that the height of the entire iceberg is almost 250 meters, of which more than 200 re below the sea surface.”

The navigator’s voice echoed in the hall. “That ice berg is the giant remains of the ice sheet, and feel off the arctic Ice cap 32 years ago and is always floating in the nearby sea. In summer, it will move further north, and it winter, it will be close to the edge of the Arctic Circle. The crew affectionately calls it the “Mary Girl” but as you can see, after 32 years of melting, the once hugeg “mary Girl” has only 250 feet of ice left. This year maybe the last time that Mary Girl will accompany us on our ice sea journey. Goodbye, Mary Girl, we will miss you.”

The wall-like ice cliffs slid past the hull of the cliffs, showing a dazzling blue color The white water fowl stood on top of the Mary Girl, staring blankly at the red behemoth driving by. After that, it floats far away.

Few tourists actually went to see the last side of the Mary Girl. Sexy Belarusian girls, hot gambling games, and mellow wine, kept their eyes on the gaming table.

The captain woke up a bit from the wine, pace to the porthole, looked out and let out a faint puff of smoke.

“Is it like seeing off an old friend?” A very young voice spoke next to him, but it was low with an iceberg-like feel.

The captain raised his head and was surprised to find that there was a young man in a black suit standing beside him, with black hair and an extremely clear face, carrying an elegant suitcase in his hand and a long black bag on his shoulders. He should be Chinese, but his accent is standard American English. The captain had been standing by the porthole for five minutes but didn’t notice when the young man approached him.

“It is, isn’t it? Always sailing in such lonely waters, we give each iconic iceberg a girl’s name in our hearts. Mary is like a bright girl in white, waiting for us in this sea forever. Seeing her, we don’t need to look at the theodolite to know which area of the sea we’re sailing in.” The captain emotionally explained. “So what’s your name?”

“Chu. Chu Zihang.”

“is there anything I can do for you? Mr. Chu.”

“I want to see the captain.”

“Then you are looking for the right person!” The captain smiled and straightened his captain’s hat. “The name’s Sasha Rebarko, Captain of the Yamal. Ready to serve you!”

“No. I don’t want to se you. I want to see the real captain.” Chu Zihang said lightly.

The captain was stunned, a sharp light flashing in his pupils. But it was fleeting.

“How can there be two captains on a ship?” He shrugged. “Only when I am sick and unable to perform the duties of captain will the chief officer take over. As as you can see, I’m as strong as an ox!”

“Your real name is not Sasha Rebarko, but Alexander Rebarko. You were a major of the Alpha Special Forces of the Russian Federal  Security Service. After retiring in 2001, you were hired by the real captain. The ship’s technology is actually very rudimentary. This ship is usually managed by the chief mate, but you are a proficient marksman, skilled in unarmed combat, and practiced in using almost all military equipment. So You’re responsible for the security of the ship.”

“You have been married once, now divorced. Your parents live in St. Petersburg. You have a 16-year old sister.” Chu Zihang’s one was steady like this big ship, but the captain’s heartbeat was as steep and tortuous as the icebergs outside.

He subconsciously bent his knees slightly and leaned forward and his hands drew into his sleeves. This was an attempt to grasp the dagger hidden inside, but he felt empty.

This kind of “muscle memory” came from being trained to be very skillful with a knife. Major Alexaner Rebarko, when he was wearing the Alpha Force uniform, he would have had a dagger in his sleeve at all times.

But he hasn’t used the name Alexander in more than ten years. In order to sever his relationship with the past, he took great pains to change. He changed his address, phone number, broke off contacts with old friends and hired hackers to break into Alpha Forces serves to delete all his files. He performed a bit of facial surgery... Since then it was like Alpha Elite Major Alexander Rebarko had never existed in this world and was replaced by senior captain Sasha Rebarko.

Now the past buried by his own hands has been completely restored in the cold and plain narration of this young man, as if he were some sort of guardian angel that had seen his whole like with his own eyes.

Anyone, as long as he has existed in this world, will always leave countless marks, which can not be easily modified.” Chu Zihang finally said. “As long as the Cassell Academy is interested in anyone, they can always be investigated and found out.”

The people around them flowed like water around rocks.

After a long silence, Sasha’s body relaxed from being tight as a bow. He looked at Chu Zihang again. “Cassell Academy?”

Of course, they can’t really use force in such a public space. The offensive posture was just Sasha’s stress response.

Chu Zihang flipped the collar of his suit and showed Sasha the silver coat of arms pinned inside it. On the coat of arms was a huge tree with lush branches on one half and completely withered on the other half.

“I’ve never heard of it, and never seen that emblem.” Sasha shook his head.

“I think the captain may recognize this emblem. I’m referring to the real captain.”

“What do you want?”

“I just want to meet the captain. I know there is a hidden rule on this boat. The person who gambles the most is eligible to go up to see the captain.” Chu Zihang raised the suitcase in his hands. “I prepared funds before I arrived here.”

Sahsa glanced at the sturdy suitcase. The suitcase seemed to be right. High gamblers liked to carry such suitcases, full of two million dollars in cash. Two million dollars is not a lot. Some gamblers have subordinates to help carry a dozen or so cash boxes in and out. But if he just wants to meet the captain, two million should be fine.

“Okay,” Sasha shrugged. “It’s okay to take you to the captain, but I must first wish you good luck.”

“Wish me luck?”

The captain doesn’t like to see outsiders very much. If he sees an outsider and doesn’t like him, that guy will be brainwashed. Brainwashed people end up a little messed up if it doesn’t go right.” Sasha said. “I don’t want you to be so unlucky.”

[treasure-my-aurora]

All Out of Love

♥ Jisung/Minho (Chanlix- mentioned)

♣ Summary:  Jisung was unsure where this sudden attraction to his best friend and groupmember came from. Was it the time when Minho decided to prance around through the dorm in a pair of basically translucent basket ball shorts that did nothing to cover up the apparent bulge between his legs? Or the time when they sat together and watched a movie, naked thighs rubbing together and Jisung wanted nothing more than just straddle those thighs and ride the older until they forgot their own names...

♠ Rated: Explicit. First time blowjobs, love confessions, canon compliant, porn with a lot of plot 

♦ Words: 6,151

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They were alone, just laying on Jisung’s bed. The dorm was quiet, and the sun kept getting lower by each passing minute, casting the bedroom in a soft, blushed, golden light. Yet another packed day had passed and the older of the two had been away on dance practise and music lessons all afternoon. Jisung himself, had been lonely and down in a low mood the entire day, barely scribbled down a lyric that could… probably become a song after a lot of fine adjustments, while the rest of them worked on individual pieces of music as well or just had a day off. He thought that he’d held up a nice act throughout the day, acting like he didn’t just wanted to crawl back underneath his blanket and forget about all the missed opportunities that had passed by, the fact that they missed out on a whole tour, and that they were all basically stranded at their dorm. He didn’t have to say a word though, when the dance line had gotten home. Nearly falling through the door but successfully picking themselves up again when the smell of tteokbokki and samgyeopsal made their stomachs growl- Minho just met his eyes instantly and gave him a soft smile, as if he’d missed his company as well. Jisung was just about to start eating and had paused mid-air when his friend met his eyes from across the room and watched him for a few seconds like that, with the corners of his lips curled up, hair sticking to his neck and the cap he’d been wearing almost damp from sweat, and pushed the bowl of food he was about to start eating, into the older’s hands instead with a small smile before making another one for himself. His friend sat down next to him, thankful and intoxicatingly sweet talking like always, smelling strongly of deodorant and musky sweat and that little something, that… warmth that was his own. Jisung didn’t remember what they had talked about during the meal, he’d agreed and disagreed at some points but that was pretty much it. Minho’s back was lazily pressed against his chest during the entire time they ate and he couldn’t help but inhale slowly and steadily through his nose, feeling like a creep but couldn’t stop himself non the less when his heart fluttered happily at the smell that surrounded him. Minho noticed his distance in the conversation though, he must’ve, because he came and visited him just shortly after they had cleaned up the trash that was left after the take-away. Fresher after a quick shower and dressed in soft new clothes. Jeongin only gave them both a small, knowing smile before he unplugged his charger and took both it, and his phone with him out of the room, closing the door after him. Hyunjin’s loud, surprised shout could be heard from the other side of the dorm barely ten seconds later and Jisung couldn’t help but snort out a small chuckle. “Place for one more?” Minho had asked while he closed the distance between them, already knowing that the younger wouldn’t say no and Jisung only hummed back a low “Of course” while he tried his best not to stare at the unbelievably unfair way the setting sun outside successfully shot it’s last beams straight onto the older through the window, making the shine in his hair and glow of his flushed, exhausted body seem ethereal. So lithe, and kissed just for a second or two before he placed his foot on the edge of the bed, took one big step over the younger, curled up on the pillow next to him like a tired cat and fished up his phone from the pocket of his sweats. Jisung went back to what he was doing and soon enough, music from a playlist with songs they both enjoyed played softly from the older’s phone. Just a few minutes passed in quiet calmness, ten or fifteen at most, before Jisung sighed dramatically, swung one leg over the older’s hips and locked his phone, “Hyung, I’m boooored” Minho glanced at him for just a second when he whined before going back to what he was doing. “But hyuuuung…” “Entertain yourself then” the older answered bluntly, not breaking eye contact from the twitter feed again while he aimlessly scrolled through it and Jisung turned to him with a small frown. It was embarrassing, since they’d laid like this for such a short while, but he still got completely caught up in the moment of it, of Minho, like he’d done countless times before. Mind turning completely blank while his gaze rested on the other’s features- of them just laying so close together, bodies pressed up against one another, legs entangled now since the older pressed even closer to him, Minho’s right hand fingers seemingly unconsciously caressing the younger’s knuckles, and his face so close to Jisung’s that he only had to scoot forward a decimetre before he could place a soft kiss against his jaw. … He didn’t though. Mostly because he was worried of what would happen if he did. If Minho would just give him a disappointed look, get up and leave, or if he would get angry because Jisung would finally cross that invisible line in their friendship that separated them from being an actual couple. There’s was small stubble on it, barely covering his jawline with short, fine, prickly hair and he frowned again, found himself reaching up and stroked the back of his finger gently over it while wondering quietly to himself if he’d ever be brave enough to find out how it would feel against his lips. The sudden touch caught the older off guard and he turned and gave his best friend a soft questioning smile. Like he didn’t mind the affection and rather just wondered where it came from and if Jisung, perhaps, needed more of the physical contact they both had missed throughout the day. He met the younger’s gaze, brown meeting brown and damn it- what the fuck was Jisung supposed to do? He was bored out of his mind, constantly horny like any other average libido, young adult living in the same house as seven other equally horny guys without the space or time to even masturbate every once in a while, depressed like a middle aged man who’d been divorced twice and lost his kids, but thankful that they could at least go to the studio so they didn’t had to be locked inside their dorm all the time, but it was not enough. He longed to see other people, to live normally and not be scared to death that any of his friends or family would get affected by the raging bullshit that was currently happening. No, it was not even nearly enough to pull him out of the fact that he was currently spending more time with his members than he’d done since pre-debut… don’t misunderstand- He loved them. He really did and it was all good some days- even enjoyable when they spend a full day having Mario Smash Bros tournaments or alike, but also damn near infuriating because they were all close as brothers who constantly picked on every annoying feature of each other and conflicts quickly arose. He tried to keep himself busy, wrote a new song just for the joy of it, even recorded it and happily waited for it to be uploaded to their YouTube channel, and yet, there was just a big gaping hole in the centre of his chest that craved to be filled with something. Well… he knew what he longed for even though it was impossible at the moment- the big stage and Stays from around the world. Their shouting voices, singing along, dancing, gaining happy memories and having a good time. He even missed the stress of going abroad, the rush of arriving to yet another new city. The way his heart hammered so hard that he could hear it in his ears when they went out to do a performance… “Jisungie?” Minho’s voice pulled him out of his daydreaming, and he chuckled nervously when he realised that he must have stared at his friend while being lost in his daydreaming. “Got lost in thought, I’m good” he mumbled, and shifted slightly against the older’s body. Minho was a familiarity against him that felt as natural as breathing but somehow, he just couldn’t get comfortable again. He went back to his phone, squirmed when he became hyper aware of Minho’s naked arms pressing against his own, the older’s gentle breathing at the side of his face and the fact that his friend was still so unbelievably cosy warm from both dancing all day, plus the apparent hot shower he’d had prior to him coming knocking, didn’t exactly help. Oh, and of course, how could he forget; his quite newfound (yep, he totally blamed the quarantine) fascination of the older… more so than the brotherly familiarity that he’d previously felt. A bigger, more intensively burning… love? Fondness? Affection maybe? than the family love and care that had always been there. He wasn’t even sure of how it started, if the “love” part came months ago and he first now started to think about the older’s body in a more… objective way than earlier or if the love had always been there and moments here and there these past few weeks only emphasised the strong affect the older had on him. He didn’t even know where the sudden, intense attraction came from. If it was that particularly hot day four weeks ago when Minho decided that walking around in only a pair of basketball shorts that did hid exactly nothing from the wandering eye, was a perfectly fine idea (yes, nothing. Especially the free hanging bulge that was very much apparent behind the thin mesh material. It wasn’t that Jisung was even looking very hard, Minho was just a good looking athletic guy with the nicest legs, those thighs, and a *cough* perfect upper body *cough* completed with abs and a hard chest that was perfect to cuddle up against) … or it could’ve been that evening around that time as well when they decided to watch a movie and, somehow, the both of them ended up sharing the same side of the couch. Way too close for Jisung to be fully comfortable with half; because he hadn’t been able to jerk off for days, and half; because the constant lovey dovey bickering between his twin in crime and leader, mixed with him finding them both heavily making out on the kitchen counter while Felix tried out yet another one of his many recipes- sadly reminding him that he was living a much more “human contact” less life than them. Minho had placed an arm around him just as the climax of the movie was going down, one leg thrown over Jisung’s and the warmth of his own naked thighs rubbing against the younger’s was making him dizzy and light-headed and insanely aroused, but he cared for Minho, and it just made the whole situation like 100 times worse because he couldn’t just blame the racing somersaults in his stomach- or the heavy flutter of his heart- on just his own crazy, up-in-the-clouds horniness. Couldn’t stop the fantasies of him just straddling those thick, muscly thighs when they had a moment alone. Couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking gorgeous his lips were, with that perfectly curved cupids bow and full lower lip and how agonizingly badly he wanted to taste them. Couldn’t stop the dreams that played over and over again during a few intensely hot minutes after he woke up. Dreams of him on his back with the older above him, on him, inside of him and he simply let out a deep sigh after realizing that it was a recurring thing after having the same sort of dream four nights in a row. He glanced at the older next to him where they laid and thanked god that there was no such thing as mind readers because he’d surely be fucked if Minho would be able to hear all the shit that swirled inside his deprived mind. He swallowed and tried to get back at his phone but Minho’s breathing next to him was too close now, way too close and he sighed, deeply unhappy with his situation, the fact that his dick had started to spring to life with all the intense thoughts about what he wanted to do to the older and made a move to sit up. Completely giving up on the fact that the comfortable moment they’d had would feel the same again. But a hand around his wrist stopped him just as his feet hit the floor. “Don’t go… please. I don’t know why you’ve stared intensely up at the ceiling for the past minutes but… if there’s something…” Jisung looked back at him, eyes peeking down on the hand around his wrist before he made eye contact with his friend, “If you need to talk, not necessarily having a deep talk but just… about anything. I mean-” the older stuttered and swallowed hard before giving him a sweet smile, “Just stay with me. I- I need you” Minho begged and the younger inhaled sharply, The older wasn’t one to ask such a thing, and especially not beg- not something that was so straightforward and upright (that was all Jisung himself and his highlighted neediness through and through) and there was something more in his voice that only emphasised the words that fell from his lips. Something shameful, like he’d just told a secret. Minho himself looked equally surprised over what he’d said and the hand that gripped him hard let him go just as fast. “Ok, I’ll stay” the younger answered with a gentle smile curled around a voice that wavered only slightly, while his heart thumped hard enough to get stuck in his throat when the older scooted closer to the wall again to make place.

I know we feel the same, rea-la-lize Don't think too hard about what you are going to say, just reply My slightly playful metaphor I wonder how you will interpret it

The lyrics in the song that played from the older’s phone gave the whole moment an even more embarrassing feeling and Jisung could feel his cheeks flush when he laid down with his face towards his friend again. Their bodies found each other before their minds could stop them- like two magnets getting close enough to slam back into one another and Jisung had to stop himself, again, from wiggling too close, from just reaching out and pull the other in. “Do you remember uh… when we just got back from the tour a two months ago?” Minho asked, with one hand pressed between his cheek and the pillow while the other sneaked around the younger's waist and Jisung only nodded, a bit breathless from the weight of his friend’s arm around him, “Do you remember what happened that night?” the older continued and he nodded again, a bit more puzzled. They’d been tired and even though it wasn’t even that late, jet lag was like a punch in the face. Chris had excused their messy, fatigued minds and just let them all leave the dirty laundry as tomorrow's problem before preparing for bed to get back some lost sleep from travelling over time zones. Jisung himself was exhausted and decided to watch some tv and relax a bit before bed. Laying with his head on the armrest and curled up underneath a blanket, one channel seemed even more dull than the next and he sighed with boredom while member after member bid him goodnight. Minho had been quiet when he laid down next to him while Chris flicked off the lights in the living room on his way to the bedroom, giving them both a soft smile while doing so. Or well, the older laid himself down on him to be more precise, and even though he knew that the rational thing would be to ask Minho to please get off because every muscle in his body hurt- he was simply way too tired and way too proud to say that he’d missed times like this, when they could just be close without worrying about oversleeping the next day, or having to worry about another roommate, or making sure that they slept properly and didn’t made a harder work for the styling and make-up noonas the next day. “Why aren’t you going to bed?” Minho had asked after some time while he drew small circles over his sweatshirt clad chest with one finger and Jisung had answered something half-assed about him being unable to go because the older was laying on top of him, “I can move… but you have to do something for me first” the older had said slowly, like he was still considering what he wanted to say, “What?” Jisung had asked, half annoyed by the other’s sudden trial and finally turned his gaze towards his friend. Minho’s eyes glinted with mischief and the younger might have gotten worried of this “thing” that he had to do, if it wouldn’t have been for the unsure smile on his lips. “I wanna kiss” he’d said in the sweetest voice he could muster and Jisung froze underneath him. “What?” he asked again, voice breaking from surprise this time but Minho just stuck his tongue out with a bright grin before sitting back up and walked off to his room like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in his friends lap. Jisung stayed where he was though, in… shock? of what had happened. But Minho never brought it up the next day, or any time afterward and the younger was sure that he must have been too tired to remember what he’d suggested. At least that’s what he thought. “Do you remember what I said… back then?” Minho looked both like he really enjoyed himself, eyes glinting dangerously dark, full of teasing seduction, much like he looked on stage and his body seemingly getting closer to his friend by the second- but also like he’d rather be anywhere else than next to him at that moment, eyes flickering and feet rubbing across the sheet like he wanted to run away. But he stayed his ground and only inhaled sharply when Jisung placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “I wanna kiss” the younger’s voice stuck a little in his throat and he felt like he he’d gone back to the teenager who just met Minho again. Scared and nervous while excitement bubbled adrenaline through his body. “Yeah, that’s what I-” the older started but was quickly interrupted, “No- I mean… I wanna kiss- I wanna kiss you” Minho opened his mouth but no sound came out and Jisung only chuckled under his breath while he scooted a bit closer, eager and much more confident now when the older seemed to lead him on (cryptically, yes, and much less forward than the younger would be but that was just Minho) They were close enough to feel each other’s breath on their faces when the younger stopped, “Is this ok?” he asked, a bit worried still that he was coming on too strong but Minho only smiled, all crinkly eyes, scrunchy nose, tongue pressing against his upper teeth and lips curled up in a way that was just so Minho that the younger couldn’t help but close the very last distance between them. The older tasted off the same kind of bubbly happiness that he felt himself and a small startled groan slipped between their lips when the surprise of Jisung’s sudden determination slammed into him. Hands wandered up to grip onto hair and clothes with a neediness to pull the other closer. “If you only knew, hyung” Jisung mumbled between heated desperate noises for more, the wetness of lips moving against one another and Minho’s hitched gasp when he rose himself up slightly, braced his upper body on his elbows and let the younger take the lead even though he was the one getting pressed onto the mattress, “I knew” the older whispered back between their lips, “that’s why I tried to trigger a reaction from you back then” “Wait. What?” Jisung fully separated them and looked up on his friend but only received a smug, lopsided grin, “Yeah, but I chickened out when you seemed so stunned. I knew that you’d probably be surprised but speechless?” he snorted out a small chuckle, “I honestly thought I made a mistake” The younger rolled his eyes and leaned up to capture the other’s lips again, the tip of his tongue sneaking out to taste him while he let out a small noise of frustration, “We could’ve been kissing for weeks” Minho hummed something back in agreement before letting his fingertips run down the side of the younger’s face, over those cute cheeks that he adored so much, his soft jawline and revelled in the hitched gasp that slipped between his lips when he grabbed a hold of his chin to coax the other into deepening the kiss. It was slow, maddening and agonizingly wonderful. Sweet, with Jisung getting braver by the second underneath him, pushing up against the older in a silent competition of who would brake first. Who would lose the last compress of control. Who would give in completely. Minho hesitated, swallowed when yet another sweet groan broke between them and held back a small noise of delight when the younger pressed his hardening cock against his thigh. His breath hitched, paused for just a second when he realized that his friend had noticed his tense body, Fuck, were they really going to have sex right here? In Jisung’s bed with an unlocked door and the members just a wall away? Jisung seemed to think the same because he paused as well, longer than the second Minho had, and looked up at the older with eyes that were so impossibly dark that Minho had to swallow hard. “I want you” the younger said, bluntly and with a choked-up breath in his throat. He separated his legs and Minho, who already laid half draped across his body, found himself almost automatically slotting down between them. He bit his tongue when his friend locked his ankles around his lower back, pulled him in closer in the process and damn it, of course Jisung had to wear short gym shorts and a tee that did nothing to shelter away the honeyed, rough skin of his, covered with fine dark and so boy-like in a way that was driving Minho insane. “Want you in any way you’ll have me. Fuck, I just wanna be yours” Jisung groaned and raised his hips up to rub against him. The desperate motion, combined with the begging voice of the younger, was like a punch to the stomach and Minho exhaled out a deep whine. He always used to take pride in his calm and collected self. Even when he felt threatened and was endlessly teased by the younger ones in the group- he executed his warnings with a contradicting, peaceful smile. He was undisturbed by most things, hardworking and naturally chill when it came to his own emotions. But the way that Jisung made him feel at the moment though… licking his lower lip into his mouth before nibbling on it with a shyness that made his heart ache, his fingers playing with the lining of Minho’s sweatpants, only waiting for the queue to pull them down. Fuck, it was driving him crazy, in a way that Minho had never felt towards anyone or anything in his entire life. Crazy in the way that he wanted to scream to the whole world just how much he loved him, how much he would cherish him until the day he died. Crazy in the way the younger felt against his body, twitching with arousal and so fucking gorgeous with that small flush on his cheeks that Minho could feel his own body shiver, like a predator that was just about to pounce his prey. The fact that they still both wore clothes was beyond him, he needed the younger now. “T- touch me hyung, please” Jisung begged and something inside him snapped. He leaned down, hovered over the younger who immediately responded the second Minho shoved his hands underneath his tee. Jisung was strong, he knew that, and the abs on his stomach was a clear result of hours upon hours put in the gym, but it still surprised him- to be able to touch his friend in the sort of way he’d never done before. Fingertips roaming over the other’s stomach, muscles clenching under his touch and he was impatient, he knew that, but at the same time there was really no holding back. No fear of rejection, because Jisung buried the back of his head further into the pillow with a growling moan. Not a single move made that would indicate the other being uncomfortable, so he rid the younger’s shirt up higher, up until his collarbones and savoured in the way that his friend groaned softly to the small, butterfly light kisses he pressed on his abdomen before they travelled up over his chest. Tongue licking one nipple between his teeth, nibbling on it gently before he held back a satisfied smirk when Jisung had to hold his breath when he repeated the action on the other one. “We don’t have much time” he hissed out and Minho nodded to himself, lost in the way that his friends cock rubbed against his lower stomach before he sat back up, “What do you wanna do?” Minho asked, hoping that the younger could put words on the craving that burned so harshly inside him. “I want your hands on me, do- do what you want” It was shameless, the many thoughts and possibilities that showed up in Minho’s head like a rolling tape, but he quickly just stuffed them all into a box to be able to even move again. His cock strained against his underwear and pure need was choking him up by now but he still wanted to take it easy, to not rush because he’d wanted this for so long now that he’d be damned if he destroyed it by being too eager, “Hyung, please” Jisung begged again and he didn’t hesitate this time before plunging his hand into the younger’s gym shorts and closed his hand around his leaking cock. “Fuck” the curse got dragged out and Minho could only watch with wonder while his friend’s back arched from the bed, “Just like that” he exhaled and whined, actually whined, when Minho started to jerk him off, Beads of pre-cum quickly slicked his index finger and the older couldn’t help but smirk to himself. This was all his, at least in this moment- from Jisung’s tiny moans and sharp exhales to the way that Minho’s other hand cupped just perfectly around his hip when he held him down. He captured his lips and the younger groaned into it, his own hands eager to start feeling up the older as well. It was unceremoniously, with the younger’s trembling fingers reaching into his sweatpants before they closed around his cock as well- unceremoniously but so damn good. Minho’s head rolled back on his shoulder’s when Jisung started to move his hand as well, matched up the pace that the older had set and he was lost, utterly and completely lost. It must have been ages since he touched himself, or he was just way, way too pent up on the feelings inside him but he felt himself twitching hard in Jisung’s hand, unable to stop the pre-cum that flowed down his shaft. “Hyung, can I taste you?” Yep, he was gonna die. Fast and clean like an immediate swipe of a knife to his heart. “Yeah, of course” he breathed out and Jisung only smirked at him while they changed positions and his head hit the pillow with a soft thud. The younger grabbed a hold of his sweatpants and pulled them down swiftly before he could protest. A gentle snicker broke between the youngers lips and shame showered over him like a sudden cold rain, “Goin’ commando, are we?” Jisung asked and Minho swallowed hard, both from relief that the younger wasn’t making fun off him and the fact that he was just centimetres from his hard, leaking cock. “Yeah, I uh…” he paused, unable to process words while his friend closed his hand around him again and gently gave him a few gentle tugs,   “Hyung, I… I’ve never done this” Jisung sounded small all of a sudden, embarrassed from his lack of experience but Minho only gave him a gentle smile, relief in his chest from the fact that he wasn’t alone in this. That their first time being like this was together, “Me neither” he said sincerely, “Just uh, do what feels comfortable” Jisung nodded, seemingly feeling better with the knowledge that Minho didn’t know what to do either, carefully stuck his tongue out to kitten lick a small bead of pre-cum that dripped from the tip, and Minho couldn’t help the deep groan that slipped past his lips. The younger hummed back, delighted by the reaction and yep, Minho was definitely gonna die because despite his inexperience, Jisung just opened his mouth and took the older down as far as he could, like he’d done it a hundred times before. A sharp gasp broke the wet sound of Jisung sucking him off and he buried his fingers in the younger’s hair to have something to hold onto, something that could push him down on the ground again. “You’re doing so good, Sungie” he praised and felt his heart flip hard in his chest when his friend met his eyes behind dark, full lashes. Eyelids heavy with arousal while those pink, beautiful lips stretched around his cock so good that he had to push himself down into the mattress to prevent the urge of thrusting up further into that warm, wet mouth of his, “You sure you haven’t done this before?” he asked with a grin when Jisung hallowed his cheeks and sucked hard, his hand jerking him off at the same time to cover what he couldn’t fit in his mouth and the vibrations from the deep, proud chuckle of the younger sent shivers up his spine. He was just about to lose it completely, just seconds from coming when a sudden shuffling outside the door stopped their movements immediately. He slipped out of Jisung’s mouth with a soft pop and hissed loudly to the fright that exploded in his chest, the relief when the footsteps kept shuffling and the chaos in his mind when his friend just as quickly took him in his mouth again. It didn’t take long, despite their little scare and Minho only managed to whine out a soft “I’m coming” before Jisung let him go and he came all over his own abdomen and chest, back arching and a soundless scream leaving his lips while darkness enveloped him in warmth. “Come here” he whispered, still dazed out from the post-orgasm, jelly-like feeling that spread through his limb and Jisung smiled heartily, “It’s fine, hyung. You don’t have to” “I want to” he interrupted, a bit too blunt to be coming from him and would probably regret his own impatience if Jisung didn’t look like he did at the moment- way past horny himself, with his lips red and blood filled from all the work he put in while sucking the older off, hair dishevelled, eyes dark and heavy and fuck it, he loved him so much that he’d let the younger do anything as long as he could look at him with that fucked out expression every day. Jisung did as he was told without another word, a small blush on his cheeks while Minho grabbed a dirty tee from the floor and frowned with discomfort when he dried most of the cum off himself in the meantime. “Hyung, wait” Jisung placed his hands over the older’s when he reached up to pull down his gym shorts, He looked up, surprised, maybe even a bit disappointed but Jisung only nodded towards the door, “What if someone walks in?” He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, “You think about that when I’m the one who’s gonna sit with my ass in the air and mouth around your cock” “Well, I just don’t- I don’t want the others to see you like that” Jisung explained and the older felt a bit stupid. Jisung was actually concerned about him as a hyung and the fact that the untold hierarchy of the house might change if anyone saw him in such a compromising position. “I’m doing this because I want to” he said simply and didn’t allow the younger to say another word before he pulled down his gym shorts and underwear. “Fuck” Jisung mumbled when Minho closed his hand around his cock, laid down comfortably and then took him into his mouth with one careful swipe of his tongue, It tasted like nothing he’d ever tasted before. Tangy, musky and but still exactly how he always imagined Jisung to taste like. Eager, trembling fingers immediately buried into his hair and he groaned loudly when the younger harshly pulled on it while he swallowed down more and more of him. “I wish you could fuck me next time, hyung. Bet you’d feel so good inside me” Minho choked slightly and swallowed hard to try and cover it up when the words slipped from Jisung’s mouth as if he talked about the weather, “You feel so good now too but-” he made a noise as if he was embarrassed but Minho didn’t dare to look and instead just closed his eyes while he sucked harder, pushed the other’s cock down further into his throat… “I want that hyung, I’ve wanted it for so long. For you to just bend me over the nearest surface and fuck me. I don’t care if the other’s see or hear. I just-” He inhale sharply and Minho recognise the shudder in his thighs because he did the exact same thing when he was close enough to almost taste the oncoming orgasm. “Don’t stop” Jisung moaned out, deep and desperate and thrusted up, carefully, into the older’s mouth, only stopping to push Minho away when he came all over himself as well, body spasming and eyes rolling back slightly. “I love you” Minho said, mindlessly, while wiping his mouth from spit, just as the younger opened his eyes again. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, not at all, and Jisung seemed to believe that it was a joke, “And I loved how you made me feel. Fuck, I needed that” “No I-” Minho paused and realised that he might as well be honest now when he’d already opened that can of worms, “I mean it. I love you” “What?” Jisung asked, disbelief in his voice while he tucked himself back into his shorts, fully confused now, “Yeah, in a totally romantic kind of way, for nearly two years now” “I love you too” Jisung answered, feeling a bit lightheaded but didn’t know if it was because he’d come harder than he’d done in months or because the sudden confession was like a breath of relief in his worried mind. Loving Minho had always been as easy as breathing and he never thought he needed a special moment to say so, but he guessed that this moment was as perfect as any, with the older’s body against his own, his laboured breathing, his flushed skin against his own, “I love you too” he said again, and gave his friend a big smile. He was just about to get up and plant a gentle kiss on the other’s lips when a small knock on the door made them both freeze up. “Are you two finished or?” It was Jeongin, a bit nervous and bothered from the tone of his voice and Jisung let out a gentle laugh while he felt his cheeks flush from embarrassment, made sure that they were decent and shouted back a, “Yeah, come in” “Dear god, guys, please open a window. I’m gonna sleep in here” the youngest complained and was met by laughter from the couple on the bed, “Sorry Innie-ah” Jisung sang, and Minho held onto his friend tighter, feeling the light feathery feeling of serenity rest upon him when he watched as Jeongin tried his hardest to not break the serious expression he forced on his face.

[toongrrl-blog]

Pink Power Rankings (Pt. 1)

Hi I am here to look at famous pink outfits in film and TV history and figure out: is pink a power color for this character? I choose to leave out obvious ones like Pink Power Ranger because, duh it’s in her name and this is gonna be a long list. Also avoiding real-life figures and onscreen depictions of real life figures because keeping it short (and I don’t have the time)

Pictured above are the bridesmaids at First Daughter Luci Baines Johnson’s wedding in the 1960s. 

Mimi Tachikawa

She is the most obvious pick from Digimon and the girl most decked out in pink. To paraphrase this video from The Take: there was once a show about a strange world beyond our own, somehow a group of preteens were pulled into this world not of their accord, including a young 10 year old girl. Along with her friends they were exposed to the elements and fought monsters out to harm them, she was sexually harassed by two clearly adult digimon, uncomfortable with the elements, often had to put up with toxic masculine BS, and was often snarked at by the story and even some of her own friends for being so girly and into pink. Of course some audiences and the story were overcome with sympathy with this girl pulled away from a familiar world...

Just kidding! They weren’t and some audiences even gave her a lot of shit and this has only been recently examined. For a while Mimi Tachikawa had a problem that seemed to be well known by a lot of female characters, like Carmella Soprano, Betty and Megan Draper, Margaret Sterling, and yes Skyler White. Put a flawed, complicated woman character alongside more charismatic (and male) characters and she will be disliked (despite the audience being more likely to be she than the menfolk held up as icons). 

This is sad because looking back, Mimi was truly a badass all along: she sticks up for herself, speaks up for herself, she is unapologetic about her love of pink and girly things, she is quick to tell guys when they are getting in her space, she’s honest, she lets Tanemon go on and fight with only a sincere question if she really is going to while the others hold their Digimon down, she stands up against the Numemon who were harassing her and her friends, and she was funny as hell. Sadly it took a long while for fans to grow up but many of us, especially girls, reclaimed her as our own. It also helped that Mimi came before girly icons like Elle Woods, Leslie Knope, and Joan Holloway and also before the boom in Gen X and Millennial women contributing to comedy and starting their own stand-up specials and movies and TV.

Power Ranking: 10, all because she held her own, no matter the haters and was glad to see us no matter how odd. 

Karen Wheeler

Another complicated lady, this time older and from the 1980s. This is Karen Wheeler of Hawkins, Indiana whose children are off on their own adventure. She is trying to tap into her sexual power here. It’s dicey because the man in question is a young man and she is a unhappily married affluent housewife in the suburbs; she agrees to meet him at the motel for “private swimming lessons” and does herself up in a way inappropriate for swimming lessons (in Scarlet Letter Red to boot!), only to be stopped by the sight of her lazy husband sleeping on the Laz-E-Boy with their youngest child Holly on his chest. This season sees Karen open up to her two older children over the patriarchy and saying goodbye to a best friend and girlfriend after confessing his love for her.

Power Ranking: 6, because her sexual power was on shaky ground and only based on her looks and attention from a man but she shows some character development that season. 

Nancy Wheeler

This look was a game changer, but Nancy is no stranger to pink and preppiness. Here she is wearing an outfit that recalls the postwar “Boyfriend Shirt” from Brooks Brothers for the female collegiate set and it’s updated with long loose but pinned hair and designer (or mock) jeans. In this outfit she goes monster hunting with her younger brother Mike’s best friend’s older brother and Nancy’s classmate, Jonathon Byers and squares off with slut-shaming police officers and a mother who chastises her for lying about her whereabouts and losing her virginity while Nancy’s best friend Barb Holland is missing and she also tells off boyfriend Steve for trying to cover his ass by not participating in the police investigation. This is the look (which can easily double as office wear) when you want to go straight from school where you have an impeccable GPA to monster hunting in your neck of the woods to find the whereabouts of your best friend and for fighting the patriarchy. 

Power Ranking: 8, this is a girl on the move as we can see with her rolled up sleeves. 

Eleven

The Iconic Look, the look where she made a boy wet his pants, found two missing kids, broke a bully’s arm. The Polly Flinders dress would alter the way we see girls in dainty pastel pink dresses. 

Power Ranking: 10, can you do all that without touching someone?

Barb Holland

The most tragic look for this was the sweater that Barbara Holland (1967-1983) wore when she was taken by the Demogorgan and killed. This was the look where she was the recipient of a wet willie from a boy who looked down on her and her best friend who was dating his popular friend, the look where she accompanied her best friend reluctantly to the popular boy’s party, and where her friend turned her back on her concerns. This is the look of a passive and traditional (to her detriment) femininity. She did gain a huge following who cried foul over her fate. 

Power Ranking: 4, points up for the fandom and devotion but she wasn’t empowered. 

Erica Sinclair

That was depressing, let’s go to the girl who embodies America: Hawkins resident wise-ass, the girl who kept her observations and words as tight as her corn rows, and her planning as precise as her perfectly well done baby hairs (Black readers, feel free to correct me as I document her fabulousness), My Little Pony nerd and Economics wonk, and American Heroine. Erica sassed her way into Stranger Things with a raised eyebrow and a lusciously girly girl wardrobe that stands out and fits in with her Midwestern environment. She’s no stranger to pink and she commands attention and the best service at Scoops Ahoy and manages to get several ice cream dishes for free (the most elaborate ones) before getting in on finding the secret Soviet military base. Girlfriend manages to deal with teenage shenanigans, assassins, creatures from another world, near-death experiences, almost being captured by foreign enemies and the most awkward sing-a-long ever. She doesn’t seem to have lost her child-appropriate enthusiasm for games even when telling off old balding men for getting her age right.

Power Ranking: 10, you can’t spell America without Erica

Joan Holloway

Pink is an appropriate color for the resident femme intellectual of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, it shows that Joan is willing to defy “the rules” of fashion for redheads (she also wears red) and it ties into her 1950s persona of the bombshell who is trying to get married to a man who’d move her out to the upper-middle class suburbs and she wouldn’t have to work. That was Joan at the beginning: over time she started to own her natural independent streak and her willingness to buck expectations of her based on her gender and looks but also deals with the same men who ogle her, disrespecting her intellect, her hard work ethic, and even her body (fuck you Greg Harris). In this fuchsia number (still in the pink family), she sets up a luncheon with a colleague (Peggy Olson) where she pitches the idea of them setting up a production company with their names, while Peggy didn’t take, Joan starts her own “Holloway & Harris” with her babysitter and mother. Sealing her end as a strong, productive, independent woman who learned to own herself as she was. 

Power Ranking: 10, men may like scarves but women like not being tethered to men. 

Betty Draper Francis

Meet Elizabeth Hofstadt Francis and her ex-husband Don Draper (actually Dick Whitman), for about 10 years of marriage, they have enjoyed a union where they looked like a couple right out of a magazine, he being a square jawed handsome self-made man with an athletic build who often is compared to old-school movie stars like Tyrone Power or Clark Gable or Cary Grant and she, a beautiful model from a wealthy family in the Main Line area of Philadelphia who studied anthropology at Bryn Mawr and speaks fluent Italian and is often compared to Grace Kelly (and other Hitchcock Blondes). But the interior of their perfect colonial in the suburbs hid an ugly reality where she suffered from ennui and was a brat to her kids while he gaslighted and cheated on her with other women, more modern women, like she wasn’t enough. Eventually she found out his true identity and floored that she had been living a lie and gave up her last name for an imposter, she divorced him and married a man she met at her husband’s work function. 

About three years later, Don is happily married with a younger and much more modern woman (Megan Draper) while Betty is married to a man who loves and accepts her even at her worst but to her chagrin has put on a lot of weight (a blow to a former model who grew up being raised that weight gain or being fat was the worst thing a woman could be) and she hasn’t dealt with her unhappiness in a productive manner. 

For a while well into 1968, she accepted the extra pounds (although looking like she lost some) and coming middle-age and even dyed her hair black, until her new husband tells her he plans to run for office and as he was excitedly recounting what is to be done, says “Everyone will see you” not knowing that his young, vain wife would read this scenario differently and after assessing her new look to an old evening gown of her’s, she sped up her weight loss and returned to her slim and blonde look that turned heads. Soon she takes a drive to her son’s summer camp and runs into her ex-husband and they feel the old spark and sleep together; it is there she tells him that he as a lover is different than him as a husband and admits about the young wife she looked down on, “That Poor Girl, she doesn’t know that loving you is the worst thing to get to you”. Next morning she has breakfast with her new husband, who is none the wiser, while Don heads back to the city. But is Betty really happy?

Power Ranking: 7, not satisfied but has received some closure about her relationship with her ex-husband. 

Sally Draper

This is Sally in her birthday party dress. On that day her father built her a pastel colored playhouse, Mother prepared treats for the adults and kids for her birthday party, she and her friends played out their parents’ (admittedly shitty) marriages at the playhouse, her father goes out to get her birthday cake from the bakery and returns only with a golden retriever named Polly, while her unhappy mother fumes about her husband doing something shitty and humiliating and not being allowed to ream him out because he brought a dog and that makes him the good guy. 

Power Ranking: 5, she gets a dog but is still young and dependent on her messy parents. 

Rachel Menken

Meet Rachel Menken Katz, running into her ex Don Draper while he is out with his latest mistress and she with her husband Tilden Katz. She would end this series as dying from cancer after having two young children and running her father’s department store and instead of flowers, requesting that donations be made for a Jewish hospital in the Jell-O Belt. In 1960 she fell in love with an ad man who proved to have been miserable and having lost his mother during his birth, as she did, she also competed in what was called “a man’s world” at a time when women were relegated to assistant roles at best and she split from him when he wants to run away with her, mostly because he wants to run away from his issues and not because of his feelings for her. As her sister Barbara said, “she had everything”.

Power Ranking: 8, she ends up dying young but she manages to “have it all”. 

Megan Draper

Meet Megan Calvet, later to become Megan Draper. How does she become the next Mrs. Draper? At this timeline, Don Draper is dealing with life after divorcing Betty Draper (now Francis) and is trying (and failing) to quit alcohol and trying to date the intelligent, warm, no-nonsense, and close-to-his-age Dr. Faye Miller. But that night Megan, who noticed she caught her boss’s eye, decides to make the moves and in a uncharacteristically demure (many fans thought she looked frumpy here) but at worst basic outfit, she sleeps with him. This is the outfit for a quickie that later won his heart and has him pop the question and she becomes part of Creative at their work. But is this really for the best?

Power Ranking: 7, she married Don Draper but then again she married Don Draper. 

Peggy Olson

Meet Peggy Olson, who officially walked away from the things holding her back from feeling at ease with herself and her choices. After a whole season where the priest impressed by her skills has learned that Peggy had a child out of wedlock and put him up for adoption and starts pressuring her to admit her “sin” while Peggy would rather move on with her life, she tells him they don’t see eye to eye and walks away from the Catholic Church and while the Cuban Missile Crisis is going on, she lays down in her bed with the pink comforter and pillows with her pink floral nightgown, she lays herself down to sleep and prays with a contented look on her face.

Power Ranking: 9, she’s not fully absolved of the issues plaguing her but refusing to wear a hairshirt and beat herself up? Awesome. 

Dawn Chambers

Meet Dawn Chambers, from 1966-1968, she was the only black person (let alone black secretary) at the uber-white Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce (pun intended for the decor) and like many minorities in positions occupied by less marginalized people, Dawn had to keep her head low and not stand out (despite some co-workers considering her as remarkable as a sore thumb). But then in 1968, she made the mistake of punching in for a co-worker and they get caught by Joan Holloway (and it’s so horrid, thank God Don Draper intervened on Dawn’s behalf and Pete reminds them of how the ad agencies are being looked at for their minority quotas). This was also the season where Dawn took to wearing blazers over her blouses and skirts or dresses and here Dawn is wearing a conservative grey blazer over a pink shirt with ruffles down the front and a red plaid skirt when her work life alters for the...better? It is there that Joan sternly gives her the promotion of keeper of the keys, title not pay, and Dawn tells her that she decided she doesn’t care whether other people in the office hate her but she doesn’t want to disappoint Joan, who withholds any warmth or approval. The next season we see Dawn stand up to a entitled and mediocre white man (Lou Avery) and first she is moved to reception and then she takes over Joan’s post as Office Manager (With her own office! And the salary!) while Joan goes upstairs to her own office in Accounts. 

Power Ranking: 10, this is a big fucking deal for a Black Woman in a mostly-White corporate setting during the 1960s. 

Trudy Campbell

1970, Trudy Vogel Campbell has remarried her estranged husband Pete and they are moving out to Wichita, Kansas with their young daughter Tammy where he will work a plush job for Lear Jet (and they are being flown out by them!). 

For the past ten years, Trudy and Pete have had a difficult marriage where he was dissatisfied with the choices he made and that he really didn’t want to marry her, and Trudy had to deal with being a woman with fertility issues at a time when motherhood was seen as a primary goal for women and women who didn’t have kids or chose not to were seen as weird at best. They had to deal with pressure from her father to adopt, his parents snotty issues, she had to deal with her husband’s attitude, his envy of others, and his cheating. But Trudy laid her boundaries and was able to stand up to her husband, without losing her gracious manner and her zest for society. She tried to be a supportive wife and she found some common ground with him, when it comes to common decency and politics, and they make an amazing pair on the dance floor. 

Then came the end after their divorce: they behave more amicably, he’s more involved with their young daughter, he fights for Trudy, and he gives an amazing pitch for her to come back. She takes him back but lets him know that she isn’t the same girl he married a decade before and she looks at things for how they are. 

Plus she is gonna rule Wichita!

Power Ranking: 8, she accepts there will be compromises but states her boundaries and has them met and will be a society wife. 

Elle Woods

Who shows up in court in LA hot sandals, a pink tote bag for her canine companion Bruiser, long glossy hair, and a curve-hugging but professional power dress in shocking pink? Elle Woods. After trying hard to be taken seriously by her fuckboi ex Warner and her snotty, neutral toned Harvard classmates and learning that her Professor got her in an internship for a important lawcase (where they defend her fellow Sorority Sister) just for her looks, she leans into both her natural intelligence, expertise, and love of pink and all things girly to defend her friend and solve the case. 

Also can we talk about how both Legally Blonde and Bridget Jones’s Diary are both movies where the attractive blonde protagonist is humiliated by showing up for a costume party in a Playboy Bunny costume under false pretenses and she deals with sexual harassment and being underestimated regarding her intellect? But LB ages better because it kinda pokes fun at the beauty myth more and is more inter-sectional and Elle finds supportive women to add to her posse of supportive sisters and she supports other women in turn.

Power Ranking: 10, Sisterhood and owning your personality quirks and interests and boldly defending others is always a win. Case Dismissed. 

Lorelei Lee

The ultimate Pink Power icon and the one who set the path for all femme-y and cute loving blonde protagonists with wit and ambition. This is the song for a woman who sings about how transactional heteronormative relationships in the mid-century were and how the performative actions of men in heterosexual relationships don’t do much to improve women’s lives, like paying the rent and that they would use women for their own uses and could be shallow enough to dump women if they lost their beauty and/or got older, so for insurance make sure you get money or rather things that can be hocked and worn with pride, like diamonds. Tom & Lorenzo covered this in their One Iconic Look series and this sequenced has been spoofed several times in Hey Arnold!, Crazy-Ex Girlfriend, Birds of Prey, and most famously by Madonna, and it is the look for women who not only feel good about their curves but also want to show them off.  As T&Lo said about the ditzy Lorelai and her savvier friend Dorothy Malone (Jane Russell):

These women were all about power, control, and looking out for each other. Men were side stories or play things.

And in the repressive Fifties it was outrageously pink and smelt of female sexual power (pink pussies). 

Power Ranking: 11, hawwwwwwww that’s what you get for having an iconic and referenced look!

Marge Simpson

The most nostalgically remembered outfit in cartoons and the most written about in think pieces and articles by Millennial women who grew up watching The Simpsons and the rest of what the Animation Renaissance had to offer. In “Scenes from the Class Struggle in Springfield”, the family goes out to the outlet mall in Ogdenville where Marge and Lisa happen upon a beautiful pink Chanel suit that even left my cartoon-apathetic mother enthusiastic and Marge is soon seen by a old high school friend who mistakes her for being wealthy and Marge goes along with the ruse and is invited to Country Club activities with the ladies where she shows up in several talented alterations of her suit (until getting destroyed by Santa’s Little Helper, RIP Iconic suit), she also gives her family a hard time about how they don’t fit into that Country Club Scene and then when forced to see how she hurt them (and even Baby Maggie), turns around and tells them she loves Homer’s sense of humor, Lisa’s compassion and outspoken human rights politics, and just loves Bart (even if she can’t figure what she likes about him). 

This also happens to be another instance where Marge sacrifices a social life (she’s not seen with a lot of friends who have her back, aside from a brief time with Ruth Powers), chances for social mobility, and her own self-improvement for her family. While we love a mother who prioritizes her family’s autonomy, we still kind of hope that she didn’t have to sacrifice her own identity for her family. 

Power Ranking: 8, points for the iconic suit and it’s layered meanings. 

Bridget Jones

A rare move of power for a normally powerless and insecure woman and in a shocking pink blouse and black slacks that show off her hourglass curves and go with her coloring. 

Pink is not a color Bridget isn’t familiar with, especially with this deleted scene that shows her in Pink Passivity (and it looks delicate on a blonde with blue eyes and pale skin but could risk her fading but I as a brunette would look popping!). But here after entering a relationship with Daniel Cleaver (who is a walking red flag) and finding out he was keeping her as his side-ho to his skinny, bitchy American girlfriend and colleague and I have my problems with Bridget Jones as a series (which would take several parts) and I can talk about how Peggy Olson and Joan Holloway were a lot better written versions of her (klutziness and awkwardness but succeeding!). But this is a huge power move where Bridget wears a simple outfit that owns her looks (even being affirmed by a older and previously antagonistic co-worker that she’s actually thinner than the average woman and she can’t back down, like ever) and is able to quit her job for a better and more glamorous job and tell off her ex-boyfriend for how poorly he has treated her. And all her co-workers smile off as she walks off in triumph after telling Daniel she’d rather wipe Saddam Hussein’s ass. I kinda wish I could go Joan Rivers on Daniel here. 

Also points on that bolder shade of pink. 

Power Ranking: 10, no one gets to burn a cheating, manipulative bridge like that (and yes she is conventionally prettier than I but that’s not the point). 

Alice Macray

I know, I should shut my mouth and wear beige but my personal color analysis says I’m a winter person.

It’s an interesting power move, albeit within the confines of patriarchal society and even the only defiance that wouldn’t get her tsked at because she is serving the Male Gaze. And yet it’s a natural part of her characterization in this part of the series: the traditional housewife stubbornly keeping her pedestal and fighting to stall progress for other women pursuing other paths (part of wearing beige and shutting up as Mother of the Groom is to allow the Bride to take center stage) but it’s also a path she had to take what with being a dyslexic in a less informed and intolerant era and growing up in a sheltered, conservative Catholic family. This is also the outfit she wears when she spots a younger wife being forcibly yanked by her husband, alluding that the patriarchy isn’t benevolent. 

This isn’t her first time in pink, or even a pink and blue combination: she wears pink when she goes and gives out bread to defeat the feminists at the Illinois Legislature, she wears pink and blue when Bella Abzug calls on her and her peers’ hypocrisy, she drinks a Pink Lady when she is given a “Christian Pill” and it matches her lavender dress. It’s also ironic: pink, white, and blue are the colors of the Transgender pride flag and she is defending White Heternormative Cisnormative Christian Values TM and it’s also a color combo that shows up in the beauty parlor she frequents where she and her friends wring their hands over working women gaining more ground and feeling that their comfortable privilege is being taken away by women who sully their hands working outside the home while they stay home with their children in their coordinated pastels and have maids of color keep their worlds nice and orderly. 

But she is wearing a pink maxi dress with a high neckline and a very prominent hat that provides very ladylike shade for her fair skin, just like our first Pink Power Girl Mimi Tachikawa, and like Mimi, Alice will take a life-altering short trip to Wonderland. And like Pink Power Girl Eleven, she finds her true hidden power and starts wearing more saturated colors as time goes on. 

Power Ranking: 5, she is on her way to breaking out of her little safe world and doing more than subverting a wedding tradition. 

[softkitten]

Months in music, 2020

I used to always write about my favourite songs and albums of the year, but recently I’ve fallen out of practice. I felt I had to write about this last year, as the pandemic has played havoc with my memory, but I need to be able to remember what happened. It’s been important. I came out changed. I know you did too, and I hope if you read this, you find something to relate to. 

I’m unsure as to whether 2020 was an amazing year for music, or if being under lockdown and out of work meant that I had more time to spend with it, but I do know that music this year overall made me more excited than any year since I was a teenager. The circumstances we’ve all been putting up with have meant that we’ve had to learn new ways of being, new circuitry is growing in our brains, even if we’re old farts, as we’ve discarded habits that no longer work and take on new ones. 

I’m a mess. My anxiety disorder is worse than it’s been since I was a teenager. I’m not sleeping well. I spend a lot of time with my heart in my throat, and sometimes my temper can just erupt all at once, surprising me and anyone unfortunate enough to be present for the outburst. But I’m kinder, more considered, better with money, better at acting ‘professional’ without performing a weird caricature. I kind of moved on from performance this year, despite a lot of previous generational habits. The version of me that I present at work is me in some way, reconciled with the idea that if I were allowed to do whatever I want I’d be on a beach somewhere with a drink in my hand. That ideal doesn’t define me, nor does a workplace role. 

2020 music hit different. Calvin Harris dropped the hottest club tracks of his entire career in a year when if you were caught in a club, you were doing something very, very bad indeed. Disco has dominated Spotify playlists and public spaces (when allowed), this is alright by me as disco is responsible for the sexiest parts of hip hop, house, pop, etc. We consume music differently, as the monoculture has by now completely disintegrated and no one ever, ever listens to radio. If you like something, Spotify will find ways to bring you more of it, you will rarely, if ever, hear Britney Spears or even Michael Jackson unless you seek them out. I’ve spent more time with music this year than I have since I was a teenager, I’m excited and awed by it in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time, but I also feel out of touch and very much my age. I don’t go on Tiktok. I don’t get it. I don’t need to be dancing in the kitchen or composing sketch comedy bits on my phone, I’m a middle aged man with payments on my car and a desk job. I think what’s going on is a changing of the guard - millennials are no longer the focus of ‘youth culture’ insofar as that exists. Remember 1999-2001, the cringiest of pop eras, when the major stars of the ‘90s were releasing sedate, mature records or just breaking up their bands, and the charts were the province of things that seemed retrogressive and primitive like Korn? It certainly was primitive, it was made for literal children, and I see something very similar in Tiktok hits and emo rap. 

Sheena’s ex was enamored of a scene in a 2000s action movie starring The Rock, wherein Schwarzenegger cameos to toss The Rock a set of keys and tell him, “Have fun”. Well, you censorious unfunky Gen Z brats are welcome to youth culture, I hope you do a better job of it than we did - frankly we left you a hell of a mess to clean up. If you need me, I’ll be working out how to enact my plan to die on a beach somewhere. 

January - Work Drugs - Burned 

January was a fuck of a lot different. Sheena and I had just come back from Playa del Carmen, our skin was tan and our hair was long. I had a great big bushy beard. I looked older in January, I was trying to cultivate a professorial air for work. I had plans. I was aggressively dealing with my debt. We were going to go to the west coast in June to see Luna, our newborn niece, and we were going to try to make it to Bass Coast, where, hopefully, Denis Sulta would be playing as he had done in the previous two years. 

Work Drugs is something Spotify found for me. I know nothing about these fucking people, after a year of listening to their entire catalogue. I think I found out that two guys were responsible for it, two guys I couldn’t pick out of a police lineup. They make knowingly corny ‘80s style pop - think Hall and Oates, or Huey Lewis on tranquilizers. One of my favourite things millennials have done in art is reclaiming elevator music, smooth jazz, adult contemporary, etc. - this music that was the definition of uncool when it was first published is now the new punk statement, millennials never had any appetite for buzzsaw guitars or shouty anger men outside of, like, emo. 

Vaporwave started ten years ago and it was pronounced dead within months. It’s far from dead. It’s responsible for Work Drugs, The Midnight, Nonlocal Forecast - music that is desperate to return to the illusory public stability of the ‘80s and ‘90s. Work Drugs fit in because it played well at the diverse office I worked in (median age, 46), because the name spoke to a duality I see in myself. The drugs you take on the weekend, the drugs you take to get through the work day. If only we could be ‘80s adults happily blasting through our uppers-downers cycles, mulling another affair and when to put in a pool. 

February - Tame Impala - Breathe Deeper

One night Sheena and I got drunk and I told them my plan. I was going to go back to school for a master’s of counselling psychology, and I was going to pursue a doctorate in same immediately after. I was going to quit my job once I upped my education and apply - I don’t know where? The government? It all seemed so clear and now it’s as easy to recall as a nine year old dream. Anyway, Sheena told me “Your future seems so much clearer than mine” and two hours later we were fighting like cat and dog, talking divorce. The divorce didn’t happen, thank the lord. We went to counselling, and it took a few months, and a few fuckups, but the lessons did sink in eventually. I love Sheena more than ever, even moreso than during the halcyon infatuation phase of 2010, the glittering release from the tension of our friendship, and I feel more loved than ever. Things are good to great. Don’t worry. I’m not worried. I didn’t realize how worried I was before, how flawed my communication could be before. The pandemic year has helped. We’ve patched things up because we do love each other, and because we are seeing each other through the misery and uncertainty in a way no one else could. 

I used to envy the relationships of my grandparents and their contemporaries - people who were together for decades, still, for the most part, happy. I remember the way my grandmother would flirt with my grandfather, how they’d keep up their little bits well into their 80s. Contrasting that with boomers, who were all about divorce, made a child version of me think that something had gone horribly wrong. 

Tame Impala’s last album is about aging - my favourite off it is not actually “Breathe Deeper,” it’s “It Might Be Time” - It might be time to face it/ you ain’t as cool as it used to be/ you won’t recover - these lyrics spoke to me as I crested over the wrong side of 35. But “Breathe Deeper” spoke to my reality in a more complete way. I’ve always seen our grandparents, Depression survivors, in us - when millennials were firmly at the reins of youth culture, Justin Timberlake brought sexy back right after he raided my grandpa’s wardrobe. That aesthetic reflects us, as it did then. Our relationships will endure because we’ve endured hardships together, we know how to take care of each other in unique, special ways. But the paradox there is all over “Breathe Deeper”, its last lines are “We’re both adults but we behave as children/ long as we’ve got enough to keep on livin’.” Indeed, it might be time to face it, but the world leaves us little other options. The adult world, with its aspirations to middle class status, closed to us forever in 2008, two years after Timberlake. I know the aging club boy act is getting tired. So do a lot of us, but we don’t have anything else to do. May as well go to the club and shut the anxious brain off for a few hours, make it harder for us to reach our blessed phones. Return home. Do this and get through this, and until we see the sun, you’re my number one. 

March - Duke Dumont - Nightcrawler

The week after the fight in February, I got fired. I have no idea why. The official statement on my record of employment is “termination, no misconduct”. No one ever thought to explain it to me - did they find out I jacked off in the staff bathroom a couple times? Did they somehow find out that, in my off hours, I’m into psychedelics? Was I chatting on Twitter too much for their liking? I was on top of my deadlines, so why shouldn’t I be chatting on Twitter? It wasn’t a retail job, where if you have time to lean, you have time to clean. I have a lot of work trauma. What happened to me there was essentially what my anxiety disorder tells me is going to happen at any job, 24/7. Part of me is sure I’ll be fired from my current position at any moment, despite having built a totally workable relationship with my boss, clients, and staff. I took it hard. 

Everyone remembers March for the onset of COVID lockdowns, but we would do well to remember that we had no idea what we were in for back then. We were talking then about “a week off work” - can you imagine? I still fully intended to see Detroit Swindle play at Hifi Club on March 27 well into lockdowns. Hifi has since shuttered after months and months of closure and subsequent inability to produce revenue. I applied to jobs like a machine in March. Just as I was getting somewhere with interviews, the lockdowns started, and the interviews were delayed indefinitely. I had nothing to do during the day and so spent a lot of time on the online red light districts of Whisper and Reddit, plying my trade, back to my ways, looking for anons to talk sex to compulsively. “Nightcrawler” feels to me like the compulsion of hypersexuality, boredom seeking validation while already bored by the numbers game of it, going through the motions. It’s so easy. Promise the moon and then disappear. 

In March, Sheena and I were going to go back to Saskatoon for a party with Twitter friends. Instead, we got caught in a snowstorm out in the Badlands and nearly died trying to get our car back up the hill and on the way to Calgary. Immediately after, everything closed. I think about that day all the time.

April - JARV IS - House Music All Night Long

It’s not a week off work, we have no idea when it’s going to end, and the statistics are going from bad to worse. We watch the news obsessively. We keep up chat threads all day long. We don’t leave bed until our hair is lank with sweat. We drink like fish - at one point during April, I ordered delivery booze, desperate to keep the party going. I met the delivery person at the door in my bathrobe and fell down the stairs. Shortly after that, I decided to clean up my act - at least, the drinking nights have to be self contained. New routines develop. With no gym, we learn floor exercises, playing Spotify playlists of house music off a Bluetooth speaker. Cooking becomes tremendously important. I begin reading Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time in earnest - a book I began at 17, which I finally finished in June, 17 whole years after my initial purchase. Jarvis Cocker, who has been with me since I was 17, returns with a song recorded in 2019 that he seemingly composed with a crystal ball. 

“House Music All Night Long” is about endless, inescapable isolation. The futility of making and loving music that only makes sense in a public space, music that’s meant to soundtrack a joyful mutual celebration that will continue to be denied to us for the foreseeable future. It’s the closest solo Jarvis has come to the horror-porno soundtrack of the This Is Hardcore album and it speaks to a pandemic-specific version of the dread earlier described on “The Fear”. It mocks and sympathizes at once. When Jarvis yelps, “Saturday night cabin fever in House Nation,” he sounds like he’s going to the gallows, and we can find the inverse of the release house provides in it, through our Bluetooth speakers, on Zoom, in ragged house clothes, drunk as lords at 2pm, miserably unaware of what day it is. 

May - The 1975 - What Should I Say

In May the new routines started to stick. I accessed government relief, the days were getting longer, the snow was gone. On the weekends, Sheena and I went hiking, something we’d only done sporadically before, usually at the behest of others. Alberta is beautiful. Its countryside provides miles and miles of scenery to explore, and we spent hours outside, escaping the claustrophobia of our little apartment. 

In May, The 1975 released their latest album, Notes on a Conditional Form. It dominated my listening this year, to the point that my Spotify statistics were a little one-note. This album means as much to me as albums that started me on my journey with music, like Nine Inch Nails’ The Fragile. It came along at a similar time, I guess, a time in which my brain was working overtime to deal with circumstances and emotions and in which I had endless hours to devote to it. 

In May I fell out with a younger online friend, someone I’d met only once but spoke to every day for months. I have no idea why we fell out. I asked. I didn’t get an answer, I just got unfollowed, and I unfollowed right back. We will never speak again. “What Should I Say” is Matty Healy talking about being cancelled online by younger fans whose brains are developing faster than his, who love him, absorb his influence, and then abruptly reject him. “How do I get out of this? How do I win them back? Do I blame it on the drugs? Circumstance? Ambien makes me crazy, that’s why I said the wrong thing, that’s why you feel this way, please forgive me.”

After releasing Notes on May 22nd, Matty referred to the May 25th murder of George Floyd on his Twitter account, posting a protest song from his last album which includes the lyric “Suffocate the Black man”. His fans did not care for this and dogpiled on him, calling him self-serving, narcissistic, faux-messianic. He has since cut social media out of his life almost completely, returning sporadically to update Reddit fans and allowing his publicist to post official images. I took acid after my friend dumped me and listened to Notes on repeat. The day after, I deleted my old tweets. I won’t engage with younger people in this way again. I’m done trying to court the good opinion of those who don’t understand me or care about me at all. Unlike Matty, I have nothing to gain from this, and it’s really lost its appeal. 

June - Duck Sauce - Captain Duck

I remember the pandemic summer as a golden age. After a few months of it, the pleasure of having wide open days, no responsibilities, no phone calls to make or idiots to impress had fully set in. We kept up hiking until the bugs took over the trails, we took long drives, we took mushrooms, we ate al fresco in Calgary’s outdoor spaces, we went to Fish Creek Park and stuck our feet in the drink. I found I didn’t miss going out as much as I thought I would, this is an opinion I go back and forth on. I miss the good nights so badly, I fully intend to return to nightlife with bells on once it’s safe to do so, but I don’t know how long I’m going to stay. I don’t miss drunk DJ’s, or ones who are so amateurish that they blow the speakers prior to the headliner’s slot, or expensive drinks, or strangers intoxicated on much different drugs than the ones I took talking to and touching me. 

“Captain Duck” is a dancefloor bomb, one of a bumper crop of absolute bangers released this year as clubs closed en masse. Armand Van Helden, who I loved in high school, is doing the best work of his career solo and with his partner in Duck Sauce, A-Trak. “Captain Duck” played when I made ratatouille, when I made cheesecake, when I cleaned the toilet, when we took long drives to nowhere, when we worked out in our cramped living room near the catbox. I imagined it coming on right at 1:30am at a packed club, I imagined myself dropping it at Pacha to a rapturous reception. I fear the reality will not live up to the fantasy, when we are able to return. I hope I get to hear it in its intended setting. 

July - Spotify “Peaceful Summer Nights” playlist

No paradise is permanent. In July, I had no intention of going back to work. Once I finished reading In Search of Lost Time, I started making music again, for the first time since I was a teenager. Sheena and I were painting nearly every night. In Search of Lost Time features a cast of thousands, innumerable loveable characters lovingly realized. No one would read this long, sometimes dull book if it wasn’t deeply pleasurable, and if one couldn’t see oneself in it. There are a lot of characters that you will think about for a long time after you’ve finished the Search, if you read it - Odette de Crecy and the Baron Charlus have inspired endless discussion in formal academic circles and less formal ones, on Reddit and in the living rooms of friends. I saw myself in Elstir, the painter character who is a composite of Whistler, Monet, Harrison, a million other painters and Proust himself. In Elstir we see the mature artist, presented in contrast to Proust’s narrator, whose search for lost time is crucially also a search for his own artistic voice. 

In July, I felt as though I had finally found my artistic voice - with so much time freed up and so much beautiful, heavensent sunlight, all I had to do was concentrate on creating. The music I made is not half bad for an amateur. I found my skill as a painter improving. In a perfect world, I would still be dedicating my days to this. The “Peaceful Summer Nights” playlist would go on at night, we’d put ourselves to sleep to it, it’s one part smooth jazz, one part smoke and study mix. You’ve done your best. You’ve seen the sun. You’ve made things that you might one day publish. I felt like Elstir those days, the aging but still vital artist, the person who is perennially a student, but can easily make a teacher, if you ask the right questions. I go by Elstir online now. I try to access that part of my personality as often as possible, though, unlike Proust, I do not come from a background of means and therefore can’t make my own epic In Search of Lost Time analogue, or my own Guernica. With a universal basic income in place I could be that person, and I hope it happens in our lifetime. 

August - The Knocks & MUNA - Bodies

In August, Dennis came to visit us from Saskatoon, driving out in their car Heather. Heather smells like a grow show and is rammed with belongings in the exact same way that my mother’s car is. We went to the beach. We cooked. We smoked copious amounts of weed and shared music and went to bed drunk and happy. 

This song captures the feeling of that summer, and that trip perfectly. You are alone at sundown, just as the streetlights switch on, 9:05pm. Blue light from the neighbours’ TV flickers out into the street, and you’re fairly sure they’re watching The Simpsons. A skateboard grinds in the distance. You check your phone. You’re horny. You miss your friends. It’s another suburban summer. The sense of peace mixes with the dread, an uneasy combination. This will be over soon, who’s to say what comes next. Take your teenage regressive times when you can get them. You don’t know when they’re coming back. 

September - Modernlove. - Use Me

In September I returned to work after six months off, my longest time away from work since leaving university. I’m a program supervisor now, I run a group home for teenage boys. I have a lot of people asking me questions. I’m good at it, and part of me likes it, but I’m not painting or making music like I used to. I’ve had Marcel Proust’s biography out from the library for months, and I haven’t finished it. 

Modernlove are a copycat band for The 1975. The 1975 have been around for long enough now that their influence is written all over Spotify, and if you like The 1975 and engage with streaming platforms you will find Modernlove. The 1975 have a song called Chocolate, so naturally Modernlove did one called Liquorice. “Use Me,” though, takes that blueprint and goes in a different direction. It’s manic, hysterically anxious - a simp’s anthem. Where The 1975 maintain a baseline level of dignity, Modernlove abandon it completely. The narrator is making himself plain that he will accept the worst, most inhumane treatment his partner can dish out if only he’s allowed to continue to exist with them. The beat is all happy hardcore lunacy, the singer’s voice wavers and cracks. It’s extremely vulnerable. 

This is exactly how I felt being back to work. I was working 12 hour days. I was sitting in endless, very important trainings while dealing with a suicidal client and anxious staff and then reporting to a boss who seemed to think all my hard work was at best a normal work day and at worst pissing into the wind. Use me. I felt used. I made myself available for use. I waited for phone calls from clients at 10pm, who proceeded to tell me about the shits they were going to take when I begged them to stay in the program and away from their drug dealer friends. Use me. You work so goddamn hard to avoid squalor and misery, to keep it from the door, and here it fucking is at 10:00pm when you started work at 6:00am. Elstir has left the building. I’m a simp for money, the worst kind of simp there is. Keep dishing out the punishment and I’ll keep taking it. I have no other choice. CERB has ended. 

October - Charles Webster - The Spell (Burial Mix)

After all that stress, I took a week’s worth of stress leave. I am not the Sicknote Steven type normally, I haven’t had a family doctor since coming to Calgary, I haven’t needed one - the last time I was to a doctor before this year was in 2018, after I picked up flu from an airplane. When I went to the doctor, they took my blood pressure. It was through the roof, and the first time I was anything but low for my age and sex in my life. Why would it not be? I felt my heart jackhammering at my ribcage for three days straight, before I was able to pull myself together enough to operate a vehicle and carry on an adult conversation. 

This happened during the weekend of my birthday. I spent some time in a sensory deprivation tank, took mushrooms, went for dinner with masks on with a few very good friends. I painted. And at the end of my stress leave, I went to meet my boss for a showdown. I said what my boundaries were, and since then, I’ve had a fine time at work. It’s not sitting around the flat all summer painting but for now, it’ll do. 

This song sounds to me like exploration - exploring the same neighbourhood that the Knocks’ “Bodies” takes place in, but with a chill in the air and some colour in the leaves. The pandemic isn’t going anywhere, in fact, it’s about to play its ace. Halloween is cancelled. People were coming to me, asking me questions, but I was able to make space for myself in the liminal spaces I got to spend the whole year occupying up until this point. 

November - The Weeknd - Heartless

A few years ago, I had tweeted during the month of November, “I woke up from a 7pm nap and wondered if we’d already had New Year’s. God I hate winter”. This month was that feeling again, amplified by pandemic conditions and work exhaustion. As is typical for the shoulder seasons in Calgary, the weather vacillated from bitterly cold wintertime air to crisp autumn with no arc or sense of relief. Depression set in. In November I’d organized and was finally able to execute a hotel-room liaison with a friend I’ve flirted with for years. I played this song on repeat to pump myself up for the encounter - it’s a pimp anthem, teeming with sexual menace, crackling with possibility. 

The reality of the situation was not as The Weeknd described. We messed around a little bit. We went to the Canadian Brewhouse. We binged all of The Queen’s Gambit in one go. She bitched about the bathroom facing the bed. I flipped out a little when I couldn’t get the internet to connect. We ordered Skip the Dishes and got the evil eye from the concierge, who was fully aware that we were there to violate new provincial pandemic restrictions. C’est la vie. 

December - Fred again.. - Julia (Deep Diving)

As I’ve said many, many times, I’m not a fan of Christmas. I used to love it, right up until my mid-20s. Why would I not? I was an only child. It was all about me. I received extravagant gifts at Christmas, got days and days of time off, got to get drunk with my friends, hang out with my mom, watch movies. The thing they don’t tell you is that once you’re no longer a cute kid, Christmas takes on a dramatically different meaning. As an adult, there’s always someone coming around to heap extra work on you at Christmas, and insist that you perform it while wearing a stupid fucking sweater or a hat, and demand that you like it.

This year gave others a taste of my baseline experience of Christmas. Work parties conducted through Zoom, wherein tedious and impersonal games are played through apps, leave bad tastes in everyone’s mouths. It’s all very Ready Player One. The dystopia is fully here. But you have to do something. 

In December I let myself become more sentimental. I had an emotional conversation with my mother in which I talked about her relationship to memory and mine, which mirrors Proust’s. I’m in therapy and developing strategies to deal with my seasonal depression and get back to making art while still working. Fred again’s releases this year all feature spoken excerpts from conversations he’s had with his friends in virtual venues. “I’m deep diving into your emotions,” Julia says from afar, maintaining and developing a connection to someone she loves despite many obstacles. I’m depressed. I’ve been a crappy friend this month, I’ve left conversations on read, my sex drive is in the toilet and I’d prefer to be invisible. But I want to connect with you as best I can, in the limited capacity we’re afforded. 

2020 - The 1975 - I Think There’s Something You Should Know

One of the things I love about The 1975 is that their music is iterative, their songs follow plot threads that advance from album to album. On “Robbers,” the narrator, deep in infatuation, describes his lover as having a face straight out of a magazine. One album later the luster has worn off of the love object, and the face straight out of a magazine now just looks like anyone. 

“I Think There’s Something You Should Know” is described by Matty Healy as a direct sequel to their most famous song, “Somebody Else”. “Somebody Else” is emo R&B, it’s about addiction and identity, and about the ways in which one’s personality can come to be distorted by devotion to a substance or a person, and how one finds their way back to themselves once the drugs don’t work, or the perfect lover has become someone you hope to never see again. 

“I Think There’s Something You Should Know” builds on that theme, but this time, the conflict isn’t about a person or a drug. It’s the feeling of idealized performance versus lived reality, the dissonance that one feels in the middle of impostor syndrome. When I listened to this song on our acid trip in May, I pictured an idealized version of myself in a camel coat and a cashmere sweater, with new leather gloves and a clean black car. The song feels like good cologne in the way it envelopes and embraces the listener. It seems to be able to tell the future. The paradox, then, is that it’s all about self-doubt. “I don’t feel like myself, I’m not gonna lie,” Matty sings, fully aware that he’s forgotten what feeling like himself even is. The song’s narrator is someone who is functioning at the absolute top of their game while being completely sure that they have no business being where they are. 

The year has been a paradox, and it’s left me in a position reflected perfectly in these lyrics. In some ways I’m incredibly competent, in some ways I’ve moved past mental health issues that have set me back for years. But I’m emotional, raw, exhausted. Social media and COVID have given me ADHD, I can’t keep a thought in my head. I have no idea if the people I’m talking to think I’m right on the money, or completely full of shit. And yet, somehow, I am where I am, and the police haven’t arrived to cart me off to jail. My boss blows endless smoke up my ass when before I was terrified of her. I do what I say I’m going to do. I ask the right questions. I think there’s something you should know, and that’s that I think I’m wrong about most things. That I think people are worth our effort and that communities are worth building, but that individuals have the potential to do reprehensible, incomprehensible and unforgivable things. I’m beside myself with relief that this year is over, but I highly, highly doubt that next year is going to be some great leap forward. We have a lot of work to do, and I’ll help to the best of my abilities, but I need to be allowed to be alone, to decompress, to self-destruct as a form of recreation, and to create things. This year has traumatized me and all of us, and my post-pandemic brain is one that’s responding to trauma. In some ways, I’m dramatically better, and better off. In other ways, I’m sicker than I was. This is true of you too. Let’s talk about it. 

My favourite albums of the year:

The 1975 - Notes on a Conditional Form

Dua Lipa - Future Nostalgia

Pole - Fading

Ana Roxanne - Because of a Flower

Teen Daze - Reality Refresh series

Sparkle Division - To Feel Embraced

Jake Muir - the veiled hum of your voice

Moodymann - Taken Away

The Mountain Goats - Getting Into Knives

Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith - The Mosaic of Transformation

Sevdaliza - Shabrang

DJ Boring - Like Water

Actress - Karma and Desire

Avalon Emerson - DJ-Kicks

DaBaby - Blame It On Baby

Duval Timothy - Help

Velocette - Discotheque Saudades

Jex Opolis - Net Worth Pantha du Prince - Conference of Trees

Four Tet - Sixteen Oceans

Caribou - Suddenly

Megan Thee Stallion - Good Newz

Romeo Poirier - Hotel Nota

Southern Shores - Siena

The Weeknd - After Hours

Tensnake - L.A. 

Kylie Minogue - DISCO

The Avalanches - We Will Always Love You

Nonlocal Forecast - Holographic Universe(s?)!

My favourite songs of the year: 

Love Regenerator - Moving, Rina Sawayama - Comme des Garcons, Rina Sawayama - Lucid, Megan Thee Stallion - Savage (Diplo Remix), Phony Ppl ft. Megan Thee Stallion - Fkn Around, SG Lewis ft. Robyn & Channel Tres - Impact, The Midnight - Neon Medusa, Dua Lipa - Break My Heart (Moodymann Remix), Dua Lipa - Hallucinate (Tensnake Remix), Blue Hawaii - Feelin’, Tensnake - Strange Without You (Sunnery James & Ryan Marciano Remix), Disclosure ft. Mick Jenkins - Who Knew? (DJ Seinfeld Remix), A-Trak & Ferreck Dawn - Coming Home, Robyn - Baby Forgive Me (Floorplan Remix), Robots With Rayguns - IWD4U, Southern Shores - Estrisa, Lindstrom & Prins Thomas - Limousine Lies, Sophie Ellis-Bextor - Crying At the Discotheque, Hot Chip ft. Jarvis Cocker - Straight to the Morning, Bonobo & Totally Enormous Extinct Dinosaurs - Heartbreak, Moodymann - Do Wrong, BT & Matt Fax - 1AM in Paris, Kiesza - Love Me With Your Lie, Tritonal ft. Linney - Electric Kids, Jessie Ware - What’s Your Pleasure?, Roisin Murphy - Murphy’s Law, Kllo - Somehow, DaBaby - Rockstar, Diplo, SIDEPIECE - On My Mind, City Girls - Jobs, Greg Foat - Yonaguni, HAIM - I Know Alone, Sassy 009 - Ghost Town, Yves Tumor - Limerence, RAMZi - couer dodo, Jayda G - Both of Us, Kygo, Valerie Broussard - The Truth, Kelly Lee Owens - Night, Dagny - Somebody, L’tric - 1994, The Japanese House - Chewing Cotton Wool, Amtrac ft. Lali Puna - No Place, Eris Drew - Transcendental Access Point, David Guetta ft. Sia - Let’s Love, Armand Van Helden ft. Lorne - Give Me Your Loving, Pet Shop Boys - Monkey Business, Pale Blue - I Walk Alone At Night, Yumi Zouma - Cool For a Second

[tangodancerxxxmumu]

meet... luka reyes

age: 23

pronouns: he / him

birthplace: bellport, maine

species: necromancer

sexuality: homosexual

occupation: barista

faceclaim: aron piper

&. “he was the kind of person who craved intimacy like a war craves a battle cry. what a shame he flinched at every touch.” --there are things to unlearn, n

under the cut contains multiple triggers, including ( tw homophobia, tw gaslighting, tw insomnia, tw death, tw depression, tw suppression ). if i seem to have missed anything, please let me know.

luka was never an easy kid. from an early age, he was very sensitive. a fussy baby who would cry all night, who would scream when he was taken from his father. he seemed to feel things a lot stronger than his mother wanted him to, as their first and only son. still, despite this, his parents tried to give him the best unbringing that they could. his father got him in to see child psychologists, and her mother talked to her local pastor and prayed that her boy would calm down.

when he was young, he had a nasty habit of finding dead butterflies and just... getting so upset about them that they’d pick up and fly again. it took a few weeks of this behavior before his father saw him, but his dad kept his mouth shut. however, when his mother saw him months down the line, she forbade him from doing it again. what’s dead is dead, she said, and the lord wants it to stay that way. she refused to explain his powers to him, teach him anything about necromancy, and told him that the coven wouldn’t like him if this came out. so the little boy became quiet about it.

eventually, when luka was six, his mother reached her wits end. pulling out her spellbook, she found some calming charms and used them on luka. made calming potions and put them into his morning cereal. and they worked--luka was a more pleasant kid to be around, quieter. his father never really questioned why things got better, and for a moment, his mother got the happy family she’d always wanted. she got to show them off in church every sunday.

however, it didn’t last for long. luka isn’t sure of the details, but her mother started claiming that his father wasn’t who he claimed he was. that he was a liar. his father was kicked out of the house, and divorce proceedings ensued. luka wasn’t asked what he wanted, but he had to watch everything go down. his mother won full custody, his father left the country, and he was forced to legally change his last name to his mother’s. 

it’s around this time that be began feeling restless, unable to sleep. he lost some of the joy he had for things around him. just felt tired all of the time. his mother didn’t notice, and as the symptoms of his depression became more debilitating, she still didn’t. dark circles began forming under his eyes.

luka really only had one friend growing up--a local boy named nate, who was sweet. he felt a little funny when they were alone together, little butterflies flying through his stomach. it wasn’t until he was eleven that he was able to acknowledge, in the middle of his parent’s divorce, that it was a crush. and, while he tried to get crushes on girls as well, knowing that’s what his mother would want... just didn’t happen. dude is a massive homosexual. 

when luka was thirteen, his mother announced that she’d met another man, they were getting married--and he was getting a step-brother. kian and his father moved in, and while luka genuinely liked the pair, he wanted to keep his last name. it was something he and his mother genuinely fought about for a year before she finally dropped the issue, allowing him to be the only reyes in the family.

as a high school student, luka was definitely a loner. he kept to himself. he and nate grew apart, as nate became extremely popular due to his friendly nature. it was around this time that he grew closer to his step-brother, finding his jovial nature a good contrast to his own doom and gloom. when he found out his step-brother was a necromancer, too, they only became closer, figuring it out together on the down-low, since neither parent would approve.

though luka tried his best to just keep his head down and mind his own business, he ended up catching the attention of a boy--miles. he was gorgeous, didn’t go to his school, and luka couldn’t help but he drawn to him. he’d sneak out to see him, having secret little dates without anyone knowing. it’d always be a secluded area. luka was head over heels for him, felt more himself than he had in a while. the whole affair lasted six months, before luka and miles got caught. luka had been sneaking miles in once or twice a month to make out with him, and his mother walked in on them. it ended in a scathing argument where his mother put the fear of god into him and he kicked miles out of his house, told him to never come back. he told miles to never seek him out again, under the watchful eye of his mom. he didn’t see miles again for some time--until they started working at the same coffee shop.

when luka was about ready to move out of the house, his mother came to him with news--she was pregnant with his little sister. she implied that they could really use some help around the house, and since luka really had no future plans, he stayed behind. however, this meant more years living under his mother’s thumb, hiding who he is... and he’s tired. he’s exhausted. ghosts linger around him, and the only person he has to talk to about it has left the house. his little sister is a bright light in it all. he adores her, braids her hair, takes care of her when he’s at home.

ever since miles, luka has continued sneaking out of the house, meeting up lately with gar. it’s been nice, and he feels that familiar crush coming on, but knowing how it ended last time... is he ready to risk it?

luka’s dad did speak german to him as a kid, so luka is bilingual. he’s definitely a little rusty since his mother won’t speak it around him, even though she can remember her speaking the language when he was young. it’s the last real tie he has to the man who disappeared.

[augustjcrdan]

{ kj apa ♔ 24 ♔ he/him } well, well, well if it isn’t [august ‘aj’ jordan ] running around peach hollow. legend has it, they come from [olive avenue] and have lived here for [all their life]. if you’re wondering what they’ve been up to, i hear they’re an [NFL player] for a living. they have been known to be [naive] yet [CHARMING]. a word of advice to them, always look over your shoulder. you never know who is watching. { adri ♔ 26 ♔ est ♔ she/her }

basic information ↴

full name : August Michael Jordan nickname(s) : AJ preferred name(s) : AJ birth date : November 3rd age : Twenty Four zodiac : Scorpio gender : Male pronouns : He/Him romantic orientation : Straight sexual orientation : Heterosexual nationality : American ethnicity : Samoan, Scottish current location : Peach Hallow, Atlanta living conditions : Bought his own home recently in the same town he grew up in. Had it designed & built from scratch

background ↴

birth place : Atlanta, Georgia hometown : Peach Hollows, Georgia social class : Upper-Class education level : Went to college for 4 years before entering the NFL draft, but didn’t graduate. Was one semester short of getting his teaching degree parents: Divorced  father : Mike (girlfriend Gwen) mother : Christina (married to Jake) sibling(s) : 6 biological, 4 step siblings previous relationships : Angel - high school sweetheart

occupation  ↴

nfl tight end for the atlanta falcons.  wears number 83 does endorsement deals helps promote giving back to the city helps out a lot with children events at hospitals has appeared on lot of social media campaigns, has his own workout plan to purchase

physical appearance  ↴

face claim : KJ Apa eye color : Honey Comb hair color : Red with darker roots sometimes hair type/style : slicked back with some gel or just free flowing dominant hand : Right height : 6′1weight : 200lb build : super lean, abs for days tattoos : 8 but wants more piercings : both of his ears marks/scars : one in the middle of his eyebrows

BIOGRAPHY  ↴

When August’s parents were in college, both out of state and newbies to Atlanta, they found themselves with an unplanned pregnancy and a decision to make.

Mike and Christina decided to keep their son when they were 20 and 21, raise him in an off campus apartment while they finished up their degrees and figure out things along side their friends and extended family. 

They moved to Peach Hollow when Christina finished college. August has lived in quite a few places throughout the town as he grew up and loved it.

His dad, a Chicago native was a huge basketball fan. Being named Michael Jordan growing up, he thought he was the man and wanted more than anything for his kid to love basketball. When August came out with firey red hair, Mike thought that was the sign and called him basketball head for most of his life. But little did he know, AJ had a completely different plan.

His mom, a soccer player in college, was never going to push sports or anything onto her baby. Her parents were super hard on her and disappointed that she would never make the USA team after having a baby in college, so she wanted to raise August to pick whatever he wanted in his life to do.

Christina was more laid back in the parenting department and Mike was more demanding and short tempered. This caused for a lot of fights and a lot of blow outs that AJ witnessed at a young age. One of those fights resulted in his scar that he got in between his brows that he tells everyone was a slam dunk gone wrong.

Once Christina got the balls to leave Mike after a failed marriage, she found herself starting a lifestyle magazine in Atlanta along with a boutique. It wasn’t long after that she met her now husband, Jake, who already had a son and the two went on to have 2 more kids. Giving them the picture perfect, 4 kids, white picked fence life. Jake was in business and Christina’s life really took off.

Mike on the other hand wasn’t stable at all. He worked all different kinds of dead end jobs and bounced from one girl to the next, having 3 with 3 different women thinking that was his ticket to getting them to stay. The unstableness was uneasy for Christina to deal with having in August’s life and she had to often keep her son from seeing his dad for long stretches of time. 

Mike was quick to turn to alcohol and get drunk to deal and cope with how he failed as a father in many ways. And there were many drunk phone calls made to their home, restraining orders, the whole nines. It wasn’t something he really told many people about.

Jake was a great step dad, and his brother was cool, but at the young age of 7 - August really wanted to play football and have an escape from his life. He wanted to play the game he loved to watch on tv. Whether it was the Falcons, Bears or the Eagles (Since his mom is originally from Pennsylvania) he was mesmerized by the plays, the positions and the entire game.

Once he played in his first game, AJ was in love. He was tall for his age so jumping others and ‘mossing’ other children, August fell in love with being a tight end. There was no other position that he loved more. He got to be physical, block, protect the qb but also score touchdowns and create them all at the same time.

His workouts and daily routines became intense. He was talented and wanted to ride out his dream, he promised his mom if she let him go through with this, he was going to give it is all and he always has.

Having abs at 14 was something that was nice to impress girls his age with, but never did he think that older women would be hitting on him? Sure, cheek pinches and all of that were nice but when his mom took too much interest in him, he really didn’t know what to do.

She was someone his family trusted, someone they used to help further AJ’s career in high school and beyond and behind everyones back, she was taking advantage of him and sleeping with him. Her name is Macy and she still haunts his thoughts today.

Throughout high school, she took photos when he was asleep, would use them against him for blackmail to get time with him. She caused him so much pain, anxiety and depression that he couldn’t tell anyone about. Regardless of knowing he could take her down, she had some mental hold over him and he hated it. Plus, most people don’t think guys/men can get abused/raped and when AJ tried to tell his dad once, he said an older woman is every high school kids dream. She’s not. It’s not. It’s a nightmare.

Once he was able to get away from Peach Hollow, he attended PSU for four years and flourished. He was able to shake away Macy and though he missed someone from his past, still loved the hell out of her and wanted to be with her, he has always told himself he was protecting and saving her from the wrath of Macy.

Atlanta wasn’t where he was expecting to get drafted. Not at all. He was actually hoping and praying it would be to any other city for another fresh new start, but they took him in the first round. As a TE, that was huge. He was their ‘hometown’ hero guy that earned the nickname red jordan or red around the league easily thanks to the hair.

Now that he’s been playing and signed a huge, multimillion dollar deal with the falcons, along with tons of endorsements, a new management and pr team, he decided to move back to Peach Hollow and build a home on the lot he always admired on his walks home from school. It was another dream he was able to make a reality. Along with taking care of his mom.

His dad is still a mess, he’s with a girlfriend now and they’re having another baby on top of the 6 combined they have together. He asks AJ for money constantly and it’s the hardest thing in the world to have to turn down supporting his father, but once you give someone an inch, they usually take a yard. That’s exactly how he would describe his alcoholic, still over the top, biological father.

random headcanons  ↴

has two dogs; max & luna. had one growing up that was his best friend named scar. loves cars. has 5 favorite drink is whiskey straight or rum and coke. will do as many shots as you tell him to and is king of keg stands. will never shy away from jumping behind the bar. had to learn how to play the guitar in high school for an extra curricular class and still from time to time picks it up and jams out. he can’t really dance, so the guitar it is. if you put bacon on anything, he will eat it. hangs out with celebrities and acts like it’s no big deal. has issues knowing how to dress for events? he likes to keep it casual and relaxed like every day looks, so needs to hire someone to dress him. is obsessed with hats to hide his red hair. hates being asked if he was born in august. his mom picked the name out of a baby book, he wishes there was a cooler story behind it. his mom has been filmed on RHOA a few times and it gets to her head if you talk to her about it. so please don’t.

wanted connections  ↴

best friends step brother possible sibling like cousins/grew up together childhood friends matched on a dating app sports world friends hookups/one night stands models/girls he’s taken out on dates college friends anything/everything. i like to build off our characters and what they want/need in their lives!

[nlovendwar]

( dacre montgomery, 32, male, he/him ) speaking of the bardet crime family, there goes antonello lucchese. i’ve heard that the heterosexual scorpio works underground as an advisor, but that’s all stuff of rumors. however, the fact that they’re notoriously diligent and imaginative as well as impulsive and perverted doesn’t bode well for their rep. sharpened cutlery sliding between perfectly white teeth, the stench of pomade and tom ford, billowing smoke from a peach flavored cigar. ( bobby, 23, cst, they/them )

**tw: **implied attempted murder, child abuse, abandonment; mental illness & torture mention

First name: Antonello

Middle name(s): Giuseppe 

Surname: Lucchese

Age: Thirty-two

Date of birth: November 19th

Sexuality: Straight (?)

Relationship status: Divorced

Nationality: Italian American

| TRAITS OF VOICE |

Languages known: English, Italian, French, German

Style of speaking: Politically Incorrect

| PHYSICAL APPEARANCE |

Height: 5'11

Weight: 191 lbs

Eye color: Light blue

Hair color: Dark brown

Hairstyle: Typically short, feathered/layered

Distinguishing features: Physique/smile

Build of body: Muscular/stout

Tattoos: None

Piercings: Earlobe

Typical clothing: Business casual, button-downs/linen pants and vintage suits

Is seen by others as: Loud, intimidating, confrontational

| PERSONALITY |

Aesthetic: “ Did you guys come by? “

Likes: Winning, music, Friedrich Nietzsche, indulgence, working out, and reading

Dislikes: Birds, uncertainty, anything grape flavored, waiting, swimming in open water/the ocean

Education: High school degree

Fears: Heights, dying alone

Personal goals: To accept/love himself, to bring honor back to his family name

General attitude: Quiet, reserved, snarky

Religious values: Raised Roman Catholic but considers himself agnostic and a vitalist

General intelligence: Somewhat above average

General sociability: Average to below average

| HEALTH |

Illnesses (if any): Traumatized, most likely very depressed, bat shit crazy and probably a bit of a sociopath, but refuses to see a Dr./Therapist

Allergies (if any): Cats, amoxicillin/penicillin

Sleeping habits: Sleeps 3-4 hours normally, gets up early and stays up late, is sometimes up for days

Energy level: Moderate, to low

Eating habits: Eats more than three times a day, mostly pasta, bread, and sweets

Memory: Fair and remembers faces well but tends to repress quite a bit from his life/childhood, under certain circumstances it is poor

Any unhealthy habits: Overspending, binge eating, smoking, not getting enough rest, binge drinking, uses recreational drugs daily

| HISTORY |

Birth country: United States

Hometown: Crown Heights, Brooklyn

History of family: He doesn’t remember much from his childhood other than he never really had a mother and father, but figures he might have gotten luckier not having them around. Apparently, his mother worked numerous jobs to keep a roof over their heads for years, dealing with the constant absence of his father until it became too much to deal with. Then, at just the fragile age of three and four years old, Amy and Antonello Lucchese were carted off to Crown Heights, New York to permanently stay with a mixed family of uncles, cousins, and loving grandparents. Almost all the surviving members of the Lucchese crime family in a three-bedroom apartment. 

Most of their wives had passed away or left them by the time they'd arrived, so it was a lot like growing up in a dingy old bar but, both children grew up and learned quickly, from their mistakes. Learned to use them to their advantage, but every once in a while there would be unnecessary punishments, overdramatic arguments, dinners missed and uneasy, awkward mornings, but. It was more than what anyone else could have given them, so they were grateful nonetheless.

Everything changed drastically for Antonello when he entered the fifth grade. Things became easier to deal with at home, but not exactly in the way anyone had expected. Especially not his grandmother. He’d always clung to her for guidance, support, and love but the moment the family exposed the young heart to their lifestyle, he broke away and heedlessly dove in. 

But as the years passed, most relatives and himself included, were absolutely convinced that he was made for it, and it was made for him. It was in his blood after all, but a large number of them also knew it marked the end of his innocence, and the beginning of ruthless trek towards a twisted, egotistical version of manhood and success.

In the span of six years, he’d become the youngest in the family to rise through the ranks in a proud, composed fashion and landed a spot right beneath his grandfather. He was creative, intelligent and respectful in a way that the elders of the Italian mob began to appreciate more than the efforts of his own immediate family, so soon after Anton realized the long list of dead or incarcerated relatives were mostly rats, scumbags, and hypocrites, coincidentally, he was asked to leave.

Then while out at the local bowling alley, his cousins spotted one of his better friends groping his girlfriend. He didn’t even make it twenty-four hours after his grandmother had broken the news of the heartless eviction, and the younger boy spent almost two weeks in the hospital. Luckily, her grandson wasn’t around long enough to suffer any harsh consequences, or god forbid a life sentence. But one punishment that should have been totally unrelated, would slowly begin to ruin his life.

Out of pure fear of her older brother and grandparents, Amy decided to finish her high school career at home and cut all ties with him. Shortly after the devastating blow, a family friend was contacted and found a job and apartment available in Amiens, Louisiana.

Present: Antonello has worked for the Bardet family for fifteen years and was promoted to an advisory position in 2015. He’s recently divorced, lives alone and prefers a conventional lifestyle even though he loves what he does. 

| RELATIONSHIPS |

Parents: Bill & Teresa Lucchese

Siblings: Amy Lucchese

Enemies: Tbd

Children: None (that he knows of)

Friends: Moved around too much as a child to have a stable set of friends, tbd

Best friend(s): Tbd

Important friends/relatives: Tbd

Love interest (if there is one): Tbd

| COMBAT |

Peaceful or violent: Unpredictable

Weapon (if applicable): Gun, golf club, curling iron, hands

| OTHERS |

Occupation: Advisor

Favorite types of food: Anything you put in front of him

Favorite types of drink: Water, wine and Ski soda

Hobbies/past times: Running, swimming, cooking, fencing, journaling, marksmanship, knife throwing, reading, avid glass collector and tobacco aficionado

Guilty pleasures: An old soul, loves red wine, Telenovelas, listening to Nina Simone, drag queens, and torture

Quirks: Has a really loud sneeze and goes into sneeze fits, likes to go on midnight shopping trips, gets too emotionally attached to people that shouldn’t matter, always carries a tiny notebook with him, has to move things around in a certain pattern before going to sleep, bruises super easily, writes and eats with his left hand but is right hand dominant, likes to memorize numbers instead of saving contacts in his phone, gets homesick very easily, brushes his teeth five times a day, likes to stay off social media, makes lists of random things, gets his heart broken too often, only writes in cursive, holds grudges like no other, and has the attitude and approach of a working-class sixty-year-old man that’s slowly losing his shit

Pet peeves: Being ignored, interrupted, knuckle cracking, people eating with their mouths open

Pets: A rottweiler named Jinn 

Talents: Can play piano, coronet, drums, braid hair and relocate an entire family in less than 48 hours

Favorite colors: Black, earth and neutral tones

Favorite types of music: Classical/jazz/r&b

Strengths: Efficient, observant, protective, loyal, brave, affectionate, poised, fair, chivalrous, playful, honest

Weaknesses: Intolerant, negative, stubborn, short-tempered, impatient, arrogant, dominant, cold, hopeless romantic, aggressive, blunt, reclusive, paranoid

| WCS |

I’m up for anything, from vengeful family members ( either directed at the Bardet family or his, it doesn't matter. ) to crazy ex-girlfriends, a tiny group of faithful, likeminded friends, and whatever else.

[ororowrites]

T’Challa x Ororo - Sparks

Characters: T’Challa x Ororo 

Word count: 2,504

“What are you saying, Ororo,” T’Challa questioned, wanting to make sure his hearing wasn’t failing him.

“I think we should get a divorce,” Ororo repeated, this time sounding certain that this is what she wanted.

Two months later, Ororo and T’Challa were still living separately part-time and on two different continents. The Queen of Wakanda had moved back to the States and T’Challa stayed in Wakanda. Before any divorce was finalized, counseling was required by the Council if there were children involved. Their four-year-old baby girl was stuck in the middle of her parents’ feud. Azora wasn’t old enough to understand what was going on but even she could feel the tension. She was fussier than usual and clingy when she usually liked to be independent. It was difficult keeping the pending divorce quiet from nosey media outlets looking for a story. But, Ororo and T’Challa managed, continuing to attend royal events together as a couple and keeping the buzz down.

T’Challa was in town for a royal engagement and thought it would be a good time for them to discuss the living arrangement for Azora. Ororo invited her soon to be ex-husband over to help tuck in their princess and have the weighted discussion.

“Babaaa,” Azora shrieked as soon as she heard the familiar voice in the living room. Her tiny feet hit the hardwood with light smacks until she leaped into her father’s arms.

“There’s Baba’s princess! I missed you,” T’Challa added with equal enthusiasm. Azora was the perfect mix of Ororo and T’Challa. She had her father’s smile, her small gap matching his, but she had Ororo’s eyes. Her personality matched more with her Aunt Shuri, which meant many jokes from Azora’s end.

“I missed you too,” Azora exclaimed, hugging the King’s neck. “Can you read me a bedtime story?”

T’Challa looked to his wife for approval, earning a smile and nod. The parents were escorted to Azora’s room after she forced to hold hands on the way. “Read this one,” Azora demanded, holding up Amazing Grace. Even though she had heard the book many times, Azora couldn’t get enough because she thought the young black girl on the cover “matched her”.

“Okay, okay. We’ll read this one. That alright, mama,” T’Challa chuckled, directing his question to Ororo.

“That’s alright with me. This is one of my favorite books too,” she stated, sitting beside her husband. “Is it okay if we take turns reading?”

“Yes,” Azora shouted, pumping her fists in the air.

They followed her instructions until the princess could barely keep her eyes open. Once her eyes had fluttered shut for the last time that night, T’Challa and Ororo quietly left the room.

“That didn’t take long,” Ororo whispered, making sure they were fully out of earshot. “I need to talk to you about her, by the way.”

Worry etched itself on T’Challa’s features until Ororo eased his nerves. “I think...actually I know she has my abilities. She’s quite young and that scares me because you know how hard it was for me to control my emotions then.”

The King placed a hand on Ororo’s shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. “Hey, we talked about this being a possibility when you were pregnant. We’ll handle it. You know Azora will always be in good hands with us. I’ll have Shuri do some research.”

Not even thinking about his statement or how it could be received, T’Challa followed Ororo back into the living room.

“So you don’t think I’m capable of taking care of our child,” the Queen questioned, handing him a glass of wine.

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” T’Challa sighed in frustration. Everything he said got a reply when he wasn’t looking for one. Ororo always got offended each time he made a statement.

Ororo sighed in return, “But you were implying it. That’s one problem we have. Every time I voice my feelings, you get defensive.”

He could appreciate her effort in being honest but it was still irritating. Thinking about their counseling sessions, T’Challa took a deep breath and thought through his answer, “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant, but clearly, I hurt your feelings. I apologize.”

She nodded and decided to change the subject, “All I want is for this process to go easy for Azora. She shouldn’t feel the tension between us,” Ororo stated. “But she’s already questioning where you are and why you don’t live with us.”

“This is what you wanted.”

Tears were threatened to spill over, “And you don’t?” Confusion was one hell of a feeling and it was hitting hard. Not being around T’Challa made the divorce pill harder to swallow. Now that he was present, Ororo began reminiscing on their good moments. T’Challa was her first love, a love that she never thought would sour.

T’Challa refused to ignore Ororo’s tears, even when she quickly wiped any evidence of her emotions away. But it was too late. He saw them.

“Are you sure this is what you want,” T’Challa questioned, moving from his chair to join her on the sofa.

Quite frankly, this is what made it hard for Ororo. Even when they were at odds, T’Challa still cared. She wanted him to be the cold man he was after the snap, but even then she’d have a hard time.

“Ororo,” T’Challa repeated, this time taking her face between his hands.

After gathering her emotions, Ororo was able to speak, “No,” she admitted. “But is it for the best? Yes.”

“What makes you think that,” T’Challa countered, not understanding the double-edged sword of an answer. “Because we argue?”

They had many disagreements but the past year they were arguing several times a day. Their disagreements went from petty spats to screaming matches over royal matters. When their marital issues began to affect how they worked as King and Queen, Ororo knew they had a major problem. Ororo felt like they were far too gone to save, especially when some members of the X-Men attacked Wakanda, putting the couple at odds. Words were exchanged that should be been left unsaid.  

“We don’t just argue, T’Challa. We don’t work. How can run a country together when we can't even run our marriage,” she explained with tear-streaked cheeks. “I will not destroy a country because I can’t work with my husband. Do you see how troublesome that is?”

He had to think fast. What could he possibly say to save their marriage and talk Ororo back from the ledge? Finally, he got out of his head and decided to speak from his heart. Taking Ororo’s hands in his, T’Challa began, “Remember when we first met?” The memory caused Ororo’s face to light up. “That’s a day I won’t forget. Those men almost kidnapped me but this beautiful girl with white hair scared them away because she had lightning in her fingers. I’ve never seen a group of grown men run that fast.”

Their first encounter came at the tender age of 14. T’Challa was on a voyage to prepare him for his future as a King. Poachers in the area attempted to kidnap him, thinking he was there to kill their plan. Ororo emerged from a nearby bush with flashes of light coming from her fingers, running the men off and leaving T’Challa safe and untouched. His country held the secret of vibranium, but what secret did this girl have?

“I didn’t even know how to control my abilities then,” Ororo smiled. “That was out of fear.”

“Well, you saved me, my love,” T’Challa grinned. “I was in unknown territory and outnumbered.”

“You were training to be the Black Panther. I’m pretty sure you would have managed without me,” she added, relaxing back against the couch. Memories were bittersweet. They reminded Ororo of the times that led to the deep love they had shared.

“Maybe...maybe not. My whole point is, we’ve gotten away from what’s truly important. Why we fell in love with each other in the first place,” T’Challa explained. “I’m guilty of it too. I could have done better making sure we had time to ourselves outside of work. I took advantage of you simply loving me and I stopped dating you.”

“Dating me,” Ororo raised a brow in confusion.

“I stopped trying, Ororo. You should still feel like I’m courting you but I became too complacent,” he answered, bearing his heart to Ororo in a way he hadn’t done in a while.

Hanging her head to look at their intertwined fingers she agreed, “We’ve both been too complacent. I’ve noticed the distance between us for a while but just didn’t attempt to fix it. I’ve felt unloved and abandoned but kept those feelings to myself because of my pride. I hate when we fight and it seems like the only way I can get my points across. And I know I haven’t been the most pleasant person to be around, after…” Ororo trailed off, her mind drifting back to the fateful day they returned to Wakanda.

After the snap, Ororo and T’Challa were left to deal with the aftermath. Several Wakandans had vanished, including members of the Council, Dora Milaje and countless civilians. The Avengers vowed to get the lost back and tracked Thanos down to reverse the snap. They had succeeded at the expense of losing Okoye and that tore T’Challa to pieces. He’d never forgive himself for losing someone so precious to the kingdom. Okoye was more than his General and protector, she was his sister. T’Challa considered Okoye family and hated that he couldn’t protect her. Her death sent T’Challa into a depression as he struggled to handle his grief. He had never reached acceptance and it left him in an angry state.  

“Neither of us have been. I’ve been a terrible husband like you said,” T’Challa added. “I’ve been cold and closed you out when I’ve needed you the most. I’m sorry.”

“T’Challa…”

“I want my wife back. I want my family back,” the King admitted. When Ororo served him with papers, he was shocked. They didn’t make rash decisions without discussion but clearly, Ororo had her mind set on ending their marriage. “Baby,” T’Challa pleaded. “We can work through this. I’m willing to do whatever it takes but signing those papers would be the biggest mistake we make.”

He begged with everything he had in him and poured his heart out as much as it would allow. Losing his family would tear him apart, ruin the last pieces of sanity he held on to after the war against Thanos. Guilt was already eating at his soul and signing those papers would open up a lifetime of regret.

Ororo used the opportunity to open up about her truths and feelings, something she had a difficult time doing herself. It made her feel too vulnerable. “Can I be honest with you?” T’Challa nodded. “Remember that big fight we had after the gala?”

How could either one of them forget that night? That was the night T’Challa had to do a speech in front of world leaders about opening Wakandan borders to exchange students. It was the night he also had to do a speech about the loss of a Wakandan General. He was tense the entire night, dreading the moment he had to talk about Okoye to the world. There were certain things he liked to keep private and his grief was one. That night, he had snapped at his daughter when she got too wired. He never yelled at Azora and she had never even heard her father raise his voice at anyone. That’s when Ororo stepped in and only made matters worse. They went for the jugular, both saying things they didn’t truly mean but only meant at that moment in order to hurt each other.

That night, Ororo told him he was a terrible husband and he stated he should have married a Wakandan woman instead. They regretted the statements as soon as they left their mouths. For the rest of the night, they were forced to put on a front and Ororo planned to file for a divorce.

“At times I wished it was me instead of Okoye. I thought you wouldn’t feel as guilty and you’d be happier if it was me instead,” Ororo admitted, watching T’Challa’s eyebrows smooth out as his face softened. “Things were rough that night. I thought about leaving right then and sending the papers later on. Then I thought about Azora and how unhappy it would make her.”

“Why would you think something like that, Ororo? Losing you would have killed me,” he reassured. “Come here.” Pulling his wife into his lap, T’Challa held her close. The close proximity seemed to relax them and provided a comfort the couple had been missing. “I can’t imagine living without you or Azora. After Okoye went down that day, my life flashed before my eyes. I just knew I was next and I didn’t want to leave you here alone. That day was the first time I’ve been afraid of dying. Because I had so much I’d leave behind.”

Moments from that terrible day haunted both of them due to the loss they experienced. Haunting T’Challa more than anything. When he was finally able to recognize his depression, his relationship with his wife had already fallen apart.

“Now I’m afraid of losing you,” he added, placing a finger under Ororo’s chin, forcing her to look at him. “I’m sorry for abandoning you two and making you feel like I don’t care about you...about us.”

“It’s not all on you. I haven’t been the best partner to you when you needed me. And I’m sorry for that,” Ororo apologized. “I want what’s best for our daughter. I’m tired of fighting with you and she doesn’t deserve to see us like this.”

T’Challa agreed, “Me too and I want to fix this. Please,” his eyes were pleading.

Was love truly enough to stick this out and hope they could repair what had been damaged? Could it be repaired? “What if we can’t fix this?”

“Baba,” a tiny voice interrupted. They looked up to find Azora, rubbing her eyes after a bad dream had disturbed her sleep.

“Bad dream, sweetie,” Ororo held out her arms, inviting their daughter to join them.

“Yes,” Azora sniffed, snuggling into T’Challa’s side as he comforted her.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about those monsters getting you. Baba has that all under control,” he offered, kissing Azora’s forehead. Glancing over at his Queen, he attempted to read her current thoughts since they didn’t get to finish their conversation. Ororo nodded, letting him know that their discussion could wait until the morning and there were more important matters to handle at the time.

Within a matter of minutes, Azora and T’Challa had fallen asleep, their light snores the only sound in the silent living area. Gazing at her family as they slept, those familiar butterflies fluttered in Ororo’s belly.

This was home. 

A second part may or may not be in the works.🤔 Okay, it probably is! 

Taglist: @oceanscorazon, @heybriheyyy, @superhoeros, @90sinspiredgirl

@champagnesugamama @ashanti-notthesinger @maddistundentwritergaines  

Azora Faceclaim: 

[eene-fangirl]

Stand By Ed Chapter 5 [An Ed, Edd n Eddy/Stand By Me Crossover]

NOTE: Chapter 5 of @camriko-arts and i’s collaboration of Stand By Me

WARNING: Some language

Returning back to the junkyard something immediately felt off to Edd. Ed and Eddy had disappeared. They were no longer sitting in the spot that had lounged out in spitting water in a can. The can was still there, however.

Oh, this better not be another joke, Edd grumbled to himself. He was not in the mood for one of Ed and Eddy’s immature jokes. Why did they always find it funny to mess with him? Yes, he could be aloof, but that didn’t give them any right!

But, then Edd heard something. Turning to his right his friends were climbing back over the fence. They looked as if they were in a rush. What was-

“Hey, you!”

A middle aged man who was noticeably balding and quite plump glared at Edd from a short distance away. The black circles which practically cemented under his eyes like a ghost were jarring. It was obvious that the man had been through quite a lot.

“What do you think you’re doing in here?! No trespassing allowed! Get out! I’ll sic my dog on you yah little shit!”

Edd jumped at his use of language. He could hear his friends telling him to run and so Edd did. This was against the law! And it wasn’t the first time he trespassed on someone else’s property!

Running as fast as his legs could take him and praying that he wouldn’t trip himself up like he usually did, Edd heard the ferocious dog barking at him, nearing closer.

“Sic him, Chopper!” Edd heard the man holler in a raspy tone.

Oh Dear! Oh Dear! Oh Dear! Edd prayed for the dog not jump on him. What if it stole his hate and ripped it to shreds? Then how would he conceal his scar?!

Edd practically slammed against the fence and climbed up. But, a pair of sharp teeth bit into his sock. “Not my socks!” Edd shouted. These were his favorite socks!

Reluctantly, Edd pulled away only for his sock to rip. Edd didn’t care. Protecting himself was his main concern. He climbed over the sharp wired edges and leaped into the dirt.

And that was when Edd looked up at his now confined attacker.

It was only a small dog. Who had a ferocious bark. He had graying white hairs on his snout.

Ed and Eddy toppled over laughing at the whole situation.

“This is Chopper?” Edd asked Eddy in a very put out tone.

“Yes, he’s small but ferocious,” Ed answered.

The dog kept on barking trying to jump at them against the fence. Eddy pouted his lip and waved his rear end in front of the dog, teasing it. “Come on, bit my ass! Bite it your ferocious mutt!”

Before Edd could tell Eddy to knock it off the owner bolted over and clung at the fence staring gravely at all the trio. His menacing stare made Eddy recoil, shivering. Edd immediately knew why.

“Don’t you dare tease my dog like that!” He shouted practically spitting on the boys.

Eddy smiled, obviously ready for some fun. “What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll lose your reputation?” he retorted.

“Don’t you talk like that to me you shit mouth! I-” The man stopped, staring at Eddy for a good long minute, examining his features.

“Hold on, aren’t you McGee’s kid?”

Eddy froze. He tried to make it seem as the man’s words had no effect on him. His composure was messed up, but he continued to fight. “What’s it to yah?”

“Your the kid brother to that demon! Thanks to him my son is brain dead!” He shouted pointing a finger through the fence right at Eddy. “I knew it was you! ‘Cause a you my wife has to look after him all day as he sits, stares and drools. He could have been on the football team!”

“It ain’t my fault!” Eddy defended himself.

“Hell it is! Your whole family!”

Ed boldly stepped in for his friend. “You leave him alone!”

The man grimaced at Ed. He also took a moment look over Ed. “Your father used to work for me, didn’t he?”

Ed’s eyes grew. Instead of fighting his case like Eddy, Ed quietly gestured for his friends that they should leave. And they did. The man was clearly trying to have some fun.

“He really became a depressed mess ‘cause your Mommy, huh? What’s wrong? The man couldn’t stand up for himself? Couldn’t even look out for you? I hear this is the most messed up divorce case ever!”

The Eds walked in silence. Ed had a hand on both his his friends shoulder. Edd could feel his hand tighten around their shoulder in comfort and in order to keep his temper at bay. He did not want the problem to come up right now.

“So. who’s gonna get you, yah retard?”

It was something completely snapped in Ed. He ran over to the fence attacking it as the man laughed at him. Edd and Eddy hurried over restaining Ed before he could climb back over the fence. The man grasped at his plump stomach and started walking off, howling in his own pleasure.

“My father is a wonderful man! I am Ed!”

“Say hello for me when old sad sack is signed in to a hospital!” The man waved with his back to the boys.

“I am Ed!” Ed screamed again, his voice growing raspy. His cheeks were completely red with rage.

“Go to hell you asshole!” Eddy shouted. This remark made the man turn around. Eddy turned up his finger and kicked dirt right into the dogs eyes causing it to whimper.

“Hey, get back here! Nobody trespassed this junkyard and gets away with it! I know your parents! I’ll call your father,and your father, and your mother!”

Once they were far enough away out of sight Ed broke down into tears, sobbing into his hands. Edd and Edd both kept a comforting arm around their friends shoulder.

“Don’t listen to him, Ed,” Edd said softly.

“That guy don’t have a clue to what he’s talkin’ about!” Eddy was next to argue.

Ed sniffled into his hands. He wiped the snot against his sleeves.

“Oh Ed, at least use a tissue,” Edd begged taking out a tissue from his pocket.

Ed blew his nose into the tissue. It was immediately covered in green, goopy snot immediately churning Edd and Eddy’s stomachs.

“Nobody talks about my father that way!” Ed sobbed, hiding half of his face behind the tissue.

Edd smoothed his hand up and down Ed’s back. The divorce had really affected their poor friend. Years prior Ed’s father took his children everywhere. They always had fun and his parents had a suitable relationship. Edd briefly met Ed’s parents only to notice something off about Ed’s mom’s behavior. She acted as if she dominated everyone.  And she was immediately angered by anything.

Ed didn’t deserve this life. His father even agreed that he couldn’t take care of his children with his mental health.

“We got your back, Ed,” Eddy said with a smile.

Removing his hands from his eyes Ed looked sad at both his friends. “You guys don’t think I’m a-a...”

“NO!” Edd and Eddy yelled out in unison.

“Don’t you ever think that about yourself, Ed!” Edd reprimanded.

“You’re a great guy, Ed! You’re smart and don’t you forget it!”

The friends kept walking a short distance with Ed lagging a ways. Eddy started to whistle their favorite tune trying to ease the mood. After none of them joined in he stopped.

“Guys?” Ed asked from behind.

“Yes, Ed?”

“I’m sorry if I ruined everything.”

Edd’s eyes broke. “Ed, no, don’t think like that.”

“If there’s anyone to blame it’s that jerkass back there! He was always so hot headed. I remember him yellin’ at me when I was still in diapers!”

Ed looked at his feet and then worriedly looked at his friends, afraid. “You don’t want to walk back do you?”

Eddy’s face changed to complete shock, immediately growing angry. “No way! We’re on a mission! We’re not letting Bro get there before we do! I’m not backing out on framing him! Ed, we’re in this together! We Eds got one another's backs! It in the oath!”

“We took an oath?” Ed asked.

“No. It’s just an automatic rule.”

The friends smiled and walked on following the train tracks.

[transstudiesarchive]

Poems from a young queer trans kid who eventually made it out

New offering for this project below (click “Keep reading”). Full text for the four poems above included below that. ______________________________

Four poems written by a young queer trans kid, raised Mormon, who didn’t know out queer people existed and had never heard of the concept of being trans. I lived in a small, conservative agricultural town with seemingly more churches than people. I was the fifth of eight kids. When I came across a bunch of my childhood poetry a while back after coming out as trans, they all made so much more sense…

Once I’d Seen Seattle

I think I’m glad I didn’t know sooner—

I’m not sure I’d have made it out.

I always knew I didn’t belong, but had no idea why.

I lived in a desert of ideas. Actually, it was worse than that.

I lived at ground zero where ideas that took hold were quickly censored or driven out; there was nothing in the air in my suffocatingly small, claustrophobic town to even let me conceptualize what I would later realize to be not only my truth, but my beautiful kaleidoscope of identities.

My town might as well have been an island because we never left the city limits. The only time anyone ever left was when my parents traveled to nearby towns for cancer treatments or other medical care.

I am the fifth of eight children raised in what I thought at the time was a staunch Mormon home. My dad was the eldest of six, all of whom lived within thirty minutes of us.

My siblings joked that I had to be adopted because it was clear I didn’t fit. Nothing fit.

But I kept trying.

I was a mama’s child and for some reason I was driven to be a golden child. I wanted to excel at everything and make my mom proud. But in my town, that meant Cub Scouts, then Boy Scouts along with church groups which became gender-segregated church groups and gender-segregated sports at school and at church. And outside school and church? Partying, partying, partying. And three-wheeling and fishing and shooting guns and hunting. But I never went hunting. (Even then, decades before waking to veganism, I couldn’t fathom how anyone could point a gun at a beautiful, innocent animal—a sentient being with a will to live—and pull the trigger.)

So I kept trying, sometimes channeling some fictional character to manifest some forced hyper-masculinity and jackass behavior. Somehow I survived all that and so did my closest friends. Even though at least a couple kids every year didn’t survive.

I learned about ‘homosexuals’ from the bible and felt a combination of curiosity and fear. Even as I sensed the repulsion and fear in others whenever it came up, I found myself fascinated. Was this me? Two close childhood friends later came out as queer.

Maybe, I told myself at the time, my discomfort in all-male spaces was because I was really attracted to guys and frightened it might show or that I would be tempted to act on those feelings.

But that didn’t explain how much discomfort, bordering on distress, I felt when I had to wear masculine church clothes—button-down shirts and jackets and slacks and ties and Oxford shoes. My mouth is getting that vomity sensation just writing this.

I remember the horror I felt one day when my sister pointed at my bare chest:

“You’re growing chest hair! You’re becoming a man!”

It’s the first time I remember feeling truly depressed. I found myself feeling more isolated as time passed and activities at school grew more polarized. Skipping events started to feel much better than staying and having to be one of the guys.

I loved nothing more than when I’d be invited to activities with the girls—but they were so heartbreakingly few! So I often stayed home, a devoted mama’s child, happy to help out with what she asked me to do.

In junior high school I had that rare teacher who loves what they do and has held onto the spark. He brought homemade borscht in when we were studying Russian literature.

I have no idea how, in a town like ours, he got approval to do this let alone budget, but he took us on an overnight trip to Seattle to see Shakespeare productions, art museums, art galleries and the science center. My world went from gray to a riot of color during that trip.

I don’t know if I saw something or someone in particular while there; if I did, it never registered consciously. But that trip lit something in me that gave me hope about who I was and who I could become. I knew there was someplace better for me.

In some ways, that made the next four years more difficult and more painful than the years before. Because compared to Seattle, my town was hell. Specifically, my town was a dull bathroom break in the red-state flyover part of hell. And I had four more years ahead with no clear path out even then.

I got contacts and became the class clown, but I lived under storm clouds I couldn’t dispel. My grades suffered. When I was at risk of not graduating, some friends of the family came up with a plan. I moved in with them and after graduation, at their encouragement, I left for a two-year Mormon mission to Japan.

Then I came back, moved to Seattle, met someone amazing, sang her Somebody by Depeche Mode without missing a word in the middle of the store at the mall where we worked. We got married in the temple because for some reason I was still doing that then. I struggled off and on with the feeling I might be gay. It was still all I knew; the only option that could explain the fact that I was different. That I didn’t belong.

I knew I’d made it out when I went back to visit my parents one year and the clerk at the drugstore asked my partner and I if we had ever visited the area before. I asked how they knew we were from out of town and they said, “I can just tell. Are you from Seattle or something?”

Almost thirteen years after saying “I do,” we divorced after giving an open relationship a try. I was a workaholic the entire time. A had a few relationships of varying duration, including some casual relationships with men. A couple months after swearing to stay single for a year I met the person I hope to spend the rest of my life with. We met through mutual friends, but both had online dating profiles and both had ours set to exclude vegans because WTF? How does that even work? Then we got together and went vegan.

Over the last several years before we met, the idea of being trans hit my radar. I’d talked with previous partners about it. I’d even gone through the not-atypical pattern of splurge-and-purge where I would embrace my sense of who I was and buy a bunch of skirts, cute tops, dresses and other things that never saw the world outside our house. My partners were supportive. But then I would panic and get rid of everything and go back to life in drag. I would do things like let my fingernails grow long, shave my armpits and some of my body hair, pluck my eyebrows—but never enough to “give me away,” as far as I knew.

Then at the age of 47 I learned my company was going through a restructuring and my department was being eliminated. Having grown up in poverty, I’d always let a stable job and reliable income take precedence over everything else. And my life history reflected that. But because of my partner, my circle of friends and who I’d allowed myself to become, I did something I never thought I would do. I left my job, volunteered at the local QIATBLG+ community center two days a week, did other social justice organizing and volunteer work, came out as trans, changed my name, updated all my legal documentation (including the non-binary X gender marker on my driver’s license) and enrolled in school full time. I had been on the fence on whether to start school or start a non-profit to serve the area trans and queer communities. When I learned about the brand new major at PSU—Sexuality, Gender and Queer Studies—I knew what I had to do. And I knew my life was right on track. - Iris @ Age 49

Signs of Humanity

Why can’t I be human? I’m called a child when I cry So I hold my feelings deep inside. Again I ask you, why?

Why can’t I be human? When I laugh, they think I’m weird. So I just smile to myself. Are feelings to be feared?

Why can’t I be human? When I’m quiet, they ask what’s wrong, So I think of something to talk about. Must I do this to belong?

Why can’t I be human? I’m scoffed at when I make a mistake. So I just turn and walk away, Though deep within, I ache.

Why can’t I be human? Why can’t I act like me?!?! Instead of just another model in… Series: Humanity. - by Iris @ Age 14

Close Your Eyes and Look at Me

Do not judge me by appearance. You have eyes but cannot see. Look at my spirit and my feelings. Close your eyes and look at me!

Hold your ears so you can listen. Hear my meaning, not my words. It is my heart that is speaking now. Is my language so absurd?

Quell your pride so you can feel. I know that you care deep inside. Why must these feelings that are so human Be held within, always denied? - by Iris @ Age 15

Balanced Confusion

Just sitting here, my mind is spinning With contemplative images. Caught in limbo between past and future, Unable to focus on the present. Trapped in a loop of unanswerable questions, I seek out nonexistent facts. Falling toward my termination— Groping for what is not there. Each time I sense a certain order And settle to a steady state, A new unknown begins to form And throws me into chaos. Emotions reign in my subconscious Running rampant, take their toll. I struggle to cling to reality, But slip across the line… Perceptions are nearly nullified. I no longer trust my senses. I crawl to the center of my mind And slumber in balanced confusion. - Iris @ Age 14

Sitting in the Oven

Sitting in the oven Wondering why the hell I’m here. I’m thinking and feeling something… Not sure what, but sure not fear.

It’s not too comfortable in here. I’m sitting on the wire rack; The bars aren’t big enough for my butt And there’s nothing to support my back.

Looking through the dirty glass I can see life passing by outside. Something is welling up inside me; I’m not sure what, but it’s sure not pride.

I guess I don’t like it here, But there isn’t much that I can do. Maybe if someone opens the door I’ll jump and try to make it through.

I’ve come to the conclusion That this is not the way to live. I’m thinking and feeling something… Not sure what, but sure not initiative. - Iris @ Age 16

[sparklecryptid]

highway to hell

paging the @madakaka crew. i have written a thing.

it is a good thing i think, you can readit here or on ao3

Kakashi has no idea where he went wrong. He has done this hundreds of times before with nothing going amiss; has summoned all sorts of dog demons and was even allowed to raise a pack of them by himself.

Nothing should have gone wrong when he tried to summon his pack, and yet instead of his dogs there is a strangely handsome, human looking, demon in front of him.

The demon is powerful, Kakashi knows that much. He can feel the power radiating off the displeased man in front of him.

Kakashi can relate, he himself is displeased with the current situation. He wanted to see his dogs damn it, he didn’t want to have to deal with a demon.

No matter how attractive this demon is.

Kakashi slowly blinks his one good eye.

“Maa,” he says, and despite his lax tone Kakashi is tense and ready to cast a spell at any moment, “You’re not one of my dogs.”

The demon snorts.

“I should hope not,” he says, “Your mutts are unruly. Dealing with them was a nightmare.”

Thunder rumbles above them, a second later lightning flashes.

Kakashi smiles underneath his mask. It isn’t a nice smile, all fangs and teeth and Kakashi is mildly disappointed that the demon can’t see it.

“I hope they didn’t give you too much trouble,” Kakashi lies cheerfully, “Though I did train them to be wary of strangers.”

The demon scoffs.

“Of course you did,” he says dismissively.

“A pack should always know how to protect each other,” Kakashi says, “But why are you here?”

The demons mood darkens, and Kakashi has the sudden urge to call lightning into his hands. He doesn’t because he can’t play his cards right away, but also because the demon seems familiar somehow.

“I need your help,” the demon admits, “My nephew has gone missing.”

Kakashi raises an eyebrow.

“How is that my problem?”

“Because,” the demon snarls and Kakashi tenses, “My nephew is Uchiha Obito.”

Kakashi freezes because he knows Obito. Obito is his half-demon best friend who had been abandoned by his family because of he hadn’t been good enough. Obito had been part of the Uchiha Clan of demons. A clan that boasted some of the most powerful demons in existence.

Obito had gone to live with his uncle, Uchiha Madara, when his bloodline had awakened, and had given Kakashi one of his eyes as both a farewell gift and in return for being his friend. The rest of his clan was pissed, but Obito had laughed when Kakashi told him about would be assassins and promised to keep the angry demon horde of Uchiha’s away from him.

Obito had kept that promise.

Not Obito is missing and Kakashi feels worry twist his gut into knots. He suddenly doesn’t care that Madara is one of the most powerful demons in existence because Kakashi is a witch with demon blood and he’s one of the best there is.

If anyone can go head to head with Madara, it’s probably him. At least, he likes to think so.

“What happened?” Kakashi demands and drags his foot over the summoning circle that had ensnared Madara. He had no doubts that Madara could break it if he really wanted to but Madara was being civil so Kakashi would be too.

“We don’t know,” Madara confides grudgingly, “One moment he was fine, if a little depressed, and the next he was gone.”

Kakashi’s worry disappears at the word depressed because he knows the only person beside Kakashi himself that Obito would go to when depressed. If he’s right, even after all these years, Obito will be at her house.

“You harassed my dogs because you couldn’t find a depressed half-demon,” Kakashi says, his tone unimpressed, “Did any of you bother to even ask him about what he was like before you snatched him away?”

Kakashi takes Madara’s silence and towering glare as a ‘no’.

Kakashi sighs.

“Follow me,” he says.

AAAAA

Madara refuses to get in the car.

“Madara,” Kakashi says, “Get in the car.”

“No,” Madara says, “I am not going to allow you to kill me in some hell forsaken death machine.”

“It is a car,” Kakashi stresses the last word, “It won’t kill you.”

“Couldn’t we take a broom or something instead?”

“No,” Kakashi says and wonders how long this guy has been off the mortal realm, no one has used brooms for centuries, “We cannot.”

Madara glares at him, red eyes staring him down.

Kakashi glares back. His one red eye twitching.

AAA

He gets Madara in the car. He isn’t sure how, but he’s pretty sure it had something to do with Gai running toward them yelling about youth.

“The man in green is terrifying,” Madara says to him once they are on the road and sounds a little bit in awe, “Who was he?”

“That was Gai,” Kakashi makes no effort to sound unamused, “He’s a friend.”

“I don’t know whether or not I’d like to meet him.”

AAAAA

Kakashi hates the fact that Rin now lives in Suna. Not only does it mean that his best friend is further away from him, but it also means that he has to deal with Madara for longer than he should.

Madara is attractive, but he is also cocky and annoying and powerful and Kakashi might have a thing for that combination in men but Madara took everything to extremes and Kakashi cannot decide if he likes Madara or not.

If he catches Madara staring at him more than once that’s his business. If he stares at Madara when they stop for food and Kakashi can take his eyes off the road that’s no ones business.

AAAAA

Kakashi jerks awake in the car he’s been sleeping in for the past few nights a scream lodged in the back of his throat.

He had dreamed of his father again. Of the blood on his childhood home and his father’s blank eyes staring up at him and he remembers shoving his hand through Rin’s chest as the seal on the beast inside her almost brought Konoha to ruin and he remembers that it was only thanks to Rin’s own magic that she had survived.

Guilt wells up in his throat.

“Are you alright?” Madara asks from beside him, putting one of Kakashi’s books down. It’s the newest book of the Icha Icha series and Kakashi is grateful for the distraction it brings.

“Yes,” Kakashi says because his problems are his own and no one elses, “How’s the book?”

AAAA

They wind up in Suna in the middle of a festival celebrating Suna’s wind gods. Despite the packed streets, Kakashi manages to find Rin easily. She still smells the same, smells like flowers and medicine and Kakashi smiles when he sees her. She’s chatting with a dark haired man that smells like trees and growing things and Kakashi knows that’s Obito.

So does Madara apparently, because he marches over to them with a scowl on his face begins to lecture him about telling people where he is going and checking in once and awhile. and

Obito doesn’t looked scared in the least despite the fact that the people around him flee lest they turn the wrath of Madara onto themselves.

Kakashi snorts, the sound catching Obito’s attention and when Obito looks at him Kakashi’s breath catches.

Obito had been like a brother to him. Kakashi loved him as one and was devastated when he had to leave.

Obito stares at Kakashi for a moment before he grins and launches himself into Kakashi’s arms.

“Bakashi,” Obito says and Kakashi can’t help but smile fondly, “I was wondering when you’d show up! Didn’t expect you to bring the old man too though.”

Madara’s face turns a pretty shade of red and the demons splutters trying to get words out.

Kakashi wonders what color Madara’s face would turn during sex.

“Idiot,” Kakashi says to Obito, derailing the thoughts of ‘Madara’ and ‘sex’ before they can gain traction, “Of course I would find you.”

“I told you he was missing in the first place,” Madara says, crossing his arms with a huff.

Rin laughs and takes a sip of sake.

“How did you know where to find him?” Rin asks, “Did Obito blab about us?”

Madara grins.

“Of course he did,” he purrs, his eyes locking with Kakashi’s, “In fact, he told me some very interesting stories about you three and the Yellow Flash.”

Kakashi knows what story Madara must have been told and narrows his eyes.

“No one was to know of that,” he says and Obito snickers.

“You mean that sensei stole your clothes and you had to walk through Konoha in your underwear looking for them before he burned them? That was speed, stealth, and tracking training wasn’t it?”

It was. Kakashi doesn’t like thinking about how many times he almost got caught though. His sensei had done it so Kakashi would be detained for public indecency should he get caught.

Kakashi hadn’t gotten caught, but he could look Kushina in the eye for ages after she found him in her backyard mostly naked and filthy.

Madara laughs, and it fills Kakashi to his very core. Kakashi is suddenly very aware of how much he wants Madara in his bed.

Coughing, he looks away and Rin and Obito trade devious glances with each other.

If Kakashi gets drunk that night, it’s worth it to see the flush on Madara’s face when they find some alcohol that actually effects demons.

AAAAAA

Kakashi wakes up to a warm body pressed up against his and the weight of metal on his ring finger.

He opens his eyes, looks up, and finds himself cuddled up against Madara and suddenly aware that they are both very naked.

He lifts the finger with the ring on it to his face. It’s clearly a wedding ring.

The only other person in the room is Madara. Madara who he has only known for a couple of weeks and yet would like to see that blush on his face again. Madara who hasn’t pried into Kakashi’s past or asked why when Kakashi dozed he woke up screaming at times.

Madara who was kind of a nice person all things considered.

Kakashi blinks, his first thought as a married man is:

What the fuck?

His second thought is:

It could be worse.

That's when he realizes he can feel the peace that radiates through Madara as he slumbers. He should not be able to do that, he realizes, he should not be able to feel Madara's emotions.

Only bonded couples could do that.

It is indeed worse. If there were just married they could get a divorce, but a night of drinking had led to them binding themselves together in a way that is almost impossible to break.

Obito is going to kill him

Kakashi is going to die.

Fuck.

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