#hot people still have their childhood items

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

I’m curious about something. If you still have your childhood blanket/stuffie/whatever emotional support item from childhood what did you name it?

I’ll go first, my blankets are both named “Buddy” because they’re my buddies

[neonspectrumdreams]

Grounding Techniques

Grounding techniques are a psychological method to end flashbacks, anxiety attacks, and negative thought spirals. Anyone can use these but they are especially helpful for interrupting symptoms of mental illness like OCD obsessions, panic attacks, or PTSD flashbacks.

Grounding techniques allow us to step back from a cyclical thought that is causing us distress. They allow us to let go of thoughts that feel overwhelming and uncontrollable. Geounding techniques give us control over our mind.

They are very helpful for disengaging from traumatic memory flooding if self-exploration gets out of hand. For this reason, they are often used to come back from overwhelming thoughts/memories during EMDR therapy.

Grounding techniques are similar to mental techniques like meditation. Meditation can also be used as a grounding technique - it provides a similar benefit.

I Spy

Pick any color (or any other distinguishing characteristic, such as shape.) Find 9 things around you that are that color. If you are still experiencing the negative thought loop after finding 9 items, repeat the exercise with a new characteristic. Keep finding sets of 9 items until you feel calm.

5x5

Experience 5 things around you with your 5 senses. Look at 5 different items near you. Feel the texture of 5 different items near you. Listen for 5 different sounds in your immediate environment. Identify 5 different scents near you. Taste 5 different flavors. It may not be possible to find 5 experiences of each sense depending on where you are (particularly taste,) so it is okay to move on from categories that do not have easily accessible sensory experiences. Repeat this until a sense of disconnection or distraction from negative thoughts is attached.

Ground in Senses

It is easy to use sensory stimuli to ground. Focusing on an experience that we perceive with one of our senses, such as touching a soft blanket, looking at a kaleidoscope, preparing and then drinking an orange juice, smelling a rose, or listening to a song, can be used to bring us back to the present and disengage from negative thought loops. Some people continue one or more sensory processes until they feel better, others set a timer and do it for a set time such as 5 or 10 minutes.

If a sensory experience that you associate with being calm or happy will make the process easier; we attach feelings to many things, and it is helpful to be aware of what feelings we associate with things such as flavors or textures. For instance, we may feel an extra sense of comfort from touching a childhood blanket that we associate with nostalgic and comforting childhood memories. It is not necessary to use a sensory experience that we associate with something else to ground, but it is helpful and is something to be mindful of.

Simple Process

These are a set of similar techniques that distract a person from dysphoric internal processes with a simple physical activity. Some people clap their hands or stamp their feet to take themselves out of their thoughts and ground in the present. Some people go for a walk for 5 to 10 minutes. Other people interface their fingers together and move their hands back and forth.

Jarring Stimuli

Some people use physical experiences that are slightly unpleasant or startling to disengage from negative thoughts and feelings and bring themselves back to the present. Some people take cold showers, wash their face with cold water, or run their hands under cold water. Other people go outside when it is cold or hot out. Other people hold onto an ice cube or touch ice.

Showering/Bathing

Many people find that a shower or bath is relaxing. Due to the complexity of sensory experiences encountered during showering or bathing, it is easy to ground in the present by focusing on the changing of temperature and feeling of water on skin and getting lost in the simple process of washing. Bathing and showering have the added bonus of being constructive activities. Some people find doing simple housework like vacuuming or washing dishes is also relaxing and grounding - and can be used to walk away from negative thoughts.

[cycat4077]

Gator's room: foreshadowing & clues

I went back to take a look at the scene of Gator in his room. While the "flag", girly posters, blaring heavy metal and handcuffs were an immediate stand out to all of us, I wanted to have a look to see if there were any other clues to who Gator is.

First up, here's his room:

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT FOR EPISODES 1-8

Let's look a little closer at the obvious foreshadowing.

Based on the previews and the Instagram post from the makeup artist (along with the subtle nods to Oedipus), it appears Ole Munch is going to torture Gator. We see him holding a knife to his eyes, and in the original trailer, Gator is bloody and blindfolded while being led by a noose.

Gator's own posters, decor, and drawings seem to depict this fate.

#1 The poster immediately behind his shoulder depicts a man with no eyes - potentially gouged out.

#2 The drawing below it has the eyes blocked out in colours that suggest necrotic (dead) tissue.

#3 The animal skull on his wall obviously has no eyes.

The Oedipus parallel and removal of his peepers were foreshadowed right in Gator's room from episode 3.

Linda's fate (mommy issues)

We learned in the last episode that Linda is dead. Roy tells Dot that he can burry Dot right next to Linda. When Dot confronts Gator and tries to win him over via his mother, Gator gets visibly emotional and shaken. We see hope and heartache run through him simultaneously. I think Gator knows instinctively that his mother is dead, but some small part of him hopes she is still out there.

I also think Gator's drawings depict his mother.

#1 This drawing not only depicts a person with eyes blacked out, but the drawing is clearly of a woman - possibly a corpse. She has breasts and long hair but is drawn in purples, reds, and blues; colours that represent bruises, blood, and dying flesh.

#2 The other drawing with missing eyes is also of a woman. This drawing once again has long hair, but she is smiling.

Perhaps Gator accidentally saw his mother's dead body. He has a drawing that represents a scary corpse (reality) and one that represents an almost comical one. Maybe the smile is how he tries to remember Linda - dead but somehow still smiling for him.

Other little things

#1 Robbed of childhood innocence. Gator's room is filled with "tough boy" items: swimsuit model photos, car photos, alcohol, heavy metal posters, etc. But he also has children's toy cars. The hot rod photos are in direct contrast to the toy cars on his shelf. The boy trapped inside the man. A boy robbed of his childhood by abuse and traumatic events.

#2 Jack Skellington. I'm probably one of the only people on the planet who have not yet watched The Nightmare Before Christmas, but the Jack Skellington parallels go beyond just the mask Gator wore. To me, it looks like he also drew Jack - and yet another reference to death. The skull's mouth is sewn shut too, just like Gator is sworn to obey his father and not speak the truths about what Roy has done.

#3 Red or Blue Pill? Again, I have failed to watch yet another classic film: the Matrix. But this poster seems to be a clear reference to it, I think.

According to Google, "The red pill and blue pill represent a choice between the willingness to learn a potentially unsettling or life-changing truth by taking the red pill or remaining in the contented experience of ordinary reality with the blue pill."

And if there's anyone with the last name of Tillman who will be forced to see reality (and potentially change), it is Gator. Gator will likely be forced this "red pill" by Ole Munch, either finally seeing the reality of his father's ways, or by becoming the next sin eater.

Whatever the outcome, the poster must have some sort of meaning!

That's all for now 😊 But I really love all the subtleties in this show! It's fantastically written and acted, and Joe is doing such an exceptional job playing this mutli-layered and morally ambiguous character of Gator!

***EDIT***

A post by @familyfriendlyhoho got me thinking about the drawing on Gator's wall. I was thinking that his drawings represent his dead mother, Linda and that he may have accidentally seen her corpse. The post theorizes that:

"I feel like Gator knew Linda was dead. but worst, I feel like Roy showed it to him."

And I think that this is the most-likely scenario. Roy is sinister enough to do something like that to his own son. I can imaging Roy telling Gator to stop being a loser and become a winner and, to drive the point home, he could have led Gator to Linda's corpse warning "this is what happens to losers".

If so, Gator's drawings would depict the corpse he witnessed. Even here, before Gator gives himself the "I'm a winner" pep talk, we see him glance towards the drawing - a reminder of what happens to losers. He then feels the need to convince himself that he is not one, despite what his father says.

[shinycollarboneapologist]

a tale of brief encounters (and the one time it actually isn't so brief)

(part 2 to clandestined, or the one where matty tries to call elle’s bluff)

word count: 8.6k

content: MINORS DNI! mentions of alcohol and drinking, matty is a jealous baby, mutual pining, george cockblocks, smut, fingering in front of a mirror, and matty uses the term “good girl” a lot, also slight age gap (3 years). (i also have not read through this yet, so please do not hesitate to tell me if something is wrong or weird thank u)

with the turn of the season comes the inevitability of elle’s trek home from the hectic haze of school and work and the return to some sense of normalcy. it’s inundated with the promise of rest and relaxation, a chance to stretch her legs and finally start cracking on that growing pile of “to be read” books or change up her style, get cracking on those internship applications. it also comes with the promise of returning to george’s couch, a tradition dating back to when she initially committed to a university and moved out of their shared childhood home. It was the promise that both would have a month or so of uninterrupted brother-sister bonding time (it also gave her the opportunity to work and make money without having to pay rent). 

the season changes and so does she, trading in her sweaters for shorts and sundresses; its unnaturally hot for this time of year and the sun is fully shining instead of peaking through the clouds. it’s early in the morning when she gets the call from george that he’s outside with a borrowed van. stomach flipping, elle tells him that she’ll be down in a moment. there’s that underlying promise that there would be someone with him. it was tradition after all for george and matty to come to get her. she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about him once these past few weeks. but her unrelenting anticipation is soon replaced by disappointment at the sight of a lone george waiting outside the building. it’s short-lived, though, as she finds herself quickly distracted by loading up the van with some of her essentials. she’s hardly lifting a finger because in true george fashion he’s lugging most of the heavier items, a bit begrudgingly but he’s doing it anyway.

the ride back to his is smooth. there’s not many people on the road due to the time of day, and he even makes it a point to stop and get the both of them some fast food breakfast and coffee along the way. george asks about the internship and elle answers, raving about the london office and all of the coworkers she has yet to meet and how one of her roommates was also awarded a position there so the duo plans on commuting together. elle asks about the guys, carefully skirting around the topic of his own roommate. and after he talks about ross and hann, she doesn't bring up matty, a bit too scared to ask where he is or how he’s been. his absence is felt in the car all the way home and elle finds herself having to push away dangerous thoughts of him more often than she would admit to. 

the apartment is empty when they arrive, much to elle’s dismay. a smile replaces her frown, though, as not to seem too dejected. even if there was no kiss, no longing, no desire, she still would miss him and his antics and the big welcome home that he’s always given her. the day passes by as she makes herself at home in the small two bedroom apartment, claiming a shelf in the bathroom and setting up a stake on the pull out couch. it almost feels empty without matty messing around and hiding her stuff as she tries to organize herself. she can’t help but feel dejected in a way, chest feeling heavy as she tucks herself onto the couch after the long day. 

sleep comes easy, but doesn’t stay that way. it’s late when elle hears a clanging by the door, the jingling of keys and giggles coming from outside in the hall. not this. it takes a second for the door to open and the culprits to be revealed. 

matty’s wrapped around another girl, lips feverishly pressing to her own and hands roaming her body. its dark, but the small amount of light coming in from the door is enough to illuminate the way he’s pressing himself against her. she’s gasping, her own hands clutching onto him and pulling him close. there’s stifled whispers falling from his lips, elle can hear the hush in his tone, and his friend’s incessant giggling. the door to the hallway shuts and he begins to move her inside, closer to where elle is trying so viciously to not be seen. bile rises to her throat. 

“oh, hey there, ellie belly,” he hums. 

ellie belly. the nickname weighs heavy on her brain, he hasn’t called her that in ages. and surely, she had thought something would change following the kiss and the things he muttered into her ear and the way his hands gripped her waist. but evidently, it’s still the same. at least it is for him. 

she rolls over, wanting the couch to just fold back up and crush her with it, but not before his eyes meet her’s and he sends her a wink in the dark that turns her stomach. 

“who was that?” the dark haired girl breathes out, as he begins to back her into his room. 

“no one important, s’just my roommate’s sister,” the door is shut and that’s when the tears come. 

—---------------

elle is pretty good at avoiding matty for a few days. 

she pushes herself to stay longer at the office, take the longer train ride home and the more scenic walk up to the apartment building. and it’s easy to do so. he’s rarely home when she is, and even when he is around there’s not many interactions between the two of them that aren’t mediated by george. 

“you going out tonight?” george asks, walking up to the bathroom that she had been hogging for what he saw as hours. his face comes to view in the mirror as he pokes his head into the open door. 

elle smiles at him, nodding as she lowers the music playing from her phone, an old throwback song, “yeah a couple of the interns wanted to celebrate the completion of our first week at the office.” 

he returns the smile and steps into the room, leaning against the threshold of the door with his arms crossed over his chest, “hope it doesn’t end up as a repeat of your eighteenth birthday. you remember that?” 

eyes narrowing, she puts the curling iron down and turns to get a full look at him, scoff falling from her lips, “it will not!”

“that’ll teach you to go shot for shot with me and matty,” he’s full on grinning now, “spent most of your night in this bathroom here if i’m correct.”

his words bring elle back to the flavored vodka and redbull induced night, can still taste the bitterness on her tongue and the copious amounts of sports drinks she had consumed to not spend her night in the hospital. it all started when matty made a comment on the “girly” drink she had in her hand, challenging her to take a sip of his much more “macho” mixed drink. it wasn’t half bad, surprisingly, and he promised the girl that he would buy her as many as she wanted so long as she finished them all. an opportunist at heart, elle accepted but soon found herself clutching her stomach and being led out of the dingy london club by george and matty, her friends and the rest of the guys trailing behind the three of them. the night got foggy from that point on and the first thing she can vaguely remember is waking up in george’s bed with a cool rag on her forehead and a pounding headache. 

“enough from you. it was all matty’s fault anyway,” elle chides, turning back to the mirror to continue fixing her hair. 

“oh yeah, because he force fed you all those drinks,” george tuts his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 

“alright, get out before i burn you with this,” elle waves the iron at him. he only holds his hands up in mock surrender. 

“do you need a ride? i think matty’s heading out tonight, was gonna dd for him. can always drop you off as well,” george asks as he exits, leaving elle to ponder the thought. 

“where’s he going?” she tries not to seem too enthralled by the question, instead trying to busy herself with the hot curling iron and a stubborn strand of hair, “i’m not gonna ask you to taxi me around if he’s going somewhere and i’m out of the way.” 

she hears george utter the name of a club. it’s familiar, has her pausing the music to hear him again as he repeats it. the curling iron slips from her hand and there's a slight burning sensation bubbling up on the skin on the top of her foot. 

“fuck!” 

when the realization of matty being at the same club finally sinks in, the hot metal doesn’t seem so painful. she reaches down quickly and grabs the tool, placing it back on the counter. 

“elle, are you alright?” george asks, poking his head back into the bathroom. 

“yeah. i’m fine,” she mutters, more so trying to convince herself than anything, “guess i’ll take you up on that offer, then.” she gives him a half-smile. he nods apprehensively, but doesn’t push the issue. and elle is grateful for that. when he dips out of the room once more, she lets out a long, exasperated sigh. 

she was fucked.

matty returns moments before they’re set to leave; the first time elle has seen him solo and not entangled with one of his friends. his presence cuts into her bravado with a knife, tugging on the threads of her confidence and pulling against them until they’re taught enough to snap. she finds herself messing with her outfit more, playing with the straps of her dress and fiddling with the hem. he notices, because he always does, and offers her a sly smirk, lips curled around his teeth. if things were different, it would have hit her right in the gut, eliciting a burning sensation. and while it did that now, elle was conflicted with a sense of wanting to shy away from it all. 

in a turn of events, matty lets elle take the passenger seat claiming the back of the van is “too decrepit for sweet ellie belly.” she cringes at the nickname, rolling her eyes as she slips into the passenger side. his eyes are hot on her neck, burning holes into her skin. she can feel them lighting little fires, a stark comparison to how cold he had been to her the week prior. 

the ride is quick, her thoughts muted by george and matty’s antics. her stomach churns when george asks if matty plans on bringing home a friend tonight. the older boy only laughs, his eyes catch elle’s before he slips out of the van, offering a sly smirk and a stomach-fluttering wink. elle is nauseated and thankful that he’s ran ahead to meet up with his friends at the door. 

“call me if you need anything, yeah?” george smiles from the driver’s seat. elle nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before she follows matty’s suit and slips out of the car. loud music permeates the air of chatter around the entrance which is saturated by the bodies of those waiting to get in or enjoying a smoke. there’s no sight of matty, though, and elle is thankful for that. she just wants him to stay out of her hair and out of sight for as long as possible. 

“elle!” 

elle pivots on the balls of her feet, spinning around to see charli and sophie. she wraps her arms around her friends as they squeal and cheer their hellos, despite the annoyed glances from those around them.

“is that george in the car?” charli quips while they pull away. she raises on her tippy toes to attempt to see in the van that’s slowly pulling away, tugging her lowcut top down a bit and fluffing up her hair, “go ask him if he wants to come have a drink. s’on me.” 

“don’t be weird, char.” elle groans, dragging her friends towards the entrance after turning to wave george off. 

the club is packed, littered with bodies from wall to wall. and despite the lack of room to move let alone breathe, elle is happy. it leaves little to no anticipation that she would be forced to interact with matty. the girls are quick to distract her from it all, buying her drink after drink and shot after shot. the music is vibrating through her body, mixing with the alcohol she’s quickly consumed to create a sense of euphoria. she needed this. 

“that guy over there has not stopped staring at you since we came in,” sophie smirks, handing elle another drink. her head nods over the girl’s shoulder and elle twists around to follow her gaze. 

sure enough, a guy; about six foot with a mop of golden curls and tattoos littering his slender arms, has his lip tucked between his teeth. his aloof demeanor matches the off-set smirk thats on his face. elle won’t deny he’s attractive, she has a type clearly.  a small, bashful smile pulls at her lips. she offers him a wave, which he returns. elle is quick to turn around, giddy as she faces sophie once more. 

“he’s coming over.”

“no he’s not, shut up,” elle’s cheeks feel warm, stomach twisting in delight.

sophie nods, wide eyed, “elle, he’s uh right behind-”

“hey,” his voice is deep, sending a shiver down elle’s spine as he finds his place carefully next to her.

“hi,” she returns the gesture. if the lights in the club were not so dim, she was sure he would see the rising flush from her neck. 

“what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he quirks, nodding his head at her.

“am i not allowed to be here?” she tilts her head to the side, looking up at him with doed eyes.

“never said that. think running into you made my night significantly better, actually,” his arm worms its way around her waist and elle’s smile only deepens. she curls her lips around the straw of her drink, sucking down the bitter liquid while keeping her eyes locked on his.  

his name is alex. he’s a musician in a local band, lead singer and guitar player. he grew up ten-minutes from where elle’s family moved and he was actually in her maths class. 

she has a type. 

her attention is only pulled from his momentarily. and in that moment she’s kicking herself for even looking away.

across the bar, matty is stood nursing a drink. he looks like he’s paying half a mind to it as his head bops to the beat. their eyes lock for only a moment. his attention is pulled down to the arm around her waist and the guy slung around her neck. alex’s lips are hot on her skin, albeit a bit messy. a soft gasp falls from her parted lips, consumed by the thickened air around them. her eyes fall shut as his teeth drag over the sensitive skin just under her ear. 

when her eyes open, matty’s gone. 

“well well well. what do we have here?”

even in her alcohol induced euphoria, elle would recognize the timbre of that voice anywhere. the way his lilted pronunciation rolls off his tongue, hangs in the air like smoke and vanishes away before she can hang on too tight. his presence usually elicits flutters in her stomach, a pounding in her chest and a bright smile. this time, however, the disdain burns heavy on her tongue. he’s got a thing for being places he shouldn’t be at the times where its least opportune. the hand on her waist tightens, drawing her in closer to the stranger’s grasp. she wants so badly to remember the guys name, it sits untouched on the tip of her tongue because the only name she can remember is-

“matty,” elle huffs, “what are you doing here?” 

“just wanted to see how little ellie belly was doing,” he reaches up and ruffles her hair. it draws a chuckle from the man wrapped around her (andrew? jamie?). elle feels her shoulders slump, stomach twisting instead of fluttering. matty doesn’t relent, “though, it looks like she’s doing alright for herself.” 

“do you know this guy?” scott! his name is scott, asks from next to her. 

“unfortunately,” elle mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. 

matty snorts with a roll of his eyes, “i’m matty. and you are standing way too close to the precious cargo.” his hand is outstretched, staring directly at the arm wrapped conveniently around elle’s waist. she feels small under his gaze. and even smaller as the man stood next to her reaches out his unoccupied hand.

“alex,” their hands collide in an uncomfortable sound, “and i’ll stand right here until she decides to tell me off. which i hope she doesn’t, by the way.” 

matty’s tongue rolls against his teeth. it clicks against the roof of his mouth as an emotion elle has yet to pinpoint washes over his face. he covers it up quickly with a half-lipped smile, looking between the two of them, “next round on me?” 

he does buy the next round, with alex soon following with another and there was a third bought by matty and a fourth by alex. with each slam of an empty pint glass and smirk thrown in her direction, elle feels like she’s shrinking. small enough to weasel away from the testosterone induced challenges that have been plaguing her ears for the past thirty minutes or so, but alex’s hand sitting firmly around her waist and matty’s darkened stare are enough to keep her in place. 

“is one of them about to pee on you? or is the meat-fest pointless?” sophie huffs, though she’s already downed another drink bought by matty. 

“this is getting ridiculous. i just want to get out of here,” elle sighs. 

it doesn’t matter how loudly either of the girls talk. the two men are paying them no mind. instead,both of their chests are puffed outwards and elle can tell from the way matty is standing that he’s trying to appear taller than he is, though he and alex stand around the same height. its paired with their obnoxiously timed sly digs in between the casual conversation about alex and matty’s one shared common interest: being musicians in a local band. 

manicured fingers reach up to tug on the sleeve of alex’s shirt. there’s no budge. no movement aside from the arm that was once around her waist slipping a bit. brown eyes dart down, and a smirk rises on matty’s lips. elle feels sick. he looks pretty pleased with himself. she needs to work harder, remind the man that was so wrapped up in her moments ago that she was still standing there. so, she tugs again. 

alex shifts to face her this time, dazed smile on his lips. 

“do you wanna get out of here?” elle all but begs into his ear; she just wants to be put out of her misery of watching the mirrored images bicker. 

“oh…oh…yeah,” he nods. thankful, elle lets their fingers intertwine.

“we’re gonna head out. see you, matty. thanks for the drinks,” she nods her head in matty’s direction. 

his expression is unreadable, like he’s mulling over something in his head. as annoyed as she is, elle would kill to be able to crack open his brain to see what exactly was going on in there. the wheels were definitely turning, whether good, bad or indifferent. as badly as she wanted to get out of there, she more so would spend the next few hours picking his brain. yet, alex serves as a viable distraction. a means to break her from the matty-induced spell. 

alex extends his hand out to shake matty’s once more. the brunette looks down at the outstretched hand, then back at the way elle has so comfortably enclosed herself around alex’s arm. he meets her eyes, eyebrows arched in an “are you sure about this?” expression. 

“why are you looking-” 

“dunno if you want to take her too far, mate. she might blow chunks on those nice new trainers you got there,” matty seethes. 

elle stiffens, hoping that the otherwise loud roar of the conversations around them and the overwhelming bass of the music would drown out the sound of matty’s voice. his words hang around in the thickened air, though, long enough for alex to slowly lower his hand. 

“matty-”

“mate, what are you talking about?” alex chuckles uneasily. 

“meant what i said. was her birthday. at this very club, she got so shit-faced couldn’t even walk straight. yacked right in that corner that she was probably about to take you to,” matty continues, vindictive bites laced within the syllables that fall from his mouth. elle so badly wants to catch them all, bury it all deep below the surface. this has never happened before. he’s never done this. 

“matty, stop,” she pleas. her requests fall as quickly as alex lets her hand drop. 

alex, all six-foot, messy auburn-hair, guitar playing lead-vocalist of him, laughs beside her. 

“think that’s the same night you belted out shakira the whole way to the cab? right, elle?” matty’s looking at her, expecting an answer. but how can she answer when her tongue feels heavy against the roof of her mouth? when the words she wants to utter are jumbled and foreign? how can she answer when the one person that’s always made her feel like the only person in the room is treating her no better than the lime he discarded on the bar?

he doesn’t wait any longer for a response. instead he continues, “it was a fucking mess, dude. the bouncers had to cone it off. my brand new trainers were stained.” 

elle’s chest feels tight, throat constricting as she tries to gasp for air. she would much rather deal with matty’s incessant stare, the darkened gaze and the brooding attitude than have him obliterate any chance with blonde-haired alex right in front of her. when the two of them laugh in cohesion, she feels a knife puncturing at her heart, eyes glazing over. 

she’s worming her way away from the group before she can hear anymore of what matty so graciously has to say. the tears come before she can make it all the way outside, ignoring the concerned stares from strangers.

 the cobblestone lined wall provides little relief to her heated body, heart hammering hard against her rib cage. she’s gasping for air, choked sobs drowning out the bass from inside. never in her life did she believe that of all people matthew fucking healy would be the one to take the piss out of her. it was bad enough that he’d pretty much pretended like she didn’t exist the entire first week of her arrival, ignored her texts. was this how he felt all along? was their friendship instilled in convenience of her stroking his ego when she complimented the band?

her shaking hands cover her face as the sobs rack through her body. she’s pathetic, feeling no bigger than the ants that crawl on the sidewalk. she envies them, despises them even. they at least get to crawl away from their problems and are able to get squished under the shoes of those that don’t care about them. meanwhile, she’s helplessly tangled up in the one problem she has. 

matty.

“elle?! where the fuck are you?” his voice collides with her ears oppressively. her stomach twists, “why- why did you leave?”

he’s out of breath; shoulders rising and falling quickly.

she puffs out a laugh, wiping at the tears that have collected under her eyes. 

“why did i leave? are you that fucking dense, matty?” 

he gulps, adams apple bobbing. 

“can you go get sophie and charli for me? i want to go home.”

“thought you were catching a ride with me and george,” matty takes a step towards her. its tentative, like he was mulling the action over in his head before he did it. so, he can think. he just picks and chooses when to do so. 

“don’t want to be anywhere near you, actually.” 

she watches as he winces and rubs over his heart, “sheesh. that one hurt, sweets. wait, are you crying?” matty’s face softens but she turns her face away. 

“elle.”

“leave me alone, matty,” she mutters. its pathetic the way her heart raps against her ribs harder as his hand comes in contact with her shoulder. the tiny little fires under her skin burn brighter and faster than ever before. 

“why are you crying?” he presses, tone unwavering.

“I’m not,” her voice betrays her as a sob escapes between her parted lips. 

he scoffs, “then what’s all this?” 

“i just don’t understand what i did to make you hate me so much,” elle sniffles, rubbing at her eyes. 

“what are you talking about?”

she inhales slowly, “you, fuck, you made me look like a fucking idiot. Fucking telling him all those embarrassing stories, won’t even look me in the eye at the apartment, avoiding me like the damn plague. matty, if you hate me, just fucking say it.” 

he’s quiet. 

he’s quiet and she’s fucked it. again. 

“if you regret kissing me just say it. i can take it. m’a big girl.”

matty stares at elle. long enough that she can feel his eyes burning holes into the side of her face. her head spins again, resonating within her brain is the sound of silence. its loud, overpowering her racing thoughts. she wants him to say something, anything. matty could recite the abc’s to her and she would be content. 

“say something.”

he flicks the butt of his finished cigarette to the ground. if it were any other person, she would have scolded them for littering, chastise them until they picked it up. but matty did it in a way that had her heart racing. his eyes coast over her when she finally looks at him again. her own eyes plea with him. elle needs him to say something, wants to hear the words that will finally put the nail in the coffin. if he rejects her maybe all those years of pining and going after guys that look and act like him will be in the past. maybe she can move on from the love sick crush she’s been harboring for so long. maybe. 

“eleanor daniel, are you dense?” 

“what?”

matty’s frame looms over her, pressing her body up against the wall as if he needed her to stabilize him, “i asked if you were dense.” 

she’s never seen him look at her that way before. 

“i don’t know what you’re getting on about, matty,” elle gulps. she can feel her heart beating in her throat; a rhythmic thumping that she’s positive he can hear from how close he is to her. his hand comes to rest at the base of her neck, thumb stroking over the heated skin, “just wish you would stop being so mean to me.”

“i don’t hate you. i want you, elle,” he exhales, “so fucking badly that it’s killing me knowing i can’t have you.” 

its her turn to be struck into silence, chest rising and falling slowly under the weight of his palm. her tongue juts out to flick over her bottom lip, blinking slowly. 

“you what?”

“you’ve been plaguing my thoughts since the last time i’ve seen you. but it can’t happen again,” matty murmurs, voice falling just above a whisper, “it shouldn’t have even happened the first time. you were crossed, didn’t want that to be the first time i kissed you.”

“you’ve been thinking about kissing me?” 

“do you only speak in questions?”

“only when it comes to you.” 

they stand in a comforting silence, though its tensed by the way his hand slides down from her neck to the curve of her waist. its slow, sensual and leaves a trail of goosebumps on her exposed skin. he leans in close to her and elle is almost convinced that he’s about to seal the space between them by pressing his lips against her own. the very lips she’s thought about at least ten times a day in the weeks following their last kiss. he doesn’t, though. instead he leans to her ear, hushed whispers against the shell of her ear. 

“i want to kiss you again, elle. but we can’t.”

she shudders, eyes fluttering closed as he presses a kiss just below her earlobe, “says who?”

“the laws of physics. george.” his voice is muffled as it reverberates against her skin, hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. 

“george doesn’t have to know,” she refutes, nails dragging along his skin. he shivers underneath her hold. 

 its quiet again, aside from the cars that drive past and the occasional melodies escaping from the constant opening and shutting door of the club. 

“are you drunk right now?” matty asks, eyes pouring into elle’s as he lifts his gaze. his eyes are dilated, chocolate brown irises almost non-existent in the wake of his enlarged pupils. 

she shakes her head, but he pinches at her side.

“n-no. are you?”

“no.” 

his lips find hers before she can even find the courage to ask him to do so. its softer than their first kiss, slower and exuding a sense of comfort from their longing. he tastes of the bitter whiskey he had been sipping on the whole evening, yet it was uniquely matty. a taste elle was sure she would never get off the tip of her tongue. his hands wander over her body, falling from her waist to the curve of her ass through her jeans. they settle there, squeezing at swell. her mouth falls open in a gasp and he takes the initiative to slide his tongue between her lips. 

elle moans, and that’s when matty’s movements come to a screeching halt. he pulls back hastily though she’s frozen in time, lips still pursed and chin still tilted towards him. 

“we can’t do this again,” he hushes, moving his hands from over her jeans to rest at her waist once more.

“matty-” she exhales. she wants to ask him how he can kiss her like that and then decide on his own accord that whatever that just was is to never happen again but he’s quick to cut her off with a bruising kiss. it’s hard. the way his lips collide with her own and the force behind him as he pushes her back up against the cool cobblestone of the wall. the bricks dig into her back, yet elle pays them no mind as she lets herself get lost in the kiss. her hands move from the back of his neck up to the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling at the unruly curls that habituate there. he groans against her lips, gripping at the bare skin of her side. elle’s almost certain that there will be moon shaped marks left tomorrow but she has half a mind to care. 

the marks would prove to her that this was real.

–

its late. its late and the impending sound of her alarm is enough to make elle question her own sanity as to why she’s staring at the cracks in the ceiling instead of sleeping peacefully. she rolls over and reaches for the phone that’s plugged in beside the makeshift bed, eyes squinting as she tries to make sense of the bright screen. 2:04. groaning, she tosses the device aside. instead of peacefully falling among the pillows, it clatters to the floor, the noise disturbing the otherwise serene apartment. getting up to grab it would ruin the promise of sleep, yet she was feeling rather thirsty and with the kitchen only a few strides away maybe it made sense to lazily remove herself from the warm blankets. she’s pulling herself up with a sigh, fetching the phone from the floor and gently placing it on the arm of the couch, and makes her way to the kitchen. her steps are lithe and careful, not wanting to ruin the sound sleep of the two other occupants. 

her back is to the threshold, hands nimbly searching the familiar scuffed cabinets for a glass. she retrieves one, hips swaying to an unsung melody that ricochets through her head along with thoughts about matty and the events of the past few nights. the longing and the waiting and the kiss, how could she forget about the kiss? there’s still a phantom memory of it that lingers along her lips, almost as if he wanted her to remember. did he want her to remember? or was the “this can’t happen again” that he uttered true? and if that were true why did he look at her like that before? why did his body encapsulate her up against the wall? why did he breathe down her neck to elicit goosebumps? why did he avoid her at dinner? why does he barely hold a conversation? why-

“can’t sleep?” 

elle jumps, soft shriek falling from her lips. she snaps her head around, eyes locking in on the culprit in the dimly lit room. matty, of course. he looks like a vision; sleep stained eyes, hair awry on the top of his head and hips adorned with low hung pajama pants. her heart races and she’s not too sure if its from the man stood before her or the way he invaded her thoughts. he always invades her thoughts. 

“hasn’t anyone ever told you its rude to sneak up on people, matthew?” she chides, setting the glassware down on the counter beside her.

“hasn’t anyone told you that its rude to leave people hanging, eleanor?” he counters, arms coming to cross over his chest. 

“you’re the one who said that it couldn’t happen again. i was just seeing to that,” she utters and takes a step towards him. 

he scoffs and with a roll of his eyes he follows her lead, stepping forward as well. his eyes trace down to her hips, lingering on the curve there. elle usually cowers under his stare, but this time she feels a sense of bravado wash over her. he’s not as intimidating as he thinks he is. 

“i’m not drunk,” she urges, arms tentatively reaching out towards him. elle half expects matty to shove her away, “or high for that matter.”

but with another step forward, he’s got her backed into the counter, “neither am i.”

elle swallows thickly, her throat feeling constrained under his darkened gaze. he looks starved, depleted of whatever she was offering and she wanted to give it to him, regardless of the implications at hand.

“so kiss me.” her voice is barely audible over the sound of their labored breaths. 

“what was that? couldn’t hear you, sweets.” his hand rises to rest at the base of her neck, almost possessively. it matches the heat in his glance and elicits a wave of fire beneath her skin. 

“i said kiss-” 

before elle can finish her request, matty’s lips crash into hers. they fill in the void that was once left behind, molding and pulling. there’s sparks reverberating through her skin, clawing through her bloodstream. this kiss feels different. for what it lacks in the awkward learning of what makes the other tick, it’s garnered the all expansive exploration of putting those pieces together.  its all teeth and tongue crashing into one another. his teeth dig into her bottom lip, tugging at the tender flesh. a surprised gasp falls from her occupied lips, granting matty the access he needs to slip his tongue into her mouth. elle presses herself up against him in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer. 

the counter digs into her back as matty’s hands roam all over her body through the thin t-shirt she’s adorned with. she needs more, craves more to dull the ache that’s overtaking her from within. as if he’s read her mind, matty’s knee pushes it’s way between her legs and presses deliciously into her heated center. with a swivel of her hips, she’s overtaken by a radiation of pleasure. it’s a small wave washing over her, but its enough to satiate the climbing impatience that’s growing inside of her. she feels his leg prop up more, an invitation for her to buck and grind against his knee as much as she likes. and she does. over and over, building a rhythm that has her aching for more. 

“can feel you soaking my knee through these sorry excuse for shorts, darling.” he groans against her lips. 

all she can do is whine, digging her hips a little deeper. maybe if she shifted up a little more-

“i’ll give you what you need, sweet girl. just be patient.” 

she’s been patient for weeks on end, having to pretend that the desire bubbling deep within her was nothing more than a farce. it takes everything in her not to whine, though she’s pretty positive he would like it more if she did, as he pulls away. 

“get on the counter,” he utters. there’s a commanding tone though his voice is nothing more than a whisper. elle stands there, stunned into silence and paralyzed with want. her breaths are baited, eyes tracing over his face for a few times. everything seems to set in at that moment: what she was doing, who she was doing it with, the proximity of her brother, the nagging feeling in her chest and the desire pooling in her core. she feels like she could melt into the floorboards, be washed away with the rain. the feeling of his lips linger on her own, she still feels the traces of him in her hair. 

“did i stutter? or do you need me to do that for you, too?” 

her mouth opens but nothing comes out in time. 

their tryst is up as the sound of a door being swung open pulls them from the heated embrace. matty steps away, quickly and for the first time in all the years that she’s known him, elle can see a trace of fear on his face. he's breathing heavily and situating himself a few paces away from her heated body. elle is positive her own reaction mirrors his as george pokes his head into the kitchen. 

“all right?” he yawns, “so fucking dark in here. we pay the electric bill for a reason.” his large hand reaches around to flip the light on, leaving all three of them to blink blearily. 

elle grabs the once abandoned cup from the counter, chugging down the rest of the water. it all feels too much: matty consuming her with his heated stare, wearing the remnants of her arousal on his knee while george is a few centimeters away drinking orange juice from the carton. the silence is unbearable, eating her alive bit by bit until she’s nothing more than a mess of herself- fragmented and torn to pieces. 

“as fun as this has been, i have to piss. goodnight again,” george presses a sticky kiss to elle’s forehead and is off, venturing into the dark of the living room. 

elle doesn’t exhale until she hears the door to the bathroom shut. 

“see you in my dreams, ellie belly,” matty hums while offering her a whimsical smirk before he stalks off as well. 

this is sick. sick and twisted and if elle was the tiniest bit religious, she would be on her knees right now begging for forgiveness. she should be sleeping, blissfully surrendering to the lulls of peace. but instead, she’s thinking about animalistic groans, the pressure between her legs and a mop of curly hair. the kitchen is cold and lonely without the heat of his body pressed against her. there’s a phantom of his knee lingering between her legs. she could cry, which seems to be the only thing matty’s been good at making her do recently. 

a door shuts in the distance, and with it closes the small opening she had. the floor looks like a promising place to crumble up and wallow. 

but it’s late and the red numbers on the microwave only burn an unwanted reminder into her brain that she has to be up in a few hours. as she rounds the corner between the kitchen and the living area that she was residing in, her eyes fall to the slightly ajar nature of matty’s door. she gulps. it’s never been left open before, especially not this late at night. because he usually has a girl over, her conscious reminds her. she could be such a bitch sometimes. elle chews on the inside of her lip. what if he just forgot to close it? what if he’s not in there? what if he really meant it couldn’t happen again? 

she toys with the idea of just going back to sleep, though she knows that sleep won’t come easy and the promise of being able to get off with matty is more enticing than the comfort those pillows would offer her. maybe he would let her grind up against his knee again, or dip his head between her thighs and use that sinful mouth on her until she was shaking.

her legs carry her through the door before she can construe another miscalculated scenario in her mind. chest rising and falling as she pushes the door shut behind her, hand gripping onto the handle like her life depended on it. she had half a mind to twist the door open again and slip out, hoping he didn’t notice her. she could play it off like she thought it was the bathroom. she could pretend that she was confused or sleep walking or-

“thought i would be able to call your bluff,” he grins wryly once the door is shut. elle spins around to stare up at him, breath caught in her throat. he’s lost the shirt he was wearing before, plaid pajama pants hanging low on his waist. her eyes dare to travel from his waist, but she doesn’t know if she has the strength to keep off of him if she does.

they’re at a stand-off; squared away and facing each other. elle’s mind is spinning out fantasies about what it would be like to be one of the girls that gets to spend the night tucked away behind these four walls. and by the way he’s staring at her, she feels as if she’s been caught. she wouldn’t put it past him to be able to read her mind.

“just wanted to bring you water,” she blushes, offering him a sheepish smile.

“you don’t have any water in your hand, elle.” matty comments from his stance in front of his dresser, arms crossing over his chest and head tilting to the side. 

she feels exposed, shying away from his gaze and turning around to face the now closed door once more in an attempt to make a run for it. maybe this was a mistake, a bad idea shrouded by the thoughts of matty and his devilish grin. 

“oh. silly me, must have forgotten it i-”

“you didn’t come to bring me water, did you? you came here to finish what we started, hm?” he’s pressed up behind her. his lips are on her neck, pulling a breathy sigh of his name from her mouth, “use your words, elle.” 

she could fold right there. his tongue pokes out and licks a trail up to her ear, “i’m waiting, sweet girl.” 

but how could she think let alone speak with the way he’s touching her and kissing her and making a mess of her brain. her thoughts feel scrambled and mushed together. she melts into his stance, mewling lowly. every nerve ending in her body feels as if its aflame. there’s no way to extinguish it alone, at least not with the way he’s dragging his fingers around her thigh and sucking deep welts onto the exposed skin of her neck. 

“please i’m so-” his fingers trail up her thigh, pushing the lame excuse of shorts to the side. skilled fingers find her clit, rubbing slow circles over the sensitive bud. she whines, head falling back into his shoulder. its the relief she needed, craved even. but she needs more, wants more.

“wet. you’re so fucking wet for me, dirty girl,” his teeth pull at her earlobe as he finishes her stuttered thought, “is this what you wanted? hm?”

“yes, want- fuck, want,” his pace on her clit increases, head feeling heavy. 

she moans lowly, reaching down to grip at his wrist. he lets her, watching her blissfully as she puppeteers his hand against her cunt. 

“feels good, doesn’t it?” matty grins. all elle can do is sigh out a whine, squeezing her eyes shut. her nails dig into his wrist, “i know, pretty girl, i know. need you to be quiet for me. can you do that?”

she nods, bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

“being so good for me,” matty’s lips drag down her neck, teeth scraping over the bruised area from before. an unabashed moan falls from her lips. he’s quick to turn her head towards him though, sealing his lips to hers in a heated kiss. the last thing they both need is an intrusion from the other house guest.

he swaps his fingers for his thumb, using the leverage to slip a finger inside of her. she clenches around him, the action going straight to his untouched dick that’s hidden within the confines of his pajama pants. elle feels it pressing up against the swell of her ass.

“matty,” she mewls against his lips. its hard to think with the way his finger dips in and out of her, almost in time with the motions of his thumb on her clit. she’s writhing against him, legs feeling as if they could give out any moment.

his long finger slides in and out with ease, toying and teasing at her silky cunt. she nips at his bottom lip, tugging the plush flesh in between her teeth. a low moan rumbles up from his chest, and elle’s convinced its the prettiest sound she’s ever heard. the sound is imprinted in the depths of her brain, something she knows she’ll think about for the rest of her life.

“think you can handle another?” he puffs out, slowly pulling his lips back from her to search her face for approval. 

she nods quickly, mouth falling agape as he adds another finger. his fingers work in and out of her at a blinding pace. his own mouth falls open as he mirrors her face, watching her only a moment before he’s pressing his lips back to hers to capture all of the broken moans that slip into the air. 

elle’s facade is crumbling, quickly. a familiar yet distant burn brewing in the depths of her stomach, a rubber band that's almost ready to snap. matty adds a third finger. elle hisses at the blissful stretch, eyes rolling back into her skull. she’s done for.

“you’re still such a needy thing, aren’t you?” his teeth drag along her neck, trailing a line straight to her jaw. he presses heated kisses along her jawline. his fingers hook up inside of her. and that’s when he finds it. 

if elle was in heaven before this had to have been the vip club. a choked sob lingers in the air, cunt clenching around his fingers. 

“right there,” she chants the syllables over and over like an oath, the words floating out in the heated space between them. and who is matty to deprive her when she looks so pretty begging like that? his fingers dip in and out, finding the exact spot each time. her knees wobble, hand gripping onto his shoulder for support.

“gonna fucking dream about the way you’re clenching on my fingers like this. letting me fuck you like a good girl,” he moans into her ear. its almost too much between his fingers deep inside of her, the sinful whispers in her ear and the sound of her arousal filling the room. she’s close, the rubberband stretching thin as she’s about to snap.

“you close?” he asks. she nods languidly and he hums out his approval, “you wanna cum?” 

elle nods again, almost scared to let herself speak. she’s so close, can practically taste the promise of the sweet release. another moan of his name falls from her lips, she feels him shudder from behind her. eyes squeezed shut, in total euphoria. 

“open your eyes, elle,” he husks into her ear, “want you to watch yourself as you cum.” 

elle’s eyes open slowly, locking with the eyes of her reflection in the mirror. she’s never seen herself like this before; cheeks flushed, eyes wild, lips swollen. she looks as fucked out as she feels. its the image of matty behind her, his own lips parted and hushing the filthiest sayings into her ear that has her clenching tightly around his fingers and choking out an almost too-loud moan of his name. he shushes her, working her through her release with a soothing kiss to her lips whilst he slows down the onslaught of his fingers. his unoccupied arms wraps around her quivering body, holding her upright as she gets rocked by wave after wave. 

“so good, sweets. you did so good for me,” he coos, kissing at her cheek. matty slips his fingers out from her, leaving elle to whine at the loss of fullness. he laughs. elle half expects him to wipe his fingers on the strewn towel on the back of his door. that’s what every other guy has done before, at least. 

he doesn’t though. instead he pops the digits into his mouth, sucking off her liquid arousal from his fingers. she stares at him, wide-eyed as he moans around his own fingers. matty’s eyes pour into her own. she finds it hard to catch her breath.

“taste even sweeter than i imagined,” he smirks at her dumbfounded expression, “oh, sorry. should i have offered you one? s’kinda greedy of me that i took all three for myself.”

“oh. uh.. no. no thanks,” elle blinks blearily, swallowing thickly, “i’m uh… i’m gonna go uh.. clean up and head to bed. thanks for that.” 

“not a problem. anytime you want another mind-numbing orgasm, you know where to find me,” he grins cockily.

elle’s cheeks sting but she can’t fight back the smile that’s curling on her lips, “sure thing.”

she smooths the hem of her shorts down, blinking a few more times as she hastily walks towards the door. there’s no way in hell that that just happened. it was something ripped straight from her thoughts, a mirrored image of the way she’s been thinking about him for weeks. her chest rises and falls quickly, hand reaching for the door knob. she needs to lay down immediately.

“oh and elle?,” he calls just as her hand comes in contact with the cool metal of the handle.

she tilts her head towards him, “hmm?”

“i meant it when i say i’ll dream of you,” he offers with a smirk and pink tinted cheeks. 

and in that moment, elle know she’s going to dream of him too. 

[hannamoon143]

...👀👀👀👀👀

Imma ask all😔✨

1. What song makes you feel better?

2. What is your go to comfort show?

3. Reading or writing? Why?

4. Whats your favorite feeling?

5. How do you like to take care of yourself?

6. What’s your favorite candle scent?

7. Who do you feel most like yourself around?

8. Whats a fabric/texture that’s nostalgic for you?

9. Best childhood moment?

10. When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? (or just felt really good afterwards)

11. Do you have a comfort item? Tell us about it!

12. What calms you down?

13. Bath or shower to relax?

14. Whats something upcoming that you’re excited for?

15. Comfort food ?

16. What’s something you want to create soon?

17. How do you feel best loved ?

18. What age in life do you think you’ll feel most yourself at?

19. Have you ever written or received a love letter?

20. Tell us about a memory you hold close to your heart.

21. Tea, Coffee or hot cocoa ?

22. Name of your favorite playlist?

23. Have you ever received flowers?

24. Who is your bestfriend ?

25. If your soul was a color, what would it be? 

26. If you could live anywhere with anyone you want, where would it be and who would you bring?

27. Do you like to garden? Have you ever grown something?

28. What are you proudest of?

29. Arw you a kind person ?

30. What do your hobbies look like ?

I'm sorry it will take time for u to answer but I'm a curious person so 😔💕✨

Take your time <333

omg thats so cutei😭💕 let's start

secret secret by stray kids, and sweater weather <3

hmmm i'd say gilmore girls, and the drama "it's okay to not be okay"

i personally love both, i love reading cause i can escape reality,also if it's just for a few hours. i love writing cause i can express my feelings so naturally, other than with speaking😅

the feeling when i'm doing something that really makes me happy, and i can just forget everything else

hmm when i feel drained i like to take a long hot shower, and afterwards jsut go to bed and read a comfort book, or when i'm in public, i take my headphones and listen to music

ohhh i love vanilla candles

when i'm alone and with @darqlys

When i was with my that time best friend at night at a little hill, we were watching fireworks, and i thought everything would be perfect forever

hmm i'd say raw cookie dough, and the blanket i have for rlly long now

hmm tbh i can't really remember

soo i think in a way my headphones are my comfort item, cause music brings me a big comfort, but also my old plushies i'd say, and that may seem weird but i keep all letters i ever got, and to this day i still read letters from people who i now not even have contact with anymore, but sweet words from people who loved me once or love me are something that brings me comfort too.

music

shower

hmm i guess i'm excited for christmas

rice.it''s light, never made me feel sick or smth and its also not unhealthy so yea

i hope to create a work of writing that i will be really proud of, and can say that i'm really satisfied with

physical affection. i love love love hugs and stuff, but also loving and appreciating words make me feel really loved and worthy

hmm maybe when i was a child around the age of 6 or maybe in some years

actually i wrote one once, but i wrote it together with another girl and it was really embarassing, cause the guy never said anything about it except thank u so it was really weird after.but i love the memory of it😂

the memories with my old best friends,yes all of them. i was always myself, and there wasn't a day where we didn't have fun together.

hmm i love tea and coffee, but i think i'll go with tea.

it's just my favorites

no

@darqlys

hard question, it'd be navy blue ig

i would move to japan, korea, or somewhere scandinavian with @darqlys or alone

yes i lowkey like it, and yes i've grown some things before

my family for being so strong even through real shitty times, and @darqlys, i'm proud of u all the time

oh that's hard to say😅 idk how other people see me but i try to always be kind.

i mostly write, read, listen to music, and yea that's it, kinda boring ig

yes that's it ig💕

[karkkidoeswriting]

OC Deep Dive Tag

Thank you for tagging me @writingamongther0ses ! (like several months ago sorry) I'll tag @oh-no-another-idea @author-a-holmes @talesofsorrowandofruin @kainablue, but as always absolutely no pressure!!

I'm doing this for Valeri from BCC.

Phobias and Other Fears: Valeri has a intense fear of fire, but specifically something catching flame. When there's already burning confined fire at no risk of spreading, like fire place or an oil lamp, it's no issue, but he cannot light up even just a candle himself because sudden catching of flame is terrifying to him. Might have something to do with him almost burning alive.

Pet Peeves: People not understanding how to handle horses or dogs. For example when someone birches a horse for refusing to move because it's afraid of something instead of easing it's fear or someone gets mad at a dog for biting them after they try to take it's food. Also (rich) people who think of themselves very rational and above superstition and magical thinking.

3 Items You Can Find in Their Bedroom:

1. A pistol and a short sword (I'm grouping these), because he's the type of person who sleeps better when holding a hilt of a weapon. 2. Poppy tea for his back pain. 3. His childhood clothing hidden under a floor board.

First Thing They Notice in a Person: Probably their physique or the general way they hold themselves.

On a Scale of 1-10, How High is Their Pain Tolerance?: 10. He has chronic pain so high pain tolerance is kinda a given.

Do They Go Into Fight or Flight Mode When Under Pressure?: Fight. He is a cavalry man so fighting under pressure is pretty much his job, but he's also just generally a very hot-headed violence-is-the-answer kind of person.

Do They Come From a Big Family/are They a Family Person?: He comes from a big family, which included extended family too. He had four siblings and his grandma, one uncle, couple of cousins and second cousins lived with them too. Other extended family also spend much time in their castle. The clan as a whole was very much family. He is very much a family person. He has only his younger sibling left, but he is his whole world. There's couple of other family members still alive but he either doesn't know or they are in exile or as hostage. His only real dream for future is to get married and have several children. He likes kids a lot. But currently he's too deep in survival mode to try to actually live a life and also he is too socially anxious anyway to like try to have romantic relationships.

What Animal Represents Them Best?: Obviously a dog. He is even called a dog several times in the story and he's not even mad because he thinks dogs are better than people. He is a loyal pack animal, a feral attack dog, overprotective watch dog and obedient good boy who wants to have a master to please and tell him what to do. He is also very petable and craves physical affection (the man is touch starved), but also he might bite (metaphorically, maybe?) if he's touched in a wrong way, so like most times. I have an internal running joke that he would absolutely be a furry if he knew the concept (but like he would keep it as a shameful secret, the repression is strong). His fursona is Karelian Bear Dog.

What is a Smell That They Dislike?: Smell of burning hair triggers instant trauma reaction. But when it comes to more dislike and less PTSD, he hates the smell of fish, because he worked as a child in the docs and had to smell fish from morning to evening (I didn't say no PTSD), and general smoky and stuffy city air.

Have They Broken Any Bones?: Plenty, but surprisingly not super badly broken bones. His ribs have been broken several times, his arm has been broken, and most embarrassingly he broke his hand by hitting a wall in anger.

How Would a Stranger Likely Describe Them?: A tall imposing man with permanent scowl.

Are They a Night Owl or Morning Bird?: Morning bird. Not because he's super good with mornings but because he's slow to wake up and very grumpy couple of hours after he wakes regardless of when he wakes up, so he rather wakes early to have time before other people wake. He takes his dogs for an hour walk every morning when the sun is rising.

What is a Flavor They Hate and a Flavor They Love?: Hates fish, loves tea and sweet almond cake of the temples.

Do They Have Any Hobbies?: Plays piano and violin.

Boom, Surprise Birthday Party! How Do They React to Surprises?: With panic and anxiety. Might accidentally punch someone as a panicked reaction. He's not at all fan of surprises and he would be pretty pissed afterwards. He likes to know how things go before hand. Sudden jump-scare surprises are his own personal horror movie.

Do They Like to Wear Jewelry?: Generally speaking he doesn't like to wear jewelry, it's usually an uncomfortable sensory experience, so he usually wears just a very simple band as a fillet, and no earrings or rings. One exception is that he wears his mother's ring in his neck hidden under clothes at all times, their family heirloom he took from his mother's dead finger before escaping enemy soldiers.

Do They Have Neat or Messy Handwriting?: Pretty neat. He's a slow writer because he's very precise about it.

What Are the Two Emotions They Feel the Most?: Anxiety and rage.

Do They Have a Favourite Fabric?: Linen. Temperature changes worsens his chronic pain and hot is usually the issue so light linen is the most comfortable fabric for him. Also he sweats easily and linen helps with that too. He also really likes the sensory experience of soft linen that has texture but is still very soft and comfortable.

What Kind of Accent Do They Have? His accent is not very strong, but his distinct working class Amarian accent he picked up growing up comes through. He code switches when talking to his superiors, and the accent is much more subdued then. There's also a hint of Cerfi accent still left in his round Rs.

[cheesybadgers]

OHDH Deleted Scene

So, there was a line in the latest IWTV episode (spoilers for 2x06 at the link) that reminded of something OHDH related, so I thought I would share a small deleted scene, because despite having not written anything since March, I do miss this ship a hell of a lot 😭 I am still working on my OHDH moodboards as well btw, I'm just taking my sweet time.

Anyway...Louis saying "You can read 'em while I fuck you" got me thinking about chapter 19 of OHDH, when Horacio and Javier are in Madrid.

The final draft only briefly mentions Horacio reading Lorca's poems aloud to Javier. However, there was an earlier draft that, er, expanded on them reading aloud to each other, and now I'm slightly regretting not keeping it in 😂

I'll put it below the cut and give a smut warning for oral sex and cockwarming (and unpolished editing, because deleted scene lol, although some lines did make the final cut):

It was doubtful if many people actually slept during siesta these days. But it did mean some shops and businesses closed for a few hours, and a general hush would fall over the city, just in case anyone was taking a nap.

Sometimes, they would read on the balcony or watch TV. Other times they would lie on the bed next to an oscillating fan, even if they didn’t sleep. But one thing would often lead to another, with the few items of clothing they were wearing soon tossed to the floor. They were already hot and sweaty anyway, might as well fully commit or continue in the shower if the heat was too much.

Not that they had jobs to get back to, but there was something incredibly indulgent about setting aside time in the middle of the day for sex. It couldn’t have been further from their previous lives, where time was something they never had enough of together. But here, they could drag it out as long as they liked, teasing and bringing each other to the edge over and over.

Occasionally, one of them would resume reading whilst the other took him in his mouth and held him there, just like Javier had imagined that night in Laredo, whilst on his knees on the floor of his childhood bedroom.

This time, Javier held the throbbing heat of Horacio’s cock gently between his lips, his hands secured on the meat of Horacio’s thighs and his knees cushioned by a pillow.

Horacio reclined comfortably in an armchair facing away from the open balcony doors. Even if someone was nosing in, which was unlikely, the back of the chair blocked the view of what was happening behind it.

He held his poetry book – the one Javier gifted to him, naturally – in one hand whilst the other stroked through Javier’s hair. They had been like this for 20 minutes or so already, neither keen to end it yet. Both content to stay connected like this for as long as possible, now that they had all the time in the world.

The first couple of times they’d done this, the sensation was too overwhelming to last long. But deep breaths and reading seemed to be the key. Each time Javier adjusted his jaw or made contact with his tongue, Horacio would focus on one verse of a poem. Line by line and word by word until he was more in control.

Now though, Horacio’s mind drifted to last Christmas Eve. To the way Javier watched him read. And the way he asked Horacio to read to him. As he turned the page to a Lorca poem, one of their favourites, an idea came to him.

Horacio began to read aloud in his first language once again. He was no more than a line in when he felt Javier shudder, triggering a chain reaction that made Horacio stutter over his words.

He tightened his fingers in Javier’s hair at the same time as the cold metal of a cross pressed against his inner thigh. Deep breaths were required before he continued, his aim being to at least finish the poem before he gave in. Because it was as relaxing as it was arousing, intimate as much as it was erotic, and the perfect way to spend downtime gifted to them by the city that once kept them apart.

[futurequibblerjournalist]

i just know you'd love an excuse to yap about these two because not enough people do so gimme your Pandora x Xenophilius headcanons pleeeaaasee < 3

Yess I don't think there's a time where I couldn't yap about these two oh my god

There's just so many good flavours of them. My personal favourite headcanon is Pandora Rosier and Xenophilius Malfoy (yes he's Lucius's younger brother—or half brother technically, in my head they don't share a mum) and they chose the name Lovegood together because that's something that represents their values while also distancing them both from their pureblood families.

They also both wore bright yellow to their wedding. Luna mentions at Fleur and Bill's wedding that her father taught her that sun colours at weddings brought good luck so I think it's cute to assume that Xenophilius and Pandora wore sun colours at their wedding.

I think Barty was the first person who got introduced to Xenophilius when he and Pandora first started going out (Pandora was testing the waters for telling Evan and also since Barty is a Ravenclaw like them, and a snoopy, gossipy one at that, it would be more difficult to hide from him). Barty fondly describes him as the humanised version of a wet cotton bud to tease them both but I do imagine they get along.

I've also played around with the idea of Barty and Xenophilius being roommates, so there's that.

I think Pandora was close with Sybill when she still attended (though I imagine Sybill to be older than both of them).

Xenophilius was really fond of plants and did great in Herbology—he also had his own little stash of items that were commonly hard to get one's hands on that he got through his father or trading/making deals during the holidays. It's partially because of this that he was part of the Slug Club (Slughorn also just liked the idea of having both brothers in his club after having already taught Lucius).

Pandora was creating spells even back at Hogwarts and she and Xenophilius would frequently try them out together.

In the summer you could often find the two under a tree on Hogwarts grounds making flower crowns for each other.

Pandora struggled more with leaving behind her pureblood family, not because of the values, but because of Evan who she was becoming increasingly estranged from. Only after learning about Evan being a Death Eater did she pull fully away.

I also think she's the one who came up with the idea of changing their names. She was heartbroken by Evan becoming a Death Eater and sought to distance herself as much as possible. Still, she held onto things from their childhood, things she later passed down to Luna in an attempt to make new, positive memories with the things.

Even though she abandoned her pureblood family, a lot of the customs and ways of acting were still deeply ingrained in Pandora and despite living a very carefree lifestyle she was still very tidy and cared a lot about being presentable (this reflected in Luna as well, up until Pandora's death). Xenophilius was the opposite, he was eager to be free in every way possible from what was expected of him.

The walls of their home are full of paintings. Not paintings in frames but just straight on the walls. They spent a lot of time painting together when Pandora was pregnant with Luna and somewhere in the house, they have handprints on the walls. They added Luna's after she was born. Since Pandora's died hers have faded and it's breaking Xenophilius's heart.

This is not a very specific headcanon but in aus I kinda like the idea of Xenophilius being the "hot and funny vacation boyfriend" except when Pandora describes him as such the skittles are standing there like 🧍🧍🧍🧍 "this is the hot and funny guy you've been talking about??? he looks like a ghost and he's currently collecting shells and seaweed???"

They're both huge nerds and they bond over being huge nerds.

Also, I love picturing them as like the Hogwarts parents of Gilderoy Lockhart, it's so sweet to me and I love picturing them being the only ones willing to listen to him ramble/brag about whatever thing he's done now or whatever his Bubbe has told him over the summer

Pandora loves to braid Xenophilius's hair and putting trinkets and shit in there.

You will 100% catch Xenophilius walking around in Pandora's super flowy patchwork skirts.

They both only have one ear pierced (opposite holes) and Pandora pierced Xenophilius's so they could wear matching earrings.

Both are big friendship bracelet wearers

They're the most queer coded straight ship to me

The first time Pandora heard Xenophilius curse was when he was trying to put together furniture for their house (even with the help of magic my man could not figure it out). Pandora proceeded to join him in yelling at the furniture, not because she couldn't figure it out but for support

They would 110% be the couple who goes all out on their Halloween costumes or just costumes in general honestly. Any occasion is an occasion to dress up

I don't think Pandora was soft-spoken at all, those two give me "he asked for no pickles" vibes through and through

Xenophilius does not believe in the concept of time and Pandora wants to be early to everything.

Xenophilius enjoys making jewellery and Pandora loves wearing it. Xenophilius also taught this skill to their daughter.

Please!!! Let's not forget Xenophilius being slightly cross-eyed!!!!!

Pandora was a Quidditch fan (she was influenced by Barty and Regulus, what can I say). The whole family used to go to Quidditch World Cups together and Xenophilius and Luna continued the tradition after Pandora's death

Xenophilius would definitely burn shit with Barty just because

He would also do graffiti with him in modern aus you can't convince me otherwise

These two would dance naked in their backyard in the moonlight

They would both be friends with Aurora Sinistra, Xenophilius bonds with her over stars and astrology while Pandora bonds with her over Alchemy and Spell creation

I feel like Pandora would really like fish/fishing (aquarium date when)

I think that might be all I can say about them for now but ask me again at literally any other time and I will probably have something new to ramble at you vnfjnbjgnbjg

ALSO!!! ACTUALLY!!! We as a fandom need to find a cute ship name for these two istg I need something. Idk what we have to work with but like,, silverpanda or silverseer (though this could be interpreted as Sybill because of the seer thing so???) or something I don't know, if anyone has any better suggestions PLEASE throw them my way

[cloudyskydreams]

UT,UF,US Favorite Seasons

Undertale!

Sans: Spring •He enjoys the smell of rain and the atmosphere it brings it reminds him of waterfall.

•Lazy rainy days spent cuddled up in his bed with the sound of the rain against the rooftop and a soft blanket. Sounds perfect to him. It's hard to get him out of bed on these days and even if you do he's still pretty sleepy all day even more so than usual.

•He does enjoy the scenery and likes to stop and look at the flowers on the rare occasion he goes on walks, and if he does go on a walk it's going to be on a cloudy spring day with somewhat cool temperature.

•Lets not forget about his favorite holiday April Fools day! He goes hard on this day and his brother and the others try to steer clear of him but he always ends up getting them anyways. His pranks are normally practical but he sometimes whips out elaborate pranks. Most of the time people stumble upon whoopie cushions, bubble wrap under carpets, rigged air horns, and misplaced items for days after the holiday.

Papyrus: Summer •Paps loves being out and about under the summer sun when the temperature is nice and he can show off in his cropped shirts. He owns a bunch of them, his closet is sorted by season and his summer one is mostly cropped shirts with the occasional tank top and short sleeved shirt.

•Owns atleast 15 pairs of sunglasses that he tapes to his face when going. He has a collection of different tapes for this and chooses a different one for each mood. Made the mistake of using duct tape one time and had gunk stuck to his skull for days so he uses washi tape now.

•Definitely owns a straw sun hat and on the topic of hats I feel like he would love bucket hats too.

•He doesn't have the biggest sweet tooth but he enjoys the sweet treats that come with summer too like nice cream and watermelon.

•Will get into the shallow end of the pool (skeletons sink) and splash around with Undyne until Undyne gets to excited and tosses him into the deep end making him stuck at the bottom for the next ten minutes till she stops laughing and drags him out.

Underfell!

Red: Fall •Dont tell anyone but he's a pumpkin spice enjoyer

•He loves the changing of the leaves and the crunch of the fallen ones under his boots. Plus fall is the best time to show off his leather jackets and sweaters.

•Pumpkin carving is one of his favorite activities and he gets pretty intricate with his designs. He always places them outside their door and gets blushy and sweaty over compliments he's really proud of his work just not used to recognition.

•Loves the chill in the air and let's not forget Halloween and spooky movies. He absolutely loves Halloween and he definitely goes to haunted houses. He tried to drag his brother along one time and Edge almost punched someone in the face so now he goes alone or with friends.

Edge: Fall •He's a Spider Cider drinker. He loves the warmer hot drinks and a nice cup of Spider Cider and fall itself for some reason he can't place makes him feel nostalgic and while his childhood wasn't the best he does like thinking about the good memories with his brother.

•Enjoys going for walks in the park and the crisp fall air especially at night. He has a strict sleep schedule but he extends it by a small amount to enjoy the fall night weather.

•Not big on horror movies it's not that they're scary they're just pretty boring to him. He does enjoy occasionally watching them with his brother but would never watch one by himself. He just likes spending time with his brother when he gets the chance, something he'd never admit.

•He loves Halloween decorations, skeleton ones do make him uncomfortable sometimes especially if they're naked but he finds them humerus (hehe) after a short adjustment time his first year. Red got a skeleton and changed it to Edges likeness on year. Edge rolled his eyes at it but he keeps the skeleton in his closet and thinks it's pretty funny to dress up sometimes.

Underswap!

Stretch: Spring •Stretch also enjoys April Fools day as this man is a practical pranker all the way. Often teams up with Sans to tag team the others but all's fair in love and war and the truce is often broken by Stretch himself. He just can't help it.

•Bees start becoming active in the spring and Stretch is a big fan of the little pollinators. Not only do they make honey they're adorable to him and help the ecosystem to continue functioning by spreading pollen.

•I know it's been clarified his cigarettes are not weed but as a stoner I'm making one of my favorite boys a stoner in my au. He celebrates 4/20 with a joint or two and some major munchies while watching the midnight gospel.

•Stretch enjoys the rain as well but more thunderstorm rain while sans enjoys light drizzles. He likes the lightning and can often be seen chilling outside while a thunderstorm is happening storm watching. His first thunderstorm was a mess as him and Blue had never experienced thunder before and were rightfully scared but when he saw the lightning for the first time he was mesmerized. He got over his fear by counting the seconds in between the lighting and thunder and continued to do so for the next few storms but isn't really afraid anymore.

Blue:Winter •Blue loves the snow, it reminds him of Snowdin and there's so much fun stuff you can do in it. He always builds a snow version of himself to stand proud outside their house when winter comes.

•He's a hot cocoa drinker and does enjoy having a little peppermint stick in it as well as some whip cream. He owns a few different types of hot cocoa but his favorite is the one made of real chocolate and milk. He enjoys all the cookies and sweets that come with the season as well. He likes to bake cookies to share with his neighbors.

•Always starts his Gyftmas gift list months ahead of time and does his Gyftmas shopping early as well. He likes to be prepared even though he often buys surprise little gifts he uses as stocking stuffers. Speaking of stockings he and Stretch decorated theirs themselves and Blues definitely has a lot of glitter on it.

•His favorite holiday is Gyftmas and he always over decorates the house. He just gets into the spirit really easily and when he sees something in a store he likes he has to get it to decorate the house with, he's a little bit of an impulsive shopper. He has a little miniature Gyftmas village he always adds a little to each year, it's a tradition he started his first Gyftmas on the surface after Stretch made a joke about using one of the miniature trees as their actual Gyftmas tree

[sopejinsunflower]

a/n: I keep writing from dreams! This was a dream that was so vivid it woke me up crying. Although I didn’t dream of Yoongi specifically, I changed the main actor of my dream to him as I think he fits the bill the most. Hope you like this short one :)

Title definition:  insurrection of peasants against the nobility in northeastern France in 1358—so named from the nobles' habit of referring contemptuously to any peasant as Jacques, or Jacques Bonhomme. 

Warning: 18+, minors DNI

Summary: The world is in ruins. The new government, The Order, is corrupted and it’s a constant battle for people to even have access to basic needs. But a vigilante is fighting for the people, leading The Jackals against the government. You were forced to join The Patrol, working under The Order to curb the rebellion. What happens when you run into an old familiar face on an impromptu assignment? What happens when you learn that the dead can come back and the truth has been under your nose all this time?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x you

Tags: Childhood lovers AU! Reunited lovers, dystopian world, vigilantes and revolutions, corrupted government, violence mentioned, coarse language, penetrative sex, unprotected sex.

Word count: 13.4k

Another bomb goes off in the distance, the ground rumbling with the aftershock, sending you slightly unsteady on your feet. 

All this for one man. 

You let out a sigh as your in-ear crackle and the Commander’s voice echoes through, gruff and urgent, like always. “All units move to Precinct 1, now! I want every warm body there right now. We’re going to box this motherfucker and bring him in.”

Again, you sigh, dread filling your chest and weighing your feet down. To be honest, you don’t want to join the fight. You rather hang back, patrolling the usually empty alleyways for renegades that are never dwindling now even after the heavy push back from The Order lately, thanks to him. Most vigilantes work in the cloak of night but this one, this one doesn’t seem to care for cover much. He does as he pleases, appearing and disappearing like some kind of wizard from one place to the next, wreaking havoc. 

He came out of nowhere, rising out of the shadows the moment The Order established themselves as the new government twenty-five years ago; a backdoor government that no one voted for, mind you, sneaking in the same way pesky cockroaches infest a house. It was a betrayal to the people’s rights, taken away from them in plain daylight and enforced so blatantly it was just rubbing salt on wounds. People were angry, they rioted until it was all snuffed out with police force and smoke bombs and threats of emprisonment. It wasn’t pretty.

Many ended behind bars. Many lives were lost but were unaccounted for. Anyone who raises their voice against The Order ends up missing. Families are torn apart. And when they still couldn’t completely silence the people, the lockdown came, heavy and callous. Food and water were rationed, resources were cut, companies burnt down, jobs were lost, curfews were imposed. No one is allowed to be out after 6PM. It was punishment, they say, until the people learn to behave. 

But humans are resilient beings, learning to adapt to survive. Within the hushed whispers of the residents, there were talks of a revolt, a group of people called The Jackals who are slowly planning, scheming for The Order’s downfall and he is leading them. They were quiet and careful, sneaking out past curfew hours for secret meetups. To curb this, the Peace Patrol was formed, tasked to help tame and whittle them out, with the guarantee of extra water and food and even access to special items like liquor and soap and even hot water directed to your household if you give up any information and more if you join the ranks. It was the promise of comfort-living, of ease. 

As an orphan, you lived with an uncle who is a heavy supporter of The Order. He ranted about putting a bullet through The Jackals as if he personally knew who they were. He made random, wild assumptions about the neighbours being one of them based on anything that he didn’t agree on, like looking at him funny or not taking out the trash on time or even for watering their own plants with a watering can instead of the garden hose like ‘normal people do’. He didn’t even have plants to take care of so how would he know what was normal? 

So when you were old enough, he insisted you serve his beloved government, joining the ranks of the Peace Patrol. “I have a bad knee so you will have to. Get me some of those beer kegs they promised,” he had said. “Or you can go ahead and live in the streets. Time to repay all the money I spent raising you.”

So here you are, jogging only lightly heading towards Precinct 1 with your lead feet, your face growing pale and a stomach that is threatening to upend all your measly breakfast. Here’s another honest truth: you are fucking scared. Everytime there are sightings of him, it’s a warzone. It’s like no one cares what happens to the area that gets under heavy fire, the people caught in the crossfire. And he doesn’t seem to care, either. They call him Robin Hood but no one knows his real name. Hell, no one knows who he is, they’ve never even seen his face. 

To the people, he’s a hero. To the government, he’s a menace that needs to be eliminated. To you, honestly, he’s just a troublemaker, an annoyance. You don’t agree with The Order but he wasn’t making things any better. His small good deeds of stealing from the government to give to the people is only causing problems to the same people he’s helping. It’s a loss, loss. What is the point even? 

You finally join your platoon, crowding a desolate grey building riddled with bullet holes all across the bottom wall. Someone squeezes your hand and you look around to find Daiki smiling down at you. He pulls you in for a quick kiss on the top of your head.

“You there,” the Commander calls out from the front, pointing your way. You jump slightly, gulping hard as you look at him. The information was that he’s holding up in the yard at the side of the building and they are sending in ten people to scout the place. “You’re the tenth. You’re going down to the yard, give a look around. If you find him, immobilise him. If he’s not there, join the others on the first floor.”

You don’t respond. There’s a ringing in your ear and you stand there, rooted to the spot, unmoving. Daiki nudges you and you blink rapidly, trying to get your bearings. The other nine are already making their way forward. You move, joining the Commander at the front. 

“We got him blocked in,” The Commander says smugly. “All you need to do is find him. Now go!”

Why not send the whole team, you wanted to ask but your voice is lodged in your throat. The plan doesn’t seem foolproof, something is off. As you approach the building, unshouldering your AR-15 and holding it in both hands, one of the others huffs, “They don’t know if he’s alone or not. That’s why they’re sending us in first, the bastards.”

Right. Baits. Lure him and his people out. They can afford to lose ten patrol officers, no big deal. There’s always more waiting in line to enjoy the limited privileges. Did Daiki know this before he had pushed you forward?

Your palms are sweating inside your gloves and the lightweight rifle feels too heavy to hold up properly. An older officer looks at you almost sympathetically. “The yard’s not that big. You can cover it in a couple of minutes, a quick sweep. If nothing then join us upstairs.”

“And if he’s there?”

He seems to think about it. Most of the other officers will just say shoot him dead or alert the others or anything along those lines. But all he says is, “Pray he goes easy on you, kid.”

They disperse, going up the stairs to take on different levels of the buildings in pairs. The officer’s words rang in my ears, his words echoing in my brains. Robin Hood is a ruthless killer, they say. He once wiped out ten patrol officers to break through one of The Order’s resource warehouses to steal supplies. All on his own. Anyone with the Patrol uniform on, anyone who wields The Order’s emblems and idealistics is his target. 

There’s a small flight of stairs to head down to the yard on the west side of the building and you’ve never gone down a longer set of stairs in your life. From the top of the stairs, you can literally see the whole yard below and contemplated calling it all clear without having to look. But the yard follows a bend that rounds to the back of the building. Your heart is hammering in your chest like a wild bird wanting to be free and each step further down feels like an eternity. You’re at the bottom of the steps now, praying that you will find nothing when suddenly there is chaos up above upstairs. 

Gunshots and yelling. You freeze, craning your neck to look upward. Did they find him upstairs? A window glass shatters and you dove to the bottom of the stairs, covering your head, crouching down low as glass pieces rain down over you. Fear grips you like a vice and you remain there with your hands over your ears, dry-heaving. Your blood has run cold. Somewhere along the Patrol line upstairs, you can hear heavy machinery moving. Tanks. They got tanks. 

You press yourself against the wall as the commotion upstairs escalates. The smell of gun smoke is heavy in the air and you think you can even detect the hint of copper as bullets bury or zip through flesh. That’s what you imagine is happening upstairs. You can’t tell apart the shoutings of your comrades and those of the enemies. Is he among them? 

Something in your periphery moves and you turn to look. There in the corner of the building, you can see a pair of boots peeking out. They’re scruffed and look nothing like the Patrol’s issued pair. Your stomach twists and your heart is in your throat, ready to jump out if you even open your mouth. 

Please just walk the other way, please just walk the other way.  

But the person steps forward into your line of vision and walks cooly over to the middle of the yard, looking up as if he can see towards the Patrol line. Then slowly, almost deliberately, he turns his head to look directly at you and your breath hitches. 

It’s him. 

This is your first time seeing the infamous Robin Hood but something in your gut tells you that it’s him, no doubt. He stands there in black cargo pants and a tight black t-shirt that you can see the silhouette of his toned chest. A dark maroon jacket completes the look. As your eyes travel upwards, you first notice the long hair tied up in a half-knot before you see his eyes; dark and angry like that of a dragon, glaring at you from above the black cloth hiding the bottom half of his face.

Realisation dawns on you like a cold bucket of water; you know him. Even with the mask, you know him. And judging from the way he softens his eyes, tilting his chin to the side, he remembers you, too. Emotions flood into your chest as if someone had broken a long-standing dam inside you, filling you with confusion and sadness and nostalgia all at once. You want to rise to your feet but you can’t, your body not listening to any feeble commands. You want to call out to him but it feels like your lips are sewn together. 

A loud crashing noise jerks both of your attention upwards and you see the tank crashing through the iron fence that circles the building. It moves slowly, an impending doom that is about to put this whole place on fire. You turn back to him, panic bubbling. He’s staring at you again, his eyes conveying nothing, not even the urgency to flee the area. They are just calm, taking you in. 

“What are you doing?!”

The Commander’s voice bursts through your in-ear, loud and angry. “What are you doing?! Get him! Shoot him!”

That’s when you notice your Commanding Officer standing at the top of the hill, safely out of the way of the tanks, pointing at him. But it’s too late. You watch the man called Robin Hood run to the edge of the yard and scale the fence. At the top, he takes one last look back at you and his name comes back to mind. Before you can call out to him, he disappears on the other side. 

BOOM!

The tank takes a shot at the fence, tearing a hole through it, the shell landing somewhere on the residential area below; whether it’s the noise or the artillery shaking the ground, you’re not sure. Your ears ring so loud you feel disoriented, stumbling to stand up but tripping on your feet. You lean against the wall, breathing hard while the world around you sway under your feet before you finally crash to the floor, your vision going dark.

***

You wake up to Daiki leaning over you, his forehead creasing with worry. He has a tight grip on your right hand in both of his. 

“Hi, there,” he greets softly, helping you to sit up. “Slowly, slowly. There we go.”

The infirmary is the last place you want to be in. The place is dark and dingy for a hospital and smells of death and vomit and strong disinfectant. You would think that a dystopian world would be much better but when the government is battling a single man with a group of unarmed people, scrambling to remain in power, money is being poured into weapons and armoury. Whatever’s left can’t even help maintain the society they want so desperately controlled. It’s a joke. Maybe he wasn’t wrong after all. 

“How you’re feeling?”

You rub at your temples. “Like my head is full of cement.”

Daiki chuckles. “That’s not too bad, I guess.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Just a few hours,” he replies. “The team’s worried about you. They think he did something to you. Some kind of poison or something.”

You stare at him, not comprehending. 

“The Commander said he was just standing there while you sat, frozen, unmoving,” he explains, shaking his head. “And then you just passed out. They did some blood tests but found nothing. Must be advanced work. The Jackals are growing more dangerous.”

“You’re saying that a group of people who meet at night in sewers or abandoned places,” you say carefully, gauging his reaction, “are making advanced bioweapons to attack us?”

He shrugs but doesn’t answer.

“Are you hearing yourself?” you push, incredulous. “That doesn’t make any sense at all. How would they ev-”

“Who the hell knows how they’re doing what they’re doing, babe,” he retorts heatedly. “Hell, I don’t even understand what they’re trying to do. They’re a nuisance to society.”

“They’re not the ones with tanks bombing every little place,” you mutter almost cautiously, looking down as you fiddle with the edge of the worn blanket. 

Daiki is looking at you funny, like he can’t quite understand you. Maybe he doesn’t. He shrugs again, patting your arm. “Look, you probably still have whatever it was he gave you in your system. You’ll feel more like yourself once that’s flushed out.” He stands up.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the frontline,” he says, putting on his gloves. “They found a new hideout.” The way he’s grinning at you makes you sick but you bite your tongue and don’t say anything. He leans down and places a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll be back soon. Rest well.”

The door closes behind him and you subconsciously wipe at your cheek, the same spot he kissed you. You’re not sure why and only realise it when it’s done. A few minutes later, you decide to leave, not to join Daiki at the front line but somewhere away from it to unwind. You have one place in mind, the only place unmarred by all the fighting and the chaos and the chase of a man no one knows who. Maybe except for you now that you’ve seen him.

– – – 

The park is situated at the edge of the city, a place no one really goes to anymore lest you want to be accused of being a Jackal exploring new hideouts. 

But you’re here in your Patrol uniform of black pants, black long sleeves shirt with the Patrol emblem on the chest as well as a red band around the upper arm. Black fingerless gloves for gripping the weapons issued to each officer and a pair of heavy combat boots that you find hard to run in, ironically. You left your bulletproof vest and rifle back at the barracks. You didn’t think you’d need them here nor do you like having them with you.

The park is a stark contrast to its surroundings, its lush green grass like a beacon on a map. The trees swayed gently in the wind, making this soft, comforting sound that can lull you to sleep if you let yourself. The park isn’t big, with a huge water fountain in the middle. It’s not working anymore, the pool is so dry there’s cracks and dust. Back in its glory days, people used to come here to watch the water light up in different colours as music fills the air. You only remember seeing it as a child. Now, it’s like people have even forgotten the place exists, but nature seems to thrive in the absence of humans. 

You choose a tree and sit down under the shade, your back against the bark, your legs stretched out in front of you, crossed at the ankles. The wind blows through your hair and you take a deep breath and close your eyes. When was the last time you felt at peace like this? You can’t remember, probably since you joined the Patrol two years ago. It was also the last time you saw your uncle, opting to live in the barracks instead. But even away from him, it wasn’t easy to quit the force. Those who did, no matter on what grounds or for what reason, were all hunted later down the line, marked as traitors or enemies’ spies, anything to have them killed unquestioned. It’s like they couldn’t handle people leaving. 

You let out a heavy sigh. You just want some peace and quiet, to relax without having to think about this fucked up world you’re living in. Just as you’re in between falling asleep but awake enough to notice sounds around you, you hear the quiet rustling of footsteps. Your eyes shoot open, looking around the park to locate the source of the noise. The silence almost sounds dubious, narrowing your eyes as you peer at certain bushes and dark spots that may hide something within it. 

“You’re away from home.”

Your skin could have literally jumped off your back as you scramble to your feet. The voice had come from behind you and as you turned around, there he was, leaning against the tree with his arms crossed, his face half hidden this time behind a red handkerchief covering from his nose down.

“You,” you breathe out. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

He looks around the place as if looking for something. “As far as I remember, I don’t need a reason to be at a public park. The question is, what are you doing here? Your platoon is busy firing at an empty building right now. Shouldn’t you be with them?”

You gawk at him, unsure of what to even say. A wanted man is telling you he has every right to be here but asking you why you’re not helping the same people who put a bounty on his head? “I came from the infirmary,” you offer lamely. “I’m not on duty.”

He nods as if it all makes sense. “So why are you here?”

You don’t answer, literally lost for words. He’s so blase about everything. Is he for real? You end up shrugging your shoulders. “It’s a public park, you said.”

Again, he nods. “I guess murderers need to unwind, too, huh.”

Anger flashes red hot for you. “Murderers?! I’ve never killed anyone in my life! You’re the one that’s going around killing people and stealing stuff that’s not yours. Stuff that could’ve helped others who need them!”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not the one with tanks bombing houses full of people. I’m not the one with the automatic rifles opening fire in public. And I’m not the one stocking up on bare essentials that should have been offered to the public freely without restrictions.”

“If it’s offered freely then there won’t be enough for all,” you snap back, your hands balled into fists. “It’s rationed so everyone can have a portion.”

He lets out a soft laugh, the kind where adults do when little kids say something they don’t know about. Not once did he move from his spot against the tree, eyeing you curiously instead of warily, probably because you stupidly don’t have your weapon with you. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

When you don’t answer, he pushes off from the tree and walks slowly towards you, step by step. You move in the opposite way, reversing with every step he takes. He speaks again. “What if I tell you that those resources don't need to be rationed? What if I told you that even without the government allocation, people can get more than just a portion? What if I told you that the rationing helps no one except the higher ups, that they’re living lavishly enough they don’t have to worry about those who are affected by the rations? What if I told you that The Order has more blood on their hands than on ours? That they are the reason people are dying? That people, families are going missing?”

He moves closer and closer. 

“All those warehouses they have all over the city, have you seen them?”

You nod. “Of course I have.”

“But have you seen the inside?”

You remain quiet.

“They’re chock full of food and barrels of water and medication and everything the city would need to not just survive, but to live. Each and every one of them. Not to mention the underground ones. Do you know about those?” You’re backed against the fountain now, the edge of the pool digging into the back of your thighs yet he’s still advancing. “Either you’re all being fooled or you choose to remain ignorant.”

He takes one final step and now he’s toe to toe with you, looming over you tall and menacing, no, confident. He emits this aura that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, whether in his vigilante shit or here with you. He bends down and whispers into your ears. “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? You’re not like them. So why do you choose to remain in the dark? Is being a sheep easier?”

You can feel yourself shaking, can feel your lips trembling, lowering your gaze to look at the ground, at how the tip of his boots are flushed against yours. Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it beating against your chest in this close proximity. The only thing is, you’re not sure if you’re trembling in fear or anticipation of what he might do to you. On the one hand, he’s known to be the most dangerous man, his fighting skills unrivalled by any on the force. On the other, there’s something in his words that made you listen. 

A slender finger reaches out and tips your chin up so you have no choice but to look him in the eye. “You believe me, don’t you?” he whispers. “I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.”

You try to pull away but he holds your chin in place. Something in his eyes tells you that he’s thinking, calculating something in his mind. His forehead has a slight crease and you wish you know what he’s thinking. “Who are you?” you ask in a hush tone, the only thing that comes out of your mouth.

“You know who I am,” he answers in the same low voice. 

Something about the moment, probably the fact that you’re this close and there’s not an ounce of animosity from him, made you reach out, gingerly, with a shaky hand. You hold the end of the handkerchief around his face between two fingers and he doesn’t move, doesn’t put up a fight. Slowly and almost like you are scared to face the truth, you pull the cloth down, revealing his face. He’s right; you do know him. You just had to be sure.

“Min Yoongi,” you say breathlessly. “It’s really you.”

He nods once and his grip on your chin relaxes as he cups your cheek. “It’s really me.”

“But…how?” your throat feels tight and your vision is blurring with tears. “I saw you…in the fire. I saw you- how? After all these years and you never- I don’t understand.” You pull away from him, wrenching your face from his hold. The tears flow freely. “I thought you were dead,” you gasp. “I believed you were dead.”

“I know,” he says. “To be honest, I was. For a while.”

A radio buzz and a voice, garbled and hardly comprehensive, comes through. He reaches to the band of his pants and pulls it out. He remains looking at you as if you might suddenly run away or disappear in front of his eyes. “If you believe in anything that I say today, meet me back here tomorrow after dark. Make sure no one follows you. And wear normal clothes.”

You open your mouth to protest but he cuts you off. “I’ll explain everything then. I promise. I have to go now.”

He pulls back, regarding you with a serious look, like he’s reluctant to leave you. Then, taking you by surprise, he leans in and presses a long, hard kiss on the middle of your forehead, the kind of kiss that makes you squeeze your eyes shut because it invokes such strong emotions, both turmoil and relief. When he pulls away, his thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the tears. And then he’s stepping back, jogging lightly before he finally turns around, talking to the radio in his hand. He disappears the moment he enters the tree line back towards the city. 

– – – 

The next day, it all seems quiet in the city. There was less activity and barely any gunshot sounds echoing into the sky. It almost seems peaceful. Was it coincidence or planned by the mastermind himself?

Sneaking out of the barracks is not that hard.

The hard part was to convince Daiki that you prefer to sleep alone tonight with the others in your own bunk bed rather than in his private quarter, a privilege given to those of higher ranks. But after much coaxing, one that involves a quick fuck against his metal desk as it rattles against the wall for his neighbour to hear, he finally relents. But instead of going back to your dorm room, you head out. 

Now, the gate patrol is a whole different thing but everyone knows you’re the ‘Lieutenant’s girl’ so a quick lie was easy to make up. A solo stakeout to make up for the hours you lost today for being in the infirmary, you said and it was accepted pretty easily. No one wants to deal with the lieutenant should they accuse you of lying. Once you’re confident you’re out of sight, you take off the red band from your upper arm and stuff it into your back pocket. You readjust the rifle on your back and make a run for the park.

You arrive breathless with worn out legs just after 7PM, well after the sun had set. The park looks different at night than it does during the daytime, the trees looking more terrifying and every little noise startling you. None of the streetlights work and you think that it’s for the best. You’re not sure where to wait so you opt to remain under the same tree as yesterday, sitting down so as to not be seen. 

“Good, you’re here.”

You jump to your feet, surprised. “You need to quit doing that.”

“Doing what?”

But one look at his face, this time unmasked and the maroon jacket nowhere to be seen, you shake your head dismissively. “Never mind,” you mutter. It’s still new to you, to see him again after all these years. Everything feels familiar and foreign at the same time, like you know him but don’t. He looks the same, talks the same, walks the same, even fucking smells the same, yet he’s not the same man you thought you lost. You have so many questions.

“Not here,” he says as if reading your mind. “Come.”

You follow him heading the opposite side of the park. “Where are we going?”

“No talking,” he orders. “Stay quiet and stay close.”

In your confusion, you barely register that he has taken your hand and led you towards a place beyond the city limit that no one has ever ventured to, not since decades ago after the fall of the monarchy and right before The Order came about. You were not more than babies then, blissful in your ignorance of the world collapsing only to be left smack in the middle to fight the battles started by your ancestors. It’s twisted and unfair. 

If the city itself is run down, this area is even more bare. Buildings that long crumbled stand like rotten teeth jutting from the earth, barred up windows of abandoned shops and houses, cars left behind like whoever had driven them had just stopped and jumped out. The one thing that flourished is the wilderness, the ground plush with long grass and snaking vines.

As you walk alongside Yoongi, you can see shadows flitting just beyond your periphery and birds cawing eerily up above but not once did his steps falter. He seems awfully familiar with the place. Again, you wanted to ask but you keep your mouth shut and walk on for more than an hour it seems, the city getting smaller and smaller behind you until it completely disappears from view. 

Just as you’re about to break the silence, a familiar building looms ahead and your jaw drops. It’s the old government building, the Blue House. Most of its structures remain but creeping plants cover most of the front part and trees grow wildly, surrounding it in a sort of natural enclosure. As you get closer, you notice that one of the rooms upstairs is lit, not brightly but with what looks like a single candle. The front doors are still intact and as you cross the threshold and Yoongi closes the door behind you, you turn to see The Jackal’s flag erected on the side of the once lavish cascading stairs; the silhouetted head of the namesake animal on a white background. 

You know exactly what this place is: the base camp that The Order had spent years searching for. You turn to look at him, wide-eyed. Why would he bring you here? Only then do you notice your hand in his and you pull away under the guise of removing your weapon to prop it against the bannister. 

You follow him up the stairs to the left and down a long hallway until he stops at a room. He enters and you follow suit. A single candle is left lit on a desk in the middle of the room but the place is almost bare. There are books stacked on the floor and what looks like a few sleeping bags in a corner but that is it.

Yoongi takes you through a connecting door and this one has a single mattress in the middle of the room. No pillows, no blankets. On one wall, a large map of the country is stuck to it with multiple stickers and Xs and circles. Random articles are pinned up next to it, mostly in regards to The Order from years back, some on the Jackals and a single, small and worn newspaper clipping of an article pertaining to a fire at the big school in the middle of the city exactly nine years ago. The title reads, ‘SOPA up in flames, 139 dead’.

“It wasn’t an accident,” he says from right behind you. “But you knew that, didn't you?”

You don’t answer, the memories of that day coming back in blurry crashing waves. No one really knew how the fire started, only that students and staff had been bending over coughing and hacking by the time anybody knew what was even happening. The smoke had been thick and suffocating and crawling on the floor had not done much good. The first two floors were already engulfed. There was a smell of burnt meat in the air, acidic in your throat. 

You remember the fear of dying a gruesome death, the panic of being trapped with no way out. But most of all, you remember the sickening twist of your stomach as you had this clear knowledge that Yoongi’s class had been on the second floor. Music, the subject he loved most. When the firefighters came, most of those who survived, a total of twenty-five including two teachers, waited in dread. When it was clear that no rescue mission could be done, that no more victims could be pulled out, you had fallen to your knees, not crying but just sitting there in complete silence.

It took the whole day for the fire to be put out and another day to recover pretty much everybody. It wasn’t hard; since it was a sudden fire, most of the school had been trapped where they were. You didn’t see the body, only the aftermath picture of the music room: only charred remains left, soot and ash. On the memorial day was only when you finally broke down, inconsolable, shattered into pieces no matter how many hands held you together that night. The love of your life was gone, his name a number on a list, not even a body to bury.

Days later, rumours flew. They said that the fire was started because there had been some information that the Jackals had been using the school storage basement as a base and the fire had been started by them to cover their tracks. One person said he knew the friend of a friend who knew someone who admitted that the fire was actually started by hired goons, hired by The Order, actually. But rumours were rumours, nothing much of it could be made heads or tails of but the first version spread far and wide, intentionally so.

“Where were you all these years?” you manage to say through the lump in your throat, your voice heavy and raw. You turn to look at him, really look at him. His hair is long, stray pieces falling over his face and instead of the young boy you remember, the face is that of a man who has seen and done things he wished he didn’t have to. There’s a hardness in his expression that restricts him from showing his true feelings, a subtle wariness in his eyes from not being able to trust everything he sees. He is a boy that grew up too fast in a hard place. 

Yoongi returns my gaze. “Here and there,” he answers. “Everywhere. Places you don’t even know existed.” 

Tears prick your eyes, threatening to fall but you press your palms against them, drying them immediately. “Tell me everything.”

He regards you for a moment and it stings to think that he’s thinking if he can trust you. But then you realise it’s not trust he’s having problems with. There’s worry in his eyes, a sort of hesitance that comes from not wanting to burden you with things unnecessary. It’s not like it would change anything. The past is the past, talking about it would only be painful for him, but mostly for you.

But Yoongi can’t ignore the pleading look in your eyes. All this time he wonders how it would be like if he meets you again, if he would feel the same after almost a decade. He was sure that everything of that time had been flushed out of his system. The only times you crossed his mind was when he closed his eyes at night, alone in the dark, that’s when he misses you. He had a war to fight, he told himself, and if push comes to shove, he would need to be able to do what has to be done without his heart getting in the way. His Saem had drilled it into his head, didn’t he? To forget everything, leave behind the life he led and dedicate every fibre of his being to the Jackals in order to fight for the people.

Yoongi convinced himself that if he found you on the enemy's side, he wouldn’t hesitate to do what he must. He spent years telling himself that he was prepared. The more active he became, the more job he took over from his Saem, the more of a fortress he had built around himself and his heart. But looking at you now, your eyes glassy, your cheeks pink, and the lips that you’re chewing on to keep steady, all the emotions that he’s been suppressing surges back up to the forefront. It’s like he’s seventeen again standing in front of you, just a boy looking at the girl he thought he would someday marry, a dream long-time dead. 

He takes your face in his hands. His palms are calloused, hardened skin from the life of an avenger, but his touch is gentle like a whispering feather. You place your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin, the pulse beating beneath his wrist. He’s alive, living and breathing. And he’s here, right in front of you. All this time he lives with you in haunted memories, a ghost of the love you’ve lost so young. Yet here he is now, a grown man yet you can still see that same boy, slowly resurfacing.

You step closer to him, placing your hands over his chest, feeling the strong heart beating underneath your fingers. You grab fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer. There’s a lot of feelings at once and anger is one of them, growing stronger with each eb and flow of your emotions. He was alive all this time and not once did he try to contact you. He was alive all these years and not once did he try to let you know. He was alive and breathing while you spent years mourning his death. He was alive and running around the city right under your nose when you were convinced your heart died with you the day of the fire. 

So you start punching him and punching him, pounding his chest with your fists, your teeth gritted together. “You left me,” you mumble. “You left me.” Your voice grows stronger as the tears flow heavy. “You left me, you left me, you left me! You left me alone, Yoongi! How could you?! I thought you died! I mourned you! A part of me died with you! You left me!” By the end of it, you’re wailing, both in action and in your words, screaming through the pain, wanting nothing but to make him hurt the same way you’re hurting. 

Yoongi stands there almost motionless, letting you hit him over and over again. Your fists barely cause him any pain but seeing you so vulnerable hurts him more. He captures your wrists in one hand but you struggle, twisting and turning this way and that, trying to release yourself. You’re screaming at him. “Let go of me! Let go! I want to go home! Let go of me!”

Using his other arm, he wraps it around your shoulders, encircling you easily enough and pulling you in with one rough tug. All the fight left you, burying your face into his shirt, your tears wetting it down to his skin. You both crash to the floor in a heap, and he repositions his legs so you sit in between them, halfway on his lap as he cradles you. It’s not until your crying is reduced to hiccuping did you realise that he’s gasping for air, too. You look up just in time as his tears fall on your face, wetting your forehead and cheeks.  

He looks down at you, his cheeks and nose red, his eyes puffy. After a moment, he finally croaks out the one thing you’ve been waiting to hear. “I’m sorry.”

You sit up, kneeling in front of him, your cheeks wet from your own tears starting up again. It’s your turn to offer comfort, gently tucking his loose hair behind his ears and brushing away his tears with your fingers that are already wet with your own. He cries as you cup his cheeks with both hands, leaning into your touch, and like steel to a magnet, your lips are drawn to his.

Yoongi falls quiet, eyes squeezed shut. It’s like the breath had been knocked out of him and all his brain activity shuts down for a second. His shoulders feel a thousand times lighter and he can’t remember the last time he felt this way. Something in him releases, like a rubber band that finally snaps apart and his hand reaches to caress your face. The kiss deepens, both your lips moulding against each other like the perfect jigsaw puzzles falling into place and he leans more into you. 

You feel his hand squeeze your waist, hard enough to make you gasp. His tongue prods in between your teeth, licking, finding yours in a duel of which of you will dominate the other. You climb into his lap, your legs on either side of him, your hands in his hair. His hands slip under your shirt, his palms hot and searing on your skin, his fingers splayed out on your back. Yoongi sucks on your tongue and you moan into his mouth, your brain going stupid. All you can think about is, it’s him, he’s here, he’s back, he’s home.

When you finally break apart, both of your lips are swollen and bruised. You can still taste him on your tongue as you rest your forehead against his. Yoongi closes his eyes, breathing in deep to calm himself. When he opens them again, they are clearer than before, almost brighter, like a cloud had finally moved out of the way of the sun. 

Once your fluttering heart is still again, you lean back to look at him. He raises his eyes and you can see his guard is down. The hardness on his face is gone. “Tell me everything,” you say again and this time he nods. 

“It’s a long story,” he says as you move off him to sit next to him instead, your hand firmly in his. “I’ll start from the beginning.”

Nine years ago

Happy. He’s feeling happy. 

With every movement of his skilled fingers over the black and white keys, with every note he produced as he closely followed the spread sheets in front of him, he felt happier and happier, his mood growing lighter, his fingers moving faster, almost automatically without having to refer to the music sheet wrinkled with overuse. The choir across from him started up and he led them through the piece with ease and a flourish that only Min Yoongi could. In these moments, the choirs were like surfers and him the waves beneath their board.

The music teacher, who was also the conductor, beamed happily his way but the boy was too lost in the music to even notice. When the song finished and Yoongi had ended the last note with a satisfying nod of his head, the music teacher broke into a tearful clap. Shy Yoongi couldn’t take compliments well so he excused himself to the restroom, walking out of the class with his head down. 

There in the boys toilet of the second floor, he leaned over the sink to wash his face. The silver chain around his neck slipped out of shirt and he took a moment to look at it, a fond smile playing on his lips. The obsidian stone warmed in his hand before he placed it back safely into his shirt. That was when he smelled the smoke, coming in from the small vent on the wall near the floor. He crouched down low, sniffing to confirm his own senses. 

A fire? From where? 

The vents snaked throughout the whole school building, connecting each and every floor. Smoke rose upwards so it could be coming from downstairs. He rushed out and stood in the stairwell, listening for any movements, any noise or urgency but none came. Odd. He took the stairs three at a time and the heavy door that led to the basement was ajar. A voice in his head screamed for him to pull the emergency bell but curiosity took the better of him as he tiptoed down the stairs beyond the door. 

The basement was hardly used, storing all the broken school facilities as well as extra ones; from broken chairs and desks and rolling whiteboards and old TV sets to broken music instruments and sports equipment and festivals ornaments and decorations. Most of these things were collecting dust, home to insects and spiders. Even the lights weren’t working. Yoongi was close to going back upstairs when a noise in the distance caught his attention. He walked in further to investigate. 

He should have walked away then. He should’ve gone back up and informed a teacher, another student, anybody. He should have listened to his gut screaming at him to run, go back upstairs and pull on the fire alarm. Things might have been different if he had done either of those things. His fate was sealed from here onward. 

The smell of smoke is thicker but he had yet to see it. It could have been the semi-darkness, it could have been his stubborn interest blinding everything else. It didn’t take him long to finally see the flicker of light somewhere in the middle of the pile of random items. A fire is starting and only growing stronger and wilder, now visibly jumping from desk to desk, licking everything from wall to wall. Something, no, someone, rushed past him in the dark, barrelling into his shoulder, knocking him backwards. Before he could find his feet again, the fire was big enough to make his eyes sting as he struggled to his feet and bolted for the door. 

Unfortunately for him, the person had closed it behind him, locking it from the outside. He bangs on it but the heavy, wooden door made only a muffled sound and the first floor was mostly administrative offices, usually empty during classes. He started to scream, kicking and punching the door to no avail and bloody knuckles. Behind him, the fire raged strong and big enough for him to feel the heat on his back.

He pressed his back to the door, looking around in panic. There was no way out. He was trapped. Two things would happen, he thought. One, he will die first, in here, all alone. Two, the fire will spread throughout the whole school and bring everything down on top of him. Where were you? Maths class, third floor. You should have enough time to escape, right? Fuck. He laughed darkly to himself, wiping the tears away from the corner of his eyes. He wouldn’t even get to say goodbye. 

Then someone is standing in front of him, a cloth wrapped around the bottom half of his face. “What the hell are you doing, boy? We need to go!”

Yoongi stared at the stranger. The man rushed forward and grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him up. “Do you want to die?!”

Yoongi shook his head.

“Then let’s go.”

The man led him around the fire, sticking close to the walls. The heat was so strong Yoongi was sure some parts of him were melting off. His eyes stung so bad and his chest hurt from breathing in all the smoke no matter how hard he buried his nose in the crook of his elbow. Panic rose once again because where the hell was the stranger taking him? Going to the back of the storage is suicidal, there was only one way out!

   He wanted to resist but the man had a hard grip on his wrist and everytime he twisted, it only pained him even more. He couldn’t ask, couldn’t speak unless he wanted to eat smoke. The man stopped in front of a wall covered with a huge school festival banner from twelve years ago. With one tug with both hands, he ripped the banner down to reveal a hole in the wall big enough for a man to crawl through. He pointed to it. “Get in.”

Yoongi hesitated but the man pulled at his arm and shoved him towards the hole. “Get moving or stay here and die.”

Yoongi took one last look behind him, at the fire that roared so loud his ears could barely hear anything else. The ends of his hair were singed but he wouldn’t notice it until later. Desperate and confused, Yoongi knelt on his knees and entered the crawlspace, crying the whole way through the very long tunnel with the man right behind him. When he finally emerged through the other side, a group of people were already waiting. One of them stepped forward, salt and pepper hair peeking from under the worn out beanie he had on his head.

Yoongi staggered to his feet and looked around, his breath wheezing. The man with the beanie and a black cloth around his nose and mouth clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to The Jackals, son.”

Present time

“...and I’ve been with them ever since.”

You’re lost for words, looking at the side of his face as he’s turned away. Everything that you knew of the fire unravelled. There’s relief in knowing that he didn’t suffer as you had thought but then there’s a sense of betrayal that you were made to think so all this time. He walked away unscathed from the incident that robbed you of every chance of happiness and traumatised you so badly from survivor’s guilt. 

Yoongi, unaware of your internal struggle, continues to talk. “They took me under their wings. I was homeschooled and,” he scoffs, “my education wasn’t what you will learn in school. I learned how to fight, how to strategize, how to lead. I learned a lot. Saem, the leader and my teacher, took particular interest in me. Maybe he saw potential, maybe he saw himself, I’m not sure. But I was modelled and shaped to take his place. You see, he was sick. Cancer and he didn’t have long. He died three years ago and…well, I’m in charge now.”

Three years ago was when The Jackals seemed to ramp up even more, fighting back at every chance. The number of government warehouses that were raided tripled in number and that was when they started recruiting more patrol officers, luring with the same privileges that The Jackals was fighting for. It was the same reason why your uncle made you join. 

Your conflicting thoughts and emotions are hindering you from making any sound judgement of how you should move forward. Do you accept him into his arms like you had always wished you could? Or do you turn away from him for causing the chain reaction of everything that happened in your life? 

“What was his name? Your Saem?” you ask the one question that didn’t feel too complicated to talk about.

“Jack,” Yoongi answers with a scoff. “That’s why it’s named The Jackals.”

Yoongi finally turns around to face you, eyes shrouded in so much uncertainty it’s hard to think that he’s the Robin Hood everyone seems to always count on and the one the government wants gone. You return his gaze, unsure of what else to do because, honestly, you’re so confused.

“Do you hate me?” he asks in a voice not of a vigilante. He sounds like Min Yoongi from nine years ago, small and shy but would spend hours alone at the piano writing songs only you’ve had the pleasure to listen to, songs he secretly wrote for you but never voiced out. But you knew, you always knew because you would catch him watching you in the corner of your eyes, silently enjoying your every reaction. 

And just like you knew then, you know now, too. No, you don’t hate him, not even close. Angry, yes. Disappointed, yes. Hurt, yes. But never hate. You spent too long on your knees begging for him to be returned and then the same amount of time begging for the pain to hurt less, so why would you turn away from him now? You might have been young then, but he has always been it; the one, the light of your life, the calm to your storm, the missing piece coming home. 

Without a word, you lean over and place a kiss on the side of his head, caressing his cheek. You shake your head. “I’ve missed you.” You choke on a sob and Yoongi pulls you tight, burying his face into your neck. 

A single tear creeps down Yoongi’s cheek as he holds on to you. “I’m home now.”

***

Yoongi returns from scouring the whole building for what could be used as pillows and blankets. He carries back in a couple of sofa cushions and one sofa throw big enough for two people, looking sheepishly as you look at the items in his hands.

“Where do you usually sleep?” you ask, taking the cushions and inspecting it for weird stains. Yoongi had taken care to shake them off of any dust collecting but you still eye it warily. 

He looks confused, looking around the room. “Here?”

You look at him in surprise. “Here? On this mattress?”

He nods, scratching the back of his neck.

“But…” you look at the lumpy thin mattress, “there’s literally nothing here. How do you even sleep?”

Yoongi looks away as he mumbles, “I don’t.” He situates himself next to you, fidgeting with the throw blanket and spreading it over both of you. He’s doing his hardest to not look at you, pretending not to notice your staring. 

He honestly can’t remember the last time he slept. Closing his eyes and resting for a couple of hours a night is all he’s been doing. It was the price he paid for living life as a wanted man but up until now, it never really bothered him much. It had been enough. Any extra time he had had been put into planning and strategising with his men, sleep was irrelevant, just something his body needed to recharge. Besides, sleep is when his brain is at leisure to think about things he wants to forget because remembering is painful; things like you. 

“Sleep,” he says, lying down directly on the mattress. “You have a few hours before we have to go back.”

“Go back?” you sit up on your elbow. 

He looks at you. “If you don’t go back ,they’ll be looking for you.”

“No,” you object. “If you think I’ll go back there after tonight you’re dead wrong.”

After his recount of his version of the school fire, Yoongi had talked at length about everything else; what The Order was actually hiding, the amount of supplies there actually are, the depth of corruption, the crimes done in the dark, the number of missing people who are actually dead, what The Order is up to and their end game. He talked about what The Jackals is all about, that they don’t actually have any inconsequential weapons, that they don’t in fact have that many secret hideouts and meeting spots, and definitely not producing any bioweapons of any sorts. The Jackals had only one goal: to bring the truth to light. In order to do that, the government must fall.  

Yoongi gives you a hard stare, eyebrows furrowing. “What about friends? Families?”

You laugh sarcastically. “I don’t have any.”

He nods slowly. Then, looking up at you through hooded eyes, he asks, “Boyfriend? Partner?”

Ridiculously, your heart does a tiny flutter and you stifle the smile on your lips. You shake your head. “No one that mattered.” Then, on a serious note, you add, “I’m staying here. With you.”

His eyes light up but his face is still wrought with worry. “But it’s dangerous. Tomorrow is never a guarantee and there’ll be days I won’t be here as I’ll be out there. I don’t want you to wait for me wor-”

“Who says about staying here waiting for you?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows and crossing your arms. “I’m not going to sit on my ass and wait around for you.”

Yoongi looks confused. 

“I’m going with you,” you say, determined. “I want to fight, too. And don’t you dare tell me I can’t or it’s too dangerous or any other bullshit. I’m sticking with you even if it means I have to stitch us together.”

Yoongi chuckles. “But you said you had always been scared of being on the frontline, that being with the Patrol wasn’t something you wanted?”

“I was,” you nod. “But I’m not with the Patrol anymore.” You link your fingers with his. “I’m with you.”

There’s a shadow of a smile on his face and he scoots closer. “But it’ll be dangerous.”

“I know.”

He leans closer. “It’ll be life-threatening.”

“I know.”

He rests a hand on your thigh, big and heavy. “People will be shooting at you. Tanks bombing at you.”

“I know,” you breathe out, your breath hitching as you feel his hand creep under your shirt to rest on your waist. 

Yoongi tilts his head, lips inches from yours. “You might end up wanted by the government, a bounty on your head.”

“As long as it’s as high as yours,” you whisper, leaning in, wanting nothing than to connect your lips but he’s pulling back. 

He snorts. “Doubt it.”

He brushes his lips against yours, not a kiss but just enough to make you let out a whine. He laughs quietly. “I don’t remember you being this needy, baby girl.”

“You left me waiting long enough, Yoongi,” you grumble, pulling him close by the shirt. “It’s just cruel to make me wait any longer.”

He tucks your hair behind your ear, rubbing your earlobe absentmindedly. “You’re right. I’m not a cruel person.”

“Prove it then.” You glance up at him through your lashes, a cocky smirk on your lips. Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice, eyes flashing as he tilts you down by the back of the neck, making you gasp involuntarily as he covers your mouth with his. The first kiss you shared earlier was intimate, passionate; it was a love rekindled. This is different. This feels like someone started a bonfire in the pit of your stomach, the hotness travelling to every inch of you and down to your core. This is hunger, a desperate, ravenous need to have him, consume him.

Your hands are everywhere, in his hair, on his neck, on his face, on his chest and then on his back. As he lays you down, one arm remains under your neck while the other holds your face as if to make sure you never break the kiss. You wouldn’t anyway, can’t, so hungry for him your tongue probes his mouth, teeth gnashing, lips moulding together in a way that keeps you wanting more. And the fire in your stomach burns hotter.

You tug at his shirt and he only takes a second to break away and pull it off over his head before reconnecting again. “I want you,” he grunts out in between kisses. “Please.”

“I want you, too,” you moan as he trails wet, hot kisses down your chin to your neck, sucking on sensitive spots that makes your heart race and the place between your legs wet. “Yoongi, please,” you plead, guiding his hand to your chest. 

He feels blindly for the bra clasp and undo it with careless fingers. When the bra comes off, he leans back for a moment, eyes wide in pleasant surprise as he takes in your figure. The last time you had been together, you were only teens. Now, both of you are well into your adulthood and for a moment, he is hit with the realisation that you are no longer an innocent girl. He looks up, cheeks burning from staring but is more stunned when he sees your swollen lips and pretty eyes looking back at him. 

  “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he exhales. 

You let out a shy giggle. “Took you long enough to realise.”

“Fuck,” he says again. “I’m so fucking stupid.” He dives, burying his face back in your neck, kissing, licking, biting on every inch he can get. He continues down, ignoring how your t-shirt is still on before pressing his face in between your breasts, licking a strip up your sternum. You call out his name, one hand in his hair. He takes that as cue and attaches his lips around your nipple. You moan out through closed lips and all he wants right now is to hear you, really hear you without any hindrance. 

Using his tongue, he flicks at your nipple while drawing circles with the pad of his finger on the other one, feeling it growing erect. The tent in his pants is growing uncomfortable to the point of pain but he’s savouring every moment, making up for lost time. He wants to worship you as a form of asking forgiveness, focusing on your breasts as if this is on the list of important things he needs to do. He kneads and squeezes them with his hands, all the time his mouth and tongue work your other nipple, making you writhe and moan under him. 

He leaves saliva trails from one nipple to the other, alternating between both. He squeezes both boobs together, taking both nipples in his mouth and suckling. It stings but it only excites you more, feeling his hardness pressing against your thigh. Like you, he, too, has grown from boyhood to man. Judging from the rock hard rod hiding in his pants, it’s nothing like what it was nine years ago. Then again, Yoongi is no longer the thin, scrawny kid he was nine years ago either. He’s a fighter, a warrior now. 

“Yoongi,” you mewled as he peppers kisses down your stomach. He comes to the button of your dark jeans and rips it open with one tug, glancing up at you. To show consent, you lift your butt up as he shimmies the jeans down your legs and pass your ankles, chucking it aside. His dragon eyes zone in on the wet patch on your cotton underwear. He hooks his fingers around the band. “Can I?”

You nod fervently, annoyed that he had to even ask. But that question was just out of courtesy; the underwear is off before you even blink. You hear him let out a curse under his breath and for a moment, you’re feeling shy again, the same way you felt the first time you lay with him. Your unclothed pussy glistens with your want and Yoongi lowers himself, hooking one arm under one of your knees and pushing that leg up, spreading you wide open. “You’re so beautiful, baby,” he mumbles, hot breath falling on your core. “So beautiful.”

He sticks his tongue out and places it at your entrance and licks upward all the way to your clit, letting the flat of his tongue explore your folds. You let out a moan. “Oh, Yoongi. Oh, that feels so good.”

Yoongi hums in response, placing a kiss on your pubic bone, working his way up with kisses on your belly-button, on your diaphragm, your sternum, your collarbone. He kisses his way up your chin and back to your mouth, open-mouthed and sloppy, making sure you taste yourself. You’re almost panting, the places where his lips landed hot and cool at the same time. You run your hands down his chest, feeling the muscles there and then his hard abs, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his pants. 

He pulls away to look at you, eyebrows lightly knitting together. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you reply, your voice just above a whisper. “I’ve spent the past nine years only having you in dreams and fantasies, wondering what my life would have been like if you were still around. I’ve spent long nights nursing an aching heart, wishing you’d appear so it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I spent every morning ashamed that I’m awake, getting older when the love of my life is forever frozen in time. So, don’t ask if I’m sure that this is what I want when it feels like every wish and prayer in the past nine years are collected into this moment. I’ve been waiting so long. Don’t make me wait any more, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes are a revolving door of emotions, flitting from sadness to anger to regret and then want. His eyes burn with the lust growing in the pit of his stomach, growing dark as his pupils dilate. There’s something wild about it, a feral animal just straining against its chains, wanting to break free and you tug the button of his pants off, provoking the beast. Yoongi leans back as he shimmies his pants off just below his ass, resting his hands on your thighs, massaging them lightly. 

You reach out your hands, wanting to hold on to him and he leans back over you with one hand next to your head while the other guides himself to your entrance. You feel his tip nudge your hole, sliding up and down your warmth, collecting moisture before he pushes in, slow and steady. You wince against the strain, your walls stretching open to accommodate his size, his shape, his length, inch by inch, welcoming him home. You bite down your lips to not make a sound and Yoongi runs his hand through your hair, doing his best to make it hurt less. He’s hurt you enough. 

When Yoongi bottoms out, you let out the breath you’ve been holding. You both stay like that for what seems like minutes, staring into each other’s eyes. Yoongi caresses your cheek and you bury your hands on the back of his head, the bun in his hair unravelling. His long hair frames his face, dark and unruly, matching the look in his eyes. Yoongi breathes in deep, steadying breaths, trying to distract himself from the tightness wrapping around his cock because, fuck, he doesn’t think he can last long like this. 

You smooth the lines on his forehead with a finger, giving him a small nod, telling him that you’re ready. He moves, pulling out just as slow and stopping halfway before sinking back in. You hum at the sensation, loosening your legs from around him to give him more space. Yoongi goes to work, leaning on both his elbows as he rocks into you in a slow, consistent rhythm, watching as your eyelids flutter close and your mouth falls open. You’re breathing hard, your pussy so wet Yoongi has to focus extra hard to not let this reunion be short-lived. He can hear the loud, squelching sound in between your legs and the faster Yoongi moves, the more moans are spilling out of your lips. 

“Oh, Yoongi. Yoongi,” you call out, nails digging into his back. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Yoongi. I’ve missed you so much.”

There’s tears in the corners of your scrunched up eyes and Yoongi picks up his pace. He can feel your walls flutter around him every time his tip kisses your cervix. He goes in deep, expelling any hints of any man you’ve been with since he ‘died’, training your cunt to mould into his shape and only his. If you had a man back home, he no longer belongs. If you had a lover back at the barracks where you ran away from, Yoongi wants to make sure that they know you belong to him, the vigilante they’ve been hunting down. It’s time to take back his place. Mine, he thinks. Always have been. 

The vast room is filled with sounds from the two of you; your moans and calls of his name, his grunts and panting, skin slapping against skin. The others won’t be back until a few hours later and Yoongi intends to use that time well. 

“Please, Yoongi,” you beg through your moans. “Please, I want to come. I want you to fill me up.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened at your request, looking up at you but his movements didn't cease. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips at the look on his face. “Check my arm,” you tell him and against his better judgements, he does, feeling with his fingers and finding the birth control implant easily enough. You giggle and Yoongi blushes. You tighten your legs around him. “I want you, Min Yoongi. I want your mark all over me, deep inside me. Please.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. His new goal in life is to give you everything that you want, even if it kills him. He repositions himself in a way that his cock hits that sensitive spot of yours, that place that makes you arch your back involuntarily, that place that makes your brain go to jelly and your voice echoes off the walls in a mix of his name and incomprehensible words. Hit hits the spot with practised accuracy, watching you unravel underneath him, feeling the burn of your nails carving down his arms, gritting his teeth at how wet and tight you are around him. He can’t hold back any longer.

You sense it from the way his pace quickens, almost losing any rhythm but oh, did it still feel good. You realise it’s not just the act itself that’s bringing you to this high; it’s the knowing that it’s him, that it’s your beloved Min Yoongi, back from the dead, rowing into you like his life depended on it, his face scrunching up, little grunts and moans escaping his tight lips. Sweat drips from his hairline and his jaws are clenched, eyes half-closed. 

You cup his cheeks. “Yoongi, my love,” you call out, making him look at you. And then he’s taking you there, ascending with you by his side. He crashes his lips into yours and you clench around him, moans spilling into his mouth, legs locking around his hips. Feeling your walls milking him, he releases. “Baby, I’m coming,” he groans out just as hot, milky liquid spills into you, making you gasp one more time. You can feel yourself squeezing him, feel every curve and ridge of his cock buried in you and you cling onto him as his face is in your neck.

 You both lay there panting, him on top of you, his weight like a comforting blanket, skin sticky with sweat sticking to each other. He raises up on one hand to look at your flushed face, tucking your hair back. “I’m home,” he says for the second time that night.

You smile, pulling him in for a kiss, hands tangling back up into his hair. It’s going to take more than once for the both of you to get reacquainted, bodies and souls, and you have all night long.

***

Through the window, the sun is breaking over the horizon. 

Yoongi is awake, not that he was ever asleep to begin with. He had spent the last few hours in the dark watching your face as you slept soundly in his arms.  In your slumber, he spies the chain around your neck and curiously fishes it out. During the lovemaking earlier, you never fully undressed and he hadn’t noticed the necklace until now. He rolls the little moonstone in between two fingers, bittersweet memories flooding in his mind. It hits him how long it really had been since he left and the tears that creep down his cheek are silent. 

You stir, pressing yourself against his chest, searching for warmth now that the early morning cold is coming in from the broken windows. With a small click, your moonstone connects with his obsidian, completing the heart-shaped locket. Your eyes slowly open.

“Good morning,” you rasp and Yoongi leans down to capture your lips with his. “Good morning,” he replies in an equally throaty voice. 

You look down to see your connected necklaces and your mouth falls open. You gingerly touch the black and white heart in between your chest and his. “You still have it.” 

Yoongi nods. “It never left my neck. It was the only thing I have of you. Of us.” But then, he gets up, disconnecting the lockets. “We should get dressed. The others will be back soon.”

“Others?” you sit up, pulling the blanket to cover your chest as Yoongi stands up to pull on his pants. He can’t help but sneak glances at your collarbones, at the mark he had left last night.  

“Yes,” he says with a smirk. “The others.”

You hurry to put on your clothes, hopping on one foot as you ask, “And what are you going to tell them about me?”

Yoongi pauses with his shirt halfway over his arms. “We get new recruits all the time. It’s not rare.”

You laugh. “Is sleeping with them part of their initiation?”

Yoongi flashes you a look. “No,” he says, almost defensively. He takes your arm and twirls you around into his embrace. “This is a special occasion,” he adds, his voice low. 

You can hear movements from outside and Yoongi releases you to peek out the window. “They’re here.”

You join him, looking down at the small group of men and women, the white bands around their arms stark in the semi-darkness as they walk through the shade. One person looks up and waves and Yoongi nods. 

“Come on,” he says, pulling you by the hand. 

The group barely bats an eye your way. They take one look at your hand in his and understanding seems to dawn on them. The man from earlier steps forward, eyes on you. “Never thought I’d see another Patrol officer in our ranks.”

“Another?” 

You turn to Yoongi but the man answers. “You probably don’t know me.” He extends a hand. “Lieutenant Kim. No more a lieutenant but they insisted.” He nods towards the group behind him. 

Your eyes widen. Lieutenant Kim Taepyung, the infamous lieutenant that left the force but not before trying to rectify it. He was announced dead a day before he was supposed to leave for good. Suicide, the higher ups reported, blew his own brains out so badly they refused to release his body to his family. It was fishy but no one was going to question it. Now it makes sense why; he was never dead. Are the Jackals full of undead people? Your head is starting to ache.

“Yoongi, I need to speak with you,” he says seriously. 

The two retreat into the other room while the others disperse to rest or talk amongst themselves. You linger around the door until it becomes too awkward to stay, walking down the hallway, exploring the Blue House room by room. Nothing much of the old world is left, nothing of value at least. Sofas and carpets that used to be expensive and luxurious hold no worth anymore. Elegant decors and wallpapers touched by time and mould are left to decay and rot.   

You make it back to the others and Yoongi and the ex-lieutenant are back outside, talking to the others in low whispers. You stand by the doorway long enough for one of the people to look up, alerting Yoongi to your presence. He turns around and beckons you over the desk they are standing around. There’s a hand-drawn map in the middle that you can’t quite make out.

“We’re moving our base here,” explains Yoongi, pointing at a rectangle on the paper. 

You tilt your head this way and that, trying to figure out the location. The layout looks somewhat familiar and it takes you another second to realise it, looking up at Yoongi. “Isn’t this the building I met you at yesterday?”

Yoongi smirks. “The same one.”

“Why are you going back there?”

“Because,” the ex-lieutenant answers, “the best place to hide is in plain sight. They won’t look there twice.”

“The basement down there is connected to multiple underground tunnels,” says Yoongi, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’ll be the best place for us to hole up, move around the city undetected.”

“But they got all those tunnels down there blocked,” you say. “You won’t be able to use them much. Most of the patrols are down there, too, at certain points.” You notice that both Yoongi and the ex-lieutenant are looking pointedly at you. You look from Yoongi to the other man and then back. “What?”

“You think you can map out all the sentry points?” Yoongi asks.

You smile, almost smugly. “I can. But on one condition.”

The ex Patrol lieutenant doesn’t look happy but Yoongi is amused. A small smile tugs on his lips. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You step forward, toe to toe with Yoongi, your chin jutting out, a serious look on your face. “You won’t ever leave my side ever again. I’m with you through everything; every fight, every mission, every stupid, risky move you plan to make.”

Ex-Lieutenant Kim stifles a laugh, looking away. Yoongi glances at him and shoots him a dirty look before looking back at you, sighing. “Fine,” he says in a mock-resigned tone. “Whatever you wish for.”

“Seems like our captain isn’t much of our captain anymore,” one of the women teases and Yoongi pouts. The group laughs and the ex-lieutenant pats you on the shoulder. “Welcome to the Jackals.”

Under the table, unbeknownst to any of the others, Yoongi reaches out for your hand, gripping it tightly as everyone leans over the crudely-made map, listening intently as you mark out all sentry spots in the city, above and underground, and tells them the usual Patrol schedules. All those long months being ‘Lieutenant Daiki’s girl’ is coming to fruition because sleeping in his private quarters let you have information no one else does. That man is also a talker; he shared everything with you, unfiltered. 

Yoongi watches you talk but not really listening. He’s looking at the way your eyelashes flutter above your cheeks, at how animated you are. He listens to the sound of your voice the same way he used to listen to every note of the piano he was playing all those years ago, noting things that no one else can hear. Your eyes shine every time you glance up at him and all he wants is to whisk you away into a private room so he can bury his face in your hair and in your neck. 

He had always known why he fights for the people, why he dedicated his life to the cause. But now, looking at you, it’s clear to him that he has much more to fight for. Strength flows into him through your connected hands and he’s never felt so invincible.

“Are you listening?” you ask, pausing and frowning up at him.

Yoongi nods, flustered. “Yes. Please continue.”

In that moment, a feeling that is foreign to you, something you haven’t felt in a long time, spreads over you like warmth from a fireplace. You continue to talk but all the while your brain tries to process. It takes a while for you to place that feeling, unknown to you at first, but remembering the name when Yoongi gives your hand a light squeeze.

It’s home, the feeling of belonging. And for the first time in a long, long time, the future of the world doesn’t feel so bleak, not when Min Yoongi’s strong capable hands are in yours. The Jackals just grew twice as strong and the war has only just begun. 

a/n2: I honestly wanted this to be more bad ass-ish but...lmk what you think of this one shot in the comment or ask. Like and reblog will be much appreciated :)

Check out my other works → :MASTERLIST:

[strwbrrycarat]

jiyoung more information

## ★! she born in seoul but moved to los anglese when she only 10 months

## ★! she moved around but stayed in Los Angeles for majority of her childhood

## ★! was a former piano prodigy, she’s been playing since age of 5

## ★! before she got casted by pledis, was originally supposed attend Juilliard

## ★! in 2023, Jiyoung moved to live with one of her older sisters who moved to stay in Seoul

## ★! jiyoung favourite era to promote was Hot as she helped produce one song off the album and she felt most confident of herself during this era

## ★! her least favourite was Super because how difficult the dance was and she hurt her ankle which caused her to not participate for any broadcast performances

## ★! She is close with everyone but loves hanging out with Joshua and Dokyeom whenever she has chance

## ★! While training, Jiyoung almost been kicked out on three separate occasions but Seungcheol and Joshua who often stuck up for her

## ★! Her parents were very against her plans on becoming an idol instead of continuing on playing the piano. But they still supported her after seeing her performance

## ★! Jiyoung is a extroverted person, she is always making friends with people and is teased by her members cause she friends with almost everyone she meets

## ★! Her close friend in the industry Chungha, they've been friends since debut and been friends since then

## ★! Jiyoung is a huge ariana grande fan, is always seen playing her music and it got to a point the boys had ban her from playing in the dorm since she was play and sing loudly

## ★! has a tendency to play with her hair whenever she stressed or thinking and she also tendency to blank out whenever she tired or sick

## ★! Was originally in the perfomance team but last minute was changed to join rap team

## ★! Jiyoung's room is disaster, she’s not a messy person but has tendency to leave items lying around which mostly is her clothes

## ★! Jiyoung didn’t participate in “Fear” promotion due to hurting her knee during dance practice but she did film the music video but she was on hitaus for a few months

## ★! in early years of seventeen, Jiyoung didn’t have that many lines due to her not being confident in her korean but took a while to get more comfortable

## ★! also in early content of Seventeen Jiyoung often got hate for being only girl in the group which lead to her being quiet but as the she gotten more comfortable she isn't scared to show her personality

## ★! In 2020, Jiyoung released her own solo music, her first single was “ZGZG” where she self wrote and also produced herself with help with Woozi and Bumzu

## ★! In 2023, Jiyoung released her two single “ONLY” and “Sugarcoat”

## ★! Jinyoung biggest scandal was her alleged dating rumour with Dokyeom, anti fans of Jiyoung used photos to them hanging out during their free time as proof of them dating and sent hate comments towards her, Pledis released statement denying the rumours and alos sued people who send death comment & spending the rumours

## ★! In 2023, it was confirmed she was in a relationship with NCT Taeyong since 2022 but broke up in January 2024 due busy schedule

[untitledmemes]

Untitled Mystery Item Starter

What's in the bag? Sender sends "REACH INSIDE" + two item/trinkets choices from the table below to receiver. Receiver will write a starter that must include either one or both of the items/trinkets sent to them. For extra fun, I recommend using a random number generator and send what you get! There are 50 items/trinkets below. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

1 : A piece of crumpled paper with an unfamiliar phone number scribbled on it.

2 : A thermos filled with a sweet scented, hot liquid.

3 : A pair of broken glasses missing one of its lenses.

4: A bloodstained face towel.

5 : A laptop with colorful sticks on its back that needs charging.

6 : An old coin with a special meaning to sender/receiver.

7 : A dirty doll with eerie button eyes.

8 : An admission ticket to sender's/receiver's favorite show.

9 : Free Space; Sender's choice.

10 : A pair of weighted dice with an X symbol where the one should be.

11 : A peacock feather that has a strange shimmer in sunlight.

12 : A pair of old socks.

13 : A silver locket with a picture of an elderly couple inside, the man's face scratched out.

14 : A sequined, wooden door knob with mystic carvings.

15 : A blueprint for a contraption far beyond your understanding.

16 : A music sheet for an otherworldly melody.

17 : A fresh fruit basket with a note from a loved one.

18 : A box of chocolates, each one tastes like a different memory of your relationship with its sender.

19 : A big boquet of wildflowers, with a parting note for a deceased person.

20 : A pair of scissors that doesn't cut paper, but cuts stone.

21 : A light bulb that doesn't need a socket to light up.

22 : A silver pistol with intricate carvings that has no ammo.

23 : A portrait of a couple with the woman's face scratched out.

24 : A small pendant of a cat.

25 : An embroided bracelet that was made for you by someone dear.

26 : A receipt for a donation made in your name.

27 : A flip phone with a single new text message from an unknown number, asking for help.

28 : A blank white shirt that changes its color and pattern according to the wearer's mood.

29 : A sexy lingerie set that still has the tags on.

30 : A tiny, ornamented tea cup that doesn't seem like it was made for human hands.

31 : A giant set of cutlery that doesn't seem like it was made for human hands.

32 : A bottle of perfume that contains the most foul smelling odor you ever smelled in your lifetime. For some reason, other people love it!

33 : A photograph of a small child holding out her hands to you.

34 : A key that you do not remember what it opens.

35 : Free Space; Receiver's choice.

36 : A small block made of an unknown material.

37 : A bell tied to a piece of string that makes a remarkably loud sound.

38 : A mask that oddly resembles your enemy's/rival's face.

39 : A hand mirror that shows you the reflection of your enemy's/rival's face instead of your own.

40 : A pillbox with a single capsule left.

41 : A bioluminescent blue rose with a love note dedicated to you, but no mention of its sender.

42 : A piece of your childhood blanket that still smells like your old room.

43 : A worn out carnival toy that you wanted to win many, many years ago.

44 : A piece of expensive moonstone that originated from the moon.

45 : A piece of expensive sunstone believed to have originated from the sun itself.

46 : A sketchbook full of beautiful, detailed portraits of monsterous creatures.

47 : A notebook full of descriptions about an eldritch ritual that promises powers beyond imagination.

48 : An invitation to a formal dinner happening tonight, and the address is your house.

49 : A jar so dark that you cannot see its contents.

50 : An enamel pin of a dog.

[thedorkmagiciangirl]

What Your Favorite Yu-Gi-Oh! Ship Says About You

Okay so I was listening to Doubleca5t’s videos-check him out if you haven’t done so, and then my mind went to:okay but ygo.

So here it is.  What your favorite yugioh ship says about you.  Warning:  You may find yourself feeling absolutely called out and attacked by the following statements.  I will not apologize.

All the Yami/Hikari Pairings (Yugi/Yami Yugi, Malik/Yami Malik, Ryou Bakura/Yami Bakura):You’re just here for some yaoi.

Puppyshipping (Seto Kaiba/Jonouchi):You like belligerent sexual tension.  You just do.

Seto Kaiba/Anzu Mazaki:Your ideal relationship dynamic is Beauty and the Beast. 

Jonouchi Katsuya/Anzu Mazaki:Your ideal relationship dynamic is sitcom wife sitcom husband. 

Jonouchi/Honda:Your ideal relationship dynamic is two bros chilling in a hot tub.

Mai/Vivian Wong:You want a girl who not only can kick your ass but will do so upon request. 

Jonouchi/Otogi:You are a firm believer in the inherent eroticism of dog-related nicknames.  In hindsight, this also applies to puppyshipping, but that’d be too obvious a joke.

Kisara/Seto Kaiba:You are a firm believer that this is the natural conclusion of Kaiba’s dragon fetish.

Sennenshipping (The Seven Sennen Items.  Yes.): You are way too deep into crack.

Dragonshipping (Jonouchi/Yami no Yuugi) :In a world where everyone runs from a challenge, you are the rare person who runs towards it.   When everyone else has finished their fight, you press onward, never stopping.  For you, no mountain is too high, no river is too deep, you have made a commitment to your community and done what so many others could only dream of; you are the few, the proud THE MANGA READERS

BBQshipping (Yami no Yugi x fire, yes fire):You just like watching Yami set people on fire.  Which he does in the manga. A lot.

Tendershipping (Ryou Bakura/Yami Bakura):You have not read the manga.

Protectshipping (Honda/Ryou) :You just wanted good things for Ryou, and really, who wouldn’t?

Peachshipping (Anzu/Yugi):You’re a sucker for cinnamon rolls, too good for this world, too pure.

Sealshipping (Atem/Mahaad): You’re a sucker for servant/royalty relationships.

Shrimpshipping (Weevil/Rex Raptor) :You’re a sucker for comedic side characters.

Rebecca/Mokuba:You are a sucker for cute sweet nerd kid crushes.  Fluffy and wholesome.

Darkshipping (Yami Bakura/Yami Yugi):You’re a sucker for enemies to lovers.

Heartshipping (Yugi/Ryou): okay this is just the same joke for peachshipping, but like even more so. Alternatively:Your ideal relationship dynamic is two gamer nerds nerding out together.

Chaseshipping (Honda/Otogi):You believe love triangles are best resolved by ignoring the axis. 

Toonshipping (Seto Kaiba/Pegasus) :You like mind game ships.

Prideshipping:Looking back at your childhood, you can pinpoint Seto Kaiba as the beginning of your crippling addiction to edgy boys who have trouble talking about their feelings, or he may not have started your addiction, but he did not help.

Roseshipping (Cecelia/Pegasus) : You are Pegasus.

Puzzleshipping (Yugi/Yami Yugi):You could recite every line of dialogue from the “I want to be with you forever” scene from memory.  Also, you were either traumatized by the ending of the show and are now in heavy denial, or you’re too afraid to watch it and still haven’t seen it, cowards.

[venusatnight]

Reasons why I need to be skinny:

All the cosplays I can finally wear and look iconic in

Clothes shopping, we're talking Dolls Kill, Hot Topic dresses and some of the swimsuits that are super cute

Looking cute when I eat pastries rather than a pig stuffing her face

Not feeling embarrassed on airplanes and rollercoasters when I'm squeezed in a seat with the belt barely fitting and being squished up against another person

Wearing sweatpants and looking cute rather than looking like I'm obviously trying to hide my fatass

Wearing pretty dresses and looking like a princess rather than a confetti cannon

Try out different styles and thrift shop new finds without having to worry about them not having my size

Shopping at trendy boutiques

Fulfill my childhood desire of looking and dressing like Winx and Bratz characters

People are able to pick me up and give me piggyback rides, also I can sit on people's laps, and they think I weigh nothing. Also, to cuddle and not feel self-conscious about people feeling my fat rolls

To cross my legs and look ladylike and small

No more X in my clothes' sizes

To wear leg warmers and have them look baggy and cute instead of all stretched out and weird

For my body to match my aesthetic

To wear cute/sexy bra and panty sets and look like a model

To not have to squeeze through aisles in stores with small spaces like Bath and Body Works and Hot Topic

To dance at concerts and feel confident rather than having my fat rolls bouncing around and everyone staring at me because I'm taking up too much space

To feel the dip between my ribs and hips

To not get diabetes

Little to no thigh chafing

Not having to always resort to finding my size online because the store will always have my size in (unless, of course, it's a popular item and just sells out fast)

People being jealous of me for once for how good I look rather than it always being the other way around

Not having to special order wide calf boots

Not being judged so harshly for my asthma (it's okay to be skinny and out of breath whether it's because they're out of shape or have asthma, but people are so mean to fat people who have trouble breathing regardless of their reason)

No more people trying to sympathize with me by saying I'm "curvy" or "big-boned" (No, I'm not, I'm just fat, but thanks for reminding me. No matter how "polite" you call someone fat, at the end of the day, it's still an insult.)

[thetravelingegg]

Imagine a wings of fire mtmte/lost light au.

The ship is an actual wooden ship that sails and stuff.

I think Megatron would be a mudwing. With brownish grey fireproof scales. I think that Terminus would either be his bigwigs or the bigwig that took him in.

Rodimus would be a part firescales. I don’t think having full firescales would be doable with a wooden ship. I’d say he can make his scales fluctuate in temperature and the hottest setting isn’t as hot as Peril is but it can still burn. This would play into Rodimus cockiness since ‘what could hurt him? He burn can everything if he wants to’ until the war happens and he realizes that heat can’t always protect you or the ones you love. Especially when he fights Megatron.

The Magnus armor would be either a wrist cuff or a similar piece of jewelry that is harder for others to break or use against you in battle. It’d be an animus touched item of course that turns you into Ultra Magnus who would be a seawing.

Minimus and dominus Ambus would be leafwings because I don’t want to many dragons the same tribe and also in the books leafwings were kind of portrayed as really mysterious and I think that it would match What Happened To Dominus Ambus and add a bit more flavor to his story. I Can expand on him later.

I dont really know what to do with Rachet. Probably an icewing since it’d match his crankiness and also icewings have there own hierarchy problems somewhat similar to Cybertron. I Can imagine Rachet, who would be a high level in the circle system that icewings have, treating people indiscriminately no matter much the circles say they’re beneath him.

Idk where the red part of his design is gonna go. Maybe he has a long lost ancestor of another or it’s just a random mutation. Maybe it’d even cuase others in his tribe to look down upon him and he knows that without his medical skills dragons would let their distaste show a lot more. That would help add story to his empathy since he know that how others are treated could easily be him and that he’s no better than everyone else.

This would probably make Pharma an icewing too. Perhaps they’ve been childhood friends since they both have unique scales and they could relate to each other. Also that would make they’re bond even closer and add extra tragedy to what Pharma does.

I have more ideas about other characters but I want to make them separate post so I can go into more depth with them. I know these stories don’t really fit with Transformers history but I’m just making this for fun.

[medievalblunt]

TYYY @gratefulnez FOR TAGGING ME AND ASKING ME 2 DO THISS <<333333 (originally created by @prettyboyprettyeyes)

Soft Asks

1. What song makes you feel better? Rio by Michael Nesmith

2. What is your comfort show? The Monkees.

3. Reading or writing? Reading.

4. What’s your favorite feeling? Adrenaline from roller coasters, unfortunately I quit amusement parks since long lines really ruin the whole experience.

5. How do you like to take care of yourself? Just doing anything to keep me occupied but still amused.

6. What’s your favorite candle scent? Pie 🥧

7. Who do you feel most like yourself around? Myself.

8. What’s a fabric/texture that’s nostalgic for you? fuzzy blankets.

9. Best childhood moment? When I got a pixie cut in senior kindergarten and it actually looked good on me, I wish I wasn’t so embarrassed about it and maybe took more pictures cause looking back on it now it looked so cool.

10. When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried (or just felt really good afterwords)? Last month when i discovered the “what I eat in a day as a john lennon impersonator” video

11. Do you have a comfort item? My computer 😪

12. What calms you down? Stimulation or being alone

13. Bath or shower to relax? Eughh neither I hate em both

14. What’s something upcoming that you’re excited for? My birthday because of all the laws that I’ll no longer have to conform to due to me being older

15. Comfort food? Oatmeal

16. What’s something you want to create soon? Currently working on some doodles and I rly wanna finish those up

17. How do you feel best loved? I never really experienced “love” from anyone to THAT extent, but I think maybe when hugging my stuffed animals (as stupid as that sounds)

18. What age in life do you think you’ll feel most yourself at? Sixty something cause everyone will listen to me and I’ll be some bijou monarch or subjugated tyrant

19. Have you ever written or received a love letter? Nopee

20. Tell us about a memory you hold close to your heart. Fuckk I don’t have a specific one, but that’s not to say I don’t have any good ones

21. Tea, coffee, or hot cocoa? Coffee

22. Name of your favorite playlist? “Cuntry”

23. Have you ever received flowers? From my parents yah

24. Who is your best friend? I don’t have one, it’s more of a “I love all my friends equally” situation

25. If your soul was a color, what would it be? Does white count even though it’s a shade

26. If you could live anywhere with anyone you want, where would it be and who would you bring? Japan town in Paris and I’d bring only my cat

27. Do you like to garden? Have you ever grown something? Nopee

28. What are you proudest of? I was wanted by the police twice and I got away with it both times

29. Are you a kind person? I hope, really depends how people perceive me. But that’s not to say I don’t try my hardest to be nice.

30. What do your hobbies look like? Drawing n gaming n that’s it. But I used to do ballet for seven years and martial arts for five years. I’m a black belt in taekwondo, but I’ve taken such a long break that I’ve forgotten everything and now it feels like I’ve never done either of those things in the first place.