#i love being alive and existing and i hope every misery fades not out of existence but to quiet

[bataranqs]

5 Happy Things

January 8, 2025

i made someone laugh today and i hope every human being gets a little laugh today or to-morrow. even the most vile of us, i hope gets some sprinkling of enjoyment in the act of living.

beautiful empty chinese bookstore uptown allows us to play weiqi inside for free for as long as we want apparently???? just went in and was like 'can we play' and the cashier who was gaming was like 'yeah' and we just did that. nobody came into the store. i hope this store has wonderful business and lasts forever so people can keep coming in and playing with what i thought was decorative weiqi but apparently is not.

being a part of a city and knowing it. the train times, the bus routes, the locations of various grocery stores and their offerings. i recognized what parts of my local library were rearranged and what parts are changed. i was sad over the change of menu at my favourite italian place but very excited at the opening of a japanese dessert shop. i think the world is beautiful and i'm glad to live in it

i love being wordsss. i love being able to type and talk and exist and communicate and connect with people and read poetry and books and ohhhh. what a joy to live and expand in being.

had curry and rice which i think is the perfect combination ever like who thought of that. curry and rice and you mix it around so the curry coats the rice. this is lux. man. i love having tastebuds

[hugsfromkeith]

dear you,

i saw you walking around a path, tip-toeing like a little kid, not sure how to handle the big dinosaur that you’re carrying in your chest. your eyes gleamed wild, confused how to navigate the world on your own. it was hard for you to comprehend how big you’re dealing, that you wanted to give up, you just wanted to shut down and just slowly fade away, in a darkness seeping to a dark lonely cloud.

sometimes there are questions like how and why, questions that eat you alive late at night, like a vehicle rushing into you and you can’t stop your heart pounding. every tears, every thought and every misery you count. the heartbreaks and challenges you’re burying out, not being sure how you’ll handle them out.

dear you, how could you be so gentle when the world shatters you a million pieces and still trying to accept it instantly without a doubt? you keep loving every mistake and all i could hear in your mind is kindness changes it all out.

the kindest thing you said to me was “you’re beautiful and brave, you are the force that the universe needs so that sunshines and butterflies exist when you’re around.” i cried, a tear sheds, and i bawled my eyes out.

dear you, how kind of you to say that to me when you know you think otherwise most of the time. a heavy chest and breathing, a shaky breath and a smile, seeing you in the mirror makes me wants to cry. and i ask you again, how can you be so kind in yourself when you know you are not going to slay the emotions you’re feeling? and when you’re not stable enough to end your suffering?

dear you, i saw you walking around a path, looking back, younger you was so hard to her that she wanted to end the misery that blooms inside of her mind. looking back, i wish i said that kind words to you a little earlier so maybe you could save yourself better and not tip-toeing on your eyes. but thank you for that kind words, thank you for your struggles, and thank you for your misery because i finally understood to be kind, not just in other people but most specially in your own heart. i love you and i hope that you’re okay…

love,

self

—

september 2, 2023 // 2:17 am // baguio city

[backrooms-birthday-party]

Opinion on UU: It's cPTSD

Ok, this is gonna be kinda long. I have listened to Unreal Unearth now A LOT and I think my interpretation of it is the hell is cPTSD and the narrator is the one suffering from it. Let's dive in.

De Selby 1 & 2: the start of the abuse. The darkness that is now a part of the narrator, sensing that light is still there, but it's slowly fading behind the darkness settling in. Too much of that darkness, and the narrator now can't tell where they end and the trauma begins.

First Time: basically, every relationship or bond the narrator has had while existing with this darkness, the paranoia and the hypervigilance dying and coming alive constantly to the whims of another- a parent, a partner, a friend.

Francesca: digging your heels in, wanting it to be enough for yourself, trying to tell yourself that no matter what, you'll always love that hurt part of yourself, and for a moment, you believe it. It feels right to love the hurt part of yourself like this, but it's terrible to realize it's there

I, Carrion: falling into deep set patterns of self harm. Wanting so badly to reach out to yourself, to see yourself fully in the light, but it can't be helped, you'll always fall, you'll always be carrion for the worst parts of yourself as you slowly consume the good, and slowly wanting to keep a hand out to it.

Eat Your Young: the wanting for more, more misery, more stress, more burnout, never being satisfied with quiet or calm. The more you take and take, the less the loneliness feels, and you just can't stop feeding the bad parts of you.

Damage Gets Done: here's the growing up trauma. The feeling that nothing can get to you, that you're fine the way you are, but there's that nagging suspicion that things aren't quite right, there is damage coming, you just have no clue when it's gonna hit.

Who We Are: the self harm, either physical or mental, is so strong with cPTSD. It's sneaky and strong and so hard to shake. no matter what, you always feel like you deserve it, that somehow things will make sense as long as you are hurt in the process.

Son of Nyx: this one is more personal. To me, it's the sound of nostalgia, that feeling that I can't get back, the sounds of things to come and that have already passed me by, the inability to reach out and find good memories or good times, and only focusing on the bad ones.

All Things End: the hopeful tone is on purpose for this. It's so hopeful for cPTSD sufferers to feel like it's gonna end one day. That everything will just fucking stop. All the stress, all the pain, all the memories will just end.

To Someone From A Warm Climate: a love letter to little you, with all the pain of now you to accompany it. Sitting with little inner you is so hard to do, but it's such a good way to help yourself. Inner child work sometimes feels just like this song, full of everything that comes with it.

Butchered Tongue: I don't want to really mess with the point of this song, because the feeling of a butchered language by others is so strong and real. I'll just add to this that when you start therapy, and you start to learn more professional ways to explain your pain, you sometimes lose the ability to speak your own truth, instead relying on therapy speak to explain yourself.

Anything But: bargaining with yourself. Trying everything in your power to be anything but what you are. Telling yourself you don't even care anymore about their feelings, who gives a shit, cause I'm anything but myself.

Abstract: omg. This one is full on triggers the song. Anything can bring back a bad memory, and getting stuck inside one of those triggering memories can feel like a little death. I also always feel like I got hit by a car every time a parent told me they loved me only to pull that back when I needed the love the most.

Unknown: I've already talked about this one, but it's the feeling of being betrayed by inner you during recovery and therapy. The feeling that inner you doesn't give a shit about your recovery, and they will do anything to hold on to the familiar feeling of self sabotage and pain. It's a huge betrayal to yourself.

First Light: literally, the morning after a breakthrough. The idea that things can change, even if you really don't want them to. Sometimes, it needs to, as awful as it may feel in the moment, because you know you deserve to save yourself from more pain. Thinking about this interpretation always makes me cry when I hear it.

This album has been the first time I've been able to see some level of my own pain and abuse towards myself in every song. I've never had a bad breakup like the album feels, but idk why it feels perfect to describe the awful feelings you have to yourself when you have cPTSD. I hope this resonates with someone.

[frodo-with-glasses]

It might just be because it’s 3 AM and I’m emotional but I am still. Not. Freaking. Over this.

“To Sam it seemed as if all the stones were listening and the tall rocks leaning over them”—maybe they are. Maybe the land itself is aching to hear a noise of joy. Maybe Sam’s words have brought something bubbling up in Frodo that’s breaking a centuries- or millennia-long silence, and the very dust under their feet is responding in like kind. Maybe the land itself, remembering the music that created it, remembering the life and song it used to hear, remembering—like a long-faded photograph, like the whisper of a wind gone by, like a smell you recognize but can’t recall what it reminds you of—the tantalizingly familiar ache of a thing you know you ought to know, that you know was once yours, but can’t remember…maybe all the land is yearning for healing, for this thing it’s forgotten even existed, and everything that’s left—every barren rock and stone—leans in close to hear.

Or maybe it’s all in Sam’s head. Maybe that’s just how he feels. Maybe he’s surprised. He was just talking, just shooting the breeze, just running his mouth as he’s done a million times before, usually to poorer effect. He didn’t expect to get much of a reaction from Frodo. He didn’t expect such full and earnest laughter. He definitely didn’t expect the tears that hit the backs of his eyes just listening to it. He wants to lean in. He wants to be absorbed by it, wear it like a badge, drown in it like the sea. He wants to live in this moment forever, knowing that he did that, he did that, he did THAT—somehow his big dumb mouth formed all the right big dumb sounds to ease Frodo’s heart and make him really, honestly laugh in the middle of all this terror and doubt and pain—and not all the crowns and trophies and dragon hoards in the world put together could ever be worth half as much.

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s the point, that’s the point, THAT’S the point, that they can’t budge the darkness on every side of them but damn it all they can turn on a light, and that light is a noise, a measly little noise—like the scrambling of a rat on the rocks, like the crumble of dust settling, like the rumble of the earth under their feet—just another sound, bubbling out of the throat of a hobbit, but oh it’s so much more. It’s joy—the joy of being together, the joy of conversation, the joy of “all is dark but I am not alone because you are here”. It’s hope—the hope that there will be life on the other side of this darkness, the hope that they will tell our stories, the hope that we will get home someday. It’s love—it’s that beautiful and mysterious way that two souls connect and interact and intertwine and become so much more than themselves.

And holy crap on a popsicle stick maybe this is why God invented love, because what I am when I’m with you is something so much more than the sum of what we are when we’re apart, and there’s something extra, something more, something beautiful and mystical and spiritual about what happens in-between and outside and inside of us when we’re together, and whatever it is will outlive every speck of dust on this starved and fire-blasted and godforsaken earth because love is a force that existed before the universe was created and it’ll exist long after it’s gone and one little laugh is like plucking the string on a guitar that reverberates across one end of infinity to the other and transcends the misery of where we are into the higher reality of what we always have been, what we are on the inside, AND WHAT WE ALWAYS WILL BE—

This is why Sam insists on cuddles right after this because!! I would too!! I just! I love you!!! I want to be close to you and feel the warmth of your skin and listen to the heartbeat that assures me you’re alive and absorb you into me because you’ve already taken up such a residence in my heart that you are half of me already, and if I can’t make the two of us one singular being, then I want to get as close as I can; let me hold you, let me protect you, let me make you laugh again, because who I am when I’m with you strikes at the core of what I know I was always made to be—

Maybe that’s why the land leans in. Because it’s hearing something both older than its foundations and younger than it will ever feel again, and whatever life is left in those dry, acrid, starving rocks wants to become a part of it too.

Anyway yeah I have. A normal amount of emotions about this.

Not SamFro, only AAAAAAAHHHHH—

[illuveterian-archives]

Tale of the Last Illuveterian - Part 5

As a way to distract myself I spent the next few years learning and training. I found a way to summon my family’s entire library into the pocket dimension so I spent time learning my species by species' recent history. I only went back about 8000 years and skimmed to the present from there. I just wanted to know the basics, since I had nobody to teach me otherwise. The library itself can filter through the books for you if you give it parameters to look for. There were answers to one particular question that I desperately needed. So I sat up straight at the table I was reading at and asked it, dreading whatever answer may come my way. “Why didn’t I die?” It came out quite and shaky. A scroll appeared on the table before me, the edges were frayed due to age but it was in otherwise good condition. The text itself was in such an old form of our language that I could barely decipher it. It was a direct account from one specific member of our species. We called him “Mairmoryu Ickmosh” which in english means “Death King”, nobody knew what his actual name was as he never included it in any of his entries. I didn’t know why he was called “Death King” until I read his account at 19. I was probably just too young at 5. Yeah, that’s reasonable. I did manage to update the language in a notepad as I went just in case I needed to ever reference it in the future. It took several days and gave me a headache just looking over it. Here’s roughly what was said, It’s not exact but it’s as close as it’ll ever be.

Something horrible has happened. Everyone is dead. I woke up this morning to find the world around me in burning ruins. Ash coats the sky and the air and if I happened to breathe I would surely be suffocating. Everything is on fire. How I remain unscathed I do not know. Of the 256 of us, I find nobody alive, and I count each of their clothes left in piles where they stood. Outside of our village I see little through the ash. What I can see is destroyed. Bodies of the giants we roamed with lay charred across smoldering fields. Few trees continue to stand where there were once many. Everything I cared so dearly for has been torn from me. I will follow their suit and reunite with them.

His first entry ended there and and and there were faded blue stains along the bottom. From that I gathered that his color was either Red or a blend of Blue and Yellow as Green, since green as its own color didn’t exist until roughly 7000 years ago. Our blood color is directly contradictory to our body color so it’s easier to tell when we’re injured. Sunni and I were both Blue and as twins, we each have one of the optional colors. Mine ended up being Red while hers was Yellow. Another scroll appeared on the table and the one in my hands vanished. Here is what his second entry said.

I have tried many ways. No matter what I try, this cruel world refuses to let me leave and join my loved ones. Every option has failed me. I even tried jumping directly into the river of heat which came from the tall mountain. I woke up in my own bed, partially covered in burn scars, but alive. That was my final attempt, my body now entirely riddled with scars. All I do now is sleep, any time I wake up I injure myself to fall back asleep. I yearn for nothing else but my dearest family. I hope they are at peace. But that is something I will never know of, I suppose.

That was the end of the second entry. The next one was quite a bit newer looking, meaning it was written hundreds of thousands of years later. This is confirmed within the entry itself.

I have not kept records as my ancestors have done, and for that I am ashamed. I have spent all of my time these last 500,000 years allowing myself to do nothing but sulk in my own misery. However, I have now come to the epiphany that I must continue on with my life, make what I can of eternity. If not for myself, then to honor those lost within the disaster, of and not of my kind. The world is still covered with ash, but not nearly as much, and it no longer glows a haunted red of fire. Trees have begun sprouting where they once stood magnificently and small beings not dissimilar to the giants of old have made their way to the fields, now green once more. I will begin keeping meticulous records of everything, as was done before. Though my personal writings will stay separate. Things are looking up and I intend to try and keep them that way.

And he did keep meticulous track of everything going on from that point forward. He wrote about the evolution of species, keeping eyes on the more notable ones. One in particular that caught his eye were these small primates, noted to look vaguely like us aside from commuting on mostly all fours and were covered in fur across the whole of their body. That particular line of evolution ended up leading directly to you humans, which I found out a few years later when I decided to go back and read some of his records. The name given for your species from ours is “Keertoh”, though I suppose that holds little significance. His next entry was then several millions of years later, an exact timeline was not given, but comparing them to his other work, it closest resembles the scrolls that are now roughly 4 million years old.

I have unfortunately neglected to continue my personal writings however I hope my tracking of everything else makes up for it. These new curious beings I’ve been watching continue to look more and more like Illuveteris every year. They now walk upright like us and carry very similar proportions. Their hair is also reduced to majorly just the tops of their heads and some to their faces. I wonder if it is something they have consciously done, to look like us? Perhaps only time shall tell. I have decided that the world is now right enough to bring in the next generation. I have one small child and plan on having more. She’s an absolute joy and the light of my life. The skies are blue and animals of all sorts roam. I share the joys of bonding with my child and will do my best to make sure she knows her roots, as will all my future children.

His next entry is within the same time-ish. It’s written about 1000-1500 years later. He was not as good at remembering to write down his personal life as he was the records he was keeping. Though, I suppose technically it wouldn’t be anybody’s business to know his goings on, so I can’t find a reason to be angry at him.

I have ended up with 25 wonderful children, each growing into themselves as young adults. I enjoy watching them grow and discover everything around them. And I look forward to seeing where they each choose to go in their lives.

The next entry is his last one. It’s fairly short, and the final one is from his eldest daughter. I'll put them together.

Written roughly 10,000 years after: All of my children have each had their own, and some of my grandchildren have as well. Overall between all 4 generations there are now 354 of us. I have 25 children, 243 grandchildren, and so far, 111 great grandchildren. I have begun to watch myself age again, no longer do I look as youthful as my children, but now I begin to show lines of age. I am no longer so sure of what the future holds, but I am incredibly proud of everything I have built thus far. And I look forward to seeing what new future I behold.

My father, the longest reigning king, has passed of old age. I, his eldest daughter, am taking his place, and will be continuing his work. At the time of passing, 23 of his 25 children remain alive, 238 of his 243 grandchildren live, and all 457 of his great grandchildren are alive, with an addition of currently 24 great great grandchildren. He will have a ceremony held this upcoming spring to signify his reuniting with his family at last in our afterlife amongst the stars. He will be greatly missed. 

The final entry then vanished from my hand, returning to its place among the seemingly infinite shelves. Where it sits exactly, I’m not entirely sure. I spent days reading those entries in their entirety. Come to find out, I technically could make it so I could die again, but to do that I’d have to bring the population back up to “stable”. Not only am I currently far too young for that, with the current state of the world it will absolutely not happen, even if I were to feel ready. To bring children into the world to suffer just so I can move on would be incredibly selfish of me. It is something I will not be doing until things change. Which is what I set myself on doing once I was done reading. I stood from the table and made my way to bed. Swearing to start first thing the next morning.

[dreamiesdotcom]

[01:44] Donghyuck had to be messed up to want this certain kind of love: he wanted to feel like a brittle autumn leaf being crushed under the soles of someone's shoes, broken without being paid mind to. He wanted to find someone and be hopelessly in love with them. Then, he want them to find happiness in a way that would crush his heart like a child would chew on ice on a hot summer day.

He wants to hold unlovable hands, feel the familiarity of it because he has identical ones. He wants to swallow and taste bile when they kiss. He wants to be asphyxiated. He wants someone kind enough to strangle him in his sleep.

But even if messed up, he had a reason to be: it was the only kind he knew, the one he's most comfortable with. He was a smart boy and didn't want to know there's still some things left to the world for him to figure out. He knows it all already. If his parents taught him anything other than muting the sounds of fighting and keeping his head down low, it was this: hope only brings misery and expectations heartbreak.

But he didn't know fate.

One day it introduces itself to him, having him collide with a force that shouldn't have existed in this world. He peered up from his daydream and the loud tune of music from his headphones muffles out. It's just his heartbeat, and the constant threat that his heart might be moving out of his body through his throat.

It was the end of him, whatever it was that force was. Could've been a truck or a car or a heart attack. Except it didn't hurt, the one thing in his life that didn't try to harm him. The scent of flowers invaded his senses and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. The taste in his mouth was the same that coated it the first time he tasted cotton candy; melting on his tongue and making his teeth ache with how sweet it had been.

"I'm sorry! It's just— ah, I lost it," you had sighed.

"What is 'it' exactly, if you don't mind me asking?" It came out rougher and annoyed than he expected it to, but you didn't seem to mind. At least, you didn't seem offended.

You blushed, "I... tried petting a cat. It was really cute. But. But I lost it."

Donghyuck was too mesmerized — by the utter stupidity of the situation or your unbelievable beauty — that he completely ignored the fact that he didn't see one cat the time he spent observing the cracks on the pavement.

For some reason you became friends, friends for a very long time. Still, he'd rather preferred the truck, a car, or the soul crushing heartbreak, over whatever he got.

("There was no cat," you confess a little time later, when months had passed and you can comfortably laugh at Donghyuck without being afraid he'd cut you with a glare.

Halfway through finishing his pudding cup, he looks at you with an unamused glance, a silent cue for you to explain yourself. You bring a hand up your nape and had the audacity to sheepishly chuckle,

"I just... well, we walk the same way to the same school, spend hours sitting in the same classroom... I guess... uh. It's not that hard to notice you, you know?"

"You're creepy."

"C'mon, I wanted to be friends with you!"

"Why?"

"Cause you were alone."

Donghyuck looks up seriously. Your sheepish smile fades into a soothing one.

"I didn't want you to be lonely."

"I wasn't lonely, I just liked my own company."

That was true, but also not. It was lonely, he just didn't want to admit. He wanted to reach out and feel human. He wanted to try and fit in this world, even just for once. It was lonely, but nobody wanted to be by his side, because he wasn't worth knowing beyond the glare and silence he wore, as it is the only things he knew how to express. It was lonely.

"Hmph! If all I know, you were miserable!" You jokingly said.

But when he has you here, beside him, willing to look past that, why would he ever let you slide through his fingertips because loneliness was safe and happiness was scary?

"Pay for it," he plays disinterested. "You'll have to be by my side forever now that you showed me how miserable it was being alone."

He'd resort to this, this despair. He smiles alluringly.)

He didn't know what to call it, whatever it was that you had. Neither did he know how to describe it, or anything about it at all, except for a few words: it was soft and sweet and giddy. He liked it. It felt vulnerable and childish and good.

"Forever is a long time," you had grinned. "But if you choose to spend it with me, I'll make it worth-while."

Donghyuck grins.

The night sky looks enchanting tonight, but they lack luster. Ever since he grew up, ever since that time passed, they never really shined as bright as they did when he was younger.

"The sun is a star too, but no matter how big and bright and warm it was, I think more people loved the night sky more than they did the very first seeps of daylight that spilled through the seams of the Earth."

That has to be right. The earth was warmed and kept alive by sunlight, but even that wasn't enough. Or maybe it was, it was just looked past to because of more beautiful things. Because starlight burned sweeter than sunlight did, and if his love scorched as bad as the Sun, he doesn't think he can blame anyone but himself that people left.

He swallows.

In another life, he'd be the moon. The sky would be the mystical purple you so loved, and every time he'd miss you, he'd look up — not to imply that he would have to miss you. He wouldn't. In that other life flowers flew around and butterflies grew, and trees bloomed cotton candy instead of leaves. Cats didn't run away.

In another life, he didn't break countless hearts for you. He didn't break his heart for you. He didn't mold himself to fit the hands of someone who never made an effort to touch him in a way so gentle he wouldn't break.

And in another life, things would've worked out.

In another life, he wouldn't be dreaming of another life because he would be content with the one he's living in, one he'll spend with you.

[whimsicallyreading]

Dark Roast, No Sugar

Part Two

Aelin leaned her head against a solid chest and counted the beats. These stolen moments were what she and Sam lived for. His breaths were even, and the gentle rumble of thunder outside assured their temporary safety.

 Arobynn's plain was delayed due to the torrential downpour flooding Rifthold. They'd received the text at the same time, and Sam immediately came to find her. Sneaking into the manor was risky, but Tern, Harding, and Mulligan were all occupied, and no one would dare enter Arobynn's office while he was away.

Well, everyone besides them. The danger was definitely worth it, Aelin mused as she stretched like a cat and sprawled into a more comfortable position over the muscled torso. A hand reached up and dragged calloused fingers through her hair, making her preen with satisfaction.

 Sam chuckled from below her, spread out like a starfish on Arobynn's poached polar bear rug. She felt sad for the untimely death of the creature, but she couldn't deny it made the perfect spot for their rendezvous.

 "We can't stay like this forever," Sam reminds her gently. He works his fingers down her long blond hair to the nape of her neck, where he works at the knotted muscles.

 "Not now, but soon," she reminds him as if he wasn't the one to concoct their crazy escape plan.

 A kiss pressed against her forehead marks the seal of his promise. "Soon," he agrees. "This hell will be over for you and me." The conviction of his voice lets that little tealight of hope in her chest flicker dangerously.

 "We will be free. The only dreams we will be having is what our home together will look like," she nuzzles into his chest and urges him to keep going. He knows she likes it when he talks long term to her.

"In the mornings, I will wake up to you in my bed. Your hair all over the place, and your arms constricting me like a hungry python."

 She cracks her eyes open at that and gives him a sleepy glare.

 "I wouldn't change a single thing about it," he continues. "Knowing you are safe with me is all I will ever need to be happy. Waking up to you in my arms is enough beauty to sate me wherever we end up. I'll be the happiest man alive."

 Tears burned the corners of her eyes, and a lump ached in her throat. For so long, she'd been deprived of affection and relationships of any kind. Aelin couldn't help the feeling of free-falling every time Sam declared his love. It was a treasure she thought she'd never had again. "I love you, Sam," Aelin whispers against his chest and presses a messy kiss to the muscle there.

 "Then why didn't you look for me?" His voice cracks in pain.

 Startled, Aelin's head shoots up. Ice chills her blood, and the screams that pour from Aelin's mouth are unearthly when she's faced with the gaping holes where his eyes should be.

 His eyes. She feels that familiar pain beneath her ribs. Those eyes that had been so kind. Made her feel so safe and radiated warmth. Aelin mourned their loss. Mourned him.

 "You didn't look for me," those damning words left his lips again.

 Aelin wakes up with a sob. "I'm sorry," she yells to the empty room.

 "I'm sorry," she keens. There are no hands in her hair. No beating heart beneath her cheek. She curls into a ball and grabs locks of her hair, pulling at them until strands fall loosely into her hand. The agony builds until it pinches her gut so hard and wrenches her heart so profoundly that she barely makes it to the toilet before hot, acidic bile burns a path up her throat.

 It burns through her over and over until she's leaned against the toilet seat sobbing. Her arms wrapped around her midsection protectively.    

 Morning sickness should have passed by now, but she still spent a great deal of time in this position. It never got less painful, and Aelin's seemed more aggressive than what other mothers recounted experiencing online. Her constant sickness and nightmares were leaving her feeling weak.

 Maybe it was a punishment for bringing a little life into a world that had savaged its father? That thought crossed Aelin's mind often. Perhaps it was penance for her selfishness. Her wanting to keep this small piece of Sam despite knowing the kind of life it would be subjected to endure.

 There was no forgiveness for the things she's done. Why would the universe let her have this? She should just be grateful it hadn't been taken from her entirely.

 Spineless, coward.

 Aelin laid curled up on the bathroom floor for hours. Existing in a constant cycle of sickness followed by mental torment. Chills wracked her frame, and she trembled on the cold tile. She barely had the energy to lift herself up when the urge to vomit struck her. Words floated in her head, furthering her misery.

 Coward. Liar. Oathbreaker. Life taker.

 That's where Lysandra found her, at a much more reasonable hour of the morning. Aelin was so tired she could only sob when the door cracked open. Her head fell forward and rested against the porcelain seat, too weak to hold it up any longer.

 Lysandra had cringed and very gently guided her head from the toilet rim to her shoulder, nestling Aelin's forehead into the crook of her neck despite the cold-sweat there.

 She crooned sweet nothings and soothed Aelin until she had the strength to stand up and collect herself. Lysandra helped her dress and brush her teeth. She left Aelin to sit on the couch and came back with lightly buttered toast, a glass of water, and a cup of ginger tea.

 Her attempt to decline it was futile. Lysandra left no room for argument. Slowly, Aelin bit the toast and sipped the tea. Bite by bite and drink by drink, she finished the breakfast.

 Lysandra didn't relent her hovering for the rest of the morning. As she was forced through her morning routine under her friend's watchful eye, she began to feel more human, and that awful pain slowly faded to the background of her mind. Nausea still rolled in her belly, but the food and drink helped settle it enough for her to function.

 Now here Aelin was, only a couple of hours later, filling muffin cups to have ready for the early morning regulars.

Her attitude was dismal.

 She felt sick. Her body ached from hours of lying on the cold tile. Sweat soaked her clothes and chilled her forehead. Just looking at her cup of tea made her angry that it wasn't coffee, but her stomach burned so furiously that not even coffee sounded good. It was a horrible paradox and was only just that much more upsetting.

 Aelin felt her eyes begin to burn with tears, and she slammed the bowl of batter down so hard that it splattered up her apron. She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes and tried to will the tears back down.

 Maybe she would cave to Lysandra's demands that she go upstairs and rest. It went grated against her desire to be self-sufficient and independent, but taking a hot bath and curling up in her bed sounded like pure bliss. The baby would likely benefit from her decompressing, too. That thought sold her on the idea.

 The bell at the counter rang.

 Aelin took a deep breath and washed her hands quickly. She would take this customer and then let Lysandra know she was taking the day off.

 Thinking of the jasmine soap and the warm blanket waiting for her upstairs was just enough for her to plaster on a smile.

 "Goodmorning, how can I- you," The last word came out in a hiss. Aelin's smile melted as quickly as it came.

 The asshole was back, and he brought a friend.

 Whoop-dee-freaking-doo.

 To his credit, the friend was equally as beautiful as the Asshole himself. He had dark skin, the color of polished pennies, and long blonde hair that coiled just above the arches of his cheekbones. If his choice of companionship didn't perturb Aelin so much, she might've found him attractive.

 Hell, she found him attractive anyway.

 "Is that how you greet all your customers, sweetheart?" The friend smiled at her, and his perfect teeth were bright enough to signal plains.

 "Do you call every girl sweetheart or only the ones you want to spit in your coffee?" Her tone is sharp enough to cut glass, and the man's eyes widen at the challenge.

 "I don't drink coffee, but I supposed the hot chocolate I was going to order is just as easy to violate," he laughs warmly, and her eyes follow the motion of his adam's apple. "How about I lay off the pet names in exchange for a warm cup of sugar without saliva?" His face was sincere enough that she felt less inclined to spite him for his choice of friends.

 "Your name?" she asks.

 "Fenrys," he offers without a joke, and Aelin writes it on a cup.

"I want a dark roast, black." The asshole reiterated his order from the day before. He had his arms crossed, and his face was set in a grimace. His comment the other day still rang in her ears, and she was certainly not feeling generous. Aelin scowled at him and left them both at the counter without a word.

 It only took a few minutes to make the cocoa. She made every cup from scratch with a recipe she'd been perfecting since childhood. As she prepped the drink, the store bells rang again.

 Turning around with the drink, she spotted her cousin Aedion at the door and smiled.

 She and Aedion had been separated by the system shortly after her parent's death. He was five years older, and their caseworker though Aelin stood a better chance of being adopted by herself. It was a traumatic memory for both of them. They'd found each other about a year ago, and it took little time for them to rekindle their relationship.

 She set the cup on the counter in front of them. "That will be three-fifty." The Asshole raised a pale eyebrow. "My coffee?"

"I have the right to refuse services to anyone I wish. That will be three-fifty." Aelin felt great satisfaction as The Asshole's lips pinched together and his scowl deepened.

 Aedion raised his eyebrow from across the room.

Lysandra chose that moment to walk back in, and when she caught sight of Aelin's expression and saw the seething man in front of her, she hastily made her way over.

"Can I help you?" She asks, looking towards the men. Aelin knew the question was directed at her, though.

 There were a lot of eyes on her. Aedion. Asshole. Handsome Fenrys. Lysandra. Aelin thrived on attention, but there was a difference between attention and being a spectacle. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller and crowded.

 Fenrys placed a hand on the Asshole's shoulder, concerned. "Hey. It's fine. We can get your cup of dirt water somewhere else. It's not a big deal, Rowan."

 Rowan.

 "I am a paying customer," the man, Rowan, gritted through his teeth.

 "You are paying for my coffee and pastries," Aelin snarled. "Your money does not purchase you the right to verbally abuse me.

 Aedion was over in an instant, chest puffed and oozing with male bravado. "Well met, gentleman. I believe my cousin said three-fifty." He edged close enough to bother their personal space. "If it's too difficult for you to figure out, I can help you count your coins and show you the door?"

 At six-two, Aedion was an intimidating figure. He was physically massive—layers of dense muscle from underground fighting and patrolling the streets with his gang, The Bane. An impressive tapestry of ink sprawled across his chest, curling out of his sleeves and collar just enough to let others know it's there. Most people would see him and think twice about approaching him.

 Rowan was taller than Aedion even, and perhaps more muscular as well. They squared up, neither breaking eye contact.

 Fenrys seemed displeased with the turn of events, but when Aedion turned to glare at him, there was a flash of recognition in his eyes. He was next to Rowan in an instant, pushing on his chest. "That's enough of your shit. I'll pay, and we are leaving."

 He fished out five dollars from the pocket of his trousers and tossed it on the counter. "Keep the change. Sorry for disturbing your day, ladies."

 When the shop bells jingled, and the door slammed shut behind them, Aelin sighed and felt herself wilt against the counter. Her breathing was labored, and her heart still thrummed with the excess of adrenalin. She was prepared for a fight. Muscle memory had her tense and ready for the situation to escalate, which of course, it didn't. Old habits died hard, though.

 A steadying hand was gripping her elbow and helping her lean into a solid body. "Hey, Ace. Relax, it's fine."

 Lysandra shook her head, "That was the bastard from yesterday, I am guessing? You should have let me take care of that." She points up the stairs. "Go. You need to take a day off. Upstairs. Make sure she sits down, Aedion."

 "I had it handled," Aelin grumbled, allowing Aedion to tug her towards the stairs in the back of the little kitchen.

 Her cousin snorted, "Oh, I know you can handle yourself. The stress isn't good for Little A, though."

 "You just want to throw your street cred around."

 Aedion laughed, "That too."

 Aelin slumped onto the thread worn couch and tugged at her tennis shoes. She sighed when they finally slipped off, and she could rest her swollen feet on the old coffee table. Their apartment wasn't the luxury she and Lysandra were accustomed to, but it was more of a home than the Mannor had been.

 "You look exhausted," Aedion stated bluntly.

 Aelin closed her eyes and hummed. "Is that the language you use when you talk people into your bed?"

 "Not a lot of talking is required for that," Aedion says with a straight face. "Even if it was, I would be practicing on Lysandra, not you."

 Few words passed between them after that. They weren't necessary. Aelin and Aedion talked and texted all the time, but there were times when they just needed to soak in each other's presence. Years apart starved them of that unspoken bond they'd had as children.

 Being close to Aedion was one of the few things that staved the fear and allowed her to relax. He was like the familiar taste of hot tea and the warmth of a childhood blanket wrapped into one. She had no doubt that Lysandra had called and ordered him to come to see her at some point this morning.

 The Bane typically showed up on Friday nights to play poker at her tables and hang out. Aedion would stay through the weekend, and they would catch up then. An early morning visit on a weekday was out of the ordinary. Occasionally Kyllian or Jerome would pop by and make sure nothing was amiss.

 When Aelin and Lysandra liberated themselves and opened the shop, Aedion had insisted they find a location in The Bane's stomping ground. Arobynn was less likely to stumble across them outside of his territory. She'd seen Tern and Mulligan prowling the streets.

 Arobynn wouldn't let them go so quickly.

 Aelin hadn't wanted Aedion to get involved, but there was no way he would leave them defenseless.

 They compromised.

 Once a month Aelin would donate a small share of The Stag's tips for their protection. It was a pitiful amount. So she also offered her spare bedroom as a hideaway for Aedion's friends who needed a place to lay low. So far, only Ren had utilized it, but it was always ready to go.

 Aelin was by no means someone to screw with. Her other name was just as well known on the streets as The Bane were. It was a good arrangement.

 It's why Rowan had gotten under her skin so badly. She needed those tips to keep The Bane well equipped and for other resources to keep Arobynn out of her hair.

 He didn't know about the baby. Didn't realize the depth of how much Aelin had actually betrayed him. There would be hell to pay if he ever found out.

 Plus, baby shit was expensive.

 "So," Aedion finally broke the silence. "How did you piss off the cops?"

 Wait. "What?" Aelin sat up and leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

 "That was Detective Fenrys. He booked me the last time one of our fights got broken up. Nice guy. Let me out on a technicality." Aedion smiled. "Maybe he just thought I was good looking. He's not wrong. I am assuming the other guy is his partner."

 "They are detectives?" Aelin spat.

 "The best and brightest Orynth has to offer," Aedion ruffled her hair as he stood. "You sure know how to pick your fights, cousin."

 Well shit.

[cassiecasyl]

to be or not to be hugged

prompts: whumpay day 2: touch starved/touch repulsed + day 11: don’t touch me/don’t leave me

tw: panic attacks, nightmares 

credit for the title goes to @official-wayward-fairchild <3

read on ao3! 

Peter knew something was wrong. He was reminded of it everytime someone hugged him, hell, he was reminded every night. It was in the way his mouth filled with this ashen taste that’s just a little too close to the rusty dust of Titan whenever someone hugged him. The touch infected him with dread and panic, with screams and battle sounds, with memories. His spider senses yelled at him in precaution and Peter tensed everytime, even though he knew that there wasn’t anything to be scared of. He was just overreacting. 

The first time it happened, he’d almost pushed May into a wall, had almost hurt her. He’d apologized profusely, his hands shaking, guilt rushing through his veins, but May had laughed it off. Yet, the worried glance she’d sent haunted him. 

Worst of all were the flashes—when a simple touch brought him back to Titan, more powerful than Dr. Strange’s portals could ever be, and he’s fading into dust, again and again, and Tony looked so broken and as scared as he was (though they’d both tried and failed to hide it), and he’s begging for his life, for Mr. Stark to fix this like he always did—I don’t wanna go—while at the same time, he’s in the supposedly safe arms of a loved one. It was twisted torture in its on way, and Peter couldn’t help but be reminded of one of the stories Loki had told about the time he had been under Thanos’s regime. 

They’d promised him might like he deserved, promised him everything he ever dreamed off, and then mixed it with obedience. Suspected him to pain and fire, sometimes ouf of fun—Loki said he got that—and sometimes framed as a test. His already shattered mind had been broken once more. There was a sense of belonging there, with the false love they gave him and the chaos they promised. The mind stone deconstructed and built him up again. Chaos was his element more than ever. 

Maybe, he was being tested too, Peter mused. He died, after all, and now he wasn’t sure whether he still belonged into this world, with everybody finding someone new and moving on. May had Happy, Tony had Morgan and Harley, even Ned and MJ felt aeons away. No. Peter chided himself for ever taking this analogy. His misery was nowhere close to Loki’s agony. 

Yet, Peter was living a paradox. 

He stopped hugging. It hurt too much and had the tendency to rip him from reality, so he just stopped. There’s a few raised eyebrows and concerned looks at first, but they eventually succumbed to normalcy. 

“Would you like to notify Boss or try any of the 173 tactics of falling asleep I've collected, Peter?” Friday asked for what must’ve been the upteenth time, shocking him out of his thoughts. He shook his head in a sigh. 

“No, Friday. I’m fine,” he answered, lamenting his dismissive tone. She just wanted to help, there was no need to be so rude to her. “Sorry,” he mumbled. The word got half-caught up in a yawn, and he wanted to kick himself for it. 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t tired. Peter knew it was late, and even his bones felt heavy with exhaustion, but he just couldn’t sleep. Not while he was at the Tower. He’d been successful in hiding his nightmares from May, but there was no way he’d be able to do so with Tony. Least of all when he had a perceptive AI on his side. Scratch that, two perceptive AIs. He’d almost forgotten about Karen, but he knew if he asked her for company, she’d eventually report him to Tony. Sleepy Spider Baby Protocol, or however it was called. 

Peter sighed. He was so tired. He just wanted to feel safe.  

~~~

Red sand tickled his throat, and the wind began nibbling at his feet as he stumbled forward. Soon, he’d join the sand, dust to dust, like it had happened countless times before. At this point, he was more scared than confused. He knew what would happen. He just didn’t know why. 

Peter looked up, his eyes scanning the battle field for his mentor. He had to be here somewhere. He always was. In panic, he turned around, ignoring how his toes disintegrated with the movement. Had he died? It happened before. Thanos’s stab always seemed worse in his dreams. But he couldn’t even find a body on the ground. He was all alone. Did he leave him? Did the wind already take them away, leaving him to die alone? He choked on a sob. 

“Peter?” A voice asked behind him, scared and tentative. Tony. The teen spun around, and more fell than ran towards him. The man was perched on the ground, holding his guts together. He was crying. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered in a plea. Tony looked up at him, but he was looking right through him, as if he was already mourning. His features aged momentarily, his hair turning grey and wrinkles closing in on pained eyes. A quiet, hopeful and sad smile adorned his face, the same one with which he sometimes watched Morgan. Peter could feel himself fading. 

The boy crumbled before Tony, reaching out to him in a desperate cry for comfort. “I’m sorry,” he said, right before his vocal cords left him. At the last moment, Tony’s fingers grazed his, and in horror Peter watched as the dusting didn’t stop with him, but extended to Tony, moved up his right arm and eventually his face. 

Peter lost his eyes before it was over. 

He woke up with a start, eyes wide but unseeing. They were still gone, dusted, he’d be dead again, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The air escaped him between sobs and panic. “Hey, hey, it’s alright, breathe, Peter, I’m here, it’s alright.” Suddenly, there was comfort. Peter blinked, and instead of complete darkness, shadows started to emerge. 

“Tony?” he asked, hope tearing through his throat. 

“I’m here, kid,” he promised. It was all the invitation Peter needed, and he shot forward, latching onto the older man. He breathed in the scent of motor oil and iron that never quite left Tony, and he was home. His heart beat faster than normal, but it beat, sometimes stumbling in a familiar way, and that was all that mattered. Tony was here. For the first time in a long while, his spider senses remained quiet. They were safe. 

“Shh, it’s okay, kid,” Tony shushed him, gently rocking them as they sat on Peter’s bed. “I’m here,”—Peter tightened his grip at the words—”I’m alive, we’re both alive. We’re in your room at the Tower and it’s 4:14 am on a Saturday morning. It’s raining lightly outside, can you hear that, Pete?” 

The spider stilled, focusing his senses on the weather outside. He panicked slightly as Tony’s heartbeat quietened, but his hand fisted around the hem of Tony’s shirt, and Tony’s constant assurances of it’s alright grounded him. Soon, his ears picked up the light pitter-pattern of rain. Peter nodded. 

“Good!” Tony praised as if he’d just done the most amazing thing in the world. Without him noticing, his breathing had calmed. The air wasn’t evading him as it was before. Tony’s arms around him were warm and safe and Peter sighed in content. He missed this. God, how he’d missed this. 

Tony’s hand found his, the one that was hanging onto the neck of his shirt, and covered it. Peter’s eyes widened as he remembered a flash from his dream. No. He couldn’t infect Tony. He couldn’t let him die, not again. Never. Peter coiled away from the touch suddenly and violently, ragged breaths returning. There was already dust in his lungs. No. 

Tony followed him, but Peter fell to the ground as he hastily retreated, leaving his mentor standing there with raised hands signaling that it was alright. It wasn’t though. He’d infect him, and the dust would find him again, travel up his arm, take him away. It was in his name after all, wasn’t it? He petered out, faded gradually until there was nothing left, until his existence came to an end. He couldn’t spread that to Tony. 

“Peter?” The man crouched down before him, slowly as if he was a scared animal. Peter shook his head. “What’s wrong, buddy?” he asked, hands reaching out. 

“Don’t,” Peter pleaded, recoiling from his mentor’s safe hands. Oh, how he craved their warm embrace. But he couldn’t. He’d kill him. “Please don’t,” he cried, “I’ll infect you.” 

“Okay,” Tony breathed, “okay. Infect me with what?” 

“Dust,” Peter answered with a hiccup. At Tony’s puzzled expression, he elaborated: “I’m dust, and it’s gonna spread to you. It’s in my name.” 

“Oh, kid.” Peter could practically see how a part broke away from Tony’s heart and fell down. That’s how it started, he thought, reminding himself of videos he’d seen of mountains eroding under water. “You’re not dust, not anymore,” he said, searching the room for something, “I brought you back, remember? I wouldn’t bring you back half-baked, Peter. All or nothing, that’s the deal.” 

The kid nodded, still watching him with big eyes. He mustered the veins of scar tissue raking up his right cheek, and suddenly his dream made sense in a different way. Still, he wouldn’t wanna test it. He couldn’t kill Tony too. He wasn’t worth two of his father figures dying, let alone three. 

Tony stood up and fear gripped Peter. He had enough of him. He’d realized the threat he was and would get himself to safety now. Only, that meant he’d leave Peter behind. “I’m not leaving, Pete,” Tony promised against his anxiety spouting lies, “I’m just getting something. See? I’m not even leaving the room.” He held up the water bottle Peter always kept on his bedside table to show him. 

He came back. Peter almost wanted to smile, but his dust-infected body was way too numb to do anything but watch. “Now, could you stretch your arm out for me?” Tony asked. Peter sucked in a panicked breath. “I’m not gonna touch you, I promise.” Slowly, Peter nodded. 

Cold water touched his skin as soon as he did what Tony asked of him, shocking him back into reality. “See?” the genius asked, “You’re solid. No dust here.” Peter nodded, blinking and staring at his hand, wet and still in one place. He looked up at Tony, who was smiling assuringly. 

“Solid,” Peter repeated, the remains of the nightmare slowly leaving his body. “I’m solid,” he laughed. 

“That’s right, Pete,” Tony praised, his hands switching towards him. He still slightly shied away from the possibility of touch though. His mentor fixed him with that concerned gaze, the one with which he could read him like no other, that implied that he was trying to figure out what bothered Peter. 

“Can I hug you?” he asked. Peter shook his head. It was tempting, but he wasn’t sure whether he was ready for that yet. 

“Rather not. Sorry.” Tony nodded, quickly hiding the sadness. 

“That’s alright. Thank you for telling me.” He stood up, mindlessly extending his arm to help Peter up, but then taking it back with a scolding shake of his head. Peter chuckled. “Sorry, didn’t think. So, anything else you wanna do? Catch some sleep, watch a movie?”—he glanced at the time—”Oh, what about a hot chocolate? Rhodey should be up by now ‘cause he has an early meeting or something, and he makes the best hot chocolate in the Tower.” 

Peter stood up with a laugh. “Hot chocolate sounds great.” 

“Hot chocolate it is then,” Tony confirmed with a warm smile.  “Friday, warn Rhodey if he’s awake, we’ve got a spider baby to pamper.” He left the room before Peter could object, and Peter quickly followed him. 

tag list: (let me know if you wanna be added/removed!)

@starrynightdeancas @spookyscarykittycat @sherlock-who-mentalist @lost-lunar-wolf @aixabi

[kanri-tea]

Jakurai dies! AU (part 4)

The veil between life and death isn't quite as solid as some believe.

OR: Jinguji Jakurai wakes up as a ghost, unable to move on and unable to interact with the world around him.

Dying feels a bit like floating - at first that is. You're lying in an endless abyss of nothingness and it envelopes you like a comforting blanket.

Your eyes are closed, you think, and you don't want to open them. It feels like taking a long nap, but like any nap, you slowly wake up.

It's gradual and slow. It starts with sounds, voices that you recognize but filled with emotions you can't quite place. It doesn't take long before you're being nudged to the world of wakefulness.

And that world that greets you is filled with misery.

When you open your eyes, the first thing you see is a grave. Your grave.

Jinguji Jakurai

21XX - 21XX

Beloved friend and doctor. Thank you for the leaving the world a better place.

You're startled. That's right, you're dead. So why...?

Why are you here, in the world of living when you should be in hell the afterlife?

You wander for a little bit, exploring the graveyard. The people there don't see you, can't hear you. You're unable to interact with anything and you float listlessly.

Why are you here? You're so, so tired.

The first of the TDD, of the people you love, that you see is Ichiro. He's blankly staring at your grave, crouching to eye-level with it.

"Hi, sensei."

You sit next to him. There's an aura of sadness that makes you want to hug the young boy, but you know you can't.

Not anymore.

"I... I don't know what to do anymore. It's like.. every night, the only thing I can think about is how useless I was."

You startle. There are tears in Ichiro's eyes, threatening to spill out at any moment.

"If only... if only I'd stayed calm... If only... god, sensei..."

The tears rain quickly and even as you try your best to comfort Ichiro, you can't get through.

The veil that separates the living and the dead couldn't have been anymore evident and painful, and even as desperation fuels your voice, as you feel yourself get more and more frantic, nothing works.

A b s o l u t e l y n o t h i n g.

It becomes a pattern, you soon notice. First it's Ichiro. Then Samatoki, Yotsutsuji, and Ramuda.

They visit on rotation, and fairly often too. Rarely together, and if it is, Yotsutsuji isn't there.

Your son in all but blood keeps away from Ichiro, Samatoki, and Ramuda, avoiding them like a plague.

You notice the anger, the pain. It hurts your soul to see him in such agony, and nothing you do ever gets through.

You watch Ichiro grow more and more tired with each passing week, a victim to his own grief. His brothers are filled with worry, both clinging desperately to Ichiro. You watch them plan out ways to distract their brother from his grief. They aren't getting through though, and it hurts to see, hurts that you can't hug Ichiro, can't tell him that you're proud of him, that it's not his fault.

You watch Samatoki break down more and more, a whirlwind of guilt and agony, burning up from his own emotions. His sister is gone, choosing the Chuuoku over him. You watch as his new teammates slyly pry and prod him for details, their worry growing with each passing day. You long to hold Samatoki's hand, to tell him that it was your choice to protect them. That it is a choice that you'd make over and over again for them.

You watch Ramuda lose more and more of himself, his grasp on reality loosening with every stray memory that resurfaces. You listen to his tales of his escape from the Chuuoku, his apologies for never telling you about himself. It warms your soul that Ramuda trusts you to tell you this, dead or not, but his airy voice and blank gaze worries you. His teammates often watch worriedly, and you're glad that he has someone watching out for him. You love him, and it's something you never realized until your last moments. You regret that you will never be able to tell him, that you'll never be able to hold him in your arms again.

You watch Yotsutsuji drown in his emotions, in his anger and his sadness. He does his best to imitate you, and while it would have been flattering had he been alive, you desperately wish you could tell him to live his own life, to live his best life. You recognize his teammates and you watch as they do their best to be there for the young boy, and you are so, so grateful. In truth, it's Yotsutsuji's agony that hurts you the most. Once upon a time, you'd promised that you'd be there for him forever, to hold him close on his worst days, to celebrate on his best days. You can't do that anymore, and you hate yourself for breaking that promise.

You stay by their side, moving from one to another. Each day is a different person, and despite how tired you feel, you're thankful for the chance to watch over them even after you've died. You'd once wished at a temple to spend your days with them, to be able to love and protect them with every fiber of your being. You can't do that anymore, but you try to watch over them, to get through to them.

Time passes, you don't know how much time, but you watch as the leaves turn from green to brown, as snow turns to grass. There are whispers of rap battles in the air and you quietly worry.

It's the only thing you can do, quietly worrying.

It's also then when you are greeted for the first time by someone that wasn't a friend nor a patient when you were alive.

Iruma Jyuto greets your gravestone on a sunny day.

"I... My name is Iruma Jyuto. I believe this is the first time we are meeting."

"You are quiet famous, you know? The saintly doctor of Shinjuku, Jinguji Jakurai."

"I should get to the point, shouldn't I? I... We..."

You listen patiently to the young man's words.

But can he really be considered a young man in comparison to you? You're 33, you died at 33. There is no 34 or 35, or any other age for you. You are 33 and you are dead.

"Please, please bless us in this endeavor. We really do want Samatoki to move on, Rio and I. This grief... it's breaking him apart. All of them, really. Aagh, this is so cheesy, why am I doing this..."

"Jinguji-sensei, if you're really there and I'm not just being an idiot and talking to a inanimate object, please let them move on. I know it's not really your fault, but they're stuck. Samatoki, Yamada, Amemura, and Kannabi. So, please, if spirits and whatever exists, please help them come to terms with their grief."

Iruma grumbles for a while longer before leaving. But even as he leaves entirely, his words linger.

You are so glad that they've met teammates that love them so much, but a part of you wonders if you can even help. Nothing you've done has gone through, and sometimes, you question your own existence.

As you ponder and question, questions unanswered by the gods, you watch Ichiro, Samatoki, Ramuda, and Yotsutsuji's teammates stage an intervention. It doesn't go well, not at first.

Of course you should continue on.

You aren't leaving me behind, you're continuing your own path. I'll be by your sides no matter what.

You all deserve the world and more. I would make my choice over and over again if it meant you all lived.

You watch as each division remind their leaders to live. That they are alive and he is not.

You know they will get better one day, someday. You see it in the way they smile, in the way they move with more energy these days. Their teammates are good for them and in turn, they love their teammates with all they have. It's a desperate love of people who've loved and lost many times.

Sometimes, you tell them of how proud you are, of you how much you love them.

You mean the world and more, and I would give everything to protect you.

You're all doing so well, you're all so amazing.

No matter what, I'll be by your side. Nothing but the gods themselves can tear me away.

I love you.

You don't know how much, or if at all, gets through, but sometimes, you like to think that maybe a whisper got through.

They're getting better. They have good days and bad days. The grief and guilt and anger is still there, but they're learning to come to terms with their emotions. Their teammates are their at every step, ready to catch them when they fall.

For the first time in a long time, you're content.

Ichiro will grow big and strong, becoming a responsible and amazing adult. He'll be a kinder man than you could ever be.

Samatoki will stand tall and proud, his strength protecting as many as he can. He'll be far stronger than you could ever wish to be.

Ramuda will shine bright and cheerful, his love will be intense and encompassing. His love will be stronger and fiercer than you could ever hope to match.

Yotsutsuji will become great, a legend in his own right. Someday, he'll find his own path and strive to become better than you, to become someone far more amazing then yourself.

You know they'll be okay, and that fact sits contently in your heart.

They'll be okay.

Had anyone been able to see him, they would've seen a lavender-haired man leaning back against the wall, watching the Division Rap Battle teams. There's a smile on his face, his eyes are crinkled. He looks happy.

Slowly, he fades away, leaving behind nothing to ever show that he was there.

He's gone, but not forever. Maybe he's moved onto the afterlife, maybe he's gone from existence. But in the hearts of those who knew him, of those who've loved him, and he to them, he still there watching over them.

[bonny-kookoo]

Nightlight (PJM x Reader) 💜☁️⚠️🔞👹  Chapter 1

Pairing: Demon!Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Demon!AU, Angst, Possibly triggering content, Fluff/Romance, smut

Warnings: graphic description of violence, panic attacks, graphic description of certain fears and phobias, nightmares, blood, insects, accidents, death, it’s kinda messed up really, mild stalking, demon jimminie be kinda creepy ngl, confused jimin, intercourse with a demon (duh), restriction of movement, sleep paralysis, slight somnophilia, big dick!Jimin but wbk, marking, biting, scratching, Dom!Jimin, Sub!Reader, y’all I’m gonna go to hell for this smh, more to add as the story progresses

Summary: The nightlight he once gave you with a smile always kept the nightly terrors of his pale and lifeless face at bay, giving you at least mild comfort in a time spend without his soothing touch. But when you’re admitted to the hospital due to an accident, there is no light to keep your thoughts safe from terror. Luckily for you, the demon responsible for your vacation between hand sanitizer and itchy sheets actually feels bad for once; and decides to help you out.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part ?

Watching the clock tick away as every second passed didn't seem like a good hobby- yet it had become your main source of distraction nowadays.

Every moment you'd look at the clock, eyes focused on the small pointer going round after round was a reminder that the world didn't stop spinning even for a moment. That the world didn't care about someone's misery or happiness.

At his funeral, the sun had been shining too. The weather had been disgustingly nice, making birds sing their songs of gratitude in their trees, and children run in their home's yards, laughing away, unknowing of the tragedy that befell you and him. You remembered how hot it had been, how angry you've been- how could the world just continue on without any form of sadness for him?

He wasn't supposed to die so soon. You both just moved in together into a small apartment he'd rented after his work had given him a promotion, talked about maybe adopting a cat together, and started to think about settling down. Yet destiny had been cruel, taking him away from you just because it could. It had been two horrible changes of seasons since the day you had to watch him get buried six foot deep.

And you haven't been the same since.

Barely talking at all, simply existing as you buried yourself under the covers of your once shared bed, desperately trying to hold onto every scent, every trace that he'd been alive, but soon enough his body was just a mere memory, fading away like the scent on his shirts you wore at night to keep you sane.

The nightlight he'd bought you to help you with your insomnia and nightly terrors helped you a little- it felt like a small glimpse of hope in the corner of your room, no matter how childish it may seemed to the people around you. You'd long cut ties with former friends anyways, not wanting to be seen by anyone anymore.

You just wanted to be left alone.

Tiredly walking towards the stairs to get yourself a glass of water, you failed to notice the figure standing in your kitchen, eyeing the furniture and unwashed dishes in the sink with not much interest. He studied your form, pale and sad, as you simply shoved the ceramic plates a bit to make space so you could fill your glass up, uncaring of anything.

He was interested.

Humans like you, so broken and consumed by tragedy most of the time had the most delicious dreams he could think of- the deeply scarring emotions drowning your soul in heart wrenching thoughts and visions. He truly loved these- even though he preferred dreams of fear and terror.

As he followed you upstairs, silently, something inside him made him raise his eyebrow. He stopped at your bedroom door, hesitant, as if something was holding him back. Memories of a young couple playfully fighting played in front of him, two lovers falling into the bed, getting tangled in the sheets with feelings of euphoria- and he suddenly found himself at your bedside, watching you.

Your eyes suddenly opened, as you saw a figure looming over you, dark and menacing, its presence making the room feel stuffy and tight, as you could only watch, not move. Your body was frozen, not reacting to anything you told it, as the figure stepped closer, hands slowly creeping around your neck, increasing pressure as you heard it sigh out in pleasure. You could feel your fingers start to tingle, oxygen unable to enter your lungs, before you could suddenly breath again.

The figure yelped as if burned, falling back and pushing down the clock from your bedside table, breaking the glass front of it. You finally got up, scrambling out of bed in a hurry, tripping over your charging cable for your phone, before you stared at the shadowy figure in your room, breathing heavily.

It was hunched over, gasping for air itself as you slowly found a speck of pity in your heart, making you reach out your hand, as if to prove yourself that it was real.

Everything after was a blur, scenes happening too quickly to comprehend them properly inside your head.

A Hand pushed against your chest, the body moving, forcing you to walk backwards until he pushed with another boost of force- successfully making the glass of your window shatter, your body flying out of it, right into the rosebushes beneath your window, planted by your landlady to 'brighten up the visual appearance of the complex'.

The only thing you remembered after that was the pain and the shadow, making you close your eyes.

"Miss, are you awake?" The nurse asked, soft voice making you open your eyes. "Welcome back miss. You took quite the fall. Good thing someone found you." She said, checking your vitals as you simply stared ahead.

You weren't dead.

It should be something good, it should please you to know that you survived, but instead, it made your mouth taste stale, and your throat clog up. The nurse carried on, leaving the room after a moment. You knew she didn't care. She was only doing her job.

A look to the side told you that it was late- only some lights of other rooms of the hospital lighting up the outside, curtains pulled shut. It was dark in your room.

Too dark.

Your breathing increased as the shadows started to morph into heads, animals, and monsters; anything your mind could come up with. You could feel the bile raising in your throat, sour taste on your tongue making you swallow desperately, head whipping from left to right to find something to light the room up, but finding nothing. Your whimpers seemed to echo inside the room, making you feel awfully pathetic as you could only watch as the monsters- dissipated?

They vanished as a gentle glow flooded the room, originating from a figure behind the hospital curtains, shadow showing a seemingly male figure clad in unknown robes. You swallowed.

"Ah, the daughter of eve fears the dark?" He sing-songed, almost mockingly as the curtains moved a bit with the fresh air flowing into the room. You stared at him or more like his silhouette, as you whispered in a wavering voice.

"What are you?"

He chuckled, a breathy sound that didn't feel threatening. "Ah, she is smart however. She knows I am of a different kind." He said, voice low and rumbly, yet with an almost feminine tune to it. It reminded you of your lover, in a sense- yet his voice sounded nothing like his at the same time. "I am the fourth son of Rosier, a former Angel now residing in what you humans call hell." He stated, as if he was simply telling you how nice the weather would be tomorrow. So if he was the son of a fallen angel, was he-

"So you're.. a demon?" You asked, voice still almost only a whisper. He chuckled at your voice.

"Not quite, but it serves as a good definition for your kind. My heritage is quite.. difficult to explain, I'll admit." He mumbled, moving his head a little to the side. You couldn't make out his features at all, the only thing serving as a hint to his physique being the light accentuating his shadow.

"Why.. why are you here?" You asked, and he moved his arms a little, the sound of fabric moving the only noise for a moment.

"Ah, you really are smart. I usually hear the question of what I desire from someone- yet there is not really anything a human could offer to me I could have use of." He said with a humored undertone. He continued as you stayed silent. "I believe there has been an.. incident that should not have happened, and I am the one at fault."

"So you came to.. apologize?"

He clapped his hands, making you jump a little. "My my, why do you sound so surprised?" He asked, voice growing a bit more hostile. "I am not an angel full of itself because of its purity. My kind may be known to be quite tumultuous and.. unconventional, yet we do have our standards and pride." He said, leaning against the wall next to the window.

"I see." You simply said, and he didn't answer for a moment. You felt like you were being watched, observed even. You cleared your throat before asking. "Why.. why did you, you know.. throw me?"

He sighed. "I was not born with a body like your kind is. I have to.. lend or take one for myself." He said, and you nodded, unknowing if he could see you properly. It seemed like he did, because he took your gesture as a silent way of telling him to continue. "I have only recently acquired this body. For your standards of time, at least.Your planet spins faster in a year than my own world would consider a full change of seasons." He said.

"So you.. know what happened to him? Like.. the body's actual owner, I mean."

Running a hand through his hair, he answered you, though with mild hesitation in his tone. “Sometimes.. memories remain. What we do with them is up to us.” He said lowly, his voice so familiar, yet also nothing like a voice you’ve heard before in your lifetime. "He left this world with quite a dramatic final, I admit. I do not know details, however. He is.. keeping them from me. Which is fair, considering I did take without asking." Whoever was hiding behind those hospital curtains made your head spin in confusion, as you tried to pin point what exactly was happening.

There was a demon in your hospital room. Not only that, but this demon was drowning the entire room in a soft and gentle glow, prohibiting the natural shadows of all the furniture and items placed on their respective spots to turn into terrifying monsters ready to haunt your time of rest and healing. But for some reason his presence made your blood flow calmly in your veins, soft noises from the opened window making your eyelids close.

You could feel him come closer, notice how the mattress dipped a bit where he leaned to loom over you. “Rest. I’ll keep them away from you.” He murmured, a cool hand touching your forehead as you drifted off, not being able to catch the confused and frustrated face of the demon who was watching you.

How strong must this man have felt for you if even after his death he harbored those emotions inside those veins he’d decided to possess and claim as his own? His soul has long left this body, yet it seemed like pieces of him still remained, forcing its claws between his will, and leading him down a path he'd rather not take.

Sitting on a bench, only light a streetlamp illuminating the park around you, you finally felt alone. It may sound like this should be an upsetting feeling, but after a week of constant hovering of others, nurses and patients alike, it finally felt like you could breathe again. That was, until you felt a presence behind you.

"Do not lift your gaze." He said, as he walked around the bench to sit beside you, the only visible thing now his shoes up to his thighs, decorative and expensive robes in silvery and dark colors, accentuated with thin golden patterns. You admittedly expected something more.. cliche. Like a black suit, maybe. "You have yet to recover fully." He murmured, crossing his legs before resting his arms on the backrest of the bench. "Why did you leave?" He questioned, referring to your decision to leave the hospital against doctors advice.

You fiddled with your fingers, before sighing. "I couldn't take the lies and masks around me." You said, and he hummed.

"Ah, yes." he chuckled before he continued. "That nurse was quite.. envious of your bodily features, I've noticed. And one of the male patients had been quite fond of you as well." He said, and you raised your eyebrows, scoffing. He looked down at you, amused. "What? My kind cannot lie, if it makes my words more trustful for you." He said, and you chuckled.

"Well.." You started, before stretching your legs a little bit in front of you. "I'm not much to look at." You said, and he clicked his tongue.

"Hm.. Who is speaking untruthful now?" He said with humor in his tone. "You are quite visually pleasing to look at, if I may say so. I cannot imagine what you may look like without the draining burden of sorrow and hurt." He spoke, a hand carefully tracing a stray strand of hair, before you chuckled. The sound was good, he decided. He would make you laugh more.

"Thank you." You said, and he simply hummed a reply.

It was quiet for a moment, before you told him your name. He, again, only hummed a wordless reply.

"I'm afraid I cannot give you mine in exchange." He said, and you nodded, understanding.

You didn't need it anyways.

He slowly started to become a regular guest at your home. You had started to move away your lover's things as summer passed outside your windows, trying to mend your broken self together piece by piece with the Demon's help here and there. He distracted you when things got overwhelming, spending time with you and keeping you in touch with the world outside your walls. You had also started to work again. A simple job at a restaurant, washing dishes, nothing special. But it paid the bills, and it gave you something to do during the day.

A distraction, if you will.

This time when you came home however, his eyes widened at how you immediately fell to your knees, crying desperate tears into your hands. He didn't ask what happened, simply walking over to you, putting a hand on your head- a gesture he'd learned during his time with humans, a simple touch that was meant to bring comfort. Yet it also helped him to look into your thoughts, and see the situation that had occurred during your day at work, making his blood buzz inside his veins.

He could see how you were working, not participating in the chatter of the cooks and waitresses around you, until they started to make fun of you. Calling you names, laughing about your job, your clothing, your stand in society he guessed. It all went as far as to the simple moment a waitress let a plate fall, giggling at your desperate try to catch it before it could hit the floor. She did it again and again, plate after plate, until a chef made her stop, chuckling himself as he led her away, leaving you to clean up the mess, and deal with the harsh words of your boss that night.

Carrying you upstairs he laid you down on your bed, pulling the sheets over your body before vanishing in a simply cloud of black smoke.

Oh, this would be fun.

He was getting quite hungry anyways.

He watched from afar, as the waitress in question walked past her bedroom window before shutting down the lights, most likely preparing for sleep. That was his moment.

Fear was an interesting thing to him. Not only because he fed off of it like most Demons did, but because he loved how fears told him almost everything he needed to know about a specific person. The simple instinct that tormented humans during their time of rest told him stories of their deepest desires and secrets-giving him all the power he needed to rule over them during the night.

But this time, he didn't care about that.

He'd observed her already, knowing how narcissistic she was. The small vanity full of expensive makeup showed him her insecurity of her visual image towards others- a truly childish fear in his opinion. Yet it did give him enough to play with already.

Diving into her sleep, she didn't notice his intentions at all, simply watching him as he'd sat down in the corner of her room, casually lounging in her chair placed on that spot. She smirked, as if he was her property, and he smiled back, yet with a vicious intend behind his eyes, hidden from her sight, her instincts clouded by her own desires. "Ah, jesus, haven't had a dream like that in a while." She said, getting up to sit on his lap, making him smirk at her. He knew the effect he had on humans- the body he'd chosen quite attractive already, yet his own natural aura enhanced its beauty even more, giving him a tempting charm. It worked on her just as well as it did on others, and maybe that was why he'd been hiding his face from your gaze all along. This young woman was.. basic in every way he could think of. Nothing about her peaked his interest as it did with you- a fact that should be worrying him. Yet he decided to eat first.

She started to rudely push her hands in between the fabric of his robes, making him grasp her wrists with a predatory grin. If she noticed that something was off, she didn't mention it, as she grew even more happy at the fact he was trying to control her. Humans were so fond and protective of their dreams, loving the way that they thought they had full control over everything that happened. It made nightmares the more terrifying for them. "Feisty. Love that." She murmured, and he placed his hand on her cheek, making her raise her eyebrows.

"Oh how ugly you are."

He sang with a voice playful and mocking, as she widened her eyes, trying to get off of him. "Ah-ah, where do you wanna go now? You chose your seat, yet now you want to take back your decision?" He said, gripping her waist as she gasped in pain, heart rate surely increasing as she began to sweat. His smile widened as his hands dug into her skin, surely leaving bruises as she whined out, not yet where he wanted her yet. "Feisty- love that." He mused impishly, his eyes slowly drowning in black, oozing out shadows as his pupils glowed a vibrant red, a fire behind them it seemed.

The young woman squirmed on his lap, desperation calling out to her in her veins, making her try and scratch him- yet instead of blood, she only found black ink on her hands, making her wipe them furiously as she noticed ants crawling up her legs. She began to breath heavily, eyes widening, as he laughed at her pathetic attempt to push away, his hand now gripping her jaw. "what do you think, whore?" He mused, voice distorted by an unknown force she didn't want to understand, her eyes leaking tears to no end as she realized how this was out of her control. "Ah, she is empty already. How boring." He said, letting her fall onto her back, coughing violently as she ran to her bedside table, trying to find something in it. Yet he was already behind her, forcing her body in front of her vanity mirror as he had her hair in his fist, forcefully pulling on it as if it was a handle to use, her eyes closed as she chanted to wake up. He laughed, before he spoke his words. "Look ahead, stupid child. Do you still think your disgusting words make you more appealing?" He said, as she opened her eyes;

waking up screaming louder than she'd ever did before.

With bruises ever so present.

The demon was in a good mood these days.

Maybe you just imagined things, but he felt more carefree around you, simply lounging on your couch as if he owned the place- and you didn't mind him doing that at all. He was nice company after all.

He joked around with you, asked you things, and seemed genuinely interested in you as a person; you felt as if you both got closer the more you conversed.

He noticed your dreams, yet never interfered to this night, as the nightlight broke in your room, darkness drowning your dreams in terror and war. You sobbed in your sleep, and his nonexistent heart clenched at the sight- the force inside his veins however didn't have anything to do with him joining your dreams, however. No, this was all his own decision this time.

Your dreams were.. a feast, to be exact. For him, it felt like he was at a buffet, ready to pack his plate until he was filled to the brim- yet the curled up form of your body, tormented by shadows and fiends, he sighed. He couldn't feed off of you. His own pride didn't allow it.

He considered you something humans called a 'friend', yet the desire he'd started to develop speaking different words, his own fantasies not so saint as yours.

But for now, he pushed these rabid thoughts away from his mind, crouching down next to you, embracing you into his arms for the first time, your sobs dying down as you noticed who it was shielding the darkness. Your hands grabbed onto the expensive looking fabrics he wore, trying to get even closer to him than you already were, while you calmed down, whispers and shouts around you slowly dying down, leaving nothing but comfortable white noise.

You slowly detached yourself from his form, eyes widening at the way he seemed to be emitting black smoke all around you two. Yet he also seemed to glow, just like he did back in your hospital room, a source of light without clear form. Just like a shadow, you knew what he looked like- yet you couldn't tell for sure. His face was completely blank, making you feel uneasy.

"You cannot dream of something you haven't seen yet." He said, voice low and humming, mildly distorted by some unknown force around you two. You nodded at that, his words making sense to you. Yet it made you feel a bit sad, knowing that you'll probably never see him either way. "Have you hoped to catch a glimpse of my features in your dreams, hm?" He playfully asked, brushing some hair away from your face, and you liked to imagine his face gentle and soft. "How sweet of you." He mused, before he leaned in, his features not distinguishable for your own eyes- it was as if you could see them, but forgot about them immediately. It hurt to know that you could see him, yet you couldn't hold onto the memory of it. Like your own mind was mocking you for not having the courage to go against his rule of not raising your gaze enough to study his face properly when you were awake.

Yet his kiss felt as real as it could get.

It was confident, knowing in the mere fact that you had developed feelings for the unknown being following you around these days, even though it seemed stupid to the both of you. It felt like you found something missing again, yet at the same time it was way too foreign to be something that had happened to you before. You were a shy being, way too gentle to ever find someone who would drown you in a kiss like this; fiery and demanding, yet also giving and utterly bewitching.

But didn't he say that you couldn't dream of something you haven't experienced before?

[drethanramslay]

Voicemails (part 1)

Pairing: Ethan x mc

Word count: 5.5 K words (damn that's the most I have written

Masterlist

Warning: ANGST

Taglist: @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @openheart12 @sekizincimektup @junggoku @ethandaddyramsey @edith-eggs1 @ethanramseysgirl @samihatuli @loveellamae @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @zeniamiii @binny1985 @an-urban-witch-ig @ramseyegerton @noboundariesplease @mrsdr-ethan-ramsey @newcolonies @theodorepjames4 @unluckygs @choices-love-affair @kaavyaethanramsey  @caseyvalentineramsey @ohramsey @virtualrain202 @squishywizardhq  @junehiratas @lilyvalentine @nooruleman @itsgoingnuts @cordonianbleu @agent-breakdance @jamespotterthefirst @choicesfanaf @temptress-of-death-and-desire @ac27dj @rookiefromedenbrook @gaiusimp @theeccentricbibliophile @oofchoices @hatescapsicum @sanchita012 @edgiestwinter (if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know ☺️)

Author's note: Well I know I said I was going on semi hiatus but, my studies are going great so I decided to post 🤪 also, shout out to @kittykatchoices for helping me in bouncing ideas( she is amazing)

also I went full out and posted screenshots and dividers sike

Songs: Callin by Alec Bailey is my main muse but I made a playlist too

Forgive me if there are any errors

Day 1

Ethan was jolted awake from his slumber as the flight touched down. It continued to speed down the runaway when it eventually reduced to a slow crawl and he saw the glass facade of the airport, glinting in the afternoon sun.

AEROPORTO INTERNACIONAL DE MANAUS EDUARDO GOMES. The banner read and Ethan let the reality sink in that he actually was in the state of Amazonas, South America.

"Welcome to Manaus International Airport. The weather here is partly sunny with 98% chance of precipitation. The temperature is..."

Ethan zoned out. His back was killing him and the need to stretch was becoming unbearable. Even though the WHO team of doctors had settled in comfortably in the plush seats of the private jet, it was a very boring flight.

There is a certain restrictions to the number of boring and wasteful romantic comedies you could watch in a 40 hour flight.

They did have 2 stops for refueling but they weren't allowed to step out of the plane.

God I want to go on a run so bad. He thought mentally as he massaged his spasming neck.

The doctors kicked back and relaxed, ocassionally discussing the cholera epidemic break out in Tefé, a small city on the riverside. It was very productive and they did manage to make a dent in the treatment plan but, when everybody was asleep and it was just him and his thoughts.

And his thoughts mostly revolved around the reason why he volunteered to join these prestigious doctors to battle the epidemic.

It wasn't out of selflessness, or the need to save humanity or for some mindless award.

It was an opportunity.

An opportunity to run from the girl who has invaded his head and heart, and resided there. 

Leah.

You are doing this for her own good. You are doing this for her professional development. You are doing this for her success. Feelings are fleeting, they will fade away. Ethan repeated those sentences like mantra, trying to ingrain it in his mind that he was doing the right thing leaving her behind.

No call, no text. A clean break.

But no matter how much you lie to your brain, you can't lie to your heart.

Ethan you know you are running away from her because she confessed that she loved you, stop lying to yourself. The snarky inside voice spoke up.

But, if he paid attention to it closely, it sounded just like Leah, calling him out in his bullshit.

He shook his head, trying to erase all the thoughts in his head as the aero-bridge connected to the door and they were opened. Standing up, he stretched his sore muscles and took out his duffle bag.

When he reached the exit, the air hostess with a face caked with makeup, gave him a polite smile. "Hope you had a pleasant flight doctor."

Pleasant my ass...

As he walked through the corridors towards the baggage claim area, he switched on his phone.

As he stood there waiting, he saw an influx of messages from Naveen and his dad.

But that was not what caught his eye.

Leah🌞

(3) missed calls (1) voicemail -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was midnight here and around 1 am in Boston.

Ethan walked out of the bathroom, exhausted to the bone. It had been a long day for him. The moment they had landed they had been rushed to Tefé, where they dived straight into work. The hospital was already flooding and there was so much pain and suffering all around.

Ethan has the emotions of a block of granite but, seeing so much misery and sadness, made his energies drop low.

And it did not help that the pocket in which his phone was kept, was weighing him down.

(1) voicemail from Leah🌞.

He wanted to delete it immediately but every time his finger hovered above the delete button, he just could not. So, he let it lay there in his inbox as a heavy reminder.

The moment Ethan's back hit the mattress a huge sigh of relief escaped his lips. He was weary and his body ached.

But, sleep didn't come to him.

He just lay there staring at the ceiling, seeing the different shadows casted by the moonlight. He saw the shadows of the trees swaying and the reflection of the Amazon.

His eyes landed on his phone on the bedside table and he stared at it for a long time, contemplating if listening to the voicemail was worth it or not.

You don't have to respond...

But, then my resolve will weaken...

His logic and conscience went back and forth but there wasn't any clear winner.

If this is what having feelings for someone is like, I don't want it...

But, you would take a 100 leap of faiths for Leah, won't you?

"ARGH!" Ethan threw the comforter off and got up. He started pacing around the room, trying to work off his restlessness. He walked around the room, his eyes trained on the phone as if it was a bomb. He clenched his jaw and tried to not let one insignificant notification affect him, but it was getting harder with every passing minute.

"Ah fuck it." Ethan said as he picked up the phone to listen to the voicemail. Leah's uncertain and raw voice flooded which forced him to lie down because of the emotions which bubbled to the surface.

"Umm.. hey Ethan, Leah here. I..uh heard that you went to the Amazon to fight the cholera epidemic from Naveen today... And I am proud of you but, I know that is not the reason why you ran, is it?

It's because I said 'I love you' three days ago, isn't it?"

Leah's voice cracked as she took a deep breath, before continuing.

"Are those three words that scary?

I had prepared myself that you would ignore my very existence and shut out all the feelings and that would have been painful but bearable, but... You literally ran to another fucking continent?!"

She bitterly chuckled and Ethan's heart squeezed.

"I don't even know what to do at this point. Don't they say that you should confess your feelings the moment you realize them, otherwise you will regret it? But... I can't help but feel regret... Why do I even try? I should have just shut the fuck up and get on with my day but NO! I had to open my mouth and here I am here talking to your answering machine.

I just can't help but feel that I let you slip away from me...

Anyways, it's okay.. I will wait. I promised you I would always wait.

Just...come back to me..okay? Bye."

The phone beeped, signalling the end of the voicemail. Ethan lowered his hand to stare at his phone's screen.

"I love you Ethan. And it's okay if you don't say it back. I know you need time and I will be here waiting for you..."

That's what she had said three days ago. And as much as they lifted him, it pained him. He was confused and just couldn't think straight. He needed some space.

But, he could feel his resolution weakening. The itch to dial that number and talk to her was irresistible.

You made a promise to yourself Ethan. You can't go back on that now.

He let out a deep sigh and ran his hand through his brown locks. His eyes landed on the table on which there was the complementary stationary provided by the b&b. An idea slowly bloomed in his head and he nodded to himself.

Sure I can't call her. But atleast I can write down my reply so that it won't keep on being a burden on my shoulder.

With that being said, Ethan sat down on the desk and poured his heart out on the loose sheets of papers.

DAY 10

For the next ten days, Ethan would keep an eye on the phone for any notification.

And by any notification, it meant a voicemail or a message from that one particular woman who had him in the palm of her hand.

He would get excited whenever his phone would ping but, his hopes would immediately crash when it would just be a message from the telecom company telling him about his telephone bill.

After he got his seventh 'Bem-vindo à Amazônia'(welcome to the Amazons,) he just let out a sigh of disappointment and turned his phone off and got on with his day.

I am such a moron... Look at where the mighty have fallen. The person who hated texting looks forward to a text. Ethan chastised himself as he entered the local hospital for a busy day.

Around noon when he headed to the cafeteria down the street, he turned his phone on to find a notification that made his heart beat faster.

(1) voicemail from Leah🌞

He pressed the button and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hey Ethan, just wanted to update you on the hospital and your patients. Everything is running smoothly and all your patients are alive. Chief Naveen and someone named Dr. Hirata are managing them. Mrs. Rodriguez went home today and she left you some cookies which I may or may not have stolen because well... they might catch fungi and that's sure would be a tragedy. Also, you don't even like anything sweet and would have given it to me anyways."

Ethan could imagine her shrugging as she stuffed her face with a cookie. That mental image was way too cute and Ethan couldn't help but melt a little. He sat down on his designated seat in the cafeteria and Leah continued.

"Also, Mr. Agarwal from room 456 was taken in by Harper for emergency brain surgery. He had an aneurysm and is in recovery. So far, he is showing great scope of a full recovery.

In short, everything is fine and smoothly running in your absence.

To be honest, I don't miss you that much. It just feel like a normal day when you are in one side of the hospital and I am in the opposite side. But... When I cross your office before clocking out, instead of seeing you working on your desk or lounging on the couch in your office, I just see emptiness.

And then that reminds me of the emptiness in my chest... But fuck that, who cares?!

Seriously, I don't miss you at all. But... That doesn't mean it's an invitation to stay in the Amazons indefinitely.

I would very much like it if you come back to me...okay? Bye."

A grin decorated his face and it made him so happy that his cheekbones were hurting. He shook his head as he put his phone down on the wooden table.

I don't miss you at all...

Who are you trying to convince sunshine?

Those words may be biting but he also knew his sunshine pretty well. He knew that she also missed him the way he did but, both of them were stubborn and had their heads all the way up their asses.

Neither of them were going to cave in and confess.

It's a tiring game and Ethan often wondered how long is he going to last.

So with his head full of thoughts, he took out the hotel stationary and began writing his response.

DAY 19

"Put the patients in bed number 4 and 25 in the recovery ward and ask if they are willing to provide blood for plasma therapy. Bed number 20 is going downhill so increase the dosage of the narrow spectrum antibiotics from 100mg to 250 mg every two hours. And..."

Ethan turned around and let his eyes run over the different patients. He was covered from head to toe in scrubs and goggles donned his face. The mask muffled his speech.

"Bed number 40 should move to another ward because it isn't too severe in her case. And can you update me on the patients in the gymnasium?" Ethan asked as he looked up from the clipboard.

"Most of them are infected sir. We have been segregating them from the healthy ones. We made the banquet hall the centre of testing and if anyone tests positive we are either sending that person to the hospital or to the gym. We have even initiated lockdown to prevent the spread of the disease." The doctor spoke with a heavy Portuguese accent.

"Good. Keep me informed about the patients in bed 12, 39, and 26 throughout the night."

"Yes Dr. Ramsey. Boa noite!"

"Good night."

Ethan walked out of the isolation ward and headed into the locker room where he could sterilize himself. Getting out of the numerous layers of scrubs was a task in itself and he felt so suffocated in them.

As he pealed out the layers off his sweaty body and removed the mask he stepped into the shower cubicle and turned the tap on.

He sighed in relief as the cold water washed over him, washing away the day's dirt, grime and sadness. Working in the isolation ward was never easy. It was always filled with fear and despair. Ethan would try his best to make them comfortable but, he never had a knack of people's skills.

If Leah was here she would have them laughing in no time. The thought rushed through his mind.

Leah.

Ethan was missing her terribly. The first few days were easy to handle the absence but now? Good lord, he craved her.

She was his sunshine and she always knew how to lift his spirits up when he had a rough day be it by cracking awful dad jokes, her infamous puns or her just being around him.

He missed those hazel eyes which would fill up with concern the moment she noticed his discomfort. He missed the way she would reach out for his hand and squeeze it twice when they were in broad daylight. He missed the way she would wrap her arms around his waist and lean her head against his chest when it was just them.

He stepped out of the cubicle, water dripping down his toned abs. He slipped on a fresh pair of jeans and a plain tshirt. He was about to pick up his messenger bag when he saw the screen of his phone light up with a notification.

Leah🌞

(1) missed call (1) voicemail

Ethan gave a small smile before pressing the button to hear the message.

"So apparently now I am Jenner's emergency contact, huh?"

Amusement laced her voice and Ethan groaned, hiding his face with hand. He hoped that Leah would never have to know but now the secret is out and all he wanted to do was curl up and hide.

She chuckled before continuing. "Don't be embarassed Ethan. I think that it is cute and I am so glad that you can trust me with your girl. Look at you, growing up and trusting people."

Ethan chuckled and Leah's tinkling laugh joined his.

"Basically, Jenner's dog sitter had to go out on an emergency so she called me to go to your apartment and feed her. Not going to lie but... I am scared."

She sighed before continuing.

"It's just that once I cross the threshold and see the cold empty penthouse shrouded in darkness... It would confirm that you are actually gone and that I can not continue living in the state of denial.

So, if you are getting calls from your neighbours that there is a hobo muttering to herself and pacing in front of your door, that's me."

Nervous laughter resounded on the line followed by another sigh.

"...you know what, fuck it. It's just a door."

Jingling of keys was heard on the line and it was shortly followed by excited barks.

"Oomph!" Leah was cut off by Jenner tackling her. A crash was heard, which might probably be the phone falling down on the ground.

Ethan smiled. He liked seeing his girls interacting.

Leah's coos were heard along with barks and whines from Jenner. Leah's voice sounded faraway as she spoke to Jenner in a baby voice.

"Oh girl... Don't be sad. I know he hurt you by leaving you here all alone. But you are not alone. Well, he hurt me too. So, don't worry we are on the same boat girl."

Those words were like a sucker punch in the gut and Ethan could not help but sit down on the bench as an after effect.

Don't worry... He hurt me too... Those words continue to echo through his head. He knew that Leah didn't say those words intentionally but, it just made him realise just how much of a facade she had put up, to hide her pain.

God, sunshine...

Leah's voice continued. "Well Jenner misses you too. We are okay, aren't we?" An excited bark sounded throught the phone and Leah chuckled.

"Sorry to disturb you. Go back to do your job of saving lives. You are doing a service to humanity Ethan, and I am super proud. You are so brave."

There was a pause before Leah blurted out.

"I- I miss you Ethan. A lot. And it hurts not seeing you here. But don't worry about me, I am a strong cookie and I will stay strong... For you. I just have one request though..

Come back to me soon...okay? Bye."

You have reached the end of the voicemail. If you want to hear agai-

Ethan immediately pressed the button and he heard her voice through the speaker of his phone. As she spoke, Ethan hauled a taxi to take him to his b&b.

You are doing a service to humanity... You are so brave..

Oh sunshine, if only you knew... it wasn't bravery.

I miss you a lot...

I miss you too sunshine...

Ethan sat and stared out of the window of his cab, a turmoil of emotions just running wildly in him as the words of the woman he loved, ran in his mind.

DAY 28

It was 12 am in Tefé and Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone's screen with narrowed gaze.

C'mon Ethan, don't be a pussy. It's just a message.

And that one message will be the breaking point for all of my will power and resolve. Might as well catch a flight home and personally wish her.

You are blowing things out of proportion... His inner voice reasoned.

"Shut the fuck up." Ethan exhaled, clenching his jaw, the muscle ticking as his eyes again landed on the blinking cursor, mocking him.

It was the 29th of April.

His sunshine's birthday.

And Ethan sat, twiddling his thumbs, contemplating what to type and send.

His thoughts went to last year when they were so at ease and could stay up and talk for hours but now, here he was, not able to formulate a single text message for the girl he had feelings for.

What have we come to?

Ethan couldn't help but feel guilty all of a sudden. Doubt clouded his mind and he wondered if running to the Amazon was really a good idea or not.

I needed space to think and figure out this 'love' thing... Right?

Shaking his head, he cleared all those lingering doubts and looked down at his phone again and wrote what came to his mind.

When did the great Ethan Ramsey get so cheesy? His inner voice snickered.

As he continued to read and re-read the message again and again, he started hating what he wrote.

"This is utter garbage. Who in their right mind uses emojis? Fuck this." Ethan muttered as he erased the entire message. He locked his phone and placed it on the bedside table before getting comfortable in the sheets and slipping into a deep slumber.

11:57 am Ethan had finished his rounds and was just taking a five minute break before he headed into the conference room where the team of doctors would discuss their approach.

The condition did improve a bit here on Tefé, but it was a massive outbreak and things were getting harder to control. It was a stress fest 24/7 and Ethan could feel his brown locks greying by the second.

In this five minute break, instead of grabbing something to eat and regroup his thoughts, he stood in the hallway, looking down at his phone. He had typed another message with lesser mixed signals.

Well... This sounds robotic... No wonder Leah called me Dr. Terminator the first time. Ethan snorted as he shook his head, disappointed.

He was about to type more when he heard his name being called by one of his colleagues.

"Dr. Ramsey, we are good to go."

Ethan looked up and curtly nodded. "Yes, I'm coming." He locked his phone and slipped into the pocket of his denim jeans, diving into work again.

7:16 pm Ethan was sat down on the bench outside the hospital and let out a breath of relief. He had been on his feet since the last 5 hours, running between the gymnasium, the hospital and the banquet hall.

The mask and goggles he had worn, had left bruises on his face and he just needed a fresh breath of air. Ethan took big gulps of the humid air which had hints of rain.

The thing about Tefé was that it rained everyday, without doubt. He enjoyed the rain but hated the humidity which was an inconvenient side effect. Though it was relatively cool at night, Ethan's shirt stuck to his chiseled body due to the excessive sweat.

Ethan took his phone out of the pocket and opened the messaging app again. "Short and sweet is better." Ethan mumbled as he started typing again.

He was half way through the message when his phone died due to the low battery. Ethan just looked up at the sky with defeat.

Was this the time to come at me karma?

He was about to head to the locker room to put his phone on charging when he heard panicked voices calling him. "Dr. Ramsey!"

"Yes?" He got up and started jogging to the entrance.

"Five patients in isolation ward CC-23 are deteriorating and they need help ASAP. We are short-handed and-"

"Say no more. We have lives to save."

12:00 am It was a stressful evening to say the least.

The patients kept on flat lining and Ethan and the staff tried bringing them back to life by injecting them with adrenaline. After a giving quite a few scares, they were finally stable and moved to the ICU.

Ethan dropped his duffle bag on to the sofa in his b&b and stretched his arms above his head, cracking his neck to release the tension in his shoulders. He fished his phone out of his pocket and immediately connected it to the charging port.

His screen lit up after sometime and he saw a notification which made his heart sink.

Leah🌞 (1) voicemail

I could not wish her...

Ethan opened his notifications and pressed on the voicemail she left, preparing himself to face the music.

"Uh..hi Ethan. I hope things are going as smooth as they can over there. I have been reading the news and keeping up with the situation there. I ain't worried about that because well... You are Ethan freaking Ramsey, the best diagnostician of your generation!"

Nervous laughter flitted through the phone speaker before it turned into a sigh.

"I know you are busy with the epidemic and all but... You missed my birthday. And- and I don't want to sound like those middle school teenager crying over an unwished birthday but... It hurts when the love of your life doesn't do it.

I have been trying to reason with myself that you could have forgotten but, I know you. I know that you never forget... And I didn't expect an elaborate gesture or anything! Even a small 'happy birthday Leah' message could have made my day... And I know you are caught up in your work but... How long does it take to type three words?"

Leah's voice cracked and Ethan felt regret gripping at his throat.

"Ethan- I am running out of reasons to convince myself. I am running out of those optimistic reinforcing shit. I am running out of the the number of benefits of doubts to give you. I am running out of faith that you feel the same way as me.

The longer I am spending time without any communication from you, the more I am loosing myself into the vicious cycle of doubt and self loathing.

I am angry at you and I hate you so much right now. I want to burn down your sweater in my closet and throw away the sun pendant you gave me. Just forget that you existed and go back to being the old happy me."

Ethan gasped, feeling breathless all of a sudden. The heavy burden of her pain and his self loathing was crushing his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.

In a soft, broken voice Leah spoke.

"But I won't. I don't have the strength to yank the necklace off me. Even though it burns me and is a reminder of the person who left me, I still wear it. Even though your name hurts me, I still want to hear it...

...I love you Ethan, so damn much that it hurts me. I need you Ethan, I really do and I know it's selfish of me but...

Just come back to me... Please. Bye."

Ethan leaned his elbows on his knees and let out a breath which rattled through his body. He put his head in his hands and let out another breath, trying to breathe through the heart shattering pain.

I am so sorry sunshine...

So fucking sorry...

DAY 36

It had been eight days since the last voicemail and Ethan had been tormented, swimming in gut wrenching guilt.

Most of the times he found himself reaching for the phone to call her, but he would just clench his fist and resume his work. All the words left unsaid, he would just pour it out on to the loose sheets of paper. That was the only thing that prevented him from slipping into insanity.

He was never one to understand the sentimental reason behind having a diary or journal. From a scientific perspective, he knew that it has long lasting effects in mental health and helps get rid of the anxiety.

But now, whenever he felt like he was going to get crushed under the guilt, he often found himself writing.

If he wasn't writing, he would be working. He started staying at the hospital longer and worked for longer hours so that he could tire himself out. That way, when he went to sleep, he would immediately fall asleep.

But still, no matter how much he tried, his thoughts would always go back to her.

Funny how one person could make or break your life.

It was 4:45 am and Ethan was in the lab, checking in on the newest vaccine that they had worked on. The doctors had been utilising the plasma of the recovered patients to formulate vaccines using the antibodies created in defense. And so far, it had been helping them. They were already vaccinating the asymptomatic people and it made a huge impact.

But still, there was a long way to go.

"Dr. Ramsey, why are you still here?" Dr. Batra, a 50 year old woman from India asked, her voice laced with inquisitiveness.

"Just working on the vaccine strains, Dr. Batra."

"You and I both know that those strains are highly effective." She said as she leaned against the door frame.

"Never hurt to be perfect." He shrugged as he leaned back from the microscope.

"But it does hurt when you over work yourself."

Ethan sighed as he took his glasses off. He rubbed his face.

"How long have you been awake Ethan?" Dr. Batra asked, the maternal concern evident in her tone.

Silence.

"Ethan..." She gave him a stern look.

"Yeah, yeah I will go now. After some ti-"

"You do know that avoiding your problems won't make them go away, right?"

Ethan's eyes snapped to her and immediately looked away not able to hold her gaze. She reminded him of Naveen and how he could never hide anything for him.

I wonder how he is doing...

"But I am delaying the inevitable, as most doctors must do."

"Ethan... I have known you for a very short duration but, I know for a fact that you are not a man who gives excuses."

Ethan sighed. "It's complicated."

"As must all the things in this universe."

"It's just... There is this girl, and she confessed her feelings for me. And the intensity of the feelings scared me. So here I am, taking a break. But... There is this small pain in my chest whenever I think about her. She fills me up with euphoria but can also break me down. When I reflect back on all the happy moments, I get light headed, as if I am on drugs. That is why I am here, to analyse and figure out my feelings whilst helping with the epidemic."

"Well... I think you know the answer but, you are just living in a state of denial."

Ethan sighed as he looked down at his hands. "Don't I know that?"

"Well, if you know the answer then what's stopping you?"

"I-" they were interrupted by the shrill ring of Ethan's phone. He saw the name 'Leah🌞' and pressed the silent button immediately.

"You won't take that?" she asked eyeing the phone.

"I don't think I am strong enough to do that."

"Love is for the brave Ethan. Remember that." She got up and patted his shoulder before stepping out. The sun rays filtered through the gigantic windows of the lab, slowly illuminating the clinical set up with its golden rays. Ethan picked up the phone and saw that Leah had left another voicemail.

Picking up the phone, he stood in front of the window, letting the warmth of the sun wash over him. Be brought the phone to his ear and he heard her.

"Hey. Its 6 am here and I was bored so I decided to call you. Or leave a voicemail because you never pick up my call. I was just feeling lonely so here I am! Kinda ironic but meh.”

Ethan could hear her shrug though the phone.

“I have been taking double shifts all week and it's been so productive. The cool cases I have done and solved, the lives I have saved... they have been giving me my quota of serotonin.

Literally nothing interests or makes me happy now. So my job is the only thing which I look forward to. The things I used to enjoy doing, seems like a chore.

Everything seems like a chore.

Sleeping, eating, breathing, everything seems like an exhausting task. I don't even like sleeping anymore. Because whenever I sleep I dream fo you and when I dream of you, it's like I am being stabbed in the heart.

I don't even want to go home, because whenever I am home, I see your sweater and then my mind goes back to the numerous night outs we had, working on our cases.

The hospital is okay but, every corner I turn I think I see you which, I am going to blame on my sleep deprivation. Don't worry, I am not going into self destruct mode. I still force myself to eat three square meals a day and I get around 4 hours of sleep for every 48 hours I am awake.

So it's okay... I am okay.

I maybe a ticking time bomb BUT, I am not a working hazard. I am alert at all times and all my patients are in tip top condition. I think I should give credit to the two energy drinks I downed along with a cup of coffee.

Don't worry, my heartbeat is under the safe limit of 180 BPM.

In short, don't worry. I am golden.

I hope you are taking care of yourself too! I just hope that you come back to me.

Bye. Love you."

"FUCK!" Ethan exclaimed as he threw he phone with a thud on the table. He placed his palms on the cool granite countertop, breathing heavily.

Shit, shit, shit.

He started pacing in the lab, playing with his beard, his mind racing with worry and concern.

This was not supposed to happen.

Ethan stood and gripped the counter again closing his eyes, trying to centre his breathing but it was futile.

I need to do something, anything! His conscience egged him.

He opened his eyes and it landed on his phone.

Well, I guess it's time to make a call.

well, I hope you guys liked it!

do you think Ethan finally caved in and called her?

like, comment, reblog and let me know what do you think :))

[ohallthecrushes]

Mornings with you are much much better // Arthur x Reader

A/N: I’m not quite satisfied with this one. I don’t know if I should publish this even, seems cheesy to me. :-/ It’s soft, gentle loving with a little angst at the beginning and a lot of fluff. Comments are welcome as always. Ekhem, enjoy. ^^

Summary: Arthur waking up with you in his arms, he thinks how his mornings have changed since you’re with him and he decides to wake you up by loving you.

Contains:  mention of being dead (just at the beginning), sex, fear of losing you

Word count: 1622

(his face is so adorable here)

A new day came with the Sun shining through your bedroom’s window, filtering through Arthur’s eyelids, making his dreams fade into oblivion.

He slowly opened his eyes, his eyelashes flattered against his pillow as he took a deep breath and buried his nose farther into your hair. He sighed onto your neck and pressed himself closer to your sleeping body. His arm was around your waist and his fingers softly moved against your breast. He was only checking if you were real and still sleeping safely in his arms. Mornings always came unexpected and too fast to Arthur’s liking. He liked being asleep when his insomnia didn’t bother him for a change. He liked sleeping, but sleeping without any dreams. Only then he didn’t feel sad, he didn’t have any negative thoughts, he didn’t suffer, he just simple didn’t exist for a while. It was nice. It was like being dead, without commitment. Open relationship with death. Death with benefits. Maybe he should write it down in his notebook.

Before you invited him to your heart and bedroom, his mornings had seemed to be nothing but a big disappointment of still being alive and a sudden hit of misery and agony that he couldn’t help but feel very intensively every day of his life.

But now that he had a chance to wake up with you every morning, that sadness and disappointment were more like ugly memories that hunted him, but only sometimes, than something that he had to experience every time after he woke up. Now he actually liked waking up.

He couldn’t believe how lucky he was and he hoped you’d forgive him his constant need for checking on you, for checking if you were real and still loved and wanted him.

You were both lying naked in your bed, spooning like you usually did, with Arthur being the big spoon this time. You were still in your dreamland and Arthur wanted you to come back to him, to open your eyes and look at him so he could kiss you and say good morning to you. Because those mornings with you beside him in bed felt very good to him. Much, much better than when you’d been only a fainting dream that had disappeared before his longing heart could keep you with him forever.

His fingers slowly ghosted over your breast as his chest moved up and down along with his breathing pattern. His knees bent and his legs were touching yours, fitting in a place you made for him. He felt hot against your body, you were both radiating your own warm, absorbing each other’s heat and giving away your own. He loved it, he loved how that felt, how real it felt, having another human being so close to him.

He smiled against your skin as his fingers kept ghosting slowly over your breast until they found one of your nipple. He brushed his index finger against it until he felt it harden under his touch. He put a kiss onto your neck where he could reach, but that didn’t make you wake up yet.

It was alright though, he had a few tricks up his sleeve that he wanted to use on you to bring you to him.

He pulled away a little from your back as his hand that had been caressing your breast slid down, softly moving over your ribs stomach and waist, rested there for a moment. Your waist were gently grabbed between his thumb and rest of his fingers as he pressed another kiss onto your shoulder. Your y/h/c hair tickled his face a little and he carefully moved them away.

He went back to loving your body as his gentle but hungry hand caressed your hip and leg, moving just as slowly as before towards your knee. On the way back he reached his hand down and almost accidentally brushed against your clit.

His hardening shaft twitched in impatience, aware of how close he was to your sweet warm parts and he had to bit his lip to withhold an urge to be inside of you and feel your warmth and wetness right away.

Your petals were gently caressed once again as his finger slipped between them and moved along your pink petals a few times before he started making small circles around your entrance. You made an adorable noise that Arthur loved to hear and you shifted slightly as your mind was getting grasp on reality and your surroundings, pulling you away from your dream state.

A big smile appeared on your face as you felt Arthur’s gentle fingers playing with your strings and his lips pressing soft kisses on your neck and shoulder. You loved how tender and affectionate lover he was.

- Mmmm... Good morning, princess - he murmured against your skin and you giggled, feeling titillated and a little overwhelmed by how sweet and caring Arthur was to you. You shifted your head and he did the same, closing the distance between your faces so his lips could find yours, giving you the fist but definitely not the last kiss this day. 

You slipped your tongue and tangled with his as you lifted your leg for him, feeling him smiling against your mouth. He insert one finger inside you and a warm heat of tension and neediness filled your abdomen. You wanted him so much, all of him, all of his love and attention, his passion and preoccupation with you, and you wanted to let him adore you the way he liked the best - slowly, intimately, deep and sensual.

- Good morning, my prince. - you whispered smiling at him before you laid your head back on the pillow and enjoyed his fingers working for your pleasure. You hummed as he pressed on your g-spot and you turned your head to kiss him again. His fingers were stretching your walls and making you tremble for some time before he pulled them out and brought the tip of his hardness to smear your juice and his precum all over your entrance. He slipped inside you, stretching your walls slowly so you’d have the time to adjust to him. 

- Mmm... This feels real good, Artie - you murmured smiling against your pillow - You feel real good, I love it.

His lips widened into a smile of satisfaction as he put a few kisses on you neck, on the spot that always sent shivers down your spine and this time you could swear it doubled its intensity. Arthur knew your body almost too well.

You lifted your leg even higher, pulling it closer to your chest, so he could buried his shaft deeper, deeper to your core, you wanted to feel all of him inside you.

You heard his breathing fastened as he was breathing with parted lips against your neck and he started moving his hips back and forth, pulling out of you to his tip and going all back in till his balls. His hand on your waist holding you in place.

- How does it feel now, Kitten?

- A-ma-zing - you stuttered trying to meet his thrust with your hips, you wriggled a little as the pleasure you felt in your lower parts heated up to the point that you became very sensitive to his touch, making you moan against the pillow.

- Don’t muffle your moans, I want to hear you - he said with a demanding but soft and loving voice, brushing his lips against your ear before he sucked on your ear lobe.

He pushed a little harder into you and you let out a loud moan that Arthur rewarded by nibbling at your neck. His thrusts became more eager and faster as his own pleasure started burning too hot for him to ignore it.

His hand slid down between your legs as his fingers started stimulating your clit. He rubbed it the way you’d taught him, the way that he knew by heart now.

- Oh m-my, I’m... gonna... - you gasped out and felt his body pressed even more against yours, his face buried into your neck, licking and kissing your skin. His thrusting, his fingers, his breath and body heat overwhelmed you and you moaned one more time as you shuddered uncontrollably totally drown in the flood of pleasure that spilled all over your body.

Arthur held you close, helping you riding out your climax as he sought for his own at the same time. He thrust into you fast and erratically, slamming against your butt, mumbling sweet nothings against your neck as his shaft was touching your cervix with each thrust, until he came, spilling his warm semen inside you letting out sweet soft moans to your ear. He was coming down to his senses for a moment as he tightened his grip over your body as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he only loosen his embrace.

You grabbed his hand and squeezed it, letting him know that you were still here and not going anywhere. He needed your assurance from time to time and with years that you’d been with each other, you’d learnt when exactly he needed it.

- Thank you - he murmured almost inaudible as he let himself rest inside you just for a moment longer, holding you in his loving embrace. You smiled knowing that this was this moment when he thanked you for existing, for being with him, for loving him, helping him and letting him love you... For everything that had led you both to this beautiful moment when he could simple lie in a bed with the love of his life, his one and only person.

[smamrpmemes]

some of my favourite bmth songs

mantra // bring me the horizon.

"do you wanna start a cult with me?"

"i need a purpose, i can't keep surfing through this existential misery."

"before the truth will set you free, it'll piss you off."

"and i know this doesn't make a lot of sense, but do you really wanna think about yourself now?"

"all i'm asking for's a little bit of faith."

nihilist blues // bring me the horizon.

"i've been climbing up the walls to escape the sinking feeling."

"i'm a spirit in a tomb."

"i'm going white, i'm going black, i'm going blue."

"i'm a beggar in the ruin."

"i'm lost in a labyrinth."

"please don't follow."

drown // bring me the horizon.

"got a hole in my soul, growing deeper and deeper."

"and i can't take one more moment of this silence -- the loneliness is haunting me."

"and the weight of the world's getting harder to hold up."

"it comes in waves, i close my eyes, hold my breath and let it bury me."

"i'm not okay and it's not alright."

"who will fix me now?"

"save me from myself, don't let me drown."

"what doesn't destroy you leaves you broken instead."

"you know that i can't do this on my own."

¿ // bring me the horizon.

"another bad dream."

"got mud on my face, but i can't get clean."

"taking showers every hour and i choke on steam."

"guess our fairy tale had a few plot holes."

±ªþ³§ // bring me the horizon.

"hold on, amend me. my anxiety's just about to kick in."

"you taste different."

"it's nothing like before, yeah, what's missing?"

"i liked it when it hurt."

"doing my best, stick around, but when you're broken like me you gotta get out."

"and it's nights like these when i'm on my own, realise that you'll never feel like home."

"i played with fire and i got burned."

"death-defying decisions are the only ones that make my temper glisten."

"i'm sorry, but you got it twisted."

"now i'm out my comfort zone."

"so i try my best to sing along, but when i'm put up on the spot, i get it wrong."

"moments we shared, i only ever see them in my nightmares. don't wanna wake up."

"we existed, you gave me reason for you living. you set me on fire."

"i'm somewhere else. i want suffering again."

dear diary, // bring me the horizon.

"the sky is falling, it's fucking boring. i'm going braindead, isolated."

"god is a shithead and we're his rejects."

"traumatised for breakfast, i can't stomach anymore survival horror."

"i keep fading in and out, i don't know where i've been."

"what the hell is happening?"

"kinda sad my whole existence's been a waste."

"ah, never mind, it's not the end of the world. oh, wait."

teardrops // bring me the horizon.

"we hurt ourselves for fun."

"addicted to a lonely kind of love."

"what i wanna know is how we got this stressed out, paranoid."

"nothing makes me sadder than my head."

"i'm running outta teardrops, let it hurt till it stops."

"i can't keep my grip, i'm slipping away from me."

"oh, god, everything is so fucked, but i can't feel a thing."

"the emptiness is heavier than you think."

"i'm tripping on the edge."

"lost my halo, now i'm my own anti-christ."

1x1 // bring me the horizon.

"put me out of my misery."

"disconnected from the world again."

"so why you keep acting like i don't exist?"

"yeah, feel like i'm ready to die."

"i'd set myself on fire to feel the burn."

"i'm scared that i'm never going to be repaired."

"my mind feels like an archenemy."

"i don't know what hurts the most: holding on or letting go."

"reliving my memories, and they're killing me one by one."

"sabotaged myself a again."

"got a brain like a hurricane."

"and i don't even care, no."

"oh, got me sinking to a dark place."

"think i'm looking at a long night."

"i'm alone, i'm alone, i'm alone."

"terrified i'm numb."

"and i'm staring into the void again."

"no one knows what a mess i'm in."

"the voices in my head say i'm just being paranoid."

"but it's bad for my health, how much i hate myself."

chelsea smile // bring me the horizon.

"i've got a secret."

"it's on the tip of my tongue."

"i'm gonna keep it."

"i know something you don't know."

"it sits in silence, eats at me."

"this guilt could fill a fucking sea."

"now falling and failing is all i know."

"i counted my blessings, now i'll count this curse."

"the only thing i realy know: i can't sleep at night."

"i'm buried and breathing in regret."

"i may look happy, but honestly dear, the only way i'll really smile is you cut me ear to ear."

"repent! repent! the end is nigh!"

"these secrets will kill us!"

"so get on your knees and pray for forgiveness!"

"we all carry these thigns that no one else can see."

"they hold us down like anchors, they drown us out at sea."

"i look up to the sky, there may be nothing there to see."

"but if i don't believe in him, why would he believe in me?"

sleep with one eye open // bring me the horizon.

"you took what you wanted and left, like locusts."

"everything i gave to you, everything that we've been through."

"you bled me dry and then left, like leeches."

"go, you got what you could, now leave, like vultures."

"ripped apart in minutes what was built in seven years."

"if i had it my way i'd slit your throat with the knife that you left in my back."

"all this shame, all this guilt, all this regret, that's me."

"and this is your world, fucking falling apart, mate, from the inside out."

"you got hell to pay."

"and you better fucking bow down to me, you better beg for mercy."

"get on your fucking knees and cry me a fucking river."

the sadness will never end // bring me the horizon.

"we've walked this path for far too long."

"i'm choking on my words like i got noose around my neck."

"and dear, i fear that this ship is sinking tonight."

"i won't give up on you, these scars won't tear us apart."

"so don't give up on me, it's not too late for us."

"and i'll save you from yourself."

"i'm not coming home tonight."

"is there hope for us?"

"can we make it out alive?"

"I can taste the failure on your lips."

"there's nothing we can do."

"you're trapped in your past like it's six feet under."

"try to numb the pain with alcohol or pills, but it won't repair your trust."

"you can't stand on two fucking feet with a substance as a crutch."

[ymiwritesstuff]

Pain of Sorrow

Ok I’ve had this idea for quite some time and I was finally able to write it as a scenario. Please enjoy!

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders

Dio Brando x Reader

Summary: Dio felt many different emotions throughout his life, however sadness hadn’t been one of them in a long time.

Notes: Pure angst, SPOILERS FOR PART 3 

Sadness was an emotion that almost everyone experienced in some from at some point in their life. It makes people hollow, causing nothing but pain and tears in those who are tormented by it. Sadness makes people vulnerable, shows their true colors and tortures the very soul of the person, eating away at the last bits of happiness. Deep down, the feeling of sorrow might just be the deadliest emotion there is. Even if one were to escape the clutches of sadness, the scars it cut were deep and they never fully faded away over time only worsening. 

The painful feeling of sadness was something Dio hadn’t experienced since the death of his mother. The emotion made him weak, something he couldn’t allow himself to be. He had to stay strong or he would never achieve his goals. He had to be able to eliminate anyone who dared to oppose him. Dio had no empathy as it was all lost a century ago when the gift of immortality presented itself to him. His vision was clear, filled with images of him ruling over everyone and everything. He was close to victory, being able to almost feel the nonexistent physical form of it. The actions he did were necessary to his plan and he felt no remorse for them. Sadness did not exist within his mind. He had abandoned the emotion a long time ago when the most important person in his life was taken away from him. 

And yet, the forgotten emotion slithered back into his mind at the sight of you, on your hands and knees covered in cuts and bruises, utterly defeated by him.

Dio knew what he had to do. You were an ally of the Joestars, the very people who were in the way of his plans, an enemy. An enemy he was supposed to eliminate and feel no remorse in doing so. It would only take one hit from him to finish you as the damage he had already caused was massive. It should be easy, just one blow and he would be one step closer to his victory. Just one blow and he wouldn’t have to torture himself any longer. But he couldn’t. 

He knew this day would come as soon as you had left his mansion, leaving behind a letter that only cut deeper wounds in every part of his being:

Dear Dio,

If you’re reading this it means I’m far away from Cairo, far away from you. Don’t tire yourself by trying to look for me as it is nothing but futile. As much as I would prefer it, this isn’t our last meeting. Because next time we cross paths, it will end in one of us dying. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that it won’t be me. You will fall. If not by mine, then someone else’s hand. During the time I’m away from you I shall grow stronger and wiser so I can defeat you. I hope you’re looking forward to our next meeting, because one of us has to.

With ungenuine love,

(Name)

At the time, he wasn’t sure how to process your departure. He figured you had gone with the Joestars as you had never fully approved his actions. The feeling of losing someone he loved was weighing him down but he found ways to distract and mentally prepare himself for that fateful day. To you, the more time you had spent in his presence, the more it became clear that he was merely using you, manipulating you in order to fulfill his own selfish desires. One day, you had had enough and made the important decision to leave him, and turn to the ones who aimed to defeat him. The stand you possessed had great skill and potential, something you realized should be used against him rather than for him. But still, the effects of his manipulations were still heavily planted in you as a part of you did feel genuine love for the blonde.

And in this very moment, both of you hesitated. The fight had been brutal and short, ending in Dio’s victory thanks to his stand abilities that you did not yet know. You had jumped into the heat of battle just before the vampire was about to decapitate Jotaro with a traffic sign, admittedly catching him by surprise. A part of you knew you couldn’t best him either due to the differences in stands or the fact that your emotions were holding you back. Dio stood before you and you could only lock your dull (E/C) tear-filled eyes on his own amber ones. His expression was difficult to read, a mixture of disappointment, anger and quite surprisingly, sadness.

“What are you waiting for?! Do it! Kill me already!” Your voice cracked with each word, eyes flooding with salty tears as you kept your eyes firmly on Dio. This battle was lost and you were ready to be sent to the afterlife by his hand. But he didn’t. He remained still, his eyes on your painful form. You couldn’t understand why he didn’t just finish it all. “If I can’t be the one to.. kill you.. Then I shouldn’t be alive!” Seeing you like this was.. Wrong. Dio felt awful. Guilty. You were injured, trembling, screaming at him, demanding to be put out of your misery. This was supposed to be a moment of succession for him, winning a difficult battle should only boost his confidence. So why? Why was it hurting him so?

Dio’s eyes landed on your left hand, on your ring finger that held a silver ring. An object meant to reflect his appreciation and love for you. An object which you hadn’t abandoned. Despite everything, it was still on your finger, just like when he had first put it there. It was untouched, perfect, shining with beauty and affection. He glanced at a ring of his own, matching perfectly with yours. His nonexistent heart broke into million pieces. So this was how it would all end. In your defeat, still holding feelings of affection for him as much as he did for you. No, this was not how it ends.

Dio walked past you, leaving you to glance at him in confusion and anger. “Where are you going?? Don’t you dare walk away from me like you care!” Your words pierce him painfully, your tears falling on the hard ground below. He stops, clenches his hands into fists, looking up at the sky with an expression that looks neutral to an outsider but is tormented by sorrow from the inside. “Go. I have no desire to kill you. Whether you think it’s out of love or not does not matter. So long as I am alive, you will not die by my hand” Dio knew it was out of love. He cared about you more than anything. More than his plans or ambitions. What would a world ruled by him be like if he knew he had achieved it by killing his beloved.

Dio’s fading footsteps fill the quiet air as he leaves your speechless form behind. If he is fated to perish tonight then so be it. At least he would disappear from this world knowing, that his one and only was spared from him. Sadness was a painful emotion. And behind that tough exterior and those confident eyes this night would be remembered as a night during which he felt the excruciating stabs and cuts of said emotion for the first time in a century, oblivious to the fact that it would also be the very last.

[taekemeaway]

info: yoonkook, teen+, hanahaki/soulmate au genre: angst, romance | word ct: 9k warnings: blood, violence, descriptions of hanahaki related symptoms, alcohol abuse, self destruction summary: jeongguk knew that his time was limited, hanahaki didn’t wait for anyone or anything. soon he would stop breathing, soon a bouquet of perfect white roses would pierce through flesh and bone, reaching for the one thing it could not have. his days were counted in bloody petals and he was slowly running out.

or: a beauty and the beast inspired hanahaki au where both yoongi and jeongguk are the Beast

cross posted on ao3

Each and every single person on the planet is born with a dormant flower on their wrist. The flower only blooms once you meet your soulmate and will slowly die the longer you and your soulmate are apart. It will be revived if you return to your soulmate before it dies. The only known exception to this rule is when a child meets their soulmate their flower doesn’t start to die until their 18th birthday.

But if you have your flower removed before it dies you save yourself from a far more gruesome fate.

Once the flower on your wrist dies there’s no way to revive it. When the last petal falls you contract Hanahaki, a typically fatal disease. Your lungs are filled to the brim with the flower that adorns your soulmates skin. If you do not find your soulmate and earn their love, the flowers inside of you will multiple until you choke on the petals and drown in your own blood.

Other than earning the heart of your soulmate there is no cure for Hanahaki.

When Jeongguk’s friends asked who his soulmate was, they never understood what he meant when he simply said,

“The moon.”

wait—wasn’t he supposed to fall in love with a person? Then he’d laugh—

“Who said that I didn’t?”

—because how else was he supposed to describe someone whose pull on his heart was stronger than a full moon’s pull on the violent waves? That question was far easier to answer.

He couldn’t,

and he didn’t want to.

Jeongguk met his soulmate by accident on a cold Autumn night. He was on his way home when something—someone—caught his eye. A kid with blonde hair sitting on an old tree stump with bloody knuckles and a black eye. Despite the distance, Jeongguk’s heart stopped when their eyes connected—maybe time did too. The world could’ve stopped turning and he wouldn’t have been phased because at that exact moment, the phrase “love at first sight” had never been more fitting.

Thinking back, Jeongguk didn’t even notice that the flower on his wrist had blossomed while they stood there gazing into each other’s eyes. He didn’t see how the petals reached out to the stranger like an old friend. All he could think about was how handsome he was, how he had never seen anything more beautiful. How his blond hair glowed underneath the light of the full moon, how his eyes swirled with passion and mystery. How for the first time in his life—Jeongguk knew exactly what he needed to do.

I need to know his name.

But it was the one thing he wouldn’t learn that night—

“Can I sit here?”

—and that was okay.

For a brief moment, or maybe it was an extended period of time, they remained in silence. A silence that deafened them. Neither of them said anything, but their eyes spoke volumes. Their souls screamed and their hearts soared. Their wrists stung in pain as the flowers that had since been dormant suddenly bloomed underneath the light of the full moon. Even though the white petals that reached out towards him were mesmerizing to watch Jeongguk couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away. The delicate way that his lips parted entranced him in a way that he didn’t fully understand.

“Are you just going to stare at me all night?”

Well—

He chewed on his lip nervously.

—probably?

Because, if Jeongguk was being perfectly honest, he was at a loss for words. What do you say when you’re looking at perfection? When perfection is gazing back at you, when their blossoming wrist means that all that perfection—is meant to be by your side? It was too much for Jeongguk to process, too much for him to wrap his head around.

Am I dreaming?

No, he wasn’t.

This is more than a dream.

This is fate.

And he was right.

Which is why Jeongguk still curses himself for never getting his name. He was too busy memorizing every inch of his soulmate, every imperfection that made him even more perfect. Even if he didn’t know his name, he knew how his eyebrows knit together in thought, how his nose scrunched up in frustration. The way his cheeks puffed out in annoyance—that was more important to Jeongguk than a name. No matter how much he wanted it because—

he vanished,

almost like he never existed to begin with.

Just like that—the moon had disappeared from his sky. The only trace of him was etched into Jeongguk’s skin, a warm summer flower that couldn’t dispel the chill he felt in his heart. Each day dragged into the next and he could only look at his wrist and sigh, wondering what happened to the boy with the white flower laced into his veins. Jeongguk would wait for him on that tree stump, hoping that Fate would be on his side for a second time.

It never was.

As he grew older, as he grew taller, as his memory of that night faded into wistful nostalgia, Jeongguk slipped haphazardly into complacency. He had completely forgotten that once he turned 18, once he was old enough, that perfect night underneath the moon would slowly begin to kill him. His life would be reduced to a handful of wilted petals, and when the last one fell—Hanahaki would take root in his lungs.

Hanahaki.

He felt his palms begin to sweat.

That—that’ll never happen to me.

Except it did, he just—

—refused to believe it.

No matter how many petals wilted, even though his once vibrant flower so full of life slowly died from neglect, he couldn’t accept it. Because how would he cure his affliction? How was he supposed to find someone he had met over ten years ago, a nameless face that disappeared into the night?

At that thought, he laughed bitterly.

I can’t.

The Jeongguk that met his soulmate was one brimming with warmth, he was comforting and kind. The Jeongguk that watched his flower die was an empty shell in comparison. He was angry and cynical, he drank too much and partied too loud. His friends became accessories to his antics and his parents worried themselves sick. At nights when alcohol clouded his judgement but freed his mind he often thought to himself as he gazed up at the moon,

Perhaps he only seemed perfect because I’m so—imperfect.

and in a way, he was right.

But in many more ways he was horribly wrong.

He only came to terms with it after his 21st birthday when a sharp pain in his wrist tore him from his dreams and threw him into a nightmare. Jeongguk screamed as the flower tattoo he had lived with for years finally died and turned into a grotesque scar. He cried as the fate he tried to will away dug its ridged claws into his throat. He held his injured soul to his chest because he couldn’t believe—couldn’t wrap his mind around how he let it get to this point.

A piece of him had died, a piece he would never get back. And as much as he wanted to blame his soulmate, his younger naïve self, he was the only one at fault. He did this to himself. He had signed his own death certificate, willingly and foolishly.

“Why didn’t you have it removed?”

His friends would ask,

“I don’t know.”

he'd return,

because clearly he had never thought of it.

But, they did pose a valid point—

Why didn’t I?

—why didn’t he?

It was a question he should’ve considered before it was too late. He just—he never imagined this could ever happen to him. How could the boy he met possibly kill him? How could his soulmate kill him so beautifully, so tragically? How could one perfect night that should’ve opened so many doors be the prelude to the end? Why did the idea of ripping out a piece of his soul repulse him more than dying slowly, painfully, with little to no hope of recovering?

Why did I do this to myself?

Whatever the answer was, it wouldn’t keep him alive. So,

Jeongguk spiralled,

and he spiralled hard.

The only companion to stay by his side—

Pop.

—was the bottom of a bottle.

But even drink would betray him in the end.

As his condition progressed, as perfect white petals crawled up his throat and restricted his every breath, he became more and more reckless. More destructive. Drugs, alcohol, sex, he would do anything to take his mind off his own fate. He destroyed his body with whatever he could get his hands on, or he coaxed others into doing it for him. His veins coarsed with toxic chemicals and overwhelming regret, his skin marred with cuts and bruises. He was a broken man. If he continued down the path he had set his sights on—he would kill himself long before Hanahaki would even get a chance.

Love couldn’t destroy him if he destroyed himself.

He thought—

Maybe that’s how it should be.

He should’ve learned by now that no matter what he has planned,

ultimately it was fate that held the cards.

And usually in the most ironic way possible.

Clair de Lune,

He scoffed as he looked up at the neon blue sign.

I really am a masochist.

Stepping inside the darkened bar, Jeongguk felt oddly at home. Even though he had never been there before, his legs carried him to the counter almost subconsciously. Without realizing it he was sitting at the bar with a gin and tonic placed neatly in front of him. In the past, that would’ve worried him. But at some point in Jeongguk’s spiralling decent it became his routine. He accepted it mostly because he wouldn’t remember it within a few minutes. Soon he would forget everything except his own name, which was perhaps the one thing he wanted permanently erased from his memory.

His own identity.

At some point in the night, Jeongguk’s meager control over his aggression slipped from his grasp. It was almost like the flip of a switch, one second he was calm and collected, content to wallow in his own misery, then he suddenly had the neck of a bottle of beer in his hand. He couldn’t remember what set him off, it could’ve been nothing but a sideways glance. The only thing he knew for certain was that no matter how many times he willingly hurt others it would never compare to how he hurt himself. It was only when everything went black that he finally felt any sort of relief.

“Hey, wake up.”

The voice that pulled Jeongguk from his alcohol induced haze was probably relatively calm and quiet, but it tore through his skull like a jagged knife. His head was splitting, his eyes throbbing, his jaw, clenched too tight, was practically locked in place. It was almost as if his mind was a dam and his thoughts were the rushing water threatening to spill past. The pressure—it was almost unbearable.

Then that water covered him head to toe.

“What the fuck?” Jeongguk sputtered, suddenly far more alert and aware.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

The stranger snorted quietly. “This is coming from the punk who broke a chair against a wall and sucker punched me in the face? That’s fucking rich.”

Jeongguk’s head pulsated as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing.

Did I do that?

He cracked open his eyes and noticed the cuts up his forearm, they were superficial at best but the splinters of wood embedded in his palms supported the stranger’s story. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe him, just sometimes he was surprised at how violent he could get while drunk.

“I should really be calling the cops.” The stranger sighed. “You trashed my bar and probably cost me about ten days worth of sales in damages alone. Nevermind that I had to close down three hours early because your rowdy ass wasn’t leaving.”

Stiffening at the man’s tone, Jeongguk felt some resistance. He had only then realized that he was sitting against a wall, his wrist handcuffed to a safety rail circling the bar.

He was trapped.

And he didn’t like it one bit.

“Let me go.” Jeongguk gritted out but received no response. “Uncuff me you bastard, this is fucking kidnapping!”

“Kidnapping? Don’t flatter yourself, I’m only protecting myself. You really don’t like people telling you what to do.” He replied with a smug grin. “You see this shiner?”

He pointed to the black and blue bruise reaching from his chin all the way up his jaw.

“This is what you did when I refused to pour you another drink. And this one here?”

He lifted his shirt and exposed a shallow cut to his ribcage.

“I was trying to take your keys when you pulled a knife on me.” He dropped his shirt. “So do you see what sort of predicament you’re in now? Assault, destruction of property, I could easily get your punk ass arrested for this and a lot more. I may run a shitty bar, but it wasn’t this bad until you showed up.”

Pointedly ignoring the carnage around him, Jeongguk simply glared at the stranger.

“Then why don’t you? Call them, see if I care.”

He snorted like Jeongguk had said something funny.

“Do you honestly believe that if I was going to call the cops I wouldn’t have done it by now?” He laughed. “Boy, you’ve been out cold for two hours. You should be thanking me that you didn’t wake up in a drunk tank.”

“Thanking you?” Jeongguk questioned in disbelief. “I don’t care who you are or what your game is but if you don’t let me go I swear I’ll—”

A perfect white petal inching its way up his throat interrupted him.

Fuck.

There was coughing,

and a lot of blood.

But then—

“Shit, not again, hold still.”

—the stranger was being kind to him?

“I’ve never seen someone so young have Hanahaki so bad.” He shook his head. “Who the fuck burned you kid?”

Jeongguk didn’t mean to, but he laughed.

“The moon.”

The stranger didn’t laugh though.

Because it wasn’t funny.

“Damn.” He muttered, pressing his knuckle to his mouth. “Can’t say I blame you for drowning yourself in shitty booze.”

Thanks.

“But that doesn’t mean that I can just let you get away with trashing my bar.” He sighed. “My barback quit because you freaked him out so bad.”

What do you want me to do about that?

“I was thinking that I forgive and forget all of the broken furniture and hundreds of dollars in profit that I lost if, and only if, you work for me for the next couple of weeks.”

Are you fucking shitting me. I’m dying and this asshole wants me to work for him?

“Sound fair?”

No, not really.

“Yeah, whatever.”

So the stranger smiled.

And Jeongguk had to admit—

“Great.”

—he was beautiful,

“I’m Yoongi, by the way.”

his name was too,

“I’m Jeongguk.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kook. Let’s get you all patched up.”

and his voice was, in a word,

Perfect.

A word that he used to cherish, a word he used to associate with the one person who ruined him completely.

God he forgot how much he hated that word.

But when it came to defining Yoongi,

“Thanks.”

he didn’t mind it so much.

Jeongguk watched him as he carefully dressed his wounds. He didn’t even flinch as Yoongi pulled out slivers of wood and shards of glass from his palms. Honestly, he wouldn’t have noticed if Yoongi hadn’t been apologizing every five seconds for hurting him. By that point—he was practically numb. Pain was an old friend, one he preferred the company of. Pain was easy, pain was something he understood.

But when it came to Yoongi, with scarred knuckles and brash tattoos, he didn’t have a clue.

He had no idea why watching him wrap gauze around his injured hands made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long while.

Something he had lost the name for.

In the time it took the alcohol to leave Jeongguk’s system, he was already the new barback for Clair de Lune. Yoongi tossed him a black shirt and an apron, put his number in his phone, and got all the paperwork started. All while Jeongguk stood there in complete and utter silence.

“No drinking on the job, you hear me?”

Jeongguk went rigid.

What?

How was he expected to stay sober?

He honestly couldn’t remember what being sober felt like.

But—

“Okay.”

—he agreed to Yoongi’s terms.

Even if he was sure he would disappoint him in the end.

Wait—

—why do I care?

“Alright, that’s everything.” Yoongi smiled. “I expect you back here in 13 hours. You better head home and go right to bed because being hungover isn’t going to make the night any easier for you.”

For a moment, Jeongguk didn’t move.

He didn’t say anything.

He just looked at the clothes in his hands and the dead flower on his wrist.

But then he whispered,

“Do you honestly expect me to come back?”

Then, for whatever reason—

Thump.

—Yoongi grinned.

Thump.

“Yeah, I do.”

Thump.

And Jeongguk almost smiled back.

Thump.

Almost.

Thump.

He was back at his apartment just as the sun was coming up over the horizon feeling—confused? Uneasy? He couldn’t name the emotion that broke through his crippling migraine, he only knew that it was all he could think about. What was it about Yoongi that didn’t make him lash out angrily? If anyone else had bossed him around like that he would’ve easily gotten into a fight.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, Kook!”

Namjoon used to try and curb his behavior, to fix him. Something that Jeongguk should’ve taken to heart instead of using to further fuel his rage. Each and every person who reached out to him, who even attempted to steer him back towards a better path, they were quickly cut out of his life. Usually by his own doing. When he was drunk it feared a darkness in him he never knew he possessed. He burned bridges with violence and hatred, refusing to let anyone in close long enough to help him. Because he didn’t want their help.

So why did he accept Yoongi’s? Why was he different?

Why?

I don’t know.

He didn’t like not knowing.

He hated how Yoongi didn’t make sense.

I stabbed him, I destroyed his bar!

He clenched his fist.

Why didn’t he have me arrested?

He punched the wall.

I don’t know.

But I need to.

For hours he stood at the train station, a duffel over his shoulder and a ticket held ticket in his bandaged hand. He couldn’t stop thinking about Yoongi, how he selflessly took care of him, how he knelt beside someone who had destroyed the things he cared about and still—

“Who the fuck burned you kid?”

cared about him as well?

Someone long past repair?

Yoongi didn’t make sense to Jeongguk.

But he needed to make sense of him.

“Do you honestly expect me to come back?”

He had to so he could sleep at night.

“Yeah, I do.”

And that’s why he showed up for his first shift.

To try and solve the mystery of Yoongi.

“Hey.”

Jeongguk mumbled.

“Hey.”

Yoongi smirked.

Silence.

“Are you just going to stand there all night? Or are you going to get to work?”

Jeongguk blushed.

“Shut up.”

Working for Yoongi was—a change of pace to say the least. It was such an immediate contrast to the life Jeongguk had been living, he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. He wasn’t used to anyone having any sort of expectations of him anymore. Yoongi did, for whatever reason. Jeongguk knew deep down that it wouldn’t be long before he gave up on him like everyone else, yet that didn’t stop him from enjoying it while he could.

Jeongguk came into work for the first three days completely sober, an astonishing feat for him. He smiled at customers, talked to his coworkers, everything was fine. Then he started coughing up more and more flowers at work, those sickly white petals that he hated so much. People would cast those pitying glances at him, offer reassuring words, and it made his stomach churn. It reminded him that no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t going to escape Hanahaki.

For once,

just once,

he wanted to be normal.

Normal.

He wanted to be normal,

he wanted to have a job,

he wanted to forget,

but he couldn’t.

Hanahaki would never let him forget.

Each time he felt the weight lessen,

when he felt like he could breathe again,

Hanahaki tightened its grip on his soul.

What’s the point?

The point of being normal—

Normal.

—if it was all a lie?

The answer was simple.

There isn’t one.

So he went back to drinking.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

When Jeongguk practically stumbled over the threshold two hours after his shift started, his apron tied sloppily around his waist, his fate was sealed. He saw Yoongi at the bar, his fist clenched tightly around a rag and his jaw set in anger. After excusing himself from a discussion at the bar, he slammed the rag down on a table as he crossed the room, fury blazing in his eyes. Jeongguk should’ve been afraid, and maybe he was, but he didn’t show it. Even as Yoongi took him by the arm and dragged him out back to rip him a new one he didn’t waver.

Maybe because he knew it was what he deserved.

“What the hell is this?” Yoongi questioned, gesturing to Jeongguk’s haggard appearance. “Four days in and you’re already coming into work drunk two hours late? That’s all you can handle?”

He shrugged.

“Fucking typical, I really shouldn’t be shocked at this point.”

He flinched.

“Go home, Jeongguk. I’m giving you tonight and tomorrow to sleep this off.”

He stiffened.

“When you come back on Friday you better not even think about pulling something like this again.”

Thump.

What?

At first he didn’t completely understand,

he fully expected Yoongi to fire him on the spot.

It made sense,

anyone else would.

But then he remembered,

Yoongi never made sense.

“I’m tacking on another week to our deal for this, just so you’re aware.”

Yoongi paused to light a cigarette.

“You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

Jeongguk was okay with that.

Thanks to Yoongi he was able to pull himself out of the rut of self destruction he had fallen into. At least for the most part. There were still nights when he was left with nothing except his own toxic thoughts and the allure of drink was almost too much to handle, but he did his best. On his days off he still made questionable decisions, met questionable people, did questionable things, it was better than nothing.

Yet it wasn’t enough for Yoongi. Somehow he always knew what Jeongguk got up to in his off time, almost like he could smell it on him. One look and he knew everything, he read Jeongguk like an open book. How he hated that disapproving look of his, how he could lecture Jeongguk with nothing but a glance. It—it made Jeongguk feel uneasy in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. Like—like he cared what Yoongi thought of him.

That’s ridiculous.

He told himself.

There’s no way.

So why was that the only explanation that made sense?

Why did the idea of someone caring about him,

someone who had absolutely no reason to,

tie his stomach into knots?

I have no idea,

But he had to admit—

it’s kind of nice.

Even if he knew it wasn’t going to last.

Because,

like most everything else in his life,

time was not on his side.

The three weeks passed by quicker than he thought possible.

He was standing behind the bar buffing some glasses when he suddenly realized—

Today is my last day.

—and the thought alone made his stomach sink like a rock.

He didn’t want to go back to how things were, he really didn’t. He didn’t want to drift from moment to moment, hating himself and everyone around him. He didn’t want to wake up in someone else’s bed and have no idea what their name was. He didn’t want to hurt others to help ease the pain he was causing himself. He didn’t want to let anger and frustration dictate his every action. He didn’t want to use alcohol and hatred as a tool to numb his senses and forget his fate.

And, most importantly,

he didn’t want to go back to a life without Yoongi in it.

That was what terrified him most.

More terrifying than the bloodied flowers in his lungs.

But Yoongi never said anything.

Through the entire shift they continued on like it was just an ordinary day. Yoongi did his job, Jeongguk did his, neither of them brought up the deal that kept him at Clair de Lune in the first place. Maybe Yoongi didn’t know, or maybe he had forgotten. But somehow Jeongguk knew that wasn’t the case because when they were done for the night Yoongi cast Jeongguk a knowing look and said plainly,

“See you tomorrow, kid.”

Thump.

Jeongguk didn’t bother to correct him.

Even though he would say the same thing for several weeks after,

Jeongguk never corrected him.

If Yoongi was going to let him come back, he would do so gladly.

Because even though he was coughing up flowers more frequently,

when he was with Yoongi,

it didn’t phase him nearly as much.

He wasn’t afraid of death,

if life was worth living.

So for the first time in forever,

he decided to let someone else in.

And,

surprisingly,

Yoongi became his closest friend.

But Jeongguk never realized how much he appreciated what Yoongi did for him. He didn’t realize that he would do almost anything for Yoongi because of one simple fact,

he gave him a chance.

Because based on what he saw from Yoongi,

he didn’t take a chance on just anyone.

“That’s it, I’m cutting you off.” Yoongi stated simply to a customer.

“You’ve had enough.”

Unfortunately the drunk didn’t agree.

“I’ll tell you when I’ve had ‘nough.”

Yoongi crossed his arms. “That’s not how things work around here.”

“‘o th’ fuck gave you th’ right?”

“Me.”

He clarified angrily.

“This is my bar, asshole. Got a problem with it? The doors right there, it’s bright red. I’m sure even you could find it ya fucking moron.”

Jeongguk was bussing a table when he heard Yoongi dealing with the drunk sitting at the bar, the only one left besides the two. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, and for some reason it felt—personal. But not to Yoongi, to him. He didn’t like it when customers badmouthed his friend. Whoever they were, they’d been drinking for hours already and were only getting more belligerent as the night dragged on. He had spilled two of his drinks and the majority of the last beer he bought wound up down his shirt.

Obviously it was time for the man to go home.

So Yoongi dealt with him easily, cool, calm, collected. Not that Jeongguk expected anything less from someone who stared down bikers twice his size and didn’t even flinch. Clair de Lune was his territory, no one could touch him, and that pissed a lot of people off.

“Wha’ a fuckin’ bitch.” The drunk slurred after Yoongi left the bar to take a call. “‘o is he t’ tell me when I can or can’ drink? Does he know ‘o I am?”

Suddenly,

Jeongguk felt a very familiar rage build up inside of him,

for a very unfamiliar reason.

“Thinks he’s so fuckin’ special? I’ll sho’ ‘im.”

Jeongguk watched as the drunk stood up uneasily and leaned over the bar. After knocking over several bottles he wrapped his grimy hands around a Jack Daniel’s and popped the top off. The bottle was halfway to his mouth when he finally intervened.

“You really shouldn’t be doing that.” He started politely. “Not unless you’re planning on paying for it.”

“What’re ya gonna do about it?” The man taunted with a smug grin. “This’ll teach that lil’ bitch bartender t’ mess with someone his own size.”

Before Jeongguk could contemplate the most appropriate course of action, he had already punched the drunk right in the throat. Which he wanted to regret but couldn’t bring himself to. It sent the large man stumbling backwards, bourbon sputtering past his lips.

And he wasn’t happy.

“Th’ fuck!” He managed through gargled bursts, wiping off his mouth and struggling to catch his breath.

“Yer gonna regret tha’ ya lil’ punk!”

Without hesitating for even a second the drunk discarded the bottle and pulled a knife out of his jacket pocket. He pointed the blade right at Jeongguk with intent clear in his eyes. It should’ve scared him, but it didn’t. Despite the fact that the man in front of him was armed and heavily intoxicated, he didn’t waver. He stood strong because he knew there were far more frightening horrors in the world.

Himself included.

A drunk man with a knife was nothing to him.

When the man lunged at him, Jeongguk dodged easily. He had been in plenty of bar fights in his life, most of which he had thrown himself into without remembering why. It was how he coped. His adult years were marked with cuts and bruises, signed with alcohol and mistakes. He used his fists to say the things he was too terrified to admit to anyone, much less himself.

I don’t want to die.

Because maybe there was something left worth fighting for.

Something worth living for.

“What the hell is going on out here?”

Or someone.

“I’m Yoongi, by the way.”

He didn’t have a chance to respond, the drunk man used the small window that Yoongi unintentionally created to land a clean punch to Jeongguk’s jaw. While pain radiated through his skull it didn’t shake his resolve, it only fuelled his anger more. It stoked the flames that resided in Jeongguk’s soul, flames that had long since died out.

Waiting for a purpose again.

The second time the man tried to stab Jeongguk, he succeeded. Only because Jeongguk allowed him to. He met the blade halfway with his own hand, stopping it with flesh and bone. Courageously holding the sharp edge tight in his grasp. He didn’t move as the steel cut deep into his palm, as his own blood coated his hand and cascaded to the floor.

Drip…

Drip…

Drip…

“Wha’ the fuck?” The man shouted in disbelief. “What’re you—”

Whatever he had to say was silenced when Jeongguk’s forehead connected with his nose.

And he didn’t stop there.

With his grip still wrapped around the blade in his left hand he delivered blow after blow with his right. The deeper the knife cut into him, the deeper the bruises he left. He was practically blind with rage, the only thing he cared about was hurting this man. Even in his darkest days he had never been so angry, so furious, so violent. Maybe alcohol didn’t fuel his need to wreck havoc, maybe it subdued him.

It suddenly came to him that—

“Jeongguk!”

—he had no idea what he was capable of.

“That’s enough!”

He was unstoppable.

“Jeongguk! Enough!”

Until Yoongi pulled him kicking and screaming from his haze.

Blinking past the red cloud hovering over him, his fist raised to continue beating on the poor man, he saw what he had done.

There was blood,

Oh God…

there was blood everywhere.

And it all belonged to him.

“Yer fuckin’ crazy!” The drunk man all but whimpered in fright. “I’m gettin’ out of here!”

He released his grip on the blade,

Jeongguk didn’t.

The cold steel was almost calming.

As the man stumbled over his own two feet to get as far away from Jeongguk as possible,

he still had the knife in his hand.

“Jesus Christ, kid! Let go!”

Clang.

It clattered against the ground.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Yoongi asked, pulling Jeongguk aside and pressing a rag into his palm. “Who the fuck thinks that holding onto a sharp blade is a good idea?”

Jeongguk didn’t respond.

“Holy fuck—” Yoongi exasperated. “This is bad, you’re gonna need stitches kid.”

Silence.

“What got into you?” Yoongi continued to press. “I’ve never seen you like that. Even when you’re drunk you’re never that—that—”

Say it.

“Terrifying!”

Yoongi shook his head in disbelief.

“You were a completely different person!”

I know.

“There better be a good reason why you decided to punch the living daylights out of some drunk. We see dozens of those everyday and I can’t have you getting violent with everyone that walks in—”

“I didn’t like the way he talked to you.”

Yoongi paused,

his cold eyes softened.

“What the hell…” He mumbled, pulling another rag from his back pocket. “That wasn’t necessary, y’know that? I can handle myself just fine, Kook. And I don’t usually wind up worse than the other guy because I know not to grab onto sharp things!”

“I couldn’t stop myself.” Jeongguk admitted honestly. “I—I don’t know what came over me.”

Thump.

“If he knew the real you—”

Thump.

“Then he wouldn’t have said all those things.”

Yoongi cast his gaze towards the floor,

“Do you even know the real me?”

He questioned quietly.

Do I?

The question was simple,

but the answer was not.

Because Yoongi was a mystery,

Do I really know him?

one he was determined to solve.

So he decided to be honest.

“No.”

Thump.

“But I’d like to.”

Jeongguk could’ve sworn that he saw a ghost of a smile on Yoongi’s lips before he quickly turning away. It was a rare sight, a small window that closed too quickly. Despite knowing Yoongi for months, he rarely got a glimpse into who he really was. Yoongi kept the whole world at bay with sarcastic comments and harsh jokes. That’s how he liked it, being alone. He claimed that those who stayed by his side were either masochists or idiots.

“What does that make you?”

He had asked Jeongguk jokingly.

“Neither.”

When he had really wanted to answer,

“Both.”

because there was no place he would rather be.

That’s why Jeongguk spent all of his time at Clair de Lune. Whether he was working or not. Yoongi and his coworkers were the only ones who cared about him. His old friends had abandoned him long ago, his parents had given up on him, there wasn’t anywhere else for him. Even after getting sober he still spent most of his time in a bar.

He chuckled at the small irony.

Eventually, after working there for about half a year, Yoongi trusted Jeongguk enough to work behind the bar. Not just as a barback,

as a bartender.

“Don’t fuck this up, kid.”

Were his words of encouragement.

It made Jeongguk smile.

Partially because he trusted him,

mostly because he got to spend to spend more time with him.

He shadowed Yoongi for a couple of weeks, learning how to make drinks and how to deal with customers. While he usually managed to scare off all interested bartenders within a couple of days, Jeongguk stayed. Yoongi used to say to him in the most polite way possible that his people skills were shit,

and he was right.

The last time Jeongguk really tried to be personable and get along with others was well before the flower on his wrist withered and died. Everytime Yoongi would chastise him for being too blunt or for being rude, he’d look at his scarred skin and somehow manage to smile.

I wonder what Yoongi’s flower looks like?

He contemplated that almost daily.

Yoongi always wore long sleeves when he was at work and he never rolled them up. He almost made it a point to pull his sleeves down every other minute. Everything about Yoongi was a complete mystery. Even his own skin.

It only made Jeongguk want to know more.

Because he had already memorized every single inch of him, from his split eyebrow to the perfect shape of his lips. The way he could silence a room with nothing but a glance, how his nose scrunched up when he was dealing with a difficult customer. How sometimes Jeongguk would catch him gazing into a mirror almost as if he was afraid his own reflection would disappear.

Despite knowing all of that,

it wasn’t enough.

There was more to him,

much more,

and Jeongguk was determined learn it all.

No matter how long it took,

no matter how many times he coughed up blood,

how many times he choked on petals,

he would endure it because Yoongi was worth—

Everything.

—everything.

“If you have any questions feel free to ask me.” Yoongi offered on Jeongguk’s last day of training. “I’ll be here with you behind the bar at all times so there’s really no reason for you to worry.”

Thump.

“Thanks.” Jeongguk mumbled.

“What did I tell you about mumbling?”

Jeongguk blushed.

“Sorry.”

Yoongi grinned, patting Jeongguk on the back.

“No worries, you’re just really fun to pick on.”

Thump.

“It’s your fault for being so cute.”

Thump.

“Very funny.”

“It’s the truth.”

Thump.

I think—

Thump.

I might like Yoongi.

Thump.

That’s crazy right?

Thump.

How could I be so selfish?

Thump.

So stupid?

Thump.

Loving someone who could do so much better?

Thump.

When I’m going to die anyway?

“Whatever you say, Yoongi.”

“Those are some dangerous words.”

Thump.

“You better be careful what you say.”

Forget Hanahaki,

he’s going to be the death of me.

And just as that thought crossed his mind—

Oh no…

—he felt the flower in his chest try and claw its way towards sunlight.

He felt stems and leaves rake against his esophagus, felt petals soaked in his own blood rising like bile. But he put on a strong face for Yoongi. He didn’t want him to know how bad it was getting, how every day they spent together was another day closer to his violent end. Maybe it was selfishness, maybe it was denial, he wasn’t sure which it was. All he knew was that he couldn’t bare the thought of Yoongi looking at him with sadness in his eyes.

I’m fine.

He lied to himself because,

it was an easy thing to say,

I’m fine.

but a harder thing to be.

I’m fine.

 I’m

 fine.

 “Jeongguk, are you okay?”

 For Yoongi—

 “Yeah.”

 I’ll be fine.

 For months he was able to pretend like Hanahaki wasn’t slowly filling his lungs with beautiful flowers. When he was at Clair de Lune he could act like nothing was wrong. He didn’t care that it meant he would be sitting at home coughing up petals until the sun came up, Yoongi didn’t need to see any of that. Jeongguk could handle that much and a lot more if it made Yoongi smile.

Jeongguk would do anything for Yoongi,

Anything.

he would even live a little longer.

All for him.

 All for

 him.

 Because I love him.

Because he loved him.

 And sometimes,

just sometimes,

love is enough.

 Then, faster than he thought possible, he’d been at Clair de Lune for a whole year.

Which, to be fair, didn’t seem accurate.

Have I really only known Yoongi for a year?

It felt like much longer.

It felt like Yoongi had been a part of his life since the very beginning.

He really couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t at the bar cleaning tables or serving drinks. The drunk that first stumbled in and picked a fight with the person who eventually hired him no longer existed. Maybe it had something to do with how often he worked there, but it felt like more than that. It felt like his whole life had revolved around Yoongi for so long.

Only a year.

Strange, how time played tricks on the mind.

Jeongguk thought only alcohol could do that.

Yoongi taught him otherwise.

And somehow that didn’t surprise him.

“Happy Anniversary!”

He was standing at the door when a confetti bomb went off in his face. For the entire shift Yoongi made no inclination that he had any idea what day it was, or how important it was to Jeongguk. Which he didn’t mind, Jeongguk had no expectations from him. Yoongi was just his boss, just his friend. Friends don’t make big deals about work anniversaries.

Unless they do?

Thump.

“You thought I forgot, didn’t you?” Yoongi accused him with a smirk. “Don’t try to deny it you asshole, it’s written all over your face.”

Jeongguk blushed.

“Whatever.”

“Whatever.” Yoongi mocked. “You’re not fooling me, kid.”

I wish I could.

“What do you want me to say?”

“How about a thank you you ungrateful brat.” He chuckled. “Better think up something fast or I’m going to eat this cake I got for your rude ass all by myself.”

Thump.

“Fine.”

He muttered.

“Thank you.”

Yoongi grinned.

Thump.

“That’s more like it.”

Thump.

“Now sit your ass down and keep quiet. I’ve got a cake to cut.”

His heart racing a mile a minute, Jeongguk could only nod and do as he was instructed. He took a seat at the bar while Yoongi grabbed the cake from the back and did his best not to stare.

Behave.

“I didn’t really know what cake you’d like, so I just got chocolate.”

Thump.

“Chocolate’s fine.”

“Good.”

Thump.

“Because that’s all you’re getting from me.”

And that’s okay.

Thump.

I don’t need anything else.

You’ve already given me so much.

While Jeongguk was doing his best not to make an obvious fool of himself, he noticed something—

Yoongi rolled up his sleeves.

and his heart stopped.

His eyes darted back and forth between Yoongi’s wrists, searching for something—

that wasn’t there.

That’s not possible.

There was no flower.

There was no tattoo.

His skin was completely bare.

“Here ya go, eat up!”

Jeongguk looked at the slice of cake in front of him,

but he had no appetite.

In fact—

he felt sick to his stomach.

Maybe he really was sick,

Of course I am.

because blood and petals spilled past his lips.

“Oh shit—fuck. Stay here, I’ll go get a clean rag.”

Jeongguk had been so distracted by Yoongi’s missing tattoo he wasn’t able to control the coughing fit he was enduring. Each time his diaphragm contracted he felt the roots digging deeper into his lungs, the pain was excruciating, crippling. It was too much for him to keep hidden from Yoongi, he couldn’t stop the blood as it pooled in his mouth and spilled past his clenched teeth. All he could do was watch helplessly as the white petals swirled hypnotically in the puddle of blood.

“Holy fucking shit, just hang in there Kook it’ll be okay.”

His heart ached in response because no matter how much he wanted to be fine—

I can only pretend.

—he would never be fine.

“I’m okay, Yoongi.”

For you I’ll be okay.

“You don’t have to put on a brave face for me, I know this is probably killing you.”

Jeongguk didn’t mean to but a bitter laugh slipped past his lips.

“It’ll take a lot more than this—”

Cough.

“—to kill me.”

He wondered if he was the only one who sensed the irony.

“I think it’s about time you tried to find your soulmate, Kook.” Yoongi said quietly, cleaning off his mouth. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

he reached out for Yoongi’s bare wrist.

“What if I don’t want to find my soulmate?”

Thump.

“What if I—”

Thump.

“—only want you?”

Yoongi stiffened at Jeongguk’s confession, shocked at how easily the heartfelt words left his bloodied lips.

“Jeongguk—”

He sighed but didn’t move.

“do you have any idea what you’re saying?”

Thump.

“I do.”

Thump.

He dusted his thumb against Yoongi’s pale wrist, pressing lightly against his pulse.

“You’re crazy, Kook.”

Thump.

“I’m sorry—”

Thump.

“I don’t feel the same way.”

Thump.

Jeongguk expected that much.

Thump.

But he really didn’t care either way.

Thump.

He was still smiling,

Thump.

because the racing heartbeat he felt,

Thump.

wasn’t his own.

Thump.

And that while Yoongi could hide behind words,

Thump.

he didn’t realize that he was far more honest than that.

Thump.

Even when he didn’t want to be.

“That’s okay, Yoongi.”

Thump.

“I didn’t expect you to.”

And apparently neither did you.

They didn’t talk about his confession after that night, they didn’t let it change their relationship either. It wasn’t anything awkward, it was something Jeongguk had to get off his chest. Afterwards everything went back to normal, just two coworkers who happened to be really close friends. They would laugh together, smile together,

perfectly

normal.

The only difference was that every now and then—

Jeongguk would catch Yoongi staring.

Or at least he thought he did because before he could get a good look,

Yoongi had already turned away,

his red ears saying more than his mouth ever would.

But Jeongguk kept his distance,

he stayed away.

If Yoongi was going to push,

Jeongguk wouldn’t pull.

He would wait,

and wait,

and wait some more.

Until Yoongi was ready.

“Hey, you got a second?”

Which was sooner than Jeongguk could’ve hoped for.

“Of course, what’s up?”

“Do you wanna go for a walk with me? I think I—I owe you an explanation.”

Thump.

“Sure.”

They didn’t go far, just down the street to the park. For a while they sat there in silence, and at first Jeongguk thought their walk was an excuse for Yoongi to go out and smoke a cigarette. He felt his lips pull into a frown. Yoongi’s habit was the only thing Jeongguk hated about him. He hated watching Yoongi fill his lungs with toxic chemicals, hated how something so ugly would probably kill him someday.

He deserves better than that.

“So—”

Yoongi started, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“—this isn’t me like, taking back what I said or anything, okay? Just needed to like—get that out of the way.”

Jeongguk nodded.

“Cool, awesome. But—I still think you deserve to know why. You’ve been honest with me so I—I should be honest with you. That’s fair, right?”

Nod.

“Great. This is going better than I thought.”

He said, pointedly ignoring how his hands were shaking uncontrollably.

“You—you saw my wrist, I know you did. You know that I—that I had my flower removed.”

Nod.

“I met my soulmate when I was still some snot nosed brat who could barely go a whole day without picking a fight.”

That sounds familiar.

“So when I realized that the chances of ever seeing him again were less than desired I—I had my tattoo removed.”

Jeongguk reached out for him. “I wish I had done the same thing.”

Yoongi pulled his hand away.

“That’s not the point, I wish I hadn’t.”

Jeongguk froze.

What did that mean?

“Because I was so afraid of being alone I took away the one thing that would help me find him, that would help him find me.”

Jeongguk swallowed nervously.

“I was such a little bitch that I would’ve rather let my soulmate die than risk never finding him again.”

I never thought of it like that…

“I’m not proud of what I did, Kook.”

He sighed.

“I’m a coward that doesn’t deserve love.”

Thump.

“You deserve the chance to live a long life, you won’t get that with me.”

Thump.

“I don’t like you like that, so there’s no reason for you to stay. It’s best for you to move on.”

Thump.

“Tonight’s your last night working at Clair de Lune. The deal’s off.”

Jeongguk didn’t even flinch.

“The deal’s been off for months and you never let me go. You wanted me to stay as much as I wanted to be here.”

Yoongi’s cheeks began to turn a light pink.

“Stop kidding yourself kid, I just—I forgot is all.”

Thump.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

He challenged, scooting closer to him.

“If you really want me to go, say it.”

Silence.

“Say Jeongguk, I don’t want you in my life and I’ll be gone.”

Silence.

“I’ll get up from this bench and you’ll never see me again.”

“I—”

Yoongi hesitated, almost tripping on the words.

“I don’t want that.”

Jeongguk couldn’t help but smirk.

“I don’t want that at all.”

Thump.

“Okay.”

Then, under the light of the full moon,

Jeongguk kissed Yoongi.

And,

despite all his best efforts,

Yoongi kissed him back.

Jeongguk had seen perfection in his life,

he saw it twice.

Then he saw it and heard it every day.

But how perfection felt against his lips—

he had no words to describe.

There wasn’t fireworks,

or electricity surging through his soul,

and somehow that perfect moment underneath the stars still managed to take Jeongguk’s breath away.

Yoongi was raw and unforgiving, generous and kind. Everything that Jeongguk came to love about him was present in his kiss, in the warmth that he gave back to him. He took Yoongi’s bare wrist in his hand, gingerly caressing the piece of his soul that he lost a long time ago. He wanted him to know that he would never be alone, that he would be by his side for as long as he could.

Don’t be afraid.

While it wasn’t possible, he felt that maybe Yoongi heard him somehow because suddenly he was gripping Jeongguk’s shirt as if he was scared he would disappear. A chill reverberated down his spine, he felt butterflies beating their delicate wings against his ribs, whatever Yoongi was trying to tell him—he heard it loud and clear.

Don’t leave me.

I won’t.

Promise?

Promise.

Then,

for the first time in years,

it didn’t hurt to breathe.

Which Jeongguk knew wouldn’t last,

but he didn’t care.

After ten years of waiting,

the moon had returned to his sky,

brighter than it ever was before.

“God—what the hell have you done to me?”

Yoongi said with a smile.

Jeongguk shook his head and laughed.

“I think I should be the one asking you that.”

“I guess we’ll never know.”

And that’s okay.

They knew their time together was limited, Hanahaki didn’t wait for anyone or anything. Soon Jeongguk would stop breathing, soon a bouquet of perfect white roses would pierce through flesh and bone, reaching for the one thing it could not have. His days were counted in petals and he was slowly running out.

Somehow—

they didn’t care.

When they looked into each others eyes everything else slipped away. Time would stop and they would fall happily into ignorant bliss. They chose to ignore the inevitable to enjoy the memories they had yet to create. It was their one comfort, the one thing they held dear because soon—

it would all be over.

“I wonder what would’ve happened if you never walked into my bar.”

Yoongi mused as they laid together in a field of flowers.

Jeongguk stifled a laugh.

“I would’ve wandered into another bar, gotten into the same fight, and would’ve probably woken up in prison.”

Yoongi chuckled.

“Then I’m glad you picked my bar that night.”

Pause.

“In more ways than one.”

Jeongguk smirked, lacing their fingers together.

“If it wasn’t for the moon we never would’ve met.”

“What is up with you and the moon?”

I fell in love with it.

“I wish I knew.”

I love the moon

that filled my lungs with flowers,

I love the moon

that never fails to make me smile,

and I love the moon

that’s slowly killing me.

 Because it brought me to you.

 The last stages of Hanahaki are always the worst and for Jeongguk it was no different. As his days dwindled he couldn’t hide it any longer. He couldn’t hold in the flowers that were set on destroying him. When he passed out at work, when no matter how hard he coughed he couldn’t dislodge the flower from his airway, Yoongi finally knew the truth. He stood in the corner of the bar while everyone else rushed to Jeongguk’s aid. He watched in horror as blood pooled around him because his worst nightmare had come true.

Hanahaki was about to steal the most important person from him.

And in his own mind—

it was all his fault.

So,

he vanished.

By the time Jeongguk came to—

Yoongi was gone.

He didn’t leave a note,

what would he say?

He didn’t leave a trace,

almost like he never existed to begin with.

Jeongguk sat at the bar, tears streaking his face and a smile twitching at his lips.

Despite everything—

Everything…

—he was still happy.

Happier than he ever thought he’d be.

If he had the option to go back,

to find his soulmate and live a happy life,

he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t trade the handful of months with Yoongi for anything.

Because they were

perfect.

As he held a perfect white flower in his hand, stained red with blood, he didn’t feel any malice towards it. Towards fate, towards his soulmate, he would no longer be angry at something he had no control over. Sometimes mistakes happen, sometimes fate gets it wrong.

People like Jeongguk—

they don’t get happy endings.

He had grown to accept that.

With Yoongi gone from Clair de Lune, Jeongguk felt no obligation to stay there. As much as he loved that quaint little bar, it wasn’t the same without him. He decided to spend the last few weeks of his life mending the bridges he had burned. He called his friends from school, apologized for how he pushed them away, and made amends where he could.

People who had no reason to take him back did so with open arms.

He made a trip back home to see his parents, to let them know he was happy. They cried when they saw him because the son they had lost came back only to lose him again. He apologized for that, apologized for his selfishness, but he didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. Even for him that would be far too cruel.

The last place he made a point to visit—

was the clearing where it all began.

He came back to the tree stump under the light of the full moon, a bittersweet smile on his face. No matter how much time had passed since that fateful night he could still remember every last detail of his soulmate as he sat there angry and alone. How perfect he was. He remembered falling in love with someone who was more beautiful than the stars that shined overhead. He remembered falling in love with someone who made it seem like time had come to a complete halt.

He remembered a perfect night when love was innocent and soulmates meant forever.

How a red hibiscus had blossomed on his wrist,

how he first caught a glimpse of the flower that would one day kill him.

And he still loved it just the same.

Turning to leave, he noticed that at the base of the stump, a handful of white flowers reached up towards the moon. It was odd, seeing something so beautiful without the sun to sustain it. Curious, he crouched down and let the petals rest on his fingers. They were soft, graceful, and hummed with mystery. He couldn’t help but smile at their persistence, they reminded him—

of Yoongi.

Of Clair de Lune.

A beautiful flower that only opened up its petals to the cool warmth of the moon.

Carefully he plucked one and pulled it in close, realizing that not only did it remind him of Yoongi—

There’s no way…

—it was the same flower that had been draining his life for years.

For so long he had been certain it was a rose that plagued him,

and he wasn’t sure why that suddenly filled him with such hope.

Because it didn’t matter what the flower was,

only who it belonged to.

But—

if Yoongi could be personified by a flower,

it would be the one in Jeongguk’s hands.

He felt crazy for considering it, like a flower had cut off oxygen to his brain, but what if—

what if

Yoongi was the moon

that first brightened his sky

all those years ago

on a perfect night

just like this.

It’s impossible.

But—

“Hey.”

what if it’s not?

When Jeongguk turned around,

there he was.

His own definition of perfection.

“Are you just going to stare at me all night?”

Well—

He smiled.

—probably?

Because, if Jeongguk was being perfectly honest, he was at a loss for words. What do you say when you’re looking at the one person you thought you had lost forever? The one person that gave love, gave life, more meaning than he ever imagined?

What could he say when his soulmate,

when the moon,

was standing in front of him?

Am I dreaming?

No, he wasn’t.

This is more than a dream.

This is fate.

And he was right.

Once again,

he was right.

[definegodliness]

Past-prime: the beautiful decaying

In humans, I used to dread decay. One day, now some ten years ago, I'd say, I lay bedridden in hospital with a burst appendix. Inflammation values constantly elevated. Dead sick. Yet though I did feel sorry for myself, nothing filled me with more dread and pity than from my sickbed hearing the sound of a walker and shuffling slippers: 

Tap...      schwiff...      schwiff...  

Tap...      schwiff...      schwiff... 

So hellishly slow that I, in my bed-chained boredom, started counting the seconds between taps and shuffling: 

Seven seconds. 

Then when the old lady, after fifteen minutes of shuffling, finally appeared within the frame of the opened door, I made an estimated guess of distance traveled between the softly echoing taps and slowly brushing schwiffs:

Five centimeters, tops. 

I spent the rest of the day trying to let my feverish brain calculate the speed in which she was moving forward: 0.71 centimeter per second, that is 0.43 meter per minute, fuck me; 0.025 kilometers per hour. 

When, after hours, I got that roughly but definitely not perfectly figured out, I was overwhelmed by deep-rooted sadness. Welling from my gut to my chest, where it lingered until a single tear welled up to wet my eyelashes. 

Must human life dwindle to such misery?

Getting old ain't easy. 

However, here's the strange thing, in forests and ruins I've always seen the beauty of time's influence: Pisa's tower's worn marble steps; the faded bronze of a dog statue, petted -- or on the bronze titty repetitively fondled; humans being human, so ridiculous it’s funny -- I've seen beauty in dead and dying trees. Their barks telling the story of their lifetime. Silent witnesses, outliving us. I've seen the beauty in an old dog's eyes. The slow wagging of a tail. So content and full of love in their twilight, as if they had absorbed all the gratitude for their existence they received in their life. It warms my heart, every time. 

It has long dawned on me that perfection is lifeless. Especially in architecture, which in its prime is often tasteless: tacky, kitschy, bombastic, you name it. Yet as a ruin, stripped to its bare essence; ridden of excess ornaments and colour, suddenly a building turns benign and momentous. It breathes its own history in an almost palpable sageness.

Why can’t I see that in humans?

I see all these stories; hidden memories turned alive in fantasy in anything other than human existence. Maybe it’s because I dread the future. Maybe it’s because I’m sympathizing while I am still at an entirely different chapter of my life’s book. After all, that's the difference with forests, buildings, dogs, and humans. When you see that last page's torment, empathy can strike and swiftly turn into pity: 

‘Getting old ain't easy.’ 

Verily, that is what I in hospital then thought. And while this still rings true, it's not true in the sense that then had me in sadness overwhelmed. She was lucky, that hellishly slow old lady. She got to get old, and that ain’t easy.

--- 9-2-2020, M.A. Tempels © “... hoping to one day visit my own ruins.”