#i needed to share the images that have been living rent free in my brain for weeks now

[camille-lachenille]

Was looking at antique gowns on museums websites and I have the strong feeling Thranduil would have loved late 19th/early 20th century tea gown. Just look at these beauties and tell me he wouldn’t look absolutely fabulous wearing one of these!

The purple one is so regal but the fabric of the silver one really reminds me of Thranduil’s robes…

Here are some more fabulous examples

[helluvapoison]

I just read your Lucifer ABC's and the idea of him knowing everything about reader, but also needing words of afirmation just gave me an idea. Just imagine Lucifer truly asking to be tested about how much he knows reader, and they just start asking "Who is the person that i love most?" "Who makes my heart flutter and beat so loud even heaven could hear it?" "Who lives in my head rent free that even while dreaming he's there making everything brighter?". Lucifer would crumble.

I cant take this image from mi mind, please honey, show me the sweet baby crumble.

The Answer

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

“C’mon!”

Lucifer’s smile threatens to crack his face in half.

He’s been begging you to quiz him on your knowledge of him even though you assured him, you believe he knows everything about you. A part of you knows this isn’t for you; it’s for him. Lucifer wants to prove he’s a worthy mate by sharing the information he’s collected about you. His crimson eyes are big and beautiful and straight up impossible to deny. With a smile of your own, you sigh and drop your phone. Turning to give him your full attention, you rest your head in your hands.

“Alright. What’s… my favorite color?”

Suddenly his smile drops, eyes rolling dramatically to the left.

“Pfft! That’s way too easy. You need to give me a harder one than that, darling!”

Pursing your lips to the side for only a moment, you don’t need to wrack your brain very hard for a question that would stun Lucifer. A smirk tugs across your face. It’s returned tenfold. He’s vibrating with excitement when he sees you’ve conjured something, something he thinks he can answer. That only makes you more ready to win the battle he’s started.

“Who’s the first person I’d tell a secret to?”

Lucifer inhales like he’s been holding his breathe the whole time.

“That’s—!” He chokes, pupils shrinking to slits, “That’s, uh…”

You make sure to give him a few seconds before dropping the next question.

“Who’s the person I want to see every morning, noon and night of every day?”

“I-I know this one!” Lucifer assures but deflates, shoulders slumping with the amount of uncertainty weighing him down.

“Who am I thinking about every waking moment because they’re my favorite person in the universe?”

Lucifer looks like he wants to say the answer, but he’s afraid it’s wrong. His mouth opens and shuts unsure of itself. His eyes scan your face for any warning signs and although he finds none, it’s as if he can’t trust any of his senses.

Who makes me smile and laugh more than anyone?

Who’s so creative they always have me in awe?

Who can make my day brighter just by being themself?

Question after question, you tug him closer by his hips until he’s flush against you. You will your hands to deliver to reassurance your words cannot. Fingers glide up his neck and comb through his blonde locks, every stroke an apology for dragging the game on.

“Who do I love the very most and thank Heaven every night for sending him to me?”

Your hands steal the apples of his cheeks and tilt his head up. Your eyes grip his in a staring competition fueled by adoration. The games over and forgotten but it has a clear winner. Lucifer’s a blushing disaster, his voice failing him and melting to a whine. He swallows hard on nothing, eyebrows pinching together making his expression appear dangerously hopeful.

Your voice drops to an agonizingly soft whisper. Syrupy sweet yet serious.

“I’ll give you a hint. He’s my angel… His name starts with an L… He’s looking at me like he wants a kiss…?”

“I—Is… Is it.. Me?”

“Yes, Luci. The answer is you.”

Closing the small gap between you both, you finally give him a reward for answering the question correctly.

[plusultraetc]

Saw the tags on the Toshinori post and do you have more to share?? Any insights? If so I’d welcome hearing them 😭 He really is so self-sacrificial and it hurts but it’s truly at the core of who he is

This has been sitting in my inbox for almost a week because I needed to make a futile effort at organizing my thoughts into something coherent--but this is as organized as they're going to get for now! Thank you so so much for the ask though bc I do love to yell about MHA <3

(Obligatory reminder that I'm watching this show in such a confusing order so if what I'm about to rant about has been addressed before and I'm harping on it unnecessarily I Am Sorry.)

(For anyone curious, this is the post btw)

SO. It feels relevant to mention that my sister and I were talking about All Might in the first place because we were talking about MHA Moments That Haunt Us. For me, it's the 'I am not here' sign hanging around the neck of the All Might statue in Kamino Ward after the Paranormal Liberation War. It literally lives in my brain rent-free 24/7 365 days a year, especially with the AM vs AFO fight being relatively fresh in my mind. The reversal of All Might's catchphrase and all it represents hurts, but to display it at the site of his 'last stand' in Kamino? That's brutal.

All Might vs All For One and how that rematch plays out is so so important to the story for so many reasons, but one of them is that the fight itself is a sacrifice. Toshinori gives everything he has, short of his life, to defeat All For One. He gives up his physical strength, his public image as the unbeatable Symbol of Peace, and, effectively his Quirk ("Goodbye, All For One. Goodbye, One For All" haunts my every waking moment, still!)

This battle is also the culmination of years of All Might's life and heroic philosophy (because Toshinori has been both practicing AND preaching self-sacrifice in the name of the greater good since we met him. It's what he thinks a hero does). Kamino is the sacrifice to end all sacrifices, if you will. Yes, he does get to walk away from the fight with AFO, but he walks away irrevocably different, almost unrecognizable. He's forced to totally change his focus and his mindset and his life. Everything he has given up is made literally visible in the deterioration of his body.

But most most importantly, All Might's sacrifice at Kamino was... all for nothing. Even if AM defeated him in that moment, All For One is free less than a year later. The world is in shambles. People are afraid, and their faith in heroes is crumbling. Heroes are afraid, and this time, they have no idealized symbol to rally behind. When Dostoevsky wrote "Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing," he was talking about All Might btw.

Toshinori gave this fight (and his career, and being All Might) everything he had, and it still wasn't enough. He sacrificed so much of himself, and so much of how he perceived himself and his purpose, and he didn't even save the world. He just bought them time--and not much of it. I think that's why he's so desperate to keep fighting, no matter the cost, no matter what condition he's in--even 'quite literally half-dead.' He can't let Kamino be the Symbol of Peace's final stand, because Kamino was ultimately for nothing. Instead of saving the world, it has been reframed through the sign on the statue as All Might abandoning the world. And ever since then, he's been scrambling to prove that he is still here.

(There's also probably something here about Sir Nighteye telling him that he was going to die. Since Nighteye used his Quirk on him, Toshinori has been anticipating sacrificing his life for good. Knowing that his entire hero career is effectively a fight to the death has probably maximized his self-sacrificial tendencies.)

[bexsua]

*

walks in with my clown shoes squeaking. hi everyone it's emmy (stevie + yuji typist) !! here with my brain child of a third muse miss sua!! :3 i'm still fine tuning some stuff on her pages in the mean time-- but i'd love to get started on plotting!! i'll list a few things under the cut to get a jump on things! i'll also tag sua's profile and plotting page! very excited to share her with you all <3 i'll be happy to plot either on tumblr, or i have a discord if that's preferred !! not everything is listed below but we can also talk during plotting too :3 if you're interested in plotting with sua, please like this & i'll come visit you!

unlike stevie and yuji who i'd say are nicer and approachable, sua is more on the meaner side! she's much more likely to be called unfriendly and rude.

she's generally pretty mean or uncaring to most people she doesn't know, but she is incredibly kind to the elderly. it's a jarring personality change that might catch someone off-guard-- but she respects her grandfather so much that it feels wrong to her to not be kind to her elders

she works at a pc bang and also streams a few nights a week! usually her streams are digital art streams of her sketching or she's playing one of her favorite games and chatting with her viewers idly; she also takes commissions if she has free time to make a few extra bucks too! her streaming schtick is that she's kinda mean and no nonsense. she doesn't mind idly talking about her day or her interests if other people show an interest in it! she hates criticism though or just people saying dumb shit. her chat likes to take bets on how many people she'll ban because she kinda goes crazy with it

she wants to go to art school as her main focus, but she's focusing on working and saving a lot of money right now so she can!!

she loves animals (besides birds, mostly pigeons)!! though she's allergic to cats so if you have one, she'll definitely sneeze a lot LOL

chaotic bisexual!! she's very hedonistic at her core. after a long work week she tends to go out over the weekend and go crazy!!

she's also trying to break a smoking habit so feel free to yell at her or scold her! i can't say it might not end up in an argument or a fight but it'd be fun LOL

she's a scrapper...so she's ready to swing if needed LOL and she will if she feels threatened or aggravated enough, fair warning! she's been wanting to take boxing classes so that could be smth...

she's very straightforward!! she's blunt and pretty callous with her words sometimes, and she's not sorry about it. the world is tough and damn she knows it!!

she's not super into idols and stuff, but she knows a couple!! she definitely doesn't keep up with stuff like that unless the people around her expose her to it a lot

she's a big nintendo fan!! she's a huge fan of the legend of zelda series, and if she's streaming a game it's most of the time expected to be zelda!

she's lowkey addicted to getting tattoos they're just expensive

some plot ideas!!

she does have an open position for her mysterious and estranged older brother that i'd love to have!! some extra plotting for this though if someone is interested!

roommates!!! ideally i imaged her living in a house with 2-4 people to combat rent :3

art friends!!! talk art and stuff :3

fellow streamer friends!! or colleagues!!! it can be a fake working relationship or antagonistic or genuine friends if we can work past sua's attitude problem :3

enemies, friends you name it...maybe even extended family!

sua's weekend partying outings are usually filled with drinking and hooking up, typically! she uses the work week to recuperate so you won't see her out then, but the weekends she's always out and about. usually. maybe partying friends or people who's used to seeing her out on the night scene, etc.

gets herself into trouble and fights a lot, so maybe someone on the opposing side or someone who has to step in!

maybe a role-model esque sort of figure?? besides her grandfather she doesn't have an idea of a good one, and especially being away from her family it'd be nice for her to have one even if she'll fight tooth and nail against it

i'd love exes or past flings!! sua's not the best in a relationship because she spends more time in the chase / lead up and afterwards she just...flops. she's a terrible partner and she knows it. but she also looks for people who are also ideally not the best or easy for her to manipulate.

she's still learning piano and the ocarina just so she can play her favorite songs on them-- so maybe people with similar instrument interests?

[cinnaminsvga]

a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary: 

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.} 

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon​ who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it. 

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look of who’s coming over to say hello!”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch.  If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away.  Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.  

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p.  You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

[plaidbooks]

Cabin Life - The Beginning

A/N: You all need to blame both @storiesofsvu and @berniesilvas for this! I want woodsman!Sonny to be real so fucking bad, so that he can sweep me off my feet. Anyways, this covers the Cabin in the Woods square in @storiesofsvu fall bingo!

I don’t mention it in the story, but in my mind, this takes place before he’s in SVU, even before Homicide. I have him mid-late 20s.

Tags: none, just fluff

Words: 1330

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba  @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy  @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl  @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas​  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles​ @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

(gif by @dailypeterscanavino)

When Sonny was a kid, his parents would take him and his sisters to their vacation home; a homey cabin nestled in the New Hampshire woods. There were multiple cabins there, spread out over the land, close enough to be considered neighbors, but far enough for privacy. They had basic appliances—a fridge/freezer, a stove/oven, a sink, a bathtub, a shower, a toilet—but everything else was wooden. Dom Sr. eventually put a tv there, just in the master bedroom, so he could keep up with news and sports while they vacationed.

Sonny always loved the little community up there. Everyone was always so nice to him and his family. Which is why, after dealing with atrocities while on the force, he decided to retreat from city life. He hated being surrounded by monsters every day; sure not everyone in New York City was a creep or predator or murderer, but after seeing so much of the city’s underbelly, he was fed up.

He asked his parents if he could move to the New Hampshire house permanently. They would still be able to vacation there, of course—it was a massive, four-bedroom cabin—but he just needed to get away. He agreed to pay for everything, and he still had his cell phone so they could contact him if needed. It didn’t take much convincing for his parents to agree.

It was definitely an adjustment going from the heart of NYC to becoming a woodsman. Sonny grew his hair and beard out and bought plaid jackets—the things he saw woodsman do on tv when he was younger. The cabin needed work, especially clearing up the outside foliage, giving him some sense of purpose. And if he needed food, there were the local markets close by and a grocery store about an hour away.

The locals all remembered the scrawny little boy who spent his summers running around the woods with his sisters, and they all gladly took him under their wings. After Sonny hacked back the overgrowth, Mr. Piper taught him how to do controlled burn piles. Mr. and Mrs. Willis came over soon after, helping him measure out, then build an elevated garden. Mrs. Willis taught him how to make nutrient soil, while Mr. Willis gave him seeds, and taught him how to care for each and every vegetable.

When Sonny got the cabin, he inherited the small apple orchard, too. His pa taught him how to care for the trees while his ma taught him recipes for apple pie, cider, tarts, jams. He noticed how much he relied on bees to pollinate, and Ms. Walters, the local honey provider, taught him which wildflowers were 1) regional to them and 2) attracted bees. Sonny built another elevated garden, this time on his own, and filled it with wildflower seeds Ms. Walters gifted him with.

There was a creek nearby, and one day, Sonny found Mr. Adams fishing in it. Sonny proposed a deal; Mr. Adams gives Sonny an old rod that he wouldn’t miss, and Sonny would teach Mr. Adams the best way to clean and cook the fish. Mr. Adams agreed and gave him a sturdy rod. As Sonny went about cleaning and deboning the fish they had caught, he complimented Mr. Adams on his herb garden.

“Herb gardens aren’t the hardest thing to manage,” he said with a smile, and gifted Sonny with starters for every herb he could think of— “as payment for this phenomenal fish recipe!”

Third elevated garden up and running, Sonny fell into woodsman life easily. His muscles grew, though he was still thin; he was lean, though, not lanky anymore. Any questions he had, the locals had answers for. He grew his own food, fished his own fish, and bought (or traded) meat from the local hunters. Soon enough, the locals were calling him, asking for help with something or other. And Sonny loved all of it.

 *********************

During the weekly Autumn Farmer’s Market, Sonny rented a little booth. He had brought multiple apple pies, tarts, bottles of cider, apple chips, packages of herbs, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, lettuce, and everything else he had in abundance…that would also fit on only two tables. When he first started harvesting, he would give most away, or trade for other goods, but he also needed to make money some way. So, the extras ended up here.

He was in the middle of chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Willis about how his gardens were coming along when he saw you. He froze halfway through a sentence, his jaw hanging open, prompting the Willis’s to turn. Mrs. Willis looked back at Sonny, a knowing smile on her face.

“She just moved back in with her parents; she had been living in New York City for a little bit, trying to make a life there, but, well, as she said herself, she’s not a city girl,” Mrs. Willis explained.

Before Sonny could respond—or tear his eyes from you—you glanced over at him. You smiled warmly, and his heart beat faster. When you started coming towards his little booth, he scrambled to clean himself up, brushing his hair back off his face, smoothing down his shirt, trying to wipe some dirt off the front. Mrs. Willis gave him a smile before looping her arm with her husband and pulling him away.

“Hello! I’m new here, but I must say, your booth is probably my favorite,” you said, still smiling at him.

It took him a moment for his brain to process your words. “O-oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“All of your food looks delicious. I mean, look at this squash! It’s bigger than my head!” you announced, giggling.

He had never heard anything more magical in his life. “Do you like pie? I can give you a slice,” he replied nervously.

“How much?” you asked. You loved both apples and pie, and his looked amazing.

He gave you a soft smile. “It’s on the house; a sweet treat for a pretty woman.”

You felt your face heat and you smiled shyly as he unwrapped a pie and cut into it. He cut off a generous piece, and you opened your mouth to complain about taking it for free, but he brushed you off, placing the piece on a plate and handing it to you. You took a bite, and you swear your taste buds were dancing; it was the most delicious thing you ever tasted before, the sweetness and the tartness balanced perfectly.

You chewed thoughtfully before swallowing it. “That is the best damn pie I’ve ever had. Ever. But please, share with me, Mr.…?”

“Call me Sonny, please. Sonny Carisi,” he replied, a goofy smile pulling across his lips.

You gave him your name, then offered him a bite. You both stood and chatted while exchanging bites of apple pie. He told you about his decision to leave the city and live a simpler life, surrounded by good people. And you told him about how you had always heard of the big city and decided to live there. But after a few months, you missed the woods too much, and you came back home.

“I feel a little silly living back at home in my adult life. I’m hoping to get my own cabin one day…maybe build it from the ground up,” you finished.

Sonny nodded in understanding. “Well, if you ever need anything, anything at all, you can always ask me. I’m not the most knowledgeable about cabin life quite yet, but I have the knowledge of who to call for advice.”

“Well, thank you, Sonny. Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” you replied, and he smiled. Then you leaned over the table of his goods and kissed his scruffy cheek before winking and walking back to your parent’s booth, giving him a little wave. The smile and look of absolute adoration in his eyes would be a fixed image in your mind for a while.

[amymel86]

Hello! Do you have any bits of your awesome writing to share for WIP wednesday?😍

I just saw this anon!

And thank you for asking <3

This is a bit more of this as yet untitled 'post-apocalyptic/fertility/modern arranged relationship???' fic. The first bit I posted on tumblr is here and as before, some things are not yet decided (like town names) and things may change...

“Are you sure this is what you want to do, darling?” Her mother’s voice on the telephone was a balm to her soul.

Sansa’s finger brushed the soft vivid petals of the small potted iris she’d bought at the store today. The iris symbolises hope, wisdom and courage among other things and she prays that the pretty purple and yellow bloom will lend her some of those. “I’ve got to try something, Mum,” she says, turning her attention to the two separate bundles of paper in front of her. Two men, two candidates, two different futures. Sansa had filled out all the matching service’s extensive questionnaires and scrutinised all the information she could find on the program. It seemed simple enough – you’re rewarded for helping to repopulate. In turn, the authorities help to pair you with someone who should be a good match dependant on all the information they have about you. The aim is that this new generation of children are raised in the traditional family unit. That had appealed to Sansa. “I can’t seem to find the right guy all on my own anyway,” she said into her phone.

“How do you know it will be safe, though?”

“It says here that my situation will be monitored by my own caseworker. I can call them any time I want. They’re not just going to drop me at the guy’s house and just leave us get on with it.”

“Hmmm... tell me about them? These men that they’ve narrowed down for you.”

“One’s called Waymar, he’s a financial advisor here in the Vale,” Sasna pauses, looking at the man’s photograph on his paperwork before fishing out the other. “And the other is called Jon, he owns a farm in the Reach.”

“None in the north then?” Her mother has been itching to get her back home. “I just wish there was a way to know that either of them were good men, Sansa. That’s all I want for you.”

Sansa put the two photos together. Two possible fathers for her child.

“That’s what I want too.”

***

“Shit! Holy fucking shit!” Jon says to himself, hanging up from his phone-call. “Mance!” he yells, bursting out of his trailer to find the old man. “Mance! It worked! It fucking worked!”

He’d relented. When Mance first put it to him that he should sign up for that weird government breeding program or whatever the fuck it was, he thought the old man’s last brain-cell must’ve fried up in the sun. But if they were going to make it easier for them and it meant Mance could keep the farm (and Jon could carry on living there rent free), then it was worth a shot. So he had relented. He’d filled out what seemed to be a gazillion and one questions about himself, his politics, his views on family and finances and education and fucking... art and shit. These damned government people wanted to know everything about him down to whether he scrunched or folded his toilet paper it seemed. He’d even had to lie. He didn’t like doing it, but there was no way that a fertile was going to pick him if he didn’t. So, he fished out an old photograph – one taken before the bar brawl that lost him his sight in one eye, and he’d also lied his asscheeks off by claiming he had ownership of the farm. He knew – he knew – that these lies are just more things that were going to trip him up one of these days but with Mance urging him on, he’d signed that damn form and offered himself up for the program.

And now a fertile had chosen him.

Him.

Fuck, he might throw up.

This can go one of two ways. Either completely up Shit Creek without a paddle – with his lies and reality crashing down on top of one another, leaving them exposed... or, his fertile somehow looks past his deceits and sticks with him and they-... well, shit, he could actually become a father. No-one becomes parents these days, especially not ‘round here. Fertiles flock to the big cities, to men with bigger pockets, or they work for couples who can afford to pay them off in exchange for a kid or two.

“It worked?” Mance asks, rolling out from under an old Ford pickup that needed a new exhaust. “They sendin’ us a peach?”

Jon shook his head. “They’re not sendin’ you anyone, old man. An’ don’t call her that – they’re-“ Fuck, what did the council call them on all that paperwork? “Reproductively abled.” He’ll have to remember that if he doesn’t want to offend her.

“Well, shit,” Mance grins. “What did I tell ya? Knew your pretty face was good for somethin’!”

Jon frowns. “Ain’t so pretty no more though.” He might have to go get himself a patch to cover his milky, sightless eye. It’s fine most of the time since Mance is the only one he sees unless he’s going to drink at Hobb’s, but he certainly doesn’t want to put off his ferti- reproductively abled friend who’ll be arriving in three weeks.

“She got a name? Your new peach?” Mance asked, earning him a glare.

“Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

Mance grunts and nods. “Sounds fancy.”

Yeah... It did sound kinda fancy he supposes. Jon’s first reaction had been that it was a mighty beautiful name, but now he thinks of it...

“Shame we can’t look her up – see if she’s a beauty or not.”

Jon can’t remember a time when that was an option. He was barely 11 at the highest point of the virus’s hold. Government officials had deemed certain channels on the internet were causing more harm than good by spreading false rumours, incorrect statistics and completely counterintuitive medical advice. The whole thing was shut down, now deemed illegal, only to be reconnected again three years later apparently looking like a foreign landscape from the one before. The internet was no longer a platform to socialise, only government approved informative sites remained. Mance says it’s better this way – that all people used to do was post vain images of themselves for attention anyway.

Jon wouldn’t mind seeing a vain image of Sansa Stark right about now though.

Not that it mattered terribly. As long as they get along and she decides to stick around she could be as ugly as sin. In fact, she probably will be, won’t she? Most pretty ferti- reproductively abled women stick to the cities and its high-fliers.

It doesn’t matter, he told himself. You just gotta keep her happy here and-

“Mance?” he asks, an issue coming to mind. The man grunts in acknowledgement. “Where the fuck is she gonna sleep? She’s not gonna want to stay in my trailer.”

The man grins in response. “I’m glad you asked, boy. I’m glad you asked.”

***

Her caseworker was meant to meet her at the train station. It was quite a drive to the farm and he was meant to pick her up, make sure she’s safe and happy and introduce her to Jon.

That hasn’t happened.

“Please accept my apologies, my dear,” Mr Baelish said down the other end of the phone. “There’s been a mix up with my schedule. We can set you up for the night at a local motel or ask your match to come and get you. Which would you prefer?”

Sansa eyes the dirty looking motel across the street from the train station. Everything here at [[INSERT TOWN NAME]] seems a little on the... rundown side. Maybe the sooner she gets to the farm, the better. Plus, her tummy is all a flutter with anticipation to actually meet Jon. She’d wound up swaying towards Jon as a match due to a few reasons; 1 – he does not live in, around, or anywhere near Harry or his crazy mother. 2 – he owns a farm, and that had conjured up hazy daydreams of idyllic country life. Sansa may enjoy big nights out in the city, drinking her dirty margaritas and feeling her bones vibrate against the base beat in a nightclub, but she knows that’s not what she wants to raise a child around. A child will want to run barefoot through wheat fields and chase chickens and milk cows and –

Let’s just say Sansa has a few ideas and that they all helped to sway her away from city pleasures and towards farmhouse life. And Jon

And last, but not least, reason number 3 – Jon himself. Put side-by-side, his and Waymar’s photographs looked rather similar if truth be told, but Jon won out on something that Sansa just couldn’t describe. Looking at his photograph gave her goosepimples along her forearms because it was like he was looking right back at her. There was something in the depths of his eyes – a kindness? A wit? A strength? She’s not sure, but she couldn’t find the same qualities when she stared at Waymar’s likeness. And his answers too. His questionnaire was full of how he’d like to teach a kid how to walk and ride a bike and fix a... a tractor for heaven’s sake! And so her head was flooded once more of this idyllic life where they got up to watch the dawn stretch over the farmland and they’d grow their own vegetables and she’d bake a pie every day and it would just be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Sansa glances around the near abandoned train station.

This doesn’t look so perfect right now.

“Could you please arrange for Jon to come and get me, Mr Baelish?”

***

It’s been an hour and fifty-six minutes precisely since Sansa last spoke to Mr Baelish to arrange her match coming to get her. An hour and fifty-six minutes of sitting on the curb, waiting, surrounded by her three suitcases. She’d started off by sitting at the nearby bus stop, purely because it was somewhere to sit and she had a clear view of the road, but after the rude bus driver insisted that if she’s sat there, she must be wanting to hop on his bus, Sansa decided to park her butt on the dusty, sun-baked curb instead. Her legs were beginning to numb and she was starting to get a headache from the sun beaming down on her head. The curls she’d styled into her copper locks have likely lost their hold by now. What a waste. Opposite, on the other side of the street, beside the dirty little motel, there was a tiny bar that advertised the fact that it hosted exotic dancers at the weekends with a blinking neon sign. Next to it was a hunting and fishing ‘emporium’ and beside that was a vacant store with an old dirty sign that read ‘Blouses & More!’. Presumably, the ‘& more’ still wasn’t enough to keep that fine establishment in business in this funny little town. At the end of the block was ‘Tarly’s Drugstore’ and Sansa had been debating with herself whether or not she should haul her suitcases over to go buy a drink and a magazine for about the last hour and fifty-five minutes.

But she hadn’t wanted to miss Jon Snow’s arrival.

Jon Snow, who seemed to be pulling up outside Tarly’s Drugstore in a dusty Ford pickup truck right about now. Sansa stood, expecting him to come right on over considering how long she’d been waiting for him, but she found herself wondering if she’d got it all wrong when she hadn’t caught a good enough look at him before he darted straight into the store.

Sansa is done with waiting. She grabs her smallest case and places it on top of her larger one, trying her darnedest to roll all her luggage across the road in a lady-like fashion. She could feel the eyes of several passers-by on her while her stiletto heels clip across the street. In turn, her own gaze fell to Jon’s cream-coloured truck. Its front bumper looked a little rusty and wonky too. There was a big gash in the leather of the bench seating on the passenger side. On the truck bed, there were a number of items, including a rocking chair that seems to have a couple of spindles on the chair-back missing, and a new double bed mattress wrapped in clear plastic. Sansa was almost done frowning at the state of the vehicle when the over-door bell of the drugstore tinkles.

“Holy shit,” he curses. And yes, it definitely was Jon standing right in front of her. Only... well... his hair was tied into a knot at the back of his head and.... and... he was wearing a black eye patch? “Uh,” he stood there, arms laden with bottles from the store as the gaze from his one good eye quickly darted down her frame and back up again. “You’re her, right? You’re Sansa Stark?”

Sansa found she could only nod, looking him up and down, like he was with her. He was in jeans with oil smears, some tough, heavy looking boots, a somehow pristine white vest and flannel shirt with the arms ripped off.

Speaking of arms...

Gods-damn! Sansa’s focus was momentarily derailed...

“Sorry, I-“ Jon starts before his grey eye drops to the floor and then returns to her, looking a little bashful. “I didn’t expect you to be so pretty.”

Oh boy. He may be wearing an eye patch right now but this man could win over a thousand girls with that smile, Sansa’s sure of it. She resists the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. She’s here to find out if they’re well suited enough to start a family together – she needs to keep her head and think rationally, not allow herself to be swayed by his rugged country boy charm. It was Harry’s looks that enticed her in the first place – and look how well that turned out for her?

“Thank you,” Sansa says, blinking back at him before his words truly hit home. “Didn’t they give you my photograph?”

Jon shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

Huh.

“Did they show you mine?”

Sansa bites her lip and gives a nod.

Jon grimaces. “So I guess you weren’t expecting this?” He points to his patch.

Sansa shakes her head. “No... did you... did you do something to injure it?”

Jerking his head, Jon begins rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. “It’s a long story... but... it ain’t gonna get any better, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Oh.”

They stood, staring at one another for a heartbeat or five before Jon sucks in a breath over his teeth and glances down to the bottles he clutched to his chest with one arm. “I tried to get you some things to help you feel at home,” he says, “these are the nicest smellin’ soaps ‘n’ stuff from Tarly’s.”

“Thank you,” Sansa replies, knowing full well that she brought her Highgarden Floral Scents bathroom range with her.

Jon chews on his lip as he eyes her suitcases. “Lemme get those for you,” he offers before dumping the bottles in his arms into the truck bed and reaching for her luggage. Sansa’s heeled shoes seem welded to the spot. Jon notices. Scrubbing both hands down his face in resignation, he takes a step closer to her and Sansa realises for the first time, that he had dirt beneath his fingernails. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “It was a shitty thing for me to do,” he offers, his words low and husky. Sansa feels the timbre of his voice set off a trickle of gooseflesh down her spine. “I’m sorry.”

She blinks at him, momentarily confused.

“About this,” he explains, brows high on his head as he points to his patch. “I shouldn’t have sent that old photo of before this happened, but – fuck – even my ex-girl won’t acknowledge I exist anymore with this and I knew I shoulda been honest about it but-“

“This ex-girl...” Sansa suddenly found herself left with a sour taste in her mouth. “... does she still mean something to you?”

Jon licks at his lips, his eye falling briefly to her own. “No, ma’am,” he shakes his head.

[httpnxtt]

Wallpaper - Reid x Reader

A/N: Hello Lovelies! I attempted some pure fluff this time to show my love to my bby, @spencer-reid-in-a-pool​ ! I wanted to shower her with love and this was the only way I could think how, so I hope you enjoy! Shoutout to @imagining-in-the-margins​ for the adorable prompt! You’re amazing and ily! 

Also shout out to my amazing beta buddies, @sunlight-moonrise​ , @clean-bands-dirty-stories​ , and @definitelynotkatesblog​ !

Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: FLUFFY FLUFF

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 4.2k

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the world of darkness that surrounds our lives, it’s important to find the light in the world. Luckily for me, our paperwork days meant being sat across from my best friend, Spencer Reid. The man whose smile lit the entire room, who could drop everything in an instant for someone he loves; who makes my days brighter at the simplest, “Hi.” The curly-haired genius spends his days surrounded by the worst humans in existence, using his brain to help the world before helping himself. With his IQ of 187, his mind works a million miles a minute, but sometimes he still needs help. That’s where my job comes in. 

I joined the BAU a year ago, and was instantly drawn to the resident genius. He was timid when I first met him, as if scared the world would break him with everything it decided to throw at the sweet man. Slowly, I captured the heart of our resident genius, who was now my best friend. Over the course of the years, he became my favorite person. On cases, I would make sure he took time to drink water and rest when possible, bringing him snacks when his brain was wrapped in his geological profile. I made it my mission to teach the genius to love himself as much as he loves others. 

Paperwork days were when I really got to see his bright smile and soft laughter. It became a running joke between us. Whenever Spencer would get up to grab us coffee from the kitchen, I would steal his phone to change the wallpaper to something silly. Every time he would check his phone for updates, he would see a new silly picture and grace me with a shining smile and chuckle. Even for these split moments in time, I knew I had distracted him from the morbid things littering our desks. His smile lit up the bullpen, leaving butterflies fluttering around in my stomach, my own smile gracing my lips. He would always shake his head before changing it back, already knowing he would find a new wallpaper later that day. Luckily for me, today was a long, dragging paperday which means I had plenty of time to meet my Spencer-Smile quota for the day. 

First thing this morning, I got my hands on his cell. Pre-coffee brain, the only thing I could think of was the most ridiculous picture of our own Derek Morgan. The image was one Penelope graced me with, a photo he attached when shamelessly flirting with her during our downtime. As quickly as I could, I set the lockscreen and gently placed the device back on his desk, almost in the right spot although I’m sure Spencer would notice it had been moved. I sit back in my chair, slowly starting to spin as I see Spencer make his way back to our desks, two mugs in hand as his glasses begin to slide down the bridge of his nose. I shoot up to wrap my hands around the steaming mug, the warmth like a warm hug. I pull the mug up to my face, smelling the delicious scent of coffee created perfectly to my specifications. Sometimes boy genius’ memory has its perks. Settling back at my desk, I sort through the mound of files for the day in anticipation. 

Looking up from my own cases, I look across to Spencer who has his face buried in a file, his finger trailing down the pages taking my mind into places it shouldn’t go. After an hour he still hasn’t seen his wallpaper, plastering a frown on my face. I pull out my own device, immediately texting a gif of Stitch saying hi to “Pretty Boy”, hearing his phone ding almost immediately. Looking across to Spencer, he almost spits out his coffee seeing the ever flirtatious Derek Morgan gracing his screen. The reaction sent me into a whirlwind of laughter, my head thrown back, almost cackling at the poor man. 

As I calm down, wiping the tears from under my eyes, I see Spencer looking at me with his signature smile, making my heart flutter. 

“That was a good one, Y/N. You really got me this time.” He chuckles, looking at this screen again before looking back at me. “Might have been your best one yet,” he says as he works to change it back. The poor technophobe had to learn because of me how to change his wallpaper since he realized I wouldn’t stop anytime soon. He’s still a tad slow but watching him try to work through it makes my heart happy as I return to my own files. 

As I try to work through my own files, an IM from the tech queen herself pings my computer. 

P.Garcia: “Changed Boy Wonder’s wallpaper again? When are you going to tell him?! Your puppy eyes give you away, darling. You can’t lie to me.”

Y/N: “Darling Penelope, I would never lie to you. Alas, you continue shipping something that will never sail..” I reply to her, hoping she gets the gist.

Although Spencer lives in my thoughts rent free, that’s where he’ll stay. As much as I wanted him in my arms instead, it simply wasn’t going to happen. I close my messages before trying to actually get some work done. I’d rather not stay late yet again due to my tendency to be a bit scatterbrained. 

***

Coffee break number two rolls around and I already have the perfect picture planned. Reid scurries into the kitchen desperate for more coffee and I rush to his desk. Pulling out his phone, I send an image to it before saving it. It is one of my all time favorites. A movie night Spencer and I shared. I convinced him to let me pamper him under the reasoning of some well deserved self-care. Surprisingly, the man went along with my antics, although fighting me on this gem. The image is a sneaky one that Reid doesn’t even know exists. During our self-care night, I tried to take pictures of him looking as cute as ever, but he kept blocking me. Luckily, Spencer fell asleep before his mask came off leaving the perfect opportunity to snap the evidence. There is Spencer in all his glory, curled up on my couch in the light blue robe I saved for him that was covered in little clouds, a purple face-mask clinging to his cheeks, trying to avoid his eyebrows.To top it all off, he wore a bright pink headband to push his hair back decorated with bunny ears. The picture shows the soft side of our boy, a side I wished he would show more. 

Throwing his phone back on his pile of files, I sit back at my desk, nonchalantly sipping my now cold coffee. Seeing Reid shuffle back to his desk, I wait for him to pick up his phone with my mug resting against my mouth. Spencer readjusts his frames as he settles in his chair, looking me in the eyes before looking at his phone. Instead of his normal chuckle, a pout graces his plush lips. Although his lips are normally a favorite of mine to stare at, the pout twists my gut. 

“I thought you didn’t get any pictures of me that night,” he mumbles, giving me puppy eyes that could give mine a run for their money. 

Despite my pride in the picture, his tone makes me feel just a little guilty. “I’m sorry, Spence, I thought you were so cute when you were napping. I didn’t want to make you upset.” I pout, the butterflies disintegrating as the moments pass. Rummaging through my drawer, I find my sack of trail mix and toss it to the dark-eyed man. “Here, take my trail mix, I know it’s your favorite,” I offer, a small smile painted on my face. Spencer’s eyes land on me, lips turning up once more into the smile that never fails to take my breath away. 

“I appreciate it, but I can’t take it. I know it’s basically the only thing you eat on your lunch break.” His call out causes heat to rise into my face. 

I stay insistent though. “I want you to have it. I don’t like making you sad.” I shoot back, giving him my infamous puppy eyes. Even Aaron Hotchner falls for them, there is no way the doctor could resist. 

“Okay,” he starts, automatically having me rush across to his desk to give him the snack. “On one condition,” He finishes, making my face fall once more. Spencer never lets people just give him a present, he always does more for others. “Since you’re giving me your snack, you come with me to get a proper lunch since you need food and I could use the hour away from these files.” He smiles at me, already munching on the trail mix so I have no choice but to agree. 

“Deal. BUT, I want pancakes if we’re going,” I reason with him, plopping back in my chair. 

“IHOP it is.” He chuckles, the sound resonating in my brain as we both hurry through our respective files. 

***

At coffee break number three, Reid stands from his desk, scrunching his nose to fix his glasses as he reaches across to snatch my mug from my desk. Hiding my face in the file until he walks away, I turn to see him shaking his head, knowing I’m about to change his wallpaper yet again. 

Once I see him turn the corner, I stretch over to grab his phone he conveniently left square in the middle of his desk, giving the man yet another excuse to talk to her. Flipping through the camera roll, I hear a chuckle from the desk a few feet away. Looking over, I find the one and only, Derek Morgan shaking his head at me. 

“What’s so funny, Thunder? Sad the attention isn’t on you anymore?” I tease him while trying to find the perfect picture. 

“I just find the pining that goes on between two supposedly brilliant people entertaining.” He chuckles as my jaw drops, turning to him. “Come on, Princess. You don’t think we don’t all know you and Pretty Boy fancy each other, do you? It’s obvious to everyone except the boy himself.”

I shake my head. “He’d never see me that way, Morgan. This is just for shits and giggles.” I breathe out, settling on an image of our feet in front of the TV screen, mismatched socks adorning our feet while “Beauty and the Beast” plays in the background. He sports a neon pink sock along with a navy blue sock covered in planets, while my feet claimed one sock covered in different moon phases, the other covered in little alien creatures. Placing his phone on his desk, I settle back at my own, shooting Morgan a closing, “You’re just seeing things, Morgan.” before burying myself back in the file at hand. 

Moments later, my mug is sat directly in front of me before Reid sits at his own desk. Automatically picking up his phone to check, my tummy flutters at the smile he releases while staring at the screen for a moment before looking at me. Making eye contact, I notice a slight pink tint to his cheeks, before he looks back at the image.

“This might be my favorite one yet,” he murmurs, adjusting his glasses without looking away from the screen. I feel my cheeks heat up, getting warmer by the second, but I cannot tear my eyes from the man who holds my heart without even knowing it. 

***

“Hey Y/N. Ready for lunch?” Spencer asks, tearing my eyes from the IMs Garcia floods me with daily. 

“Ready when you are!” I reply, jumping at the opportunity to get away from the files scattered on my desk. You’d think serial killers would take a day off sometimes. Shuffling to my feet, I grab my keys from my desk and grab Spencer’s hand, dragging him to the elevator with me.

“Seems like it’s more ready when Y/N is.” He chuckles, straightening his glasses once he comes to a stop in front of the silver doors. As we step in, Garcia frantically waves at us, before sprinting into the bullpen as the doors close.

“Well, you’re in luck, Pretty Boy. You get me as your personal chauffeur to lunch.” I beam at him as he goes bug-eyed.

“Lucky? In your death trap, Y/N?” He chuckles, putting a flabbergasted look on my face.

“Hey!” I yell at him, playfully elbowing him in the ribs. “My car has lasted 15 long years I’ll have you know, and she runs as smooth as ever,” I shoot back, immediately leaving him behind when the doors open. “Maybe I’ll just go get pancakes without you then.” It’s playful when I lock all the car doors except for mine, and he knows it.

That doesn’t stop him from playing along. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry Y/N! Will you ever forgive my poor soul?” he jokes, holding both his hands over his heart as he begs for forgiveness. Unlocking the doors, I giggle at his antics before heading to the restaurant. 

***

“Y’all ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?” The server returns to the table with our coffees, along with an apple juice for my inner child. 

“Yes ma’am. Can I get the plain pancakes with eggs, as well as a side of bacon and sausage?” Spencer asks while gathering both our menus for her. “Of course, sugar. What about you darlin’?” she turns to me as Spencer dumps almost the entire sugar container into his mug. 

“I’ll just have the chocolate chip pancake, please!” I smile at her as I steal what’s left of the sugar from the man across from me. 

“No problem, that’ll be right out for y’all.” She smiles at us before heading off to the kitchen. 

“Did you know chocolate chips were invented by Ruth Wakefield because she decided to chop up a chocolate bar and add it to her cookie batter?” Spencer looks to me as he starts with factoids. “And white chocolate isn’t even truly chocolate! White chocolate is made with a blend of sugar, cocoa butter, milk products, vanilla, and a fatty substance called lecithin. Not that it’s a surprise, considering it doesn’t even taste like chocolate. Probably because it doesn't contain chocolate solids.” he rambles as I stare at him with stars in my eyes. “However, dark chocolate is loaded with organic compounds that are biologically active and function as antioxidants. These include polyphenols, flavanols and catechins, among others. Dark chocolate also has a list of different benefits proven from consumption.” He finishes, taking a sip of his coffee as I continue staring at the man.

“What ever would I do without you, Boy Wonder?” I say, seeing Spencer’s face heat up at my remark as he hides behind his mug. 

“M-me?” He asks, as if he couldn’t believe it. He shakes his head in disbelief before I could respond, showering me with many more factoids while waiting for our food rather than accept my compliment.

“Alright, here’s your food darlin’. Let me know if there’s anything else I could do for y’all.” The server tells us, shooting us a smile before moving onto another table. Spencer takes his time cutting up his food, dousing his plate in more syrup than pancake. Meanwhile, I dig into my pancakes as if it’s the last thing I will ever eat. 

Halfway through my own pancakes, I look up to see Spencer looking directly at me with a look I couldn’t quite distinguish. 

“Why are you staring at me?” I ask him, almost seeming to pull him from a trance before responding. 

“Oh. Uh, you have chocolate on your face.” He tells me, seeing my face flush at the information. I grab my napkin and quickly wipe my lips making sure not to miss a spot. Little did I know, there wasn’t a single speck on my face. 

“Is it gone?” I ask him, hoping not to embarrass myself further. 

“Oh, yeah it’s gone.” he smiles, returning his focus onto his own plate. 

Going back to eating, I keep sneaking pieces of the bacon off Spencer’s plate, causing him to smile each time. 

“Hey Spence. I have a question for you.” I tell him, shoving a piece of bacon in my mouth. 

“And what would that be, Y/N?” He asks me, sipping his coffee. 

“Why is it every time we come here you order sausage and bacon, if you never touch the bacon?” I ask him, looking at him with a puzzled expression. 

“Would you like my honest answer?” He pushes back, as if I would want anything else from him. I nod with a mouth full of pancakes, earning a smile while he responds. “Because I know you’ll always steal the bacon from my plate but will never actually order it yourself.” He smiles at me, returning to his own food leaving me speechless and even more red.

Finishing up our plates, Spencer takes initiative to organize all of the empty dishes so our server has less work. Giggling at his antics, I pull out my phone to check the time, seeing we still have plenty of time before our break is over. 

“Are we getting milkshakes?” he asks me, sipping the last of his coffee before adding the mug to his carefully organized dish-pile. 

“Of course we’re getting milkshakes, what kind of question is that, Spencer?” I look at him, almost appalled he would assume we weren’t. “We each have a sweet tooth I’ve ever seen matched by anyone else, why would you ever assume I would say no to a milkshake?”

“I wasn’t sure if we had the time, I didn’t want to make us late.” He explains, shaking his head yet again at my child-like antics. 

When the server returns, we both order the largest mint-chip shakes they had before returning to our usual banter in waiting. Not long after, the server returned with a single shake. 

“I’m so sorry sugar, apparently we only had enough ingredients for one mint-chip. Can I get y’all something else?” The server asks us, feeling bad she couldn’t fulfill our order. 

“You take the mint-chip, Spence. I’ll order something else.” I push the shake toward him as he blocks it from getting to him. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’m not worried about it.” He replies, fighting me over a milkshake. 

“Spence-” I begin to argue before he abruptly cuts me off. 

“Would you like to share the shake with me, Y/N?” he asks me, looking me directly in the eye. I froze for a moment, taken aback at the offer from the germaphobe in front of me.

“If that’s okay with you, Spence. Then, sure!” I respond, checking if it was okay with him. 

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t okay, Y/N.” He shoots back, chuckling at me before asking the server for two straws. The man in front of me steals more and more of my heart with every passing moment.

***

Going up the elevator to the BAU was a constant battle between us. Spencer secretly gave the server his card so I wouldn’t even have a chance to fight him on paying. 

“You gave me your trail mix, Y/N! That’s the whole reason I asked you to get lunch in the first place! Why would I let you pay when I extended the invitation?” He shoots at me as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Shooting him a look of discontent, we both sit back at our desks, feeling 2 pairs of eyes staring at us from a few desks over. 

“Don’t look now, but I think Tweedledee and Tweedledum are staring at us.” I lean over to whisper. Reid tries his best to look up at them, nonchalant as possible. Despite the boy being a genius, he is anything but sly, looking just in time to see Derek and Penelope snap their heads to whatever was on his desk. Giving them a smile, Reid picks up his own file to return to his own tasks for the day. However, the task only lasted so long before the genius needed yet another cup of coffee for the day. Heading off to the kitchen, I quickly grab the phone he left on his desk on his break, trying to plan the perfect image. 

Before I could get far, I was abruptly stopped in my tracks. Staring at the homescreen on his phone, I couldn’t understand how I hadn’t noticed this before. Had this been in front of my face the entire time? Staring at the screen, I see myself and Spencer from our weekly movie nights. I had all of our silly photos, yet I had never seen this one. I see myself, puffed out cheeks with my eyes crossed, pulling at my ears to make myself look like a monkey, but my eyes can only look at Spencer. He hadn’t made his silly face. Instead, the man before me is staring directly at me, the sweetest smile across his lips. His little nose scrunch in full effect, his beautiful hazel eyes creased in the corner from his smile. That smile that could melt my heart in two seconds flat. Staring at the screen for what felt like centuries, I refocus on my surroundings when I hear his soft voice behind me. 

“Wow, Y/N. Getting a little slow with the changes now, are we?” He laughs, before noticing the look on my face. Stopping dead in his tracks, he looks at me confused more than ever. Not being able to form words, I raise my hand to show him the wallpaper, the perfect image of us. His eyes go wide, his mug almost slipping through his fingers.

“Y/N, I-” He starts. 

“Spence… Where did this picture come from?” I ask him, looking back at the screen before me. “I’ve never seen this one before,” I whisper, before Spencer puts his hands over mine, the mug now living on his desk. 

“I, uh. I took this one before making a face, I just couldn’t resist.” He whispers, pulling my chin up gently between his two fingers, looking me dead in the eye. “Y/N…” He starts, glancing down before gazing back at me with the same look I saw at the restaurant. “I couldn’t resist because I wanted to keep a physical copy of one of the happiest moments of my life. And I care about you... More than care about you! You make my days so much brighter when you’re around. You’re the only person to ever know me, the real me. And I..” he trails off, working his confidence up to finish his thought. “I love you, Y/N. And that picture was saved, locked away on my phone so I could be reminded how much you mean to me, and how much you care on some of my darkest days. I love you, Y/N. It’s the only thing I have locked away because it’s the moment I knew I was in love with you.” He finishes, breathing out as he waits for me to react. Stunned into silence, I stand there looking at the man, seeing his face turn to panic. “It’s okay if you do-” He starts, stunned when he is cut off by his plush lips being covered by my own. He slides his hand onto my cheek, holding my face as he returns the affection. 

Pulling away, I look him dead in the eye, I pull out of his embrace to my own desk, grabbing my phone. Returning to his side, I unlock my phone to show him my own hidden homescreen, a grin spreading on my cheeks from the flood of emotion. From our self-care night, it is quite possibly my favorite image of the man. He was in his robe, bunny headband and mask, but he was trying to block the images from being taken. His hand was raised in an attempt, but I could hear the laughter radiate from the image, the smile making my heart swoon at every glance. Looking between me and the image, Spencer’s jaw drops at my own revelation, before pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. Burying my face in his neck, I murmur my own “I love you.” Before a whistle from the peanut gallery beside us breaks it up. 

Shooting a look to Penelope, I see she has the biggest smile plastered on her own face, her rosy cheeks probably stinging from the sheer joy painted on. Morgan sitting beside her lounges back in his own chair, shooting a wink our way. 

Returning to our respective seats, I can’t help but steal glances at the man beside me. When he catches me, I can’t help but giggle.

“Hey Spence. How long was I oblivious to your homescreen?” I ask him, curious as to how much of a dumbass I truly was. Seeing his cheeks flush pink, he turns to me with guilt in his eyes, 

“Y/N.. as much as I would love to take the credit, I don’t know where the wallpaper came from. I can barely change it back after you mess with it.” He confesses, a shy smile on his face. Laughing at his technophobe ways, it finally registers that he didn’t actually set the wallpaper. 

“Wait, then who changed it?” I ask him, before hearing stilettos and boots scurrying down the hall, laughter trailing behind them. Looking back at my boy, those eyes stole all my words away, and that smile… the smile I had seen so many times before but never knew the intention, the smile I fell in love with, I knew he would forever be my always.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @spencer-reid-in-a-pool​  @redbullchick​  @samanddeanstolethetardis221b​   @reidetic​ @gretaamyk​ @sunlight-moonrise​ @prettyricky187​ @rileysann​ @itslatinamagia​ @timey-wimey-lovi​  @pinkdiamond1016​

[fbfh]

dear baby; strawberry milkshakes - leo x reader parents au

words: 1.8k

summary: You and Leo are getting used to adulting together, when Chiron asks for your help. Next thing you know, there’s a little demigod for you two to take care of - and you’re not going to let her down.

warnings: almost boning but getting interrupted, shit is said twice, one use of fucking I think, mentions of orphanages and the foster care system, mentions of CPS, being at a CPS building, adopting a child, leo has trauma, leo and reader take in a child when you’re both 19, technically teen parents but not really, the kid has some trauma too, everyone has trauma but literally what’s new

au: sort of college + parents au

song recs: raining in new york mix - the bootleg boy (tw for some sort of sad dialogue samples), falling in love with love - bernadette peters in cinderella (1997)

a/n:  I saw a kids book called Sophia Valdez Future Prez and I know nothing about it but immediately knew I had to do a parents au where you and Leo have a daughter named sophia???????? also I accidentally gave myself baby fever whoopsie

also I was barely able to proof read this and had no brain while writing half of it so if the beginning feels rushed at all that’s why teehee

Straddling his lap, you start to take off Leo’s shirt. He tilts his head to the side as you nip at the skin gently. He moans softly, then tenses. 

"Shit!" He hisses, sitting up and pulling your shorts back up. You look at him bewildered, and he nods his head to the side, and you see a shimmery cloud that says that you have an incoming iris message from Chiron.  

"Oh shit," you echo, moving to a reasonable distance away from him, a thick throw blanket tossed gracefully across your legs and pulled up to cover your chest, and you're grateful your shirt hadn't been thrown across the room already. 

He pulls his shirt down and you toss him a throw pillow to cover his very obvious excitement. You give each other a ready as we'll ever be look and accept the call. 

"Hey Chiron… what's up?" Leo asks nonchalantly. 

"You must pardon my intrusion, dear children, I hope I'm not - er - interrupting anything.” “No, no, not at all,” you answer, hoping what you had been doing wasn’t too obvious in spite of how both of you are looking particularly flushed and deschevled, “we were just watching a movie.” 

Leo nods in agreement, and you list two different movies at the exact same time, the dark knight rises and moonstruck.

A beat passes, and you continue, “Double feature. Just finished Batman and we’re about to start Moonstruck.” 

Leo agrees. You can’t tell if Chiron is buying it, but he seems to move on relatively quickly. 

“Right. I’m afraid I must ask for your help with a rather time sensitive situation.” your brows furrow in unicen as he continues. 

He tells you about a young demigod a satyr found, not even four years old yet, but they haven’t been able to get her to camp. Apparently there were some complications, and CPS was called, now they’re looking for her parents to see if she’s going to a foster home or orphanage. If they can’t get to her before the CPS finishes processing her, she’ll be lost in the system. He’s asking older demigods and demigod families in New York, since processing time will go the fastest if the family or guardians are in-state. 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but please consider taking her in, at least temporarily.” You and Leo share a look, hearts already hurting that life has gotten to this kid so soon. 

“I’ll give you some time to discuss this, please call me back as soon as you have an answer.” 

You agree, and the shimmery image of Chiron dissipates.

“... Oh my god,” you breathe. 

You turn to each other again, the same thing mirrored in each other's eyes. An immediate, unspoken conformation that there’s no way you can’t help this kid out passes between you. You know Leo, especially, will do whatever needs to be done to keep another orphaned demigod out of the foster system. The scope of the impact you could have on this kid’s life starts to dawn on you, and you lock eyes with Leo again, his face set in determination. 

“Estrella,” he starts, and you know what he’s going to say. 

“I know,” you confirm in agreement.

His leg is bouncing, and you lean over, grabbing a notepad and pen from the coffee table. Your mind is already racing, and you begin scribbling down a list of everything you’d need to do; get her a bed and clothes, research where she is in her developmental stages, put together a meal plan or at least some foods she’ll like - what do toddlers even eat? He starts pacing around the coffee table. 

“We gotta help this kid, we-” he cuts himself off, overwhelmed with determination. 

“We will.” you confirm, equally determined. You grab your laptop and start copying your list digitally so you can get everything organized. You stare at your reflection in the black screen while you wait for your computer to boot up. Once again, the reality of your situation hits you.

“We’re 19…” you state, in disbelief. Your mind is racing with doubts. What if you somehow make everything worse, what if you can’t handle it? He crouches next to you, placing his hand on your cheek.

“And we have a lot of love to give.” The smile in your eyes tells him that you know he’s right. You transcribe your writing, surprised that you’re okay with how fast this is all moving, and you let out another breathy laugh of disbelief. 

You go through your hastily made checklist, switching between tabs about child psychology, parenting advice, and kid’s furniture and clothes websites, strategizing with Leo on how you can pull this off, and a plan gradually comes together.

“I mean, this is a two bedroom,” he says as you look through pages of bed frames and mattresses, “we can clear out our studio and turn it into her room.” 

“And…” you add, checking yet another tab, “there’s a building nearby that rents out studio spaces and workshop areas. Ooh, and free parking.” you read on the website. It’s already late, but you send them an email anyway. Hopefully they’ll get back to you tomorrow. But for now… 

“We can get a bed tonight, but we’d have to hurry. We can probably get some pjs and maybe a stuffed animal while we’re there- toothbrush!” You exclaim, adding it to your list, “I knew I was forgetting something…”

 Leo stops pacing, and looks at you. “So… we’re doing this?” You can’t fight the smile on your face, and he already has his answer. 

“We’d better call Chiron back,” you say, excitedly bubbling out. You both enter the bathroom, and iris message chiron with mist from the shower. He answers almost immediately.

“We thought it over and…” you trail off, letting him finish.

“We want to help.” 

After changing into some presentable clothes and swinging by the store for a car seat and some other essentials (you almost forgot tooth paste this time), you’re driving with Leo to meet Chiron at the CPS office where they had Sophia - the girl Chiron told you about. You call the Ikea store not too far from your apartment, thankful you’re able to reach them before they close. You arrange to have them deliver a toddler bed to the spare bedroom in your apartment, your neighbor agreeing to let them in. Luckily, you had the presence of mind to get most of your and Leo’s stuff out of there, the corner of the living room now holding your desk and his drafting table. 

You’re still a little blurry on the details of how you’re going to get custody of this kid when you’re barely legal and have no ties to her or her family, but Chiron said he could work everything out. You assume the Mist will come in very handy. You and Leo discuss this on the way over. 

You can tell he’s worried. Knowing the horrors he went through in the foster system would be bad enough without all the demigod bullshit on top of everything. You take another deep breath. 

“This is what’s best for her,” he says matter of factly, “she needs to be with people who understand her.” You agree, and he continues, very fired up.

“She needs to be in an environment where she’s not going to be ignored and ostracized; she needs to be part of a family, not a fucking meal ticket.” 

You squeeze his leg supportively, and he takes another breath. 

“You’re right. And she’s going to get all of that.” He scoffs in agreement.

“There’s not a better place for someone like her than-”

“With someone like her.” you finish. He pulls into the parking lot and you enter, meeting Chiron in the building. Your hand holds Leo’s tightly, unsure of who’s shaking more. Chiron explains that he already had a discussion (wink wink) with the social worker, and knows that he has the perfect couple to take little Sophia in, and all you have to do is meet with her and sign some papers. 

So that brings you here, waiting outside the office door, holding each other’s trembling hands before finally entering. She doesn’t look up at you at first, until the social worker introduces you. Leo squeezes your hand, and she finally looks up, her eyes speaking a language you and Leo know. You know there is absolutely no going back from here, and you both sit down across from her. 

“Hi, you’re Sophia, right?” She looks away, clearly and understandably overwhelmed. 

“Don’t be rude, Sophia-” the social worker starts, but you cut her off. 

 “It’s okay, she didn’t do anything wrong.” you turn back to her, “You know, me and Leo have an extra bedroom at our apartment, and a kitten that I think would really like you. Do you want to come stay with us?” 

She doesn’t look back up right away, but she turns her head towards you. 

“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asks softly. How is she so precious already?

“A girl,” you reply, “named Jackhammer, because she purrs so loud.” 

She giggles, and you and Leo squeeze each other’s hands in unison.

“Really?” she asks. 

“Oh yeah,” you reply, “I’m sure she’d love to play catch the mouse with you.” She considers for a moment, then looks over at the social worker, who gives her an encouraging nod. After a moment of consideration, she replies quietly, “...Okay.” 

She hops down from her chair, and you both follow suit. The social worker hands you some papers, and you both sign. You guide her to the lobby, let Chiron know it went well and promise to update him soon, and bring her to the car. You pull out of the parking lot. 

Not long after leaving, you see a fast food place. 

“Are you guys hungry?” you ask, nudging Leo gently. 

“Yeah, I could definitely go for some fries. How bout you Sophia?” 

She nods, then asks quietly, “Can I get a milkshake?” 

Her expression is hesitant, and you get the sense she’s expecting a no. 

“Of course kiddo,” you say.

“What flavor do you want?” Leo finishes, turning to look at her. Her eyes are bright with hesitant excitement. 

“Strawberry, please.” 

After leaving the drive through, you have Leo search through your phone for any kid friendly music, and discover the only thing you have saved that’s appropriate for present company is the soundtrack to the Cinderella musical from 1997.

That’s how your little family started; driving late at night, singing along to Bernadette Peters, and drinking strawberry milkshakes.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 3-1: 海水与火焰 Seawater & Flames Translation

“The flames of the sunset flicker within your orbs; and the leaves flutter, falling upon the water surface that is your soul.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *CG Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

Brother Mao: It's soooo god-damned hot out today! A new coffee shop opened down the east street with huge grand opening sales. Come on, come on, everyone grab your share!

Brother Mao had just returned to the office after completing his out of office assignment. He didn't even have a minute to spare to put the bag of goodies down, only wiping his sweat before giving said goodies out to everyone.

MC: Thank you, Brother Mao!

Brother Mao waved his hand in dismissal and threw the neatly folded plastic bag into the bin, only for his eyes to suddenly stop on the handle of the door. He incredulously widened his eyes.

Brother Mao: Since when did our door handle get all fixed up?

Li Man'man: No idea. It was already fixed when I came in in the morning.

Hao Shuai: Sister Zheng Lin, did you nag at the administrative department for this?

Zheng Lin: She fixed it. I saw her fiddling around with it when I clocked in this morning.

Zheng Lin retrieved her documents from the photocopier and jerked her chin at me.

Brother Mao: So this is our beloved heroine of the day! Do humbly pardon me!

MC: I'm the one who broke it after all. Plus, it didn't take that long to fix anyway.

Brother Mao poked his head in front of me, curiously twirling the sleeve of the formal dress I was currently fixing up and doing corrections on.

Brother Mao: You're changing it up that much again? You don't have to reply to me, but you're adding these butterflies? That's real creative! ...And they're all made of twisted metal wire?

MC: Yeah. I started out using soft tulle mesh, but it was all droopy and didn't seem very nice for wings that are supposed to look powerful and lively.

Brother Mao: Now not only does this give it a dynamic feel, but also brings about a romantic yet cruel one!

Brother Mao: Not bad, not bad! Keep at it, and you'll definitely be able to finish fixing it up before next week!

MC: But the Deadline got brought forward… She's going to be doing the fitting tomorrow morning, so I have to finish it by today...

Brother Mao: No way! Don't tell me it's that agent again...

He glanced around, checking that no one had their attention turned to us, before leaning down to my ear.

Brother Mao: I asked around about it earlier, and I heard that the agent has a pretty foul temper.

Brother Mao: Not just to the staff, but her daughter as well. She'll start scolding people at the drop of a hat, even if they did nothing!

It felt as if I could hear the piercing and horrid lashing from that day resounding in my ears again. Her words had been ingrained into my very brain like a needle stuck into a pincushion.

Brother Mao: Geez, Lin Yao's such a brilliant kid. What's there for her to be so unhappy about?

Brother Mao: My mom always told me not to blame myself, and that health always comes first, whenever I fail the promotion. She even said that if I couldn't make it big, then I could just go back home and she'd raise me.

MC: I don't know either. Maybe all these feelings we take for granted come on a conditional basis for her, I guess.

He'd stared at the table and spaced out for a long while. It was almost as if he'd retreated into his memory palace as his expression turned a little sad.

Brother Mao: I'll help you twist them into shape too. Just treat it as my way of thanking her for helping us get out of the pickle we found ourselves in that day.

MC: Okay.

Time passed silently, and it wasn't till nightfall that we finished our work. The office had already cleared out a long time ago, and sporadic stars glimmered in the ink-blue sky up above.

Brother Mao: Done!

I nodded at him in gratitude and kept the now completed dress away. That was when a message notification popped up onto my phone screen.

Housing Agent: Miss (Y/n), don't forget that we're supposed to sign the agreement today at 8 PM. Be there or be square!

Brother Mao: What's wrong?

MC: I'm supposed to go check out the new apartment I'm getting with my agent at 8 PM today, and sign the agreement if all goes well.

And the time displayed on my phone right now was… 7:28 PM.

MC: I should run! Thanks for today, Brother Mao! I'll treat you to food next time!

Grabbing my bag and my work ID, I made a mad dash downstairs.

❖☆———————————★❖

I thought that I'd make it there right on the dot if I'd left now, but who knew that the taxi-hailing app had 80+ people waiting in line! Seeing as how the app wasn't an option anymore, all I could do was to run to the nearest taxi stand.

MC: Why's it not here yet…?

I paced back and forth at the stand, but no taxi ever made an appearance. Just as my anxiousness was about to reach a tipping point, a black sports car drew to a stop before me. The car's windscreen slowly rolled down.

MC: ...Evan?

Evan: Waiting for a ride? Headed somewhere?

MC: Yeah. I'm going to take a look at an apartment. The place I'm renting right now is too far from here, so it isn't terribly convenient.

Evan: Location?

MC: Guangqi-Century City.

He slightly inclined his head, glancing at his watch before getting out of his car and opening the door to the passenger seat for me.

Evan: Get on. I'll send you there.

★Night Choice: Turn him down

MC: No need. I'd be causing you too much trouble.

Evan leaned his arm atop the door of the car, beaming as he looked at me.

Evan: Not at all.

Evan: Besides, I don't have anything on tonight. On the other hand, you seem like you're in quite the rush.

Evan: It'll be bad if you end up late for it because you dawdled here.

His eyes were filled with such sincerity that it made me feel like I'd be doing him a disservice if I refused.

I eventually nodded, seeing as there was no way I could shimmy myself out of this without feeling bad about it.

MC: Thanks.

☆Light Choice: Accept his offer

I glanced back at the taxi stand. It didn't seem like a taxi was coming anytime soon. And I'd really be late if I didn't get a suitable ride soon…

MC: Thanks. Don't mind if I do then.

8 PM, right on the dot. We reached the entrance of the housing estate where the agent was already waiting.

MC: Here it is. Thank you for this! I'll treat you to a meal someday!

Evan: Sure.

❖☆———————————★❖

I hurriedly got out of the car as the two agents quickly rushed up to me upon seeing me.

Agent A: You have a good eye, Miss! This apartment's a hot favourite! 10 over people booked slots to come check it out the moment the listing went up!

Agent B: We've kept this apartment for you till now since you seemed especially keen on it!

Agent A: Let's get the contract agreement signed tonight if there are no problems lest it keeps you up at night!

MC: Sorry, but I'll still have to confirm with you again later. Let's go check the house out first.

Both agents sidled up side by side, enthusiastically explaining and introducing things to me on either side as they urged me forwards.

Thud.

The sound of a door closing behind me made me turn, only to see that Evan hadn't left, and had gotten out of his car.

MC: ?

Evan: I'll go with you.

The agents continued their endless stream of marketing chatter as they pointed out every selling point of the apartment.

Agent A: —And that's all from us. If you sign the agreement contract today, then we can persuade the landlord to give us a little discount...

MC: Okay, then I'll-

Evan: Sorry, but we'll think it through a little more. Could you recommend us some other apartments as well? Sorry about that.

I looked at him in surprise, but he gently shook his head. Hence, I calmed my initial excitement down and turned down their request to have the contract immediately signed.

❖☆———————————★❖

The night was already deep into the throes of darkness by the time we returned to the car park.

The riverbank was coloured with streams of yellow light from the streetlamps above in picturesque disorder. I could smell the refreshing scent of blooming greenery that hung in the air.

MC: Was something wrong with the apartment earlier?

Evan: I don't think you'd like to stay in an apartment filled with construction noises, yes?

MC: But I didn't hear anyone renovating anything?

It was only after the words left my mouth that I realized something.

MC: Oh, right. It's nighttime right now, so all the construction workers should be off work by now… Still, how did you know?

Evan: I noticed that there were paint stains at the edge of the neighbouring apartment's door frame upon entering, and it looked rather fresh too.

Evan: Plus, that housing estate was built 10 years ago, yet the elevator has its interiors boarded up with temporary protective boards.

Evan: So, I'd garner that the neighbouring apartment's most likely, not the only one undergoing renovation recently.

MC: I'd never have realized if you didn't point it out…

Evan: And adding on to that, I observed the surroundings a bit when we entered the housing estate and the security personnel stationed nearby seemed rather sparsely spread.

Evan: So it wouldn't be too safe for you to be staying here alone.

MC: Yeah…

Evan continued talking about the pros and cons of the apartment as the enchanting lights from above reflected in his eyes, melding into the smile that wavered within.

MC: You're so knowledgeable when it comes to this. Did you rent an apartment before?

Although, for someone with his family background, he shouldn’t ever need to rent an apartment on his own.

However, Evan nodded, affirming my suspicions.

Evan: I’ve rented a couple of places for my company back when I was in university.

MC: You mean, the company you founded back when you were studying in Lordton?

Evan: You know of it?

MC: I’ve heard of it before! It’s truly a legendary tale!

Evan: Looks like I’ll have to personally clear up the rumours for you then. It wasn’t exactly a smooth experience.

Evan: I, too, encountered a great many difficulties that I hadn’t thought of before during my first time renting an office.

Evan: For example, unreliable agents. The relevant renting procedures never came to pass for a long time due to that.

Evan: Hence, the office wasn’t ready even if all the employees were already in place.

Evan: And another example would be poor property management, with robberies aplenty as a result.

Evan: Also, I had no choice but to take drastic action and relocate the entire office to a new location since I hadn’t initially considered office expansion.

MC: Wow, I never knew that starting a business would be so hard. You’re amazing to have done it!

❖☆———————————★❖

Suddenly, my phone vibrated.

[Guangqi Rental] Whole apartment for lease. Felin Avenue, 199 Street. 1 bedroom and 1 living room. [Guangqi Rental] Whole apartment for lease. Changle Heights. 1 bedroom and 1 living room.

It was the agent, recommending me a couple more apartments.

[Guangqi Rental] How about any of these?

MC: Now that's way too many…

Evan: You can forward them to me if you don't mind. I can check them out with you.

Evan: I might not be very experienced in this, but nothing will go wrong with having another person to think it through with.

MC: Thank you, Evan.

The night breeze blew past, gently ruffling the loose hairs that had fallen out of place in front of Evan’s forehead.

Evan: We've been talking for so long that I forgot that it's already 9 PM. Are you hungry? Do you want to eat anything?

MC: I said I'd treat you! How about we do it now?

MC: Is there anything you'd like to eat?

Evan: Just pick anything you want to eat. I'm fine with anything.

MC: Don't say that! I'm going to need a proper answer from you today.

Evan: Alright then. I'd prefer for it to be something cooling, if possible.

MC: Hmm… Something cooling?

I glanced around, my eyes sweeping past the signboards of teahouses, food stalls, fast food outlets… until it finally stopped on an old and aged sign that stood not too far away.

MC: I know! Wait for me for a while!

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Auntie! Can I get two servings of red bean ice and two servings of fruit soup?

Many customers surrounded the small shop. The owner stirred the pot of soft red beans, filling the air with a delectably rich scent of sweetness.

Due to the auntie being the only one manning the store, the demand for the red bean ice far exceeded the available supply. Hence, I had to wait for quite a while before my order finally got done.

Just as I happily took the icy delights from her, the pitter-patter of rain sounded from behind.

The rain came down hard and vicious.

The raindrops that pelted against the roof were akin to silver metal wires, trapping me within the confines of the narrow eaves.

With no other option in sight, I held the two cups of icy treats to my chest using my wrist and freed a hand to shoot Evan a message to inform him of my predicament.

However, before I could fish out my phone… a silhouette had come to a stop before me. He put the umbrella away.

MC: I was just about to ping you. What are you doing here?

Evan didn’t say anything, only smiling gently as he took the icy treats from my arms, quietly standing by my side.

Evan: The rain should cease soon. Let's wait together.

MC: ...Okay.

The curtain of rain secluded us in our own little world, and the puddles, reflecting the neon lights of the signboard above, rippled from the night breeze of summer.

And like a domino effect, this soft and gentle ambience made our moods calmer and much more relaxed in turn.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-24 Light) / (Chapter 2-24 Night) | Next Part: (Chapter 3-3)

[hotcheri]

Always Something There to Remind Me (a Jen/Khalil Black Lightning fanfic)

by hotcheri © 2021

DISCLAIMER: I own none of the Black Lightning characters. They solely belong to DC Comics and the CW Network. This is just my take on what could have happened after the show ended.

Prologue

Khalil's POV

They were meditating when TC crept into Khalil's mindscape like a thief in the night.

Well, at least, Khalil was meditating. He loved to empty his mind of all thoughts and focus on his breathing, relishing the mental stillness and the sense of peace he didn't have in his normal life.

Painkiller sat to the side of the mental dojo like he always did whenever Khalil was centering himself, a mocking sneer twisting his lips up as Khalil tried to ignore the rage that was baking off his mind twin like a rabid fever.

Painkiller was always angry, and the people he was mostly enraged at were the Pierces. Jen, to be exact. They lived in Painkiller's head rent free, and since Khalil shared the same mind as him, and almost all of his thoughts, the image of Jen was never far from Khalil. Pain in the ass Jen, who also happened to be Khalil's first love. What a mind fuck to love someone with all your heart while part of you needed to kill her and was in pure agony every second she was alive. Khalil didn't need anyone to tell him about mind fucks, having Painkiller relentlessly prowling through his mind was more than enough.

Every time TC appeared in Khalil's mindscape, Painkiller leapt up from his seat and started pacing back and forth in a tight little line like a tiger stalking its prey, hands clasped behind his back, nostrils flared, glaring at TC as if he wanted nothing more than to boot him out of his head after savaging him a little.

Too bad it's our head, and I'm trying to hear what he has to say.

The thought flitted through Khalil's mind grimly, and he sucked in a breath before opening his eyes and gazing at TC, who kept shooting quick little fearful glances at Painkiller. Khalil knew how he felt. Until he had started working actively with Painkiller, forcing the duality in his brain to coexist, he'd been terrified of him too.

"Uh, hi guys," TC started, his voice trembling as he looked around for exit points even though all he had to do was break the connection with the chip in Khalil's brain if he wanted to leave. Khalil supposed when someone entered a room and found themselves face to face with Painkiller, even if it was a virtual reality room, that person could get very scared very fast. In cases like that, logic was the first thing to escape.

Khalil liked the kid, had liked him even before he had locked Painkiller behind a firewall in his head and had shown Jen how to coax Khalil out of the safe space he'd created in his mind. Khalil knew without a doubt that the Pierces, especially Anissa, would have taken him out after Jen had blasted him with lightning to ward off Painkiller's attack on her family as he tried to complete the kill directive, because that's exactly what he would have done.

But TC had done the inconceivable. He'd managed to read Khalil's real thoughts, thoughts that had somehow filtered through the Painkiller operating system as soon as he set eyes on Jen. Thoughts that he must have been hiding way down in his secret heart, feelings that must have survived the A.S.A. mindwipe that transformed him into a lean, mean, biological weapon. As he lay prone on the table in Gambi's work station, on the verge of unconsciousness, his sharp ears had listened as TC, a total stranger, had his back.

"Hey. Who's Jen?" TC had interrupted the post fight argument, glancing around at the faces of people he didn't know.

Impatiently, with the touch of heat that Khalil loved and had missed with a sudden depth of emotion he hadn't felt since he was just track star Khalil, and not two warring parts of a government weapon whole, Jen replied, "That's me."

"He loves you."

And Jen's suddenly shaky, tear-filled voice had whispered, "How do you know that?"

TC's answer had been simple. "He told me."

Yeah, TC was good people. And even though the reunion between Khalil and Jen hadn't lasted, even though it had been bittersweet and doomed to fail with a painful, brusque ending, for a short, sweet time, he had been happy again.

But there was no use in thinking about that, no use in brooding over something he couldn't fix. With Painkiller in his head, being with Jen wasn't an option.

Painkiller was the first to talk, stepping forward as TC gave Khalil a half-hearted wave. "Oh, you must be crazy bringin' your ass here," he growled out in his distorted, angry voice.

TC took an involuntary step back, wringing his hands. Khalil could feel the fear in the kid increase as Painkiller stopped inches from his face, glowering down at him.

Raising a hand, Khalil talked to Painkiller like a patient parent calming down a tantrum throwing toddler. "I invited him," he lied, not caring that Painkiller would know that he hadn't.

Sharing his mind with a psychopathic, heartless killer sucked all the time, and keeping secrets was nearly impossible. Painkiller knew he was claustrophobic, that he loved trains, and that he thought about the one that got away daily. But when it came to people Khalil cared for, he didn't give a fuck if Painkiller knew he was lying to protect them from his rage. TC was a friend, and he wasn't going to let Painkiller's angry ass intimidate him.

"Don't think I won't kick your ass, too," Painkiller growled. Khalil fixed him with a steady look. He'd won more fights against Painkiller, especially after his return after a year long silence, and Painkiller knew it. After a few seconds, Painkiller sucked his teeth and resumed scowling at TC.

Spreading his arms out placatingly, TC asked, "What if I come with good and great news?"

A curious expression darted across Painkiller's face. Khalil caught it and grinned to himself. Psychotic or not, everyone liked the idea of good news.

"Speak," Painkiller ground out.

Swallowing nervously, TC said, "Tobias Whale is dead."

Okay, that was unexpected, and so was the rush of relief that coursed through Khalil's body, relaxing muscles that had been tense ever since he had started working for Tobias. Even though the A.S.A. mindwipe had taken all his memories and locked them away, they had been retrieved as soon as TC had put the firewall in his head, and so too had the underlying current of fear that always pulsed whenever he thought of Tobias.

And now his former boss, the man who had ripped out his spine and dumped him on the church steps when he was done with him, the evil torturer who had been responsible for leading Khalil over to the dark side was finally dead. Closing his eyes, Khalil sent up a prayer of thanks to a God he no longer strictly believed in.

Even after becoming Agent Odell's  chief asset, Khalil still harbored thoughts that Tobias would come to him, eager to finish what he had started, wanting revenge for Syonide's death, the attempted robbery at the club before Khalil and Jen became runaways, and every single other thing he'd done that had pissed Tobias off. He'd reluctantly come to believe that a showdown with Tobias was inevitable, and even though his road to atonement had led him to Akashic Valley and a new life, he always knew that Tobias would eventually come for him. It was in his nature. But now this piece of good news had been thrown into his lap and Khalil took a moment to bask in gratitude.

Painkiller's reaction was the polar opposite of Khalil's restrained joy. Anger blazed onto his face and his brow creased as he listened to TC give Khalil the best news he'd heard in a while.

Sounding like a petulant child after being asked if he had McDonald's money, Painkiller groaned. "Damn. I wanted to kill him." He fisted both hands into his unruly curls and glowering up at the ceiling. "That's not good news." Turning to Khalil, his voice turned wheedling. "Let me kick his ass just a little."

With a quick glance towards Painkiller, TC cleared his throat before dropping his bombshell. "I've isolated the system code for the kill order. I can free you."

TC backed away till his back was against the wall, as far as he could get from a snarling Painkiller. When he got furious, Painkiller acted just like a wolf ready to attack. Luckily, Khalil had him on a mental leash. Ignoring him, Khalil focused his attention on TC.

"TC, what is your other news?"

Khalil let out a shaky breath, a glimmer of hope blooming in his chest.

At last.

"Good." Both TC and Khalil turned to face Painkiller, who had a look on his face so unnatural that Khalil didn't immediately recognize it. He looked like a doomed man seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Is he...is he happy? "Let's do it."

"But there's a catch," TC started slowly, plucking nervously at his sleeve as his eyes slid from Khalil to Painkiller and back again. Khalil sighed, motioning to TC to continue. There was always a catch and he knew that better than anybody, but for a second he had allowed himself to believe that getting rid of the kill order that brought such pain to both Painkiller and him, finally being freed from the chains that the A.S.A had wound around his body and in his mind, was ripe for the taking, with no blowback. "It's linked to everything you know and love about the whole Pierce family. If you break the kill order, you won't remember the Pierces at all."

The breath went out of Khalil all at once, leaving him feeling weak and boneless. He was glad he was sitting down, because if he had been standing when TC spoke, the strength would have ran out of his legs. And even though this was all in his mind, his physical body had stopped breathing for a second, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

This wasn't a catch, it was a fucking dilemma. There had to be another way.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Khalil found himself thinking about the technology he and Painkiller had found in Maya's safe house. Surely there was something there that would help isolate the kill switch without messing with his memories more than they'd already been messed with? Because this alternative that TC was suggesting... it wasn't fair. After leaving Freeland to keep Jen and her family safe and away from him, hell, after saving Anissa's wife from kidnappers, after everything that had happened in Khalil's life to get him to this point in time, losing the only good memories he had left just plain wrong.

"So what?" Painkiller asked, his top lip turned up into a snarl. Whether he was oblivious to the wave of emotion Khalil was weathering, or if he just didn't care, Khalil didn't know. Painkiller knew what he wanted. He was tired of the agony that came with not fulfilling the kill order. "They're pains in the ass anyway!"

In a chillingly calm voice that brooked no argument, Khalil stared evenly at Painkiller and said, "Shut up and sit your black ass down." Shocked into obedience, Painkiller sank down to the floor as Khalil looked at TC, a pleading tone in his voice. "TC, there's got to be another way around."

"There's none." Khalil could hear the despair in TC's voice, and he knew he was telling the truth. Of course he was. "I've checked and I've double checked."

Painkiller was still silent, and Khalil turned to look at him. "Damn!" He clenched his fist so hard that the veins in his arm popped out, but he took no notice. "You won't stop, will you? Sooner or later you're going to kill Jen and the rest of the Pierces."

Nodding sagely, like he had been the one meditating, Painkiller said, "Best believe. But I'm not nobody's puppy." He pointed at Khalil, his face stern and absolutely serious. "Cut the damn cord."

The muscles in Khalil's jaw worked as he stood up, turning his back on TC and Painkiller so that they couldn't see the emotions playing across his face. He wanted to be free of the kill code more than anything, needed Painkiller to be at rest so that he could figure out a way to become whole again. But the cost- losing Jen again- was it just too great?

Khalil closed his eyes, and suddenly, he was back on the Pierce's roof with Jen after Painkiller had broken free of the firewall for a couple of nasty minutes to wrap his hands around Jen's neck. He could feel everything in that moment, the wind brushing lightly against his face, the shingles of the roof under his sneakers, the terrified look Jen shot him before schooling her features into a coolness Khalil had never seen on her face. Both looks hit him like a ton of bricks.

She was scared of him.

Painkiller had shown her his true colors and had, once again, pushed someone he loved away from him. And what she had said had chilled him to the core, a sudden lump rising in his throat, and tears smarting in his eyes as she let him go.

"I can't love a weapon that's pointed at my family, even if it does have a soul." Her shoulders hunched pitifully as she wrapped her arms around her legs, all at once seeming far younger than her years. "See you around, Khalil."

He took one last look at her, her curly hair brushing past her chin, her eyes chilly and flinty in the dusk as she turned away from him, blinking away tears of her own. "No. You won't," he said, and with that, he had exited Jen's life.

Some things you can't go back to. The way Jen had ended things between them still hurt, and the realization that he wasn't going to be able to salvage things with her caused him pain that was almost physical, but if TC was able to isolate the kill code and erase his memories of her, the pain would go. All the pain would disappear, and his fresh start in Akashic Valley would be just that, a fresh start.

Behind him, TC started to say, "If you need more time, I can-," but by now, Khalil's mind was made up. There was no other choice.

"I always known I'd give my life for that girl." Khalil heaved a sad sigh, running a hand over his face as he turned to look at a nervous TC and an impassive Painkiller. Painkiller smirked, knowing what decision Khalil had made, and in that moment, Khalil hated him, the A.S.A., Odell- everyone who had gotten him into this situation. Especially himself. "Never thought I'd have to forget her." A nod towards TC. "Do it."

TC nodded dumbly, just as another thought flitted into Khalil's mind. If TC was able to isolate the kill code and erase some of his memories, wasn't it possible that he could remove his very worst memory?

Before he left Freeland for good after shooting Odell and letting Black Lightning deal with the evil son of a bitch however he saw fit, Khalil took a detour to the cemetery, picking a bunch of blooming flowers from the ramshackle garden of Mrs. Sutton, the Payne's old landlady. Khalil didn't think she would mind, she had loved Nichelle Payne dearly.

Once at the cemetery, he had laid the flowers on his mother's grave, sat down with his back resting against her tombstone and cried a little. Nobody had been around to see him; Freeland residents weren't crazy about going to the graveyard at nighttime.

"I shot the guy who made me kill you, ma," he'd whispered, his words blown away by the breeze as the tears blurred his vision. "I know you always said vengeance never pays, but I had to do it. I'm sorry, ma. I love you, and I'm so, so sorry."

Nichelle Payne had raised him to be the best in whatever he did, and what had he done in return? Snapped her neck, and the best excuse he could come up with was he'd just been following orders. The knowledge weighed heavily on his soul, and he knew that he would pay for it in time. Everything comes due. But if TC could somehow make him forget...

"I can try," TC said doubtfully, and Khalil raised his eyes from his clenched fists, remembering where he was through the sadness that engulfed his soul.

"No." Khalil shook his head, resigning himself to reality. "It's part of who I am, and I need to find redemption for it, or a way to live with myself."

TC opened his mouth and hesitated before shyly asking, "Do you want to- I mean, I could give you Jen's number and you could talk to her one last time?"

Painkiller groaned, storming around the circumference of the dojo angrily. "Can we fucking do this already? No more flashbacks, no phone calls- get this kill order the fuck out of my head!"

"Our head," Khalil reminded him. "And right now, I'm in charge." He bit his lip, wrestling with himself. Saying goodbye to Jen wouldn't make things better, it would just bring home the truth that he would never see his first girlfriend again, and even if by some weird coincidence he did, he wouldn't know her. It was stupid. They already said their goodbyes on the Pierce roof, what would he gain from this? "What's her number?"

Painkiller actually growled at this and stomped off somewhere. Khalil could still feel him burning in his mind, but it looked like he had opted out of being a part of Khalil's final goodbye. Not that Khalil minded in the least. Before Painkiller, his relationship with Jen had been special. He didn't want his insane mind twin tainting the very last moment he would have with her.

Courteously, TC severed the connection with Khalil's brain chip, promising to return when the phone call was over and start the process. Khalil stared down at his phone and punched in Jen's number before he could lose his cool. Meditation seemed like a lifetime away, it was all he could do to keep his heart from galloping away like a war horse.

Jen's phone rang once, twice, three times, and Khalil was just about to hit the end button when suddenly-

"Hi." Jen's bold, brash voice was in his ear, and Khalil forgot to breathe. The background noise was filled with laughter and music, a noise that Khalil associated with family time, even though he was never fortunate enough to have enjoyed family time with his mother working two jobs, his father in jail, and his brother running the streets with the 100. "You know you're calling from a- Anissa, stop!" Khalil closed his eyes, savoring the sound of Jen's hearty giggles as someone- Anissa, probably- tickled her or something similar. "You're calling from a private number, who is this?"

A male chuckle sounded, and Khalil recognized Gambi's voice sounding from the distance. "Probably a scam, hang up before they get all your info."

Same old Gambi, trusting nobody. A wistful smile turned up Khalil's lips, but he still couldn't come up with a thing to say. It was like all his thought circuits were down, and he wondered if Painkiller had something to do with it.

"Helloooo? Who is this?" Jen's voice turned speculative, and she gave a derisive snort. "This better not be TC playing with me again, how many times do I have to tell you I'm not going to prom wit' you?"

"I'm literally right here," TC protested in the background.

And Khalil found that he couldn't bring himself to say anything, let alone goodbye. He wasn't great with goodbyes, anyway, so who was he fooling? "Uh, sorry," he muttered. Why had he thought this would be a good idea again? "Wrong number."

In the few seconds it took for him to press the end call button, Jen's voice sharpened with recognition and she exclaimed, "Wait, that sounds a little like-."

Call ended blinked up at him from his phone screen as his pulse jumped in his throat. Safe getaway. Of course, he'd ended the call before Jen could say his name, or even more hurtful, the name of somebody else.

But fuck, hearing her voice was bittersweet.

"You hung up?" TC was back in his head, eyes gleaming with relief that Painkiller wasn't around.

Nodding, Khalil strove to keep his face blank and impassive. "Yeah. I'd rather remember her the way she was on that phone, happy, carefree, pain in the ass J."

She sounded happy and normal, like the old her, before the 100 had kidnapped her and she had discovered she had powers. She sounded like the Queen of Garfield. By coming back into her life even for a few seconds, he might jeopardize that happiness, and if there's one thing he wanted her to be after the events of the past few years, it was at peace and she wasn't going to find it with him.

"But you didn't get to say goodbye."

Pity was written all across TC's face, and once again, Khalil felt the wave of sadness engulf him. Did it ever stop? Even with his memories of Jen gone, would he really be at peace?

"I didn't need to." Khalil stopped, his shoulders slumped, and came to stand next to TC, who was still looking at him with that sympathetic look on his face. "TC..."

Looking up at him, TC said, "Yeah?"

"Don't tell her."

TC let out a dramatic gasp that made Khalil crack a smile, even though he had never felt less like smiling. "What? But I was just about to-?"

"No." Khalil shook his head resolutely. "Let her live her life." TC opened his mouth to protest, but Khalil talked over him. It was the only way. "You told me she lost the guy she was seeing, and she's already lost so much. Just- let her think what she's been thinking, that I left Freeland to live my life." He started pacing like Painkiller sometimes did, back and forth, his arms behind his back as he spoke. It felt like atoning for his sins. "I poisoned her. I almost killed her."

Interrupting, his voice utterly horrified, TC exclaimed, "That was Painkiller, not you!"

"Yeah, but don't you get it? He's in me, so even if I know that I'm not the one doing the poisoning, everyone else thinks it, because he's in my head wanting to kill all the time." Khalil stopped pacing and turned to TC, his face serious. "With the kill code gone, we can co-exist without the anger and rage that drives Painkiller. I came here for a fresh start and removing the memories of the Pierces will give me that." To show that he meant business, he clapped his hands together. "Let's do this. How's it gonna work?"

Getting back to business removed the pity from TC's face, and Khalil was glad. Seeing that look on his normally cheery friends face and knowing it was directed at him made him feel like even more of a shitty person.

Tapping his chin, Khalil asked, "So I won't remember that they're metas as well?"

"You'll forget about them. Anything related to them, too."

TC's eyes started to flash green as he went over the logistics of changing Khalil's life.

"No, you'll remember that, you'll know about Black Lightning, Thunder and Lightning, you just won't know their identities. You won't remember they're Pierces."

Nodding, Khalil said, "Got it." Actually, it sounded confusing to him, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. "But if I want to reinstate my memories, can't I just come to you and-."

TC laughed as Khalil made a casual popping noise with his tongue in his cheek. "No. You won't even know that your memories are gone."

"And you're sure they'll stay gone."

This was the most important part. What ifs ran through Khalil's mind with the speed of a Formula One car. If he somehow ran into the Pierce sisters on vacation. If he helped someone from a mugger and it turned out to be Doctor Pierce? If Black Lightning ended up in Akashic Valley like Anissa had and they ran into each other?

Shifting from one foot to the other, TC said, "Um, 90% sure."

"90?" Khalil asked incredulously.

TC shrugged. "That's an A."

"I used to get straight A's in school," Khalil said musingly. "And then Odell dropped a few Master's degrees into my head, but that happened after I stopped caring about grades." TC gave him a confused, yet concerned look, and Khalil said, "Let's get rid of these memories."

A few minutes later, Khalil was lying on an operating table, a brain scanner that looked like a crown on his head. Philky just happened to have one lying around, which was pure Philky, and after TC had uploaded his program into the lab's computer, he'd told Khalil's master of tech exactly what to do. Donald was on standby in case something went wrong medically. And Painkiller? He was still in the dojo, and Khalil could feel the excitement thrumming through him. Khalil didn't blame him; he was excited too.

A high-pitched whine started up, and Khalil felt a pinprick of electricity tickle his forehead as the process started. TC had warned him about this.

What TC hadn't warned him about was, as the memories left, they replayed in his head, almost like a flashback reel.

Khalil saw himself on the Pierce roof with Jen, giving her a chaste, shy kiss as she agreed to be his girlfriend.

He saw himself stealing into Garfield High and meeting up with Jen by the lockers after enduring more abuse from Tobias, knowing that she was the only person he could really talk to despite what had gone down between them. Sitting down in silence, not needing to say a word because their connection was that powerful.

He saw them running away together, Jen using her lightning powers in front of him for the first time and blasting the 100 hoodlums. How he'd kissed her later on and it had been electric, and the hottest kiss he'd ever had.

He saw himself (the memories were blurry around the edges, soon they'd be gone but so would the kill code, it was for the best but it hurt, TC didn't say it would hurt this much) sitting next to Jen in his special place, his private place, his favorite place, the abandoned subway car, eating ramen and reminiscing on how he had asked her to be his girlfriend, and he had been so shy when he gave her the necklace, something that had caught his eye in Freeland's jewelry store and he'd saved up for two months to buy it for her, a necklace he was giving to her for the second time because he loved her, and he'd lost her once and wasn't about to let her go again and...

The memories faded as Khalil's mind cycled through the deepest, darkest levels of consciousness, and there was only darkness, and finally, blissfully, peace.

(See more on ao3 or wattpad!)

[333dolans]

Light Within The Darkness // G.D

Hey loves! This is my first attempt at writing anything for either of the twins so any constructive criticism is welcomed and very much appreciated. I love you!🤍

Summary: After a heated fight with Grayson leads to a cold night alone, an unEXpected and unwelcomed visitor arrives.

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse and Anxiety. ANGSTY with a lil fluff at the end.

“Are you actually taking the piss Y/N?!” Grayson growled, slamming the door to your small, but cozy apartment. You two had been leaving a small cafè in downtown LA when you had ran into an ‘old school friend’, or atleast that’s what you had told Grayson. He didn’t buy it at all of course, he had a talent of always seeing straight through you anytime you lied. He could read you like a book, he had your body language memorised like his favourite tame song and he knew this wasn’t simply an acquaintance from your early teenage years. When he tried to ask simple questions about him, you became very tense and he could see you had began grinding your jaw at the very mention of his existence and the encounter you had just had. you’d began cracking your fingers, a tell tale sign that you were rapidly becoming more and more on edge. He didn’t want to cause an argument from his tendency to always want to know what is going on, his need for control, so he let it slide. Well that was until you crossed paths with mystery man once again. “Two years with no interaction and we see each other twice within a half a hour period? It’s a sign from the universe Y/N, we should get back together haha!” The man joked. You smiled awkwardly, feeling the heat rising within Grayson. You couldn’t tell if it was due to the mans comment, or the fact that you had lied about this man being your most recent ex. It was probably a mixture, you thought to yourself. Grayson turned on his heel and was started off towards the Porsche just a few metres away. You rushed a quick farewell and dashed after your boyfriend.

“Gray can you just let me-” “Y/N. Don’t.” He interrupted. You didn’t dare speak another word until you made it back to your apartment. The car ride was a silent one, something you wasn’t used to in your entire relationship with Grayson. You two were always jamming out to a throwback playlist and singing your hearts out. When you arrived, He made his way across to where you were standing in the living room. “Gray, I’m sorry ok? I didn’t want to make things awkward for you. He’s my ex- boyfriend, it was uncomfortable and I just wanted to diffuse the situation as soon as I possibly could.” You tried to reason. “Don’t you think I was just as uncomfortable probably even more so when I found out he was your ex?! You should of just told me but instead you lied to me.” He argued back. “How could it possibly have been worse for you G? I have so much history with him and things didn’t end well between us. Why are you making this about you? You’re not even considering how I felt, it’s always about you isn’t it?” You whispered the last part, defeatedly. “If it’s ‘always about me’ then maybe I should leave, Wouldn’t want you to be stuck with someone so selfish!” He screamed. You could feel the tears building behind your eyes, he knew as well as everyone else in your life that if there was one thing you couldn’t take, it was someone shouting at you. It always sent your anxiety sky rocketing and left you spiralling. “Leave Gray. Now please.” You whispered, holding back the desperate urge to breakdown in front of him. “With pleasure, Bitch.” He spat before leaving your apartment the same way he entered. Those words, although simple ones, held so much more meaning to you when they fell from his lips, lingering in the air and consuming your mind. The tears instantly began to stream, letting out a choked sob. “If only you knew.” You thought out loud.

You were jolted awake by an increasingly louder banging on your door. You glance over at your clock, 2:39AM. Grayson. He had came to apologise for acting like such a dick. You slipped out of bed and wrapped your blanket around you tightly. The relentless torture your front door was under not once letting up. You peaked through the peep hole, you weren’t a complete idiot, you had to be sure it was Gray. But who else would turn up at your door at this time right? Crack. You felt your heart shatter and swore you could hear the broken pieces hit the hard floor of your hallway. There, stood your ex boyfriend, Riley. You could of sworn you were frozen to that very spot, but your brain took control and carried you off towards the bedroom, rapidly grabbing for your phone and gripping it tightly to your chest. You creeped back towards the door cautiously, not wanting to make too much noise. “Riley you need to leave. Now please.” You spoke politely, which was beyond what he deserved. “Y/N! Open the door please. I need you. I’m a mess without you. Seeing you today reminded me off that!” He pleaded. “You’ve survived 2 years, keep going. I have a boyfriend Riley. Please leave.” You responded, heart non stop pounding against your chest, taking your breath away with every thump. “Y/N! YOU STUPID BITCH! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He growled through the door, repeatedly kicking at it now. “JUST LEAVE RILEY!!!!” You retreated into your bedroom, then into the bathroom and locked both doors. You violently sobbed into the blanket that had been wrapped around your body as you reached for your phone.

To Babe💘: Gray, please.

Read at 2:45am

3 missed calls from Babe💘

To Babe💘: Hello?

Read at 2:52am

You sobbed even more, realising that he was ignoring you at a time when you needed him the most. You don’t remember when, but you must have eventually passed out on the cold bathroom tiles. You didn’t have the energy to get up, so you sat up against the side of your bath. You reached for your phone, only to see not one single sign of contact from Grayson. You felt the all too familiar feeling rising in your chest and taking control of your breathing. Another panic attack. You hadn’t had one in months due to the calmness Grayson provided, he was your light within the darkness, but he wasn’t here to save you this time. You texted him once more before you fully broke down.

To Babe💘: Grayson please, I need you. Now.

You knew this would work. His full name over text was only ever used in an emergency. You shut your phone off to try and focus on your breathing rather than how shitty your boyfriend was being right now. You had completely forgotten about the text and 30 minutes later you heard the front door swing open. “Y/N!? Where are you?!” Seconds later he enters the bathroom and finds your small form, tear stained cheeks and violently shaking from your cold night alone. “No no no, baby I’m so so sorry. Y/N look at me yeah? Focus on my voice. Deep breaths for me.”

He tried to scoop you into his arms but you cowered away. In that moment he swore he could feel his heart shatter. He had become the man he’d promised you he’d never be. Grayson knew you had and still struggle with your mental health, although he didn’t know much about the causes of it all. He let his anger get the best of him once again and he hurt you in the process. “Angel, I cant express how sorry I am. I didn’t mean to snap at you and I certainly didn’t mean what I called you.”

There it was again. His words began to replay in your head for the 100th time. “With pleasure, Bitch.” “STOP! Please make it stop Gray. I don’t wanna be back there anymore, I can’t be back there.” You begged him, clinging to his shirt now. He cautiously began to rub his hands along your back, palms sore from the strength he used to grip the steering wheel on the way over to your apartment. “Back where love? Talk to me please, I want to help you.” The feeling of Grays hand on your body, knowing he was close to you, knowing you were safe now, your breathing slowly began to regulate. You finally lifted your head and looked up to meet his eyes. Teary and bloodshot, a mirror image of yourself. You could see, scrap that, you could feel that he was sharing your pain. He didn’t know why you was feeling it, but he could feel it all nonetheless. You took in a shakey breath as you began.

“Riley seriously, they’re a pair of shoes? I bought them as a treat for myself for getting promoted.” You tried to explain to him, annoyance growing every passing minute. You were always smart with your money, never splurging out on fancy items. You’d never really felt like you’d needed them. However, earlier this month you’d been called into your bosses office and offered a better paying position at your work, which you gladly accepted. You’d decided that you would finally buy the shoes you’d been eyeing up for months now but had never talked yourself into buying. They were $300 but you decided you deserved them, your boyfriend clearly didn’t feel the same way. “I don’t care Y/N, you cant just start spending our money so carelessly, especially not this close to when rent is due and for something so minor as a promotion.” He countered, words laced with resentment. You couldn’t help but let out a snort. “Our money? It wasn’t ‘our money’ when you went out and bought that watch.” You pointed to the, in all honesty, hideous watch that was strapped around his wrist with pride. “I spent my hard earned money on those shoes because I deserved them, I worked for them.” You spoke, calmly and with confidence. “I seriously don’t understand your problem, please explain? Like I know it may be hard for your fragile masculinity to accept that not only a woman but your own girlfriend earns more than you, but that doesn’t give your misogyny a free pass to belittle my achievements”. You knew the second you said that, you would come to regret it. “You want me to explain? With pleasure, Bitch.”

The tears were once again streaming down your face once you finally stopped to breath again. “It was abusive and toxic, I knew I had to leave him, I had to get out of there so I did. I never looked back after I left but I guess life has a way of not letting you forget your past, no matter how hard you try to.” You sighed, so tired from the nights previous events. You’d explained to Grayson about what had happened with Riley turning up at your door, you’re grateful he’d left before Gray got there otherwise you may of been spending your night bailing his ass out of prison right now instead of in his arms. You’d explained about your past with him and why things had ended. You knew Gray had many more questions but it was clear you were not ready to answer them right now and you were extremely thankful he left the topic alone. You quite frankly didn’t want to entertain your memories of Riley anymore and Grayson knew that. He planted a kiss on your forehead before scooping you up, “wanna watch a film and cuddle? You can choose the movie.” He wiggles his eyebrows and gave you his signature smirk. “Yes please, only if you bring me the ice cream though!” You giggled, letting the last 3 hours fade to the back of your mind.

You were out like a light after 30 minutes, head in Grayson’s lap as he carelessly traced shapes along your arms, watching your chest rise and fall and lips slightly parted. “I will never let this happen to you again, you have my word. I love you more than I love myself angel.” He spoke gently, watching in awe as your lips curled to form a faint smile. “Mine” he thought to himself, “All mine.”

[thebestworstidea]

Animal Skin

@dukeceitweek day 5 Intrusive Thoughts/Lying

pairings: Janus/ Remus, Roman/Virgil

Warnings: vampires, shapeshifters, blood, lying, sexy thoughts, unbeta’d

----

The first time Janus saw him, he thought he looked perfect.

It was a strange thought. 

No one was perfect, and no matter how good he looked in tight cut off shorts that barely contained his bountiful ass. No one was perfect with a wild fringe of hair, streaked liberally with silver highlights against the dark brown. Especially not with a haircut that looked like a mullet and an undercut had had a mongrel baby. His shirt which rode up when he danced, featured a sparkly decal of the Count from Sesame Street, and the fishnets that disappeared into worn Doc Martins that had clearly been colored with acid green spraypaint were sparkly.

He was a disaster, and he was perfect.

But Janus didn’t live as long as he had by courting disaster. So he turned away, even as his eyes lingered on the edge of a pectoral when the other man raised his hands as he danced.

The disaster’s name was Remus, he learned. 

It wasn’t as if Janus went looking for the information (he had), but their brothers had met at the same club, and had too much fun arguing not to become friends. Despite Roman’s claims that they were fraternal twins, not identical, they bore more than a siblings resemblance to each other, with the same liquid hazel eyes, cupid’s bow lips, and smooth dark skin lightly dusted with body hair. Roman, however, was not a disaster. He was more elegant, enjoying a more classic look, softening tailored suits by forgoing ties, and leaving the hollow of his throat exposed, shirt held closed with a necklace instead.

“Two buttons is kind of slutty,” Roman told him one evening, as they compared fashion. “But one? That’s just enticing.” 

Virgil scoffed at his friend’s pronouncement. But then he liked softer, informal looks generally swimming in oversized hoodies and soft, unfitted shirts. He wouldn’t even wear skinny jeans, even though he liked the look. Frankly, he was kind of upset Tripp pants had gone out of fashion, and still wore them from time to time, a fact that both his brother and Roman ribbed Virgil for frequently. 

“So what does that make your brother?” Janus asked, as a vivid image of the last time he’d seen Remus popping into his head- he’d been wearing a vest and tie without a shirt, and leather pants that laced up the side with multiple shoelaces instead of their original cord. He’d never considered the existence of butt side boob, but it now lived as they said, rent free in his head.

Roman tipped his head back giving a huffing growl.

“A penance I must endure.” Roman shook his head, thick dark hair bouncing as he did. “You’ve seen him”

“Once or twice.” he lied. It was more like every time he could, he couldn’t look away, and every time left him with more images that would surface without warning.

“He’s hard to miss.” Roman sighed. 

“So are you.” Virgil teased, spreading his fingers as he examined his drying polish. 

“Perhaps but I am a treat.” he took Virgil’s other hand and carefully began on it. 

“You’re not a snack, you’re barely an horderve.” 

 Roman gave an offended gasp, and wiggled a finger in his friend's face. 

“How dare you-” he started, and Virgil snapped playfully at the finger.

“Less than a mouthful.” 

“Virgil.” he said sharply, tapping his shoe against his brother’s foot. Virgil turned on him, lip lifting from the corner of his mouth. Janus tipped his head pointedly, his eyes opening just a trifle larger. Virgil’s snarl dropped, and a faint flush made itself visible, stark on his unnaturally pale skin. He picked up his sunglasses and hid behind them. 

“Aw, it’s okay my fair emo.” Roman teased. “I’m not really insulted, I know you love me.” 

“It’s stockholm syndrome.” Virgil grumbled, and Janus snorted, moving his foot away, and looking at his phone. Looking at his phone, because his mind filled with images of Remus again, some of them dressed up to match Janus’s dapper suits, and some dressed down, wild and sweaty and naked. He gave his head a shake and looked at the calendar app on his phone. 

It was fine. 

Everything was fine.

“Will I see you two at the club tomorrow?” Roman asked as he left. 

“No, family thing.” Janus answered, staring at his calendar. 

“Boo-” Roman pouted, and turned to Virgil. “Sure I can’t tempt you away?” 

“Nah I’m good. I’ll text you.”

“Then I await the gifts your fingers give me.” Roman purred at him, and cheekily turned away, getting into his car. Virgil watched it until it disappeared around the bend of the driveway.

“Less than a mouthful, huh?” Janus teased.

“Stop~” Virgil whined, covering his face with both hands. 

“So you’ve been thinking about devouring him?”

“Maybealittle.” he blurted out. “He’s just so… fragrant.”

“How can you tell under that cologne of his?”

“I just can.” 

“We have to be careful, Virgil.” Janus said genuinely worried. “If we aren’t we’ll have to go home permanently, and you don’t want that. Neither of us do.”

“I know.” he snapped. “I just… want.”

“Can’t relate.” Janus lied.

It was midafternoon when Virgil discovered that Roman wasn’t answering his texts because he’d forgotten his phone, the device having slid between the couch cushions. 

“I’m just going to run it over real quick.” He told Janus.

“I don’t think it’s a-”

“Calm down,” Virgil rolled his eyes. “You know I’m careful. I’ll be back in plenty of time. I bet he’s tearing his house and car apart like the princess looking for the pea.” 

Janus grumbled, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. 

“Fine. Be careful.”

“Oh please.” Virgil flipped his hood up and headed out. After a few moments, Janus heard the garage door open, and Virgil’s car drive away. 

He immediately began pacing. It wasn’t as if he was worried. Virgil was very conscientious and even more careful than he was.  

Worrying would be ridiculous.

Time ticked by, and Virgil didn’t return- or answer his texts. Janus got into his own car, and might have sped a little bit (or more than a little) as he went over to the duplex the twins shared.  By the time he got there, the sun was starting to set. Virgil’s car was parked outside, so he was still there.They had to go. He knocked sharply on Roman’s door.

“Hey hey-” the other door opened, and there was Remus, wearing yoga pants and a tank top which frankly should have been illegal in Janus’s opinion, never mind that it was the most banal thing he’d ever seen the man wearing, though he was still wearing eye makeup, smoky shadow and silver eyeliner “As entertaining as it would be to me to watch you cockblock my bro, give ‘em a little privacy huh?”

“What?” Janus demanded. “What are you-”

“Look, you’re the crescent to your bro’s full moon and I’m digging it-” Remus pointed out, “But you gotta let the boy get some, and my bro’s been gone on that for months.” 

“How do you even know who I am?” Janus retorted sharply. “We’ve never spoken.”

“I like to keep my eyes on the hottest people ‘sides me in the club.” Remus retorted, flashing his white teeth. “So you would be on my radar even if Ro-bro’s blood wasn’t boiling over your brother. C’mon in, we can have a drink and do hot girl stuff-” 

“No.” He raised his hand and went to knock again. Remus caught his wrist. Janus’s heart jumped in his chest, and his head swam at the cool touch of skin on skin. Images of that touch elsewhere on his skin danced through his mind at breakneck speed. Lies aside, he wanted,and he wanted badly, and tonight was no different and much worse all at once. He yanked his hand from a struck-seeming Remus and forwent knocking again, actually forcing the door open. A waft of musk hit his nose as he did, thick and heady.

“Now hold up-” Remus started, shaking himself from his stupor, and Janus growled at him flashing his own teeth in a much less attractive fashion. 

“Virgil~!” he called in a sing song, stepping inside the dim interior. “You’re late~! We have to go.” He cocked his head and sniffed the air. Where was he? Damn it, the smell of Remus crowding in behind him was distracting, even with the musk clouding the air. He whirled and Remus got a facefull of braids and beads. The scrunch of his nose and the curl of his mustache’d lip was not hot, damn it. 

“Back off-” he demanded. “I just need to pick up my brother, we can talk again later, and I truly am sorry for intruding like this-” he made the mistake of putting his hand forward, palm pressing against his chest, fingers brushing the curl of body hair that peeked out of Remus’s tank top. ‘Nice’ his brain insisted, and threw up more images. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t gotten a look at the rest of the body hair before. Then he heard a noise- a whimper maybe, and the musk was tinged with blood. He leapt for the stairs.

“Fuck!” Remus said behind him and the front door slammed shut. That didn’t matter, because someone was hurting his brother.The door was just an obstacle, just like the one in front of him that crashed open. 

“What the heck!” Roman said, turning eyes wide. Virgil stared over his shoulder, fingers dug into the other man’s bare back. There were beads of blood appearing under his nails, but that wasn’t the source of the smell. 

“Let go of him!” Janus snarled like his teeth were too big for his mouth. 

“No.” to his surprise it was Virgil who answered, not Roman. Roman to his credit, did sit up a little before being stopped by Virgil’s hands.

“We have to go.” Janus said, carefully enunciating every word. 

“You go.” Virgil retorted shortly. Roman licked his too red mouth, and smiled a little sheepishly. 

“I know this is kind of a shock-” he started. “But Janus, listen.”

“No.” 

“My turn.” came Remus’s voice right behind his ear, and a hand slid up, under his chin, cupping the bare skin, as an arm slid around his waist. Janus’s knees went weak as his mind flooded with images, not of Remus’s form, but of his own, in a way he’d never found appealing before. Janus knew he was good looking but he’d never- he didn’t find himself attractive. These thoughts weren’t his. “Oooh boy.” He felt Remus’s face press to his shoulder, and he moaned.

“Don’t hurt him-” Janus heard Virgil snap. 

“He isn’t, my love, I promise, he’s just distracting him.” Roman murmured soothingly. 

Janus’s knees gave out. 

“Fucking vampires.” he growled. He knew where he was, he could feel the carpet under his knees, but his mind was flying.

“That is one sexy pot calling a kettle black.” Remus muttered, having followed him down to the floor. He sniffed at Janus’s hair. “Fuck, I’ve never smelled anything like this.” 

“We’re not that special.” Virgil grumbled, grabbing his shirt from the floor. “Just shapeshifters.” 

“You ain’t special, moony.” Remus retorted. “But fuck.” He shuddered.  “Gonna let go. Don’t try and kill my bro, ‘kay? Fuck head got cream carpet. Who does that?” Slowly the hand slid away, and Remus’s arm released his waist. He could feel him backing off, and heard when he collided with the wall.

“Virgil-” Janus whined, shaking off the feeling of running that he’d been floating it when Remus’s skin touched his. “We have to go-”

“I’m fine, Janus, I promise.” Virgil grabbed his brother’s hands and hauled him to his feet. “Roman- he helped, it was…” he reached for words and they failed him. Janus stuck his nose in the crook of Virgil’s neck and groaned. He could smell his brother’s blood. 

“He bit you. He put his fucking fangs in your neck.” 

“He asked first.” 

“Gonna kill him.”

“Maybe we should get going.” Virgil put his hand in Janus’s braids, stroking soothingly. Roman sighed wistfully. “Can it you sap, he’s all full of the moon, and it’s going to rise soon. Which is exactly why I wasn’t supposed to stay.” 

“They’re going to kill us.” Janus grumbled and straightened up. He forced his anger down. The moon wasn’t up yet. They might make it if they hurried. 

“Where do you need to go?” Remus asked. 

“What?”

“I mean, I’m guessing it ain’t too far or pretty boy would have shown up earlier.” 

“The state park next to our house.” Virgil answered. “We usually walk.” 

“Bitchin.” reaching out, Remus grabbed a pair of Romans shoes and shoved them onto his bare feet. “You still smell like blood and lust, Ro. You stay here and we can have a great chat later”

“Remus, please.” Roman protested, huffing. 

“You dumb bitches can muddle your scents all you want later, but right now, they’ll whiff you out.” he got to his feet. “I’ll drive you guys back. Neither of you are in a state to drive.” He looked sheepishly down at Janus. “Sorry man, I really did think they were just fucking.” 

“What did you do?” Janus asked. He kept a hold of Virgil and his brother led him back downstairs. His skin felt too tight, like he’d forced a shift at a wrong time, it made his clothes almost hurt. He could hear and smell Roman trailing along behind them. 

“Empathic imagery. Kinda like psychometry.” he scratched at his hair. “People have to have the right kind of brain for it, but when I touched you I got some imagery from you, so-”

“You saw that?” Janus squeaked. 

“Yep!”

“Virgil, I’ve changed my mind.” he deadpanned. “Please kill me. I want to go ruining Roman’s rug.” 

Roman made an offended noise. Remus’s cackle of laughter almost drowned it out as he opened the door to the pink-gold of sunset. 

“Never said it was a bad thing.” Remus gave a wink, displaying that at some point he’d gotten Janus’s keys off of him. “We can totes get back to that later.” 

Roman dove in and stole a kiss from Virgil, tucking his hoodie around his shoulders. Janus was too mortified to take a swing at the vampire, and let Virgil shove him into the back seat. 

“I had it handled you know.” Virgil muttered to him as the car zipped off. 

“You could have messaged me.” Janus retorted. 

“Yeah, that would have gone over great. ‘Getting the moon fucked out of me by a vampire, see you tomorrow’” 

Janus growled and wiggled out of his jacket. 

“I think you’re jealous.”

“Virgil, you’re my brother and I love you, and I also love my car, which is why I am not tearing you to pieces right now. You have complicated everything, you’ve exposed us and you’re fucking a vampire.” 

“Not yet.” Virgil mumbled petulantly under his breath. 

“Argh!” snarled Janus at the ceiling, yanking his tie loose. The car pulled over suddenly. “We’re not home.”

“Nope, but we are in the park.” Remus retorted. There was hardly any light in the sky. “I’ll drop your car off and get back on my own.” 

“Why should I trust you?” Janus demanded, as Virgil opened the door and got out on the side away from the road. 

“Well, it ain’t a ringing endorsement, but I’ve had those thoughts kickin’ around my head for a while. Just didn’t know how to approach you. You’re uh. A little intimidating, even for me. I mean it’s not like I give a shit about most things, but you could unhinge your jaw and swallow me whole and I wouldn’t even mind.” 

Janus couldn’t smell any of the sourness that he’d associate with someone lying. 

“Alright then.” He stepped out and tossed his shirt into the back seat as Virgil did the same thing, pale body stepping into the woods, before disappearing into a smaller flash of white- a owl leapt into a tree. 

“Oh man, Ro’s going to be so jealous I saw all that.” Remus laughed to himself. Then he stopped looking over at Janus. His eyes dipped down, then came back up to Janus’s face. “Wait, I thought you guys were werewolves?” 

“I don’t think I ever said that.” Burning off energy, Janus flashed through his favorite forms- a full grown anaconda, a raven, a huge house cat and then finally ended up as a large black fox, amber eyes similar to his human ones. 

“Fuck you’re pretty.” Remus breathed. “So, dinner sometime?” he said, crouching down to look the fox in the eye. “Mice looks like it’s on the menu across the board, or we could hit the sushi bar?” 

Foxes weren’t really suited to rolling their eyes, so Janus rolled his entire head before following Virgil into the woods.

“That’s not a no!” Remus called cheerfully. 

Fuck. Well, if his life was a disaster anyway, Janus might as well date one.

[cinnaminsvga]

a love that endures preview | Yoongi

→ summary:

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows irritatingly, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to be, until a high school reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.}

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin feature in this and they aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, vaguely implied smut but it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: anticipated 15K → a/n: are you ever, like, irritatingly aware of how in love you are with someone? because that’s me while writing this fic. this fic was supposed to be 6-7K in length since it was a commission, but then i kept writing and well... here we are!! i hope to get this out before the end of the year but i thought it’d be nice to release a preview just so you guys know i’m still alive. or whatever. anyway!! enjoy!!

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years. He might have grown taller a little since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair is not dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It is styled differently too: combed over and jelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead on full display. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18 year old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two look as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already see the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest dealbreakers in your relationships.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly suckerpunching the offending degenerate in the face. You barely hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret actually holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but the grin is forming fast on your face. This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads up in alarm. You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

I know we are all discussing the latest episode of Season 16, but I need to wrap up 11 for my own sanity (because there is a LOT to discuss in my Season 12 rewatch already), so without further ado - more rambling for you.

I’m not going to include 11x20: Don’t Call Me Shurley because I think I’d like to do an entire Chuck - arc - series.  Rob Benedict is a gift; that dad mug kills; and I love that the fan theories about Chuck spinning around this fandom for years turned out to be correct after all (WEIRD HOW THAT HAPPENS WITH CHARACTERS EH).  Moving on.

As you will recall, two recaps and many many many crackhead other posts from my corner of super hell ago, I ended the 11x18 recap with this image of Amara realizing...”something” after Dean said Cas’s name (just before she took Casifer with her), Dean/Amara unbreakable connection be damned. Speaking of unbreakable connection this post is partially the AMARA DISSERTATION.  Buckle up.

FF to 11x21: All in the Family; the boys are shooting the shit with Chuck and in the meantime, Amara is torturing Casifer.  Important to note that just recently the actual Cas was enlightened that Dean wants him to cast Lucifer out, so I presume he is a little more active at this point, and that strengthens the following hypothesis.  Look how Amara is looking at Casifer here:

And here, right before she touches him on the chest.

It’s the same look she gave Dean. She’s trying to decipher something; trying to figure something out. 

She appears to Dean in the VERY next scene, to show him how she is torturing Casifer.  But the real point is, of course, to show him how its affecting the physical form of Cas, reminding him its not just Lucifer who is suffering.  It works.  

DEAN 

Amara is – she's in my head. [Sam looks at him sharply] Hey, I didn't ask for it, okay? She just showed up. But she's showing me visions of – of Lucifer. By Lucifer, I mean Cas, and he looks like crap – like she's really doing a number on him.

***Note, yet again, despite the *connection* Amara/Dean supposedly share, all he can think about and talk about is Cas.

And Amara knows it.  That’s the realization she has in 11x18.  Dean loves Cas.  Then, in 11x21 she realizes Cas loves Dean.  So, she uses it to her own ends.  Smart girl.  

Enter Donatello (I love him), prophet of (not) the Lord.  He, Metatron, and Sam set out to rescue Casifer while Dean distracts Amara.  If we start with the presumption she now has the prior additional insight, the following snippets of dialogue hit a little different.

AMARA

This place, this world hasn't been especially easy for you. Why not at least consider my offer?

*********

DEAN

You're right. I am drawn to you. And it bothers the hell out of me, 'cause I can't control it.

AMARA

Then why fight it? What you're feeling is that I am the end of your struggle. 

***AHEM, this was not the FACE CUPPING I requested.

What keeps Dean from having it all?  What is his struggle?  It’s not the monsters or the hunting.  Dean’s repeatedly shown he loves this life; he doesn't want anything else (and the one time he did try it in Season 6, it was half-ass at best, and he left the minute Sam returned to go back to hunting).  Dean’s KEY struggle in the show is internal.  He represses his feelings, pushes his pain aside, resulting in a cycle of self-loathing and anger.  That cycle keeps him from having it all - accepting he can be loved, allowing himself to give his heart to someone else.  And at this point, Amara not only knows that someone else is Cas, she knows that Cas feels the same way.  Girl, welcome to super hell.  Take a damn seat by Sam.

11x22: We Happy Few

I’ll skim through this one so this post doesn’t completely make your eyes bleed due to the sheer length.  

The splicing with the scenes of everyone assembling different factions to form the new “line-up” needed to trap Amara is excellent. I’ve already done a short post on the brilliance of Dean heading to get Crowley and the ex-boyfriend mood of it all (Dean, of all people, telling Crowley to sober up gives me an ENTIRE head canon of the Crowley/demon!Dean unseen dynamic in Season 10).   And of COURSE Dean knows exactly what to say to convince Crowley to get on board. I also enjoy our future Sam-witch as the emissary to Rowena (”three’s a coven” would be a great tattoo, TBH).

BONUS:

I love her.

Big fight scene with Amara ensues, but this isn’t the finale so she cannot be beaten.  However, right before she mortally wounds Chuck, she does this:

[Yelling, LUCIFER charges her from behind again, but AMARA flings him hard against a support pillar across the room.]

AMARA

Goodbye, nephew.

[She banishes LUCIFER. CASTIEL slumps unconscious to the floor.]

DEAN: Cas! 

(He rushes AMARA, but she flings him away without effort.)

***She banishes Lucifer.  She could have just killed him.  Ended him entirely, and Cas along with him.  But she BANISHES LUCIFER.  Because of what she learned in the prior episode.  Because of the pain she saw in both of those idiots.

She does this for Dean.

Anyway, thank you Casifer FOR YOUR SERVICE.  I miss you already.

11x23: Alpha and Omega

There is nothing more precious than Dean sending his brother to check on GOD while he goes to check on his boyfriend:

DEAN: [Grunting]

Check on him.

SAM: [kneels next to Chuck]

Hey. Chuck?

[Dean kneels down next to Cas and puts a hand on his shoulder. Cas stirs and looks up at Dean]

CAS:

Dean.

DEAN:

Cas? Hey, is that you?

***All the heart eyes for the reunion!!

*********ALSO SHOULDERRRRRRRR

Chuck is dying, Rowena bonds with him.  Crowley is gold in this finale.  I MISS YOU MARK.  This line is NOT in the transcript/script I used, and it potentially being ad libbed makes it even better.

Dean decides to deal with the end of the world by drinking ONE beer, then deciding there is “not enough” beer and grabbing Cas for a beer (and....*feelings*) run.

DEAN:

You know what? This isn't gonna be enough. I better make a run.

[Sighs]

No reason to die sober, huh?

[to Sam]

You want to?

SAM: [frustrated] 

No!

*********************

DEAN:

Be right back.

SAM:

I'll stay here, find our Plan B.

DEAN:

Okay. Cas, come on.

Nothing makes me more pleased than the assumption that of COURSE Cas is coming with him.  I mean, he just got him back.  Also, Sam is frustrated because he is back in super hell, obvi ;)   

***Now we have the little “you’re our brother” bit in the Impala beer run dialogue, but to me it’s because Dean doesn’t know how else to express what he’s feeling.  Repression, people.  

The look of literal PAIN on Cas’s face at the “brother” line makes me cackle.  Misha Collins DESERVES AN EMMY; he is doing the Lord’s work with his Acting Choices here.

This little part before is what really gets me though, especially with all of the WORDS OF AFFIRMATION:

[Dean and Cas are driving in the Impala]

DEAN:

How you doing? You good?

I mean, you know, the whole Lucifer thing.

CAS:

I was just... so stupid.

DEAN:

No, no, no. It wasn't stupid.

You were right. You were right to let Lucifer ride shotgun.

Me and Sam wouldn't have done that.

CAS:

Well, it didn't work.

DEAN:

No, but it was our best shot, and you stepped up.

CAS:

I was just trying to help.

DEAN:

Well, and you do help, Cas.

***ITS JUST SO LOVELY.  Dean asking Cas how he is doing (what Cas always asks Dean); telling Cas he wasn’t stupid (throwback to Cas telling Dean he was stupid “for the right reasons”); acknowledging that Cas does HELP.  That he is important and appreciated.  THIS IS SUCH GROWTH.  I LOVE IT SO MUCH. Speak his love language, King.

Anyway, then Dean turns into a human bomb because martyr!dean gonna martyr and be “daddy’s (Chuck filling that role here) blunt little weapon” and we get -

THE DESTIEL GOODBYE. Tell me they didn’t actually go canon for the FIRST time here.  I will fight you.

LOOK at Cas watching him in the background. 

These fucking desolate eyes. I’m crying.

THEY JUST GOT EACH OTHER BACK -  

(I recognize this .gif is meh quality but I love that he turns and walks to him and Cas just GRABS him in this crushing hug)

DEAN [accepts the hug good-naturedly but then looks sad]

Okay, okay.

***”good naturedly??? ok Jensen “Acting Choices” Ackles. That is not “good nature” that is BLISS.

AND THEN THIS -

SOBS IN ENOCHIAN.

***I literally had to remind myself that the reunion hug is coming; it’s just an episode away.  I’ll make y’all feel better too; here it is - A PERFECT PARALLEL. Curse this show.

MORE OF THIS “GOOD NATURED” HUGGING PLEASE.

Anyways, back to depressing subtext.  

DEAN:

Okay, look. I want a big funeral.

All right? I'm talking epic.

Okay? Open bar, choir, Sabbath cover band, and Gary Busey reading the eulogy.

*****This scene lives in my mind rent-free as PROOF 15x20 doesn’t exist.

I can’t skip over further growth in Dean’s goodbye to Sammy.

***He’s being serious. Seasons 1-3 Dean would never have admitted this.  I was a blubbering mess at this point.

So, Dean heads to Amara, and the rest of the gang heads to the bar.

CROWLEY:

Your round, Moose.

***I would love an entire bottle episode of Crowley, Sam, Rowena, and Chuck at that bar TBH.

And then, Dean saves the day.  BUT NOT by dying and sacrificing himself, letting himself be used as a weapon of mass destruction.  No, he fixes the DAMN WORLD by connecting to Amara emotionally, and bringing her and Chuck back together, because he understands that not to be alone is what she really needs; that her own struggle is the same as his - letting in love instead of raging against it and fighting her own need for companionship.   Because that’s where ELDEST SIBLING AMARA AND Dean Winchester CONNECT.  Amara isn’t in love with Dean.  She identifies with Dean.  She sees her own feelings in him, her own pain, and that’s why she exorcises Lucifer and saves Cas - FOR Dean.  Amara’s just a Dean girl, everyone.   And we know Dean girls protect Cas at all costs.

Yup.  Amara Dean Girl Darkness Heller.  

That’s it.  That’s the dissertation.

See you in Season 12, where I will attempt to figure out the reason behind the British Men of Letters, killing Hitler, the brain melt that is Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox, the comedy of errors that is Cas playing Dean hot and cold, and the Mary Winchester of it all. 

[ivy-stjames]

AND THE PLANETS OF THE UNIVERSE GO THEIR WAY → ivy + leo

𝚆𝙷𝙾:  @leo-mccarthy​ && @ivystjamess​ 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽:  the evening of saturday, july the eighteenth 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴:  mccarthy residence, basement / leo’s room 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃: in attempt to feel more herself again, ivy goes over to leo’s, things don’t exactly go as either of them planned.

possible tws: mention of abortion, breaking up

IVY:  TO PUT IT SIMPLY, IVY WAS HAVING A ROUGH WEEK. after crying to julien, lemon, and her big sister, she still sort of just felt like a shell of herself. no matter how hard she attempted to train her eye to the movie playing on the screen leo had hanging on the wall at the foot of his bed, she found herself eyeing him with an odd culpability. she laid on his chest, his arm around her in their usual way, but his touch burned, and not in the good way. no longer did his fingers brushing across her hip leave her breathless, nor did his kisses against her skin make her swoon. she felt empty, shattered even, held together by encouraging words of her friends and the lingering sensation of a hug from her sister. every passing second the knot in her stomach unraveled and tightened with each breath she took. what she had done yesterday was irreversible, her and leo wouldn’t be having a child, and no matter how hard she tried to remind herself she loved him, she was blinded with resentment. all ivy wanted to do was cry, but she couldn’t. in a lame attempt to soothe herself, she nuzzled closer into her boyfriend, taking his free hand and kissing his knuckles. still, only a lonely nauseous feeling lingered. tossing about slightly to try and get comfortable, once again she just couldn’t. getting fed up, ivy sat up, hair falling in her eyes as she was illuminated only by flashing images of the movie. . . “leo,” she began softly, a certain fear in her voice. anxiously, she grabbed his hand and played with his fingers as if things didn’t feel resoundingly off. they had always walked to a beat of different drums, but now it felt like they couldn’t even hear each other’s. whether it be from avoidant glances, silent treatment, or arguing, they just weren’t settling back into the usual pace of things. sure, it had only been a day. but this? this wasn’t love. this was unbearable, “i think like. . . i think we like might need to talk about things.”

LEO:  Leo felt like he’d just been going through the motions ever since Ivy told him she’d booked an appointment at planned parenthood. He felt like a shell of himself, not because he had regrets, but because he knew she was suffering. His silver lining in this mess of a situation was that he was confident they had done the right thing. When Ivy told him she was pregnant, or…no…when he guessed she was, it was clear that she was in a highly emotional state. In Leo’s opinion, she had seemed too emotional to make a logical decision. Her idealistic rambling about them starting a family together probably would’ve sent any other person who didn’t want to be a teen parent into a spiral, but he had been confident in his ability to reason and rationalize with her—to get her to come back down to earth. At least that was what he told himself as they laid cuddled up next to each other, watching an obscure arthouse film in his bedroom one day after her abortion. For the first time in a long time, it felt like they just couldn’t get comfortable. Leo kept his eyes fixed on the projector screen, trying desperately to pay attention despite Ivy’s fidgeting beside him, but his mind was elsewhere. There was a very clear elephant in the room and quite frankly, he didn’t know how to address it. He wanted to talk to Ivy about what had happened and how she felt, but he also knew he had to tread lightly. His silence was his attempt at respecting her space. So he sat there, biting his tongue with a soft smile as she took his hand and kissed it. He tightened his grip around her as she nuzzled into him, quickly kissing the top of her head and doing his best to maintain some sense of normalcy. The only way out of this empty feeling was through, so he was prepared to weather this. He would do his best to be strong for both of them. However, the second Ivy sat up and said his name, his instincts told him to run. But there was nowhere to go. So he took a deep breath, pulled his hand out of hers, and reached over to his desk to grab the remote and pause the movie they were clearly not invested in. “Okay,” he responded quietly, feeling a knot form in his stomach as his heart rushed to put up its defenses once again, “we can talk. What do you want to say?”

IVY: AT HIS QUESTION, IVY FELL MUTE. what did she want to say? while she might not of actually spoke, her eyes did a whole lot of talking. there was a heavy sadness laced with a confusion that had never graced her lively blue hues prior to this moment. her mouth opened and closed a couple of different times to speak, but over and over she couldn’t gather her thoughts. the past week had blurred together in a nightmare of emotions and numbness tipping the scale in way or another. still silent, ivy brought her hand up to leo’s cheek with a certain longing and tenderness. her heart guiding her actions before she could even think about why she was making them. in the quiet ivy brought a hand to run through leo’s hair, as if for the last time. tears noticeably welled in her eyes. in a final movement, ivy scooted close to leo, pressing her forehead to his own as if getting their brains physically close would put them on the same page. at the action, the tears began to spill down her cheeks and ivy was in a place where she felt like she knew. “leo, i think that like. . . you are so great. . .” she began, still leading with her unpredictable heart. “and i love you like i’ve loved nothing or no one before. . .” these were unmistakably the beginnings of a break up speech. where ivy had gotten the idea this was the solution had come from a place deep within herself that her heart lead her towards. part of her wished she wasn’t crying and the room was lighter, so she could admire her boyfriend’s features for what she was beginning to think would be the final time unobscured by the glassiness of her eyes or the darkness of a room. “you are my first love.” ivy choked out, bringing shaking hands to either side of his face. she felt probably just as scared as he did the more and more her heart used her tongue to enact it’s will. “but this just like. . .” a sniffle, “i-i don’t know if this is like a good fit for us anymore.”after the words spilled out of her mouth, ivy knew there was no taking them back which resulted in her gasping and choking back sobs much like she had the last time her and leo opened themselves up to one another in his bed. she loved leo, there was no doubt about that, but being with him this past day was painful. their interactions were like navigating a minefield or a beach with far too many burs. it was difficult, and the effort no longer felt worth it. they had always struggled, but this didn’t feel like a bump they could get over without losing hold of one another. “i just. . .” ivy said, pulling her forehead away from leo’s and looking at him. a dull aching was added to the pile of other achings living in her chest currently. “i love you, i can’t tell you that enough this is just like . . .” she shook her head, grasping anywhere she could think of for a feeling that was indescribable. “awful, it’s so awful. i feel like, part of my soul has been totally torn from me.” ivy cried out to him, continuing on her near hysterical ramble. “and i just like look at you and it hurts me, leo. like it hurts.” she vocalized, before crying into her hands. her heart had brought her to this point with no warning and the weight of what she had been saying was clearly starting to settle. “and like i don’t want it to be like this, but it is, so like maybe it’s time to throw in the towel.”

LEO:  Leo had seen Ivy sad before, he’d even been the root of that sadness before, but he’d never been on the receiving end of this particular look. He felt himself crumbling under her stare. She was struggling to speak, but if he was being honest, she didn’t have to say anything. He could tell what was coming. As he watched her open and close her mouth time and time again, he felt himself wanting to speak too. But the words never came. Time slowed when she put a hand on his cheek, then ran another through his hair. What had once been a comfort now felt like wound. Leo could see her tears starting to form and almost instantly felt himself shutting down. He closed his eyes as Ivy pressed her forehead against his. He couldn’t look at her. When Ivy started to speak, all Leo could focus on was how dry his throat suddenly was. He couldn’t stop swallowing. He wanted so badly to reach up and touch her face and run his fingers through her hair and pull her close, but he was stone. No part of him could enjoy or bask in Ivy’s words because he knew there was an inevitable ‘but’ waiting for him at the end of her ‘I love you.’ His breathing became shallow as she let herself really start to cry and he was grateful for the darkness. The last thing he wanted was for Ivy to see him looking so dejected and lost. He couldn’t bear it.’You are my first love.’ Leo felt the skin on the back of his neck and the tips of his ears burning as he sat there, close to Ivy, listening to what felt like a goodbye. The memory of Ivy passing him a note backstage during RENT rehearsals intrusively entered his mind. He hadn’t known back then that Ivy St. James, some sophomore girl he’d only heard of and admired from a distance, was going to enter his life like a hurricane. He hadn’t known back then that one kiss by the lockers would turn into months and months of sleeping next to each other and sharing secrets and taking pictures and arguing over who got to control the music in the car. Leo kind of felt like he couldn’t breathe. When Ivy said what he knew she was going to say, he nodded slowly, still unable to speak. What was he supposed to say anyway? He should’ve seen this coming. People always left. Nothing good ever stayed. Even as she sobbed and gasped through her words, all Leo could do was stare. Had he known that pushing her towards the right decision regarding their unexpected pregnancy would result in this, maybe he would’ve done things differently. Maybe they could’ve had their baby. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. But what use was it to dwell on that now? As Ivy pulled away from him and insisted again that she loved him, he found it in him to speak. “You can stop saying that.” It was curt and possibly cruel, but he felt powerless. He didn’t know what to do. If she really loved him, she wouldn’t be leaving him. If she really loved him, she would try to work this out. She would give them a chance, like he had time and time again when she had fucked up. As Ivy started rambling and crying harder than before into her hands, Leo was at a loss. He was burdened with guilt and with each passing statement, he knew he’d carry the weight of this feeling for the rest of his life. ’I just like look at you and it hurts me, Leo. Like it hurts.’ He’d never meant to cause her this much pain. “I’m sorry,” his words came out strained and hoarse, “I’m really fucking sorry.” This whole time he hadn’t moved. He remained sat in the same spot he had been when Ivy was cuddled into him and pressing their foreheads together. But suddenly he needed to move. He cleared his throat and got up quickly, headed straight for his doorway. He flipped the light switch so they were now illuminated. No more hiding in the darkness. For a long while he just stood there, one arm around his torso to hold himself together while the hand on his other arm covered the bottom half of his face. He stared at the ground as he tried to formalize his scattered thoughts.“You’re breaking my heart,” he mumbled, feeling choked up for the first time but quickly swallowing down those emotions and refusing to speak again until he had them in check. Earning Leo’s trust was a lot like pulling an elastic band. Ivy had pulled it and stretched it farther than anyone else had, but by deciding to throw in the towel, she had released the band and it had snapped back to where it started. All that progress—all for nothing. “I’m—“ I’m in love with you. Please don’t do this. Please don’t go. “not going to beg you to stay.” He sniffled, took a deep breath, and dropped his arms to his sides in defeat. “If you want to give up, then there’s nothing I can do.” He stepped aside a little, leaning back against the wall by his doorway and not so subtly unlocking the door. If she wanted to go, then she was free to go.

IVY:  IVY KNEW HER AND LEO WERE DRASTICALLY DIFFERENT. they were moon and sun, winter and summer, oil and water, but ivy liked that. she liked that they worked against all odds. but she certainly didn’t think her candid admission on this scale would be met with such a lack of reaction. she thought there would at least be some talking, some goodbye, not ‘im sorry’s’ or ‘stop saying that’s’. launched out of her excessive crying by anger, ivy followed leo out of bed and looked up at him. a dangerous look settled over her expression and in an instant her heartache about having broken up with leo was momentarily snuffed out by the fury his response had spurred. as he stood, covering half of his face in silence, ivy waited, seething until he dropped his arm. had their relationship meant nothing to him? how could leo say she was giving up when he wouldn’t even fight? guilt thickly coated her throat, leaving ivy speechless for a moment when leo insisted she was breaking his heart. it took her a moment to find her footing, but once she did, her blunt and brutal rage was unleashed. “speak like an adult leo, quit mumbling.” she demanded, cold. “i thought we were supposed to be mature?” ivy jabbed, though the tremors in her chin made it clear this outrage was rooted in a place of hurt. “i’m fucking sorry, too leo.” she continued, her voice raspy from all the crying, but her volume loud. not giving him time to respond, she continued, “i’m sorry that you’re a scared child who can’t even own up to his emotions and i’m sorry that i have always been open with someone who can’t even like articulate that he loves me one more time, and i’m so sorry for breaking your heart, but maybe, just maybe if you weren’t selfish about our future you wouldn’t have broken mine first!” any trace of tenderness was gone and the tears started coming once again in her angry rant about things that she wasn’t really sorry for. ivy rapidly tried to wipe her eyes, feeling like leo no longer deserved to see her cry. it was no use though and her anger rapidly took a turn towards a full meltdown. “i got an abortion for you and you can’t even have a mature break up with me?” ivy asked rhetorically through gritted teeth before adding, “fuck you, leo mccarthy. you broke my heart and i hope you’re miserable forever for it!” she cried out before pushing past him, up the steps, out of the basement, and eventually out of the house. though it was dramatic, ivy weirdly felt a weight off her chest the moment she crossed the threshold of the mccarthy home and ran to the haven that was her car. it was about a half an hour of crying and trying to uselessly make sense of what had happened before she even moved her car from being parked out front. part of her entertained the idea of giving another her a piece of her mind, another part toyed with forgiving him and making up, but the third part just hated him and wanted to be at home with her sister. so, once she got the tears under control, ivy started the car, and set her course for home, trying (and struggling) to leave her love for leo mccarthy behind her.

END