#idk man for some reason i firmly believe hes a boots person. then i was like cowboy boots... cowboy...

[feketeribizli]

more venturie! they had the vision but fumbled his design so bad

[crystaljins]

Endless

Characters: Yoongi x Reader

Word count: 7.4K

Synopsis: You aren’t the chosen one. You’re not gifted with any special powers, or secret abilities. You’re just a plucky orphan who decided you’d come along for the ride. 

Bringing down an empire is no biggie, right?

Yoongi x reader

Notes: I actually really don’t like this fic, in all honesty. It’s definitely one of my weaker ones, but since I put a lot of effort into writing it, I thought I’d post it anyway! I’m having a real big writer’s block and everything I write just feels.... jilted and inauthentic. IDK. I feel like I’ve lost my ability to tap into what a character feels T.T ANYWAY even if I don’t like it, maybe you will! So please try and enjoy

This is written for @thebtswritersclub​ March prompt, “Adventure”!

Warnings: Poss some fantasy type violence? Sparring, Yoongi is a little mean sometimes but he has RESPONSIBILITIES! Lots of conversations from very not-socially-distanced positions. Mentions of wars and evil empire

Genre: Fantasy, angst-with-a-happy-ish-ending

It’s easy to see that Yoongi is angry. From the heavy thud of his boots against the firmly packed dirt to the furious hunch of his shoulders, everything about him screams that he is livid. Even the way his travelling cloak flutters about his form is ominous, like the dark roil of storm clouds on a distant horizon. 

You follow closely behind, meek and sufficiently scolded. He’s been like this for the better part of the afternoon, ever since you left the previous town behind. 

“Um,” you pipe up, hoping to power through the stormy silence that hangs over you. You’re rewarded with a lethal glare- no one does cold fury quite like Min Yoongi.

Hanging your head, you sigh, continuing following at a dutiful three paces behind the furious man. You find yourself missing Jungkook, sure that he would have the ability to overcome this kind of tension, were he here. Or even Jiyeon, as much as you dislike her- perhaps the “chosen one” wouldn’t trigger such ire in her fated mentor. Really, any sort of third companion would do, if not to pacify Yoongi, then at least to keep you company. Long silences aren’t really your thing, after all. 

You square your shoulders, straightening. At the next town, Jin and Hoseok await your arrival, and then you will have at least two more companions to chat to when Yoongi enters one of his “moods”.

Not that his “moods” happen very often. For a man who is almost infamously gruff and who seems to permanently have a scowl etched upon his face, his actual personality is fairly calm and unbothered. Years of journeying across the realm of Adlentur have resulted in an attitude where there is very little that can truly throw him off. 

Apparently, you possess that unique ability, for the calm mask he often adorns is nowhere to be seen. Even when you’d followed him out of your hometown and demanded to accompany him a lick of ability, magical or not, to warrant your accompaniment, he hadn’t batted an eye. He had merely squinted thoughtfully at you while Seokjin and Hoseok insisted that you would merely be deadweight, before turning around and announcing that if you couldn’t keep up, you’d be left behind. 

He’s doing his best to leave you behind now; you’re struggling to keep up with his rapid pace. It’s so speedy that you feel a twinge in your freshly-healed ankle. With a wince, you stumble a few steps, and the ground comes rapidly rising up to meet your face. Before it can make contact, however, a stabilising hand encircles your elbow and you’re yanked upright. 

Yoongi stares at you, a delicate but angry flush creeping across the high points of his cheek bones and down his neck. 

“Thanks.” You offer sheepishly, before gingerly setting your weight upon your foot once more. The healers had warned you that the fractures were severe enough that even with the extensive healing you’d likely still be a bit tender for the next few days. 

“Does it hurt?” He demands, and you wince. You straighten and shake your head. 

“It’s just a bit weaker than normal.” You rush to assure him. These are the first words he’s said to you since you woke up in the clinic of the village you’d been staying in. Since then, he’s sort of just stormed around in a furious silence. 

The incident that had set him off had been an attack on said village. Of late, the sporadic surges of nightmarish beasts that left few survivors and decimated village populations were becoming more frequent, and this particular village was no exception. This village was lucky in that it had a protector; Yoongi is gifted with special abilities and highly trained in combat. You have no idea where he got the abilities from and why he is so skilled, but it saved your life when he first came to your village, and it didn’t take him long to begin saving lives in this village. 

But Yoongi is only human (you assume), and the beasts were numerous and powerful. People can slip under the radar in times of chaos and he hadn’t noticed the small child in the path of danger. 

You had, though. You had seen the oncoming danger but unlike Yoongi, you are not trained in combat. You aren’t gifted with special abilities. You’re just an orphan who witnessed what he could do. You’re nothing special. 

But you couldn’t just leave the child to die. 

According to the healers that Yoongi had carried your broken, bloody body to, you had gotten off easy. A broken ankle, a shredded arm and deep lacerations across your body. The healers had been skilled and Yoongi had supplied them with some of his own magic to give them the ability to heal your wounds- within just twelve hours the only remnants of your scuffle with the monster was a slightly weakened ankle and some ugly scars from some of the deeper wounds that even the healing magic couldn’t overcome. 

Despite his foul mood, Yoongi’s hands are gentle as he guides you to sit on a nearby rock. He crouches before you and reaches for your ankle- his hands are warm as his thumb slides against the ball of your ankle. He’s so careful as he rotates your ankle upwards, testing the range of motion. Even in his anger, he treats you like you’re made of glass. 

 He hadn’t treated you like this when you first started out. He’d just kind of begrudgingly tolerated all your quirks, watched as you bulldozed your way into his little travelling party. But then, as time went on, he’d become more tentative. More careful. He’d tell you to hide when an attack came on the village so you didn’t get in the way. You’d meet a new person and his arm would come up in front of you, like he’s shielding you from a threat. It’s almost subconscious. But it’s annoying. 

“It’s fine.” You say, tugging your ankle away from his grasp as sitting straighter on the rock. You feel like a haughty child when he raises weary eyes to glare at you. 

“It was shattered yesterday.” He reminds you. “If we’d been in any other village, you’d probably be out of commission for months. And I would’ve left you behind because we have to save-“

He cuts off abruptly but you can fill in the blanks of what he’d say. 

An ugly thought overcomes you; what if I were her? It’s poisonous and burns in your chest. Jealousy is an ugly emotion but you’ve been familiar with it a long time. Ever since Yoongi and his crew arrived at your village in search of the long-awaited “chosen one”. It’s probably a dream every orphan harbours; that they are special and unique and wanted, and the murmurs that followed Yoongi’s arrival had probably triggered a similar feeling of longing across the many orphans that take up residence in your village. 

Alas, that chosen one is not you; you remember your parents very clearly. Warm, kind, loving. They succumbed to the plague that had left the orphanage you grew up in overflowing. In such a full and overwhelmed establishment, it is easy to sneak in an extra child. And that’s what Jiyeon had been. Always on the outskirts, a little special and unique. She could never quite fit in with the other kids and for some reason you’d always resented that. Not only that; the way she never even seemed to try. She possessed some unique spark, some unfathomable dignity. Alone, dirty-cheeked, unwanted even in an orphanage, and yet there was always something special in her. And it never left her even as the two of you grew up and took your leave from the orphanage.

It hadn’t taken Yoongi long to find her- apparently Seokjin had some sort of specialised divination powers and he’d known who she was the instant he’d laid eyes upon her. Agnes, the local breadmaker, had taken her on as an apprentice and you’d even been in the store when they entered, seeking her out. There’d been something mysterious and terribly exciting about them- it had felt like the opening scenes of those adventure novels Jungkook would read out to the other kids in the orphanage. 

And you’d witnessed the disaster that had followed- the attack on the village, your home, by those merciless monsters, the death of people you’d known, and Jiyeon’s ensuing kidnap. Someone apparently didn’t want Jiyeon taking up the mantle of her destiny.

You’re not sure why you insisted you come along on the journey to save her- you never liked Jiyeon. You didn’t know Yoongi or Seokjin or Hoseok. And your closest friend was adamant that he’d stay behind to assist in the rebuilding effort of your village. 

Maybe it was something ugly; a desire for it to have been you instead. The one with special, hidden powers and an endless exciting adventure before you. As Yoongi looks up at you, you could believe that maybe that was your motivation. Maybe you wanted to be the one he was looking for.

“I would have caught up.” You finally say, instead of sharing any of those ugly thoughts. “If you’d left me, I’d have hunted you down and followed.” 

Yoongi gets abruptly to his feet, and you nearly tumble off the rock in surprise. 

“You’re a fool!” He cries. Your eyes widen, but he’s lost to a tirade. Alabaster skin has flushed a furious crimson and the dark points of his eyes have hardened- they glint at you like unyielding steel. “Don’t you understand what we’re doing here? We have to rescue the chosen one or the world as we know it is over. We’re on a time limit! This isn’t some fun whacky adventure with friends- peoples’ lives are at stake! And you’re just throwing yourself around like a thoughtless child!”

You stiffen defensively. 

“I’m not being thoughtless-“ you protest, anger heating your words as you spit them out, but Yoongi cuts you off.

“You are! What powers do you have? What abilities? None! I allowed you to come because I didn’t think you’d get in our way so much!” He snarls at you. You throw yourself to your feet, your eyes blazing and your heart thundering furiously in your heart. “Instead you’re throwing yourself into fights you know you can’t handle! You should have left the kid to me!”

“So I was supposed to just sit and stay where you’d left me? Like a dog?” You cry. “When people are dying around me? When a child was about to lose his life?”

“You were supposed to not get hurt!” Is what Yoongi shouts. 

And then he goes abruptly silent, his mouth closing so violently that you hear his teeth click together. He cups a hand over his mouth and turns abruptly away, shoulders hunched. 

The change in mood is so sudden that you feel like you have whiplash; you almost lose your balance with the about-face. Yoongi keeps his back to you for a long moment, and there’s something hurt about the way he curls himself away from you. Finally, he takes a long, shaky inhale and when he finally turns back to you, his eyes are glazed with emotions you can’t understand. It’s not fair that he gets to stare at you like that, that he gets to make you feel two feet tall. 

“Why did you come?” He finally asks, levelling you with a wary look. 

The air feels heavy. You and Yoongi have had a good relationship from the beginning- he’s a little protective and a little bit gruff, but on the whole he’d looked out for you and if anything, you felt closer to him than you did to Seokjin or Hoseok. So this is likely the first time the two of you have clashed like this. 

It’s probably the question he should have asked when you first demanded you accompany him. He should have questioned your motives. He’d had just enough interaction with Jiyeon to work out that she was a bit of an outcast before she’d been kidnapped; he should have known that she’s not your friend. Maybe that’s why you’re so fond of Yoongi; because he hadn’t asked any of those things. He’d looked at the plucky orphan and given you a chance. 

You’ve questioned your own motives many times; why are you on this journey? Why didn’t you stay in your rightful place with Jungkook back at the village? Why did you insist you help rescue Jiyeon? There are motives you can’t shake; that it was for glory. Recognition. So that you could play at being hero. So that you could catch the attention of the mysterious, handsome stranger who is currently eyeing you like you’re an unfamiliar but dangerous beast. 

But you want to believe the motive in the depths of your heart is true; that are your core, you are good. 

She’d met your eyes, the moment before those beasts grabbed her. She’d stared straight at you and begged you for help.

“Because people need help.” You finally say. You gaze straight at Yoongi, willing him to understand. Willing him to believe. Willing him to see the good in you that you want to believe is there. 

Yoongi offers you a searching gaze; deep, dark eyes seem to pierce through to your very soul. He’s always had sharp eyes- he picks things up faster than anyone you’ve ever met and he notices things that no one else would even think to look for. It’s terrifying and exhilarating to have all the focus directed completely on you, even if it is only for a heartbeat. Like he’s disassembling you, piece by piece. 

And then he turns away, shoulders stiff and posture ready like a well-trained soldier, and he begins to march off. 

“You get two days of recovery. And then we start your training.” He glances over his shoulder at you. “If you’re to accompany the chosen one on her journey, then you must be able to defend yourself. Otherwise, if you continue to burden us like this, I shall chain you to your home at the village personally.”

And you can’t read his expression for the life of you, but there’s just something fond about the way the light glints off his steely eyes. 

++

“Can’t I train her?” Seokjin complains, chewing through a mouthful of dried meat. He looks you up and down like he’s seizing up your weakness and you stick your tongue out him childishly. “I think she needs some work on her defensive skills; perhaps I can come at her with a stick and she can try and fend me off.”

“That just sounds like you want revenge for the mouse she put in your bedding this morning.” Hoseok offers helpfully. 

Yoongi chews through his rations slowly and thoughtfully before levelling a glare a Seokjin. 

“You can train her as soon as you best me in a fight. If you’d like, we can test that out right now and I can give (Y/N) a day off-“ 

“That’s fine.” Seokjin hastily cuts him off. “You know what, actually I think I need to do some meditation this morning, make sure they haven’t shifted Jiyeon’s location and that we’re still heading in the right direction.” He scurries off, not sparing a look behind him and you resist the urge to snort in laughter. Perhaps the mouse had been unnecessary, but some sort of revenge had been required after all Seokjin’s recent comments on the amount of time Yoongi had been taking to train you. 

It had been months now, since Yoongi had decided you needed training; you were still a beginner by all means but Yoongi is a good teacher and with each day that passes you grow more adept. It leaves you a little sad; had he been able to mentor Jiyeon and cultivate her special abilities like he intended, perhaps the world would already be saved and the growing evil sealed permanently. 

“You never did say why you decided to start learning to fight, (Y/N),” Hobi comments conversationally; though he is just as much a coward as Seokjin, he does have some sort of immunity to Yoongi’s withering glare. This leaves him undeterred by Yoongi’s subtle hints that he is unwelcome at your training sessions, for the most part. 

“If she’s coming along on a dangerous journey, she needs to learn to defend herself.” Yoongi cuts in. He finishes the last of his meal, and gets to his feet. He stretches languorously, like a  cat, peering at you through squinted eyes. “I’ll give you an hour and then we’ll get started. We’ll make camp here for tonight and cross the river in the morning.” 

He wanders off, leaving you with Hobi. Hobi watches him go with mild curiosity. 

“What happened between you two when we got separated?” Hobi wonders aloud. He tilts his head and stares at you. “Something just... seems different with you two.” 

You pause to consider; true to his word, Yoongi had given you another couple of days to recover, and then he’d started his training. The two of you would spend the day hiking and in the evenings when you’d made camp for the night, he’d teach you the basics of combat. But despite his rigorous training, there was no denying that Yoongi treated you differently after that day. Not hugely different- his protectiveness hadn’t changed, and he wasn’t any less gruff than usual. He just seemed... a little warmer. Kinder, even. Except when he was training you and then he’d turn into a demon spawned from the depths of hell. 

“Nothing we haven’t already told you; a village got attacked, I got injured, and Yoongi decided I should be trained in combat to stop it happening again.” You recall. Hoseok shakes his head in absolute bafflement. 

“See, those all sounds like standard things for Yoongi, but then he also doesn’t seem like Yoongi. He’s so... different with you.l Hoseok admits. “I’ve known him for years now, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he...” he trails away, before looking at you curiously. “Ah.” He makes a little noise of understanding. 

You lean forward eagerly. 

“What?” You ask. Hoseok holds a thumb and forefinger to his chin thoughtfully. 

“Nothing. I just want to try something. Hold still.” And that’s all the warning you get before Hoseok dives at you. Your eyes widen as you lurch back, but you are caught off guard and so Hoseok is able to pin you easily. 

“Hobi!” You cry in protest, but he just grins and leans in close. You can’t help but notice how compromising the position you are in is, pinned beneath Hobi, and when he drops down low enough for his mouth to tickle your ear, you can only imagine what the pair of you look like to a third party. 

“Yoongi’s the jealous type, by the way.” Is what he whispers, and that’s all he manages to tell you before a very loud throat clear interrupts him. 

Hobi leans back, settling on his heals but not bothering to get off you. Yoongi stares down at him, unimpressed. His lips are pressed firmly together, but otherwise his expression is unreadable.

“Ah, Yoongs,” Hoseok says cheerfully. “I was just thinking I’d test (Y/N)’s reflexes. See how your training is going for myself.” 

“Hoseok.” Yoongi says cooly. He smiles but it has no warmth in it. “Surely you’ve seen me fight enough; are you doubting my ability to train her?” 

He offers a hand out to Hoseok, who accept it cheerfully. Freed from Hoseok’s grasp, you sit up, brushing dirt off your tunic and then glaring at Hoseok. 

“Never.” Hoseok says warmly. He’s entirely too cheerful and smug and you don’t know why.

“What the hell, Hobi-“ you snap, but Yoongi cuts you off. 

“I changed my mind, (Y/N),” he says abruptly. He pins you with shimmering dark eyes. “We’ll start our training now; Hoseok has just helpfully pointed out some shortcomings.”

“You’re welcome.” Hoseok offers, before taking his leave to find Jin.

He’s gentle as he helps you to your feet. 

Everything about him is almost overly careful, as he leads you away from the camp site to a small clearing. There’s a tension to his figure that you don’t quite understand- it reminds you of the fight you’d had, where he’d turned away from you, overcome with emotion. 

Yoongi takes a long, deep breath. 

“Are you ok?” He finally asks, when the tension has bled from his posture. You nod cautiously, and Yoongi nods awkwardly to himself, before sighing heavily. He shoves a distressed hand through his hair, and the dishevelled look makes him look younger, somehow. Yoongi hasn’t been very forthcoming with personal details about himself, particularly his age, but normally he looks just a bit older than you. But the look he gives you now is almost boyish, like a confused child lost in the woods. 

“Hoseok’s always been nosey.” He comments. “He likes to do unhelpful things because he thinks he’s helping me.” The almost frazzled way he says the words is so unlike the composed man you know; you feel like you have whiplash and you don’t even know the reason behind his sudden and unexpected fluster. 

“You mean pinning me?” You wonder. Yoongi nods, agitated, before stepping close to you. 

“What did he say to you?” He asks. “When he was... he was... I saw him say something. What’d he say?” 

You pause to recall the cryptic words- that Yoongi is the jealous type. It’s certainly an interesting little tidbit to know; a small part of you wonders if that jealousy would ever be directed at you, but you dismiss it just as quickly. But for the life of you, you can’t think why Hobi might have brought it up in such a context, or why he even thought it appropriate to pull the stunt in the first place. 

“That you’re the jealous type.” You share, wondering if Yoongi will offer any further clarity or insight into the situation or if he will keep his thoughts to himself like he often prefers to do. 

Something sparks in Yoongi’s eyes, and this, at least, is an easy emotion to interpret; irritation. 

“Let’s just get started.” He grumbles. He guides you through your regular warm up. You’re thankful you’d eaten earlier than the others for you’re sure you’d have a nasty cramp if you hadn’t. Yoongi is short and clipped in his delivery and it’s clear the hounding from his peers earlier has left him in a foul mood. 

Finally, after a series of difficult drills that he’s been practicing with you, he allows you a brief reprieve. 

“You’ve come a long way.” He observes, while you take a long drink from a waterskin. When you stare at him questioningly in response, he settles down next to you and offers something close to a smile. It’s a little terser and a little awkward, but there’s a warmth to his eyes that you’ve steadily become acquainted with despite the rarity of its appearances. “Give it another few months and you’ll be able to keep up with even Jin.” 

“I probably won’t.” You remind him. “Jiyeon’s being held at the next town- you’ll probably be too preoccupied training her to have these sessions with me.” 

Yoongi stiffens, just slightly, but you’ve become accustomed with the way he expresses himself throughout the journey and you know the statement throws him. 

“I can manage two pupils. It might even be helpful for her to spar with someone closer to her skill level.” He finally says. You nod, getting up and stretching, bouncing from heel to heel as an indicator that you’re ready to go. 

“I suppose it might.” You offer, but now your mind is preoccupied. In the next few days, the four of you will enter into the territory where Jin can sense Jiyeon is being held, and they will begin her rescue mission. Following that, Yoongi had planned to withdraw to his hometown where he can safely train her in preparation. From there, the campaign begins; they must raise up an army mighty enough to take on the Empire and remove whatever curse upon the land the Shadow Emperor has wrought. It’s a long, arduous path ahead of them, one you definitely hadn’t thought through. But with your meagre, beginner fighting skills, surely you shall be more hindrance than help, as pointed out by Yoongi all those months ago.  

Yoongi picks up on your distraction when he’s able to pin you in a fairly simple maneouvre. He plants a forearm against the base of your throat and pins your legs beneath the weight of his body. His body is warm against yours and the force of the blow that sent you sprawling has you breathless. You bring up your hands, trying to dislodge his arm, but he’s stronger and surer than you and it doesn’t budge.

“Distraction can cost you your life.” He comments, and his voice is a low rumble. His breaths come deep and heavy- warm puffs of air tickle your skin and his torso heaves against yours. 

“Sorry.” You mutter. The pressure against you eases as Yoongi sits back but he doesn’t shift his weight off you. 

“I was distracted too.” He admits. He rolls off you and straightens, dusting off his pants before extending a hand to you. “Let’s leave it here and pick up tomorrow. It might even be our last training session without Jiyeon so I expect you to work hard.” 

You take his hand and the mention of her name has something dark and ugly churning in your stomach. This whole situation has your heart sitting cold in your chest like unyielding stone. You had confessed to Yoongi that you had come along on this journey because someone needed help- what about after? What role did you have to play in all this? Yoongi had just assumed you would continue to accompany them, but is that really what you should do?

“I’m the jealous type too.” The words come out of you softly, unbidden- you almost don’t realise you’ve said them until you see the way Yoongi stiffens. 

“What?” He asks, turning back to face you. His expression is about as readable as a blank page- you’re sure the Emperor’s fortress would be easier to breach. 

You swallow deeply and steel yourself. You’ve already said the words- it’s time you faced these pesky feelings before you make a decision you regret. 

“I’m the jealous type too.” You confess, a little louder. “I don’t want to be your second pupil. I don’t want to be someone along just so Jiyeon’s less lonely and has someone to spar with. I like training with you. I want to keep training with just you. And the thought of sharing this time with her... it makes me feel jealous.” 

Yoongi is silent, staring at you in confusion. It takes him a few baffled blinks before he manages an answer. 

“We don’t have enough time for two separate sessions.” Is what he offers, the words slow and almost slurred in confusion. “And Jiyeon’s training takes priority.” 

It’s a slap in the face, even if Yoongi doesn’t mean it in the way you’re thinking. He doesn’t seem to understand, but you want him to. You want him to comfort you and take away the ugly feelings storming inside you. 

“I’m not talking about training.” You finally say. “I’m talking about us. You and me.” 

Yoongi looks like you’ve just punched him in the stomach- the look of absolute bewilderment on his normally calm face would be funny if your heart didn’t feel like it was about to plummet straight through your body into the ground below you. 

“I have feelings for you.” You blurt. “And I’m scared. Because Jiyeon’s the chosen one. She has to be your priority. The world needs that. But if she’s the priority... if she’s the one that needs to be trained and cared for and raised.... where does that leave me? Less useful than a packing mule.”

Yoongi’s expression is stony, but you can see the emotion shining in his eyes. His normally composed exterior is completely shattered, and for just a brief second you catch a glimpse of fragile, vulnerable longing. 

And then his expression steels and it’s like a door slamming shut. 

“I don’t have time for feelings.” Is what he says. He’s brusque and his words are firm and if you hadn’t caught that glimpse of emotion, it would almost seem cruel the way he delivers them. “And if this is what you are spending your time worrying about, then I think it best you return to your village.” 

And then he leaves you, alone in the clearing to clean up the mess you’ve made of your own heart. 

++

Despite his rough dismissal, you do not go home. You’ve come too far to not at least see Jiyeon safe and rescued. What comes after is something you can worry about when it actually happens. 

Seokjin and Hoseok can tell something happened, but they are awkward and unsure about how to proceed since both you and Yoongi refuse to speak of it. Instead, the two of you arrive at some sort of wordless truce; he won’t send you home and you won’t bring up your feelings again.

The four of you arrive at the town where Jin can sense Jiyeon’s presence. It’s a fairly unremarkable town, just small enough that it’s hard to enter without people noticing your presence but just large enough that they probably can’t guess at your motives. It takes a few days of reconnaissance to discover where Jiyeon may be; this town happens to house a small, undercover faction of the emperor’s top mages, and a days’ hike out of the village holds a secret dungeon. 

The decision is made to leave you behind, and though normally you’d insist you accompany them, a piercing glare from Yoongi has you meekly agreeing to stay overnight in the in . Your instructions are simple; if the four of them do not return by 6am the next morning, you are to cross the country and head to the town of Sabre, Yoongi’s hometown. From there, you should find the aid necessary to rescue the chosen one, and from there it will be up to Yoongi’s friends and family to replace Yoongi’s role as mentor and teacher to the chosen one. 

You’re seeing the them off under the cover of night when Yoongi finally acknowledges you.

You’re about to turn back to the inn and retire to the room that you’d hired out when he calls your name. You turn back in surprise; Jin and Hoseok watch in confusion as Yoongi walks towards you. He shoves a hand through his hair in distress before coming to a halt before you. 

His expression is oddly soft as he casts his gaze over you. 

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. It’s soft enough that Jin and Hoseok can’t hear,  but you hear the words as loud as day. “I’ll... I’ll see you in the morning.”

Despite everything, despite the ache in your chest, despite the overwhelming worry and concern, despite the fear, you smile at him. He looks surprised for a moment before you notice the slightest curl form at the edge of his mouth in a weak smile. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.” You promise. 

You do attempt to sleep that night; after all the plan is to leave straight away and flee to Sabre as soon as Jiyeon is rescued. You have a long an arduous journey ahead of you and you’re the only one who has the luxurious option of sleep. But you only manage fitful bursts, filled with nightmares. Finally, the dawn rolls around, though you do not feel rested in the slightest. 

You rise with a sigh, readying your scant belongings and changing into appropriate travel gear. 

And then, you wait. Waiting is agony- that’s something you learn as you settle beside the window of your small room and watch the sun peek between imposing stone buildings. The sky warms from a dull grey into a blushing pink, and then a bright blue. And all the while, you catch no glimpse of your friends. Six am comes and goes. No one had warned you how deeply terrifying your role would be. Waiting and uncertain. Are they dead? Captured? You do not know- they didn’t grant you the luxury of any information; just left you behind to deal with the mess, under the guise of “safety”.

Stiffly, you rise from your position. You do not dare check the clock. You do not want to know how long past the meet-up time it is though it must be at least a few hours. Your instructions had been to leave strictly as 6am lest people

come looking for you, but that hour has come and gone.

“You’re a liar.” You mutter to yourself as you step out into the crisp morning air. It had only been last night that he’d promised to see you again; so quickly he broke his promise. 

You kick the dirt aimlessly before beginning a quick stride for the edge of town, your head down. “A coward and a liar.” You assert, though your voice is thick with unshed tears. 

You’ve just stepped into the woods that surround the edge of the town when you hear the crunch of boots in dirt and the clink of armour; soldiers are out and about. Perhaps they’re searching for your friends after a successful mission and Jiyeon is safe; perhaps they’re searching for any backup to exterminate and ensure her continued imprisonment. 

You’re searching for a way to conceal yourself when an arm wraps around your bicep and nearly yanks you off your feet. You stumble back into a firm, warm presence, and one hand covers your mouth while an arm snakes around your waist, stifling your cry. 

You don’t hesitate to utilise the momentum of your fall. You swing your elbow around to where you estimate your attacker’s abdomen is. They release a soft “oof” and you utilise the way that their arm goes slack to swing forward in the same moment you bring the heel of your foot slamming down over theirs. 

They grunt and hunch over in pain.

“It’s me!” A familiar voice hisses, releasing you so that you can whirl around and see your attacker.

“Yoongi?” You say, before remembering the approaching guards and lower your voice. “You’re here?!”

“I am.” He comments softly. “Jin sensed you hadn’t left yet and I.... came to get you.” He confesses. 

A clank of armour and the distant sound of voices has the two of you freezing; now is not the time for reunion. There will be time for catch up and explanation later. For now, you are in imminent danger until the soldiers pass you by. 

Yoongi secures a hand tightly around your wrist and guides you through the undergrowth in a low crouch. He moves in the opposite direction of the voices, brushing branches out of the way. 

“There’s a hollow ahead; we can hide there until they pass by and then we’ll make for town. The others will be waiting for us there.” He glances at you over his shoulder. 

You don’t know what passes through his expression, but you feel his grip tighten just a fraction and his pace quickens. 

The hollow he speaks of is a tree- rain has washed away the soil that the tree clung to. In its place, twist, skeletal roots knot and weave to form a dark space just large enough to hide some if they scrunched themselves up very tightly. You pause to raise an eyebrow at Yoongi. He pointedly ignores your scepticism, pressing pointedly on your shoulders until you obediently crawl into the space. He is not far behind- you feel the warmth of his form as he crowds you in. You’re about to comment that you don’t feel particularly hidden when you feel the brush of his magic; the shadows around the roots thicken. It’s a spell you’ve seen before- people’s eyes seem to just slide over the places that Yoongi’s shadows conceal. 

“So are you going to tell me why you’re still here and not halfway to the next town when we agreed you’d leave three hours ago?” He murmurs from where he is crouched over you. Crushed up against him like this, he is a large, foreboding presence. Were it not for the glint of warmth to his eyes, the relief at seeing you safe, you could almost be afraid of this terrifying man. If he is, indeed, a human at all. 

You could do a lot of things in that moment- pour out the anxiety and worry and misery and anger you feel and watch him boil in it; instead you release the fragile shard of vulnerability you had been trying to keep a tight hold on. 

“I couldn’t accept you’d died.” You confess. 

Yoongi’s eyes soften, and he drops his head so that it rests against your shoulder. His hair tickles the side of your neck and you feel the heavy weight of his breath as he exhales slowly. 

“I’m sorry.” He confesses. You shake your head, attempting to shift back. Some distance would be helpful to the loud racket your heart is currently making. 

“It was out of your control.” You remind him. “It’s hard to be punctual when you’re fighting against an empire.”

His arms tighten- a hand lifts from the soil and fits into the curve of your waist, anchoring you against him. 

“Not about that.” He confesses. “About.... about what you said earlier. About your feelings- I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. I have so much I must do and I can’t afford distractions and yet...... there is so much I want to be distracted by, (Y/N).”

He feels your surprised inhale, the way your ribs hiccup beneath his palm.  

“I’m supposed to be protecting Jiyeon and yet when Jin told me you were in danger...”

He doesn’t have to finish the story. Here he is, holding you desperately against him like at any moment you may crumble. He left the chosen one vulnerable, unprotected and untrained to save you. The plucky orphan who should have never been apart of this tale in the first place. 

Against your volition, you hand comes up to slide against his cheek. His eyes squeeze shut at the gesture- it reminds you of a cat, the way his eyes squint in contentment. 

“I understand.” You admit. “I.... It’s not your fault.”

Those are the only words you can muster. How else can you articulate the way it has clicked in place? The burden Yoongi bears; the long, scary road ahead of him. He cannot afford to be thinking of the things he cannot have; and he cannot have you, as much as you both want it. 

You know he understands what you meant; that your words have lifted a heavy burden from his heart. He did not want to hurt you; but he cannot drag you in. 

You lean up, tilting your head up just slightly so that you can have a brief taste of the life you could have had; if you were born in a time of peace and prosperity. Perhaps you could have wedded. Had children together. Grow old with your hands linked together, smiling with recollections of a life well-lives. His lips are soft but firm, and the kiss is filled with sadness. 

++

You eventually make the decision to go home. It’s not inmediatelt; you persevere for a while. You accompany them on the arduous journey back to Yoongi’s hometown. You assist with Jiyeon’s training as Yoongi intended. But eventually you come to accept the truth; this isn’t your journey to be on.

Jiyeon, who was suspicious of your presence at first given your history, is the one who protests the most, oddly enough. Perhaps you are the small piece of familiarity in a sea of chaos and fear, to her. And oddly, you are sad to say good-bye. Despite never liking her as a child, as an adult you begin to see it. The heart for others, the unwavering compassion and determination. She has the heart of a hero. 

But that’s why you must return home; a hero needs a home to fight for, after all.

Yoongi’s goodbye to you is subdued. He does not voice his sadness- Jiyeon even goes so far as to scold him to his dismissiveness. But you know; you can see it shining in his eyes. If he lets go, he will break down. And you are leaving to prevent that; your goodbye will be for naught if he lets himself crumble here. 

“It’s not forever.” You reassure your friends. Jin nods, tearfully, while Hoseok rests a comforting hand against his shoulder- normalky he would be the one sobbing the loudest, but he is to chaperone you home and then he will rendez-vous with the others in Yoongi’s hometown. “I’ll see you when the war ends. If any of you die, I’ll be very cross with you.”

That does it; the briefest, weakest smile from Yoongi. 

And so ends this chapter of your adventure.

 Epilogue:

The war lasts five years. Villages are ravaged, lives are lost and empires are brought to their knees. Joyous bells ring throughout your town when the news reaches you; the emperor has fallen. 

For you, you don’t think much of it. The war had left countless children orphaned, and to the best of your ability you take as many in as you can handle. Ever since you and Jungkook took over the orphanage, funds have been tight and there have been endless mouths to feed. So the news of the war ending leaves you surprisingly underwhelmed. The end of the war will not mean food appears from nowhere or make these children un-orphaned. If anything, your job gets harder now; as people lick their wounds and the fallen empire recovers, you will have your hands full with your children. 

You’re informing Jungkook of this opinion quite loudly in the tavern one evening. It’s past curfew for the children and old Bertha had offered to keep an eye on things so the two of you could have a night off. 

You’re surprised when a nearby customer snickers. Casting your gaze, you notice four hooded figures seated around the door. That in itself is not suspicious, for many travellers prefer to keep their identities concealed as they pass through. 

What is suspicious is the brief glimpse you catch of one of the hooded strangers, the slight tilt of a smirk that seems almost familiar. 

Having noticed your attention is drawn, one of the travellers lean forward. 

“Do go on.” A familiar voice sounds. You nearly drop your glass as you blink a few times. Suddenly, your heart is racing. 

“Do you know these people?” Jungkook asks curiously, eyeing the group with mild interest. 

You’re too stunned to reply, so the initial traveller, the one who had snickered answers for you. He tugs his hood off to reveal chestnut hair, a heart shaped mouth, bright glittering eyes. 

“I sure hope she does since we came all this way to find her.” Hoseok cries enthusiastically. 

You distantly hear the sound of a chair sliding across wood and then realise the source is you, leaping from your chair. 

“H-hoseok?” You cry. He grins. 

“The one and only!” He caws. He gets to his feet to engulf you in a monstrous bear hug. 

The other travellers take the opportunity to tug their hoods free; first Jiyeon appears, beaming at you, then Seokjin. 

And then Yoongi. Five years has not aged him, though you always had considered the possibility that he is immortal. 

Hoseok seems to realise he’s lost your attention, for he releases you and begins interrogating Jungkook. 

You’re far too preoccupied with the man before you. 

“Yoongi.” You breathe. 

The smile he offers you is surprisingly light and warm. Like a cat blinking contentedly in the rays of the morning sun. And despite it being nearly half a decade since you last saw him, your heart races just the same. 

“You did say it wasn’t forever.” He offers you simply. 

And as your eyes water and fill with tears, you offer him a weak smile. 

And so begins the next chapter of your adventure.

[jordluna]

You Meet Steve Rogers (Natasha x daughter!reader)

Summary: On a mission to rescue hostages, you end up meeting Captain America along the way. The daughter reader is 15. Since reader is in her teenage years she's pretty sassy and her and Nat have a kinda bitchy relationship but it's still sweet though.

"I have a mission with Steve to go on. I should be back in the morning so stay home, and don't do anything reckless while I'm gone." Natasha says while loading up guns on her cat suit as you sit on the couch of your apartment and binge the 100 on the T.V.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll stay here." You say while shoving a load full of popcorn in your mouth. You want her to leave badly so you can go onto the next season before the next day.

"Stay here and don't stay up late." She says firmly as you turn your back to face her to say one last remark.

"No mom, I'll go to the popular girl's party, get drunk, and hook up with the hottest dude I see." She rolls her eyes as she leaves the apartment, while you snicker to herself.

Just as your about to get up to make some more popcorn your phone rings from your hoodie. You pull it out,hoping one of your friends wants to chat with you so you won't be bored all night. Instead you see Director Fury's name on the screen.

You groan, as you swipe to answer it, knowing never to not answer Fury's calls.

"Was-sup Fury." You say while shutting off the T.V.

"Agent Romanoff, it's great to here from you again. Since you haven't showed up to Shield the past two weeks." Fury says not even trying to hid the annoyance in his voice.

"Two weeks already? Well I've been very busy with school work and all." You lie, as for the real reason you haven't shown up is because you were to busy binging The 100."Romanoff I think you must have forgotten you're on Spring break." You wince as you have totally forgotten.

"Shit." You mutter under your breathe. "Shit, indeed." Fury says back after a little bit of silence.

"So why'd you call me exactly?" You ask. "I need you as back up on your mother's and Steve's mission." He then explains their mission to you.

"So what do I have to do?" You ask annoyed that your all nighter is ruined, due to saving lives. "You, my least favorite Romanoff, have to collect Shield's intel on the ship. You can also kick some ass if needed." You sigh while putting on your cat suit and loading your weapons.

"Will do pirate dude." You say while leaving the apartment. "Also I'm so flattered to be your least favorite Romanoff."

"A car should be in the front of your house to escort you to the quinjet. You can jump off shortly after Natasha and Steve are already inside the ship."

"Sounds easy enough."

"Don't disappoint me y/n." You just sigh and end the call. You let your red hair down from the messy bun it was already in. Well time to do the dirty work.

*****

As you hide in the back of the ship you do what Fury instructed and waited for everyone to get off before you leave. Once you jump off you immediately start making your way to the to the control room to grab the data and go, hoping maybe just maybe you can finish one last episode before your mom comes home. Men immediately start running at you but you take out your dagger and slide towards them on your knees, slicing their thighs.

As they knell to the floor you stab them in the chest and make a break for the room. You think about using your guns tonight off the men in front of you but you know that's more of Natasha's thing than yours. Plus the guns would be to loud and you don't want to bump into anyone you know on the mission.

So instead you just do the simple hand to hand combat and leave without a single bruising or scratch as usual while the guys are wailing in pain on the ground.

"Sorry about that, but to be fair you did ruin my movie night." You say with a sinister smile.

*****

Steve moves around the ship looking for the rest of the hostages when he sees pirates injured on the ground. He immediately thinks it's Natasha since there is no there person that can fight without some sort of weapon as good as her. Let alone lave five men unconscious on the ground. As he walks closer he sees two more injured guys on the ground with what appear to be stab wounds.

"Nat, I didn't know you had an interest in knives." Steve says into his ear piece. Natasha is confused by his statement wondering what he is talking about. It then hits her. You were here.

"I'm not." She simply says as Steve is now also more confused.

*****

As you enter the control room you immediately put the hard drive in and start collecting whatever you can. Just then something comes crashing through the door with some unconscious guy underneath him.

"Hey Rogers." You say with a small smirk on your face, recognizing the man as Captain America.

"Who are you and what are you doing?" He says sternly as he pushes you back into the wall, harshly, putting his shield up to your collar bone so you couldn't escape. However you showed no fear in your eyes as you weren't even scared, just irritated that you're still in this room.

"Damn, is this how people introduced themselves in the forties? I'm here on Director Fury's orders."

"To collect Shield intel?"

"Why are you asking if you obviously already know." You say.

"Who are you?" He says firmly looking for an answer.

"Name's y/n. I would ask for your name but I already know because of the whole being a popsicle in a freezer for 97 years."

"You knocked all those guards out there?" He says looking down at the bloody knife in your holster. You just nod quickly hoping to get out of here before your mother finds you and grounds you for life.

"Why would Fury send a 14 year old girl out here?" Ok, now your annoyed with the interrogation.

"I'm 15 Cap. Get your facts strait before spitting them out." He most likely annoyed to as he's pushing you a little more further against the wall. Just as your about to grab the knife and stab him the thigh a familiar voice fills the room.

"Let her go Steve." Natasha says as he releases the pressure on your collar bone. As he moves out of the way you see the one person you've been planning on avoiding this entire mission. Natasha gives you the deadliest glare you've ever seen her give you. You tense for a second but let your muscles relax knowing this isn't the time to be a wimp.

"Hey-" She immediately cuts you off."Я сказал тебе оставаться дома." She's yelling to you in Russian, that's not good. (I told you to stay home.)

"Я знаю, но Фьюри сказал, что тебе нужна помощь.There for here I am." You say trying to reason with her as Steve just watches you guys very confused. (I know, but Fury said you needed back up.) She takes the hard drive out and throws it to you. You catch it and immediately put it in your pocket."Фьюри твоя мать? Нет, я." (Is Fury your mother? No, I am.) You sigh in defeat.

"Can I say something?" Steve says loudly.

"Shut it star spangled capris." You say as he is clearly taken aback.  All of a sudden a grenade is thrown at you by the unconscious guy but Steve uses his shield to knock it away. He grabs the you and your mother and crash into a window. Smoke fills the air as you chuckle slightly at the look on Steve's face when you mocked him. However Steve and Natasha just look at you weirdly and your face goes back to its stern expression.

  ******

You, Natasha, and Steve stand in front Fury's desk in Shield's headquarters. As he stares at you three without saying anything you try to avoid eye contact and just tap the floor with your boot.

"Why would you send a child out on our mission without telling me?" Steve says interrupting the silence.

"Cap did you see the results of putting her on the field? Her mission was to collect Shield intel, and she did it with even getting a few of our foes hurt." Fury responds with and you look at your mother and see a smirk on her face, which makes you feel even more accomplished.

"People could have gotten killed and hurt." Steve says.

"I believe Fury sent the best assassins and super soldier to make sure that didn't happen." Natasha says as you nod your head agreeing.

"The kid could have gotten hurt!"

"Agent y/n Romanoff, is one of the best junior agents, Shield has ever seen. She doesn't get hurt easily." You see the shocked look on Steve's face, mixed with confusion. You, Fury, and Natasha try your best not to laugh as Steve's mouth is practically wide open.

"You better close your mouth before a fly goes in." You say as Steve moves his head looking at you, then Natasha, then back at you. He slowly starts to notice how similar you two are.

"Oh, yeah. I have a daughter." Natasha says as if she just accidentally forgot to mention it before.

"Oh hell no. I'm dreaming." Steve says raising his arms up and starts to leave the room.

"I can assure you that I'm very much real." You say laughing.

I enjoyed making this one a lot. I also just love writing sassy y/n. Sorry if Russian is wrong I'm so sorry I just used google translate. Also I might move to tumblr idk. Next story will be You're okay!

[colawinston]

“ i ain’t no fortunate son, no...”

a/n — hello, hello. I’m here with a little fic for you all, something simple and sweet and maybe a little shitty.

A Sodapop Curtis and vague reader fic for @radiantcade. Idk, I hope you enjoy it :)

we’re also going to totally ignore that hinton said soda dies in vietnam cause fuck that shit

He wasn’t dead, but he might as well have been.

Coming home had been...a hassle almost. Sure, it was better than trekking through miles of hot, shrouded forest, scared shitless and waiting for the next bullet to whiz by or mortar to come sailing through the trees and drop in the midst of them, waiting for the next ambush or false alarm or snap of a branch. Yeah, being home was far better than being stuck in the near ceaseless rain and heat and barrage of casualty, even if it still held its own set of completely different issues. Sodapop couldn’t really bring himself to complain, though. He was grateful he made it home, grateful to be alive, goddamnit. 

It just felt...different. Verging suffocating. He enjoyed the fact he could step off a bus and immediately be near bowled over by his kid brother, arms tight — Lay off the man, Ponyboy, Darry had barked, but there wasn’t any heat behind the words. Lay off my kid brother, Soda chided, just as heatless, though far more playful. He enjoyed the fact he could catch up on his brothers lives, greeted by his old friends and take in what they’d been up to in the last two and a half years he’d been gone.

 Ponyboy had grown up, was damn near as built as Darry by this point, but still the soft mess of a kid he’d been when he’d left. He played football, was set to graduate, go off to college and do something important with himself. Darry still worked on houses, but had found himself a gal, a sweet girl named Joanie, and he was real smitten with her, got bashful when Soda asked if he was gonna pop the question. But he wasn’t the only one. Seemed like everyone had found them someone, Soda had noted. Steve, who’d gone off to college ‘round the time Sodapop left (which had kept him from the shit storm of a draft that Sodapop found himself plucked from), and had himself a pleasant college girl — her face sweet, hair kept neat and her clothes impeccably clean — not someone that Sodapop would have thought would end up with Steve, but life was full of surprises. Two-Bit ended up with Marcia, Randy Adderson’s now ex-gir. Took a ride on the wild side, Two-bit had grinned, tipping back a beer. He looked cleaner — they all did. Weren’t damn near as greasy as they had been, wore new clothes, looked as though they’d really gotten themselves out of a rut. 

But they all still converged in the Curtis home, crowded together around the coffee table smushed in between the arms of that old couch. 

That was all good, felt fine, but the suffocating part was, well, talking about the very large elephant in the room. The war. What he’d seen, what he’d done, just the barrage of questions and unwavering interest in things he’d rather not brag about, talk about, think about. How many of them vietcong did ya kill, Soda? Heard they was sending ladies off for you boys while stationed out there, weren’t they? Get anything good? Still as charming as ever...But he supposed they didn’t quite understand. They knew the horrors, the happenings, what went on, but they didn’t understand. And he’d brushed it off, gave them some bullshit response and smiled and sat back. Conversation had moved away from him and onto something else, and he was left staring at the wall, chest tight and suffocating.

He didn’t sleep well. Hell, he hadn’t slept well in a very long time. Although comfortable, his bed felt foreign. The silence of the house deafening despite the chirp of crickets outside, and every soft creak of the house sending a jolt through Sodapop, his fists clenched in the sheets, eyes locked firmly on the shadowed ceiling. Among the delicate noises of night, he could hear his own heart, occasionally Ponyboy or Darry stirring, a cough or a shuffle down the hall to the bathroom, only for the same shuffle to retreat down the hall and a door to click shut. He didn’t sleep, once bright eyes and crooked grin now a murky pool of green and teeth barely shown, the smile itself barely meeting his eyes. He was plagued, and he hid it.

Which was unlike him, but if he was being honest, it felt wrong to push these things onto his brothers — the two of them had enough to worry about without the extra baggage of something they wouldn’t understand. Maybe Ponyboy would be soft about it, sympathize. He’d gone through his own bit of trauma years back, struggled in his own way afterwards. Soda had helped then, so why wouldn’t he ask now? Was he that much of a coward to admit something was off, something wasn’t right with him. He knew what to expect when he’d gotten home, he’d heard the rumors and the tales of those who’d come home from the second world war. But that couldn’t be him. He did want it to be him. 

But he kept up his image, because being home was nice. He’d gotten a job back at the station, something to keep himself preoccupied. It wasn’t the same as it had been without Steve there, though pretty girls still flocked his way, got him to smile, flirted back and forth. Hippies, mostly. Not that he was particularly interested in them. No, he was still set on a broad he’d been seeing back before was shipped off. One he wasn’t sure if she knew he still existed. Not until she came by the station one day, in one of them fancy new Pontiacs: blood red and loud as hell. She noticed him near immediately, jaw dropped and not a moment of hesitancy before she flung herself around him — a lot like Ponyhad that day he’d stepped off the bus. 

“Sodapop Curtis, I didn’t know you were home!” She had squealed, and pushed him back an arms length, as if to get a good look at him. He gave a bashful smile, averting his gaze and shrugged.

“Haven’t been back too long. Sorry I didn’t write. You back home for a bit?” He’d asked her, keeping the subject off him.

She was a college girl, much like Steve’s pretty blonde girl. Smart as hell and pretty to boot. Her soft features hadn’t changed much, eyes still bright as ever and lips spread into a familiar, comforting grin. She’d smacked her hand against his chest, pushed him slightly. “I am. Why? You wanna take me out sometime? Like you used to?” She asked, bubbly as ever. 

“I just might, if you’re willing,” He grinned right back. The first grin he had since he’d seen his brothers, his old friends. 

And take her out he did. 

Now, the two of them hadn’t ever really been a ‘thing’. They’d been friendly, talked a lot, eventually started gettin’ affectionate but he didn’t think either of them wanted to put a label of things. She hadn’t, having gotten into that new age idea of goofing around, just living her best life, not worried about settling down, just kicking up dust and running on. He thought that way too, or he thought he thought like that. He thought that maybe settling down was a bit of a joke, something for older folks who knew what they wanted, but sometimes it’d felt like he was just....coasting by on the fumes of her own ideals. That he was just jazzed and caught up in the feeling of her fun, her change, her life. Sodapop was always one to get drunk off life, and she gave him that tugging feeling that drag races had, that dancing around did, and he’d soaked up every moment he could get of it, which was why she was settled against him again, pressed into his side in his bed, delicate fingers playing with his own. Darry and Ponyboy weren’t in the house, which was the only reason she’d come over — he’d allowed her over — and things had led to them snuggled up like they used to be. They lay quietly, Sodapop keeping one arm around her and the other bent at his side as she played with his fingers. 

“It fucked you up, didn’t it, Soda?” She eventually broke the silence, voice light as a feather, almost sounding sad. “I can see it, y’know. You don’t smile like you used to,” She reached up to cup his face with one hand, body shifting to be able to get a better look at him. He kept his eyes off her, green-blue gaze locked on the ceiling like it usually was. His body stiffened, hand on his belly curling into a fist. She was the first person to prod him about it, maybe to immediately notice it. Given, he’d kept up his attitude to the best of his abilities and been working, his brothers had been busy with their own things. What was he really supposed to say to her? He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to face the obvious conclusion she’d come to himself. 

But it came out as a soft “Yeah,” His chest rising with a deep sigh, eye flitting to meet hers. “It did.” He admitted, voice thick, low. His throat suddenly felt dry, stung in the way it would as if he were trying to hold himself back from crying. Sodapop held her gaze for what felt like hours, just until her lips pouted and she had her cheek against his bare chest, hand tucking against his body. 

There was another bout of silence, and her soft voice broke through the silence again. “You’re gonna be alright, Sodapop, I promise.” It was firm, knowing. She’d always been like that, positive to a fault almost, but he believed her. She’d always been right about things — about her getting into school, Steve, too, Pony getting on well with some of his new friends back after Johnny and Dally had died, about Darry getting another job when he’d lost the other one. She’d always been right, and he had no reason not to be. 

Stroking a hand over her hair, he gave a short nod, eyes back on the ceiling, his vision blurred. “I’ll be alright.” He agreed. With you, sat on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to put that on her. She was going back to college soon, would be busy with her friends and forgetting about him until she came home again, so he wasn’t going to pressure her into thinkin’ she needed to care about it. “I’ll be alright,” He repeated. 

[ilovemygaydad]

title: until we meet again

pairing: demus (deceit/remus)

summary: a zombie apocalypse isn’t the place to be catching feels. unfortunately, dc is doing exactly that with a mysterious man that he met in an alley.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: remus, deceit, sympathetic deceit, zombie apocalypse, mentions of cuts and bruises, swearing, heated making out sessions, implied nudity, weapons, threats, almost attempted murder, mentions of broken glass, mentions of casual sex, mentions of hickeys, innuendos, fainting (once), mentions of STDs, death mentions, crying, sadness, anxiety, sort of breakups? it really isn’t one but idk, sexual attraction, possibly something else

***this fic obviously has a lot of triggers in it, so if you have any questions or concerns, or if you need a summary of parts with specific triggers, please send me an ask! your safety is my number one priority here, and i would hate for anybody to be engaging in unsafe reading practices!***

a/n: so this is... new for me. i’ve never written this ship or this kind of au, nor have i had deceit be the main character (in a serious manner, at least), and i’ve never attempted remus seriously, either. i hope i didn’t fuck up the descriptions of sexual attraction and making out because idk what i’m doing as a sex repulsed asexual! rip me i guess lol. also shoutout to @adultmorelikeadolt for listening to me ramble about this and proof reading it <3 they’re the real mvp here, so check their stuff out, too!!! also, this got way longer than i thought... whoops?

a/n 2: this is heavily based off of death valley by fall out boy! you can listen to it here

Commission Info

consider buying me a coffee

---

DC breathed a heavy sigh of relief as soon as the beat-up VW bus screeched to a stop inside of the checkpoint station. It had been far too long since the last one, and each mile that ticked off on the odometer made him increasingly anxious. The dense forests of Maine were the perfect hiding spots for zombies or bandits, which Virgil so fantastically liked to point out every time that it got dark. Yet they trudged deeper and deeper into the state, driving towards the safety of Canada.

But finally, they had made it.

Roman threw the bus into park and hopped out of the driver’s seat, and the others piled out of the back right after. The checkpoint station was huge--easily one of the largest in the country--but its size made sense given that it was one of two in the entirety of New England. DC gazed around the part of the checkpoint that he could see, and he was in awe at how normal it looked. Other than the giant fences and sentries, it looked like an average New England town. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have believed that there had never been a zombie outbreak in the first place.

Neat, uniform streets of houses stretched before him with shops-turned-supply-stations interspersed between them. Children were outside playing, and adults were going about their days with only a slightly heightened level of concern. Unlike all of the other stations they’d passed through on their way from Miami, it was clean and calm, and a person didn’t have to worry about being pickpocketed or stabbed on their way back from getting their rations.

The guards advanced on them, and Patton talked to the officers as they searched the bus for illegal contraband. Once the bus was clear, they were ushered into the nearest building--a small, gray brick cube that looked more like a sad excuse for a shed than anything--and were tested for the virus. With the exception of Logan fainting, the group was completely cleared to continue into the checkpoint without issue. A guide was designated to them for their month-long stay both to help them become familiar with the checkpoint and to dissuade any of the residents from becoming hostile towards the newcomers.

They drove fifteen minutes into the checkpoint to the visitor park, which was where they were allowed to park the bus. Although their guide, whose name was Remy, offered them a tour, they politely declined. They had been on the road for nearly six days, only stopping to rest or refuel, which might have been circumnavigated had it not been for the Pittsburgh checkpoint being on lockdown.

Long story short, they were tired and really just needed to sleep.

Well, everyone else needed to sleep. DC was too keyed up from the trip to feel anything other than restless, so as soon as he was sure the others were asleep and that the sun had set, he snuck out of the bus and took to the darkest alleys of the checkpoint. He moved with expert silence through the night. His feet took him far from the bus to a more desolate area. Similarly to a normal city, the checkpoint had a dilapidated section of buildings that the more unfortunate people lived, which seemed proportional to the size of the area. 

It was eerily silent amidst the ruined structures. Aside from the occasional rat skittering across an alley, it was completely, utterly quiet.

Footsteps echoed just behind DC. Those footsteps were not his own.

Lightning fast, DC had his stalker pinned against the crumbling brick wall. He expected a fight back, but the man was merely grinning at him in glee. Electric green eyes stared at him with an unnerving amount of energy.

“The last time someone pinned me against a wall, both parties ended up without clothes on,” the man giggled, leaning his head as far forward as DC’s hold would allow. His mustache twisted along with each movement of his mouth. “I wouldn’t mind if this interaction ended the same way.”

DC decided to ignore that comment. “Why were you following me?”

“‘Cause you’re new! We never get visitors.”

That seemed fair. People tended to stay at their original checkpoints.

“And I think you’re hot.”

“Oh, and that makes stalking me so much better. I’m not disgusted by you right now.”

The man’s odd smile grew. “People usually are, so I’m not surprised.”

DC didn’t even know how to reply. He opened and closed his mouth, scouring his brain for a comeback, when a rogue hand tugged on his belt loop. Before he could even process what was happening, their positions had been reversed. 

Oh, shit.

“You’re so pretty when you’re pretending to be tough!” The man was surprisingly strong, and his hands held DC firmly in place regardless of how much he struggled. “I wonder what it would be like when you’re angry. Just fully animalistic.”

“Fuck you,” DC spat.

“Promise?”

Logan probably would have been worried about how aggressively DC rolled his eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Who says we can’t make dreams a reality?” the man whispered in a voice that sent a chill running through DC’s blood. Was this man seriously flirting with him? Was he seriously flirting back?

“I don’t give myself up so easy to dirty street dwellers.”

The man smirked, and a dark glitter flashed in his eyes. “I put the ‘d’ in dirt, baby. I can show you if you’d like.”

DC was suddenly glad that the scars covering the left half of his face were gnarly enough to distract from any blushing.

“Come on,” the man crooned. “Come with me, and I can show you a good time.”

“No. No, I can’t.” DC rushed, and to his surprise, he was immediately let go.

“Okay.” The man took a step back, allowing DC an escape route.

“Okay?”

The man gestured down the alley, still smiling. “You are free to go. I can’t keep you here.”

“Oh,” DC said. “Okay.”

As DC walked away, the man called, “Good bye!” He pretended that he didn’t hear.

---

For some godforsaken reason, DC found himself sitting on a dumpster in the alley the next day. Being out at night didn’t affect him much as he tended to prefer sleeping during the day, and he had yet to be caught by either guards or the rest of his group. Still, he hadn’t exactly been expecting to want to return to the place where he had met the strange man.

But he had, so there he was, sitting on a dumpster lid and staring up at the sky.

“BOO!” a voice suddenly shouted behind DC, and he barely managed to catch  himself before he could be sent tumbling to the pavement. The same giggling from the night before echoed through the alley as the man skipped around the dumpster, stopping right in front of DC. “Hiya!”

“Hello.”

“I can’t believe you came back! People don’t usually want to be in this area of the checkpoint.”

“Well,” DC said, shrugging. “I’ve been told that I’m very usual.”

The man laughed, setting his elbow on the edge of the dumpster to place his chin in his palm. “You’re so funny!”

“Thanks.” DC tried to imagine what the man had found so funny, but his train of thought was cut short when the man moved again. He crossed his arms on the dumpster edge and rested his chin on DC’s crossed legs, looking up through his thick lashes. It took every ounce of restraint not to make a strangled noise at the very, very intimate position.

“So... Why did you come back?”

There was a second that DC considered lying, but he knew deep down that this man would be able to tell. “You.”

“Oh,” the man said breathily as if all of the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

“Kiss me?”

The tone of the man’s voice (the man--DC didn’t even know his name) turned dark, and he said, “God, yes.”

They moved quickly, and the second that DC’s boots hit the pavement, he was pressed back against the dumpster with a searing kiss. He hadn’t felt such an intense fire under his skin since before the apocalypse--since before he’d sworn off feelings altogether. A sharp flash of teeth ran across his lip before biting down so hard that DC was surprised his skin didn’t break. In retaliation, he thread his fingers in the other man’s hair and tugged, which elicited a surprised moan out of his companion. 

If DC’s skin had been on fire before, he was burning now, and he took advantage of the distraction to deepen the kiss further. Too soon, the other man pulled away, grinning dangerously with shining green eyes. His cheeks held a heavy flush that matched the red swell of his lips. 

“Do you want to take this somewhere more appropriate?” he asked in a husky voice that nearly made DC’s knees give out.

“Please.”

---

DC continued to sneak out to meet up with the strange man. It was fun and extremely enjoyable, so why wouldn’t he go back? He had to spend the month in the checkpoint anyway; it made sense to find something to do (literally) in his free time. Once his time was up, he would leave, and everything would go back to normal.

He could forget any of these meetings ever happened.

He would.

Because they were merely for sex. Nothing else.

They didn’t mean anything.

DC turned his head to look at the man next to him. They still didn’t know each others’ names. They were two strangers who happened to cross paths in a dingy alley. Nothing more than the product of long lines of choices. A high that they just couldn’t get enough of.

The man’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was even and deep. In the moonlight that shined through the broken window, the gray streak in his hair glimmered like a silver lake. The soft part of his lips was starkly juxtaposed with the harsh bruises and scrapes on his skin. If it were any other time, DC would have described him as stunning.

Wait.

...

No.

No. No, He wasn’t thinking like that. Sure, the man was attractive, but that was it. He was a good fuck--a good time during the god damn zombie apocalypse. DC wasn’t some fucking teenage YA protagonist yearning for the pretty bad boy. It wasn’t like he’d fallen in love with this crass, borderline violent stranger.

Holy shit, DC had fallen in love, and he had no idea what to do with himself.

The man’s eyes fluttered open and met his gaze. He yawned and propped himself onto his elbow, grinning his usual Cheshire smile. DC’s heart pounded heavily in his chest.

“Ready for another round?” the man teased as he traced the hickeys on DC’s neck.

“I-I’ve gotta go!” DC scrambled off of the stained mattress, throwing on his clothes with urgency.

“What?”

“I just--I have to go.”

The man couldn’t even get another word in before the door to his room slammed closed.

---

The following three days were spent moping, napping, and pointedly not leaving the bus. Mostly napping. Definitely not moping.

He didn’t want to think about the pretty man from the alley. No part of his mind wanted to be reminded of soft lips and green eyes and burning passion. It was so damn tiring to confront the horrible reality of DC being in love. 

Because this was the apocalypse.

And he was going to leave in a couple of weeks.

The apocalypse was neither the time nor place to grow attached to a man who skulked around in alleys like the rat bastard that he was.

But god, he had fallen hard. DC would close his eyes and see a silver streak and tan, calloused hands and shiny scars. Memories of sharp teeth on sensitive skin mingled with the sensation of hot flashes in his blood, quickening his heart rate as he wished to go back and be held and loved. What deity had he angered in a past life to deserve the burden of emotions? Why couldn’t he have just stayed in the bus on the second day instead of going to the alley? How was he supposed to move on?

A sad, strangled noise escaped his throat as he contemplated his existence.

The back door of the bus swung open, and DC stilled, pretending to be asleep. He was luckily turned away from the door, so his tear-streaked face wasn’t visible to whomever opened the door. They clambered in and shut the door with a heavy thunk. They sat, of course, right behind DC’s back.

“Dee, I know you’re awake,” Virgil said. “I could hear you sobbing from outside.”

“I know what you’re talking about, Virgil. I was crying.”

Virgil huffed out a short laugh. “Wow, double lies. That’s pretty impressive.”

“Don’t go away.”

“Alright. I won’t.”

DC turned to glare at Virgil. There was no reason to hide his obvious crying when Virgil had already called him out on it. “I hate you.”

Virgil smiled sympathetically. “I know, Dee, but you’ve been in this slump for days now. Even Logan is starting to notice that you’re upset. What’s wrong?”

“I just...” he trailed off, trying to think of what he wanted to say. “I met someone.”

“We all have met people in the checkpoint, dude. We don’t know anybody here--oh. Oh, you met someone.” Virgil’s eyes went wide as the realization hit him like a truck. “You fell for them.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter anymore. I ran away.”

“You what?!” Virgil screeched.

“Please, continue acting so incredibly melodramatic. It suits you,” DC grumbled. He rolled his eyes and turned away. 

Virgil scoffed. “I can’t believe how fucking stupid you are! I might as well have a god damn rock for a friend.”

“Your words are so kind.”

“I’m sorry that you threw away your own fucking happiness because you’re afraid of love! You had it, DC. You found someone, and you want to just throw it away!”

DC pulled himself up, throwing a harsh look at Virgil. “We have less than two weeks left in this checkpoint. When that time is up, we will leave, and I will never see him again. Continuing to see him will only bring me more distress, not to mention that I have no idea if he even feels anything for me aside from sexual attraction.”

“Dude, can you shut the fuck up for a second? Seriously, for the past few weeks, you were happier than I’d seen you since well before the apocalypse.” Virgil let out a heavy sigh. “At least apologize. I know you like to keep up your morally-gray schtick, but he deserves to hear why you ran away.”

There were a few seconds of angry silence before DC spat, “I love when you’re right!”

Virgil merely smiled and pat his shoulder, climbing out of the van.

The sun wouldn’t be setting for a few hours, so DC had plenty of time to figure out what the fuck he was supposed to say.

---

It felt like major déjà-vu for DC to be sitting on the same dumpster, hoping that the man would show up. Sure, he could have just traveled to the man’s odd little apartment, but it was far more difficult to make a quick escape from a building than it was an alley. Thus, DC had settled to take his chances of sitting on the dumpster should his partner (fuck buddy? significant other???) be furious. 

Anger was a pretty valid response given the circumstances.

It had been a couple of hours since he’d arrived, and it was a bit chilly. He shivered, pulling his old leather jacket closer around him. His eyes squeezed shut as if he could will away the cold air. Canada’s weather was going to be an absolute bitch if Maine was bordering on unbearable for DC.

“Oh,” a familiar voice exclaimed from in front of the dumpster, and DC’s eyes snapped open. The man had his hands on his hips in a childlike pose, but the glimmer in his eyes bordered on murderous. “Y’know, I was starting to think I’d have to hunt you down myself, but you just waltzed back in like the idiot you are!” He shifted slightly, and the moonlight caught the metal of the knife in his hand.

“Don’t wait!” DC cried when the man lifted his arm in preparation to strike. “I didn’t want to apologize. Please, you don’t have to hear me out!”

“I do? I didn’t realize that I was under the jurisdiction of lying bastards!” The man laughed, but it was dark and lacking any humor.

“I love you,” DC blurted before he could stop himself. He clamped his hands over his mouth in horror.

I love you. The words hung in the air like a child’s mobile. They couldn’t be retracted; they couldn’t be taken back. Each syllable stuck in reality. I love you.

“Oh,” the man said, staring at DC in shock. “You aren’t lying.”

“Yes,” he lied. “I am. I wasn’t scared of my feelings. My friends and I won’t leave in a week and a half, and after that...”

The man let the knife drop to the pavement with a heavy clatter, moving to take DC’s hands. “We’re going to die. It’s just a matter of time before it happens, but what we do with that time is up to us.” He paused, and a wicked smirk twisted his lips. “Who you do is also a choice to make.”

DC choked out a laugh because it was so familiar to hear a stupid innuendo coming from this man’s lips. Love coursed through his veins for all of the stupidest reasons, but it felt so good. Virgil had been right--he was happy. He was purely, simply happy. For once, the apocalypse was on the back of his mind, and he was enjoying existence.

“I won’t have to leave,” he murmured despite himself. “It will last.”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. Let’s make every second of this next week and a half count, okay?”

Maybe Virgil had been right about DC being an idiot, too, because he nodded and said, “Okay.”

---

There were only twelve hours remaining before DC had to leave the Maine checkpoint station.

There were only twelve hours remaining before DC had to leave the only person that he’d ever truly loved.

They were laying together on the man’s mildly disgusting mattress. The man--yes, he was still known as the man because they decided anonymous identities would be best--was lightly tracing his fingers down the bare skin of DC’s back, which would have been soothing if they hadn’t been acutely aware of the clock running out. 

“You should come with us,” DC whispered. He’d been mulling the idea around in his mind for a while, but he hadn’t known how to bring it up.

“What?”

“Come with us,” he repeated fervently, sitting up. “The rest of the group wouldn’t mind one more person, and we could easily take you across the border.”

“No.”

It was DC’s turn to say, “What?”

“No,” the man sighed as he sat up as well. “I can’t go with you.”

“Why not?!”

“Look around!” He gestured at the debris-filled room. Glass and rock littered most of the floor, and the rest was covered in clothes and containers of food. “I have no worth. I despise using the characteristics of ‘good’ and ‘bad,’ but it isn’t fair to such kind people to have to take on someone like me.”

“They’d be happy to let you tag along--”

“I know, but I have to make it on my own.” His green eyes sparked with determination. “I’ll make it on my own.”

“Will you promise? I don’t care if it’s meaningless, but... it’ll make it easier to leave if I have reassurance that you’ll find me.” DC let his fingers intertwine with the other man’s in an attempt to forget about the pit in his stomach.

“I promise.”

---

One Year Later

Things had finally started settling down for the group. Nearly all of them had been able to secure some sort of job, and they had a roof over their heads that wasn’t attached to a vintage bus. Things were good. DC was happy, healthy, and safe.

A bit lonely, but he still had his friends.

He knew deep down that the man he’d met in Maine wouldn’t make it to Canada. DC had left him with a map marked with where the group was going to end up, but without a mode of transportation, the whispered promises to find each other would stay in the crumbling ruins of an apartment complex. That was okay, even if his heart still held on to the green-eyed stranger like there was a chance of being together.

When he’d eventually told the others of his fling, they’d all been supportive in their own ways. Patton gave him a long hug and whispered gentle reassurances into his ears, and Roman had told him that anything was possible until proven impossible. Logan scolded him about being reckless, claiming that he would have been pissed that DC had survived the apocalypse for so long just to be taken down by potential STDs. Even though Virgil had already known, he still offered a shoulder to cry on. DC would never admit it, but he appreciated how loved he felt.

He shook his head to clear his mind. It was nearly two in the morning; he should’ve been trying to sleep instead of dwelling on the past. Logan always liked to preach about circadian rhythm and all that jazz.

Whatever. DC cut his losses and went to the tiny kitchen, throwing a pot of water on the stove to boil. He took out his mug and a packet of chamomile tea that Patton had stocked for his insomnia as he waited. At least he was trying to coax his body into sleep. Virgil usually just listened to news stations on the radio until the sun rose. Old, paranoid habits died hard, he supposed.

A knock at the door pulled DC out of his thoughts. They never received any visitors, and they definitely were never this late at night. Cautiously, he grabbed the heavy flashlight from its spot next to the hall closet. He prepared to swing at whoever was outside and peered out of the peephole.

Bright green eyes stared back at him, and the flashlight clattered to the ground, barely missing his foot. He flung the door open because there was no way that he was seeing things right, but standing less than a meter away was the man from Maine. DC couldn’t believe his eyes. It couldn’t be real.

“Hey,” the man said as though they had never been apart.

“Holy shit.”

The man giggled, playfully setting his fists on his hips. “I traveled nearly three hundred miles to see you, and this is the greeting I get?”

DC wasn’t able to respond as Roman’s tired voice appeared behind him. “Dee, wha’s goin’ on?”

“Dee? Oh, that’s a cute nickname!” The man turned to Roman and said, “Hi! I’m his boyfriend.”

That sobered DC up fast. “He’s the one from Maine.” My boyfriend.

“Oh! Holy shit!” Roman’s eyes went wide with realization. 

“Roman, this is...?”

“Remus,” the man supplied.

“Roman, this is Remus.” The name felt like gold on his tongue. “Remus, this is my friend, Roman.” 

Roman held out his hand, which Remus shook. “I can’t believe you made it. How’d you even find us?”

“I secretly embedded a tracker in Dee’s skin before he left!” Roman looked horrified, and Remus cackled at the response. “Just kidding! He told me that you were going to Moncton, and I just asked around about a VW bus for a while until I found you.”

“Right...” It seemed that Roman had become thoroughly uncomfortable by Remus’ sense of humor. “I’m gonna go back to bed.” He paused, making direct eye contact with his friend. “And DC? Don’t be loud or whatever.”

“We won’t,” he assured at the same time that Remus said, “No promises!”

As soon as the door to Roman’s room was shut, DC threw himself into Remus’ arms. “You actually did it.”

“I did,” he said. “I promised.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually make it!” DC cried, feeling hot tears brim in his eyes.

“I didn’t either, Dee. I really didn’t.”

“I love you.”

Remus’ fingers tangled in his hair. “I love you, too.”

And maybe DC cried, but that was okay. He had someone to wipe the tears away, now.

now with a part 2 minific

[survivingthejungle]

soft; jerome x reader

ive never written anything this fluffy in my god damn life... hopefully its not a complete flop? idk

You hadn’t committed a crime.

Regardless of whatever conclusion the jury had come to, you would always maintain that you hadn’t committed a crime. Because, what crime is there in justice?

One of the men who had tried to assault you had just been a little too lazy with his knife, and in a moment of instinctual self-defence, you had pushed it back in on himself.

Unfortunately for you, the other man—the one who hadn’t been stabbed—had managed to pay off the jury to convict you of first degree murder, and the only way you would avoid going to straight-up prison would be taking the insanity plea.

You fought it—oh, how you fought it, tooth-and-nail— but in the end, you and your family didn’t have the resources, and the corrupt rich of Gotham once again won the day. The playout of your hearing had caused outrage throughout the city, and no one believed that you deserved to go to an asylum, but the public backlash surrounding your conviction still was not enough to get the decision overturned.

Some of the staff at Arkham were sympathetic to your case and did all they could to treat you like the normal girl you were, not like one of the truly mentally-ill patients who were there for good reason. Of course, not every staff member was this accommodating— Dr. Strange had been wanting to use you as an guinea pig for a while now. The only thing keeping him from doing so was your family’s constant visits and the fact that he couldn’t be sure that the nurses and guards who knew you and your story wouldn’t rebel against him.

About a month into your incarceration— one down, two to go— there was a change in atmosphere. An unusual burst of activity came about one morning; while you were in your cell, brushing your teeth and washing your face, a handful of guards all stormed past, seemingly guiding someone along with them. You peeked out of the small window on your door, but couldn’t see much aside from the guards and a quick flash of a tuft of bright red hair.

-

To ensure that your safety was never compromised and that all of the staff knew you were no real threat, it had been decided within the Asylum that you were not to wear the same black-and-white striped garments as all of the other inmates. Instead, you had been given a handful of simple, white cotton slips, and you had been allowed to bring some of your own sweaters, shoes, and socks from home. You had been allowed your own pajamas from home, so you decided to bring two pairs of basketball shots, two t-shirts, and a big sweatshirt to sleep in. In addition, yo also brought a handful of your favorite scrunchies and hair clips, and a notebook and pen to keep track of your thoughts and write letters while you were away. To say you stood out like a sore thumb would be an understatement; you didn’t look exactly like an inmate, you certainly didn’t look like staff, and you didn’t look like a normal teenage girl either. You just looked different, and you were okay with that. You were content just keeping to yourself, minding your own business, writing and reading when you had the opportunity, and getting the hell out of this asylum.

Until recently. A new inmate had recently been admitted; around your age, tall, vivid red hair, an unnerving laugh, and arrested on a count of matricide. When they brought him in, he was strapped up in a straight jacket and being wheeled around. He caught sight of you in the rec room and winked, and you, being caught in a trance-like daze, had simply lifted your hand and waved with a straight face. It didn’t help that he was an objectively attractive guy; if you had seen him anywhere outside of an asylum, you probably would’ve heart-eyed him with your friends. But you were in an asylum, the both of you, so you decided to maintain your earlier resolve of keeping to yourself and not interacting with anyone else.

-

The next day, you saw him come into the rec room. You were sitting in an old, worn-out bean bag reading one of the old hand-me-down books from a shelf in the corner. It was Madame Bovary, a title you’d heard repeated many times but never really looked into until now. You were halfway through and so engrossed with the tragic story that you didn’t notice a presence seat itself beside you until you heard a voice speaking.

“Hi gorgeous, I’m Jerome.” It was the redhead from yesterday, grinning at you.

“Hi. That’s not my name,” you responded, pulling your eyes away from him and back to your book.

“Well then, by all means, spill! What can I call you?” His voice was deep but had a childlike lilt, like everything he said was purposefully over-theatrical. He placed his chin on his fist, staring intently at you.

“My name is (Y/N). I don’t really wanna talk to anyone right now, so can you just leave me alone?”

“Jeez, just trying to be polite… Y’know, a girl could really use some friends in a place like this.”

“No, not really. I’m fine how I am. Thanks, though.”

He paused and looked at you quizzically as though he had just noticed something that he hadn’t before. “Hey, how come you don’t wear stripes like the rest of us, huh?”

“Because I’m not like the rest of you. I’m not supposed to be in here.”

“Ugh, believe me, babe, I tried that line too. Didn’t work. C’mon, what’d you do to get in here? Now I’m curious,” he prodded.

You were silent for a moment. Some people had no problem admitting that they had done something like that; in fact, some reveled in it. But you were not the kind of girl who could just openly declare that I killed a man. “...It was self defense.”

“Oh yeah,” he lightly scoffed, “Then how’d you end up here, and not scot-free out there?”

“This is Gotham,” you shot back, “There’s no justice in this city. If a rich man wants a girl locked up, she gets locked up. End of story.”

“Ain’t that the truth, sister.” He let out a sigh and leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Tell me something, though,” he started, staring at you. “Are you being serious?”

“You tell me… I’m already in an asylum. If I was really guilty, I would’ve admitted it by now, right?”

“Huh.” He shook his head, looking away from you. “Huh. You got me there. Well… that sucks for you, doesn’t it?”

“You’re telling me; I’m the one wrongly incarcerated.”

“Hey! That’s perfect! So you really do need a friend in this place, otherwise all the rest of these crazies are gonna eat you up…” he got closer to you before continuing. “Y’know, it’s really not safe for you here if you’re the only sane person. I think we should be friends.”

“If it gets you off my case, then sure, I guess.” A grin lit up his face and he leaned back out of your personal space; he did not, however, show any signs of leaving you alone anytime soon. “Will you leave me alone now, please?” you asked.

“What kind of a friend would I be, leaving you alone out here to fend for yourself? Nah, see, these other guys in here, they’ll do bad things to a pretty girl if she’s all alone. I’m just looking out for you.”

You considered his words for a moment. Although no one had truly tried to harm you yet, you hadn’t been here long. And some of the creepier inmates had been staring you down recently, now that you thought about it… “I’m not gonna, like… talk to you, a lot. I just read a lot. And write. And draw, sometimes. But I’m not a big conversationalist. So if that’s what you wanted from me, you got the wrong girl.”

“Hey, that’s fine by me,” he responded. “You just sit there and look pretty till you get to go home. I’ll be your silent protector.”

Not very silent, you thought. “Why… why do you even wanna be my friend, then? If you’re not looking for someone to talk to… You just wanna ‘help me out’? You’re a wannabe serial killer, you don’t really seem like the kind of guy who tries to help a girl out of the goodness of his heart.”

“What can I say?” he asked you. “I can be unpredictable. And you seemed kinda… Sad. Lonely. I dunno. But a pretty, innocent girl locked up in here shouldn’t have to fend for herself. I may be bad, alright, but I’m not completely souless!” He snickered to himself. “Heh, get it? ‘Cause I’m a ginger.” You let out a soft, breathy laugh at that; one you couldn’t contain. “Hey,” he reached out and nudged your cheek, “There’s that smile. Go on, I’m sorry, read your book. I’ll just chill here… Hangin’ out.”

-

The asylum was particularly chilly today, so you slipped an oversized, washed-out pastel sweater over your dress, as well as a pair of mismatched thick socks. You slid into a pair of plain brown ankle boots with loose laces and clipped two red barrettes into your hair, a yellow scrunchie on your wrist. According to the little red antique clock in your cell, it was nearly eight A.M.— breakfast, which Jerome would always walk down to with you. He always delayed the guards as much as possible before passing your cell, so that you could be escorted down with him.

It had been about two weeks since your first encounter, and while you were initially wary of the prospect of being chummy with a convicted murderer, there was something about him that drew you in. Maybe it was how charming he could be, or how protective he acted of you or how he definitely wasn’t the most unattractive person you’d ever seen, but you weren’t as opposed as you used to be towards being his friend. You heard the sound of struggling increase as it got closer and closer to your door, and you knew it was Jerome come to “pick you up” for the day. You waited at your door, looking out the barred slot as the guards got closer and closer.

“Excuse me? Could I be taken down to breakfast as well?” you asked them, and one with a key ring unlocked your door and let you step outside into the hall.

“Mornin’, (Y/N).” It was Anthony, a guard that you felt you had a good standing with. He was always respectful to you because he had been keeping up with your trial while it was in the news, and he firmly believed that you had done nothing to end up in this place.

“Good morning. How are you?”

“I’m just well, thanks! Did you sleep alright?”

“Yeah, I did! Do you know what variation of gruel they’re feeding us today?” Jerome snorted at this. “Hey, Jerome. What’s up?”

“Oh, y’know, not much.”

“Sounds fun.”

-

Breakfast was, in fact, another variation of gruel. You had been given a choice between cinnamon and apple oatmeal, lazily slopped onto a tray before being shoved into your arms with a spoon.

You took a seat at an unoccupied table and began to eat and read— you were rereading Gatsby, now—until Jerome joined you.

“Hey, J,” you greeted him, not looking up from your book.

“Hey there, girlie,” he greets, nudging you when he sits down beside you.  “What’s the plan today?”

“They have me in group today. Something about having to ‘act like we’re making progress’,” you slightly mocked.

Jerome gasped. “Well, hey! Whadaya know? I’m in group today, too!” The possibility that you were not in the same group was slim to none; your proximity in age and the fact that both of your cells were on the same floor meant that in any group setting, you were bound to end up together.

“Have they put you in it before?” you wondered.

“Oh, yeah, once or twice,” he told you, taking another spoonful of oatmeal before continuing. “Don’t be nervous about it. All they do is sit you in a circle and give you pens and paper and have you talk about your feelings and why you killed people.” That was still a touchy subject. You’d never verbally say that you ‘killed’ a person; there was a difference between murder and self-defense, and there was absolutely no way in hell you’d ever be convinced they were the same. Jerome noticed a shift in your attitude. “Well, I mean, you never killed anyone. So I guess you won’t have to participate too much.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you agreed. A burly looking man the approached Jerome, eyeing you all the while.

“Jerome.” He looked up and rolled his eyes at the man.

“Can I help you with something, Greenwood?”

“Yeah. Just wondering when you’re gonna share your little lady friend with the rest of us.” He sat down opposite both of you. “She looks tasty.”

In shock, you couldn’t properly formulate a response to the man’s lewd comments, so while you sat there, eyes fixated on your oatmeal, Jerome took the liberty of speaking up on your behalf. “She’s off limits, pal. Don’t touch her,” he told him, grinning all the while. “Or I’ll flay you and feed you to the rats.”

“Oh, little J’s got himself a girlfriend now, huh? What, you gonna chop her up just like you chopped up your mommy?” Greenwood inched closer and closer to Jerome while taunting him, and your friend was getting visibly aggravated.

His fist clenched and he slammed it on the table. You put your hand over his forearm to draw his attention over to you instead. “Jerome. Stop,” you requested.

“What?” he asked you. “Why me? What about him?”

“Because I know you can be rational,” you told him, maintaining eye contact. “It’s not worth it. Don’t give him the reaction he wants.”

He let out a short breath and turned his attention back to Greenwood. “You know what? She’s right. You’re not worth my foot. Go back to playing with your little dolls, Greenwood,” he taunted, gesturing with his free hand. Greenwood snarled, but got up and walked away anyways. Jerome looked back to you. “Y’know, you’re starting to rub off on me. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be a goody two-shoes just like you!” he joked, snickering. You just rolled your eyes, the ghost of a soft smile on your face.

“Hey,” you warned, “Don’t start getting soft. That’s my thing,” you shot back.

“Yeah, I know,” he smirked at you, catching your hand—the one that was on his forearm—in his. “Jeez, (Y/N), why are you so cold?” he asked you. His hands were exponentially warmer than yours, and you appreciated the heat warming up your own.

“It’s the middle of January and I have terrible circulation. Plus, no one in this place cares enough to turn the heat up.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he laughed. Then he was putting his head on top of yours, so you leaned your head onto his shoulder.

“What time is it?” You yawned. He told you that it was roughly eight-thirty. “Gross.” Jerome chuckled and gave a murmur of assent. He took his hand out of yours and put his arm around your shoulders instead.

“I’ll wake you up when they make us leave,” he assured you as you closed your eyes, thanking him. Then you were off to sleep again, catching up on all of the hours you had missed since you had been incarcerated. He grabbed your book off of the table and began reading it for himself. He kept one hand lightly trailing through your hand while the other was used to flip the pages until, at 9:20, the nurses came to inform the both of you that it was time for therapy.

-

If someone would’ve asked you what had been discussed in that session, you wouldn’t’ve had a clue. You sat next to your only friend in the place, of course, latching onto the only person you’d truly felt comfortable with since you’d been brought in. The two of you had passed notes back and forth the whole time, decorated with goofy little doodles and cartoons to entertain one another. When Jerome had cracked a joke to you following one of the other inmates’ comments, you could barely suppress your giggle, and you both had ended up making a bit of a scene.

“Jerome. (Y/N). Cut it out,” the therapist had reprimanded you. Jerome just gave her a nod, but you had verbally apologized and promised that it wouldn’t happen again.

A few seconds later, another note was passed onto your lap. SORRY FOR BEING A BAD INFLUENCE, it had read. You flipped it over to respond on the other side.

we balance each other out

like a negative and a positive

-

Two months later, and you were finally free to return to the rest of the world. You were overjoyed; you couldn’t wait to get back to your friends and family. You couldn’t wait to get back to school, something you never thought you’d say to yourself. You were also surprised at how well Jerome had responded when you’d told him that you were finally going home.

“You’ll write to me, right?” he asked you.

“Of course,” you verified.

“And visit?”

“I’ll try my damndest,” you promised.

He had seemed like he was making so much progress when you were around. At least, that’s what the nurses and therapists had all noted. For his own sake, they all secretly wished that you would keep coming back to help him out.

-

After another month, the whole city was erupted into chaos.

There had been some sort of gas leak at Arkham, followed by a breakout; your friend among the escapees. The next time you saw him had been on the T.V. in the midst of attempting to blow up a school bus full of cheerleaders from Gotham High.

You felt your heart break in your chest as you sat on your bed that morning watching the news. You’d really, truly let yourself believe that he wasn’t as bad of a person as the media had portrayed him, especially during his trial. You knew him firsthand! He was such a good friend to you, and was always watching your back. It was hard for you to believe that the boy who passed you notes in therapy and made you laugh all day was the same boy who had just kidnapped and murdered seven dock workers and attempted to blow up a bus full of cheerleaders the same age as him.

But, sadly, this was the reality that you lived in. I guess he really fooled me, huh, you thought to yourself.

Around noon that same day, while watching some documentary on Netflix and sending texts back and forth with one of your best friends, you heard a loud knocking outside of your window. “Holy shit!” you exclaimed, heart nearly leaping out of your chest. When your adrenaline rush finally slowed, you looked to see what had caused the noise, and—

“Holy shit!” Lo and behold; it was none other than Jerome Valeska. He grinned at you, waving emphatically.

“Open up, wouldya?” He spoke through the window. “Let’s catch up!”

You walked over to your windowsill but didn’t open the window, instead choosing to lock it. “Why should I let you into my house, Jerome? I’d be harboring a fugitive. That’s a crime. Just like kidnapping, murder, and arson,” you glared at him. “Why would you do that, J?” you asked, hurt evident in your eyes, even through the glass separating you.

“Let me in, (Y/N), I really wanna talk. You know I’d never hurt you.” You immediately believed him, having to consciously remind yourself that you might’ve been being led into a trap. That was, until he held up a fist and extended his pinky. “I pinky swear.” Damn, the boy knows I love me a good pinky swear. You gave up your resolve and cracked the window just enough to reach your own hand through, locking your fingers together before opening it the rest of the way.

“Okay. Talk,” you told him as he climbed through and stepped into your room. You took a seat on the edge of your bed, and he followed suit.

“This guy, Theo… he’s the one who broke us all out,” Jerome began to explain. “Kinda boring dude. But also kinda cool. He’s like the weird, rich uncle I never had,” he joked, making you crack a small smile. He smiled himself at that, nudging you playfully. “Anyways, he gives this whole speech about how we all have ‘vision’ and ‘talent’ and yada yada yada… So I know he gets me.

“Says he wants us to just go crazy, right? ‘Paint the town red’, other junk like that,” he continued. “The last guy who tried to leave, Sionis… He had him stabbed to death. Right in front of us all.” Your eyes shot up to his, shocked. “I can’t very well follow in his footsteps,” he told you.

“Oh, Jerome… That’s awful. I’m sorry.” You wrapped an arm around his side, implying that you’d mostly forgiven him for what he’d been doing recently. It’s not his fault, you reasoned, he’s scared for his life. “What if I call the cops so they can keep you safe from him? You don’t have to keep hurting people,” you offered.

“No, (Y/N), please don’t,” he begged. “They’ll just send me straight back to Arkham, I don’t wanna go back there, I hate that place—”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I understand. I won’t call anyone. Be safe, though? I mean… try as much as you can to not hurt anyone if you can help it.”

“I will. You were right, y’know. About balancing each other out. I think we make a good pair,” he told you, a smile that looked genuine on his face.

“Best friends,” you offered back. Then you gave him a solid hug, burying your face in his chest.

And you’d never have seen it, but that genuine smile suddenly became cunning and devious once more.  Gotcha...

[larriefails]

This new BPH2 post, she really can’t let go of 1D or the past, can she?

The amount of drivel...

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Harry was portrayed as a lothario BEFORE July 2011? By whom? Doing what? He didn’t date anyone until C*roline (sorry, I make one exception for censoring names and that’s for child groomers) in like, November 2011, there were jokes about him liking Madison, the girl from WMYB but that wouldn’t be until August anyway. Articles about various 1D members dating or hooking up with fans were run of the mill, but that was for all of them. Cher Lloyd got linked to literally every member except Louis, and that’s because he had a girlfriend. Harry was seen as flirty and fans joked around about his unfortunate pussygate moment, but clearly, he brought that on himself, and it was after X Factor anyway

The only possible “Harry is a lothario” push she could be talking about is that jokey video where Harry is seen as having overlapping dates with all the girls at boot camp, but it’s obviously tongue in cheek, it finishes with Harry going on a date with Wagner, a 50 something year old Portuguese (?) man. And this was BEFORE the band was put together. Why would Liam, or anyone, have to be seen as a lothario anyway? Confused

Louis and Hannah’s relationship wasn’t “spotlighted” they were just dating... so she was there... and they talked about it on the show I think once, maybe twice. None of the other boys had significant others at the beginning. When Zayn started dating one of the girls from Belle Amie (a girl group that was competing there as well), it was actually spotlighted, same when he dated Rebecca Ferguson

She says “switching 1Direction to One Direction” to seem knowledgeable, it’s hilarious. One Direction’s twitter account was created on October 29th 2010 and it was already stylized “OneDirection,” this is just a “the more you know” bullet point she learned that she decided to throw in there to get more credibility. Anyone that’s been a fan for long already knew this, it was stated as a fact in one of their books, but don’t ask me which one now cuz it’s been 7 years. Anyways, what an important marketing decision, Kati, it surely affected a lot of the outcome of the band that would be known as “1D” by 90% of its fanbase anyway

“But there was no larger strategy until July 2011″

NO SHIT SHERLOCK. U wanna know why? Because they didn’t have music out until August... you really are some fresh brand of stupid, huh. Who would waste money in marketing campaigns months and months before having any music to sell? All of them were heavily involved in social media anyway, and with strategic performances here and there, some interviews, a very well received book, signing days, and several other nuggets, they managed to build a stronger fanbase and a lot of anticipation by the time they released WMYB. There was definitely marketing, but, no, of course there wasn’t an overarching marketing campaign for a band with no music for six months.. Just like there isn’t, idk, a hot air balloon business for cheetahs..

And that’s how she starts.. everything after that is drivel and more and more drivel. Very little of it makes any sort of sense or is backed up by any facts other than her wanting things to be that way

Such as this entire paragraph which has me in fucking stitches

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Listen, I’m sure more older people became fans as the band became more popular, and I’m sure there are some men sprinkled in between, but PROFOUND DEMOGRAPHIC SHIFT? Except Harry and Zayn, who have cultivated an older skewing demographic, the core fan base is STILL 13-18 year old girls. And even Harry and Zayn have large percentages of their fan base in that age group still. She really thinks the tumblr side of fandom is in any way indicative of the larger fandom, it’s fascinating to read someone that’s supposed to be old and wise, who’s a mother and a wife, be so blatantly wrong and so delusional. Not even in the tumblr side of fandom now are the fans mostly older with established careers. That’s just the big Larries, and big Larries are what? 1 in 2,000 One Direction blogs? (and I doubt at least 50% of their “well established careers” are real, but I’m not into doxxing people so I’ll take their word for it)

I almost lost my mind when she called tumblr tinhat wank “objective debate and evidence-based discussion.” OBJECTIVE! O B J E C T I V E? bulletprooflarry, the person that left tumblr for a month when Harry announced his solo career because she had been saying for ages he’d never go solo and couldn’t handle being so OBJECTIVELY wrong, is talking about OBJECTIVE DISCUSSION???? Kati you wouldn’t know what actual objective discussion is if it slapped you repeatedly with something smelly while yelling “I am objective discussion” as a plane writes in the sky “objective discussion is slapping you in the face” and some sirens wailed in the distance

Not even gonna go there with “evidence-based” .. I’m sure ur tag “all the reasons ever needed” filled with cropped and edited gifs of 17 yo Harry and 19 yo Louis looking at each other for 0.03 seconds in slow mo would hold in court very well

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H I L A R I O U S. Never seen before! Novel!!!! Only happening because of “this new smarter fandom with professional experience”! No other tinhat fandom doubts the protagonists of their conspiracy theory handle their social media! That’s just the new smarter fandom filled with professional men and women in 1D. Crisscolfer, Kaylor, Supernatural, Camren, you name it. Any CT mined fandom where social media is used, believes the exact same bullshit, Kati. U R NOT SPECIAL. You’re not smarter. The Larrie fandom didn’t “wise up” it tinhatted up. If you left your conspiracy bubble for three seconds and waltzed into literally any other corner of the entertainment world, you’d see that

After this, she drivels on and on about “pics or it didn’t happen” and shit like that. None of it is special to this fandom, Kati. None of it. What you’re describing is tinhatting. It has nothing to do with “this new smarter fandom.” Unless of course you believe in every other celeb conspiracy theory out there and how all the CT fandoms have also, coincidentally, become “smarter”

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This is equal parts self centered, arrogant, delusional, and wrong. 1D’s team did a ton of things to get new fans and it succeeded largely at it. 1D was one of the largest bands in terms of fanbase in the world. It got away with selling millions upon millions of records and selling out stadiums without getting huge songs. To this day a vast majority of the general public only knows 2 or 3 One Direction songs (WMYB, SOML, some will know Drag Me Down). I think it was too big for the teams it had, for sure, but that’s just logic speaking for itself. What other clients the caliber of 1D did Simon Jones, Modest, or Syco have? The only big fish in the game was Columbia. And at times it definitely showed in a lot of things. But to say that they were playing catch up for five years and had no plan whatsoever, is simply disingenuous. And so self aggrandizing.. Recognizing that they had their failures? Cool. Sitting oatur computer at home and pretending that u kknow better how to handle it? Demented

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You know when you read something that’s so wrong that you don’t even know where to start? Yeah..

You were lied about the band getting back together. One by one they have admitted to it, even if not in so many words. First Zayn said he didn’t even like being in 1D ever. Then Harry refused to ever confirm the band would get back together. You had Niall, Liam, and Louis preaching 18 months/2 years, but that soon changed. Niall got tired of being asked a few months into his promo in 2017, said “idk, man, idk! someday!” and asked not to be asked again. Liam lasted a little longer, but he literally said “ask the others, idk, man, idk!” a few months back. The only one standing is Louis, and I firmly believe it’s simply because he hasn’t done as much promo as Niall and Liam, who must’ve reached the point of exhaustion. His defeated “idk, man, idk” is happenning soon. I can feel it in my bones

There’s no leadership in 1DHQ because there is no 1DHQ because there is no 1D. The band is broken up. Gone. Donezo. There’s no one to steer one topic to the next

It’s not the “lack of leadership” which lead the fans to create “microfandoms.” It’s the fact that every member has gone solo..... that created microfandoms. You’re over 40, Kati, please, for the love of God, stop hanging onto a boyband that’s been dead for four years. This is so pathetic to read. Fans less than half your age cried about their lost band for a few days and got over it. You’re still throwing hissy fits on tumblr and talking about it as if it wasn’t deceased

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Just... no

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Louis DOES NOT have the most hardcore fans inside of 1D. He has the most LARRIES. His fanbase is almost entirely conformed by conspiracy theorists, that’s why it seems so hardcore to you. This is not a positive. As a fan of Louis, I can assure you it is not. This doesn’t translate well into literally anything. Y’all are a nuisance and ruin everything. You’re not fans of Louis, you don’t even LIKE HIM. You despise everything about him and everything he is. Everything he does. All the things that have shaped him. You call everything he says a lie and mock his desperate attempts for you to LISTEN TO HIM. That’s the exact opposite of a hardcore fanbase, you shithead. That’s as fickle as it gets, it can (and does) get lost any second. The smallest of his moves can set y’all off and wipe thousands of you from his ranks. Because none of you like even a little of who he really is. Y’all are gonna leave him sooner or later. It’s just a matter of when, not if. Hardcore my fucking ass

What has Harry done to make older white men think he’s cool? Paint his nails? Wear glitter and flowery suits? Sing about men? Proclaim at every chance he gets that he LOVES his mostly female/young audience? That he thinks they’re amazing and how much he appreciates them? What is it that appeals older white men? All the rainbows in everything he does? The only thing “older white men” might like about Harry is his music and its inspiration, that’s where it starts and where it ends, but everything he’s done and said since he’s gone solo is prone to prejudice them against him. He hasn’t lifted a finger to appeal to them. His team didn’t even push his songs on Adult/Contemporary radios (Niall’s did, but I don’t see you talking about that). Yeah, Hall Of Fame will expose him to that audience as well, but you know who else did Hall Of Fame? Miley Cyrus. Was she trying to appeal to older white men? Was that Jannelle Monae’s goal while inducing Janet Jackson? He’s co chairing the MET Gala in a couple of weeks. How’s that for a white older male audience? Being a Gucci model under Alessandro Michele must’ve helped a lot, I’m sure 🙄

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“If One Direction was going to come back” NO. Next question

[hellacluttered]

Beneath the Surface (Goodnight Robicheaux)

Requested by anon

Prompt: “What are you?” + “A nuisance to most.” 

A/N: Idk why i put Goody through so much. He doesn’t need this >.<

    “Whatcha got going over here?” you asked, crossing your arms across your chest as you stopped on the riverbank behind Goodnight. He straightened up, groaning as his back cracked loudly, and turned to face you.

    “Laundry.”

    “Need a hand?” you asked, crouching to remove your own boots.

    “Nope,” he said, wading back to the edge of the river and draping his drenched vest over a bush. “Thank you. I kept my uniforms clean the whole war, you know.”

    “Really?” you asked, sitting down on the edge of the river-bank and taking off your boots and socks to dip your feet in the fresh water.

    “Sure did,” he said, leaning over again to wet the shirt he was now watching, which you recognized as his. “Every Saturday before drills. I liked routine then, back when… when I had control over some things, and...” He trailed off. His movements as he continued to wash the shirt, squeezing water out of it and wetting it again, became measured and rhythmic, almost robotic, and you knew his mind was somewhere else. “Goody,” you said, and he jerked slightly, dropping the shirt but managing to grab it again before the current pulled it away.

    “Sorry,” he said, straightening. “I just…”

    “I know.”

    He turned to face you. Stirring in his eyes was all the hurt, pain, and shadows of dark memories, those blue eyes vulnerable as a youth yet so irrevocably aged beyond their years by all they had seen. You stood, wading into the stream and embraced him, letting him bury his face in your shoulder. “Goody,” you said. “It’s…” you hesitated, not sure what to say to comfort him.

    “I know,” he said. “It’s a long time ago; I should be able to get over it.”

   “That’s not what I was going to say!” you said quickly. “I guess… I don’t really know what to say, and it kills me that I can’t help you. But-”

    “You do help,” he said firmly. “You do.”

    “Not enough,” you said. “Goody, you may not believe me, but you should know- you are by far the strongest person I have ever met.”

    “I’m not that,” he said, finally stepping back.

    “Then what are you?” you said. “Because that’s the way everyone who knows you sees you.”     “I’m… A nuisance to most,” he said.

    “No,” you said firmly. “No. I love you, Billy loves you, we all do, Goody, for so many reasons. You’re a good man.” He shook his head and you grasped his shoulders. “You are. You say you don’t trust yourself, so trust me. Don’t you trust me?”

    He hung his head but after an agonizingly long silence, finally nodded.

    “Then believe what I’m saying now,” you said.

    “But you deserve someone normal, someone who’s whole, not an old shell like me,” he said, his voice quiet and weary, and then you realized how much more was on his mind than you had realized.

    “Goody, if we got what we deserve, we’d all be dead,” you said. “Love isn’t based on what we deserve. It’s… it’s beyond that. I love you as you are. That’s all there is to it.”

    “Life’s rarely that simple,” he said, still refusing to meet your gaze.

    “Well, this is,” you said.

     Finally his eyes met yours, and then his expression relaxed, his furrowed brow smoothing out, some of the hurt draining from his eyes. “All right,” he said finally.

    “Really?” you said.

    He managed a small smile. “Yeah.”

   You wrapped your arms around him again, holding his body tight to yours. “Good.”