#if the post looks like shit I’m sorry I’m stuck on mobile

[raitrolling]

I finished the Raitrolling Lore Quiz hopefully before the bandwagon is well and truly dead

I hope you guys all studied hard because spoilers you are required to have read my drabbles since I thought that’s what people meant when they were saying they were quizzing people on lore LMAO

[indecisive-dizzy]

Ramble about Eddie to your heart’s content, bestie :D

I’m honestly very interested in your ideas :3

Again, don’t be scared to just ramble in my ask box, I love hearing peoples ideas

AJDKKAGAJAKAK- THANK YOU <3 <3

I'm wailing rn /pos

My AU! Disabled Eddie!! Ok so he wasn't born with his disability, it came about later.

My Current story is that he had stroke in late middle/early high school! I have done research and Yes it is possible for teens and younger to have strokes. From what I recall it can be significantly worse for them compared to adult strokes

Eddie was left with permanent complications and is disabled bc of it. He has coordination, balance, and general mobility complications among a list of other post stroke effects. I just found the word I was looking for a few days ago to describe his mobility issues, it's Ataxia!

Eddie has to deal with bouts of muscle weakness on his right side which can effect his vision. He also gets vertigo a Lot and at this point dizziness is expected every time he stands.

He uses forearm crutches when he needs extra help walking bc he does have good days where he may not need them! But for longer distances he brings them bc he's better safe than sorry. He also has cane but he doesn't use it As much.

He also has a wheelchair that he Hates. He hates having to use it. But his Really horrible days leave him unable to stand, much less walk. He wishes he could just hide it somewhere and never think about it but alas. it's important.

He dislikes the wheelchair so much bc it makes him feel useless. He is Not! I want to clarify that wheelchair users are perfectly Capable and Independent! Eddie just has an issue with overachieving and working himself too hard. He wants to be helpful and do So Much but there are some things he can't do while in his wheelchair. He was stuck in a chair for months after his stroke and it was devastating back then. He has No good memories with a wheelchair so he continues to dislike using it.

Ok putting a read more bc I am not shutting up for a While

Relationships with the neighbors! Generally the same. Barnaby doesn't chase him bc that would be mean (? I can't think of a better way to describe it)

Sally is still Sally but she's specific on her mailman hate (lmao) to make sure Eddie and everyone else knows she's not faulting him for his disability.

Hmm yeah everything else is pretty much the same. I guess everyone is also more open about offering Eddie help from time to time if he looks like he needs an extra hand. They're not persistent or anything, but if they see him struggling to carry a package or two they're more inclined to help.

I still don't know how Howdy gets his shit. Honestly If Eddie is having a crutch or chair day,, Howdy just won't get his stock unless he gets it himself. I can't think of a way for Eddie to deliver all those heavy ass boxes.

He does ask people to pick up their packages occasionally too. He tries to deliver them all himself but it's not always possible. He offers a trolley they can use.

I want to talk about angst. So this is very specific, I'll try to keep it short. growing up, Eddie lived in a four bedroom house. two downstairs master bedrooms and two upstairs normal bedrooms. Before his stroke he was upstairs, his older brother in the other room, and his older sister in the bedroom downstairs.

Afterwards he had to move downstairs. His sister Hated this. She loved her room and her private bathroom and she was very prissy about it.

This snowballed into her just,, taking all her frustrations out on Eddie. He took Her Bedroom. He's getting all the attention. Her little brother was ruining everything.

Eddie was devastated by this. He went as far as to attempt to convince his parents to let them switch rooms again. He couldn't physically walk up the stairs most days but he just wanted his big sister to not hate him anymore.

Their relationship never fully recovered. As an adult Eddie will still find ways to blame himself and feel guilty. But he just can't bring himself to talk to her.

They used to be so close. She let Eddie experiment with her makeup, they talked about fashion and boys and she helped him so so much when he was questioning his sexuality.

and then it just, fell apart. But not quietly like a loose thread but rather a house that wasn't built quite right and the screws came loose one by one.

Eddie's memory gets really fuzzy when thinking that far back. but some of those memories are burned into his mind and he wishes he could forget them like he does everything else.

[norcalbruja]

Screaming into the abyss and the abyss answered

What’s up, so around July 21, I was feeling overwhelmed with the rut of my life again because my mom helpfully told me that I’ve spent almost a year without work by now, and I can’t keep posting shit on Facebook about gardening and making pancakes and like... the stuff that doesn’t exactly take 8 hours a day and five days a week.

It did not help that she's thinking of coming home early. Not only is my step-dad thinking he’s not well enough to move to the United States after all, his relatives are apparently TERRIBLE at following directions. When they helped Mom find a new place, they got an apartment with steps, which she specifically said she didn’t want (because she’s seventy and she has mobility issues), and also the neighbors are super loud and she can’t sleep. Which is ironically the same problem she had back here in America.

Anyway, so Spirit-Me started screaming “HELP! HELPPPPPPPP! SOMEONE OUT THERE, PLEASE HELP ME! I DON’T WANT TO BE A BILLIONAIRE, I JUST WANT A FUCKING ART CAREER AND MY OWN PLACE!!! IF I WAS MAKING ANY SORT OF PROGRESS BY ASKING PEOPLE TO READ MY WRITING THE NORMAL WAY, I WOULDN’T BE BEGGING THE SPIRITS FOR HELP!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!” nonstop again, and Dionysus was worried that I’d attract an UNFRIENDLY spirit this time.

Luckily, I did not, but just because he wasn’t unfriendly doesn’t mean he wasn’t really fucking impulsive.

Check behind the cut for stuff about Water Spirits Being Dangerous!

--

You know how the Water-Spirit’s real form looks like a man made of water, or a small waterspout? Kind of weird, but he’s also MOSTLY HUMAN-SIZED, so I got used to him pretty quickly.

Meanwhile, the water-spirit who heard my desperate screaming showed up looking like a FULL-SIZE wave with a man’s upper body just stuck in the middle of the wave’s crest, so to differentiate these two, I’ll be calling him “Rogue-Wave-Spirit.”

My Water-Spirit also does not merely call Rogue-Wave-Spirit “Ama / Father” like he with the regular spirits. Instead, he calls him “Nuno / ANCESTOR.”

I don’t even know if this dude has a proper name that’s capitalized or anything. If the water-spirit keeps saying he “lost” his name, “the embodiment of a massive rogue wave” probably wouldn’t have a name to begin with.

The problem is, Rogue-Wave-Spirit is very IMPULSIVE, so like... the first thing he did after asking me what was wrong and why the anito haven’t helped me out yet is:

He rounded up Three out of Four Haiks--the Lightning Spirit, Haik Number Four, and Shark--to yell at them for essentially dicking around with me for so long, AND HE JUST FUCKING CRUSHED HAIK NUMBER FOUR AND THE LIGHTNING-SPIRIT IN ONE HAND. Yes, that’s how big he is.

Shark only got yelled at, but not... pulverized(???). It’s because he was pretty honest that he wasn’t pretending to be Haik, he was planning to take Haik’s function for me because it’s been years and I haven’t gotten help from ANY of the anito yet.

So this was obviously terrifying, especially because Haik Number Four is some kind of anito even if I don’t know if he’s actually Haik. But like the “Bane versus Batman moment” where SOMEONE dragged the Water-Spirit into the ocean abyss, broke his back as punishment for lying, and then assured me that he wasn’t PERMANENTLY injured without realizing how watching that is Definitely Not Fun, Rogue-Wave-Spirit realized I was screaming for a DIFFERENT reason.

So he winced and went “Oh no! I scared you, didn’t I? I’m sorry!” And he like, scooped them back up and healed them. ...Yay???

Lola Buwaya arrived and wondered why I was screaming so much again, and she gave a heavy sigh to see Rogue-Wave-Spirit.

Rogue-Wave-Spirit asked her, “Lola, what meaning is this? Has no one helped her yet? She reeks of pain and loneliness. Where are the anito besides Haik?”

And Ulupong barged in and just let loose about my situation (and what he thinks about it). He went, “People say all sorts of shit! They say the anito think her stories and poetry are blasphemous, and they left her for writing about Haik being MARRIED and having kids with a MORTAL WOMAN! Like that doesn’t happen in any other pagan pantheon! They say the anito don’t CARE ABOUT PEOPLE, and she pissed them off by always begging them to ANSWER HER PRAYERS--but everyone else prays to them just fine! They hold rituals! They tell people to talk to the anito after spending so long in Catholicism! Either she’s doing it too much, or she’s doing it the wrong way!

“I don’t know if the mortals are right or not, but you know what I haven’t seen? NINETY-EIGHT PERCENT OF THE ANITO. Haik and Makapulaw are the only ones trying to fucking help her, but she freaks out and won’t believe them! The only other spirit who came around called himself Bathala, but good luck having this chick believe anything a Tagalog spirit says! Not after people told her how she, specifically, has pissed off the anito so much that they don’t give a fuck about her anymore! For all I know, the others DID abandon her. So she’s stuck in the wilderness for now. With us.”

Rogue-Wave-Spirit’s reaction was basically “ULUPONG! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???”, which is surprisingly consistent among the Tagalog spirits.

Anyway, right now Rogue-Wave-Spirit is hanging out and just being very gentle with me. Partly because of the “crushing other spirits to a pulp in front of me, a squishy mortal” issue, but also because of the situation above.

Given that the Water-Spirit is obviously nervous about continuing to give me writing ideas, Rogue-Wave-Spirit assured me that he’d also help with my writing. And like, getting my writing to make some money.

I have gotten no direct signs yet, but a Tweet I made on a friend’s profile, about how the Filipino diwat and the Irish Fair Folk are both given offerings much more like “gang protection money” than some fluffy neopagan shit about “making friends,” has racked up 1200 likes in two days.

Years of posting on social media about my writing with radio silence most of the time, and the thing that takes off is a half-remembered meme. Lol, why is this my life?

[sortyourlifeoutmate]

Every so often I remember the Mortal Engines film that came out a few years back, and I am bummed.

Because the Mortal Engines books (and I’ll admit to only having read the first two) are personal favourites of mine and are, through the sheer power of good writing, a profoundly ridiculous concept taken by the scruff of the neck and actually made to work. Enormous, mobile cities charging around a post-apocalyptic landscape devouring one another? Pre-apocalypse superweapons? Cyborg revenant supersoldiers? It’s madness! It’s too much!

And yet it works.

(Oh, and Hester Shaw, obviously, but we’ll get back to her.)

The film, however, does not work. The film is dull, and this is a crime. You got Huge fucking Weaving in your film and you fucked it up. That’s appalling.

I know that in the transition from book to film you’ll inevitable shed a few things. That’s just how it goes. These are not one-to-one, after all, and how a book works is not how a film works. That said, there are ways of doing it effectively, and the sad fact is the film here just didn’t, and a lot of what got snipped out was, in the book, delightful (Valentine’s daughter’s role, for one).

It’s hard to describe properly, too, but tonally the whole thing just came out super, super fucking bland. The book has a real sense of personality, of grime, of the seriousness of the world. The film, while having some nice visuals, just feels altogether too clean, too neat, and this does not help.

Mostly though it’s about Hester Shaw. They fucked her up good. They fucked up one of my favourite characters ever.

Okay, I’m going to start going at length now, so I’m putting a cut in.

Oh hey look, you kept going.

I may spoil some things inadvertently here, but basically it goes like this:

You have Tom, main character. He is a historian in London, a city on tracks that eats other cities. As punishment for failing to do a chore, Tom is sent to the guts of London as it is in the process of devouring a town it just caught. Whilst down there he bumps into Valentine, head of the Guild of Historians, adventurer, and all-round cool dude. Tom also bumps into Katherine, the daughter of Valentine who is gorgeous and who he immediately falls in love with. She seems pretty keen on him, too.

Unfortunately, one of the people on the town that London ate was someone called Hester Shaw. Hester Shaw tries to murder Valentine and Tom, seeing this, stops it. In the process of stopping it the scarf that Hester had around her face falls off, revealing that she is HELLA FUCKED UP LOOKING, something she blames on Valentine. She then falls down a chute and out of London.

Valentine is like “Yo, thanks for that” and Tom is like “S’cool. Also, she was called Hester Shaw and says she knows you? What’s that about?” and Valentine goes “Ah, sorry about this” and shoves Tom down the chute as well when no-one is looking. This leaves Tom and Hester basically stuck with one another in the wasteland, and that’s basically how the rest of the book goes – Tom wants to get back to London and also make moon eyes at Katherine some more, Hester wants to murder the shit out of Valentine (and for good reason).

There’s also some stuff with doomsday weapons and airships and sky pirates and, as mentioned, cyborg zombie supersoldiers. There’s a lot.

But the main thing for me is Tom and Hester, because while the concept of “You’re stuck with someone you don’t want to be and you both dislike each other but your goals are closely enough aligned that you kind of have to stick together and gradually you warm to one another” isn’t exactly the most original, the execution of it in Mortal Engines warms my cold, dead heart.

Because Hester Shaw.

I love Hester Shaw. She is one of my favourite characters. She is, as mentioned, HELLA FUCKED UP looking. The reason why she dislikes Valentine and would like to murder him is that, to cut a long story short, he betrayed Hester’s mother, murdered Hester’s mother, and tried to murder Hester – in the process hacking at her face with a sword. This resulted in Hester losing the use of an eye, most of her nose, and also getting her mouth split in half. She’s basically got a whacking great scar that goes right down the middle of her face, right through her eye, no fucking nose, and mangled lips. She looks FUCKED UP.

Understandably this, along with having her mother killed, has made her somewhat bitter. She is ANGRY. She’s got every right to be angry! And her ANGER is a defining trait. Tempered, over time, by her developing relationship with Tom.

Tom is pretty straightforward. He’s not exactly cut out for life in the wasteland, and he’d prefer to get back to London, pretty Katherine, and away from angry, scary Hester Shaw. Over time though he softens on Hester, and in softening on Hester he starts to show her a level of warmth she is unfamiliar with, and so she gets, uh, somewhat possessive of him.

I’m not doing it justice, but it’s a dynamic I appreciate.

(Also, as an aside, Katherine is a lot more than just a pretty girl Tom likes – she has a whole side plot where she gets suspicious of her father and plays a pretty bloody pivotal role in the ending, it’s tops.)

Anyway!

The film fucks a lot of this up. For one – and this is subjective – who they got to play Tom and Hester have zero chemistry. It’s subjective, yes, but I don’t believe these two people hate each other. I don’t believe they’re growing to like each other. They’re just there, nearby to one another. I’m getting nothing. It’s doing nothing for me.

Mainly though, SHE ISN’T FUCKED UP LOOKING. ARGH! It’s a central aspect of her character but OF COURSE you can’t have one of your main characters – a love interest, no less! – looking ugly, can you?! So no! Instead, Hester is now some twenty-something with a kickin’ rad scar, not a teenager with a HORRENDOUSLY FUCKED UP FACE.

A key aspect of her personality is that she’s had to deal with people looking at her with disgust for years! This is kind of hard to believe when she’s just got a cool scar and otherwise looks perfectly fine! I AIN’T BUYIN’ IT!

YOU FUCKED UP HESTER SHAW! ARGH!

I’m so mad. I’m still mad about it. You had this fantastic, fantastic character and you fucked her up.

Also, it tweaks the ending to make it wrap up neater, screws around with the fates of a few characters to make their ultimate fates considerably less interesting, and generally just makes it a big let down. Nowhere is this exemplified better than it what happens to Katherine. Grr. Boo.

Oh yeah, and they made Valentine Hester’s father? Why? Whhhhyyyy?

Eurgh. I’m all bummed out now.

(Also, remember how in Predator’s Gold – the second one – the main bulk of the plot is driven almost entirely by Hester’s personal failings and insecurities, and that’s dope? And also that princess character (whose name eludes me) who starts out the book so naïve and pampered she can barely put on one of her poofy dresses herself and who develops into a wrench-wielding can-do leader? And also the Iain M Banks reference? Fucking awesome.)

[fartoo-sensitive]

flufftober 2021 - day 1: first kiss

character: stu macher x gn!reader

words count: 597

finally getting this out, only a day late, but better than what i thought since i assumed i wouldn't have it done till tomorrow!! enjoy~ (also sorry if the formatting on this is weird I'm posting it from mobile )

-----

“wanna make out?”

you felt the diet coke you were drinking attempt to make its way up your nose as you spluttered over the sip you’d been taking. “excuse me?”

“i don’t know,” stu shrugged, a lop-sided grin stretching across his face. “figured it might be fun.”

“you’re a pig.”

“awe, c’mon, y/n, throw me a bone. i’m bored, and it sounded like a good idea in my head. don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.” he raised his eyebrows at you.

finally able to breathe, you snorted a laugh. “no, stuart, i’ve never thought about making out with you.”

he rested a hand over his heart. “wow, i’m hurt, y/n. you really know how to damage a guy’s ego.”

“you’ve been my best friend for years, that’d be weird as hell.” you shook your head. a small smile was on your face though, and you looked at him through your lashes while wiping the rim of your pop can with your sleeve. “have you thought about it?”

“you think i asked about it because i haven’t thought about it?”

“stu!”

he threw his head back laughing. “you asked! did you want me to lie? okay, y/n, no i have never thought about making out with you, and i have definitely never thought about you naked. how’s that?”

your mouth fell open and you felt heat creep up your neck onto your face. you had nothing to say in return to that. how could you? all you could do was stare at him.

after a few moments he said, “so are we gonna make out now or…?”

you shook your head at him, incredulous.

"so that's a no then?"

a sigh passed your lips and you let your head fall back against the couch, knowing he wasn't going to let this go, even if it seemed like he would eventually. "i'm not going to just make out with you when you haven't even given me a proper first kiss yet."

and that's all it took for him to be all but on top of you on the couch. stu's entire abdomen was pressed to your side, he stared down at you with the biggest grin you thought you'd seen on him all day. "are you fucking serious? that's it?"

you really couldn't deny him anything. not when he was looking at you like you'd just given him the moon. you rolled your eyes. so much for being just friends, you thought. outloud you said, "that's it."

his grin grew impossibly wider and he did that stupid thing you swore you hated where he stuck his tongue out before ducking his head down and pressing his lips to yours.

as far as first kisses went, it would definitely be one you remembered. if not for how soft stu's lips were or how fucking good of a kisser he was then definitely for the fact that not 10 seconds after it started his hand began creeping under the hem of your shirt.

you broke the kiss with an almost exasperated laugh, batting his hand away. "stu!"

"what? you said we could make out after the first kiss!"

"we were still in the middle of said first kiss, you little shit!" you shook your head, though it was fond rather than admonishing.

it was silent for only a few seconds before stu's voice rang out. "so, you wanna make out?" he grinned, and before you could even answer swooped in to seal his lips over yours.

good thing you were planning on saying "yes" that time.

[eureka-its-zico]

Irrevocably Yours

Request: hey! can i request a scenario of jungkook being a rich kid who has ome of his legs is leg failure , basically can't walk without a cane , And he falls in love with a normal girl , and they end up running away , happy ending plz , also if u can , LIT IT Up with smut ' thank u ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

A/N: So. This request was sent to me a long ass time ago. I mean a LONG time ago, and I spent so much time working on it...it became too long. So I broke it up in half. Just to see if anyone actually becomes interested in how this ends. Just to see if anyone still reads anything I write. So if you end up enjoying this, please let me know and I’ll post the last of this. I have so many things buried inside my google docs that need to be set free from hibernation. 

Also, I’m sorry if this isn’t any good. I’ve rewritten this a thousand times trying to fix it, and I’ve done all I can for now. I hope someone out there enjoyed this craziness. And to the original person who asked for this, if you ever see this, I’m sorry it took so long. P.s. I also took creative liberties and changed it up a little. Much love, Jenn

Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 13,756 (yeah I know, it was longer before I halved it. Sorry!)

Genre: fluffy/Smutty(later)/First Love drama sorts mess

A part of you would always remember the first day you’d met Jeon Jungkook. His presence standing in the doorway to the classroom held every single one of your classmate's attention along with yours. Jungkook silently demanded to be noticed, even though in a way he wanted no one to notice him at all. The classroom felt louder than usual, or maybe that was just how you recalled it. Maybe it's what caused the ringing in your ears when the room was swallowed up in silence. The sound of his cane hitting the stained linoleum; ticking like a time bomb with every step. 

At first you couldn't see why he necessarily needed it. Jungkook was a master of hiding things. Even pain. It wasn’t until he’d reached the teachers desk, his hip moving to rest against it to ease the extra strain off his good leg, that the stories of his accident became true.  Not one of you were willing to look too long at the challenge in his face. Defiance turning his soft features bitter as he glanced out across the room. Jungkook wanted to appear strong; to dare anyone to mutter even a word that he wasn’t. That he wasn’t the same person he was before the accident. 

He must have been able to fool your home room teacher into forgetting. His eagerness to introduce Jungkook only caused him to accidentally come too close to his legs in passing. The teachers’ waist moved and harmlessly bump against Jungkook’s bad leg. A small movement that was enough to change Jungkook’s entire demeanor for just a second. 

The whole room collectively took a breath; waiting for him to scream out in pain. To turn savage and yell or curse at the stupidity of the teacher. Jungkook did none of it. He continued to look out into the room with his chin held high. 

You could see, however, through the crinkle by his eyes and how heavily he now leaned on his cane that it’s caused him a great deal of pain. A brief moment in showing what he tried to hide and if you weren’t staring so hard at him, you were sure you would’ve missed it.

An infamous legend among other schools as his face showed up on Sports articles that featured proud features of parents beaming excitedly at cameras. Taekwondo and track metal’s around his neck by the dozens. Grades to match the intensity of his athletic drive with a rumor that if he tried something for the first time, Jungkook would still be phenomenal at whatever it was. 

Even without ever actually meeting him - everyone in that classroom knew who he was. Jeon Jungkook was a hard man not to hear about. 

In the beginning of the year there’d been a different headline for him, however. He’d been the passenger in a friend's car that was struck by a drunk driver. The ferocity of the impact leaving the car looking like a bow. Jungkook lost a friend that night, and part of the mobility in his left leg. The driver himself died instantly and you weren't sure if that was justice enough for the two boys who’d lost so much in a matter of three seconds. 

And with so much, yet so little known about him you found yourself unable to join the others in measuring up the boy in front of you. 

Jungkook was taller than you thought he would be, or maybe you’d silently been hoping the universe wouldn’t be so cruel to give someone talent and every single attractive feature known to man. He’d been played up like he was a god among the rest of you feeble mortals. You figure’d girls were overacting, I mean it happens. Imagining after listening to all their swooning, you’d somehow shockingly find out he was nothing more than your average - ordinary - boy. 

Jungkook was anything but ordinary. 

His lean frame still retained years of training that wasn't so easily hidden, even under the layers of the school uniform. You could see the care he still placed on his outward appearance. The rising star who was still handsome, even underneath all his brooding. His school uniform strained against tight muscles in his arms and, worse, was his legs. Your cheeks heating into an embarrassed blush as his eyes landed on what seemed like your desk. It was silly to think he’d caught you gawking. Everyone was gawking at him, but even a millisecond of his gaze made your cheeks light up with embarrassment at the idea of being caught. 

There was gossip of him not wanting to go back to his old school; his old life. You didn't really blame him. Why be stuck in a place where there were millions of memories of a time you had with a close friend? Of having the ability to walk down the halls without everyone looking at you like you were damaged goods. 

“Everyone pay attention!” Mr. Choi shouted. 

It all seemed unnecessary. Your attention was already on him whether he wanted it or not. 

“I’d like to welcome our transfer student, Jeon Jungkook. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

“I don't need you to defend me,” he snapped. 

He started moving his way down the aisle towards the only empty seat in the room: the one next to you. 

You quickly turned away from him and started cleaning up your space. Jungkook got to the desk faster than you thought and dropped his backpack down on top of the desk. His long body slumped down into the seat, placing his cane next to the window seal. 

“We’re going to continue with our previous lecture from yesterday. You can share with Y/N until you get your own books.”

You flipped to chapter eighteen with your many notes scattered inside. Your eyes giving him a sidelong glance before sliding the book neatly between the desks. Jungkook didn't bother to look at the pages: his gaze was locked elsewhere. Somewhere outside the window with the freedom far beyond the gates of the school. 

The enter class you’d spun a hundred different sentences in your mind. Each one playing out in your head as pure idiotic or unnecessary. You just couldn’t shake the feeling that it felt wrong letting him sit there like no one cares. To be a part of the prying gazes of the class; to know his name and him not knowing yours in return. You weren't sure why you gave a shit so much, anyways, but you did. 

At the sound of the bell he was the first one to hop back onto his feet. His hand instinctively taking hold of the cane to keep him propped up as he moved to situate his backpack over his shoulders. You’d followed close behind him and gathered up your things. 

You didn't see him again until fifth period. His brooding presence in the back of the class hung like a dark cloud you couldn't shake. You knew you weren't necessarily the most cheerful person in the room, but even Jungkook’s sour puss attitude was making you want to throw glitter at him. 

He didn't acknowledge you when you came to your usual seat at the window, and it didn't bother you. No one usually acknowledged you anyways. What did bother you was that he was sitting in your window seat. Statistics was by far your least favorite subject this year, and the one thing that kept you sane was that window seat.

“That's my spot.”

Your voice didn't hold any hint of malice. It was just definitive: you wanted your seat. Jungkook didn't look at you straight away. His eyes still daydreaming through the window and the world beyond. When he did finally look at you, you were sure the annoyance in his face was meant to send you packing. Too bad for him you’d seen worse. 

“Is that look supposed to scare me? It doesn't change the fact you're in my spot.”

“I don't see your name on it.”

Your laughter turned to a scoff; cut short by your disbelief. 

“What are we in middle school? If you want to get technical, it was assigned by the teacher aka my name is theoretically on that seat. So -” 

You acted like he was a pet you could shoo off your bed. The hand motion earning you his brow to raise in return. 

“You’d really make a cripple get up?”

“Is that what we’re calling you? A cripple? Because it looks to me like you’re still capable of doing things, oh say, a paraplegic can't.”

The anger rolled through him suddenly like storm clouds. All the possibilities of playful mischief disappeared as he regarded you with so much hate, it was as if he’d struck you. 

“Oh, really? I didn't realize that they were giving away M.D titles in high schools now.”

Your mouth opened to - to what? Apologize? The sensitive part of you told you that you should. His accident hadn't been a full year yet, and here you were badgering him. Yet, you knew if you continuously babied him like everyone else it was only going to do more harm than good. Your next choice of words were cut short when your teacher walked in and asked why you were still standing. 

“He’s in my spot.”

God, now who sounded like they were in middle school? Your teacher seemed to draw a blank. His gaze moving from you to Jungkook then back to you. 

“Just sit down, Y/N.”

You did so with a huff. Your arms pulling your backpack you’d sat down on the desk closer to you like a pillow. Just so you could rest your chin on top of it and tried to ignore the smirk that was now on Jungkook’s face. 

After you’d gone to your next class you couldn't stop thinking about your exchange. It  turned your mood sour the rest of the day, and you couldn't understand why. A part of you wondering if it was because of your choice of words or the defeat that shown all too bright in his doe eyes. 

The end of the day couldn't have come fast enough. You just wanted to get home and out of your uniform and maybe get a chance to go take some photos before your parents got home. You were too preoccupied with thoughts of where you wanted to go, and what coffee shop you wanted to stop at, when you collided into the back of someone else. A loud curse followed suit of the sound of a cane dropping on pavement making your eyes shut tight and your throat constrict around a groan. 

“Jesus, can't you watch where you’re goi- oh, it's you. Enjoy attacking cripples, do we?”

You opened your eyes to see a less than amused smile on his face. He acted more like a judge at your hearing and whatever sentencing he was giving out, it wasn’t in your favor. 

“I’m sorry I wasn't paying attention.”

You moved to pick up his cane for him when his hand angrily swatted yours away making you jump back a step. 

“I don't need your charity. I can do it myself!”

“No one said you couldn’t! I was only trying to be nice.”

“Yeah, well, go and be nice somewhere else.”

He situated his weight on his good leg and bent at the knee low enough for his hand to reach out and grab his second form of support. The movement so graceful that it left you stunned, but not as much as his words did. 

“You know, just because something bad happened to you, it doesn't give you the right to be an asshole. You aren't the only person to lose someone or something important. Get over yourself.”

With your hands latched underneath the straps of your backpack you stomped around him. Not caring that you left him standing stone still. His mouth slightly agape as he watched you take your exit. 

During your walk home, somehow, Jungkook plagued your thoughts. Your mind unable to comprehend why you were still thinking about him. It was the first time you’d met, and yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. If you were being honest with yourself you knew from replaying the last thing you said to him.The look on his face saying plainly that you were an asshole.

Everyone’s pain mattered. Grief and loss wasn’t measured by anyone else’s pain but the person who experienced it, and to diminish it in any way was unfair. Regret was building inside your chest and it was all you could do to keep your feet from sprinting back in his direction. 

When you got home you went directly to your room, throwing your bag on the bed, and sulked to your desk. You had more pressing matters to attend to than a boys’ possible hurt feelings. No matter how many times you tried, however, you weren’t able to write out theories on government history or explain anatomical questions.

The only thing your brain appeared to focus on was how to apologize. 

You thought about Jungkook while you showered and brushed your teeth. You thought of him when you laid in bed and struggled to find a way to sleep. Your mind playing out the million different possibilities of how your apology would be taken from him. You didn't necessarily understand what it felt like to have your dreams stolen from you. To be forced to cope with a new life you hadn’t asked for and the emptiness of losing someone you loved all in one go. 

If the tables were turned and it was you, wouldn’t you feel equally as bitter? 

The following morning in between toaster cooked waffles and fixing your uniform in the mirror, you’d resigned to apologizing to him. No matter how much thinking of it made your teeth grind and a growl rise in your chest at the thought. You imagined him sneering and replying with smart remarks and it caused your mind to waver, but you were better than the pettiness swelling in your chest. You were okay with knowing his prickled exterior came from something you couldn't ever understand. 

You made sure all the time you had while you walked to school was used up by mumbling the speech you’d made up the night before. At crosswalks practicing the best stance that didn't appear threatening, was friendly, but wouldn't be misconstrued as flirting. 

That was by far the last thing you wanted to happen in his eyes. Sure, Jungkook was undeniably attractive...as much as you would've loved to laugh sarcastically in his perfectly sculpted face that his obviously very masculine features did nothing to make you weak in the knees. That you hadn’t noticed when his elbows, still clad in his jacket, moved to rest on the desk it’d caused his biceps and shoulders to equally fight for whatever was left of the fabric. Or that small scar on his cheek caught your attention when he became annoyed; his tongue poking out at the side of his jaw. 

No, you hadn't been paying an embarrassing amount of attention to him at all (or at the ridiculous outline of his thigh muscles in his school uniform)  with every step he took. 

So, since you hadn't personally taken notice of any of physically appealing traits, why would you flirt? You were well aware of the vast difference of not only your social scale, but also of your class ranking, and looks overall. You were lightyears away from ever being able to consider being more than a female acquaintance he happened to get stuck next to at school. He wasn't the first boy who was out of your league, and Jungkook wouldn't be the last. Why it bothered you so much was a child's thought you refused to entertain. 

When you finally got to school you hurried up the steps and briskly made your way down the hall. Not stopping even after Jenny cursed after you for nudging her as you went by. As soon as you swung open the door for homeroom, your eyes landed on Jungkook’s position. His cane leaning against the desk, hands tucked inside the pockets of his uniform slacks as he leaned back against the chair. 

His gaze was focused somewhere outside the window, completely blank and motionless, and you wondered if he could've been having a thought at all. He was close to being marked as unreal in your book when he blinked and turned his gaze towards you.

You hadn't realized you’d been staring until that moment. Your gaze dropping to the worn linoleum as you briskly made your way down to your desk. A mumbled, “Good morning,” falling like a bad habit from your lips while you came around the side to slid into the desk chair. Nervous hands clutching tightly to your bag as you stared straight ahead, unwilling to glance in his direction. 

Somewhere between cursing your awkwardness and staring out the window like an escape hatch your teacher started the lecture. None of it to which you were paying attention too, which was probably why you heard him call your name. You jerked in your seat as he yelled it a second time. Your eyes no doubt wide from giggles that sounded around the room. 

“Y/N, since you're listening, you can go ahead and answer number forty-seven in the workbook.”

Panic sent your eyes wide as you stared back at his expectant face: waiting for you to fail. You hadn't even taken your book out since you’d sat down, finally moving to do so, when you felt a light tap against your bag. It was enough to jerk your gaze away from the teacher and down to a completed book of all the problems done by Jungkook. 

He cleared his throat and tucked his hands back inside the pockets of his trousers easily not understanding the severity of how his actions had left you wide-eyed in surprise. You were still taking too long, causing your teacher to prompt you with a grunt and Jungkook to casually reach out and tap the answer again. Your eyes trailing over the written answer before standing up and clearing your throat. The answer rolling off your tongue as easy as breathing; as if you didn't just steal it from a notebook. 

You made a silent prayer the teacher didn't notice the sweat threatening to break at your temple. The nervous ticking of your feet tilting from spot to spot. A rush of relief escaping your lips when his response to your answer was to continue class. 

You took your seat next to Jungkook; unable to acknowledge him just yet for saving you from whatever punishment your teacher would've no doubt thought of. The realization that Jungkook himself was the reason for your lack of concentration making your cheeks flush an embarrassing pink making your arms wrap protectively around your backpack. 

You’d never even brought out your textbook. Never dropped your bag from your desk and no doubt Mr. Choi knew you were given the answer. You buried your mouth against the coarse nylon in a weak attempt to stifle your embarrassment. 

“Thank you.”

Your eyes caught the soft tilt of his brow as it rose at the muffled words. You could make out his left shoulder leaning him down towards your huddled position, making your hands involuntarily tighten into your backpack. 

“What was that?”

The husky whisper of his words weren't anything you’d heard before, and they resonated up your spine to leave you staring starry-eyed.

“Th-thank you. For giving me the answer.”

He didn't respond. His gaze fixed solely on your face until you forcibly struggled to keep from fidgeting under its weight. After what felt like a small eternity, Jungkook nodded his head and faced forward. The sudden ghost of the death of your conversation causing you to blink at his profile. 

The rest of the class was spent with your focus lacking on taking notes. How could you focus with his presence commanding your attention? A small army of ants creeping along your nerves demanding to acknowledge him. It was so strong, when the bell rang you jumped up from your seat to try and escape into the freedom of the school’s hallway, only to end up with your knee connecting straight into the hardwood of the desk. Jungkook’s snort at your misfortune was enough to remind you how much of an arrogant pain in the ass he could be. 

“Wow - good job doofus.”

Your head snapped back in his direction; tongue rolling in your cheek as he hopped up from his seat. A hand snaking out to grab his bag and sling it over his shoulder as the other reached for his cane. You held your head high despite how awful your knee was stinging, and stood up adjusting your bag. 

“Seriously? That's all you've got? Doofus? Next time let’s try harder.”

Jungkook didn't seemed miffed by your retort, actually seeming more amused than anything, and for some reason it only bugged you more. Did you really want to get into another argument like you were in primary school with him? You discarded the thought as you tightened the strings on your backpack and decided to take the mature route and leave him behind. 

The hallways mass of bodies rushing to get to their next period giving you comfort; until you remembered you shared the same economics class. Today was also a field trip to a farm to learn the process of making soy products. It would take up the last few classes of the day. You’d been excited to spend the day out of class and enjoy the rustic scenery out of town. Your only hope was that he hadn't been able to get his parental slip signed; he’d just started the day before. How could he?

When the teacher walked in and asked Jungkook for his permission slip you wanted to howl. Why was the universe so cruel? But why did you care so much? 

It was a question you didn't bother to think about; you just grumbled the whole way to the bus. Your teacher standing at its entrance to put a check by your names every time one of your classmates passed him by like lined up cattle. You were the last checkmark: the last person to find an available seat. You rounded the final step and your stomach sank down into your shoes. The universe seeming to play a sick joke of musical chairs; your only options being Jungkook or Amber, the girl who actively struggled to make sure your life was a living hell. 

You’d rather be eaten by dogs than even attempt to sit with her. Jungkook it was, then.

Your hand clasped tighter around the strap of your bag as you moved it farther up your shoulder. A large sigh accommodating your steps as you side-stepped down the aisle ending with you in front of his seat. His cane taking up what was left of it. 

Jungkook didn't seem to register your presence or he just decided to pretend you weren't there. Either way you felt your annoyance grow as you cleared your throat to grab his attention. His chin barely leaving the perch of his fist as his head turned; gaze intimidating in a way that left your fingers pinching the fabric of yours clothes just to make sure they were still there and he hadn't stared straight through them. 

“Can I help you?”

“I need a seat.”

He looked back and no doubt noticed the open spot next to Amber. Jungkook’s giving the slightest nod as he retorted, “There’s one right back there.”

“Come on, Jungkook. What do you want?”

“You're bribing me now?” 

His smile was so bright, borderline adorable, and you hated how it threatened to make you retaliate with your own. 

“Stop being a brat and just tell me,” you snapped instead. 

Jungkook shot a quick glance back at Amber’s giggling figure. You were sure most people thought she sounded like wind chimes or something else cute and feminine, but to you it just sounded like a cat dying. When he looked back at you, Jungkook checked you out one last time. His eyes stopping at the lone earbud that sat against your chest. For a moment, you thought he was actually staring at your breasts making your cheeks burn and your gaze to look anywhere else but at his smug face. 

“Let me listen to your iPod there and back on this trip, and I'll let you sit with me.”

“What am I supposed to do?”  

Jungkook did a lavish hand sweep at the window. The motion reminding you of the showgirls on The Price is Right, making you believe maybe he’d somehow watched it, and one too many times. 

“You get to use your imagination while you look out the window.”

“No way. Joint custody.”

“Fine. Joint custody, but I get to pick the music the whole way. If you have shitty taste the deal's off.”

He stuck out his hand for you to shake and there was a moment, a minor second, that it felt like you were making a deal with the devil. However, the sound of Amber’s laughter practically had your hand bolting into Jungkook’s. You shook it harder than was necessary before dropping it and shooing him to move. 

Jungkook removed his bag and cane from the seat. Your legs giving out moments later so you could plop down in it, only to be greeted by his outstretched hand. The smile that spread across his lips shining brighter than the mischief in his eyes. 

“As per our agreement: the iPod.”

He wiggles his fingers and you wanted to smack him. Your own squeezing tighter against the metal until, reluctantly, you chose your fate by placing it into his hand. Jungkook didn’t seem to mind your current look of displeasure while you watched him begin to scroll through your assorted music collection. 

At least the seat was warm. 

The first few seconds were somehow more awkward than you thought possible. Eyes locked in a fifty-yard stare so intense a soldier would’ve been envious. The only movement you caught of him was from your peripherals. Jungkook’s thumbs picking up speed from the leisurely way he scanned through the artists you’d offered. And no you did not, whatsoever, happen to notice the way his bottom lip would dart inside his mouth just to be held gently between his teeth. All the while his eyes focused on the task in front of him.

Nope. You weren’t paying attention to him. Not even a little bit. So how he was able to make you jump twelve inches out of your skin, while you were most definitely not embarrassing yourself by gawking over a beautiful man, was beyond you.

“Ya!” Jungkook clicked his tongue in distaste. His hand wiggling the ipod in your direction, as if it had caused some great offense. “What is this?”

Your neck tiled as you regarded him like he’d grown two heads. You were also positive if your eyebrows knitted together any harder you’d end up with a unibrow. 

“Ugh, a mystical device that plays music.”

The look on Jungkook’s face faltered from frustration to annoyance. It was so sudden it ended up sending a bark of laughter in his direction. And just like that, the annoyed look was back again. 

“I mean, what the hell do you have on this thing. Who is The Dead Weather? City and Colour? Joji?”

“They are artists I enjoy.”

“They’re shit.”

You rushed to try and snatch it back from him. Jungkook’s reflexes proving to be faster than your growing urge to smack him.

“Excuse me, little miss,” he began. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He used his index finger to push gently against your forehead, but with the current level of irritation, he still proved faster than you. Your failed attempt to swat his hand away meeting only empty air. Earning you a smirk of smug satisfaction. 

“I’m trying to get my things back.”

“That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

You tried one last time to take him by surprise. Your right hand shot out too hard to grab at the object clasped in his large hands. The momentum carried you forward to land shoulder first against his chest. Leg nudging against his with enough force that it caused his cane to move an inch. It took everything you had to keep your head down to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“And now you’re assaulting me.”

If your eyes were capable of rolling back any father you might've seen brain cells.

“I was only trying to get my property back. Since the only thing that’s coming out of you is complaining.”

“I’m not complaining,” he snapped. “You’re acting like an Indian giver.”

“Is that all you know how to do: complain?” You continued, completely ignoring him. A slight smirk now etching your lips. Jungkook’s eyes flicking down to notice your amusement at his expense. “I believe they call it, ‘trying something new.’” 

His eyes narrowed on you and for a split second your pulse began to race. Sure, the agitation on his face at your teasing was obvious, but you could’ve sworn...maybe...just maybe he was smirking. Could you have possibly been able to make him smile? 

“I should make you go sit with Amber.”

The smugness in his voice and the cocky smile that joined it instantly made whatever fun you were having come to a complete halt. Jungkook was so pleased with himself he had the audacity to shimmy his shoulders like he’d already won. The rolls had reversed. It was your eyes turn to throw daggers in his direction. 

“Now who's the Indian giver.”

Even though he played up on what he felt like was a win, you could tell he was not as amused. His non-injured leg bounced to an incredible rhythm that he could only hear. Probably a furious count to a hundred to keep himself from saying anything else to continue your usual thrilling conversations. So when he handed over one earbud, and the iPod, but placed the other into his ear, it was fair to say it left you baffled. 

You were waiting so long for him to give an explanation, but all he did was continue to stare at you. It was starting to make your pulse race again. Why did he constantly have to feel so intense? Everything about him. Not even his current state made him seem any less notable. It just didn’t seem fair. 

It wasn’t until he cleared his throat did you realize you’d been staring. For god knows how damn long. 

“You gonna play something or not?” he asked. 

His hand motioned towards the music while his fingers adjusted the earbud he’d kept. 

“I’m so confused.”

“You look it,” he retorted, causing your earlier thoughts to remember, although handsome, he was an incredible pain in the ass. 

“Ten seconds ago you complained about my music. Now you want me to play it for you.”

Jungkook turned his gaze away, his body relaxing back against the hard foam of the seat. His eyes still cast outside the window as if he was trying to find some way to escape. 

“Either I can spend the next couple hours listening to you talk, or “try” out some new music. If I have a choice, I’ll pick the music please and thank you.”

Oh, how you wish you could’ve shoved him out that tiny window. But as much as you hated to admit it, Jungkook was right. Music was the only reasonable escape from possibly having either of you commit murder. 

It was your turn to try and get comfortable. This time your thumb scanning down the list of artists until your eyes caught sight of one he’d mentioned. Without giving him warning you pressed play. The haunting melody of Joji’s “Dancing in the Dark,” flooded the earbuds. His voice melancholic as he began to sing a sad tale of not wanting to be the hidden second option. 

The song choice was enough to finally get Jungkook to look back at you. Somehow already having enough with the song choice before it’d barely even reached the chorus. 

“Just listen.”

It was the only advice you could give him, and hopefully the reassurance you’d tried to ease into your tone was enough. Whether it was or not, by the time the chorus began he seemingly relaxed again into the seat. His arms moving to cross lazily against his chest. He seemed to actually be taking in the song while he watched out the window. The passing of the steel and concrete that was Seoul into the rural areas of green and forest. 

The music itself was calming. It was enough to let yourself fully relax back against it and close your eyes. With your eyes closed you could easily fade out the sounds of the sporadic conversations on the bus. Even though you only had one ear bud, all you needed was to concentrate on the music to drown out the world. 

It took a few seconds for you to be pulled into a Joji’s song about terrible longing and being left behind by a lover. I mean, you didn’t really know too much about the latter, but hey, a girl could daydream. His voice was seconds away from heading into the second verse of the chorus, when you heard the sound of the melody being lightly sung beside you. 

The voice was beautiful. The most startling part, not the fact of its softness, or the way it swelled in perfect harmony with the song, was that it came from Jungkook. Your eyes flung open with your head snapping to gaze at his serene expression. He continued to face the window, daylight playing along the profile of his face, and his gentle voice singing perfectly in tune. 

It wasn’t loud enough that anyone else could’ve heard it over the dozens of bursting conversations being spoken throughout the bus. That the only conclusion you could come up with to why he would be singing at all. He thought no one would be able to pay attention. You probably would’ve stayed gawking at him if his eyes fluttering open didn’t send you crashing back against the seat and clutching your eyes shut. You needed to pretend you hadn’t noticed. Or else he would stop. He would hide this part of himself that showed he was more than what he tried to portray. 

You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was glancing in your direction. To see his eyes gaze over you with suspicion before settling back and listening to the next track. Khalid’s intro of “Talk,” beginning to play into your earbud. 

You spent the rest of the trip staying beside him, close as you could get without looking creepy, just to hear him gently sing. He breathed a gentle version of each one he knew, or came to like, and made it his own. Even being a few times were his nerves got the better of him. His voice rising ever slightly when he drew too deep into the song. He would quiet after each outburst, but to your pleasure Jungkook would start back up moments later. 

After all the bickering, you could definitely say the trade was worth it. You were so taken with listening to him that when the bus came to a stop, you didn’t realize it until your earbud was yanked from your ears. Your eyes heavy from sleep fluttered open and closed a few times before they focused on Jungkook’s face. 

“Ya, didn’t you hear them call us off the bus?”

Your response came in the form of slow blinks and a mouth half-hung open. You wished more for a nap than going out to explore a farm, but your limbs were screaming to be stretched. You went to answer him when, instead, Jungkook grabbed his bag, cane, and started to try and scoot over you.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Trying to get by! So excuse me!”

His backside rubbed against your arms and, to your horror, your chest. Without thinking, your hand lashed out to smack across his bottom causing both of you to go as still as the dead. Your heart was thundering as you looked at your hand like it’d just finished committing murder. Maybe it had. But the only person it’d murdered was you with your eyes roaming up to see a shocked Jungkook gawking down at you over his shoulder. 

“Did you really just smack my ass.”

“It was an accident!”

“An accident?” He questioned.

“Self-defense!”

Jungkook tried to hide the amusement your no doubt panicking was causing him. His mouth struggling to keep the frown that was tilting ever so slightly at the top of his lips. 

“If anything needed to be defended, it was my honor. Over here just smacking people’s ass’s without a warning.”

You knew by now your face looked like a fire hydrant. 

“Self-defense from you dragging your ass all over me! I’m not a seat, ya know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

This time Jungkook didn’t try to hide his smile. To your surprise, it wasn’t a malicious one that showed he enjoyed your embarrassment. No. This one decorated his face in something softer that made your heart thunder to a different rhythm entirely. 

“Oh, look you guys. Shit Stain and The Cripple are flirting.”

Amber’s grating voice was one you’d grown painstakingly accustomed too. The sinister way she spoke impossibly loud just so everyone was forced to hear her. Whether they wanted to or not. You were used to her coldness and the constant way she harassed you. What you weren’t so used to, was having Jungkook as part of the punchline. 

Immediately, you felt his legs tense where they touched you. The muscles ramrod straight and flexing under the skin. The lighthearted tone you’d heard seconds before in your banter was now replaced with an aloofness that made you stiffen in your seat. Jungkook’s jaw held tight as he regarded Amber as if she were no more than a pest buzzing at his ear.

“Ya, fix your nose before you bother talking to me. I can see half the planet up there.”

Amber’s eyes flashed hellfire as she glowered over her shoulders to stop the giggling that ensued. When all grew quiet enough to where she felt like she would be heard, a harsh smile spread her lips. Her legs began to take a step to move away from the two peasants who’d held enough of her attention. 

“Whatever, Cripple. Try not to get your stick in any holes.”

She was passing the front of your shared seat when, suddenly, Amber’s legs gave way. A tumbling mess of shrieks, bleached hair, and her arms flapping rapidly a solid indication of her mysterious attempt at taking flight. The only thing that moved to catch her was her face. The minute the laughter began to bubble up inside you, you quickly placed a hand over your mouth. Least the she-devil hear it escape. 

You took a second to inspect what could’ve possibly taken down the ice queen. Even when she wore ridiculously high heels, Amber walked with a grace you knew you’d never pull off. Not without looking like a newborn giraffe, that is. Glancing down you noticed Jungkook’s cane strategically placed right where her foot would’ve landed. The culprit in making Amber a freshly minted carpet on the bus’s floor. Somewhere on the bus you knew she was up from her tumble and huffing a few choice words. You were sure she knew, just like you did, that Jungkook was the one who’d done it. You paid no attention to her tantrum and kept a transfixed gaze on him. 

He’d finished scooting the rest of the way to get to the middle of the bus and was situating his cane and shoulder bag. His hand suddenly reaching down into view and patiently waiting for you to take it. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.”

You knew you looked like a fool. Your eyes mirroring the thousands of silent questions that threatened to make you ill. A part of you hoping he understood your dumbfounded look simply begged him to find some way to answer you. You’d stared starry-eyed up at him for so long you half expected the patience of Jungkook’s open hand to fall flat. Instead, he continued to surprise you. His gaze gentle, and hand openly waiting for you to take it when you were ready. 

With eyes wide and mouth agape, your body rejected your stunned silence and placed a small hand in his. His own quickly enveloped yours perfectly and gave you the added support you needed to find stable footing beside him. Jungkook finally looked away from you to stare at the remaining goons. 

The moment you stood beside him you became painfully aware of the noticeable height difference. Your gaze moving up inch-by-inch until your eyes were locked onto his face. The stubbornness of a hard set jaw and eyes that dared anyone to speak enough to make your heartbeat pick up in your chest. When he appeared to be finished making sure his presence was known, Jungkook’s eyes turned back to you. A silent request of reassurance to know you were alright making you answer with a quick nod. 

Your cheeks blushed furiously as you struggled to look away from his gaze. No longer were you so worried about Amber; your mind trapped on a repeat of questions. Did Jungkook always smell like Calvin Klein cologne? Could it be considered weird how you felt undeniable comfort pressed up against him? Or really weird if in your head you suddenly imagined recreating this scene a million times later with you being braver beside him, instead of being the damsel in distress.

He didn’t seem at all perplexed with your case of sudden shyness. His strong legs pulling you both forward and past the horde of Amber and her lackeys without missing a step. His head held high while the other hand helped him keep his balance without using his cane. For the small world that was high school, Jungkook showed them he was still that once popular boy who was known for not taking shit from no one. A demi-god amongst mere mortals that were somehow honored by his presence. 

And here you were. So close to the orbit of his sun and walking away unscathed.

Your train of rushing thoughts kept you from paying attention. It was something you soon were going to regret when he led you off the steps of the bus and onto the dirt road. Jungkook’s exit was obviously graceful while yours in comparison was a train wreck. Instead of your feet stepping off the last step and landing like a normal person, you lost your footing. Your clumsy feet sending you struggling to find a balance with the earth before you crash landed on the floor. Luckily, Jungkook’s back was there to catch you. 

The momentum of your fall sent his feet skittering to correct you both before you fell into the dirt. A few choice cuss words leaving his lips and crimson flaring up on your cheeks to make the dance of falling even more entertaining. You could practically hear the cackling of the witches echoing out of the bus like a cave. 

Jungkook made quick work of righting you both; his good leg furiously hoping to support the weak one. His cane dug into the earth a good inch to add some more stabilization. You let go of his hand and moved away from his side where you’d previously been planted. You weren’t worthy of being there. This boy who saw your distress and helped you. Only for you to ruin it in the process. 

“Well that’s one way to ruin an exit,” he huffed. 

He glanced in your direction and you could’ve sworn he was smiling. Or was that a smirk? Whatever it was, it was quickly washed away as his eyes took you in. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry!”

Your words rushed from your lips with your back snapping to bow a perfect ninety-degrees. Your hair a curtain to try and hide your embarrassment. 

“Ugh...for what?”

“For bumping into you like that. I should’ve been paying attention.”

A soft laugh bounced from between his lips and you were willing to beat his face lit up like pure sunshine. You moved to stand upright just in time to see you were right. Jungkook was either oblivious to the way you were looking at him, or was simply unfazed. His shoulder hiking the backpack where it’d begun to fall as he adjusted himself to get ready to move to join the rest of the class up ahead. 

“You did ruin one hell of a stylish exit.”

“I don’t know how stylish you can be stepping off of a school bus, but...thank you.” 

The both of you locked eyes with one another. A large part of you hoped Jungkook was able to see the sincerity or at least hear it. Maybe he wasn’t that much of a pain in the ass after all. That soft smirk you’d grown accustomed to etched back on his lips as he took the first step towards your waiting classmates.

“No problem. Plus, I figured I owed you for letting me listen to your music.”

You felt your brow shoot up in mock surprise. Your legs falling into step beside him. 

“I thought you said I had terrible taste.”

“I never said terrible,” Jungkook corrected. His eyes danced with a playfulness that lifted a smile to your lips

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, it wasn’t the greatest, but thank you. I actually ended up liking most of it, at least.”

“Oh, what a sweet way of insulting my musical taste.”

“Hey! I said I liked most of it. It’s like a win-win. Kinda.”

You wanted to be snappy. Give him some more hell for always playing up on being a condescending moody jerk. In reality, walking next to Jungkook while the silence swelled around you without the awkward pressure; you knew that wasn’t all of him. He’d proven how sweet he could be at the memory of how easily you’d felt protected by a simple stretch of a hand. The look in his eyes while he waited for you to take his extended hand a plea to know you could trust him. Strangely, a part of you already felt like you could. 

You snuck a look over in Jungkook’s direction, and felt a smile begin to sweep up the corners of your lips. It was a different, but nice, change to have someone come to your defense. Yeah, most of the time you wanted to throttle him for seeming like he could care less. In that moment, however, he cared enough to help. That had to mean something.

“You’re welcome.”

You hoped your words conveyed the gratitude you felt in that moment. Prayed that Jungkook could hear it. When he looked at you, you made sure to give him a quick smile before you looked away. Your eyes struggled not to look back at him; to tell him all the things that were racing through your head. It took every ounce of your will to stay focused on the group of classmates that were growing closer. Somewhere along the way, you’d hoped Jungkook would’ve replied with his usual smart ass remarks. It worried you how sad a small part of you felt at his silence. 

Now, you worried maybe you were going a little nuts.

Instead, you came to the edge of the group in silence. Your ears struggling to grasp on to the middle of what your teacher gave out for instructions for the day. 

So what if that insane part of you didn’t receive a smart ass remark in return for your gratitude. You were more than happy with the fact Jungkook stayed by your side. The close proximity just enough to convey what you were both feeling without unnecessary words.

______________

For the past hour the farmer -Kim Sejung - had shown the class around his vast property. The beginning of this magical tour starting with where he manufactured the tofu once it was fermented then sent down to be processed for packaging. He was a man who took immense pride in his work. The next room where the fermentation took place and, his overeager explanation, spelled out how devoted he was to his craft. 

The whole entire backwards presentation was something your teacher decided became a chance for everyone to write down everything you’d been shown. A punishment you knew was coming when Kim Sejung lost half the class to their own conversations long before you’d hit the second part of his speech. 

Now, anyone could be wondering why all of you were taking the longest stroll of your life out in the middle of the farm. A fair question you’d been asking yourself since you realized your shoes were completely covered in mud. You’d been trying to understand why this hadn’t been the first place Kim Sejung would’ve taken all of you. Your only guess being he just enjoyed showing the process backwards. Or maybe he was secretly a  mastermind at torture. It was the only logical conclusion you could come up with at having the entire class now out in the muddy acres of his farm.

And sure, maybe your attention was being sent over your shoulder every five seconds. A certain boy with exhaustion creased in his brow making it harder for you to ignore. You were looking back so often you felt like you’d end up with whiplash at any minute. Really, it was all Jungkook’ fault for causing you to worry; becoming painfully aware with each glance at Jungkook’s struggling frame. 

How Sejung -, or anyone else for that matter, hadn’t noticed he was falling further behind the group with every step left you completely perplexed. You’d gave up listening to whatever the farmer or teacher talked about or what questions they were throwing around. You could bet it had to do about soil. 

If everyone else could ignore him why couldn’t you? It’s not that you hadn’t tried, cause of course you’d done exactly that. Your bottom lip now held a semi-permanent indent from your teeth. Whenever you felt that tick in your neck to look back to check on him: you bit down. When you felt like drawing attention to him by saying something: you bit down. A part of you willing to bet Jungkook would never forgive you if you did. 

Your solution? It was ingenious, really. 

You fell back behind every classmate. Patiently, you waited for everyone to pass you up. Your feet dragging in the muddy dirt until you were sure no one would notice when you inevitably stopped. 

With a soft count of three under your breath, you came to a halt at the back of the group. Your small count continued for another round before you were comfortable with the distance it’d placed between the group, Jungkook, and yourself.

You let out a huff of satisfaction as you turned around to give Jungkook your complete attention. Your neck thanking you for the small favor. What you found, however, greeting you was far from what you’d hoped to find. 

Jungkook’s current location became a solid five feet behind the group. His feet finally coming to the large puddle of mud that you and the class had easily maneuvered Jungkook had not. His struggle coming to a standstill at the muddy puddles edge. Jungkook’s face etched itself in harsh determination to no doubt allow him from moving forward. You told yourself you would stay back and wait for him. 

Just wait, You kept telling yourself over and over. A broken record having nothing on what you felt capable of standing there. Your pulse bonding in your veins and feet bouncing with anxiety as he assessed his options. All you were supposed to do was hang back to walk with him. That was it. You weren’t his nanny. You knew how he felt about being pitied, and yet, when he took his first tentative step out into the mud and his cane sunk deep and his bad leg followed suit, your feet deceived you. 

It appeared Mother Nature had her own way of pushing you past your reserved good intentions. Your feet sprinted forward fast enough that you were embarrassed at their quickness. The expected movement bringing Jungkook’s frustrated gaze up from his current dilemma to you.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?”

The annoyance held in his question didn’t go unnoticed by you. If it was you in his position, you’d be annoyed seeing you standing there too and not offering to help. 

“I came to help you.”

The words just streamed out with your running thoughts. Your feet willing to move forward back into the mud to help him. Jungkook noticeably began to struggle to remove his foot that submerged quickly underneath. 

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“You didn’t have too, Jungkook. I want to help.”

“Let me rephrase myself.” His irritation was pure fire in his eyes as his words hurled in your direction. “I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it.”

You wish you could say you handled his dismissal with grace. That you understood he was only being a jerk because he was embarrassed and angry at his current predicament. You really wanted to be that bigger person. Well...that most definitely wasn’t what happened. 

Your eyes narrowed in on him. Your previous desire to help evaporated as you watched his leg sink deeper. His other foot soon joined the first in a poorly calculated attempt to release the other. Your arms crossed over your chest as you took in the scene before you. 

“Well, Jungkook, I’m not sure if you noticed but you’re slowly heading towards being buried under that mud.”

“Thank you for that astute observation. Anything else you’d like to add?”

“Why are you being such an asshole?!” you snapped.

Your arms came loose down at your side and turned to clenched fists. You weren’t exactly sure what you expected his reaction to be. You knew Jungkook held a hatred for being pitied. Hell, you would too if it was the other way around. You knew he wasn’t helpless, but you also knew he couldn’t do everything alone. No one could. So what was so wrong with offering to help him?

You weren’t sure how you looked. Maybe crazy? Or did the desperation of not knowing how to handle the situation have you appear sad? Whatever it was Jungkook saw, it was enough to look away. His eyes dropping down to his covered feet. 

The space between the two of you swelled with tension. His hair perfectly covering his face, and kept you from being able to steal any glance. It was enough to make you unsure if you should prepare yourself for a verbal battle with him or if you should simply walk away. What if you’d made a mistake thinking Jungkook would want to be bothered at all with help. Especially from you. 

“God, this is embarrassing.”

His words were so light you weren’t sure at first if he’d spoken. A part of you wondering if you’d made up the sound of his voice as Jungkook’s face continued to be hidden by layers of hair. But, lord help you, you knew you weren’t imagining things. The sound of his voice is something you’d come to recognize with ease. You knew without a doubt it most definitely was him. And the sadness that reverberated from his words made your anger dissipate instantly. 

“What?”

Could you have picked a stupider response? When Jungkook lifted his head up to look at you, you knew he silently agreed.

“It’s embarrassing!” His hands motioned to take in his current predicament. The hurt shown on his proud features made your heart ache to comfort him. “How pitiful can I get? It’s so damn frustrating! The cripple unable to get himself out of some stupid mud.”

“Jungkook, you are literally the least pitiful person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet, it doesn’t make me any less stuck.”

You took a step forward and began to try and edge around what you could of the puddle. You knew there was no way you weren’t getting more mud on your shoes, but the purpose was worth it. 

“Why didn’t you just go around it?” Your question earned you a dead stare. One that reminded you of your mother when she felt like you’d asked the silliest question. You held your hands up in surrender and said, “Hey. It’s a fair question.”

“If I just go around it, it proves that I can’t do the simplest thing, Y/N. It proves…”

“That you aren’t like everybody else,” you finished for him.

You could’ve kicked yourself. How could you not have noticed it sooner. Jungkook just wanted to prove to himself that he could still do things like he did before his accident. Because even though he showed people bringing up his disability didn’t bother him, it did. He still hadn’t come to terms with what happened, and believed the current state of his leg deemed him less worthy. 

He looked away from whatever he saw in your eyes. His own fighting not to show the sadness that threatened to spill down his cheeks. 

“You aren’t like everyone else, Jungkook.” Your words tore his head back in your direction. His shoulders quickly squared up to take whatever verbal blow you were about to hurl in his direction. You were happy to convince him otherwise.

“You don’t need to prove anything to a single person. Yeah, you aren’t a hundred percent who you used to be, but it doesn’t make you any less you. You aren’t defined by a damn leg and if another human being does treat you differently because of it: fuck’em. Now, get your shit together and hand me the end of your cane.”

The both of you stared at one another for what felt like an eternity. Jungkook’s face unreadable as his eyes took you in making you squirm just the slightest bit. Whether he was looking for a hint that you were deceiving him; that something hurtful laid underneath, he wouldn’t find it. You made sure with your hand this time open and waiting for him, that he could see just how much you meant what you said. 

After what felt like a baby size eternity, Jungkook answered you in a way you’d grown to expect. In one swift motion, he picked his cane out from the mud and placed it, dirty end first into your waiting hand. Your face scrunched up in disgust, as the leftover mud squished between your fingers. The action enough to break the coldness of Jungkook’s blank expression into the smirk that was all too familiar. 

“Oh my god! You would do that.”

The amusement on his face was enough to tell you he’d most definitely done it on purpose. Of course, you’d already known that. You didn’t need his raised eyebrow or that devilish smirk to inform you of that.

“Oh, so you think you know me now.”

“I know enough to know, without a doubt, this is something you’d do. Brat.”

You saved the last word for good measure and it was met with a bark of surprise laughter. His reaction was not something you’d expected, but a welcomed one as his face instantly lit up brighter than you’d ever seen. Jungkook’s laughter and smile was genuine and good god, was it breathtakingly adorable. 

Who knew calling him a brat led to so many heart stopping possibilities? Like no longer having a permanent scowl. 

“Alright smart ass, how about we settle this for when I’m not stuck in the mud.”

“You got yourself a deal. Only if you stop pouting.”

“I was not pouting!”

It was your turn to laugh wholeheartedly while your other hand moved to secure itself to his cane. There was no way you’d be letting it slip free from you. Mud or no mud. 

“Tomato potato: pouting is pouting.”

Jungkook’s head tilted to the side. His brain noticeably trying to comprehend what it was you just said.

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, Jungkook now grab a hold of yo-“

Honestly, you should’ve seen this coming. He’d already given you a muddy end of a cane. It was the perfect foreshadowing moment that was leading up to this, and yet, somehow you were surprised when he pulled with full force. You figured he was strong - not freakishly. Not enough to send you flying face first toward the large mud puddle with the sound of a squeaking bird of surprise that you could only assume was yourself. 

The only thing that kept you from going face first was a split second decision to ruin just the lower half of your outfit. 

The impact with the mud was squishy and came with the weirdest sound effects that reminded you of pushing your hand into a container of slim. God, was it squishy. An immediate, “Ewww,” dragging out from your lips as your hands lifted up from where they’d been buried. Your eyes taking in the full extent of your lower half now resembles the Swamp Thing. 

Jungkook’s laughter brought you back to reality and flinging what was left of the mud on your hands in his direction. It only earned you another bark of laughter. 

“What in the hell was that for?!”

“Now whose pouting?” He teased.

You wanted to hit him but you knew you couldn’t reach. So you settled for flinging another round of mud. 

“Are you kidding me? You pulled me in here cause I said you were pouting!”

“Yup.”

“Unbelievable. You’re a child.”

“I thought you said brat?”

“That too! Ugh! Jungkook! You’re such a pain in the ass. I’m not helping you anymore.”

You moved to try and pull up one leg and found it way more difficult than you’d imagined. Seriously, was this shit superglue? No matter how many times you struggled to pull up either leg it wouldn’t budge; producing an agitated groan to seep from your body. 

You wanted to murder him. 

When you glanced up at him at least Jungkook had the decency to appear worried.

“Do you need help? I didn’t think it’d be so hard for you to pull yourself up.”

“Oh, so you’re worried about me not being able to pull myself up, but not about me covered in mud.”

The shrug Jungkook gave as an answer made you want to throttle him. You wanted to tell him to shove his help up his ass. Realistically, however, you knew there was no way you were getting unstuck without getting dirtier from crawling around. For a second time, his hand appeared, like magic, in front of you. 

Your eyes trailed up his hand to that devilish grin of his and found your earlier agitation disintegrate. What you hated the most, was how his eyes lit up to match his smile. This warm version of Jungkook wasn’t someone you were used to. You’d seen the cocky jock who knew he was good at everything. Experienced the real asshole Jungkook that made you want to rip out chunks of hair. But this side of him...was worth a heartache or two. 

Without another thought you reached out and took his hand and allowed him to start lifting you up. It wasn’t until you were half way you came up with your own plan. A devilish grin of your own spreading your lips wide as the idea grew into something worth doing . 

Jungkook had a moment to be confused before your free hand shot out and took fierce hold of his forearm. You made sure it was locked in place before your body went completely limp, and sent his body into an unbalanced mess. 

“The fu-!”

Jungkook’s descent, at first, made you feel like you’d accomplished a victory. One you didn’t get to relish in for long. Jungkook may not have been able to finish his earlier sentence, but you easily made up for it. A softened, “Fuck!” came pressed from your chest as he landed sideways on top of you. The angle reminded you of an awkward pair of scissors: if one part of the scissors was ridiculously muscled for a student. 

You’d had little time to move your hands up to brace yourself against his weight. The air from your lungs whooshing out in laughter with your body struggling to recover from underneath him. And no, no you weren’t painfully aware that your hands could feel every well lined muscle under the fabric of his t-shirt. And no, you were not blushing. Not even a little. 

You were sure when Jungkook lifted his head up to look in your direction, he’d see the sinful glee you took in your awkward positioning. Instead, your lungs erupted into laughter. One side of his face perfectly smeared with mud making one eye remain closed and his right doing most of the work. He looked ridiculous...and cute. 

“You think this is funny?”

“I think-I think it’s the best thing I’m going to see all day.”

It took a few tries to speak through your laughter, but when you finally got the words out you couldn’t have been more proud. Jungkook on the other hand, seemed to struggle to keep the annoyance on his face. The first sign of a smile cracking into the mud that began to dry on his face. 

Jungkook moved to prop himself up - the action giving you the room you needed to wiggle out from underneath him. You were about to call it a success, a retort to an unspoken comment he’d yet to make. All of it came crashing down, however, when Jungkook’s mud covered hand rose from the depths and placed a long streak down your nose with his thumb giving an artistic sweep across your cheek. 

The marks he gave reminded you of those old western movies you’d seen. Warpaint covered faces of men getting ready to square off to defend their home from invaders. The thought seemed to match perfectly with the beat of your heart thundering like a drum inside your chest.

It wasn’t just because Jungkook touched you - on purpose - in a playful way. It had nothing to do with the fact his muddy hand was currently resting against your cheek. Or from the denial that it brought out a spark of mischievous happiness to ignite inside you as your mouth fell open to expose the sound of laughter. No, your heart pounded against your chest purely for the look that passed behind chocolate eyes and the soft smile that followed close behind. 

So, sure. In that instance it could’ve just been a plan old look. You weren’t a hundred percent sure it wasn’t more than just a look though, either. There was that one boy in first grade, however, who did give you an aggressive teeth-clacking peck on the lips during recess, but this was completely different. 

And because you were so uncertain of what it all meant, your only reaction was to lift your hand up from beside you and slam it palm first against his face. 

Jungkook’s face lit up in shock and you couldn’t stop the eruption of laughter that spilled from your lips. It was an immediate rush of joy at seeing his handsome face marked by your small muddy handprint that streaked itself across the plains of his face. Normally, you’d be mortified: waiting patiently to be scolded and made to feel small. Instead, the shock wore off his face in an instant. Jungkook’s eyes lighting up with childlike excitement as a giddy, “Oh yeah?” rushed between his lips. 

You didn’t have a chance to wonder what he meant before he reached into the mud and brought up a snowball version of the earth. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” 

Your eyes went wide and frantic giggles exploded free as your body struggled in vain to get out from under him. The previous joy of being pinned by his weight dissipating when that large mud ball found its new home smeared on top of your head. 

“Jungkook-ah!”

His own laughter rose up around you as your body began to move in earnest to get out from under him. When you finally realized it was pointless, another bright idea overtook you. If Jungkook noticed the renewed mischievous glint in your eye, he didn’t show it. 

He continued to smile obliviously down at you until the two fist fulls of mud you’d taken in both hands came crashing down on top of his head. It didn’t matter that your face caught some of the aftermath: the face he made was priceless. 

You didn’t get a chance to enjoy your tiny victory before the two of you were a mess of arms and limbs rolling feverishly around; the two of you playfully wrestling for dominance. The mixture of your laughter rising up until you weren’t sure where Jungkook’s ended and yours began. By the end of it, you were both resembling the pigs you’d seen earlier on the farm. Bodies fully covered in wet earth and lounging beside each other in exhaustion. Every few moments random fits of giggles overtaking the two of you until you realized you both needed to get back. 

This time, instead of the two of you refusing help from the other, you eagerly took it. The both of you worked together to reach the edge of the mud pit and, without further incident, pulled each other out. 

The walk back to the main barn was done in silence. In other circumstances, you would’ve been consumed with a need to fill it. The impending weight of anxiety would’ve flared across your skin until you would’ve blurted out anything. Small talk was never one of your strong suits, but a comfortable banter had somehow formed between the two of you. You knew if you started talking, Jungkook would respond. It was still a fifty-fifty on whether or not it would be a smart ass response or a real one, but a response nonetheless. 

You didn’t try to start a conversation. You chose to enjoy the reassurance that he was beside you. Your mind running through what exactly just happened and how you both ended up looking like bad impression art. You’d spent so much time stealing glances in his direction that you could’ve sworn you caught him doing the same. But who were you kidding. No one had stolen glances at you since middle school, and that was only to steal the answers off tests. 

There was no way Jeon Jungkook would be the one to break that trend. No matter how flattering the thought. So when you felt that knowable itch of being watched you found yourself surprised that Jungkook was indeed staring at you. 

“Are you cold?”

Jungkook’s question jolted you from your train of thought and sent you reeling into another. He was closer to you now. Close like you’d been while sitting on the bus with your shoulders brushing with every movement. Every bump helplessly sending you lightly banging into the other. 

On the bus you could easily play it off as something out of your control. But now? Now there was no good explanation that you could find to why Jungkook decided to walk so closely beside you. There was no way to explain away the way his gaze drew across your face like he’d save it to memory. 

“Well I am covered in freezing mud water.” 

You’d tried for sarcasm but your voice barely carried over a whisper. It made Jungkook’s head subconsciously dip lower just to hear you. The devilish smirk he was infamous for spread like wildfire across his lips. 

“I would offer you my jacket, since it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, but you see some crazy person pushed me into the mud.”

A scoff escaped you as your hand playfully whipped out to slap his shoulder. 

“Ya, Jungkook! You? A gentleman? That’s funny. What is also funny is the fact you got yourself stuck in the mud first. I just came to rescue you.”

“Rescue me?” He asked with an eyebrow coyly cocked. 

“I’m like your knight in shining armor.”

A throaty laugh came from between his lips; sending his head back exposing his face to the sun. You were mesmerized watching him as the sun kissed down across his face and weren’t at all ashamed at being caught watching as he brought his attention back to you. A smile of your own growing to match the one he wore along with your mind fluttering in wonder of how he was even real. 

“If you’re my knight, Y/N I’m in a lot of trouble.”

You feigned hurt but couldn’t hide the grin happily splayed on your face and, crazy thing was, you didn’t want to. It felt impossible that the two of you were so giddy with each other. A strange familiarity brewed heavily between you to the point it felt like the two of you joked like this for years. 

Jungkook’s own smile enough to warm the chill that began to creep up your arms to expose goosebumps on your skin. The two of you fell into a shroud of companionable silence and continued to make your way back to the main entrance of the farm. Your heart skipping a helpless beat every time you feel Jungkook’s fingers graze across yours. Your mind hopelessly wanting to believe maybe, just maybe, he was tempted to reach out and hold it. 

You came back to the main farm and found your teacher and classmates impatiently waiting. The immediate shock your teacher showed at your appearance seemed to grow more intense until he came storming over: hysterical at your current condition. 

“What on earth have the two of you been doing?!” 

“They’ve been rolling around with pigs.”

You knew that tart voice anywhere and wasn’t surprised it was Amber that spoke. What did surprise you was how much you didn’t care with Jungkook standing like an equally filthy calm current by your side. 

“We’re sorry, seonsaegnim,” Jungkook began coolly with a bow. When he realized you were still standing a hand shot out to the back of your head to bring it down. You quickly slapped it away but kept yourself in a bow. “We got lost from the group and found ourselves stuck in a giant mud pit.” 

“It seems to me like you were playing in it,” the farmer chuckled. “I could hose them off before they get back on the bus.” 

His offer left heat rising to your cheeks. The sound of a sea of giggles making your stomach ache in embarrassment. You used the curtain of your hair to hide and hoped they’d come up with a different suggestion, but with a small shrug of his shoulder, Jungkook brought your heated attention back to him. A soft smile cracking the now dry handprint you’d left across his cheek. 

It was ridiculous. You both looked ridiculous, and yet, he was still handsome. You probably looked like a troll. 

“Hey Knight in shining armor,” he whispered. “It seems we get to take a bath together.” 

The sun couldn’t be anywhere near as hot as your face felt. The heat spread from red cheeks and down your neck until the butterflies in your stomach were out of control. Jungkook knew what he had done. He could see it plainly on your face and he loved it. 

You, on the other hand, wanted to hit him. 

And just like divine intervention your teacher did it for you. His curled up pamphlet struck down on top of Jungkook’s head, but it only made his smile grow impossibly larger.

“Ya! I don’t think so! We’ll have you go one at a time to clean up. I’ll look for something for you both to change into.”

Jungkook went first to be hosed down. The farmer actually allowed him to have his privacy so he could get into his more...private areas in peace. The clothes that were found for both of you to wear were old gym clothes thrown in a box in the storage bay at the bottom of the bus. You imagined they must have been thrown there for a reason. The colors were sad and faded down to a color that resembled the mud you’d fallen in. An even sadder rim of yellow wrapped around the sleeves the only hope of color in the terrible outfit you were now forced to wear. At least it was warm with the added bonus Jungkook somehow ended up with the shortest shorts in the box. 

After the two of you dried off and changed you were shepherded onto the bus. The place that held Amber and her minions now vacant due to the teacher demanding you sit exactly in the far back in their spot. He must have imagined it would be like putting two naughty kids in time out. The only effect it really had was giving you the chance to breathe and enjoy the solitude. 

Jungkook dug around for your earbuds inside your bag. Finally finding the small container and lifting it open. His fingers pulling out the left and surprising you by placing it gently in your ear. Your face must have shown this but Jungkook paid you no mind. He was busy placing the other bud into his ear; flipping the case shut and throwing it back inside to forever be lost until you practically tipped out your bag to locate it again. Oh well. A problem for another time. 

“Put on something for the ride home, Y/N. I trust you to be dj again.”

You wanted to tease him. To joke about putting on the YMCA or Macarena . The only thing that stopped you was the relaxed features of Jungkook’s face. The lazy way his neck rested back against the seat and his head languidly gazing in your direction. You tried to squish back all the butterflies that look gave you and a hushed, “Alright. Lady Marmalade it is,” embarrassingly came from between your lips. 

Your eyes were too focused on your music list. You didn’t allow them to look as he chuckled beside you. The sound light and rough all at once - demanding you give it attention. 

“Don’t make me regret it,” he joked. 

You kept scrolling until you found Deans’ “D (Half Moon)”. The soft piano and tone of his voice quickly filled the ear buds and by the soft hum of the voice beside you, you knew you’d pick a good one. 

You allowed yourself to relax beside him. Your right hand placing the playlist down between the two of you. Your body was so relaxed you didn’t think about moving your hand anywhere else. Your eyes falling comfortably closed as you continue to listen to the acoustics of the song and the even softer, and equally pleasurable, song of Jungkook singing along. 

When his left hand found its way down beside yours, you didn’t question his reasoning. The music held between the two of you and maybe he wanted to change the playlist. You let your mind continue to think that even after his finger gingerly grazed yours and found a home beside them. Both of your hands stayed this way the entire ride back to campus. Neither of you moved to change positions; lost to the sounds of the melodies of the playlist.

[cupcakesandtv]

protective paxton! i love seeing that sort of stuff, so for a fic prompt i just thought i’d mention it! 💗

Pardon me, I’m posting this via mobile because I’m at work. This is just a little quick something. I got like…a lot of prompts for protective!paxton so I’ve got some others coming too!

It was the third time this week he’d corrected someone calling his girlfriend “Crazy Devi.” He knew she’d had her share of bad (and racist) nicknames but this one hurt him every time because he knew it was sorta his fault. And the slight cringe and uncomfortable smile Devi gave whenever it happened really drove that guilt home.

“It’s just a joke, she even thinks it’s funny, see?” Marcus argued.

“It’s not funny. There’s nothing funny about it, it’s ableist too. We can do better than that, bro,” Paxton said, just as Devi reached for his arm.

“It’s fine, I need to go anyway,” she said, so much quieter than her normal tone. Quiet Devi was a flashing neon sign of uncomfortable Devi.

“It’s not fine,” he said, standing up. Devi gave him a confused look when he stepped onto the table in the cafeteria.

“Oh god, is this how you guys feel when I do this?” Devi asked, shaking her head furiously. “What are you doing?!”

“I got this,” Paxton said, before looking out on the faces that were all staring at him. He gathered a crowd easily without standing on a table so it wasn’t surprising to him that the entire cafeteria was looking. “Hey!” he shouted and the rumble of the cafeteria fell almost silent. “Next person to call my girlfriend ‘Crazy Devi’ is gonna get shoved in a locker. It’s rude, it’s mean, and it’s my fault anyway. So knock it off.”

Devi covered her mouth and looked away, like she could hide in her hoodie. But this was important.

“Some shit went down between she and I and I was hurt and in a moment of frustration, venting to my friends, I called her crazy and it stuck.” There were a few gasps and he looked at Devi to make sure that yes, he’d already told her this and she remembered. He’d already apologized to her but it had to stop so this was necessary. “I’m sorry I said it. Nobody deserves a shitty nickname like that.”

He felt Devi tug on the back of his jeans from the floor. “Okay, that’s fine, I think you’ve scared everyone efficiently and made proper penance. Please get down,” she whispered.

“I’m serious! And let’s not call anybody crazy okay? It’s mean.” He hopped down and took Devi’s hand. He kissed the side of her head, apologized again, just for her, and glared at Marcus. He looked sufficiently chastised. But Paxton shoved into his shoulder on his way past him.

“I’m sorry!” Marcus grunted out.

But Paxton was too wrapped up in Devi leaning into his other side. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said. “But thank you.”

Prompts are open but I make no guarantees when your prompt will be filled.

[luisjuanmilton]

Ahhh hi I'm awake and I've never sent like a prompt or ship thingy before so I hope this is what u mean !! For a ship maybe Dan and esteban and for a prompt maybe just esteban taking Dan to look at Christmas lights or something like that?

This prompt is perfect and I had been dying to write dansteban so thank you so much for requesting it <3

(I just realised you can’t put a read more on mobile sorry guys you’ll have to bear with this long post)

Daniel sighed to himself, absentmindedly scrolling through every single movie Netflix had to offer as he desperately tried to find something that would distract him from how painfully lonely he felt.

It was Christmas Eve, and while he would normally be either in Australia or Italy with his family by now, the fucking global pandemic had made it so that he was stuck in the flat Renault had rented for him to use whenever he was in Oxfordshire.

The flat was so underused that it barely had any furniture, and the lack of decorations coupled with the cold that could be felt even when he had the heater on wasn’t doing anything to improve his mood.

Daniel was used to spending his holidays in the sun damn it, he’d never asked for a white Christmas.

He had been surrounded by nothing but silence for so long that he almost thought he’d hallucinated the knocking that was coming from the direction of the door, but when it grew more insistence he nearly jumped off the couch, hurrying to see who could have possibly come to visit him.

And his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he found none other than his lanky teammate standing on the other side of the wooden door with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Esteban?” he asked, half convinced that he was definitely hallucinating.

“Yes, hi” the Frenchman answered, a tiny hesitant smile pulling at his lips “for a second there I thought you weren’t in”

“Yeah sorry I thought I’d heard wrong, but, uh, what exactly are you doing here?” Daniel’s eyes widened when he realised how rude that sounded, and he quickly rushed to correct himself “Not that I don’t want you here or anything, you actually have no idea how nice it is to see you”

Thankfully, Esteban only looked amused by his rambling, the smile on his face growing larger.

“Well I sort of realised we were both stuck here, and since I don’t particularly fancy being alone tonight I thought you might not either”

And really, Daniel was so embarrassingly touched by that that he could have cried.

“Oh. Yes, no, absolutely. You can totally come in but I have to warn you that I only have, like, frozen pizza and a couple of beers on the fridge so -“

“Actually, I thought I could take you somewhere” Esteban interrupted, his brown eyes sparkling with mirth “if you don’t mind braving the cold that is”

Daniel beamed at the Frenchman, his innate love for surprises making a flare of excitement rush through him, especially after he had been sure the most exciting thing that would happen to him that night would be watching the new season of Love Island.

“Let me get my coat”

Just to be safe he decided to put on the biggest and fluffiest coat he owned, paired with a knitted beanie and a matching scarf, not even caring that he probably looked ridiculous next to Esteban, who didn’t even look like he had noticed it was snowing.

There wasn’t anyone around to judge him anyways, and he knew Este would never mock him.

Indeed, the younger man looked almost fond as he took in his very over the top attire, holding the door open for him and shutting it behind them.

He was nearly skipping as he followed Este down the stairs, not even questioning it when they walked past both their cars to instead follow the trail that lead to a small park that he’d never bothered to visit before.

Esteban stopped him when the park was just around the corner, turning to face him with a serious look in his eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

Daniel found himself nodding before he’d even finished the question, and when his entire face immediately softened at that, he felt warmth flooding his chest that had nothing to do with the layers of clothing he was wearing.

“Of course I do”

“Close your eyes for me” Este softly commanded, holding a hand out to him that he didn’t hesitate to take before complying.

It was a little tricky to walk over the rocky and snowy path without being able to see, but the firm hold Esteban had on his hand was enough to assure him he’d never let him fall on his ass.

They must have walked for less than three minutes when they came to a sudden halt, but even then Este didn’t let go of his hand.

“Okay… you can open them now”

Daniel immediately did as he was told, and a delighted gasp left his mouth as he took in the sight in front of him.

The entire park was light up by what seemed to be hundreds of Christmas lights that were hanging from the snowy trees, making it look like it’d been taken straight out of a Hallmark movie.

Thanks to the way they swayed with the breeze it almost seemed like they were twinkling stars, and Daniel felt like he’d walked into some sort of winter wonderland.

“Holy shit” he breathed out, hearing Esteban chuckle beside him at the expletive.

“Do you like it?”

“Are you kidding? I love it! It looks like a fucking postcard”

Este let out a full bellied laugh at that, but it was obvious to Dan that he was very relieved by his reaction.

“I’m glad. It’s just that I remembered you saying how much you liked Christmas, and I didn’t want you to have a crappy one this year, I think it’s been shitty enough. I also brought a big blanket, some pastries and a thermos full of coffee, it’s not exactly a Sunday roast but I think it’ll do” he confessed, the apples of his cheeks as red as the tip of his nose for reasons that the Aussie was sure were completely unrelated to the cold.

If Daniel had felt touched before, he was sure he was about to spontaneously combust because of how endeared he was by the man standing next to him.

“You really are something special Esteban”

“Oh it was nothing”

Esteban’s entire face was as red as the Ferrari livery by now, and his pleased grin made him look all the more adorable.

It was only then that Daniel realised neither had let go of the other’s hand.

“Hey Este? I know I couldn’t leave here because of the travel restrictions in Italy, but I thought they had lifted the travel ban in France… why didn’t you go home?”

The sheepish look he got after that was more than enough answer for him, but he still wanted to hear him say it.

“I, uh, I sort of overheard you talking to Cyril about how you’d have to spend the holidays here. I’m sorry for eavesdropping but I promise I didn’t mean to, and I just really didn’t want you to have to spend them alone because I know how much you miss your family and -“

Now it was Daniel’s turn to interrupt Esteban’s rambling, and he couldn’t think of a better way to do it than by fisting his hand on the front of his sweater and pulling him down into a kiss.

The tiny surprised yelp that left him was muffled by Daniel’s lips, and when the younger man’s brain registered what was happening he all but melted into the kiss.

And the Aussie had no idea how long he’d been wanting to do that without realising it, but as their lips moved together he quickly found out he never wanted it to stop.

Unfortunately, their need for oxygen was still a thing, but they only separated enough so that they could breathe while still keeping their foreheads pressed together, not caring at all that the angle was far from comfortable because of their height difference.

“Thank you” Dan murmured, tightening the grip he still had on the other’s hand and feeling an electric current run through their linked fingers.

“Merry Christmas Dan” he answered, with a smile bright enough that it put all the lights that surrounded them to shame.

“Merry Christmas Este”

With that, Daniel pressed their lips back together, thinking to himself that maybe he wouldn’t mind spending his holidays in the snow as long as he had Esteban close to keep him warm.

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

So I finally started to write another story...

I will try and post weekly, but can’t promise on account of real life and my inability to actually focus on translating what’s in my head onto paper (or screen!)

Getting the courage to post never gets any easier, but here goes. I hope you enjoy this frothy bit of fun. I will also post on AO3.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for being an excellent beta.

Chapter 1: From Airport to Aggravation

Bank holiday crowds, on the whole, are hell.

And this one is rapidly turning into an even deeper level of purgatory. The hottest May for years in Scotland and I’m stuck at Glasgow airport with a dozen women, collectively known as ‘Geillis’s Hen Party Posse’, each displaying varying degrees of inebriation, hangover or general sleep deprivation, and all aiming for the luggage carousel showing the flight from Barcelona. Which apparently is where several hundred other disembarked passengers are also heading.

Eventually, I manage to get a view of the bags and cases slowly making their way around the belt. They’re pretty picked over by this time, apart from the couple of boxes covered in gaffer tape that always seem to be first off a plane—any plane—and last to be collected. They’re always there, on every flight. Why is that?

I pause from my musings to wave frantically at Geillis, who now has a trolley and is clearing a path straight towards me.

“I got us a trolley.” she informs me, stating the obvious. “I thought it’d be easier. Have ye seen ours yet, Claire? I canna see the others. They must have already gone through.”

“No,” I answer, keeping my eyes firmly on the little hatch, willing our bags to appear. All I want is to go home, put my sleep mask on and try and get some sleep. Three days in Barcelona celebrating Geillis’s forthcoming nuptials have worn me out, and, I glance at my watch, I am due in theatre in approximately seventeen hours time.

"It's there, it's there," Geillis points excitedly at the neon pink and green leopard print bag making its way towards us.

She makes a grab for it as I continue to look for my bag. Predictably, it’s one of the last ones on the carousel. I recognise it immediately from the piece of red gift ribbon tied to the handle of the plain black Samsonite. I load it onto the trolley and Geillis and I head through customs to join the rest of the posse.

We say our goodbyes loudly, with much hugging and kisses. A stranger viewing this scene might imagine we won’t be seeing each other again for weeks or even months. In truth, I’ll be seeing most of them in the next week or so at the hospital as our schedules coincide.

“Shall we two get a taxi, then?” Geillis asks me.

I start to answer as my mobile pings — a text from Frank...very nice, very caring, very predictable.

Darling, it’s been a long three days without you. I am ready to collect you from the airport if you would like. If not, might I see you later this evening? xxx

And that is very clearly Frank. Correct grammar and punctuation, even on his texts. I shake my head as if to drive away my inner bitch and pretend I haven’t read it. I will respond, of course, just later when I’m back at home.

So, I smile at Geillis and agree. “Of course, we can go halves.”

***********

As I walk into my flat, the peace and quiet and sheer bloody calm wraps itself around me like a swaddling cloth. It’s blissfully cool too, with all the shutters closed.

It’s not that I didn’t have a good time in Barcelona. It was actually great. But being in the company of others twenty four hours a day is wearing, much as I love them. And we all had to do everything together. No sneaking off for a solitary walk, or escaping to bed for a little siesta.

I deposit my suitcase by the bedroom door, slip off my converse, pour myself a glass of orange juice, settle down on the sofa and figure out how best to tell Frank not tonight without offending him.

Frank, Sorry but tonight isn’t —

I delete and try again.

Thanks for the offer to pick me up. I was already in the taxi when I got it. Can we give tonight a miss? Theatre in the morning and I’m knackered totally exhausted. You know what Geillis is like. Speak tomorrow, I promise. C

Frank knows what Geillis is like. Frank thinks Geillis is a bad influence on me, with her larger than life personality and wild ideas. I think Frank doesn’t really know me at all if he believes I can be influenced like that. I hang out with Geillis and my friends because they’re fun and we laugh… a lot.

Without realising, I feel my shoulder muscles relax as soon as I’ve sent the message. These are not good signs for my relationship with Frank. He’s investing far more into ‘us’ than I am willing to do. But as long as I’m honest with him…

There are advantages to being with Frank, of course. He’s punctual, very organised and a proficient and considerate lover. He always makes sure I come, even if I sometimes...er… exaggerate my reactions to hurry things along. So much for honesty, then.

I finish my orange juice and plan my evening. Four things to do - unpack, grab some food, shower and sleep. Not even going to wash my hair. That would really be too much effort, struggling with my untameable mane, and it’s going to be stuck under a surgical cap for most of tomorrow anyway.

It takes a bit of effort to actually move from the sofa. I could quite happily fall asleep there. But then I’d wake up in the middle of the night—starving hungry and still smelling of sweaty airports. Reluctantly, I haul myself into a vertical position and head for my bedroom picking up my suitcase en route.

Opening the suitcase, I am not greeted with the expected haphazard mass of sun dresses, t shirts and shorts—all with the evocative aroma of Hawaiian Tropic—but a layer of white dress shirts, immaculately folded and the faint scent of a musky cologne.

Shit, shit, shit!! Some else has walked off with my black samsonite with the red ribbon on the handle. My evening plans are rapidly going awry. I delve into my handbag praying that I kept my boarding pass with the sticky bar code luggage receipt. The relief when I find it lurking in the bottom of my bag is immense. Quickly I google the airline lost baggage number and dial.

After a few bars of some god awful plinky plinky hold music, I hear a recorded message. “Your call is important to us, please hold. Your call is important to us, please hold.”

Good to know, then back to the plinky plinky before another message. “The office you are trying to reach is now closed. Please try again during office hours nine am to five thirty. Thank you.”

“If my call is so important to you, why is no one there at six o’clock?” I yell down the phone, but the plinky plinky ignores me and continues its irritating melody.

I sigh. I don’t want to have to wait until tomorrow morning to sort this out. Besides, by nine am tomorrow morning, I will be somewhat unavailable - reshaping the hip bone of a seven year old boy. So, I have no alternative. I will have to have a bit of a dig around this stranger’s suitcase, looking for any clue or contact details.

As I start to have a feel around, it occurs to me that some stranger might, at this very moment, be doing exactly the same thing — having a poke around my suitcase in the hope of finding my details. No doubt judging me based on my choice of holiday attire.  And, I suddenly realise, his judgement may well be coloured by the discovery of some items of a more adult nature.

I say ‘he’, based on the XL white shirts, the pair of battered jeans and faded Scotland rugby shirt, but I could be wrong. I don’t have to dig any further into the case as I spy, in a mesh pocket, a neat rectangle of card with a name — James Fraser — a mobile number and an email address.

Relief sweeps over me. Perhaps we can get this all sorted tonight. Unless this James Fraser lives miles away and was just passing through Glasgow on his way to, say, the Outer Hebrides. That could be a whole other level of problem.

I quickly reach for my phone. Another message from Frank awaits.

Are you sure, darling? I’m looking forward to seeing you. Would tomorrow evening work for you?

I ignore it for the moment. Let me sort my luggage issue out first.

I dial the number on the card and begin to pace around my bedroom as it rings and rings. I am just about to give up when, thankfully, it’s answered.

“Hello?” A female voice asks warily.

I clear my throat and put on my most pleasant phone voice. “Is there a James Fraser there please?”

“Ye’ve the wrong number.”

“Oh, sorry, I must have mis—“ I begin, but find myself apologising to dead air.

I try again, carefully comparing each digit to those written, very neatly, on the card.

“Hello?” The same female voice answers, more than a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“I’m sorry, but this is the number I have for James Fra—“

“And I already told ye, ye’ve the wrong number. Dinna bother again.”

In the days before mobiles, I’m sure this would have been accompanied by a deafening crash as the receiver hit the cradle. Pressing a soft key doesn’t have the same dramatic effect. But I get the message anyway.

So, new plan needed. All I can do is email this James Fraser and hope he actually has written down the correct email address. If not, I’ll have to sort it out with the airline tomorrow afternoon.

My stomach rumbles and I suddenly realise that I’ve not eaten since breakfast, unless you count the slices of fruit in my jug of sangria. I wander into the kitchen and peruse the contents of my cupboards and fridge. I’m not the most gifted cook, but I’m not too bad and can usually rustle up something edible and fairly tasty. The bread feels a bit on the dry side but will be fine toasted, and I know I have eggs.

I put a knob of butter in a pan and text Frank while I’m waiting for it to sizzle.

Think tomoz will be ok. Talk 2morrow. C

I don’t normally use text speak at all,  but something about Frank’s perfectly formed text messages always makes me want to rebel. I can imagine him wincing right now.  He’s a professor at the university and is forever complaining about the standard of literacy amongst his undergraduates. If he thinks he has problems, he should try dealing with junior doctors.

With my scrambled egg on toast all eaten, I focus my attention on the email to James Fraser. I write it quickly, brief and to the point: I have your suitcase and therefore presume you have mine, can we meet to swap them over and here’s my phone number.

The longing for a shower and then bed is now overwhelming. I strip off and bundle all my clothes into the laundry basket, tie my hair up with a scrunchie and step into my shower. This is undoubtedly one of my favourite places on earth and possibly the reason that I bought this flat. Large enough for two, I suppose. Although none have yet been invited to partake in this heavenly experience. Maybe I’m saving that for someone extra special. It has a huge overhead rainfall shower head and a handheld shower head too.

My indulgences are all in here — a selection of expensive shower gels, scrubs and lotions and an assortment of huge fluffy bath towels. I choose a lavender scented gel and scrub all traces of the day from my skin.

Wrapping myself  in one of my pristine white towels, I slather shea butter lotion on my slightly sun-burnt skin, noticing the uneven red patches where the sun cream hadn’t quite reached but at least it’s not sore.

A quick check of my emails shows there’s no word from James Fraser as yet, so I decide to just settle down to sleep and leave luggage worries until the morning. Fortunately, I had changed the sheets before my weekend away, so I simply unwrap my towel, leaving it in a heap on the floor and slide into bed. The feeling of the cool, crisp bedding against my skin is wonderful. I assume a sort of diagonal starfish position, not having to worry about any other occupants. It crosses my mind whether to reach for the tiny vibrator in my bedside drawer, but I’m too comfortable and drowsy for that, so instead I check my alarm and settle down for sleep.

[vtforpedro]

health update- long post

so we are still trying to figure out all my health shit. I just now started to lose a couple pounds again but still feeling bloated and crampy every day. my right arm looks slightly swollen and hurts + my purple nail beds that literally sparked this entire thing way back on dec 20th, 2019 or w/e that no doctor has acknowledged have gotten darker and now clearly noticeable to other people. been seeing it for nearly 16 months myself but I stopped asking after like a year cause they ~couldn't see it~ in bright ass medical offices and didn't bother investigating further cause You Seem Anxious™ n e ways, I had to call the paramedics on march 29th cause I got so lethargic I felt like someone had drugged me. could barely sit up, speech was slow, could NOT open my eyes, felt like it was hard to breathe. took me three minutes to stand up with a paramedic's help AND I knew if I tried to walk I'd fall. almost fell twice in a row a week beforehand, tho the fatigue wasn't as severe. sorry if I've mentioned this already I don't fucking have any brainpower anymore to remember what I've talked about and haven't have experienced two more bouts of sudden, extreme lethargy, the pain/swelling in my arm isn't going away, purple nail beds, etc etc. so went to my PCP and barely got halfway through explaining everything that was happening and she's like 'yeah so I want you to do labs today' and sent a referral for a vascular ultrasound. so every artery/vein from the big ones in my neck down to my arms and to the tiny ones in my fingers sooo my labs became available for me to see tonight in the lab portal, but my doctor set me up for an appt on monday to 'discuss them' and I was like ok either the labs or the vascular ultrasound is abnormal. OR BOTH yeah, it's probably both. I'm sure doctor's hate that we can view our labs before talking with them but I actually like having an idea of what's wrong instead of being blindsided lmao I knew I had leukemia before my doc told me I did and it was much easier to handle after sitting with it for a few days beforehand so yeah pretty sure I'm really vitamin d deficient, if I'm reading it right, which she was concerned about, plus, again if I'm reading it right, I have a whole ass, brand new incurable autoimmune disorder that honestly sounds like it sucks more than the fucking cancer I have c: c: c: I don't know 100% if I have this but it seems pretty likely and would explain a lot of things going on (not the head stuff, which is very likely still IIH, but the bloating + inability to lose weight, which can be helped so I can continue losing weight to hopefully help the fucking IIH) my body is just. breaking down and trying to kill me at every turn, I swear. like what's the point anymore, nothing ever gets better lol I have no life to live, just chronic disability that's agonizing day in and day out. what's. the. fucking. point. this can be 'managed' but will always steadily worsen over time because it can't be cured sooo,,,,,,, I don't want to do this anymore, I truly don't. I've been telling my mom for six years every time I turn a corner it's something worse and that was for psychological trauma, but now it's turned into trauma caused by debilitating and declining health issues. I don't want to do this anymore did labs on monday for my hematologist to check where the cancer numbers are, I expect that one to take a while to get back. if the cancer numbers are detectable, I can't even treat it (and don't want to since, as my hema put it, the treatment can't be worse than the disease and chemo tried to kill me like three times) yet another thing I could've possibly been treating 16 months ago (third potential thing but You Seem Anxious™ sure delays diagnosis, seems like they should fix that, huh???) as an aside, this is the second time I've read POSITIVE (reference range: NEGATIVE) on my labs and it's not a great feeling guys NOT GREAT AT ALL all of this is happening during a pandemic so I haven't seen my family in over a year and I've seen my brother like twice? since last march? I kinda feel

like I'm never going to see them again at all. haven't eaten in my fave restaurants or gone to a movie. idk it just really feels like these aren't things I'm ever going to experience again got three MRIs scheduled on the 16th to see if my chiari/anything else has worsened. it feels like it has. I'm losing mobility in my neck and it's becoming harder to walk, so if that's any worse or if brain surgery is recommended, idk what I'll do cause I'm not doing that :) it's too risky considering everything else. I'm constantly stuck in a place that no matter which direction I go I face further harm, so what can even be done? I'm sorry. I'm sorry these are always depressing and hopeless, but I don't know how to feel hope anymore. we'll see what my pcp says on monday, but it's not looking good I'm truly sorry if I bring you all down with these posts. it's the only place I can put all my messy thoughts and feelings without feeling judged. thank you, all the same, for listening and offering words of encouragement and hope where I don't have any love you all very, very much. thanks for always being there for me <3

[drakesdevils]

The Five Stages of Grief (Sam Drake x F!Reader)

Summary: Samuel Drake is dead to the world, stuck in a prison for a crime he did not commit for the rest of eternity.

PART TWO

(had to post them separate because Tumblr is a big bully)

Warnings: S*icidal thoughts, PTSD, imprisonment, violence

Uncharted Masterlist

RDR2 Masterlist

Of The Valley (Joel x Reader) Masterlist

A/N: I guess it has been some time lol. Wrote this because I’m forever angry at Naughty Dog for ghosting over the fact that Sam spent.. 13 years in prison.. also I don’t speak Spanish so these translations are probably a bit wonky.

I apologize this chapter is so lengthy! I can’t put a read more tab on mobile.

•••

Denial

Sam awoke in a small room, dazed and confused There were stone walls, a blaring light above him. It reeked of blood and sweat and every grossly humane thing in existence.

At first, panic set in, he thrashed and writhed and felt a burning pain in his stomach, like his insides were being torn apart. He heard yelling, he felt two sets of hands push him down, something pricked him.

And then he was out.

When he awoke again, he was in the same room. There was grogginess in him, like something had been shrouding his mind. He blinked a few times before he attempted to move again, only to realize he had been restrained. He struggled against the restraints, feeling that same burning in his stomach, the pain became unbearable.

He laid back onto the metal table and caught his breath, his shirt was bloodied. There was blood all over him. Was that his blood?

Oh god.

He remembered being shot, watching his brother lose the hope in his eyes, he felt the blood rise in his throat, and then he felt his bones crunch as he fell. And he remembered thinking of you, in a way he knew it would be his last thought. A glimmer of you in his jacket, smiling and beaming at him. And then it was over. Why wasn’t is over?

Oh god no.

Terror and shock rose in him, no no, this could not be happening. He was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to die when he fell. He was supposed to be six feet under by now.

No, this was Hell. He was being punished, and forced to live a life of pain. This was his personal punishment for a crime he did not commit.

“Ah, Mr. Drake, you are awake,” A voice said as the door opened in the bland room. There was a counter with ‘medical’ supplies next to it.

A man stepped into the room, a doctor?

“You broke your neck when you fell. You’re dead. We could not save you,” The man began. Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“You are legally dead. Except of course, you are not. A man came looking for you by the way, we had to break the news to him,” The man teased him cruelly, a glimmer in his eye.

“Where is my brother?” Sam croaked out.

“Oh, long gone by now. We told him we found you dead. As far as the world knows, you are. I hope you enjoy prison, Samuel Drake,” The doctor cackled menacingly as he left Sam. Two guards entered, they took the restraints off of his arms and legs, they pulled him off the table roughly.

He wanted to fight back, he wanted to throw every punch their way and escape that hellhole. But there was no fight in him, his body was broken, everything in him felt like it was screaming.

They dragged him to his cell since he could not stand. He heard the catcalls and whistles from the other prisoners, freshmeat they cheered, a gringo too. Maybe they would rough him up a bit.

They threw him into the cold cell, he landed on his back and it knocked the wind from him, even if the air was burning and stuffy, there was no life in that prison, there was no happiness, no joy, no human emotion. There was only ruin.

He quickly lifted up his shirt and examined his wounds. A large bandage on his chest, he remembered feeling the blood enter his throat and suffocate him.

He remembered watching Nathan become heartbroken.

He remembered the fall.

No, this was not happening!

•••

Anger

The guards punished him brutally for killing one of their own. They beat him daily, they dragged him out of his cell, they made an example out of him even if he hadn’t done anything, they made a mockery out of him.

And the men followed suit too, they teased and threatened. He had to watch his back every waking hour. He could not let his guard down for even a second.

There was no one to help him, there was no one to save him. He was left alone in a foreign prison where he was hated, where he was starved and beaten. No men would talk to him, he was seen as a lesser being, someone to pick on.

A part of him began to hate the world too. He resented Nathan, for not trying to save him. He resented you for letting him go on this stupid trip. He had a life sentence, he was never getting out.

But most of all, he hated himself. He could not look in the dirty mirror, he would not talk to anyone, he let the guards beat him up. He did not fight back, but he watched his back. If someone were to sneak up on him, at least he would know it was coming.

He tried not to think, to not let his anger overcome him. He did not want to hate his baby brother and you, people who did not deserve such hatred. But he did think. He thought constantly, there was nothing to keep his mind off of it. He had no money to buy anything, no one to send him anything, no books, no entertainment. He was not allowed to get a prison job, the guards wanted to watch his every movement.

He saw red every hour of every day. He saw it every time he blinked. It was all around him, it was bubbling and pooling inside him. Sam wanted to punch the wall and scream, he wanted to lash out, he wanted every man in that prison dead. Sam wanted to scream at you and Nathan for abandoning him, for allowing him to live the rest of his life in prison. But there was no fight in him. There was no charm, no quips. A shitty slinged broken arm and healing bullet wounds, bruises all over his body and aching bones. There was no way he could fight. So he didn’t.

•••

Bargaining

Time passed slowly. Late at night when he watched the moon through the barred window in his cell, he wondered what would have happened if things had gone differently.

The only thing that brought him comfort was the thought of you. Even if what ifs were painful, a part of him was comforted by them. As he viewed the night sky, when the tropical storms rolled in, through the sweltering heat, especially then would it bring him comfort.

A life with you. Maybe he would have had his big break, found Avery’s treasure and never have to work another day in his life. He would be satisfied by his winnings and never want to go out and look for another. You and him could have been married, like he had promised, a small wedding that was beautiful, seeing you walk down the aisle in the dress you picked out, kissing you in front of everyone. Then you would have bought a grand home in Boston, lived out your thirties and then had kids, he would become the father he never had. Raised them right, they would become doctors or lawyers. And then you and him would truly retire, be old and frail together and one day it would end.

And it hurt to think that way. To want something so bad, but know it would never happen. To know that he would be stuck in this hellhole for eternity, suffering each and every day. Being subject to such abuse and horrors was something no innocent man should ever have to go through.

Remembering the anger he felt at you especially hurt. There was nothing you or Nathan could have done. He never wanted to think like that again, to imagine himself yelling at you, for screaming and arguing. He would never forgive himself for feeling that way.

Some nights he would wake up panting, thinking he had first woken up in the ‘doctors’ office again, that the clock had been reset. Some nights he woke up thinking he was in your arms again, he imagined you shushing him gently and lulling him back to sleep. Most nights he wished he didn’t wake up at all.

He wondered if you thought of him, if you had moved on, if you were living the white picket dream he didn’t think he wanted until now. What he wouldn’t give to be out and see you one more time, even if you had moved on, even if you were married to some other person, he wanted to see you once more. To look you in the eye and remember all that had happened, to know that he had come out on the other side.

But it was all foolish. He knew he was never getting out.

•••

Depression

“Sam?” A voice whispered into the cell. Armando.

“What?” He said groggily.

“Wake up. Dinner is in five minutes,” Armando said. He looked outside, it was still light out.

“Come on man, I’ll just buy from commissary later tonight,” He groaned, rolling back onto his stiff bed.

“Get up. I let you sleep and kept the other guards off your back. You have to eat, Samuel,” Armando pressed. The only guard who showed him kindness. Who smuggled books for him, who slipped him money every now and then, who convinced the guards to let him work on laundry duty to earn a few extra bucks. The guard he originally despised, who he thought was only trying to be nice to him so he could wait for Sam to slip up.

Sam simply let his eyes shut again.

“I have a present for you if you get up.”

“I don’t care,” Sam replied, nothing mattered to him anymore.

“I am sure you will like this one,” Armando continued.

“Fine,” Sam sighed, pulling himself out of his bed.

Armando unlocked the cell for him, he looked both ways to make sure no one was coming and shoved a book into his hand.

“No way!” Sam said surprised, looking down at the book.

“A General History of The Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates! You found it!” Sam spoke fervently, he could not quell his excitement.

“Shhhh,” He reminded Sam, looking around to make sure no one had heard him.

“Shit, sorry, but how the hell did you find it?” Sam said more quietly, flipping through the pages.

“Ah, simple really. The library got it shipped from another one. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case they couldn’t ship it,” Armando explained.

“Well shit, thank you. I have the other books in my cell so you can return them, let me grab them for you,” Sam replied, he didn’t want Armando having a hefty library late fee because of him.

He gathered the things in his small cell. Books about history, mostly non fiction, anything Armando could get his hands on that was in English.

He piled the books into Armando’s hands, hopefully no one would be suspicious if he managed to make it out quickly enough. Armando’s shift was ending in a few minutes.

Things were silent for a moment as Sam gathered his courage to ask Armando.

“Could.. could you send the letter to my brother? I slipped it in one of the pages of the book about the Renaissance,” Sam pleaded quietly.

Armando’s lips formed into a tight line as he contemplated it.

“I will see what I can do.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Armando, seriously, thank you so much,” Sam said sincerely. The only man in that prison who had his back.

•••

The warden called him into his office one night. The cruel man who was one of the ‘doctors’, the man who haunted his dreams. Sam was nervous, he could feel his hands shake.

“Samuel Drake,” The man said with a fake inviting tone, urging him to sit down. He sat with cockiness, his hands steepled as he watched him with hawk eyes.

Sam didn’t sit.

“I hear you have been attempting contact with your brother. This is against the rules, Samuel, you know this.”

Sam didn’t reply. He knew he was screwed.

“We will have to punish you. Solitary for three days.” The warden was taking joy in seeing Sam suffer.

Sam’s eyes widened, three goddamn days?!

“And a correctional activity with a few of our officers.” Sam knew what that meant.. a beating, a rough one. Outside the solitary confinement cells, they’d shackle him to the wall, beat him and throw him in the cell for three days.

“Where’s Armando?” Sam asked, letting his emotions not leak into his voice.

“Gone. You will never see him again.”

Fuck. Armando had been fired? All because he wanted to send a letter to Nathan.

The warden smiled at his silence.

“Goodbye, Samuel,” The warden dismissed him, he was nearly at the door. His entire body felt heavy.

“And if you ever try anything like this again, we will make a lesson out of you.”

He knew what that meant too.

•••

Just when things had started to look up, they had gone down again. Three days in solitary with a broken nose and black eye and split lip was not his favorite thing in the world. Not to mention his aching bones. The guards spat at him, pulled his hair, made fun of him, did everything to make him feel less than human. It didn’t work though, barely anything got through to him now. He had a devil may care attitude. It was better to.

He was thankful for the uninterrupted sleep even if it was on the concrete. Only time he got interrupted was when the guards would shove the shitty food to him.

It was maddening for him, to only hear silence when he was awake, to have his thoughts suffocate him. His life, wasted away in prison. Dead to the world and practically dead to himself, there was no reason for living.

Minutes ticked on, when he was sleeping he was trying to count how many times a fly in the cell touched a wall. He counted 473 times in the span of 68 hours. Eventually the fly died, or it escaped, he wasn’t sure because he was sleeping when the buzzing stopped.

The blood was caked on him, he could barely move, so he laid on the cold concrete and watched the fly bounce back and forth. He was losing track of time.

Most of his memories of his life prior to prison were blurred, he remembered how things went down, but people’s faces and voices were especially fuzzy. Like TV static, there was something there but he couldn’t quite see what.

He hated solitary, but it was better than being hit by the guards, teased in the prison yard, yelled at. Most days he liked being alone.

•••

Acceptance

“Pongan sus traseros en línea, muchachos. ¡Es la hora de cenar! Feliz Navidad,” The announcer said.

“Aye! Carlos! Sam!” Victor yelled across the chow hall. Sam and Carlos looked up at their friend.

“Merry Christmas friends. I just got off the phone with my girl. She told me she sent a package here, it should arrive in a couple days,” Victor said happily.

Carlos snickered, Sam eyed him as he shoveled food into his mouth. Christmas, the one day of the year where the guards weren’t awful and the food wasn’t as bad. It was still gloomy in the prison no matter the day, but at least the spirits were slightly up.

“Something funny, Carlos?” Victor narrowed his eyes at Carlos.

“Nothing. Just think it is funny you have your girlfriend sending you things. Why is she taking care of you? You’re the one who got in trouble.”

Victor rolled his eyes, “That’s funny, Carlos, real funny, seeing how you love to drop your pants for-“

“Knock it off you two,” Sam threatened, glaring at the two of them.

“I’ll give you something from the package, Sam since you are so nice to me, unlike this puta,” Victor said, gesturing towards Carlos.

“Sure thing,” Sam said. He knew Victor was just saying that.

“I wish I was with my family this Christmas. How many has it been? Two?” Carlos wondered.

“Been three for me,” Victor replied. “Sam?”

“I think nine. Or ten. I can’t remember, all of its blurring together.”

The air became somber. “One day we’ll all get out, brothers, we’ll be with our families on Christmas and get presents and eat all that good shit,” Victor began.

Sam didn’t want to hear any of this bullshit.

“I can’t even remember what my girlfriend sounded like. I haven’t heard her, or my brother in years, I don’t even know if they’re still around, so Christmas with them is kinda off the table for me,” Sam confessed solemnly. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about Christmas joy. He never was.

Victor and Carlos were silent, they looked at each other nervously. They knew his story, rumors passed around over the years. He had risen in the ranks of prison, he had more freedoms, the guards picked on him less, the men respected him more. He had even made a few friends.

“You’ll get out one of these days, you just have to hold on. I bet she’s waiting for you still, probably will be waiting on the bed for you with her legs op-” Carlos said.

Sam quickly cut him off, “Yeah.. I doubt it.”

•••

Reunion

The guards roughly pulled him out of his cell one day. He hadn’t gotten that type of treatment in a long time. He was surprised as they cuffed him and pushed him down the hallway. What the hell was going on?

“You guys mind telling me what we’re doing?” Sam asked as one of the guards pushed him down the hall.

“Just keep moving,” One of them ordered. They walked through the cell blocks, the loud chatter was deafening. There was a game of blackjack happening in the yard, he could see the big group of men gathered outside.

They were headed straight for the warden's office.

Shit. What the hell happened now?

They pushed him into the room. The warden stood stoically, looking out the window.

“You’re a free man, Samuel,” The warden spoke.

This had to be a joke. The warden was just fucking with him.

Sam snorted, “Okay.”

“10,000 it took. The man was insistent on us letting you go for a fair price,” The warden glanced back over at him. The man who first gave him the news of his life sentence and laughed in his face.

“You can stop with the bullshit now.”

“It’s not a lie, Samuel. You are a free man. You may leave now.” The warden turned to look at him. And then he knew it was true.

Sam could feel every heartbeat, he could feel the freedom flow in him. He could feel the shackles being torn off. He was free. How was this possible?

Sam stood frozen in his spot.

“Leave,” The warden barked. Sam scrambled quickly and left.

This was happening. It was really happening.

There was no paperwork he needed to fill out since he was not registered. Victor and Carlos both got out a year ago, there were no needs for goodbyes.

The guards let him outside. It all felt like a dream, like he would wake up inside solitary again. He felt like he was floating, like every step was another one closer to the heavens.

He heard the buzzer go off, he felt the vibrations in his bones.

Who was waiting for him? Who bailed him out?

As he walked through the gates, he was officially a free man. Liberty rushed in his veins. That first breath of freedom was exhilarating, there was no stench of the prison, it was simply fresh and clean air.

Rafe. Rafe goddamn Adler stood by his sleek black car. Was that this year's model? So much had changed..

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Glad to see you’re alive, and somewhat well,” Rafe smiled, brushing Sam’s shoulder off.

“Where’s Nathan?” Sam asked.

“No thank you? Thirteen years go by and you would think he would be a little more appreciative. You know Sam, you’re starting to sound a little ungrateful.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be grateful when I know my brother is well.”

“Fine. I assumed as much. He’s doing well, retired, living the white picket dream as far as I know.” Rafe rolled his eyes.

“And Y/N?” A part of him was afraid to know.. he had wondered for so long. But he was scared too, he felt cowardly for being afraid to face you. All he wanted was to see you again, and now he was a coward for being afraid.

“Married too,” Rafe sighed, becoming annoyed at Sam.

It felt like a stab, worse than any pain he had experienced during prison, holding on to the thought of you was what kept him going. He should have expected it though.. he should have known.

“Well, anyways, I wouldn’t go moseying around, disrupting their lives. Especially not now, I mean come on, your brother is retired and your ex girlfriend is married. Don’t go trying to mess things up.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. Jumping back into their lives, especially if you were married was cruel. It was better if you and Nathan still thought he was dead.

He felt even more hollow than he had ever been before.

“Let’s talk business, then, shall we?”

•••

[heyheydidjaknow]

Alright, so, if I’m reading the feedback I’ve been having right, it seems that the general reaction to the one-shots is, “Look, we’re happy to have more shit to read, but if you could focus on the actual next chapter, that would be great.” As someone who is, essentially, a writing whore, I will respond in kind. We’re getting a chapter on the longer side this week, hopefully. The two extra days will both be put into writing the next chapter if nobody wants anything.

For everyone who actually liked the interactions happening and are still confused as to what the actual fuck was going on with that shit, don’t you worry. If my calculations are correct, you’ll get a bit of explanation in that regard in... about 2 months and some change, if I’m reasoning that out correctly. Might take longer, might take shorter, but, eventually, shit will make sense.

For everyone who is confused by this assessment and actually wanted more one-shots, please send me requests; I genuinely think that I was completely missing the point of writing all of these, so if you like them, I need to know and I need requests to fufill so I don’t screw it up. If you want fluff but don’t have a request, you’ll have to wait a pretty long while until they’re actually a couple.

Thank you, people who are reading my shit, for actually reading my shit. I’m sorry that I don’t know why my posts are all stuck at being really long and I can’t do the “Read all” thing, but I’m using Tumblr on mobile, so I am sorry if the way to do that is really simple, because I cannot figure it out. Is it automatic? Who fucking knows?

To anyone who is confused as to how to send in requests or if there are any rules: surprise, bitch. There aren’t any. I don’t have any limits that I know of, and I’m willing to do any character from any TMNT property, old or new. Granted, my knowledge of properties outside of TMNT 2012 is limited, but I’m more than happy to learn for the sake of writing.

And with that... yeah, think that’s everything. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be writing the next chapter and trying not to feel bad when I torture the fuck out of them eventually.

Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all.

[duskyskz]

- Erasure - 1

Hwang Hyunjin x Female Reader

With washed out, dyed pastel hair, sea salt and acrylic clinging to his jeans, Hwang Hyunjin expected to find himself many places that night. A jail holding cell. Under the abandoned train station bridge. Maybe even his own bedroom.

Your living room wasn't on the list.

Warnings - Some angst in later chapters, suggestive/smut, minor character death mentions, Hyunjin is an eboy and a little angsty, Changbin is doing his best as a big brother, slow burn (?)

A/N - Finally! Sorry for the delays, my head just hasn’t been with me this week;; I hope you enjoy this series as much as I am excited to write it. 

***

The steady buzzing of your speakers fills the living room as you watched Changbin scroll through the Netflix home page. Both of you settle deep into the sofa, balancing a bowl of popcorn and chocolate between your knees. 

“Endgame? Homecoming, Nightmare on Elm Street?” Binnie flicks through the suggestions, and you shake your head in distaste. “I'm not watching that octopus documentary again!”

“You only hated it because you cried at the end.”

“She died! He had to look after her little babies! Your heart is too cold, too far gone for that level of compassion.” The last part of your brother's grumbles are cut off when you throw a burnt kernel at his forehead, barely missing his ear. 

There’s nobody else home. Nobody else ever comes home, either. It's been just you and Changbin for a while, and it's not all that terrible. He’s a few years older than you, having graduated last summer and now undertaking an apprenticeship at the village police station. It doesn't pay a stellar amount, but Changbin reassures you once he passes the trainee exams he’ll treat you to a new pair of winter boots and you can finally quit the ice cream parlour to focus on college. You tell him that even if he wins the lottery tomorrow, you'll work your own job. For all the support your elder brother gives you, you like having your own thing. It makes you feel a little more involved, a little more even than jsit washing the dishes and doing his laundry on days he’s too tired to move. 

The Thursday evening is reserved for you both, to catch up on the hours together you miss during the week when Changbin doesn't get back till you're fast asleep and you don't have the chance to say good morning. 

He’s been doing that a lot more recently. 

Sighing into his coffee, shaking his head at nobody in particular. It's easy to notice the signs of stress and overwork in his face, sunken and tired even on the weekends when he finishes early. 

“Do you wanna finish Teen Wolf?” The softness in his voice when he addresses you is the same, though. “We have three episodes left of this season, if you wanna binge.”

“Sure.” You want to ask him about the circles under his eyes. What’s got him coming home later and later because nothing ever happens in this town. “I'm still waiting on Derek’s redemption arc.��

You're twenty minutes into the episode when a vibration from your coffee table catches your attention. You glance at Changbin, but he ignores his ringtone, flipping it to silent.

It rings again, no music, but harsh vibrations drumming against the polished wood. 

And again.

Knowing he’s not picking up to make a point of it, you pause the show, nodding at the mobile he’s avoiding glancing at. “Go on. Pick up, it might be an emergency.”

“If it's an emergency they don't need an intern there.” Despite his words, Changbin shifts his position and you know he’s growing hesitant. 

“If it's an emergency all the more reason for you to be there and learn.” You state with more force behind your tone. “Why have your grades been dropping? You're coming home so late but your exams keep getting delayed -”

“My grades are fine!” Changbin never snaps at you, but the frustration in his voice is evident. “I'm fine. There's just - Just one case we're working on and I'm nearly there, I just need time.”

You shut your mouth, letting him speak.

“There’s this kid who keeps tagging the beach houses on Dawning Lane, and that shit  was expensive to put up last year. Some stupid, bored child that thinks a few cans of spraypaint and lung cancer are a good excuse for your adolescence. He’s not even that good… Just scribbles.”

His lips pout in a frustrated whine at the last phrase, and you know he’s more frustrated at the situation than he is at you or himself.

A beat of silence, interrupted by another ringtone - you almost reach for it yourself to check the caller ID and force him to pick up, before Changbin’s arm shoots out past you to snatch the device, slinking out the door and into the hallway. 

You aren't surprised when a few moments later, your brother’s head pokes nervously out the door frame - He's already got his coat on, waving his phone at you as an awkward goodbye. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, y/n.”

“Yeah, see ya.” You salute back, smiling to ease the tension in his shoulders, and it works a minimum. You won’t see him till the late evening at best.

The door clicks shut as soon as he turns around, leaving you surrounded by popcorn and empty space. You really aren't surprised - but it'd be pointless to deny you weren't hurt by another night alone with Teen Wolf playing idly through your TV speakers. Cold popcorn only did so much to soothe your heart, and the distance wedging itself recently between your sibling bond was hard to brush over, between missed calls and texts too often left unanswered. 

You just really miss your big brother.

 You commit yourself to Stiles Stilinsky instead, sighing into the blanket around your shoulders. Autumn rolls in quick by the seaside, making your calves prickle with goosebumps. It's nearing 11pm, you realise, picking up the -

Thump!

Your fingers freeze, hovering over the TV remote. Changbin wouldn’t be back yet, he never comes home the same night he leaves. 

“Bin?” You try it anyway, calling tentatively into the hallway. It’s still entirely black, void of disruption.

Clang!

That definitely came from your kitchen.

Armed with a half empty popcorn bowl and nerves of steel, you tiptoe into the other room. There’s a lump of something or someone crouched behind the dining table, and your grip around the glass dish tightens marginally despite the quivering of your knees, fumbling for the lightswitch without taking your eyes off the rising dark mass as it straightens its back. 

“S-Stay down! I have corn and I know how to use it!” You don’t have a fully formed plan yet, but you’re sure the sharp kernels will be of some importance. Fluorescent white light floods the kitchen, momentarily blinding both you and the intruder who now stands at full height. A steady 12 inches above you. 

“Ouch! Calm down, I’m not going to rob you!” He says, sounding almost exasperated at your defense of your own property. He still has his hands raised in defense, keeping the table between himself and you, and you’re grateful he hasn’t tried to knock your legs out from under you, yet. “I’m not here to steal your stuff.”

“What are you here for, then?” You lower the popcorn bowl, but don’t let it fall out of your grasp. He doesn’t seem dangerous - He doesn’t seem like he could manage clambering through the window you always leave ajar either, but here he clearly is. There’s something sticky and pink in his blonde hair, stains following down his shoulder blades all the way down the cuffs of his jeans. If anything, he looks...a little lost.

“It’s the address on the post-it note.” Your confusion must have been plainly obvious, because the boy elaborates, pulling a crumpled neon-green paper from his jacket. “The post-it note that man gave me. That’s what Changbin gave me.”

Perhaps you lack self preservation instincts, but there’s an uncertain vibration in his voice that makes you give up your weapon and attitude. 

“You know my brother?” 

“He told me if I really need to go somewhere, I can come here.” You watch slim fingers tug at the sleeves of his jacket as he measures with a weight akin to a glare. “He didn’t tell me it was his house, or that somebody else was living here.” 

Bold of him to accuse you of ruining his night plans. 

It really did only click in your head when you looked closer at his tangled hair, dried paint clumping it together at the ends of bleached blonde strands. The  artistic menace haunting your sea-side town was standing right on your tiled kitchen floor, and he looked downright miserable. 

And Changbin had invited him. 

Biting down the discomfort at realising how little Changbin had been telling you recently,  you set the popcorn down on the table, you take in the threat currently three feet before you. A tall, lanky boy, with odd shoelaces and a sharpie sticking out of his trouser pocket. His hair hasn’t been cut in a while, and probably brushed either - it’d be generous to say he ran more than a stressed hand through it anytime recently. Though chapped, his full lips and wide eyes made him look far too innocent for his own good, and you blamed your soft heart for finding the boy kinda cute. 

He did have a leaf stuck above his ear, though. 

You almost reached up to remove it.

“Do you wanna watch Teen Wolf?”  You break the quiet that settled, already shuffling your feet out into the living room. You sincerely hoped he’d follow. You weren’t sure what you could do apart from leaving him standing on cold tile, and he already looked freezing from the night chill. 

Luckily for you, with a hesitant step, your impromptu companion takes after you to the couch where your Netflix and remove still await instruction. Changbin might grumble at you tomorrow at finishing the season without him, but you needed something to lure the boy into comfort. 

“I’m y/n, by the way.” You mention. The boy sits stiffly, clasping his hands in his lap with parted lips, avoiding the decorative pillows. 

“Hyunjin.” Now that he’s actually inside your house, Hyunjin’s confidence seems to have evaporated. The thrill of the break-in, if you can even call is that, has worn off, giving way to the nerves. He’s suddenly too conscious of the paint on his clothes, of sandy shoes still on his feet, of the smudges still on his cheeks. Should he take his jacket off? Or wipe his shoes? 

You press resume, watching him relax after a few minutes as his brain finally has something else to focus on to let his worries ease. Hyunjin doesn't seem to mind you already being halfway through the episode, and you let yourself admit it’s nice having someone around this late at night. 

“How do you know Changbin?” You ask while the topic is still fresh.

“I don’t.” Hyunjin bumps his knees together, fiddling with a loose string on his jeans as he shrugs. “I don’t really know him, he just...saw me around a few times, and I guess he figured I could use a place to crash. So he gave me your address.”

“You’re the mystery kid painting the beach houses, right? On Dawning Lane.” 

At the accusation, Hyunjin’s lips part, flipping to face you with wide, blinking eyes., knowing he’s in no place to try and deny it. You blink back, observing his reactions, in case he suddenly changes his mind about staying. “Are you gonna turn me in?...” 

“No.” You shake your head after a moment of thought, and he visibly untenses. “For whatever reason Changbin didn’t, so I won’t either. If he trusts you then I do too.” 

You’ll never know if it was the murmurs of the TV, or if Hyunjin did whisper a thank you, and you won’t ask. There’s a lot of things you do want to ask, but a tug in your heart tells you now is not the time. Hyunjin looks exhausted, eyes drooping with every slow blink as he does his best to focus on the screen, hands previously tugging at his jeans now still and flat on his lap, slouched forward as if any moment he’ll drift off sitting on your pillows. Flurries of fluorescent light flicker on his cheeks, over barely scrubbed paint smudges and faint cuts from running too fast, you guess. In the delicate, dimmed light of your floor lamp, it’s hard to imagine Hyunjin as a bad kid. Prickly, maybe. On edge is a better word for it, tension clinging to his shoulders like stubborn dust bunnies. Curse your naive little heart, you tell yourself, building up your courage to speak.

“Hyunjin?” He hums in response, straightening his back. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

All you’ve been taught in life sent alarm bells through your skull when you asked a complete stranger (who just two hours ago, broke in through your kitchen window) to sleep in your living room overnight, but Hyunjin didn’t feel  like a stranger. Changbin trusted him enough to lead him right to your house, so that must count for something, right? And no matter how much you tried to keep your guard up around the boy, watching him struggle to stay upright instead of letting his tall, lanky body fall backward and rest comfortably only made you worry a little about him, not the other way around. 

Well, he did say he’s not going to rob you. 

“You can sleep on the couch if you want, I’ll bring you some blankets.” You prompt him again when he doesn’t respond. “Changbin won’t be back for a while still.” 

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” There’s a lilt of doubt in his voice, but he sincerely hopes you’re serious. This couch is warmer than anything he’s slept on in months and he really doesn’t want to crawl outside again with the rain pattering against your roof. 

“Sure, you haven’t tried to stab me yet.” You shrug, getting up to fetch a duvet and looking him over.

“Ah, you probably want to wash your hair from all...that,” Hyunjin’s hand flies to his hair, patting out the tangles as if it’s the first time he’s noticed them. “You can use the bathroom upstairs, there’s towels by the shower already.”

He nods, following your directions with a ‘thank you’. Once his footsteps disappear up the landing, you set about pulling out the couch into a flatbed, rearranging the pillows at its base. Lugging the duvet down from Changbin’s room had been a feat, but you’re determined to make the space welcoming. Satisfied with the cushioned bundle you created, you run back upstairs. 

You invade your brother’s room for the second time that day, tugging open his drawers in search for something acceptably pijama-like. 

“Hyunjin?” You knock tentatively on the bathroom door as the shower head turns off and the shuffling ceases. “I’m leaving some clothes for you to change into outside, okay? Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

You scroll through your timeline as you wait, catching up on the last few hours’ events from your friends until a shuffling to your left prompts you to raise your head. 

Your brother’s sweats hang a little loosely around Hyunjin’s hips, ending just above his ankles, bare feet sliding over the wooden floor of your living room, sinking into the rug as he steps closer to where you sit. His own clothing cradled in his arms close to his chest, you can’t stop your thoughts drifting momentarily to the damp mess of sunshine coloured hair. With his jacket on earlier, it was hard to make out his build under layers of fabric, but now it’s proving a challenge to not focus on the lines of his arms or the curves of his large hands gripping his clothes. Luckily for your dignity, your nerves of steel allow you to drag your gaze away from the collarbones peeking out from under thin white cotton higher to meet his eyes instead and find your voice again.

“I brought down some pillows for you, these are a bit too hard to sleep on.” You note, pointing to the decorative cushions you moved onto the lounge chair. “My room is right opposite the bathroom if you need anything, I’m a light sleeper.” 

“M’okay.” Hyunjin towers above you, yet you’ve never seen a boy so dainty. There really is no other way to describe the delicate line of his nose bridge or the rosy tint of his lips when his tongue pokes out to lick them as he mulls over your words, settling down on the makeshift bed. 

The proximity now feels different than the air between you when Teen Wolf still blared through your speakers, warm quiet heavy on your tongue with dim golden glow tumbling over his cheekbones that’s too much for your heart to take unprepared.

“Goodnight then!” You bounce up from the couch waving Hyunjin a quick goodbye, but a soft hand wrapping around your wrist pauses you. 

“Wait,” Hyunjin brushes his thumb over your palm softly, and you hope he doesn't notice the goosebumps on your skin at the contact. “Thanks for not kicking me out...or calling the police. Y’know, as most people would for a break in.” 

The smile he flashes you is almost teasing, but you can tell he means the words sincerely. You lay your other hand on top of his, patting in what you hope is a reassuring motion.

“Sure, Jinnie. It’s okay.”

[cuttlefishkitch]

hello! i haven't talked to you before, but ron said that i could ask you for some advice on writing eds? (i'd like to know things to avoid/common things that could come up in everyday life that would be good to mention/the sort of aids and stuff they'd have maybe?/anything else you think is relevant)

Hi! Sorry this took so long, a combination of ADHD and chronic pain slowed me way the fuck down. Thank you for being patient! 

EDIT: WEIRD HEEL THINGS I FORGOT!!

So, before I get into this I should probably say I technically haven’t been diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS for anyone reading) because it’s one of those syndromes that takes forever to get diagnosed with (it took a friend of mine’s mother over 30 years to get dxed). Many doctors, and everyone I know who does have EDS agree with me that it’s probably what causes my chronic joint pain and some of my other chronic issues. But just because three separate doctors have said “Yeah Probably” doesn’t mean I’m diagnosed!! Only a geneticist can do that!! And they had two-three year waitlists BEFORE the apocalypse happened.

I am diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), Small Fiber Neuropathy, and potentially misdiagnosed with Fibromyalgia (once I get properly tested for EDS I might get undiagnosed with this because I don’t have most of the main symptoms of Fibro, but I got diagnosed with it anyway because it’s what doctors misDX you with when they don’t know what’s wrong with you and don’t want to do more tests).

All that said, I’ve done a lot of research about EDS (mainly because it’s the only thing that explains all my symptoms since doctors seem incapable of doing so), and know a few people who have either confirmed or suspected EDS, so I’ll link to some stuff, talk about the symptoms that often come with EDS, explain how the symptoms I have affect me, because just because someone’s not diagnosed doesn’t mean they aren’t having symptoms, and probs elaborate a bit about writing physical disabilities and chronic pain in general because it’s super important to me! 

So RESOURCES aka how to make sure your post never sees the light of day because you’re linking things and tumblr hates it when people give other people information!!

Youtubers! If you want to know about the day to day of living with EDS or any disability or chronic illness I super suggest finding a youtuber that makes videos about their life. My EDS favorites are

Jessica Kellgren-Fozard

Annie Elainey

Amy Lee Fisher

Websites! If you’re asking random folks on tumblr I’m assuming (and hoping) you’ve already done the basic WebMD google searches and looked over the seemingly ridiculous lists of symptoms and related conditions, so here are a few websites that are made more for people than for doctors.

The Ehlers Danlos Society

OhTWIST (That’s Why I’m So Tired)

ChronicPainPartners (the fact that they have an entire section of articles called “Dealing with Doctors” should really tell you something)

Books! If you feel like doing actual reading! I suggest reading books written by people with Ehlers Danlos, to get a feel for how they portray themselves. I’m not saying steal, but it’s probably a good point of comparison to see how your portrayal feels. (haven’t actually read these b/c my ADHD doesn’t let me read)

Ria Ruse by Morgan S. Ray (a superhero book with a disabled super MC!!)

Mysteries of Maybelle by Imani Benfell (Imani is still in high school and has already written and self-published a book cause she didn’t have enough representation for herself how cool is she!!)

Bodies in Motion by Liana Brooks (tw for pregnancy problems and miscarriages in the link, because it’s a blog post talking about integrating EDS symptoms into the story without explicitly naming them as such)

OKAY, now for some rambling about EDS SYMPTOMS!!!

Ehlers Danlos is one monster of a genetic condition in complexity and variety. There are THIRTEEN different identified types of EDS, it often comes with Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) and/or POTS, and can lead to various other conditions like gastroparesis, chiari malformation, craniocervical instability, and/or bad teeth. So if you’re going to be writing a character with EDS consider what other comorbid conditions they might also have. I’m mainly going to be talking about Hypermobile EDS (hEDS) because it’s what I probably have and what I’m most familiar with. That said there is a lot of overlap in symptoms with the other varieties.

I started typing this section and realized I was going to have to break it down even more so we’re going to talk about Chronic Pain, Unstable Joints (Dislocations and Subluxations), Skin Things, Mobility Issues, and Other Weird Shit and how those things get addressed separately.

Gonna get the Other Weird Shit out of the way first. Because EDS is a malfunction of connective tissue it can fuck up all sorts of random things. For instance, I and many other people w/ hEDS have trouble swallowing. Shit gets stuck in my throat, I sometimes choke on and have to cough up food, and pills can be hard to swallow, which sucks cause I take A Lot Of Pills. If it doesn’t cause full-on gastroparesis it can cause IBS or other digestive problems b/c the digestive tract is mostly made of connective tissue. It can potentially cause heart problems even if they aren’t as big of a risk as in some other forms of EDS. Premature osteoarthritis is common because what you need is more joint pain. And Fatigue OH BOY THE FATIGUE. And of course the headaches, can’t forget those pesky migraines can we!

AND piezogenic papules!! I completely forgot!! Piezogenic papules are little white bumps that appear when you put weight on your heel. In some people they hurt, but in others they don’t. They’re technically tiny little herniations of fat peaking through the fascia in the heel. They were added as part of the diagnostic criteria for hEDS in 2017!

Now for Skin Things cause it’s not as big a thing in hEDS as it is in other forms. Basically, in a lot of forms of EDS, the skin is extra stretchy and extra delicate. It bruises and tears easily, people with the extreme versions of this can accidentally scratch something into an open wound if they aren’t careful. My skin is pretty soft and sensitive, I def have the typical velvety skin, and as is pretty par for the course of someone with hEDS my skin is a little stretchy, and sorta delicate. I’m not as tissue-papery as some people get, but I almost always have at least one mystery bruise or scrape b/c existing is hazardous. Most of scars are also pretty normal, unlike the extremely papery and atrophic scars (though I have a few tiny acne scars that are atrophic) that are common with other kinds of hEDS. Something that I DO have is Lots of Stretch Marks, all over my thighs, and even down to my calves. Which wouldn’t be abnormal, except for the fact that I’ve never been over 145 lbs and I’ve never been pregnant. Having a lot of stretch marks or striations in the skin without due cause happens because the structure of the skin isn’t as strong as it is in people with a normal amount of connective tissue.

I don’t have to worry as much about my skin but people that do are usually very careful with adhesives because they can irritate or tear the skin, which sucks when you need a lot of bandaids cause your darn skin won’t do its job.

Now on to the meatier stuff and since I’m mostly working backward let’s do Mobility Issues!! These can happen in loads of ways, but a lot of what causes these in people with EDS are the other two things I wanna talk about. Unstable joints lead to increased risk of injury when doing stuff people with fully functioning joints can do.

For context, I’m an ambulatory wheelchair user, meaning I can walk, but a lot of the time it’s better if use a chair. Mine is mostly for my POTS symptoms, but the fact that my legs aren’t also in absolute agony is a big plus. I use a custom manual wheelchair with a SmartDrive (b/c I’m very fucking fortunate and have good insurance) whenever I leave the house and have to be “walking” for more than a few minutes at a time. I can’t fully self-propel in a manual chair because it would be damaging to the joints in my arms and hands, but the smaller chair is easier to maneuver in less than accessible spaces (like almost everywhere). There was about a month-long span where I used a very cheap and very bulky electric chair while I was waiting on the ideal set up I have now. Before that, I also briefly used, and sometimes still use, an up-right posture cane.

People with EDS have widely varying mobility issues because of how uniquely it can manifest. My cane only gave me a little help with balance because if I used it in any prolonged capacity any pain it took away from my legs was relocated to my arms, and as an artist, my arms are more important to me!

If you’re going to write a character with EDS having mobility issues as a result of their EDS the best thing to do is to narrow down their specific needs. Are their knees complete and utter garbage but their shoulders and wrists strong? Maybe they can get away with using a cane. Can they not stand for longer than 5 minutes because of the vertigo from their POTS? Maybe they need a manual wheelchair. Would propelling themself damage their back and arm joints? An electric chair might be necessary! Plenty of people with EDS use all sorts of combinations of these aides to get around their life, consider how your character’s good and bad days would be. Do they have back up plans if they overestimate themselves? There can be a lot to manage, but don’t let it scare you off! Sometimes I try and make it into a resource management game (because I’m a game designer and that’s what I do), to make evaluating my energy and mobility needs more fun!

But now let's tackle some of the reasons those mobility aides might be needed. Unstable Joints.

Ever stepped wrong and rolled your ankle? It hurts for a few steps and then kinda fixes itself, or maybe it bothers you for the rest of the day and you put it up and ice it when you get home? When I was walking around outside my house that would happen AT LEAST once a month, usually more. Some times I’m sitting wrong and when I get up my knee isn’t a knee anymore and decides to just give out from under me. My knuckles are made of unruly popcorn and they Don’t Want To Stay Home!! Oh! And my shoulder is more often out a little out of its socket than it is fully in.

Unstable joints lead to Dislocations and Subluxations of varying intensity, and some people get them more frequently than others. Some can be severe enough to necessitate hospital visits and even surgery, some subluxations are so banal (like my fUCKING SHOULDER) that you just learn to live with the pain.

If a character is going to be in high action, combat-heavy scenarios, chances are they’re going to be popping out joints left and right. Hell, depending on the severity of their joint laxity they could be doing the same sitting at a desk. Again, it’s incredibly varied. I’d suggest setting some sort of baseline for yourself, of what a character’s joints can and can’t stand up to, and maybe do some research on which joints are most likely to pop out in general (hips and shoulders are big culprits being the wacky ball and socket motherfuckers they are). Then maybe have something pop out or hold up every so often when it shouldn’t cause hey! EDS is kinda just like that! Unpredictable!

Some ways people manage joint laxity is with braces, KT tape, and physical therapy. Braces come in many different forms, since I’m currently getting pretty much no treatment for my shitty joints I use mostly compression braces made for sporty people. It really is amazing how much a bit of tight fabric can do to keep my wrist in place.

More specialized braces often have solid parts to prevent the joints from hyper-extending (bending the wrong way) and causing further damage. If you ever see someone with what looks like diamond shaped rings around a bunch of their finger joints, chances are those are Ring Splints, and are there to keep the finger shaped like a finger. I want to get my hands on some and get some on my hands Very Badly, because my fingers hyper-extend SO MUCH when I type, and it makes my hand pain way way worse.

KT tape is another thing people often use. It’s stretchy tape you put on your skin and it basically functions kinda like a second ligament as well as reinforcing the joint and keeping the bones mostly where they’re supposed to be. The problem with this is a lot of people with EDS have very sensitive and fragile skin like I mentioned before, so KT tape can cause allergic reactions, chronic skin irritation, or just straight up take the skin with it when someone goes to remove it. Hence a lot of folks are really careful with it.

Physical Therapy is kinda the best (and only) treatment for joint laxity aside from Very Invasive and sometimes Highly Experimental surgery. It focuses on strengthening the muscles around the joints so they can do the work all those bone ropes made of body glue can’t. The problem is finding a physical therapist that 1) knows what EDS even is, 2) knows you have it, and 3) knows how to treat it without doing stuff that’ll Phucking Hurt You Worse!! Because exercising wrong with EDS can do Permanent Damage!!!

Again most folks use a combination of all of these things, or have next to no access to them b/c healthcare sucks.

Anyway, on to one of my favorite topics, Chronic Pain!! One of the reasons this post took me so long!!!

Chances are if your character has chronic pain as a result of their EDS there are gonna be some things they hate, including stairs, rain, thunderstorms, stairs, hills, uneven terrain, oh and did I mention stairs??? It’s going to vary person to person, but almost everyone I’ve met with pain from EDS has complained about their knees. For me the most debilitating pain is in my fingers and wrists. They’re by far my least stable joints but I use them constantly for stuff like drawing, typing, and sewing.

Because my joint pain is so wide spread, like most people’s with hEDS, it effects every single part of my day to day life. I can’t carry a heavy ceramic plate, open a bottle, or even use my computer without pain. It’s practically impossible for me to get comfortable in any position be it sitting or laying down, and as you can imagine that makes it hard to sleep a lot of the time. Moving too much hurts, but so does sitting still. I’m constantly taking braces on and off or cracking/stretching my joints so they pop back into place and hurt less.

Also being in pain makes everything else That Much Worse. I get tired way faster than I did before my pain was this bad (I had chronic pain for a while before actually realizing it wasn’t normal to not be able to walk down the block without feeling like your foot bones are trying to escape). My sensory issues and anxiety disorder are more easily aggravated because my base level of comfort is way worse. It fucks with my depression. And OH BOY does it make my ADHD worse because being in pain is fucking distracting as hell and makes it harder to make decisions and switch tasks. Also my ADHD often makes my other symptoms worse cause I forget to take my meds, don’t drink enough water, or can’t find my fucking braces because the item eating black-hole that comes with ADHD stole them. The intersection of mental and physical disabilities is probably a rant for another time though, so back to chronic pain.

Does it suck? Yes, undoubtedly. Is this incredibly debilitating? Of course it is, I spent the last several months unable to feed myself without assistance because there was a staircase between my room and the kitchen and I could only manage to climb it once a day. Is it overwhelming? Definitely, I’ve frequently broken down crying from a combination of pain and frustration because I’m having a bad day and there’s no relief to be found. Am I able to predict when it’s going to rain with uncanny accuracy because any change in barometric pressure makes me feel like every bone in my body is trying to kill it’s neighbors? You bet your fucking ass I am!! Does it sometimes make me irritable, angry, and occasionally dismissive of when abled people get cold or a temporary injury because the stuff they’re complaining about is my life every single day and all avenues of treatment and recovery I have could take years and still not entirely solve my issues? Yeah, and while I deserve a little extra patience I also have to be sure to check myself because I don’t want to turn into someone who’s nasty to be around. Do I sometimes need to sleep for 17 hours straight because it’s raining, I have migraine, and I’m in too much pain to be conscious? Yup, sometimes a few days in a row. Does living in constant pain mean I’m unable to do all the things I want to and does that sometimes make me wanna curl up in bed and never leave? Yeah, it happens.

But! And here’s the big important but, that’s not everything! I still write, draw, and talk to my friends!! It might take me a little longer but I get there. I’m still happy and excitable and make the time to write out five page long posts about EDS because it’s something I’m passionate about! My chronic pain doesn’t stop me. I refuse to let it. I never really wanted to go mountain climbing anyway, so I’m perfectly happy being able to make it up and down the six steps in my house, even if sometimes I have to sit and bump down them on my ass, or crawl up them like a cat. Chronic pain isn’t all I am. It isn’t a fate worse than death. It isn’t the only thing your character should talk about (though I do talk about my pain a lot cause I’m a complainer about almost everything). You can have your character be hindered by their pain, realistically they would be. You can have them seek comfort, support, and relief. Other characters can commiserate and be sympathetic, but it doesn’t mean their whole life is going to be one big pity party, that would be incredibly fucking boring. I know I’d be bored out of my mind.

All that said dealing with chronic pain, especially from EDS, is Complicated. Physical Therapy is the gold standard, but like I said before it can be a long and difficult process, and isn’t always accessible. Stabilization methods like I talked about before can help prevent pain, or reduce it by keeping bones mostly where they belong. Heat and cold help joints, relax muscles, and reduce inflammation but keeping them applied is rough and the relief doesn’t always last. Doctors prescribe anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, and sometimes even anti-epileptic medication to help manage pain, but everyone’s mileage with those varies. And I’m not at all qualified to talk in-depth about narcotics or other heavy duty pain-meds, but suffice to say the war on drugs fucked shit up for people that legit need that kind of help BIG TIME.

Now for my closer/bonus rant about EDS and Disability Writing in General!

Everyone always says write what you know, so if you really want to do disabled people justice, get to know disabled people! Make friends with disabled people, get involved with advocacy groups, consume content made by disabled creators both about disability and not! Disabilities are so fucking diverse, even EDS is such a complex disorder, and comes with so many potential co-morbidities, that practically everyone with it has a unique experience. There’s no way I can fully explain everything in a tumblr post. Hell, even if I could talk to you for hours probably couldn’t give you enough info to answer all your questions (especially since I’m still in diagnosis hell :,) ), so talk to a wide range of people with EDS and other disabilities!! I know it sounds like a lot of work but trust me, disabled people are some of the strongest, raddest, coolest, people you will ever meet that it won’t feel like it.

And don’t be afraid either, the fact that EDS and other disabilities are so wildly varied means that you have a little bit of wiggle room with your character’s experience. There’s so little disability rep out their I think people are WAY to scared to try their hand at writing it. So long as your character is a fully developed person in addition to being disabled, you give some logical thought as to how it would affect their life, and you don’t make their disability the butt of any joke it isn’t difficult to avoid ableist writing. PLEASE WRITE MORE DISABLED PEOPLE AND PEOPLE WITH CHRONIC PAIN/CHRONIC ILLNESS!!

Okay that’s it, again sorry it took so long for me to get back to you! My fingers were being little pests about it, and my ADHD (which is honestly more disabling than everything else a lot of the time lmao) was being an asshole! Hope this helps, and feel free to ask me more questions if you need clarification! It might take me a bit but I do love talking about this stuff.

[crimson-dxwn]

Thire/OC: A Little Mischief

Once again, @detroitbydark​ and I were discussing the CG boys and we decided that Commander Thire needs some love. So here we are! This post is long as shit and I’m sorry but this got posted on mobile as I walked into the hospital.

Summary: Thire meets an interesting new friend who happens to share a hobby. They go on a date.

Word Count: 3000

Warnings/rating: none/T

Chapter 1

It was the third shooting this week, and they’d just lost another patient. Endless compressions later, Sofi was exhausted and frustrated. And absolutely covered in blood. 

The doctor had to go declare another patient, so Sofi slipped outside for a little caf, just to clear her head for five minutes. Jorah popped out with her and they leaned against the door for a bit in silence. He was her favorite work friend because he had the same sense of humor, which was evident when a pair of red and white armored troopers walked out of the Emergency Department exit. 

“I dare you to go give your comm to one of them.” He nodded towards the two men.

“Jorah, I’m at work. You’re gonna get me called in to HR.”

“Well you and I are on break and we’re technically not in the hospital so...debatable. You’re just scared.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. You’re scared to put yourself out there.”

“Am not!”

The troopers were waiting for a pickup at the end of the landing platform that stretched from the building. Giving her comm frequency to a random man in uniform was usually right up her alley, in terms of risk taking, but she tried to be professional when she was working. But they’d had a terrible day, and she wanted to start a little mischief. The worst he could do was say no. Or arrest her. Now that would be fun.

She made a rude gesture at Jorah, shook her hair out of its bun, and started towards the men, shooting a suggestive look over her shoulder on the way. Scrubs weren’t really her most flattering look, but she’d make do for now. 

“Excuse me, trooper.”

They turned to look, helmets swiveling. Sofi honed in on the one nearest to her, who’d crossed his arms defensively.

“Red looks good on you, but I think it would look better on my floor.”

The nearer man remained a statue, while the other was obviously trying to stifle laughter under his helmet. 

“If I gave you my comm, would you call me?”

Farther trooper elbowed his buddy. 

“Come on, Thire,” he said, “the lady wants a date.”

The lady didn’t really want a date, but she wasn’t one to turn down a dare. 

“Why don’t you think about it?” she persisted, “Give me your hand.”

The unnamed trooper elbowed her target again and an object fell from under one of the nearer man’s arms. A book. Not a datapad, an actual book made of flimsi sewn and glued together. She didn’t know anyone else who didn’t read on a datapad. Sofi’s grandmother had given her troves of books when she was a girl, and she’d devoured them.

Swiftly, she bent and picked it up. There was obviously more to him than met the eye. Not many men she knew read antique romance novels. Her plan changed as she handed it back to him.

“I know a place I think you’ll like. This is my comm frequency.” She tugged on his hand and he acquiesced the appendage to her grasp. Removing his glove, she uncapped her pen with her teeth and scribbled her frequency on his palm. 

“I’m off in two cycles, call me when you’re not on duty and we’ll have some fun.” Sofi gave him her most winning smile, ready for a line, a laugh, a flirty comment, anything.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, softly, and turned away. Their ride was here. She strode back towards the hospital, feeling their eyes on her back, which was her plan all along. Idly, she wondered what he’d look like under that red and white helmet. Stupid, she thought. They all looked the same. 

——————————————————————

Stone hadn’t stopped laughing since they left the platform. 

“You really turned my day around, vod,” he wheezed, in between laughs, “I’d be jealous, but I think you need this more than me.”

“Shut up,” Thire replied, just grateful his bucket was on to hide what must be a furious blush. He could still feel where she scribbled her number on his hand. The woman hadn’t even told him her name. 

They’d all breathed a sigh of relief when Mouse had discharged from the hospital. Senator Amidala had whisked her off to Naboo that morning. Stone and Thire had been the last watch before she left. 

Fox was still acting strange about the whole incident, and none of them knew why. Thire hoped it wasn’t what he thought, but the longer his brother avoided her, the more evidence he had. He thought Fox was a better man than that. Her nightmares weren’t improving and she wouldn’t talk to anyone about what happened.

He and Fox had always shared the responsibility of being the ori’vod, but now Thire felt like he had to bear it all himself. So right now, a distraction was welcome, no matter now embarrassing.

He was pretty sure her proposition was a joke, but she was so pretty he didn’t even care. Not pretty, gorgeous. Even spattered in what appeared to be blood. Force knows he’d seen enough of it.

Two days later he found himself sitting on the side of his bunk in his blacks, staring down at his comm. He’d been looking at it for an hour now, debating whether to comm that nurse from the other day. One one hand, it could be fun. But he didn’t know where she wanted to take him. Or she could turn him down, laugh at him.  But he didn’t have that much to lose, and it was his day off after all. Okay, here went nothing.

“This is Commander Thire. I’m supposed to comm you on your day off?”

And he waited.

And waited.

Then came a chime from his comm.

“Meet me at these coordinates at 1500. No need to wear your armor. ;)”

No need to wear armor? He didn’t have anything else to wear besides his dress uniform. Civilian clothes weren’t something they could wear out and about on Coruscant. Or afford. It was a precious day off, and he was oddly excited to spend it with someone he’d never spoken more than a sentence to. Someone who didn’t have the same face as him. Stone had finally stopped popping off about it yesterday. Thire usually wasn’t one to rise to his jabs, but it seemed that being around Fox and Mouse had rubbed off on him. 

Despite her request, he wore his armor anyway, since he didn’t have anything else and he loathed his dress greys. They made his gett’se itch and pinched his neck. The red and white plastoid was practically a second skin after all these years of training in it, working in it, and occasionally even sleeping in it. It was his oldest friend aside from his batchmates. 

Thire also looked up the coordinates she sent. One couldn’t be too careful these days, not knowing where civilians stood on the ‘issue’ of the clone army. To his surprise, he’d been there before. On official Guard business, no less. 

A few weeks ago some punks had tried to break into an old bookstore down in the levels. They’d thrown a brick through the window and Thire helped the wizened old shop lady sweep up the broken transparisteel so she didn’t hurt herself. Not much had been taken, as the little store was stuffed with floor-to-ceiling shelves of real books and her till was almost empty. He wondered then - and still did - how she stayed in business. Giza, the old woman, had offered him any book he wanted. Having only read training manuals and required reading for flash training, he hadn’t known where to start. He’d never read for pleasure before. Giza finally took pity on him and handed him her favorite. Knights of the Old Republic. He’d devoured it. 

Thire was looking forward to going back, and strangely smug at knowing the secret. But he couldn’t help but sweat nervously in his armor the whole way to the location. Again, he was intensely grateful that he hadn’t decided to wear his dress greys. 

He pulled his speeder up in front of Giza’s store, early as usual. Except his date was already there. Earlier than him? That never happened. Taking a little more time than was necessary to park and dismount, he snuck a few looks at her. She certainly was not in her work uniform this time. Burgundy leggings and a matching cropped top set off her dark skin. The ensemble left little to the imagination, but he found that he didn’t much mind. 

He reminded himself to keep her eyes on her face, which fortunately wasn’t hard since she was wearing that same cheeky smile as two days ago at the med center. 

-----------------------------------------------------

Sofi watched Thire pull up in front of the shop. She found herself excited to surprise him with her favorite bookshop, rocking back on her heels. Giza must be in the back of the building; she hadn’t come out to say hello as she usually did. 

I wish I was as fat as the first time I thought I was fat, she thought, studying herself in the remaining window. At least her hair was clean today; it hung to her waist, shiny and black as deep space. And she wasn’t covered in someone else’s blood. Although Sofi was certain some man somewhere was into that. She shuddered and pulled herself out of her musings. Commander Thire was striding towards her in that blasted armor she’d told him not to wear. It seemed to her like it must be uncomfortable but boy did it do things for a man’s body.

“Hey there,” she greeted.

“Hey,” he replied, taking off his helmet. 

“Sofi,” she said, and stuck out her hand awkwardly. 

“Thire.” He gave her a firm handshake and looked her in the eye. The intensity she saw there made her stomach flip. 

“So I don’t have to call you Commander?” she asked.

“No, ma’am,” he replied, with a touch of cheekiness himself. So he did have a sense of humor. Useful. 

They were interrupted by Giza’s voice, surprisingly rich and loud for such a tiny woman. Sofi thought Giza would greet her first, but to her surprise, the wrinkled Sullustan went straight for the man to her right.

“Commander Thire,” she tutted, “Have you finished my latest recommendation yet?” 

He ducked his head, embarrassed. 

“Not yet, Giza.” 

Reaching up, she pinched his cheek and Sofi stifled a laugh behind her hand. 

“It’s alright son, I know you Guard boys have been working night and day. But you’re almost to the best part!” Huge glittering eyes looked from Thire to Sofi and back, obviously putting two and two together. She crossed her chubby arms and looked to Sofi.

“So how did you two meet?”

“Oh, I told him that his armor would look better on my floor. He took the bait,” she said, winking at Thire. He looked away.

Giza just laughed. “That’s my Sofi alright. Watch out, Commander, she’s a wild one.” 

Sofi rolled her eyes.

“This place was supposed to be a surprise, but it seems that you and the Commander have already met.”

“Oh, yes,” Gizareplied, “he helped me after those boys broke my window a few weeks ago.” 

It made sense. The Coruscant Guard and a few other clone battalions were helping the absolutely incompetent and corrupt Coruscant police with the uptick in crime. He could’ve just taken a report and been on his way, but by the way Giza was doting on him, he must have helped a lot more than that. 

“How wholesome of him.” 

“I’m right here,” he said, nudging Giza good-naturedly. 

“We know, son.” 

“Shall we?” Sofi began. She was eager to start browsing. He gestured for her to enter first, his soft bootfalls telling her he was close behind. 

The shop was tight, packed to the brim with shelves of aged books. Thire seemed nervous, embarrassed even, and all it did was endear him to her. Or maybe it was the fact that Giza seemed to love him. She wasn’t this warm with everyone. 

They started to browse, close together in the tight shelving. Pulling one off the shelf, she opened it reverently, put her face close to the pages and inhaled. He was watching her, she could feel it. Sofi didn’t mind. 

“What?” she asked, eyeing him over the top of the pages.

“What are you doing?” His eyes narrowed.

“You’ve never smelled an old flimsi book before?”

“Uh...no.”

“Try it.” She smiled softly at him, trying to get him to trust her, nodding a little.

A skeptical look passed over his handsome face, but he lowered his head to the book he was holding and took a long sniff. Warm, wide brown eyes closed for a moment and then met hers again.

“Smells like...dust.” He shut the book with a laugh.

“Rude,” she retorted and made a face at him, “It’s a thing!” 

That earned her a wide smile before he continued browsing, edging toward the Romance section. It was kind of adorable, even if it wasn’t her genre of choice. 

Tinkling noises came from the back of the shop, followed by a kettle whistling. She could kill for some tea right now, just a little hit of energy and warmth to go with her book. Somehow she’d restrained herself to just one. The Testaments. Feminist lit. Sofi tended not to branch out in her choices. Just as she was about to peek over at Thire’s pick, Giza emerged from the back with a tray of cups and a large onyx teapot. The woman set it on a small table tucked into the back corner of the room and beckoned them over. Sofi and Thire exchanged a look before making their way to the small table. Sofi chuckled internally, she wasn’t sure how the Commander was going to fit at the tiny table, which was made for someone approximately a quarter of his size. 

“Sit!” she motioned for them to be seated at the petite table and chairs.

With as much grace as the tall man could muster, he sank down the the floor and rested, cross-legged by the table. Sofi folded her long limbs as best she could into the small chair next to Giza’s. She leaned over to see the book he’d picked in his lap. 

“Talk!” she exclaimed, and waddled into the back of the shop.

Neither of them could contain their laughter at this point, and it sputtered out of both of them for a few moments before it got quiet again. 

“So what do you like to do besides reading and propositioning strangers in uniform?” Sofi felt her eyes widen a bit. Bold, but she could give as good as she got. 

“Drink!” they heard, muffled, from wherever Giza was buried in the back rooms.

“I’m not a big tea person,” he said, eyeing the pot and cups warily. She reached for the pot and poured three cups, assuming Giza would be back to meddle some more in a few minutes, and took a sip from hers.

“Well Giza isn’t going to let you out of here without trying it.” He made a little hmmph-ing noise but reached for his cup anyway. 

“Better than stims, I guess.” 

It….wasn’t good. Thire met her eyes over their cups, a concerned look in his eye. It was obvious he agreed with her assessment. She’d never tasted tea that tasted like straight smoke before. Sofi wondered if Giza had accidentally burned it. Giza breezed by with a stack of books in her arms.

“You like the tea? Traditional Sullustan.” 

Sofi and Thire nodded and made affirmative noises in unison. It seemed like they were both polite to a fault. Walking back, she smiled a conspiratorial smile at Sofi. Oh no.

“On Sullust we have matchmakers. They always serve albenda. Good for … how do you say? Stamina.” And walked away, as if discussing performance in the sack was normal first date conversation.

Thire immediately started loudly coughing, gently setting his cup back on the table with a clink. At that moment, his comm beeped, as if on cue. He looked incredibly relieved. 

“I’m sorry, miss. I have to go.” 

“I understand,” she said, “But don’t call me miss. I’m not twelve.” 

“Sorry,” he paused, “Sofi.” 

They walked out of the shop after their hasty goodbye to the meddling Sullustan. Sofi paid for the books before Thire could even try.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked.

“I’m just down the street, but thanks anyway.” He looked around, as if trying to spot her place, soaking in the neighborhood. “Before you leave, I have an idea.” 

He raised his eyebrows. 

“I’ll take your book and you take mine. Branch out a little bit?” 

“Hmm. Okay.” They switched books and he held his under his plastoid arm. 

“Can I comm you again?” she asked. 

“Sure,” he replied, “but no tea next time.” 

“Agreed,” she said, with a small laugh. 

They were close and he was looking down at her. Not expectantly, as she would have thought. His face was just open, relaxed, almost happy looking. She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek and he stiffened minutely, mouth a tiny bit open as she pulled away, the tiniest bit of stubble scratching against her skin. 

“See you soon,” she shot over her shoulder, and walked back towards her apartment. Their date had been cut short, but she’d learned plenty about Commander Thire. 

[randomstudyblr]

17 questions, 17 people

Tagged by @upside-down-uni , thank you!

Nickname: Al (that's A and L, I'm not an artificial intelligence hahahahah)

Zodiac: gemini ✌️

Height: 170 cm

Hogwarts house: kinda ravenclaw but also kinda slytherin but also kinda hate krj so I try not to display it too openly

Last thing I googled: how to copy whole text posts from tumblr mobile, the last interesting thing I Googled was paul bunyan

Song stuck in my head: none bc lofi beats do that to your brain... I've really been hating that justin bieber Christmas song because it sticks to my brain if I hear even a half beat

Number of followers: 66 (only 3 away from 69 hehe yes ma'am I am 4 years of age)

Amount of sleep: last night I slept 9 hours to compensate for new year's hahaha (not like I went crazy or anything, but my brain wakes up around 8 regardless of whether I went to sleep at 12 or 2)

Lucky number: 3? I guess?

Dream Job: no clue. Researcher would be cool, but there are some aspects that don't have me 100% sold. Being involved in scientific communication would also be really cool.

Wearing: thick pantyhose, thick socks, tank top, knit sweater

Favorite song: right now, probably green by cavetown, but I haven't been obsessed with anything lately

Favorite instrument: double bass lmao

Aesthetic: plays it cool but is panicking and messy on the inside, bad looking but efficient notes, shaved head and large sweaters, multitasking 24/7, peer cooperation, purring kittens and fireplaces

Favorite author: damn, this is a hard one. Agatha christie to keep consistency, neil gaiman and tasmyn muir because I'm easily influenced and have a Very Bad long term memory

Favorite animal sounds: I'm going to see Mo's cats purring and raise them large cats purring... That shit resonates your skull

Random: imo, the worst part of moving away from everyone that you know is that nobody plays with your hair anymore :(

Tagging (17 people is a lot so sorry if you guys have already done it, I probably missed it) @study-van @stu-dna @music-of-languages @dutch-polyglot @studyingchemeng @fitness-studies @stellar-kinematics @philosophyblr @only-book-lovers-left-alive @ramyastudies @peachyteastudies @serendipitystudies @studyflxwer @10-dutchies-12-bicycles @gradblr @athenastudying @potatodesignblr