#my i was like: if its not complicated enough ill just be sobbing into a word doc

[tiktaaliker]

my thoughts on the stuff ive listened to during work; note that im not basing my reviews on how good the actual book is, its based on how my personal experience was to listen to the audiobook while working in the lab

Animorphs books 1-3: i read this series as a kid but only once, so i was familiar with the story enough to not get distracted but i had forgotten enough of the details to be kept engaged. Voice acting was fine, tolerable to listen to, character voices distinct enough to differentiate without being annoying (albiet with at least one exception). Biggest issue is length- since my shifts are 8 hours, i got through the first 3 books in a single shift, and the specific version i was listening to was split up into a handful of short parts each book so i kept having to switch to the next video, which was way too much of a momentum-stopper (and work interruption) to stick with this series specifically.

The Witcher books 1+2: eh. was fine enough. once again this was something i was familiar enough with to follow without having to worry too much about missing details, while also being somewhat entertaining. i think i liked it a lot better to read than to listen to. voice acting was fine. biggest issue was that i had finally gotten used to the narrator pronouncing dandelion as dan-DIL-leon for the first book but in the second book he switched to pronouncing it as DAN-dee-lion and i had to stop partway through because of it

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: i remember enjoying reading it a lot more than listening. Ill be the first to admit that im kind of picky about audiobook narration and this one just didnt hit right, but was overall a good experience. Voice acting was fine, and the actual story was very entertaining as expected. Perfectly acceptable.

Discworld books 1-2: extremely good listens. Voice acting was great, character voices were fun and fit the characters really well, only skirted the line of being annoying. fantastic story, but not too complicated or unfamiliar, so i could still follow and be entertained while still focusing on work. Will probably continue the series at some point, but giving myself a buffer period before i start up again to avoid series burnout

Malevolent parts 41-44 (catching up with the podcast lol): man. theres just something about listening to a guy getting gutted and filled with maggots while working in the lab of a hospital. like broooo you are going to get sepsis!!! Very good listen, as expected, just kinda funny trying to keep a straight face while talking to coworkers and simultaneously listening to arthur's no good very bad day

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell: probably the best one so far for what im using these for. The length meant i was able to spend like 4 whole shifts on the one audiobook. Footnotes were incorporated fantastically, narrator and voice acting was phenomenal, and its also pretty much my favorite book of all time. Ive read this SEVERAL times, but because of how fucking huge this thing is theres a lot of details i forgot about or misremembered. Only issue is that it was split up into several audio tracks, so i had to switch to the next one a few times per shift. They were each around 2 hours long however, so it wasnt too inconvenient. Also at one point i fucked up and accidentally skipped like 8 whole hours without realizing until after an hour in where they referenced an event i KNEW i hadnt gotten to yet lol

Catch-22: man they really went all fucking OUT on the voice acting here. All characters are EXTREMELY distinct, so im very easily able to tell who's talking even without speaking tags. One of my pet peeves in audiobooks is when the narrator whisper-yells when a character is meant to be screaming. That does not happen here. Narrator fucking COMMITS. Yelling, sobbing, laughing, all of it. Fucking fantastic. Phenomenal as an audiobook, i think i mightve even enjoyed it even better than actually reading it.

Slaughterhouse-five: man. this one is ALSO an audiobook that is fucking PHENOMENAL. biggest problem is that i got WAYYY too into it. I really needed to just sit down and soak it in, which was not very condusive to a workplace environment. I now have a self-imposed limit where im not going to be listening to any more vonnegut books from now on because i KNOW itll have a similar affect

His majesty's dragon: this one couldve been good, but the recording i found was not. The guy reading it did a big spiel at the beginning of each chapter and kept adding unneeded commentary like it was a middle school read along. Im going to be getting a library card today so i can use libby, so i might come back to this once i get access to an actual official audiobook lol

murder on the orient express: nope. barely lasted three minutes into this one

percy jackson and the lightning thief: see this is an example of something ive actually read too many times as a kid so i know the book too well for an audiobook to be entertaining. Dropped it after less than a chapter.

the kane chronicles: had potential, i remember liking the story a lot as a kid but i hadnt read it nearly as much as the pjo series, and i think it wouldve been at least vaguely entertaining. However, half the book has one of the narrator sdoing a really bad british accent for his sister's voicelines and i just couldnt do it. i didnt have the strength. Dropped after maybe 4 chapters.

Camp Damascus: the only audiobook of the lot that i actually bought, and the first one i got through that i hadnt read the physical book before. Interesting story, ok voice acting. Solid choice to listen to. Not quite what i was expecting, but pretty good story! Had some EXTREMELY gnarly descriptions of body horror thrown in at like. two points of the story maybe. Didnt really affect me personally but kinda threw me off in a 'this feels like a different story entirely' sort of way. Dont have much else to say here since these reviews are more talking about my experience with these as audiobooks specifically, and i havent read the book itself to be able to compare this one.

[hottpinkpenguin]

Omggg I just saw your requests, is it still open?

If so, could I request an angsty one-shot with P (problematic love/pleading) with "there's no happy ending for us is it?" for Loki?

Anyways no pressure and have good day 😊☺

A/N: sorry for the long delay love, my account got hacked and I took a brief hiatus. Here it is!! Enjoy, and have some tissues ready

Loki X GN!Reader

Word Count: 1339 Warnings: **heartbreak ahead**

You pulled your jacket tightly across your shoulders, the chill of the open window that had been refreshing moments before now too causing goosepimples to prickle up your neck. 

He watched you, his gaze pleading and broken. You couldn’t look at him. Your throat threatened to close in on itself, a painful lump forming in your chest as tears burned at the corners of your eyes.

“We knew this couldn’t last, Loki,” you managed to choke out. 

It was true that the two of you had gone into this with your eyes wide open. Your triste had been ill-fated from the start, and it had only gotten more complicated the longer the two of you had pretended that there was a future together. The TVA was hot on your heels in a way they’d never been before, so close you could practically feel the tickle of their breath on the back of your neck. 

He reached across the bed, grasping your hand in his. You hadn’t noticed you’d been shaking until now. He gripped your hand so tightly his knuckles turned white and your fingers pulsed with your heartbeat.

“I always thought… hoped… that we’d find a way. Somehow.” 

You stifled a sob in the sleeve of your jacket, only able to nod. You knew. You’d clung to that same hope. 

“I know.” It was all you could bring yourself to say.

His hand released yours, coming up to your chin. Gently, he pushed your head upwards, forcing your eyes to become level with his. Instincts told you to look away, but once you met his gaze you fell into him the way you always did. Laid bare, open and vulnerable, you let yourself cry as he looked at you, looked into you. It was easy, effortless. And so damn unfair that the TVA wouldn’t allow you this. The single shred of peace you’d found in all those desolate, empty timelines. Rage at the sheer injustice of it all boiled in your gut, hot enough to blister the sky above you. 

Just as you felt yourself about to burst in a flame of anger, Loki’s lips connected with yours. Heat and pressure, the two of you melted into one another. His hands snaked up the sides of your neck, your jaw, your face, tangling in your hair. It was a desperate kiss, a last gasp for air. You drank it in, greedily, not wanting to find the bottom of that kiss, not wanting to break it. It grew and grew until it was hard to tell where one of you started and the other stopped.

Then, the crescendo peaking, it began to soften. Deepen. Slow. His hands unclenched from your hair, retracing their path over your cheeks and down your neck like rain down a windowpane. As you retreated back into your bodies, you let your lips break apart for a moment here, a moment there. Cool air found its way in between you. The heat turned back to the icy cold dread that had been there before.

Loki leaned his forehead against yours, his eyelids fluttering closed.

“We could fight…” Loki’s offer died on his lips, but hung in the air like smoke. 

Temptation. You knew you could fight the TVA. With him. You knew the two of you would win too. The combination of your powers made you two the perfect weapon against the TVA. It would be over in minutes, and you’d be able to just live. No more running, no more sneaking around, no more loving with one eye cast over your shoulder. 

But you also knew what the outcome would be. With the TVA dismantled, the multiverse would descend into chaos. Timelines that never should have been would flourish, pushing out the timelines of stability, peace, and prosperity. Worlds - universes - would converge on one another like dying stars. The sheer magnitude of multiplying times would expand and expand until it bulged at the very seams of existence. And then, the cosmic bubble that housed everything that wasn’t black nothingness would pop. And life would simply cease. You’d seen it. You’d accidentally found that timeline - the one in which you and Loki fought to stay together, fought to end the TVA. You’d lived it out to the end already, a thousand times. You had tried this story a thousand times. 

A thousand other you’s had justified your choice to fight with Loki, to fight for Loki. You deserved love. Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe it would be worth it.

But failed experiment after failed experiment proved you wrong. Yes, you deserved love, you just couldn’t have this love. Things would be different this time, but time is the same every time, and you can’t change time. And nothing - not even the man who made you whole - was worth the pain and destruction you’d seen. 

“We’d win, too. But we can’t. You may not know we can’t, but I do. Loki, nothing’s worth what happens. Not even this.” You reached out, resting your palm against his cheek. It was damp with tears. The light of defiance that had sparked in his eyes died as he accepted your denial. 

“There’s no happy ending for us, is there?” 

His question was barely an audible whisper, but it plucked a chord at the very center of your being. Never before, in all other timelines, had Loki asked you this. Unlike you, Loki didn’t have the ability to remember the thousands of attempts the two of you had made. In the moment just before nothingness, he always used his considerable powers to send you back. His strength and your ability to hop across timelines as if you were playing a game of galactic hopscotch made it possible, but he could never go with you. Instead, he sent you back at the moment of the end of everything. And it was always with the hope that you would convince the two of you to choose differently. And you’d failed him, time and time again. He didn’t know that, not unless you told him. Normally you didn’t tell him. Couldn’t bear to see the weight of such knowledge settle on him like so many bricks.

But you had told him, this go round. You knew from experience that doing so brought you closer to the desired outcome than anything else. If you didn’t tell him the outcome, he’d fight and rage and plead with you until you gave in. Every. Single. Time. 

This was different though. The note of understanding in his voice rang deeper than usual. You saw barely-there glimmers of memory in his eyes. Memories from the other times. Memories he shouldn’t have been able to have, and memories he probably couldn’t put into words they were so fleeting and illusory. But somehow, he knew.

“No,” you whispered back, running your thumb across his cheek. “There is no happy ending for us. This is the only ending we get.”

As if on cue, you felt the room around you crackle with electricity as an effervescent white-gold portal split the air beside the bed you were sitting on. Loki froze, but his eyes were fixed on you. You looked at him, the last few instants together beginning to tick down. You memorized his face. The curve of his cupid’s bow, the faint scar on his left cheek, the flecks of brown in his green irises, the curl of hair at his temple. You’d seen all these things so much that they felt embedded in your very DNA. 

Two TVA agents materialized out of the portal holding the glowing batons they called “time sticks” in front of their bodies. They expected you to run - both of you - and they moved quickly.

You felt the smallest burn on your right forearm as one of the timesticks connected with your jacket. As the burning sensation spread throughout your veins like wildfire, you and Loki looked into one another.

Your half-smiles were mirror images of each other as you disappeared into nothingness.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[bibbykins]

Insufferable

A/N: The long-awaited flashback is here! It's short, but it is here! I hope this can really show the turning point in Jungkook's and MC's relationship and I would love to hear everyone's thoughts. As usual, tips are not required but greatly appreciate. Hope you all enjoy and have a wonderful day/night!

Note: This is a part (specifically a flashback) of The Household's Bunny series, so I recommend reading at least the Prologue before this one

Word count: 3.6k

Pairing: Soft Yandere! Jungkook x Chubby! Reader

Summary: Roommates are bound to have arguments, especially when one of them is as temperamental as Jungkook, but you didn't expect the first argument to get so unbelievably personal.

Warnings: abandonment issues, mommy issues, allusions to past abuse, family issues, crying, yelling, vomiting, panic attack, exhaustion, some soft yandere thoughts, some possessiveness, jungkook is mean and the MC gets a little mean too

There was something so constricting about memories of a shitty childhood. There were times when looking in the mirror felt like searching for the child in you so you could give her the hug she desperately needed. There were times when waking up felt like a check to make sure you were no longer in the home you had to grow up in far too quickly. However, the comfort of being in a different home only came so far when you didn't have anyone beside you or even emotionally available enough to talk to.

You stayed in bed for hours before it felt like a good idea to move, almost waiting for the mirage of change to fade before it brought you back to the gym with your mom or your uncle's apartment littered with whiskey bottles and leaky tear ducts.

Sometimes putting your best foot forward each day felt so hard with all-consuming loneliness clinging to your heels.

You had started your day going through your memory box. Hindsight said that was a poor idea. The box was a sure way to get you into a bad mood. You liked to think you breezed past all the stages of grief, but just because you accepted reality didn't make it hurt any less. The box was a strong reminder of that much as it sat with a melancholic aura. The creme color faded and the thorned vines connected to roses only added to the malicious undertones of its existence to your mental health. It was full of childhood photos, your birth certificate, school achievements, and the last known address your mom had.

Ah, your mom. What a way to bring clouds to your sunny day. You don’t know why you put yourself through the turmoil of the memory box. Maybe you were hoping it would be easier by now. You were always wrong. Looking through childhood photos and finding no love in the eyes of your mother when she looked at you and watching the love in your uncle’s eyes fade with your mother’s presence. You got to the fated birthday card, thumb rubbing over the defunct address longingly. You held the envelope in your hand, inspecting the birthday card she sent you. Three words in the repetitive note written on the inside caught your eye, and not the ones you so desperately wanted from her.

Feeling a familiar pressure behind your eyes, you tossed the card aside and stood. It was time to eat, go on a walk, do anything other than this. You found your way to the kitchen and came across a silent and solemn Jungkook. His jaw was clenched, but it felt like it always was around you.

Your relationship with Jungkook so far was not very complicated, in the way it was nonexistent. He either didn’t care about talking to you or he actively didn’t want to, you really couldn’t tell. This didn’t stop you from trying, though. Like an idiot.

“I’m making food, did you want any?” You asked from your place seated on the couch, and the silence that was his response for deafening, “Okaaaay.” You sang awkwardly, “I just know that you usually don’t eat throughout the day and-”

“And what do you know?!” He snapped, blinded by his pure and unbridled, but most important unprovoked, rage of you. Your eyes widened and your body jumped. Holy shit, you had never heard him yell like this, “You don’t know anything about me, or in general, so just stop trying so fucking hard!” He was harsh in his tone and it lit your whole nervous system on fire. What the hell did you do to him?

You shook your head, not sure why he was yelling about, but it made your throat feel like it was going to close, “Look, I was just trying to be polite, but you don’t need to talk about me like you understand-”

“Understand?! What’s there to understand?” He challenged, eyes wide like he was expecting you to say something but he continued, “You’re some spoiled girl living here rent-free because your precious dad doesn’t want to take care of you.”

Your heart caught in your throat as it shattered. He was right, your dad didn't want to take care of you, but not in the way he thought. Why was he doing this? Has he genuinely felt this way all along? Was he just holding in his anger until you poked the bear a little too hard? “You don’t need to yell at me.” You stated firmly and it seemed to only make things worse.

“And you don’t need to fucking be here in the first place!” He spoke, temper long lost and you could hear his voice mix in with Jungyoon’s, all he needed was a bottle of whisky and a set of calloused hands, “You didn’t need to fucking live here-”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You spat out. Now, you were losing your temper. You could take a beating, but for only so long, especially as an adult, "And it's not like you're paying rent either, so what do you know about me or my living arrangements?" You hissed and you watched his eyes flare, making you nearly regret your provocation.

“No, but I know how you look naked-”

“Fuck you.” You spit the word out at him, something you haven’t done to another person for a while “Don’t weaponize my work or play a game that you absolutely will lose.” You warned, “I know all about you, and I can use that, because you’ve been a star since you were 15, and that sucks, that makes you mad, doesn’t it?” Your temper effectively lost as you ripped into the rage-filled man before you, “Yet you don’t know anything about me, and that must piss you the fuck off, huh?” You stood from the couch, tears building in your eyes before you could stop it.

“I know enough, spoiled rich girl.” He seethed and you laughed humorlessly at this worldwide pop star calling you spoiled and rich.

“Not only are you wrong, but you’re also a poor listener.” You shot back, “I’ve told you all before Jungyoon isn’t my fucking dad, he’s my uncle.” His mouth opened but you cut him off before he could start, “He can’t stand the sight of me so he travels for work.” Your tears are undoubtedly falling, but you can’t stop, “And you’re talking to me like this because what? You had a scandal or something?” You gave him his chance to talk and boy, he took it.

“Mona told me you know your mom.” His voice was like venom, “So, why the fuck are you here? You have your blood relatives.” He exaggerated the word like it meant anything to you, “Why are you here, disrupting our lives, acting like an innocent orphan girl around actual fucking orphans-”

“I never said I was or acted like an orphan!” You exclaimed incredulously before scoffing, “That’s why you’re mad? Because you never knew your mom and I did? Because I know who my blood family is?” You could laugh at how ridiculous that was, “I know them, so what? Where does that get me?” You looked at him expectantly but he didn’t talk, “I knew my mom, and guess what? She just didn’t fucking want me.” He was silent, but you still couldn’t stop, “I’m sure if your mom could’ve got to know you, she would’ve kept you, because you’re not insufferable to be around, you’re just a fucking asshole.” You wiped at your cheeks furiously, “But me? I had 15 years to prove myself and it still wasn’t enough. I still wasn’t enough. Jungyoon never wanted me either, he got stuck with me and had to cope.” Your voice began to break and you had to take a breath, “I was the insufferable one, so-” You stopped, finally as you regained your sense of reality and watched Jungkook who had an unreadable expression and the realization of the word vomit you spilled out to him hit you like a train as you exhaled quickly, rage in your voice quickly replaced with soft melancholy “I am the insufferable one here, so there.” You shrugged, face a wet mess, “Hope that brings you peace.” Your stomach was churning as you turned on your heel, unable to hold in your sobs. You couldn’t bear the awkwardness of waiting for the elevator so you opted to take the stairs.

You sobbed louder as the door slammed shut behind you, but you didn’t want to linger so you bolted down the stairs, the bile in your stomach signaling that you needed to find the nearest trashcan and quickly. You made it to the ground floor and spilled your guts into the small trashcan. Yelling always made you unbelievably ill, whether it was getting yelled at or yelling, the sickness it made you feel overflowed. The yelling only reminded you of-

You vomited again at the mere thought. You cried harder when you finally finished, breathing becoming staggered as you began to panic.

Fuck, they’re gonna kick you out, and then you’ll be alone again. You lost your temper, people don’t like other people who lose their temper. Why couldn’t you just mind your own fucking business and leave him be? You’re stupid. Why do you think you’ve been alone all your life? It’s because people don’t want to be near you. You’re-

“Insufferable.” You mumbled, numb, even if for only a moment.

Sure, Jungkook provoked you, but you knew better. You didn't go to therapist after therapist throughout your adolescence for nothing. You felt as if you set yourself back eons after that outburst. He didn't need to know all that about you, ever. He probably didn't even care to know, and you said it anyway, like you were gunning for gold in the trauma Olympics. You didn't want to minimize his struggles, you just wanted him to shut up and stop yelling at you. You let your eyes flutter closed as you cried. How can you complain about being alone when you're like this?

You don’t know how long you stayed there, sitting next to a trash can full of your vomit as you wallowed in your self-hatred. The all-consuming loneliness the boisterous house subdued returning with full force. Jungkook was right. You didn’t need to be here. You were only disrupting their routine.

You blew out a sigh as you staggered to the elevator, fully set on going up to your room and crying yourself to sleep after you clean up. You brought the trashcan with you, not having the heart to just leave your puke down there. You thanked your lucky stars when Jungkook was no longer on the second floor as you went to the kitchen and rinsed your mouth before going to take out the trash and take out your burnt oven pizza. Finally, you were headed back up to your floor. You watched the numbers tick by with tired eyes. You glared at the empty trashcan, electing to take it with you instead of making the trip back down to put it back. Surely, they wouldn’t need it for a few hours.

The elevator dinged as you grabbed the black plastic bin and then you were met with Jungkook. Relief flashed across his face before irritation settled on it, “Where the fuck were you?!” He asked hurriedly as you trudged past him, too exhausted to fight. You were running on autopilot the whole way up here, and you couldn’t bear another spat.

“I was on the first floor.” Your voice was low, trying to communicate you were done arguing as you lifted the bin as proof. You then set it down and went to your bathroom and began brushing your teeth.

He scoffed, “You were on the first floor for 30 minutes?” He asked as if he caught you in a lie but you nodded as you rinsed your mouth.

You were down there for thirty minutes? No wonder you felt so tired.

“Yep.” You popped the last letter before correcting yourself, “Well, I spent like 10 minutes cleaning up that bin, so not exactly.”

“Why?” He asked as if you were being ridiculous, as if he wasn’t the one on your floor demanding answers.

“I vomited.” You spoke simply and before he could ask, “Yelling makes me puke.” You were so blase about it he sighed in frustration.

You walked to your room and froze when you saw your memory box strewn about, and it was like a dam broke all over again. You looked at the photos, at the eager little girl looking for love in places she would never find it.

Old habits die hard.

Before you could even stop yourself, you sunk to your knees in garbled sobs and broken cries, “Hey, hey, wait.” Jungkook’s shaky voice did nothing to bring you back to reality as you cried. His hands placed themselves on your shoulder, making you flinch violently, much to his horror.

Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know why you were crying, but he knew it was his fault, at least in part. Even if at this moment it wasn’t, his outburst surely didn’t help. Fuck, he’s so dumb. Fuck, he shouldn’t have talked to Mona just moments before seeing you.

The envy of even seeing your own mother’s face ate up at him and he took it out on you. Not to mention that he made you vomit from the yelling. He suddenly felt more like an arrogant asshole than he did before as his hands now hovered over your form and he took a moment to look at your room.

Scattered on the floor were childhood photos and ribbons from competitions. Things Mona kept in her own house, having a whole wall filled with every one of their achievements. Even Jin had a photo album of their things. And you, you kept all these for yourself. You were the only one who cared enough to save these things and he wondered how much you threw away to maintain space in the small empty box. Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this.

You sighed shakily, “You can just go.” You cried, “You don’t have to be here.” You don’t know what he could possibly gain from watching you cry.

“I know.” His voice was calm, even, “Can I help you up?” He asked and you wanted to look up at him in confusion but you didn't want him to see your tears.

You both had just ripped into each other, and here he was, wanting to help you. Why would he do that? Why would he stay when he doesn't have to? Why would he want to help you up after a fight?

Too tired to even think about questioning him and no longer angry at him, you simply scoffed, “Can you?” You sighed, not having the energy to stroke his ego and stand up without his help.

You never let people bear your dead weight, not wanting the awkwardness if they couldn’t carry you, but right now, you just wanted to lay down.

He snorted lightly, happy to hear anything other than a sob for you, “Don’t worry about me, you just cry and mind your business.” He spoke lightly, and the comment made you fight a smile. Then, he lifted you with so much ease, you figured he was trying to show off as he placed you on the bed. He looked at you after he sat on the floor before his eyes caught onto the gold foil of a 16th birthday card. You were wiping at your face as he read the card against his better judgment.

I know you must be confused, and I can’t help that. I wish I could pretend to be a mom, but I can’t. I can’t be your mom, and I never should have tried. It would be best if we forgot each other. I just can’t keep pretending, and I know you can see it, even if you don’t want to.

I’m so tired.

-Mom

Now, he felt even more like an asshole. He also felt a little bit angry that your mother could just leave you behind without so much as saying sorry. She wrote like she was a teenager and you were her mother. She obviously didn't put much thought into the seemingly last message to her daughter and it made his heartbreak for you, “That was the last I heard of her.” You snapped him from his thoughts and he looked at your puffy face, “She had left months earlier, and then I got that, but she moved before I could try to see her one more time.” There was a distant ache in your words as you looked at Jungkook sitting amongst your memories.

“Is she… still alive?” He asked, not sure why he felt the need to know.

“Not sure, but it doesn’t make much of a difference, I guess.” You blew out a sigh, before looking at your papers and folded posterboards, “I was cleaning out my memory box, and I’m not sure why I do it when I know it just upsets me.” You could still feel tears leaking from your eyes as Jungkook picked up a photo of you on your 14th birthday, posed between Jungyoon and your mom. You had a bright smile on your face and they looked at the camera with a tight expression, “You can really see how much they didn’t want to be there, but that's the happiest they look in all of the photos.”

He wanted to say you were wrong, but he could see it. He could see the happy little girl trying to make up for the unhappy adults around her. He knew he should’ve asked Mona why Jungyoon didn’t try to call or visit or why she was so eager to take you in if you knew your family. He should’ve just known better. Yeah, he understood how it felt to be alone growing up, they all did, but by the time they were all 17 they had a home that wanted them. You were going to graduate from college soon and you still felt unwanted.

No thanks to him.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted and you looked at him with wide eyes, “For being an asshole, I’m sorry- and for making you cry. I just…” He shrugged, “You’re right. I was jealous you knew your mom and I already was suspicious of you and I- I’m dumb, and I’m sorry.” He looked at you, eyes a bit glossy and you wondered when was the last time someone apologized for making you cry.

“It’s okay.” You smiled weakly, “You are dumb, but that’s okay.” You chuckled when he frowned, but eventually, he also broke into a short laugh, “I think… we’ve felt a lot of the same things in different ways, so I can’t blame you.” He wondered how you could be so forgiving, and he was scared of how many times that has gotten you hurt, “I like living here and I like all of you, so I hope I can get you all to like me too, even if just a little.”

“Don’t accept less than you deserve.” He spoke firmly before he started picking up your memory box, putting things neatly back in.

“Wh-”

He waved his hands nonchalantly, “You, sleep, I’ll clean this up and order some food.” He didn’t look at you as he said this, mostly to hide his blush, "If...If you want, I can give this to Jin. He has a whole place he keeps our stuff like this… he's really sentimental." He stumbled, still refusing to look at you.

However, he jumped when he heard you hiccup a cry. Ready to apologize, Jungkook was just about to turn to look at you until he heard you speak, "That… That sounds very sweet of you to do." You wiped a sentimental tear away as the blushing boy remained frozen.

"It's Jin's hobby, not mine." He deflected before waving his hand at you, "Sleep, I said." He frantically demanded.

You could see his ears getting red and you smiled, “Yes, sir.” You mocked in your work voice and made him freeze for a moment as you erupted into giggles while he whined, “Okay, okay, I’ll sleep.”

Eventually, you surrendered to your exhaustion as he delicately put away your papers and photos. He hummed lightly, smiling as he came across your debate team awards. No wonder he lost the fight before it even started. He turned around after lifting the box and sighed almost dreamily as he watched your sleeping face. You were beautiful, delicate, and puffy from the tears. He had the urge to keep apologizing for being such an asshole, but after looking through your achievements and your photos, he resolved to just keep proving it.

He wouldn’t let you get hurt again. Not by him or anyone, especially your mother, even Jungyoon was on thin ice.

His blood boiled at the thought of your mother for a reason he couldn’t understand. His hand extended shakily as he pulled the covers up to your shoulder and you hummed contently, making his heart melt a bit at the little smile you had. He wouldn’t fuck up with you again, not like this. He would be nice, at least a little, and first and foremost, he would order food you liked.

He froze.

Fuck, what food do you like?

He relaxed. Well, he could just ask the guys.

Fuck, they’re gonna ask questions.

Fuck, they’re gonna kill him when they found out he made you cry.

He looked back at your sleeping form, not having the heart to wake you up. He sighed, looks like he’ll just have to bite the bullet. He dreaded each moment as he quickly made an untitled group chat with the guys since you were added to their original one. He could only hope Taehyung wouldn’t change the group chat name to something stupid.

Tip Jar

[pinkpruneclodwolf]

*Screaming shaking wailing crying sobbing throwing up----* AUGH UR NEW CHAPTER IS SO?????

The way you write and show the intricate, complexity of siblinghood and how society perceives what siblings should be like that it ends up twisting what siblings actually are is giving me so many fucking emotions because while my brother doesn't necessarily hurt me in the same degree merry does to their siblings and vice-versa there are certain moments i can recount where i am deeply hurt by his actions but can't say anything because our parents had drilled into our heads that----

"arguing is not allowed as siblings, you only have each other---so bear with it." which isn't inherently bad to say but it does like ruin chances where we could grow as people by arguing and seeing from each other's views... instead things... just lay doormat and unresolved for us both which is why I like how you decided to portray that instead of just portraying merry as the stereotypical good older sibling tm who doesn't complain or feel resentful or any kind of complicated emotions really in regards to their situation w their siblings bc it's actually the exact opposite and they feel very conflicted over feeling like that bc of elder sister guilt AND bc society always reinforces the perception that older siblings aren't allowed to dislike or have complicated feelings towards their younger siblings or vice-versa.

KJSHFKJSHDFJHSKJFHSJ ANYWAYS--- enough of me being emotional about siblinghood... THE MAGIC STONES BEING LINKED TO THE BODY AND THE BODY BEING LINKED TO THE MIND AND THEREFORE THE SOUL KSJHFSJHFKS i absolutely love that concept because it makes so much sense why when overblotting your stone darkens and your body does a magical girl transformation 🤡🤡🤡KJDSSJDKFLSJ this kind of brings back an old idea i have where when you're a mage you have a designated stone type catered to your magic affinity to you so you can ACTUALLY do magic as a mage which would make sense, considering the world building in twst, but like what do you think??

Anyways how are you btw?? It's been a while since I last dropped by all things considered so i hope you're doing well!! XD Anyways till next time <3

ITS ABOUT THE GOLDEN CHILD SYNDROME ITS ABOUT THINKING YOUR SIBLINGS ARE AN ACCESSORY TO YOU BECAUSE YOU BELIEVE YOURE PROTECTING THEM ITS ABOUT WANYING TO BE A BETTER SIBLING/PERSON BUT NOT KNOWING HOW ITS ABOUT HOW ABUSE IS PERPETUATED ITS ABOUT FOLLOWING IN YOUR PARENTS FOOTSTEPS ITS ABOUT ALLOWING YOUR SIBLINGS TO BE THE SCAPEGOAT BECAUSE YOU FEAR WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF THAT WAS YOU ITS ABOUT TRYING TO HEAL AND SET BOUNDARIES BUT NOT KNOWING HOW BECAUSE YOURS HAD BEEN VIOLATED BEYOND BELIEF ITS ABOUT FEAR ITS ABOUT HOW YOUR FRIENDS PERCEIVE YOUR SIBLINGS AND HAVING THE "NORMAL" BELIEF BE CEMENTED AND SUBSEQUENTLY YOUR ACCESSORY BELIEF ITS ABOUT CONSCIOUSLY PERPETUATING ABUSE ITS ABOUT HURTING THOSE AROUND YOU ITS ABOUT—

I am mentally ill.

I want to clarify that Meruem is actually the middle sibling this is due to her brother being perceived as dumber than her and her sister being young (6) which means her mother imprinted upon her because she was deemed the normal one out of the bunch.

Her older brother is the scapegoat.

I kinda destroyed the language barrier aspect (only a little, Japanese has so many nuances and I want to imply that the group speak slower around her so that she can grasp it) but if Cater and Merry could talk they'd definitely realize they are both the same and different. Because Meruem is the one who believes that her siblings are an accessory while Cater was seen as an accessory by his sister's (and even his mother to an extent).

Although, Cater is more roundabout when it comes to addressing his needs and playing them off as less than Meruem and Leona don't address their needs period until its pressed out of them (if they don't lash out)

I wanted to display that Merry does have a mean streak and treats Ace like her mom treated her brother and Deuce like her mom treats her and Grim like Ace like her brother and that will come to a head somewhere I this arc.

Leona and Cater and Meruem are bitter people for different and similar reasons and the Savanaclaw arc is going to reflect that honestly.

Leona because society and how his brother was propped up as the golden child, the magnum opus and he, the scapegoat for all his brother's shortcomings. Leona does care for his brother and even worries for him even stating that "[my brother] is too naive]" but because he wants half the recognition that he'd been deprived of as a child he'll only allow offhanded worries to slip through.

Cater's relationship with his sisters should be well known because it runs so deep into his personality that even his UM is affected by it. The personal story where they were raising mandrake that display a person's true personality and Cater's being described as wailing and sorrowful.....

Which is why I believe that Jack and Trey, who have good relationships with their siblings. Jade and Floyd, who society deems the "normal" one and the "abnormal" one respectively. Ace, who mentions healthy competition with his brother. And Deuce and Riddle, who are only children. Cater who is still bitter about how his sisters treated him, should've/had played roles in the Savanaclaw Chapter.

Crowley was definitely lying about the Stones not being linked to the soul because that'd raise questions. Specifically ones like "are the Stones the ones that induce OB?" Something along those lines that you asked previously.

I do think that Stones are connected through like minded individuals, the Heartslabyul group have red gems but probably of different origin (ruby, garnet, red beryl...) to show that they are the same but are still different. Because souls are different and the same just as people are.

Crowley is shady I'm so serious.

But yeah, depending on the Stone one might be more affected by Blot than the other, and I do think some people (Idia, Grim) are less affected by Blot than others.

White Fang (who Jack Howl is based off of) and the themes of Nature v Nurture, Siblinghood, and abuse will be the major themes in this arc so.... Yeah.

[turtle-steverogers]

hii, it's the unsent project anon again!! sometimes i think about steve. instead of going back in time for yk, he goes back in time to see his mother again. and has a dance with his mother because he never got to before for several reasons. it would be more rocking from foot to foot than anything else. and steve can barely see through his clumped up lashes from the tears while she strokes the side of his head before cradling it (its a bit of a stretch because he is all big and healthy now) while muttering, "my stevie, my boy" and steve just grins "it's me, ma".

(he would come back after spending some time with her, with a heavy heart but still)

was thinking about this at like 3 in the morning

anon i genuinely think you're trying to murder me lakjdflksjfaskdjflksf

anyway i wrote another fic

-

There are extra white jackets in the back closet, and Steve steals one that’s approximately his size, despite the shoulders being a bit too tight. Pants are a little harder to come by, but he manages to find a pair that look like they’ll fit him in some poor chap’s locker. He tugs them on, grimacing at the way they hug his thighs and fall only to his ankles. They’ll have to do.

He’d already scoped out the hospital the night before-- he knows she’s on the third floor in a private ward. Good, he thinks. She deserves it, if nothing else.

He is focused as he moves through the halls, head down as he passes other nurses. There’s a clipboard discarded on a table near the children’s ward and he swiftly picks it up, squinting at it. He doesn’t process any of the words on the page, but his act seems sound, because nobody stops him.

He makes it to the stairwell at the end of the hall, pushes open the door and takes the steps two at a time. The smell is one that is achingly familiar-- the walls grey and hazy. The air seems thicker, the lights yellow and dim. And though he’s been removed from the past for over a decade, it still feels like home. Like normal. His normal.

But he does not belong anymore, and he will not stay. He’s already been a ghost once. He’s hesitant to be one again.

Especially now, when he is out there somewhere. Most likely in the shitty tenement he shared with Bucky, but also possibly at the grocer he worked at, his ma’s telegram in his pocket. Savoring the bits of her that he could salvage with the knowledge he’d never see her again, even while she’s alive.

Closure has been something Steve always felt he lacked. But he’s seen hell now-- lived in its fiery pits for more years than he can count. He can take some goddamn closure for himself.

The third floor is nearly vacant. No one is in the hallway when Steve steps out of the stairwell, but he can hear voices in the rooms that line the sides. Coughs echo ominously off the walls, and Steve’s toes curl in his shoes, a brief wave of anxiety washing over him. He hadn’t missed these hospitals, and he’d hoped to never deliberately step foot in one again. But this is necessary. This is worth it.

He walks swiftly towards the end of the hall where the private wards are and stops in front of the first room. The name next to the door is incorrect, so he continues on until he sees it, heart stopping in his chest, then speeding up enough to make his lungs tighten.

Sarah Rogers-- TB. Alternative uniform required.

Steve closes his eyes against the blood rushing from his head. He wants to tell himself it’s been so long since he’s felt this detached from reality-- this out of place in a space that should feel so familiar-- but it hasn’t. The feeling, he’s realizing, never truly left him when he woke up from the ice, and the reverse here is strange.

And there’s something even stranger about reconciling this, because he’d lost his ma far before he’d ever died. This grief is an old wound-- one that’s scabbed over only to bleed circumstantially. He’d grown used to living with this particular, bone deep pain. He isn’t sure if he’s here to lance that, or if he’ll walk away with a deeper wound. He isn’t sure it matters, either.

He pushes open the door.

The room is lit with natural light. There is a desk with a vase and a water pitcher on it, along with a few medicine bottles and a tissue box. The bed is pressed against the far wall, the covers barely disturbed save for the frail figure that lies in it.

Sarah turns her head and looks at Steve.

Steve’s world stops.

He hadn’t seen his ma when she was this ill. His last memories of her are of when she was healthy-- cheeks red and full of life, eyes alight with an optimism he still valiantly tries to uphold. Life had not been kind to Sarah Rogers, but she was the kindest soul Steve had ever known, even in the shadow of his father’s violence.

Is, he corrects himself as he looks at her. She is the kindest soul. She’s there. She’s right there.

She’s right there, and she looks weak. She is gaunt and frail, eyes sunken in and cheekbones sharp against papery looking skin. There’s an exhaustion in the lines of her young face that Steve recognizes as the long standing effects of illness-- your body praying to be done fighting while your mind begs otherwise.

Steve resists the urge to turn and run.

Sarah’s face does something strange as she looks at Steve, and he realizes that he’s been standing there for longer than would be normal for a nurse-- shell shocked and silent. She opens her mouth to say something, then stops, eyes widening as she seems to process what she’s looking at. Or who she’s looking at, most likely.

A wizened hand comes up to cover her mouth and she gasps, fear flashing through her eyes and no, no, no--

Fuck, he’d thought of this. He’d had a fucking plan for this, but he can’t remember it now and he really doesn’t want his ma calling security on him, because he has so much to say, and--

“Ma,” he says frantically, taking an aborted step forward. She shies away and he stops, hands flexing at his sides. “Ma, it’s me. I swear it’s me, I can explain.”

Sarah looks suddenly furious. “This is not funny, young man. I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave this instant.”

Fuck, her voice. Her goddamn voice, as weak as it is now, still has the same strong cadence. The subtle Irish twang. And fuck, Steve can’t help it. He bursts into tears.

“Fuck,” he says, falling to his knees. Why did he think he could do this? Why did he think he could stomach the weight of everything that’s happened since he last saw her-- handle standing in front of her with blood on his hands, underneath his fingernails. In his goddamn soul. What would she even think of him now?

He sobs, biting down on a knuckle to keep silent, his other arm going around his stomach. It’s how he used to cry when he was much younger, and more frantic, and that seems to convince Sarah more than anything.

“Steven?” she says. She sounds incredulous. Damnit, she probably thinks she’s hallucinating. Steve had hallucinated a couple times when he was ill enough and his fever was high. Mostly his father, but he’ll digress.

He looks up, and he can barely see her through the tears that clump on his eyelashes. Sarah’s face does something complicated, then softens, and she reaches out a hand. Steve looks at it and sobs harder.

“Oh, Stevie. My boy, come here,” she says, because maybe he is a goddamn hallucination, but her instinct was always to comfort those in pain. She was a nurse, after all.

Steve is goddamn helpless.

He manages to get to her bedside, chest heaving as he buries his face in her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “It’s me, ma. I promise it’s me. I can explain, I swear.”

“I don’t doubt that you can explain,” Sarah says sternly, and fuck, he’d missed her chastising him. He can’t help it, he laughs, breathless and watery. “What happened to you? Why are you--” Big. Healthy. “Steven, you can’t be in here. I’m highly contagious.”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t matter. I can’t get sick.” And oh, his accent is back. He hasn’t had one in years. Decades. A goddamn century.

Sarah lets out a strangled laugh that quickly turns into coughing, and Steve briefly wonders how close she is to death. She died in Winter, and it is sometime in Fall right now. Close then, he thinks. He hugs her harder as the coughing dies down.

“A stór, do you hear yourself? You had pneumonia last Summer.”

Summer. Last Summer. In this world, it had only been a mere few months without her. A fresh wave of grief washes over Steve, and then he can’t help another laugh, then another, and suddenly he’s cracking up into her stomach. Laughing like the insane man he feels he often is.

Sarah freezes, then reaches out to lift his face, their eyes meeting. His laughing stops. She gasps again.

“It really is you,” she murmurs, thumbs moving to the outside corners of his eyes, where there are two identical freckles. Little stars, she used to call them.

Steve offers her a brave smile. “Yeah, ma. It is.”

Sarah shakes her head. “What happened?” she asks again.

“I… so much,” Steve breathes. “I don’t know how to explain it all. I-- I don’t know where to start, but god, I just wanted to see you. I needed to see you.”

Sarah studies his face. “You’re so tired,” she says, thumb stroking his eye again. He leans into the touch, closing his eyes. His lip trembles.

“So tired,” he agrees.

“You don’t need to tell me everything,” Sarah says. “I’m not sure I want to know. But I just… Steven, you look so different.”

Steve laughs, wiping at his eyes. “In a few years, there’s a war,” he says. Blunt-- they’d always been so straightforward with each other. “A scientist-- god, please don’t be mad-- a scientist offered, or… offers? Offered me an opportunity, and I took it.”

“Of course you did,” Sarah murmurs, looking fond and angry despite. She seems to set that train of thought aside. “Germany?” and oh, right. It’s already been in the news, the new reign.

“Yeah.”

Sarah hums. “My dear, you look like you’ve seen more than just war.”

Just war. As if any war was just anything.

As if his war ever truly stopped.

He casts his gaze down.

“Yeah,” he says again, and he thinks of Bucky, who’s also yet to come home from the war. Bucky, who is probably somewhere at the docks right now, untouched by anything but insecurity and financial hell. He desperately wishes they both can soon. This visit, he hopes, will bring him one step closer.

Sarah must read his mind, because her face clouds over.

“Bucky…?”

“Survives,” Steve says quickly, then backtracks. “Kind of. We both kind of died, then came back to life in the future and--” Sarah looks horrified now, and Steve shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s alive. We’re together.”

“Alright,” Sarah says slowly. “As long as you’re together.”

Steve nods, and fuck, he wishes he could have brought Bucky, too. Sam as well-- showed his ma his new friends. The brave new family he’s made for himself. The thought has his eyes swimming again, and he screws up his face, trying not to cry. He’s a goddamn mess. It’s ridiculous.

“I must admit, I’m quite confused,” Sarah says. “And sweetheart, you’re not talking.”

Steve shakes his head, and her arms come around him. He melts into the hold-- savors the feeling. Memorizes the pressure, her smell, and pockets it away for later.

“I just missed you so much is all,” he croaks. “And I-- ma… I’ve done so much. I’ve hurt so many people. Killed so many people, and I still feel so lost, and everything hurts and oh Christ, I’ve just-- I miss you.”

He had sworn to himself, before coming in, that he wouldn’t unload any of this onto her. But her warmth is all encompassing, and he craves her comfort. Her approval. Her strong, sure tone telling him everything will be okay.

That he will be okay. He has to be. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s not.

“Lord’s name,” Sarah murmurs, and Steve huffs another laugh. She runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t know how any of this is possible, but I do know you, dearheart. And I know that you are a good person. A gentle person-- my gentle boy, if you’d had a choice, you wouldn’t have chosen violence. But you know more than anyone how mean the world can be. You might have had to make hard decisions, done bad things, but you, Steven, are not bad.”

Steve’s lips part. It doesn’t fix everything, the words-- it barely scrapes the surface of the wall of pain and guilt that suffocates him. But for a moment, the world seems clearer. Quieter. The ache in his chest lanced for one, freeing breath.

“Ma…” Steve says. He doesn’t know how to thank her-- what to say-- because here she is, offering him warmth and closure, even though she might still think he’s nothing but a figment of her imagination. He craves her compassion; her generosity. Swears to uphold it as best he can.

You always stand up, she once told him. He will still, he thinks. He always will. And he will now.

He’ll go home to his family-- his life-- and goddamn live finally. He’s been surviving for so long, he realizes. It’s about damn time for him to stand up and live.

“You’ve still got the same heart,” Sarah continues. She pokes his freckles again. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Steve lifts a hand to cover hers. Her hands are as soft as they always were and he turns his face to kiss her knuckles, then leans forward to kiss her cheek, eyes closing as memories of doing that before running off to school or to play flash through his mind. She smells faintly of vanilla. He wonders if she still dabs it behind her ears.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, ma. I love you. I love you so much-- thank you for being there for me. For raising me, and loving me.”

Sarah hugs him. Outside the room, there are voices; shuffling. He needs to go. The window is open, and they’re only three floors up.

“Loving you is the easiest thing that I’ve ever done,” Sarah says. She looks at the door. The voices are closer now. She kisses his forehead. Another echo of a life long gone. “Go now, Steven. Go home.”

Steve looks at her one last time, drinking in the love in her eyes. And as he climbs out the window, the too-tight doctor’s coat ripping around the shoulder seams, he can’t help but think that he’d gotten her eyes right whenever he’d painted her.

Her love won’t be something so easily forgotten.

-

Bucky catches him before he can collapse as he reappears on the launch pad. He lowers them to the ground, cradling Steve’s head with and letting him practically climb into his lap as he weeps, overwhelmed.

After a few minutes, he pulls back. Bucky’s watching him, concerned, and Steve leans in to gently kiss him.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, wary as they pull apart. He reaches out to swipe some tears off Steve’s cheeks.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine, I’m fine,” he says. “All the stones are back-- everything’s okay. It’s over. It’s all over.”

Relief washes over Bucky’s face and he kisses Steve, smiling. “Oh god,” he murmurs. “Thank god.”

Steve wraps his arms around his neck, humming in agreement. Sam and Bruce are somewhere-- Steve can hear them talking-- but it’s distant.

They’re quiet for a long time, breathing in each other. Bucky’s arms feel so goddamn safe that Steve feels his resolve slipping again. He can tell Bucky things. He can be here with him now. Home.

“I went to see her,” he whispers.

Bucky stills where he was previously rocking them lightly.

“Her…” Bucky says, then shifts. “Your ma?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Bucky squeezes him tighter. “How-- how was that? How did she…”

“She was confused. I don’t even know if she knew I was real.”

Bucky pauses, then kisses behind his ear. Steve thinks of vanilla again.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmurs.

“No, it was-- good. Needed. I feel… good.”

“That’s so good, honey.”

“She asked about you-- wanted to know if you were, um, alive. I told her you were.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, and there’s a small smile on his face now. Bucky had loved Sarah as if she were another mother, and Steve had done the same with Winnifred. It was a privilege to have had both of their protective arms. “What did she say?”

“She said, ‘as long as we’re together’.”

Bucky smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Steve wants to reach out and touch, so he does, because he can do that now. Bucky is tangible. He is here.

“She’s got a point,” Bucky says. He goes back to rocking them and Steve rests his head on his shoulder. He hears Bucky start to say something, then stop.

“What?” he asks, pulling back.

Bucky studies him. “Did you want to stay?” It isn’t accusatory, just curious, and Steve considers it.

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Just… instinctively. It’s an opportunity I might have taken up if someone offered it ten years ago, but… I’m a ghost there now, like I was a ghost here, and I don’t want to do that again.” He bites his lip, shaking his head. “I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to.”

Bucky nods, cupping Steve’s cheek and thumbing his jaw affectionately. “I hear you,” he says. “I was just wondering.”

“And besides, my ma told me to go home before I left,” Steve said, cupping Bucky’s cheek in return. “So I did.”

Bucky smiles, and presses their foreheads together.

“We can do that now,” Bucky says. “We can go home. We can rest.”

And there are still things to do-- Steve doesn’t think there ever won’t be things to be done. But that can wait for another day.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He’s grungy, dirt digging in bone deep from the whirlwind of the last few weeks. He smirks, climbing off Bucky’s lap. “But I call first shower.”

Bucky snorts and stands, pulling Steve up.

“Yeah, whatever, asshole.”

Yeah. The world can wait another day.

-

There’s a bottle of vanilla in the spice cabinet. Steve sees it as he’s looking for the cinnamon. The kitchen is empty, but for the first time in years, he knows he’s not alone.

He takes the vanilla out and dabs some onto his fingers, gently rubbing it behind his ears. He closes his eyes, letting the smell wash over him. He can still feel his ma’s arms around him, keeping him warm.

Home. He’s home.

-

thanks for reading yall aflkdjflaksjdf

[buckyownsmylife]

hold up - andy barber fluff

The one where Andy gets you pregnant but you’re young and haven’t been dating for long.

Warnings:  Age gap (Divorced!Andy w/ College!Reader, so she’s legal), pregnancy, light angst, supportive!Andy, mentions of abortion, fluff, mentions of smutty thoughts so I don’t think I advise minors to read this, AU! where Jacob is alive and in college and Laurie and Andy are divorced, minor medical scare from Andy’s confusion, miscommunication that leads to slightly asshole!Andy but it’s quick A/N: Special thanks to @navybrat817​ and @angrythingstarlight​ for helping me choose this collage. This fic was requested a while back. I ended up focusing more on the fact that the reader was younger than Andy (which wasn’t even part of the request) than on the fact that they hadn’t been dating for long, mostly because in my mind, this was happening in the same universe as this fic. Hope you guys like it and respect the reader’s decision to keep the baby the same way you should respect it if she decided to abort it or give it up for adoption. 

Andy’s P.O.V.

Another day, another case, another headache. Working in law gets more tiring every day, and yet I persisted. Even through a divorce and its subsequent complications, I persisted. Sometimes, I forgot why.

I missed the days I remembered why I got into law in the first place. Those idyllic mornings, when I still thought I could change the world. Now all I wanted to do was to get home and eat my girlfriend’s pussy until she passed out from pleasure.

Just the thought of her sweet cunt had me licking my lips as I drove back to my place, wishing I could stop by hers instead. It still weirded me out that I was now in a relationship with someone that was my son’s age, someone who was still in college, but then I remembered all the moments we shared and was overcome with the realization that I simply didn’t want to let her go.

I knew it was selfish of me, but I believed I deserved at least this good thing in my life after my separation. As long as she wanted me, I wouldn’t let her go. And I was pretty sure that if she decided to leave me, I’d still fight for her to stay.

I loved her. I loved her enough to get through the hazard that was coming clean about our relationship to Jacob. I loved her enough to dream about a future together, even if it looked too far away for now. 

Still, I’d caught myself daydreaming about coming home to her more and more these days. It seemed that the more exhausted I was, the more I wanted her to be waiting for me when I crossed the apartment’s door, and I found myself thinking about buying a ring too many times for someone who had gone through such a lousy divorce and was dating a girl who still had college exams to worry about.

I knew our future together - if there even was one - was still too far, but I couldn’t help but want it now. Like, right now. So the fact that I wouldn’t be able to see her for another week or so while she prepared for finals was the closest thing to hell I could go through right now.

Which only made the sight of her by my apartment’s door that much sweeter. “Baby girl, what are you doing here?” Not even giving her the chance to explain, I pulled her into a needy kiss, desperate to taste her again.

I didn’t even notice that, in my eagerness to have her in my arms once more, I had dropped my briefcase and coat on the floor, opting to pay attention to the girl I held in the middle of the hallway.

I only saw the tracks of tears in her beautiful face when I released her, too. Immediately, my heart started to pound against my chest. Could something bad have happened to her? Was she hurt?

Cradling her face in my hands, I automatically started to wipe away her tears. “What’s going on, sweetheart? Why are you crying?” For whatever reason, my words only served to cause her crying to become more frantic, her sobs breaking out of her chest freely now.

My heart felt heavy at the sight of her that desperate. The urgent need to do something, to help her, but not knowing what could be done made my throat feel like it was closing. So I did the first thing I could come up with - I picked her up, not caring about my personal belongings at all as I managed to open the door and take her to the couch with me. 

“Shh… It’s alright, baby girl. I’m right here with you. Just tell me what happened, I’m sure I can help you somehow.” Again, it seemed like it was the wrong thing to say. My words took her to the verge of a panic attack if her breathing pattern was anything to go by, so I bit my tongue and focused on what I knew I could do at that very moment to help her, even if it was very little. I pulled her even closer to me, so her head was resting on my chest, and softly cradled her while rubbing her arm with one hand, while the other played with her hair. “I love you,” I repeated, over and over again. “You’re okay.”

It took some time, much longer than I hoped for, but at last her sobs started to come in bigger intervals, her breathing becoming deeper again. Slowly, she started to calm down and focus on me, and I waited until she was ready to speak, terrified of making her start crying again by pushing her to share what had caused such a terror.

“I went to the doctor today,” she started, and if at first my mind drew a blank because I had in no way anticipated this to be the start of her explanation, my heart quickly started to pound against my chest when I managed to process what she had said. 

Was she sick? I knew she had been feeling a bit under the weather recently, even throwing up some mornings, but I thought it was a bug that had been going around. She was in college, after all, and those environments were filled with bacteria, just waiting to spread any sort of illness they could provoke.

Was it something serious? For her to be that way, it had to have been. My hands started to sweat at the prospect of losing her. Automatically, I held her tighter, in desperate need to hear more but terrified of what was coming our way.

But she didn’t seem able to say it, whatever it was. Her eyes that had finally connected to mine since she started crying, suddenly fell down to her own hands, and her sniffles warned me that she had started to cry again.

“Y/N…” I begged, covering her hands with mine. “Princess, please, please talk to me. I’m going crazy here, sweetheart. I feel like I might pass out any second now.” Surprisingly, that granted me a giggle, and then, through sniffles and tears, she finally looked up at me again.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I didn’t know how to drop this bomb on Andy. How do you tell your much older boyfriend, who already has a child who’s your exact age, that you’re pregnant with his kid? I was terrified. Terrified that he wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore, that he would try to force me to get an abortion.

Terrified that I would have to do this alone.

But I had to tell him. Of course, I had. So taking one last deep breath, I squeezed the hand that was holding mine before confessing, in the bluntest possible way, since it was the only one I could come up with right now, “I’m pregnant.”

I don’t know what I was expecting. I hadn’t actually had the time to figure out how to tell him the news - hence my blurting in the simplest possible way - but that also meant I hadn’t really imagined any outcome for this. I had a lot of fears, of course, but no actual expectation. Still, Andy’s reaction managed to catch me by surprise.

At first, there was nothing at all. He just sat there, his huge hands still covering mine as he stared at me with a blank expression in his face. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could even hear it, amidst the silence in the room. Then, out of nowhere, he pounced on me, effectively knocking me back on the couch when he captured my lips with his. 

I couldn’t catch my breath as he enthusiastically devoured me, his hands cradling my face and caging me in as he forced me to make out with him on his sofa, like two teenagers after school. Andy was such a great kisser that it was hard for me not to melt against the soft cushions, instinctively opening my legs further so he could fit perfectly between them.

The way his strong body made me feel when it was covering mine was precisely what had got us in this mess, in the first place.

“Andy…” I tried to speak and push him away, but he was still kissing me desperately, opting for quick pecks around my face since I didn’t let him deepen his kiss again. “Andy!” I admonished when he continued to ignore me, choosing to suck tiny little bruises from my jaw down to my neck, instead. 

“Baby, I’m terrified over here. Can you please stop trying to distract me and tell me what you’re thinking?” That caught his attention. He finally reduced his kisses, slowly going back to his seating position on the couch and bringing me with him, laying me over his lap again.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just… I’m so fucking relieved. First, I thought you’d break up with me. Then, since you talked about going to the doctor’s, I thought something was wrong with you. I was desperate, baby girl. Desperate. I figured, one way or another, I was going to lose you. And I don’t want to lose you.”

Hearing what was going on through his mind while I struggled to figure out how to explain what was happening made my heart feel heavy with guilt. I guess that, in the state I was in I kind of thought he would have realized what I was going to say, or simply not anticipate any sort of information whatsoever, so to hear that his mind jumped to these worst-case scenarios was heartbreaking to me.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” I assured him, reaching out for his hand and squeezing it in a small show of support. “I’m right here. But we need to figure out how we’re going to do this.” Andy blinked a few times before managing to voice his confusion.

“Do this what?” And then it was my turn to be confused.

“This… kid. What are we gonna do about this?” I watched as his nostrils flared, his grip on me momentaneously hardening, before he managed to get his emotions in check through a long exhale.

“You’re not seriously considering aborting my child, right?” The question - the tone - was like a slap to the face. In all honesty, that option had never even crossed my mind, but the way he was saying it, like I had no say in the matter, killed me inside.

“I’m gonna give you the time to figure out what the hell is wrong with you. I know that this is a pretty overwhelming situation and I just sprung this on you, but that is no excuse to address me in such a manner. Especially if you consider just how much I’m the one who’s really going to have my entire life turned upside down because of this.”

Andy’s P.O.V.

I groaned as I watched her leave the room in the direction of the bathroom, knowing this was her way of letting me know I shouldn’t look for her until I was prepared to apologize. But I was already ready. I knew how terrible my words had sounded, but it came from a place of love and happiness with the situation other than possessiveness. 

So, with that in mind, I rubbed my face before getting up and following her, just in time to find her reentering my bedroom. “I’m sorry, princess. I-I just didn’t know how to react when the thought of you getting an abortion popped into my mind. It’s not like you’re a fucking one night stand or a fling to me, but you’re absolutely right. It’s your body and you should do what makes you comfortable. I just ask you to keep in mind that I would love to have this child with you. I’d support you - I’d support the both of you unconditionally. I know we’ve only been dating for a few months, but I’m serious about you. I’m serious about us. I’d marry you tomorrow if it’s what you need to know how serious I really am about this. And yeah, it’s gonna be hard, but I’m here for you. I’m always gonna be here for you, every step of the way.”

By the time I was done with my speech, she had tears in her eyes again, only this time, I knew what it was about, so I only chuckled. “Come here, sweetheart.” I pulled her to me, hugging her close to my body as I caressed the back of her head. “We’re gonna be okay, one way or another.”

“You sure you’re not just gonna abandon me with a small child?” I knew that her question came from a place of insecurity, but I still couldn’t control myself as a growl escaped my chest, my hands tightening around her, as I reminded her, “You’re mine, baby girl. I’m never gonna leave you. Don’t even think that.”

Slowly, she stopped crying, until only a few sniffles were heard every once in a while. “Okay,” she mumbled in a small voice, clearing the bedroom from what was once a silent atmosphere.

“Okay?”

“Okay, let’s do this. Let’s… Let’s have a baby together.”

A huge smile slowly took over my face as I cradled hers in mine to make sure there was no trace of hesitation in her eyes. “We’re gonna be parents?”

“We’re gonna be parents,” she confirmed, accepting my hug again. “Well, you’re already a parent.” The reminder had me chuckling to myself.

“I can’t wait to tell Jacob about this. He’s going to flip.” The mischievous tone in my voice earned me a playful slap on the shoulder. 

“No teasing him more than necessary, Andrew. He’s already going to be pretty affected by this.”

“Can’t make any promises.”

[jimlingss]

Black Waltz [1/2]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 [Finale]

➜ Words: 13.2k

➜ Genres: 70% Fluff, 30% Angst, Butler!AU

➜ Summary: When your parents pass away in an accident, a family secret is revealed. The only person you can trust and rely on is your personal butler, Kim Taehyung.

The caskets are small.   You’re not sure why but you always imagined that they’d be bigger. The undertaker already reassured you thrice that the bodies of your parents fit perfectly. Perhaps they were always that small.   “Poor girl.” Someone murmurs in the corner, not realizing that you can hear above the discordant sobs. “She’s already such a weak child. How will she handle this?”   “How do you suppose?” a man replies in a sharp mutter. “She’s just become one of the richest people in Trulia overnight. Look at this entire estate. All thanks to her father’s watch business.”   “Will you have more delicacy?” she bites back in a whisper. “A man and woman just died.”   You don’t bother looking at them. You don't cry either.    Not a single tear sheds down your cheeks as you look through your netted veil to the closed coffins belonging to your parents. Even the gardener is sobbing into his hat, but you don’t.    Your expression remains stoic.   A man approaches, dark hair and darker suit. He bows his head towards the caskets and then turns to you standing by. You recognize him the few times you saw him in passing. He’s your father’s worker, Yoongi. “My condolences, Miss Y/N.”   “Thank you.”   “Your father was a great man. It was a privilege to work under his guidance. I’m sorry this happened.”   You nod and he takes that you don’t want to extend the conversation and leaves you be.    It was an unfortunate accident. More specifically, a railroad accident. It claimed the lives of many and that also included your parents coming home from a trip to Germany.   “Eugene!” Suddenly, Uncle Seokjin throws himself over the casket. A few distraught folks try to pull him back, but he continues to howl, “How could you leave your only brother like this!”    Aunt Marie cries louder into her handkerchief.   It’s noisy.   In the midst of the ruckus, the corner of your eye catches an older man with brunette hair. The wrinkles crease around his eyes with his sorrowful expression and he takes off his top hat as he approaches. You watch as he places a rose in front of your mother’s casket and then he turns to leave without addressing you.   “Oh, Y/N!” Your attention is ripped away by your hysterically sobbing uncle grabbing your hands. “Poor Y/N!”   Someone takes him away before you get the chance to shove him off.   //   Everyone gathers in the dining room not even a full day after the funeral.   The wallpaper is dark, black trim that matches the hardwood. The long table is mahogany and there’s an unnecessary golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. You’ve always hated this room and its decorations, especially the heavy curtains that block out the sunlight.   “Y/N!” Your uncle draws out your name and smiles widely as he comes before you with open arms. He gives you a quick squeeze much to your dismay and then lets go. The middle-aged man searches your expression. “My favourite niece.”   “I’m your only niece.”   “Which makes you even more special to me.” His words are sweet. He shakes his head. “What did you ever do to deserve this?”   You wonder the same thing.   Aunt Marie clears her throat and Uncle Seokjin flounders. “Right, right, we should take our seats.”   Your eyes lift to your cousin who smiles at you, dressed in a navy frock coat with an ascot tie. “It’s been a while, Y/N. I didn’t think you’d notice but I was greeting guests at the funer—”   “I noticed.”   You cut Hoseok off mid-sentence with his mouth still open. Aunt Marie chastised him under her breath to sit down and at the same time, the family lawyer enters with his briefcase. He’s been working with your family before you were even born. You could feel his sincerity when he spoke at the memorial.   “Good evening everyone. Y/N.” Mr. Kim — Namjoon as your parents familiarly called him — nods at you in sympathetic acknowledgment and takes his place at the head of the table where your father once sat. He reaches for his briefcase and opens it up for a sealed envelope inside. “I never thought there would be a day like this. Most unfortunate indeed.”   “A heartbreaking tragedy,” Aunt Marie agrees.   “But no time like the present for us to fulfill their last wishes.” Mr. Kim slips out the crisp papers and then his eyes flicker up at you. You subtly motion to him that you’re ready for it to be read and he clears his throat.   Your relatives are sitting on the edge of the seats, hands clasped on the table in anticipation.   “I, Arden Eugene, resident in the City of Lennox, Country of Trulia, being of sound mind, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all prior wills and codicils made by me. I appoint my wife, Arden Hana, to inherit all my assets.”   The lawyer continues, “In the event where my wife is unable to inherit...all my assets, including the investments, savings and the estate, liquid and otherwise, I leave my daughter, Arden Y/N, in their entirety.”   Your aunt’s jaw ticks, your uncle has a face of disgust and your cousin’s jaw has dropped.   You’re not sure why they’re so offended. It’s not a surprise. This is what you expected.   That is until Mr. Kim adds the word— “temporarily.”   Your head turns. The lawyer’s mouth continues to move.   “Until the date and time when her half-sibling will be found.”    You’re not sure what happens first. The gasps echoing in your ears, Aunt Marie nearly falling off her seat in laughter, your uncle standing up from his spot, or your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as blood drains from your face. You feel ill, like you might throw up right on the table.   A half-sibling. Another child. There was another child all along.    “—to which ownership of all asserts will thereby be shifted onto them.”   “What is the meaning of this?!” Uncle Seokjin protests. “What child?!”   “I’m sorry, Mr. Arden. I only know as much as you do.” Mr. Kim’s eyes place on you before he resumes reading. “I give my daughter, Arden Y/N, a pocket watch.”   The amused snicker of your aunt is all too clear.   A small box is placed in front of you. It’s the size of your hand, a deep wine red. For a moment, you want to huck it on the floor, but with your breath held in your throat, you nudge the lid open. It’s a perfectly round contraption, the cover golden and perfectly polished, reflecting against the candlelight. You flip it open to find handles ticking away as seconds and minutes pass.   “To my brother, Seokjin, my sister, Marie, and her son, Hoseok, I wish them the very best in the rest of their lives.”   Aunt Marie scoffs. Uncle Seokjin collapses back onto his seat.   The will is finished being read and the paper is folded. The room is full of a tense silence as you stare at the watch. Mr. Kim clears his throat again. “As you are aware of the laws, Y/N, all assets are entitled to you temporarily. But as you have no husband to collect the inheritance, it makes things a bit more complicated. You may still live at this estate and continue the company, but you cannot alter it in any way. That includes liquidating, removing, expanding, or withdrawing. You do not have the jurisdiction to alter the company or any of the investments either.”   Everything is essentially frozen. They left you with nothing.   “Yes.” The corner of Aunt Marie’s lip curls and she sits back. “Even if you are twenty one, you need a husband to own land and wealth. Trulia’s quite old-fashioned, isn’t it?”   Trulia — a small country that bridges France and England together, cutting the English channel into half. You’ve lived here all your life, born and raised, and never hated it more.   “Y/N.” Hoseok breaks your train of thought and you look him in the eyes. Your expression remains impassive. “Did you know you had a sibling?”   You hate it all.   //   The bedroom is shrouded in darkness as you sit back in the armchair.    You’re loosely holding the cold, golden chain of the pocket watch, studying it as it swings back and forth. It’s like a clam, but without any engravings, designs or even ridges on the surface. It’s heavy, perfectly new and polished, the time precise. When both handles of the pocket watch come to twelve, the grandfather clock from downstairs chimes throughout the mansion.   Your other hand crumples into a fist and with a strangled cry in your throat, you hurl the pocket watch across the room with all your might. It clatters to the ground, ear-splitting.   A figure emerges from the shadows, leans down and picks it up with his white gloves.   “Madam, are you not well?”   “Don’t call me madam,” you snap at him.   Taehyung comes closer, his dark hair slicked back, dressed in the usual black tailcoat and trousers. His smile is tender. “You are the head of the household now.”   Arm propped up on the armrest, you press your hand to your forehead. “It makes me feel old.”   “Then I won’t, my lady. I apologize.” He places the pocket watch on the vanity table and comes to your side.   You look up at him, wondering if you look as bitter as you feel. “Even when they’re dead, they have to have the last laugh, Taehyung. They spared me nothing.” Your eyes sting painfully, the lump at the bottom of your throat aching. Anger has coloured your vision red. You’re so full of hate, but you wonder why most of all, it hurts. “I can’t believe my parents didn’t love me even after their death.”   Taehyung kneels and takes your hands that are crumpled hard enough that your nails sink into your skin. He earnestly gazes at you. “You have me. I’ll be with you until the end.”   He promises it rather recklessly. But he’s more than just your butler. More than just a worker in this house. He’s been a friend since childhood. The only one you can fully trust.   Taehyung’s expression softens even more and he reaches out. He hugs you, propping your chin on his shoulder, placing his arms around your back. “You can cry.”   You scoff. “You’re stepping over the line.”   “Then discipline me.”   You bite the inside of your cheek, vision becomes foggy as tears hang onto your lash line. “Why should I cry for those people? If...if anything, I should cry for my own circumstances.”   Taehyung smiles. “Cry then.”   For the first time, you let go. You sob into his shoulder, grasp his coat with tight fingers, allowing yourself to be at grief’s mercy. Wails choke out of your chest and the thick lump finally escapes your throat, leaving it raw and aching in a different way. The tears stain a path down from your welling eyes to your cheeks and then Taehyung’s shoulder like a chilling rainstorm.   It feels like minutes tick away until you’ve cried yourself to exhaustion.   By then, you’re so weak and you can barely open your swollen eyes. But Taehyung guides you to bed and pulls the covers. He tucks you in, making sure you’re warm. “Get some sleep.”   You nod and he extinguishes the flame in the oil lamp.    Sleep comes easier than you expect.   //   When dawn arrives, the light of the sun comes through the white curtains to cast against your eyes. You stir uncomfortably before your lids flutter open. The world is bleary in your fogged vision and your body is heavy. You don’t want to get up, but you have to.   “Good morning, mistress.” Taehyung enters, dressed in his black trousers and tailcoat with a white waistcoat underneath. His hair is pushed back in a windswept look. He sets down the golden tray balancing a water bowl and cloth. “Glad to see you’re already awake.”   “Couldn’t sleep more if I wanted to.” You round the bed and collect the water to wash your face before pressing the cloth to your skin.   Taehyung steps towards your wardrobe. “Would you like me to replace the curtains?”   “It’s fine. I don’t want to wear anything too restricting today.”   He hums. “Then will an aesthetic dress do? Green?”   “Is there a dark blue?”    Taehyung swiftly takes out a simple gown, cut loosely with a few frills at the neckline and a red, ribbon sash around the waist. The shade is a midnight blue and perfectly to your tastes as if he read your mind. It’s without any restrictive corset too. Heaven knows today is going to be suffocating enough, you don’t need to make it more difficult for yourself.   You stand in front of the three panel mirror folded into a nook and lift your arms up. Without batting a single lash or looking twice, Taehyung undresses you from the silk sleepwear and helps you into the camisole before draping the dress over your figure.   You sit at the vanity and he gently brushes out your hair. “Taehyung.”   “Yes, my lady?”   You look at him through the mirror. “Do you think I can do this?”   His eyes flicker up and he smiles. “Of course you can.”   “What if they don’t find me intimidating enough?”   “Then I’ll stand beside you and help you with that.”   What he says has you bursting out in laughter. You spin around in your seat, and Taehyung’s completely unsuspecting when you squeeze his cheeks together. His rounded eyes blink and his lips mimic a fish’s. It makes you grin. “You’re more of a puppy than a guard dog.”   But well, you suppose it’s not important what the truth is. The illusion is what matters most.   He pins half of your hair up and you barely powder your face before you’re leaving for the family meeting. On the way, you brace yourself, only temporarily interrupted by the gardener, Park Jimin, a man who’s been working on the estate for the past three years. He takes care of the garden well, better than your mother ever could. Her roses always withered. He, on the other hand, has quite the green thumb.   “Good morning, madam.” Jimin greets you merrily.   “Good morning, Jimin.” You slow in the entrance hall and Taehyung behind you does as well. “I hope you and the others are doing well. Thank you for still being here.”   The young male blushes. “We’re just doing our jobs, ma’am. You already gave us a whole week’s break which we’re more than thankful for. We just had to come back for the funeral to honour Mr. and Mrs. Arden. So there’s no need to worry about us.”   “I’m glad then.” Your smile eases. “Please continue, don’t let me stop you.”   He nods and goes on his way.   The moment Jimin’s gone, your expression hardens as you enter the main lounge area.   There your uncle, aunt, and cousin are seated around and you recognize your father’s worker, Yoongi as well. You’re not sure since when this house became a guest home where anyone can enter and loiter in as they please. You’ll have to have a word with Taehyung later.    “Y/N! My dear niece!” Uncle Seokjin’s loud and he stands from the armchair with an enormous smile that looks like it’s about to break his face. At that, everyone’s head swivels around.    Yoongi slowly rises from his seat as well.    But your uncle continues, “I hope you had a good sleep. I could barely get a wink thinking about your father and our happy days. Speaking of which, I was thinking about how empty this house will be with your parents gone. Isn’t it time for you to get married? You’ve been of age for a while. I happen to know this very kind young man from England. His name is Mark. I’d be happy to introduce—”   “Uncle Seokjin.” You stop him. “I’d rather not have you speak about my private affairs in front of a stranger.”   His pupils flicker to Yoongi and his mouth closes with a smile. “Right.”   You turn to said man and he nods his head in acknowledgment. “Would you like to have tea in the parlor?”   “No, this will only take a moment. I’m sure you’re already busy. My apologies for coming unannounced.”   “It’s not a problem. What is this about?”   “Your father’s company,” Yoongi says. “There is a client waiting for a shipment and since we closed we’ve been unable to finish the order. Would you like to refuse it?”   “No. It’s fine.” You hold in your sigh and press your finger against your forehead for a moment. Then, you come to a decision. “You may continue and run business as usual. You may act as the temporary lead, Min Yoongi.”   At the announcement, Hoseok rushes upwards with his jaw gone slack. “I could!” Heads turn towards him. “I-If you need me to! I could take over! T-Temporarily, of course!”   Your eyes narrow into your cousin, your expression cold. “There’s no need, Hoseok. I’m sure Mr. Min here will already have his hands full. There'll be no time to properly train you and no way you could take over.”   “But—!”   You ignore him to address your father’s right hand. You’re not sure if this is the right decision, but Yoongi comes across as sensible and rational. He doesn’t seem to have any malicious intention or ulterior motives either. At least your father trusted him, so you will too. “I’ll take a look at the finances and figure out the details soon enough of where the company will move forward from now on. But for now, I will entrust you to it. Please proceed as you normally would.”   Yoongi nods. “Thank you, Miss Y/N.”   You shift on your feet and look to your butler whose height towers your own. “Taehyung, can you please see Mr. Min out?”   He puts his gloved hand over his heart and bows. “Certainly.”   The two men leave the room while your cousin crosses his arms and drops back down into the sofa with a displeased face.   Aunt Marie’s eyes are narrowed in on you and she sighs, shaking her head. She comments, “You’re quite close with that butler of yours, Y/N. A bit too close, if you ask me.”   Your brow cocks. “You don’t have any authority in this household to make such comments, Aunt Marie.”   “I am merely looking out for you, Y/N,” she quips with an underlying sharpness to it. “You never know what rumours can get out and they can get quite nasty. It wouldn’t do you any good to be in a scandal. It’s best if you weren’t so close to the such lowly—”   “I choose who I want to affiliate myself with.” Your voice booms throughout the room, unknowing to how Taehyung’s already returned and that he’s standing just outside of the room. “Taehyung is my most trusted confidant. To insult my personal aid is to insult my choices and thereby, me. From now on, I will not take such things lightly.”   Aunt Marie shuffles back with a cough and the room’s swept into an uncomfortable silence.   Taehyung smiles to himself and notices a timid maid rolling a cart down the hall towards the room. He takes over and dismisses her to which she’s grateful for, knowing the room is tense. But Taehyung is unaffected as he enters with an exaggeratedly cordial expression. He places down a cake stand of pastries on the table, then the teacups.   “There, there. Let’s not get so upset in the morning.” Your uncle sits down and you find your place in front of the fireplace and the imposing family portrait above the mantle. In the meanwhile, Taehyung pours the tea with one hand in front of him. It’s earl grey, your favourite.   You sip it warmly while your expression remains stoic.   Uncle Seokjin clears his throat. “Your cousin, aunt and I have been discussing, Y/N—”   “And?”   He smiles. “We think it’s best if we...join forces.”   The tea is no longer pleasant on your palate, so you set it down on the porcelain saucer. “How so?”   “Well….”   “We don’t know who this half sibling of yours is, Y/N,” your aunt cuts to the chase. “Who knows who they could be or what they would want with us! It is simply outrageous that an outsider could come and collect everything that your parents have worked so hard for and take everything away. Your father clearly had some misunderstandings when he gave us nothing and you so little. I believe he must not have been well when he wrote that will. There must be some mistake.”   Uncle Seokjin nods and Hoseok finds the opportunity to jump in. “I have a friend who’s working in law. There must be ways we can challenge the will or at least find a way to claim back what should be rightfully ours!”   ‘Rightfully ours’.   You want to laugh. “So you want to sneak the money away?”   “You shouldn’t put it that way.” Your uncle laughs heartily. “It’s more like making a wrong a right!”   “Yes!” Hoseok enthusiastically nods. “We can’t just let someone else steal it, Y/N! What if tomorrow someone comes knocking on the door claiming to be your brother or sister, and they want to take everything away?”   Aunt Marie offers a smile. “It’s best if we work together on this matter.”    Taehyung steps behind you, shadowing your form as your relatives look at you expectedly. They have a point, but you’re not at all tempted by their most generous offer. “No.”   “Pardon?”   “I said no.” Your arms cross and you sit back. “Everything is already in my name, the estate, the investments, the company, albeit temporarily, but I’ll figure out what is to come on my own.”   Hoseok’s mouth draws open. Your uncle is unable to muster a rebuttal.    You scoff, rolling your eyes as if their very proposition is ridiculous. It’s too easy to play the villain — and it’s the only way you know how to protect yourself. “And why should I have to accept your help and have to split up my parents’ wealth when I can take it all for myself.”   “Why you!” Aunt Marie stands up, face reddened. “Ingrate!”   Her hand raises, arm extending back. But before she can slap you like she wants and knock your head to the side, Taehyung snatches her wrist. He’s faster than anyone can blink and he clutches her back, glare boring into her skin.   Her teeth grit and she rips back her hand to her chest.   You rise to your feet, eyes placed at the god awful antique cabinet on the other side of the room. “If that’s all everyone wants to say, then you can leave now. Thank you for coming to the funeral but from now on, none of you have permission to enter this estate until I announce otherwise.”   Your aunt scoffs and with her remaining pride, she stomps out. Hoseok’s brows are knitted together at a loss while your uncle is already trying to reason with you. But you leave through the doorway and allow Taehyung to take care of the rest.   //   The streets are full in the afternoon bustle — hooves clacking as horses pull the street car, ladies with parasols giggling as they cross, shouting coming from the tenement windows above, wheels of the carriages rolling along the dirt. It’s the symphony of the city. But he leaves it all behind for a short carriage ride away.   It’s a short uphill climb on foot that follows, but he swiftly gets to the magnificent mansion on a stretch of green behind black gates. It’s quaint here.   A girl in a maid ensemble scurries over and opens up the gates for him. “Right this way.”   The man is led up the path and he removes his top hat as he enters.   The manor is darker on the inside, the wallpaper a deep shade, black trim matching the hardwood. He knows every inch of this place is ridden with wealth, from the chandeliers, the ornate carpet underneath his feet to the glass cabinets full of antiques. It’s old money that will last for centuries.   But he doesn’t get to admire it for too long. A taller man with slicked back hair wearing a black tailcoat approaches. “If you’d follow me, sir.”   He nods and silently shadows the butler to the west wing. They twist down the corridor before turning a left to two large doors. The butler opens them and he hesitantly enters after.   There’s a figure behind the desk at the very back wall, an inked pen in her hand. He muses that the lady looks much too young to be residing so deep inside of this mansion surrounded in papers in the low lighting. She might be even younger than himself.   “Taehyung, stay.” You mutter out of the corner of your mouth before he can leave.   The doors shut and you finally look up as Taehyung takes his place beside you.   “You are Detective Jeon?”   He has brunette hair and brightened doe eyes, rather boyish looks overall. But you know better than to underestimate anyone simply based on appearances.   “Yes, ma’am. I am Jeon Jungkook from the Bennett Detective Agency.” He comes up to you with his briefcase in hand and gingerly places a business card on the desk. “I believe you contacted me for a private investigation.”   “Yes. I did.” You stand, going to the seating area and he follows suit. “Would you like tea?”   “No, ma’am. I’m fine, but thank you very much.”   You nod, noticing how Detective Jeon’s eyes flicker to Taehyung who comes to pour your cup.   He finally asks, “How may I be of service?”   You take a sip, savouring the flavour on your palate before placing the floral porcelain cup down. Your expression is indifferent as you sit back. “As you may have heard, my father and mother recently passed away in a railway accident.”   “I read it from the newspaper. My condolences. Your father was a very charitable man and did a lot for Trulia.”   “Yes, well, they left behind a will and revealed that I happen to have a half-sibling that is to inherit this estate.” It goes silent. A pin could drop in the room and echo. You inhale a breath and continue, “I want you to find this sibling of mine and tell me who they are, where they are, and what they’re doing. If you can do it, I’ll pay you a generous sum. However much you want. However long it takes.”   Detective Jeon nods. He doesn’t seem too surprised or curious. You suppose he must be used to this sort of thing in his line of work.   It was through your connections that you found him. He’s an upcoming private detective, but what he lacks in experience, he makes up in tenacity and foresight. He’s the best that Trulia has.   “Do you have any leads?”   You hum. It’s remarkable he asks that. You’ve been thinking about it — picking apart every single memory, all instances there could have been a hint, each time you could have been blinded to such a secret. “I don’t have any leads, but I have suspicions.”   The detective leans in closer, doe eyes placed on yours.   “I believe my sibling may be older than me and I believe contrary to any initial hunches, it may be my mother’s child.” Maybe your father knew and something had happened. Maybe he was ridden with guilt and that’s why he decided to give everything to your sibling.    “I remember, years ago, my mother came in one drunken night and she told me about her previous lover. She was supposed to marry him and they even ran away together, but my grandparents found them and she was forced to marry my father. It’s possible that she may have had a child with him before I was born. And it may be possible he came to the funeral.”   Detective Jeon takes out his notepad and begins scribbling. He bobs his head and you inhale a staggering breath as you continue to talk. You never thought you would have to divulge into your parents’ secrets after their death, that you would have to reveal all you know to a stranger. But you have to do what it takes if you want to find this person before your aunt and uncle do.   “I saw a man about your height. He looked old, about fifty or so. He put a rose at my mother’s casket and left without speaking to me. I have never seen him before in my life.”   “Did you see anything else about him?”   “Nothing that would be helpful. He had brown hair, but he was wearing black as everyone else was. He left before I could get to him.”   “Did your mother ever tell you anything else? Where they ran away to? What they were planning to do afterwards?”   “No. She only ever spoke to me about it on that one occasion.” Frankly, you’re not sure if you want to know, but you push past the thought. Detective Jeon notes it and something prickles in your mind. “If you can, I want you to also look into Park Jimin as well.”   His eyes lift off his paper.   “He’s a gardener that works at this estate,” you tell him. “He’s always been close to my mother.”   And unusually so. She never cared much for the help, but you’ve seen them walking together before and conversing on numerous occasions.   “I’ll see what I can do for you.” The detective smiles and once the conversation concludes, he takes his briefcase.    “Oh and Detective Jeon.” Your voice stops him on his way out and he turns. “It would be best if no one finds out about this, namely my relatives. They can be quite...nosy.”   He looks at you and smiles. “Understood.”   Taehyung sees him out and you take a moment to recline back into the armchair, gandering at the many bookcases lining the walls. You never thought you would one day sit in your father’s study like this. He was in here more often than any other room and somehow, it always seemed so big when you were a child.    Taehyung comes back within minutes and you can tell by the expression on his face that he has questions.   The corner of your mouth tugs and you languidly bat your hand. “Ask away.”   “What are you planning to do when you find them?”   “I’ll kill them, of course.”   You get onto your feet, slowly rounding the desk. There’s a glass paperweight on the surface and you pick it up to fiddle with it. There’s a floral print inside and it catches the light no matter what direction you turn it to. You gave this to your father for his birthday one year.   “I can’t return to being that naive person like you hope I will, Taehyung.”   You’re not children anymore. As much as you wish, you can’t go back to that simple time.   “I know.”   You twist on your heel, looking him straight into his eyes. “Then will you help me?”   He closes the distance in two strides and leans down to take your other hand. His plush lips kiss against your knuckles and he swears his loyalty yet again, “I’ll do anything for you, mistress.”   //   The next afternoon, you gather the entire estate’s servants together — the cooks, kitchen workers, maids and footmen. They look nervous at the sudden impromptu gathering, glancing at one another and quietly murmuring.   You clear your throat loudly and their attention is taken.   “As you all know, recently my father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Arden, have passed away. And I have become the new head of household. You have done a well enough job to be here and your services are much appreciated. For those who came to give their condolences at the memorial, it is something I will not forget. However, your loyalties must belong to me, not to my late parents.”    There are worried glimpses exchanged and you begin to pace in front of them. “As I am now the lady of the Arden estate, I would like to begin anew.”   You can’t afford to feed so many mouths, considering all the wealth is frozen. You’ll be paying with what you personally have until you can find a solution with Mr. Kim. Not to mention, you’re not sure who can be trusted, who your uncle and aunt have already persuaded. The last thing you need is extra eyes and ears in this house.   “From now on, Taehyung will be the manager of this household. He will see to it that the household will still function. If you have any questions, ask him. If you have any concerns, then ask him. He will come to me with whatever he cannot solve.”   “Few of you will stay and I thank the rest for serving this house for so long. I will make sure your severance pay is generous enough until you will be able to find work elsewhere. If your name is called, you may stay.”   Taehyung, standing behind you, begins reading from the list. One of the three names called is none other than Jimin himself.   The gardener smiles out of relief, eyes crinkled into half-moons. “Thank you, madam.”   You nod and once it’s done, you leave for the study as Taehyung takes care of the rest. You don’t want to stay around to see disheartened expressions or hear pleas to stay. So you’re resigned to watch out of the upper windows instead.   You’ve allowed them a few days to leave, but some are already taking their exit with their belongings with them, tearfully looking back at the mansion. It’s difficult but it needs to be done.   “My lady…”   You hear Taehyung come from behind you. You shift away from the window. “You’ll help me look for new help?”   “Of course.”   “Do you think four maids and one cook will suffice?” You count on your fingers. There’s already Jimin taking care of the gardens, you kept one maid so he’ll only have to hire three, and there’s a trustworthy kitchen maid too. It’s not like you need that many hands to take care of the estate. “Or will you need more help?”   “That’ll be fine.” The edge of Taehyung’s mouth pulls. “I could technically do it all, if you’d like.”   “And have you fainting on me from exhaustion?” You notice lint on his coat tail, so you come up to him and gently dust off his shoulder. “I think not.”   Taehyung’s sly smile tugs. “Do you consider me delicate?”   “No. But I am,” you clarify, looking up at the man. “If you’re not here twenty four seven attending to me, then what would be the point of having you around?” You brush past him, mumbling, “Can’t have you in the kitchen when you’re supposed to be by my side.”   The man stifles back a laugh to himself, yet his grin is all too evident. “Yes, madam.”   You glare at him over your shoulder, but it reminds you, “Tell the new help not to call me madam. You know I don’t like it.”   He puts his hand over his heart and bows exaggeratedly. “Yes, young mistress.”   You scoff. The title is not that much different and he knows it too. He always knows how to be cheeky, but you let it go because he’s Taehyung. It’s not like you can ever be upset with him for long.    He’s already won before the game’s begun.   //   A few days later, there’s a knock at your door.   It’s unusual. Taehyung never knocks and your suspicions are confirmed when an unfamiliar girl is sticking her nose into the room. “Umm...pardon me.”   It’s an unfamiliar girl in a maid ensemble, a black dress with white trim and a ruffled apron with a headpiece. Her hair is dark and shiny, features sharp. You assume she must be one of the new ones. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t find Butler Kim, I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Kim, the lawyer— I think, is in the parlor. He instructed me to tell you that he’s brought it.”   You nod and get up. But you stop for a second and come eye to eye with the girl. “What’s your name?”   “Jane.” She smiles to herself as if she’s happy you’ve made a note of it.   “If you could clear the teacup from the table.”   “Oh! Certainly!” She rushes over and you don’t linger.    True to what’s been told, the middle-aged lawyer is sitting in his chair and he staggers up as you come into the room. “It’s good to see you well, Y/N, and that you’ve taken charge of this estate so well.”   “Thank you.” You motion to the armchair. “Please, sit.”   “I brought your parent’s business expense reports as you asked.” Mr. Kim takes it from his briefcase and hands you the thick folder after settling down. “I didn’t think I would have it until I remembered there was a box in my office closet meant for this sort of thing. My office ended up branching out and opening a professional accounting firm a year ago, you see, so we no longer do bookkeeping.”   You flip open to find your father’s writing, then pages of Mr Kim’s. The reports match up with what he says. It stops a year ago. You might need to get into contact with Yoongi to find the more recent expense documents.   “Thank you for this. It will be very helpful to me.”   The lawyer nods. “Anytime, child. Now about what you talked to me about last time….”   “Yes, how is that coming along?”   He sharply inhales. “As I suspected, it will be difficult to challenge the will in court, Y/N. It hasn’t been done before and it may be costly. For now, my first submission is still in process, so we’ll have to see if we can even speak to a judge. I’ll let you know how that comes along.”   You’re grateful he’s still of help to you. He's older than your father is, but you suppose he must enjoy his line of work to not retire at this age. “Mr. Kim, if I may ask a question. Were...you aware that I had a sibling?”   The man smiles sadly. “Unfortunately, I was not. The will was sealed and I was simply entrusted to read it to you all. It took me by surprise as much as it did for you.”   If you didn’t know, the family lawyer wouldn’t either.    You wonder how many other well-kept secrets there are in your family.   That night, you look over the documents while burning the midnight oil. As usual Taehyung insists that you head to bed when the grandfather clock chimes past twelve, but after you tell him to go retire first, he stays silent beside you.    Taehyung’s too stubborn sometimes, but you don’t tell him his company is pleasant to have.   “Huh.”   “What’s the matter?”   “I didn’t know my father donated to St. Andale Orphanage.” You squint, reading the barely legible writing. You don’t remember that happening or it being posted in the newspaper.   “It must’ve been done anonymously,” Taehyung comments and you make a noise in agreeance. But it’s strange. Your father always liked to have his name on donations so that people would know and it would be written in the newspaper. It’s not like him to go quiet and he gave quite generously too.   “I’d like to go to the orphanage tomorrow.” You look up at Taehyung. “In the morning.”   “I’ll arrange that for you,” he says with a smile.   You close the books. “I’d like that man to join me as well. My father’s worker, Min Yoongi.”   At that, Taehyung’s brow quirks. “For?”   “He was close to my father, right? He might know something I don’t.”   //   The orphanage is a worn brick on the south side of the city in the poorer area, yet it somehow looks to be holding up well. It’s unlike the other buildings around that’s crumbling. You wonder if it’s your father’s doing that made this place half-decent.   You can hear the laughter of children in the plot of grass fenced in. You watch them at the distance while strolling the perimeter with Taehyung to your left and Yoongi to your right.   “It is quite cloudy today.”   “It looks like winter is coming soon.” Yoongi looks at you. “If you’re cold, we could go inside.”   “No, it’s quite alright. I don’t get to enjoy the cold weather often and it can be nice.” You turn with a small smile. “I might be like my father in that way.”   “Yes, I remember he told me he quite enjoyed the snow.” His eyes gloss over, reminiscent. “Your father was a very respectable man.”   “He was a good businessman and an even less attentive father,” you hum and feel Yoongi’s gaze on your profile, but he doesn’t get a chance to reply. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but did my father ever speak about his private life, Mr. Min?”   “Yoongi is fine. But no, not frequently at least. I only remember he once told me about flowers he was going to get for his wife before he headed home and I remember he spoke about you a few times.”   “Me?”   “Yes.” Yoongi offers a polite smile. “He told me that you were quite talented in your personal studies.”   You take a glance at him. There’s not a single trace on his expression that lets you know he’s lying or exaggerating, but you still find it hard to believe. “In his will, he gave me a pocket watch. I was hoping you’d know more about it. It’s gold and without any designs or engravings—”   “Gold?” Yoongi gives you a peculiar expression. “The company doesn’t make gold pocket watches.”   “Pardon?”   He explains, “We found that the profits weren’t worth the costs, so what’s used is silver, bronze, ceramic or even glass. In the third collection, there were some gold watches, but you said there weren’t any designs or engravings on it?”   “There’s nothing.”   The corner of the man's mouth pulls. “Mr. Arden must have personally handcrafted it for you then.”   Your brows furrow. You’re not sure how you feel upon hearing that, so you cast a glimpse to Taehyung who’s been quietly listening and he smiles at you. Yoongi clears his throat a moment after. “I wasn’t planning on telling you this, Miss Y/N, but considering it’s about your family, I think you have a right to know.”   Your head turns over in alarm. “What is it?”   “Your cousin, I believe, Hoseok. He’s been….showing up to the company often. He’s been wanting to book a meeting with me for a week now and he waits until I’m done working to try to speak to me. I suspect he wants to take over the business.”   You’re not surprised. “I’m receiving that kind of pressure in regards to the wealth and estate, Yoongi, and a hundred times worse. I think you have it in you to handle my overbearing cousin.”   Yoongi laughs from his chest as if he already figured you didn’t have any real solution. But based on your answer, it’s allowing him to do whatever he wants to that cousin of yours.    A few minutes pass before an older woman emerges to the field. “Children! Children! It’s time for lunch! Come along now!”   Another woman comes to invite you inside, so you follow after them into a room where they’re serving soup and loaves of bread. You watch children as old as fifteen to as young as three line up one after another. It’s both sad and heartwarming to see so many sparkling eyes in hunger-pane frames.    “Today’s food was given to us by Miss Arden and Mr. Min, can everyone give a big thank you?”   There’s a chorus of ‘thank you’s throughout the room and toothless grins from boys and girls.   When a woman struggles with carrying a box inside, Taehyung comes to help and then Yoongi. They’re supplies that you donated out of your own pocket, clothing and some blankets — it’s not much but still better than nothing.   “I want more!”   A pitched voice of a four year old boy in drab clothes knocks you out of your train of thought and you shift towards him. His friend adamantly shakes his head.   “No! ‘Member what Sister Emmy said? You only get one!”   You step forward, lips parting but before a single word can escape—   “Here you go.” An older girl with soft features and her hair pulled back in a frayed ribbon has spun around with an extended arm. Her loaf of bread is in hand. The boy blinks owlishly at her and she beams. “You can have it.”   “Thank you!” He takes it and the two boys run away.   “That was very kind of you,” you speak up and she turns around, startled that someone saw. You smile at her, lowering yourself to match her height. “You can have more bread. There should be enough for the next few days.”   Her eyes light up. “Really?”   You don’t like children much, but this girl seems to be intelligent and mature for her age. “What’s your name?”   “Rose, ma’am.” She bows her head awkwardly, rather well-mannered. “Thank you for the food.”   “I’m happy to help when I can. Can I ask how old you are?”   She counts on her fingers for a moment. “I believe twelve, ma’am, but I’m not sure.” As you frown, she quickly explains, “My mother died when I was young and I’ve never met my father, so I don’t know for certain how old I am….”   Her voice becomes quieter and quieter as it goes on and you realize she’s ashamed.   “That’s quite alright. I don’t have parents anymore either.” You muster a smile and the corner of her own mouth tugs. It’s pleasant to talk to someone who doesn’t know you, someone who doesn’t have any ulterior motives. “What do you like to do, Rose?”   “I don’t do much. But I like to cook! And churn butter. I also like collecting eggs and making milk.”   You hum. “How would you like to come back with me and work at the house?”   Her eyes open wide, irises practically glistening from the afternoon sunlight coming through the windows.   You’re normally not so impulsive, but you have a feeling she’s wasted here in the orphanage where she’ll have to work in a factory soon or get married by fifteen. Your mother always warned you to pick and choose the people around you carefully, and this girl seems trustworthy. Or at least, you can see capability.   Taehyung was even younger than she was when he entered the house for the first time. He must’ve been six or seven. His dad worked for the household and so did his dad’s dad — a whole lineage that made it inevitable that Taehyung would follow too.   Rose comes home with you three hours later.   You take it that this kind of affair customarily doesn’t happen so quickly judging by the head lady there being overwhelmed by the generous offer of taking the girl. But the process was most likely sped up considering your well-known status and Rose’s enthusiasm at the promise of a private room, food each day, and a high pay at the end of every month. She was more than happy and practically begging the woman she knew well to let her go. And the woman was happy too — even thanking you for giving her a home.   You’re not sure if it’s much of a home. But it’s yours.   “This is...enormous.” Rose gasps as her eyes lay upon the manor, lugging her small case of belongings by her side. “I-I mean, thank you, ma’am. I will work very hard!”   Your lips tickle into a small smile. “I’m glad.” The three of you enter and she gawks at the place. “Taehyung will show you where you’ll stay in the maid’s quarters and what will be expected of you. I’ll give you time to settle yourself, so don’t worry about anything for now.”   “Thank you, ma’am!”   “It’s right this way.” He guides and she tottles after him. You sigh softly with a smile as you watch the pair. He was amused when you told him that you wanted to take her home and he followed your instructions without much protest. Hopefully Taehyung will let her know that you’re not keen on being called ma’am or madam.   You’re about to retire to your room, but you’re stopped on your way by Jane.    She fiddles with her fingers nervously. “Miss, um, there’s, uh…”   “What is it?”   “There’s a guest in the parlor. He came about an hour or two ago and he insisted on staying until you came home.”   You hold in your sigh, wondering why it’s so hard to take a rest these days. “From now on, do not allow anyone inside the house when I am not here unless said otherwise.”   She flinches at your tone and dips her head. “Yes, my lady.”   You make your way to the room to find out who this uninvited guest is, and your brows furrowed in confusion when you see the backside of an unfamiliar man. He’s dressed in a sack coat with a matching waistcoat and black trousers. He must hear your footsteps since he turns around and instantly gets up, jaw gone slack.   “You must be Y/N,” he murmurs in awe. “You’re even more beautiful in person.”   The man comes to you and takes the back of your hand, placing a kiss against your knuckles. You eye him the entire time. “And you are…?”   “Oh, I apologize, I hadn’t realized I didn’t introduce myself.” He takes off his top hat and presses it to his chest. “I am Mark Carter. I believe your uncle may have spoken about me previously.”   You vaguely remember something about meeting his friend’s son, but you can’t quite pinpoint the details. Your expression remains stoic and unimpressed. “Is that so?”   “It’s an honour to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”   You guessed this would have happened, but you didn’t know it would come so soon. Being the head of the Arden Household and unmarried at that, it’s only natural that others will come after you.    It would be wise of you to consider it as well — the only way you can collect the temporary inheritance is through your husband. But as silly and naive as it might be, you want to marry for love and not convenience. And it’s the one thing you won’t allow yourself to give up on.   “Like what?”   “Pardon?”   “What have you heard about me?”   Mark clears his throat. “Well, I have heard that you are as intelligent as your father and as beautiful as your mother, no less than a red rose blossoming in the morning dew of spring. And I must say, those rumours do not do you justice, Miss Y/N. You far exceed any poetry that could possibly be waxed.”   The corner of your mouth curls in amusement. Admittedly, it’s nice to hear such bold and blatant compliments once in a while, even if they are exaggerated and likely crafted by your uncle. “While I am wholly flattered, Mr. Carter, is this what you came here to tell me?”   The man’s posture straightens. “I came to ask permission to court you.”   You nearly choke on your own spit. You’re taken aback at the man’s shamelessness, not sure if he’s dimwitted or simply brave. “Meaning?”   “I would like to send you letters every so often if you grant me permission and perhaps if you’d be inclined to take strolls with me.”   You’re not sure how to answer or what to say, but you’re starting to feel your impassive expression crumble. You muse it’s impressive your uncle found someone as overbearing and insistent as he is. “Can I ask why you want to send me letters? We’ve never met before.”   “Actually, we have,” he says and blinks. “At your father’s charity function two years ago.”   You scour your mind, but you can’t recall. Every charity function you attended, you just remember sneaking out food for Taehyung and sitting together outside looking at the stars.    Mark reads your expression as he realizes that you can’t remember and his face falls. “It hurts me that you can’t remember the encounter but no matter.” He suddenly takes your hands and you lean back to create more distance. “If you let me, Miss Y/N, I promise you that you will not be disappointed.”   “Mr. Carter—”   “I have not been able to forget you since that night.” You wonder why he didn’t look for you sooner then if he felt so passionately about an encounter you can’t even remember. But before you can ask, he comes closer to you, forcing you to take a step back. “If you give me a chance, I will grant your every wish.”   He’s crowding you, intruding in your space, larger than you are.   Your mouth parts, trying to utter out a word, but it’s not necessary. A looming shadow comes over Mark, draping him away from the light.    It’s Taehyung with a menacing expression — his lips drawn together, eyes practically burning holes. He grabs the back of the man’s coat collar and yanks him away from you, finally giving you space to breathe. “Please do not lay a hand on her ladyship, good sir.”   “W-Who’re you?!” Mark looks between you and Taehyung as if expecting you’ll tell him to leave him be. But you don’t move whatsoever.   Your butler offers the man a stiff smile that has your own mouth curling upwards. “Uninvited guests are no longer permitted in the Arden estate. The maid that you let in was inexperienced. A mistake like that will never happen again. So unfortunately, you will have to leave now until you receive a proper invitation.”   “Wait!”   You stifle back a laugh when Taehyung physically picks him up, nearly throwing him over his shoulder.   The man struggles and his cries echo throughout the manor as he’s taken away, “Put me down! Stop! You idiot! You’ll hear from my father about this! How dare you!”   Taehyung throws him out of the estate and you’re finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.   When he comes back, he dusts off his hands with a more pleased expression. “What would you like for dinner, mistress?”   //   The next time someone visits, it’s not uninvited.   “Who are you?” Jane has stopped in the middle of her path, duster in hand and scrutinizing the doe-eyed male in the foyer. His brow lifts at the girl, but before he can come up with an answer, Taehyung appears from the corridor.   “Right this way, sir.”   The man in his coat nods and walks away, yet the maid is still curious. Her eyes follow the stranger’s form and she murmurs to Taehyung, “But who is he?”   “Her lady’s affairs don’t affect you,” he coldly deadpans. “It would be better to attend to your duties than ask questions.”   “M-My apologies, Butler Kim.” Jane dips her head and turns around, but she still steals a glance over her shoulder with a pout and a huff escaping through her nose.   Taehyung comes inside the study to find you and Detective Jeon going through what he’s found.   “I looked into Park Jimin like you asked me to.”   “What did you find?”   Detective Jeon flips open copies of documents. “He was born and raised right here in Lennox, never stepped foot outside of Trulia. His parents are immigrants from the East, still married and living together on the West side of the city in a tenement. His father worked in a landscaping company and his brother, three years older than he is, is a wagon craftsman.”   You go through the papers and sigh after a moment. It doesn’t seem like he’s the one you’re looking for. Well, you suppose you’ve ruled out at least one possibility.   “He’s as boring as they get,” the detective says. “But I did find something...peculiar.”   “What is it?”   “That man you wanted me to search for, the one who came to the funeral, I think I might have found where he is.” Detective Jeon hands you another worn folder from his briefcase and you eagerly untie the string to look at the pages inside.   “An intern at your father’s company actually spoke to him briefly and I found the inn he was staying at in Lennox. Spoke to the lady there and went to the train station. I have a connection with someone who manages the books and they found a train ticket. There’s more to it, but I won’t bore you.”   His name is Arthur Kahl. There are small details of him written, how he’s in his fifties, where he lives and a drawing of him sits amongst the documents. Your brows furrow. This is him — there’s no doubt about it.   “He’s an artisan. A woodworker,” Detective Jeon tells you. “Lives in France, in a town called Colmar, but he grew up here in Lennox.”   Your eyes flicker up to Taehyung and then the detective. “Thank you for this.”   He offers a smile. “It’s all in a day's work.”    Shortly after, Detective Jeon is escorted out by the butler. His eyes are perceptive but his senses are even more keen. He takes a glance at the taller man. “Your name is Kim Taehyung, right?”   Taehyung’s brow quirks. “I think you already know the answer to that.”   Detective Jeon boyishly smiles. “Is it alright if I ask a question? It might be intrusive.”   “Then don’t ask.”   “But see, I’m much too curious.” His steps slow while the two men come outside where it’s harder to eavesdrop. They stop on the front path of the manor leading towards the gates. “It might be the reason why I ended up in this line of work. Can’t give up on something once it’s in my head. I just have to know.”    There’s a pause. Then, he doesn’t hesitate any longer. “Do you perhaps fancy Miss Y/N?”   Detective Jeon’s doe eyes sparkle in the sunlight.   It’s a subtlety that can only be noticed through careful observation.   But he’s seen it — through the way you allow the butler to stay in every private conversation divulging the secret details of your family. How he always knows what you want without you needing to speak a single word. You’re in rhythm with one another and always taking glances when the other person isn’t looking.    Jungkook has seen many things. But never a master and servant so close to each other.   “That is an intrusive question.” Taehyung’s expression remains impassive. “My devotion goes beyond such kinds of frivolous and fickle emotions.”   His mouth quirks. “Why don’t you do anything about it then?”   “It’s not my place. I merely grant her wishes and fulfill my necessary duties.”   “So you’re holding yourself back on purpose?”   “That’s enough questions.” Butler Kim continues walking. “You’re a detective. If you’re that curious, I’m sure you can figure it out.”   “You’re right.” Detective Jeon grins, led out the gates, yet he turns around one last time. “But if you’re willing to do anything for your mistress, would you kill for her?”   His expression hardens while Jungkook flashes another smile. It’s not the kind of question that is waiting for an answer, so the other merely walks off, down the path and away from the estate.    //   You’ve only ever left Trulia twice in your life.   Once on a family outing when you were five or six and another time for just a few days when you were accompanying your father on a business trip. You’ve never had the chance to see much outside of this country and it’s a wish that you never spoke to anyone before but Taehyung.   There was simply never a chance for you to go. And while you expected your next journey out of Trulia would be an adventure and perhaps seeing new sights, you suppose this is a good excuse as well.   “Can you please pack another dress? I don’t want to run out when I’m there.”   Rose enthusiastically nods and goes to your wardrobe to pick another gown. While Taehyung is the one who would ever pack your suitcases, you don’t want to rely on him too much. He was already preparing the rest of the things for the trip and Rose seemed more than happy to help.   “The blue one will be fine.”   She nods and folds it into the case as you look over the gloves. “How long will you be going for, miss?”   “A few days.” You look up at the twelve year old and the corner of your mouth tugs. “You’ll watch the house for me? I don’t want any roaches to crawl in while I’m away.”   Her head bobs up and down. “I’ll try my best, my lady.”   You smile, noticing Jane looking into the room. She realizes you’ve seen her and clears her throat. “Do you need any help, my lady?”   “No, I’m fine, thank you.”   It’s nerve-racking to leave the estate and Trulia. You trust that a few days won’t bring things into chaos, especially considering that you’ve kept your affairs discreet. But underlying the unsettlement is a buzz of excitement — that just for a short while, you can escape.    You feel that way even a day later when you’re at the train platform. And whatever you were afraid of is washed away with Taehyung by your side.   “Stand right here. I’ll only be a moment,” he tells you, holding your tickets to Colmar and you nod.   Your hand grips the suitcase as you overlook the bustle of people. You’ve never seen so many gathered in one place before, families and lovers parting ways, children rushing past, the conductor quickly pacing to the front of the platform. It’s dizzying to look at and overwhelming to be in.   You wonder if you look out of place in the mass of people. You chose to wear a white dress with a natural silhouette, a bustle pad underneath and a bonnet around your half pinned-up hair. It’s modest attire, but the threads are still expensive. The last thing you would want is to attract needless attention and that’s why you made Taehyung wear a normal white waistcoat and black frock coat with matching trousers than his usual stiff tailcoat. He looks rather nice in normal clothing anyhow.   As you think about Taehyung, you start to search the crowd.   The red and black painted train whistles, smoke coming from its chimney. It looks like it’s about to leave soon, but you’re not sure if you should go in or where you would even sit or put your luggage. It’s been so long since you’ve been on a train, you don’t know what to do.   The endless questions and uncertainty drains blood from your face and you start to panic.   Until Taehyung comes into sight.    “What took you so long.” You frown at him but he still has the audacity to smile.   “My apologies, I had to check if we were at the right platform. Let’s go.”   He takes your suitcase and offers his arm which you take.   Taehyung keeps you from being swallowed by the thick crowd and pushed back. His height looms over even most men and although his stature is lean, he remains steady. Once you’re at the doors, he puts down the cases and holds your hand to help you up the step and then he resumes by your side, cutting through the passenger cars.    The two of you pass the more luxurious sleeping cars and as you peek into the window of the car of commoners, wondering if that’s where you’re heading, he slides open the door of a compartment.   It’s a private booth with a large window and a ledge overtop for your suitcases.   “Here we are, my lady.”    Taehyung organizes your belongings as you sit down on the plush seat. A moment later, the train begins to move, wheels rolling against the rail and then it builds speed to chug along.   You watch houses flash past the window.   “What do you think?” he asks, sitting opposite of you.   “Is it supposed to be so nauseating?”    Your head is light and the world is dizzying from the fast motion of the train. Taehyung must see your weakened expression with the way his eyes widen in alarm. But you quickly lift your hand and try to reassure him, “It’s fine.”   It isn’t. And he knows it.   “We can get off the next station.”   “No!” You inhale a deep breath, calming yourself. “We have to go. We have to make it, Taehyung.”   You shut your eyes. There’s no way you can turn back now. “It’s probably because I haven’t been sleeping well.” Not when you’re up day and night taking care of what your parents left for you, even if it’s only temporarily. And not when you’re kept awake plagued by the secrets of the people who were supposed to be closest to you. “The herbs in my tea can only do so much.”   Suddenly, you feel the seat dip beside you and your eyes flutter open to see Taehyung. He reaches over and gently guides your head to lean on his shoulder. “Then sleep. Don’t think about anything else.”   The corner of your mouth curls. “You make it sound so easy.”   “I’ll watch over you.”   A noise is made at the back of your throat and you allow yourself to mold against Taehyung’s side, your head cradled against the slight slope of his broad shoulder. As you ease, your fingers slowly drag itself over until you graze the back of his hand. No words are needed. No explanations are necessary.    Taehyung flips his hand so that his palm faces upwards and his fingers entwine with yours.   Within a few minutes, your chest begins to rise and fall, soft breaths escaping your parted lips.   Taehyung’s eyes stray from the windows to watch you.   You’re cold and blunt, carrying yourself with an intimidating demeanour that either frightens others or causes them to despise you. But he can still see the traces of your childhood self, even if the recent weeks have forced you to harden. Taehyung knows that you’re still sentimental, that you’re affectionate, that you’re not as indifferent as you’d like to be.   He knows you’re still grieving for your parents.   The two of you grew up together after all.   Since young, he’s been told he’s talented for this line of work, but devotion was another matter. He was told that being a butler meant more than just serving — it meant protecting. And he swore his duty to your name that day you took the blame when he stole from the kitchen and you got slapped by your mother.    He can still remember your small frame standing in front of him. How your words didn’t waver.   Taehyung knew it then and he knows it now — there’s nothing more important than protecting you.   His mouth tugs and his eyes lift from your sleeping features, but something catches the edge of his vision. Taehyung looks up to the window of the compartment door and finds a man, blue eyes, blonde hair curled in front of his forehead. The stranger peers into the compartment and when he notices Taehyung’s gaze, he dips his bowler hat as if to shield himself.   Taehyung moves.   He cradles your head until you’re laying down fully on the seat and he quietly slides the door open.   “Excuse me.”   Taehyung moves past someone, eyes darted on the man who peeks over his shoulder and quickens his steps.   He had seen the man before — earlier on the platform and then again when he left you alone. Taehyung came back right in time. You hadn’t noticed the man behind you at all.    Taehyung quickens his steps, stalking after the man who looks over his shoulders once more. His strides hasten. He practically breaks out into a run. Taehyung chases after him as the train curves into a tunnel. The windows are blackened, darkness sweeping throughout the cart.   He hears staggering breaths pulling roughly out of lungs and at the same time, the train rushes out the tunnel. Light breaks through the windows again and the steel door at the end of the cart begins to close. Taehyung sees through the tiny gap where panicked eyes meet his own gaze.   Taehyung runs.    He throws open the door and the cold wind rips through his hair with the intensity of a storm. The wheels shriek against the rail. There’s only a tiny step before one would have to make the jump to the other cart’s door. In between are violently rattling metal links that connect the two carts.    “Hah!”    There’s a squeak of shoes behind him. Taehyung ducks. The door slams closed.   The man’s arm is extended midair, having missed Taehyung’s cheek and within a blink, Taehyung grabs his arm and twists it. The man shouts in agony, teeth gritted. “Why you!”   His fist swings and it manages to catch Taehyung’s jaw. He’s knocked back, tasting a surge of coppery blood.    Taehyung wheezes, but his lips curl into a smile. He launches himself forward as the man squares himself. An arm swings. Fist curled. Taehyung dodges.   Taehyung takes the opportunity, no longer on the defense, and he swiftly strikes.   The man stumbles back, air ripped out of his lungs, eye sure to bruise.   Taehyung steps forward, but the man grabs something within his coat.   “Step back!”   Taehyung’s met with the muzzle of a revolver and puts his hands up, calming his breath.   The man snorts with a sly smirk. “Yeah that’s right. You’re just a dog.”   But then Taehyung's left hand clutches the man’s wrist and he contorts it at an angle, knee coming up to slam into the man’s stomach. Instantly, the man keens and wheezes.   He cries out as the revolver crashes onto the links connecting the carts and falls beneath to the rails.   Taehyung grabs the man’s collar and holds him backwards, nearly off the train. The man’s eyes become rounded in fear. There’s a storm of verdant in the background, fields and trees darting past.   “Who are you?!”   “Let go of me! I...I swear, I didn’t want to do this!”   “What do you want with her?” Taehyung demands, shaking the man whose head nearly touches the steel rails. The man’s fist curls on Taehyung’s so he doesn’t fall. “Answer the question!”   The shout is torn from Taehyung’s throat, his face crumpled into unadulterated anger, jaw clenched.   “I-It was her uncle!” the man quickly spits out in fear of his life. “Seokjin! He hired me! He wanted me to kill her!”   “So you were planning on putting a bullet through her head?!”   “I-I just needed the money! I’m sorry! Please, please,” the man pleads. “You don’t have to do this. W-What has that girl ever done for you? You’re just her guard dog!”   Taehyung has a deadpan expression, eyes dim. He begins to release his hold on the man who audibly sighs of relief. “That’s right.”    But it’s too soon.   “Don’t you know dogs are one of the most loyal animals?” Taehyung grabs the man again as he stands and throws him off the train into the soft meadow. “Woof.”   The man’s scream echoes. Taehyung dusts off his hand.   He comes back to the compartment to where you’re still sleeping and resumes his spot with your head in his lap, finding a warm blanket to drape over you.    Six hours later, you wake up, rubbing your eyes. He smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair in front of your face behind your ear. But your sleepy daze shatters when you see his split lip.   Almost immediately, you’re leaning over to Taehyung, grazing the wound with your thumb.   He sharply inhales.   “What happened?” you demand, worry written all over your face.   It hurts to smile, but can’t resist it. He should never admit it — he likes it when your attention is solely on him. “I tripped.”   You look at him incredulously. “Taehyung.”   “I did.” He doesn’t give up the excuse no matter how much you prod and pry.    The train arrives in the town of Colmar shortly after.   It’s a quiet place with a certain dryness to the air in spite of the river running through the town and underneath the bridges. The homes are tightly knitted next to one another. It’s a cozy kind of atmosphere. For a moment, you can imagine your mother having spent her life in this place and you’re not certain how to feel.   You decide to stay in an inn near the square, dropping off your suitcases in your given room.   “We should find him, shouldn’t we?”   You turn from the window to Taehyung with an unreadable expression.   “We don’t have to,” he says and it’s all too tempting. You want to forget that you’re here looking for your mother’s old lover, that you’re searching for your sibling. You wish you can pretend that this is merely a trip to enjoy with Taehyung in a place far away from Lennox.   But even if you were to dream such a thing, the truth would not stop plaguing your mind.   You muster the strength to shake your head. “We can enjoy ourselves after. There’s no point in putting it off.”   “He’s an artisan. A woodworker.”   The detective’s words ring inside your head.   “Lives in France, in a town called Colmar.”   It should be difficult to find the man — that way you have a legitimate excuse to put this off. You wouldn’t have to confront your parents’ secrets. Or meet a brother or sister you never wanted.   “But he grew up here in Lennox.”   Yet this town is small and there is only one known woodworker. If such a thing as fate or destiny exists, then it never stops being cruel to you.   The bell rings as the door of the shop opens.   “Hello there! How can I help you?”   There’s an older man behind the counter busy at his shelf, brunette hair and features tender, wrinkles creased around his eyes to mark each smile he’s collected over the years.   You come towards him with Taehyung by your side. “You were at my mother’s funeral.”   At your murmur, the man turns around wide-eyed. Arthur Kahl, the man your mother loved, who she wanted to marry and be happy with. The father of your sibling.   “You’re Hana’s daughter….” His mouth draws open. “Wh-what are you doing here?”   “I came to see you. I think you may have answers to my questions.”   “I-...I don’t know if I do, but please, sit.” He hobbles to the front of his shop, turning the sign over to not receive any more customers and the both of you sit on wobbly chairs. He knows you came this far, that you searched for him. There’s no other way you could have found him. “I’m sorry I never spoke to you at the funeral. I thought since we didn’t know each other, there was no point in bringing back old memories.”   “Is it true then?” You look at him carefully. “About my mother and you running away together…”   “That was a very long time ago.”   “Then why did you come to see my mother?”   “It was a long time ago, but I still wanted to pay my respects. Your mother...was a wonderful woman and treated me kindly. I’m glad she ended up having a good life and a happy family.”   The corner of your mouth twitches.   He continues, “While I never personally met your father, he seems like a very respectable man and a good husband. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”   The words sit uncomfortably in you. Your parents always seemed to treat each other with mutual respect and trust. It was never a passionate affair like pairs you’ve met, but rather a quiet relationship of sitting alongside one another. You never would have guessed your mother had someone else.   But you don’t want to know anymore about your mother’s history.   “I received my parent’s will a day after their burial.” You inhale a breath, bracing yourself. “And it promised my sibling the estate and the company. I don’t want to harm them. I want to fulfill my parents’ last wishes. So please, allow me to meet my sibling.”   Your eyes meet his earnestly. The man stares back at you, his brows knitting together.   “My apologies, but I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding. I don't know who your sibling is.”   The clock on his shelf ticks loudly.   “Your mother and I never consummated our relationship.”   //   The night sets in, matches hissing into a flame and thrown into the wood in the fireplace until it awakens and paints the room in a warm orange hue. The quietness is deafening outside of the crackle and pop of the fire.   You haven’t eaten. You don’t want to. You don’t think you could stomach it.   “My apologies.”   You’re seated at the rounded table in the chair, motionless. You should’ve never come. You should have just stayed in the estate instead of trying to dig around in the secrets of your family, into the reasons why nothing was left for you, why they didn’t love you even after death.   “But I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding.”   You came here for nothing.   “I don't know who your sibling is.”   Your efforts were worthless.   “Your mother and I never consummated the relationship.”   There’s an ear-splitting crash that rings the four walls.    Taehyung opens the door, eyes darting to you. You’re hyperventilating, clutching the handle of your suitcase, all your belongings fallen on the ground beside the wall. You toss the case aside with a frustrated cry.   He calmly shuts the door before anyone in the inn can pry and closes the distance in two strides.   “It’s okay.” He opens his arms and he engulfs your quivering frame.   You grasp onto him, your hands twisting into his white shirt. “I-I don’t know what to do, Taehyung. I...I really thought I had it. I was preparing myself—”   You were preparing yourself to meet your sibling. To confront it all. For once, you were ready.   The frustration cripples you blind and angers you.    How much longer will you be left in the dark? How much longer do you have to look like the fool, a child fumbling in her parent’s history searching for the truth? Why did they do this to you?    Why?   “You can cry,” Taehyung murmurs.   And tears finally slip from your eyes to stain his shoulder.    If it wasn’t for him, if he wasn’t here, you might have lost your mind by now.

[sidespromptblog]

A Close Friend: (1/2)

Two

Warnings: Suicidal Ideal (Logan), Hurt/ Comfort, Angst, Logan is not okay, Roman is trying his best, and Crying (Logan mostly). 

Summary:  Roman goes to Logan in order to vent and ramble about everything that had happened about Thomas, Patton, and Janus. But in the process finds Logan dealing with his own bottled emotions, as well as an uncomfortable thought that Logan has been dealing with as of late that leaves Roman scared for Logan’s own safety. So he decided to help, in whatever way that he can.

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 2,783

With an angry buried snarl of outrage Roman rose up into the mind space, and away from Thomas, Patton, and the lying side that caused this ruckus of emotions to take over inside of him. The outrage he felt right now was all consuming, to the point where he felt like putting his fist through any number of walls right this very second. His very fists shook with the idea of it and the pain that it would cause him to do such a thing, he contemplated it, it would be an outlet for all of his complicated emotions… even if it wasn’t necessarily a healthy one at that. Although he could pretend that it was Deceit’s face the entire time, just to sooth a little bit of the pain in his body and heart.

“This is ridiculous.” Roman snorted, more to himself rather than anyone who would listen to him. “I’m not punching something just because of that.. that liar!” Roman angrily kicked his boots off, rather satisfied with how one went flying in one direction and the other thumped against the railing of the stairs narrowly avoiding their family photos that Patton had insisted they have.

Roman could only scowl at those photos now, even if most of the people in them had no idea right now just what he was so angry about.

Would they even understand if he were to tell them? Would they get it? Would they even listen to him to begin with?

Or would they just say he was being too dramatic?

Virgil certainly would, he almost never went to the emo to vent about anything to him. It was almost always the other way around. Virgil rambling about the things that worried him, and things that he was scared would happen in the future. If he were to vent about anything to Virgil, he was almost certain that he’d be stopped and told he was just making the other side’s anxiety worse by bringing the things up. Not that it was entirely Virgil’s fault, he couldn’t help it if things triggered that anxiety. But just once…

He like to have someone to vent to, and not be the constant emotional whoopie cushion for everyone to overlook unless they needed something from him.

He needed someone who was…

Less emotional than the others.

Someone who…

An idea raced across his mind in a flash, “Logan!” He shouted, tearing his way upstairs and towards the logical side’s room, his bare feet skipping the steps of the stairs in an effort to get there faster. “You are not going to believe what happened today!” The overwhelmed sensation that had been flooding his chest finally gave way to something that felt like relief, as he stood outside of the other’s door.

Logan would listen, he'd listen objectively, but he’d still listen to him.

“Logan-”

Roman stopped dead as his hands had pushed open Logan’s door, he had never bothered to knock in the past and now was no exception. But the sound that had graced his ears made his heart drop into his stomach, and fear tangle his inside.

It was…

Sobbing.

Muffled sobbing, so silent that had he just been walking by he wouldn’t have heard it at all. It was only by stepping into Logan’s room that he’d heard it all, his heart twisted at the sound. He’d never heard Logan cry, unlike the others whom he had comforted many times after their own nightmares, emotions, and turmoils… Logan had never come to him for anything like this, if anything, Logan had never come to him at all. The silence of the other’s cries spoke volumes as to why, the logical side was probably used to bottling things up and forcing himself to stay as quiet as possible to not alert everyone around him about his own turmoils that he must’ve been going through.

How many times had Logan done this, and nobody was the wiser of it?

How many times had Logan bit his tongue when they had said something cruel to him, just to cry like he was now?

“Logan?” He saw the logical side’s back stiffen almost immediately upon hearing Roman’s voice, his jaw clenching shut as he attempted to quiet the heaving of his lungs. “What’s wrong?” Almost immediately the thoughts of venting to Logan went right out the window, he had been angry and overwhelmed yet, but right now… Logan needed his help, he needed…

A hero.

Logan sniffled, inhaling and exhaling in a way that told Roman he wasn’t getting enough air in him to stop from heaving. The logical side clenched the pillow that was stained with the evidence of his tears, his knuckles were a stark white contrast against the deep blue pillowcase. But nevertheless Logan turned slightly to face Roman, the stains of already shed tears lining his cheeks, the redness of his puffy eyes made Roman wince in sympathy.

He’d certainly been there before.

“Logan-”

“I heard you,” Logan’s voice cracked with the simple three words that he muttered out almost sourly, “I was debating on whether I should answer honestly or not.” Logan licked his lips, that were red from hours of biting them in an effort to not make a single sound while he lost himself to his own sadness. “Which would you prefer? You obviously came here wanting something from me, and it wasn’t to comfort me while I wept like an overgrown baby.”

Roman winced at the unintentional sharpness that Logan wielded even in this state, although unlike before, it wasn’t wielded towards Roman with the intent to hurt the creative side… but rather to hurt Logan.

For being caught crying? Roman didn’t accurately know, but even so, he didn’t like the thought of it.

Self deprecation was Virgil’s thing, not Logan’s.

He inched forward towards Logan’s bed, his hands raised slightly in a peaceful manner that told Logan he held no ill intent towards the other side. An action that made Logan huff almost sarcastically, as if he didn’t believe the creative side for a single second. But not before smooshing his face into the pillow, a minor attempt to hide from the creative side while he still could, and still protect his emotions that were vulnerable for anyone to see.

Roman sat on the edge of Logan’s bed not touching the logical side, at least not yet.

“I’d prefer it if you were honest with me,” Roman spoke softly, his voice much quieter than usual. “I’d like to know what’s wrong, and… if I can help in any way.” He did… gods did he want to help, but for someone like Logan.. he had no idea on how to even start. The other side was far too jaded and cynical  for the usual things that worked for Patton and Virgil.

Patton could be soothed by a simple hug and food, with bodily contact enough to calm down whatever he was feeling in that moment. Virgil was tougher, but even he enjoyed the occasional hug and any kind of distraction that Roman could pull out of his sleeves at the time. But for Logan…

He had no idea.

A rough raspy laugh pulled him out of his musing, “You want the truth?” Tears brimmed on the corners of Logan’s eyes, and for a second Roman felt a bolt of panic,  as if somehow he had once again messed things up. But Logan only scrubbed at his eyes, as his bottom lip wobbled with another onslaught of emotions. “I’m so tired Roman, I just want to sleep.” His breathing hitched as a whimper crawled its way up his throat, the warm comforting touch of Roman’s arms around him only seemed to make his tears come faster and faster as he buried his face in the creative side’s shoulder. “I just want to sleep and never wake up, so that I won’t be treated how I am anymore! I don’t want to wake up!”

Guilt twisted Roman’s insides at the acute reminder of just how both he and Patton had treated Logan’s interjections, Logan hadn’t even been there in person and yet…

They had treated him as an after thought, Patton had even chosen to ignore him when Logan had spoken up once… giving Deceit the perfect chance to butt in and take Logan’s place when he was out of the picture.

Roman had chosen ignorance over Logan… time and time again.

Logan’s fingers helplessly clawed at the back of Roman’s shirt, his breathing just getting more and more erratic the more he sobbed and less air he was taking in. It made Roman’s stomach clench painfully at the guilt that he was once again faced with, this was… his fault. Just another thing added to the list of things he had done wrong, they were supposed to be a family and yet-

“I know that it’s not just you,” Logan rambled on, cutting his inner musings short. “It’s just everything over a long period of time, and its unfair of me to just unload everything onto you at once, you don’t deserve to be at the center of my stupid emotions, and you certainly don’t deserve to stuck here. It’s just everything, ever since the beginning… I just.. I just…” Logan thumped his head against Roman’s shoulder in a desperate attempt to get his words out, “It's not your fault that I’m like this,” Logan admitted, almost as if he could feel the very thoughts that had been going through Roman’s head. His guilt and his shame had always been so obvious, at least Logan. “I’m just so… tired… of everything.”

Thomas wasn’t listening to him, even Patton hadn’t even stopped to consider how Logan would feel when he skipped him. His points were considered optional at best, to the point where the others felt happy that they could choose to not listen to him.

If that was how they felt about him… then what was the point of even showing up? What was the point of even trying anymore? What was the point in existing as a side for Thomas to listen to?

Sleeping forever, and not having to deal with anything like this sounded heavenly. It would stop the hurting, and it would stop everything that made these tears possible.

Roman gripped Logan tighter, his fingers bunching the back of Logan’s shirt as he buried his face into the other side’s hair. He felt a little better to know that this breakdown wasn’t entirely his fault, but… that didn’t stop the guilt that wormed its way into his heart regardless. He was still responsible in some way, be it his nicknames, how he responded to Logan’s facts, or even how he treated Logan sometimes. He had still hurt Logan in some way, even if the other had done the same… Logan didn’t always know that it was in good spirits, he had taken it seriously.

He knew that too, and he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t use it to his advantage.

So he needed to fix this, before he got anywhere close to being able to just pop in on Logan and vent about his day. They weren’t friends, he had never treated Logan like a friend, even if they were both somewhat responsible for that.

But first… he needed to help Logan out of the suicidal-idealation he was spiraling into.

He’d seen it enough in Virgil, when he was in one of his really bad attacks, as well as in Thomas when he was in high school during the peak of his closested streak.

At least he could help with that.

“Logan,” Roman softly hummed into the other side’s ear, as he gently rocked the other back and forth, his hand gingerly patting the other’s back in comforting rhythms. “Do you want to sleep with me?”

A sputtering sound erupted from the side in his arms disrupting the hitching sobs that had been coming from him, and it took Roman all of two seconds to realize just how that sounded coming from him. Or rather how it would sound coming from anybody, at least without a little bit of context first.

“Not like that!” He blurted out almost immediately, a rosy hue burning his cheeks with a vengeance, as embarrassment and awkwardness boiled in his stomach making him want to run away and never face the logical side ever again. “I meant, would you like to sleep in my room!” He quickly amended, his face getting redder by the second, even if he refused to relinquish his grip on Logan, who had gone very still. “I could use a nap after the day I’ve had, and it sounds like you need one too.” His voice softened for a moment, “You’ll have nothing but good dreams, and when we wake up… we’ll do something, just the two of us. You can have a day off, and just… relax. How does that sound?”

He could in the very least give Logan a sleep that he would wake up from, while ensuring that the logical side wouldn’t go off and do something reckless to ensure an endless slumber for himself. Plus…

It had been a very long time since he’d done anything with just the two of them, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spent time with just Logan without Patton having to force him to take the logical side along.

It might be nice, a chance to show Logan that for now, things would be okay and that Roman would be there for him.

They could just talk, and do things… without the worries of everything around them weighing them down.

A soft sigh left Logan’s lips, as the logical side gently rested his head on the creative side’s shoulder. “Sleep…” He began tiredly, the exhaustion of letting out so many emotions making him feel a little more than drained. “Sounds amazing…” It did, and even though he would wake up from this sleep, he would have something to look forward to, something to do that hopefully wouldn’t make him feel worse than he already did. A spark of gratitude welled up inside of him, had Roman not come along…

He probably would have just stayed here, crying and thinking things that would only lead him further into turmoil and sadness.

Until…

Logan’s body swayed as soon as Roman rose up, the creative side’s arms remained securely wrapped around Logan. Only jostling him slightly as the creative side almost too easily picked him up and sank out of Logan’s room, had he the strength Logan would have made a remark about how Roman was choosing to carry him or even given a small laugh about it. But instead he merely went limp, not putting up a fight as he rested his head against the other side’s chest  and closing his eyes as soon as he felt the impossibly soft mattress of Roman’s bed touch his back.

But that didn’t stop his hand from darting out, almost as soon as Roman’s warmth left him.

“It’s okay,” The other side gently told him, his voice soft and reassuring to the logical side’s ears. “I’m just going to get on the other side, I’m not leaving you. I’m going to be right here.”

As nice as that sounded, Logan shook his head. That wasn’t it.

The logical side cracked open one of his eyes, the blurry world around him telling him that Roman had already taken off his glasses for him. “Roman,” He mumbled tiredly, the effect of Roman’s room already working to put him into a beautiful dream just for him. “Thank you,” His grasp on the other’s sleeve was already going slack, but he needed to let the other know before he lost himself to unconsciousness. “Thank you for caring about me, even if.. even if I make it hard sometimes.”

A warm and feathery softly blanket draped itself over Logan, and the fuzzy softness of sleep encroached more.

But just before he lost himself to it, Logan heard the sad chuckle from the other side grace his ears as a weight settled next to him and an arm laid itself over his chest. And a velvety soft voice murmured right next to his head:

“You don’t have to thank me Logan… you never have to thank me for listening to you.”

And just like that, Logan sank into the dream that Roman had created for him, a smile curling on his tear stained face.

Within moments, Roman had joined him as well, his exhausted body tucked against the logical side.

Protecting him from anything else that would cause him harm.

[carmenlire]

The Dead Lay Waiting

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It seems like a nightmare but Magnus can’t wake up no matter how hard he pinches himself.

It’s a sight he never wanted to see-- Alec in his arms, blood pouring from him until the stench is thick enough to suffocate them, until Magnus can taste copper and his stomach roils.

Holding it together takes more from him than it maybe should, he thinks. Alec’s isn’t the first body he’s held as it went limp and cold and his husband’s eyes are from the first to have lost their light right before him.

Still. Something swirls in his gut and it’s black and putrid and Magnus, in all his overwhelming grief, already knows that the effects of his storm will be both catastrophic and stark.

The battle rages around them but Magnus doesn’t care-- can’t-- not when Alec’s heart is so weak he can barely feel the pulse even with his magic.

Without a conscious thought, he’s gathering his love as gently as he can and the magic that envelopes them is a dull shade of purple, his anger clashing with the gentleness he’ll always shower Alec with, even or especially if it’s the last thing he can do.

Magnus hears Jace yell, picks up on Isabelle’s sharp cry as he takes Alexander with him through the portal, but he pays them no mind. Alec is dead weight in his arms.

Stepping into his apothecary, it’s the work of a moment to summon a hospital bed. Alec’s shirt is in ruins, his thigh is mangled, the right side of his face deeply bruised.

His chest isn’t moving.

“No, Alexander,” Magnus whispers, taking a crucial moment to lean over his husband, to swipe a feather-light touch over his unmarred cheek. “Stay with me, darling. I need you to stay. I love you. I love you so much, my darling.”

Alec doesn’t answer because he can’t and the silence in the instant after those words fall like lead from Magnus’s lips is the worst moment of Magnus’s life. Alec always offers the words back-- even when he’s mostly asleep, even when they’re fighting, even when he’s not fully present, like it’s autopilot for Alec to tell Magnus he loves him, a pavlovian response.

Now there’s nothing and Magnus wants to scream himself hoarse.

His breath shudders. Feeling like his very bones are cracking under the gaping chasm of grief threatening to swallow him whole, Magnus can’t focus on anything but Alec’s heart.

The loft is preternaturally still as he brings a hand swimming in blue to his husband’s chest and feels for a thready heartbeat.

There’s nothing.

He gasps and it’s a horrid, desperate sound. He prods his magic deeper and-- there’s still nothing.

Alec’s life force is gone. He’s empty, left for dead. There’s nothing there and there’s a split moment where Magnus’s shoulders slump and a sob catches in his throat. He feels his own ruin staring at him, mocking and absolute but before he quite knows what’s happened, he’s snapping around toward his shelves full of every kind of magic book.

He’s hardly aware of what he’s doing. Magnus is aware of every second passing, his own heart keeping time enough for the both of them.

It feels like an eternity as he tosses books aside as soon as they prove worthless. The apothecary holds some of his most treasured texts, the ones he most regularly uses for potions and spell work. But they aren’t worth a damn now, he thinks bitterly, throwing another one out of his way as soon as he realizes it’s nothing but a list of plants and their perfectly sanguine medicinal purposes.

No, he thinks, a little crazed. He needs something else.

It’s with that thought in mind, that Magnus leaves the apothecary. Trying to ignore the voice that whispers, and Alec too, he strides through their loft to his library.

Over the years, this library has become an amalgamation of both his and Alec’s interests. There are Alec’s romance novels taking up one section and his own true crime paperbacks taking up their own set of shelves. There’s one entire wall dedicated to his expansive magical collection, though-- volumes that are rarely used or that he only bought for their historical or monetary value.

Here is where he will find a way to save Alec.

That’s what Magnus tells himself because he quite simply refuses to entertain the idea that his love is dead. He can’t stop to dwell on that sentiment too long or he knows he’d go mad so Magnus does what he does best.

He puts his head down and works.

He’s a little more considerate with these books. Some have been magically preserved through the decades and still others are even too delicate for that preservation method. There’s one book in his collection that Magnus tries to ignore but he knows it’s futile.

There’s a part of him that knew as soon as Alec’s chest stopped moving but it felt like his own heart stopped beating, that this is where things would end for him.

Or begin, he thinks. This will just be a start of a new chapter.

No matter what, he's saving his Alec. What will return to him will be Alec. At the end of the day, that's all Magnus needs.

The binding is inconspicuous enough. No title, no author. Magnus himself doesn’t even know the creator of the spells and potions inside. Green leather bounds the book-- not so dark as to warn the prospective reader of its contents but an almost offensive jade.

It reminds Magnus of spring and in this moment, it’s almost enough to ruin him anew.

The library is silent. It’s just him and what he’s about to do.

If Magnus could slow down enough to use his head, he’d know that what he’s contemplating isn’t just ill-advised. It’s damn near illegal. Definitely morally reprehensible. Still, the consequences aren’t enough to deter him, not when he’s looking at the prospect of living an eternity without his husband. That is a hell Magnus simply refuses to experience.

Raising the dead is complicated. Sometimes what returns is different. Not totally changed, just different. A little more this, a little less that. Not enough to be unrecognizable but just enough so that if you know what to look for, you'll find it. Still. Magnus has promised to love Alec in sickness and in health, through everything, until the end of it all and that's just what he plans to do.

He knows what he wants and what he wants is Alec, whatever way he can have him. That's all that matters.

So, he opens the book. He scours the contents, running a finger along lines of text as he devours each critical step in an arduous process.

With this kind of spell work, time is of the essence. Magnus doesn’t sleep, doesn’t rest as he collects all of his ingredients for the potion. There are one or two that are so far reaching that he has to call a few contacts, some of his more unsavory consultants that don’t ask questions.

Which is best for all involved because Magnus would not be answering anything about what he’s up to tonight. If all goes according to plan, that will just be his and Alexander’s little secret. No one needs to know the lengths he's gone to. Magnus has always been able to deflect better than most and this will become just another mystery that surrounds him and Alec by proxy.

It takes an hour to bribe and threaten his way towards a complete ingredient list and another half an hour of running through the spell work. Going into the apothecary feels like his own brand of death sentence. He carefully avoids looking at Alec, doesn’t think he could continue if he saw blue lips and stiff muscles as rigor mortis works through his beloved’s body.

Just reciting the words in his head leaves him feeling restless, tongue heavy. The consonants are thick, vowels stretching too thin. He hasn’t used this language in a century or two-- since that time with Asmodeus, best left unexplored.

He perseveres.

It’s close to dawn when he feels ready.

Looking over at Alec, his heart aches. It’s grief, an insurmountable tide of it. It’s overwhelming in its gentleness because Magnus knows that he will save Alec. He knows it isn’t too late. He knows what must be done and he is willing to pay this price and much more besides to feel his Alexander’s heart beating under his ear.

The grief and rage are almost in the background now, an echo of what could be if Magnus was anyone else or if he loved Alec just one bit less than he does. He’s said for years that there are no limits where Alec is concerned and this is him crossing the line of what should be.

What should be is Magnus and Alec, happily ever after. That’s what will be, by the grace of every molecule of power that he possesses.

Before the hard part starts, Magnus walks over to Alec, his beautiful husband, and watches him for a long moment. He studies the shadows his lashes leave on his cheeks, the dark hair that’s just started to show dashing threads of silver, a body his husband keeps fit and toned even if he so rarely goes out into the field these days.

Unlike last night, he thinks bitterly and spares a brief but hopeless moment to think that maybe this will make Alec less likely to run out and try to save the world himself.

“I love you, Alexander,” Magnus whispers in the space between their lips, before laying a gentle kiss on his cool mouth. “Please forgive me.”

Clearing his throat as he straightens, it’s the work of a moment to skim the lines of the spell one last time. The potion sits where it needs to brew for a few more minutes at his side, a ghastly red.

The color of dried blood, of crushed petals. It looks toxic and smells just as putrid.

The words seem to fight Magnus on their way out. The words feel dredged in oil, coated in tar as they slide down his tongue into the quiet room. Shadows lengthen and the light makes way for whatever malignant power Magnus is harnessing.

Black lines creep from Alec’s heart and into his arms, up his neck, under the deflect rune.

Hands shaking with the effort-- for all that the book spelled out exactly what had to be done, only a warlock of the highest ability could manage to pull such a thing off. It’s considerable effort for otherworldly reward.

Finally, with the last syllable falling from his mouth, Magnus picks up the potion and carefully lift’s Alec’s head. His voice is low, cajoling as he forces his husband’s mouth open and pours the disgusting mixture down his throat.

There’s a moment of pure silence. It feels like all of the air in the loft has been vacuumed out and Magnus himself gasps in the vast emptiness.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Every light in the apothecary-- and if Magnus had to hazard a guess, their city block-- explodes and leaves him in the dark. He doesn’t know it but there’s a citywide blackout that will take most of the morning to fix, New York’s power grid almost collapsing completely.

But that doesn’t matter.

Magnus hears Alec’s first shaky inhale. It isn’t a desperate gasp, just a quiet intake of breath. Like he’s surprised, like he hasn’t been clinically dead for almost four hours.

His magic rejoices at once, the apothecary lighting up in brilliant blue. Magnus watches as his husband’s eyes open. They’re empty for just a moment before they turn stunned.

And then furious.

“Magnus,” Alec rasps. He reaches out and he’s not weak when he closes a hand around Magnus’s arm. There’s no tremor. He's every bit the shadowhunter, strong and unyielding. “What the fuck did you do?”

Magnus knows there will be hell to pay. He doesn’t give a damn, not when the alternative is so much worse. “I saved you, darling.”

Alec doesn’t say anything for a moment but Magnus isn’t fooled. He knew Alec wouldn’t be pleased but that isn’t what concerns him anyway. No, the real trouble will lurk outside of their home.

There will be questions. Rumors. Whispers.

His thoughts cut off when Alec leans up and kisses Magnus. There’s dried blood in the corner of his lips and his mouth tastes like that horrifying potion but Magnus can’t get enough. Some sound escapes him and it sounds wretched, equal parts desperation and relief.

Alec is it for him. He’s always known it but now, if possible, it’s even more true. He belongs to Alec just as Alec belongs to him and sure what Magnus did was dangerous and foolhardy but he’s always been both of those when it comes to his husband, for Alec.

When the kiss breaks apart, they’re both breathing hard and it makes Magnus’s heart sing, to hear Alec’s lungs working so beautifully.

His Alexander leans forward slowly until their foreheads touch. “You shouldn’t have done that, babe. You should have let me go.”

There’s only one answer to that, one that Magnus will defend to his own dying breath.

“I’ll never let you go, Alexander. But you already know that.”

Magnus feels more than sees Alec’s mouth tilt up, equal parts exasperated but knowing.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I know.”

[suspiciouslypinkrosegarden]

The Passed Out Princess Chapters 1-2

Pairing: My CMC (Uyu, Dan Byeol) x Suit Saeran

Description: On days 7-9 of Ray’s route, the player is denied food as “Saeran” makes his presence first known. But, what if MC fell very ill under this method of torture due to a medical condition? Sadly, my custom MC, Uyu (full name Dan Byeol), would deal with exactly this dilemma.

Content warning: Descriptions of throwing up, passing out, and meal skipping. Every food related issue mentioned is strictly medical, and based on my own condition.

This was written under the assumption that you have played Ray’s route in full, so route spoilers ahead! This takes place during the very beginning of day 8, and according to the timings and contents of the chat rooms, it would take place before Saeran cuts contact with the RFA and before he installs a camera to monitor MC in her room. It is timed to match closely around to when I’d get sick myself.

My CMC’s condition deals chronic with low blood sugar, meaning she has to eat to keep it up or suffer the consequences as seen here. It is not diabetes related, it is something she is born with as am I and is linked to more complicated matters I left out to keep it simple. Some symptoms include: growing light headed, severe dizziness, nausea, vomiting, and passing out. See all chapters

I wrote this with flexibility for whichever HC for Saeran you follow (DID or BPD), because whether or not he has one of the following, Rika has drilled it in his head that Ray and Saeran are separate entities, and Saeran views it this way. Consider it written the way Cheritz writes him, with nothing exactly too set.

To make things easier for myself, I’m uploading multiple chapters on each post, chapters only separated by lines. Here is 1 and 2

Ping!

The sound of Dan’s phone alerted her to rise and greet the day with a new chat room open.

As the morning sun took its place in the clear blue sky, the little woman sat up in her big bed, bangs sticking out in all directions as her head thumped with a dull pain. Hunger induced pain, she noted, as her stomach felt empty.

Despite the beauty of this early morning, the light pouring through the windows creating a rosy glow which engulfed the princess room; there was no beautiful light shining on the brunette’s new situation, seeming so dreary and dim.

Uyu still found herself wrapped up in this place, whisked away to a castle tucked deep within mountains known as Magenta. Every corner of the building was constructed brick by brick with a beautifully ornate architectural design, but the bright exterior was only a façade. If she was left caged like this for long, what would become of her? Driven to insanity, perhaps she’d attack and claw at the walls which confined her, unable to turn her anger to Saeran, the real victim in all this. The “savior” made it clear she was the true ruling figure who lurked about as the moon rose, the mastermind behind this place’s pain and suffering.

The night before, after being so kindly introduced to “Saeran”, this golden-haired angel confirmed herself to be quite the wicked witch of the west indeed, and it took everything out of Uyu to not call her harsher names to her face.

Mint Eye was hell redecorated to wear the guise of heaven, but pretty gardens and saccharine words could not fool her. Because Dan wore no wool over her eyes, the savior had no intention of allowing her to live long enough to become the new narrator of “The Yellow Wallpaper”; and she had no shoes to click together at the heel to wish her way home with who she came here for originally.

Just as Ray’s suit did, he changed, flipping like a light switch.

Saeran, the name V previously called him by, did succeed in giving her a good fright, his attitude being the least thing she expected to see after Ray’s earlier sobs over the phone.

Uyu was mainly focused on one solid question after their encounter, though. Just what did that “cleansing” entail in full detail? What did this place do to him, to make him weep and beg for a warm hand to hold one minute, only to push back and try to scare her the next?

It was as if he was caught, dragged by the feet somewhere inescapable, a pit damp and dark down under; rising from a shivering grave cold to the touch.

If it weren’t for her position, she wouldn’t have allowed it.

Now more than ever, this room built on the foundation of fantasy and delight felt like a birdcage which barely allowed her to wiggle an arm through its bars. She relied on her song, her sweet words which Ray claimed to tickle at his heart and hold a power over him like no other before. Her goal, of course, was to use this for good, influencing him to learn to appreciate and care for himself like he should. But now, she felt unable to do even that much, not that she’d give up trying.

Saeran wished to dismiss her and her actions entirely, evident from his need to spew the fact that he bestowed upon her the label of being less than a person, his toy. His play thing.

That sick twisting she felt pooling in her gut upon first hearing the term “cleansing” seemed all too in place.

Ray, as sweet as her prince charming was, had a knack for leaving out important details about this museum of wonder. To her best guess, it was done to avoid panic as none of what went on here could be viewed as normal, or ok. He only briefly mentioned things like the “elixir”, such as on the night V arrived to spiral this place’s plans into chaos.

That was the night she could officially mark a great importance in staying, despite the vast network of lies.

Uyu wasn’t entirely stupid, she had an idea of what the elixir might be a while back, but it was still hard to process regardless.

Saeran threatened to give her one of these cleansing ceremonies...and said he could “draw out the maximum pain in the process”, telling her whatever happened to him hurt. A “no duh” moment indeed, but it was confirmation.

Ray suffered, for no reason other than he was too enwrapped in his blooming feelings for her, something that shouldn’t be taken as a negative but was. It displeased the savior that his chains which bound him by the ankles began to jingle with his new yearning to take flight.

She couldn’t allow herself to lie down and give the savior the satisfaction of breaking her, not when she still had so much to do, and not when Saeran and the RFA were at risk.

As the cool night-time air blew around them, feeling its whisper through her long locks of hair, Ray opened up about Mint Eye’s beliefs as a sanctuary for the “weak”, who had no choice but to lock themselves away to avoid further hurt.

He clearly viewed himself as someone in this category. Weak. But Saeran? Saeran shoved and shouted, which felt like a complete opposite to Ray’s whimpers and pleading. He even went as far as to accuse her of manipulation, of treating Ray like a puppet as she watched him dance to the harp she plucked.

Looking past his outburst and itch to watch her squirm, there stood a man seething with hate sparked entirely by twisted lies and his own fears. He gave himself away rather quickly as he attempted to say she messed with “hisna vefeelings” for some “big plan”.

She had to trust that there were boundaries he wouldn’t cross, being so close to her and forceful...and that was where her panic truly lied. But for now, she’d bank on the idea that he just wanted to scare her, staying alert in case he went too far. There were vases around from Ray’s various gifts that could be used as a weapon during the extreme. Unlike her, Saeran had no fighting skills either, but currently she was a bit too ill for those measures.

For once, a room so pink made her feel neither cozy nor at home.

Uyu’s fuzzy morning vision was then attracted to a black blob hanging on the doorknob. With a little eye rub, she made it out to be a dress, and a rather pretty one at that. In the way it was cut, it would expose much of her shoulders and upper back, the top front of it connected to a bow tied around the back of a neck piece with strings of fabric; like an attached choker. She could only assume it was a “gracious gift” bestowed upon her from the man she saw take Ray’s place. Apparently, he has a thing for black.

Her little device chimed again, and then once more, third time giving her the last push of annoyance she needed to reach over and respond to the opened chatroom.

She sighed with relief seeing Seven was the person active online, as she could now pester him with questions about what he was seeing on his end of the fight. They typed away, Uyu expressing concern for both of the hackers as they discussed Ra-Saeran’s new careless and aggressive tactics to snag him a victory.

As time passed, Jumin joined to ask questions as well, mainly circling around the governmental commendation from the Prime Minister to recognize the RFA for their charity work. Uyu stuck to her gut and pushed against the idea of it being a complete positive.

While both V and Seven acted oddly around the idea of the commendation, the RFA was also just a small organization which had only held two parties previous to Rika’s “passing”. The award was too fishy to trust in her judgment, especially now that she understood things going on around here weren’t at all what they had seemed to be.

Mint Eye wasn’t the only organization she was caught in that held its secrets.

After a bit of talking, Jumin agreed that the prime minister’s reasoning had to be figured out before any final decisions could be made. Everyone logged off, Seven returning to the battlefield and Jumin to stitching in his car.

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

The need for food grew worse.

Uyu showered and changed into the outfit provided…not having much of a choice to do otherwise unless she wanted to rewear old clothing. She felt down and sluggish as she dressed the way her toy maker willed, the dark frills of her attire tickling against her thighs as her step dragged. She was still ok enough to make herself look presentable, even if done at such a pace.

Her hair changed to a solid dark brown color as it took in the shower water, the gold ombré reaching her tips returning upon giving it a blow dry, making sure Saeran would have less to scoff next he saw her. She wasn’t aiming to avoid his crude comments, but instead trying to make herself feel good. Call her smelly all he wants, she knows she isn’t.

Saeran was aiming to play into her insecurities, maybe full well knowing she had so very many of them as he tried to wind her up. The least she could do was confirm his lies to be lies in the ways she knew how, if not for him then for her. She couldn’t allow him to figure out what made her gears stop, whether his words were true or not. This was no game of knife throwing, and she was no target.

11:00 AM crept up on her as she moped around quietly in her dollhouse, waiting for Saeran to come and try to take a good yanking on her marionette strings.

Dan sat upon the bed as the empty-headed feeling and banging in her temple raged, shifting to lay down fully and make herself more comfortable. If she stood for too long, she’d sway and wobble as her vision turned to black, purple and green swirls, momentarily clouding both her sight and mind.

Despite her numerous texts and occasional calls, she still heard nothing from Saeran. Not a peep.

She was growing restless as well as worried for him, and what would become of her as she continued to go unfed.

Her phone buzzed, shifting her attention over to it groggily, eyes half lidded as she wanted to sleep off this sinking feeling. Soon, she’d start to go down like the Titanic as lunch time acted as her iceberg.

Uyu hoped it was her self-proclaimed master, only to let out a grumble seeing that it wasn’t. Instead, it was Zen who had logged on.

She chatted with him, trying her best not to voice her ever-growing discomfort from skipping last night’s dinner as well as that morning’s breakfast, lunch time now creeping just around the corner.

After a quick talk, she’d call Saeran again...as uncomfortable as that conversation would be, it was her only viable option to kill the onslaught of nausea.

As they talked for a while, Yoosung joined the conversation as well….with talk of food; stew he was in the middle of making to be precise. She felt her stomach churn and rumble as the need for rest fell over her like a weighted blanket, being the only escape from the inevitable vomit now building up inside.

She logged off within another couple of seconds as the hot sweat began.

Dan swallowed thickly as her stomach went haywire, guts twisting, coaxing her to run to the toilet and empty out the water she could at least keep herself going on from the bathroom tap.

Leaving her phone on the bed, she rose to her feet best she could, stumbling till she reached the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. There, she fell to her knees, pulling her long hair back and away from her damp face, lifting up the toilet seat before her.

Within a mere moment, she felt the contents claw at the inside of her throat with a burning sensation, attempting to break free. She shuddered as her body suddenly fell in temperature, before allowing whatever her tummy could offer up to slip past her lips, color in her face all too faded away, displaying her illness. Gagging and choking noises echoed throughout the small room as the rather clearish liquid flowed from her mouth, tears from the discomfort blurring her vision as she blinked them away.

She stayed like that by the toilet for a while, throwing up a couple more times before making certain that event was over for the time being. Uyu considered herself extremely lucky that none was able to touch her or end up in her hair, but not nice to say vomiting wasn’t new to her. She knew the tricks.

Oddly, when something like this would happen, it gave her a tiny amount of strength back. It was strangely relieving, although emptying her stomach further. Her tummy was able to untense a tad.

She blew her nose and wiped her eyes before giving it all a flush down.

A fast teeth brush followed before she stumbled over to bed where she had left her phone. She fiddled with the RFA app until she could reach Saeran’s contact profile. Trying not to let the dread of being ignored again wash over her, she dialed up his number, both nervous and praying this time for a response.

After that last fit was over, her condition would move her into another stage, passing out being the only thing to come next without the blood sugar spike she needed.

The ringing went on for what felt like an eternity as she groaned and pressed her face into the pillow.

“Pick up...pick up damn it please pick up…”.

Uyu wished that she had made a bigger fuss over this earlier rather than attempting to swallow it and wait it out. Being distracted by “the savior” and Saeran’s screaming was something she shouldn’t have allowed herself to do in the midst of endangering her own health. What was she thinking? She knew it would reach this point, it always does if left unchecked. She internally cursed herself for not speaking up more assertively.

After another moment, his angry voice finally came through the speaker and she sighed softly with relief. The last she had heard from him was at four in the morning.

“Feeling this lonely and desperate already, hmm? Tch...what makes you think you have the right to contact me over and over again when I’m doing important work unlike you?”

She huffed on the other end, which he paid no mind.

“All you do is fiddle around like a good for nothing. You didn’t seem so happy to chat with me last time we spoke, but now you’re all eager and ready? You’re just itching for another visit aren’t you? Impatient little princess~.”

He let out an airy chuckle, finding her repeated acts of calling him rather amusing.

“Don’t worry. I have play time all planned out for you soon, you pest. I’ll bother you ten times more than you ever bothered me-”

She cut off his angry rambling, mumbling quietly as she spoke.

“Saeran...can you please come here? I’m not well right now and I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself functioning...I already threw up-”

“Speak up, you complainer! Seriously? You want to see me so badly that you’d put on an elaborate show? Princess...you can’t win any sort of sympathy from me by acting like a brat. Ugg, I’m going to hang up now. I’ll be imagining the million ways I can punish you for this later, stupid toy. I’m busy! Too busy for a bug like you to understand! You waste my time-”

“Wait please...please come here...it’s harder for me to explain over the phone. I...mentioned this problem earlier..please…”

And she had, briefly attempting to bring it up as he invaded a chat room between her and Jaehee.

“Begging now?”

He took on a sad tone of childish mockery as he continued.

“Please please please...please come see me... AHAHA! You airhead. I know what your medical records look like, and therefore I know you’re spinning a lie. You’re not to be trusted just as my savior says. There’s nothing there pertaining to some sort of eating issue other than the fact that your weak little body can’t handle milk…‘Uyu’~.”

He teased at her chosen nickname, and while the irony was why it was picked, this was less than fun.

“Now quit whining over an empty stomach when it hasn’t even been a full day! It’s no fun to see you give up so fast!”

Dan tried her best not to slur her speech, the task assigned to speak up being too hard of one to follow.

“Fine...fine don’t believe me. But…..it doesn’t hurt to come anyways. Since you want to see me suffer….or whatever….”

“Or whatever??? Toy, if I come see you right now...you won’t like what you’re going to get. I haven’t an ounce of pity in me to give you if that’s what you’re searching for. I'm not the type to let you rest in my lap as I stroke your hair and tell you it will be alright, and I won’t give in and feed you. Instead, I’ll make sure you never wish to call me again.”

“...ok…”

“Ok? Ok?? Haha! ...ok then. Let’s see how pathetic you’ve become as you beg and plead to me in person, little actor. Playtime is happening earlier today than I had planned. Congratulations! I’m extra pissed.”

Call ended.

She let out a puff of air, dropping her phone down next to her before closing her eyes, not bothering to stand in preparation for his arrival.

Next chapters All chapters

[borealis-strange]

Night 1

Summary:

I had worked in the world of the paranormal for a couple of years. My mission was to help those souls who, for some reason, had stayed in the world of the living. Despite the nature of my job, where it was a relief to help these souls, there was someone I will never forget. And it was the first time I felt sad about helping someone.

Madame Mercury, an important woman from England, had urgently asked me to come to her house because she believed there was a ghost. She couldn't give me more details, but with the little, she told me, I had enough.

Trigger warning! This is a story about ghosts so it contains elements of horror and mentions of death and illness

Notes:

I had this in my drafts for months and until now I decided to finish it. And it turned out longer than expected.

Tag-list:

@freesiafields @bambirexwrites @whitequeen-ofwillowgreen @vaeya @sirenlovesqueen @moreofthatqueen 

I had worked in the world of the paranormal for a couple of years. My mission was to help those souls who, for some reason, had stayed in the world of the living. Despite the nature of my job, where it was a relief to help these souls, there was someone I will never forget. And it was the first time I felt sad about helping someone.

Madame Mercury, an important woman from England, had urgently asked me to come to her house because she believed there was a ghost. She couldn't give me more details, but with the little she told me, I had enough.

I headed home around noon. It was a bit of a long trip because the house was on the outskirts of the city. After an hour of carriage ride, I finally reached the huge black house. It was quite elegant and beautiful but the fact that it was in the middle of a forest made it look gloomy.

I sighed heavily and tried to fix my vest before opening the gate to the house. I walked down the gravel path that led to the house.

I lightly knocked on the door and waited. I heard heels approaching until a dark-haired woman opened the door. She was wearing her elegant black dress.

— Thank God you have arrived, Miss May — Madame Mercury said somewhat relieved — Come in  —

We both went into the house.

The house was large, much larger than I expected. Besides being decorated with many things; paintings, crystal figurines, porcelain mugs, and various other things, it seemed that Madame Mercury was either a collector or just very extravagant.

Madame Mercury led me into the living room, where there were two armchairs in front of a fireplace.

— Come, sit here — Mercury told me and I did what she asked. — We have tea and cookies, do you want some? —

— No thanks — I politely declined. I took out of my suitcase a small notebook and pen to start taking notes — Tell me Madame Mercury, how long have you had this house? —

— We bought this house when we moved to England. We thought it was very pretty and it was at a very affordable price but they never told us about the ... problems it had —

— Could you explain to me what kind of problems, Madame Mercury? —

— Oh Gods. The house is a mess. For months I have been listening to things at night, and I am sure it is not the cats, nor any of us —

— How can you be so sure? —

— I know my children. They don't make noises of… strange things. — Mercury mumbled.

— Could you explain that? What kinds of sounds have you heard? —

— I heard wailing ... as if someone was crying. There is also something that is moving the furniture in the rooms that I don't use. I’ve listened to it all night and when I go to check the furniture they are elsewhere. Sheets are everywhere, it's a complete mess! — Mercury shuddered.

I wrote down everything she told me. It was nothing special, supernaturally speaking, and apparently, the ghost was not aggressive. Perfect.

— Who lives with you? — I asked without looking up

— We are the cats, Joanna, my wife and I — She answered, this time calmer — Although my wife is not currently here. She had to take a business trip —

—Okay — I said in a low voice as I wrote down the last details. — Could you show me the room? —

— Joanna! — Madame Mercury called — I wouldn’t go to that room even if I was crazy — She said in a whisper.

A girl dressed in black came out of the kitchen. Her long brown hair was tied up in a bun.

— Yes ma'am? — The young woman spoke.

—Would you kindly take Miss May to ... that room — Mercury indicated.

— Sure, Madame — Joanna said.

— Tonight I'll be working on this — I informed Mercury while she put my notebook back — If you hear something out of the ordinary, it's probably me — I said before following Joanna.

Joanna led me to the second floor, through the great hallways and the wooden doors. The house was bigger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. She led me to the darkest corner of the house, where there was only a worn door. Even without walking through the door, you could feel a strange breeze.

— It's here —Joanna said as she opened the door.

The room looked… normal. It looked like a maze; full of furniture with white sheets. The curtains were closed so I couldn't make out too many things.

— What is the function of this room? — I asked while I tried to distinguish more things.

— It's a cellar — Joanna answered — We use it to store all the old furniture and things that we don't use. —

I went a little deeper, trying not to bump into the furniture. Strangely, the room seemed huge with all the furniture inside. Being inside I could notice a strong smell of dust and humidity. In addition to being colder than normal.

— Okay — I muttered to myself.

— Are you going to inspect it now? — Joanna asked with concern

— Not yet — I said as I returned to her side — I need it to be darker — Joanna looked at me confused but she didn't ask any more questions.

— Do you want me to take you to your room? — Joanna asked as she closed the door — So that you can leave your things —

— If it's no problem — I replied with a smile.

Joanna just watched me before heading back down the hall.

—This will be your room during your stay here — Joanna said as she opened one of the doors.

The room was small with a bed, a dresser, and a wardrobe, and it seemed to have its own bathroom. It would be enough for me.

— Thank you —

— No problem, if you need me, I'm here — Joanna said before leaving.

I put my suitcase on the bed and started to unpack my things. It was nothing special, just clothes, the notebook where I kept my report, and my special dagger. I would have brought more things but from what I had been told, it was a category 1 ghost. It would not be complicated at all.

I grabbed my notebook and pen and went to the dresser to begin my report.

“November 20, 1896. Night 1

I explored the room and they gave me the first details about this ghost. Apparently, it's just a soul lamenting (probably about their death) and moving some furniture. It doesn't seem to do more than that.

The room where it is located in a cellar, ideal for hiding. I'll wait for the night to see if I can make contact with this spirit "

I left the notebook open and went to bed. I removed my suitcase and went to bed hoping to get some sleep. This would be a long night.

_______________

I got up around midnight. They always said it was the best time to "hunt" ghosts, and I could tell there was some truth to it. I guess it's just easier to see them in total darkness.

I grabbed the gas lamp from the bedside table before leaving the room, plus my notebook.

During the day, the house was elegant, now you could feel its immensity, its gloomy immensity. Now you could think that it was truly haunted, mostly because of all the things that Mercury collected. I didn't want to imagine what the first floor looked like.

I slowly opened the cellar door, trying not to make too much noise. They said that that scared ghosts.

I walked slowly around the room, trying not to trip over something. The wooden boards creaked under my weight. I had to make an enormous effort to not scare myself, either with my breathing or my steps.

The shadows on the furniture made me believe that the ghost was already in these directions and that it was much more dangerous than I had anticipated.

It was just the first night, it had to "win" trust with the ghost.

I don't know how long I spent hanging around here. I assumed at least an hour, but it could be more or less. I just knew that with every minute that passed, my nervousness grew even more.

"Easy Brianna" I said to myself "It is just a ghost, there is no need to be nervous"

I managed to hear a little sob. I was sure it wasn't me. I stopped and looked around without turning around. Another sob, this time closer. The ghost was behind me.

I held my breath as I felt my heartbeat stronger.

—What are you doing here? -—It was a female voice.

I slowly turned around until I was face to face with the ghost.

I managed to calm down a bit when I saw her.

A poor ghost. She was a girl, no more than twenty years old. Her long blonde hair floated behind her. She was looking at me with his big blue eyes, almost pleading. Her skin was whiter than the moon and was stained by traces of black tears. She wore a white dress that almost reached the floor, plus she was barefoot. Despite her appearance, I did not feel threatened.

His death was probably sudden and that is why she did not get his eternal rest. This would be easy.

— Hello — I greeted cordially, leaving my fears behind. — I'm Brianna and I've come to help you —

— Help me? — Asked the girl with enthusiasm.

— Sure. I have to find ... —

— Are you a doctor? — The girl interrupted me. — I did not know that women could be doctors —

I think I already know what happened to the girl. And worst of all, she still believed that she was alive. This will be more complicated than I thought.

The girl looked at me with pleading eyes, I couldn't tell her that I was not a doctor.

— Yes, now women can be doctors — I lied — Could you tell me your name and age sweetheart — I asked as I took out my notebook to start writing down.

— I'm Regina ... Regina Taylor. And I am 17 years old — She answered in a low voice.

I wrote it down in my notebook.

— Very well, why don't we sit down and tell me a little more about ... your illness —

There really was no place to sit, so in the end, I opted for the floor. The girl imitated me.

— Well ... since the last few days — Regina began. Days… she had lost track of time — I have had a fever and headaches. In addition to my skin rashes, they are quite painful. —

The girl had smallpox, or so it seemed, I was not a doctor. And, she hadn't been treated in time, or incorrectlyñ

—I also have another problem — Regina said in a low voice, pulling me out of my thoughts.

— What's wrong? — Asked.

—There is someone in my house — She said in a whisper as if she did not want anyone else to hear her.

— In your house? — I asked slowly as if making sure of what I was hearing.

Regina nodded slowly.

— What are you talking about? — Asked

— For some reason, two women began to take all the things out of my room and filled it with old and ugly furniture —

It was surely Madame Mercury and her wife when they moved in. Wasn't that like ten years ago?

— At first, I thought they were going to remodel my room but no — Regina lamented.

— And what did you do about it? — I asked the girl.

— I started moving the furniture in the hope that they would finally return me to my room. Do you think you could do something? —

I sighed heavily. Really, there was only one thing he could do, but it wasn't time yet.

— I'll try to talk to the owner of the house — I tried to comfort her. — I'd better go to sleep, and I recommend you do the same —

Before I could get up off the ground, Regina grabbed my arm.

— Please stay here — she looked at me with pleading eyes — You're the only one who has come in days. I do not like to be alone —

I bit my lower lip. Technically I had already finished my "work" for the night, but the girl looked at me with supplication and sadness. It wouldn't hurt to stay awake a little longer, plus I might get a little more information.

— Alright —

Regina smiled hugely before taking my arm and dragging me somewhere. She led me to the side of the window. Below there was a small chest. Regina opened it and started looking for something in it. After a few seconds, she pulled out a board and excitedly showed it to me. It was chess.

— Do you want to play? — She asked while she made little jumps.

— Okay... —

We sat on the floor facing each other and I put the lamp aside to illuminate us. Regina arranged the pieces, she used the white pieces and I the black ones. This… was one of the strangest things that had happened to me at work. I had already seen everything; ghosts of decapitated people, vengeful ghosts, drowned ghosts who had created an ecosystem in a lake, even a ghost of fire but never would I have imagined that I would play quietly with a ghost.

Truth be told, I was pretty rusty in the game, I hadn't played it in years. When Regina won the game, she looked at me with great emotion.

We played a few more games, the good thing is that this managed to keep my focus.

We didn't talk for the rest of the game, mostly because I didn't know what to say and Regina was very focused on her game.

I don't know how long we spent playing, I guess a couple of hours.

The girl yawned and I couldn't help but do the same.

— Are you tired? — I asked.

Regina nodded slowly. Without saying anything else she got up and began to go to some corner of the room. I quickly put the game together and went after her.

Regina lay down on an old bed in the room. She snuggled into the pillow.

— Good night Dr. Brianna — The girl said quietly while she fell asleep and her body faded slightly.

I couldn't help but smile. When the girl completely vanished, I knew it was time to go back to my room.

— Good night Regina — I said as she left the cellar and closed the door.

As I could, I walked down the hall, trying very hard not to fall asleep.

A category 1 ghost. I only needed to tell her that this was no longer her place in her world and that she needed to rest, the difficult thing would be to find a way to tell her.

I laid down on the bed and fell asleep immediately.

[thornsofdeath]

phf rants

as i’ve made clear im rlly impacted by this book. dont mind my lowkey venting

damn this is long

mista's coldness towards fugo / the stadium scene as a whole

it really really hurt me to see mista treating fugo, his old partner, his old friend like a dangerous enemy. i know he had his valid reasoning, but that very specific kind of angst shatters me. mista had his gun pointed at fugo for the entire stadium scene, not wavering for even a second. the worst part? it seemed like mista was trying to purposefully incite fugo to snap by right out insulting him and his stand, saying he was glad when fugo didn’t get on the boat. it seemed like he was egging fugo on just so he had an excuse to kill him, to get one more thing off his list of concerns. fugo as a person meant nothing at all to mista. when mista said “kill these traitors, or we’ll kill you” i wanted to cry. mista goes on about hoe fugo is a massive threat because purple haze is unhinged and can wipe out the enitre population if he wanted. fugo politely corrects him, as PH only has 6 capsules and can only attack 6 times in a day. did i see myself in that scene and feel fugo’s pain of just wanting to be left alone and not have to think about the past or the future, silent and melancholic during intervention and just feeling like the only way out is to kms right then and there? thats a secret ill never tell.  phf makes me smad.

there were some little details in purple haze feedback that got me thinking as well. in the 6 months between fugo’s leave and his cold reuniting with mista, fugo was playing piano at a bar. Most of the people who bring this up refer to it as just some cool trick he could get because he’s a rich kid. he is not. in flashbacks, it’s shown that bruno only knows how to cope with distress by isolating himself and bottling everything up. god, did i feel that. sheila e’s life goal was to kill illuso (to avenge her sister) and swore her life to giorno after finding out he killed him, it’s ironic though because in reality fugo had killed him, and in the first part of the book, they weren’t exactly friends. 

another part that really just made me wanna sob and bash my head into a wall was seeing fugo’s pure self hatred. since he was a child, he had it drilled into his head that if he couldnt produce results, he was worthless. after being disowned and thrown into jail with no future, he was completely hopeless. even after bruno came and took him in, he was never free of his liabilities. no matter what he did, he couldnt help seeing himself as some monster, failure, and burden. (kinnie moment) it worsened when he had to abandon bruno’s gang, his only saving grace was bruno, his light, hope, and acceptance. now he was stripped of that, gripped in fear knowing too well that betraying passione would end horribly. deep in his heart he wanted so badly to join them, to join his found family, but the logic he had drilled into his own head of knowing that betrayal was foolish and futile wouldnt let him have his way. hes back on the streets, just like how he was (or wouldve been after getting out of jail) after being disowned. he got a piano gig at a bar, and let himself wallow in grief and depression for 6 months. throughout the events pf PHF, we still see him clinging to memories and trauma. they say “what you let consume you will define you”, and i couldnt begin to describe it any better. putting all of the guilt and blame on his own shoulders, feeling he deserved it all and more. 

either i wasnt paying enough attention (this bitch got some rereading to do) or the purple haze distortion scene was kinda underwhelming. his character arc felt kinda rushed, like most of the book was establishing his bad state and constant flashbacks, and then all of a sudden he has confidence in his abilities and believes in himself. of course, im overjoyed he did get growth, and had a happy ending (depends on how you interpret it). stan fugio

vittorio’s fascination with pain really got me feelin. hgghhhhhhhh hh hnnhhhhh. he describes it well, wanting to feel his life force/energy in the form of pain so that he didnt ‘go extinct’, and the writing of it just saying straight up ‘cutting himself’ ‘hurting himself’ ‘self harming’ made my skin crawl. as someone who suffers with shit like that its both painful and relieving to know a character who has similar habits, whether it’s for the purpose of activating his stand or just to cope. 

2 times in phf, fugo does some kind of suicide attack. of course, he survives both. it’s never made clear whether or not he intended to die/didnt mind dying as it was a way of accomplishing his mission, but either way it got me heavy breathing. the last one especially, when he bites a virus capsule to kill volpe. did he know he’d grown and purple haze would miraculously save him with his own genius plan, or was he going out with a bang? luckily for me it wasnt really gone over like ‘hey you couldve died from that are you doing ok mentally’ or else i mightve felt nauseous reading it. im all for angst, but idk how much more i can take when its day 87 of quarantine and im numb as fuck just waiting to break down. 

angelica’s stand night bird flying (is probably not that complicated im just fuckin dumb) made fugo and everyone else hallucinate/dream. in fugo’s dream, it was pretty much an ideal au.  he was permitted to see his grandma when she was near death (preventing the professor scene), met bruno (fisher boy with fisher dad) on a boat and they became friends, nara went back to school and was doing good overall, abba remained a cop but didnt do any bad things, the whole group was all just good friends having a fun time. god i would licherally sell my body and soul for them all to be happy like that and all live. 

the concept of abandonment also messed me up, just the feeling that everyone say fugo as someone who abandoned the group in their hour of need out of selfishness made me wanna cry angry sad depression tears. hes a good man! let him be ok and happy i will fight all fugo haters no cap

every time i think back to the fugio restaurant scene i just. idk man it hurts me. the pessimistic bitch in me says that it would be unrequited and fugo would only be more sad because even through his efforts, he’s just another pawn working for giorno. on the other hand, it makes me soft n giddy because?? omyfucking god giorno asks fugo to call him giogio when NOBODY ELSE IN THE BOOK had referred to him as that. the fuckin “if grief anchors your feet, let me share it” part makes me wanna jusyt. complete my kin transformation into fugo and be a sobbin g  shaking mess in his arms as he tells me its all gonna be ok. was that a vent? absolutely. anyways, its pretty damn special for the don of the mafia to invite you to breakfast at a fancy restaurant before the place opens and its just the two of you. giorno fixes fugo’s injuries and tells him that he’s proud of his growth, and that he knew fugo could do it. dude?????? if i didnt already know i was a lonely affection/affirmation/attention starved bitch that wouldve done it for me.

holy fuck that was longer than i expected it to be. i do feel better tho

[magioftheseas]

You're The Woooorst~!

Summary: Even worse was that he got violently ill in front of Ouma, of all fucking people. That wasn’t the worst day of his life. That was the worst night of his life. Because, as it turned out, when he woke up, he was still violently ill. And Ouma was, of course, the one to know about it, showing up in his damn room unannounced.

Rating: T

Warnings: Kaito being sick but it’s not too bad. Also lotta cursing.

Notes: Wanted to write a short Oumota fic, thought that “taking care of him while sick” would be a simple enough premise. It ended up a little complicated anyway...

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

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This was shaping up to be one of the worst days of his life. First, that bastard Shinguuji insisted on telling ghost stories, which freaked him out so much that he had to escape before he got violently ill. Which he did. But even worse was that he got violently ill in front of Ouma, of all fucking people.

That wasn’t the worst day of his life. That was the worst night of his life. Because, as it turned out, when he woke up, he was still violently ill.

“Morn-ing-star-shine!”

And Ouma was, of course, the one to know about it, showing up in his damn room unannounced, with a towel, a bucket full of water, and a puke bag. He must’ve picked the lock because Kaito is damn sure that he locked the door last night.

“Oh, wow, you look great for a sick man on death’s door! Juuuust kidding! Nishishishi! You look awful! Absolutely awful!”

Kaito groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes and wishing for a meteor to crash into his room right now. Preferably where Ouma was standing. Although Ouma skipped closer, cheeky grin splitting his face before he shoved Kaito down onto the bed.

“Didn’t your grandma ever tell you to take it easy when you’re sick?” he sing-songs. “You’re going to fall into your grave before ever taking a single step on the moon! And I’ll be sooooo sad, Momota-chan!”

Kaito growled at him, but he imagined that being in a lame cold sweat and having watery eyes decimated the effect any kind of glare would have.

“Do you really have to be here?” he snapped. “Or does seeing a guy sick get you off?”

“How’d you know?” Ouma asked, batting his eyelashes coyly before gagging. “As if! Even if I were into that, you look like a dog, especially with that goatee of yours.”

“Don’t knock the goatee!” His voice raised to a rasp. “And get the hell out! You’re the last face I need to see right now!”

“Can you even see with eyes that teary?” Ouma retorted, flicking his nose. Before Kaito could attempt to yell, Ouma scrubbed his face with the towel, not even bothering to be gentle, the asshole. “Besides, I’ll have you know I’m here out of the goodness of my heart.”

Kaito would’ve sputtered either way because of the towel rubbing against his mouth.

“That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard you told.”

“It’s true,” Ouma insisted, soaking the towel and wringing the water out. “We both know you’re such a prideful fucker that no one else is aware of the fact that you’re as delicate as a flower, Momota-chan.”

“Fuck you!”

“And as a result.” Ouma tutted at him. “You planned on just sweating it out alone in your room rather than asking for anyone’s help. Which, truth be told, is so stupid I don’t even know how to comprehend it. Seriously, Momota-chan. That’s so miserable, it brings a tear to the eye! Boo-hoo!”

“So, what?” Kaito demanded. “What kind of guy would I be if I put that kind of burden on everyone?”

Ouma wiped down his face again. He was even rougher than the last time.

“Ow, ow, ow! S-Seriously, knock that shit off!”

“You knock shit off,” Ouma retorted, pulling on his beard and hopping away before Kaito could shove him off. “You’re an even bigger bullshitter than I am if you seriously believe that.”

“Urgh.” Kaito rolled his eyes and covered his head with his pillow. “I don’t have to hear this.”

He still heard Ouma shuffling about. Soaking the towel and wringing out the water again. Ouma letting out an annoyed little huff.

“Hey.” There’s a harsh jab into his side, making him jump. “Does your stomach hurt?”

“Fuck off!”

“Not an answer,” Ouma said, unimpressed. He shrugged. “But given that you’re not bitching about it, I guess it’s fine for now.”

Kaito grumbled and glared at him.

“You’re lucky I feel too much like shit to kick your ass.”

Ouma scoffed, heading into the bathroom and turning on the sink.

“And I was so worried about you!” he exclaimed over the running water, faking a sob. “Oh, Momota-chan, you had me worried sick! I thought you might die again! I can’t go through that a second time, I just can’t!”

Ouma came back, an expression like stone and a cup of water in his hand. Rather robotically, he handed it over.

“Drink. Or else I’ll tell everyone about your little display last night.”

“Are you blackmailing me?!”

Ouma’s lips twitched at the corner.

“I would never.”

Scowling, Kaito snatched the cup and downed the water, glowering down at the other challengingly. Ouma remained stoic.

“What?” Kaito had the childish desire to throw the empty cup at him but refrained. A real man kept his cool, even with annoying shits like Ouma around. “If you got something to say, say it.”

“Don’t you get exhausted talking so much?” Ouma cocked an eyebrow. “You’re sick. You should conserve your energy.”

Kaito snarled at him but bit his tongue.

He’s riling me up on purpose. Well. I’m not gonna fall for it anymore.

To prove his internal point, he turned away with a huff, nose upturned. Ouma’s stare on him remained, feeling almost uncomfortable, but Kaito let that wash over him like water. If he couldn’t deal with weird looks from a brat, what kind of luminary did that make him?

A shameless kid like Ouma wouldn’t get that. He’s too—immature. Naïve.

It wasn’t like Ouma was a bad person. Malicious, mean-spirited, and a fucking asshole, absolutely. But not a bad person. Just a brat who sucked ass at connecting with other people.

Kaito wasn’t that stupid. He knew that Ouma was here right now because he was worried. It was more than irritating—the reason why he kept his weird illness a secret was because he didn’t want people to worry, but Ouma was the kind of kid all the more excited when told no. All about butting his head where it didn’t belong, even when it resulted in burdens that no one should have to carry.

Ouma’s existence was so exhausting that Kaito didn’t understand how the kid could have so much energy despite living the way he did. Seriously.

Maybe that’s admirable in its own way?

He wasn’t sure, but he was tired. And dizzy. And nursing a headache. Oh, that was probably the sickness again. Great. Fucking great.

Kaito fell back with a sigh, crumbling the cup in his hand. The loud crackling of plastic just felt like mockery. It made his headache even worse.

“Urgh... This sucks... It sucks so bad.”

Ouma just takes the broken cup from him, probably to toss. How responsible. Too bad Kaito’s eyes were so watery that it was difficult to see now. Ouma just looked like a blob of purple of white. Kinda funny if not for the fact that his eyes stung, leaving him cursing as he furtively tried wiping them off.

The wet washcloth is pressed against his face again, but this time it’s cold, and before Kaito can protest, it’s thrown over his eyes.

“They were getting so swollen they looked fit to burst,” Ouma said, remarkably cool with even a calm click of the tongue. “Not a lie. If your eyes did burst into bits, that would be pretty horrifying.”

“Horrifying?” Kaito echoed before snorting. “It’d be a tragedy. I’d never be able to see the stars again if that happened. Everything would just be dark forever.”

“A nightmare for a luminary,” Ouma murmured. He flicked Kaito’s nose, making him gripe and flail at nothing but the air. “Did you know, Momota-chan? You’re so dim-witted that your vision already is super dark.”

“Oi! That’s uncalled for and untrue!” Momota does push himself up. It causes a bit of a rush that nearly knocks himself senseless, but he manages to keep his body upright as he lunges for that splotch of white. He ends up tumbling out of the bed, hitting the ground harshly and with nothing in his grasp. “Urgh... Ow...”

“See?” Ouma asks airily. “You’re so stuuuuupid, Momota-chan.”

Momota lets out a pained groan, but Ouma’s standing in front of him. Ouma, who grabs the back of his shirt collar. He hears the threads protest and tear and Ouma yanks.

“Dense, dumb, dull,” Ouma scoffs and drops him. He hadn’t been able to lift him much, so it didn’t hurt, but it was still irritating. “I swear. It’s sickening. Get back into bed, idiot. Unless you want to die here? If you do, don’t worry. I’ll lie to the others and say that I killed you. Spare you the embarrassment. Of course...” There’s a grin in his voice, but the laugher afterward... “Saihara-chan’s still gonna figure it out. Nishishishi.”

It doesn’t sound joyful at all.

Ouma’s really just that annoyed with him.

That’s a real joke if Kaito’s ever thought of one, so his chuckle is a lot more sincere. He tastes blood, and it’s still funny.

“What?” Ouma sounds real unimpressed now. “Have you lost your mind?”

He snorts. “Everything’s, uh, spinning a lot. Spiraling. Like satellites around masses.”

“Come on.” Ouma grabs him properly. “Get back to bed before you spiral out of control.”

“Hahah...” He does manage to pull himself to his feet with Ouma’s help, even as he sways a little. “So no-nonsense. You’re sounding less like your usual shitty self, Ouma.”

“Actually, I’m nobody. Nobody you know. Nobody you care about. Nobody at all.”

“Nobody, huh? Then...it’s fine.”

When he falls back into bed, his fingers curl tightly into Ouma’s ragged white shirt and he digs in. Ouma gasps sharply, falling with him. Another thud. Kaito’s head hurts, and when he comes to, he feels Ouma’s arm close to his scalp, Ouma’s knee by his hip, and Ouma’s harsh exhale of breath.

“...what the hell is this? What are you playing at, Momota-chan?”

He can’t answer when it hurts too much to think.

“You’re awful. Just the worst. The absolute worst.” And yet, Ouma does lean in. That liar presses his open mouth to Kaito’s cheek, lips pursing damply against his skin before murmuring into his ear. “You’re also delirious.”

At that point, Kaito just didn’t want to think so he let his eyes fall.

“This is the worst,” he heard Ouma lament just before he fell completely and utterly out of it.

He wakes up later in an empty room, head a bit clearer. He blinks once at the ceiling. Twice. There’s a wet washcloth folded upon his forehead. It’s long since gone a bit lukewarm.

Wait. What the actual hell was that?

[fbdo1986]

Bye Bye Love - A Ferris Bueller’s Day Off Fanfic

a/n: My pride and joy, the OT3 work I’ve been working on for months! A hopefully angsty number that details Sloane’s, Cameron’s, and Ferris’s journey through heartbreak and loss after their Sophomore year in college. The title is named after a song by The Cars by the same name!

Warnings: Death Mention (of none of the main characters)

Word Count: 6,111

I can’t feel this way much longer

Expect me to survive

Heartbreak is such a shallow, meaningless word. Well, it becomes one. Before Sloane leaves, heartbreak is foreign, but Ferris and Cameron can think of the times before they confessed their feelings, and that was ugly, streaming tears, holding in shouts and the sense that everything could be gone in a flash. Cameron knew it well, despite the misconceptions Sloane and Ferris had about him not being in love. But after getting together, heartbreak is a distant, funny memory that loses its sting. And then Sloane leaves. 

Sloane went back home at first. Her grandmother had fallen ill their second year at college and she had no choice but to go back. Ferris and Cameron miss her, but they survive. They bury their heads in their studies—Ferris more into music and other beautiful things that kill time—and coast along. It’s not that hard, Cameron and Ferris spend more time together, Cameron gets A’s on his psychology papers and Ferris has a part time job at a local art gallery. They go to the movies and get pizza at night and crash on the couch in Cameron’s dorm. They dance in the kitchen and hold hands as they dream up things to do with Sloane when she gets back. They call to catch up. But she starts answering less frequently.

In the summer: a funeral. Cameron and Ferris are there, stoic but somehow deep down know that they haven’t talked to Sloane in months, so there’s more than grief and commiseration stirring. Anxious anticipation. They just want to be there for her. They know the ache they feel in their chests is different from how everyone else is aching, and Cameron reels with guilt. But before they go inside Ferris squeezes Cameron’s shoulder, an unspoken recognition that he understands.

Sloane looks… like there aren’t words accurate enough to describe her. She’s hurting, definitely, but she feels… strong, solid. Like Cam and Ferris need the brave faces more than she does. The two knew she always took on a lot of responsibility in the family, so this seemed to be no exception. She was holding up for the rest. But she’s still stunningly beautiful. The two boys see her from behind at first, but they’d know her anywhere. Maybe the passage of time made her seem that much more gorgeous, but it’s Sloane—their Sloane—and their hearts drop in their stomachs immediately as she turns around to find them standing there. Her face lights up, as though there’s nothing more that she’d want to see in front of her. She lunges at them, immediately enveloping them both in a hug. Her arms hold them tightly; she has no intention of letting them go. She breathes them in happily, letting out a laugh that is soon tinged with tears. They pull her in tighter. 

“I’ve missed you both,” She hiccups. “So much.” 

She lets them go reluctantly. Ferris immediately takes her hand and Cameron forces himself to take a step away from her. Obviously, Sloane’s family only knows about her and Ferris, so Cameron must sacrifice his affections for the both of them. A sudden twinge of heartbreak as his heart stirs in his stomach and his shoulders hunch forward. But he’d do anything for Sloane, absolutely anything, so he’ll keep himself a secret. Sloane feels her heart being torn into pieces, her face morphing to house a frown. She fights the urge to find comfort in his arms again, to kiss him, to caress his face, anything that can prove that if it weren’t for her family and the circumstances they were under right now that she would absolutely prove her adoration to him. She settles for: “You know I don’t mean it.” She lowers her voice. “I love you.” Cameron feels like crying. It’s hard to process, all of it. He doesn’t realize how much he’s missed her until now and now he can’t even show how he feels. He bites back these feelings. They sink to the bottom of his stomach and he’s stoic again. 

“Are you alright?” Ferris asks suddenly, and they all know he's not just talking about today. Not just about her grandmother. 

Sloane doesn’t know where to begin. “Things are just… hard. Complicated. The worst part is how my parents are taking it.” The three of them look over to the Peterson’s, clad in black. They look hollow, and as though they haven’t slept in several days. “I’m basically taking care of them now. I helped take care of Nana before she…” Sloane nods through the implication. “And now I’m taking care of them.” They have no problem conjuring up images of Sloane cooking breakfast for her parents and helping her mother get dressed. Her chest heaves out a heavy breath. “I didn’t know something like this could happen. That could change them—change us. Life was so simple. So good, so easy. I guess I didn’t know they could even feel like that. I just feel so guilty. Like I let that happen to them.”

“Trust me, you didn’t.” Ferris eyes lock her own with seriousness.

“You couldn’t have known.” Cameron adds.

“I know. Like, inside, I know. But I just can’t—” The service begins and Sloane has no choice but to part from them. Her eyes trace them longingly for a few moments as she turns away. The priest begins the service by quoting scripture, and Sloane is not among the audible mourners that soon start. 

Eventually, the procession begins. They step out into the foggy, gray afternoon; a fitting sight for such an occasion. Ferris and Cameron ache to be at Sloane’s side, to be her crutch, yet they know that she’s needed by her parents' sides instead. The clouds hang dark and somber in the sky, and only slivers of light filter on the damp grass. The patrons stiff bodies shuffle to set flowers on the casket and say their kind words about the Peterson matriarch. The burial finishes, and they wordlessly trudge back inside to enjoy a lavish spread of refreshments. 

Ferris and Cameron find their way back to Sloane effortlessly, although they give her space that she seems like she needs for a few moments. Ferris notes Cameron’s tensity, he looks as though he could be holding back tears, and despite the fact that he knows they might not be about the funeral, Ferris doesn’t blame him. He flashes Cam a warm smile. Cam’s always been extremely empathetic, so he guesses their new awareness of Sloane’s life while she’s been away is taking a toll on him. Ferris feels stiff, but he feels lighter, better, when he’s around Sloane and Cameron. In Ferris and Cameron’s unspoken language (which, aside from circumstances like these, includes Sloane) they note how she must be the one to come back to them. She’ll let them in, tell them everything that’s been going on. They can’t pry it out of her.

Sloane comes back to them and they wait for what’s next in tense silence. Ferris wonders on his lucky stars if there’s any chance they’re getting out of here, if they can go back to his place and seek refuge from the world outside. That Sloane can change from her black dress and they can laze around with the window open and forget about grief, loss, and all things heartbreak. She pulls up a chair in between them at the table the two boys are sat at and breathes. She reads his mind. “I’m not ready.”

“What?” Ferris asks. Cameron’s gaze turns to Sloane instantly. 

Sloane’s eyes find the floor in between her heels. Her eyes brim with hot tears. “I… I can’t. It’s too much. I’m sorry. It’s like everything is all tangled up and you know I trust you two more than anyone else in the entire world, but it’s all too much and even I can’t wrap my head around it. I’m so sorry.” She breaks. Her head falls into her hands and Sloane is sobbing. Ferris and Cameron say nothing. In mere moments their arms are around her, holding her as she shakes from the heft of her cries. 

When Sloane calms finally she peers out of hands gently and she can feel Ferris and Cameron still there. The warm, stable bodies of the only two people in the world she would try to make understand. It wouldn’t take a lot. It never does. But against all instinct, she keeps it in. She leans into their bodies instead, and she knows without them she would sink. They are her life raft. But things still aren’t normal yet and she doesn’t know how to force out those words. Not now, not here.

So finally, when they have no choice, Cameron and Ferris gather themselves and say goodbye. They offer their condolences to Sloane’s parents, first and foremost, who meet them with tearful thank you’s and genuine expressions of appreciation. They both warmly take turns embracing Mrs. Peterson and offering Mr. Peterson a firm handshake and a pat on the back. Despite how long they’ve been in Sloane’s life they’ve never been quite close to her parents, Cameron in particular, but they wish them all the best regardless; they know that they need it. Ferris hates that Sloane is left with them, while still being their much needed support system, he aches knowing that she will, inevitably, absorb some of their sadness, or crack while trying to be strong for them. He wishes harder.

And with all the energy it seems she has in her tender, sentimental body, she faces Cameron and Ferris once more. Her eyes linger on them with all the love she could ever hold. She takes each of her lovers and kisses him softly on the cheek, because fuck it, she couldn’t care less who saw or what they thought.

“Please, take care of yourself.” Cameron whispers in her ear as she pulls away from him. He doesn’t know how soon it will be until they will see her again, he prays it will be soon. Their touches on her icy skin burn like summer, and the feeling of their soft hands holding her as she presses a kiss into each of them lingers on her. Sloane swallows her tears and it takes everything in her not to run into their arms again and plead for them to never let go. Instead, she nods, her lips pressing together in a tight smile as her eyes fill like swimming pools. 

Sloane doesn’t come back to school. Somewhere along the way Ferris and Cameron learn she’s dropped out and moved back to Chicago full time. Despite their nagging wishes, they fight every urge they have to pack up Cam’s car and immediately drive to go see her. They still have tests to study for, papers to write, and jobs to clock in to. Instead, they phone the Peterson’s, assuming that understandably, she had moved back home to take care of her family. Each time, it’s either her mother or her father solemnly answering, saying that Sloane isn’t at home at the moment. The first time he calls, Cameron asks where she is and if she can return the call later, and Mrs. Peterson informs her that she’ll tell Sloane that he called. She doesn’t return their calls. Each time, Sloane’s hands nervously fiddle with the chord, and as she chews at her lip she can no longer handle the dial tone, and hangs up before she can hear the warm voice of either the lively or recorded voices of her boyfriends. She’s already let them down, and she doesn’t know how to build that back up again. She settles for small tidbits of letters in the mail, along with messages that somehow manage to reach them through a long chain of mutual friends that say she’s doing alright.

They can’t fully adjust to life without Sloane. Heartbreak eats away at them. Cameron and Ferris are basically joined at the hip nowadays, clinging to one another as though their lives depend on it. No one is surprised, not fully, as the two boys basically have functioned as a unit since the fifth grade, but it was also easy to see that without Sloane, they’re seen less frequently altogether. They sit in Cameron’s dorm and pretend. They talk and kiss—and stop watching romance movies. The artificiality mocks them, these cheesy things that used to make them laugh, the heartbreak that they found unfathomable once—complete with their silly quips of “kiss and make up!” or “you just need to talk it out!” while holding onto one another’s limbs as they threw popcorn at the screen, giggling—feels cold and real. It’s more than the absence of a body that fits in theirs like a puzzle piece, it’s Sloane. Even her name makes them ache sometimes, because without Sloane there’s a loss of her warm, angelic face, her heart that holds them in it like there’s always been room for the two of them, her soft, wide eyes that take in the world in her loveliest, kindest and determined way, and her presence, like gentle, steady and streaming sunshine. There’s so much of her that clings to everything, the radio that used to play the mixtapes she made for the both of them, her scent on their shirts (Cameron walks in on Ferris one day and catches him sheepishly cradling one of his shirts she loved to wear), the coffee maker in Cam’s dorm she and Ferris bought for him, she even lingers on them both. Sloane’s in how they talk to one another; after all, they’re the things she loved most of all. They can’t help but keep the traces of how she loved them, in how they hold each other’s gazes—the brown of Ferris’ eyes in the sun can almost be hers, when Cameron stands on his left side, arm draped across his shoulders Ferris can almost pretend Sloane is at his left—and the way they can’t take up the whole space of the bed. They cannot abandon what is hers. Ferris and Cameron talk about it, occasionally, with uncomfortable pauses, long sighs and deep swallows.

After a year passes, during a quiet morning when the two scruffy twenty year olds sleepily drink their coffees before class, Ferris leads with: “She isn’t coming back, is she.” A statement, not a question. Cameron’s eyebrows dart upwards. He’s been writing her letters this whole time. Calling her on the phone, keeping his eyes open wide and ears perked for just a hint of possibility that she hasn’t completely left. Like one day he’ll go to the library and turn a corner and she’ll be there. That maybe she’s sitting at home, on her bed, perched by the phone and waiting for it to ring—waiting for her hands to find the courage to pick it up. Cameron’s used to ultimatums, and has been since birth, basically. Familiar with harsh statements that are just as painful as they are true. Acceptance is the request: accept that love isn’t a promise and once you do you can feel better about when it leaves. But once Ferris and Sloane come into his life he cannot accept bargaining his life away, cannot accept that people that precious are allowed to not love him. It’s not even selfish to want her back because he knows that’s what Ferris wants, but he’s instead accepted the chances. Ferris clears his throat awkwardly. “Sloane.” He barely trips over it, pushes the syllable through his lips no problem. 

Cameron thinks to himself: Dimwit, I know who you’re talking about.

“I’m not gonna stop waiting for her.” Cameron says with conviction, pretending like it’s nothing as he focuses his attention on stirring creamer into his drink. 

“She hasn’t gone to war, Cameron,” Ferris snaps suddenly. He exhales out of his nose sharply and then breathes in again. “She’s gone. She left.” There is silence as Ferris makes the two of them process it. A timid laugh eventually breaks it. “We can make it, just the two of us. Huh?” He prods Cameron’s ribs with his elbow.

Cameron bats him away with annoyance. “You realize we’re talking about Sloane, right? The girl you were going to marry? Does that mean nothing to you? She goes home because her grandmother died and she takes care of her parents. Then she drops out of school, all with minimal to no communication with us, Fer. And you’re about ready to say ‘Ah, we don’t need her?’ and just fucking pretend? I’m sick of pretending. I want to know what’s going on, and the only reason I don’t hightail my ass back to Chicago to get her myself is because I’m not going without you. Sloane is the love of my life, Fer. And I know she’s yours.” Cam looks deeply at Ferris, who is frozen to the spot with accusation. “And you’re the love of my life too, okay. It’s all of us or nothing. I don’t care how long it fucking takes. I miss her. I miss us!” He grabs for Ferris’s hand. “I know that’s what you want, too, Fer. Don’t try and hide it for me, babe.” Cameron cracks a smile, pointing to himself. “Come on, me! Cameron? Don’t pretend. I know you.” He draws that last part out slowly, taking in Ferris’s smile that begins to form. For one of a few memorable moments, Ferris Bueller is speechless. Cameron presses a kiss into his cheek, and he can feel Ferris’s grin beneath his lips.

Before the two finish college, they receive a response from Sloane. It is the biggest sigh of relief when they find a letter in her sprawling, rushed handwriting addressed to the two of them. Inside the envelope it’s obviously quickly scrawled, which detailed that she was doing okay, but rarely had time to reply, due to her caretaking duties and job, to any of their phone calls. They can almost read it in her voice, and both of them hover over the paper as though it were an announcement that they had won the lottery. By the end she wishes them a happy (nearly!) graduation and how she hopes to be there and just how proud she is of them. It’s been ages since she’s reached out this much, and they unconsciously hold their breath as they read her words again, again, and again.

Yet graduation comes and as Ferris and Cameron scan the crowd hopefully Sloane is nowhere to be found. Cameron tries to keep things lighthearted—after all, they’ve graduated! (why is it so easy to hear that in Sloane’s voice as a reminder?)—and that it’s very well possible her parents have adopted health issues which require even more of her attention, so there’s no reason to be worried or upset that it was because she didn’t care. But with every breath they take they know that this day was equally supposed to be shared by their girlfriend, who worked even harder than they did on a daily basis just to catch up to their grade level so that they could share this moment together. And she couldn’t be there.

So Ferris and Cameron have no choice but to go on about their lives again, which includes getting used to functioning as a two person unit again. They rent a small apartment in the city and Ferris takes the full time shift at the art gallery, while Cameron picks up a job at the local library cataloging and shelving books. Ferris loves the atmosphere for Cameron, in fact he’s recently started shedding the need to wear contacts consistently and even bought a pair of oversized glasses that he wears to work. The art gallery works perfect for Ferris, he guides tours of students and other visitors, which is surprisingly less boring than he first thought it would be. Of course, cursing their sentimental brains for thinking of it, they secretly contemplate what Sloane could be doing if she’d finished with her journalism degree. The two don’t stop writing her letters or leaving voicemails. She’s just now quiet background noise which was once a lively conversation.

So when the two receive invitations from their high school regarding the upcoming five year reunion for the class of 1986, they feel a weird sense of indecision. For once, in the strangest way, since time has passed so long without Sloane and their lives at eighteen, it’s hard to see what high school reminiscing has left to offer them. Cameron takes the pitch that it would be fun for Ferris, maybe, to take a taste of being adored again. By a whole room, everyone would be infatuated with whatever adventures he had been up to. He chuckles, claiming that he’s not missing anything by just being adored how he is now, and that he’s afraid that he’d disappoint (things weren’t very captivating these days). Besides, despite going into college, Ferris’ notoriety didn’t escape him fully. After all, that’s what makes Ferris Bueller, well, Ferris Bueller.

But they show, and the boyfriends make a plan amongst themselves to entertain them throughout the night. Not that Ferris needs supplemental activities—Cameron bets the senior class of 86’ hasn’t ever had enough of Ferris Bueller, and he knows that spark isn’t completely gone from the charming character Cam knows so well. But Cameron’s going to keep himself busy, and without Sloane by his side that means alternating between alcoholic beverages and water each time someone makes an encouraging reply or inquiry. “What about you, Ferris?”, “How about another story from Bueller, huh?” and the like. It’s less fun to get drunk just sitting alone, so he's ready to mainly hydrate while laughing at his boyfriend’s antics. Cam doesn’t mind it, honestly. He's never had a problem living outside of Ferris’ popularity bubble, the only attention that really matters to him is that of Ferris’ and Sloane’s, anyway. He’s perfectly content feeling invisible to the crowds Ferris inevitably attracts, since out of all the attention he attracts, Cameron’s own is the one that means the most.

So they discuss that Cameron has no problems sitting on the sidelines, aside from being his ‘arm candy’ when they walk in, and unless Ferris ever flashes him a desperate expression to have someone genuine to talk to. They laugh about it, since upon Ferris’ arrival there is no way he can avoid such proddings, (and honestly, would he want to?) and of course Cameron is cool as ice about it all, since the best parts of high school were inevitably spent with Ferris and Sloane outside of school anyway. But they agree that perhaps it’s time for Ferris to get that uncanny energy of showing up for an eager audience, it’s one of the things he does best.

Cameron settles contently, solidifying his position on the bleachers—oh, just like old times, away from the main event —with a glass of water and a drink in his hands. He is a complete eager audience for Ferris handling his eager audiences, and he chuckles to himself as he fades easily into the background, avoiding potential prodding of questions from people who didn’t give him a second look when they were in school together, now because he was seen with Ferris.

As the night continues and Ferris makes his way over to Cameron—with eager listeners trailing at his heels—the two lock eyes and acknowledge, well, more like Cameron acknowledges, that he’d enjoy a breath of fresh, unaccompanied air. Cameron used this time of observance of Ferris to have some time to think uninterrupted while being simultaneously entertained. But eventually things get a bit boring and Cameron longs for conversation to break from his thoughts.

“Ferris...” Cameron begins, watching Ferris in his most amicable manner break from a conversation, politely excusing himself with a sincere smile.

“I’ll talk to you soon, man.”

Ferris turns to Cam, who playfully rolls his eyes. That’s my boyfriend, for g-d’s sake.

He slings an arm over Cameron’s shoulders as they quietly break from the chatter inside the gymnasium, at points relying on the darkness along the walls to sneak away from innocent but incessant questions and prodding towards Ferris. They finally escape into the hallway, nearly breathless and laughing to themselves. “Fer, you have got to stop making people fall in love with you.” Cameron grins, lovingly shaking his head as Ferris removes his arm from his shoulders. They feel eighteen again, for just a moment; their bodies mimicking their younger selves, full of love and adrenaline waiting in the car garage for Cameron’s father’s Ferrari. It feels like a lifetime ago. 

Ferris sighs, as though exhaling out the bittersweetness, reminded of the absence of Sloane’s body that stood so naturally between them. They walk along the hallways that didn’t feel like much to them then, but now signify the naivety and lack of breathing room they didn’t realize they had. The walls of high school don’t feel like much anymore, but they house the memory of their heartbeats, rushed pulses and lips that begged to spill the secrets they were hiding equally from one another and from themselves. Stolen glances and how suffocating other people’s expectations can be. They don’t realize that until they leave, though. Instead, it’s somehow the nostalgic ideal, it was everything—the love they shared when they didn’t realize it yet, when the world was small. Now the world is more wide open, the problems they were deathly afraid of became things they worked through together. But they miss when their love wasn't quite there, but Sloane was still solid. Despite fears of leaving her next year which were ultimately solved, Sloane was a constant, along with every adventure, having no cares while spending time with the two people she cared about most.

The two boys, at 23 years old now, contemplate this in their familiar, comfortable silence. They walk just a bit too close together, pausing in their reflections once they both realize the other has tears brimming in his eyes. Cameron cracks a smile. He recognizes their shared sentimentality and they lean against the walls of the school that feels like only theirs. They gaze at one another: all that their bodies allow them to do is talk in hushed voices, barely able to express the realizations they’ve made in fear of them becoming true.

Until Ferris, opposite Cameron, looks past his shoulder and breaks the silence in the most Ferris Bueller way possible. 

“Cameron. Cameron!” He places his hands on Cameron’s shoulders solidly, instinctively almost slapping him at first just to get his attention to move towards his line of sight. Cameron’s brows furrow, nearly laughing in surprise of his sudden, forceful touch. He turns slowly, squinting to see what Ferris has very evidently noticed.

“Christ, Fer, what the…” Once his eyes follow Ferris’s own his heart instinctively falls three stories into the pit of his stomach. In the lobby which connects to the hallway they see a lovely figure of a young woman, elegantly clad in a pencil skirt and blazer combination; her long brown hair falling neatly in the middle of her back. Even from far away there’s no need for confirmation, their bodies shared instantaneous reactions are proof enough. It’s her. Sloane. Cameron is paralyzed with indecision, while his heart races as though it were its primary function. Ferris is seconds away from abandoning all formalities and getting as close to her as quickly as physically possible, but she notices them first. A quick glint of her eye is all it takes. So they move closer, as though they are approaching a sleeping dog, even though she is walking towards them with the same carefulness. 

Sloane knows that if she keeps their gazes she will break, but tears are already falling on her cheeks, an inevitable smile also already creeping onto her face. She quickens her pace suddenly and before her lovers can realize it she is right in front of them again. Whole. Here. Real. It’s been years since they’ve seen her in person, it feels impossible. Sloane begins, her voice already shaking. “I am so, so sorry.” A few quick breaths unsteadily exit her mouth. She can’t look at them directly. Cameron and Ferris remain silent, equally shocked and patient. “It took a lot to get in here, and I know that’s not the first thing I should be telling you but I wanted to be here sooner.” As she exhales deeply, trying to regain composure her eyes turn upward to look at the two people she loves most in the world, the two people she abandoned. She reaches out to touch them, her unsteady hands finding the soft, warm faces of Cameron and Ferris. “G-d, you look so different.” She smiles as she traces Cameron’s face, now 23, as though he has matured tremendously within the past three. Like he became the more full, whole version of himself, finally sure of who that was. He can’t help but lean into her touch, while hot tears too compliment the features she caresses. “You’re not eighteen anymore, Cam.” She says, beaming, but there is a deep sadness in her voice. She knows she has missed so much of what went into becoming 23 year old Cameron. She looks into Ferris’s loving gaze, his brown eyes full of adoration, but also holding strength in them unlike anything she's ever seen. And she knows she’s seen Ferris be strong before. He’s holding back something.

“What did we—?” He can’t bear to finish his sentence, and even when Ferris knows that there was no way any of them intentionally caused any of this hurt, he can’t help but blame himself now, because he was so quick to believe that she had moved on.

“Nothing. Nothing.” She breaks, sobbing as she takes turns holding each of their faces in her hands. Ferris puts his hands on her own to support her. “I was so terrified… I was so scared that my parents would collapse if I wasn’t there. I got a job to support myself outside of school… but I couldn’t stop worrying when I wasn’t with them. I couldn’t do anything. Eventually I couldn’t even work,” She takes in a deep breath. “I couldn't focus on anything unless it was when I took care of them. I had no choice… I couldn’t go to school… they suffered without me. It got better once they started seeing psychiatrists. Mom started taking medication—but it made her worse for a while before she got better. I don't have any family left. No one that could do the job like I did. It got easier slowly, and by the time I—” She continues to sob again. “By the time I thought it was okay to leave them alone again,” Her voice warps with sadness. “I knew I had left you for too long. I abandoned you! I couldn't handle it myself but I didn’t even let you know what was going on. I’m so sorry… I barely even said a word! It was too late, I couldn’t face you, coming back like this without an explanation of why I left. You deserved better than what I gave you, and I was absolutely terrified that you would realize how selfish I was being, and that you wouldn’t take me back. I didn't want to face how much I’d hurt you… so I left you alone instead.” She shakes her head, biting back continual sobs. “Which isn’t the right thing to do, obviously. I was so scared that I ended up taking it out on you both. Gd, I’m so sorry.” 

Ferris and Cameron stand in silence, but look at her sympathetically, offering their hands, shoulders, anything to support her physically in this moment. She finally buries her head into Ferris’ shirt, and he calmly begins to stroke her hair. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He and Cameron exchange knowing glances amongst themselves. They can’t pin this against her. Not in a million years. It hurt them immensely—painfully wondering when they’d see her again, or if she was in any trouble or if things had gotten worse. Of course, the thought of her getting over them or not wanting to see them again flickered through their minds, but they knew it was impossible that she had forgotten them. Yes, her support system—the two of them—could’ve been there for her in her most vulnerable points, but that would’ve included making some other sacrifices too. They know that Sloane loves them, and while she may have made a mistake, it was ultimately out of love and understanding of what Ferris and Cam might be feeling, and an understandable fear of heartbreak. They can work out the hurt they feel. That’s for certain, along with the fact that there is no way on Earth that they can’t forgive Sloane. Having her in front of them, her touching them, after years of trying to operate without her, is worth absolutely everything.

“I missed you so much.” Ferris plants a kiss on the top of her head. She looks up at him finally, after his words have soothed her enough to calm her properly. She turns back to Cameron, standing perfectly in between them, the way she fits so naturally.

“I missed you too. Gd, so much. I thought of you every day. I couldn’t stop thinking that you were still thinking of us. I knew Fer felt the same too, he just wanted to suppress how much he missed you.” He turns to Ferris lovingly and squeezes his hand, looking into his eyes for a moment. “It hurt to not have you here.” He sees Ferris tearing up, who’s overwhelmed by finally being able to let go of the fear and denial he’s kept inside for so long. He’s crying now, and it takes everything he has for Cameron not to join him in his sobs.

Sloane looks between the two of them. “I’ve loved you every day since I left. I never stopped. I promise. Please, take me back. I will make it up to you. I need you two more than anyone else in the entire world.” She looks deep into Ferris’s watery doe eyes that are pleading deep into hers, that it wouldn't happen again. She cups his face lovingly and he nods fiercely. His flame hasn’t burnt out yet, in fact, it’s only strengthened by the solidity of their relationship being complete again, with all three of them. He begins to kiss her face all over—forehead, eyebrows, cheeks, nose, mouth—with the utmost tender passion he thinks he’s ever bestowed on her. In a moment of surprised joy, she laughs. “Gd, Fer.” She smiles, and while there are still tears that grace her cheeks, she’s starting to fill finally with a sense of calm and happiness that hasn’t been felt in so long. He lingers on her mouth, kissing her properly and relishing how she feels on his skin again. She fits on him perfectly, and he knows they couldn’t forget just how easily this works, not in a million years. She kisses back, delightedly, breaking only to tell him something not muffled in between kisses. “I love you.” 

An instantaneous reply. “I love you too,” A perfect, lovestruck Ferris grin on his lips. 

She turns to Cameron, who’s wearing a lopsided smile. “You don’t even need to ask.” She gets on her tiptoes and kisses Cam as well, because years away from the loves of your life means you cannot waste opportunities to show how much you’ve missed them. She takes in all of how he feels, easily placing her hands—one on his neck and the other on his cheek—as though the last time they kissed was yesterday. They all feel like the luckiest people on Earth to be back together again, to fit just how they should. They show through their patient urgency of each kiss that they’ll never take this for granted. Of course, life isn’t suddenly perfect, their relationship is still more than taboo, but it has never been about what people think. They break from their embrace—Cameron is two seconds away from mumbling ‘I love you’ into her lips—and Cam and Ferris put their arms around Sloane’s shoulders. They stand together as a unit, taking in the sensation that things are now alright, and will only get better.

“Can we get out of here?” Sloane asks timidly, but can’t help but laugh as soon as she sees how Ferris’ eyes light up.

“I’m not keeping anyone waiting.” He jokes, only strengthening his hold on the two of them.

[wersoverytired]

Watching the Supernatural finale hours after almost dying is, well. Different.

I cannot stress this enough: MAJOR triggers for frank discussion of a recent suicide attempt (no, not because SPN ended). Steer clear if this might hit too close to home. I'm no longer at risk, this happened a while ago and is over, and my care manager is aware.

Right, and spoilers for the series finale.

_____ _____ _____

I'm old enough to have been a fan of SPN since 2005. And considering the fact that childhood abuse had me suicidal at around age 12, probably earlier, it's safe to say that I have never watched the show without that constant battle going on in the background, unrelated.

When Dean said he was tired, that he was done, I got it. When Sam asked in that abandoned chapel what the upside was to him being alive, or when he confided in his brother in a hotel hallway that he had always felt unclean somehow, I could relate. There was more to the show than that, of course -- the love, the loyalty, the humor -- but the struggle was another point of connection.

As both the show and I grew long in the tooth, and my life circumstances were progressive getting worse (as they sometimes do when you carry untreated trauma), I used SPN and the fandom as a comfort. And increasingly, living to see how the Winchester story ends became one of those grappling hooks you latch on to when you look for reasons to keep going just a little longer.

Naturally, that didn't (and couldn't) arm me against the waves of acute, hope-obliterating, soul-sucking despair that can routinely crash on your head when you're dealing with poverty, chronic physical illness and disability -- and in a harsh country, too -- as well as being severely post traumatic and dissociative. Saving me was never the show's job, nor should it have been. I used it as much as I could, though.

The more I felt like I had to die, the more I tried. Dying hardly ever comes naturally, not even when you feel like there's no other way. Painfully isolated and increasingly bedridden, I watched convention panels and smiled so hard my face hurt. Other times I cried. And I made online friends, often through the fandom, who made life less empty. Who loved and laughed and cried with me from afar. It's hard to overstate the effect that can have when you're trapped in a body that's pretty much your cage, with a mind that's wounded and struggling.

I kept fighting. But I also kept finding myself, over and over again, faced with the reality that most people who are deeply traumatized, certainly those who are also severely dissociative, get to know early on: the world excels at letting many of us know that there's no place for us. Fighting hard to survive with about 10% of what I need to live, I sometimes find it hard not to listen to that toxic message that many survivors and disabled folks hear and feel coming at them over and over: you're too broken to justify the cost and effort of keeping you alive.

It's been an especially hard couple of years in that sense. And as the finale was months, then weeks, then days away, I kept telling myself to wait. Wait for that. Decide later. "Deciding later" is a survival technique I've been using for decades now whenever I get actively suicidal. It's not a bad one.

So that very last Thursday evening (or very late night, where I live) came around. And it so happens that I was at the very end of my rope. Again, for unrelated reasons to the show ending, obviously. And I couldn't go on.

The finale was hours away, and off I went on that same journey. Wait. Wait just long enough to see how it ends. It's been 15 years. You've survived so far, and that bit of closure, at least, is within reach. Just fucking wait to watch that last episode; see how they go before you do. Let that be the one last kind thing you do for yourself.

I kept telling myself that even as I numbly went through my final checklist.

I know it hurts so much. I know this damn body is tortured beyond what you can stand, I know we've been told it's about to get even worse. And hours more of this seem like an eternity. Watching anything seems impossible. I know the PTSD is intolerable, I know you can't sleep, you live in constant fear and rage and exhaustion; I know you're alone in this.

I know you live in a place that has made its peace with people like you dying of Covid, and finds it a small price to pay for refusing to wear masks. I know how that makes you feel, to be told that your life is worth that little because you're disabled. I know 9 months of what amounts to house arrest, while living alone, have made everything so much worse. I know you just want to go.

But wait to watch how it ends. And decide later. You can go later. You can.

And I almost made it. I mean, I'm obviously still here, so I eventually survived. But I tried not to. I couldn't wait.

Sometimes, when you get to the lowest low point, when you are in all-encompassing agony, when your circumstances leave no room for hope even though you desperately want to live -- and I do, I so want to live -- no show, no fandom, no unfinished story can keep you from taking that step over the edge. Many times it can, but there are places where nothing has any meaning. Thursday night became one of those. Watching the finale was a faded notion in the background of all that agony, and then it was nothing at all.

I only managed to write one goodbye letter. Hard to be as organized as you imagined you would be, hard not to leave unforgivable loose ends. I have no memory of what the letter said, and I can't look at it, not yet. It's tucked away now, just out of view.

And then I went about doing the only thing that I felt could be done.

I didn't get to go away. Both because I couldn't stand the torment of the only method I had handy, though I sure gave it my best efforts -- two more minutes would have sealed the deal -- and because I was fucking afraid to die. All the way through, until I gave up and stopped what I was doing.

Fear of dying when you're your own executioner is an odd thing. Your body wants out of this plan you've made for you both. It responds like you'd expect when someone's life in under threat. It makes you have to run to the bathroom over and over, it makes your heart hammer in your chest and your ears ring.

There was no crying. Not at that point. I don't think there was crying when I gave up and accepted that I was staying alive, either. But I can't remember.

I don't know what I did during the few hours after that. The physical consequences of what I did were gone within half an hour or so -- being so ill, I knew not to try something that would land me in the ER during COVID, should I not complete the plan. I'd also be on my own there, and most likely dissociated to such a degree that I wouldn't be able to move or speak. That's not something I ever wanted to experience again, and a fucking horrible starting point if I survived.

Anyway, I was okay physically soon enough, which is not how it usually goes. I just remember being fuzzy and distant and alone. There was no one to call, and I also thought about how it would feel to get a call like that. I considered a crisis hotline, but didn't have the energy to explain my messy, complicated circumstances. I probably just lay there.

A few hours later, I was present enough to watch the finale. Still don't know how. Dissociation has it occasional advantages, one of which is being disconnected from certain things when it's all too much. And so I watched the final episode in bed, with the aftermath of that suicide attempt still all around me.

I watched Dean die the way he did. I watched Sam die. I watched them both being given the pained, tearful reassurance that it was okay to go. Watched them being held, watched those two strong, kindhearted, emotional, loyal men crying as they breathed their last. Dean's death, especially, broke my heart. He so clearly did not want to die. Was afraid, more than ever before.

I did cry then. I sobbed. I could cry for them. Hell, I could cry for that dog, wandering with Sam through the empty halls of the bunker. I cried as that dog looked up, with all that trust and love, at the only human he had left. I cried for Sam, sitting drained and aching in the dark library. Saying "I know, me too" on the unmade bed in Dean's cold, empty room.

Before that, back in the barn, I watched Dean not want to go. Sam begging him not to go, then forcing himself to tell his older brother what he needed, what he begged to hear. That he wasn't abandoning the one person he had spent his life looking out for. That Sam would survive him going, now that he had to go.

I never saved the world, and there's nothing heroic about me. But so much of what went on around those characters' deaths echoed what I had felt hours earlier, what I still was feeling. It gave me a safe way to cry for that, too.

I will always be grateful to the show for that small mercy. And grateful to Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki, whom I've never met and never will, and have given such phenomenal performances here that they reached through all that distance, to unknowingly touch an ache that I could not cry for. They'll never know that. I imagine there are so many people like me who feel the same gratefulness, too, for their own similar moments of human connection.

The show is over now, and I try not to be sad about that, and I'm sure I will be. It would be sadder if I didn't feel a loss. Meanwhile, life doesn't stall just because you tried to stop your own. It's around two weeks later now, bright and loud outside my window in a world that's not safe for me to go out in, and I am lying in bed in a half-lit room trying to manage my pain. I didn't die. I'm still here.

I can't pretend I'm glad that I am, but I also know that I'm not ready to go yet. I'm just not. I have no good reason for that; sometimes you're just too afraid to die. And so I can't see myself trying to go away again any time soon. My health might take care of that for me anyway, but otherwise, looks like I'm stuck on this ride.

I'm very grateful that I've had SPN and its people for so long through this battle, to give me and the rest of the fandom so much more than meets the eye. And I'm grateful for that last, good cry, too.

Well, not the last cry, for sure. There's always rewatch #475783.