#no clean flux

[moonpool-system]

Stolen & edited a bit from an anti-endo who clearly doesn't think compassion deserves to be extended to those who don't fit the "perfect mold" of a system.

Empathy: The ability to feel somebody's emotions as though they are affecting you personally. As an example, somebody tells you "my hamster disappeared last night!" -> you now feel as though you've lost a pet personally or near-personally -> you feel grief and sadness just like the other person. Not everyone has empathy. It's a trait some people develop and others don't. Some have high empathy, some have low empathy (like the editor), some have none. For some, it fluctuates over time due to different circumstances! This is often not a learned skill, but more of a base aspect that some people experience, some don't, and some do in different ways than others.

Sympathy: the ability to understand and care about somebody else's struggles, even if you don't feel them yourself. So, if somebody tells you their hamster is gone -> you realize how this affects them emotionally -> you care about this person, and are upset that they are suffering. not everyone has sympathy either! it's a scale, just like empathy. Some people are more naturally inclined toward it than others. Sympathy can sometimes be a learned skill, as well; it depends on the individual.

Compassion: doing something to relieve another person's suffering or make them feel better. With the previous example, somebody tells you their hamster is gone -> you don't want them to remain upset -> you come up with ways to help them feel better, like offering comfort and distractions, or other forms of support. compassion is solely a learned trait, not something you can be born with like empathy or sympathy. anyone can learn to be compassionate, although some may struggle more with it than others; it's a skill, just like anything else. Learning to acknowledge others and treat them with compassion is part of building healthy communication, especially when it comes to neurodivergent intersectionality.

The difference between all this doesn't get through often, especially outside of low/no empathy circles. We thought the distinction was important enough to reconstruct in a safe environment.

[daughter-of-the-clayr]

as much as I enjoy referring to the end of flux as a triple genocide, it annoys me when people take it completely seriously bc. that's not. what it is. by the time they have control of the lupari fleet, the daleks and cybermen fleets have already been consumed (and it's not like the daleks and cybermen were wiped out, anyway), and not saving the sontarans was. necessary. the doctor didn't have the passenger plan at that point, she needed as much matter as possible - and 13 has a history of doing to her enemies what they do to their victims. she's as merciful as they are, but where the sontarans were willing to let trillions of innocents be wiped out, she used the sontarans' fleet - and when that didn't finish it off, she used the lupari fleet, and when that didn't work, she used passenger. the endgame of flux is a series of desperate ploys, one after the other, in the forlorn hope that one of them will work.

[phosphorescentspaceman]

a second sick fic in as many days? yes - xeph & honeydew fic

“Xeph? Friend, you look paler than usual, an’ that's saying something because you glow in the dark.” Honeydew could see it clearer as they hopped off the carriage, making their way back to the shitty cave they’d made home over the past year. It was worse for wear after Israphel had blown it to shite, but it’d been the only place they called theirs after the final battle. Still, the semi-regular trips into the slowly recovering Mistral were doing great things - both for Honeydew’s ability to eat something not terrible and for Xephos to be around people. A weird sort, that one - so self conscious and snippy but faded away without people to talk to. He’d been entertaining some nosey children with a dramatised (and sanitised) tale of one of the earlier legs of their adventure and they’d been near clambering all over him - touching the golden buttons of his coat and his leather scabbard. He’d borne it all with surprising grace - Honeydew hadn't known he’d even liked kids until the first little bugger had tugged at his coat with sticky fingers, doe eyed and shy. 

The drive back in the carriage no one would let them pay for had taken around 2 hours, and Honeydew hadn’t been overly surprised that Xephos had dozed off, but the fact he looked far worse after his nap was what had him worried. Xephos blinked at the question, seemingly needing a second to process what he had said. 

“Ah, sorry friend. I’m well enough.” 

Well enough - well that was a red flag and a half. He thanked the driver and grabbed their crap from the back, not letting Xephos take anything before walking the last of the way to their home. Xephos trailed behind him, each stumble sending more alarm bells ringing. When Xephos almost collapsed onto the bed after what couldn’t have been more than an 8 minute walk, Honeydew was really concerned. 

He walked over, noticing how Xephos was burying himself under the quilt despite the warm day, the exercise and his own thick coat. Ah. He rested a palm to the taller man’s head and was startled by just how high his temperature already was. Xephos melted into his cooler palm with a soft noise of relief. 

“Xeph? When did you get sick, you silly nonce.” Xephos tugged his hand away, replacing it with the cooler one that hadn’t yet been warmed by his fever. 

“One of the kids, I think.” Honeydew frowned. 

“Already? That was - fuck maybe 5 hours ago at the most.” Xephos nodded against his palm. 

“My immune system’ll be shit. Didn’t think about it.” 

“Immune system? You’ve never got sick before.” 

Xephos laughed, soft and tired. “I didn’t - didn’t grow up here. You know how you’ll get something as a kid and then never again?” The connection formed in Honeydew’s mind. “And then, it was just you for a while. And then we didn’t really see anyone, or we kept dying, and it wasn’t a problem, so I forgot about it.” Xephos hadn’t sounded so dazed since he’d been last concussed. 

“That doesn’t explain why you’re so sick already, though.” Xephos went to swap his hands again, and let out a whine when it hadn’t cooled enough for his liking. Honeydew grabbed a clean washcloth and dipped it in some water, laying it across his head. Xephos shivered, grabbing Honeydew’s hand anyway. 

“It’s - complicated. Head hurts ‘dew.” He let Xephos whine for a bit before prodding him to keep going. “It’s - evolution - if it killed your Dad you wouldn’t be here. And then there is some stuff with maternal antibodies and -” he let out a huff, tugging at Honeydew’s hand. Following the guidance of his near delirious friend, he let himself be dragged onto the bed, his hand placed firmly in Xephos’ hair. He hadn’t known how needy Xephos could get when he was sick - it was cute. 

And then the implication hit. 

“Wait - this could kill you?” he nearly shouted. Apparently that was far too loud and Xephos cringed away from him painfully, shivering. “Ah, shite, sorry, sorry.” He adjusted the cloth back and gently pet his hair, feeling the slightly clammy texture of his friend's skin as the fever sweat started to kick in. He was starting to panic now. “It could kill you?” whispered, taking in the grey cast and the dulling of his freckles.

“Maybe - or not. ‘Dun know.” He shivered pathetically, pawing unhappily at the blankets he’d only just clambered under, trying to wriggle out of his coat and pants. “Saw it - they didn’t give the field tech PPE, she didn’t make it.” There were too many words in that mess that Honeydew didn’t understand, and the ones he did painted a horrid picture. “But I’ll be back - so. ‘S ok.” He kind of wanted to shake his friend, but settled for gathering more cloths and a basin of water. 

“Of course it matters if it hurts, Xeph. And -” neither of us have died from sickness, he thought, what if it's different. He thought better about saying that out loud. If Xephos wasn’t well enough to consider the option when he was the one of them that catastrophized - well. He didn’t need the stress making it worse.

It only got worse as the night wore on. Xephos slowly stopped being able to hold a conversation, stopped being able to tolerate the gentle touch of Honeydew’s hand in his hair as the fever made everything painful. The worst part was the sickening wheeze he picked up when late night moved to early morning. He looked grey, the tips of his fingers were near black, and the only noises he was capable of making were soft moans of pain whenever Honeydew had to replace the cool cloths across his forehead and arms. Honeydew wouldn’t have thought he was capable of sleeping in a state of stress like that, but he blinked and awoke with the mid morning sun peeking in through the windows. The bed was empty, but the smells of illness lingered. Something like horror crept into his chest and he ran outside, Xephos standing hale and hearty in the yard, shovel in hand.

There was a freshly turned over mound of earth next to him, 6 feet long and 2 feet wide. 

“Oh, friend - thank you. Sorry about last night - I just. I thought I’d set things to rights before you woke up.” There was a smudge of dirt across his nose, the image charming but the implications horrific. 

“Xeph -” Honeydew didn’t know what to say. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ was childish and the ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t fix it.’ was too much, stuck in his throat like a barbed hook in a fish’s mouth.

“Friend?” 

Honeydew bit everything down and shot his friend a tired smile that rang utterly false. “Sorry Xeph, I’m still frazzled. We have pastries from town inside, and I can set the fire if you want a cuppa.” Xephos smiled brightly, leading him back inside. 

“Sounds delightful, friend!” There was dirt under his fingernails. 

[rosewaterconley]

the thing I can't stand in modern dr who is how resistant it can be to change. not even talking about how flux of all things is somehow the most radical experiment in format we've seen since 2005 or the fucking embarrassing midlife crisis the series is going through now, just bringing everyone back who was on when the show peaked in high school and expecting it to be as good as last time. nah what I mostly mean is monster design. how the hell have Daleks and Sontarans looked the same for almost 20 years? I actually love the Time War Daleks! serious contender for my favorite Dalek design. but cmon man. I liked the 60s Daleks and the Imperial Daleks just as much and a lot of my love for those comes from the fact that they weren't seen as the be-all-end-all. the show moved on. new who needs to move on from what davies thought was cool in 2005!

[edenslice]

What's up with olive lovers?

olive lovers is a series (webseries? zine?) of mine in the works that focuses on the reincarnated judas iscariot, making his way in the modern world and trying his very damned best to forget who he was in the past through vampirism and cannibalism 👍

i don't really know how to explain it..... it's like if the gnostic gospel of judas teamed up with jcs 2000 and had a freaky threesome with lamb by christopher moore yk.

judas finds himself in modern day turkey with a snake (as in, the animal) in his stomach, replacing his small and large intestines that keeps telling him to eat/drink all the people he encounters. and he does, accidentally. and finds out that the more he drinks other's blood—which gives him like,,a sneak peak into other people's lives, makes him feel more connected to the new century he found himself in—the more he forgets his past life.

then later on it's revealed that that day he snapped back into consciousness (aka the beginning of his story) is not his first day. that he wasnt just transported from 1st century galilee to the present. that he has a family, a childhood, wife and kids that he's fighting to protect. and that he works in the sound department for an up and coming rockstar. he's not just judas iscariot; he's ezel osman, 38 years old.

there's also like, the romance aspect. with jesus. and two other disciples (including mary magdalene). but that's a whole other post and also jesus' name isn't jesus, its joshua, but just like judas hes adapted a new name and identity—manuel dimayuga—after having a falling out with god and an identity crisis pertaining to his relationship with heaven's throne. the usual.

idk when i'll get around to designing ezel and manuel but i'll burn that bridge when i get there

[phanpyuserollout]

Everyone look at the worst soldering job I’ve ever done

[zvaigzdelasas]

Instead of burning fossil fuels to reach the temperatures needed to smelt steel and cook cement, scientists in Switzerland want to use heat from the sun. The proof-of-concept study uses synthetic quartz to trap solar energy at temperatures over 1,000°C (1,832°F), demonstrating the method’s potential role in providing clean energy for carbon-intensive industries. A paper on the research was published on May 15 in the journal Device.[...]

Glass, steel, cement, and ceramics are at the very heart of modern civilization, essential for building everything from car engines to skyscrapers. However, manufacturing these materials demands temperatures over 1,000°C and relies heavily on burning fossil fuels for heat. These industries account for about 25% of global energy consumption. Researchers have explored a clean-energy alternative using solar receivers, which concentrate and build heat with thousands of sun-tracking mirrors. However, this technology has difficulties transferring solar energy efficiently above 1,000°C.

To boost the efficiency of solar receivers, Casati turned to semitransparent materials such as quartz, which can trap sunlight—a phenomenon called the thermal-trap effect. The team crafted a thermal-trapping device by attaching a synthetic quartz rod to an opaque silicon disk as an energy absorber. When they exposed the device to an energy flux equivalent to the light coming from 136 suns, the absorber plate reached 1,050°C (1,922°F), whereas the other end of the quartz rod remained at 600°C (1,112°F).

“Previous research has only managed to demonstrate the thermal-trap effect up to 170°C (338°F),” says Casati. “Our research showed that solar thermal trapping works not just at low temperatures, but well above 1,000°C. This is crucial to show its potential for real-world industrial applications.”

Using a heat transfer model, the team also simulated the quartz’s thermal-trapping efficiency under different conditions. The model showed that thermal trapping achieves the target temperature at lower concentrations with the same performance, or at higher thermal efficiency for equal concentration. For example, a state-of-the-art (unshielded) receiver has an efficiency of 40% at 1,200°C, with a concentration of 500 suns. The receiver shielded with 300 mm of quartz achieves 70% efficiency at the same temperature and concentration. The unshielded receiver requires at least 1,000 suns of concentration for comparable performance.

17 May 24

[life-is-soap]

Jan 1 Dishes (Long Cut)

Music - Fashion Music (State of Flux) by AlexGrohl

[midascrow]

Alastor x Gn!Reader

Favoritism pt.1

part 2

————/////————————//////

Synopsis: the others notice a certain Deer Demons positive behavior regarding one of the staff. (Reader)

a/n: reader is portrayed as pretty meek and quiet. At least upon first meeting people, and I may continue that trait in part 2 or have them open up a bit more.

———————————————/—/——————

“Don’t ya think it’s kinda…I dunno..weird?”

Charlie’s shiny eyes snapped up from the sparkly cards and glue strewn across the living room table. “What’s weird?” Angel hummed, one set of arms crossed thoughtfully as his eyes swept towards the far corner, watching a certain Radio Demon quietly chat with one of the hotels…”staff” members.

“That Smiles, is so sweet on (Y/n) and not the rest of us?” His hand waved around dramatically, watching Charlie’s eyes widen as they spun towards the aforementioned duo, studying them for a moment for any sign of irregular behavior on the deer demons part. Although not much could be considered regular in regards to him

“I’m pretty sure Alastor is just as much of a prick to them as he is to everyone else.” Vaggie huffed from her spot on the couches armchair, a small magazine in hand that she carefully tried to cut apart for the days craft. Scrapbooking, if it wasn’t clear. “…your markers bleeding babe..”

“Oh shoot!”

Angel guffawed, bolting up right and letting his arms flail wildly in disbelief. “No way toots! Don’t you remember when he first brought them ovah? As one of ‘s lil “Helpahs”?” He turned, “Huskers you know what I’m on about don’t ya?”

The grumpy cat deflated with a sigh, setting down a freshly cleaned glass just to pick up another and start again. “That demon, plays with souls and sinners like no other shitlord out there. And that one,” his clawed finger shot out to point dagger straight at you “just so happens to be his favorite. End of story.”

Charlies lips pursed at that, a small shimmer in her expression that made Vaggies brow furrow in stress, watching her lover fall back into her own mind and remember the hotels first ever introduction to you.

—————

“Now my friends, I do have one more favor to cash in on. I expect you all on your best behavior in regards to them..” His red eyes lingered on Angel with a sneer. “I won’t take kindly to any damage done by your hands.” The static that swelled behind his words reached its peak, before muffling once a small figure materialized just beside him.

A clawed hand curled atop your shoulder and if not for the familiar chill, perhaps you would’ve jumped, but the buzz of static and the crackle of a radio was a comforting sound you had grown all too close to.

“Now, this sweet thing is (Y/n), a special little friend of mine who will help you, though- mainly me, keep the hotel on tip top shape- isn’t that right dear?”

Your gaze darted around, and the others watched as you barely made a peep before a gentle smile pulled on your lips and you nodded..strange for someone in the company of the Radio Demon.

“What’s up with them? Can’t talk or what?” Angel mused, almost rudely, winking under your watchful eye that was almost..freakishly intense.

Alastor hummed and buzzed for a moment, gazing down at you in thought. “No No, just a bit shy is all. Always on the quieter side…”

“That won’t be a problem will it?” The static fluxed and swayed around them, shadows scratching at the walls of his underlying threat, that cut through the air.

……..

The princess was admittedly worried by your timid nature. You were almost…paranoid in a sense, looking as if you wanted to melt into the floor at any sign of confrontation, friendly or otherwise.

But…she did notice you seemed oddly at ease around the Overlord. Sticking close, though typically he was the one following you around as you did..whatever it is you were brought over to do.

She was even reminded of one instance, where you had been scuttling around, a stack of fresh dishes held precariously in your clammy hands as you made your way to the kitchen.

Charlie had been too busy at first to notice, she was speaking with Alastor about the future promotion of the hotel, when the loud sound of glass shattering rang through the room.

All heads snapped towards the cause, only to spot you, wide eyed and flat on the floor surrounded by dozens of broken plates and glasses.

Seemed you had tripped on a loose bit of tile.

Now, Husker just had been throughly..scolded by the Hotelier for dropping a bottle just a few hours prior, so the patrons and staff watched with baited breath as the ever encompassing form of the radio demon stalked towards your dejected form.

Vaggie had drawn her spear right as the crash had happened, ready to step in at any moment should she need.

But the others could only watch in surprise as you were gently ushered to your feet with soft dusts off your shoulder, and a little snap of clawed fingers. The mess disappeared in a flash, and your uniform was carefully adjusted by the tall red deer who softly scolded you.

“Now now my dear. You must remember not to overwork yourself. Can’t have you in poor shape now can we?” His words were condescending at best, paired with the gentle pinch of your cheek, but for whatever reason you seemed hardly put off, simply nodding shyly and quickly darting off to continue your next list of….errands, the deers ears swiveled in your direction till you vanished through the corridor.

——/

“Do you think they’re-?”

“Fuckin?”

“I was gonna say dating..” Charlie trailed off uncomfortably, watching tensely as Alastor almost…”playfully” whisked you around the parlor.

“They’re not.” Husks gruff voice cut through, dipped in firm belief that he was right. “That fucker has an angle no matter what, and whatever special treatment they’re receiving is just to follow through with it. That guy can’t even conceptualize caring about someone like that.”

Clearly that incident was still fresh on his mind as he mumbled quietly about how he was cut off from all booze the following week to, help clear his “shaky hands”.

The others grimaced, Vaggie especially as Charlie’s big eyes welled with fat tears. “That’s..that’s so sad!” She wailed, collapsing into her girlfriend’s arms, her reaction subtly mirrored by Sir Pentious who had slithered into the conversation.

“Wh..why are we crying??” He hissed, greated with rolled eyes from the spider and cat, and a dejected sniffle from the princess.

“Al-Alastor’s never been in love!!” She sobbed dramatically, Vaggie cooing in her ear while her hand rubbed her back soothingly.

“Oh..?” The snake perked up, a confused tilt to his head. “But aren’t Alassstor and (Y/n) …?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out! He totally dots on them don’t he Snakes??”

The engineer nodded rapidly, scales shimmering in the dim living room light.

“I told you morons, they’re not and never will-“ Husks aggravation of the topic was clear, the scrubbing of his glass a tad more aggressive.

“But…I jussst ssssssaw them kisssssing the other day…? Up on the terrace?”

…..

��Ex-fucking scuse me?”

[blink-blank-bliss]

Original artist: Vahn Your Doom

Reblog if you know the next line!

A clean mind is a happy mind! Come wash your brain with me and @flux-sux and Neural Nets tonight at 9pm eastern

Discord.gg/thepinkroom

[yorshie]

Burnt Out

Bayverse Leo x Fem reader - part 2

Part 1 Part 3

summary: SFW, After confessing your feelings for the Leader in Blue, he makes a decision that challenges your relationship with all four turtles. (warnings for relationship based arguments, yelling, and an altercation with some drunken men) set in 2023 so turtles are 24-25

I don't like one sided fights, so be prepared for reader not being passive. Also I have not proofed read so wording might get moved just a bit.

tag list: @jackalope-in-a-storm @tmnt-tychou @nessarolla-in-constant-flux

Mikey whistled awkwardly into your ear the whole way to the lair. At one point, you turned your head, about to ask what was wrong, when you caught sight of Leo’s face over Mikey’s shoulder. 

His eyes were trained on your hands curled around the straps on the smallest turtle’s backpack.

You glared at him. He glared back.

By the time you were set back on your feet in the lair, your slight headache had fledged fully into a dull pounding that nicked the front of your skull. The ache was bad enough that you immediately turned to find Donnie, decidedly ignoring the others as they filtered into the cavernous space around you.

“Don? Can I get some Tylenol or something?” 

He gave you his attention, hands cool as he tilted your head back and looked at your eyes. He hummed, and nodded. “Yea, some Tylenol would probably help. Let’s go get your scrapes cleaned too, while we’re at it.” 

You followed him to his corner of the Lair, and almost immediately a hissed argument started in the main room. You raised a brow at the tallest turtle, surprised, but he only grimaced, closed the door to block the sound before dropping into a low stool and nudging you towards his chair.

“Just ignore it, it’s been going on for a couple days now.” That was more worrying than the actual argument, even though you couldn’t tell whose voices were overlapping each other. The turtles never let anything fester, there was no way for anything to fester, with how much they were in each others’ pockets.

“Why are they fighting?” You asked, watching as Donnie lined up the hydrogen peroxide and the cotton balls before leaning to the far side for a pack of waterproof bandaids.

“Hm… well….” He returned to sitting straight, handing you a little bottle that clattered as he passed it over. “I don’t- listen to most of it. I just tune it out as soon as I figure out it’s happening.” He looked down at your hands, avoiding eye contact, and you realized he was lying.

You took the Tylenol dry, swallowing and wincing before handing the bottle back. You let him doctor your hands, rub his thumb across the mark on your cheek, before you caught his grip in your own and asked once more. “Donnie, why were both Raph and Leo in the Ha’shi?”

He winced, but answered when you squeezed his fingers. “They got caught fighting. Most of the time they’ve kept it out on patrols, but this time Dad heard.”

“Great.” You ran your hands through your hair. “And you’ve got no clue what it’s about?” You had a sneaking suspicion, but you wanted to be wrong.

“Hm… yea.” He looked away again, gave you a sheepish smile when you let out a low noise of disbelief. “Listen, you should- you should talk to Leo.”

“I did talk to him.” You argued, the ground swooping below your feet at the gentle command in Donnie’s tone. “I talked, and he talked, and now… there’s nothing to talk about.”

Donnie stuck the tip of his tongue out, the move reading anxious as he pushed the issue. “Yea. Maybe try again?”

You had wanted to avoid this. You had thought, perhaps a bit foolishly, that they would all feel too awkward over the whole thing to say anything, especially if you stayed away long enough to be able to act as if it hadn’t happened. Or that maybe the blue banded turtle would have ordered them not to stick their snouts into the whole clusterfuck.

No such luck, apparently.

You hung your head, sighing roughly in annoyance. “Dee, I can’t. He was very, very clear on all the reasons why… why my interest was a bad idea. It’s not like I went and did a great job hiding it.” You said the last part roughly, amused and self-deprecating all in one, staring at the undone zippered pocket on Donnie’s leg to avoid his too golden eyes.

“No, no you didn’t.” Donnie agreed, soft and full of remorse as he stood. He turned to clean up so you could scrub your eyes in peace. When he turned back around, he faltered, swayed side to side in indecision before opening his arms up for a hug.

You stood to make it less awkward, met him in the middle and wrapped your arms around him as far as you could.  “I’m sorry Donnie. I went and ruined things, didn’t I?”

“No, no you didn’t.” He parroted again, tightening his arms around you. “Just… don’t go avoiding us, kay?”

You hummed in agreement, scrubbing your face against him in affection. “Never gonna do that, Dee.”

“Good.” He released you, quickly pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes. “In that case, I really should probably start cleaning up the garage.” He glanced at you. “Leo and Raph are probably finishing up their Ha’shi time, but Mikey’s in the living room if you want to go hang out with him? The garage is a little too dangerous right now.”

“I heard it looks like a war zone in there?” You asked cheekily, taking his cues to return to normal, sticking your hands in your pockets and following him out of the Lab.

“My expertise cataloging may have gotten a little away from me.” He admitted, amused, and ruffled your hair in parting when you both reached the mouth of the tunnel that led to the garage.

“Wish me luck.” You quipped after his retreating shell, not really expecting an answer, but he held up a hand with crossed fingers before he disappeared around the bend.

Once you were alone, your shoulders caved, swinging down and forwards. There was a hitch in your left that no doubt would turn into something nasty the longer you went without icing it. 

All you’d have to do is ask Mikey, and he’d fix you up with an ice pack. The thought had you sighing, feet turning automatically for the main room and the tv area, the most likely space to find the smallest turtle brother.

You rubbed your shoulder absentmindedly as you went, cupping the roll of muscle and rubbing back and forth with your fingers. The sound of your blouse  shifting across your skin brought you up short, and with a whine you realized you’d forgotten about your coat.

“Great. Just…” You turned again, mind not really caught up on where you were going, annoyance bubbling up, when you crossed the closed doors of the dojo and voices inside caught your attention.

“-look like you ate a whole bag of atomic lemons.”

You stopped, head swinging around at the sound of Raph’s low rumble, and the thought that he’d happily help you find your coat had you reaching for the divider’s edge before the next voice had you pulling back sharply.

“I don’t recall ever asking for your opinion.” 

Leo, and where Raph sounded cajoling, the blue banded turtle sounded pissed. In fact, you’d never heard him in that low of an octave, that shade of done with whoever was trying to speak with him. 

Raph started in again, words precise and slow, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up straight at the obvious way he was picking a fight. “I mean, most expect me to be the one that growls and loses his temper, sounding more like a beast, but I gotta hand it to ya, brother. You sure know how to-”

“Cut the shit and say your piece, Raphael.” Leo interjected, drawing out the syllables of his brother’s name, and you didn’t have to see into the room to hear how close their voices were to each other, how up in each others’ faces they must be.

Silence for a beat, then Raph spoke up, that careful cajole peeling back to show the rough anger underneath. “You don’t understand how lucky you are, Fearless. We’ve all been dreamin of someone that would put up with our ugly mugs, and you go and-”

“Someone? Or her?” Your eyes bugged at the insinuation leveled in the growl, and fought the instinct to scurry to the side, knowing they’d hear.

The was a long silence that you drowned in, heart beating too fast, too loud, certain a fist would fly -

before Raph huffed, voice so cutting you had to concentrate to hear the amusement underneath. “You think I’m after your girl, Leo?” He let out a vicious laugh that sounded anything but humorous. “You better clean up then, cuz she ain’t really looking like your girl from where I’m standin’.”

You were done. You didn’t need to hear whatever Leo said in response. You turned on your heel and promptly walked away, coat forgotten, shoulder no longer aching, mind a one thought tract to find Mikey and bully him into taking you home.

Goddamn turtles and their goddamn snouts sticking into things that shouldn’t be poked.

You found Mikey exactly where you thought he would be, parked in front of the tv with what no doubt was the game your previous call had pulled him away from. When he heard your footsteps, he turned, easy grin disappearing into wide eyes and a silent question, lips pursed at whatever emotion was on your face.

“Hey, Mike, I need-” You pulled up short, spying your coat on the couch next to him. “What- how…?”

“Raph grabbed it when he went looking for your phone.” Mikey answered, pawing at your coat to hold the mentioned device out towards you, big blue eyes glued on the way your face crumpled, confused on why his words would pull that reaction. “Babes?”

It should be so easy. Take me home. Mikey, take me home. He would, especially with how you couldn’t see him for the tears swallowing up your vision. You heard him toss the controller aside, nothing more than a green and orange blur that took up your vision as he clambered to his feet. You didn’t startle when his warm hands clasped your elbows.

“Hey, hey, you’re ok. Babes, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.” You were scaring him, you knew, and the knowledge was enough for you to rub your eyes roughly, trying to shove everything back in the tightly padlocked little box you’d crushed under heel for a month. A long month of silence…

There was a scuff behind you, a foot sliding across the ground, and it had your shoulders tightening up, the forgotten ache returning with a vengeance along with the reminder that the Lair was the last place you should have a breakdown in.

A hand appeared in the corner of your eye, a towel bundled up in their grip. You didn’t need to follow the arm up to know who it belonged to- the blue toned fabric and vambrace gave him away.

It was rude to leave the proffered towel hanging there. It was rude and it was childish-

You took it from him with a mumbled thanks, certain your voice could cut glass with how sharp the word came out, and you winced reflexively as Leo shifted next to you.

You smoothed out the wrinkled terry cloth, raised your arm up to press the coolness against your shoulder. Your breath sawed out as the cold started to numb the inflamed area.

“Would you like to go lay down?” Leo murmured, and you almost missed the question, too surprised at how soft his voice had gone, not quite a whisper, but definitely closer to how he talked to you before the whole debacle.

It had your face raising up, curiously meeting his gaze despite the ache in your chest the realization caused.

He took you in, head dipping to the side and closer into your space. “C’mon, you can rest for a bit- Raph’s gone to get some pizza.”

You continued to stare at him, eyes tracking between his eyes as if he might explain the complete 180. “Where…” You trailed off, eyes flitting down to his shoulders, his arms, realizing you hadn’t been this close to him for a while. You swallowed, before rising back up to meet him head on once more. “Where am I suppose to rest?”

It was a valid question. Mikey shifted in front of you, and belatedly you realized you had forgotten his presence, caught up in the blue you hadn’t looked at for longer than a few seconds in quite a while.

It’s pathetic. You thought in a flash. A month of ignoring me and all mr. soft eyes has to do is drop one line.

But in the past you’d always rested in the main room, hunkered under some blankets on the couch and giggled while they pulled antics around you. He wasn’t suggesting kicking Mikey out of the shared space, and the couch was right there, so clearly he didn’t mean-

“You can lay down in my room.” Came his answer, eyes slowly moving over you in a gentle perusal that you knew meant he was assessing your mood. 

The words settled in you like stones, scraping down your ears as they went, and you went eerily still. Silence followed, and you almost startled to hear the saw of your breath escaping. 

Mikey shifted again, not quite leaving your space.

Your eyes narrowed, lips compressed, but you dropped your gaze in favor of palming the towel and muttering your answer to your feet. “Thanks, but no thanks, think I’ll chill with Mike til Raph gets back.”

Leo sighed through closed lips, and the sound had your hackles raising.

“You’re exhausted, and you’re hurt. Just come lay-” His hand reached out, nudged you gently. 

In his defense, you didn’t realize you’d react the way you did to the slight touch either, but you all but jerked away from him, taking two steps to the side before swinging around to glare back. “I said no, Leo!” -

Or at least, that’s what you meant to say, but somewhere between your brain and your mouth, your throat changed the words into something else, something meaner.

“You told me no, Leo! You don’t get to tug me around like… like this!” 

Leo blinked once, long and slow like he was processing, and you couldn’t care less where Mikey’d gone, eyes locked on your target as you waited for the return volley.

Eventually, his head tilted, and you saw the exact moment he chose the high road, and it made you see red.

“You’ve been through a lot tonight, It’s not me you want to pick a fight with.” He tried to soothe, taking a step closer, swaying towards you. “We can talk after you rest, but I really think you should-”

“Listen?” The word was out before you could catch it, and Leo drew up short like a puppet on strings, his head rearing back. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Mikey slinking backwards, away, but you barreled onwards. “Just sit and listen as you tell me what to do? What’s good for me?” You snorted, so loudly it hurt, and watched Leo’s mouth compress into a tight line at the noise. 

“It doesn’t really matter if you listen to me or not, does it?” He lobbed back, and you reeled, expecting the next line like it’d already left his mouth. “You’ll still wind up in trouble, wouldn’t you?”

It’s too dangerous. For you. It’s nothing but trouble, believe me, I don’t want to place you in danger.

Self-sacrificing. The words whispered in your head then, they pissed you off now. You scoffed at him, waving a hand as though to brush off the memory. 

“Yea, whatever, I’m not putting up with this.” You told him, shoes clacking against the ground as you skirted him and went for the tunnel that led to the garage. You weren’t quite sure if you were walking home, but you were angry enough that if no one stopped you by the time you got to the hidden door, you would certainly try.

Leo’s arm snagged out, and you danced backwards, out of reach, teeth gritting because you know he let you. He could have easily grabbed you, hell it used to be a game to see how long you could keep away from his hold-

“This isn’t the time for this conversation.” Leo whispered, breaking into your thoughts, taking another step towards you. His eyes rolled skyward when you matched him with a step back. “Please, just- at least let’s go someplace where we have privacy.” He hissed the last word, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was referring to the orange banded blue eyeballs peeking out from behind the couch.

“We already had this conversation.” You reminded him, ten shades of done and tired. The whispered argument from before popped in your head, and before you could corral the words you stuck your whole foot in your mouth. “You think just because you had an- an epiphany, I’ll fall in line?” You snorted again, knowing the sound drove him crazy. “Good luck with that.”

The line had him pausing, brow furrowing as confusion cut through his anger, and you took advantage, all but hopping around him and belting for the tunnel that would lead you out, scooping up your coat and phone and trading the ice pack in their place in one smooth move along the way.

It might have been years of knowing them. It might have been sixth sense. It certainly wasn’t your hearing, he moved as silent as ever, but you twirled on instinct, incensed to find him a step behind you. 

Leo pulled back on those invisible strings once more when you all but snapped your teeth at him.

“You better let me have my space, Leo.” You took a step towards him without thinking, and this time it was him who took a half step back. “Back off.”

It was laughable, the thought that you could do anything to him if he pushed into your bubble once more, but that growl started up low in his chest, and you watched as his pupils blew wide, the dark eating up the normally brilliant blue until they were nothing more than light colored rings.

“Back off?” He repeated, growl slurring his words, and you locked your knees as his head swung into your space, shoulders rounding towards you. “But that’s not what you want, is it, princess?”

Ooooo…. That was- that was Raph’s nickname for you, and you stuttered, wondering if that was Leo’s subtle way of letting you know he knew exactly how much shit you were blowing out your ass.

You met him tic for tac, a hairs-breath from his face, blowing purposefully up his nose just to hear that growl hitch up to a higher register. “I told you want I wanted, Blue. You don’t get to throw a fit after you’ve already told me your verdict.”

You wondered if he’d break. You kind of wanted him to, to really yell, to give you some insight to his thoughts beyond what he allowed to filter through the mask. Your heart a fast staccato that almost drowned out whatever growl he was throwing out at your defiance.

He dipped his head to peer down his snout at you, and you weren’t sure what had you more pissed, the way he tried to reel himself in or the words he used. “I am trying to talk to you- if you would just calm down-”

“Oh, I think it’s you who needs to calm down, Leo.” You went to turn, dismissive and all at once feeling the hurt, and his hand snapped out. You thought maybe he was aiming for your arm and misjudged the angle, because instead his fist locked around the fabric of your blouse low on your hip.

“I can’t- be what you want!” He hissed at you, venomous, and you reeled, leaning back, the fabric of your blouse taunt in his fist. “I don’t know how to be human, act human!” He pulled you towards him too roughly, and your shoes squeaked against the polished cement floor. “This is what you’d get, what you’re so- so stupidly foolish to ask for-”

“Leonardo.” Splinter didn’t snap, but he might as well as bellowed at his eldest son. Leo sure acted like he did, hand snapping back fast enough that you almost slipped and fell before he corrected and caught your elbow, touch hauling you straight before it was gone just as quickly.

You refused to look up, conscious that you’d had an audience for the whole fight and it’d done nothing but spur you onwards. Mikey was still perched behind the couch, trying and failing to act like he wasn’t watching a drama. Splinter was at the top of the little stairs that led to his bedroom, cane perched between his two paws, ears swiveled to the side as if he was listening to something else.

Leo was stiff next to you, eyes on the floor, posture polite and hands tightly fisted to his sides. You couldn’t look at him head on, didn’t like the carefully blank face he was presenting.

You blew out a breath, hand pressing to your head for a beat as your headache started back up. “Sorry, Splinter. I got carried away.” Part of you wanted to throw Leo under the bus as well, but you knew he’d likely get his own version of a private talk once you were gone. “I’m just- just gonna go home.” You paused intentionally, then dipped into the bow you had seen Leo make to his sensei over the years. “I apologize.”

“You are always welcome here.” Splinter said softly, as if you weren’t just engaged in a shouting match with his honor child in the living room in front of god and sundry. “But for an old rat’s sake, please allow one of my sons to take you home, if that is what you wish.”

You side eyed Leo, hoping Splinter wasn’t suggesting what you thought he was suggesting.

Then Raph stepped out of the tunnel, pizza boxes stacked in his hands, wide green eyes trailing over Leo, before his gaze flicked to you and you cringed.

Knowing he had seen you lose your cool over Leo was somehow worse than Mikey seeing it, but then again, it was Raph that first weaseled your crush out of you months ago.

Raph arched a brow, tilted his head, then turned to Splinter. “I can take her home, Sensei.”

Splinter nodded. “Good, good.” He gestured at you with one paw. “Let Raphael take you home. Please.”

“Of course,” You said, bopping into a small bow again, and relaxing when Splinter turned his attention to his eldest.

“Leonardo, please, come speak with me.”

“Hai, Sensei.” He answered dutifully, face still carefully blank. He swayed forward like a pendulum, before he caught himself with a near silent scuff of his foot against the ground, and followed his father without a backwards glance.

Raph waited until the two had disappeared into the little room before he looked at you and whistled long and low between his teeth.

“God, just, shut up.” You told him, angry all over again, jamming your arms into your coat and belting for the exit. 

Raph chuckled, set the pizzas down on that table, and followed you back out, haphazardly calling to Mikey over his shoulder, “only one of those is yours, numb nuts!”

[slugbuggy]

flux I drew forever ago and cleaned up today :3 drew him on stream and chat had requested I give him bangs 🫡

[artificial-transmutations]

Rick's Reality

Richard Thompson, or "Rick" as he was known to everyone in his small Midwestern town, had always been a figure of certainty. A solid, unchanging monument amidst a world that was too often in flux. His voice, amplified by the local radio, was a constant stream of opinions and advice that echoed through the homes and cars of his listeners each weekday morning.

Rick was an imposing man, in both stature and belief. Standing tall at six feet two inches, with broad shoulders and a deep, resonant voice, he was the picture of traditional, rural masculinity. His dark hair was always neatly combed, his clothes crisp and clean, and his boots spotless despite the dust and mud of the local landscape.

His radio show, "Rick's Reality," was a beacon for conservative values and traditional perspectives. It was a platform from which he would confidently espouse his views, his deep baritone voice resonating with a fervor that drew in even the most reluctant listener. Rick had a particular disdain for the LGBTQ+ community, seeing them as a challenge to his idea of 'normal.'

"There's a certain way of life, a right and a wrong," Rick would assert, his voice crackling over the airwaves. "Men are men, women are women. That's how God intended it."

Rick had been born and bred in this town, his life as firmly rooted as the old oak tree in the town square. A divorced father of one, his life was a well-trodden path of work, hunting, fishing, and beer with his buddies at Joe's Bar.

That Monday, Rick sat behind the microphone in his small studio, a cup of black coffee steaming beside him. He had a familiar fire in his belly, the one that fueled his daily tirades. Today, his ire was directed towards immigrants and the LGBTQ+ community.

"Folks," he began, his voice stern and unwavering, "our great nation is being undermined. We've got immigrants coming in, not respecting our culture, our way of life. And then we got these... these... folks who can't decide if they're men or women or want to marry their own kind. It's a disgrace, I tell ya."

The phone lines were lighting up, as they always did during his heated monologues. He gestured to his assistant, who patched through a caller.

"You're on 'Rick's Reality', what's your reality today?" Rick asked, a smug grin on his face.

"Hello, Rick," the caller began, their voice calm, measured, and anonymous. "I've been listening to your show for a while. I've heard your views on immigrants and the LGBTQ+ community. I wonder, have you ever challenged your beliefs? Have you ever tried to see life from their perspective?"

Rick was taken aback. He was used to angry rebuttals and passionate agreements, but this? This was new. He stuttered, before finding his footing. "Well, I... I know what's right. And it's my job to stand up for what's right."

"But what if 'right' is subjective, Rick?" the caller continued. "What if the 'right' you know is not the only 'right'? Have you ever considered that?"

Rick was angry. Angry enough to hang up. But something stopped him. He knew he needed more information about this mysterious caller. So, he stayed on the line, listening intently as the caller continued.

"I'm just curious, Rick," the caller said, "what would happen if you met someone who thought differently than you do? Wouldn't that be interesting? What if they didn't think like you did?"

"I'd punch them out," Rick replied. "I don't need no faggot or immigrant around me thinking he's better than me."

"Interesting," the caller mused. "So, you wouldn't try to understand them? You wouldn't try to learn from them?"

"Nope," Rick said. "I'd punch them out." He had enough of the caller and cut the line. This was ridiculous, why did people with these deviant opinions even bother calling into his show? He had to get back to ranting about the evils of immigration and the perils of same-sex marriage.

He returned to his monologue, but his mind wandered. He couldn't shake the strange feeling he had when talking to that caller. Their words had struck a chord within him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was like a small voice in the back of his mind that was so very different from himself, that was curious about what that guy had said, curious about the very idea of being different. It was only miniscule though, and Rick quickly dismissed it, continuing his show.

The rest of the callers were good, normal people calling. People agreeing with him and encouraging him. The day went by smoothly until the end of his shift. He was heading home in the bright noon sun, when he felt like he could do something different today. The route he usually took when walking home was down the main street, passing Joe's bar and into the residential area with the neatly trimmed lawns where he lived. There was, however, another route, a quicker one that went through the bad parts of the town. The parts where those Latino gardeners and pool boys lived, where there were shady clubs and even the dreaded local 'rainbow' scene. Normally, Rick wouldn't even think about entering those parts of town, but the comment from earlier was still gnawing at his mind. Perhaps he should take that way today, just to see how much better life was when you were normal. There was nothing going to happen, after all. If he met anyone who bothered him, he'd just punch them.

So, Rick turned off the main road, making his way towards the seedy part of town. As he walked past the bars and strip joints, he saw men and women going about their businesses or sitting around, taking a break and smoking a cigarette. So far, nothing out of the ordinary except the slightly darker skin color of most people here. He passed a few men playing socker in an alleyway between buildings. A man sat on a bench outside a corner store, drinking a beer and watching some kids play basketball nearby. He made eye contact with a woman wearing a tight red dress as she exited a convenience store carrying bags full of groceries. She was probably wondering why he came here - a question he asked himself.

He kept walking, trying to ignore the looks he was getting as he got closer to the gay district. Well, district was a bit much. There was a bar and a club with rainbow flags in the windows, nothing more.

The bar was closed, as it was just noon. However, the club was apparently open, which was surprising considering the time of day. Rick stopped. Maybe he should go inside. There would probably no patrons in there and he was kind of curious what that godless place looked from the inside.

He pushed open the door to the club and stepped inside. The place was empty, as he thought, apart from a bartender cleaning up. The guy was a fairly muscular and about the same age as Rick and greeted him with a friendly smile.

"Oh hi! Welcome to Club Rage!" he said. "What can I get you?"

"I don't want anything", Rick said with a reserved tone. He didn't even want to speak to that guy, but now that he was in here, that seemed to be less and less of an option.

"Ah, then you're here for the job opening!" the other man beamed. "Name's Miguel by the way."

Of course, an immigrant, Rick grimaced. "Richard." he said noncommittally.

"Good! I didn't expect someone like you to apply, but sure, let's see what you've got! Follow me!"

Why didn't Rick just say he wasn't interested in the job, whatever it was?

Miguel led him to the big dance floor of the place and pointed to an elevated cage with a pole in it. "This would be your workplace."

Rick looked at him dumbfounded. "What did you say was that job again?", he asked cautiously.

"You'll be dancing," Miguel replied. "It's not a difficult job, trust me. You won't have any trouble keeping up with the crowd. Come on, show me some moves, Richard!". He patted the cage floor with his hand.

Rick wanted to say a lot of things, shout at the guy or storm out of here, but another part of his brain saw this as an opportunity. There was no one here but Miguel to see him and he would never, ever do something like that again, so he might as well try it once.

Rick nodded slowly and hoisted himself up into the cage with some effort. Miguel was looking up to him expectantly and Rick tried some careful, stiff dance steps.

It must have looked ridiculous, but Miguel was nodding. "Yeah... you need some beat, man. Hold on."

Miguel disappeared for a moment and shortly after, a driving, thumbing rhythm filled the room, way too loud for the empty room.

When Miguel reappeared, he gave Rick thumbs up: "Okay, Rick! Try it with this!"

The rhythm actually helped a bit, and Rick found it easier to get into it. His dance moves became more sweeping and quickly, Rick was sweating from the unfamiliar workout.

Apparently, Miguel had also noticed and shouted from below: "Come on! Show me that body a bit, don't be shy!"

Rick gritted his teeth and moved his hips faster, feeling the sweat running down his face. He could hear the music pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else. He felt good about himself, better than he'd done in years. While dancing, he unbuttoned his shirt and quickly disposed of it. His torso was looking different from what he was used to: It was smoothly shaven and more toned - not trained or muscular but toned and lean. His skin had a darker complexion than he was used to, and the glistening sweat gave his moves a smooth and fluid quality.

Down below, Miguel was cheering. "Yeah, come on, Rico boy! Use the pole!"

Rick, no, Rico shook his head and smiled. While he grabbed the pole with his right hand, his left hand unbuttoned his pants, in a well-practiced movement. As he twirled around the pole, he used an upward movement to strip the pants completely from his legs, revealing his very tight purple hotpants that accentuated his bulge nicely. Rico noticed that Miguel was clapping to the beat now and decided to give him a special show, turning around and shaking his ass to the rhythm right above Miguel’s face. Rico smiled. He had no doubt that he would get the job - he was just so damn good at it. Every man loved him, and he knew how to hone and groom his body to just tease them the right way. He was a living wet dream, with both an impressive ass and an ample bulge in the front of his pants that he knew just how to shake in a way that made the patrons drool. A boner factory, an ex-boyfriend of his had called him, and there was something very true about it.

Finally, Rico finished his gig and slid down the pole without even panting much, planting an impish kiss on Miguel’s mouth. He couldn't resist to cup the other man's groin with his hand meanwhile... yep, he was going to get that job.

Ricardo Torres was happy - this would be perfect for him, a chance to put his body to good use and get familiar with this new town quickly. Besides, that Miguel guy was really cute, perhaps it was time for a new boyfriend in this new town!

[pastalbird]

a lil animation I did from my phone. If this gets enough traction I'll likely clean it up even more 🤔 no promises tho

Anyway, post Flux Buddies angst, amirite? (::

Audio

[casuallyimagining]

Doubt || kth.

Kim Taehyung x female!reader

Summary: Taehyung is an eccentric young musician working on a song that he believes will save him. Can it also save the woman he loves?

Genre: Greek Mythology AU, Orpheus AU, Fluff, Angst Word Count: 8,678 Rating: T Warnings: hunger and poverty; manipulation; major character death

Notes: Based on the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. Thanks to @daechwitatamic for beta-ing. Banner by @itaeewon.

It’s so cold out that you can see your breath, a puff of pale steam that quickly disappears into the dull landscape around you. The clouds are starting to lighten, they’re less grey, less dense, and you can tell the sun’s still somewhere up there, at least. But gods, it’s almost mid-May and you can’t remember the last time you’d seen blue sky. Hell, you can’t remember the last time you’d seen the sun.

Growing up, you’d heard stories of the seasons changing on time. Tales of spring coming in late March, bringing rain and flowers and much-needed warmth; that fall would reliably start at the end of September, the land turning to shades of orange and red and yellow. Between that, days got warmer and longer, and then colder and shorter. It was a cycle, and it was predictable, and it was nice, and it was mundane.

That didn’t really happen anymore.

You tug your jacket closer around your body. It’s starting to wear thin and the zipper is broken. You’ll need to find a way to fix it when you get into the next town. There’s no way you’ll be able to afford a new one, but maybe you can trade for some lining and a new zipper. Though that means you’ll have to find something to trade… 

Good-paying jobs are hard to find, especially with the world’s economy in flux the way that it is. Most everyone is more focused on finding food and shelter, and people are much more willing to migrate to find work during the good season if they can. You’d been doing odd-jobs up and down the eastern seaboard for years now, as long as you could take care of yourself. Some cleaning here, accompanying someone to a different town there. You’d even done some childcare near the gulf when you’d been down south. 

Now, you’re following the railroad tracks north.

Eventually, you stumble upon a sleepy town somewhere south of the city you’re trying to get to. There aren’t that many buildings that you can really see, and most of them are still covered in snow. Snow’s piled up along the streets and under the windows–it’s almost touching the sills in some places. None of the buildings look to be taller than three stories. The town is small, but the square in the middle of town is surrounded by lit buildings. You’re freezing. First stop: find a bar or a hotel or an inn.

The bar isn’t hard to find, but it’s dark when you finally push through the door in a swirl of bitter wind and snow flurries. Every head in the bar turns to look as you enter. You slide into a table by the door, a little embarrassed but ultimately just happy to be out of the cold.

“You’re not from around here.” The man who approaches your table is tall and confident, and when he offers you a soft smile, you instantly feel more at ease. He pulls a small pad of paper out of his back pocket and slides into the booth across from you. “I’m Yoongi.”

You tell him your name, and he tells you what’s good on the menu before taking your order. Yoongi leaves you alone with a promise to check on you later to make sure you have a place to stay the night. You allow yourself to relax into the vinyl cushions of the booth, enjoying the atmosphere–significantly less tense now that Yoongi has welcomed you into the establishment–and the warmth of the fireplace across the room.

There’s a house band that sits in the corner playing some jazzy number that reminds you of one of the gulf cities you’d stayed in back when you were passing through the bayous of the south. The pianist is slight, a little too skinny, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he plays. He’s talented, remarkably so, and paired with the saxophone and the upright bass, the music they play is some of the best you’d heard in a very long time.

A plate clattering onto the table in front of you draws your attention from the band. A young man stands in front of you, honeyed eyes wide. He looks to be around your age, his dark hair pushed out of his eyes with a thick cloth headband. He has a kind energy, despite his sharp features, if not a little odd.

“Yoongi said you’re new in town,” he says finally, his voice a little deeper than you were expecting. “Do you have somewhere to stay? Are you going to be here long? You should stay with Yoongi and I.”

You sigh. The man is forward, that’s for sure. You’d been hoping to grab a hot meal here, rest a little, and move on. You’re close to the city–maybe a couple days of walking, less if you can hitch a ride with someone or sneak on the train. But you can tell that this place, and these people, is somewhere you could easily stay in.

You can’t let that happen.

Yoongi appears then, a glass of water in his hands. He places it on the table in front of you, nudging the man out of the way. “Don’t be a pest, Taehyung. Remember what I said about scaring away my customers?”

“Oh, so he’s like this with everyone?” You ask it playfully, but there’s a bit of real questioning in it. You get the sense that maybe this guy–this Taehyung–is a bit of an oddball. Not in a bad way, but you’d like to know what you’re dealing with.

The way Yoongi rolls his eyes tells you that yes, Taehyung is like this with everyone. “He tell you about his song yet?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh, he’s a singer.”

Taehyung blushes, a light dusting of pink blossoming across his cheeks. “There’s this contest, and I… The prize is a year’s supply of soup.”

You hum. Any more, money isn’t really a great prize. Bartering is more or less how the economy runs. But soup? Any kind of food in that amount would make someone richer than even the wealthiest city dwellers.

Taehyung is certainly an intriguing fellow.

You can’t say at what point in the night Yoongi slipped away, or when Taehyung slipped into the booth across from you. But you can’t deny that--despite his way too forward introduction--his presence is comfortable.

“What brings you into town?” he asks as you take a bite of your sandwich, watching you expectantly as you chew.

“Job hunting,” you say simply, glancing in the direction of the band as they start to play again.

“What did you do before? Where are you from?”

You shrug. “Bit of everything.”

Taehyung hums and rests his chin in his hand. If he notices that you ignore his second question, he doesn’t mention it. “Hey, maybe Yoongi could give you a job? He’s always saying about needing someone else to wait tables. Apparently I’m ‘unreliable’ and ‘flighty’.” He makes a face, eyes widening almost comically as he wiggles his head.

Then, he sighs dramatically and watches the band for a moment before bursting into a fit of giggles. It’s a little dopey, but it’s endearing how his face scrunches up and he covers his mouth with his hand.

When he calms down, he leans on his hand. “Yoongi really isn’t that bad to work for. He’s just busy is all. He runs the bar, but he’s also station master over at the train station, and he delivers mail sometimes when the post office is short-staffed.”

“That’s… a lot of jobs.”

Taehyung shrugs. “He likes to stay busy.”

Things quiet down, then, and you listen to the band play as you finish your meal. Sometimes, Taehyung speaks, telling you a bit about his life and about the bar, but for the most part, he sits with you in silence. He nods along with the band, and every once in a while, he pulls out a small notebook to jot something down. Even though he isn’t talking as much, he seems happy. You get the sense that he’s just excited you aren’t ignoring him or shooing him away. 

When it’s time for the bar to close, Yoongi comes to collect Taehyung so they can get to work cleaning and closing the establishment.

“Wait for me?” Taehyung whispers to you as you stand from the booth. He tugs the scarf from around his neck and drapes it over yours. The striped fabric is a little thin, but you can feel his body heat radiating off it slightly. “I’ll meet you when we’re done. There’s a park down that way three blocks.” He points east. “It’s just across the street from my apartment. You can wait there if you want.”

He’s gone before you even confirm that you’d wait for him. 

“He’s a good kid,” Yoongi’s voice from behind you makes you jump. “He’s a little naive, but he’s got a big heart.” He holds the door open for you as you leave the bar. He nods at you. “I’ll see you later.”

The night is cold, but nowhere near as bitter as it had been a few nights before. The seasons are starting to change. This year, if you’re lucky, maybe it'll last the correct amount of time. 

You find the park easily, wandering around it for a few minutes before selecting a bench near the center fountain. It’s turned off to prevent the icy spray from getting whipped around in the wind, and you’re grateful. The last thing you need is to be cold and wet.

It’s a surprisingly nice night. The clouds have parted, if only slightly, and you can see stars in the breaks in the gloom. You tug your jacket around your body and wrap Taehyung’s scarf around your neck, closing your eyes and leaning back against the bench. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten to just relax.

You’d started out almost a month ago when the blizzard ended. The town you had been staying in had started to get too small, the people had started to get too friendly. It had all started to chafe at your brain. So you’d left and started walking, catching a ride where you could, always following the train tracks.

You don’t hear the footsteps behind you until a body sliding onto the bench beside you makes you jump.

“Sorry,” Taehyung apologizes, a soft, boxy smile on his lips. “We uh… we finished up early, and you looked so pretty just sitting here. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

It’s not a problem, and you tell him as much, placing a hand on his forearm as he leans sideways against the back of the bench. The flush springs to his cheeks almost immediately, his eyes flashing to where you’re touching him.

“So you’re a singer,” you ask, changing the subject. Taehyung nods sheepishly. “Sing something for me?”

“Oh! I uh… wouldn’t know what to sing.” Taehyung dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

You hum. “Oh come on. You can’t just say you’re working on this song and then not sing.”

He sighs. “I don’t know...”

“At least hum something for me?”

For a moment, he stays silent, and you think he’s going to tell you no again. Which would be fine. You would drop it. You’re curious, and you’re a little stubborn, but you know when to drop something. But when he opens his mouth, he sings.

The tune is beautiful and haunting, despite it being incredibly simple. It’s only a few notes that for the most part move up and down along the scale. You’re mesmerized, and you close your eyes, feeling a warmth spreading through your body. He stops suddenly, and the park grows eerily quiet.

“Taehyung, you’re amazing.”

His smile is brilliant, and he looks beautiful in what little moonlight there is. You don’t know why your stomach is doing flips.

“Oh hey you two,” Yoongi greets, suddenly in front of you. “Ready to go home?”

As it turns out, Taehyung and Yoongi live together. You walk across the street with the two men, pausing in front of a door between the two ground-floor businesses–a bookstore and an empty storefront. 

Yoongi slumps into the sofa, seemingly exhausted, while Taehyung disappears deeper into the apartment. He returns a few minutes later, changed into more comfortable clothes, carrying some blankets and a change of clothes for you, too. 

“You can use these,” he says, handing the bundle to you. Then, he turns to Yoongi. “It would be nice to be able to offer a job, you know…”

“It’s late. We’ll talk more later. It’s past my bedtime, and you kids have to be up early tomorrow. It’s a big day.”

“Wh-” Yoongi waves goodnight, and he’s gone before Taehyung can even finish his sentence.

A few moments pass in silence before Taehyung yawns, stretching his arms above his head. He encourages you to get comfortable and bids you goodnight then, apologizing for not having a proper bed for you to sleep in. His is small, he says, or he’d offer to share. But honestly, the couch doesn’t seem so bad. It looks soft, and it’s better than sleeping on a bench outside. He looks like he wants to leave, but he’s frozen in place.

“Thanks,” you tell him softly. “For everything. You’ve been nothing but kind to me. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

“Do you want your scarf back?” You unwind it from around your neck, holding it out slightly for him to take.

“Keep it.” He offers you a shy smile before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight!” He hurries away, turning off the light as he goes, leaving you standing in the middle of their living room alone and in the dark.

You hadn’t missed the bright blush on his cheeks, or the way your pulse had quickened at his touch.

-----

It’s a beautiful day. You were worried because the past few days, it had been sweltering hot. The kind of oppressive summer heat that saps your energy and makes you want to do nothing but lay in front of a fan all day. But it’s cooled off some, and there’s a nice breeze going. 

You sit on the bank of the river, just close enough to the water where you can feel it lapping at your bare feet, but not close enough to actually get wet. It’s serene sitting there, listening to the birds chirp in the trees and the ducks splashing around in the water. Very different from the seemingly constant chaos that is Yoongi’s bar. Even when it isn’t busy, it’s loud. And while you enjoy the atmosphere, you’re not used to constantly being around that many people. It takes a lot out of you.

Which is why you took the opportunity to come to the river just on the other side of the train tracks to take a break on your day off. Taehyung had followed you, because of course he had. But you don’t mind. You don’t feel the need to entertain him, to constantly be talking with him. You barely have to focus on him. It seems to be enough for him to just exist in each other’s company. It’s nice.

He has his head in your lap, laying perpendicular to you. One of his knees is bent and he has the other one raised and resting against his bent knee, creating a little table for himself as he scribbles in his notebook.

“What are you thinking?” you ask him, reaching down and brushing his hair out of his eyes. It’s grown longer. You wish he would let you give him a haircut.

“Music,” Tae responds simply, his attention flicking to you for the briefest of moments. You can see the playfulness in his eyes, even as he turns his focus back to his notebook. He’s determined to finish that song. “And how I want to marry you.”

He’s been playfully asking you since the second day. At this point, he says it so nonchalantly that you aren’t even phased anymore. You roll your eyes and poke him right in the middle of his forehead.

You brought a book--one of Yoongi’s, he doesn’t mind that you borrow it--and you read while he works, stealing glances at him subtly every once in a while. His concentration face is truly a sight to behold, all focused eyes and set jaw and furrowed brow. Sometimes, he catches you looking and flashes you a confused, boxy grin, which you return. You’re pretty sure he has no idea what he does to you.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks softly. When you look down at him, his full attention is on you, his notebook resting face-down against his chest. He fiddles with his pen.

You hum and lean back against the hill, letting the book fall to the ground gently beside you. “Sing me something?”

So he does. He sits up only to fall to the ground again to lay beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. He sings of longing, of love lost, and of love yet to be. It’s beautiful and haunting and sad, but there’s a kind of hope in the song, too. When he’s done, he reaches out, hand grasping your own, and the two of you sit in silence for a long while.

Eventually, he shifts beside you and grabs his notebook from where it fell to the ground when he sat up. Smiling, you reach out and brush his hair off his forehead. He glances up at you, eyes sparkling with the reflection of the smile on his lips. His smile is unlike anything you’d ever seen. It’s innocent, and warm, and so unabashedly joyous that it makes you feel like nothing bad can ever happen if he was there.

You’ve never felt like that before.

You’ve been alone for so long--it’s been just you since your parents had passed in your early teens--you barely even recognize how much it sucks. You’ve gotten so used to being alone, you no longer even recognize that you’re lonely. For so long, you’ve forced yourself not to get close to anyone, have focused on taking care of yourself for so long, that you hadn’t even recognized your heart had grown cold. All you’d ever known was how to take care of yourself and get to the next day. And the next one. And the one after that.

You like the warmth he brings you. You like how he makes you feel: as if maybe you don’t have to go it alone. You like that he makes you feel happy.

And you have no idea what to do with that information.

It terrifies you a little. You’ve only known him for a few months, but it feels like you’ve known him for your entire life. 

“What are you thinking about?” Tae’s voice cuts through your thoughts. He reaches over and squeezes your hand, fingers slotting between yours. “You look like you're thinking hard about something.”

You hum. There’s no way you can tell him your exact thoughts, you can barely articulate them to yourself. It’s a lot, and you don’t want to scare him away. You want this--whatever this is--to last. So you sigh, and instead of telling him what you want to, you simply say, “Just thinking.”

“Ah.” He nods sagely. “Big thoughts. I get that.” For a moment, he’s quiet, toying with your fingers in the silence. “Can I tell you something?” All of a sudden, he seems nervous. You can feel the anxious energy practically radiating off him. He can’t seem to look you in the eye. His other hand clutches at his notebook.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I just…” Taehyung swallows hard before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “I know I can be a lot. I know I daydream a lot, and I get too into my songs, and I have trouble paying attention sometimes when you tell me things. I know I’m weird. So, I guess, just… thank you for wanting to spend time with me.”

You smile gently, feeling your heart soften even more at his vulnerability. “I like spending time with you, Tae,” you say earnestly. And you do. You’ve never enjoyed someone’s company as much as you enjoy his.

“I really do want to marry you,” he confesses softly, his eyes darting out to the river. “I know that’s dumb, but it’s true.”

Two months ago, you would have dismissed him--you had dismissed him--as just being a man looking for one thing. But now that you know Taehyung, well… things are different. “Let’s get through this winter, then we’ll talk.”

“Really?”

“You would have to promise me things, Tae. We both know how rough the world can be. I need to know you’re willing to weather whatever storms come this way.”

He nods eagerly. “I will. You know I will.”

You wrap your arms around him then and pull him to you, his arms immediately slotting around your waist. He’s warm, and despite the fact that it’s sweltering hot out, you’re certain you could stay wrapped up in his arms until you both turn to dust and scatter to the wind. 

“Tell me you’ll hold me forever. Tell me that things won’t change when the storms get bad. Promise we’ll stay with each other and it will always be like this.”

You feel him nod against you, feel him hold you tighter. “I will. All of it. More. I promise. It’ll always be like this. You and me.”

When you pull away, his dark eyes are warm and inviting, the small smile on his lips inviting, drawing you in until you’re connected. His kiss is soft, tender, and for a moment, he’s frozen, as if his brain short-circuited and he’s trying to reboot. But then he’s kissing you back, slow and measured. You want to memorize what he feels like in this moment, his hair tickling your face in the light breeze, his hands pressed into your lower back. 

His nose brushes against yours as you part. There’s a dusting of pink across his cheeks, and he has the goofiest, most awestruck smile. It makes your stomach do a flip seeing him like that. And in that moment, you know that this adorable man will be the death of you.

-----

You cringe as the door to the apartment slams shut behind you. The wind had kicked up over the past half-hour, and while the door needed some extra force to shut it, you had overestimated just how much extra. Thus, the slam. Normally, Yoongi would have yelled at you, but he’s working double duty at the station because of the storm, making sure that travelers are getting where they want to go in a safe and relatively timely manner.

If Taehyung heard the door slam, he doesn’t seem to care. Though, you doubt that he had heard it at all. Tae had entered a self-imposed sabbatical almost two weeks ago, attempting to finish his song. He seems to have placed an arbitrary deadline on it, and he’s determined to meet that goal.

“How’s it going?” you ask softly, hanging up your coat and scarf on the hook by the door. They were gifts from Yoongi at the start of the winter. Something to help you to survive if you’re going to keep working for him at the bar.

Taehyung doesn’t even look up from his notebook at the sound of your voice. He sits at the small piano in the corner of the living room, brows furrowed, staring at the pages of scribbles he had been working on for the past few days. He’d been in the same place when you’d left for the bar.

You nod, walking into the kitchen and pulling a glass down from the cabinet over the sink. “It’s starting to get bad out there,” you say absently, watching out the window as you fill the glass with water. And it is. You can see the wind blowing snow flurries perpendicular to the ground. Snowing sideways, your mom had called it.

You glance at the cupboards as you walk back into the living room, briefly opening up the refrigerator to check out the situation. “We need food,” you tell Taehyung as you sit the glass of water down beside his piano. “And we’re starting to run low on firewood.” Luckily, Yoongi had stocked the apartment with wood for the fireplace before the storm had gotten too bad, but those supplies are starting to dwindle now that he hardly has time to come home. 

“It’s right there,” he mumbles, and though you suspect he’s talking more to himself than to you, you can’t help but respond.

“What?”

“The melody. It’s right there. It’s like it’s just been… forgotten.” He scribbles something more down into his notebook. “That’s why the seasons are all messed up. But it’s right there, just out of reach. It won’t get better until we remember.”

“Then you’d better finish it quick.” You push his hair back and lean in, placing a delicate kiss to his forehead. He hums briefly and squeezes your hand. “I’m going to run out and get some firewood and maybe swing by the pantry to see if I can get some supplies to hold us over until Yoongi comes back.”

But he’s gone again, his attention back to his notebook and the 88 keys in front of him. You sigh and nod, returning to the hook by the door to grab your coat and scarf. You want to have faith in him. You want to believe he’s right, and that the song he’s working on can fix things.

“Okay, you finish it,” you tell him, knowing full well he isn’t paying attention. “I’ll be back soon.”

And so you step back out into the biting wind and freezing cold. You pull your coat tighter, flipping your collar up to attempt to shield your neck from the snow. The public pantry is further away, so you turn in that direction, going mostly on instinct because it’s nearly impossible to see with all the snow that’s falling. 

You walk for about 20 minutes before stopping. You should have reached the pantry already. But there’s a large open lot beside it. Yoongi said it was an old field for playing sports--an old football field, he had said, and a baseball field beside it. You know the field is to the left of the pantry, so you turn to the right and begin to walk again, the snow getting tougher to trudge through, and the visibility continues to worsen as you go. 

You’re confused. There’s no way you had gotten this far off-track. The town isn’t that difficult to navigate, and you should have come across some building by now, even if it isn’t the communal pantry. Instead, you’re still in the middle of a snow-covered field, the blizzard raging on around you. You turn around in an attempt to follow your steps back in the direction you came.

Unfortunately, your footprints are gone, already covered by the snow.

“You’re resourceful,” a voice behind you says, the howling of the wind calming as if commanded. 

You spin around, coming face to face with a young man. He looks to be Taehyung’s age, maybe slightly older, his dark hair neatly styled and combed back off his forehead. He wears a white collared shirt under a smartly tailored suit jacket and a woollen double-breasted coat, a pair of lined leather gloves on his hands.

“Are you lost, little songbird?” His voice is deep and warm, and you find yourself drawn to him, taking a few steps forward. At your silence, he smirks, and you can see the stars dancing in his eyes as dimples press into his cheeks. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

“I was trying to get to the pantry,” you manage, taking another step forward. And then another. Until you’re standing directly in front of him.

“You’re going to freeze to death out here.” He pouts, reaching out to rub your arms, creating some friction and heat. His touch isn’t even direct, but you can feel the warmth in him, like he’s made of fire. “You’re going to the pantry? Why?”

“We’re running low on food.”

He hums and nods sagely. “That’s no good. Pretty little songbirds like you don’t deserve to suffer.”

You feel your cheeks heat at his words and pray that if he notices you’re flushed, he assumes it’s from the cold. You have no idea why he’s affecting you like this. Normally, you would walk away by now. But something about this man’s aura draws you in. 

“I’ve seen you around,” he says, adjusting the hat on your head. It’s Taehyung’s beanie. You borrowed it to keep your ears warm. “You have a good head on your shoulders. Smart. Resourceful. You’d do well as a manager. Have you ever thought of working in a factory or a warehouse?”

“No, I… I’ve never really been one to put down roots.” You have no idea why you’re telling him that.

“Shame. I think you’d be good at it. And it’s a good job, you know? Steady income. Guaranteed housing. Meal vouchers provided by the company.”

“Which company?”

“Mine.” He flashes you a wide smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. The sight of it warms you from the inside. “Think about it, okay? When you have nothing to lose, you’ll be welcome.” He digs into his pockets and pulls out a slip of paper. “Take the train to the end of the line. I’ll be waiting.”

With that, the snow and wind pick up so harshly you have to shield your face. When it calms down seconds later, you’re standing in front of the public pantry, and the man is gone.

-----

Two days pass, and you can’t get the beautiful man with the captivating aura out of your head. He hadn’t said much, but he was charismatic, and you couldn’t help but hang on his words. He had said you were smart and resourceful. No one had ever complimented you like that before. It threw you off, but you can’t help but admit that it had made your heart soar a little.

It was nice to feel wanted.

Taehyung is still working on his song when you walk into the living room in the morning. It seems like he never moved. He’s always sitting at the piano, staring at his notebook. Sometimes, he’ll move to the couch, but he never leaves the living room, never looks up from his notebook. 

You know his song is important, know he has to finish it to send it off, and truly, you know that when he does, it could save you all, even Yoongi. But at the same time, you have concerns. Things were so different in the summertime. It was supposed to be the two of you: birds of a feather. You were supposed to weather the storms together. 

And yet…

You sigh, looking into the cupboards to try to find something small. You’re starving. The pantry wasn’t able to help nearly as much as you hoped, and it’s hard trying to feed both you and Taehyung on the meagre leftovers in Yoongi’s cabinets. You hoped he would’ve been home by now to help--he always seemed to be able to help find food--but the storm hadn’t let up and he’s still out there making sure mail gets delivered and travelers arrive at their destinations safely.

“We’re going to need food again soon.” You say it loud enough that you know he can hear you, but whether it registers  or not, you have no idea. 

You watch him work, watch as he taps one of the piano keys repeatedly as he thinks, the sharp ‘tink tink tink’ of the note permeating the otherwise silent living room. After a moment, it becomes clear that he didn’t, in fact, heard you, and you feel the annoyance and hurt flare inside you.

You’re angry at yourself most of all. You could have left. You could have gone somewhere else, found a job--a good paying job where the owner wouldn’t forget to pay you because he’s out playing postmaster and barkeep and stationmaster all at the same time--found shelter and food and safety for the winter. But instead, you had followed your heart for once.

And look where that got you.

Your mind drifts once again to the mysterious stranger and his promises. You have no idea if he would keep them, but anything is better than starving to death. You want to stay--it almost physically hurts you to think of leaving--but you can’t ignore the ache in your stomach or the chill in your bones.

“Tae?” you try softly, walking into the living room and stopping in front of the piano. “Taehyung?” Your tone is sharp in an attempt to get his attention. But he doesn’t look up. He simply hums in a brief acknowledgement. “I’m going out.” The words leave your mouth before you even really know what you’re saying. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Or if.”

He plays another note on the piano.

You turn away, not wanting him to see your heart breaking. As you grab your coat off the hook on the wall, the paper the mysterious stranger had given you flutters to the ground from your pocket. You pick it up and examine it one last time. 

It’s gold, but it doesn’t glitter. The writing on it is neat, if a little smudged, as though placed there by an old-fashioned stamper and inkpad.

No charge. 

One-way.

VIP.

Your fingers tremble as you stuff the ticket back into your pocket. With one last glance at Taehyung scribbling in his notebook, hair falling into his eyes despite his headband, eyes and jaw set in concentration, you’re gone.

-----

The factory floor is quiet. The only sounds come from the machines. You sit at your workstation, your eyes strained from watching the repetitiveness of the assembly line. You tried to talk to some of your coworkers the other day. Or was it yesterday? Last week? You can’t remember. 

It doesn’t matter. None of them answered you, anyway.

Outside, the shift whistle blows, and you stretch your arms above your head, hearing your joints pop and crack from sitting still for the past however many hours. Your shifts always seem to fly, you can hardly remember what you do during them.

However, despite your fast shifts, you aren’t really sure what it is you make. The factory is huge, encompassing at least five huge buildings the lengths of city blocks. The parts you’re responsible for are small, unidentifiable, made out of metal and a bit of plastic. You don’t even know what they are, let alone what they’re used for. But thousands of them pass by you daily as you make sure they sit upright on the conveyor.

You find yourself wandering through the park just outside of your apartment complex. You aren’t quite sure why, but the park always seemed to draw you in. You love the view from the bench in front of the fountain. The way you can see the buildings peeking out over the tops of the trees makes you feel sentimental in the weirdest way, though you can’t quite put your finger on it.

Along the path through the park blooms flowers in the most brilliant shade of red you’ve ever seen. Sometimes, if you look at them too long, you’re overwhelmed by a sense of melancholy, but you have no idea why. You’ve never seen flowers like that in your life. 

There are times where, if you close your eyes, you can almost see yourself somewhere warm and bright. Someone is always at your side. You can never quite make out their face, only how your heart speeds up when they look at you. You’d been in the city for months–you can’t remember how many exactly–and these daydreams don’t look like they happen in the city. Maybe they’re premonitions, or some sort of deja vu.

You hope so. Daydream you always seems so happy.

You’re sitting on your bench in the park after your shift one day when you hear someone speak far off behind you. It makes you jump slightly. You haven’t heard someone speak in… the factory foreman had said something recently, but you hadn’t really paid attention to what he said. So when the voice behind you speaks again and comes closer, you turn to investigate.

The man that approaches you is handsome, if not a little eccentric. His shirt is half-tucked into his pants, and the sweater he’s wearing is too big and very thin. His dark hair bounces as he lightly jogs in your direction. As he gets closer, his smile widens, his dark eyes sparkling with joy. 

He speaks again, baritone voice soft and full of emotion. It’s a name he’s calling. Is that… your name? How does he know your name?

“I can’t believe I found you!” he says excitedly, his hands capturing your own as soon as he’s close enough. “Yoongi said it could take forever, but I’ve only been down here a few days. I… I can’t believe it’s you!”

He pulls you to him then, arms wrapping around your waist tightly. You’re confused, but you find yourself hugging him back. He feels skinny--too skinny--and his face is a little sunken-in and dirty, like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. There’s something about him that’s familiar, but…

“I’m sorry,” you say softly when he pulls away. His eyes dart around your face as he holds you at arm’s length. It’s almost like he’s inspecting you. “I… Do I know you?”

For a moment, his eyes light up and he laughs, a gentle guffaw that pulls at your heartstrings in a way that sets your mind–and pulse–racing. But then, it seems, he realizes you aren’t joking. You watch, unable to do anything as his heart breaks right in front of your eyes.

The way he whispers your name, halfway between a prayer and a plea, convinces you. Even if you don’t know him, he certainly knows you. No one sounds that broken over a complete stranger. 

“Who…”  you try tentatively. There’s no way this won’t be awkward. But you want to know more about him. You’re oddly drawn to him, like you’d known him in some other life. “Who are you?”

“Taehyung.” His voice is barely audible. His fingers twitch, and you get the sense that he wants to pull you in for a hug again and it’s taking a tremendous effort to not.

Why does his name sound so familiar? You’re certain you’ve never seen him before.

“I can’t leave without you.” He sounds determined, confident, like he’d walked halfway through hell to find you. And, well… perhaps he sort of had.

But that’s crazy. You don’t know him.

“Come home with me,” the man–Taehyung–pleads, reaching for your hand. You let him take it.

“I can’t.” For some reason, it makes you sad. You know it in your gut. Even if you do know him, there’s no way you can leave the city. 

“You can, though. I know the way. We just have to go back the way I came down. Yoongi told me about it. I don’t know how he knew, but-”

“You’re not from around here, are you, boy?” You have no idea when the man in front of you appeared. The air smells of ash and sulfur, and all of a sudden, it’s hot.

Immediately, you freeze, and you find yourself squeezing Taehyung’s hand. You haven’t seen the man since you’d signed the contract, but down here, he had a reputation for being no-nonsense. When he’s in a good mood, Namjoon looks harmless. But when he’s angry, he’s downright terrifying. And judging by his set jaw and hard eyes, he’s pretty angry. Beside you, Taehyung stiffens, standing up straighter.

“I don’t know who the hell you are, but the little songbird is a law-abiding citizen. You should go back to where you belong.”

“Taehyung, you should go,” you whisper, dropping his hand and taking a step away.

He turns to you, dark eyes sad when they meet yours. “I’m not leaving without you.”

Namjoon laughs, loud and boisterous and dark. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” he asks, taking a step forward. “Don’t you think she would have left already if she could? She signed on the dotted line. She’s here forever now.”

“What?” Taehyung’s attention darts back and forth between you and Namjoon. “That’s not true. Is it?”

You sigh, avoiding his eyes. “I did what I had to.”

Namjoon’s jaw clenches, and he motions for you to head back into the factory. “Heed my advice, boy. It would be in your best interest to leave. I won’t ask twice.”

A swirl of shadow. The smell of sulfur and ash. And Namjoon is gone.

It takes a few moments, but eventually, the tension leaves your body. Beside you, Taehyung visibly relaxes before he lowers himself to the ground in a defeated huff. For a second, you watch him, unsure of what to do. You still don’t remember him, but he’d come a long way, and for that, you feel bad.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, voice soft. 

“No, it’s… it’s not your fault.” For the briefest moments, he stares down at his hands, but then he looks at you, dark eyes big and sad. “What happened?”

You shrug, kick at a rock on the ground and watch it skitter across the pavement before you crouch next to him. “I don’t remember,” you admit sadly. “But there’s this contract. I signed it. I… He made such pretty promises.”

You don’t remember what they were, exactly, but you remember the way Namjoon’s eyes glistened as he spoke, the way his dimple pressed into his cheek as he promised you whatever it took to get you here.

Taehyung hums, his head hanging low. “This is my fault.”

Your heart breaks at the sadness in his voice, at how disappointed in himself he sounds. Part of you wants to comfort him, to tell him that no, it’s not his fault. He did his best. This is just a shitty situation and a powerful man chose you to manipulate and deceive. But you don’t. Because you don’t know how true any of that is. 

Something inside of you says that it’s not as true as you’d like.

He grows quiet. All you hear is the factories around you. The next shift has started. You should be in there with them. You wonder if anyone has even noticed that you’re missing. Absently, Taehyung picks at the grass, and something stirs in the back of your mind. A memory, though it feels almost like it belongs to someone else. Taehyung and you laying in the grass on the bank of a river, the sound of a train in the distance.

“Can I show you something?” he asks, and silently, you nod.

He clears his throat and begins to quietly sing. His voice is beautiful, a delicate baritone that nimbly, delicately touches on each note. He’s in full control, eyes closed, hands folded in his lap, a master at work showing you the melody that lives in his mind.

You can’t deny that the song is beautiful, a haunting acapella that moves you the way a psalm might move a priest. You feel it in your heart more than you hear it, his voice so soft that you really aren’t even sure that you’re hearing it properly at all. It wraps you up, gentle cocoon around your broken heart, and you feel it trying to heal what it finds there. You find something swelling within you. Something akin to pride.

You have no idea why you react this way. But you want to. You want to remember.

“That’s beautiful,” you tell Taehyung when he’s finished. And for a second, he looks at you, a hardness in his eyes that you can only describe as determination.

He leans in, lips gently brushing your forehead, before he stands. “Come with me,” he says cryptically, offering you his hand.

You take it without question.

-----

You’re uneasy. The path is dark--you can barely see Taehyung walking in front of you. He’s just far enough that you can’t reach out and touch him, but close enough that you can easily follow behind. But the soft dirt below your feet muffles your steps as you go, so it’s too quiet. Thus, your unease. 

The path is barely wide enough for a person to pass through, and it slopes upward fairly steeply. You have no idea how long you’ve been walking, only that the longer you walk, the lighter you feel. You hadn’t noticed it in the Underworld, but the fog that seems to surround your thoughts and memories parts more and more the closer to the surface you get. By now, you remember almost everything--Yoongi, the bar, your past, everything. 

But most of all, you remember Taehyung. And you remember fully why you left.

You want to call him, to tell him that you forgive him, to tell him that you’re so proud of him for finally finishing his song. But you don’t dare. You refuse to do anything to jeopardize your future. Namjoon has given you one chance. You doubt he’d give you a second.

The stones on either side of the path are damp and oddly shaped, and they’re difficult to use as hand-holds when the path gets too steep. But you hang on anyway because the other option is to stumble and fall flat on your face.

In front of you, Taehyung trudges on. You can tell he isn’t happy about the situation just from the visible tension in his back, but there isn’t anything he can do about it. He walks quickly, but not too quick so as not to lose you. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, his broad shoulders set against the chill of the underground path. 

“Go. Before I change my mind,” Namjoon says, turning his back on you.

You have no idea what Taehyung said to change the man’s mind. Maybe it was his persistence. Maybe you caught Namjoon at a good time. Maybe he just liked Tae’s song. A combination of all of the above and more. None of it at all. But you can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“How?” Taehyung asks, his grip on your hand tightening.

Namjoon sighs. “You’ll walk. You know the way well enough to lead, don’t you?” He sounds exhausted. “You lead. She’ll follow. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your eyes on the road ahead. If you don’t, well… maybe it really was her time to go.”

“It’s a trick.” Taehyung sounds angry.

“It’s a trial. One you’ll do well to pass if you want to make it out of here alive.” Namjoon rubs his eyes. “You test my patience. Leave. Or regret it.”

You stumble as the path slopes upwards more steeply, your hand reaching out for the rock. You must have made some sort of noise, because Taehyung pauses. You can see him fighting himself, refusing to turn around.  

“Are you okay?” he calls back. When you don’t answer, he grunts but continues walking. “I hope you’re still back there,” he mumbles. 

That’s the hardest part about this trek. You can hear him talking to himself. Sometimes, he hums his song, and you can hear the soft echoes off the stones in the passage. But mostly, the long stretches of silence are interrupted by Taehyung’s whispers to himself. 

“Only a little further.”

“I hope you’re still back there.”

“Gods, I’m so stupid.”

“Please still be back there.”

Suddenly up ahead, you can see a speck of something bright. It’s only a pin-prick in size, but it grows steadily the more you climb. You find yourself pushing yourself to walk faster, attempting to match Taehyung’s speed as he practically runs up the slope.

And then he stops, and you stop, almost walking straight into his back. The mouth of the cave is just a large hole in the ground, like some gaping maw prepared to swallow someone whole. You recognize the area vaguely as being along the railroad tracks just past the station. 

You breathe deeply. The air is still a little frigid, but it has that smell to it, like it could turn warm at any moment. You try to remember what month it was. March? Maybe April? You had gotten on the train in early September. Has it really been six months?

Before you know it, Taehyung’s arms are around you, catching you mid-step and forcing you to take a step backward. You hold him, allowing yourself to get lost in him for a moment. He’s warm, and he smells like dirt and wood and lavender. 

“I missed you,” he says, pulling you impossibly closer. 

Pulling away slightly, your hands find his face, cupping his jaw tenderly. “I’m sorry,” you say earnestly.

Tae hums, offering you a wide, boxy smile. “You’re safe now.” His hands grip your shirt at your waist. “Plus, I’m the one that should be apologizing. I let you down. I got too focused on my song, I forgot why I was in a hurry to finish it in the first place.”

A tug on your ankle draws your attention, and you try to glance down subtly to see what’s happening. But Taehyung’s grip on you is tight, and he notices you shifting. His eyes fall to your feet, one of which is firmly planted on the frozen ground of the mortal world. Your other foot is still in the soft dirt of the path from the Underworld.

Shadows are already starting to creep up your ankle.

“No,” Taehyung says firmly, trying to tug you forward. “No we made it. That’s not fair.”

You shake your head, your foot not budging. “Apparently not.” The shadows slowly grow, engulfing more of your leg.

Taehyung pulls you to him, then, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. “I’ll come find you again. I’ll sing my song for Namjoon. He’ll have to let you go.”

You sigh, your hands balling in the fabric of his jacket. “I love you,” you whisper. And you do. You realized it while climbing out of the Underworld. He’s the one who had been in  your daydreams down below, he had been the happiness you had been missing.

He kisses you, then, tenderly but desperately. You let yourself melt into it, one hand finding purchase in his hair. You want to remember him, to commit this moment to your memory so that even when you do inevitably forget him, you’ll remember how he made you feel. The happiness, the joy, the love. Even the frustration. Because of course, that was part of it. You love him so much that you did get frustrated with him. 

Your neck is cold, and you know it’s the shadows, swirling and trying to pull you back down. Taehyung’s eyes are wide when he pulls away, and they glisten in the midday sun. He blinks quickly, and you can tell he’s trying not to cry.

“Wait for me?” he asks softly, brushing your hair back and kissing you lightly on the forehead.

“I always will.”

Taehyung offers you a sad smile just before the shadows overtake you. In a second, he’s standing alone, the smell of ash and sulfur in the air.

[hellyeahpancakes]

finally made some finished drawings of my main transformer oc designs ! everyone cheer for them

this line up of them should be vaguely to scale...

a fact about each of them. subject to change, of course...

Before the war, Jaunt used to work horrible shifts in the Sea of Rust on Cybertron, retrieving lost items from the ocean floor and cleaning debris. She's watertight and triple changes into a boat as well as a car.

Flux loves energon soft drinks. The sweeter, the better. If you want to believe what the medical reports say, she's been on a constant sugar rush for four million years.

Tungsten cannot turn into motorized vehicles. They have wheels, but no motors set up to turn them, so they turn into a trailer that someone else needs to pull.

Cobalt picks at the paint on his fingers, like how humans chew nails.