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ckret2 · 3 months ago

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Chapter 64 of human Bill Cipher being 50% the prisoner & 50% the weird guest of the Mystery Shack:

Soos makes a deeply significant moral decision. To redecorate!

If you're seeing this picture, it's because I either didn't have enough time to draw a better one before the queue spat out this chapter, or I decided that nothing else I could draw would be half as funny.

####

Whenever Soos faced something difficult, he talked to Abuelita. And Bill was nothing if not something difficult.

Soos laid out the situation to her in the living room as she watched her telenovelas—she didn't mind the distraction, she far preferred real life drama over anything they put on TV. He told her about the confiscated canes, the daily injuries, the bargaining for food, the threat of forced showers, the bruises and burns and blood Bill said nothing about. He told her about Bill's door trick and how he'd only used it to talk to a teen about life and tuck a kid into bed. Once he'd told Abuelita all his thoughts, she nodded slowly, eyes still fixed to the TV screen; and for the moment, said nothing.

The doctor on TV confirmed the tearful new mother's suspicions that her husband had cheated (DNA tests confirmed the baby was another woman's), and Abuelita muted the show as it went to a commercial break. Soos waited as she collected her thoughts to render her judgment.

"I have been talking to Mr. Cipher for the last month or so. He keeps me company while I cook so I do not poison him again," she said. "I think he is ruthless, manipulative, and self-centered."

Soos winced, but nodded. "That's true."

Abuelita went on, "I like him. He is self-confident. He's blunt in a way you only get when you're old and cynical. I think he is a bad person; but, many bad people are good company."

"That's also true." Soos nodded again thoughtfully. Like whenever a comic book had a young idealistic superhero team up with an old jaded ex-villain who played by his own rules, and they ended up best friends, in spite of their glaring ethical and political differences.

"But, more importantly than whether he is a good person or a bad person," Abuelita said, "he is a person. And if you do not like a person, there are three ways you can deal with him." She counted off on her fingers, "You can kill him; you can avoid him; or you can set your feelings aside, and treat him with decency. Yes, get rid of the people who are bad for you—but no matter how terrible a person is, you must treat him like a person."

Soos's eyes lit up. "Oh, like with grandpa!"

Abuelita nodded slowly. "Yes. Just like grandpa."

"Yeah but—what if treating him decently is, you know... dangerous? Like if he uses any privileges we give him to do bad stuff? The Pines think he will. And I think he might be secretly talking to his cultists or whatever? Who miiight wanna destroy the world? But what if they can't destroy the world actually, and if I tell about the people he's talking to, he gets treated even worse..."

"Without his devil powers, he couldn't destroy a bookclub," Abuelita said. "But, if he is so dangerous, are you going to kill him?"

"No. I actually don't think we can anymore?"

"Are you going to avoid him?"

Soos let out a heavy sigh. "I can't as long as he lives here."

Abuelita shrugged, as if to say there you have it. "You are a good, kind man, mijo. I am sure you will figure out the right thing to do."

####

He took Melody out for lunch. They went through a drive-thru so they could park and talk privately in the truck.

She took a firmer stance on it than Abuelita. "I do not want to be stuck with Bill forever," she said. "I could put up with it this long because I thought the Pines would get rid of him as soon as possible! Now that he's staying here indefinitely...?" She shook her head. "I really don't like it, Soos."

Soos wasn't surprised. "Do... you think they should have 'gotten rid' of him?"

Melody paused, then shook her head again. "This whole thing is such a bizarre situation. Like, I can get why it makes sense to execute the guy that can end the world, but... I just don't think that's a decision two random guys with a big gun should be allowed to make," she said. "Honestly? I think we should call some federal agency and put him in jail somewhere. You know I've been iffy on Ford's 'only we can contain Bill' thing from the start."

"Yeah. I know." Soos agreed with Ford—he was the Bill expert, he would know—but he couldn't say Melody was wrong, either.

"Our wedding's scheduled for the end of summer," Melody said. "And... I'm sorry, Soos, but I just can't live under the same roof as the guy that turned me into a statue. We'll still get married—"

"—Oh, phew, almost had a heart attack there—"

"—pff, sorry. But if Bill's still in the shack after the summer, then... then I'll keep staying with my aunt, or we could move into your old house and just visit the shack for work, or something... but I can't move into the shack permanently until he moves out."

"Okay. I accept that." Even if the rest of them had sorta gotten used to living with Bill, Soos thought not wanting to live with a former torturer/conqueror/dictator was a pretty reasonable boundary. "I dunno what we'll do long-term just yet, but—we'll decide on something before the wedding."

Melody let out a long, nervous sigh. "Okay," she said. "Okay. Thanks, Soos." She reached across the truck's center console.

Soos took her hand. "But, how do you think we should handle Bill until then?"

Melody stared out the window at the gray sky. The rain had dried up before dawn, but the sky was still hazy. "If we keep guarding him ourselves instead of getting law enforcement involved... personally? I wouldn't give him any kind of special treatment at all. He tried to end the world! He stuck the whole town in a throne! He can just keep sleeping on the floor and being miserable, and I'd be fine with it."

Soos winced. "I see."

Melody squeezed his hand. "But—the fact that you're kinder than that is one of the things I love about you. Even when the creep you're being kind to doesn't deserve it." She gave him a resigned smile. "Do whatever you feel is right."

He considered that. Then he nodded. "I will."

####

Bill kept Soos's Abuelita company while she cooked, and gossiped with her in Spanish better than Soos's about people Bill had never even met. Bill liked watching cartoons, sports where people got hurt, and weirdly intellectual movies Soos didn't get, and he heckled historical documentaries and the news. Bill was offended by white rice and had incredibly strong opinions about salsas for a guy who'd only started eating them a month ago. Bill hadn't taken his friendship bracelet off once since Mabel gave it to him. Bill might not have been a human; but he was a person.

It was high time they start treating him like one.

####

Soos came home late in the afternoon with his truck laden down with supplies. Stan's car was gone, and when Soos came in with an armload of wooden boards he didn't see anybody around except Abuelita, napping in the living room, and Dipper, laying on the living room floor watching TV. "Hey dude," Soos whispered. "Where's everybody else?"

Dipper whispered back, "Hey Soos. Stan and Ford are at McGucket's mansion." He didn't look up from the TV. He was watching a rerun of Ghost Harassers on mute. "Mabel's with Bill in the floor room. He's in a bad mood about something so they've been doing karaoke all day."

"Huh." Soos could faintly hear someone playing his electric piano. It sounded like it was on the organ setting. "I didn't know he plays piano."

"He's alright," Dipper said. "His singing's terrible, though."

Soos shuddered. He could imagine.

Well, at least it meant Bill was out of the way. Soos began his first of many trips upstairs.

####

"What's all this racket?" Stan trudged upstairs to inspect Soos's noises—and abruptly stopped at the top of the stairs as he almost ran into a wooden beam. "What the—?"

"Oh, hey Mr. Pines!" Soos hooked his hammer on his tool belt. He'd put up wall framing to section off the corner of the attic floor that included the window seat.

Stan circled around the framing, inspecting it in bafflement. "Soos, what the heck is this?"

"So, remember at the beginning of summer, when I said that me and Melody were thinking about putting in a gaming room-slash-guest room in the attic? And Ford said not to bother until Bill was gone because he wouldn't be here long enough for me to finish? Welp! Sounds like he's gonna be here long enough for me to finish now! So I thought, hey, might as well, right? No reason not to!" He shrugged. "By the way, do you think I should put the door in front of the stairs, or on the long side of the room opposite the window? If it's in front of the stairs, you can just walk right in the room when you come up, and we'd be able to put a big screen on the long wall; but when you're walking out of the room it'd be really easy to forget the stairs are there and fall, and uh, we already have enough of a problem with that—"

Stan finally got his dropped jaw working again. "But this is where the demon sleeps! Where are we supposed to put him now?!"

"Oh, it's fine! Bill can keep sleeping in here. I'll put up a curtain instead of a door for now. This way the room's ready for gaming once Bill's gone." Soos planted his hands on his hips and surveyed his handiwork with pride.

"Are you crazy? You're giving Bill his own room?! No way! He could do anything in private. We can't trust him with that—"

"Listen." Soos gave Stan a serious look. "Mr. Pines, I respect you, and I love you like the dad I never had except technically I do have a dad but he's off being a deadbeat in Florida or something so he doesn't count."

He pointed at the floor. "But this is my house now. My name might not be on the deed, but my butt is in the master bedroom! And nobody under my roof is living like—like—like some kind of starving hobo sleeping on a bench under a newspaper, you know what I'm talking about? The Mystery Shack is a happy place! Where people come to see dreams come true and have their imaginations expanded! And I won't see it turned into some sad one-man prison!"

Stan stared at Soos, speechless.

"So." Soos took a deep breath. "With all due respect—I'm building a gaming room, and it'll have walls, and Bill gets to sleep in it. Because he's a person! And we're gonna treat him like one!"

Stan slowly looked from Soos to the wall framing, to the boxes of supplies he'd bought for the room and pushed against a wall to wait—to the pathetic couch cushion bed still sitting on the floor in front of the window. "All right. That's—that's fine. I'll let Ford know."

Soos's shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, Mr. Pines."

Stan clapped a hand on Soos's shoulder; looked for a moment like he wanted to say something; then just shook his head and said instead, "Knock off the hammering before the kids go to bed, all right?"

"No problem! I've gotta set up some furniture and stuff in here anyway." He got back to work as Stan went downstairs.

####

Soos paused his work when he overheard Bill's voice: "Hey Stanford. Figured out the kitchen situation yet?"

Soos had to strain to hear Ford (jeez, Bill was loud) as he said, "We haven't had a chance yet. For now, we can at least leave one of the counter cabinets open."

"Huh." It didn't sound like an impressed huh. "And will this open cabinet have any of the foods you put in the cabinet to hide from me? Or just more of the junk I've already been scavenging."

Ford was silent long enough to provide the answer.

"Right."

"I went by the grocery store," Ford offered. "I got avocados."

"Uh huh."

"And several pepper varieties."

"Ooh." Bill sounded intrigued in spite of himself.

"And protein drinks. They're nutritious, at least," Ford said. "But—I know that's not adequate. Stan and I will have something permanent figured out by the end of the week."

"I guess it's fine as an emergency measure," Bill said, "but you know how the phrase goes! Give a triangle a protein drink, and it'll eat for a day. Teach a triangle to open the fridge, and it'll eat for the rest of its life. If you lift that curse..."

"We'll talk. But don't get your hopes up. Neither of us likes the thought of giving you the power to come in our bedroom and smother us in our sleep the next time we have an argument."

"Fine." Bill's voice had hardened again. "You've got to the end of the week. But don't forget! If I don't like your offer, I don't have to take it! You can't keep me in this rickety barn anymore."

"I haven't forgotten."

The conversation seemed to be over and Soos didn't hear anyone coming up the stairs. He got back to work.

He felt good. He was doing the right thing.

####

When Mabel came up to bed, she stared in confusion at the modified attic floor, squealed in excitement when she realized what she was looking at, surprised Soos with a hug, and gushed about how great it was; and then she let Soos know Dipper and Ford were out tonight investigating weird stuff and went on to bed herself.

The first notification Soos had that Bill had come upstairs was a flat, offended, "What."

"Oh, hey!" Soos ducked out of the opening he'd left for the doorway—which he'd ultimately decided to put straight across from the window, to let a little light back into the attic. (He'd have to add more lighting in the main attic now that the window was blocked off.) Bill was standing at the corner of the new room, surveying the work with an expression of deep suspicion.

Soos said, "I was just getting started on this gaming room Melody and me wanted to put in—it's okay though, you can keep using it, we'll just turn it into a gaming room, uhhh... lllater. Whenever, it's cool!"

Bill turned his suspicious look on Soos; but when Soos gestured for Bill to follow him into the room, he reluctantly followed.

"Yeah, I got up the framing," Soos said, "but I couldn't get to the drywall today, so I just stapled up some tarps to be walls for now. But, look!" He gestured grandly. "I brought up the old orange sofa and chaise thingy that used to be in Abuelita's room! They've been in storage for like a year. I bet we could sit, like, six people on it for game nights. It turns out the sofa's a daybed, so we can use it as an extra guest bed for visitors, we do not have enough beds for visitors in the shack, haha. And, check it—" Soos flipped up the lid on a chest he'd placed in front of the right end of the sofa like a footrest. "I put in one of those top-down chest fridges for gaming snacks! It uh, the top of it swings up, that makes it a lid instead of a door, right? Sooo I guess you can use it too, right? You can just, put whatever you want on the weekly grocery list, and we'll put it in here. Oh, and!" He pointed at the ancient TV console table he'd hauled up from the cellar, "I set up a hot plate here, too! So you can cook stuff in the attic! For—for normal legitimate gaming room purposes."

Bill's gaze followed where Soos pointed, from the ancient orange sofa to the fridge chest to the hot plate. He didn't say anything. His expression was completely unreadable.

Soos swallowed. "Oh, and, by the way, speaking of home improvements, I took out the doorknob on the main bathroom, and put in one of those, like, little slidy dealies like public bathroom stalls? Plus I gave the door those swinging hinges—like the kind on saloon doors in the movies, o-or, say, the door into the gift shop—"

Bill whipped around to face Soos.

Soos jumped. He laughed nervously and tried to remember what point he was making. "S-so, um... there's no latch now, so it doesn't latch, which means there's no way to accidentally get locked in—or out, of the bathroom, and... and I don't actually know how much of that you understood, due to the whole curse thing? Just forget everything I just said, I guess, the important thing is you can use that bathroom without asking someone else now! Cool, right?"

He had to turn away from Bill's intense gaze, pointing back at the gaming room's doorway. "Anyway since the room isn't finished yet and you're probably gonna use it for a while, I hung up a curtain instead of a door. And I added that cool zodiac spell blanket thing Mabel gave me inside the curtain! Since you said you liked it so much when you first got here. And like... having it in our room kinda creeps Melody out, I think it might be giving her nightmares? So I thought you might like it better. Anyway I've still gotta do some other stuff, like add power outlets in here, and air conditioning, and... a-and..." He petered out weakly.

Bill was giving Soos the most venomous look he'd ever seen.

"Sure. Terrific." Bill crossed his arms, seething. "I've slept on the floor, I can cope with sleeping in the middle of a construction zone too. No big deal! I'll make do."

"Oh," Soos said. "Uh... if it bothers you, I could try to get the walls finished tomorrow? Shack's closed tomorrow too, so, I was already planning to keep—"

Teeth grit, Bill snarled, "Don't put yourself out on my behalf."

Soos froze. "Oookay! Uh... well, I'll be getting ready for bed if you need... yeah, no, you—you probably don't need anything. Bye." He ducked out into the attic, letting out a whoosh of a sigh as soon as the curtain swung shut behind him.

Bill had looked like he was two seconds from ripping out Soos's throat. Why? Had he liked sleeping on the floor? He'd never seemed like he had. Maybe he'd preferred the attic's open flooring? Maybe he hated extremely 70's orange upholstery? Was this a mistake...?

Bill watched through the tarp until Soos was down the stairs. Then he lunged over the sofa, hanging over the back by his waist, to reach the attic window seat. He groped for the corner of the seat cushion where he'd hidden Journal 4.

He sighed in relief when he felt the familiar rectangular block in the cushion. He pulled it free: there was Journal 4, along with his two stubby crayons. As well as two marker pens, black and red, with a sticky note wrapped around them that said, "Thought these might be useful, dude!"

Bill's hands trembled with fury.

####

Soos was brushing his teeth when someone pounded on the bathroom door, making him drop his brush. The door swung open a couple of inches; Soos heard Bill mutter a confused, "What?" before it swung shut again.

Soos opened the door. "Bill? What's..."

Bill's face was completely flushed. It was hauntingly reminiscent of the look he'd had last year right before trying to murder Soos and the kids in Stan's mind. His rage had shot past "apoplectic" and landed on "apocalyptic." Soos understood how Pompeii had felt when the rumbling began. He took a few steps back.

Bill stalked into the bathroom.

He slapped the red pen down on the counter.

And, avoiding eye contact, he muttered, "Fine-tip yellow highlighter would be better. If you've got it."

"Oh," Soos said. "Sure, I... I think I have some skinny highlighters in my office. Just... lemme finish brushing my teeth."

####

Bill leaned in the office doorway, arms crossed tight, waiting. As Soos rummaged through his desk supplies, back to the door, he got the uneasy feeling that maybe Bill had lured him here to stab him in the back or something. He seemed mad enough. And the office was narrow; if Bill came up right behind him, there'd be nowhere for Soos to dodge...

When he found a new highlighter and turned around, Bill was glowering inches behind him.

Soos jumped. "Dude! You freaked me out."

Bill didn't condescend to respond. He just snatched the highlighter out of Soos's hand and stormed from the room. A moment later, Soos could hear him stomping up the stairs (and stumbling on one step. Soos really needed to figure out how to make the stairs more safe).

For the life of him, Soos didn't know how he'd offended Bill.

####

The contraband supplies Bill had hidden behind a loose board in the wall still appeared to be undisturbed. He could only hope Soos hadn't found them during his snooping. For tonight, he could hide Journal 4 there; tomorrow he'd have to find a new, more secure hiding spot that kept it close enough to where Bill slept.

He turned around the hanging zodiac blanket and curtain so Bill's watchful triangular face was guarding the new attic hallway rather than staring into the room.

He surveyed his atrocious new sofa. If he'd known he would be plagued with this thing in the future, he would have found a way to make Ford get rid of it thirty years ago. Would Ford have thrown it out if his blessed Muse had told him it looked hideous? Maybe, but that would've put a ding in Bill's benevolent image. He could've said the sofa would lead Ford to doom? No, too implausible. Ford had always wanted a nice set of leather furniture; maybe if Bill had claimed the cost of leather furniture was about to skyrocket, and if Ford ever wanted to build his dream sophisticated gentleman's den then he should buy as soon as possible—maybe sell his current sofa to recoup costs and free up space... Yeah, Ford would've eaten that up, he'd have been so grateful Bill was thoughtful enough to care about his silly little life dreams and look out for his financial future. He shoulda done that. Hindsight.

So. What did he have here? A daybed; personal fridge; mini-stove; walls (tarp); two pillows; throw blanket; two markers; a lamp (unplugged); a clock radio (unplugged); a low console table with two shelves, onto which Soos had emptied the contents of Bill's cardboard box of clothes; and an implicit promise to keep a pile of secrets.

How humiliating.

He considered sleeping on the bare floor in protest; but, his back still hurt. Once again, subject to the tyranny of an organic body. He sighed, pulled his bedsheet from the console table, and curled up on the sofa.

The moment he lay down, a scent soaked into the seat cushion made his heart leap into his throat. He was sure he could smell home. Familiar and comforting and right—and for a moment the evidence of his other six senses didn't matter: he had his power back, he was in his kingdom, and all was right with the world. It took a moment to figure out what about the scent had so strongly disoriented him: he was smelling the atmosphere of the Nightmare Realm.

And then took another moment to work out that it wasn't really the Nightmare Realm, but a very similar scent—sulfurous, organic, burning. Burnt hair.

The cushion still smelled like Ford.

Bill groaned in frustration, rolled off the sofa, and flopped to the floor.

After permitting himself a moment of rage at the injustices of the multiverse, Bill crawled up onto the chaise lounge on the left end of the sofa, avoiding the part of the sofa where Ford used to sleep.

The chaise was smaller than his floor cushion bed used to be; but he'd make do.

####

(I know we're all busy going insane over the website but i'd love a comment when y'all read this chapter lol)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #soos ramirez #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(so how we feeling today on thisisnotawebsitedotcom day? good? everyone feeling good? we all having fun?)

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wordsinhaled · 4 months ago

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Wild to me that photo-shoots like this exist and no one has yet written the AU where Charles has many outfits for Edwin to lose his mind over. But it’s about more than just the outfits, of course. It always is.

So... if I were to do it it'd be like this:

Charles’ history and childhood are the same, and he’s chock-full of confidence issues, anger, a profound need for validation. When he’s in front of a camera he can make that all disappear for a bit, and just be pretty.

But what is he worth when what he is isn’t pretty? When he’s full of spitting, incandescent rage so strong it scares him; when all he wants is to fight back against the people who hurt him?

He thinks it’s ugly how much he can’t stand his dad. How jagged he is inside. How much he wants to be loved and held safe. How deep he carries the shame for wanting to simply be admired, and for daring to think he could deserve it.

He learns his way around a cricket pitch because he has to. Because it’s the thing to do. The thing that’s going to get him the least hurt, at home and at school. But it’s not foolproof: He’s never quite one of the lads. Never quite the right sort of son, either.

Charles who saves up for ages for drapey, pretty things; lovely things; things that feel too nice and look too nice on him, and secrets them away because if his father or his friends find them he’ll be dead. Charles who finds a secondhand camera in a charity shop. Charles who takes secret photos in the middle of the night of himself wearing his secret clothes, photos in which he could maybe be the kind of person he wishes he could be all the time. Confident. Cool. Not just pretty but beautiful. Unbroken.

He stashes the photos even though it would be safer not to keep them at all. And maybe it should be enough just to know he took them. But some selfish and needy part of him wants the evidence, the physical proof. So he’s got this shoebox of photographs stashed under a loose floorboard in his dormitory room at St. Hilarion’s, and after he dies, he retrieves it before he and Edwin leave the school together forever.

He won’t let Edwin look inside the box, at first.

Charles doesn’t show up on film anymore, or in mirrors. He tries to keep it a secret from Edwin—that this might be the bit that hurts the worst about dying, the being invisible. But it’s harder to keep this a secret than other things about his past.

He doesn’t have to really actually say it. It’s the wistful glances that do him in, probably, the ones he fails to hide well enough. One day, with no preamble, Edwin presents him with a full-length mirror in an ornate frame. “We going somewhere, mate?” Charles asks. Edwin tells him no, this mirror is different. He’s enchanted it. “Look again, Charles,” he says gently. And Charles looks again, and realizes he can see himself.

And who the fuck is going to stop him choosing what he likes now, when he’s picking out his outfits for the afterlife? His cunt of a dad? The ignorant tossers who drowned him to death? Charles’d like to see any of them try.

It seems like it won’t be Edwin who stops him either—Edwin, who goes a little glazed round the eyes every time Charles draws up short to stare at a silk shirt in a highstreet window. Nah, Edwin Payne’s a bloody first-rate enabler of all of Charles’ base needs to feel worth it. Charles has got the best best mate in the world. He doesn’t say anything as Charles’ wardrobe slowly grows. Just smiles his little enigmatic smile, the one that's just for Charles with its tantalizing flash of teeth, and drags his gaze over Charles like he approves of Charles’ daring every time Charles wears something new.

So one day he shows Edwin the box. The photos. A month later Edwin brings him a vintage camera and a roll of spelled film. Offers to photograph him.

And Charles could cry. Could shake apart into tiny little pieces. He wants to be seen so fucking bad. By Edwin in specific. By Edwin, who wraps himself all up in tweed and pinstripes and flushes regularly at the sight of Charles’ collarbone. By prim and proper Edwin, who puts his hand on the small of Charles’ back and tells him to buy the silk shirt; that is why they get paid for taking on cases, isn’t it, after all? Port Townsend has changed him. Changed them both.

“We all have our pleasures,” Edwin says, and there’s that smile again, that raised eyebrow—and what does it mean? Charles wants to know Edwin’s pleasures. Wants to be one of them.

Can he be one of them?

There’s a tiny little thrift store in this little seaside town, crammed full of clothes Charles loves almost viscerally and just has to have - but he doesn’t try any of them on until they’re back home in London, in the familiar comfort of their cluttered, dimly-lit office. He digs the camera out of the bag of tricks backpack then, puts in the film; checks and rechecks that he’s put it in right.

One evening he sets the camera on the desk in front of Edwin, who is reading. Waits patiently for his attention to catch on it and for his curious eyes to lift to Charles’ face.

“Right,” Charles says. Past the lump of nerves in his throat and the phantom heat in his cheeks and the impending thrill of being looked at. “About those photographs. You asked if I’d...”

“Be amenable,” Edwin finishes for him, like he’s remembering their conversation precisely.

Charles wants to shrivel up. And he also wants to stand taller, prouder. Angle himself just right. Because Edwin’s watching him now, appraising, and the idea that he might like what he sees makes something unbearably good fizzle down Charles' spine. “Well, I'm. I'm a bit more than amenable, mate,” he says. His voice is a rasp in his throat.

“Are you indeed,” Edwin says evenly. He steeples his fingers. Like Charles is a case and he’s already solved him. Like Charles is one of his cherished first-edition detective magazines with a fraying binding and Edwin is going to fix him right up.

Maybe it'll be easy. Done in a flash. Or if not, maybe Edwin will be up for the challenge. Charles wants to find out which, more than he's ever wanted something in his entire short life and in his afterlife combined.

#dbda #dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #payneland #charles rowland #in the wise words of manicpixiedreamedwins these two are so freak4freak #and unfortunately (or depending on your perspective fortunately) for all of you i actually cannot desist until i've made them be kinky #cw child abuse #cw self worth issues #cw slight internalized homophobia/biphobia #seventeen going under playing in the background of this entire premise tbh #GOD THE KID LOOKS SO TIRED

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marleemutt · 1 year ago

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TLDR: im a black trans artist who can use some help right now following the sudden passing of my only sister - her doberman is now the responsibility of my parents and we can use help for his food, supplements, toys etc.

Kofi (help me send Chewy orders to my parent's house)

Wishlist (literally send him things like toys, treats, etc.)

⬇️ more info ⬇️

hey guys

some of you might be aware of this already, but early October, my eldest sibling & only sister suddenly passed away due to a seizure, she had been dealing with epilepsy her whole life.

this has been incredibly difficult for me, and my family. her passing was incredibly sudden, she was only 30.

for the past month or so ive been struggling to find any motivation to draw, and barely able to work.

she was the incredibly devoted owner of a doberman named Remi(Ramsey). Me and my sister traveled 4 hours to pick him up three years ago. He's a goofball who tears up socks and needs constant supervision. My parents love him, but I can tell he is a lot of work for two people who have fulltime jobs and have lived long lives.

I'm going to try to help them take care of him as much as possible, I feel that it's the least we can do to honor my sister's memory, since she loved him so deeply.

My sister always wanted a doberman, for years she would watch videos about dobermans and talk about them to anyone who would listen.

Remi wasn't easy to raise - I shared a room with my sister when she got him in 2020, she still worked a 9-5, five days a week, so I was his nanny for most of his difficult childhood. I was his chew toy for the first year of his life about - but that only made him bond closer to me. If he wasn't following my sister, I was choice #2. Dobermans are "velcro dogs", they were bred to guard their owners, and because of this, they are fiercely loyal. I've been moved out of my parent's place for going on 3 years, and my sister had just moved with Remi out a few months prior to her passing.

A week before my sister's sudden passing, we had to board Remi at my dog daycare job while my family and I took a trip out of state. When dropping him off, although he was happy to see me again for the first time in months, the moment my sister turned her back to him he began to panic. He got through the boarding all right but my coworkers told me he would cry and wait by the door for me or her. When my sister picked him up, they said he jumped all 80+lbs into her arms.

Since my sister's passing, Remi has been directionless. He's with my family, people he trusts, but he's bored, confused, and heartbroken. My sister would often take him to the dog park, social events, on runs, etc. but my parent's can't do that in their age. If my apartment allowed large dogs, I would take him, but I can't, and I see him maybe twice a month if possible.

Ramsey's Christmas List

I made a christmas list for him of things that might help my parents better take care of him. We're trying different food brands out because he struggles with frequent stomach issues, and we can't seem to figure out what food my sister was feeding him. This list is by no means a necessity for him, but I tried to add things to help with his boredom and keep him stimulated when my parents can't give him all their attention.

i do want to state that my family is capable of providing him with the essentials to live, we arent irresponsible. i would just like to help my parents out since a 3 year old 80-90lb doberman is a lot of work to be suddenly placed on them soley. And I worry for his health and well-being sometimes - Remi has a tendency to eat/tear random objects when he's bored.

please consider donating whatever you can. Everything goes directly to him.

thank you for taking the time to read this, and possibly reblog if possible. ❤️

#artists on tumblr #black artist #black lives matter #mutual aid #doberman #doberman pinscher #trans artist #trans day of visibility #tdov

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annadiplosis · 20 days ago

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A few months ago I posted a couple photos of my index cards, saying I still didn’t know how and where I’d keep them, and I’ve since developed an Archiving System that combines the cards with a digital spreadsheet and has taken more hours than I will ever admit.

So, since I don’t have a “notebook system” to speak of, I'd like to share the way I archive my journals / sketchbooks / whatever you wanna call them, because I’m very proud of it, and who knows, someone might find it helpful :)

WHY I NEED AN ARCHIVING SYSTEM

The reason I don’t have a notebook system is because I use my books for absolutely everything, from sketches to grocery lists and journaling. It is crucial to me to not have any restrictions or expectations when it comes to my books, and that’s how I’ve managed to fill 43 of them over the years.

But of course, when you’ve been using notebooks without a system for most of your life and you want to read a specific entry, you can easily spend a full hour flipping through a sea of paper until you stumble upon those notes on the Bubonic Plague you took in 2011 or whatever you were trying to find.

SO HERE’S WHAT I DO

When I finish a notebook, I try to determine what its most important contents are: stuff I might want to reference in the future (project ideas, meeting notes) or is very characteristic of a period in my life (friends' drawings, travel logs). Every single page contributes to making the notebook what it is and gives it a unique personality, but not all of them are gonna be keepers, and that's fine (I'd even say fundamental, at least in my case).

These are the extremely generic categories I sort my Chosen Entries into. It's similar to the dot system so many people use, just applied retroactively:

🟣 Study notes 🔵 Work 🟢 Personal 🟡 Projects 🔴 Misc

And here's where the real archiving begins. This info goes into:

1. THE INDEX CARDS

(I always write them in Catalan; this one's a mockup and most of these are not real entries)

A little piece of cardboard with the notebook number, its start and end dates, and most important contents. I keep each index card inside its corresponding notebook, either in its own backpocket or an adhesive one I stick there myself.

This way, whenever I want to take a quick look through the book, I get a general idea of its contents at first glance. Sometimes, just holding it in my hand and reading the index card brings me back to the time when I was keeping it, and that time-travel feeling gives me a rush like no other. I don't know if you can tell, but I'm crazy about my notebooks.

2. THE SPREADSHEET

Same as before, just a couple more pieces of info (number of months, physical description) added to a file with the rest of my notebooks' data. Again, these are not real entries for privacy and language reasons, but they're very similar to the kind of stuff I do keep. The spreadsheet helps me find specific entries with a simple ctrl+f, and it's also a bird's-eye view of my progress through the years as a notebook keeper. I can see when my interests shift, how long some of my most important projects took to come to fruition, and even similar types of entries that repeat every few years which I wasn't even aware of before putting it all together. Absolutely fascinating stuff.

I hope this was useful, or interesting at the very least! If you’re a notebook keeper trying to find their own archiving system, my main advice would be to start early so you don’t have to deal with almost two decades of material like I did :’)

If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask.

Good luck 🖤

#notebooks #journal #journaling #commonplace book #notebook system #personal #notebook posting

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amourdivine · 8 months ago

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୨ ♡ ୧︰ TAROT 101: developing your intuition.

Hello lovelies, welcome to the first post of my Tarot 101 series! After receiving a few questions, I decided to incorporate a series of tips and tutorials for other self-taught readers. Today, I'm answering a follower's asks sent in my DM's. I'm tackling it separately, so it makes more sense to other people to read it. PS: Since this is a major work in progress and I'm not an all-knowing, almighty entity, please provide feedback, comments or concerns you might have! Thank you.

☁️ ˚ NAVIGATE ༉ ‧

INSTAGRAM ୭ YOUTUBE ୭ MASTERLIST ୭ PAYHIP

How you develop your intuition and psychic abilities while reading tarot?

There is not one size fits all. While many readers recommend connecting to oneself, that's just the basis of it, really, but the main concept is to look at yourself, compassionately. Without the judgment of our everyday lives and the chaos of getting things right in the first attempt. You cannot be honest with yourself (or your intuition), if self-denial is the state you're living in. Or worse: if you view the truth as punishment.

It's always going to be a journey of discovery, and the first thing about spirituality is that you need to keep an open heart to the magic. Skepticism may get you far ahead in your career or financial matters, but when it comes to intuition, you can't grasp onto logic all the time.

With tarot, it's a little more practical: learn and lean into the cards. Notice I didn't say memorize, because many of us are busy enough with our everyday schedules. Just tap into them. Look at them. What does The Lovers remind you of? Maybe it takes you to the story about the Garden of Eden. Or- maybe it reminds you of your parents, their golden youth before marrying.

Again. No judgement. Let your stream of consciousness free. A huge part of reading tarot is allowing your imagination to run wild. Although the Devil card can symbolize obsession or addiction at first, take into account the spread, the topic. The context. What is your body telling you about the images you see?

We often underestimate the symbolism behind the cards. Without considering the traditional meanings,take one card out of your deck and just look at it. What colors are prominent? What do these colors represent in modern society? Do these people look happy? Are there any people at all? Where are they? Let your mind weave a story.

As a tarot reader, what you do on daily basis for intuition and tarot reading? What practices, book, or some kind of information which help you for tarot readings?

There are many things that have helped me, personally, but I'm going to mention some of the best practices I've seen, both for myself and for others.

› Stay creative. If it means drawing, writing, or painting, then stay creative. Find whatever little (or big) ways you can express your creativity. Remember you don't have to be "good". You can just be. Creativity exists in a lot of ways.

› Engage with other readers. Observe them. You can find a tarot reader that deeply resonates with you and watch how they read. Test if it works for you. Remember this is your practice, it's your sacred space, so you don't have to follow someone else's rules.

› Read, if and when you can. I personally recommend the book "History of Tarot" by Isabelle Nadolny, but not everyone can afford books or the time to read them. There are plenty of Youtube tutorials and free guidebooks on Biddy Tarot, for example. I also love Servant of The Fates' blog. They're both different and great, reliable sources.

› Start small. You can pull one card a day. Get a journal, write its meaning (or what it means to you) and record your progress. In a few months, when you return to it, you might find it surprising.

› Let yourself not know everything. No one does. Sometimes, you'll need to pause, go back to a guidebook and read the meaning all over again. Other times, you'll look at the spread and feel nothing. That's okay too. We're not meant to know all the answers.

Is meditation really important for reading tarot? Why? How much time do you spend daily for tarot readings and spiritual practices?

Since this is more of a personal matter, I'll be talking about myself. I don't meditate as often as most readers. Three times a month, maybe? I have a busy schedule and I can only meditate before bed, if I'm not too sleepy. Many people find that meditation makes them anxious or they're not able to fully let go. Other people find it that being in silence or taking a walk is more useful to them. Relaxation and meditation come in many, many forms. The important thing is to nurture your body and soul more than to adhere to rigid rules.

However, when it comes to saving time for readings or spiritual practices, I don't set rules for myself. It never works for me.

I let it flow. Sometimes, I go weeks on end without really consuming tarot content and I bond with my decks occasionally. And other times, I'm reading daily, journaling and trying to improve my skills. Since I have a billion other things to care for, I'm not always able to prioritize tarot as much as I'd like, but the important thing is to stay passionate, stay curious and get back to it. Better late than never.

When you're getting started, let yourself try. If you get it wrong, at least you'll be one step closer to getting it right.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

#pick a card #tarotblr #tarot reading #pick a card reading #tarot #pac reading #tarot witch #witchblr #tarot community #tarot reader #tarot tips #witch tips #divination #tarot cards #spirituality #mine.#series: tarot 101 #tarot 101: 001

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junedenim · 3 months ago

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a vision trip

part 1 part 3

one day with a familiar face in a foreign country

word count: 10.4k

It's May in Paris. The breeze is light and the air is sweet. Alex sits in a cafe, picking at his nails, waiting. He nurses a coffee, but it's too bitter, and he's too nervous to ask for sugar or cream. He debates ordering food but decides to wait for his counterpart. He's tired. Too many shows and an overwhelming amount of traveling. There isn't much keeping him awake other than the people bustling around him and the person he's awaiting.

She was supposed to be here at 12 and it's 12:10 now. He won't complain. He isn't one for punctuality either. He can't think about the show tonight. It's draining but he'll soak up every minute of it. He just doesn't want to wait. He wants to take a nap. He'll wait 10 more minutes and then leave. It's fair enough.

He's tapped out. People-watching in Paris is quite a thrill. People sitting outside are smoking and he wishes he picked a seat out there so he could at least have a cigarette keeping him awake. There's a couple across the street either arguing or just passionately talking. It's hard to tell the difference.

Then, the chair across from him screeches across the floor loudly, drawing his eyes up. All the color drains from his face, his ghostly appearance recognizing the phantom that stands before him. His heart has fallen out of him. It's lying on the floor somewhere, the blood spurting out of it. Alex is certain he has fallen and hit his head and this is the dream sequence that plays in the movie. He's lost in a circle of time. It could be minutes or seconds, he sits there with his mouth begging to catch flies.

She smiles. That same fucking smile. Bright, pearly, the kind she'd give that made him want to lean in and kiss her. She looks the exact same. Even has a bandana on, although, now it's tied around the back of her head, holding that blonde hair back. It's longer now. She's dressed in jeans and a blue-and-white pinstriped button-up. It's almost like they are matching. Could be, if they wanted to with his trousers and white button-up.

He blinks like twenty times trying to clear his vision, make sure of this sight. Confirm this is real. It stays the same. "Holy fucking shit," he finally utters.

Her smile grows wider. "Wow," she sighs, "your French has gotten much worse. You're supposed to say bonjour."

Alex finally allows a smile to crack his face, despite his certainty that this can not be real. "What—what are you doing here?" His brows furrow, still unable to take in her whole image.

She takes off the saddle bag. It's leather this time. Not her old cloth one with the pins. She sits fully down in the chair across from him. A wide smirk displays across her face as she rests her head on her left hand. "Interviewing you."

As if this interaction couldn't get crazier and his jaw could possibly hang open wider. "Seriously?"

She gives him a pleased nod. "I don't usually do music but someone atmy work mentioned the Arctic Monkeys concert coming to town and the opportunity for an interview and I begged my boss."

He tries to quail his quickened heartbeat but she isn't making it simple. None of this is simple and he's gone dazed and crazed. He must have. "I can't believe you're here. You're in front of me. I feel like you're so calm and I've completely lost it."

"Well, I knew I would be seeing you again for about a month and I tried to regain my cool in front of the bathroom mirror for about 45 minutes. Do you want to go do that?" She points behind her to the toilets with a dream-inducing grin. She's proud of that joke.

"I might have to. Go in there and se branler." He motions jerking off loosely with his hand and it gets that precious fucking laughter out of her.

"You remember any French other than that?"

He gives a quick shake of his head. "No, not really." Prompting more laughter from her. He stares at her, giving her a thorough examination. "I can't fucking believe it. It's been 11 years, you know, how fucking crazy is that?"

"Don't tell me that." She rests her forehead in the palm of her hand. "I'm still trying to deal with turning 30 and that was 2 years ago."

He's amused by her. It's 11 years ago and yesterday for him. He feels they've snapped right back into place. No time has shifted and they are 21 again and this is what life would have been like if they had July in Paris. "So, you finally figured out your life," he recalls her ramblings. Revels in them.

She shrugs. "For the most part. It took a while but we're here. It was kind of, well, our day in Brussels helped point me in that direction. You probably don't remember"—he remembers everything, seriously—"but you made this compliment about how I had all these good questions or something and I thought, after you, well, told me about the whole band thing, and I figured out how big you actually were that I could do that for a living. Interview people. I don't usually do rockstars though not since you."

A thumping rings in his red-hot ears. He tries to take a deep breath and has to try several times. "What do you usually do?"

"Mainly the art section. I go to at least a dozen gallery openings every week but I love it."

"It sounds perfect for you. You helped me understand Magritte."

She smiles with pride. "You always had a keen eye. I only pointed you in the right direction."

He lets out a puff of air loudly and shakes his head. He doesn't look down at his hands but already knows they're shaking. "I'm sorry. I just can't fucking believe you're in front of me. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

She giggles. "I didn't really either."

He becomes a tad solemn as he leans on his hand, closer to her. "Can I ask you something?" She nods. "Why didn't you come to the Paris show?"

She leans back in her chair and her demeanor shifts. She's remorseful-looking and toying with her hands. He supposes that habit has stayed the same. "I wanted to. I tried to be but I had got into this journalism program in Boston. I saw you there but I didn't think you'd want to see me after ditching you in Paris. I didn't really know how to get backstage or anything either. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't be sorry. Why did you think I wouldn't want to see you?"

She tries to hide her face. "I swear I wasn't searching you up every night and stalking you but I saw you and your girlfriend back then, uh, Alexa. Didn't want to impose on anything because that was back when I didn't have the belief of women and men being friends."

"Like Harry Burns? I'd want to see you no matter what." He doesn't want to admit to her how hurt he was by her not showing up in Paris. How her name had been on every backstage list for the Favourite Worst Nightmare tour. Let alone that embarrassed trolling around Paris he had done. His start with Alexa, however serious that relationship ended up becoming, was rooted in getting over Lottie. He still hadn't fully dealt with that last part. Not until she sat in front of him and he realized.

"I had a different mind at 21," she explains. "I changed therapists."

He throws his head back in laughter. "What was the final straw?"

"Well." Her eyes drift away from his, looking down at her locked hands. "Moving to America was the main reason. I couldn't deal with any more defense of porn-addict boyfriend."

Alex takes a sip of his coffee, forgetting its bitterness, but enduring it to indulge in her sweetness. "She never let up on that one?"

"Not really."

Lottie orders a cappuccino and Alex, unsure of what to do, says, "You know, I have a concert later tonight."

"I know. I'm gonna go if that's alright. For the article and everything." She says it like she's informing him, rather than asking for permission.

"Well, I don't have to be at the venue for another couple of hours and I've never really gotten the chance to explore Paris." The smile that spreads across her face tells him she knows what he is thinking.

She snickers, "I should get a flat day rate for being your tour guide."

He leans forward on the little cafe table between them. "Come on, I'll give an exclusive. Complete unabridged day with a rockstar."

She giggles. "My boss would be very mad if I didn't take that."

"Perfect." He means every bit of that. His 21-year-old self's fantasies are finally coming true. Imagining life as it truly should have been. He thinks how much he has changed since then. How much he has stayed the same. She's stayed the same in his mind. A ghostly presence in his mind. An angel that came and visited for a day. She looks much of the same, especially compared to his differing appearance. Longer hair, less scrawny, light stubble regrowing post-goatie. He's grown into himself more, no longer an awkward boy under a hoodie. He's getting hot under his suit jacket. "So, what have you been up to the past 11 years?"

George points a finger at him. "Aren't I supposed to be asking you questions?"

He smirks and leans back in his chair. "No, see that's part of the deal. You tell me what you've been doing for the past decade and answer all my questions and I might tell you exclusive material. But you have to hold up your end of the bargain."

She raises an eyebrow but smiles and nods. "Let's see the last 11 years. I mean, I lived in Boston for 5 years. About 5 years too many."

"Why? Did you hate it?"

She tilts her head back and forth in an indifferent gesture. "It's a nice city but I don't think I belong in America. I fell into a fantasy there. By the time I had been there 5 years, I felt I had been living a lie the whole time. You know, I didn't like my apartment or my friends or even my job and I was 26 and it was either change my shit now or live like this for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, yeah. I feel that now. I've been out in LA for about 5 years now but had never really settled until this past year. I loved it my first year. It was so different than anywhere I've ever lived but last year was the first time I had been there a full year and I think I hate it."

"America's a mess now anyway. I couldn't imagine living in LA. It doesn't seem fun."

Alex shrugs. "I like it but I think I've fallen away from it. And everywhere is a mess now anyway. Brexit's happened and England's a mess and I haven't even lived there fully since 2008 but part of me thinks I'd like it."

"When I moved back to Paris after Boston, I felt my whole body realigned and I'm not one for that energy crap but I think there has to be something to these places because I immediately felt a relief I had never felt in Boston." His head is filled with thoughts of telling her, I know exactly what you mean, I feel it right now looking at you.

"Maybe after this next tour but I don't know if me girlfriend would do it. She already moved out to LA for me. I'd feel shitty making her move to a whole other country."

"Is she American?"

He nods, even though he has a feeling she already knew that but she's trying not to seem like she already has all the answers to him already from her research. "You seeing anyone?"

Her face crosses. "Kind of." Her resolve breaks with a laugh. "God, how embarrassing is it that I'm 32 and kind of in a relationship?"

"I think you're fine. 32 is still young. You don't have to worry about that for another decade."

She leans forward with intensity, the same level she had at 21. "Except, I'm getting down to the wire here as far as having children." He throws his head back in laughter. It's nice to know that she hasn't changed a bit in 11 years. "I'm serious. And, I know, I know, science is so advanced these days and there are millions of children to adopt and blah blah blah but I don't want to be a 50-year-old pregnant woman or a single mother. I mean, I'm not opposed to it but I don't think there's anything wrong with having the fantasy of the nuclear family. Except I don't know if I really want that or that's just societal pressure I'm feeling."

It's deja vu for him of the romantic nostalgia variety that if he could package it into a pill and take it as a prescription forever, he would. "You said the same thing in Brussels."

She groans in frustration. "Great, so I'm a broken loop. I'm a woman moaning about men and babies. I put shame on all the feminist icons."

He waves his hand at her. "I think you're fine and it's nice to know how you feel about these things, even if it's the same. I feel that way right now."

"With children?"

"Yeah, I mean, most of me friends have settled. Everyone in the band has kids and I don't know if I want that. Me girlfriend wants that, I think, but I can't imagine touring and having kids at home. I still feel too young to have kids or to get married."

She groans, "Yuck. Don't even get me started on marriage."

"Don't believe in it?"

"I don't want to. I think if I was with someone who really wanted it then maybe but when I was engaged it felt like such a doomful thing."

She nonchalantly says it but he needs to know. "You were in engaged?"

Lottie gives a small head nod and sips her cappuccino. The subject is still an odd one for her. "For about 6 months in 2012. It was a disaster, to say the least, mostly on my part. He was a good guy but I was too immature to settle and he was the last thing keeping me in Boston. Once that ended, I came back to Paris."

"You were engaged to an American?" He leans forward with intrigue. It shocks him for some reason.

She furrows her brows. "Aren't you dating an American?"

"Yeah, but it's different," Alex excuses.

"How?"

There isn't actually a difference other than bubbling jealousy but he can't admit that. So, he shrugs. "I'm a lowly Brit and you're a sophisticated French girl dating an American, let alone one from Boston."

She tilts her head in slight agreement. "He was awfully rowdy."

"Was he a big Red Sox fan?" Alex jokingly asks.

She sticks her tongue out and shakes her head. "Yuck, don't talk to me about baseball. Sports is the primary reason I left. His family had season passes and it was like the Salem Witch Trails if you didn't go to every game."

"See this is why I can't picture you engaged to an American."

"Fair point," she says. "What about your girlfriend?"

"Oh." He doesn't know why he's taken aback by the question. It makes him stir with guilt. It's not that he doesn't love his girlfriend, he has a fucking tattoo with her name, but suddenly Lottie sits down in a cafe in Paris across from him and he is thrown.

"She's great." He stops there but then Lottie stares at him and he realizes he's being short. He stares down at his cup. "She's—she's funny, beautiful, and very lovely." The description doesn't exactly help his case.

She doesn't push him any further. In fact, she smiles, and says, "She sounds nice. I'm sure you don't deserve her."

Alex chuckles initially at the comment but it grows painful inside of him. He struggles to digest it and the words weigh heavy as it turns from a joke into the truth. He shakes it off as best he can. "Who is this 'kind of' relationship?"

She sighs loudly. "We met at this weird work function. He works as a freelance photojournalist and travels to these warzones for months at a time and then he'll be here for a month or 2 before heading off again."

"Wow," Alex utters. How can I compete with a warzone photojournalist who is kind of her boyfriend? He shakes it. You don't need to compete because you have a fucking girlfriend, you idiot. "That's cool." Idiot.

"Yeah." She displays a similar demeanor as him: outmatched with no chance of catching up. "It's—he's a good guy. He does this incredible work but I can't help but constantly feel undercut by him. It's not his intention but—no offense to you—I'm telling him about some avant-garde art show I just reviewed and he's like 'That's great, I'm photographing Syrian refugee camps.' You feel like a complete loser next to him."

"You're helping keep art alive and maybe I'm stroking me ego too much but isn't that what we need during all these shitstorms? It feels like the only thing keeping me sane at times."

She leans forward onto her hand and smiles and, fuck, he feels his heart skip a beat. He can't shake her off of his skin, off his mind, off his heart. If he was a smart guy—a good guy—he'd do the interview, and leave. Play the show and leave France. Go home to his girlfriend and leave Lottie as a fantasy in his mind for the rest of his life. But then he thinks about his 21-year-old self who swore he wouldn't let her become that to him. Someone he would lie awake at night and imagine what life would be like if he got her. She's danced in and out of his mind through the years, but he'd be lying if he didn't think about what would have happened if she showed up in Paris. She got on that London-bound train. If they exchanged fucking phone numbers. He can't lie awake and think what would have happened if he didn't shun her. "Do you want to walk around now maybe?"

"Sure." She eagerly stands up.

She opens her bag and takes out her wallet. He holds his hand out. "You have to let me pay for your coffee, at least. I never paid you back for the hotel." The thought of the hotel room sends shivers down his spine.

Alex tosses a few bills to cover the check and then some. She giggles, "You finally have Euros."

He shrugs with a hidden smirk too shy to show him how pleased he is that she remembers. Even if it's his dorky mistake. "A little more prepared this time."

They exit the cafe into the Latin Quarter with Lottie leading the way to their next location. Their pace is the same as it was in Brussels. In step with one another through talks of one another's lives.

"What has the last 11 years been like for you?" She returns his question to him. "I mean," she admits, "I know some of it."

Alex narrows his eyes at her. "You've been keeping tabs on me, Lottie?"

She breaks eye contact away from him and shrugs but the smile that breaks through tells him everything he needs to know. He gets too much of a kick of that. "Well, you're not the easiest to avoid. I also did get really into your music after, you know, Brussels and all."

It pleases him until a realization drops his heart into his gut. He looks for a display of any reaction on her face but she keeps steady and walks ahead. He won't say it if she doesn't. Maybe she doesn't even know. Maybe only he paid attention to that kind of thing. Maybe only he paid attention to their hotel room number.

"I mean," he exhales loudly. "Everything you know is probably the extent."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on, in the last 11 years all you've done is music. That's not true."

And, sure, it's not, but it kind of is. He doesn't want to tell her about his ex-girlfriends and he doesn't need to indulge her in whatever stupid stories he has of LA. "I think it is. It sounds pretty depressing, doesn't it?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think so. You're living a pretty cool life. Unless you don't see it that way."

"No, it's just..."

"What?"

"I feel like I've been in the same place since I was 21. I'm stuck in some cycle that I can't stop. I know I've changed and I've had experiences. I mean, I lived in New York for a little and I've been in LA for a while but when you're touring for more than a year at a time for pretty much a decade, it's hard to feel significant changes."

"I feel the same way since moving back to Paris."

"Really?" It's hard to feel like anyone knows how he feels. Everyone around him has had big life changes and he feels...the same.

"Boston was a whirlwind but it was my 20s. Now, I get up and go to work every day and I go home and repeat it. I have friends and we go out for dinners but I'm not getting married, I'm not having children, and I'm not visiting Antarctica. I'm still. For years, I liked that feeling but now..."

He finishes, "You feel stuck."

"Yeah. I swear I'm not depressed. I'm not going to throw myself in the Seine or anything."

He chuckles. "No, no. I know what you mean. It's just growing pains."

"Pft," she says, "at 32 I thought that would be over with."

"I don't think it ever goes away."

"At least I'm not getting zits anymore."

"Small victories."

She points her finger out. "There's this park, the Luxembourg Gardens, down the road. It's beautiful if you'd like to go."

And just like before, where she leads, he will follow.

"My father died last year," she tells him.

He isn't sure what to say. For the first time, he touches her, places his hand on her arm. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head and shrugs. "No need. I never really knew him."

"Oh," he says, "I didn't know that." He suddenly realizes that the perception he had of Lottie for the last decade has been shaped by one day, not even a full 24 hours. A time they spent together where he didn't even know that she never knew her father.

"Yeah, I never—I don't talk about it very much. I feel like I've finally started to work through some of the childhood trauma shit that I swept under the rug for so many years. My parents' relationship was complicated."

"In what way? I don't mean to be nosy—"

She interrupts to reassure, "Never. You never are." She smiles over at him like a sunray. "I like telling you these things. It feels like a vessel I can put it in and send out to sea. I know you'll never tell another soul, right?"

He motions locking his lips and tossing the key. It makes her giggle and he forgot the thrill he got from doing that.

"My father was married when my maman had my brother and me. Never divorced his wife. I have a half-sister I've never met. She's like 20 years older than me."

Alex doesn't mean to have a visible reaction but he can't help but utter, "Wow."

"Yeah." She slips her hands into her jeans' pockets. "I don't know. I've been trying to work my way through all of it. I think I feel grief over it but I'm not sure if I'm mourning his death or the potential relationship we could have had."

"I don't know. I've never been in that type of situation with death. You know, the finality of everything. But with people that I've drifted away from, I imagine all these what-ifs." It's hard to ignore the person he's talking about is right next to him. "What I could have done differently to make them stay or like me or whatever but I've realized that no matter what you do it doesn't change the way the other person is. With your dad, I can't imagine not wanting to know you. Something must have been wrong with him."

"Probably," she agrees before laughing. The thickness of the conversation is split in two as they both laugh lightness into the air.

"So, you just grew up with your brother and mother?" Alex asks.

Lottie pulls a face, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips. "I wish. My mom had her series of boyfriends. Some better, some worse. Nothing bad and she never married any of them but it was a weird revolving door. The longest one was the British diplomat. That's why my English is so good. Well, if I do say so myself."

"I still can't speak a lick of French so you're 1000 times better than me."

"I can't help it if I'm so fabulous," she jokes as she skips into the gardens. He's left watching her cheer from six paces behind. Mirth floods him and he feels a snap inside him like a glowstick coming to life. She's lit him up all over again. Prescribed him exactly what he needs. If he was smart, he'd leave now. He got his fix and he should go to the concert venue and leave it at that. He walks into the Luxembourg Gardens.

Alex follows her as she walks through the green parterre of gravel and lawn. The area is decently populated but the wide expansion of the park prevents any crowding. He can't stop staring at the back of her. It's not in some sexual desire way. He's not staring at her ass. He's not really focused on one area. He watches the way her trainers plant their way into the ground. The way her bandana flutters from the wind. The way her hair moves slightly side-to-side with each movement. He wonders if she takes him in this way. Noticed the way his loafers tap into one another every once in a while when he's walking. The way his hands are in his jacket to prevent the wind from blowing it around. The way he has had to keep pushing his hair behind his ears.

Then, she stops and sits in one of the metal chairs they have, Alex sits across from her, and she says, "Your hair is longer."

Witch! She must be psychic. He pushes his hair behind his ear again as if on instinct. "Yeah, that's different. It's changed a lot through the years."

"Yeah, I know. The quiff was a funny one."

"Are you mocking me?" He leans closer and teases.

She giggles. "No, never."

"You don't look too different to me."

She scrunches her face up and scoffs, "Yeah, how plain am I."

Alex shakes his head slowly. "Not plain. You don't need to change anything about you. You were beautiful then and you're beautiful now." He's trending in territory he shouldn't but it makes her smile, like really smile. She turns her head away from him and covers her mouth with her hand.

"Whereas you still look ugly," she mocks with a smug smile.

His jaw opens dramatically. "You are mean, Lottie."

"I'm kidding," she reassures. "You've always been a charming-looking man."

"You make it sound like I'm some dandy."

Her face twists up again. "What's that?"

"A dandy?" She nods. "For once, I know something you don't."

"You know many things I don't."

"Yeah, right."

"I can't carry a tune to save my life. In fact, I should win an award for not attempting to ever play music."

"I don't know. I think if you applied yourself to it you could be good."

"Are you trying to recruit me to your music school, Mr. Turner?" It's the first time she's said his last name ever and he realizes he doesn't know hers.

"You could be a good triangle player." She punches his arm when he says that. He asks, "What's your last name?"

She smirks. "Guess."

"I don't know. Something really French."

"No. Guess."

"I don't know," he says again. "Something like Bonaparte or whatever."

"No. Guess."

"We're going to be here all day if you don't at least help me narrow it down."

She grabs hold of his face, hands on his cheeks, which are growing embarrassingly rosy. "My last name is Guess."

His face drops. "Wait. Your last name is Guess. Charlotte Guess."

"Yes and ew. Don't call me Charlotte."

He sighs loudly, "I don't know, Charlotte. You put me through a lot of trouble there."

She relinquishes her hold on his face and leans back in her chair. He's unnerved by how the cold rushes to his body as soon as she isn't close. "You'll manage."

She oozes cool, always has. She props a leg up on the chair and leans back with such freeness that wasn't there 11 years ago. She's not twisted up inside, she looks relaxed. He wants to ask her how to get there. Lately, he's felt like knots of stress. Any effort to dissipate has been met unsuccessfully because he can't put a finger on what's causing all of it.

"You know," she says, "I do have to interview you at some point."

He waves her off. "I know, I know, but I'm still adjusting to the fact that I'm seeing you right now. I want to know more about you."

That hint of a smile comes back to her cheeks. "Like what?" The tip of her shoe knocks on his shoe and he isn't sure what to make of it. Looks down and wishes he could take a photo of it.

"Do you still paint?"

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head in disbelief. "You remember that I paint?"

Alex doesn't see it as a big deal. Why wouldn't he remember all those little things? "Yeah, and you're a decent cook, right?"

"Jesus," she lets out under her breath. A quickened heart rate and a brush of pink to her cheeks. "I don't even think my mother remembers I paint. I still do it from time to time. I was never very good at it."

He shakes his head. "I doubt that."

"You never seen anything I've painted."

"I don't need to see it to believe it. If you think it's bad it's probably better than what most people, including myself—especially myself—can do."

"Well, maybe if you're lucky I show you something."

"I'd like that." He hates how much he'd like that. "What do you paint?"

She shrugs. "This. That. Abstract kind of things. I like painting faces but I'm not very good at that. I get the proportions all mixed up."

"Like Magritte or something?" He chuckles.

She shakes her head. "Not quite. More like that botched restoration of that Jesus painting."

Alex can't help but think of the two of them standing before A Stroke of Luck and the cigar, but not a cigar painting (so, screw him, he can't remember the name of it). His mind can't help but reminisce on them in the park sitting in the grass afterward. Lottie, delicate and cherubic, picking flowers to place behind his ear, and then, kissing her. If he reaches out into the memory, he can practically still feel his hands on her skin.

"Do you want to go to another art museum?"

"What like the Louvre?"

"Sure."

She laughs. "I am not going to the Louvre."

But Alex is already standing and reaching his hand out to her. "Come on, I've never been."

She sighs and places her hand in his. It's soft like a baby's freshly washed skin. His hand feels rough against the smooth surface, callouses old and new can be felt. Alex pulls her up out of her chair and they begin to walk to the park's exit. "How have you never been to the Louvre?"

"I've never had time," he explains. "Generally when I've visited Paris it's been for a limited number of days."

"But didn't you record the album in La Frette? Couldn't come in on a day off for the Louvre?" She's still holding his hand. He's not being responsible, he knows.

In fact, he's passed irresponsible when he leans in close to her ear and says, "I missed when you didn't know anything about me."

She giggles and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm the one taking you to the Louvre at 1 in the afternoon with no tickets. I think you can manage the sacrifice."

"You must go all the time considering your job," Alex says.

Lottie says, "Oh, I haven't been to the Louvre in over a decade," before bursting out into laughter.

"And you're shaming me for having never gone?"

She lets go of his hand and wags her finger at him. "Hey, I have at least gone. Multiple times! And the Louvre isn't exactly a place getting new and upcoming art all the time." She drops her hand back down to her side. Their hands never re-intertwined. "The last time I went I was 17 and I made out in the staircase with Alain Millardet the whole time."

"So, you really saw all the sights." He follows her directions as they cross the street.

Lottie gags from the memory alone. "He was a horrible kisser and we ended up getting caught by an employee. They told our school—our Catholic school, by the way—and it was the only time I ever got in trouble. The only thing that lessened the blow was that my maman was away with her boyfriend and never found out."

"You were a goody-two-shoes in school," Alex teases.

Lottie squishes up her face. "What does that mean?"

He grins at the way her little button nose is scrunched up, her eyes slightly squinted, the wrinkle formed between her brows. "Just means you're a rule follower."

"Oh." She giggles. "I just didn't get caught." Every inch of her intrigues him. The secrets she has buried deep within that he has an eagerness to uncover. The flip of her hair as she walks her way down the streets. Her hands clutch the brown leather strap of her bag. Those blue eyes glancing over at him as ripples of laughter echo through her.

They begin to cross over the Seine when she tells him, "This is the Pont des Arts. It used to be covered in locks, you know, the thing where couples put a lock on the bridge and throw away the key, but they had to remove it after the bridge nearly collapsed, which thank god because I had one with my ex-boyfriend on it and I couldn't bear the thought that we would be locked here together eternally."

Alex chuckles and puts his hands in his pockets. "Me first girlfriend did that with the lock she used for her locker. At the end of the school year, she wrote our names on the back and locked it to a fence. About a month after we broke up, I walked by the fence she'd put it on and it was gone. She had gone back and removed it."

"Aw," she coos, "poor girl. You probably broke her heart."

"Thanks for your lack of pity for me, Lot." She grins at the nickname. "How do you know she didn't break my heart?"

"Because only a heartbroken girl would go back and remove the lock."

"Yeah."

Alex gazes up and spots the glass pyramid, realizing they've already made their way to the Louvre. The courtyard is populated with people taking pictures of and with the structure. Someone is playing violin, likely busking, in the distance.

As they approach the building, Lottie gasps and then begins to laugh. "What?" Alex asks with a hint of his own reactive laughter.

She gives him a funny frown. "It's Tuesday, isn't it?"

Alex confusedly responds with a dragged-out "Yeah."

She snickers. "The Louvre is closed on Tuesdays."

They both just take to laughing in the middle of all the tourists. Lottie clutches his forearm, which he reciprocates, making their arms plank over each other. Then, Lottie suddenly stops, stands up straight, and looks him in the eye, saying, "Time for me to interview you."

Alex chuckles, "Nice try." He takes to guiding them out of the courtyard, walking ahead of her. "Where to next?"

She's right behind him. Alex can feel the edge of her bag touch his butt. "Are you trying to get me fired?"

The pleasure he gets out of taunting her should probably be illegal. "You'll get your interview," he promises. "I've already given you so much unknown information. I've never been to the Louvre, still to this day, my French is horrible, and I'm desperate to see some art so why don't you show me some of yours."

They pause at a crossing. "Are you trying to invite yourself to my apartment?" She has a habit of making him flustered easily. Her fluttering lashes flapped away at him. He swears they blow an ocean breeze his way.

He plays a tricky game. "Well, if we go to your apartment, maybe you'll finally get your interview." The light flashes green and he walks ahead.

She trails behind fighting a crooked grin. "I highly doubt that."

Alex hums.

Either way, they headed off in the direction of her place. Down the stairs to the metro where they wait for the 4 train. The platform is sparsely crowded, predictable for a Tuesday afternoon just before rush hour.

"I have to say something." Her demeanor is coy. She's holding her hand in a fist up against her mouth. Her eyes peer up at him demurely. "I've been debating whether to say it or not but I figure out with it. No secrets, you know."

Alex nods curiously. "Okay."

"The song."

The two words make a chill go through him. Spins around his spine and hits each vertebrae. She does know. He can't help but physically react, muttering, "Oh, god," and placing his hand on his forehead in exasperation.

She giggles at his reaction. He is only calmed by the fact that she doesn't sound pissed. Still, he feels embarrassed. "It's one of your most popular songs."

Alex doesn't care. He lived up off the hope that she had somehow missed that one. Or she only ever listened to the most recent album for her work assignment. When he wrote it, it was felt under the impression he would see her again. Not under the impression that in 11 years he would be standing on a metro platform with her about to be interviewed by her.

He re-establishes himself. He gets his footing, drops his hand from his face, and looks over at her. She's still looking amused by his reaction. The train pulls up to the station. "Which one?"

He is able to get a chuckle in when her jaw drops slightly. Feeling he has the upper hand, he hops on the train, having her dash behind him. Alex finds two empty seats and takes a seat next to the window. Lottie sits down next to him.

She seems to have composed herself. Tight jaw and curious lips. "Now, I meant 505, what are you on about?"

Alex shrugs. "Pft, who said 505 was about you?" He is staring straight ahead, calm, cool, and collected.

Her eyes are glued to him, watching his every move. "I'm not an idiot, Alex, I can read. Our hotel room was 505."

"Oh, what a weird coincidence." He is almost chuckling with pride in his humorous fibbing abilities.

"Come on. I doubt many girls were lying on their side with their hands between their thighs for you, Alex." That memory strikes him hard. If he closes his eyes for long enough, he can still trace the outline of her body in his mind, memorizing every crevice.

He chuckles with a wide grin. "It was a nice memory."

She crosses her arms in a pleased manner. "I knew it was about me."

"Yeah, well, I had a lovely time with you." His eyes are intently on hers. A knowing smile is splashed across his face.

She returns the favour. They are in a duel with their eyes, fighting grins in their smiles. "Me too."

"Good."

She leans in closer. "Now, what's this other song about me?"

Alex looks away from her, gazing at the station they are approaching. "I think this is our stop."

He tries to stand up and she grabs his arm and yanks him back down. "Shush. You have no clue where we are even getting off."

Her hand stays gripping his forearm, keeping them steady. His gaze is resistant if ever pleasurable. His eyes trained on the doors and unsure of what to say, tossing between giving it up or burying it away. He plays with his hands, bringing them together, and then apart, and then back together. "I wrote this song, you know, in the, uh, hypothetical sense."

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, whatever that means. Out with it. You know, people are usually flattered by the thought someone would think of them enough to write a song about them. Let alone two."

"Alright," he calms. "The song isn't really all about you. I guess, you sparked the original idea."

She gestures for him to continue. "And?"

"Cornerstone."

She leans back against the train's wall. A small smirk plays on her face. "Really? You were seeing me all around town?"

He can't help but smile, although, forced to shield it behind his hands covering the surface area of his face. "Don't make me sound like a creep."

"No, no. It all feels like flattery." She looks like she wants to say something else but keeps it to herself. He's tempted to ask but she's pointing slowly to the train station and softly saying, "This is our stop."

They get up as the train stops. The doors stay closed though. "Flip the handle up," Lottie says.

He grabs hold of the door handle and follows her instructions. The door opens at a quick speed. So quick that Alex, still with his hand on the handle, nearly gets his arm yanked off. Lottie erupts in laughter behind him. He sucks in a breath and steps off the train. She places her hands on his shoulder as she follows behind him, too blind with laughter to properly guide herself.

"You're really making a fool out of me today." Alex turns around as they ride the escalator up.

She's still emitting giggles when she says, "I'm sorry. It was too tempting though."

Her apartment is just outside the metro station. The building, Haussmann in style, is cold and dark in the stairwell. Lottie tells him to watch his step as they head to the second floor before she flips on a switch outside her door. Before she unlocks it, she turns and tells him, "I'm a messy person and you have rudely barged in on me so you can not judge."

Alex agrees and she unlocks the door. She has, of course, exaggerated the mess of the place. It's a loft of a decent size. Her bed is in the far corner, unmade with a plum-coloured mandala-printed blanket thrown over it. Clothes from this morning are strewn about the floor. Her kitchen is small and her plate from breakfast is still in the sink. In the back corner, across from her bed is a collection of canvases. They are all turned inward making him unable to look at any of them.

Lottie stands awkwardly in the kitchen, hands behind her back, bobbing on her feet. "Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water? Alcohol?"

He chuckles at her delivery, struck by her grace. "I'll take a tea."

"Okay." She busies herself with that as he examines the room closely. A shelf of books piled to the brim. There's a vase of flowers on a lower shelf. On the bottom: a record collection. He smiles to himself. "Can I put on a record?"

"Sure," she absentmindedly says. She's showing Alex her tea packets: black, green, mint, ginger. Black, he picks.

She stills at the opening strings. Her heart patters at the clacking of the castanets. I found my love in Portofino...

She dips the tea bags into the hot water and turns around. She leans against the counter, staring at him at the place he has taken on her small loveseat. "You know, I got a record player because of this album."

His arms are crossed and he looks pleased with himself. "Inspiring a new generation to buy records. You know, AM is one of the best-selling vinyls of the 2010s."

She squints playfully. "Are you usually this boastful about yourself?"

"Stop, you're making me feel like a self-absorbed asshole."

Lottie crosses her arms, playing his game back to him. "What's the saying? If the shoe fits."

"Hush now. Sit." He pats the seat beside him. The air is thick and she cuts through it by walking over to him with two cups of tea.

She prompts hopefully, "Interview time?"

Alex ignores her. "You know, I went and bought my own copy of this."

"The record?"

He nods. "God, I'm such a dweeb."

She shakes her head. "No. It's a good record."

He gazes over at her knowingly. His chin is tilted down and his eyes are blazing at her. "I didn't buy it because it was a good record."

Suddenly, she breaks. "You can't do that."

Alex gets the message, turns away, and focuses on the warm mug in his hand. "I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No," she reassures, calm and clear, "it's fine. I just can't sit next to you in my apartment with you saying things like that and not..."

"Not?" He tries to get more out of her.

She gazes over at him knowingly. Her chin is tilted down and her eyes are blazing at him. "You know."

He nods.

"I still have that photo of you. The one I took on that hill. It's buried deep in a drawer somewhere." She's tempting him and she knows it. She's not abandoning the topic of their romantic evening. She's not insisting on conducting an interview. She's flirting.

Alex smiles back pleased. "I probably look like a dork."

"Yeah," she dryly agrees making him laugh. "But a cute dork."

"Whenever I came to Paris, I would walk around, duck into all these cafes, and I had these visions of seeing you there. That's where Cornerstone came from," Alex confesses.

"I changed therapists because of you," Lottie confesses.

"What?"

She leans on her arm against the back of the couch. "It wasn't because I moved away. I came back from Brussels and told her about you and she said that you were a fantasy but not a realistic man. I shouldn't get my hopes up on delusions and should invest myself in some reliable man. That I was falling for a rockstar who probably did that thing all the time. The whole time she's saying this to me, I'm thinking, 'She has no fucking clue what she's talking about. Reliablity? Who has reliability at 21? My porn-addict boyfriend.'"

Alex laughs. "I still really love this porn-addict boyfriend of yours."

"Well, you and my therapist." The room goes quiet. She sinks into a corner of the couch and sighs. "So, you were the final straw."

"I've done that cafe shit every time I've been to Paris."

"What?" She sits up straighter.

"I just—I've always wanted to talk to you again. It felt weird when you didn't show up in July. I figured, or maybe hoped, something big happened for you not to be there."

She's stiff and awkward and looks down at her legs, awkwardly stiff. "I tried to be there. I wanted to. You have to know, if it weren't for the program, I would've. I mean, I still go to your shows, and listen to your records, and, for crying out loud, I harrassed my boss into letting me interview you. He probably thinks I'm some obsessive fan."

"Harrassed?" He raises an eyebrow in amusement.

Lottie looks up sheepishly with a shy smile. "Yeah, well, at this rate, I'm not even gonna have an interview."

"You'll have an interview. I'll give you the best fucking interview." There's something in the way he looks at her. The tone of his voice makes her believe he is a lion and she's the gazelle he's waiting to maul. But those eyes, soft and dreamy. Eyes she could fall asleep next to every night.

"And then you look at me like that and you think you're the soppy one. I'm falling to bits over here. I've felt crazy for 11 years but then you look at me like that."

"Why'd you feel crazy?"

"I thought I made the whole thing up in my head. Like I was some psycho who imagined a whole night with you just because I liked your song. I mean, I ruined every relationship because I was hung up on you."

"What?"

"And now I'm ruining any possible relationship with you by blabbing on about this. I can't help it, you've infected me, you've ruined me, and I sound crazy." She's messing with her hair to really emphasize this fact. "But I'm stuck on the Boston T, riding the slowest train ever, sitting next to this guy I'm about to marry, and we have nothing to talk about, and all I'm thinking is 4 years ago I got on the wrong train."

Her breathing is heavy. Rattling and refusing to calm her heart down. She can't distinguish what his eyes mean.

Alex is quiet when he speaks. "Fucking hell, Lot."

Any move he thinks about making is interrupted when she quickly stands from the couch and separates herself from him by pacing in the kitchen. She clutches her hands around her face, cheeks trying red. She takes a deep breath and says, "I think you should leave. I'm sorry for that whole display. I'm so lost in myself and I'm crazy and I'm sorry."

Alex stands and takes a step toward her. She takes one back like they are the same side of a magnet repelling one another. "Lottie."

"I'm sorry."

He takes a moment for himself too. Runs his hands through his hair, heart pounding he puts his hand over to still it and takes a deep breath. "No," he insists. "First, you're not crazy. Second, I haven't seen you in 11 years and I have thought about you for too long to let you go—go on that other train again." Something chokes him inside. Maybe it's the guilt, the thought of his girlfriend back home. Maybe it's Lottie, who looks two steps away from crying, and all he can think about is being left on that train platform again. "Third, we have to do the interview."

"Oh, god, that stupid interview." And then he laughs. So, she laughs.

Alex attempts to step toward her again, cautiously like she's a cat he is afraid he is going to scare off. She stays in her place. He leans down and hugs her. She's hesitant but then she hugs back. Tight like they are each a moment away from slipping out of one another's grasp.

Alex pulls away, but keeps an arm around her back, pushing them toward her front door. "So, let's go eat some lunch and do an interview."

She sniffles and then smiles over at him in a remorseful manner. "Okay."

They head to the cafe on the street corner. The conversation grew lighter and Alex joked that he still didn't get to see her paintings. She countered that she still hadn't interviewed him.

On opposite sides of the table, each holds a cigarette and chats over an ashtray. Lottie asks him questions regarding the album and Alex answers formally, which is almost too proper and comes off more jokey than serious. Nonetheless, she quotes him on it.

He grows hot and takes his jacket off, halfway through, around the time their dishes arrive. The interview, more-or-less, ends there as they each inhale their meals and split the stack of bread. "I'll be here tomorrow too, you know."

She nods. Of course, she knows.

"We could do the Louvre then."

She smiles with amusement at him. "You're really obsessed with the Louvre."

"I'm determined to go and now to get you to go. Maybe we'll makeout in the stairway and get caught by one of the nuns." The comment is cheeky and they both laugh at it, even if it should hold more guilty weight than it does.

A woman then approaches them. She's old, enough to be someone's great-grandmother. She speaks in French to Lottie, who has grown a furrowed brow, as she repeatably says no to the woman, who holds up a necklace at her.

"What's she saying?" Alex inquires.

Lottie sighs and says warningly, "Alex."

The woman smiles big and looks over at Alex. She speaks very broken English, but tells him, "Her neck, nothing." She gestures over to Lottie's bare neck, the way her top pulls down (notes of cleavage, but he's got to get his mind out of the gutter), accentuating the bareness of it. Alex has shameful thoughts in remembrance of kissing it. Fuck, he's screwed, if the pull of his pants says anything. The woman holds the necklace high in her hand. "For beauty. Beautiful woman needs beauty."

Lottie begins to speak in French to the woman as Alex wordlessly reaches into his wallet and pulls out a bill. The woman lights up in delight and accepts the €20 as Lottie shakes her head. "Her ears, nothing," the woman tries to push more.

Alex cheerfully says, "No, no, just the necklace. Merci beaucoup." The woman attempts again but Alex ignores her and her English is too poor to keep trying for another sale.

Lottie is staring at him. He can't decipher if it's a look of pleasure or unease. "You shouldn't have done that."

"The necklace is nice and I gave the poor woman some money. Now put it on."

She stays still for a moment but gives in and sits up to accept the necklace. It's simple. A chain with a small blue pendant on the bottom. It matches her eyes. She mutters a thank you, if for the gesture alone. After a few careful tries, she clasps the necklace. "I'll probably get some sort of infection from it."

He chuckles. "Probably."

They sit in silence with one another. They are stuck in the middle of a staring contest where fireworks spark between them. Alex breaks it and looks down at his empty plate, a flush of shyness overcoming him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Are you interviewing me now?" She giggles, pleased with her joke.

"Hey! I let you get all your questions in. It's my turn," he insists.

She relaxes back in her chair and crosses her legs. "Okay."

"What do you think would have happened if you got on the train with me? Or if you showed up to the concert?"

It draws a rough breath out of her. "We wouldn't have worked out."

His heart stills. It's not the answer he expected. All that wishful thinking that had swirled in his mind for the last 11 years. The feeling that if he had been able to convince her or was able to find her, they'd be living happily ever after. "Really?

She shakes her head. "Are you kidding? I was a mess. I had no idea of a future for myself. I would have been in Paris or Boston and you would have been on the road all the time. I would've definitely been one of those girls who thought you were cheating on her the whole time. I probably would have convinced myself of it and not believed you when you told me the truth. I was born the product of an affair. It is my blueprint to assume every guy I'm with is getting it somewhere else."

Alex feels hungover with guilt at the thought that what he is doing right now might as well be an affair, if only emotionally. He sighs, "Yeah, I mean, I was a mess for like...forever." They both laugh. "Every time I feel like I've gotten my shit together. Something comes along to pull the rug out from under me."

"What's it this time?" She's staring at him, doe-eyed and smiling.

He can't think of an excuse. So, he's honest. "You."

She's not offended by it. She smiles, though she does try and suppress it. "We should probably go to the venue. Right?"

Alex nods like hiding himself from the Parisian streets will get him out of this mess. Lottie insists on paying the bill, mainly because she isn't paying the bill, her work is. They could take a car over to the venue but Alex is overly enthusiastic about riding the metro over. "I have to redeem my shame. You know, in London we just have the button, so I can't be blamed for not knowing how to open the train door."

Lottie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

At the venue, Alex gives Lottie a quick introduction to his bandmates. He says nothing more than, "This is Lottie, the journalist," but they all respond with knowing looks. Alex gives her a tour, mostly through her insistence that it would be cool for the article if she could set the scene for the reader. Alex says, "You're a painter with your words." She rolls her eyes and he gives her the tour.

"And a soundcheck, what's that like?" She asks before, you guessed it, soundcheck.

Alex shrugs. He tends to be short with answers for most interviews, but with Lottie it's different. Not once has it felt like he is being interviewed. He's not sure if that's a good or bad thing. "It's...good. You know, making sure everything works. Good, fun."

She's cheery with her questions like the kid who constantly raises their hand in class but she's endearingly earnest and the way she scribbles notes in her little notepad makes it feel so much more authentic than when someone sits a tape recorder in on their conversation.

She watches soundcheck in the same way. She'll write a little note at the end of each song but then she'll rest in her chair and observe the full play out.

Backstage, Alex separates himself and Lottie from the rest of the group, which is notable. He wishes they were walking around still, escaping all their responsibilities just like they were doing in Brussels. He supposes that's growing up.

Lottie says, "It's good. Last time I was a bumbling clueless girl with no idea of her future. Now, I'm a bumbling clueless woman with no idea of her future."

"Oh, come on, you have a great job. You're interviewing me and that might be one of the hardest tasks ever and you're doing amazing," Alex reassures.

She nods. "I know. I love my job but that's all I have. It's crazy when we were in Brussels, all I wanted was to figure out what I wanted to be. I finally did that and I feel just as lost."

"In what way?"

She thinks for a moment, deciding how she wants to form her words. "I wish I was like my old self more. You know, I used to be so hopeful, so romantic about the world. About myself. About the future. Now, I just think I'm going to be alone forever." She is quick to correct herself. "And—and I don't mean I have nobody. I have a great set of friends. I love my life but when I look toward the future, I see nothing. For so long, I didn't know what I wanted but there were always possibilities. Now, I don't know."

"I feel the same way," Alex confesses.

Lottie lifts her head in surprise. "Really?"

He nods. "It's what used to be so exciting about my life. Being in a new city every day and being able to set your own path. I still like most of that stuff but I feel behind everyone else in a way. You know, like how all the guys have kids and I don't think I'm ready for kids but should I be ready for kids? Do I want that? To be married? To have a family?"

"I don't think you're ever ready for that kind of thing. You are just ready for the feeling. You'll never be prepared enough for children that's what everyone says but I had a thought a while ago when, well, I had this pregnancy scare, which really was terrifying because the guy I was with is not a guy you want to have children with. My first thought for so long would have been 'I don't want children. I will not be birthing anything in my lifetime.' But when I had this scare, I think I liked the idea. Then, the test was negative and I breathed a huge sigh of relief." Alex chuckles at her dramatics as she talks with her hands. "But for those couple of minutes, I thought that being a mother wouldn't be so bad."

Alex smiles at her. "You'd be a great mother."

She looks up at him, all hopeful and disbelieving. "Do you really think so?"

Alex nods. "A few anti-depressants and you'll be fine."

Lottie rolls her eyes and raises her hands and starts moving her fingers. "Say stop."

"Stop."

She stops, extending her middle fingers only, flipping him off.

"That's good. Can I steal that?"

Lottie shrugs. "I don't have copyright on it."

A stagehand comes over and they realize how much time has escaped from them. Alex shuffles fixing his jacket as he stands, going into rockstar mode. "How'd I look?" He imitates a deep voice, gruffly and surly.

She giggles. "Like an asshole."

"You're so kind to me, Lottie."

"Maybe lose the jacket," she advises. Total professional opinion and not because he has three buttons loose on that white button-up that make her crave his skin. She's going too far, she knows, but she's a single woman. It's fine for her to observe.

Alex shakes his head and tightens his hands around the lapels. "I'm going to keep it on just to spite you." (He takes it off 4 songs in).

She walks him up the stairs to the stage but then says teasingly, "I'm going to watch from my assigned seat if that's alright with you."

He chuckles. "I'll look for you in the crowd."

She turns to leave and it's almost like she's fading from him all over again. Sure, they could get drinks after this and there's that rough plan for the Louvre tomorrow, but the image of her back to him walking away strikes something in him. "Hey, Lottie!" He calls out.

Alex catches her before she walks down the stairs. She turns around, curious eyes, curious smile. He's 21 and he's on a train to Brussels. He's 32 and he's in a cafe in Paris. No more what could have been. He knows.

"I think it would have worked out."

Lottie looks at him from across the wing. He toys with his fingers, hopeful eyes, hopeful smile. She's 21 and she's on a train platform in Brussels. She's 32 and she's backstage at a concert in Paris. No more doubts. She knows.

"I think so too."

a/n: part 3? i don't know. maybe...

#alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner fluff #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #junedenim #alex turner smut

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rqbossman · 3 months ago

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Hello Mr Bossman! (and possibly anyone else who reads this)

Its an honour to be here, I have a few questions. First i appologise for the long paragraph, you may dismiss it for the questions at the bottom. For context, i am here after finishing TMA and being up to date with TMAP, i then went over and listened to RQG, and have just finished listening to Epilogue 3 and might i just say, good sir I am grateful for your podcasts. I am currently just a few months away from my final exams of High School, and as someone who even just 1 year ago was very lost, struggling with school and being just overwhelmed. TMA isnt exactly comforting, but the characters and plot managed to serve as a good form of escapism while sorting myself out. I found my self engaging more in creative things that i had originally put aside in favour of maths and science (which i hated but thought i needed to do). I started drawing again, even if just fanart. and i found things going well. By finding podcasts, story telling and these communities have helped me in my own understanding of what i want in life. I got an ADHD diagnosis earlier this year, and almost directly after started RQG and as my first hyperfixation (that i was aware of as an hyperfixation) gosh dang it hit hard. (in a good way). Ive been able to do so much more creative writing and drawings, and got re-involved with a small dnd group with some friends who i played one game with almost 4 years ago now. So overall, inspirational sounds cringe, but it was. Im doing my best with the upcoming exams, but trying to get in to Medicine is not my only prority, and the fact ive been re-introduced to my first love (Literature and story telling), im planning to go do an Arts degree and i know i wouldnt have been able to confidently make this decision, or even have survived this long in the school system without the work you and your coworkers do. Now the sap is out of the way, Question time! (if you could answer even just one of these questions it would be so cool)(they go in order of RQ relevant to random stuff)(dont feel pressured to answer all/any. i know i wrote alot): 1. what would you say is the best way to draft out a long-form story. (with "Erasing the Line" as an example) Did you start at the end, with the links to the overarching plot.

2. When working with the players (in a form of TTRPG), what did you do to make sure you didnt miss relevant timing of plot points/ avoid creating spoilers while still giving enough detail?

3. What are good places to start with making a job out of storytelling/voice acting/audio etc. In the case of RQ, how is this a job and where do i sign up please! /j (what i mean is, how is best way/how did you find all the people involved and was there a common path that you were all on before getting to where you are now?) 4. Do you have recommendations for Terry Pratchett Books, i may be an literary-leaning student, but it seems i have never actually properly read any of his books. so where is best place to start?/What did you read first?

5. Similar authors or similar inspirations? Did you have a favourite podcast you listen to in your free time that you havnt had a hand in producing/directing/working on. 6. Favourite song/album/artist. And more specifically, what you like listening to in background when doing either writing or (for ttrpg) character research/game planing. 7. Since the olympics are on at the moment, what has been your favourite sport to watch, if you have been watching at all. Thank you for your time :)

Thankyou for all the kind words. Knowing our work is helping people really keeps our engines fired up. Let's see if I can't answer your questions: 1. I "sandbox" which is where I just shove everything I can think of into an unorganised bullet point list. Characters, setting, plot, all of it in one big mess. Then I decide what type of story you want to tell, copy and paste to a new document and then start to organise the thoughts (with the sandbox on standby if new stuff comes in I don't know what to do with). I think of it like scultping, you cut away bits and reshape until something comes out the other end that is story shaped. Only then do I attempt to build the sandcastle and put something coherant together like a synopsis or scratch draft etc.

2. Very tricky. I did a complete review and update of all notes after each recording session and don't forget the audio eas edited. I made lots of gaffs that you never heard as audience.

3. I contacted anyone I could convince to take part and just proved I was serious by overworking. I don't reccomend that route. Unfortunately it really is "who" you know. That doesn't mean chase established professionals as much as it means you need to get out there and associate with other up-and-comers who match your vibe. For me the route was long and windy and not a particularly good example. 4. I normally recommend people do not read his books in publication order. Don't get me wrong, its wonderful watching his craft grow from one title to the next but I would recommend new readers tip their toe into his later works to see if they like where he ended up before committing the time. I often recommend 'Monstrous Regiment' as people's first one. My favourite though is 'Thief of Time.'

5. I don't get much time to listen to podcasts in the last couple of years. I used to listen to a lot of non fiction. 'Stuff you Should Know' and that ilk. I also read a fair amount of classic YA fiction to unwind (Windinsger trilogy, Bartimeous, stuff like that.) 6. Paul Simon's Graceland but when working I assemble a playlist for each seperate project that is tonally appropriate. If I really need to focus I listen to Classical Minimalism. Or the Old School Runescape soundtrack. I'm allowed to be ecclectic. 7. I am actually in an incredibly busy work crunch at the moment so haven't seen any of it!

#alexander j newall #honest #rusty quill #personal life #advice

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emberfrostlovesloki · 1 month ago

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Criminal Minds October Prompt List - whump

Banner by @theshyshewolf

Good evening loves! We made it to October! This is a big deal for me because it marks me being back on Tumblr for a whole year writing for Criminal Minds. Also, very exciting because October means WHUMP, which is my favorite type of fic to write! This prompt list is inspired by the always amazing, @imagining-in-the-margins, who always make the best prompt lists. I won’t write for all of my prompts, but I might for a few. For obvious reasons the theme for this list is whump; however, I’m not a huge no-happy-ending type person, so if you want to take a prompt and give it a happy ending instead of a tragic one, you have my full approval. After all, this list is just to inspire a thought or idea.

The rules for using these prompts are that there are no rules! You could use any Criminal Minds characters, OCs, reader inserts, etc. You could draw, write, make mood boards, or imagine anything else. I have included 30 prompts for each day of the month. I also added some character/episode-specific prompts too. If any of these prompts inspire you to create, I’d love to be tagged to see what you have made. This is all just for fun. I wish everyone a great start to the month. Please know I’m proud of you wherever you are right now - Love Levi ❤️

You can find all the prompts below the cut [also, please read the tags to avoid any triggering content in the prompts.]

General Prompts

Character A tells character B they are no longer in love with them.

Character A dies from their injuries on a case and makes a last confession to character B.

Character A is forced to kill Character B due to the case/revenge etc.

Character A wants to apologize to Character B, but they don’t get the chance.

Character A suffers from an ED and gets hospitalized for it, risking their job.

A case where one of the team gets psychologically tortured.

A member of the team gets partially/fully paralyzed.

Character A loses a pet they have had since childhood.

Character A’s home/apartment gets targeted and is burned down. They end up losing everything important to them.

Character A goes on a date and ends up humiliated (Character B comforts them after.)

Character A who has claustrophobia ends up buried alive.

Someone close to Character A becomes financially ruined, so Character A has to give up much of their savings putting them in a hard place.

Character A has decided to adopt, but at the last minute, the birth mother decides to keep the child.

Fic related to child/pregnancy loss.

Character A falls into drug psychosis and relives the worst day of their life over and over again.

Character A repeatedly dreams of Character B dying and one day it happens like they had dreamed.

Character A is in the park when a dog comes up to them, Character B is running around looking for their lost dog when they find their dog with a pretty stranger.

Character A who has hemophobia gets stabbed and has to deal with the wounds while waiting for help.

Fic with a clown killer/fear of clowns.

Character A realizes their patriotism was all misplaced and they’d been living a lie.

A therapist unsub takes on a BAU member as a client and slowly starts tormenting them about their choices.

Character A comes out to their friends/family and they face backlash (but they find their chosen family in the end.)

Characters A realizes that they are starting to think more and more like an unsub.

Character A has been working on a year-long project, but a rival ends up ruining it the day before it is due.

Due to a misunderstanding, a child goes “no contact” with their parent, Character A.

Character A has a nervous tick and is rudely told to stop doing it in the office/precinct/school.

Character A has trichotillomania and worries about what people will think about their hair loss.

Character A fails an important test, putting their degree/career/goals another year away.

Somedays for Character A life just doesn’t feel worth continuing.

Character A realizes their hero, Character B is a terrible person.

Sad/scary Halloween fic.

Character Specific Prompts

Hotch: S5 E9 100 - Aaron dies instead of Haley

Spencer: S2 E15 Revelations - JJ gets captured by Tobias instead of Reid

Penelope: S3 E9 Penelope - Garcia ends up not making it to the hospital

Emily S6 E 18 Lauren - After the trauma she’s been through Emily decides she can’t keep working at the BAU and has to tell Hotch.

Derek: S2 E15 Revelations - Spencer ends up dying and Derek finds his body.

Rossi: Describe a time that Rossi found out one of his ex-wives/wives have passed Away.

List of Phobias for Inspo (some of these could be for CM kids).

Acrophobia

Astraphobia

Nyctophobia

Phasmaphobia

Lockiophobia

Erotophobia

CM whump Mood board below

Text Break Banner (above) @cafekitsune

Photo Credits

Top: Left (@anjukaji) Center (@kathrynmh) Right (@anjukaji)

Middle: Left (@rsier) Center (@leftoverenvy) Right (@d-iorpjm)

Bottom: Left (@anjukaji) Center (@reidgif) Right (@anjukaji)

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wered0gs · 1 year ago

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I haven't seen a lot of discussion about RSD when it comes to ADHD discussions, so I thought I would do the honors since it's been affecting me for many years and I'd like people to know more about it!

I have had a diagnosis for ADHD but was never told- instead learning I had autism through therapy but still having some behaviors that I could never explain that just Happened.

I learned I had ADHD over the summer, and with that, severe rejection sensitive dysphoria.

before reading, please keep in mind that this is mostly talking from personal experience and some skimmed research! not experiencing RSD doesn't mean you do/don't have ADHD, and it may not appear like how it appeared for me. I don't only have autism + adhd either, so those may also contribute to any differences! ^^

RSD is the immense emotional pain after being criticized, rejected, or even teased (ignore my misspell in the panel). This rejection can be real or perceived, and we react like this because it hurts.

The pain can manifest as aggression, bringing on symptoms of depression (thoughts of s/h, isolation, demotivation, etc) and anxiety/panic attacks.

it can cause physical aliments like the above. For me, it causes my heartrate to skyrocket, heart palpitations, the feeling of being in a crisis, and extreme shaking to occur along with stomach pain.

(In fact, right now I'm going through it because making a post talking about this, despite having & dealing with it, makes me scared of other's opinions on it.)

RSD can also take the form of avoiding situations, people, or conversations where rejection or criticism is very possible.

Like other types of dysphoria, it is out of our control and hard to manage. It can last from days to weeks to months, all depending on both the trigger* and the individual.

I had a RSD episode that was on-and-off for a little over a year or two; getting more tame and bearable as it slowly drifted and stopped haunting my mind with the incident.

Compared to the other times my RSD was set off, this moment was a rather big moment in my life and ended up permanently changing me moving forward - which can be the reason why it lasted so long.

Despite how unbearable it can get, there are some ways to cope with it & lessen the effect it has.

Communicate - If you need time to process something that's told to you, you should say so (as difficult as it is). Tell the person(s) involved about your RSD, how you need time to digest information like this and take some time to relax. Trying to respond to the information while going through the head of the dysphoria will be very rough and might not be what you truly want to say.

Distract - This is really useful for me personally! Do something that grabs your attention or occupies your mind. One of RSD's main symptoms is rumination, thinking of something over and over again. I usually listen to music, draw, or play a game that won't frustrate me - like minecraft! (i'd say rain world but some of you would call me a maniac /lhj)

Perspective - This may require some communication, but it can really help and connect with others. See what the involved people thought / perceived, explain, talk. This doesn't always have the chance to end in rainbows and rekindling but at least you understand. Sometimes simply hearing the person explain their own side is enough to ease my RSD, being able to have someone explain themselves to me so i can understand them better.

I also wanna point out the "don't take it personally" thing that people try to use to deal with it isn't something i agree with since we're going to take it personally at first regardless. Later on, not really, but you're trying to cope with the symptoms... telling someone (or yourself) that they're too sensitive & over-reacting is the worse thing you could do.

With time, you can even begin to build up your 'armor' and be able to sustain yourself in situations you might get hurt in. Of course, some things may be able to sneak past and hurt you more than you expect, but at the end of the day, you're trying your best to go about it the best you can while taking so many blows. you're doing great.

OK i dont have a lot more to add so if anyone else would like to talk about their experiences, please feel free! Character showcased here was my beloved fursona Shiki! i'm just a little neurodivergent + black artist from new york :]

hope you enjoyed it! sorry for the long post </3

#long post #rsd #adhd rsd #rejection sensitive dysphoria #neurodiversity #digital art #digital illustration #sfw furry #furry art #digital drawing #furry character #furry oc #furry artist #procreate #furry

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wolvesofinnistrad · 7 months ago

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Read on Ao3 Here.

Its been about 6 months.

6 of the best months of a relationship Buck has ever had. And its not even about it being a guy, discovering his bisexuality. Its just... Tommy.

Hes great in so many ways, and the dynamic is so different that for the first time Buck has been able to relax, not always feel like hes chasing after someone. Actually, hes found out he quite likes being the one that gets chased, romanced, flirted with.

Everything is going great and hes even, in the back of his mind, been starting to think this might be it, this might be a long term thing after all which he'd have never expected. And then Eddie fucks it all up by telling him his most recent girlfriend, Beatrice or something Buck honestly hasn't kept track lately, broke up with him because quote "i can never have a place in your life when you've got Buck so entrenched in it."

Hes never had anyone imply that his and Eddies friendship, the little family hes made with Eddie and Chris, is somehow wrong or off-putting. Eddie was more annoyed than anything and didn't seem to care. But Buck... Buck got worried. Not because he cared about what Betty or whatever thought, but because he wondered if it wasn't true. If maybe their dynamic would scare people off eventually, and did that mean it would scare Tommy off as well?

So that's how hes sitting here, curled under a blanket on the couch, a new sectional he bought because Tommy's back didn't get enough support in the last one, spilling his guts to his boyfriend. When hes done he looks up at Tommy, expecting, well, something. Anger, confusion, heartbreak, but... Its not there. Tommy smiles at him, placing a hand on his leg over the blanket. "Evan... i understand how important Eddie and Chris are to you. I would never make you choose. I would never try to cut them out or deny you that."

Buck takes that in sits with it for a moment but finds it doesn't fully alleviate his concerns.

"But what if... i mean, if were together, you know, for the long haul. It wont affect you? What i have with them?"

Tommy smiles, he looks away for a minute and laughs.

"Can i be really honest with you Evan?" He says, meeting his eyes now.

Buck nods.

Tommy inches closer, drawing up one of his legs beneath him. "When we first started dating i knew you all were close, but i didn't really understand until later that you were a 'family.'" He pauses, thinks. "But when i did, yeah, there was a moment i was a little worried where i fit in. Where there was space for me in your life. And then i had an idea, and once i wrapped my head around it that way, re-conceptualized how i looked at things, it didn't scare me anymore."

Now that's surprising to hear, Buck wants to know what could have so easily changed his mind. "And what was it that made you not worry then?"

Again Tommy laughs. "I started thinking of Eddie like he was your ex husband."

Bucks eyes bug out a bit. "My what?!"

Tommy shrugs. "It was easier in my head than just saying your best friend who you're co-parenting with. I've dated guys with kids, with exes before. It wasn't a stretch to think of it like Eddie was your ex and Chris was your kid from another relationship. Once i put it in my head like that, i didn't worry about whether we could have a life together. You'll always be tied to them, but it didn't mean you couldn't have a life with me to." He reached over and took Bucks hand, squeezed it tight. "And honestly Evan? I'm starting to think I'd like that. A life with you."

Despite how weird it is to think of his little family with Eddie and Chris that way, how Tommy sees it, there's something relief and happiness coursing through him. Knowing that Tommy's already figured out how he can keep some of the most important people in his life and incorporate them into a new life hes building for himself. For him and Tommy.

"Evan?" Tommy asks, scootching closer on the couch, their knees knocking together.

Buck realizes its been too long since he's said anything, but when he speaks he simply says "move in with me."

For all of a second Tommy looks shocked, then elated, then seemingly guarded. "Evan... You don't have to lock me down or something i just exp-"

Buck cuts him off, "its not that. Trust me, I've done that before. Held on so tight, clung because i was scared of being left behind. This isn't that. This is..." he stops, lets his mind and body calm enough to get this right. "This is me holding on because I don't want to let go. Because i want to stay, right here, with you. I'm not scared of being left anymore, I'm scared of not putting down roots. Of not letting the best boyfriend I've ever had,"

"Only," Tommy interjects.

"Best," Buck reiterates, gripping his hand tighter, boyfriend I've ever had know that i want this. I want him. I want a life with you too. And hearing that i think, it was just the final thing falling into place, the last weight weighing on me. I... I've been thinking of asking you for a while, but i wanted so bad to get it right this time. And i think i am, but Tommy." He looks into his eyes. "Tommy you're the first time I've felt like if i got it wrong it would still be okay, we could make it work anyway. So move in with me. Please. Or.. heck, we could get a place of our own if you like?"

Tommy kisses him then. Its slow and passionate but all consuming. Its like nothing hes ever had before. And it feels so right. For once it feels Right.

A week later Tommy sends him a photo of a house for rent. Rent to own actually.

"Wheres that at?" He asks, because its a nice place, he can see the potential.

"Its literally a block away from Eddie's house, I saw it as I was driving away." He says, and Buck can almost hear the laugh and smug smile miles away.

"Its perfect." He writes back. But what he means is, 'you're perfect.'

#bucktommy #kinkley #evan buck buckley #evan buckley #tommy kinard #this is a bucktommy endgame fic dont hate me but im into them rn #my fic #fanfiction

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hannahssimblr · 2 months ago

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“I do. You always look pretty. Every time I see you, I think that.”

With this, she bursts into a flood of fresh tears. “Oh God, you’re so nice.”

“Look, I know this isn’t helpful, probably, but if things were different, if I wasn’t leaving, then maybe… maybe things would have turned out another way. I know you don’t think much of yourself, but I think you’re a great person. You’re really sweet and sensitive and talented and you make me laugh, and from my point of view anyway, you light up every room you walk into. Whoever the next person is that gets to be with you is lucky.”

“But it won’t be you.” Her mouth is so down-turned at the edges that she looks almost cartoony. Those looks are one thing I will miss most about her. If I were lucky enough to know her for longer, I think I’d fill a hundred sketchbooks just drawing the expressive shapes of her face.

I simply shake my head, and my arms are outstretched and ready to catch her as she falls into them for another round of sobs. There’s nothing I can do. I learned this a long time ago. Sometimes all you can do is hold someone until they’re ready to be let go again. I’ve spent whole nights holding Ivy like this, and I’ll spend hours with Evie if it’s what she needs.

Into her hair, I murmur an admission I have never made to another person. “Leaving is going to be so horrible. Sometimes I can’t think too much about it. Like, I know I won’t be that far away, but it’s going to change everything. I have amazing friends here that will be so hard to leave behind. And my family, obviously. I have a sister who’s nine. Ivy. She’s in that stage where she’s obsessed with me. She wants to do everything I do… Jesus, it’s going to be rough. I’ve never lived away from home before. I don’t really know how to be a functioning adult who, like, pays electricity bills.”

“It will be hard at first, but then eventually it will be really good,” she sniffles. “You’ll meet all these cool new people and you’ll forget all about everyone here.”

“Is that your way of telling yourself that I’ll forget about you, too?”

“You will.”

“I won’t. We’ll still be friends. I’m not great at keeping up with people, and I don’t use Facebook that much…”

“So you’re saying we’ll be friends, like, on a symbolic level, but we’ll never actually talk to each other ever again.”

I laugh. “Shut up and let me finish before you start getting cross with me. I’ll email you. Old school, like.”

“Hm. That will be nice, like sending letters.”

“Exactly.”

She squeezes me, and I squeeze her back, gazing down at her face, red nose and smudged makeup, and I still think she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in real life. “How are you doing?”

“Very badly.”

“Well, one day, you won’t care about me at all. And maybe when you go to college, in like a few months, a year, or after that, you’ll look back on this and think ‘oh, ew, I can’t believe that when I was seventeen, I liked that lanky guy with the weird accent. That was so embarrassing.’ And you’ll wonder why you ever cried over this at all.”

Her face becomes fierce, like she wants to be serious, but it’s hard not to smile when she sticks her lip out like that. If I was being stupider, I might like to push my thumb into that crease between her eyebrows. “You don’t have a weird accent.” She insists. “Well, okay, you do, but I like it. And there’s nobody on earth that’d be embarrassed to have ever liked you.”

“Okay, Evie.” I chuckle. “Lets see how you feel in a year.”

“A year?”

“Yeah, one year from now, I’ll email you, like I will every single week, mind, and you’ll roll your eyes and think, ‘oh God, him again?’ I’d be willing to bet on it.”

“You underestimate my feelings.”

She overestimates them, more likely, because we’re young and stupid and that’s just what we do, but it’s fine. She’ll learn, like I did with Michelle and all the girls that came before her, that the things that feel raw and real in the moment, the people you swear you’ll spend your life loving and wanting and missing, you forget them in the end.

We lapse into silence as the grasshoppers chirp in the long grass. The cleaner comes by to pick some of the rubbish nearby and makes small talk with me about various happenings at the festival. Ignoring Evie, firmly locked in my arms with her damp cheek against my chest.

When he finishes, and the rubbish is gone, and the music in the distance goes silent, it is just us and the insects and the blanket of dew, and the smell of lingering summer in the air. Evie shivers, and I draw back to look into her sad little face.

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

“I think you are.”

She smiles, and her teeth chatter. “If I say so, then you’ll make me go back to the tent.”

“We have to go back eventually, don’t we?” I take the opportunity to stretch out one of my legs, which is cramping. “What time is it?”

“Don’t care.”

“It’s got to be… I don’t know. You can see the sun rising a bit.”

“If we leave, then it’s over,” she whispers.

I murmur, “It’s over, anyway.”

Green eyes skim my face in one last pursuit of a truth they won’t find. And then she sighs with resignation. “You’re leaving.”

“Yeah, I’m going away.”

“It’s just sad.”

“Of course. For me too.” And I’m not sure there’s much left to say. “Come on. Let’s just end this day.”

She doesn’t protest. Climbing to our feet, we make our way back towards the campsite, hand in hand. Though she’s not my girlfriend and never will be, it feels good to pretend while I can.

It’s lights out in our circle, embers smouldering in a campfire that we missed, and someone’s, Joe’s, Kasper’s, snores float from their tent. Evie’s is wet with morning dew as I unzip it for her with the same chivalry as any man opening a door for a lady. She shuffles inside, and the moonlight shows up the goosebumps on her arms and legs. Claire is not inside, her shoes stacked neatly outside Shane’s tent instead.

Evie grabs my wrist before I zip her inside. “Do you want to come and stay with me?” She whispers. “We won’t do anything. I just think it’d be nicer than being alone.”

We will do something. I’ve been a teenage boy for long enough to know the score, and tempting as it is to have one final, movie-magic experience with her to round off the summer, I know it is different for her than it is for me.

I shake my head. “Not a good idea, Evie. Sorry. Goodnight.”

The last thing I see is the dismay on her face before I zip her inside the tent, and head for my own.

There is Jen, cocooned in her sleeping bag. She stirs as I fumble with my clothes.

“You’re back,” her voice cracks with sleep. I ignore her, as the anger I felt for her in the woods resurfaces with a vengeance. My heart thuds with the memory.

“What time is it?” she says, and again, I say nothing. I struggle into bed and turn my back to her.

“Jude?”

“Talk to me in the morning.” I whisper sharply, and I shut my eyes, willing away the heaviness of the day, and all the things I know are still to come.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

#lucky boy 2010 #WAH #okay done with the festival now thank god

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coldresolve · 7 months ago

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Hi, I'm Elias, I'm a 26yo trans guy from Denmark. I write shit, I draw shit, and I get into unneccesarily tedious arguments with anons about torture apologia in fiction. I think that sums up my vibe

I've made a few posts about this already, but tl;dr: the Danish NHS has been refusing to treat me for gender dysphoria for the better part of a year now because they've deemed me "unstable." Unstable how, you ask?

I have depression.

No, that is quite literally it. Full context under the readmore.

Fighting to be heard and having the door repeatedly slammed in your face sucks peak ass, and I'm done now. The NHS is so lackluster when it comes to trans people, all of a sudden, it makes perfect sense to me why 31% of transgender Danes get HRT outside of the NHS.

And I'd rather not have to turn to the black market, so rn I'm hoping to get a prescription with GenderGP. The issue is, I'm poor as fuck and can't afford the start-up fees for the forseeable future - unless I do something like this. I hate asking others for money, and I hate it even more if I'm not in a place where I can give anything in return. But I also recognize I'm in over my head with this, so. If you've got a cent or two to spare, I'd be grateful as hell.

I've mathed it out, and my best estimate is that I need around 3500,- DKK / $500 USD. Again, this is just to cover the initial subscription as well as mandatory consultations/blood tests. I should be able to cover the prescriptions on my own, as well as further tests/consultations down the line, so I'm hoping this is a one-and-done sort of thing.

paypal: [email protected]

Also, important note. We're in a global cost of living/housing crisis and this isn't a strict life-or-death situation. If you're in a tough spot right now, don't send me anything, that'd just make me feel worse about asking. I appreciate the thought but you gotta take care of your own needs first. Peace and take care ✌️

So I've been dealing with major depressive disorder since I was 11. It runs in my family, and as you might imagine, after 15 years of living with this thing, I've learned how to manage it pretty well by now. I know what it's like to genuinely be unstable - and if I were in a place like that, no problem, I'd be open about that. I wouldn't be making decisions like this. I know myself. You kind of have to when you're dealing with a chronic mental illness.

Here's where I am right now: I've got no suicidal ideation, been clean from self harm for four years, no psychosis, no inpatient admissions for the last five years. I live on my own, take my meds, and I'm keeping my life in order. Depressed, yes, but about as stable as someone with my history can get, and ask anyone who knows me, me wanting to get on HRT isn't some spur of the moment decision. I've done a fucking decade of soul searching, and a few years ago, I finally (duh) reached the conclusion that living as a woman isn't something I can even fake being content with - believe me, I've tried. I'm well aware of the scope of medical transition, but I'm settled in who I am. And I just want to live like me now. That's the only thing I want.

If it counts for anything, my partner and family have supported me through this, which has been priceless obviously, but it also goes to show that me saying "I'm capable of making medical decisions" isn't purely a personal assessment. I'm pretty sure they'd speak up if they thought I was being unstable about it or whatever

But the CPH clinic for sexology, who have consistently refused to listen to me telling them all this, have somehow magically aquired divine knowledge on my capacity to make adult decisions about my own body, and on the basis that I have MDD, they're refusing to even set me up for a preliminary interview - one that would preceed a 6 month full-team psych evaluation before the prospect of HRT would even come up. They said in their latest refusal that they wont accept another referral from me until a year after my last in-clinic conversation with them, which happened on October 24th, 2023 - meaning that with the NHS, if they accepted my referral come October (which I don't have much faith they will), the earliest I could possibly get on HRT is April 2025. Arguing for my own sanity would've sucked enough as is, but it's made harder by the fact that they won't even talk to me. You're a trans guy who would like healthcare, but you have a mental illness? Good luck, you're on your own. Long live the Danish bureaucracy.

Dysphoria makes me fucking miserable. I'd rather not have to write a sob story here, and tumblr is like 80% trans people so I guess a good portion of you can imagine why waiting another year for the possibility of maybe-perhaps-if-all-goes-well getting on HRT would not actually make me less miserable about it.

So. I'm sitting down next week along with my mom to file a formal complaint with the patient's rights committee. I don't know what to call this other than some form of discrimination on the basis of mental illness, because nothing in my current situation would prohibit me from making medical decisions for myself. And I honestly don't think that a complaint is going to do much, but I intend to make it obnoxiously long, because by law, a specialized doctor and an attorney have to read through the whole thing. If you can't beat 'em, make 'em read 50 pages of you going into detail about why you think they suck, right

And yeah, like I said, in the meantime, I'm trying to go via GenderGP. It'd be nice if my poor ass could get HRT via the NHS instead of having to pay out of pocket, but apparently the bar for entry requires that you 1) have gender dysphoria to the point where it impedes normal function and 2) somehow aren't mentally ill. Who wrote these rules? Some 60yo cis guy in a suit in Christiansborg, I imagine.

Feel free ask about anything relating to this whole situation, I'll be as open as I can about it, cause I understand that if you're going to give money to someone, you want to know what it's going to. Though I hope you understand I'm not going to doxx myself more than I already have now, or give you my entire medical history - only what's relevant to my current situation.

I know Denmark is a welfare state and on a global scale we're doing alright, but I hope you don't mind if I say this: This shouldn't be happening as often as it does. Fuck the Danish NHS.

#other #slight self doxx ig #idec ill post my bare ass for testosterone #do rb if u want but also no pressure. i want this whole thing to be on a want-to only basis alright

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writemywaytoyourheart · 1 year ago

Text

Bedeviled | Chapter 12b: Apple (continued)

warnings for this part *contains SPOILERS*: suGgEsTive content, summoning demons (do not), pregnancy, miscarriage, severe depression, manipulation, major heart break I'm sorry, sickness, death, loss, mentions of torture.

this part can get heavy, pls read at your own discretion.

WC part 2: 13.2k

read 12a first...HERE

Just as you suspected, Jungkook spent every waking hour hunting down any and every little thing that might lead him closer to a way to stop the curse.

He spoke to people in the village, who led him to the towns over, who then led him to the towns just a few further down.

Yoongi stayed with you a lot upon Jungkook’s request. He didn’t want to leave you alone, but he refused to give up. There wasn’t any effort he didn’t go to trying to save you.

There were many tears.

Many nights full of enraged screaming when it was thought no one could hear the soul behind the desperate cries for help, when he was all on his own; looking at the stupid fire he made to keep himself warm on the nights he was away, looking for help.

He didn’t bother throwing those thoughts into the flames. They were what kept him going.

You already had your fill of rage and sorrow over the past year; although it still ate at you internally, turning your stomach to knots every waking moment.

Jungkook, on the other hand, continuously held out hope that perhaps he was trapped in a nightmare that he would soon wake from.

He would go to you, and you would not be worn down with the symptoms that continued to grow worse. The dark circles under your eyes would not be there, only the beautiful shining light in your irises that could chase away even the nastiest storm.

You would not be sitting on the floor and trying to figure out how to draw to pass the time, but instead, running through the sunlit forest and climbing the apple tree.

He would find you in the clearing and wait just for a moment.

A few seconds to admire the beauty in front of him, the sun shining on your fingers as they reached for the clouds.

You would smile at him.

And everything would be okay.

And he would love you.

The next year passed much like that, Jungkook never resting.

He would come back bearing ointments claiming to cure any ailment, prayers that would heal even the sickest. Nothing worked. You could see it wearing him down, the dark circles under his eyes growing each night he didn’t sleep.

“Jungkook, please stop this.”

He looked at you from where he was finishing putting together a satchel.

“What do you mean?” He asked, turning back to tighten the clasp before swinging it over his shoulder.

“You know what I mean,” You whispered, frustration building up inside you.

You were so tired, all you wanted was to be with him.

He had missed your seventeenth birthday, and if he left again, you were going to miss his nineteenth. The poor boy was in tears for days after not getting back until the day after your birthday. The guilt consumed him for weeks, he almost couldn’t handle it.

You really didn’t want to see him like that again.

“I found something, I know it’ll work this time.”

“What is it?” You gritted out between clenched teeth.

“Something that even the curse can’t fight,” He sounded more hopeful than he had in months, “It will work, Apple.”

You stared at him with furrowed brows, “What is it?”

“A flame,” He said quietly, not looking you in the eye.

“What kind of flame?”

He finally looked at you, “It doesn’t matter-”

“It does to me.”

Jungkook sighed, “It’s called the Flame of Immortality. If you just trust me-”

“What?” You were beyond confused and more than a little stressed out, “That sounds like trouble, Jungkook…how did you come to know about this?”

He looked at you steadily before whispering, “Desperation will lead you to many secrets.”

You swallowed, “Don’t. I don’t want you to-”

“Apple, you can’t just tell me not to-”

“I don’t want to be immortal!” You were getting frantic, “Not without you-”

“It might work on two people, I won’t know until I learn more.”

After a moment of tense silence, he said quietly, “I’m not going to give up.”

“I’m not asking you to,” You took a deep breath, “I just-...”

It was silent save for your heavy breathing. You put a hand to your head, the room suddenly feeling as if it was tilting.

“Apple?”

You didn’t answer him, focusing too hard on not toppling over. Despite your best efforts, you fell forward, quickly losing consciousness.

Jungkook caught you before you could tumble off the bed, holding you in his arms as he lowered to the ground.

You came to a minute later, curled up in his lap as he hugged you.

“I’ve got you,” He whispered tearfully, hand caressing your hair.

“Jungkook,” You spoke quietly.

“Mm?”

“I miss my best friend,” You gripped his clothes tightly in your fist, “Please, don’t leave me again.”

He closed his eyes, a few tears sliding down his cheeks as he put his chin on your head, holding you close.

“Okay.”

He sounded so defeated.

You hated to make him feel like that, but you were scared to be alone. You didn’t want him to leave anymore, especially because you really didn’t know how much longer you had.

“I love you,” You whispered, messing with the sash on his waist as you continued to rest in his hold.

“I love you too, Apple.”

You smiled and closed your eyes, breathing deeply.

“Can we climb the apple tree?”

He gulped, hating that he was unsure of granting your request. After a minute, he couldn’t bear the thought of denying you.

“Of course.”

He held your hand the whole way there.

“Want to swing first?” His voice was pitched higher, clearly trying to sound more positive. You smiled at the old swing, the rope handles fraying a little.

“Yes, please.”

You sat down, giggling as he pushed you gently, your hands gripping the rope tightly. You looked over to the bush where you always imagined the invisible person to be and smiled.

I’m okay.

They knew you would be.

Then you looked up towards the sky, seeing a few rain clouds floating.

Don’t cry for me, I’m okay.

The grass was soft against your feet.

Jungkook helped you climb up to your sitting spot, settling in across from you and smiling at the pure joy on your sweet face.

The wind was gentle on your sensitive skin.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked after watching you smile at the clouds for a few minutes. You looked at him, a light in your eyes that hadn’t been there for over two years.

“I want to get married.”

His heart clenched in his chest, “You do?” He whispered.

You nodded, practically glowing.

___________________

The wedding had taken place in Jungkook’s old home. Tradition was to do it in the bride’s home, but that wasn’t an option.

You saw her that day, before the ceremony. She passed by as you were walking through the village. There wasn’t a single sign that she cared you were there. She simply walked on, not even sparing you a glance.

That was the last time you ever saw your mother.

Jungkook was his sweet and gentle self the whole day. By the time you got back to the shed, you were practically vibrating with joy. The wedding ceremony was beautiful, all you could’ve ever wanted.

Your wedding night was even more so, and the next morning, he was right by your side.

“Happy birthday,” You whispered with a smile as he kissed your forehead.

“Thank you,” He scrunched his nose at you, then he leaned down and placed a sleepy kiss on your lips, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, Jungkook.”

He knew you were, but that didn’t calm his fears.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” You whispered, gaze never leaving his beautiful dark eyes. The way you looked at him like he was your whole world made his heart ache.

“I know I haven’t,” He whispered back playfully, making you laugh.

_________

It was only a few weeks after your wedding that Jungkook left again.

He hadn’t told you.

In fact, he had purposely made Yoongi go and distract you. You were almost hysterical when you figured out what happened, your cousin had to physically keep you from storming out of the shed.

It wasn’t a rundown abandoned shack anymore; Jungkook had worked on it since you left your mother’s and stayed there. He worked tirelessly with you helping where you could- mostly holding things for him and being his emotional support buddy- until it felt like a home; somewhere you two could live comfortably for many years.

It didn’t feel like home that day. You were so angry with him for leaving you alone again.

Yoongi tried to calm you, tried to explain how Jungkook must be feeling; his wife and best friend slowly dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“He said he wouldn’t leave!” You cried into your hands, “He lied to me!”

“____,” Yoongi held your shoulders, “If he thought you would die without him, he would not have gone. He has hope, you need to let him give some to you, too.”

You clenched your jaw, fighting the tears back.

You felt betrayed.

If you were in his place, you wouldn’t give up either. But you could feel yourself slipping away. You wouldn’t be able to fight it much longer.

Your body was tired, more than you let on. No matter how much you told it to woman up and be strong, it continued to fail.

At that point, it was normal for you to have fainting episodes daily.

You didn’t let your cousin know, but your legs had begun to swell a little in the past few weeks. Your husband never hesitated to rub them gently in the mornings to help with the swelling.

You wouldn’t have told him either, but of course he noticed. He was married to you.

Jungkook meant well by leaving, but he promised you he wouldn’t, and he broke that promise.

You would never forgive him if he left you to die alone.

Jungkook lit the fire, then stepped back, holding the herbs tightly in his sweaty fist.

Out of nowhere, there was a sudden whisper of warning somewhere to his right, making him flinch and look over. There was a slight breeze, rustling the leaves. When he saw no one, he turned back to the task at hand.

Closing his eyes, he gulped as he tossed the bundle into the fire, whispering the words he was told to say.

A moment passed, but nothing felt different.

He opened his eyes, anger seeping into his chest as the tears burned; threatening to spill.

That old man was just insane, he should never have listened-

“Well if it isn’t another desperate little human.”

Jungkook flinched and turned around, coming face to face with a tall dark-haired man; his beauty unnatural. There were large black feathered wings upon his back, resting while not in flight.

“Are you a demon?” Jungkook whispered, his eyes falling to the tattoo on the man’s bicep.

A white rose…dead, and being strangled by a serpent.

“I’m not just a demon,” He whispered with a smirk, “I’m the demon.”

Jungkook wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Lucifer,” He practically hissed as he observed the human in front of him, “And you are?”

“Jungkook.”

“Well, Jungkook,” The demon called Lucifer smiled menacingly.

There was a split second where Jungkook saw him glance over his shoulder as if seeing something behind him, then his smile grew, “What can I do for you?”

The young man swallowed, “I need the Flame of Immortality.”

“I see. And what use would that be to you?”

“There’s someone I need to save,” Jungkook whispered.

Lucifer chuckled darkly, “Typical. And you think the Flame will save them?”

“It has to,” Jungkook grit his teeth, “I don’t have any other choice.”

“Well,” The tall man leaned closer, “What if you did?”

“What?”

“What if you had another choice, human. Would you take it?”

Jungkook blinked, then nodded, “If it means I can save her, then yes.”

The demon smirked as he watched the despicable mortal become more and more helpless even as they just stood there. Tears formed in his eyes, then slid down his cheek.

“What on earth did the big man do to you and your poor girl?” Lucifer whispered, feigning pity.

“She was cursed,” Jungkook wiped his nose, “She’s dying. I- I can’t live without her-”

He burst into tears and fell to his knees, heart aching more than it ever had as reality came crashing down on him.

If this didn’t work, he was going to lose you.

The demon watched him with a glint in his eye and a smirk on his handsome face, “What if I told you that I can cure her, and you won’t even need the Flame.”

Jungkook looked at him with wide eyes, “Can you?”

“Most definitely.”

“Please,” Jungkook choked out, “Please break the curse.”

“Oh, it isn’t a curse, silly boy.”

He looked up at the demon in confusion, “But-”

“It’s something she was born with,” He waved a hand dismissively, “A mere disease.”

“Oh,” Jungkook wiped at his eyes again, “But you can take it away?”

“Of course.”

Jungkook felt his heart rate increase as he realized that he had finally done it. He found a way to save you.

He broke down into sobs, “Please help me-”

"And what will you give me?"

There was another warning in his ear, frantic and pleading. Just a faint breath in the wind.

“Don’t do it.”

Jungkook trembled, his hands clasped as he tried to contain his tears enough to speak.

"I- I'll give you anything, just please save her-"

"Anything?"

The young man nodded frantically, bowing his head, "Whatever you wa-"

"How about your soul? A life for a life."

Jungkook was startled at that, looking back up at the demon.

"M-my soul?"

A simple nod in reply, nothing else. No negotiations.

He gulped.

An image of you smiling at him, only four years old as you held the apple out, came to his mind.

“Jungkook, please-”

He nodded shakily, forcing himself to ignore the voice that whispered its last warning, "Ok."

A smirk spread on Lucifer’s face as he crossed his arms, the tattoo of the dead rose on his outer bicep stretching as he did, "Looks like we have a deal.”

You blinked your eyes open, taking in a deep breath.

Was it morning already?

Sitting up, you rubbed at your eyes before looking around your tiny little home. You slept better than you had been for a while; it must be the bed that Jungkook spent almost a week making. He said it was long overdue, humble and shy as always when you praised his hard work.

You took another deep breath in, blowing it out in a large puff.

Just before getting out of the bed, your eyes landed on a beetle crawling across the covers. At first, you almost jumped out of the bed screaming.

After a moment to calm yourself, you looked at the small thing, minding its own business as it walked along slowly. It really wasn’t very big, maybe half the size of your pinky nail. Leaning down to look closer, you saw pretty gold patterns along its back, a vibrant green peeking out here and there.

“Oh, you’re quite pretty,” You whispered. The beetle paid you no mind as it continued on its way.

“You’ll die in here,” You said softly, gathering your bravery and leaning over to brush it gently into your hand, “There’s no food for you.”

It sat still in your palm, not moving as you brought it closer to get a better look. You smiled, keeping it safely in your left hand as you pushed the covers from you with your right and swung your legs around to get off the bed.

Just as you were moving to hop down, something made you freeze.

Your brows furrowed as you leaned down to look at your legs. Had the swelling gone down overnight? They looked…normal.

The past week, they had kept getting more swollen each day, to the point it was painful to walk. You never told Yoongi, and it was easy enough to keep it hidden under your long skirts. There was no reason to worry him. You had a feeling he knew that your time was coming soon anyway. He just refused to believe it.

You looked back at the beetle in your hand, “What do you think?”

Lowering your hand so he could see your legs, you gave him a moment to consider, then you brought him back up, “Do they look swollen to you?” After a moment, you nodded, “That’s what I thought too…we better get you outside.”

Once your bare feet hit the floor, you almost flinched at the fact that pain didn’t shoot through your legs at the contact. You had been expecting it.

Your eyes widened as you looked down, seeing your toes against the wooden floor. The simple white night dress hung down to mid shin, showing how normal your calves looked.

Taking in a long breath, you felt your lungs expand.

It didn’t hurt to breathe.

Tears sprung to your eyes as you looked at your little friend. Excitement that you were going to have a good day filled you as you couldn’t help but laugh. Without another thought, you ran out of the shed and into the sunlight.

The moment you stepped onto the velvety grass, you stopped short, still holding the beetle.

Twenty feet in front of you, Jungkook was there.

He looked worn out, but there was a smile on his face at the sight of you first thing after walking all day and night to get home.

Carefully, you bent down and shooed the beetle onto a leaf, then you straightened up and stared at the person you had feared you might not get to see again.

A few moments of silence passed, the two of you just looking at each other.

“Hi, Apple.” He finally whispered.

You didn’t say anything, just broke into a run.

He caught you as you flung yourself into him, tears springing to his eyes as he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you from the ground. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hugged him as tight as you could.

“I missed you,” He mumbled into your neck.

You couldn’t respond, all you could do was breathe shakily, never wanting to let go.

Jungkook adjusted so that his hands were under your bottom so he could better hold you. Once he felt you were secure, he carried you back inside your home and sat on the bed. Still, you said nothing, you just kept your head tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder, not moving yourself from his lap.

After a few more moments, you whispered, “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

Jungkook caressed your hair gently, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing.”

“I know,” You sniffled.

His hands ran along your sides and down your legs, pushing the nightgown up so he could run his palms along your thighs. He had missed your warmth for weeks, it felt almost unreal finally being back in your arms.

As he was running his hands up and down along the length of your legs, he suddenly stopped. You pulled back to see a look of confusion on his face as he glanced down to where his hand rested on your ankle.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Lay down for me for a second.”

You weren’t sure what he was getting at, but you still crawled off his lap and onto the bed. As soon as you were off of him, he turned around and looked at your legs, holding your ankle and slightly pushing up your skirt to better see them.

Your cheeks warmed.

It had been weeks since you two had done anything.

“Apple,” His voice sounded weak with emotion as his eyes flitted back to yours, “Can you take a deep breath for me, love?”

He watched closely as you took in a big breath, your chest expanding and deflating as you did so. Not a single cough passed your lips.

As you took another breath, you saw tears in his eyes, a look of pure disbelief on his face.

“You’re okay?”

“Hm?”

“Your leh-...your legs aren’t swollen,” He whispered, warm hand caressing your calf once more, “And you took a breath and it…it didn’t hurt you?”

You shook your head with a small smile, “It didn’t hurt me.”

“It worked,” He breathed, looking back into your eyes.

Your eyes shifted back and forth between his.

“What do you mean?”

“The curse...it’s gone.”

“Jungkook, what are you saying-”

Your words got cut off when he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

Laying back on the bed, you sighed into his mouth as he climbed over you, hands back to pushing at your dress.

You didn’t understand what had gotten into him or why he was crying as he ran his thumb in circles on your bare waist, deepening the kiss as he did. Whatever was going on, you weren’t going to fight it.

Jungkook’s breath shuddered as he moved back to look at you, then he leaned down again, unable to get enough of the taste of your lips.

Whatever would happen to him, it didn’t matter.

You were going to live.

At first, you didn’t believe him when he explained that you were no longer cursed. But as the weeks passed by and you only felt more and more alive, it started to hit.

He never said what really happened in detail, only that he found a cure. He didn’t know it was going to work until he came home and saw you.

Jungkook never hesitated to do anything with you. He wasn’t going to take time for granted ever again. There wasn’t a day in the following months that you didn’t go outside and run around, climbing trees and making him take you out on the boat.

Each day you felt stronger, even more so than before the symptoms started. It was like life was surging through you at new levels and shining from within. He could see the light in your eyes, the glow in your sweet face.

You were going to live.

____________________________________

It was May; Jungkook’s favorite month.

It was the month of your birth, nothing could ever top it. The world seemed a little brighter, a little more colorful; just a bit more full of purpose. You turned eighteen in the middle of the month, but the start of that day wasn’t as fun as you thought it would be. That morning you didn’t feel well. The two weeks leading up to your birthday you weren’t feeling well either.

You had missed your monthly course, but didn’t mention it to Jungkook. It was probably just late.

Jungkook was worried sick when it seemed you were constantly feeling nauseous in the mornings. He was terrified that the disease had come back. You assured him that you were fine, that it didn’t feel like it did before. You just ate something bad and it would let up soon.

But on your birthday when you couldn’t even keep rice down during breakfast, saying that it smelt funny and you couldn’t eat it, he insisted something was wrong. He had been begging you to go to the village and be seen for a while, in case it was something serious, but you hadn’t wanted to.

“Apple, please. Even if it’s just for me, to put my mind at ease,” He pleaded with you that morning for the hundredth time.

“Okay,” You sighed, “If you’ll feel better, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” He kissed you on the forehead, “Can I take you there on my way?”

You nodded, letting him help you up from the floor.

You smiled at Jungkook’s mother when she opened the door.

“Why, ____! How wonderful to see you!” She pulled you into a hug, smiling at her son over your shoulder.

“It’s so good to see you,” You whispered, hugging her back.

“I need to go to the town for some supplies, today is the only time I can,” Jungkook said before looking at you pointedly, “Apple wants to speak with you, if that’s alright.”

His mother ushered you inside, “Anytime, my dear. We’ll see you later, Jungkook!” Then she shut the thin door, not sparing another word for him.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he went on his way.

“My, how long has it been?” Your mother-in-law poured some tea into a small cup for you, smiling as you thanked her.

“At least a few months,” You said sadly, “I’m sorry I haven’t visited you.”

“Oh nonsense, nonsense,” She waved off your apology, “You two are meant to be enjoying time with each other, not worrying about coming back to this place.”

You knew she was never a fan of the people around here either. But she did a lot of good in the village with her knowledge of medicine.

“What did you want to talk about?” She asked before sipping her tea.

You took a drink of yours before clearing your throat a little, “I’ve been feeling a little off these days. Jungkook insisted I come to you.”

She laughed, “Of course, he did.”

You laughed with her, both of you knowing how stubborn he could be.

“Tell me about what’s been going on, dear.”

“Hey, I was expecting you to be at mother’s still,” Jungkook said as he came in the door of your home, “It scared me when you weren’t there.”

“Sorry,” You whispered, eyes locked on your hands.

“What’s wrong?” He set his things down on the table and walked over to kneel in front of you, “She said it was nothing to worry about when I asked. But she wouldn’t tell me, she insisted I come back and hear it from you.”

“I-...” You bit your lip, excitement bubbling up in your tummy as you finally raised your eyes to his.

It was the best gift you could’ve gotten for your birthday.

He smiled gently.

You scanned his face, wondering if they would have his doe eyes, or his sweet pink lips.

“We’re going to have a baby,” You whispered, biting the tips of your fingers, a smile slipping out even as you tried to keep it contained.

The complete and utter shock on his face made you laugh.

“Really?” He finally whispered, his eyes staring into yours.

You nodded, eyes shining as you took his hand and placed it on your stomach.

“I told you I was okay,” You said quietly, scrunching your nose at him.

Jungkook’s gaze fell to where his hand rested on you, where your child was growing. You watched happily as he closed his eyes, a few tears spilling down his cheeks.

After a moment of silence, he leaned forward, placing both hands on your lower back and pressing a kiss to your stomach, making you giggle at the ticklish feeling.

“I love you,” He whispered as he looked up at you.

You pushed the hair out of his face, smile never dimming as you whispered the words back to him.

If Jungkook was over protective before, he was even more so after finding out that you were with child.

Instead of climbing the apple tree, he pushed you gently on the swing when you wanted to be outside. You would sit on the ground, leaning your back against the tree and messing with the silky grass with your bare feet, giggling at the feeling between your toes. He would sit with you, chuckling at your antics as he handed you an apple, watching as you munched on it happily.

“How are you feeling?”

You answered the question over a hundred times every single day, but you didn’t mind. You would just laugh and tell him you felt amazing. There was never a time in your life that you had been happier.

Only three years ago, you were told you would most likely be dead before you even reached your twentieth birthday.

You never thought you would be nearly four months pregnant with your first child at eighteen and married to your best friend. You didn’t know what happened to change things, but not a single day passed that you didn’t thank whoever was watching over you.

“How-”

“Am I feeling?” You laughed quietly at the young man who was getting ready for bed and worrying his pretty little head off about you as usual while he did so.

Jungkook gave you a look, which made you laugh harder.

“I’m just checking,” He whispered as he climbed into bed, nudging your nose with his, “Scoot over.”

You did as he asked, blushing when you saw him watching you with a smile as you struggled to make room. “What?”

“You’re just cute,” He laughed.

Covering your face with your hands, you turned away from him.

“Stop,” You whined as he fought with you to uncover your face.

“Ugh, you’re so annoying,” He pouted, then smiled again as he placed a hand on your small baby bump.

The way your belly had started to grow was so endearing to him, a physical reminder of the life inside of you. Even as you hid, he pushed your nightgown up and over your tummy so he could place kisses along the skin that stretched slightly to start to accommodate his baby girl.

“I love you, Aera,” He whispered to your belly before kissing it again as you took your hands from your face, smiling at his words.

“You really think it’s a girl, huh?”

“Only because it is,” Jungkook stuck his tongue out at you. You thought so too, so you didn’t argue. Jungkook had picked the name, saying it came to him in a dream.

You loved it and there was never another thought as to what she would be called. It was perfect.

He moved up until he could kiss your lips, whispering against them, “Love you, sweet girl.”

“I love you, too,” you ran your fingers through his hair, “Jungkook?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what, love?”

You swallowed, “For saving me.”

It was the thousandth time you had thanked him.

His smile was warm like honey, “You saved me first.”

It was August.

It was the eighteenth day of August.

The sun was bright, but it wasn’t too hot. There was a slight breeze, just enough to cool what heat the sun did provide.

You ate rice that morning, feeling better since the sickness in the mornings weren't present the past week.

You washed some garments early in the afternoon. Jungkook insisted he could do it, but you asked him if you could do at least a few things. You wanted to do something, you wanted to be helpful.

He couldn’t stop you from arranging the roses he brought for you from the bush on the small table, tucked into the vase that Taehyung had given to you after your wedding.

“I’m fine,” You brushed him away with a laugh as he hovered over you while you folded the clothes that were dry after hanging outside since the day before, “I’m sitting, Jungkook!”

“I know,” He sighed, shifting nervously on his feet as he watched you, “I just don’t want you to overdo it.”

“Jungkook,” You gave him an unimpressed look, “I have not felt this good in months. I have barely done anything. All I’m doing is sitting and folding, it takes barely any effort.”

“I know,” He said again, but finally sounded like he might be calming as a small smile appeared on his face. After a few minutes in comfortable silence as you folded and he worked on his most recent project, he spoke up.

“Are you hungry?”

You thought about it for a minute, then shook your head, “No, not really. You eat if you’re hungry though.”

He pouted, standing up and grabbing a pear from the small basket sitting atop the chest, “I don’t like eating when you’re not.”

You chuckled, shaking your head at his silliness.

“How are they coming along?” You asked, trying to distract him.

Jungkook immediately brightened and walked over to pick up his newest work, bringing them to you and setting them gently in your lap, “They’re finished.”

You gasped at the most adorable little booties you had ever seen. It was clear he had spent time and a great deal of love on them.

“Jungkook, these are so beautiful!”

He blushed, “Beautiful enough for our little girl?”

“Oh, certainly,” You smiled at him, holding the little shoes to your chest in a tiny hug, “She’s going to be so grateful to have a daddy that loves her so much.”

Jungkook breathed out an embarrassed chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he smiled at you.

It was August.

It was the eighteenth day of August.

The sun had set. It was cool, but not enough to be uncomfortable as you settled into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin.

Jungkook was outside speaking with Taehyung, but you were exhausted, so you went to bed early. The three of you had been sitting around the fire, chatting.

You had no worries. You didn’t toss any worries into the fire that night.

You went to bed early.

It was just over an hour later when you woke up, wincing at the foreign pain in your abdomen. Breathing deeply didn’t help. You sat up, a small grunt of pain leaving your lips as you did.

“Ah,” You tried to take another breath, but it only began to hurt more.

Looking over to the door, you could see the glow of the fire still burning through the cracks.

“Jungkook,” You called weakly, wincing.

Something was wrong.

There was a warm feeling between your legs. You lifted the covers but couldn’t see anything. So, you reached a hand down, brows creasing when your fingers came away wet.

“Jungkook,” You called out again, fear settling in your heart, “Jungkook!”

The door opened and you saw him walk in, concern clear on his face at your hollering.

“Apple, what’s wrong?”

“I- I don’t know,” You began to cry, “It hurts.”

It was the eighteenth day of August.

You remembered only fear and pain, the sound of Jungkook screaming for Taehyung to get his mother.

The feeling of strong arms lifting you from the bed and hurrying out of the front door.

The moon was bright on the eighteenth day of August.

You could see it shining through the leaves as they blurred past. He was whispering for you to hold on. You were terrified.

There were no clouds in the night sky, but the stars were shining.

The world felt cold.

There were no clouds, you couldn’t see them.

You wondered if they could see you.

You wondered if they wept for you.

“Apple?”

You looked up from the small blanket in your hands.

Jungkook wasn’t sure if you were looking at him or through him. He swallowed thickly, his heart bleeding as he walked over and sat on the floor in front of you. Slowly, he took the blanket from you, but you didn’t react.

“I’ve got some food for you, love.”

You said nothing. He took a steadying breath, then picked up the bowl of porridge and dipped your favorite wooden spoon into it, getting a good amount.

“Open.”

You did nothing but look at the dirt on his clothes.

“Apple, open your mouth.”

Finally, you listened, albeit slowly. He carefully placed the spoon past your lips, patient as ever while you swallowed. It was only a few spoonfuls that day. But it was more than the day before, where you hadn’t eaten a single thing.

“You did well,” He whispered as he set the still almost full bowl down next to him, “I’m proud of you.”

There was a faint smile on your face at his words, but your eyes were empty. Jungkook closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

It had been two months since that night, since you lost the baby. You weren’t the same since.

He hadn’t been well either, but he couldn’t let himself check out like he wanted to. Not if he wouldn’t be there to take care of you.

Every night, he cried more tears than he thought physically possible. His baby girl was gone, his best friend slipping away from him soon after.

He wasn’t sure how much he could handle before he followed suit.

It was not until six months after the loss, that you began to come out of it. All those months were nothing but a blur to you. You had no control over anything during it. All you could remember was the color gray. It was like you had forgotten everything; how to eat, how to sleep, how to breathe.

You certainly didn’t know how to live.

You weren’t supposed to live.

That plagued you every moment of those months. The guilt of giving Jungkook something so wonderful only to take it away again. You hated yourself. It felt like you had failed as a mother.

You hurt your best friend because your body couldn’t do what it was made to do.

By the time you came out of it, you were so ridden with guilt that you almost couldn’t handle it. Not only because of the miscarriage, but because you realized what you put him through for all that time. He didn’t even get to grieve.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, eyes glued to the empty vase by the door.

Jungkook looked at you from where he kneeled by the chest, just finishing putting a few things away.

“Apple-”

“No,” You choked out, “You don’t have to comfort me. I should’ve been there for you. I shouldn't have let you suffer alone.”

He sighed and stood up, walking over to be in front of you, “I don’t blame you for that.”

“I do,” You wiped at your eyes, “And I’m so sorry. Please forgive me-”

“There is nothing to forgive,” He leaned down and kissed your forehead, “Do you really believe you chose to be trapped in that state of mind?”

After a moment, you shook your head.

It happened instantly. One moment you were going to sleep while your husband and friend talked outside, the next moment the world was gray and you couldn’t do anything.

You lost six months of time, it was not your choice.

But you still felt horrible.

A few nights later, you held him as he cried.

You dried his tears, finally able to be there for him when he needed you.

You opened your eyes to see the roof of the small shack right in front of you.

A smile broke out on your face as you sat up in bed and looked to the side to see the sun shining through the window in a golden stream dancing across the dirty floor.

The bed creaked when you climbed off of it, rubbing your sore limbs as you walked over to the tiny table that Jungkook placed in the corner, smiling at the vase of flowers sitting there, as pretty as always.

The roses must be blooming.

You sat in one of the two wooden chairs, rubbing your eyes before sniffing the air.

Something smells good.

You stood and walked over to the door to step outside, squinting as the bright sun wished you a good morning, shining its blinding light into your eyes.

“Hi, love.”

You grinned at the young man who was busy cooking something over the fire, his bunny smile directed at you the second you came out.

“Hi,” You croaked, morning voice betraying you.

“Are you hungry?”

“Very,” You laughed lightly.

Jungkook stood up, dusting off his clothes before walking over and placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Good, the food will be ready soon. Oh, and Taehyung is coming over.”

“Really?” Your eyes lit up at the news. You hadn’t seen him in far too long.

Jungkook nodded as he tucked a stray hair behind your ear, then he took your hand and pressed a kiss to your finger, right where your ring rested.

When Taehyung came, he was relieved to see the two of you in better spirits. It had been over a year since you lost the baby. He wished he could erase that night from his own memory, the thought of being one of you in that situation was unimaginable.

Jungkook was to be turning twenty-one in only a few days, and you were nineteen. Both of you had seen far too much grief in life already.

It was the first time he had seen you after coming out of the stupor you were in for half a year.

You were taken by surprise when Taehyung immediately went to you and pulled you into a hug. Putting your arms around him, you hugged him back.

“It’s good to see you again, little bird,” He whispered after pulling back. You weren’t aware that the last time he saw you, your gaze had been so vacant that he wasn’t sure you had even seen or heard him. You were sitting on the bed, looking at the vase he had gifted to you and never elsewhere.

Taehyung stayed with you two for a few days, spending Jungkook’s birthday there.

The day after he left, you were sitting in the swing, pushing yourself back and forth slowly. The leaves on the trees were beginning to change color.

You smiled sadly at the sight of a tiny leaf sitting right next to a larger one.

Even time could never heal some wounds.

“Your daddy’s birthday was fun,” You whispered, pushing the swing back again, “He would have loved to spend it with you.”

It was unclear exactly when you had started to speak with her while you were alone. You refused to believe she couldn’t hear you.

Maybe she was sitting with the invisible person or climbing the apple tree as you swung below it.

“We love you, a lot,” You looked over to the little bush that you had always felt was where they sat to talk with you. It felt different.

Standing up from the swing, you slowly walked over, holding out a hand. Ever so gently, you touched a little leaf hanging from one of the skinny branches. If you listened close enough, you thought maybe you could hear the sound of tiny laughter.

You turned around, looking at the forest around you, listening as hard as you could. Then there was the sound of a twig snapping, which made you turn again to see the newcomer.

“Jungkook. You startled me.”

“Sorry,” He smiled at you as he came closer, “I thought you might have been out here.”

You nodded, smiling at the swing.

Part of you wanted to tell him what you had been doing, for years even, back when it started with the invisible person. Perhaps it might bring him some comfort as well. You weren’t sure why you felt a bit self-conscious though. Nevertheless, you didn’t say anything.

“Did I interrupt something?” Jungkook asked, sensing that you were a little distracted.

You shook your head with a laugh, “Not at all.”

Taking his hand, you turned to walk back with him as he excitedly told you about the meal he had prepared.

There was no special occasion, he informed you, it was just because he wanted to do something for you. You had done so many things for him since you were little without needing a reason, always saying you just wanted to.

You laughed at his rambling as you walked, swinging your joined hands back and forth. Only once, you turned and looked over your shoulder at the swing that moved slightly in the breeze.

If you looked close enough, you thought you might see her.

Long black hair flowing down her back as she swung back and forth. Tiny hands were gripping the rope tightly. There were pale yellow wings, like that of a bird, on her back. Her little legs kicked under the swing.

You couldn’t see her face, only a small glimpse of her very small nose when she looked to the side and laughed at something. There was a child’s voice whispering on the wind, but you couldn’t hear what they were saying. A moment later, you realized what it was.

“I’m okay, mommy.”

You blinked, and she was gone.

“I wish you wouldn’t go.”

Jungkook bit his lip at your words, feeling terrible.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, “I promised her I’d accompany her to the Cho’s, she wants to be there by the end of the week at the earliest.”

You smiled, brushing it off, “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad for wanting to help your mother. I just wish the Cho’s lived closer.”

“So do I.”

“It can’t be helped,” You laughed quietly, “Your mother is too talented for her own good, pretty soon people will insist she multiply herself and live in each of their towns to help.”

He laughed, “She would do it too, if she could.”

You walked with him to the village to bid her farewell. She was so kind, it always brightened your day to see her.

“I’ll try not to keep him too long,” She promised with a wink.

You laughed, “Oh, keep him as long as you like. Make him do all the work.” Jungkook shook his head with a smile as you and his mother tittered, as if sharing jokes he was no part of.

“You better go,” You gave her one last hug, “I don’t want you two traveling at night.”

His mother kissed you on the forehead sweetly, “Always so thoughtful. I will see you later, my dear.”

“Be safe,” You smiled warmly at her before turning to Jungkook. He leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose, pulling back with a smile.

“Is that all I get?” You whispered teasingly as his mother pretended to be busy with counting the things she was bringing.

He only smirked, giving you a little wink as he backed away, “See you soon, Apple.”

He was meant to be gone for nine days.

It wasn’t a quick journey to the town a few over; three days each way. And he was going to help his mother get settled for her two months stay.

The first few days were a little lonely, but on the fourth day, Yoongi came to see you. It felt like forever since you had seen him.

You sat and talked for hours on end, wanting to know every little thing that he had been doing. He told you all about the research he was doing on agriculture, and how he finally understood your love for nature. He also told you about the girl he was courting, much to his embarrassment at admitting how strongly he felt for her.

It was wonderful. You had been so close as kids, growing up always made people and things grow apart. You hated it.

Yoongi didn’t ask you how you were feeling, which you appreciated. You knew he cared, but he also knew and respected that you didn’t want to talk about it. The way you kept pushing the conversation onto what he was up to, made it clear enough even if he didn’t already know you well.

Jungkook was meant to be gone for nine days.

Word came five days into his absence, from a young teen boy, that he was going to be away for another week at most. You thanked the boy as he turned and ran off, laughing to yourself as you pulled the water bucket up from the well in the outskirts of the village.

The stream where you usually collected your water was oddly sparse that week, so you thought you might as well come into the village and see Yoongi before getting some water to bring back home.

The next day, you came back to see him again, getting more water on the way. As you were leaving, wooden bucket sloshing around with water as you held it in both your arms, you stopped when you saw someone standing in front of you.

“I thought it might be you!”

“Jisoo?” Your eyes widened when you saw the girl you hadn’t spoken to in at least three years. She looked a bit older, more mature than when you last saw her. There was a child in her arms, just over a year old at most.

Jisoo nodded, “I’ve seen you around a few times over the years, but wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk.”

You laughed, “Why shouldn’t I?”

She shrugged, the baby on her hip smiling at you. You smiled back, a horrible pain in your heart as you did.

“You were always off with that strange boy, what’s his name-”

“Jungkook,” You said, a bit shortly, “His name is Jungkook. And he’s my husband.”

“Ah yes,” She looked a little embarrassed, “Jungkook. I must admit, I never could see what you saw in him until the other week. He really has changed.”

You didn’t like the smirk on her face as she said that.

“No,” You adjusted the water in your arms to better hold it, then you looked her up and down, “Out of everyone in this village, it seems he’s the only one that hasn’t had to.”

Jisoo didn’t respond at first, only shifted uncomfortably as you stared at her.

“Yes, well,” A nasty smile curved on her lips, “Tell him if he ever wants a girl that can keep a baby, he can come to me anytime he’d like.”

She laughed at your silence before walking around you and leaving.

If there wasn’t a child in her arms, you would’ve dumped the water you were holding all over her. Only heaven knows what you would’ve done after that.

Instead, you stood there, unable to say a word or move a muscle, even after she left. There was a slight tremble in your knees as you stared at the dirt where she once stood. You blinked a few times, swallowing the pain from your heart that almost came crawling out of your throat in a horrible scream.

After a minute, you lifted your chin and kept walking.

You were strolling along the outskirts of the village, a few flowers in hand that you picked, small white ones. It was silent except for the rustle of leaves and the very quiet mumbling of you talking to the forest around you as you looked for more flowers.

“Pretty,” You muttered as you picked up a yellow one that you hadn’t ever seen before.

The sound of running and someone screaming broke you out of your trance and shattered the sacred silence. You turned to see a young girl around twelve hurrying up to you.

“You’re miss ____, right?”

Blinking in confusion, you nodded.

“Please help us,” She whimpered, and you finally noticed the tears on her face.

“What’s the matter?” You asked, fully alarmed.

“My cousin he’s- he’s fallen ill. No one knows what to do since the medicine lady is gone.”

Your stomach turned, “I- I don’t know medicine-”

“You married her son, didn’t you?”

You nodded again, throat dry.

“She must have taught you something! Please, he’ll die-”

“Take me to him.”

Your voice sounded much stronger than you felt.

The girl grabbed your hand and you ran after her, all the way through the village and to a relatively large home, one almost twice the size as everyone else’s. You went in, following the girl to a room where you could hear crying.

The second you stepped in, your heart stopped.

Jisoo was there, weeping. There was another woman, her mother, pacing the room. Lying on the floor on a few cushions, was a small boy, only three years of age. He was sweating, little whimpers leaving his mouth.

You snapped out of your shock and immediately jumped into action, “Get out,” You shoved Jisoo’s mother out of the room, gesturing for Jisoo to do the same.

“I’m not leaving, why are you here anyway?!” She shrieked.

You turned towards her and hissed quietly, “If you don’t want to leave your other child motherless, get out.”

The girl that had come to fetch you took the shocked young woman’s arm and led her out, explaining to her that you were there to help. That you knew the medicine lady and could help.

You shut your eyes, taking a deep breath.

Pull yourself together.

When you opened your eyes, your mind was no longer clouded with panic. You were not educated in medicine, but your mother-in-law did show you a few things over the years you’d known her that might be of some help.

You called out a few orders to the people outside of the room, telling them to hurry as fast as they could. Then you turned and went to the small child. He was looking at you, his eyes showing the terror he felt.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” You whispered, offering him a gentle smile as you knelt on the floor next to where he lay. He didn’t resist when you placed a hand on his forehead, then carefully ran your fingers across it, brushing the damp hairs away.

“You’re going to be alright, I promise,” You kept running your fingers along his cheeks, the action seeming to calm him, “I’m not going to leave you.”

He looked just like his mother.

Jisoo always had the prettiest eye shape, and he definitely inherited it.

There were frantic voices on the other side of the door, but you ignored them.

For hours you stayed in the room with the boy, cooling his skin with wet rags and feeding him the remedies that you could remember how to make. The people outside did everything you asked and would leave things at the door for you to grab and bring back inside with you.

When day turned into night, you still sat there with him, replacing the cold cloths on his skin with fresh ones. He eventually fell asleep.

You sighed with relief, knowing the worst had passed. If he could sleep, he was going to be fine.

You woke up on the floor of the room, blinking at the sun coming in through the window. Only a few feet away, the child still slept soundly.

Reaching out a hand, you felt his forehead, then mumbled a prayer of thanks to the invisible person you knew was there. They must have listened to your earnest requests the night before; his skin was cool to the touch, and he was breathing normally.

You stood up, groaning quietly at the soreness of your muscles from your sleeping position.

When you walked out and saw Jisoo sitting on a stump just outside the door, you approached her, “He’s going to be fine.”

She flinched at the sound of your voice, then turned and saw you standing there. It was silent for a minute, then she stood up and faced you, “If you think I’m going to thank you, then you’re just as crazy as they always said you were.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it.

“How dare you barge into my home and order me around?” Jisoo stepped closer, “Of course he’s going to be fine. He was just feeling a little off, you did nothing, you are not a hero.”

You stared at her for another minute.

“Ok, Jisoo,” You finally whispered, moving to get around her. She grabbed your arm though, before you could leave, “Don’t ever step foot into my home again. We don’t want your curse spread to us, infertile witch.”

Shoving your arm away as if she would catch something from being around you too long, she walked back inside.

All you could do for a moment was bite your lip harshly and stare at a stick on the ground. You knew, deep down inside, that even if you had known that would be her response, you still would’ve done the same thing; that child didn’t deserve to be in pain.

You walked all the way back to the shed, for the first time saying nothing to the trees and flowers that you passed on the way.

Maybe they missed your voice.

Maybe they cried for you.

You woke up the next day feeling strange.

The night before, you had felt a little hot and didn’t pull the covers over your body like you always did. In fact, you had chosen to strip yourself of all your clothes in the middle of the night while half asleep, which would explain the confused state you were in upon waking up completely naked.

Your head was aching and the sun was too bright.

Why ever was the sun that bright anyway?

You didn’t realize that you had slept well into the afternoon after unknowingly tossing and turning for hours in the night.

Standing up from the bed after pulling on a simple dress, the room spun for a moment before righting itself. You were going to get some fruit from the basket, but decided against it when the thought made your stomach turn.

You drank water instead, then climbed back into the bed and removed your obnoxious clothing again, but this time pulled the covers up to your chin and promptly fell asleep.

Yoongi knocked on the door of the shed again, waiting with furrowed brows. You hadn’t come into the village since the day before last and he was worried. The stream was still too dry to gather water and he had been expecting you to be going back for more at the well and visiting him while you were at it.

You said you would.

He had heard about what happened with Jisoo and wanted to let you know that her son was feeling much better.

When the third time he knocked was still unanswered, he opened the door and walked into the small but comfortable living space. His eyes were instantly drawn to the bed, where there was a little lump in the covers.

“____?” He walked over and shook your shoulder gently, “Wake up, you daft girl. It’s mid-day already!”

When you didn’t respond, his frown deepened and he shook you harder, letting out a small gasp when you turned over and he saw how clammy your skin was.

“____, wake up!”

Finally, you peeled your eyes open, they looked glassy and unfocused.

“Hm?”

Your cousin turned your body more to get a better look at your face, noticing briefly that you were unclothed under the covers, “____, what’s happened? Why are you like this? Are you ill?”

Your brows creased as you looked at him in confusion, “Wha-...Yoongi, is that you?”

His stomach dropped at the state you were in.

Something was terribly wrong.

“I’m going to go get someone,” Yoongi spoke slowly and clearly, “I need you to do your best in waking up, alright?”

You didn’t really acknowledge him, only mumbled something incoherent, but he didn’t have time to figure it out. He rushed out of the shack and through the woods, unsure who he was going to get but knowing he needed help.

The next few days were horrific.

There were two other people in the shack alongside Yoongi that did more than they ever cared to when you were young.

They tried their best to feed you, to cool the burning heat of your skin, to keep you from thrashing about and hurting yourself when you were racked with suffering.

You didn’t understand what was happening. You didn’t recognize anyone there, not even your own cousin. All you knew was that you were in pain and scared.

Sometimes you saw your mother, standing over your bed and shaking her head at you in disappointment. She kept calling you the sick one, the sick one.

Sometimes you saw a man that you thought was your father. He did nothing but stare at you emotionlessly, standing in the corner of the room.

Most of the time you saw the strange people with cloths over their mouths. They would put painfully cold things on your head and try to pry your mouth open to shove things inside. You fought them the best you could, but you grew weaker by the hour and couldn’t fend them off for long.

The nights were the worst at first; the pain reaching levels you had never experienced, ripping broken screams from your throat. Soon, the nights blended into the days, the agony never ceasing.

You didn’t know why two of the strange people left one day and never came back.

You didn’t hear Yoongi urging them to leave after seeing the rash spreading on your skin, telling them to stay away from the others until they knew they hadn’t caught it, lest the entire village be consumed by typhoid.

_______________________________

Yoongi sat outside of the shack, staring at the lone flower that was growing a few feet in front of the door. Inside, you were screaming.

The only thing he could catch from what you were sobbing was Jungkook’s name.

Apparently you remembered him.

You had been sick for nine days, only growing worse each day.

Taehyung ran up, breathing heavily as he stopped in front of his older friend.

“Jungkook is on the way home, but he doesn’t know.”

“You know this, how?” Yoongi mumbled.

Everyone he had sent out over the past week said they couldn’t find him.

“Someone said they passed him on the road two days ago, he wasn’t in a hurry. He doesn’t know-”

The sound of agonized screaming reached his ears, his eyes widening in horror. He almost ran in, but Yoongi stopped him.

“Don’t.”

“But-”

“There’s nothing we can do now,” Yoongi whispered, grief clear in his eyes, “You cannot risk going in there and catching it. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Taehyung took a faltering step back, shaking as his hands came up to cover his ears at the next round of dreadful sobbing.

“Taehyung, look at me.”

His eyes darted to the older boy.

“You need to get Jungkook, before it’s too late.”

He hated that he understood what was meant by that.

He hated that he understood no one could save you.

Stumbling away, Tae turned and ran, disappearing into the forest.

Yoongi gulped and turned to look at the door, knowing what would meet him when he went back in. Miraculously, he had not caught anything yet.

That did not lessen his fear of entering.

Catching it was not what he feared.

Stepping back into the door, Yoongi’s gaze fell on you instantly.

You were crying quietly, dressed in nothing but a thin nightgown, too weak to rip it off of your otherwise naked body. There was no recognition in your eyes when they landed on him.

“Please,” You whispered hoarsely, throat torn to shreds from the only way you were able to manage the torment you were in, “I need him.”

“I know.”

“Why hasn’t he come for me?”

It was the most you had said in over a week, your exhausted gaze drifting around the room, as if searching once more.

“Why did he leave me?”

Yoongi saw the endless stream of tears on your cheeks, his heart breaking.

Your chest shook with each little breath you took, not enough to keep your lungs full.

“I’m scared.”

You didn’t know who this was in front of you, but there was no one else to talk to.

“I’m so sorry, ____.”

You blinked, a few more tears falling. Your body had been trembling for days, you couldn’t control it. Yoongi noticed that you no longer tried to, you just laid there, shivering.

“He said,” You swallowed, voice shaky, “He’d never leave me.”

“Jungkook is coming, ____. I promise. Just hold on a little longer.”

At his words, he saw a tiny smile on your chapped lips. The indescribable pain you were in was clear, but there was a tiny light in your eyes when you heard his name.

“He’ll come and hold me?” You whispered, eyes locked on the stranger standing next to your bed.

“Yes,” Yoongi choked out, “He will come and hold you until you fall asleep.”

“Oh,” Your eyes shifted, a small smile still on your face as you looked at the dead roses in the vase behind the stranger, “Okay.”

After a few minutes of silence apart from the ragged breaths that escaped you, Yoongi went and sat in a chair at the little table, his head falling into his hands.

“It hurts a bit,” You mumbled, staring at a tiny crack in the ceiling.

He swallowed, knowing that it hurt a lot more than that.

Taehyung ran until he couldn’t breathe, yet he didn’t stop.

He kept running.

Jungkook couldn’t be too far away, he couldn’t be.

It wasn’t too late.

Yoongi stood up and walked to the bed, a horrible pit in his stomach at how silent you had been the past few minutes.

When he got closer, he saw your chest rising and falling slightly. He let out the breath he had been holding, fingers digging into his eyes as he rubbed them.

You weren’t gone yet.

The smallest groan slipped from your lips. He watched you closely for another minute, then he heard the sound of running from outside.

Turning, he hurried out of the shack, but saw no one. He decided to go down the path a little way to see if he could see them approaching.

“Taehyung?” He called out, “Jungkook!”

But there was no answer.

“Jungkook!!”

Jungkook flinched in surprise when he saw Taehyung running towards him, screaming.

He smiled and waved, adjusting the sack on his shoulder that he had been carrying for a while. Maybe he could get Tae to carry it back for him.

But he was only a few minutes from the village, why was he meeting him here?

Taehyung stumbled, falling into the younger, who caught him.

“What’s gotten into-”

“It’s ____!” Tae choked out, coughing violently from not being able to breathe.

“What?” Jungkook’s heart stopped in his chest.

“She’s- she’s sick-”

Taehyung couldn’t even finish his sentence before Jungkook took off running, the things he previously carried lying in a heap on the ground.

Jungkook raced all the way to the village and through it, ignoring the silent stares as he passed.

His heart was in his throat, terror filling him as he ran as fast as he could.

The village was quiet that day.

The people watched as they always did.

But the village was quiet that day.

You opened your eyes slowly; the stranger wasn’t there.

They had left you.

Your bottom lip quivered before you bit it, the excruciating pain in your abdomen silencing your cries; it hurt too bad to scream.

A shaky breath went into your lungs, trickling back out seconds later.

He didn’t come back.

You blinked, a tear rolling down your cheek.

You were all alone.

“Apple. You love me, right?”

His voice echoed in your muddled brain as you stared at the wilted roses across the room.

“Yes,” You whispered weakly, the room turning cold, his presence that you thought was there fading away.

Please don’t leave. I’m scared to be alone.

Fear slowly started to consume you as your eyes drifted around the dark empty place you called home.

Then they closed gently.

________________________________________

When your eyes opened again, there was someone standing there.

You sat up, confused when it didn’t hurt.

It didn’t hurt anymore.

Nothing hurt, at all.

There was an overwhelming sense of calm around you. All of the worries that plagued your mind were gone. You couldn’t remember a single thing that once caused your heart to be so heavy with grief.

Your eyes lifted back to the person standing in the middle of the room. It was a small girl, only five years of age; long black hair falling past her shoulders and doe eyes watching you.

There were feathery yellow wings on her tiny back, and a bunny-like smile on her cute face.

She looked just like somebody you once knew.

You couldn’t remember who it was though.

The girl stretched her hand out towards you and you finally noticed there was another figure there as well, standing next to her.

You couldn’t see their face, only a bright glow shaped like a tall human. The two of them felt familiar somehow, like they had been waiting for you for a long time.

“Come on,” The little girl laughed, “You’re okay now.”

You moved your legs to the side of the bed and climbed out.

There was no hesitation as you walked forward and took her tiny hand, the smile on her face growing even more when you did.

___________________________________

Jungkook rushed through the forest, thin branches scratching his face and arms.

But he didn’t stop.

When he could see home, he pushed himself harder, fear gripping his heart when he saw Yoongi standing just outside of the door, staring at nothing. He pushed past the silent man and stumbled inside, freezing up at the sight that met him.

You were lying in the bed, seemingly asleep, but with face and lips drained of color. The dark lashes resting on your cheeks were a stark contrast.

He stood there, staring at your figure.

“Apple?” His voice sounded far away, not like his own.

Jungkook walked forward, bending down and cupping your cheek with his hand.

“Wake up, Apple,” He whispered, brushing the hair from your face and shaking you gently, “I’m bah-...I’m back.”

When you didn’t respond, he shook you a little harder, his whole body beginning to tremble, “Please,” His voice broke, “Please wake up…I-”

A quiet sob cut him off as his shaking hands cupped your cooling cheeks once more, “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me-”

He carefully lifted your frail body, pulling you into his lap and cradling you in his arms.

Yoongi stepped inside the door.

Taehyung came in right behind him, his eyes closing slowly when he saw Jungkook sitting on the bed and holding you against him in a tight embrace.

“Apple, I’m sorry, pleas-” He whimpered as he held the back of your head with gentle hands, rocking you back and forth, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t there.

He wasn’t there to hold you.

You were cold and alone.

A sob tore itself from his throat as he held you tighter, praying that you could feel his warmth and hear him begging for you to come back.

You weren’t supposed to go without him.

“Jungkook.”

“Please don’t leave me alone,” He pleaded hoarsely.

Maybe, if he begged hard enough, you would listen to him and come back.

“Jungkook.”

“Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I broke my promise, Apple. I won’t leave you anymore,” Jungkook coughed, choking on his tears, “I won’t leave you ever again, ever.”

Yoongi gulped, unsure what to do. The guilt was eating him alive; he had stepped out only for a minute. Because of him, you died alone.

“I promise we can climb the apple tree whenever you want, you can eat all of the fruit before dinner, I won’t ever say no,” Tears ran down his face as he caressed your hair, just the way you always liked, “I won’t tell you that you should wait until after dinner, I promise. I promise.”

Taehyung put his face in his hands, his stomach turning. It didn’t feel real, you couldn’t be gone.

“You were faster than me.”

Tae looked up to see Jungkook was cradling you like a child, thumb brushing your cheek as he spoke softly, his eyes running over your face.

“You beat me to the swing, fair and square.”

Yoongi sucked in a breath and bit his lip.

Memories of that day floated through his mind; the way you shrieked with laughter as you climbed onto the swing, too small to get on easily.

“Push me! Push me!”

He could hear your tiny giggles clear as day.

Jungkook rested his forehead against yours, his breath warming your lips as his hot tears fell onto cold cheeks, “I love you,” he spoke under his breath, for only you to hear, “I loved you since the first moment I saw you. I can't live without you.”

Maybe, if he said it enough times, you would listen to him and come back.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi choked out, “We need to move her.”

There was no reply.

Taehyung swallowed the heavy lump in his throat, “Yoongi-”

“It’s still contagious,” The older boy whispered, “We can’t let him be with her for too long.”

“But-”

Yoongi turned on him, anger and sorrow lit up in his eyes, “Get him out of here.”

Taehyung clenched his jaw, then walked around him, over to where Jungkook was still whispering to you.

“Jungkook,” He took a shuddering breath, “I’m sorry.”

It was like he couldn’t hear a word the older boy was saying, tears falling endlessly as he held you close, continuing to sway you just a little.

Taehyung moved down to remove one of Jungkook’s hands from you, but the younger’s grip tightened.

“Jungkook-” Tae strengthened his own efforts, finally prying his hands from you and trying to pull him up.

“Let go of me!” Jungkook screamed, ripping his arm away and moving to hold you again. He kept you in his lap, arms around you protectively, refusing to let either of them close.

Yoongi stepped in, “Jungkook, you need to let go-”

“No!”

“Let her go,” Yoongi’s voice cracked as he struggled with pulling you out of his arms while Taehyung grabbed Jungkook.

“Stop it!” Jungkook was bawling his eyes out frantically as he reached for you, “Don’t take her! Please!! Yoongi, Yoongi, please!!”

Taehyung wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s chest, not letting him get a chance to fight your cousin, who was gently laying your body on the bed again and covering you with the sheet.

“Please!!!” Jungkook was screaming at the top of his lungs, heart crushed far beyond repair, “Please don’t take her!!”

“Get him out!”

Taehyung dragged Jungkook kicking and screaming from the shack.

In the tussle, they knocked into the small table, the vase teetering for a moment before falling to the floor, a long crack running through it as the dead roses lay scattered about.

“I hate you! I hate you!”

He didn’t know who he was screaming at.

But maybe, if he screamed loud enough, you would hear him.

Maybe, you would come back.

_____________________________

It was the year 1523 when you left him.

You were nineteen years old.

Jungkook sat curled up in the corner of the shack, legs tucked up to his chest as he stared at the broken vase on the floor. It had been three days since you passed, he hadn’t slept. All he had done was sit in the corner and stare at nothing.

He shut them all out.

They had taken you away from him.

He never saw you again.

Except in his mind.

His days and nights were haunted by the last time he had spoken with you.

“Is that all I get?”

Your voice echoed in his mind, the smile on your face burned into his bruised and bleeding heart. He didn’t kiss you, he didn’t tell you he loved you.

All he did was leave.

Jungkook closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, a tear sliding down his cheek and dripping from his chin.

He would be found only hours later, still curled up in the corner.

It was a broken heart, they said.

It took three agonizing days after your death for him to follow.

For a human heart can only take so much pain, before it can’t.

__________________________________

“How utterly wretched.”

Jungkook opened his eyes to see a tall figure standing over him as he sat in the corner of the dark shed.

The only thing he felt while looking at the demon who was staring at him with mock pity, was an empty hatred.

He whispered hoarsely, “You said she would live.”

Lucifer leaned down, a sneer on his face, “I only said I would get rid of her disease. Typhoid fever is a nasty business, isn’t it? Strange that she was the only one in the village to catch it after miraculously helping the boy. A real tragedy.”

Jungkook just stared at him.

“A life for a life, that’s what you told me,” He finally spat, the anger beginning to spread through his body.

“Ah yes,” The Devil chuckled and rocked back on his heels, as if the whole ordeal was quite amusing to him, “See, we didn’t agree on a third life though. I was far too nice to let you get off so easily with conceiving the infant.”

Jungkook gulped.

“Oh,” The miserable creature’s face fell and he pouted, “That one didn’t make it either, did it?”

“She,” Jungkook hissed, “Her name is Aera-”

“Well, it was going to be,” Lucifer threw his head back and laughed, “Rest assured I had nothing to do with that unfortunate incident.”

It was silent for a moment, then Jungkook spoke up quietly, “You were never going to save her, were you?” His eyes were locked on the dead roses, “You lied.”

“And you,” Lucifer crouched and leaned close, “Fell for it.”

Jungkook’s eyes closed as he did his best to conjure up an image of you.

You were somewhere safe and warm, where the sun kissed your cheeks and danced upon your fingers.

Somewhere the apples were sweet and crisp, where the water was never too cold.

There was a sharp pain on the skin of his outer right bicep, making him grit his teeth as the demon laughed darkly.

“Look at how ruined you are,” The voice whispered with shameless glee, “All because of love.”

You were somewhere you could fly with the clouds, never alone.

Somewhere the roses would always bloom.

“Don’t bother.”

Jungkook opened his eyes and looked at the demon.

“She isn’t anywhere pleasant.”

His heart shattered into a million little pieces.

“She’s somewhere cold,” Lucifer stared at him, “Stuck alone in the dark, full of unbearable torment, just like her last moments..”

Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat.

“All because you left her. All because of Him.”

The young man’s eyes were filled with tears of anguish that slowly ebbed into a deep resentment with each word the Devil spoke.

“He did this to you, you know that right?” Lucifer smirked, “You were created by Him. He made you, so that you could suffer.”

The despair clung to his heart like a lead weight, another burning scratch going across his skin, right where the pounding muscle lay.

“He created you to love her and lose her. Tell me; was it worth it, Jungkook?”

The torment wouldn’t come to an end.

The deal was struck and the punishment would never lessen.

Even without understanding why, the agonizing torture of his heart ripping itself to shreds over and over again, would never ever stop.

For a human heart can only take so much pain, before it can’t.

But the heart of a demon can never die.

________________________________________

a/n: tysm for reading, your thoughts are always welcome

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