#so you grow up with this feeling that your soul is too small and banal to comprehend that pain or soothe it

[revacholian-girl-utena]

My soul is puny.

Alt text: Screencaps from Revolutionary Girl Utena with overlaid text. 1: Young Saionji watches in horror as Touga opens the coffin in the church. Text: At the core, you're a very banal person,

2: Closeup of young Saionji clutching his head and screaming. Text: with a very small soul.

3: Closeup of Saionji's empty hands when he drops his sword after hurting Touga. Text: One you should be *ashamed* of.

4: Touga and Saionji's silhouettes as children at kendo practice. Touga is holding Saionji's hand and Saionji is looking up at him. The background is a warm sunset. Text: It's no wonder the soft one doesn't want it back.

5: Touga's silhouette standing by the incinerator. Text: It was right to abandon you... End alt text

[queenmuzz]

A Father's Wish

Tagging @buurenaars-workshop. So if you want to blame the angst. It's all their fault with the angst prompt. TW Mentions of Torture, but nothing too explicit.

Despite his less than ideal situation, Sparda contents himself that he’s done what he set out to do. The veil between both the Underworld and Overworld has been reinforced, aside from a few small tears, and his ancient foe, Mundus will be confined to the depths of Hell for nigh eternity. Sure, he had expected to die in a blaze of glory, mowing down hordes of his fellow demons, each one howling for his blood, or to be struck down by the God Emperor himself in single combat. But instead, because of that three headed witch’s sinister magic, his desire was not fulfilled. Not yet.

Mundus takes his time with him, like a cruel child with a bug. He rips his wings off, brands him with white hot iron, impales him with crystals, gouges off chunks of chitin. To Sparda, who has dealt with these pains before (and many millennia ago, inflicted them) these are trifles he can heal from. Eventually Mundus will tire of him, and finish him off. In the end, Sparda still wins, Mundus will never reach the realm he has given everything to protect. Although the Dark Slayer wishes he could have been with his new family for a little bit longer. Eva, who he’s known for less than two decades, and the twins, even less. To a demon, the passage of time goes far too quickly.

Every so often Mundus cuts a bit deeper, driving past flesh, into his own soul. Mundus taunts him, being disgusted that he would debase himself by not only protecting Humanity, but diluting his blood with them. Sometimes, Sparda senses it's THAT that really enrages Mundus. Not his betrayal, nor his sealing away, but that he dared do something no demon had ever done: fallen in love. How he wishes he could see his wife and children, at least one last time, to apologise for his departure, to tell Eva how much he loves her, to Dante, to play one last game of hide and seek, to Vergil….how proud he is of the boy.

When Mundus chuckles on one of his occasional ‘visits’, Sparda’s blood begins to freeze.

“I’ve wiped out your degenerate line, my loyal” the sarcasm is thick “lieutenant. I do so enjoy listening to tales from my followers telling about your beloved human pet’s last screams, and the taste of your mongrel’s blood…” He cackles maniacally , but Sparda has doubts. Mundus is well known for his treachery, and lies, he wouldn’t put it past the God Emperor to try to wound him with such a devastating falsehood. And besides, somehow, even in his cell in the depths of hell, he knows his sons are alive. Of course, he’s never been able to tell them apart, even with his demonic senses (Eva dressed them in red and blue to help him), but somehow, he knows…

So why does his chest hurt so much… ? And what are these tears dripping down his face?

Time passes, the tortures become almost banal, to the point that Sparda barely feels them. Mundus hasn’t made one of his visits lately, he seems to be preoccupied with some new and diabolical project. No doubt trying in vain to rip a hole through the veil, and somehow, for a brief moment, succeeding, before it slammed shut, if Sparda sense’s aren’t completely dulled by pain. But there’s a tenseness in the air, a foreboding, like when the shoreline recedes before the tsunami. (He still wishes he could see his family one more time, take them to the beach like he had promised).

When Mundus shows up again, he doesn’t come alone. He seems excited, almost giddy, but there’s a trace of frustration.

“Ah, my old friend…” he says sweetly, as sweet as a poisonous flower can be. “For so long I’ve been bereft of a loyal, capable second in command, one who won’t stab me in the back. And finally,” he moves aside to show a smaller figure, clad from head to toe in metal...no, not clad….encased. Sparks of electricity race down Sparda’s spine, warning him that something horrible is about to happen. “I have a replacement, and no longer need you.” The Dark Slayer should be relieved, his end is about to come, but his heart hammers in fear, not for himself, but for the knight in front of him.

“It took a lot to break him, to mold him into a suitable servant, and much like a diamond, many, many, cuts had to be made. And even yet, there are a few imperfections that I have not been able to cut away. Nelo Angelo has a few stubborn traces of his weakness...his humanity. Eva used to tease him that a demon whose senses could tell when Modeus or Baul was about to make an appearance, but that he couldn’t tell his own sons apart.

But now...even trapped in metal, his demonic will nearly crushed, Sparda can sense who he is, and it breaks his heart. He wanted to see his family one last time, but not like this, never like this.

“Vergil...” he calls out in a broken hoarse whisper. His son is so much taller...how much time has passed? How long has he suffered like his father? And almost imperceptibly, the knight stiffens at that name.

“What is that phrase that those wretched humans use?” Mundus muses, “Ah, yes… ‘two birds, one stone.’ I break off the last chunk of weakness, and I have my hated rival finished off. So simple.... I cannot believe I didn’t think of it before.” He turns to Nelo Angelo (no...his name is Vergil) and gives a chilling order. “My command: kill this traitorous prisoner.” Sparda’s heart crumples at the cruelty of it all. He’s not afraid to die, but not at the hands of his own son.

“Vergil!” he calls out, and without thinking, he changes from his bug like form, to his familiar human visage, hoping that will trigger some sort of resistance in his son. Whatever happens, Vergil must maintain a thread of iron will, that is his only hope of salvation. It works, because Vergil pauses, and his ugly cumbersome blade (Sparda gave him Yamato, she suited him so much better) trembles in his hand. “You must fight back, my son…”

Mundus laughs, “I never thought I’d see the day that the great and mighty Dark Slayer begs for his life.”

Only now does Sparda deign to respond to his former friend and comrade. “I am not begging for mine...but for his.”

Mundus growls, and rage oozes out of the cracks of his triumphant facade. But he keeps it simmered down, and with a flick of demonic energy, a glittering flash of gold and red hovers in front of Vergil. His son reaches out for it, his half of the perfect amulet. “Ahaha,” his master taunts in a sing-song voice, “Not yet. I need you to do one tiny, almost insignificant thing before I bestow you my gift. Kill him.”

His son still hesitates, silently glancing between his father and the amulet, before he makes his ultimate decision. He takes an attack stance, and strangely, Sparda is relieved. He’s not forsaking his humanity, no matter what Mundus thinks...he’s fighting for it, for the amulet is his mother’s gift, his humanity.

The blade pierces Sparda’s heart, and it barely hurts as the world grows dim. Vergil is close to him, and weakly, Sparda brings him into an embrace, (his son deserved so many more) and whispers in his ear...

“Even after everything...you are still fighting back...I am so proud of you…”

[professorbcampbell]

Seeds of Change || Solo

Timing: March 28th, 2021

Location: The Common

Tagging: @professorbcampbell

Description: Ben decides to see what the Spring Festival has to offer beyond the garden variety flowers and hedges. He finds something rather unique.

When Ben had first caught sight of the spring festival during his run-in—he smirked to himself at that little joke—with Irene, he had initially brushed it off as nothing more than something his mother would probably enjoy. Prize rose judging, people attempting to chop down bushes and call it art, that sort of silly thing. But, he’d chosen to venture deeper into the depths of the festival on the weekend. He couldn’t remember the last time they had a spring festival of this… botanical in nature. And he had an impeccable memory. Ben had always made a point of being involved in the periphery of as many social gatherings and events as he could, keeping an eye out for whatever wandering soul might happen upon him.

Hands stuck in the pockets of his neatly pressed trousers, Ben meandered through the stalls. Tulips, gardenias, orchids—there was no rhyme or reason to the types of flowers that were sprouting up from the stalls. But, he wasn’t looking for flowers.

No, he was interested in something… worthy of his Lord. His monthly ritual was fast approaching and it had been quite some time since he’d gifted his Lord with something beyond the usual offerings of blood and bone. Strolling along the grass, Ben spotted a man smoking away at a pipe—a disgusting habit—at a stand with some rather… unusual wares. The stall was shrouded in dark cloth hangings, with chests tucked away in the back. Meanwhile, the front of the stand was lined with sturdy, barred wooden boxes that held… watermelons? Normally, such a stand wouldn’t have interested him at all, but there was something drawing him in, something seemed to be pulling him towards it.

As he made his way towards the stall, he stared first at the strange fruit on display. All of them seemed to be rustling with an energy Ben was most familiar with. Intent. Dark intent. Looking down at the boxes, Ben noticed there was a strange gap in the watermelon rind, as though they’d already been sliced into. But, as he peered closer, he could see the ruby red flesh was darkened with a glossy sheen that Ben had seen so many times before. Blood.

“Interesting product you have there.” He said to the man, offering a smile. “Do you sell other items?”

The man regarded him for a moment, puffs of smoke coming from his mouth as he stared at Ben from behind bored, dark eyes. “Nothing you’d be interested in.” The man said gruffly. “I don’t think you’d even want one of these. They’re a bit more trouble than they’re worth. Well. They are for some.”

Irritation bubbled in Ben at the implication, but he let out a laugh, “Ah, appearances can be deceiving. I’m more than familiar with things like this.”

“You’re in over your head. Go look at some tulips, pretty boy. Get some flowers for your lady.” The man said, grasping the end of his pipe to point the stem dismissively at Ben. As he did so, Ben could see a hint of silver flashing between his teeth—oh, how very interesting. He was familiar with the stories, had spent so many hours listening to his parents and his grandparents, passing along the stories that their parents and grandparents had told about the creatures that lived in this town. He had heard about the men with silver tongues, with smoke billowing from their noses. Never seen one, not as far as he could tell. But here was one, right in front of him.

Ben knew he had to make the right impression.

With a rueful shake of his head, Ben glanced down at the strange watermelons again. “I’d really love to get a better look at these.” He said and his fingers went for the wooden clasps of the box. The man behind the stand let out a strangled swear and reached out to slap his hands away. Immediately, Ben grasped the man’s hand tightly in his own. The man tried to squirm away, but the moment he did, Ben could feel the ancient signet ring he wore on his left-hand press against the vendor’s flesh. It was an old heirloom, passed from father to son for generations, and he had always worn it with pride. The dark, heavy metal was worn and looked distinctly shabby in comparison to the well-kept suits he favored, but it was a piece of Campbell tradition. A piece of history and ancient power. A gift, granted to them directly by an acolyte of their Lord, hundreds of years ago.

And that power, it was with him today. The smell of charring flesh filled the air between them as the man tried to wrench his hand free, but Ben’s hands were a vice grip around him. He could feel the man’s skin sizzling against him, knew that a deep, burning “C” was being branded into his palm. Leaning forward, Ben held the man’s gaze and said in a pleasant, warm voice. “Now. Vampiric watermelons are a bit banal, don’t you think? I’m looking for something unique,” a worthy offering to his Lord, something that he could gift him at the coming ritual, “Something worthy of a higher power. What can you offer me?”

The man let out a halting, stuttering, “L-Lots. Lots to offer. Just—just let me go.” He pleaded. Ben tilted his head with a growing smile, not releasing the man’s hand.

“Oh? But I thought I was in over my head,” He squeezed tighter, driving the ring deeper into the burning flesh. Blood was beginning to drip through their interlocked hands, sizzling as it made contact with the metal around his finger. “I thought I was just a pretty boy. You’d really give something like that to me?”

“Yes.” The man choked out as Ben gripped his hand. He could feel the center of the ring begin to burn and sear its way towards the bone of his hand. “Yes, anything, anything you want. Just let me go, let me go!”

Triumphant, Ben released the man’s hand and pulled back to look at the stand with a thoughtful expression. Meanwhile, the vendor was swearing, tears running down his face as he wrapped his charred and bleeding hand in the hem of his shirt. Ben paid no mind, eyes too busy greedily taking in the items before him. Boxes filled with unknown contents, bottles with strange, glowing liquids, bones strung up into mysterious charms, feathers with a luster he’d never seen before—so much to choose from. So much, too much.

“You know,” Ben said, voice light and conversational, “I’d hardly call myself an expert on things of this nature. I’m sure you’d agree. No, you sir, are far wiser than I.” He said with a toothy smile before leaning forward, the blood slicked surface of his ring glinting in the light. The man recoiled visibly, backing away into one of the stacked boxes kept behind him.

“I want your most valuable item.” Ben said. The vendor’s face paled and, for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to protest. But, even as the thought crossed his face, Ben watched with interest as the man doubled over, as though stricken by a wave of pain. Was it because of the power of the ring? Was it compelling him to obedience? Or was it something else? Ben didn’t know, but he watched with growing fascination as the man jerkily turned around.

His movements were stiff and halting as he pulled a strange, curving key that seemed to be made of… woven twigs? No, Ben realized as the man fumbled to push it into the latch of a dark, oaken chest. It was a single piece of wood that had been grown into the shape of a skeleton key, dark green leaves sprouting from the handle.

With some difficulty, the man extricated a small velvet pouch from the box and tossed it across the stand at Ben. He caught it easily, undoing the draw strings with growing curiosity. What could be in it? Some kind of magical elixir? An ancient treasure, with incredible power? He emptied the contents into the palm of his hand and blinked. Seeds. Three plain, dusty looking seeds sat in his hand.

“This? This is the best you have?” He said in disbelief, shaking his head as he dropped the seeds back into the bag. He tucked the little pouch into the pocket of his jacket, resting above his heart. The man stared at him with spiteful eyes.

“Get away from me and away from my stall.” The man spat, “I’ve done as I said, and you’ll not get another word out of me.”

With a self-satisfied shrug, Ben wiped his bloody hand clean on the cloth banner of the stand before backing away. He wasn’t sure what he’d been given, but if that… creature considered it his most valuable possession, it would be more than satisfactory to gift to Lord Hrvsht’ooooor. Ben could see it now—he could see himself dressed in his robes, the scent of fresh blood in the crisp midnight air, surrounded by the others of his order. He could picture himself, drinking deeply from the dark chalice that sat at their altar, presenting his humble offerings to his Lord. And his Lord, He would be pleased. He would know of the power of these seeds, know that his servant had proved himself.

He would reward him, finally grant Ben everything he’d ever wanted—

A stumbling man careened into Ben, wrenching him from his pleasant daydream. The man—at least a foot shorter than him—did his best to right himself, grasping onto Ben’s suit with a filthy, dirt covered hand.

“Sorry, sorry.” The man giggled, steadying himself before offering an almost drunken head bobble.

“Get off me,” Ben said with disgust, yanking his arm away from the man’s grasp. He’d already lost his suits to horned rats, he was not interested in having another one ruined by filth. “Get out of here.”

“Already gone!” The man sang as he darted away, stumbling into the crowd of people.

With an irritated frown, Ben made his way through the Common towards the parking lot. He’d had rather enough of this little festival. It was high time he returned home and prepare for the coming ritual. He had an offering to prepare, invitations to send out, he needed to get wine—probably a cheese platter for the celebration after. As he mulled over these details, his hands went to the pocket of his jacket for his car keys. His fingers closed around his key ring but…

Swearing, Ben patted his jacket furiously. It was all in vain, the pouch had disappeared. It was nowhere to be found. The seeds, that were rightfully his, they had been stolen. It must have been that disgusting little man, the one who’d fallen into him. How had he not noticed? How had he not felt it? How could he have just let them be taken like that?

As Ben continued to search his pockets with increasing desperation, a sinking feeling of realization filled the pit of his stomach. Of course. Of course.

The man had stolen his wallet, too.

[op-peccatori]

blooming devotion | MLQC Gavin

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Gavin/Reader

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 5k

Summary: He sees it as the ultimate expression of his love, pure and unselfish in nature. His thinks his life is a fitting price to pay, one he never intends for you to be aware of. But things don't always (rarely) go according to plan, and you have a lot to say when you find out. The real question is–will you make it in time?

A/N: this was meant to be sad but I’m too soft. also need to fine-tune it because I wrote it in a bit of a rush so can I run back to Gavin smut lmao

Warnings/tags: (chronic) hanahaki disease, minor campus date spoilers, blood

Nimble fingers fly over the piano keys, spinning a web of nostalgia and longing, trapping their audience with ease. 

Even as you’re engrossed in playing old melodies, eager to share them with him, his eyes stay riveted on you.

A memory, old yet vivid, flashes through Gavin's mind. He can see it clearly in his mind, ginkgo leaves swirling fiercely around him, heralding his rebirth, his awakening; your arrival a watershed in a life he had thus far lived without purpose, piano chords striking at the wound up agony in him until it gave in to your light.

He had no one to live for, not since he lost the only person who ever loved him. He had his own code to follow, but it wasn't enough. The itch beneath his skin grew with each passing day, roaring for him to be noticed, to be cared for. 

Falling to his demise brought him to his salvation.

You became his purpose.

Gavin believes in forging one's own path, but he secretly thinks fate had a hand in bringing you into his life. It felt right. 

At first, he had just been grateful and had committed himself to your protection in the name of that gratitude. But you had hooked him in, heart and mind, and with each passing day, his young heart throbbed harder for you. His eyes sought you out the moment he stepped foot onto campus, his attendance in classes rising with that strange yearning in his belly. 

To be the kind of knight you deserved, he needed to change. He needed to be better. For the first time in so long, he had hope. He had something other than the bitterness and rage that had been drilled into him, he had a chance to be more.

He watched over you; you liked to eat lunch outside, and you had a terribly sweet tooth. You almost always had your homework finished on time. You were unaware of his presence outside the window to the music room while you played, and you were oblivious to the way he burned when he watched hopeful teens ask you out.

He had thought that, perhaps, he should talk to you, or thank you, to make this tight feeling in his chest fade. 

Gavin had tried to speak with you then, an attempt he's sure you don't remember. But that one unsuccessful conversation had been a pivotal moment; banal in the eyes of everyone watching, but as he had watched you trip, watched you close your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath before sinking down to one knee, he came to a quick decision. He had walked over and bent down to help you gather your things; you had glanced at him appreciatively, your small smile quivering, but something in Gavin bloomed.

The curious sparkle in your eyes, the rebellious strands escaping your bun, the subtle shine of your lips–captivating. The hint of bags under your eyes, the pensiveness in the twist of your mouth, the two fingernails that had clearly been victim to nervous chewing. It was the beginning of the end for Gavin, the moment the true purpose of his life became clear, the first drop of water to this new love that took root in him. 

It wasn't all that uncommon, for people his age. And so when Gavin sprinted away from you, rushing to the bathroom with his hand clamped over his mouth and leaving you to stammer out a thank you, acceptance had started to set in. And when the first petal dropped into his palm, sunny and ironically cheerful, he held it to his chest as if clutching the most precious gem in existence. He vowed to give everything to his new purpose. The wretched, crashing waves of his existence met your steady cliff. 

He was a stranger to you, but you became his world.

He never told a soul.

There weren't a lot of people in his life that could be trusted with something of this much importance, even then. His father was out of the question; even estranged as they were, Gavin knew the man, and he knew that he would be strapped down as soon as his father found out, and his purpose would be carved out of him. The man would look at his flowers and see weakness.

Gavin would die before he lost the only light in his life.

He never told a soul, but that does not mean no one ever found out. Mr Keller suspected, as did his brother. He never admitted to anything, not at the concerned questions, nor the aggressive yelling. 

But the one eventually caught him was Minor.

Minor, who insisted on following him around, who had been observant enough to figure out who had caught friend's eye, who cheered him on, praised him, shook off his attempts to push him away. 

Minor, who had trembled as Gavin had succumbed to a sudden attack. Gavin remembers the warmth of his palm on his back, comforting even as he had hacked uncontrollably. The attacks weren't frequent back then, but he had watched you play the piano earlier that day, had indulged himself in fantasies he had no right to dream up, and he had paid the price. 

His devotion was fierce and pure, and every great thing demands a sacrifice. It was a way to prove his will, his love, even if only to himself. In his eyes, this was tangible proof of his devotion; quiet and invisible in its expression, yet raging and fervent in its depth.

"...Why haven't you gotten them removed?" Minor had asked, teary-eyed and terrified. Gavin debated not answering before slumping back to rest his back against the fence. His...companion sat next to him, hugging his knees as he waited for his answer. 

"I can't," Gavin had said simply. "I can't lose this. The surgery messes you up, it takes away your ability to feel and this is what I live for now. If need be, this is what I'll die for. I’m okay with that."

Minor had looked at him like he was insane.

"It's not a this, it's a person. Have-have you even told her?" Because it could only be you. Minor had looked furious, then, imagining that you had turned your back on his friend. That you had looked at this beautiful boy with his jagged edges and guarded eyes and looked away.

"Told her what?"

"That you love her."

It was the first time it had been put in those words. Gavin had never thought of it explicitly, had never thought I love her. He had just felt, and he had let the feeling consume him so deeply he felt it in every breath he took. It wasn't very painful, not then. 

"Not yet," he had said, various scenarios swimming through his mind at the very thought of telling you. Of the expression on your face when you found out. You didn't really know him beyond what you'd been told, so he had a lot to work on. "I'm not ready."

I'm not good enough, not yet. But I will be. And then I'll tell her.

He made Minor swear he wouldn't tell. Minor agreed on the condition that Gavin keep him updated on the 'situation.' 

Even as the years went by, and you were no longer in his sight, the flowers grew, and his love for you continued to grow in the tiniest of ways. All he had was a yearbook, but it was enough. His memories were enough to nurture his love. 

All throughout, he tried to avoid Minor as much as he possibly could, but the other boy–man, now–tracked him down every now and then and demanded updates. He also took it upon himself to give Gavin updates on you. College, your father, and your new job. 

He struggled with the need to go to you, and to offer whatever help he could. Not yet, he told himself. You’ll be of no use to her as you are.

It seemed that your absence, while not enough for the flowers to wither, was enough to keep them at bay. He grew stronger every day, forged himself a body and mind of steel, a man who would protect you for...for as long as he could. 

And, once again, your reappearance in his life turned it upside down; he loved you all the more for it, and it wrecked him. With each droplet of blood that dribbled down his chin, with every beat of his heart, he loved you.

When you came back to him, Gavin found out why his condition could be considered fatal. 

God, but you had grown even more beautiful. 

You no longer looked at him with barely hidden fear, only wary surprise. You were more confident, running your own company, and you needed his help. 

He felt it, constricting in his ribs, and he prayed– not now. He felt his heart race, felt the tips of his ears heat up, tried to keep his eyes from glancing at you again and again and again. 

Gavin had been quite amused by your uncertainty at his willingness to help. But you couldn't have known the lengths he was willing to go for you, had been going to for years. He had never told you. But he would.

He had hoped to get the chance to do it, to tell you how deeply he feels for you. And so he had allowed himself this luxury of growing closer, of really getting to know you. Of letting you see the man he had grown up to be, scarred and powerful and as just as he could be, hoping that you would love him, never really believing you would.

It ruined him. 

Because now you smiled at him. You clung to him as he flew you home, and he could always smell the faint traces of your perfume, could feel the softness of you against his body. Now, you cared for him. You cared about his diet, his missions, his burdens. 

You allowed him to come to your rescue, and it made him want to dance. It also had him on his knees, coughing up flower petals with more frequency.

He almost hated it. Sometimes he wondered if he should’ve stayed in the shadows, if only to keep that worried expression far from your face. 

But he had to stay close, because there were forces in the world around you, stirring awake, ready to make their move and sink their claws into you.

He loved his flowers, fiercely and protectively. One would think they would be a certain kind of leaf that symbolizes so much in his life; but this was a symbol of his love for you. It would only make sense for it to be your favourite flower. 

But now, they grow faster. 

You finish playing the last notes of the symphony, smiling up at him, and he smiles back almost helplessly. 

‘I love you.’ 

He...can’t die now. But it hurts to breathe, and it means his feelings have grown deeper. A part of him feels satisfied–it’s the ultimate show of love. Pure and unselfish. 

It happens as you’re leaving the campus together; he can barely breathe, and the tip of your little finger brushes his. Gavin nearly doubles over, turning his back to you and coughing violently. He can hear you, frantic and worried, and he can feel your warm hands. His vision swims with the tears in his eyes.

He shakes you off, struggling to get the words out. He doesn't look at you, pressing your handkerchief to his mouth. He knows it's stained with blood. Don't let her see, don't let her see, please don't let her see. “It’s...it’s from...the mission.” The wind picks up, and his feet lift off. “Sorry...you’ll...have to go on...” He’s gone before you can say anything, desperate to find a safe place to ride it out. 

He doesn’t dare to look back at you, and so he has no idea your attention has been snatched by something else in the wake of his departure. He doesn’t see you bending down to pluck a bloodstained petal off the ground, doesn’t see the sorrow that steals your breath away. 

He doesn’t see you for a while, after that.

Business is booming, and the work keeps pouring in. You've been working hard to fulfil your father's dreams and your own, and you hope he's proud of you.

You can’t bring yourself to devote yourself to any of it today, weighed down by the accidental revelation brought to light in your last meeting with Gavin. You've been cursing yourself for never noticing, for daring to think that you had a chance. 

He's loved someone for a long time and it's killing him. 

You’ve been trying to reach him for nearly two weeks, but there’s no response. You can’t eat, you can’t sleep, you can’t breathe until you see him, until you ask him why. 

Anna worries. Kiki and Willow try to make you talk, but this isn’t something you can discuss with anybody else. This is a secret you will have to shoulder alone, until you can talk to Gavin. 

Minor takes a day off, and he comes in the next day looking like the life has been drained out of him. You track him down to the break room, but stop and step to the side when you see him by the coffee machine with Kiki. A quick glance around ensures there’s no one to witness your attempt at eavesdropping.

“Minor, are you okay?” Kiki asks, whispering loudly, utterly unaware of you hovering nearby. 

The man nods, more miserable than you’ve ever seen him. 

“Aw, cheer up! Whatever it is, it’ll be fine.” Kiki pats him on the back. “Where’s Gavin? Why don’t you go grab lunch with him? You’ll feel better.” She walks away with that suggestion given, greeting you cheerfully, and so she doesn’t see the way he crumbles.

But you do. And you’re hit with another realization–Minor knows. 

His eyes meet yours and he freezes, caught in your fierce gaze; before he can flee the room, you act. Silently, you apologize for cornering him, but this isn't something you can just move on from.

“Minor, in my office please.” 

He doesn’t say anything as he falls into step behind you, nor when he closes the door behind him–not that you expected him to start confessing. He fidgets, hesitating when you gesture for him to take a seat, before sinking into a chair. 

You let the silence stretch on for a moment, collecting your thoughts and weighing your words. 

“How long?” 

Minor looks startled, peering up at you in confusion. You reach into the drawer in your desk, withdrawing the single withering petal from it. A sunflower petal, from what you can tell. Your heart aches with something bitter. From the look on the man’s face, he’s seen it before. 

“How long has Gavin had it?” 

“Since...since high school,” he rasps, wincing at your quick, sharp inhale. That's too long. And the man has been continuing with his duties like literal flowers aren't growing in his body. 

You're angry, you realize belatedly. Because Gavin is one of the most important people in your life, and he's always treated you with just as much care, but apparently you're not...important enough to be told this.

“How bad is it?” The words taste like ash in your mouth.

He stays quiet, staring down at his sneakers.

“Minor. How bad is it?”  You expect him to try and hide it.

Minor bursts into tears instead. You reach for him instinctively, a hand on his shoulder and the other reaching for a tissue, but Minor grabs your wrist. He looks devastated but his grip on you is secure.

“It was okay, before, but Boss,” he stumbles over the words, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, as if they can't be stopped. “He was in the hospital. It’s...it’s not looking good.” 

You can barely speak through the numbness spreading through your limbs. Your mind spins chaotically but you'll be damned if you leave this conversation without getting your answers.

“He won’t...why won’t he remove them?” The words feel pointless even as you choke them out, because if Gavin loves someone this much there is nothing in the world that will make him sway. He's not a man who changes his mind, or his heart Your heart burns at the thought. “Has he told them?”

“N-no.” 

“Why the fuck not?” 

“I don't know. Every time I ask," Minor blows his nose noisily. "He says not yet. I feel like, like he thinks they'll reject him?"

You take a deep, unsteady breath. “Who is it?” Who could look at this fierce, beautiful man and not want him? Who is it that has everything you want in the palm of their hand, and not even know it?

Minor stares at you, an odd look on his face. You're seized by impatience, shaking him lightly. There’s no time.

“Minor, this is no time to keep secrets. We need to do something. Who is it?” You'll talk to Gavin. You'll help him talk to them. This can be fixed.

Something like pity flashes in his eyes, and his fingers slip down to curl around yours, hesitant yet meaningful. An unpleasant feeling curls along your insides. “Boss...” 

You can’t breathe. 

He’s had it since high school.

The I’m sorry hangs in the air. The it's you tightens around your throat.

You vomit all over Minor's shoes.

The sky looms with the promise of rain, grey clouds drifting and arranging themselves to conceal the sun. 

Your entire body aches with regret, even as hope sprouts in your heart. You don't think you've ever run this fast. You don't think you've ever had a reason to.  

As you had suspected, Minor had gone to see Gavin yesterday, escorting the man home once he was discharged. He told you that the doctor was very clear about how severe Gavin's condition had grown. That there isn't much time.

It hadn't come as a surprise to Gavin.

You told Anna you had to leave, and you took off, refusing to waste another minute of his life. The answer lay with you all along, it's you. Even as a part of you rejoices, the tears spill over. It's you. You've been the cause of his suffering all this time. 

The sunflowers. 

There's a stitch in your side by the time you reach his apartment. You hit the button outside the elevator urgently, again and again; the trip up is nearly unbearable. You see your reflection in the doors–sweat drips down your face, and your dress feels damp in several unfortunate places. Your skin is flushed unattractively, your eyes swollen from all the crying you had done on the way over. 

It all falls away when he opens the door, eyes wide and bleary from sleep. He looks awful.

And it's your fault. 

"Y/n, hey," he lets you in without question, and the sweet concern in his eyes makes you nauseous. Even now, even when he's dying he's thinking of your well-being. He looks gaunt, like he hasn't eaten or gotten proper sleep in months. "Is everything okay?"

You're nodding automatically, used to responding to that question, before you stop forcibly. "No, actually, I'm not."

He looks worried now. "What can I do to help?"

You had considered just bringing a ring. "You can start by telling me why you never thought to tell me about your illness."

You spot the moment he connects the dots, his shoulders tightening in that endearingly and exasperatingly defensive way that comes so naturally to him. "Illness?" 

You reach into your pocket, and worry that he's stopped breathing when he sees the petal in your hand. "Looks familiar?"

He reaches for it, and you watch with sickening fascination as he holds it reverently. "It's...not an illness." You hope that the slight quirk of your brow is enough to convey your demand for him to elaborate. "I mean, I know it's considered a disease, but I've never really seen it that way." 

"For someone so devoted to his work, you're rather accepting of something that hinders it," you remark casually, trying to resist the urge to put your hands on your hips. You don't want to push too hard, but you're not leaving without letting him know how you feel.

"I guess my devotion to something else trumps it," he closes his fingers around the tiny petal. "It's a price I'm willing to pay."

The urge to do something drastic takes hold of you when he smiles at you so softly. You step closer to him, your hands rising to cup his, before you pry open the cage of his fingers to reach for the petal.

He watches you carefully. 

You crush it in your fist. 

"What if it's a price I'm not willing to pay?"

He swallows heavily, retreating until his back hits the wall. You follow him without a word. It could be almost funny, the way you're both standing in this little hall at the entrance, but there's no urge to smile. You don't think you've ever been more serious in your life. 

"...Unfortunately, there's not much you can do about it," he replies evenly, and this time you do almost smile at his nerve.

"Really? That's odd, because Minor believes otherwise." Your words are delivered casually, but with the way his skin pales one would think you've dropped a threat.

"It's not his business–"

"But it is mine," you cut him off, before wavering. "I...isn't it?" Because, maybe, Minor had gotten it wrong. 

You stare at each other, studying, hoping, trembling on the inside. And then the fight leaves him. He looks defeated, ashamed and you begin to think that isn't going to be as easy as just telling him how you feel.

"Yes, it is," he shrinks in on himself, and you've never seen him look so small. "I...I love you." 

You stare at him, wondering why he's looking at you with so much anguish.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and you snap back into reality. 

"Why? I feel the same way," you say, sure and gentle, and reach for his hands. "I love you, Gavin." 

His hands slip from your grip, and he's stalking away from you before you even realize what's happening.

"This is why I never wanted to tell you," he says roughly, taking a seat on his couch to rub his temples in agitation. He looks deeply upset.

"What do you mean?" You follow him, baffled, and sit down next to him, rubbing his back comfortingly when he coughs wetly. "Gavin, please–"

"The last thing I wanted was for you to find out and feel pressured to do exactly what you're doing." He sounds miserable, and you feel helpless in the face of his abject refusal to accept your feelings. 

"What, confess my own feelings?" 

"There are no feelings," he tells you, insistently. He sounds so sure and it hurts. "You're just...you're too nice."

"I'm really not–"

"You don't have to do this, y/n," Gavin tells you gently, ruffling your hair in a bizarre attempt you comfort you. "I'll be fine."

You smack his hand away. 

And when he looks hurt, your fingers curl in the neckline of his cotton t-shirt and yank him towards you, your head tilting just the slightest to fit your lips against his. He tastes like iron and gatorade, with a hint of something floral that sinks into your tongue. It's brief, and soft, and when you pull away he looks stunned.

"I love you," you whisper, and he trembles.

"No, you don't." It's barely a whisper, so faint you nearly miss it, and you don't know what to do. “I know that this...this is unpleasant–”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” you cut him off, tears springing to your eyes and this time, you don’t stop them. You don't swallow your words, allowing them the taste of freedom. You feel weak, impuissant. “I hate this. I hate that you’re so willing to die. That you’ve known for years, suffered every single day with the knowledge that you will die for it. I h-hate that you never even thought to live for it instead. You never...you never...”

He looks at you, mutely and pleadingly, robbed of words. 

You breathe in forcefully. "What I'm here to do, is to tell you how I feel, and to knock down the pedestal you seem to have placed me on." 

There's that familiar defensive look creeping into his eyes, and you rush to continue.

“It’s selfish, Gavin.” Your anger subsides, suddenly and dizzyingly, and the longing that rushes in is tinged by sorrow. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

His head hits the back of the couch with a soft thunk, eyes sliding shut as if he's got no strength left.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he finally whispers, and a part of you trembles at the way his voice shakes. “And all this time, it’s been the one true, pure thing in my life. I loved you. I love you. I always will. And then one day, my always was...uncertain. You would never feel the same way–that was also a truth I’d come to accept.” He shakes his head when you open your mouth, ready protest, and the sight of him trying to hold his tears back stops you. “I’ve loved you so much it’s killing me and I’d accepted that. How do I go back from that?” 

You reach for his hand, bringing it up to your face. “By giving us a chance. Give me a chance, please, Gavin–I’ll show you, every single day for the rest of our long and healthy lives because I refuse to consider any other alternative.” You press your lips to the tip of his index finger, and the flush on his cheeks spreads further.

“You deserve–“

“Love,” you emphasise, kissing the pad of his middle finger, “is rarely about what we think we deserve. It boils down to what we want. And I want you.” 

“I want to kiss you before we leave for work. I want to kiss you when you come back from your missions. I want to kiss you goodnight every night.” You nip at the flesh of his thumb lightly, suppressing a smile when he jumps.

“I want to use every bit of my limited knowledge of first-aid on you, although I dearly hope those occasions will be sparse; I want to share every secret I have with you, I-I want to wash your hair when you’re too tired to do it.” You bring his other hand to your mouth, holding it carefully. 

“I want to get mad at you for not eating your vegetables, and for having the audacity to disapprove of me doing the same. I want to go to bed with you, I want to hold you, I want to love you.” 

Gavin stares at you, dazed and on the verge of tears.

"Is it because I don't have flowers growing in me?" you ask softly. "Is that why you don't believe me?"

"No. No, that's not," he stammers as he pulls you to him, holding you tightly. Your chin rests on his shoulder as he struggles to process your words, and get his out. "I would never wish this on you. I couldn't bear it."

"Then why do you expect me to be okay with it?"

He doesn't have an answer.

“I know it’s taken me too long to get here, but I don’t want to lose any more time. I don’t want to lose you.”

You press the curve of your lips to his jaw, relief coursing through you when he melts against you.

“I want you to live. With me. For me. And I won’t give up. So, please–give me a chance.” 

By the time to finish you’re both struggling to breathe, sniffling messily; you’ve pulled Gavin halfway onto your lap, stubbornly holding his weight, arms wrapped around him in a silent declaration–you won’t be letting go. 

His head is tucked into the cradle of your neck and shoulder, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “Y/n, I...” 

“I love you.” 

You crane your head down, a little awkwardly, as he looks up. There’s a spot of crimson on the corner of his lips and before you can think it through, the pad of your thumb is there, rubbing it away. Warmth blooms through you at the contact, at the way Gavin stares at you, and it’s alarming how your mind quietens when you’re with him. 

Your lips brush his, achingly soft, and the breath he sucks in is quick and sharp. But his fingers curl around your neck and his mouth slots against yours firmly; a distant part of your mind is concerned by how hard your heart is throbbing, determined to burst out of its confines and reach Gavin, its true keeper. 

He tastes like iron, and you vow to ensure Gavin will never taste bloodstained flowers again, no matter what it takes. 

“Gavin,” you murmur, mesmerized by his flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. “Gavin, I love you.” 

He doesn't say anything, but he buries his face into your hair, and he doesn't let go.

And so you drift off feeling more content than you have in days, hopeful and determined to keep Gavin in your arms, snoozing adorably. 

You’re pressed closer than ever, curled around each other, and Gavin wakes up feeling warmer than he has in years. 

The sky seems to have cleared up, sending the last eager rays of sun through the glass before it sets for the day. 

He's nearly on top of you, and wonders how you're breathing, before the thought has him trying to pull away in alarm. You make a sleepy noise of complaint and follow, holding onto him even in your slumber. 

The force of the affection that seizes him nearly sends him tumbling back into oblivion. And then you're stirring awake, mumbling his name tiredly, smiling up at him when you spot him staring at you like a man starved. 

There's love in your eyes.

The thought has him tearing himself away from you, stumbling from the couch to fall to his knees on the floor, coughing more violently than he should be. He can hear you crying, your hands rubbing his back as he nearly throws up on the carpet. 

Well, he does throw up, but something he hadn't expected to see. 

A fully bloomed sunflower lies on the ground before you both, more vibrant than any other flower he'd ever seen. He lets you fold him into your arms, allowing himself the comfort of your warmth, slowly, finally believing that it's for him. Your smile, your laughter, your complaints–they're all his. 

Everything will be okay. And for the first time in his life, with your arms around him, Gavin begins to believe it.

[linssikeittomies]

The Place Between Here And There - Chapter 10: ...And Happiness In Private Life(cont'd)

Masterpost AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7  Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 9(cont'd)

I've finally updated the status of the fic to ABANDONED, I was going to do that way earlier but I didn't want to admit defeat, and then I just kind of forgot... Time really starts flying by as you get older, it totally doesn't feel like 2 years passed by^^' I'm still writing scenes for later on in the fic, and I've had the general outline of the story planned for a long time, but I haven't been able to write complete chapters for any of my projects for over a year now, it's very annoying. Anyway, this is the rest of chapter 9, not my best work but at least I like the part with Toris. He's noticed Ivan's small efforts of being nicer and wants to encourage them. Thanks for everyone who read this story and sorry for not being able to bring it to conclusion for all of you who were invested!

-

Ivan sent Fredya home until Wednesday – claiming it was so he could concentrate on work, but he was sure Fredya could tell he was just fretting about the upcoming meeting. Ivan was terrified Katyushka would get carried away, and that was closer to certainty rather than possibility, and then Fredya would walk out of his life. He had known from the start that the time would come sooner or later, but he had much hoped it would fall on the later end of the spectrum. This was a wholly different case from that of his first girlfriend - the one he had been with all of three days before Katyusha started talking about weddings. She had left him the next day, not surprisingly, and he hadn’t really cared one way or the other - she had been far too practical to occupy his thoughts when she wasn’t in sight. But if Fredya left as suddenly, and he was certainly impulsive enough to do so on the spot, then... Obviously it still wouldn’t be the end of the world,of course it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, losing a home for example would be far worse than losing a companion, it really wasn’t that big of an issue when you thought about it – there was no reason to lose what little will to live Ivan had left over something that insignificant. No reason.

So Ivan would not worry about it – he slammed the door on the thought, and worked hard to put all his concentration on his notes. He had not yet studied Rogers enough, his files on the computer had sat abandoned for too long. Opening his folder, going over the routes again, verifying time codes, Ivan fell to a comfortable, familiar routine, cup of tea beside him growing cold. Rogers didn’t have much of a routine, which made observing him a challenge and data collecting a thrill. At least this was an activity that Ivan could still lose himself in despite whatever non-turmoil was boiling in his gut. Comparing coordinates, discovering overlaps, identifying patterns, data was something Ivan was good at. Data had no emotions, so it was easy to handle. Data didn’t mind his extracurriculars, didn’t judge him for his jealousy, didn’t snoop into his past. Though it also didn’t text him at 3 am to tell him about a silly dream it had. Even less it cared about whether he was coming home for the night or not. It not wanting to watch brainless, cliched superhero should have been a positive, but in the dark, the brain gets sentimental. Ivan suddenly wished he had a file on Fredya. Ivan certainly had enough data on him, though so far it was all in his brain and a few lines in his notebooks. One photo on his phone, a selfie Fredya had sent some weeks ago. It was taken with one of those filter things, Ivan wasn’t familiar with the apps so he couldn’t tell if it was instagram or snappychat or whatever others there were. Fredya had cartoon glasses on his nose, on top of his real-life glasses. He was doing a victory sign, and there was a badly drawn pink heart floating in the lower left corner, not anchored into anything. The composition of the photo was bad. A large dead space occupied the top left, a pile of dirty clothes was poking into the frame from the bottom right. The lighting was scarcely better, the only diffuser was the dust inside the light fixture. Fredya’s artistic ability was nil, though he did make for an attractive subject, harsh shadows and all. It would be nice to have proper photo of him, before he got out of reach. With a reference to guide him, it might be possible. Ivan quickly scanned his bedroom for inspiration.

Perhaps it was too much effort for 2 a.m., but Ivan rather liked the end result. The handful of stars drawn on the wall to form a suggestion of a halo – however wrong it looked on Ivan – and hands posed to form a heart on the chest, and some minor lighting adjustments on photoshop, he thought it near perfectly captured how Ivan saw Fredya. Bright, innocent, center of the universe, unashamed of his affections. Fredya wouldn’t put as much effort in to it, even if he did take his own version of the photo as Ivan had requested, but that was also good. It wasn’t in Fredya’s nature to try too hard at something he didn’t feel like understanding - such as art other than of the moving pictures variety. Together, the photos formed a piece – the fantasy and the reality. It was a commentary on expectations. Fredya may or may not look at the photo when he inevitably got up to go the bathroom sometime soon, but he wouldn’t take his own until afternoon if ever, so Ivan finally went to bed. He only had a few hours before his shift started.

-_-_-_-_-

Fredya had sent an emoji Ivan didn’t understand the meaning as response to the photo, followed by hearts and something that seemed to be an abbreviation, Ivan didn’t research the meaning. It likely wasn’t important. Ivan got coffees for everyone again, and Amanda gave him a incredulous look. It was getting suspicious, Ivan acting nice. He should dial down on the social interactions for the next few days. It would be good practice for when Fredya left him, anyway. “Oh, thank you for going through the trouble”, Toris commented smiling. Ivan studied the smile, trying to map out proportions and gauge timings, but again he failed to replicate the gesture. It kept coming out as sarcastic. He would prefer if both would just shut up and their coffees without scrutinizing his intentions. Let a man act civil to fellow humans beings in peace. “If everyone is done sitting around, we need someone to go interview Fowler’s parishioners.” Predictably, Amanda volunteered for the task. That left Ivan and Toris at the office, reading through statements, comparing alibis and viewing security footage, the same draining and pointless sinkhole of never-ending choppy black-and-white footage that glared a print of the screen in your soul, so that in the end when you lost everything else to dementia and cataracts, you would still see that stinging bright rectangle staring you in the eye, smirking gleefully, taking pleasure in removing everything one used to take joy in, and replacing itself in place of loved ones. That metaphor ran a little wild at the end, there. In all fairness, it could be intriguing work when results could reasonably be expected, but everyone and their mother knew the only thing learned from these particular ones would be just how much time were wasting on them. Even Toris, being his professional self, couldn’t resist glancing at the clock every few minutes. He would of course try to make it inconspicuous, just letting his eyes dart to his wrist and back again, but it was noticeable enough when one was more concentrated on the coworker than the work. It came to Ivan’s mind that perhaps this was another aspect of Toris he should try to simulate, rather than keep studying, his work ethic was excellent. Surely that was something most people would approve of. And Fredya did often complain Ivan was rather lackadaisical about his work, he would appreciate the effort. “How do stay so focused?” he asked sincerely. It was admirable, really, how Toris could throw himself at something so tedious. Toris blinked at him in confusion, probably surprised to see his colleague who was supposed to working beside him blatantly ignoring said work. “I’ve practiced it for years, there’s really no easy trick for it.” “Ah. Shame.” “I find that meditating regularly helps. And a good diet.” Well, that was already two things Ivan would not be trying out. “I could send you some articles  if you’d like.” “You should spend your free time on yourself. You work too much.” Ivan went idly back to his files, not really feeling like working, but deciding to at least give it a shot, but feeling Toris’ curious eyes still fixed on him was too much of a distraction. After several seconds of silence he couldn’t take it anymore. “Yes?” “Thank you. That was considerate of you.” Ivan didn’t know how to answer that. It had been such a banal thing to say. Not warranting any response, really. Just a stock phrase, however true of some people and situations - such as this particular specimen. Toris must have heard the exact same statement hundreds of times in his life, knowing that he had an actual social circle who cared for him. Ivan was outside that circle, and people rarely care for the things outsiders say in matters like these - surely Toris should feel nothing particular about anything Ivan said. There was no need for him to smile like that, it was just embarrassing for a grown man to get so giddy about faint praise. Ivan scoffed and went back to his work.

-_-_-_-_-

U maek a habot of drawning on walls huh Outside of his brief childhood, Ivan had only ever drawn on walls three times - once in a drunk, misguided bout of creative frenzy, once to write his number on an intriguing man’s wall to annoy him, and once in an attempt to save a relic of happier times for the future. Mostly when you are involved, it seems. Perhaps you are my muse for wall-related artistry It had been a while since Ivan had drawn a portrait, but now might be the time to dust off that skill set. Ivan considered himself more of a photographer, but there was also something appealing about creating from scratch. Although... he would need to keep the portrait hidden, it would raise questions and pity later on. Ivan wished he was better at abstraction, that way it wouldn’t look like Fredya to anyone else, but his mind seemed to be too observational for it. It could only make sense of things that connected together in realistic ways, it couldn’t create anything out of feelings alone. Perhaps he simply didn’t have enough of them for that kind of art. The dinner with Fredya and his sisters was a few hours away, but Ivan was already nervously ironing his clothes. He once again pleaded Katyusha to control her romantic impulses, and of course she promised, but Ivan knew that meant little. She had very bad self-control. Tasha’s picking me up, we’ll meet you there Natasha was coming? Nataliya was coming?! Fuck - what was she - this was bad news - why hadn’t she said - oh god, forget about Katyusha ruining everything if Nataliya Grigorova was coming! She never mentioned wanting to come along That sneaky little girl, she told me you said it was okay, haha He would not survive this night sober. He wanted to make a good impression. He did not want to be drunk when the only three people who mattered to him were all in the same room. He wanted to be fully conscious, to enjoy an outing with his family while being fully genuine, not just sedated into calmness. But lord knew he would not survive the night sober.

-_-_-_-_-

Remembering the fit Fredya had thrown the last time Ivan had driven not-strictly-drunk-but-also-not-sober, he was glad that they had arranged beforehand for Fredya to pick him up. Because he was observant in the most inconvenient ways, Ivan had been sure Fredya would notice something was off, maybe a smell or the slow movements to counteract the unsteady hand-to-eye-coordination, but fortunately he was too stoked about meeting Ivan’s sisters again, officially, to notice Ivan’s oddly calm demeanor. He babbled excitedly the whole way there, and was halfway across the street before Ivan had even fully exited the car. “Come on you snail! They’re gonna think we ditched them!” “It’s only a few minutes away, you can afford to slow down”, Ivan chuckled. Fredya was so adorably excited, he resembled a puppy on a walk. “Being overeager is as bad as being late.” “Beg to disagree! Pick up the pace slowpoke!” Fredya sped up ahead, Ivan kept his leisurely pace. He missed the re-introductions, but it seemed like he hadn’t been needed for those at all - Fredya and Katyushka already looked like old friends, while Tasha regarded him with a haughty look, but nary a nasty word. She raised an eyebrow at Ivan, as if saying really, you chose this clown over me?, and he simply smiled pleasantly at her. As they waited for their food to arrive, Fredya and Katyushka were unsurprisingly the only ones to hold up conversation. They had found a common ground in Star Trek - in that Katyusha had heard a lot about it, but had never watched an episode and was interested, and Fredya was an expert in all the series and films and liked talking about them. They went through the pacifistic ideas on the original series and how it sometimes contradicted itself on it, analyzing the casting choices for the remakes, some more things that Ivan had no interest in.  When their plates were brought, the were in the midst of trying to speak klingon - the attempts of both of them were saddeningly hilarious. Or perhaps they were both surprisingly accurate. Ivan had no way of knowing, the franchise being something he had never taken an interest in. Of course he liked space, but he was more fact-oriented than a fan of fanciful fiction. “You seem so young, it’s almost like you’re still in college”, Katyusha giggled, and Ivan could not agree more. The youthful energy Fredya exuded was refreshing, at least most of the time. “Never went to college, I went straight to work from high school”, Fredya explained, crumbs flying. That was the one habit that Ivan never found charming in Fredya, it was just plain disgusting. Tasha made a small chortle of contempt that passed Fredya by. “Our brother is a very intelligent man”, Tasha commented sharply, and Ivan knew exactly what she was going for – he had come to the same conclusion, himself. And truthfully, neither of them had been wrong - Fredya really was stupid. “Oh, tell me about it”, the insulted man chuckled, not understanding what was being implied. Ivan would have liked being able to defend Fredya, but the thing was that Fredya was not intelligent – intellectually or socially, and attempting to claim otherwise would have been pointless. He might have been considered smart in some useless areas, such as entertainment trivia, but faint praise is just as damning as admitting faults. Trivia! There was the opening Fredya needed to impress Tasha! “He has a master’s degree in movie trivia and celebrity gossip, if nothing else. Just give an actor’s name and he will tell you every movie they have ever been in.” “And not just that! I can also tell which year each movie came out!” Fredya exclaimed proudly. Ivan started with an easy one - Tom Cruise. Tasha did look reluctantly impressed as the titles and dates kept on coming, but refused to admit defeat. She tried her favorite actor, someone much more obscure. “Ken Foree?” “Hmm… The midnight man, 2017… Rift, dark side of the moon 2016, Cut slash pri- no wait, I think he was in Divine tragedies, 2015, Cut slash print 2012 –“ However, since

Tasha’s obsession with her brother refused to give way to respect for her perceived enemy, she realized that to claim victory she could simply ask about any non-American film star. “Anastasia Zavorotnyuk.” “Anastasia who?” Of course he pronounced the name the American way, but Ivan was still mildly impressed he could tell Анастасия and Anastasia were the same name. “Zavorotnyuk.” Tasha allowed herself a malevolent smirk as Fredya racked his brain for the name in vain. “A true expert wouldn’t limit himself only to Hollywood”, Tasha hmphed in triumphant malice, believing to have proved her superiority over him once and for all, despite not showing an ability to counter his. It seemed the point had only been to prove Fredya was not omniscient. In Ivan’s eyes, it was enough to be merely well-versed. “He does hate subtitles to the point where I thought he might be illiterate”, Ivan joked. “Hey, at least I speak the language of the country I live in!” “Verily, my darling, thou speakest with the most biting of tongues. Shakespeare himself would envy your prowess.” “The guy lived like hundreds of years ago, who gives a shit? Ivan Drago was famous in the 80’s.” “Ivan can sound almost native when he tries”, Katyusha said, trying to diffuse the argument, not knowing the workings of their relationship well enough to tell it was all said in jest. “I haven’t tried in years, I doubt I could anymore”, Ivan thought. He had tried training his accent away in high school, so he would sound less foreign in job interviews. Having a foreign name was bad enough in an application. He had never achieved a smooth, natural accent, he had to concentrate very hard which caused the words to come out very slowly and robotically, and still there was always a hint of foreign phonemes. Combined with his attempts to deepen his voice – an incredibly embarrassing failure on its own – had made him cringe, even back then. Tasha had encouraged him, of course, because in her mind anything and everything her dear brother did was the right decision. Excluding taking romantic interest in someone other than her, of course.

The rest of the evening went by in much the same fashion. Fredya and Katyusha got along swimmingly, Tasha made snide remarks about Fredya, Ivan defended him in mean ways, Fredya played along. It was all very pleasant. Finally the staff started dropping hints that it was time to vacate the table, so they got up and parted ways. Katyusya was enchanted enough to not wait long enough to be out of earshot before starting to gush about her baby brother’s relationship, which made for a perfect opening for eavesdropping. “Don’t you think Vanechka looks so much happier than usual?” Katyusya said, nearly clapping her hands in excitement. “Idiocy might be contagious”, Tashenka grumbled in response. “I never imagined he’d go for that type, but I guess it goes to show opposites really do attract!” Katyushka squeed. “It’s only for the moment. That American moron will start getting on Vanya’s nerves soon”, Tashenka claimed, not sounding too confident herself. Ivan had expected that to happen as well, in the beginning. “I hope he won’t, I think Alfred is good for Vanechka. He’s come out of his shell.” What did she mean by that? As far as Ivan was aware, he had never been shy around his sisters. Or other people, for that matter. “What’re you frowning about?” Fredya asked. “I’m eavesdropping. Katyusha likes you, and Natasha doesn’t despise you.” “Well that’s good news isn’t it?” Fredya smiled, and tried to hear the women. “Man, you got great hearing. I can’t hear them at all.” Yes, it did take some practice to achieve Ivan’s level of spying on other people’s conversations. And by then they had gotten far enough that Ivan couldn’t hear then anymore either, actually. “Your eardrums must be damaged from the all screeching you do.” “You’re walking home, asshole.”

-

Tasha + Katyushka = affectionate nicknames for Nataliya and Yekaterina. Tashenka + Katyusya = one level more intimate. Ivan is being drunk and sentimental so at the end of the evening, the way he feels about his sisters is something like most people do when seeing tiny kittens. Thanks again for reading! Maybe in like 10 years so I'll add a final "chapter" describing the rest of the plot, but I know myself and won't make any promises. I have some more snippets on the masterpost if anyone wants to frustrate themselves with a story that will never be finished.

[stusbunker]

What Lingers Within: Eight

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Written for: @thisismysecrethappyplace

Prompt: Amnesia

Word Count: 3925

Beta’d by the amazing @itmighthavebeenintentional

Aesthetic by @thoughtslikeaminefield

Divider by: @talesmaniac89

A/N: Set in season 11. Flashbacks are still in italics. Thanks for finishing this journey with me and all your patience! xoxo Stu

Series Masterlist

     Dean woke up to an empty bed, which shouldn’t have been surprising, yet the realization that she wasn’t there beside him kept hitting him harder each day. She was asleep in the room next door; it was both reassuring and torturous having her so close, never close enough.

    He stood outside her room and debated knocking. It was too early, he reminded himself. He let her sleep, like the day before and the whole week before that. Dean cursed Sam for giving her a room on his every path and headed to the kitchen for coffee. She shuffled in just after ten, looking blurry eyed and warm. Her hooded stare burned right through him as he handed her the mug that had already become hers.

    “Got anything stronger?” she mumbled, trying to play tough. He didn’t buy it.

    “You know, we’re not exactly on a strict schedule here. You could even go back to bed--- if you wanted.” Dean dipped his chin, gauging if he could keep prodding or step back.

    “Sleep is dumb, and besides, my room is boring,” she pouted, cupping the mug in both hands.

    “Thought Sammy had that laptop all set up for you?” Dean tried, brow knit in concern. She glanced up at him sheepishly, the heaviness inside reflected in her posture and the silent plea in her all-too-familiar eyes. Dean couldn’t help but soften as he continued, “Right, well, I was going to skip research today. If you’re up for it, we could do some target practice?”

    Just as Dean had returned her small smile, Sam came in with a breathy, “Hey.”

    Dean closed his eyes, unsuccessfully hiding from the disappointment before he turned to look at his brother. “Where’s the fire?”

    “Sandusky, it’s--- probably her,” Sam’s voice was calm, but his eyes told Dean whatever it was, it was bad.

    Dean nodded. “Okay, well, looks like I’m going to have to take a raincheck.” He faced her and saw all the unsaid things staring back at him. Tendrils frayed between them as he had to pull himself away again. “You gonna be okay by yourself? It’s gonna be a long drive, both ways.”

    She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? I’m gonna be ransacking the place when you’re gone. How much do you think the Men of Letters shit will go for on Ebay?”

    Dean shook his head, even though he felt Sam flinch behind him. “Yeah, well, don’t touch anything that isn’t labeled as safe, alright?”

    “Go on, fight the good fight.” Her eyes sparkled with the forced casualness her wit always brought with it, letting them both off the hook.

    Dean sat in the driver’s seat, squinting in the afternoon sunlight, watching the hospital entrance with growing trepidation. Cas walked out with Sam first, the blood along Sam’s collar the only remnant of his injury. They quietly slid into their respective seats. Dean mumbled a greeting, but continued to stare at the glass doors across the parking lot.

    He ignored Sam’s sad puppy dog eyes and Cas’s perpetual confusion and waited, the keys grew sweaty in his hand against his thigh. She was discharged alongside Sam, though they played it off as a fender bender. Cas explained it all to her, as an off duty officer who happened to witness the ordeal and got them to the hospital in time.

    Dean had little problem bludgeoning her car to back the story up. 

    Fourteen minutes after Sam and Cas made it to the impala, she wandered out of the revolving door and into the life Dean had left for her. His eyes trailed her up and down the rows until she found her crumpled sedan. She fought with the driver side door and he almost got out to help her, but she managed. He exhaled as she disappeared from sight.

    His heart rotted inside his chest, arteries and veins strangled his lungs with the spreading poison. He sniffed and put the key in the ignition. 

    “Dean,” Sam started.

    “Don’t. Don’t say her name.” Dean snapped. “You mention her ever again and I will break your fucking nose, I swear.”

    Sam cocked his head and absorbed the rage in Dean’s words. He side-eyed Cas as they both agreed to those terms.

    Her car creeped behind them as she navigated the overly complicated traffic pattern between the hospital buildings. He gave her three minutes before he eased out of their spot and back onto the road. The only proof of his life with her was shoved into his duffle and buried in the trunk. The proof that couldn’t be written on the back of his eyelids or settled in the bottom of his gut.

    You stopped in the library for your laptop before settling at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee. Your curiosity was piqued and a quick search brought up the horrors that had been unleashed in Ohio.

    ‘Four Dead, Seven Injured in Nursing Home Altercation’

    You scrolled through the news story wondering how this spelled ancient dark being to Sam. In the weeks with the Winchesters, you had quickly learned what hunters looked for in order to sort out the regular awful and the freaky awful. It wasn’t until the last paragraph of the article that your blood ran cold.

    The CNA that had called the cops said a woman in a black dress had been bent over the patient when she came to take the elderly man to the common room for lunch. But when she asked her if she was the patient’s granddaughter, the woman had disappeared. That patient went on to assault the others at lunch with his spork and his fists.

    Naturally, the article questioned the eye witness’s credibility, but you knew better and so had Sam. You suddenly felt very scared for your hosts’ safety, despite their expertise.

     You closed the computer as Dean’s face ran through your thoughts.

    That night you did lunges down the web of hallways, muscles burning and face twisted in effort and bouts of laughter. It was ridiculous and if anyone had been home, you never would have dared, but it felt good to be silly and to use up the nervous energy that had been bubbling up inside since the guys had left.

    It wasn’t that you couldn’t sleep, but rather that you slept fitfully. Katelyn’s voice snarled through your dreams, the feel of her spit on your hand mimicked by the sweat leaching from your body. You gave up after the second nightmare, texting Dean for an update in the middle of the night before you could think your way out of it.

    Amara appeared to Dean fully grown, bathed in shadow. The hollows of her face were almost voids as she whispered in his nightmares. The nursing home was a tragedy they couldn’t stop, couldn’t fix. Amara was growing more powerful and there were plenty of souls in one place to feed from. Wherever she had been hiding, she didn’t wander out for long. It felt off.

    She was the itch he couldn’t scratch in the back of his mind.

    He didn’t want to keep chasing Amara, but the quicker she was off the board the better. It was a selfish desire, knowing he wasn’t fully himself since she had been released, but it aligned with the greater good, so he leaned into the hunt. The text he hadn’t replied to still stared back at him almost three days later. 

    There was no update to give and somehow he didn’t want to disappoint Y/N with a “no news” bullshit response.

     The trail had dried up two days before Sam and Dean headed home, the unwillingness to quit wearing them both down to the edge of constant bickering. They stopped chasing their tails and settled on a couple of days to recoup before easing back into the usual hunts. Dean needed a win, but he couldn’t force Amara out of hiding, and even if he could, they had no way to end her anyway.

     They got in close to eleven at night, creeping into the bunker so not to wake Y/N up. Sam showered first, and Dean sipped on a beer in the library before he decided to grab fresh pajamas and the shaving kit he kept in his attached half bath. But when he went into his room, he found a mound of blankets twisted in the middle of his bed, snoring lightly.

       He felt suddenly self-conscious about the state he had left his room and tried to count back to when he had last changed his sheets. But that worry didn’t stop him from blushing with the rush of excitement seeing her in his bed once more gave him. He gently pulled the door closed, turning on the bathroom room light to let him grab his things. 

      She murmured something in her sleep and rolled over, causing Dean to freeze in panic. He was trained in the art of silence, but since she moved in, it felt like he had gained two left feet. Her breathing returned to a steady rhythm, letting him watch her from the wedge of light he stood in. Once his eyes readjusted he saw that she had brought in pillows from her room, but was only  using his. He chuckled despite himself.

      With a final glance at her sleeping silhouette, Dean left for that shower. 

    You were running through your office, rows of cubicles surrounded you like an endless forest. The click of heels on concrete followed you, despite the banal beige carpeting you were treading. Suddenly everything went dark and then you were looking down on yourself, hands around your own throat as you both inflicted and felt the pressure cutting off your air supply.

    You woke up coughing uncontrollably, flailing in the dark against the non-existent double.

    Your elbow hit something firm and you backed yourself into the corner of the nightstand, trying to escape.

    “Hey, you okay?” Dean’s voice scratched through the dank confusion and you sat up, struggling to cover your chest and tummy with your bunched camisole. 

    “Dean? When’d you get home?” You coughed again, and swallowed thickly.

    “A couple of hours ago.” Dean whispered, propped up on his elbow, he watched you. You slowly made out his features in the dark, pale skin a beacon, hooded eyes and wet lips. He was so beautiful and he was right there.

    “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come in here without your permission, it was just so quiet and being here made me feel sa---,”

    “It’s fine, I mean, you’re still a blanket hog, but I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Dean reassured, before he shifted the pillows so he was propped against the headboard. “So, nightmares, huh?”

    His hands rested in his lap, pajama bottoms firmly above the comforter, practically chivalrous. Especially after you had helped yourself to his bed.

    “Yeah, mostly,” you admitted, swallowing once more, the phantom pain had started to ebb with the conversation. “I should go, let you sleep, you had a long drive.”

    “Hey, come here.” Dean cocked his head, beckoning you to him as he opened his arms. You hesitated. Then he tipped his chin, and you were a goner. Awkwardly you situated your body against his chest, his strong arms framed you just so. “That’s better, in’it?”

    You sank into his warmth, refusing to be self-conscious about being half naked in your tank top and sleep shorts, and just relished in the firmness of his body and how it supported yours.

    He breathed in your hair, his lips grazed your forehead, and you squeezed him tighter.

    “I never wanted to be the bad guy. I don’t know what to do now, don’t know how to deal with this guilt,” you explained, staring at the slats on the bottom of the door.

    Dean pulled back to look you in the eye. “You did what needed to be done. That bitch was going to kill you. There is nothing wrong with defending yourself.”

    “I know. It’s just--- this--- being a fugitive is not where I ever thought I’d be,” you admitted, eyes closed in pained shame.

    The moments ticked away, the weight of your words increasing as your breathing fell in sync with Dean’s. His thumb tapped a gentle rhythm against your side, as you rested your head on his shoulder. You were so close you weren’t sure if you were smelling or tasting him.

    “Life on the run ain’t easy.” Dean shifted so your head fell over his heart. “But I do know you can’t lose yourself to guilt. Trust me, there are things that I have done that still keep me up at night. It doesn’t bring them back, it doesn’t undo anything. Except for maybe your sanity.”

    He let out a sad three-beat-laugh. 

    “Just keep doing what’s right. Make the world better in your own little way and hope that someday you’ll find your own absolution,” Dean spoke as if he was a million miles away.

    A moment before you thought better of it, you asked, “Have you found yours?”

    Dean stiffened in your arms and then exhaled, his fingers threaded through your hair. Slowly he relaxed again, his chest and arms softening to the point of you forgetting which parts were him and which bits were you. 

    “Right now, it feels like I might,” Dean whispered in response to the question you almost forgot you had asked. You blushed beneath the implication, the warmth between you intensifying Dean’s natural magnetism. His honeyed voice and steadfast embrace was hypnotic amidst the exhausted chaos of your thoughts. 

    “Dean, I ---?”

    Dean hummed in response before he shushed you. “It’s fine, just try and go back to sleep.”

    You fell silent, the emotions rolling through you in waves of strung out anticipation and tempering doubt. In the end your mind stopped trying to stay afloat and let you sink into the depths of a ragged slumber.

    Then one night, you slept. It wasn’t exactly refreshing, and it wasn’t perfect, but it was something. The fact that you had been crawling into Dean’s bed each night, may have helped. 

      Deep down, you felt the shift in your psyche: a glacial slide, the gradual progress of accepting what you had done which sprouted the fissuring magmic ooze that was hardening you into something new. Forged yet still fragmented, you bent to each sweltering degree as you navigated the impossible almost Dean and you had stumbled into.

      Dean was in love with you. 

       You felt it first when he called you honey and invited you to breakfast all those weeks before. And you knew it the moment he shared your past in a handful of worn photographs. Unfortunately, you just didn’t know if he loved the you that you were becoming or the woman you had been. Your past self, which you didn’t even know. 

      Both possibilities were equally terrifying.

      Winter slid into Kansas like a muddied dog, invasive and messy. Your usual and completely unscheduled call from Michelle told you that you were expected back for Christmas. No excuse, safe for an actual arrest, would suffice. You could almost taste your aunt’s green bean casserole already. You smiled to yourself, imagining Dean in an ugly sweater as Sam, oblivious, would knock his forehead on Michelle’s dubiously placed mistletoe.

      Because, of course, they were invited too. Not that you would have gone without them at your side; they were as much your family now as Michelle and her parents had always been. 

     You hung up without promising your cousin anything except that you would stay safe. Though Dean and Sam were never in the bunker for long, you were fairly certain you could persuade them to take a few days off for a real, home-cooked, holiday meal. You just didn’t know if you would be bringing your roommates/ bodyguards or if you would be bringing whatever it was Dean had become and his brother.   

      That would require you to address the real problem. One far scarier than the temporal question of Dean’s affections.

      You hadn’t let yourself fall for Dean. Not completely. You had been holding your breath, so oxygen deprived that you had developed tunnel vision. And no matter how patient or generous Dean had been, he couldn’t get you to acknowledge the silent, unanswered question in his eyes.

      No amount of cuddles or lips brushed warmly over your forehead or strong arms that held you through the terror of your nightmares had emboldened you to fully reciprocate his affections. You remained simultaneously in his arms and proverbially a day’s drive east.

     The problem was if you let yourself love him, you would be giving him permission to hurt you. Again.

      You had time, you told yourself, before you would be introducing your aunt and uncle to the Winchesters. And you would drag your feet the entire two and a half weeks until then.

One week later   

      The half-truths had grown comfortable, expected, predictable. Dean and Sam would return from a case and Y/N would have food in a crock pot or beer and popcorn waiting for them to unwind before bed. She would duck out early, and then Sam. Dean would have another drink alone, telling himself he’d be brave enough to say something if she turned up at his door again.

    He had too many misgivings about what she’d say. It wasn’t fair to make it about him when she’d get so riled up after the nightmares. 

    It was better to wait for the morning.

     “Dean?” Her voice broke through his internal rationalizing, and he held his breath. She wasn’t upset, no tension nor tears. The look in her eyes felt like a punch to the gut.

    “What’s up?”

    She laughed dismissively, a short trill ending on disbelief. “You didn’t even hear me, did you?”

    “Uh, no, not really. Come on in.” Dean stepped back, letting her in once again with his heart in his throat.

    “We should talk,” she repeated.

    “About?” Dean rested his hands on his hips, straightening himself as he watched her crawl into his desk chair and perch, heels along the edge, as she hugged her knees.

    “Us?” She made it sound like he was slow. His eyebrows shot up; this was happening.

    “Okayyyyyy,” Dean trailed off. She gave him nothing back. “What specifically do you want to talk about?”

     “You’re in love with me.” She smiled that secret keeping half-smile.

      He huffed in exasperation, but couldn’t help but smile back. “Really? You’re sure about that?”

     “Mmm-hmm.” She nodded. 

     “So?”

     “Sooooooo, it’s your turn.” She looked up at him, chin jutted out, challenging.

      “My?” Dean stammered, hand curled at his own chest. “You’re saying--- that I need to---- I don’t know, diagnose your feelings?”

      “Yup.” 

       She was going to be the death of him, that shit-eating grin already creeping up on her lips as she watched him huff and puff and try to pull himself together. He looked at her like a deer trapped in headlights, and she looked back; he felt like he was going to melt under the pressure.

       “I mean---- I don’t---- What do you want me to say?!” Dean chuckled self-deprecatingly. He dropped to the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees as he started at the floor, but finished to her face. “Christ, I know what I want to say, but I can’t say it for you, Y/N. You have to mean it.”

      “And what if I do?” Her feet fell to the floor as she leaned on her palms. She seemed somewhere between coming fully back to him and flying away for good.

    Dean started to let the hope sneak in. “Well, I was kind of thinkin’ you would’ve shown me already.”

    Time stopped.

    She launched at him, and just as he caught her, a notch above the waist, her lips stole his breath. He gave it away willingly, until there was no more to spare.

    Triumph. Relief. Yearning answered.

    Dean’s arms curled around her body, clutching her to him as her momentum pushed their top halves onto the bed. It felt like a dream; Dean wouldn’t open his eyes ever again.

    They tasted and teased each other, lips and tongues, whispers and snickers. She looked down at him like he hung the goddamned moon, and he prayed he’d never do anything again that would change that. He swallowed, not sure what to say next, unwilling to break that impossible moment.

    It just got better.

    She left a trail of punctuated kisses up his jaw and whispered in his ear. “I love you, too, you idiot.”

    In a flash, Dean rolled you onto your back, sliding you fully onto the bed at last. He practically purred as he nuzzled your pulse point before leaving a sloppy kiss behind your ear. You shivered, bolts of electricity shot through your body, burning from the inside out.

    “I--- just let me tonight,” Dean insisted, hands in your hair as he pleaded over your lips. “Please?”

    “Be my guest.” You didn’t know where all that nerve had been buried, but it was reassuring to find your footing after so long.

    He kissed you dizzy, stubble scraping and lips soothing. Slowly you were able to lay down your worries, alongside your clothing. With each brush of his mouth over your body you became lighter, leaving behind the fear and the uncertainty for something you’d never thought you’d get: trust and understanding. 

     True acceptance. 

     You fell into the moment, head first and determined, enjoying the knowledge he had retained of your body as he planted a firm palm over the thick roll of flesh above your mound, holding you in place before he dove in.

    His tongue told you that you were wanted, his fingers showed you how you were cherished, revered. His lips were lingering reminders that he wasn’t leaving again, that you were just where you were meant to be, that he needed to show you all the things he couldn’t say out loud. 

    That you came first, always.

    Bursting and brilliant, Dean saw to it, gentle yet persistent.

    He never stopped touching you, aching to hold you as long as you’d let him. Maybe longer. He crawled his way back up your body, nuzzling your nose with his before you got your mouth back on him. You drank in his now tangy desperation.

     You locked him in the cradle of your legs, telling him you were just as invested, a puzzle completed. Together you found your rhythm, your promises matched and measured. It was everything, and it was easy: no confusion or second guessing, just bliss. Dean’s moan broke on your name, and you felt it as if it had been the thousandth time, not your first. 

     It was you and Dean, forever as it had always been. These feelings had always existed, and they would never leave because not even the host of heaven had been able to snuff them out. They had lingered within you, and now that they were fulfilled, you knew you were going to make it in this uncertain life. 

      Because as scared as you were, you were certain of Dean. And he’d never stopped betting on your ability to keep fighting, to pull through all on your own. 

      His faith in you had seen you through the mess with Katelyn and years of unknown memories. Now you had nothing but time to regain what you’d lost, because lost things always have a way of finding their way home.

Series tags: @tiggytaylor @vicmc624 @kalesrebellion​

General SPN tags: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @thoughtslikeaminefield  @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @princessofthefandomrealm @wingedcatninja

[author-morgan]

Phobia ☤ Alexios

seven - welcome to athens

masterlist

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again.

"-AND INVITE AN outsider instead? They don't need another reason to hate me." Irene only hears the last of what Perikles is saying when she steps up into the Pynx. Judging by the strained tone of the statesman and the misthios' stance, the discussions are not going the way Herodotus initially hoped. Perikles' symposiums were known for their exclusivity, after all.

She grips onto Alexios' arm. It would be a shame for him to have come all this way for nothing, especially for such a virtuous cause. "Then allow me to bring him as my guest," the princess offers with a delicate smile, surprising all three men with her sudden appearance. Athens' leader regards Irene's appearance –stunned to find there are no visible bruises or cuts on her exposed skin this time.

"Very well," Perikles concedes with a sigh, trusting her and Herodotus' judgment against his own. His focus returns to the Eagle Bearer. "I would still ask that you aid my friends, misthios."

Alexios nods –Herakles had completed twelve tasks. Three wouldn't be a problem. "Consider it done," he replies, willing to play the part if it meant gaining intel on his mother's whereabouts.

Perikles retreats from the square with Herodotus trailing behind him. Alexios' gaze follows the two men until they cannot be distinguished from the crowd, but the princess' focus is on another, less savory character. Kleon the Everyman glances between her and the misthios, takes a step toward them. Irene glares at the politician –eyes filled with abhorrence. "Come, Alexios-" she tugs gently on his arm, urging him away from the remainder of the assembly and Kleon "-it is growing late and we have traveled far."

Alexios follows Irene, keeping in stride with the princess and keeping tally of the dubious looks people cast in his direction. "You didn't mention you know Perikles," he accuses in a lighthearted tone as they pass through a small agora to the east of the Pynx.

"I thought I had no reason to," she comments, quickly glancing over each stall and vendor. Herodotus was meant to handle negotiations. "Though I am glad to be of assistance." The princess pauses at a vendor selling fresh pomegranates, she fetches two silver obols from a concealed coin purse in exchange for two ripe and heavy fruits.

He glimpses her from the corner of his eye. She wears a pale green peplos with a Tyrian purple himation draped over her shoulder. Her hair falls in loose curls, adorned only with a ribbon dyed the same Tyrian purple. It doesn't occur to him they have stopped moving again until he pulls his gaze away from her.

"This is where you live?" He asks, looking at the house sitting on a small hill. The more he learns about the princess, the more questions he has. She flushes, never having been one to flaunt wealth as some of the other elites. It is not as large as Perikles villa, nor as extravagant as those belonging to esteemed playwrights and sophists in the city but it stands impressive, nonetheless.

"Hydarnes was well respected," she explains leading him into the open courtyard at the villa's center. Despite being Persian the old general had the reputation of an honorable and nobleman. Perikles held him in high regard and had taken both she and her brother under his wing. "My brother, Zephyr, was loved by many in the city too." Zephyr had grown into an Athenian easily enough and in time Irene did as well.

Alexios cannot imagine what strange desires led her to leave and go down the path of a castigator. "Why would you ever leave?" He asks. Almost anyone would choose a life of comfort and wealth over being an itinerant. It is but another enigma surrounding the princess.

There is a longing, distant look her eyes –one that had not been there before arriving in Athens. Her composure falters. "Even a songbird eventually tires of its cage," she tells him, sorrow seeping into her voice.

While he does not know the exact feeling she speaks of he shares the sentiments. Alexios always dreamt of the day he'd finally be able to leave Kephallonia. "And your brother?" He questions, glancing around the empty villa.

Irene pushes down the lump in her throat. Zephyr's death still plagues her dreams and memories. "Murdered by bandits," she tells him –unable to look anywhere else but the stone beneath her feet.

IRENE FINDS SHE cannot sleep –after sleeping in caves and along beaches, the bed in her chambers is too soft. It is a common struggle she experiences when coming back to Athens. Comfort and memories often haunt her until she leaves the confines of the city walls. She goes to the roof terrace of the villa.

"Can't sleep either?" Alexios asks as soon as he catches sight of her from the steps leading up to the roof.

The princess spares a moment's glance over her shoulder at the misthios, focus quickly turning to the acropolis. "This place feels hollow after-" she can't bring herself to finish the sentence, but Alexios understands the meaning well enough –this place no longer feels like a home.

He sits next to her and follows her unfocused gaze to the Parthenon. It is the grandest temple he has seen in his travels –dedicated to the patron goddess of Athens, Athena. Now the white marble is bathed in moonlight and appears as a beacon of light rising high above the city.

"Where does the mighty Alexios hail from?" Irene asks, emphasizing the epithet Barnabas often uses. It causes him to roll his eyes even if it does bring an amused smile to his lips.

"Kephallonia," he answers. At times, he misses the simplicity of Kephallonian life –tending to Markos' problems and keeping Phoibe out of trouble. The worst thing he had to worry about was when the Cyclops and his miscreants decided to show their faces. There wasn't a war or a Cult seeking domination or a Persian princess.

"What's it like?" Irene wonders aloud. She's never gone so far west before and has only just met someone who could call the island home.

"A shithole," he remarks, but it is not an answer capable of pacifying Irene. "Mount Ainos makes up for most of it," the Eagle Bearer continues. At the peak of the mountain was Zeus' likeness hewn from stone –standing tall over the island with a thunderbolt poised to strike. The statue was impressive, yet it was the sweeping views of the sea Alexios liked best. He cannot come up with the words to describe it, though.

"What is Athens like?" He asks in turn. It is different than Kephallonia or Sparta, but it is clear the banal rumors of a puritanical society are mostly unfounded.

"A shithole," she quips, the corner of her lips quirk upward. Alexios shakes his head, laughing under his breath. "It's better than most places," she says in earnest. Many small villages and poleis were plagued by corruption and sickness. Irene would not deny Athens had the same issues, but here people did not walk the streets as living corpses in quiet fear. "Perikles has done great things for the city and its people." With Spartan encampments just outside the city walls and rumors of a Cult, Athens still thrived even with the unrest being stirred by the likes of Kleon.

Irene shifts and looks over the misthios. He doesn't have the look of a traditional Spartan, nor does he bear the delicate features of many Athenians. Steeped in moonlight and cloaked in shadows, he is both Ares and Adonis –she doesn't know why it has taken her this long to decide he is handsome.

"What were you doing on Samos?" His question draws the princess away from her thoughts –catches her off-guard.

"I-" she pauses, unsure which lie is best to craft this time but when Irene's eyes dart up to meet his, she is compelled to speak the truth. "Ever since Zephyr died, I've been hunting down bandits," she admits. Irene has lost count of how many bandits she has sent to the underworld, but each death feels as though she is avenging her brother. It feels like justice. But where does seeking justice end, and seeking vengeance begin?

[daily-capaldi]

The Big Read – Lewis Capaldi: “I make jokes because I’m comfortable with who I am”

The breakout star of 2019, Lewis Capaldi has the midas touch and the world at his feet – but he still likes talking about his pubes and dreams of meeting a girl who'll break his heart for real. NME Deputy Editor Dan Stubbs meets the cocksure 23-year-old in Dublin for a Buckfast sesh and quickly discovers a legitimately hilarious talent who's far from the “big fucking annoying cunt” he thinks he is.

Lewis Capaldi is miming a range of sporting activities. He bounces an invisible basketball around the stage. He boots an imaginary football into the crowd. And after some minutes of this, he poses with an imaginary dart in his hand. Every time he mimes pulling back to throw it, he changes his mind and walks over to take a sip of Guinness instead – to the delight of the crowd. When he finally throws the thing, they roar with approval, before goading him into downing the rest of his pint. And of course: he does. 

It’s November 21 at the Olympia Theatre, Dublin. So far Capaldi has spent 10 minutes playing three songs and 15 minutes doing what, in the most affectionate terms, can only be described as dicking about. It shouldn’t be this funny to watch, but it really is. And the price of witnessing this spectacle? Depends when you got your tickets. A tout offered to take NME’s off our hands for €500 outside the venue. 

A year ago this may have sounded like madness, a sign that the world was heading to hell in a handcart and we’d be closing out the decade in a post-apocalyptic new reality, eating boot leather and watching jesters for entertainment. But in 2019, Lewis Capaldi has proved, conclusively, that what the world was waiting for was a pasty-faced, pasty-loving, 23-year-old Scot with an act that’s 50 percent heartbroken balladry and 50 percent improv comedy. And it is a worldwide thing – Capaldi is a global hit, a bona fide phenomenon. A superstar whose first encounter with NME is backstage, hurtling along the corridor clutching a handful of items. “Got my passport, my acid reflux tablets and my water – and that’s all I need!” he says, whizzing past. “And now, I’m off for a small pish.”

When listing Capaldi’s many 2019 achievements, they start to lose meaning, like contemplating distances in space, or making sense of the costings in the Labour manifesto. But here are a few: The Brits’ Critics Choice award. A Number One album with ‘Divinely Uninspired To A Hellish Extent’. A Number One single with ‘Someone You Loved’ in much of Europe, the US and the UK, where it spent seven weeks at the top. The hardest touring artist of the year, playing over 250 shows. A scene-stealing Glastonbury appearance.

If you’re to believe the stories in the Scottish tabloid press, Capaldi’s music can practically cure leprosy. He’s even had a beef with Noel Gallagher, once a mark of honour, but now a tussle with adversary so easily shot down it’s a bit like watching the moment someone first beats their dad in an arm wrestle. 

Yesterday brought news that Capaldi been nominated for Best Song at The Grammys, which in early career terms is the equivalent of being up for the Best Actor Oscar for your school production of Macbeth. “I’m up against Billie Eilish, Lady Gaga, Lizzo, H.E.R., Lana Del Rey, Taylor Swift…” he says. So he’s in there representing the men? “Yes, at long last!” he jokes. “At long last, straight white men finally have representation.”

“If I’m being honest, I did think ‘Old Town Road’ would be nominated,” he says, being serious now. “Maybe if I win I’ll Kanye myself. ‘This should have gone to ‘Old Town Road’! (But I am going to keep it)…’”

Capaldi is an expert at shrugging off his achievements. His unfaltering humility is a huge part of his appeal but even he concedes it’s starting to seem a bit forced. “When I read my interviews back, I always think if I wasn’t me I’d think: ‘you’re full of shite’,” he says. “Like, stop saying you can’t believe it. You can believe it! But it is so surreal and it seems like almost quarterly it kicks up a notch. Like, yesterday with the Grammys, yet again all this shit’s getting more and more mental, more beyond belief.”

Capaldi watched the Grammy nominations on his laptop, which was resting on his chest with the screen close to his face – a set-up he describes as his “home cinema” – and he admits he did get properly excited at the news. Mostly, though, he tends to find himself reacting to things how he thinks he should. 

“I’ve got a very bad way of being like, So you’re supposed to feel this way in this moment,” he says. Like when someone passes away? “Exactly, yeah. Like, four months after my grandma passed away, I’m like, ‘Fuck, my grandma’s died,’ and I’m in Somerfield or something. I mean, not in Somerfield, because it’s not been open for fucking years.”

Capaldi even plays down the success of ‘Someone You Loved’, the song that scored him the Grammy nod. In his eyes, it’s just “one of my songs that’s doing a little bit better than the rest”, but it’s already become a popular standard to sit alongside Robbie Williams’s ‘Angels’ or Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’, one of those tracks that will be soundtracking marriages and burials for years to come. Which of those would he prefer it be used for? “Burials,” he says, with no hesitation. “Don’t start falling in love to my fucking music, right? See if I see people kissing at my shows, fucking stop that! These are sad songs, you bastards.”

Like Lewis himself, a large part of the charm of ‘Someone You Loved’ is its absolute universality, which is not to say it’s banal, more that everyone who has lost someone at some point in their lives – which is most of us – can identify with it. For Lewis, it was the aforementioned loss of his grandmother that proved the catalyst for the song, but he made it more open to romantic interpretation because it felt “too morbid” to write explicitly about. 

And it didn’t come easily. Where other songwriters boast about dashing off huge hits in barely the time it takes to play them, Capaldi admits to labouring over his compositions. Writing songs, he says, is “a massive pain in the fucking arse sometimes”.

“Growing up I read interviews with people like Paul Weller, Paul McCartney – all the Pauls – and they’d say the best songs just sort of fall in your lap,” he says. “After six months at the piano writing ‘Someone You Loved’ I’m like, ‘You fucking lying bastards, that’s taken me fucking ages.’”

Many of Capaldi’s songs, which he endearingly describes as ranging from “big piano ballads to bigger piano ballads” draw on his first major relationship which – you may have guessed – is no longer a going concern. But it wasn’t a dramatic event. “Adele wrote her album about a relationship breaking up in a bad way, being jilted I think,” he says. “I wrote mine about a relationship that just ended, just fizzled out. I’d love to be jilted by someone, then I could be as successful as Adele.”

I ask if he worries that – at 23 – he doesn’t have a great deal of life experience to draw on. “I spent my entire life writing this first album,” he says, “but the stuff I’ve experienced in the last year has been much more of a growing experience than living in my mum and dad’s house in fucking West Lothian.”

How about the fact that his next girlfriend, whoever she may be, will be on different terms, it being impossible for her not to know she’s dating Lewis Capaldi the world famous pop star? “Well, I don’t know. It’s not like I’m Justin Bieber,” he says. “Today was the first time I’ve ever got out of the car at a venue and someone screamed. Normally people just shout something at me that I’ve said on Instagram about my pubes. I guess, at worst, my next partner would think I’m one way because they’ll hear the songs and think I seem very nice and level headed, but then find out I’m not.”

What’s the reality?

“Big fucking annoying cunt.”

It’s slightly unfair to question the depth of Capaldi’s life experience, because at the age most of us were familiarising ourselves with yo-yos, pogs or fidget spinners (delete as appropriate), Lewis was embarking on his music career. He began performing at 11, largely in pubs and clubs in the conurbation between Glasgow and Edinburgh where he grew up. The experience of having to hold his own in intimidating spaces at such a young age probably explains much about his easiness around people. 

“I found that at 11 it was, ‘Oh he’s quite cute, he came and stood up here and he’s doing very well.’ When I got to 14, 15 and my voice changed and I lost any remnants of cuteness – which as you can tell have not returned to me – that’s when I started to pick up a bit of the patter. You get to know your way about how to speak to people.” 

Around that time, Capaldi actively worked on changing his vocal style to something more like the wolfy howl we hear today. What was once a ”high and smooth” voice had broken. Inspired by Paolo Nutini and Joe Cocker, Capaldi added some gravel. “I thought it would be a good idea to put a bit of rasp in, to make it sound even more terrible,” he says.

For years we’ve been force-fed sensitive young men-next-door with beanie hats, beards or lumberjack shirts singing to us about their problems. In a quest for authenticity, they’ve presented themselves as troubled, serious souls. Capaldi, meanwhile, has given us the sensitive songs with a side order of toilet humour and the kind of prolific, creative swearing worthy of The Thick Of It‘s Malcolm Tucker, as played by his distant cousin Peter Capaldi. 

Stand-up comedians often make a point of referring to the most funny-looking thing about themselves as an icebreaker with the audience, a way of getting them on side. Capaldi has the same trick – there’s not a single thing about his looks or his music you could say that he hasn’t beaten you to. Try and come up something better than saying he looks like “a melting hippo”, we dare you. 

He has zero pretence – he’s a guy who can literally piss himself on stage and laugh it off. “That only happened once,” he says. “And I’ve always been like that, even back in school. If I was meeting someone for the first time I’d be like, ‘Hello, how are you? I’ve got diarrhoea and I could spew or I could blow at any moment. It puts me at ease, being honest.’”

“People think I make jokes because I’m uncomfortable,” he adds. “Actually, it’s the opposite – I make jokes because I’m comfortable with who I am. I say that I’m a chubby bastard because I am a chubby bastard.”

I put it to him that, possibly, he may be the first body-positive male icon – an important thing given Capaldi is part of a generation of young men who feel under enormous pressure to have an Insta-chiselled body. “I don’t know if I can accept that, because I probably don’t use the correct vernacular,” he says. “It’s probably not good to call yourself a chubby cunt, but it’s never been something that’s bothered me. I’ve been a very slim man, I’ve been a man who’s gone to the gym, but even when I’ve done that someone calls you fat anyway, whether it’s your ma, your da, your best pal.”

Capaldi hasn’t, as of yet, had any sort of pop star makeover. He still looks like a kid who’s moved out of home for the first time and is stacking up the washing to take to mum’s. He does, however, have a personal trainer on tour and has been exercising every day. “It’s more of a mental health thing,” he says. “It gives me energy and keeps me happy. I mean, when I’m actually doing it I fucking hate it so much, but it feels better after.”

I ask how his mental health is bearing up to his new everyday reality, an extraordinary experience for anyone to process. “That’s what I think about taking the piss out of things,” he says. “I take the piss out of doing things on stage and how mental it is because you have to, because it stops you getting caught up in it. Summer last year I started having massive panic attacks. I was supposed to do Austin City Limits but I had to cancel because I was just having panic attack after panic attack, and I thought I had something seriously wrong with me, because I’m a bit of a hypochondriac. And I went and got a fucking MRI scan. But they said I was just anxious, just recalibrating to this new fucking lifestyle. So I said, right, cancel everything for three weeks, and no one gave me any shit for it.”

At showtime, the atmosphere at tonight’s gig offers a glimpse of the bubble Capaldi is living in these days. The Olympia is a grand old theatre and Capaldi could probably have sold it out 50 times over; the reaction from the crowd is something like Lewmania. 

Afterwards, we head backstage again, where I’m ushered into a room containing about a dozen members of Capaldi’s family. I’m plonked on a chair right in the middle, handed a massive wine glass full of Buckfast by his cousin and grilled by his dad, a fishmonger and the very driest of wits, about my intentions for this article. He’s seriously proud of his boy, having supported him since the very beginning, even playing the supportive parent role when Lewis auditioned for Britain’s Got Talent aged 12. 

The afterparty moves to a private room at a nearby pub. Lewis’s hulking great cousin – the one who brought the Buckfast – is getting the shots in. His auntie is looking on, concerned, as two girls chat him up at the same time. “He’s only a wee one,” she mutters. While his friends and family enjoy the party and a certain NME journalist accidentally smashes the first of a series of glasses, feeling the effects of downing that Buckfast in an ill-advised attempt to curry favour with the family, Lewis makes his final rounds then politely excuses himself, looking a bit hangdog about it. He has another big show tomorrow. Sad to leave your own party, you imagine.

At points in the interview, Capaldi had been making a short, forced coughing noise, which he shrugged off as nothing. But the next week, he cancels a number of shows on health grounds, having been warned by his doctor that he risks losing his voice altogether if he doesn’t take action. In the end, he plays just four more gigs of the UK leg of the tour – in London, Edinburgh and twice in Glasgow for the homecoming finale. All further activities are cancelled by management, including a follow-up NME interview, but he is sent to complete the year’s touring commitments in the States before heading home for a well-earned few days celebrating Christmas with his family, which he says typically involves plenty of booze and lots of piss-taking. If you think you’re feeling ready for the break today, spare a thought for Lewis.

Next year looks to be just as busy as this one. He is, right now, just about the most in-demand young man in the world. At some point, he’ll have to start thinking about his next album too. “I don’t know what the fuck it’s going to sound like, I don’t know what the fuck it’s going to be,” he says. “Ballads, havin’-it tunes, I don’t know. I’ve got voice notes, melodies, stuff like that, but that’s just me and an acoustic guitar.” 

Considering what he said about his hypochondria, it’s likely the idea of losing his voice is weighing heavily on Capaldi’s mind. But he’s already decided there’s a backlash coming anyway. “You do get warned, as you’re coming up: ‘By the way, everyone’s gonna turn on you pretty soon’,” he says. “I guess I’m always just kind of waiting for it. I’m very doomsday. Like, if it’s not happened yet, it’s gonna come. And I can’t wait for the downfall!”

He might be surprised. People have plenty of different reactions to Capaldi’s music, but it’s pretty much impossible to find someone who doesn’t think he seems like a bloody great bloke.

And besides – if he ever finds he can’t sing, he’d make a killing at The Fringe as a physical comic. 

The extended edition of ‘Divinely Uninspired To A Hellish Extent’ is out now

[theheartofpenelope]

Simple Things : Chapter Eight

Excerpt - He found it were just those little things he was longing for. And it was not at all that crazy; those things he wanted. They were simple things really. Someone to talk to. Someone to come home to. Someone to disappear with. Maybe even, on a good day he pondered, someone to belong to...  Tag list: @winterisakiller, @devikafernando, @scorpionchild81, @messy-insomniac-bookgirl, @smutsausage, @hiddlesbitch1 @noplacelikehome77 @wolfsmom1 @meh1217 @dina-bln @lilaeye39 @tinchentitri @fairlightswiftly @nonsensicalobsessions @wolfsmom1 @stmeiou @ink-and-starlight @givemecocoaa @profkmoriarty13 @nikkalia @massivelemon @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @argo-shila @etmoietmoi @redfoxwritesstuff Author’s Notes/Warnings: tags will follow later on Anyway thank you in advance for feedback - would love to know what you think…Also on AO3 through this link Masterlist available through here Bonus: click here for the pinterest moodboard (always updated)

Chapter Eight Airport intermezzo

1. Hell

Charlotte pulled her carry-on luggage around the airport hall while desperately searching for her gateway. Up until now her day had been nothing short of vile or just plain dreadful.

It all started when woke to find she had - albeit slightly - overslept. Upon that awful discovery she’d immediately launched herself into a frenzy to make up for all the time lost, cursing badly and loudly while doing so. You see, she was on a very tight schedule - timewise - today; with first a train and nearly consecutively a plane to catch. Charlotte was expected for a discourse in Geneva. And the fact that she would be flying back home later on that very same day left her with simply no time for this kind of nonsense and no patience to deal with any of it either…

Oh no, this was definitely not the way she had imagined started her day. She did, however, get to count her lucky blessings when her train conveniently got delayed... By that point the adrenaline had nevertheless been rushing through her veins, pushing her nerves to unhealthy high peaks.

When she’d finally made it to the airport, it was only barely past 10.30 but the weather was already well beyond hot. She huffed and puffed, yet felt stubbornly confident she might just about make it to her flight in time.

Her heels clicked along the gatehouse and she inwardly cursed herself for not slipping into a pair of sneakers when she scurried from her house earlier and made a mental note to start packing a pair at every single occasion, no matter how short her stay would be…  

Finally spotting her gate, Charlotte rushed to the queue to board. She’d made it - just barely though - but she’d made it. Desperately catching her breath, she flashed a kind smile to those furrowing their brows at her; the flushed woman panting in line. However she could care less at that point...

But then, Murphy.  Murphy and his stupid law… As if fate just refused to let Charlotte get back at ease, the steward proceeded to announce a 50-minute delay through the speakers and Charlotte spontaneously cursed all deities. Out loud. With passion. Frowns from bystanders turned into aggravation. Oh yes, this particular day was just getting worse and worse. Charlotte muttered terms of annoyance while turning on her heels towards the overpriced airport-bar in search of a refreshment. All that rushing had left her parched and severely frustrated, but right now mostly parched.  

Standing at the bar Charlotte checked her watch while she wondered whether or not it was too early for a glass of chilled wine but ultimately opted against it. The odds weren’t in her favour today, that much was quite clear by now. Tempting fate some more with a glass of alcohol would not be a wise decision.

When the waiter smoothly slid Charlotte her beverage over the perfectly polished counter, he politely refused her to pay for it and kindly informed her, “Compliments du monsieur à l’arrière.” (*)

Charlotte closed her eyes and sighed before unleashing some very unkind words to nobody in particular. God no! Frustrated or not, now she would have to be kind, to look back and smile appreciatively, possibly engage in some small talk (which would be sexist no doubt, seeing the turn her day had been taking so far), while in silence all she would hope for was for her flight to depart sooner rather than later.

(*) compliments of the gentleman in the back.

2. Purgatory

Tom sat stirring a spoon in his coffee while counting down the minutes. He was nervous, anxious, on edge. Luke had snuck away a few minutes earlier, on the account of picking up ‘a little something’ in the tax free shop while they waited on their plane.

Tom placed his elbows on the table in front of him and upon inhaling, rested his head in his hands, his fingers firmly adding pressure on the bridge of his nose. He groaned and sighed. Barely back home and he was already travelling to and fro again. It was what he wanted though, wasn’t it? This particular trip was his idea, no? He couldn’t remember....

Long ago he had made the very conscious decision to fully invest in his professional career; to submerge himself in it, to stroke the iron while it was hot. It was, without doubt, the best decision he’d ever made. Even if it meant his emotional life would have to remain shelved for a while.

He’d started out his path full of good intentions and promises though. And also truly and faithfully in love with his girlfriend at the time, an aspiring actress just like him. It was a perfect match really. She understood the trials and tribulations that came with the acting territory like no other because she lived the exact same life. They were so alike, so in tune. Paradoxically their relationship proved powerless in its crusade against time and geography.

It hurt like hell, there was no denying in that. But very soon Tom felt how the advantages outweighed the disadvantages in that particular stage of his life. Without a lover to take into account it was suddenly very easy to be the first one to arrive on set in the morning and the last one to leave in the evening. No pressure, no guilt. And he made the best out of his situation. When life gives you lemons… right. With a kind word for everyone who crossed his path, no matter their place on the social ladder, he gave every project his all and more. Every time again. It was no surprise, except maybe to himself, that quite soon he became well known for his strong work ethic. And pretty soon he’d secured himself of a breakthrough role along his already golden reputation.

Tom sighed and ran his hand through his curly hair which was longer now. He had made the conscious decision to grow it out, as if he wanted to shed the burden of Hollywood’s clean-shaven and neatly trimmed posterboy-looks in plain sight, for everyone to see. He longed to hold his own reigns again, especially now, when his life had (seemingly overnight) turned into quite the rollercoaster. His hand proceeded to slip over his chin, where it caressed his beard softly, yet another ‘in your face’ to the industry, as he contemplated his fate.

Looking back he could see a very promising career was now slowly coming into bloom, yet it did not warm his heart the way he had expected it to. His professional prosperity thrilled him of course, but it saddened him there was nobody to share it with.

Well, naturally his mother was extremely proud of her son, even his father came around. Tom’s sisters teased him relentlessly when he was nominated for a 'rear of the year' or sortlike award, but also supported him in earnest and with pride. His friends and colleagues were warm, generous and true. And he much enjoyed meeting up with them, just talking over drinks or just laughing over banalities.

But when he would touch down at home, really touch down, after sleeping off the fatigue he found the silence in his house was deafening. It was his house and a beautiful one at that, but it did not feel like a home. To feel like a home he would perhaps have to spend more time in it. Enter Bobby. A soulful companion to Tom’s heart. A soft pitter patter that broke the silence in the house. A four-legged companion that required attention and who had became very good at taking Tom’s preoccupied mind off of things. Tom adored the faithful creature with all his heart, but it wasn't enough somehow. Although Bobby was a truly great listener, when he wasn't hungry. A very patient listener even, particularly after an early morning jog that would leave the poor mutt happy but exhausted. Bobby had the most earnest twinkling eyes, and he did give the best cuddles, but he was a dog. Let's face it.

Remnants of characters portrayed has started to stain Tom’s soul over time, ready to haunt him on the occasional sleepless night. However he would never let it get it to him. Not really. He was adamant about that, but it was getting harder lately and he didn't quite know why.

Maybe it was the fact that reuniting with his friends back home after rounding up a project would, without fault, lead him to the conclusion (again) that their lives had moved on further, while he was still standing still.

It was fairly strange; a lot of emotions had run through Tom professionally. From happiness to grief and from loss to absolute bliss. But in his personal life he had nothing to show for any of it.

It hadn't bothered him before really, but after the umpteenth wedding party, baby celebration and whatnot he felt it would have been nice to have someone to share it all with. The single's table was getting smaller with each and every occasion. And his thirties were making a rash progress.

It's not that he didn't feel successful, because he did. Only… loneliness fell upon him like a heavy blanket these days. Silly really. Here was a man who virtually had (or could have) everything he would wish for to make him happy, and yet…..

He found it were just those little things he was longing for. And it was not at all that crazy; those things he wanted. They were simple things really. Someone to talk to. Someone to come home to. Someone to disappear with. Maybe even, on a good day he pondered, someone to belong to...  

Someone smart but down-to-earth, someone passionate and ambitious but not overly so, someone who was easy on the eye without even trying, someone who appreciated the little things with him, like he would appreciate in her. Someone with a heart of gold...

He rested in his chin in his propped up arm again as he lazily and boredly scanned the area. The business men getting their ristretto-fix, the tourists wandering around curiously, noses up in the air in amazement. A flustered woman rushing to the bar, dressed to the nines but clearly frustrated, in need of a break. Join the club, he huffed.

His eyes remained on her though. Was it a daydream when he thought he saw her? Sitting up straight he studied her silhouette. Her long brown hair had been tied up in a loose braid, her left hand rubbed the back of her neck as she installed herself on a barstool implicating she was stressed and tired. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

3. Heaven

Tom snorted slightly when he saw her snapping her head back when the waiter pointed into his direction. 2 seconds. Just 2 seconds and Charlotte’s severe and annoyed frown had melted into a broad smile. She curtsied him in good fun.  

Tom’s eyes fell onto her curves as she made her way towards him, drinks and carry-on luggage in tow. A flowing blue dress, matching high heels, sunglasses in her hair. He gestured his appreciation to her clothes. She rolled her eyes but instantly radiated with a dazzling smile.

“Hello there stranger,” her eyes darted over Tom’s suited appearance as he unfolded himself from his chair, “you clean up quite nice yourself.”

“Well, well, well, who do we have here,” he murmured quietly into her ear before greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.

“What on earth brings you here?”

“Well, I could ask you the same thing….”

Charlotte followed his invitation to sit at his table and casually dropped her belongings on the tabletop. A boarding pass held her page in the book she’d been reading, motioning to it she kindly informed him; “Geneva, I got delayed for 50 minutes.”

Tom titled his head to the side to get a proper look at the book instead and smiled when he noticed the author was in fact Paulo Coelho.  

“You finished the Alchemist?” he deducted, “I would ask you if you liked it, but it seems the answer to that question is pretty obvious,”

“Oh don’t get me started… there are no words, I think I fell in love with it,” Charlotte took a gulp of cool water, “honestly, if that book was a tall and handsome dark stranger,…”

Tom chortled, then flashed her his pass, “Mallorca, technical issues.”

When Charlotte scrunched her nose, he was quick to add, “What? Mallorca is nice. Ever been?”

“Technical difficulties,” she winced, “you’d have to drag me on the plane kicking and screaming.”

There, so easy to talk to. She felt like coming home. Familiar. Calming, reassuring.

He laid eyes on her again. It had only been a few weeks since he’d seen her last. But it felt so comfortable and pleasant to sit with her again. It was an enjoyable and very welcome surprise.

When she informed how his downtime was coming along, he humorously confessed he might be suffering from withdrawal.

“It’s strange,” he elaborated, “for the longest of time I’ve actually yearned for this. To be able to slow down. To be the only one in charge of my diary. To reunite with friends, quality time with family.”

Charlotte frowned and expressed her concern that surely he wasn’t tired of his leave already, now was he? Tom cast his eyes to his half-empty coffee cup and sighed. “No, most definitely not. Only, it’s quite confronting.”

“They say you are confronted with yourself while on the road alone?” Charlotte cursed herself as she realised this comment could very well boomerang back into her own face but was all the more glad Tom took no notice of it.

“Which is true; let me tell you that,” he agreed, “but to me, the confrontation back home with friends and family is proving to be a bit harder than I had anticipated.”

She frowned, “how’s that?”

“You see, I’ve made this choice long ago to fully invest in starting up my career. And while I don’t really regret having made that decision, I came to realise that while my career has evolved, I have not. Or maybe I have, but not on my personal level. Am I making sense?”

Charlotte smiled, she understood. Probably more than he could imagine..

“I have a house, I have a car. I have a loving family and friends….”

“You speak of a house, but not a home,” she pondered quietly.

Tom sighed, “I feel as though I’m no more than this... empty vessel. I’m good at playing the scenes and the emotions on a stage but I return to an empty home. There I said it: home. Not house,” a kind wink for her benefit.

Charlotte leant a bit more forward and searched his gaze, “but are you happy Tom?”

Talk about a question you didn’t expect...Tom leaned back, slipping back into his usual guise of apologizing, only able to offer her, “oh no, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful because I do enjoy life in general and my life in particular. But there are times that it starts to get to me.”

“Like today,” she finished his sentence, lifting a critical brow.

“Like today,” he nodded.

Charlotte paused on traced the condensation on her long drink glass, she was clearly not buying the façade and didn’t even attempt to hide her incredulity. Tom sighed and paused before finally and surprisingly letting her into his dreary trail of thoughts.

“I see love and divorce and death all around me,’ he concluded, “but when I look back at me… what do I have to show for it?”

Charlotte slanted her head, “I fear you think the grass is greener elsewhere… And I understand you hate an empty house, but running from it won’t fill it either.”

“Running? I’m not…”

Charlotte raised a brow and curtly interfered, “in the short time I’ve come to know you, you are always so busy doing something. Instead of taking a real break like the rest of us. You’re not a machine though Tom.”

She made him feel, not alive, but aware. She was able to pick up on emotion he thought he’d kept hidden. She forced him to name his concerns out loud. And while he would wave it off when it was his mother asking or a close friend. She didn’t seem to fit into any category just yet. But he did not, could not neglect or deflect her questions. He enjoyed talking to her and hearing her authentic reply or vision on a matter. Familiar and honest, he needed that.

“Maybe,” he paused and sighed, “I feel so guilty that I am here and I did not bring Bobby along. It’s like I desperately want all these things, but I somehow can’t seem to manage it the way they should be managed.”

“Who says anything needs to be managed? Life is life. Like a river, it meanders through the scenery. There is no set path. Not the last time I checked anyway,” she chuckled.

“And I firmly believe that life guides us down a path we are meant to pass through. How we deal with it however is completely up to us.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.”

She flashed him a playful smirk.

And then the intercom announced her flight was now boarding again.

4. And back again

“That’s me,” she stated.

“Up, up and away,” he nodded solemnly.

“To infinity and beyond,” she countered with a toothy grin.

Tom chuckled, “it felt good though, to say those things out loud.”

“I know, I make a cheap therapist,” Charlotte winked in good humour as she started collecting her things, ready to make her leave.

Smart and down-to-earth, he reflected.

“So, I was thinking,” Tom spoke as he copied her moves. “I do believe we are both in Edinburgh at the same time...”

“Mmm?” she looked back up to him again as she rose to her feet.

“How about we just - run into each other again over there, but on purpose this time,” he suggested, “get a bite to eat, show you around. If you’d like...”

“I would,” a quiet nod, “ I think I would like that.”

She was rewarded with his warm smile and the promise that he would call her. Leaning in for the casual peck on his cheek, she felt his arms envelop her in a casual embrace. His hand soothed her back softly. Charlotte closed her eyes for a second as a sense of safety fell upon her. His warmth, his mesmerizing cologne, his tender yet firm hold. The last of her rushing nerves were now resolutely squandered.  

It felt as though someone had pulled her safety blanket away just to show her what she was missing out on. It felt cruel, yet soothing at the same time. The tour was really getting to her now. And Charlotte caught herself wishing for Tom to please hold her just a little while longer.

Compassionate and easy on the eye, raced through his thoughts as her sweet perfume teased and he whispered, “I’ll see you soon.”

Slightly stepping out of their embrace, his hand traced her jawline and he leant in to place a soft kiss on her other cheek. To Charlotte it felt as though he moved in slow motion and she distinctly fell the press of his warm lips against her skin. A tingle in her stomach. She was fairly certain she forgot to kiss him back. How silly was that...

The hand she had resting upon his shoulder slid down his arm to where she bumped and then squeezed his hand. Charlotte nodded and manage to mumble, “nice seeing you.”

Mind Boggling though, how a conversation that flows so casual and easy one instant suddenly turns so anxiously tense the next.

"And you as well," Tom admitted. It was true, she was a breath of fresh air. He never realised he’d actually missed talking to her. “Have a safe flight,”

“Mmhm,” she scraped her throat, “I do hope you get on a safe plane… Enjoy your holiday,”

“Well actually, not a holiday.”

Charlotte saw her moment to step back, roll her eyes and shake her head disapprovingly while ridding herself of the sudden raging pheromones, “honestly!”

He shrugged and smiled sweetly, “goodbye Charlotte.”

“Goodbye Tom,” she slanted her head in a kind salute and off she was.

Luke couldn’t have chosen a better moment to stroll back into the bar. He’d furrowed his brows when he saw his client-turned-friend entangled with an unfamiliar looking woman and quickly high-tailed himself back to his booth again.

“So who was that then?” he murmured, “I leave you alone for a split second…”

He stood looking around for cameras, but Tom hushed him and motioned for him to sit down and stop making a spectacle of himself.

“That was Charlotte,” his friend was smiling again. That was a good turn to the day, finally.

“Charlotte?” Luke racked his brain, “well, she does seem lovely.”

“She’s – erm, ” Tom paused and then simply nodded, “yes she is. She is.”

“And how’s Sadie?” Luke lifted a brow sarcastically.

“Sadie? Sadie doesn’t hold a candle to Charlotte.”

It was all Luke needed to hear to realize he better start gathering some information on this ‘Charlotte', whoever she was...

[btsmutimagines]

Say I Love You

*Hello, this is a monster fic that I probably shouldn’t have written but I just love this show so much*

Hoseok x Reader

Inspired by the anime “Say I love you” 

Word count: 17k (rip to people on mobile)

I know my editing skills are shit please don’t tell me

You stood in front of your homeroom teacher, her sighing as she pulled out your career sheet. Beside the banal information like your name and signature, the paper was pretty much blank.

“Y/N, how could you not have an idea what you’re going to do with your life? You’re the top of the class, top of the grade but you take everything for granted! The other students say you don’t even speak to them and you’re always alone. At first, I just thought it was because you were focused on school, but it has been the core of your personality.”

“Life isn’t just about school, you have to create relationships and grow with others…” She said more but you started to drown her out when she started to talk about relationships.

Why would you need people?

People were unreliable, unforgiving and ungrateful.

Friends were temporary relationships formed to keep oneself from being alone but, even in a sea of friendships, you would still be lonely.

People need you until they don’t. They will turn their back on you just as quickly as the relationship began. You don’t need people like that, you didn’t need people.

“Y/N, go home and talk with your parents about this. I expect this filled out by the end of this semester.” You took the paper from her, stuffing it in your bag when she was out of sight and walked home.

Your father was still at work, you rarely saw him these days and mostly cared for yourself. You grabbed leftover pizza that your father ordered and heated it up. The silence listened as you ate alone, the greasy pizza warmed up your throat and your stomach was satisfied with the food.

“Jingle?” Your cat leapt up on the counter, looking at you and you petted her back. She was a sleek black cat with blue eyes, such a stunning creature. You rescued her when she was abandoned in a dumpster, Jingle warming up to you and your father quickly and you couldn’t remember a day without her.

She purred to your touch, you smiled at the gentle sound and continued to pet her head and behind her ear.

“I wonder what it would be like to be like you, Jingle. Free to roam wherever I liked, free to be alone if I wanted to. Not having to conform to a stupid society that judges you for not wanting to be around people.” She looked at you, clearly not knowing a word you said but she still meowed at you.

You washed the dishes, going to your room with your cat trailing behind as you pulled out your books. The career sheet came out, crumpled from being shoved in and you scoffed.

You were only 17, still going through your second year of high school and they already want you to decide what to do for the next 50 years? You don’t even know what you’re doing next week, let alone the rest of your life.

You crumpled it up into a ball, tossing it into your garbage can and focused on your homework.

What’s so bad about wanting to live in the now?

You woke up the next morning, Jingle snuggled into you and you woke her up so you could get ready for school. You went to the bathroom, taking a shower and brushing your teeth. You slipped on a fresh pair of underwear, the soft cotton was comforting to your skin and you wore your school uniform.

You left your door open a little, just enough that Jingle could come and go as she pleases and opened the fridge. The fridge was barren, expired milk, an apple and an empty Chinese container. It was time to go shopping again.

You went with the apple, taking a few bites while you checked your watch. You tossed it the rest, not wanting to be late for school and rushing out the door.

Walking down the path to school, kids on bikes passed you by, girls gossiping to one other, boys horsing around, and you kept your pace. You entered the front gate, moving out the way for anyone that was trying to pass you and manage through the front doors.

You went so close to making it to your classroom before you saw two boys and a girl standing near the door. The girl spoke in a high-pitched tone, probably trying to act cute as she chatted with the boys.

“Hobi~ Let’s go out tonight.”

“I don’t know, me and Joon went out last night and-”

“You had all those girls all over you, even the girl I was talking to kept asking me about you! What about the girl you danced with?”

“Hobi, you went out without me and danced with some other girl?!”

“Her? I just talked to her, she seemed nice.”

“Nice?! You didn’t even try to get her number?”

“Oh, was I supposed to? I thought she just wanted someone to dance with.”

“How could you be so popular yet so clueless?”

“I’m glad, that girl probably wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Minyoung, that isn’t nice to say-” You snapped out of your trance when someone bumped into you, receiving a glare and you walked past the trip without a second glance. You could feel eyes on you, you ignored the stares they were probably giving and took your seat.

Eventually one of the boys and the girl entered the classroom, taking their seats and your teacher walked in.

“Class president.”

“Stand.”

The day was already halfway through, the bell for lunch ringing and you quietly left the room. You went down to the back of the school, seeing a familiar cardboard box and crouching to see the cat and the small kitten you secretly fed.

They were hiding here, you stumbled upon them when you were staying at school for a bit. You wanted to finish a book that you kept holding off on reading since you spent most of your time studying. You won’t forget the small meow you heard before finding them.

The mother was protective of her baby, something that you expected from her, but she began to grow fond of you after coming back with food for the two of them. The kitten was a messy eater, often having pieces of tuna stuck to his fur and meowing for more food. You gave the kitten a small piece of cheese, worried he might not be able to properly eat if you gave him too much.

Relief washed over you when he licked your finger and you gently scratched under his little chin. He began to play with your hand, his little paws trying to trap your fingers between them and you giggled.

You heard the bell ring again, reluctantly leaving and going back to class. You took your usual seat, ignoring the chatter around you and pulling out your books.

The school day came to an end, you going to your locker to pick up your shoes and walking to the grocery store. Your bag was heavy with books, but you forced yourself to pick everything you thought you need to get through this month.

“Oh, Y/N, it’s been long.”

“Miss Kong.” You bowed to her, she’s the owner of the store and had known your parents for a long time. She once showed you a picture of the three of them when she first inherited the store from her family.

Of course, you faked your interest, just wanting to get back to your house and she didn’t seem to notice your disingenuousness.

“It must be hard to cook for your dad, huh? Your mother always said he was like a toddler.” You simply nodded, ignoring what she said about your mother. Why would she even bring it up?

“Yeah but I have to keep trying, I guess.”

“What a good daughter.” She praised you, your need to get out of the store growing larger as she kept chatting. You wouldn’t say much back, quickly packing your groceries and rushing out of the store.

Your face met a chest as your groceries fell everywhere.

“Oh shoot, sorry.”

“No, it was my fault-” You began picking up things, your hand touching the stranger’s and you looked up. His eyes met yours, his chocolate eyes distracting you for a moment before you snapped out of it.

You picked up the last piece of grocery from the ground and got up at the same time he did.

“Wait, aren’t you the girl from this morning?”

“I-I don’t know what…?”

“You are, I recognize that emotionless expression.” Is this how he talks to complete strangers? How strange of him.

“Is that how you talk to people?” You mumbled before walking away from him, his presence giving you a feeling unfamiliar to you. He called out to you, making you only take off in a sprint and looking back to make sure he wasn’t following you.

Who does he think he is?

It was the same old day, you entered the front door and going to your locker to change your shoes, but you felt someone standing next to your locker door.

“Good morning.” You flinched a little, seeing the boy from yesterday leaning against the lockers and you looked at him, bewildered. How did he even know where your locker was?

“Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you or anything. I just wanted to apologize about the other day. I didn’t mean to sound rude and I was being inconsiderate of your feelings… Please forgive me!” He bowed to you, startling you and you looked around to see others staring at the scene in front of you.

“I-It’s okay.” You stuttered, him standing straight and flashing you a smile.

“Great, I’ll see you around…” You quickly rushed in the other direction, taking the pause as an opportunity to get to class and quickly sitting in your seat.

Why did he feel the need to apologize? People have said worse about you and they won’t do as much as acknowledge your existence.  

What a strange boy.

You didn’t ponder about him any longer, focusing on what your teacher was writing on the board. Your hand quickly wrote notes, catching all the things your teacher spoke about and reading off the board.

The bell rings, lunch had started, and you began to go to your usual spot. You quietly eat lunch, watching the kitten bonding with his mother. Between eating, you fed them some of the chicken you brought and gave them some water from the hose nearby.

You could have sworn you felt like someone was watching you, but you looked back, not seeing a soul and continued to spend your time watching the felines.

Class commenced again, this time you had gym and you went to the change room with the other girls. They were talking about various things, most subjects disinteresting to you and you quickly changed.

“Alright, let’s start with laps, girls!” The majority has groaned in unison, your coach whistling at all of you and you walked on the track. He started his timer, whistling again and the jog began.

You were decent at laps, gym wasn’t a class that you particularly excelled at, but it didn’t mean much to you anyways. Gym wasn’t your future.

“Out the way, turtle!” You heard from behind you, a girl shoving you out her way. She ran past you, you rolled your eyes at her rudeness. Would it kill anyone to be considerate of others?

“Alright, girls, who’re up for soccer?”

Your muscles felt sore, soccer ended up being you running up and down the field without touching the ball once. You would have liked to stand since you weren’t really playing but your teacher had hawk eyes. He wouldn’t miss seeing you not actively participating since ‘you won’t learn if you don’t try’ as he typically tells you.

“Hey!” You pretended to not hear him, walking towards the exit and leaving. A hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you, you let out a yelp and you turned to glare at the owner of the hand.

“Didn’t you hear me back there?”

“I'm guessing you didn’t then, mind if we walk home together?”

“I do mind.”

“Cold.”

“I don’t know you. So, can you please…?” You looked at his hand, still around your wrist and he pulled away from you.

Why does he keep appearing?

You were carrying the books for your next class as you ‘volunteered’ (one of the girls in your class shoved the responsibility onto you) and you could barely see over the stack.

“Need some help?”

“A-ah, no.”

“Come on, let me help you.” He took some books from you, revealing his smiling face and you quickly looked away. That weird feeling came back, you broke into a brisk pace and he followed.

“Say, how come you haven’t told me your name?”

“I don’t know yours.”

“O-Oh, you’re right. I’m Hoseok, Jung Hoseok.” Of course, Hobi was just a nickname, Y/N.

“I see…”

“This is the part where you tell me yours.”

“Hobi!” You heard a voice call out to him, seeing a boy and girl jog towards him. You walked off, entering your classroom that just so happened to be close. His friends distracted him, and you took a breath of relief.

You didn’t know if you could stall his questions, he seemed persistent since he managed to find you despite the largeness of the school.

The next class started, the boy from earlier carrying the rest of the books in and the class president passed out the rest.

You excused yourself to the washroom, taking a hall pass from your teacher and going into one of the stalls. After flushing the toilet, you were washing your hands when someone entered the bathroom.

“What are you looking at, mute?” You looked away, drying your hands and walking back to class. You took your seat, picking up from where your teacher left off and letting class distract you until the end of the day.

“Y/N!” You looked over, seeing Hoseok jogging up to you as you put on your shoes and he was grinning.

“You know it’s not nice to ditch people who help you out, Y/N.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled, Hoseok leaning in closer as if he couldn’t catch what you said but the proximity of his face to yours made you push him into the lockers across from you. His hand hit hard on the space where a lock is supposed to go, and you saw others watching the two of you.

“I-I-” You bolted, the gust of air hitting your face as you shut your eyes to run as far away as you could. You could hear their judgemental thoughts even from where you were, how they hate you for hurting him, how you were a senseless mute with no manners, how you thought because you were top of the grade, you could treat anyone how you liked.

These were the kinds of words that you knew they were thinking. These are the kinds of people they are.

Who needs them?

You sat in the courtyard, enjoying the flowers the gardening club planted for their spring project. The vibrant array of coloured tulips, crisp whites of the chrysanthemums, the staple roses along with the bright carnations. These brought you a bit of joy in the otherwise dreary day

“You know, you make it really hard to find you. I guess that’s how you want it to be, huh, Y/N?” You looked to your right, seeing Hoseok a little sweaty but still smiling. Why did he always smile like that?

Why did he always smile around you?

Your eyes shifted from his smile to his hand, seeing a bruise on his hand. How could he still smile with a bruise like that?

“Your hand.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, I’m a lot tougher than I look.” You searched the pocket of your school blazer, feeling the band-aids you usually carried with you and put one in his bruised hand.

“Oh, I don’t think these will be enough-?” You showed him the whole row you kept with you and he took them with you, scratching his head and you picked up your bag from the bench you were sitting on.

“Then.”

“No, wait, this isn’t what I came here for.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not it either.” You looked at him with a frown, confused. This couldn’t possibly be him finally telling you why he’s been following you around, could it?

“Give me your phone.” You blinked. If he’s trying to steal from you, he’s not doing a very good job at it.

“Ah, no, I’m not stealing your phone, I just want to put my phone number in.”

“Why?”

“So, we can be friends, Y/N.”

“I don’t need friends.”

“Look, I know it was weird that I was talking to you without introducing myself, but I wanted to get to know you and become friends-”

“I told you I don’t need friends.” You cut him off, repeating yourself before walking away.

It was the end of the day, you manage to fend off the deathly glares you were receiving from most of the girls in your grade. They must have gossiped about what happened yesterday. You opened your locker, seeing a few sheets of paper falling to the ground.

You were about to toss them all away, most of them were just insulting you about hurting Hoseok but one of them had numbers on it. You opened it properly, revealing a phone number and Hoseok’s name on the bottom. He also wrote: Call me :) You were tempted to toss it out, but you just folded his note up and slipped it into your pocket.

“Oh, Y/N, here for another shift?”

“Of course!” You worked at a bakery, the lady who lived a few floors below you had been running the place since you moved there, and she offered you the job after you started high school.

You stood behind the counter, seeing a few people in the store looking over the options.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, how may I help you?” It was a regular customer, she has been coming to the bakery since you started working there and she always bought the same item: three peanut butter chocolate cookies.

“I would like three of the usual.”

“Of course. That will be 1800 won.” She handed you 2000 won, you quickly giving her change and bid him goodbye.

“Please come back again.” You quickly bowed, the next customer walking up to you and you greeted them.

You kept checking people out, eventually, the store became empty and you sat in the back with your boss.

“You seem different, Y/N.”

“Huh?”

“You seem more distracted; did you get a boyfriend?”

“Miss Song.”

“Eh, you’re so cute, Y/N~ Love is amazing, isn’t it?”

“I-I don’t have a boyfriend, I swear!” You stammered out, avoiding her eyes and you placed your hands between your knees.

“Don’t be so shy, Y/N~. He’ll come around, I promise.”

“Miss Song!”

You bowed to Miss Song when you left, adjusting your bag and began to walk home. You looked back, just seeing a crowd of people going in multiple directions.

You kept walking, the feeling of someone trailing behind you became hard to shake off when you stopped, and someone rudely pushed past you.

“Can’t you see people are going to places?” They curtly said, and you took the opportunity to look back again, seeing the woman from earlier in the distance trying to be inconspicuous. You pretended to not notice her and walked into a convenience store.

You didn’t bother calling home, knowing your dad wasn’t going to be home since he wrote you a note saying he’s going drinking tonight. You looked over your shoulder, seeing that the woman was still outside and staring at you.

What can you do? Think, Y/N.

You remembered Hoseok’s note, take a deep sigh before dialling his number.

Hello?

“Jung H-Hoseok?”

The one and only, this is Y/N, right?

“Yes, y-yes.”

Is something wrong? You sound…different… Are you drunk or something?

“I need your help, okay! And I don’t know how to ask you.”

Calm down, Y/N, what can I do for you?

“Can you come to Junko’s Convenience store, please?” You whispered. He hung up on you, your nerves going haywire.

See, Y/N, this is why you don’t need friends. Did you really think he was going to come and save you because you begged him to? There’s nothing in it for him in helping you out. Quit thinking people are going to be there for you.

You shut your eyes, wanting the taunting voice in your head to stop. You knew you were stupid to think he was going to help someone like you, especially after all you’ve done to him…

“I’m an idiot.” You whispered to yourself.

“No, you’re not, Y/N.” You opened your eyes, seeing Hoseok in more casual clothing and visibly panting.

“H-Hoseok?”

“In the flesh. Are you alright?”

“Hoseok…”

“Y/N?” You clung onto him, almost collapsing on him and he didn’t stay anything.

“I didn’t think you would come… after everything…”

“You called me, why wouldn’t I come? Now, can you explain what’s going on? Unless this is an impromptu date?”

“Can you really joke at a time like this?” You explained to him about what was going on, him stealing a glance at the woman and you looked down at your shoes.

“Looks like you have a stalker, have you seen her before?”

“She came by my job today, she’s a regular. I don’t know why she would be following me.”

“I’ll walk you home and get her off your trail, just trust me.” You didn’t know why you trusted his words, but you nodded, following his lead as he bought two bottles of pop before leaving the store.

“Do you trust me?”

“Y-Yes.” He turned you to face him, you became locked in eye contact before he leaned in.

It took a few seconds to process the feeling of his lips pressed against yours, his arms wrapped you as his hands pressed into your lower back. You didn’t know how to react, letting him pull you in closer and he pulled away.

“She’s gone.”

“Y/N?” You stumbled backwards a bit, Hoseok looking at you strangely.

“Oh, I should have warned that I was going to kiss you. Sorry.”

“Wait... was that your f-”

“Please stop talking. Just stop.”

“I didn’t know, really. I…” You started to walk away, Hoseok jogging up next to you and you felt an aura of embarrassment surrounding you and you wished you could melt into a puddle.

Your first kiss… Taken by someone like him, someone who could just easily take it away from you without a second thought…

“Say, now we have each other’s numbers now.”

“What?” He showed you his recent call list, your number at the top of the list and you sighed.

“Don’t be so glum, Y/N. I’m not going to blow up your phone with messages. I’ll call you when I need help. Will you come rescue me too?”

“Can you…”

“If you’re going to ask what I think you’re going to, then, no can do. You owe me one.”

“I want to take it back.”

“Take back what? Your favour or your first kiss?”

“I thought I told you to not talk about that!”

“Sorry, sorry. No takesies backsies, Y/N. Now, where’s your place?”

You got home after spending 10 minutes convincing Hoseok to go home instead of inviting himself over for tea.

You were already embarrassed enough for shoving your face in his chest, stupidly calling him to even come to the convenience store and… kissing him.

The softness of his lips was like nothing you’ve ever felt before, his lips smooth, and they kind of tasted like blueberries. The sweet kind that you used to pick with your grandmother when you lived near her farm. She would always let you taste her best pick, the delicious juice squirting in your mouth as you bit into the sweet fruit.

You touched your own lips, trying to remember the feeling more and your eyes widen as you realized what you were thinking about.

“I’m not crazy, am I, Jingle?” You said to her as she walked over to you, hearing her meow in response felt like she was saying yes, and you lowered your head.

It was just one silly kiss, he just did it for your sake. It meant nothing to him but why does it to you?

“Good morning, Y/N. Did you sleep well?”

“W-What are you doing?”

“What do you mean? I was just saying hi.” He frowned, his friends walking up to him and they looked at you. You could feel yourself shrinking on the spot and you wanted to disappear at this very moment.

“Hobi!”

“Oh, Y/N’s here too.”

“Good morning, Y/N!” The girl said, giving you a small wave.

“Ah, this is Namjoon and Minyoung. They’re in your class, right?”

“It’s nice to meet you.” She grabbed your hands, smiling at you and you weakly smiled in reply.

“Hobi, why didn’t you come back after you left? The girls won’t talk to me afterwards.”

“Oh, my mom called.” Did he leave his friends for you?

“Can you come out tonight? The girls from Class C have been bugging me about when you’re going out again.”

“Tonight’s good.”

“Y/N?” You looked at Minyoung, who was still holding your hands and she cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh ho, I know what’s going on here. I’m stealing Y/N~”

“Have fun!” She dragged you along, you surprised by how strong she was and you two were definitely out of earshot and their sight when she started to speak again.

“You’re the reason he left last night, weren’t you?”

“Yes…”

“Sounds just like him, Hobi would do anything to help anyone if they need him.”

“Oh…”

“Did anything happen?” You didn’t want to tell her, part of you felt like she liked him and was going to warn to stay away from him like you were in a drama. Also, because you were really trying to forget that he kissed you. And how his lips tasted like. And the way your heart raced when he looked at you afterwards. Damnit.

“He kissed you, didn’t he?”

“How did you know? Does he do that to every girl?”

“There are rumours about him kissing half the girls in the school, some from other schools and… I was also one of them.”

“Oh…”

“But I don’t like him that much, I like someone else now. I’m thankful for Hoseok doing that, though. It helped me out a lot.”

“Okay.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, how could you tell from just one kiss? You barely know him, but you couldn’t deny that you felt like you wanted to get to know him a bit more than before.

“Well, I know that there are a lot of girls that would love to be where you are with him right now but there’s no pressure.”

“I hope that we can become friends regardless, right?” You nodded, it was still unsure whether you could really trust Minyoung but if she can be around Hoseok, she can’t be a bad person, can she?

You came to your usual spot of lunch, managing to sneak past Minyoung and Namjoon and took a sigh of relief.

“You like to hide here a lot.”

“Hoseok?”

“You say my name in such an interesting way.”

“Sorry.”

“I w-wasn’t scolding you or anything, I just like the way you say my name.” He looked away from you, covering his mouth and you felt your cheeks growing hot. Get your mind out of the gutter, Y/N!

“O-oh okay…How did you find me?”

“Oh, I wanted to talk to you and tried to follow you… and saw you playing with a kitten and I couldn’t interrupt, I guess.”

“Sounds like you were stalking me.”

“I’m not afraid to come towards you, Y/N. Besides, do you always call your stalkers to come and save you?”

“I’ve never been in a situation like that before… but thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, I would always help you out if you just call me. I’ll come running for you.” Gosh, did he have to say things like that so easily?

“T-Thanks.”

“Two thank you’s from Y/N, what have I done in my past life to get so blessed?” You rolled your eyes, he’s more dramatic than you thought.

“Oh, and a smile. Mission accomplished.”

“What kind of mission is that?”

“I always wondered what your smile looked like, just as pretty as I thought it would be.”

“Quit it.”

“I’m being honest here!”

Hoseok was standing near your classroom’s door, people staring as he looked at you as you walked out and stopping you. You looked up, you usually walked with your head won to avoid eye contact with anyone.

“Let’s walk home together today.”

“But Namjoon…”

“I’ll join him later. Come on.” He took your hand, pulling you along to your locker and watching you change shoes and put some of your books away. You walked with him, avoiding the looks people were giving you and you felt something warm slip between your fingers.

“Just ignore them, I’m here.” You took a deep breath, Hoseok squeezing your fingers and you continued to walk home holding onto his hand.

“What did you and Minyoung talk about earlier? I hope she didn’t scare you or anything.”

“Oh, she told me about the r-rumours about you…”

“Ah, people really have nothing better to do than making up stories about me. They aren’t true, Y/N.”

“So, you didn’t kiss Minyoung?”

“That’s… true but it didn’t mean anything.” Just like when you kissed me. You untwined your fingers from him, gripping your skirt and he looked down at his hand.

“Y/N.”

“I get it, Hoseok. She told me you did it to help her and that you would do anything to help someone out. Kind of like you helped me out.” Although it feels like he cursed you with endless thoughts of him, thoughts that you wanted to push away behind a door and never have to unlock ever again.

“Yeah, I guess.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, continuing to walk next to you and he didn’t say any more until you were near your place.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N…” He left before you could say anything back to him, you watched his retreating silhouette and you felt like breaking down. He looked so dejected after you brushed aside him and Minyoung kissing like how he kissed you, but he said that it didn’t mean anything to him. How he kissed you… how was that any different?

Hoseok was confusing.

“Morning, Y/N!”

“Mornin’, Y/N.” Namjoon said after Minyoung, the two of them at your locker without Hoseok in tow. Your heart ached at the realization, but you still put on a smile for the two of them.

“Morning.”

“Wow.”

“W-what?”

“You have such a cute voice. Can you say ‘Good morning, oppa’?”

“Kim Namjoon, don’t make her say weird things, you pervert!”

“Minyoung-ahh, why do you have to ruin my fun? Is it because Hoseok’s not here?” Namjoon whined.

“No, you’re going to taint Y/N’s innocent soul with your weird perverseness. Come on, Y/N.” Minyoung stuck her tongue out at Namjoon before walking away with you.

“I think I forgot my textbook in my locker, meet you in class?”

“Okay.” She gave you a smile, you returned the gesture before taking a detour to the bathroom.

“Did you hear?”

“What?”

“That little mute has been clinging onto Hobi and people are even saying they kissed!”

“Was he drunk? Why would he kiss that stupid mute? She walks around the school like she’s untouchable because she gets good grades. Someone needs to tell her friendless ass that nobody, including Hobi would never want her in a million years.”

“Besides that, what about that girl, Minyoung?”

“You mean Miss ‘My ass can’t find a chair to sit in’?”

“Remember how they had to give her a custom chair because she kept complaining about the regular ones?”

“I bet she got implants with her daddy’s money, there’s no way they’re real.”

“Too bad she can’t implant a personality into her body too.” You were fuming about the way they were talking about Minyoung, she hasn’t done anything to anyone to deserve to be talked about like this. Behind her back, especially.

You purposely swung your stall door open, making sure the two girls had taken notice to your presence and they glared at you before turning back to the mirror.

“Nobody’s as fake as the designer bags you have.”

“Oh, look, the mute is finally talking, isn’t that cute?”

“You think you can get brave now that Hoseok knows you exist? News flash, you’re still nothing around here and Hoseok isn’t going to protect you.”

“This isn’t about Hoseok. It’s about the way you talk about Minyoung. She hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Aw, the mute wants to protect her little friend.”

“Aw, the mute thinks she has a friend.”

“It’s getting really annoying hearing the two of you continue to talk.”

“Oh, you don’t want to talk, huh?”

You sat at the courtyard, Hoseok sighing as you crossed your arms and looked in the other direction.

“I leave you alone for a change and you come back with scratches on your face? What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s nothing, I promise.” He sat next to you, turning your head and you winced. His thumb was touching your scratches and he quickly moved his thumb underneath your chin.

“Sorry.” He mumbled as he pulled out the band-aids you gave him for his hand and put them over your cheek. You blinked as his fingers stroked your cheek a bit before he stopped himself.

“Promise me you won’t let your pretty little face get hurt again, please.” Your heart stupidly skipped when he said ‘pretty’ and you nodded, getting a smile from him.

“I hope we’re not interrupting anything.”

“N-No.” You blurted out, Minyoung immediately touched your cheek.

“Is this why you came in with your hand on your cheek this morning?”

“Yeah…”

“Be careful, I don’t like seeing my friends get hurt.” There’s the word again, friend. Did you really think of Minyoung, Namjoon and Hoseok as friends?

“Minyoung, I hurt my arm!”

“Did you? Let me see.” She touched his arm, Namjoon blushing and you watched as Minyoung attentively looked for his injury.

“Ya, you’re not injured!”

“Internal bleeding?” She glared at him, Namjoon nervously laughing and the rest of you joined.

Maybe they could be your friends…

“Hobi, Hobi!” A girl ran over to your group, going directly to Hoseok and he looked at her with a smile. Does he smile at everyone like that too?

“Oh, Eun Ae.”

“We missed you last night, Joonie said you were coming but you didn’t.”

“Yeah, dude, I was going to ask you this morning, but you were MIA.”

“I really wasn’t feeling it yesterday, I guess.”

“That’s too bad, I was really looking forward to hanging out again. Like we used to.” Your ears perked up to her words, Hoseok already knew her, huh?

“I’m up for it, Minyoung.”

“As long as you’re paying, Joonbug.”

“Is that all I’m good for, Minnie?”

“Aw, Joon.”

“What about you, Hoseok?” Eun Ae put the focus back on Hoseok, whose eyes were on you and you didn’t notice until you met his eyes.

“What do you say? I’ll do what you want.” You felt eyes on you now, Hoseok shifting the attention onto you and you immediately became nervous. The glare from Eun Ae was apparent, knowing that she didn’t like that Hoseok was letting you choose for him and that he even cared about what you wanted.

“I guess it’ll be fun.” You didn’t miss the smirk on Eun Ae’s face before she looked innocently at Hoseok.

“I’ll see you later, Hobi.” She didn’t spare any of you a glance, walking off and you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Wow, I could see Eun Ae ready to pounce on you again, Hobi?”

“Eun Ae’s been like this for so long.”

“Um…”

“What is it, Y/N?” Hoseok looked at you, you avoided his eyes before speaking again.

“How do you guys know her?”

“Eun Ae, she used to go to Hoseok’s middle school. The prettiest girl in our grade and she came to the same school as us. She was Hobi’s-”

“Enough, Namjoon.” Minyoung said, looking at you sympathetically and you smiled at her.

“Alright, sheesh. Sorry, Y/N, I just really enjoyed middle school.”

“I think you’re the only person on the planet who enjoyed any part of school.”

“You liked middle school a little, didn’t you, Hobi?”

“Sorry, bud.”

“Y/N, you can back me up, right?”

“S-Sorry, Namjoon.”

“Majority rules, Joon.”

“Some friends you guys are.” You giggled with Minyoung, Namjoon pouting in response and Hoseok put his arm on his shoulders.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s go together?” You nodded, Hoseok walking ahead of you and you rushed to catch up to him. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, you quietly disappointed that he didn’t reach for your hand like last time. Could he be upset about yesterday? Did you say something wrong earlier, maybe?

“You looked different today.”

“You keep calling me different…”

“Ah, I guess that can sound kind of rude, I mean you looked really happy today. Like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Well…” You smoothed over your hair, not really knowing what to say. You only started talking to everyone a few days ago but it felt natural to be around them. Was having friends really this easy?

“I-I mean you seem to like having friends, it’s nice to have someone to share moments with, right?”

“I wouldn’t go that far…”

“Such a dandere.”

“W-what is that?”

“Or maybe a hajidere?”

“Why are you calling me those weird words?”

“Ayee, are you blushing, Y/N? What’s going on in your mind right now?”

“Q-Quit teasing m-me…”

“You’re so cute when you stutter.” You ran away from him, hearing him running alongside you and you took off in a sprint until he grabbed your wrist.

“Slow down, Y/N, we’re here. Come on.” You followed him inside, judging from the sign, the place was a karaoke bar and you stood behind Hoseok as he talked to the receptionist.

“Namjoon booked our room already, let’s go.” He led the way, making sure you were in step with him still and he opened the door for you as you saw Namjoon, Minyoung and Eun Ae already sitting in the room.

Eun Ae smiled at Hoseok first, shooting you a glare before talking.

“Aw, Hobi, you missed me singing our favourite song, remember?”

“Sorry, Eun Ae, but what song was that?” Minyoung laughed, causing you to laugh and Namjoon chuckled.

“I’m surprised you remember where the school is, Hobi. So forgetful.”

“What day is it, Hobi?” Hoseok let you sit first, sliding into the booth next to you and you shyly smiled to yourself.

“Wednesday?”

“It’s Thursday, Hobi.”

“At least I was close?”

“You poor unfortunate soul~”

“Good to know that Minnie is confirming that she is in fact, Ursula.”

“Shut up!”

“Good to know you two are getting along.” The two of them shot Hoseok a look and you laughed as they both whined his name.

“Do you see what I have to deal with, Y/N?”

“Ahem.”

“OH, Eun Ae, I almost forgot you were here.”

“Minyoung, play nice. Sorry, Eun Ae.”

“Sing with me to make up to me?” He grabbed the mic from her, carefully getting past you to sing with her and you looked to your lap.

You didn’t possibly think that you could keep Hoseok to yourself, did you? Oh, you even thought that you could have him to yourself too, huh? Silly girl.

You looked at Hoseok and Eun Ae, quickly choosing a song and the music began. Hoseok started, shutting his eyes as he started to sing. His voice was so deep and gentle, it was comforting like a warm hug, melodic like an orchestra, light like whipped cream on top of your favourite latte.

“Hobi’s a pretty good singer when he wants to be.”

“What about me, Minyoung?”

“Namjoon, honey, you should stick to rapping.”

“I thought you would at least cheer for me.”

“Who’s next?”

“ME, me! I’ve been practicing.”

“Y/N, you might want to plug your ears.” Hoseok whispered to you, you leaned away from him and Eun Ae tapped his shoulder.

“Hobi, let go get some drinks.”

“Oh, sure.” He left with Eun Ae, Minyoung letting out a huge sigh as soon as the door shut.

“What’s wrong?”

“That leech, I hate her.”

“Minyoung is usually blindly optimistic about people but she really doesn’t like Eun Ae.”

“Yeah and she keeps trying to steal Hoseok from Y/N!”

“W-What, we aren’t like that. W-We’re just-”

“Don’t worry, Y/N, you have our blessing.”

“B-Blessing?” What are they talking about, they don’t mean-? Your face was scorching hot and you covered your face.

“Oooh, are you blushing?”

“Namjoon, don’t tease her so much, she’s really innocent and pure unlike you.”

“Hey, how did this turn back on me?”

“I want to help Y/N in her quest for her pure love!”

“Oh, Y/N has a crush on someone?” Hoseok said, Eun Ae carrying snacks to the table in front of you three and you grabbed your bag.

“Y/N-” You bolted past Hoseok, wishing that you didn’t exist. You were always running away from something, whether it was Hoseok, your own emotions, the stares people would give you and even you…

“Y/N, slow down! Y/N!” Hoseok pulled your arm, you stopped at his touch and freezing on the spot.

“If you keep making me chase after you, I’m going to be an Olympic sprinter in no time.”

“Why is everything a joke to you?” You blurted out, Hoseok had for once looked a little shocked.

“I’m sorry.”

“Just go back.”

“Not unless you’re coming with me.”

“Why do you even care about me? Why are you always wondering about what I want? Am I one of those people that you pick as some sort of charity case?”

“N-No, it’s not like that.”

“Then tell me-” He leaned in to kiss you, his lips meeting yours for a brief moment before you pushed him away.

“There you go again, just kissing me like it’s nothing to you.”

“I just want you to feel better.”

“Nothing feels worse than being kissed by someone that doesn’t even love you.” He kissed you again, holding your arm that was up to push him and you fought yourself to not kiss him back. His lips were hungry, attacking yours with power than you didn’t know he had. It was a hot kiss, you weren’t sure whether it was from his lips or from your cheeks.

“This is the kiss for the girl that drives me nuts.” He whispered against your lips before kissing you again. This kiss felt different, it was more languid and sweeter unlike his hungrier kiss before. It was airy and light like one of the souffles Miss Song let you take home once when she started making them. You remember how the sweet it was, every bite melting in your mouth and you only wanted to eat more.

“For the girl I want to get to know better.” He kissed you once more, a rush of electricity running through your veins as his hands pressed into your back. The noise of the world faded as you became submerged into kissing him. Your willpower crumbled to dust as you kissed him back, your hand on his chest as he intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Can you tell the difference?”

“I-I..”

“Do I have to kiss you again?” You covered your lips, Hoseok chuckled at you and you hit his chest with your other hand.

“Don’t laugh at me…”

“You’re just so cute, Y/N. I can’t help it.”

“Cheesy.”

“Only for you. Now, who is this mystery guy that you have a crush on? You might have to tell him that we might have kissed once or twice.”

“Ahem. Four times.”

“Not my fault. Your lips look like they’re meant to be kissed all the time.” You covered your face. He can’t stop saying stuff like this, can he?

“Don’t say those words…”

“Look at me.” You did, those same chocolate brown eyes making your mouth run dry and your heart began to race. How could he do this to you without saying anything?

“Is it me? Is it me that you like?”

“I-I can’t just say it...”

“Why not?” He pouted, his eyes mimicking the same sentiment and you thought you were going to burst at how cute he looked. You tried to break free of his hold, in turn, he pulled you closer to him.

“No running away this time. I want to hear you say it.”

“H-Hoseok… please…”

“Gosh, why do you say things like that?”

“W-What?”

“N-Never mind. Let’s go home.”

“But your bag…?”

“I’ll just tell Namjoon to drop it off. Let’s go.” He still held your hand, taking you along with him and you meekly walked with him.

You were getting ready for gym, Minyoung pressing you for questions about what happened after Hoseok ran after you which led to you needing 10 minutes to calm down since you thought your face was going to melt off.

“Look it’s the freak meeting.”

“It looks like Freak #1 has a good reminder of our warning.”

“Warning? Y/N, what are they talking about?”

“Aw, she didn’t tell you, didn’t she? What a bad friend.”

“What are they talking about?”

“I’ll tell you, Freak #2. She tried to defend you, not realizing that she was better off being a mute.”

“Maybe Freak #2 threatened to sit on her if she didn’t defend her.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” They both laughed, you clenched your fist and Namjoon came charging into the conversation.

“You’re just jealous that both your asses are flat! Minyoung’s butt is just the perfect size and anyone would kill to have that ass. I mean-”

“Oh ho, look Freak #2 has a new protector now, huh? Of course, he’s only a pervert.” You looked at Minyoung, her hair covering part of her face and she ran off before you could say anything to her.

“Aw, look at her. She’s going to cry, isn’t she?”

“Pathetic.”

You looked out the window in the hallway, seeing other classes outside having gym. Minyoung still spoke to you when you found her in the classroom, avoiding Namjoon instead and you apologized for not telling her about what really happened to your face.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Namjoon?”

“Can I talk to you?” You nodded, and he exhaled.

“I don’t know if you noticed but I really like Minyoung.”

“I know, Hoseok told me.”

“That son of a- Do you have any advice? I mean you managed to get Hoseok tied down.”

“It’s n-not like that.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I think you should just be honest with her… I mean she doesn’t know how you feel unless you say it. Speak from your heart, Namjoon.”

“O-Okay, I think I know what to do. Thanks.” He took off, leaving you back to watching the kids outside and pondering why Namjoon thinks you have Hoseok tied down…

Are we like that? Does Hoseok want to be…?

You shook off those thoughts, going through the whole school day before Hoseok appeared before you.

“Hey, you.”

“H-Hi.”

“You ready to go?” You nodded, Hoseok taking your hand and the two of you walked down the path. It felt different than usual, Hoseok was beaming in a different way, the warmth his hand radiated felt warmer and the walk home began to feel shorter.

“Namjoon said thank you.”

“For what?”

“I think he said your advice worked, him and Minnie are dating now, I think.”

“I’m glad.”

“I didn’t know you were a secret love whisperer. What can you whisper to me, Y/N?”

“H-Hoseok.”

“Tell me more.” You bit your lip; did he always have to tease you like this?

“Alright, alright. Say, are you free this weekend?” Right. Today is Friday.

“I-I have to wash my cat, she’s really dirty…”

“All weekend?”

“She’s really, really dirty.”

“I can help you out, what do you say?”

You didn’t say anything, but he was in your apartment lobby on Saturday, wearing a sweater and some ripped jeans. He had a mask covering his face, pulling it down to reveal his handsome smile. You held your breath when you met his eyes, clasping your hands together nervously and looking away.

“I w-wasn’t expecting you to actually come.”

“Didn’t I say I would come and help you?”

“B-But…”

“I promise I’ll be good.” He blurted out, making you blush, and you looked down.

“O-Okay.” He followed you upstairs, holding your hand as you led the way to your apartment. Your father wasn’t home, leaving you a note that he was going to be on a business trip for a few days and to call if you needed him.

“Do you live alone?”

“My dad isn’t here, he’s away.”

“What about your mom?”

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Sorry for asking.”

“Let me get Jingle.” You went into your room, Jingle stretching on your pillow and you leaned against the door. Jingle looked at you, hopping off the bed and pawing at your leg when she got over to you.

Don’t think about her.

“Come here.” You picked her up, opening your door and seeing Hoseok sitting at the counter.

“Oh, she’s really pretty.” He carefully reached out to her, Jingle letting him pet her and she purred to his touch.

“She doesn’t look that dirty to me.”

“She is, trust me.” You two walked into the bathroom, Jingle was calm until you opened the faucet.

“I can hold her if you’d like.”

“Be careful, okay?” You handled her off, making sure that he was holding her properly as you looked through the cabinet for Jingle’s shampoo.

“What’s her name?”

“Jingle.”

“What a cute name.”

“Do you describe everything as cute?”

“Only when it came to you.” You set yourself for that one.

“Just put her in the tub, please.” You found the bottle, seeing Jingle sitting in the water. You stood there, seeing her sit in the tub calmly and Hoseok poked your thigh.

“How did you do that?”

“I put her down gently and she sat.”

“Usually, she scratches me before dipping her toe into the tub.”

“Let me see.” You unrolled up your sleeve, revealing some of the scratches she’s given you and Hoseok touched them gently before raising your arm to his lips. He kissed each one gently and you widened your eyes as his lips moved up your arm.

“W-What are y-you doing?”

“Kissing them better.”

“You sound like a manga character.”

“Oh, does that make you my main girl?”

“I think Jingle has been waiting too long!” You opened the shampoo bottle, rubbing the liquid into her fur gently and Hoseok sighed. He started rubbing her upper body as you washed the lower part.

She purred at the gentle scratching, you smiling to yourself and reaching for the shower head. Hoseok handled it over to you, carelessly brushing your fingers against his and almost dropped it.

“You alright?”

“Just fine.” You washed her, making sure that no soap was left over and using a washcloth to wipe her face.

“Can you put this away for me?” He took the shampoo bottle away, you taking Jingle out the tub with a towel and drying her. You let the tub drain, Jingle shook the towel off her before walking off.

“She’s pretty independent, huh?”

“I once caught her eating some tuna I was cooking with on the counter.”

“Wonder what your cooking tastes like.”

“Don’t.”

“How stern. I’ll try it one day. Maybe when we’re married.”

“W-What?”

“Let’s go do something. I mean Jingle is washed and it was going to take you all weekend.” You bit your lip, knowing that you didn’t have anything to rebuttal with.

“I guess we could.”

“Thank you, Buddha, God…any other deities out there.”

“So dramatic.”

“Come on, come on.” You went to your room, searching for something to wear. Do you wear something casual, do you try and match him, do you dress up?

“Hey, Y/N, are you alright in there?”

“J-Just give me a minute.”

“Don’t dress too fancy, Y/N?” That crosses one option off your list. You settled on a pair of black shorts with legging underneath, a white wool sweater and your brown boots.

“Wow.”

“Do I look bad? Should I go change-”

“No, you look beautiful. Seeing you in regular clothes is just new to me.” He clears his throat, taking your hand and you left the apartment with him.

“Do you have anything in mind?”

“It’s a secret.” He winked at you, your heart skipped a beat and he smiled.  

You two walked through the busy streets, people of all ages and genders strolling wherever they needed to go. Some rushed down the sidewalk, others taking their time and you were just trying to make sure you didn’t trip over your own feet.

“Have you done something like this before?”

“What? You mean a date? I’m not sure.”

“I suppose you always get girls asking you to go somewhere with them…”

“But I’ve never gone to get a girl to come out with me.”

“R-Really?”

“I’m serious, Y/N.” You smiled to yourself, he’s been a lot of your firsts, your first kiss, your first friend, your first boy- You caught yourself, you weren’t even sure if you liked him yet… right?

“Oh, we’re here!” He pulled you inside, not giving you time to read the sign, but you could guess where you were based on the scenery. The walls had comics hanging, some in stands and there was a counter with small treats.

“A comic book café?”

“I thought we could just hang out and read. You seem to do that a lot.”

“They’re more words, less pictures.”

“Will you at try them out? For me?”

“H-Hoseok.”

“You’re so cute when you stutter my name, Y/N.”

“D-Don’t say things like t-that, it’s embarrassing.” You said, your hand touching your lips and your cheeks were burning again.  

“Oh, what is this? Is that Mr. Chick Magnet, Hope?” Hoseok turned around, you looked at the two people who entered the shop. A guy you didn’t recognize and Eun Ae holding his arm. She has a boyfriend?

“Ah, it’s Y/N and Hoseok. Are you on a date?”

“Yes, we are-”

“I-It’s not a date-” You both said simultaneously, looking at each other but you looked away from him first.

“She’s a little shy, I guess.” You pinched his arm, him wincing a little and you looked at Eun Ae. She was definitely glaring at you but for what reason?

“Eun and I were going to go see a movie in a bit, you two should come with us.”

“What do you say, Y/N?” Why do you always put this on me, Hoseok?!

“O-Okay.”

“Great! We should go earlier so we can get good seats, babe.” Eun Ae said, both boys agreeing and you didn’t say a word as you followed. The movie theatre had a lineup, oddly enough you saw couples waiting together and your nerves went haywire.

“Is it National Couple’s Day today or something?”

“That feels like every day with you, Eun.”

“Yoonie.” She whined as he kissed her cheek, maybe they really like each other. You shouldn’t worry about Eun Ae, she has a boyfriend and she won’t cheat on him, would she?

“Oh, Y/N~”

“What is it?”

“I want a kiss too.” You covered your lips, Hoseok laughing at you and you turned your head. His lips gently kissed your ear, you internally screaming but you manage to let out a little squeak.

“Oh, what was that noise?”

“Ahem, you two. We need to find our seats.” Eun Ae said sharply, you sidestepped away from Hoseok a little bit and following Eun Ae and her boyfriend. You took a seat in the middle row, you ended up seeing next to Eun Ae and Hoseok. He still held your hand, occasionally running his thumb over the back of your hand and you felt a smile tugging at your lips.

There was something so indescribable about holding Hoseok’s hand.

Words couldn’t fathom how gentle it was, no comparison could hold weight to how warm it felt, no feeling could capture how soft it was.

Everything about Hoseok was so new and foreign to you, part of you just wanted to dive into anything as long as he was next to you, but you had another part of you that feared everything that you didn’t know about Hoseok.

It feared how little you knew about the man next to you, how much more there is to him. How attached to him you may become.

It scared you.

“Y/N? Can you come with me to get some snacks?” Eun Ae asked you, not wanting a response before pulling you out into the lobby.

“What are your intentions?”

“W-What?”

“You can’t be this clueless, can you? I mean what are your feelings for Hoseok?” Why does everyone keep pushing you to give them an answer? What gives them the right to know?

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t know? Wow, clueless and dumb.”

“Why are you being so rude?”

“I’m just in disbelief that a girl like you is blinding Hoseok from someone who actually deserves him. I mean I was his first kiss, his first date, his…” She leaned in close to whisper to you, “…his first time. What would he ever see in you?”

Yeah, Y/N, what would he ever see in you? You walked away from her, going into the theatre and avoided Hoseok’s eyes.

“Y/N, where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Wait, what?” You walked off, trying to fight the tears welling in your eyes.

You knew it felt wrong to react like this, but this is your fears becoming a reality. Things that you wanted to with him, things that made you think about the future. A future with Hoseok’s sparkling eyes and dazzling smile in it. He’s already experienced it all with someone else. Someone else that wanted him and at some point, he wanted to.

“Y/N, I don’t know what Eun Ae said but I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Don’t give me that, Hoseok. That you were each other’s firsts.”

“Oh, that?” Can he take anything seriously? You scoffed, feeling a hot tear fall on your cheek and you looked at him.

“Let me guess, you did it to help her because she begged you to.”

“Well yes but-”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“I still do.” He took the opportunity to grab your hand, pulling you in the other direction and you couldn’t break free from his grip.

“I don’t know what Eun Ae said to get ideas inside your head about me, but I want o clear my name.” You didn’t say anything to him, letting him take to what looked an elementary school and he let go of your wrist.

“I know you could just bolt at any second but please hear me out.” You pursed your lips, not sparing him a glance but letting him speak.

“I went to middle school here, goofing around and making friends. Eun Ae picked me to be hers, making me do like ask her to dances, dress up how she wanted me to, even convinced me to ditch one of my best friends for her.”

“Our first year in high school, she still had her leash on me, telling me that sleeping with her will help her feel better, make her feel loved, so I did it.”

“Two weeks later, I caught her making out with one of the jocks under the bleachers before a game.”

“I didn’t know that…”

“I didn’t want you to know how much of a coward I was.”

“Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

“H-Hoseok.”

“You always do things the way you want, at your own pace. You have so much control, I’m envious.”

“You don’t have to say it back to me yet, I just want you to know how I feel about you.” He stepped towards you, brushing hair behind your ear and you blushed at the simple gesture.

“Can I kiss you?” You nodded, his warm hand cupping your cheek as he pressed his lips against yours.  

It’s so hard to be mad at you, Hoseok…

The cool winds of fall turned harsh as the winter came in. You wore your heavy coat, trying to maintain any sense of warmth you could get. Of course, holding onto Hoseok’s hand had helped a lot. Especially when he held you close before he let you go home…

“Hey, Y/N~”

“Minyoung?”

“You know what’s in a few days, right?”

“Um, our timed English essay.”

“Not that, silly.”

“What is it?”

“Valentine’s Day and Hobi’s birthday.”

“E-Eh?”

“I forgot you didn’t know his birthday but how could you forget Valentine’s Day?!”

“I was always single, so…”

“Ah.”

“So, what do you do on Valentine’s Day?”

“E-EH?” You tried to quiet her down, it’s already bad enough that you had asked her about it but how do you celebrate something that you didn’t know existed?

“Minyoung, please.”

“I know Hoseok is a sweet tooth. Are you good at baking?”

“I’ve never tried…”

“But you work at a bakery!”

“I just work at the cash register…”

“The things we do for love. Maybe you should ask your boss?”

…

“EH?” You just explained Miss Song about the position you were in without eluding to the fact you doing this for a certain someone. She would tease you to no end about it, you were sure of it.

“Miss Song?”

“How do you not know how to bake?”

“You’ve never really taught me…”

“That is true.”

“Can you please tell me a simple cake recipe? It’s for a friend.”

“Oh ho, with Valentine’s Day so close, you don’t think I know who you’re really baking for.”

“I-It’s not like that!”

“So cute, Y/N. Okay, okay, I can give you a simple recipe, just remind me before you go.” You quietly fist pumped to yourself, going back to the counter when you hear a customer come in.

“Welcome!”

You worked through your shift, taking the recipe from Miss Song and going to the closest store to buy the ingredients.

You went home, changed and started to follow the recipe. Measuring the flour, pour in the milk, melting chocolate…

Jingle sat on the counter as you carefully placed the batter into the oven.

“I hope it’s not bad.” You kept checking, putting a toothpick in it to make sure it was baked properly and you sliced off a small piece.

“Too sweet.” You coughed, the sweetness from the sugar and chocolate was overwhelming and you washed it down with some milk.

Maybe you should try again tomorrow…? You thought to yourself, finishing up some of your homework before going to bed

“Y/N!” Hoseok called out to you, you looked at him in surprise. He’s been to your class a few time before but he’s never called out your name like that.

“What is it?” You asked quietly after Hoseok took you outside of your class.

“Let’s get lunch together.”

“Okay.” He took you to the rooftop, laying out a blanket for you two to sit on and you sat down gently.

“Where do you go yesterday? I missed you.”

“Miss Song needed my help, s-so I took an early shift.” You took a bite of your food, hoping he wouldn’t press.

“Are you free today?”

“W-Why?”

“Just feel like hanging out together, just the two of us since last time was kind of messed up.”

“Oh, I have plans!”

“Really?” You couldn’t tell whether he was shocked or disappointed but the pout on his face may have told you it was both.

“Yeah, Jingle is s-sick, and I need to take care of her. By myself. A lot of vomiting.”

“I could-”

“No, n-no, you shouldn’t! I can handle her, Hoseok.” You tried to say coolly, still stuttering but you played it off by taking another bite of your food.

“Oh, okay. I guess we’re not walking together today, then?”

“I’m sorry…” You nervously smoothed over your hair, you felt guilty for hearing him so sad… He was usually so bright and carefree, so the sudden shift was getting to you.

You were praying that the cake would pay off… Anything to take away the silence he was giving you and restore his beautiful smile…

“What is this? Sweetheart?” You were in the middle of mixing when you heard your father’s voice, your heart skipped a beat. Although, you couldn’t tell it was because you missed him, or you were scared of him…

“W-Welcome home.”

“Baking something? Is it for someone?”

“A-Ah, it’s not for anyone in particular.” You avoided eye contact, his presence always made you nervous.

“You’ve never had an interest in baking and I…”

“Yeah, I know. I just picked at the habit from working…”

“Oh, I forgot you worked for… what’s her name, Miss Hong?”

“It’s actually Miss Song...”

“My mistake.”

“I’ll make dinner soon, please go wash up…” You mumbled, your dad walking out of the kitchen and into his room. He hesitated as if he wanted to say something, but he retreated to his bedroom and you exhaled the breath you were holding.

“I hope this turns out right…”

You went to school, checking the calendar and seeing it was the 14th of February and nervously clutched your bag. You were earlier than usual, wanting to use the teacher’s fridge and checking up on the felines.

They were still sleeping, the day for them still not starting yet and you left them be. You walked down the hallway before feeling a hand grab your arm.

“Let go of me!”

“I’ve never heard you yell before…” You looked to the owner of the hand, seeing Namjoon cheekily smiling at you.

“N-Namjoon?”

“There’s someone out there with my voice?”

“It’s pretty normal…”

“Bet Hoseok’s voice is oh-so-distinct to you, huh?”

“W-What does this have to d-do with him?”

“And you’re back to normal.”

“Why did you decide to grab me like an evil spirit instead of just call my name?”

“Oh, are you afraid of spirits?”

“Not the point.” You muttered, Namjoon chuckling to himself.

“Alright, I’m done with the teasing for now,” You mentally rolled your eyes before he continued, “I wanted to know if you’d think Minyoung would like this.” He opened his bag, revealing a small bear that was holding little roses and a keychain with the same bear and charm that had ‘M + N’ on it.

“Wow.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“She’ll love it.”

“But when do I give it to her? When she walks in? After school? Lunch?”

“I guess, lunch?”

“You’re right, lunch would be best.” You nodded, it was kind of weird to see Namjoon so nervous when he’s usually so confident about things…even when he was dead wrong about them. He must really care for Minyoung…

You spend the morning with Namjoon while your classmates began to file in the classroom, Minyoung looking at the two of you with a cocked eyebrow.

“Joonie! And Y/N?” She kissed his cheek, making his cheeks turn a little pink as he naturally placed his arm around her waist when she stood next to him.

“Good morning.”

“I hope my Joonie isn’t trying to involve you in any weird schemes.”

“Minnie~ I was just telling her about the surprise for Hoseok.”

“You know he hates surprises.”

“But if Y/N was involved…”

“Doesn’t he always celebrate his birthdays?”

“Last time we had a surprise party, he walked out and didn’t speak to us for a week.”

“Wow…”

“But I think if you did something for him, he would never turn it down. Plus, who could be mad at you?” Minyoung was squishing your cheeks, you put your hand on her wrist in an effort to make her stop.

“You three, to your seats!” The class president said, you quietly walking to your seat as your teacher walked in.

You went to the teacher’s lounge, quickly retrieving the cake and looking at it again. Your frosting skills were terrible, and you were tempted to just toss in the trash when you saw Hoseok walking in your direction.

You were glad that you hid it in your bag as he jogged over to you, beaming as he always was. If I could bask in your sunshine forever…

“Let’s go.” He took your hand, leading you to the rooftop and you carefully sat on the concrete.

“Today seems different.”

“It does.”

“Close your eyes.” You were taken back by the sudden command, Hoseok taking your hand and slipping something on your ring finger.

“Perfect.” You heard him say before he let you open your eyes, seeing a silver ring with a small pearl in the middle. How could he afford something like this?

“H-Hoseok, how?”

“It’s a special day and you’re someone special…”

“But how did you afford this?”

“Saved up my allowance, it’s worth it for that smile though.”

“Now, what’s hiding in the bag?”

“E-Eh?”

“I noticed you’ve been clutching to the scrap like it’ll break if you let go. Just show me.”

“I-It’ll ruin this moment and –”

“Y/N. Don’t be nervous, it’s just me.” That’s exactly why, because it is you, Hoseok!

“Close your eyes.” You sheepishly opened your bag, placing the cake in front of him and tapping him to open his eyes.

“Wow.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it? I–” Hoseok suddenly kissed you, the quick peck barely registered in your mind before he spoke.

“It’s perfect.” He took a wipe of the frosting, licking it off his finger and made an ‘mmhm’ sound.

“And delicious. You’re the best.” He kissed your forehead before digging into the cake. You watched him happily munch on the cake, some crumbles sticking to his lips and you reached over to wipe them away. He stopped, looking at you but your eyes were focused on his lips. You could just…  You leaned in, one of your hands on his cheek while the other was on top of the hand he had holding him up on the ground.

“Y-Y/N.” You didn’t know why you had the urge to kiss him, the thought of kissing him usually made you a nervous wreck but you didn’t hesitate this time. His ears were red along with his cheeks and you touched your own, feeling the usual heat.

This surely can’t be good for your health…

“There were c-crumbs…”

“I think they’re still there.”

“J-Just finish the cake, please!” You blurted out, Hoseok laughing and you intertwined your fingers.

You sat on your bedroom floor, surrounded by clothes as you looked for something to wear. Minyoung told you that the surprise party was going to be at Hoseok’s house and you didn’t know how to dress for this kind of event.

You wanted to impress Hoseok but he’s always saying that you would look beautiful even in a trash bag. At this point, you were contemplating a trash bag.

A knock on your door interrupted your current mental crisis, you got up to answer the door to see Minyoung with Namjoon in tow. You glanced at your attire, your Sailor Moon sweater and black pants and you didn’t want to answer.

Would it be bad to cancel?

“Ya, Y/N, open up!” You sighed, opening the door and Minyoung gasped.

“Please tell me that isn’t what you’re wearing.”

“I’m getting flashbacks…” Namjoon said, Minyoung petting his head and you looked at them, confused.

“It’s a long story.”

“You promised we would take it to the grave, Minnie.”

“Y-Yes…” What are they even talking about?

“Anyways, Y/N, I got some stuff from my closet that you could borrow since I thought you might be stressing about what to wear.”

“You know me all too well.”

“Of course, what are besties for?”

“What about me, Y/N? I reminded Minnie!”

“You’re my friend too, Namjoon.”

“So needy, Joonie.”

“Only for you.”

“U-Um…”

“Right! Let’s get ready.” Minyoung took your hand, going into your room despite not actually knowing the layout of your house but she cleared a space on your bed to place some options down.

“Hoseok’s favourite colour is green, but I’m pretty sure he won’t care about what colour you wear since it’s you.”

“I want to wear green.” You said, Minyoung putting out green dresses and you settled for the simplest of the bunch. It was a mid-thigh length, the skirt light and flowing with a bare bodice with a v cut neck and spaghetti straps.

“I didn’t notice this because you hid your body with your blazer but damn Y/N, you’re so pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you, I mean you make everything look good even in our uniform.”

“You’re too kind.”

“It’s true!”

“You’re so cute, Y/N. Now, change so I can do your hair and makeup. And don’t try to politely decline, I’m not taking no for an answer.” You pouted, Minyoung not giving in and you changed before letting her do her thing.

“I think I need a second opinion… Joonie?” She took you into the living room where Namjoon was scrolling on his phone and he looked up when Minyoung called him.

“I think Hoseok is going to faint.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah, I think he’ll forget it’s a surprise party and stare at you all night.”

“Then Y/N might faint instead.”

“I think I know CPR, no worries.” The two of them joked and you end up laughing with them before leaving your apartment. Jingle purred as you petted her goodbye and joined your friends in walking to Hoseok’s house.

He didn’t live far away from your building, but his house made it feel that way. Large steel gates with an intercom at the entrance made you understand how Hoseok could save up his allowance to purchase the pearl ring you were wearing.

“I didn’t think his house was this large…”

“He’s one lucky dude, I have to share with my little sister and she’s going through puberty.”

“I’m an only child…”

“Lucky.” Namjoon punched in some numbers, the gate opening and the three of you walked up to the front door. He looked in the plant nearby, opening the door and seeing the front decorated with streamers and a banner that said ‘Happy 18th, Hope!’ and balloons. You saw more people come out with things, a table set up with gifts and you felt stupid for not bringing one…

“I should have brought him something.”

“Don’t worry about it, he won’t notice.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re so innocent, Y/N, but yes, Hoseok isn’t really into birthdays.”

“Yeah, he forgot mine twice.” You laughed, giving Namjoon a comforting pat while Minyoung kissed his cheek. The two of them started to get lost into each other, as you liked to call it when they started to solely focus on each other without a care about the others in the room and you started to wander.

In this large house, there was so much room… You didn’t think your whole apartment was even the size of his living room. You could do so much in here if you wanted to…

It feels pretty lonely, though…

“Y/N, he’s coming. We need to hide.” Minyoung took your hand, taking you back to the front hall and hiding underneath a table. You stayed quiet, Hoseok’s voice projecting into the room after the door opened.

“I miss Y/N, why won’t she call me? Did I do something wrong?” You took a deep breath, the cuteness of his whine made you want to pop out and hug him.

“Ah, Noona.”

“I take you out for breakfast and you’re whining about your girlfriend?”

“I miss her.” You knew Minyoung was wiggling her eyebrows and you had to hold back the urge to nudge her out of embarrassment.

“Ah, why are the lights off?” The lights flickered on, you three popped out from under the table and Namjoon popped confetti with Minyoung.

“Happy birthday, Hobi!” You said in unison, Hoseok standing there gobsmacked.

“Go on, you said you missed her, didn’t you?” He walked over to you, you shyly lean against the table you were under and he lifted your chin up to make eye contact with you.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Isn’t it rude to not acknowledge your other guests?” You looked over his shoulder, seeing Eun Ae and a different boy this time.

“Look at what the cat dragged in.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Did you think I would forget your birthday, Hobi?” She walked over to you two, shoving the present into your hands and starting to flirt with Hoseok.

“I always liked you better in suits, Hobi.”

“Suits aren’t really my thing…” You walked off, really not wanting to be around them. They are right about Hoseok not noticing you came empty-handed, he wasn’t going to notice you either.

“Woah, Hoseok let you out of his sights, after all, that whining?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to come here.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s easy to get lost. Your name’s Y/N.”

“Yes.” You bowed, her laughing in response.

“You don’t have to bow, Y/N.”

“Sorry.”

“Now, why are you wandering around?”

“A girl named Eun Ae came, started talking to Hoseok and –”

“Oh, that leech showed up.” Everyone seemed to dislike her but Hoseok doesn’t notice it…

“Come.” She said that but she was going to take you with her regardless, Hoseok was still talking to Eun Ae while the poor boy she brought awkwardly stood near them.

“Oh, Eun Ae, it’s been a long time, huh? Let’s chat in the kitchen.”

“In a minute–”

“Is that any way to treat your unnie?”

“N-No.”

“Right. Come along, bring your friend as well.” Eun Ae glared at you, her eyes pierced through your soul.

Hoseok took your hand, taking off in a direction and you could only follow him. He stopped when the two of you entered what looked like a guest room. The two of you sat on a couch, Hoseok opting to hold your hand and stare at you…

“Noona must like you then.”

“Huh?”

“She really didn’t like Eun Ae when I was in middle school, always calling her a gold digger and a bad influence… I wish I listened to her sooner.”

“Don’t hold it against yourself too much. You just have a giving heart.”

“I want to give everything I’ve got to you now.”

“Don’t say things like that so easily.”

“I can only say it so easily because I’m saying it to you. You’re the reason why.”

“H-Hoseok.”

“Come here…” You moved closer, Hoseok pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you. His side profile was the first thing you focused on, mindlessly tracing down his jawline.

“I almost forgot…”

“What is it?”

“Happy birthday, Hoseok.”

“You’re so adorable, Y/N.” You smiled before planting a kiss on his lips. One of your hands settled on his shoulder, the other holding his hand as he leaned in to deepen the kiss.

You didn’t know why but it always caught you off guard how Hoseok could make every kiss feel so different. It was hard to describe what it was like, he could kiss you like you were the sweetest thing he has ever tasted to kissing you like it was the first time he’s ever kissed someone.

“You’re incredible…”

“I don’t think you should be complimenting me so much, it’s supposed to be about you today.”

“Hm, there is one thing you could do for me.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to call me ‘Hobi~’.”

“W-What?”

“Baby sounds good too.”

“Wait a m-minute, where is this coming from?”

“As much as I love when you call my name, I want you to call me by a nickname.”

“But everyone calls you Hobi.”

“When you say it, it will sound different to me…” He looked away from you as he said it, was he being shy?

“H-Hobi.” He placed your hand on his chest, you felt his warm chest, but the beating of his heart made you feel embarrassed

“Hearing you call my name, my heart.”

“You’re so dramatic, Hoseok.”

“Aw, Y/N, you can’t deny a man his wish.”

“You didn’t say to say it from now on, so your wish was granted.”

“Defeated by a technicality… No wonder you’re top of the grade.”

“Is there anything else?” He points to his cheek, you leaned in for his cheek and he turned his head. You quickly pulled away, Hoseok gave you a mischievous grin and you frowned.

“Can’t resist your lips.”

You stood in front of your mirror, looking at yourself in your uniform.

It’s now spring, meaning light clothing and warmer weather. Hoseok would take you home later than usual but your dad worked less in the spring…

It was awkward coming home to your dad on the couch, reading one of his novels or eating leftovers. Jingle, despite being a cat, could sense the awkward tension between the two of you and stayed in your room as usual.

Being around Namjoon and Minyoung felt more natural and you started to branch out to others in your class. Of course, you still felt Eun Ae’s glares every so often but a simple squeeze from Hoseok’s hand was enough to distract you.

You watched Hoseok in a different light, his words still made you nervous, or shy, or embarrassed or a combination of the three but you didn’t stutter like you used to.

Yet not hearing his voice made things felt incomplete. You feared that your attachment to Hoseok was going to scare him off but with every kiss, hug and calling of your name… The thought melted away like the snow on the busy streets.

You grabbed your bag, heading downstairs to see Hoseok sitting on the lounge chairs before getting up.

“Morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning, Hoseok.” He smiled at you, taking your hand and walking out of your building. The two of you walked close down the street,

“Your hair looks pretty. And is that vanilla?”

“You noticed?”

“You always smell good but why the change?”

“You said it was your favourite smell, so I… That sounds weird, doesn’t it?”

“It’s kind of cute in a way.”

“Oh…”

“Did you hear about the spring festival?”

“No, actually.”

“Ah, really.”

“Why

“It’s in a few weeks and I was-“ Namjoon jumped on his back, Minyoung shook her head as she caught up to the three of you.

“Joonie.”

“Did I interrupt something?”

“Yes-“

“No-“ You and Hoseok both said, Hoseok sighing in response.

“Shoot, sorry, guys.”

“It’s alright, dude. But get off me, you’re heavy!”

“Hurtful, Hobi.” Minyoung comforted him, the two of them walking alongside you and Hoseok. You looked at Hoseok, who was unusually silent, and he didn’t glance at you.

Was it because you said Namjoon wasn’t interrupting? He usually doesn’t mind.

You went through most of the day, Hoseok still withdrawn from speaking a lot and you asked Minyoung about it.

“Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to upset him...”

“He did look super annoyed like he had something to say.”

“He was talking about the spring festival this morning.”

“Wait, really?!”

“Yeah but, Namjoon kinda jumped in.”

“Yeah, literally. If he was talking about the spring festival, then he was...”

“He was what? Minyoung?”

“Nothing, nothing. I was just thinking. You should totally come, there’s free food.”

“Of course, there is.”

“Oh ho, what happened to my sweet and shy Y/N? This one is sassy.” You giggled at her bad acting, any place that had free food would be where you would find Minyoung. She loved her food.

“This is your influence, Minyoung.”

“I’m kind of glad. Who knew you were the missing piece from our group? Plus, I don’t have to be outnumbered by the boys anymore.”

“But Y/N?’

“Yeah.”

“You needed to tell Hoseok how you feel.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“You two have been pining over each other for months, going on dates, kissing even you think no one’s around, walking home together. Didn’t he confess to you even?”

“Minyoung…”

“I know I shouldn’t try to rush you, but you deserve to be happy, whether it’s with Hoseok or not.” You hugged her, trying not to cry from her sentiments.

It was weird thinking that months ago, you were fine being without friends and living on your own. If it weren’t for Hoseok, you wouldn’t have been friends with Minyoung and Namjoon, you wouldn’t have opened up to people. You would have been stationary, watching everyone move on without you and leaving you behind.

“Oh, what is this I see? What are you two gossiping about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Joonie?” He kissed her head, putting his arm on her shoulder and you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned your head and heard a laugh in your right ear.

“Over here.” You looked at him, his face was really close to yours and you were pretty sure that you were blushing.

“Wow, your cheeks are so rosy.”

“Don’t say that out loud…”

“Why~? It’s true.”

“You’re impossible…” He grinned, you were unable to stop yourself from smiling and he grabbed your hand. You knew he was going to whisk you somewhere, your feet already matching his steps as you two walked down the hallway.

“Hoseok, where are you ta-” Your back hit the wall along with the crashing of Hoseok’s lips against yours. Your hands gripped his shirt, taken back by the sudden aggression Hoseok portrayed. It wasn’t the first time you met the hungrier side of Hoseok’s kisses, the sweet taste of urgency and deep desire hit you in waves.

Your mind was going blank with each second spent kissing him, his lips always had a way of making you feel dizzy. He only pulled away when you two heard people coming your way.

“Sorry, I just…” You grabbed his tie, pulling him in again for another kiss. You pulled away before you got overwhelmed again.

“See you at the end of the day, Hobi.” You said, walking back to class and hiding your face in your textbook. It’s only fair if you teased him a little bit too, right?

You walked to your locker, expecting to see Hoseok leaning against the one next to you as usual but seeing two girls walk up to him. One of them handed Hoseok something before running off with their friend and you tried to pretend you didn’t see.

“Hey, cutie.”

“Hi.”

“How monotonous, did something happen? Did you fight those girls again?” You could see he was fumbling with the item that girl gave him and it only sparked your curiosity.

“No, Hoseok.”

“You know you can tell me anything, Y/N.” Except that you liked him.

“It’s nothing, really. Let’s just go.” He looked like he was going to say something more, but he dropped it when you took his hand and began to pull him along.

“I’m sorry about this morning… I wanted to talk to you about the festival since it’ll be the first one I wanted to go to…”

“Oh.” Is it because of you? Y/N, don’t get ahead of yourself, maybe there’s going to be something that he really wants to do at the festival…

“I heard there was going to be some special booth, I need to check it out.”

“That sounds cool.”

“Yeah, I wonder if there are prizes…” You absentminded agreed, regretting that you didn’t take the opportunity to see if he was wondering about going together. 

What Minyoung said earlier has struck a chord with you, how long could Hoseok be comfortable with whatever you two were until he’s had enough? Your mind replays the two girls coming up to him, Eun Ae’s attempts to shamelessly flirt with Hoseok in front of you and chase you off. If it wasn’t Hoseok getting sick of you, maybe it’ll be the girls that are actively pursuing him…

“Earth to Y/N!”

“Sorry.”

“What were you daydreaming about in that pretty head of yours?”

“Would you like some tea?” You blurted out, that oddly being the first thing that came to mind. He nodded, you led the way to your apartment and fumbling with your keys to open the door.

“It’s just as cozy as I remember it.”

“Let me get the kettle on.” You took off your shoes, put on slippers and grabbed the kettle from the cupboard. Hoseok took a seat at your table, you sat down across from him and Jingle walked along the table.

“Hey, Jingle.” He petted her back, she purred in response and you smiled at Hoseok played with her a bit.

“I didn’t think you were a cat person.”

“I just really like cute things, like you.”

“Do you ever get tired of saying that kind of stuff?”

“No, I know you secretly like it. You always smile when I say stuff like that.”

“When?”

“How about right now?” He poked your cheek, you trying to keep a straight face while he kept poking.

“Knock it off!”

“See? I don’t even have to say anything either.”

“I’m checking the kettle.” You got up, hearing the familiar whistle and grabbing two cups.

“What kind of tea would you-” Hoseok was in front of you, reaching for the tea on the second shelf and you pressed into the counter.

“Chamomile… Orange… Cinnamon…” He put one down on the counter, next to you and his hand rested next to it. You were cornered by him, his smirk confirmed that he knew it too and you knew what came next.

“Y/N? Are you in the kitchen?” You dad said, walking in on the two of you and you shoved Hoseok away as your father’s eyes widened.

You awkwardly stirred in some sugar for your cup of tea, your father looking at Hoseok at the table. It was already awkward between you and your father but to add Hoseok to the mix… You didn’t want him to see this side of your life…

“So, you go to school with Y/N?”

“Yes, sir. We’re in the same grade.”

“Ah. Are you two friends?”

“Oh, well…” Hoseok looked at you, you met his eyes for a second before looking away. God, what were you two?

“We are, dad.”

“Y/N is an amazing friend. I can tell how precious Y/N is to you by the way she is. So wise, kind, righteous and honest…” Yet you haven’t told him how you honestly felt about him…

“My Y/N… it looks like you’ve found a friend that sees how precious you are.”

“She means a lot to me, sir.” He took your hand, your intertwined fingers resting on your thigh closest to Hoseok and you smiled shyly. You glanced at your dad, seeing him smiling at the two of you before looking at you.

“Please stay for dinner, I want to know more about Y/N at school.”

“It’s up to Y/N if she’d like me to.” They both looked at you, you only nodded in response and began to cook dinner for the three of you.

You listened a little to your father and Hoseok’s conversation, the two of them seeming to be comfortable talking to one another without you. It’s expected of Hoseok, he always had his way with people, always knowing what to say, what to do.

You made do with the groceries you brought a few days ago, making dumpling soup and serving your father and Hoseok first before joining them with your own bowl.

“Wait, dad, why are you hiding your phone?”

“It’s nothing, sweetie.”

“Hoseok?” You turned to him, Hoseok avoiding eye contact with you and your eyes shifted between the two of them.

“Let’s eat. Thank you for the meal.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” The two of them dug in and you ate with them, making sure they would drink something in between. They both pay their stomachs in unison after finishing dinner and you cleaned up the bowls.

“Need some help?”

“I’m fine, Hoseok.” He leaned against the counter as you washed the dishes and dried your hands with a cloth.

“Sweetie?”

“Yes, dad?”

“You should walk Hoseok home, just to make sure that he’s okay.”

“Okay.” You put on your shoes, following Hoseok out the door and he took your hand as always.

“It’s cool to see your dad, maybe not how he caught us…”

“I’m glad he’s warming up to you. I don’t really bring people over anymore.”

“I feel honoured.”

“I’m glad you were there for me…again…”

“I’ll always be there for you. Always.” He kissed your hand; did you really deserve him?

“Good night, Hoseok.”

“Night, Y/N.” He kissed your forehead before you walked off, waving to Hoseok and running home. Your dad was sitting on the couch when you got home, you awkwardly walking towards him and he spoke first.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry for not being there for you after what happened… I’m glad that you grew up so beautifully, finding people that treat you as preciously as I should have.”

“Dad...” He went over to you, engulfing you in a hug and you broke down.

You used to live with your parents in a normal home, being a traditional family and your parents loved you unconditionally. At least, on the surface. You still remember your mother tucking you in for bed one night, singing you a lullaby before kissing your forehead. That was the last time you saw her again. She took off into the night, taking everything, her car, her clothes, her jewellery along with your father’s heart.

Your father turned to alcohol and work, you turned to school and never looked to each other for comfort. The two of you were depending on everything else except each other, the only other person who could know how it felt when your mother left.

“You’re all I have left, Y/N.” He said as he let you cry into his chest. These were the words you were missing… Thank you, Hoseok…

“I never thought you were the type to wear pigtails.”

“Eh? What are you talking about?” You were having lunch with Hoseok, him randomly bringing up this topic unless…

“He showed you?!” You squeaked, Hoseok laughing at your expense. That explains why he kept smiling at his phone, your dad sent him some of your photos from when you were younger.

“Delete them.”

“So demanding. This isn’t the Y/N I know.”

“Jung Hoseok.”

“Why~ You looked so cute, it’s nice to know that you were cute all your life.”

“Hoseok!”

“Tell you what, if you can reach my phone I’ll let you delete them.” He stretched his arm out, you reached over to grab his phone. You ended up in his lap, still trying to grab his phone and only being able to touch the screen when his lockscreen popped up. It was a photo of you, you looked surprised as if you caught him trying to sneak a photo of you while you weren’t looking.

“I’m your lockscreen.”

“It’s the first thing I want to see when I wake up.”

“So cheesy.”

“What can I say? It’s my favourite photo of you, after the one of you on the swings.”

“You took a photo of me then, too?” You two stopped by a park sometimes, just talking about your day and things you were excited about. Hoseok would occasionally have his phone, looking like he was texting someone, but you never noticed it.

“Ha, I just tattled on myself, didn’t I?”

“You did but I don’t mind… I want to capture moments of you too.” You looked at him, seeing him blush and he laughed it off.

“So well articulated, Y/N.” Maybe you need to make more of an impact.

“I meant it, Hobi.”

“I-I need to get to class.” You got out his lap, Hoseok rushing out and you frowned. Was it too much?

It was the day of the festival, the past few days leading up to it made you extremely nervous around Hoseok again. You’ve come to terms with yourself, knowing that you’ve liked Hoseok this whole time, but you just didn’t feel like you were… worthy to?

Your mind would think back to Eun Ae, someone who captured Hoseok’s heart at some point, how the two of you were polar opposites in every way. Then, Hoseok would remind you of why he liked you or say something stupid and cheesy that takes your mind off it.

He was sure about you. And you needed to show him that you felt the same.

“Y/N! Your dad let me in.” Minyoung walked into your room, you currently looking for an outfit. You were trying to find something that would catch his eye as the online article on confessing said you should do…

“Need some help?”

“Yes, please.” She laughed a little, walking over to you and the two of you rummaged through your closet. You didn’t have any many options, but you decided on an old skater dress you had and your old black tights.

“Y/N, how could you always look this good? I’m jealous.”

“Min, you know you’re really pretty too.”

“You’re way too humble, no wonder you and Hobi get along so well.”

“I guess we do…” You smiled, Minyoung nudged you and you looked at her. She wiggled her eyebrows in response and you nudged her back. She changed into the clothes she brought with her, you bombarded her with compliments and the two of you head out.

“Don’t be out too late, Y/N.”

“I won’t, dad.” You said before leaving, walking to your school where the festival was taking place. Lanterns light up a path with many booths on either side of you. There were children running around, couples walking hand in hand and people waiting at booths. You saw Namjoon who ran over to the two of you, giving you a hug and kissing Minyoung.

“Where’s Hoseok?”

“He said he’ll show up, dunno when though?”

“Oh.”

“We can hang out, though.” You smiled at Minyoung’s offer, knowing they were just being nice, so you just went along with them. Once in a while, you find yourself searching for Hoseok in the crowd, or checking your phone to see if he texted you.

“I can call him if you’d like.”

“It’s fine, Namjoon. Maybe he’s busy or something.” Maybe he doesn’t want to see me…

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, there are some things I want to see. Don’t wait for me, okay?” You said, walking in the opposite direction of the two of them. Maybe you’ve missed him or something, or maybe he decided not to come?

You sat on the edge of the fountain, people passing you as you stared at your phone. Wishing that you’d hear your text tone and see Hoseok’s name appear on your screen… Your phone buzzed, you immediately picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

Y/N?

“Hoseok? Where are you?”

I’m near the fortune tree, meet me here?

You hung up, running in the direction of the tree and looking for him.

“You got here fast.”

“That’s because I didn’t want to miss you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” He took your hand, leading you to a bench and the two of you sat. It was comfortable as you let yourself catch your breath and thought about what you had to say.

“I heard this festival has a legend to it.”

“What is it?”

“Couples that confess to each other on this day will never break up.”

“I hope it’s true.”

“Hey, Y/N…”

“Yes?” Is he asking you out?

“Do you want to write a fortune with me?”

“O-oh…” You two walked over to a table with blank fortune cards, each of you writing your own and Hoseok being particularly secretive with his before putting it in an envelope and tying it to the fortune tree.

“Is there anything you want to do?”

“Can we go somewhere quieter?” He nodded, taking your hand and leading you to the bridge near your school. The steady stream of water calmed you down as you two leaned against the rails of the bridge.

“Hoseok…” He looked at you, you took a deep breath before continuing.

“I know this is long overdue and I should have said this sooner, but I didn’t know how I truly felt. You bring out sides of me that I didn’t know existed, embraced parts of me that I was ashamed of and loved the parts I hated the most. I didn’t think I deserved to say that I love you, but I love you so much, Jung Hoseok. I love you.” You didn’t realize you were shaky until he put his hands on your shoulders. His hands grabbed yours, pulling you closer to him as he kissed you.

It was soft and sweet, his lips gently pressed against yours.

“You don’t know how much I wanted to hear that.”

“I think you showed me, Seokie.”

“Seokie? I like that. But I think there’s one thing I’d like to be called more.”

“What is that?”

“Your boyfriend.”

Always the smooth talker, isn’t he? Your boyfriend, Jung Hoseok.

[glmrous-blog1]

✧·ﾟ( dionysus + alexa demie + cis female ) 𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒂 !!  have you seen ( valentina vargas  ) around ? ( she ) has been in kaos for (   one month   ). the ( twenty three year old )is an ( actress ) from (   sonora, mexico ). people say they can be (  reckless ) but maybe that’s not too bad ‘cause they can also be(   exuberant   ). whenever i think of them, i can’t help but think of (   mismatched shades of red lipstick strewn across a private dressing room, sweet red wine in cracked glasses, the glint of smiling - snarling? - white teeth && expensive jewelry under a gleaming disco ball ).  ·ﾟ✧ (  penned by aspen, 21+, pst, she/her/hers  ).

ii. about your character.

i. in her early teens, val rose to fame in her home country of mexico as a recurring character on several telenovelas, which quickly progressed to the star of twice as many. sonora is wealthy, but she came from a humble family. farmers, on both sides, and val herself grew up on a vineyard which exported grapes to california wine country. she was discovered by chance, sitting in a taqueria near the arizona border. it was a new agent hoping to scope out american tourists, the college crowd, someone unfamiliar with the world of entertainment. a pretty face to make some easy cash off of. someone who wouldn’t know better. val fit the bill; at only thirteen, she was a little round faced cherub gracing the pages of print ads and the reel of poorly-shot commercials for c rated businesses. no one saw all the attention going right to her head.

ii. growing up in the limelight does things to a little girl that you can’t see on a x-ray or a brain scan, in ways that you don’t notice until you look at her right in the eyes for just a second too long. it makes her feel like she can do anything, that she already has everything, and the only place to go from there is down. but she’s still a child. the excitement is in the destruction, not the creativity or the creation. she becomes feral, a sponge covered in day-old makeup who takes and takes and takes and only offers chaotic revelry in return. she looks at you with a wicked gleam in her eyes and you can almost believe, for an instant, that this can make you happy. that you’ll catch fire and burn alive and the pain will be everything you’ve ever wanted. the pile of ashes at her feet grows and grows and, still, something in her believes the spark will finally make her happy this time, too. it never does. and then you’re broken and empty, hollow, and she moves on. the trick is that she’s been empty since the moment she first smiled for the camera.

iii. some indigenous peoples believe the photo film captures your soul, steals it from within your ribs, and traps it on the glossy print. maybe they’re right after all.

iv. some days she looks at herself in the mirror and doesn’t recognize the person she sees staring back at her. the world is numb and hazy, and the only things that matter anymore are the things she can destroy. it’s everything. it’s herself, piece by piece, little by little. her parents don’t speak to her anymore, but they brag to anyone who will listen about their little girl on the television. it’s like she’s not real, like valentina doesn’t exist anymore. she’s just an idea. the people she works with, they all hate her. she’s insufferable, the doll of the small screen but a real bitch to work with. demanding, rude, blunt, bossy, inconsiderate. she’s heard it all. maybe it’s true. maybe it’s just another character. it takes the best actor to play the villain.

v. they sent her away. even the production crew, her new family, the only solid thing that makes her feel like a person anymore. one too many takes with glazed eyes and slurred words and a dressing room full of wine bottles. they told her it was her lifestyle or the job. she smiled and said the job gave me this lifestyle. you people made me this way. they don’t care. they said go to rehab. she said no, no, no. but at least she’s on vacation now, right? checked herself out of the luxury, celebrity, all expenses paid clinic after three days, but hey. greece is beautiful. someone with a camera will always want to pay a pretty girl to smile.

iii. details.

PINTEREST BOARD , PLAYLIST

i wanted to make Many pretty edits but i just … decided to app too late and had too much going on jiuhgytfyguh. so have all the same info in a much less aesthetically pleasing way!

CHARACTER ARCHETYPES

53% THE REBEL : The Rebel is comfortable throwing caution to the wind—and bucking the system—if that means getting their point across.

THE HEDONIST: Hedonists are wonderful hosts and guests. They bring added pleasure to any pleasurable occasion by noticing and appreciating the details and savoring each element.

THE FEMME FATALE: Femme Fatales embody female empowerment and are unafraid of their sensual and sexual sides. Their rebellious natures make them liberating presences and fun to be around.

THE WILD WOMAN: Wild women are the most outrageous of Rebels. These are the people who are in touch with the side of themselves that doesn’t want to settle or be forced into any box.

THE SABOTEUR: Like their archetypal cousin, the Jokester, Rebels live to upend anything that smacks of banality or conservatism.

33% THE PERFORMER : Taking center stage comes naturally to the Performer, whether at the water cooler or in front of an audience. They are magnetic and know how to inspire.

THE SPELLCASTER: You can convince anyone to do anything from falling in love with you to selling ice to an Eskimo. You excel at any kind of sales or marketing role. You can also be terribly manipulative down to a total con artist.

THE ACTOR: Actors at their best are avid students of life, with an empathetic interest in others. They are typically dignified presences as well, and alluring in their mystique.

THE PROVACATEUR: You are charming and deeply provocative. You could get anyone to do anything for you. You may even be a screen siren. You can also get people to do something they will regret for the rest of their lives.

THE SEDUCER: Rather than receive the feelings of those you love or listen to you, you constantly look for ways to be of interest and to have the last word.

14% THE ROYAL : When the Royal walks into a room, they command attention. They are the one in charge, and they enjoy reaping the rewards of their hard work.

THE DIVA: With their talent and tendency to dress to kill, Divas bring sparkle and fireworks to any situation.

THE VAMPIRE: Like Bram Stoker’s Count Dracula, who fed on the lifeblood of others while living in a regal manner, Royals can be a drain on those around them.

THE BRAT: Because they are used to pampering and don’t know how to do things for themselves, Royals can exhibit childish behavior in the form of tantrums and unreasonable demands.

THE DESTROYER: The Destroyer shadow manifests in vindictiveness and an unchecked fascination with wreaking enormous destruction on enemies.

INSPIRATION CHARACTERS

nathan young , misfits

elise elliot , the first wives club

logan delos , westworld

meg giry , love never dies

lina lamont , singing in the rain

[mjstral]

Happy birthday Dazai♡

How do love stories usually start? With an “hello”, with an error, with a gesture or a smile. Could we ever call it a story? Could I ever use the term “love”? I could, yes, and you know I do it already. I abuse of this word, it runs through my veins now. And it doesn’t always bring me happiness. But I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world. For me “love” rhymes with your name, it forces me to grit my teeth in agony when my hands search for yours and grope in the void. Well, precisely for this reason it is not correct to use the term “we”. Then let me try again. My story with you begins with a thought as trivial as lethal: “I won’t fall in love with you”. A little cliché, yes. Don’t tell me. Since then you have sneaked into my soul, you have become my medicine and at the same time my poison. I can’t explain it to you. One cannot explain something that is not understood. Because I don’t understand what did you make to make me lose my head like this. I tried, however, tried again and, despite everything, it is since then that I keep trying. Through letters that you will never read, through songs that inexorably lead me back to you, through sunny days, but also rainy ones. I tried to ask the moon for help, but it also couldn’t do much, if not keep quiet. I tried to ask for help from the robin in spring and the blackbird in winter; they continued to sing as if nothing had happened, not knowing what to say. I asked my head, the reason for this madness. “It will pass” it replied. I started shaking. Pass me? How could this ever happen to me? I do not want to. I don’t want to forget the things you make me feel, you make my heart so good. I don’t want this to end and continuing to love the idea of ​​you. Here, I found. I will make this ardor immortal. I will ensure that, even if one day you had to abandon my dreams on tiptoe, the footprints remain, the signs of your passage. Not even the waves can erase them. I’m sorry, now maybe you will hate me, but I decided that I will do so. I’m selfish, I’m in love. I’m crazy crazy about you. But now tell me: what is your favorite flower? Don’t laugh, it’s a serious question. Do you like Roses? They express eternal love. But they are a little banal and, then, once you said that they bloom in all four seasons, so, perhaps, even the people who love them have to die four times to see them reborn. I don’t want you to be unhappy today, let’s throw away the Roses. How about Alstroermeria? “Devotion”. I could give you a flower for every feeling, you would adorn a Garden. Let me help you carry the pots and the sprouts, plant the seeds and water them. Don’t worry, even the most delicate flowers will withstand the heat, it’s not a question of seasons. The Holly is in full bloom. Don’t you think a Cherry tree is good there? A Japanese legend tells that people who swear love under its blossoming branches are destihned to be together forever, but you know this better than me. The Columbine is already blossoming. It has such a lively color. Too bad it’s hidden by that bush… now that I think about it, it reflects a bit its meaning, don’t you think? And look here: the Dahlia and the Gerbera. My favorite, however, is the Carnation. The white one expresses admiration, the red one passionate love and the pink one loyalty. The scent of Jasmine takes me back in time, I want to dedicate this to you too. The Daisy is that kind of flower that I would like you to put in my hair. Come, let’s sit down, don’t worry about the grass, it won’t spoil. It is made of all the things I would like to tell you, but which remain in me until they hurt too much and I have to put them on paper. And when I can’t because they are too deep-rooted, flowers are born. But can you believe it? Not me, after all this time -you haave been living in my heart for three years- it still seems absurd to me that you, really you made me fall in love. I write about you all the time without even mentioning you and when people read my feelings they are upset. “Who is?” They ask me. They don’t know it and never will they know it’s you. I say it’s just the inspiration. Sometimes they believe me, others look at me stealthily. It doesn’t matter, I don’t want them to know the cause of my madness. I keep it for myself, for those who can really understand it, for those who are crazy in the same way. Now lie down and don’t think about anything. It is your birthday after all, you deserve to pass it in the best possible way. In truth you would deserve to spend every day like this and if only I could, God, if only I could I’d be the one to take the weight of who you are from your shoulders and bury it in this Garden; I would hide it from everyone’s eyes by letting Ivys grow from it. And it’s so painful, so unfair that I can’t even hold your hand today. Not even today. not even the hand. If only I could, I’d holdt it every day. I would tighten it between mine, weave my fingers between yours during a walk, without noticing, while we watch the sunset, the sea, a painting in some museum in Rome or Naples on a Sunday morning. Could I make you feel less alone? This world does not give anyone any discounts, but perhaps existence would be a little sweeter to bear with someone at your side. It is a common thought and for once I want to believe it. And what about you? Do you believe in good now? I don’t care, I’d just like to see you happy, always. When you are happy, your eyes light up with stars, the same ones that I would steal from the sky to be able to build a crown to rest on your head on June nights like these, when my sleep is troubled by the heat, by the paranoia of which it is filled my head, I see your features in the dark and embrace the pillow imagining that it is your chest, with your heartbeat that tells me fairy tales in which you and I are the protagonists. Stories never told, that’s what we are. How nice it would be, I tell myself, to see you smile like that. I would watch your lips completely lost, in love before uttering the forbidden words and approaching them to kiss you. How nice it would be to receive your caress on your face, feel the roughness of the bandages while I touch your skin, meet your gaze, be a witness to your every gesture and recognize the custom, be guardian of your dreams, count your sighs, folds of your clothes, of your thoughts, listen to your worries, your hopes and illusions… How beautiful you are my love. How beautiful you are. You’re the summer’s hit in the middle of winter, you’re the colorful umbrella on a rainy day. You are the love of my life, my most beautiful poetry and I have not yet written it. You don’t believe it? But what did they do to you? What hell did you have to go through driven by the wretched human resilience? Yet you have grasped your own life without even believing it and now you are here, now you are alive, you are more alive than ever, that’s why it hurts so much. That’s why sometimes you feel like you can’t breathe. I know it would be easier to die, that your passive nihilism led you to the brink of the abyss. Mine led me to you. Scratched and wound. Ididn’t want to believe in anyone anymore, no one anymore. Yet you have shown me that people change, albeit partially, but they change. I, who didn’t want to, have changed in my turn. It was a metamorphosis. From larvae we became butterflies. It is a pity that some of them live only one day. It scares me, it scares me to death how much you have become essential for me, how much it can affect my mood to see a picture of you and imagine you next, imagine how nice it would be to be able to join my friends’ conversations when they talk about their boyfriends and tell them about one of many comic episodes to which we give life together. Take yourself back when you say something embarrassing, laugh rudely at your funny face, blush like a fool at your compliments, feel the butterflies in my stomach as I’m getting ready to go out with you like it’s the first time and actually it’s been years. But there is no more time now. It’s getting late, you should go. Don’t worry about the Garden, I’ll take care of it like I’ve always done. It will not disappear, I will not allow it. After all, we are still here, once again, me, you and these words that escape to my control. By dint of writing about you and for you I thought I would run out of words, but in reality I feel like giving myself a fool if I think about it. The feeling, my love, is the feeling that does not die. It does not die, it does not give up this absurd alchemy that was created without you lifting a finger, without you meeting me. It just happened, like so many things I can’t explain. And I promise you that as long as it is, as long as you are with me, Snowdrop will bloom even in autumn and those who love Roses will not have to die to see them reborn because they will always be alive. I’m about to write the long-awaited ending of a chapter of my life to start another and you’re here, you’ve been here since the beginning. You have been and are the shoulder on which to cry, my determination. To thank you I can only offer you futile words, but I will, I will write. I will continue to do so until dew loses from my fingers, until the sunset will not drive away the remnants of my youth. No, ours is not a love story. There is only me who dreams of “infinitesimal moments of us”, moments that are soon lost in the sea of ​​my thoughts. I imagine what it would be like if I weren’t afraid of living and letting myself be discovered. There is me holding this little house of cards that I built with my imagination. And you are there. Irreparably, tragically, lovingly, always. In me, it’s you. And even when you leave it will remain a slice of you that I will continue to call “home”. A small amount of magic. A tiny corner of eternity. With my words, Dazai, I will make you immortal. In comparison even the ocean will look like just a tear.

[geekmama]

All Souls

I had this written, and Ellis_Hendricks very kindly betaed and Brit-picked it, over a week ago, and was waiting until this weekend before Halloween to post it for Sherlolly Halloween at 221B, but cactusnell beat me to the punch, posting her uncannily similar Things That Go Bump in the Night early yesterday morning. With apologies to her, I’m posting mine here, at least, since I don’t think she hangs out at tumblr, but I’m not putting it on AO3 or FF.net. Apparently it’ s an all-too-obvious plotline -- or great minds think alike?

~ All Souls ~

The rain had nearly stopped by the time they reached the village of Grendon and the house where Molly had grown up, and where her mother still lived. He’d been there once before, a few months ago, not long after the Sherrinford/Musgrave debacle, and the house hadn’t changed. Still quite undistinguished from the other residences in this thoroughly middle class neighborhood. For the second time, Sherlock found himself wondering that the unique creature beside him, his beloved, could have sprung from this thoroughly mundane environment. Of course, it had taken him an unconscionably long time to realize exactly how unique Molly was. It seemed irrefutable proof that, while he was very quick in most areas of perception, he could be slow to the point of idiocy in others – and some of them rather essential. It was always possible, Sherlock reflected, as he pulled the car into the drive, that there was more to Molly’s childhood home, too, than first contact had suggested.

However, as they walked in a minute later and Sherlock became immersed in this second contact -- ordinary furnishings, framed family photos and drab art reproductions; carpet and wallpaper well maintained but virtually screaming late 90’s -- he was once again struck by the banality of the place. Molly’s old room on the first floor was a little better, he knew, still featuring elements of her personality even after being purged of her belongings and made into a guest room. But all in all, it was… disappointing.

There being no sign of her mother, Molly called out, “Mum! We’re here!”

Her mother shouted from upstairs, “I’ll be down in… oh, good heavens. Molly dear, can you come up and help me for a moment? Tell Sherlock to have a seat, I’ll just be a few minutes, I’m sure… oh, good grief!”,

Sherlock couldn’t help rolling his eyes, and Molly chuckled and said, “Her zip’s probably stuck -- she always wears that dress to weddings. Make yourself at home and I’ll be right back.”

Home? Sherlock nearly exclaimed with distaste, but caught himself in the nick of time. Instead he said aloud, “I’ll go and take a look at your mother’s greenhouse, see what she’s been up to.”

“Good idea,” Molly said with approval, patting his arm, and then stood on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss. Her eyes twinkled, as though she knew exactly what he’d been about to say. Which she probably did.

As he watched her trot quickly up the stairs, caroling, “Coming Mum!” in reply to another bleat of motherly distress, Sherlock reflected that it had been a long time since he’d been able to put one over on Molly Elizabeth Hooper. In certain ways, she undoubtedly had the advantage now. He found it both intriguing and disconcerting, but could not but acknowledge the justice of it. Sauce for the gander, as it were.

A half smile on his lips (oh, that twinkle in her eye… not to mention the flash of those slim legs, and the delicious swirl of skirt against that pert backside...) , Sherlock turned and strode through the sitting room, the dining room, the kitchen, then out the back door, shutting it behind him and taking a deep breath of damp country air. His hand automatically went to the packet of Silk Cuts in his pocket, but then he discarded the idea -- she wanted him to quit, though she never said anything. If he had a smoke now, she’d know.

Instead, he started out across the wet lawn, toward the greenhouse.

The property had this one advantage: it had a very large back garden that bordered on open parkland, and at the back of the wide lawn was Mrs. Hooper’s greenhouse. It was a really magnificent structure, a red brick half-wall and porch surmounted by high framed glass, and fitted with Victorian finials and fleur de lys ridge cresting. It was, Sherlock knew, Mrs. Hooper’s pride and joy, and the first time he’d seen it, all those months ago, he’d been most impressed. She grew tropical plants, orchids and palms and the like, and the structure was big enough to serve as a sort of conservatory. Now, opening the door, Sherlock saw the small cafe table and several chairs where one could take afternoon tea, and slung across one verdant corner was a hammock.

There were also a couple of stools. One of them was beside Mrs. Hooper’s wide, well-equipped potting bench; the other, however, was in the corner opposite the hammock, and upon it, just at this particular moment, was seated a man, an older gentleman in a somewhat outdated suit, smoking a prettily carved meerschaum pipe that was coloured deep gold from much use.

Sherlock, halting just inside the door, stared in surprise.

But the old gentleman spoke first. “You’re Sherlock. Molly’s young man,” he stated with a kindly smile.

Sherlock approached, somewhat warily (and almost giving a ridiculous start at the sound of the door clicking shut behind him). But the stranger rose from the stool to extend a friendly hand, and Sherlock felt obliged to take it. Clearly the man was in familiar surroundings, and his grip was warm and firm.

“The name’s Bev,” the old gentleman said, taking his seat again and looking Sherlock over, head to toe. “I’ve been wondering if Molly would bring you by. She doesn’t come here as often as her mother would like, that’s certain. It seems you two have worked things out. I must say, I’m glad of it.”

“Are you… a neighbor?” Sherlock asked, feeling quite awkward.

“You might say so,” said Bev, with a jerk of his head to indicate the direction. “Just across the common, by the old church. But Amanda doesn’t mind me visiting when I like. It’s a pretty place, this.”

“It is,” Sherlock agreed, glancing around, but then fixing Bev with a frowning gaze again. “You’ve… known Molly and her mother a long time, I take it.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve known Molly all her life, bless her. Good job you’ve come to your senses and snapped her up. She was mighty unhappy at times when you couldn’t see her -- as it were.”

“See her,” Sherlock repeated. “Did she tell you that?”

“Didn’t have to. As I said, known her all her life. But that’s water under the bridge now, I take it.”

“Well… yes. We are engaged to be married. Sometime next year, in fact. We haven’t set a date but… we’ll send you an invitation.”

Bev grinned. “Oh, I’ll be there -- with bells on! Lord, it’ll do my heart good to see her so happy.” And then he shook his finger at Sherlock and said more seriously, “You just see that she stays that way, eh? Don’t forget what a treasure you’ve been given.”

“I… that’s my intention, certainly. To make her happy. As far as I am able, at least.”

Bev nodded. “Good. Best thing in life, you know. A good marriage. Children. All the little things that make a real home. True blessings from God.”

“Yeees. I… I expect so.”

“You’ll see,” Bev said, and winked at Sherlock. Then he got to his feet again. “You know Molly’s favorite flowers?”

Flowers. Sherlock glanced around, but then thought of Molly’s own well tended garden. “Er…. roses?”

“Well, she likes those, too, of course, but here, let me show you.” Bev walked past Sherlock, and rounded the potting bench, halting beside a rack of small pots, each filled with an array of lush, velvety leaves and bright blooms in shades from white to deep purple. “African violets!” the older man said, with a twinkle in his eye as he looked back at Sherlock. “Amanda’s always grown them out here, and Molly’s always loved them. She can’t grow them herself, though, not in that London flat. Not enough light, wrong exposure. A greenhouse window in that kitchen of hers might do the trick.”

Sherlock came over to look at the plants. “These seem excellent specimens.”

“Amanda always did have the knack of growing them.”

“So it seems.”

They stood in silence for a few moments before Bev said, “Well, I’ve got to be off. But you should take a look in that big notebook, on the bench there. Has all Amanda’s notes, and all the ribbons she’s won. She’s quite the star at the local garden shows.”

Sherlock took up the thick notebook from the collection of gardening tomes that sat between bookends at the back of the potting bench. Opening it, he glanced through some of its pages. Amanda’s careful records and observations were very precise, and her writing small and neat. And the collection of ribbons was indeed impressive.

After a minute or so, Sherlock looked up, intending to make a comment and say goodbye. But the old gentleman was gone, the greenhouse door still ajar.

Sherlock frowned. Closed the notebook and put it back among its companions, then quickly followed Bev from the greenhouse.

Or he thought he had.

But the man was nowhere to be seen.

Could he have reached the house so quickly? There was no evidence of it, only Sherlock’s own prints on the wet lawn, left when he’d walked out to the greenhouse. And glancing back beyond Amanda’s garden, there was no sign of an old gentleman crossing the common toward the distant steepled church.

Sherlock walked to the house and went swiftly in, only to encounter a scene of mild chaos.

“Oh, dear! Where can they be?” Amanda exclaimed, looking distractedly around the sitting room. “I know I left them down here somewhere!”

“She’s looking for her earrings,” Molly explained to Sherlock as she came to him.

“Molly, did you see--”

“I know!” Amanda exclaimed, suddenly straightening and raising an imperative finger. “They’re in the library!” She turned and headed in the direction of a closed door on the far side of the tiled foyer. “I took them off when I was in there on Sunday afternoon, making out a check for Martha Havisham’s daughter, she was selling tickets for a raffle that’s being held to raise funds for a new computer lab they want to install at her school -- though what they need with computers I have no idea, they should be reading books, not wasting time with games. But time marches on, I suppose. Yes! Here they are. Bear with me a moment while I put them on, and then we can be off.”

They had followed Amanda into the library, a room Sherlock was seeing for the first time.

“This was my father’s special room,” Molly said. “Mum had her greenhouse, and Dad his library.”

“Oh, yes,” said Amanda, peering in the mirror over the fireplace as she carefully put on her earrings. “It always gives me such a lovely feel to work in here, as though Daddy is watching over me.”

But Sherlock, who’d been taking in the oak desk with its comfortable chair, and the many books, suddenly felt a weird chill as he caught sight of an object displayed on one of the shelves.

In a stand that had been crafted to fit it was a meerschaum pipe. Prettily carved. Coloured a deep gold from much use.

Sherlock walked over to stare at it.

Molly joined him, saying, “That was Dad’s pipe, the only one I ever saw him use.”

Sherlock said, slowly, “Didn’t you tell me your father’s name was William?”

“Yes. William Beverly Hooper. His friends all called him Bill--”

“--but he was always Bev to me,” broke in Amanda. “And to all the family, really.” She gave a little sigh.

Sherlock straightened carefully and turned to Molly.

Her smile faded. “Why? Is there something wrong? Are you alright?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Do you have a picture of your father?”

“Of course. I’ll show you.”

She led the way out of the library and back into the sitting room, where that group of somewhat faded family photos hung in frames upon the wall. “Here,” she said, pointing to one of the largest. “It’s Mum and Dad’s wedding portrait. She was a beautiful bride, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed absently. But he only had eyes for the groom.

Younger. But… no, impossible!

Or only improbable?.

Sherlock swallowed hard, trying to dismiss his certainty and failing utterly.

His heart was thudding perceptibly beneath his Belstaff. Beneath his stylish, bespoke suit. Beneath the Dolce and Gabbana dress shirt that had cost upwards of three hundred quid.

All of them ashes.

Vanity of vanities.

He must think. The implications….

“Sherlock?”

Molly had placed a hand on his sleeve.

He looked down at her hand, and then up, into her brown eyes. Confusion was writ there. And concern.

He took a breath. Took her hand in his and swiftly bent and kissed it. Then forced himself to smile. “I’m fine,” he said, and feeling that his voice had been a little off, repeated, “Fine!”

“There, I’m all ready!” Amanda announced brightly, coming into the room. “So sorry to keep you both waiting. Molly, I have no idea what I would have done without you, the zip on this dress is just impossible, perhaps I can get it replaced, we have a very good tailor over in the village who might be able to do it for me at a very reasonable price. Are you two ready to go? We are running behind schedule, you know. You can always look at those old photographs later.”

“Yes, we’re ready,” said Molly, though she did not sound quite certain. “Sherlock?”

“Let’s go then,” he said, lightly.  And he took her arm.

It was odd. The implications…

And yet, absurdly, the thing uppermost in his mind as they walked out to the car was the prospective purchase of a greenhouse window for Molly’s kitchen -- and that Christmas was just around the corner…

 ~.~

[raevanmun]

why were you drawn to each one of your characters?

Apparently you and @symmarilshatterunwra​ are both sadists.I have to preface this response with a little literarydrivel. I am a huge, HUGE fan of transgressive fiction. In my writing I have done my best to adhere tothe basic elements of the genre, though my writing style is often more floridthan is typical. So, all of my characters tend to have deviant pasts, secretsand proclivities that are both a source of relief from lives that are eitherbanal and meaningless or are broken by trauma and sometimes a mixture of thetwo.Usually, a narrative emerges either from some music, a pieceof art, or just musing in general and sometimes through the combined creativeeffort of myself and a writing partner. A few of these characters have beenconceived of with and for partners I have or have had.Raerys (Rosewood) Songbrook - Raerys’ isa compilation of feelings and narratives that I spliced together from writingdone with @symmarilshatterunwra​ and a deep interest in actual cults that I have. I havespent several hundred hours watching various documentaries about religiouscults. Raerys family were involved in a very fringe cult of Sun WorshipingQuel’dorei. In it there is love of power for power’s sake, the corruption thatcomes from that and the fanatical drive to create a “pure” blood line thatwould create the greatest minds in the pursuit of the Arcane. That pursuit of apure bloodline and the use of both religious doctrine and sexual coercion aremain themes in her life, start to finish.Her journey is one of cleansing and redemption, a move towardwholeness and healing after a life of privileged trauma.The next I have to take in Tandem - because their stories areintertwined.Kaereah andPhaedrei Bitterdawn - The Bitterdawn sisters are opposite ends of theemotional and social spectrum. This is due to some really shitty stuff thathappened when they were growing up. They are in truth, half sisters. Phaedreiis the elder of them. Kaereah is the baby of the family and the result ofan “Oooops” their mother had after having been widowed.   Phaedrei is responsible to a fault, is taciturn, cruel and fairly ACE. Headcannon says she's never been with anyone, romantically or otherwise. She's toofocused on her work, on her magic, on herself and the compartments of her life.She is deeply sad, a dank sort of depression eats at her and keeps her at arm'slength from anyone. Kaereah is the opposite side of the same coin. She is gregarious, friendly, andgenerally "open" to people she meets, but then, she's also aprostitute and has been for many years. She is not really open, any more sothan her sister, though she has been in love once. Was hurt terribly, and sincehas walled off her emotions and used sex as a way of life and a weapon since. They are in equal parts the unfortunate reaction to a childhood in which theironly role model found validation in relationships, not in herself or herchildren. Determined not to follow in their mother's footsteps they respondedvery differently, only to arrive at essentially the same emotional place. Theyhate one another, because both judge the other as maladjusted, without seeingthe irony of their situations and having any empathy for the other and all thatthey have suffered.Nolah Blackfyre - Nolah is a amalgamof rogue tropes, which are usually played out by men. I was drawn to her as acharacter because she is a SHE. She is devil may care, full of swagger andpomp, but she's also wears that like a mask, hiding behind it is a ruthlesskiller who no one would ever imagine is capable of the things she is. She isalso, an incurable romantic, seeking for that perfect lover who to quote TheEagles, "won't blow my cover, but they're so hard to find." As I posted ages ago on her tumblr, she is made of cigarettes and song lyrics.She is a poet, a ponderous creature who writes secret poetry and who is tragicin all the ways that rogues usually are.

Kordelaine Sunbriar - Kordelaine ismy idea of a "millennial belf." She likes techno, house and trancemusic. She is into her gadgets, thinks the world is all fucked up but feelspretty powerless to fix it. It sounds strange I know, but she's in no smallpart inspired by both of my sons, one who has had some issues with drugaddiction and depression and the other who is a quiet and very nerdy kid. I was drawn to her as a way to sort of tap into what I enjoy most about millennials.What makes them interesting to me as a GenX'r. Their music, their sardonic viewof the world, their desire for community and connection in a world that isincreasingly small and yet isolated by technology.

Tzilli Bloodsky - I am drawn toTzilli because who doesn't want to play a comic book villain? She's a completeasshole. She's a narcissistic, overly intellectual anarchist who is really justa nihilist. She is in her mind, "Self Made" in the same way that mostAyn Rand female characters are...  whichis also fun to mock and play with. She's really just Ra's al Ghul with tits anda cute face.Selkara Blackvale - Selkarah and herTwin Selakiir are Castor and Pollux. Or were... until something terriblehappened. She was always the darker half, the dangerous one, the thinker ofdeep and dark thoughts. He was the kind one, the sweet one, the good one... andthen the Void. I am drawn to Selkara because she has been utterly undone withher brother's corruption. Thrust from the role of the corruptor into the role of the caretaker has lefther unbalanced, freewheeling and frightened. She now struggles with theknowledge of her brother's slowly creeping madness, to feel him mentally,spiritually and emotionally within her, but unable to affect what is theeventual outcome of his state. The struggle to change horses midstream and become a hero in her own life iswhat is interesting about Selkara, that and her adoration and love for Rey. Reyhas helped to soften her, to support her transformation from shadowy bitch intosomething deeper, more and closer to wholeness. Rila Greenleaf - Rila is the Fool ofthe Tarot, but in female form. She is the child in William Blake's Songs of Innocenceand Songs of Experience. She is moving from utter ignorance through temptation,corruption and with luck, out the other side. I am drawn to Rila's arc in thesame way that anyone who's read De Sade's "Justine" is drawn to thecharacter and the conclusion of her story. How does the madness of absolutelibertinism end if it is born by one of a completely pure soul?

Jonadori Winterborne - Jona has beenbashed around in some pretty unfortunate rp arcs. She's not broken but she'sbeen reworked a bunch and at present I am not sure I am utterly in touch withher. So, I am not sure what to say about her in this respect.

Aembrose/Ambrose Longroad - Aembrose is a side character inRaerys' larger story. I originally made him just to play a part in herprogression, but there has been some interest in maintaining him as acharacter. I just haven't found found his voice yet. I am working on it.

Joaquin Brightquiver - He is a new character, very wetbehind the ears yet, but I am drawn to him because of his romantic and artisticsensibilities. He's a loner, been kicked around a good deal by life, but heloves to pain, he's consumed by his art, wine and women. He could be great, agreat and well-respected painter, but his addictions to alcohol and women whoare trouble keep him from being able to really move forward as an artist. I amdrawn to him, for the voice he offers.I don't usually play men, but when I write him, or plot for him, I feel such astrength of narrative that I feel sort of compelled to see the guy out. We'llsee if I really get under him and into his pov, it is still emerging, but whatI have done with him, I have really enjoyed.

Bryonny Larkspur - Bryonny is not yet entirelyfleshed out, that said... I find that character creation requires interaction,at least to firm up details. However, she's interesting to me from a conceptualpoint of view. Unlike Nolah who is despite her vocation a pretty easy to getalong with lady, Bryonny is far more "muy macho" and I have nicknamedher "The Shootist," in order to make the connection between her andold school male western tropes. She's a female in a man's world, she's mean andruthless.  I haven't written a characterlike her in a long time, and perhaps it is the opportunity to write one again,re-working the idea and refining it that makes her interesting to me.Violet Dal'vir - Violet is theoldest character I have here. She's an Apostate Blood Knight who for manyreasons rejects "current" Sin'dorei culture and wallows in her angstand resentment. She has little use for others, little use for friends orcompanions. The only people she's known for some time who care for her or caredfor her, eventually left her behind because she could not and would not bebudged from her bigotry and her dogmatic and uncompromising dedication to aregime and a world that no longer exists.I like her, because she's kind of my "Uncle Rukus" character. She issocial commentary turned inside out and upside down. If I bring Violet aroundto interact with your characters, you can expect it is because either I thinkyour character is too fluffy, or too edgy. She likes to shave the plumes offone and knock the corners off the other. This is why, in many ways, I equateher with trolling. Greneda Brightmorn - Greneda is thenewest of my characters and I won't lie, I've pretty much fallen in love withher. She is a taste of all my favorite old time movie vixens, mashed up with agood dose of Lucile Ball and Carol Burnett. She feminine exaggerated, she's gota dirty mind, a warm laugh and she loves people, all sorts of people. She likesto use politeness like a weapon, relies heavily on her "Blanche" likemanner when social situations get difficult or taxing, and when she'scomfortable with people or her context, she's a delightful companion.  I am deeply drawn to her, because I lovepeople like her in real life.

Thank you @ouroandarGreat if somewhat difficult question to answer. 

[circular-time]

D a l e k   F r e e   S p i r i t   ☼   t e a s e r

-Characters: Fifth Doctor, Nyssa, Turlough cameo -Rating: T for character death and going to dark places -Summary: The Doctor learns that when he and Nyssa escaped from the Daleks by the skin of their teeth, skin wasn’t all they’d left behind.

OPENING SCENES BELOW THE CUT

❝He could not change the past, nor could he alter her future. He’d be damned before he let the Daleks destroy the middle of her life, too.❞

{SPOILER ALERT: Prisoners of Fate, Entropy Plague, DALEK SOUL}

“A week! I thought you said this was a hospital ship, not some frontier apothecary’s hut!” Turlough’s brows bristled like backfires. His pale eyes were even more startling than usual, picking up the periwinkle blue of his hospital gown.

The Doctor patted the young man’s arm in awkward sympathy. “Bone regrowth in the foot is a delicate process. There’s so many ligaments and small bones that could fuse incorrectly. But don’t worry.  You’ll be as good as new with Dr. Kadowaki overseeing the process.” He flashed a wry smile. “I do wish my companions’ ankles were more durable.”

“Durable? I’m lucky the brute didn’t break every bone in my body while it was chasing me. A fine epitaph that would look on my funeral urn: Trampled to death by a pygmy mammoth. Although how anyone could name something that size pygmy I’ll never know. Humans!”

“Well, relatively speaking, it was a very small mammoth,” the Doctor pointed out. “Island populations tend towards dwarfism.”

“And your ���perfect spots for painting’ tend towards hazard of life and limb. When you said you were taking me to the wellspring of California Impressionism, I was expecting sun, palm trees and beaches, not the Ice Age.”

The Doctor did not trouble to correct him. He had not expected to find a lonely mammoth on Catalina as late as 8000 BC, but then, the Wrangel Island herd had survived off the coast of Siberia right into the Minoan period. Even in the 21st century, there had still been enough frozen carcasses lying about for well-meaning scientists with confused priorities to clone and release them into the wild just after the Arctic Circle thawed.

So much for paradise. They would have to try again after Turlough’s ankle had healed. The Canary Islands, perhaps?

Setting aside the remains of a mediocre tea, the Doctor pushed back his chair. “Well, if you’re settled in, I’d better go check on the time rotor. It was scraping when we landed. Collision with a panicky pachyderm may have jarred it out of alignment.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Would you like me to bring you anything?”

“Some peace and quiet,” Turlough grumbled, “which is not to be found aboard the TARDIS.”

Humming to himself, the Doctor was taking the ship out for a quick spin to see whether he’d eliminated the squeak in the rotor’s downward motion. A light on the communications panel began to flash. Probably just a glitch to add to the ever-growing repairs list. Even so, any signal strong enough to maintain coherence in the temporal vortex was worthy of attention. Especially when it was a choice between scientific investigation, proceeding to the next item on the repairs checklist, or returning to a hospital that served no tea but Tetley. He hurried around to the communications panel and flipped a switch.

A shrill voice made him reel back from the console in shock, not so much from its volume as from its wrenching familiarity. “LEFT POCKET!” came the cryptic cry.

“Nyssa?!” He had never expected to hear her voice again. Although considering the way their timelines kept crossing and tangling with one another like vintage phone flexes, he should hardly have been surprised.

“Get in!” Her rising note of panic was difficult to block out. He felt a mad impulse to throw open the doors in case she was stranded outside.

Instead, he reached for the switch to respond. “Who is this? If this is some kind of joke, it’s in remarkably poor taste.”

“LEFT POCKET!”

The random outburst would have seemed like mere nonsense, did he not know its context. Nightmare memories flicked past: Nyssa’s wrist bleeding from the bite of the manacles where she had wriggled her hand free, the crack! of the straps springing back from his chest, the desperate dash back to the TARDIS, the frantic scramble for a misplaced key, and the howl of Dalek guns erupting on all sides as he threw her bodily through the doors.

“Get in!”

He gritted his teeth. The recording was repeating itself. To amplify its obscurity, someone had erased all traces of the Daleks and his replies, transforming a moment of terror into banal absurdity. Whatever it meant, it was intolerable. He stretched out his hand to kill the signal. Just then, the looping audio stopped, to be replaced by the gruff tones of an old man.

“Wait— don’t speak yet.” The voice was a stranger’s. “Hear me out. Our mutual acquaintances may be listening. So first, if you wouldn’t mind, tell me what was in your left pocket.”

Seething, the Doctor hesitated with his thumb over the “End” button. The caller sounded human, but that was hardly a bona fide. How could anyone but a Dalek agent have access to that security footage? How had the stranger managed to reach out to a specific TARDIS in the time vortex and establish two-way communications in relative realtime? Only a limited number of spacefaring races had that capability, and the Daleks were one of them. What would happen if the Doctor confirmed his identity, which was apparently the question’s intent? And how dare someone use Nyssa’s voice for a simple identity check? Too many questions. Yet the veiled warning about “mutual acquaintances” suggested that the Doctor was not the only one worried about a Dalek trap.

He needed answers. “A key.”  

“Very good. Now, listen closely. You know who that was, and you know where it happened. That was some years ago. They are gone. With her help, we drove them off. But she was the last casualty. I could do no more than keep her in cryostasis—”

“That’s less than six impossible things, but I’ve already had breakfast,” the Doctor broke in.

“Quiet. I am an old man now, and I fear what will happen to her when I’m gone. I had hoped to rehabilitate her without troubling you, but we lack her expertise. You are her only hope. For her sake, I must ask you to come.”

The indicator light blinked out before he could reply. The Doctor slammed his fist on the console beside it.

Deep breaths. Nyssa— Nyssa, whose distorted parting words had crackled from that same communications panel— was almost certainly dead. Yet death, like time, was relative. Once upon a time, she had said goodbye to her traveling companions and stayed behind on Terminus. By chance they had found her again, fifty years later in her own relative timeline, out on the galactic frontier searching for clues to cure another plague. There she had made the fatal mistake of accepting a lift home. Best not to dwell on how she had left them. The point was, before their reunion on Helheim, her career as an epidemiologist could have taken her almost anywhere, including… what was it the Daleks had called it? Mojox. It was not as if she would recognise the place, since the Daleks had transported their prisoners there while unconscious.

Unless—

He had not actually seen the moment of Nyssa’s death. So long as he did not know for certain, he refused to rule out her dogged stubbornness. Had she beaten the odds, then found her way back into normal space like Romana? There was always a chance, albeit an astronomically slim one.

Either way, his choice was clear. He must act upon the message just as if it were genuine. For her sake, he must confront the hateful possibility that he had mistaken a Dalek base in deep space for a Dalek outpost on an occupied planet. If that were true, and Nyssa had somehow found her way back there, no army of Daleks would stop her from trying to help the natives throw off their enslavement. That was the devil of it: the story was perfectly crafted to arouse his protectiveness and his guilt.

“Very well,” he said, addressing the mute walls of his ship. “Let’s get to work. We may as well know the worst at once.” He began to key in a Fourier analysis.

Twenty minutes later, he had his answer. As expected, the message had arrived via Dalek carrier wave. The signal’s exact source was impossible to pinpoint, but standard deviation placed it well within the neighborhood of Mojox, whose location he retrieved from the archives of the TARDIS flight log.

Mindful of other duties of care, he opened a channel to the hospital ship.

“Doctor, are you mad? You said it yourself: Mojox is a Dalek installation. Of course it’s a trap!”

The Doctor was pacing beside the console. “Be that as it may, I owe it to Nyssa to—”

“Nyssa’s dead, Doctor!”

“Thank you, Turlough.” He frowned at the speaker grill. “I’ll program the TARDIS to return to you via the Fast Return Switch. If all goes well, I’ll contact you, and you can bring her back to me in the same way. If you don’t hear from me within two weeks, transmit a message to Gallifrey that I may be compromised. They’ll see to it that you’re settled in a time and place of your choosing.”

“Doctor, wait!” Turlough’s voice subsided to a grudging mutter. “You’ll need backup.”

The Doctor hesitated, although there was no question of bringing a companion with him this time. Beneath his cynical, selfish exterior, Turlough was a fundamentally decent person overwhelmed by fears, indicative of some deep trauma that the Doctor had never pressed him about. Despite his handicap, the boy usually managed to master his cowardice when it mattered, which in itself was a special form of courage. The Doctor’s voice softened. “I appreciate the offer, but this is my responsibility. Rest. Heal. Try not to worry. Remember, I’ve been battling Daleks for centuries.”

“But never alone,” Turlough insisted, voice cracking. “You’re leaving me behind because you still don’t trust me like you did Tegan.”

“I wouldn’t take her into a Dalek base either, not after what happened last time.” At least Tegan had survived, but her tearful farewell had forced the Doctor to reexamine how much horror his companions could take. Whence the recent string of resort towns and artistically inspiring landscapes.

“But Doctor, I’m not Tegan. I understand the necessities of war. And I know something about infiltration.” That last was a bleak admission, a clue to whatever past Turlough was fleeing.

“If I didn’t trust you, Turlough, I wouldn’t be sending you my ship.”

It was not quite the truth, or at least not the whole truth. The Doctor could never forget Turlough’s part in trapping Nyssa in yet another time loop, this one walling her off from her own family. It was not Turlough’s fault that an enemy had diverted the TARDIS to a place and time where Nyssa’s son was working twenty-five years after she had set out for Helheim on a routine scouting mission. But Turlough had ensured that mother and son met face to face. After that, history was sealed. Once Nyssa had learned that she never returned home, then she could not return, not without creating a paradox. Possibly the time loop had been irrevocable from the moment the TARDIS touched down. But Nyssa would not have gone on her last journey burdened by fresh heartbreak, if not for Turlough’s indiscretion.

Time loops and crossed timelines: such tragedies were why Time Lords were required to steer clear of them. If the Nyssa in this transmission was Nyssa in the fifty-year gap between Terminus and Helheim, then the Doctor would have to act with the utmost discretion to conceal what he knew of her future. Turlough had already proved untrustworthy with just that kind of secret. Anyway, this was Time Lords’ work. Quite apart from personal considerations, the Doctor was embarking on a de facto CIA mission, protecting the integrity of the timeline by ensuring Nyssa’s survival until her appointment with fate.

While he mulled all this over, Turlough was evidently doing the same. “If you’re that worried about being compromised,” he said, “then how can I know whether it’s safe to fly the TARDIS back to you when you call?”

“We’ll just have to trust your finely-honed skills of self-preservation. Use your judgment.”

“Wonderful.” Turlough sighed. “Good luck, Doctor.”

“Thank you. We’ll talk again soon.” He closed the link and leaned heavily on the edge of the console, staring at his hands.

Ever since he had been the Watcher, Nyssa and he had been meeting one another in the wrong chronological order. It was becoming harder to face her each time. Truth be told, it was not Turlough at the most risk of blurting out something she ought not to hear. When you encounter us on Helheim, don’t let me put off taking you home. Go straight back to your family. Cure the Richter’s plague. Save lives. For you, these things are more important than all of time and space.

He could not change the past, nor could he alter her future. He’d be damned before he let the Daleks destroy the middle of her life, too.

to be continued....

[anycontentposter]

The year in photos: Jordan Drake and the art of crying

Preface*

Crying is a highly evolved human trait. Tears can be an indicator of fear or stress. They can simply be a mechanism to flush out the eyes. Or they can convey joy and pain, heartache and elation. Distilled to their very core, tears are the truth. Tears are a most sincere way of reaching out for human connection, and so I would ask the reader to hold this concept tightly as they bear witness to Jordan and his experience. I would ask of the reader a willingness to reach out to Jordan and internalize that sincerity through the medium of the photograph.

Before we start this journey for connection I feel it necessary to reveal that these photos were not taken once per month as this slide show suggests. The human spirit does not follow a schedule and these powerful moments were captured as they birthed themselves upon the stage, if you will, that is DPReview TV. They will be shown in an order that does not harness itself to chronological accuracy, but rather is akin to a musical composition intended to stir the soul in its entirety. Let us begin.

* In case you're not familiar with DPReview TV, here's the backstory: In many of their weekly video episodes, our hosts Chris and Jordan feature a photo of Jordan curled up in the fetal position. It's a bit of a running gag, Jordan's soul isn't really tortured by demons (or so we've been told). If you have't discovered DPReview TV yet, you can find episodes here.

January

The photo before you was taken in Wayne, Alberta. All around us the harsh, weather-worn canyons stood silent sentinel to Jordan's struggle. The roadway symbolizes not only a means of transition but also a vector of impending danger. The bridge a final gateway to salvation from that state of being. Yet Jordan has collapsed short of his goals and instead must simply cry out as the valley bears witness. It is the Panasonic S1 which allows that moment to be appreciated by all.

February

This is a local city green space in Calgary named Shepherd's Park. The brutal metal grating causes Jordan discomfort as he hesitantly lies down upon it. Our hero clings tightly to his Panasonic GH5, monopod, and headphones, the tools of his expression. They are also like a prison to him, a concept further sustained by the rigid framing of the metal gantry. He is trapped, but perhaps he has also chosen his prison. Is the Canon EOS 90D not also a prison to his struggle?

March

Ah Seattle! Your charming hills, and quiet neighborhoods set the stage for this next humanistic landscape. The monochromatic nature of this image serves a dual purpose. It simplifies the intent capturing the banality of the environment. It also requests the viewer to bring their own experiences to the artwork. Have you not found yourself clinging to sanity in a car port? Have you not also smelled the stench that lingers in such places? Jordan is experiencing this very thing, here on the pavement, and in doing so brings about a deep connection with you the viewer. You are both crying in a driveway now. The Nikon Z50 sees you both.

April

Not all tears represent sadness, or misery. They can be uplifting and joyful too. Their power lies in the expression of both the heights, and abysses, of human emotion. Jordan is a self proclaimed cinephile with a passion for movie-making, and a deep appreciation for the craft. The mural sang to him a moment of pure elation, straight from the celluloid. He was overcome and found himself compelled to dance, drowning in a symphony of joy. I was humbled to have captured it with the Nikon Z7. It did not falter.

May

A quiet stillness falls over an autumnal lake. Jordan falls over a picnic table. An Olympus EM5-3 clicks once. A singular truth is revealed. It occurs only in this unique image. Jordan lies now left to right. Left to right. Profundity.

June

Wait! Hey Jordan, run up the highway and lie down in the middle. Do I have to? Yes! It'll look great, do it. What about traffic? Do it! - Friendship - GFX100

July

This image is a personal favorite of mine. Notice the strong leading line drawing the eyes to our reluctant hero. The organic shapes, the smooth curves, the magenta hues, all speak to a sense of the living body. We witness a childhood. We witness a birthing. Is it a skatepark, or is it a womb? The Fuji GFX 50R reveals the truth, but only you can interpret it.

August

Leitz Park. Wetzlar, Germany. One would be forgiven for assuming the common stereotype that Leica is only style, engineering, and precision. On the most superficial level they create cameras as works of art. However, when one digs deeper one finds a company defined by its people. Its people are defined universally by their kindness and their willingness to give. Here they have given him an opportunity to create with the pinnacle of their lens technology. Jordan is a person of deep emotion, and once again he is overcome. His face speaks only truth, his elation is clear, his gratitude is given. The Leica SL2 brings this sincerity to the forefront. It simply whispers 'Thank You.'

September

The smartphone has arrived, a harbinger of change in an industry that never wants to. Its message is a whisper that will grow into a cacophonous roar. Many of us hear only a gentle song on a winter's breeze. Jordan however is not one of us. His senses are astute and his understanding is omniscient. He hears the roar and it is deafening. The shrill call brings him to his knees, and he must curl up in the fetal position or risk madness. I produced the Pixel 4 from my pocket and so I am the one to blame. This picture is my guilty confession.

October

Why is Jordan sitting up? He always lies down in the filth and the muck. He is mine to create with. Never questioning, and always accommodating. And yet we see him spared from the veritable ocean of grime which surrounds his small island of respite. Is the pursuit of pure art less important than his comfort? Should we not all sacrifice for our craft? Does the Sony a7R III not also deserve this tribute? Is pain and suffering not the fertilizer of the sublime? However, he is safe and warm. He cries because I am furious with him, and yet he remains dry. That is why this photo sucks.

November

I call this photo 'Goldilocks'. The one on the left is too proud. The one on the right is too demure. But the one in the middle is just right! Also the astro-turf and garish display of cheap plastics communicate my personal statement about rampant and wasteful consumerism. How it effects workers, environmental factors, and our social consciousness, et cetera, et cetera. Taken with the Fuji XT3.

December

Our last photo is a palate cleanser of sorts. It is not a statement about the inherent duality of our existence. Nor is it a dissertation about Jordan's emotional state. It is not a symphony or a poem. It has no higher purpose as art, nor does it ascend to the realms of the sublime. It simply is our Christmas card picture to all of you for supporting us during 2019! We appreciate the opportunity you give us all to entertain firstly, and educate secondly. Thank you so much to all of our friends and compatriots at DPReview for all your hard work in making our show possible. Here's to an excellent 2020 and all the promise the New Year will bring. Oh, I almost forgot, this was taken with the Canon 5DmkIV.

Read more about this at dpreview.com

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