#started this back in may? before the kids ended up with pneumonia

[matchrising]

beach day

[clownmoontoon]

RAAAAHHH HELLO ITS BEEN A MINUTE!!! \OUO/

YOUR FAVORITE CLOWN IS BACK IN BUSINESS ive been quiet a while, a LOTS been going on in my personal life that brought my social medias to a complete (and unfortunate ToT) standstill til now!

i rlly wanna talk about it, its been honestly life changing and for safety i need to add some warnings:

cw for abuse both physical and emotional, and suicidal thoughts/ideation (dw im ok and not suicidal! i used to be and i finally have real context as to why)

ANYWAYS LETS TALK ABOUT IT

i got the opportunity to see a therapist for free for the first time since i was a kid and it was IMMENSELY eye opening.

SOME CONTEXT: ive lived with just my mother since i was a teenager as i tried to "make it" as an artist. ive had my ups and downs w this career goal and have been heavy in the midst of a very big Down period. entirely brought on by how sick i was at the start of the year to june (infected lymph nodes, pneumonia, 2 pounds of tumors in my uterus that required the removal of the organ entirely etc, i may have a weak immune system im realizing sdlkjd) which resulted in me having very little energy to create and/or post content. by july i needed to basically start over. which i was excited to do! i WANTED to get back to work and i was even excited for art fight! ;u;

aaaand in july is when my mom thought would be a good time to threaten to kick me out unless i found money to give her or got a "real" job. this came as an extreme and horrifying shock as i had just asked her the month before to "believe in me just a little longer" as i finally felt i realized what id been doing wrong all these years before and felt strongly i could succeed before the end of the year, she not only emphatically agreed but even said i didnt need such a time limit and she definitely didnt mind supporting me til i reached my dream lol i couldnt even do anything until july bc i was busy recovering from major surgery, coming home with tape on my stomach to heal the incision that hadnt fully closed yet

ive wanted to see a therapist for ages bc im Full O' Trauma and i knew it would help. The way this worked was basically like getting a free trial, i got six days of therapy (to be spread out as far as i liked) thru zoom.

i used the visits more for getting advice on how to reach my goals thru mental blocks and exhaustion bc ultimately i felt like 6 days wasnt enough time to get into trauma stuff and i really just wanted to get my career off the ground again, hopefully permanently.

i had vented a tiny bit about my mom and by the final visit w my therapist i decided to forgo the "how to better reach my goals" questions and ask if she had advice on how to handle someone like my mother, who i had to live with and rely on and who would often say something cruel whenever the mood struck. as i told her about my situation she stops me and asks

"do you hear yourself? bc i hear you"

and im suddenly so scared shes going to tell me the same, "get a real job" "stop acting so selfish" etc

instead she says, "this is abuse, youre literally describing an abusive relationship"

i was in complete shock

i even asked her how could i be the one being abused when i was the one using the resources and she compared it to a person getting married to someone rich and that rich person treating them like theyre worthless for not also making money.

it shook me to my core especially bc my mom loved calling me an abuser and comparing me to her abusive ex husbands (one of which used to abuse her physically, punch her/beat her etc) and saying im just like them

for the record ive never laid a hand on her, she would say these things whenever the mood struck, often out of nowhere

once bc i told her i couldnt read her mind and didnt know what she wanted lol wild

ANYWAY after this conversation i started looking back on my life and realizing why ive always felt so worthless, why i thought until my early 20's that suicide would be the best option for everyone. i was so exhausted from chasing this dream and feeling like such a worthless burden, my mother would get so angry with me for just existing and i felt like she would be so much happier if i were out of the picture, my sisters (both a decade older and living w their own families) calling me a leech and selfish for "using" our mother etc

any time i would stand up for myself, kindly and meekly as i could my mother would tell me how she wanted to punch my mouth, slap my face etc for years i thought she'd eventually fly into such a rage one day that she'd kill me and... i honestly didnt really mind the thought once while in high school my mom picked me up for lunch and offered to pay for a prom dress. i told her that it was ok, i knew she was struggling w money rn and i didnt really wanna go to prom anyway she flew into such a rage she pulled over on the highway just to pull my hair and beat me, and then dropped me back at school to finish my day lol

realizing that all of that IS NOT OK OR A NORMAL WAY TO FEEL OR BE TREATED AND I DEFINITELY DIDNT DESERVE ANY OF THAT was extremely eye opening

i told my best friends what my therapist had said and they were both like YEAH... DID YOU NOT KNOW YOU HAD AN ABUSIVE MOTHER??

apparently it was very obvious ^^; my friends were shocked to find that i thought everything was my fault, my therapist even used the term "gaslighting narcissist" to describe her which was WILDLY VALIDATING for me lmao

sitting w all these thoughts whirling around my head my mom texts me suddenly and tells me to ask my sisters for money (13 hundred dollars lol) bc she needs it for "bills"

i didnt want to do that at all she told me to "use my big words" to convince them and not to say it was her idea, but instead to act like i was asking bc i wanted to

it felt gross and made my skin crawl and honestly didnt even make sense bc WHY would i need that money so i asked but let my sisters know it was my mom asking and said she prob felt embarrassed to ask, while telling my mom that i asked in the way she wanted

my oldest sister makes good money and has helped our mom w money in the past. she texted me back asking why our mom needed money and why 1300 and i told her honestly i didnt know, i asked my mom what to say and she said to tell her she had an itemized list but she left it at work and couldnt remember what was on it lol

my sister told me to tell our mom that she couldnt help rn, so i did and my mom encouraged me to push harder to my other sister

suddenly the sister i had been talking to texts me and says that our mom left her a voicemail saying she doesnt know WHY i would ask for money, must be bc she threatened to kick me out bc i never help her with money :,( which was WILD bc any time i had money my mom would get most if not all of it, i havent been able to save money since ... ever tbqh, even when i tried my mom would successfully guilt every dollar from me letting me know i didnt deserve to save a penny after all shes done for me aaAA

ANYWAY i was so angry and hurt that my mom would just throw me under the bus i told my sister i had proof i wasnt lying (bc she was already inclined to believe our mother since they both considered me a leech to start with) and sent her screenshots of my texts

she was shocked and hurt too i decided to tell her about my therapy and how my therapist had called our mom an abuser and she answered that she understands more than ill ever know... which is very sad hjghfgf

we havent really talked more since and i deleted my texts to the other sister, more likely than not my mom sent her a similar voicemail

im very tired

i want to get out of here, im finally seeing this relationship for what its been for years and years, even back to when i was a little kid! i didnt know about suicide but id dream of being an animal in the wild bc i felt like if i were just out of the picture everyone at home would be less angry

its something that enrages me now tbqh ive tried all my life to be as little of a burden as possible and now im ready to be a problem LMAO :o)

the long and short of it is that i will be posting art sales and opening my patreon FINALLY to try and save up funds to get out of here ive also gotten a part time job on weekends for a little cushion tho some of that money will inevitably go to my mother, unfortunately

she doesnt know about the money i make online :o)

my family has constantly called me selfish, entitled and spoiled for just asking for common decency and to be treated like a person, theyve dehumanized me to the point that my greatest coping mechanism was creating a creature sona that isnt human but a monstrous equivalent lol AND I LOVE THEM IM EMBRACING CREATURE LETS FUCKIN GO

i know this has been long and if youve made it to the end i love u and im so thankful for your support!! ;u;

FOR ALL YOUR SUPPORT!! i want to come back full force, i havent stopped drawing at all, just havent had the energy to do much til now

my therapist even pointed out that i probably WOULDVE had at least moderate steady success by now if it werent for my mom's constant abuse

OH ALSO I NOW HAVE FOUR CATS LMAO a stray i had been giving water to and keeping safe from weather things (extreme heat, extreme cold etc) had her kittens here! and my mom gave me the ok to keep them all ;u; (and then ofc rescinded that but thats hardly a surprise now lol) and man, having kids cats sure changes your perspective on what u want and feel like you deserve! I NEED TO DO WELL BC THESE KITTIES DEPEND ON ME AND I LOVE THEM QVQ <3<3

SO YEAH IM BACK BABY IM GETTING THE HELL OUTTA HERE ASAP AND CONCENTRATING ON MY WELL BEING AND MENTAL HEALTH!! 😤🔥

[themculibrary]

Peter Parker Fics 30k+ Words Masterlist

Air I Breathe (ao3) - heartofcathedrals mj/peter N/R, 96k

Summary: Peter gets sick with pneumonia right before Christmas and May’s on a business trip, which leaves Tony in Dad Mode.

Another Trip Around the Sun (ao3) - isaDanCurtisproduction peter/wade M, 31k

Summary: Peter likes Wade. A lot. Like-likes him. But this is a problem, see? Because Wade has no idea who is behind the Spiderman mask.

And then they go to a New Years Eve Party hosted by Tony Stark, get completely wasted, and suddenly this does not seem to be nearly as much of a problem as Peter originally thought. Because Peter always makes the best decisions while drunk, don’t you know? Especially when his decision involves getting into Deadpool’s pants.

Brave as a Noun (ao3) - edema_ruh M, 161k

Summary: Some people think that Peter is Tony’s son. Why shouldn’t they? Peter seems to be orbiting Tony all the time, and it’s not like the billionaire tells him off. They have a nice relationship - Peter is glad to have a father figure, and Tony cares for the kid as if he’s actually his son.

The first problem regarding this arises when the people who think that Peter is Tony’s son kidnap him for ransom.

The second problem regarding this arises when one of the people who kidnaps Peter turns out to be Mac Gargan, the Scorpion, and he’s hungry for revenge.

Calm down Peter, its only the AVENGERS (ao3) - Idek_Anymore T, 98k

Summary: May Parker gets shot on her midnight trip to the local corner store for ice cream. Peter now had no living relatives left, and now he truly knew that nothing is worth living for. But then Tony Stark takes him in, with no hesitation of adopting him on the spot.

Ever since then, things go smoothly. Tony and Peter get closer than ever, and Peter even starts to call him dad (but only around the people he is close to, like Pepper and Rhodey, because no one can know that Peter is adopted by Tony). Actually, its perfect; Peter finally has a family and life. School ends as well, and summer finally arrives after a long wait.

Then the Avengers are pardoned, and Tony decides to house them in the tower with himself and Peter; basically opening his private life to a bunch of traitors. But it’s fine, he wants them back; he wants his old family back so much. Things only go haywire after that.

Distracted by a Dime (ao3) - happyaspie steve/tony T, 56k

Summary: Peter Parker thinks he has everything figured out. Where he can eat, sleep and make a little bit of money. What he needs to do in order to continue attending Midtown High and being Queen’s friendly neighborhood Spider-man. How to keep his entire situation under wraps and most importantly, who he can trust.

Then, along comes Tony Stark with an offer he can’t refuse. The plan is to remain professional, to not get too close to the Stark-Rogers’ family. Not getting comfortable means not slipping up and saying anything that he can’t take back.

…but for Peter- things rarely go as planned…

Do I Deserve This? (ao3) - id_rather_be_reading_3 T, 72k

Summary: When the Avengers find a malnourished, traumatized, enhanced teen in a Hydra base, they manage to convince SHIELD that the kid is better off in the Compound than the SHIELD Headquarters.

Peter Parker thinks his luck might finally be changing for the better, until he hears a conversation between Captain America and Iron Man that terrifies him–if the superheroes find out that Peter was an assassin for Hydra, he feels certain they’ll kick him out–or worse, send him to the Raft for a punishment he surely deserves.

Can the Spider manage to keep his bloodied past a secret from a room full of mind readers, spies and military? It’ll certainly prove harder than he’d thought.

Dumpster Diving for Treasure (ao3) - Clovrtree T, 185k

Summary: After waking up from his own demise in an alternate universe, Peter’s first course of action is to gather as much information and resources as possible to make his life easier. In doing this, he decides that dumpster diving at local playboy billionaire, Bruce Wayne’s, manor would be the best place to find anything useful. Unfortunately for Peter, it’s trash day, and a certain butler catches him mid-dive.

From Now On (ao3) - buckleyirondad T, 201k

Summary: The Parker Family worked alongside the Starks since the creation of the company.

Following a tragic accident that leaves Peter Parker without a family, Tony goes against the pleas of the people closest to him and decides to adopt Peter. The duo fight against unpredictable odds as they enter a universe bigger than they truly understand. [Pre-Iron Man through to Endgame]

if you run fast enough (ao3) - silvyri peter/wade E, 60k

Summary: Peter probably shouldn’t be falling asleep on Deadpool, but after the Merc with a Mouth saves him from being abducted by two dick Alphas, he doesn’t try as hard as he should to not.

it’s always who is spider-man, never how is spider-man (ao3) - i_regret_thatpersonalityquiz harley/peter, wanda/vision, pepper/tony T, 176k

Summary: Peter had been living on the streets, dealing with your average homeless vigilante stuff. Things got a bit more complicated when the Avengers started to chase him down.

It’s a Secret to Everybody (ao3) - Snapdragon_in_the_Snow pepper/tony T, 97k

Summary: “I have kids,“ Clint said. "I know dad behavior when I see it.” Tony blinked multiple consecutive times, processing the statement. “Excuse me?” “Tony,” Steve said now, “how long have you had a son? And how come we’ve never known about him?” “Yeah,” Clint spoke again, “I thought I was the only one with a secret family. Turns out you’ve had one longer than me!” ——- Peter gets to spend all summer living in Avengers Tower with Tony. When the Rogue Avengers get pardoned and come back to live at the Tower too, they’re confused as to who Peter is. However, once they see how Tony acts around Peter, that confusion goes away, as they know for certain who Peter must be - Tony’s secret son. Tony and Peter decide to make the most of the situation, and play along. They hope they can keep up the act all summer. But they soon learn that they barely have to act at all.

Join the Club (ao3) - HashtagLEH peter/wade T, 143k

Summary: Homeless and mute after everything Peter has been through, he somehow makes friends with Deadpool, as Spiderman. And then he meets the Avengers, as Peter.

Or, alternatively: “Spidey and Deadpool: the Mute and the Motormouth” (a title by Deadpool).

just a drop of blood (ao3) - TheLadyConstellation pepper/tony, steve/bucky T, 34k

Summary: Peter’s on number fifteen, Foster homes that is. And this one’s not exactly at the top of his list. One morning he gets into a bit of an accident while he’s going to school, and the hospital takes blood.

Peter isn’t even fourteen yet and his world has gone upside down.

Let the wind take me (ao3) - Marnky steve/tony T, 48k

Summary: “Once the heart gets too heavy with pain, people don’t cry. They just turn silent. Completely silent.”

—

Peter struggles as he tries to understand his place in the world. He turns to some unhealthy coping mechanisms, hoping to get some closure but all he finds are worried glances from his parents and neverending guilt.

or

Snippets of Peter’s life battling mental illness and trying to learn how to accept the unconditional love from the people who care about him the most.

Martian Child (ao3) - Phiod_Muse E, 59k

Summary: Right now, you and me, put together entirely from atoms.., sitting on this round rock with a core of liquid iron held down by …. gravity… and amidst all this frantic activity, fully cognizant of our own imminent demise… we reach out, to one another… sometimes for reasons you’re not old enough to understand yet, we reach out… and expect nothing in return.

Or,

Peter is a super genius and gets discovered by Tony Stark almost a year early… Also, he doesn’t know he’s Spider-Man…

Neon Liar (Hiding in Plain Sight) (ao3) - isaDanCurtisproduction T, 70k

Summary: Peter is stuck between a rock and a hard place. Or more literally, he’s stuck between the will of ten other teenagers and the knowledge that if anyone finds out he’s living with the Avengers he can kiss his normal high school life goodbye. Can he keep it a secret from his classmates that he’s living with the world’s loudest superheroes? And can he keep it a secret from the Avengers that he’s accidentally bringing his classmates home for a field trip?

And once he starts hiding things, keeping secrets, and lying, will he be able to stop?

And even more importantly: will Ned be able to keep his mouth shut long enough for Peter’s secrets to stay a secret?

At least MJ can be trusted to keep a lid on things

Room 418 (ao3) - Sintero, Staubengel peter/wade E, 143k

Summary: On the run, Peter has managed to carve out a living as an escort. It was lucrative work, self-managed, and provided him with the anonymity and security that he so desperately needed.

But, he never accounted for meeting Wade.

The 12 Hugs of Christmas (ao3) - notapartytrick mj/peter, steve/bucky T, 46k

Summary: Peter Parker endures a lot more than he gives himself credit for, the extent of which Tony Stark is only beginning to see as he grows inexorably closer to his dedicated “intern.” Oh, and Christmas is coming up too.

[fairest]

Sleeping through the siege: three dreams in a week of war & peace

1.

In his September 1939 journals, Albert Camus wondered where the war was. “Where does this absurd event show itself, except in the news bulletins we have to believe and the notices we have to read?”

In May 1940 he wrote, “The Stranger is finished.”

I doubt the truths of The Stranger, a book about blaming the fact you killed an Arab on the sun being in your eyes.

2.

I make coffee. Betsy and I feel like shit. Leo is fine, he just has pneumonia. We try to figure out if this current sickness is left over from the Covid, the cold, or if it’s the flu. We fail to understand. The current sickness is too much to hold in our heads or the bobbling head of the household. We don’t remember when our sickness started. We no longer know how long it’s lasted. That’s the way the sickness makers like it. For those who build the sickness, business is booming.

3.

I haven’t been this pissed off at America since March of 2003, and back then I was pissed off at everything. I can’t stop thinking about how things might be different if Bernie were president. Joe Biden stands up there in old glory. World War will be his “joeissance.” He talks about the “rules of war” like war is a game of Sorry! But nobody follows the rules when they play Sorry!, not really, you just kind of move around the board. This is what we mean when we say Trump & Biden are the same thing.

The worst voices of all are those like mine. Those I 100% agree with. Those who know the god’s honest truth.

4.

In the dumpling place, I hear two artistic-looking white college students ask themselves, “If they know anything about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.” They don’t. They text their friend Matt, who should know. Then they talk about the new season of Big fucking Brother.

Last week Leo, my six-year-old son, asked me if there was, “War that wasn’t Star Wars.” I loathe the beautification of war in Star Wars, but these days I shake like Ben Kenobi when Alderaan explodes.

Matt is still typing, the college kids say, slurping their soup.

Matt is still typing when the dumplings arrive.

5.

I am drawn to music that offers surprise attacks. The first Roger Sessions Piano Sonata. The cello in the second movement of Mozart’s “Dissonance” String Quartet. The final timpani in the Adagio of Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony.

When I clip the YouTube video of that final timpani, I notice it ends at the “9:11” mark.

6.

Betsy has a dream Jewish children are writing in sidewalk chalk Oseh shalom bimromav, Hu ya’aseh shalom aleinu, V’al kol Yisrael V’imru, and then Palestinian children come and write their prayer for peace, too, and the children leave their chalk drawings and walk off hand-in-hand.

In the dream Betsy knows the Palestinian prayer for peace, but when she wakes up, she doesn’t.

7.

I read the news. I buy the actual newspaper and tell myself I will only read news at night. I download news apps I’ve downloaded before, because I’m told by the App store I can just open.

Those who don’t read the news make me choke even more. They are usually the ones with central air conditioning.

8.

When there can be no peace is the time for peace.

9.

Yoram Kaniuk on, I think, the vastness of land in the United States:

“We drove along dirt roads between cliffs and blue and brown mountains for about five or six hours until we reached an isolated ranch surrounded by hundreds of acres of pasture and cows. I went to the foreman and as he gave me a tour I thought, I could put the entire State of Israel somewhere here in the middle of the ranch.”

10.

Always the drumbeats of war. The A1 snares of Taylor Swift. The below the fold snares of Gang Starr. The pots and pans of screamo bands that broke up in 2006 for unknown reasons. This war feels like those demos, a tape taped off another tape taped off another tape taped off another tape taped off another tape.

11.

Fred Moten:

After September 11th American imperial policy took no time off to mourn. We could have no share in that. No matter how much like that whatever we do is, no matter how many times we did things like that before that was done to us.

12.

I dream Hamas has gathered us in a cowshed and sent us against the walls. There are thousands of barns in this field and we wait. Hamas fighters enter our barn. They kill the cows first. I have my arms around my California cousins, my Florida aunt, my eyes are closed and I’m humming, I see the figure five in gold, I see the figure five in gold. They spare me. They spare my aunt. They kill my cousins. I’m in an airport Starbucks, removing the “ham” from an Egg McMuffin. I see a Pakistani woman holding a Guyanese child. The child is dead. The mother wailing. I recognize them from the barn.

13.

The poet Erich Kästner, in 1930:

“One day in the year 2003 a thousand airplanes fly from Boston loaded with gas and bacteria to kill all of humanity, because this is humanity’s only way of achieving the goal of world peace.”

14.

Matt is still typing.

15.

Sahir Ludhianvi, which, right now, sounds behind the times:

War is itself a problem. It isn’t the solution to any problem; Today it will offer fire and blood, And deliver hunger and want tomorrow.

16.

We go apple picking. We eat donuts. We enter the maze and get out of it. Leo rides a pony named Betty. He slides down the slide. He pumps on the swings. The rapper Billy Woods, watching his child swing on the swings, realized, “anything in the world could happen to him.” But the things happening to children right now are not things that will happen to my Leo. They somehow don’t even feel, right now, like the things happening to an African American like Billy Woods.

During the car ride home, Leo tells us he had a dream Ryder and Chase were having a contest on the swings. I get a little excited. I think he can sense there’s war outside of Star Wars. ���Are Ryder and Chase enemies?” I ask. “No, Daddy” he says, “you know Ryder and Chase are the same.” So he does understand war.

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 1 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fic

Here is chapter one of my new fanfic!

Title: Succession

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader, OCs

Rating: PG-13 for language and intense scenes (for now, this is a slow burn, but it will get very hot and spicy in later chapters)

Summary: You discover a long lost relative from Moldova that you didn’t know existed has died and you are his sole beneficiary.  You are on board a plane to collect your inheritance when your plane crashes in a village in Romania.

Author’s Notes: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

The music blasted from the car speakers as you drove down the main road towards the highway.  You had your phone plugged into your car stereo, your favorite Spotify playlist on shuffle.  Despite the A/C being on full blast, beads of sweat formed at your brow and rolled down your temple.  You adjusted the vents on either side of you, making sure the cold air directly hit your body.  The song that was playing had you tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, your head bopping to the beat.

The fridge at home was close to empty and it was beyond time for you to go grocery shopping.  The grocery list was secure in your purse and you were determined to stick to the items on the list and not make any frivolous purchases.  Money was tight and you only had so much money left before payday next week.

The song shut off suddenly followed by your ringtone.  Looking at the screen of your phone, UNKNOWN stared back at you. Probably a spam call, you thought to yourself, reaching to press the red Ignore button.  Unfortunately, your finger slid at the last minute and mistakenly tapped the Accept button. You watched as the call came through and the seconds ticked off.  FUCK!

“Hello?” you greeted with a hint of exasperation in your voice.

“Hello, am I speaking with Miss Y/N?” a heavily accented male voice responded.

“Yeah, this is she,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.  You tried your best to avoid these calls, ignoring them and letting them go straight to voicemail.  Very rarely was it followed with an actual message, which was more than fine with you.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Ron M. Dathermi.  I am a lawyer residing in Chisinau, Moldova in Eastern Europe…”

You raised your eyebrows at that.  Moldova?  Who the hell was calling you from Moldova?  Chalking it up to a scam, you were about to interrupt the man when he continued.

“...I wish I was calling under better circumstances, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.  Your great uncle, Serghei Popa, has passed away from a short illness and has named you his sole beneficiary…”

You couldn’t help the amused huff that came out of your mouth.  This must be some very elaborate scam.

“Umm...sorry, but I think you have the wrong person.  I don’t have family from Moldova and I have never heard of this man in my whole life.” You were about to hit the End button when Mr. Dathermi continued.

“Am I speaking with Y/N, born on (your birthday) to (your father and mother’s full names) and the granddaughter of (your grandfather and grandmother on both sides of your family)?”

Your eyes widened at that.  “Yeah, that’s me…” you answered.

“I know this may sound unusual, but Mr. Popa was the brother of your grandmother on your mother’s side.  He was given up for adoption at birth and taken in by a Moldovan family.  He did not have a spouse and had no children, and according to the genealogy report I have before me, your grandmother and your mother are both deceased.  Your mother was an only child, yes?  It appears to me that you are the last of his living relatives.”

You pulled off the road and into an empty parking lot.  The information you were being given was a lot to handle.  You didn’t have that large of a family.  You were an only child and raised by your parents and both sets of grandparents.  Both of your grandfathers had died before you turned 10.  Both grandmothers died within 5 years of each other and your father and mother died of illnesses, cancer and pneumonia respectively, in the last year.  Grief was a feeling that you knew better than anyone.  You kept to yourself mostly and you didn’t have any close friends or a significant other.

“Listen,” you began, “you are correct about all of your information, but how do I know this is not some kind of scam?”

The man on the other end of the phone cleared his throat and the sound of shuffling papers met your ears.  “I can imagine that this information is sudden and unusual.  What I will do is send a copy of his will and a copy of the genealogy papers to your address.  I encourage you to take this to your lawyer and have them look over the information.  The reason I am calling is because I need you to fly to Moldova, sign these papers, and accept the monetary inheritance that he has left you.”

Your jaw dropped as you looked down at your phone.  Fly to Moldova?  Is this true?  The only thing you knew about the country was that a foreign exchange student from high school was born and raised in Moldova.  That about sums up your knowledge of the country. This seemed incredibly asinine and ridiculous.  But the word that settled in your train of thought was “inheritance.” What inheritance?

“Mr...what was your name again?” you asked.

“Mr. Dathermi, but you can call me Ron,” the lawyer responded.

“Ron...umm, how much monetary inheritance are we talking about?”

More shuffling of papers was on the other side of the phone, Ron clicking his tongue as he looked through the information.  “He has left you 53,806,746 Moldovan Leu...which translates to $3,000,000 in American currency.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!?!” you exclaimed before clamping your lips shut.  You heard Ron chuckle.  “I’m sorry, pardon my language. It’s just...wow...this sounds insane…”

“I can imagine it does,” Ron replied, “which is why I want to mail this information to you and have your attorney take a look at it so you know this is a legitimate will and testament.  If you would like, I can mail the information straight to your attorney if you are still leery.”

“No, no, that’s okay,” you said, shaking your head.  Your mind was whirling.  None of this sounded remotely true.  You felt as if you were dreaming.  This felt like something that only happened in books and fairy tales...a girl who had nothing and nobody suddenly inheriting millions of dollars from an unknown distant relative.  What are the odds of something like this happening in real life?  You gave Ron Dathermi your home address.

“Thank you very much, Miss Y/N.  I will send this as soon as possible.  I’ll also include my business card so your attorney can contact me and we can iron out the details.  Thank you very much, Y/N...I’ll be in touch.”

You thanked him as well and ended the call.  All alone in your car in the empty parking lot, you let out an excited squeal and started hopping up and down.

*

You adjusted the messenger bag that was slung across your shoulder as you heard the overhead speaker call for the boarding of your flight.  Taking a deep breath, you got in line, extended your ticket to the airport employee, and walked down the tarmac and into the plane.

Butterflies were fluttering in your stomach.  Your hands gripped your bag tightly as the flight attendant looked at your boarding pass and pointed down the aisle to where you were to be seated.  You had never flown before and your nerves were on alert.  Scenes from Final Destination flashed in your head as you walked down the aisle towards your seat.  Taking a deep breath and willing your body to relax, you located your seat next to the window and sat down, plopping your bag onto your lap.  

The small window was close to the wing of the plane and looking beyond that was a long expanse of grass that met a vast forest.  You were thankful that you had the window seat and your headphones so you could tune everything out and relax in your own little world.

Once the papers from Mr. Dathermi arrived a week prior, you immediately called the attorney that helped you with the probate and will from your parents’ deaths several months back.  He was more than happy to help, knowing that you were all alone in the world after your parents had passed.  Two days later, he called to inform you that all of the paperwork was, in fact, legitimate and that Mr. Serghei Popa was the brother of your grandmother.  He showed you the adoption papers, confirming that your great uncle had been put up for adoption and the family that took him in had relocated to Moldova when he was two years old.  He had remained in the country until his death.  Your attorney contacted Mr. Dathermi, who in turn secured a round trip plane ticket in order for you to come to Moldova to finalize the paperwork and collect the inheritance.

At the thought of the money you were about to acquire, another surge of excitement flowed through you.  Your parents hadn’t left you much after their death and you worked at a dead-end job that had no room for advancement and no possibility for raises.  All of these recent events sounded like something out of a fairy tale.

“This is your captain speaking,” the voice sounded from the speaker above your head, “we will be departing in the next ten minutes.  Please make sure your seatbelts are secured, your tray tables are up, and all electronics are off until we are at the appropriate cruising altitude.  I will inform everyone as soon as the coast is clear.  Thank you for flying with us and enjoy the ride.”

You fastened your seatbelt and laid your head back, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Don’t be nervous…” a voice sounded next to you.  You opened your eyes and looked over to see an older gentleman with wide rimmed glasses and a nice smile.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked, returning his smile.

“It’s pretty obvious,” he chuckled, “my name is Bruce Williams.  I’m the air marshal on board this flight.” You told him your name and shook his hand. “Just relax,” he assured, “we’ll be flying for the next 10 hours.  There are lots of movies and tv shows to watch on the screen in front of you, or you can listen to your music and read a book if you brought one.”

You patted your messenger bag.  “Yeah, I have a few books to choose from.  Thanks,” you smiled.

Within minutes, the plane had backed away from the tarmac, turned towards the long expanse of runway, and increased speed before leaving the ground and soaring up into the clouds.

*

The steady hum of the plane’s engines provided a relaxed soundtrack as you slept.  It was close to early morning, according to the clock on the tv screen, but your watch was still on your regular time zone.  It read early afternoon and that threw you through a loop.  You had heard that jet lag could be a bitch and you wondered how bad yours would be once you landed.  Bruce had passed you a pillow and blanket once you were ready to sleep and he assured you that your bag and belongings would be safe while you slept.

You were so thankful to be seated next to him.  Not only was he the air marshal, but he was a really cool person as well.  You two talked about movies and actually watched a couple of them on the tv screen in front of you.  Bruce was kind and nice to talk to.  The crinkle of crow’s feet around his eyes, his laugh, and his hair color mixed with hints of gray reminded you of your father...maybe that’s why you liked him so much.

You shifted in your seat and let out a soft yawn.  Stretching your arms above your head and arching your back, you wondered how much longer it would be until you touched down in Moldova.

���You weren’t asleep that long,” Bruce murmured.  You looked over to see a book in his hand and his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom and then go back to sleep,” you replied, standing from your seat.  Bruce stood up and allowed you out into the aisle.  You made your way to the bathroom towards the back of the plane.  The cabin was dark with little lights dotting either side of the aisle on the floor. Soft lights were shining here and there from people reading, watching the tv screen, or messing with their phones while most of the passengers were asleep.

Once in the bathroom, you did your business, flushed the toilet, and began washing your hands.  The mirror in front of you showed a tired and weary version of yourself.  Some of your eye makeup was smudged.  You told yourself once  you returned back to your seat, you’d retrieve the makeup remover wipes in your bag and do away with the dirt and oil.

Just then the plane hit an air pocket and dropped several feet, throwing  you forward towards the sink and mirror.  You let out a shriek as the plane quieted and went still.  “God dammit,” you muttered, putting your hand over your heart, “that scared the shit out of me!”

Once out of the bathroom, you slammed the door shut and walked back to your seat.  You tapped Bruce on the shoulder and he moved aside.

You lifted the window shade and looked outside.  Natural light from the start of the day began to show.  The plane was amongst the clouds so it was fairly cloudy and hard to see.

“How much farther do we have?” you asked Bruce.  He shifted the book to his left hand and looked down at his wristwatch.  “We should be there in three hours.  I think we are flying over Romania right now…”

You nodded your head and thanked him, turning back to the window.  The clouds gave way momentarily and provided the opportunity to see the ground below.  Tall, snowy mountains came into view.  You smiled and marveled at their beauty, wondering what mountain range this was.  You cursed yourself for forgetting the basics from your World Geography class in high school.  Hell, all you knew about Romania was that it was the setting for Dracula and the real life territory that was once owned by Elizabeth Bathory, who allegedly killed upwards of 650 maidens and bathed in their blood.  You shook your head and smiled to yourself.  You really did enjoy some morbid and fucked up stories.

Your train of thought stopped short when a large and spacious castle came into view.  Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped.  It looked like something out of a Disney movie or from ancient castles that still sat throughout Europe.  The place looked like it stood on several acres of land and who knows how many square feet.  What a gorgeous and breathtaking place it was.  You wondered just what was inside a monstrosity like that and who was lucky enough to inhabit such a place.  Maybe there were castles in Moldova that you could explore and visit while you’re conducting your business.

The castle fell out of view and not far from it stood what looked like a village.  You were too high up to see any people or any traces of lights or torches.  You took everything in with total awe and appreciation.  It looked like a small and sleepy storybook town.

A sudden movement close to the village caught your attention.  You squinted your eyes and tried to look closer, pressing your forehead to the window.  What the fuck is that, you wondered.  It looked like a black tree, naked of leaves or any type of growth...and it was moving.  It looked to be swaying in the breeze, but the size of it looked way too sturdy for any kind of gust to move it with such fluidity.  As you focused on the tree, it appeared to be growing...getting closer to the plane.  Was the plane descending?  Were you getting closer to Moldova?

One of the branches of the tree slowly drifted to the ground before extending long and rigid, slinging itself up into the air like a bullwhip, hitting the wing of the plane.  The plane suddenly tilted as the slithering limb wrapped around the wing and broke it off.  You let out a loud scream as the plane turned on its side, Bruce falling against you, squishing you to the wall.  “WHAT THE FUCK??” Bruce screamed as yelps, shrieks, and screams echoed in the cabin of the plane.  Dozens of people were knocked from their seats, flight attendants falling into the aisle and rolling towards the cockpit.  The plane shook and quaked as it dropped several feet in a matter of seconds.

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” you screamed, grabbing hold of Bruce’s arm.  The air masks dropped from overhead and Bruce grabbed yours, making quick work of putting it over your face.  “HOLD ON TO IT! HOLD IT OVER YOUR MOUTH, Y/N!!” he commanded, reaching for his own mask.

“THE WING OF THE PLANE HAS BEEN DAMAGED!” the pilot yelled from over the speakers, “WE ARE LOSING ALTITUDE! BRACE FOR IMPACT!”  People screamed and panicked, holding on to whatever it was they could.  Panic surged through your body as your fingers dug into Bruce’s arm.  The plane shook as it fell.  Your stomach dropped and it felt as if you were seconds from impact.  You looked out the window one last time before the ground came into view and everything went black.

*

He leaned over the body on the metal table in the lab of his factory.  He fastened the bolts with a wrench and tested the strength of the metal against the rotting flesh.  A soft horn sounded in the distance along with the various turns of chains and clangs of steel against steel.  He wiped the sweat off his brow and walked to his desk, looking over the blueprints and sketches he had devised the previous day.

Despite the different array of sounds, nothing could mask the loud crash that sounded off in the distance.  He lifted his head, silently trying to figure out what the fuck made that noise.  Leaving the body laying on the table, he exited his lab and made his way down the stairs and to the factory doors.  

With a grunt, he slid the doors aside and looked off into the distance.  Black smoke billowed from an area that looked to be close to the village.  Other than the crows squawking and flapping their wings in retreat, everything was dead quiet.  He looked off to the right just in time to see the long, spindly limbs of mold retreating back towards the earth.  Karl Heisenberg’s face tightened in a disgusted grimace.

“Mother Miranda...what have you done?”

[fireflyinsummer]

An Amalgamation Waltz 1839. |01|

> pairing: min yoongi x reader

> genre: FallenAngel!AU

> words: 23k

> warnings: hints of smut (heavy make out), a scene of harassment (nothing explicit), violence. possible heresy. forgive me. a third party’s unrequited feelings for OC. don’t know if i did this right, it’s 3 am right now.

> summary: When it comes to the both of you, a lifetime is not enough. And when it comes to you, there’s really no lines he wouldn’t be willing to cross. Even on the brink of a war that could destroy the world as we know it, you’re everything.

  “ (...) ‘Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?’ he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

   ‘I’ve never had to,’ you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you.”

a/n: my love for Paradise Lost gave birth to this. i really like this one :) gonna be posting the second (and last) part soon! no need to say that PL was just an inspiration, this isn’t exactly based on the poem. 

                                               “(…) Here at least

We shall be free, the almighty hath not built

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice

To reign is worth ambition though in hell:

Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.”

     The sudden thud on the wooden surface of the table made you jolt and close the book, heart rate increasing considerably.

  “Y/N.” His voice was deep, dragging your name through his teeth to evince his annoyance. The bustling café was already at its peak hours and you didn’t even notice the time as it passed you by.

  “Yes, Taehyung?” You ogled your grumpy friend, his noisy arrival being due to the study material he tossed in front of you.

  “You said you’d help me with English lit. I was waiting for you at the library for about an hour and your phone is off.” As you remembered why you were even in the café in the first place, you threw him a guilty look. He pouted. “Hey, what does that Milton guy have that I don’t? And the fancy words don’t count.” You giggled.

  “John Milton has nothing on you, Tae. He’d probably need my help to get through this semester as well.” The joke seemed to almost let you in his good graces again, but you knew he still needed the bribery. “I’ll buy you your favorite if you forgive me.” You could tell he was fighting back a smile upon hearing your offer, his mood suddenly uplifted.

  “Okay. But don’t think I’ll let you off the hook that easily.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Wait here.” You went to the balcony to pay the check and get his frappuccino to go. Taehyung was a sweet guy who liked sweet things, and that also applied to his coffee. His sweet tooth earned him a nickname from you – Marzipan. Waiting for the bartender to finish your order, you looked over where your best friend was digging through your copy of Paradise Lost without much enthusiasm.

   You had moved in next door to his house about fifteen years ago, and you two instantly initiated a solid friendship. As much as you could say about three-year-olds. Despite him being one of your favorite people in the whole world, the both of you were into totally different things. He went to parties, you enjoyed some lone quality time. He played all sorts of sports, you preferred to stick to your writing and, sometimes, the piano. You were still working on the latter. But even though you seemed to be totally opposites, he still got you like no one else could. He was the person you told all your secrets to, not that you had that many anyway, and you liked to think – no, you were sure of it – he felt the same way about you.

  “Here’s your overly-sweet drink, Marzipan. I don’t even know if you can still call it coffee,” you scowled.

  “Don’t diss my frappuccino, it’s the sole reason of my forgiveness.”

  “Yeah, right. So, you wanna get going? I’m sure you have a lot of thoughts on that book already.”

  “It was very average so far, if I do say so myself. I don’t know why you like it so much,” he teased you.

  “Well, that’s what the private lessons are for. So I can teach you good taste.” You pushed the door open and immediately shivered as you felt a cold gush of air. It was snowing.

  “Here, take my coat. Why don’t you ever wear decent clothes in the winter? I swear to God, I don’t know how you never caught something serious, like pneumonia or whatever,” he scolded.

  “You don’t have to. We’re near home anyway,” you tried to reassure him, but he was, as usual, outwardly ignoring it. “Really, Tae, it’s no big deal. Let’s go.” He was ready to fight you on this one, but you were already walking away. He took a few hurried steps to catch up.

  After a ten-minute walk, daylight was almost completely gone, lit lampposts following its wake. You both hit the front door rug with your feet several times before getting inside, your mom was a bit freaky when it came to cleaning.

  “Mom, Tae’s here!” You shouted from the living room, guessing she was in the kitchen. “We’re going upstairs for a bit! School work!”

  “Okay, honey! Tell him that dinner will be ready soon!” She responded.

  “I love you, Ms. D’Angelis!” He shot back. Yes, you had an italian background. When she heard his voice, she made sure to come out and greet him.

  “Love you, too, honey”, she pecked his forehead and he beamed. They liked each other way too much for their own good. “And you,” she pointed in your direction, “give mamma a kiss.”

  You sighed before attending to her request. It was in your best interest not to fight it. “Okay, enough of this. We’ll be upstairs if you need us.”

  “Have fun, kids.” You sure would. Taehyung might beg to differ.

  The rest of the night was somewhat peaceful. You had helped Taehyung as much as you could before your mother called you out to eat, claiming that you shouldn’t starve the boy and then make him eat a cold meal. He couldn’t agree fast enough. For the most part, that was your life. Uncomplicated and comfortable, which was plenty for an eighteen year old. When you went to bed after practicing the piano for a little while, you were completely unaware of the pair of pitch black eyes that observed you through the window. But he was fully aware of you.

  ||\\

                                                                    [Fear of the Water, by SYML]

  You knew it was a dream. From the moment your brain processed the heavenly sight that unrevealed before your eyes, you knew. It was breaking dawn, the soft orange light kissing the ocean like a long lost lover. You were at the end of a cliff, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be afraid. You looked down at the waves that broke into the rocks almost violently, the salty breeze somewhat comforting. You loved the sea.

  Taking a few deep breaths, you barely noticed the crack. The sound came from somewhere behind you, but you didn’t want to look away from the view, neither did you want to wake up. When you heard it again, you recognized footsteps. You turned around lazily, curious as to whom it would be the visitor of your reverie. When you fixed your eyes on him, though, you stopped breathing for a moment and your heart surely skipped a beat. He was a stranger in a number of ways, for he was seemed truly unworldly. Maybe ethereal was the word you were looking for. His violet eyes were scrutinizing you from head to toe. Beautiful. His hair was dark as it fell like a silky curtain on his forehead. Not a single flaw on his skin or his body, but none of that was as breathtaking as what lied on his back. Great, large white wings, so beautifully outstretched that you felt unworthy of looking at them.

  You opened your mouth a few times, but nothing would come out. Probably for the best, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of what was probably your mind’s greatest creation. How you could come up with him was beyond you. You wanted to ask his name before it all ended and you had to go back to real life, back to average. You wanted to touch his face, his wings, see for yourself if they felt as they looked. You wished you never woke up. As he took a step closer, you took your own back, startled at the sudden movement. Before you realized your mistake, it was too late. You had lost your balance. You knew it would be over soon. Taking one last look at the stranger, you saw as he stretched one arm to reach you, but to no avail. Too soon, the wind was ricocheting your skin and you were falling.

  You woke up with a loud gasp as you searched for air, finding it oddly rarefied. When you registered the annoyingly high pitch of your alarm, you whined. Real life was the last thing you wanted to face right now, but if you told your mother that you’d stay in bed daydreaming about a figment of your imagination, she would personally retrieve you from the bed and toss you into the shower. Made sense.

  Getting ready as quickly as you could manage, you felt excited for no obvious reason. Maybe it was the afterglow of the dream, but now you were eager to get out of the house, as if you wanted to find him. Which was insane, because you knew he did not exist. Come to think about him now, it was getting harder by the minute to remember his face. You panicked.

  Running towards your desk and grabbing a pencil and your notebook, you tried to recreate him on paper, which was a lost battle from the start. Even if you were some doodling genius – you were definitely not – you would never be able to do him justice. You doubted anyone who had ever stepped on this planet, past or present, ever would. It was not the kind of beauty that could be explained or demonstrated, but rather felt. He wasn’t just inhumanely pretty, wings and all. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It may sound cheesy and totally deranged, but you felt whole in those few shared moments, like you knew him your entire life. Your mind didn’t recognize him, but your body did.

  Groaning at the piece of paper and throwing the pencil at your baby-blue wall in annoyance, you gave up. It was pointless, his features were already escaping your mind. You didn’t know why you were so hung up on a dream, honestly. Seeing that you were a little riled up, you decided to let it go and just finish getting ready for class. You could see through the window that Taehyung was already waiting for you.  

    ||\\

 “So, how did it go?”

  He pouted before answering. “It went alright.” Lies, he was a big fat liar.

  “C’mon, Marzipan, be honest with me for a second.”

  The nickname finally broke him down. “Fine, I hated it. I remember you telling me about every important detail of the subject yesterday, but I couldn’t put it on paper. Plus, why the fuck does he have to elaborate the questions so much? Most of the time I didn’t even understand what was being asked. Literature sucks,” he whined indignantly. You could tell it was taking a toll on him.

  “Don’t worry too much about it, okay? I will help you. We’ll both graduate this year, yeah?” you reached his hand on a reassuring squeeze.

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “Then sure. But you have to take me seriously, Y/N,” he warned you. “No more losing track of time in coffee shops.”

  “Hey, I bought you a frappuccino, that incident should be six feet under by now,” you accused and he mumbled a grumpy response.

  The both of you spent half of the morning taking the lit test. You thought you did fine, though the questions really were a little bit tricky. Walking side by side with Taehyung, you didn’t notice him at first. But once you realized there were no seats available right next to each other, your eyes eventually landed on his.

  “We can’t sit together through this class, we’re too late,” Tae grumbled, trying to get your attention back to himself, but to no avail. “Y/N? Hey!” He flicked your forehead and you yelped.

  “Did you just… flick me?” you seethed.

  “I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t lusting over the new guy. Who is he, by the way?” If you acknowledged the hint of jealously in his tone, you didn’t show it.

  “I was not lusting over anybody,” you huffed.

  “If you say so.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Grumpy. Is it because I caught you?” You just snarled and took a seat at the front row, while he chuckled and chose the one in the back.

  To be honest, you were lusting a little. Those eyes seemed oddly familiar, though you couldn’t quite put a finger on why. The rest of the day passed by smoothly; you were able to sit with Taehyung for the remaining classes you had together and even helped him a bit with some homework. After a while, your new classmate was nowhere near your mind, despite that funny feeling you got every time you looked at him. Maybe it was because he was stunningly handsome. Who knows? You never cared much about those things, but you were only human.

  On your way home with Taehyung, you felt eyes burning on your back. You turned around and found him staring, expression unfathomable. He wore a black lather jacket, jeans and a black shirt, his dark hair beautifully disheveled. He gave you a wanton grin and you scoffed. Well, you knew his type, and it unnerved you to death.

  Preppy playboy. Nothing more, nothing less.

  He cut off the eye contact abruptly, heading towards a grey motorcycle. No shit, huh? You almost laughed at the predictability. You weren’t exactly into bikes, but that looked expensive. And it suited him perfectly.

  “Holy-… do you see that? That’s a Triumph fucking Rocket,” Taehyung gasped, shaking your elbow lightly. “A 2500cc engine capacity Triumph Rocket. Man, his parents must be loaded. That’s not a high schooler’s bike,” he said, almost dreamy. Yeah, you saw that coming from a mile away.

  “You talking about the new guy?” You asked nonchalantly, turning your head as you resumed walking.  

  “Don’t even try to pretend you weren’t ogling just now,” he accused.

  “You’re obsessed with our new-found bad boy. Maybe you should date him, Tae,” a snicker left your lips at his appalled expression.

  “Shut up,” he pushed your shoulder. “I’m just curious.”

  “As in bi-curious?”

  “Okay, that’s it, I’m leaving you behind,” he grumbled as he fastened his pace. You chuckled, trying to catch up with his long legs.

  When you arrived home, you noticed an attempt of a drawing on top of your bed. It looked like a poorly doodled angel. First things first: though it definitely looked like something made by your hands, you didn’t have any recollection of it, let alone of leaving it on display like that. You looked around, searching for something, but nothing else seemed out of place. Trying to shrug the uneasiness off, you picked some clothes off the wardrobe and went for a warm bath.

    ||\\

  It was a Saturday afternoon, so you planned to do the usual: hit the library and grab some coffee on your way home. Taehyung had promised to watch a movie with you this weekend, but a surprise party to one of his friends came up. He’d invited you to tag along, more out of habit than anything else. Your answer was always the same when he asked you to spend time with his peers; you weren’t even remotely fond of them. They had maybe one functioning braincell and a whole lot of conceit. Not your crowd at all.

  “Mom, I’m leaving. Do you need me to get you anything?” You said, already on your way to the front door.

  She was sprawled on the couch, gazing attentively at the TV.  “No, honey, thank you. Are you going out with Tae?”

  “Nope, something came up, we rescheduled. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay, then. Be careful!”

  “Will do!”, you shouted from the outside.

  It was closing time when the sweet old lady had to gently kick you out. You weren’t surprised when you found out your phone was dead; you probably had a billion calls from your mother and, if she was desperate enough, maybe even Taehyung. Letting out a sigh, you grabbed your stuff quickly and waved goodbye to the librarian as you made your way out the door, grumbling to yourself about not being able to pick up some coffee now.

  The air was hazy and cold, you couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, and the streets were oddly empty. You tightened your coat around your body and quickened your pace, not willing to spend more time outside than you needed to. Seeing that all the stores were closed, you realized that Martha (the librarian) probably let you outstay your welcome a little bit. You cursed at the freezing night and your cheap coat. Taehyung was right, you should buy warmer clothes.

  Lost in thoughts, you were stupid enough to miss the drunken noises coming from the end of the street. There was a group of three men coming your way and they all seemed to have ingested an unhealthy amount of booze, laughing loudly and pushing each other playfully. You felt cold sweat fall down your spine but just tried to ignore it, hoping that you’d be able to pass them by without being noticed.

  “Y/N?” His voice was dragged, and he was tumbling around the words. It was only then you realized they were from your school, the boy in the middle being Jimmy, Taehyung’s drink buddy.

  “Hi”, you tried to stay as far away as possible, but the one with the fashionably boring rectangular glasses didn’t let you, hooking his arm around your neck. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey.

  “C’monnn-“ he hiccupped, “don’t you wanna par-tay with-“ another one, “-us?”

  You repressed the urge to gag as your pulse quickened.

  “Not really. I have to go,” you almost managed to untangle his disgusting arm from you, but he kept it in place, holding you tighter. “Let go of me.”

  You were annoyed. And scared to death, to be honest. These boys didn’t exactly live by a moral code, and the four of you were alone in the middle of nowhere. You didn’t trust them.

  “Aww, don’t be shy, princess. You’re always so… boring. Makes me curious about what you’ve got going on under all… that.” The last one, Ian, made his way towards you, snickering menacingly. He wasn’t as drunk as the other two, and if you could give a hunch, you’d say he knew exactly was he was doing. That scared you even more. Feeling the brick-wall hit your back, you realized you were cornered, a curse escaping your dry lips.

  “Look, I really have to g-“ he cut you off by pressing his body into yours, making you lose your breath for all the wrong reasons. “What the fuck, man?! Let go of me!” You were visibly growing desperate as you tried to punch his face and his chest, but that only earned you a chuckle from him as he held both your wrists with one hand.

  “Feisty. I like it.” You almost puked right then and there, the bile stuck in your throat making you scowl. He let his filthy fingers slide down your sides, until he could grope your ass.

  Your stomach sank, heart drumming against your ribcage as you held back a whimper.

Okay, think.

  Taehyung had taught you the basics about self defense a thousand moons ago. And yet, you realize that it was nothing like the real thing. You balled your clammy fingers tightly, knuckles white as you scanned every corner of your brain to try and find a way out.

  “Tae will kill you if you touch me,” your voice trembled. You couldn’t help it.

  He laughed whole-heartedly. As if the mere thought was actually funny to him.

  “He wouldn’t dare, sweetheart. Besides, I think he actually wouldn’t mind sharing his bitch with us for the night,” he stated. “He’s not using it anyways,” he punctuated with a roll of his hips and, this time, as you felt the pathetic bulge inside his pants, you couldn’t hold back a tiny sob. Because fuck, this was it. There was no way you could take down three grown men on your own.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was low and steady. It made your skin crawl. You snapped your head and looked at the dark haired man standing behind the boys. Ian lazily turned around, still keeping your wrists wrapped tight in his hand.

  “None of your business, newbie. Now get out of my sight before I lose my patience.”

  When he chuckled, it was different from Ian’s. It was darker, rougher, and concealed a vicious ferocity that you knew was there. You knew because, as he disregarded your aggressor and looked you in the eyes, you almost feared for them.

  “Ian, dude, let it go.” Jimmy instantly sobered up and tried to avoid any confrontation. To think he spent time with your best friend but would let Ian harass you without saying a word was disgusting. “Come on, your old man will kill you if you get in trouble again.” So that was his main concern. Still looking out for his shitty, abusive friend. Men’s sorority really is misogyny.

  “You should listen to your friend. Believe me, you won’t survive me when I get my hands on you,” he stated matter-of-factly. You felt the sincerity in your bones. And so did Ian and his stupid cavalry. “Leave.”

  Ian sighed, but relented. You felt a hot wave of relief as he disconnected his body from yours, leaning on the wall for balance as your legs wabbled.

  “You better watch out,” he spits.

  “Y/N, I... I’m really sorry,” Jimmy said as he scooped his friends and dragged them away from you. “You too, Min. He’s just drunk. We would’ve stopped him if it got too far.”

  He’s lying. You can tell.

  “Get the fuck out of my sight,” he growls, his composure faltering for a minute. As they stray out of view, he turns his gaze to you.

  “Care to tell me what the hell are you doing walking alone in the middle of the night?”

  He’s angry.

  You scoffed, adjusting your coat around your shoulders and straightening your back.

  “Thank you for the help, but I’m too old for a babysitter,” you say. “Besides, I don’t even know you.”

  He looks at you and, as if trying to regain some sense and control a fit of rage, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before exhaling a long puff of air.

  “Alright. My name is Yoongi,” he takes you by surprise as he snatches your wrist in an iron grip, “And I'm fucking walking you home.”

  As he drags you across the street, you want to yell at him. You want to tell him to fuck off, you preppy bastard. But you don’t.

  Because the truth is, you’re so fucking grateful. God knows what would’ve happened if it wasn’t for him. As he calms down, he drops your hand and slows his pace, allowing you to catch up without having to make an effort. You want to talk, but you choose to stay quiet.

   Now that you weren’t so skittish anymore, it finally dawned you how the snow was beautifully spread throughout the streets, the trees, the buildings. Everything that was cool, cold, blue, held some fascination to you. Summer was never really your season – it had always been winter. To be able to curl up on your couch with a warm blanket and a hot cup of coffee, it was heavenly. You always thought that, if you could see the world through a color palette, it would be in different shades of blue.

  The snow was not the only thing that you were entranced by, though. Yoongi was, from what you saw so far, much like winter to you. Harsh when needed, cool, but also peaceful and comforting. He didn’t urge you to talk about the incident; he didn’t urge you to talk at all. His mannerisms caught your attention from time to time – how he constantly ran his long fingers through his hair, how his eyes seemed to flutter shut lazily a few times in a row, or how he carried himself so elegantly that it almost made you jealous. He looked terribly familiar, too.

  “Why are you staring?” His bluntness caught you off guard, but still couldn’t disturb the peacefulness of the moment.

  “Just curious.” It was true. “Apart from the motorcycle and the superhero complex, I don’t know much about you.”

  “Well, there’s not much to know.”

  You hummed in response. “What are you doing here, then?” You ask, and his feet come to a halt.    

  “What is this, an interrogation?”

  You scoff, and you both start walking again. “Just trying to make conversation. Besides, I’m actually curious,” you ponder. “People don’t move into this town very often,” you kick the snow under your feet. He sighs.

  “I’m here with my… brother,” he hesitated before continuing, “he’s my guardian, sort of. We used to move a lot. Work thing.” He couldn’t hold back a grimace, but it disappeared in a second. You wanted to ask about his parents, but felt like you’d be crossing a line, so you kept your curiosity to yourself. “Now you tell me,” he said.

  “Tell you what?”

  “About yourself. Your family. Whatever you want to.”

  “Um, let me see. I live with my mom. We moved from Italy when I was about three years old. My dad… my dad stayed.” You didn’t want to get into it, and he immediately noticed, just nodding for you to continue. “She’s been taking care of me by herself since then.”

  He hummed in understanding, sparing you a few glances that you couldn’t quite decipher.

  Before you knew, your house was already in sight. You wished you lived farther, just so you could keep that strange interaction on for a little longer.

  “Well, this is me,” you announced. Lying about your address had crossed your mind somewhere along the way.

  “Sorry if I was a jerk,” he surprised you by saying. You mouth opens and closes a few times before you say anything.

  “It’s okay, I guess. I was pretty riled up, too.”

  He nodded. “See you Monday, then?” His voice was deep and silky.

  “Yeah. Hey, I… I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

  “I am, too,” there was a dark undertone in his voice. “Good night, Y/N,” he surprised you by leading his right hand to the top of your head and lightly messing your hair before walking away. You stood still for a minute, until your mother opened the door.

  “Y/N?! Darling, why did you take so long? I was so worried!”

  “Um… Sorry, mom. I ran into a friend and my phone was off.”

  “Well, you should’ve at least borrowed your friend’s phone to let me know, things aren’t like they used to be around these parts anymore, it’s getting pretty danger-“

   She kept talking as she let you in, but you couldn’t concentrate. That night, you dreamt of him.

   ||\\                            

 “(…) Farewell happy fields

Where joy for ever dwells: hail horrors, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest hell

Receive thy new possessor: one who brings

A mind not to be changed by place or time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.”

     You didn’t think of yourself as an early riser, but when Monday morning came, you woke up before the alarm – and seemed almost delighted to do so. To be honest, you really tried to ignore the eagerness to see him again, but to no avail. The day before was thoroughly torturous, flashes of the short period of time you spent together coming back to haunt you now and then. At some point, you were so annoyed that you just lied on the bed and attempted to blast your eardrums off by listening to some crappy rock band at full volume. It didn’t work, obviously, and now you probably had hearing damage. The cons and cons of obsession.

  At this exact moment, for the first time in your entire friendship, you were banging on Taehyung’s door first. Because you just couldn’t wait a minute longer.

  “Damn it, woman, was is it with you today?” The sound of his voice was muffled. That, or you were going deaf, there was no way to tell for sure.

  “You’re going to make us late, Marzipan!” At that, he opened his bedroom door slightly, just enough so you could peek at his disheveled hair and sleepy face.

  “It’s dick o’clock in the morning, we have at least forty minutes until we leave,” his voice was rugged and he had an aggrieved look plastered on his pouty face.

  “I brought you coffee,” you smiled at him while raising the thermal cup.

  “Stop the madness and go wait for me downstairs, Gilmore girl,” he grunted. “Dad probably misses you, the poor old man. Keep him company, will ya?”

  “Don’t be silly, Mrs. Kim need his sleep in the morning.”

  “Then shut up and don’t wake him,” he grunted, closing the door shut, but it took him just a second to reopen it. “Wait, if dad’s asleep, how did you get in?”

  “I, uh… Might or might not know that you keep a spare key inside the porcelain elf’s hat,” your lips tugged upwards sheepishly.

  “Of course you do, you little imp. I’ll be down in a sec,” he grumbled and shut the door again.

  Taehyung had asked you a couple of times why you were so anxious to get to school that morning, but you just brushed it off with an excuse that you knew he wouldn’t buy. There were several reasons as to why you wanted to keep things to yourself for now. Mainly, it was because you were afraid that he’d be furious enough to break Ian’s face in front of everybody once you told him the whole story. Not that you felt any sympathy, but rather that you didn’t want Tae to get in trouble. You’d tell him as soon as you could, though. You didn’t care for the idea of him being friends – or whatever they were – with Jimmy.

  As soon as you stepped into school ground, you discreetly searched for his motorcycle in the parking lot. It wasn’t there. You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face, but you couldn’t help it. He didn’t come today. Who cares? As much as you wanted to force some sense into your stubborn brain, you were still hoping he’d show up, even if you didn’t talk to each other. You just wanted to see him, is all. Great time to start acting like a stupid teenager, Y/N. Kudos.

  You were in the middle of a pretty heated argument with yourself as you entered the classroom. Taehyung picked a desk in the middle, as he usually did when the both of you were able to sit next to each other. You were almost putting your stuff down at his side when something caught your attention. There. You felt a girlish jolt of excitement when you saw Yoongi sitting at the last row. His silky black hair was damped, probably from the shower, and he was wearing a black, long sleeved shirt, v cut. You were about to divert your eyes, but then he stared right at your face and calmy removed his bag from the chair next to his. He smirked, as if defying you to take a seat. Annoying little piece of-

  “Tae, do you mind if I sit somewhere else today?”

  “What?” He looked at you, confused. “Where do you want us to…” Your eyes flashed to the end of the room and he followed your gaze. “What? Why would you-”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Uh… No?”

  “Okay, great. See you soon.” You knew Taehyung was confused, so you should probably be thinking of what to tell him when this class was over. But for now, you just carried yourself to the empty spot in the back. Yoongi was looking at you with an amused expression, hiding his little smile behind his intertwined hands. You wanted to wash that smug off his face so bad. You took a seat and his scent assaulted you, warm and musky. Almost irresistible. You saw Taehyung from across the room gazing at the both of you with an inscrutable countenance.

  “Is your boyfriend mad that you sat with me today?” He audaciously asked.

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “I see. Must be hard, then,” he looked almost sympathetic.

  “What?” Your face contorted into confusion.

  “Nevermind. Tell me how was your Sunday,” he said while opening his notebook and doodling something you couldn’t decipher yet.

  “So we’re friends now?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Shouldn’t you ask me first?” You lifted your brow.

  “You’re bossy today.”

  You were about to give him a proper answer when the teacher barged in, almost breathless. As the class began, focusing on Hess’s Law was your main priority, it really was. But you couldn’t help the tingle crawling up your skin every time he unintentionally bumped his arm into yours, because he was still drawing, keeping his head down since Mrs. Edwards started talking. Still, you couldn’t move. No. Focus. You held onto the edge of your desk with one hand, knuckles white, as you kept the other taking notes on the subject.

  “Relax,” he softly whispered, not taking his eyes away from his notebook. You immediately loosened the tight grip of your left hand.

  “I’m relaxed,” you lied, imitating his tone. He chuckled, lifting his head to show you the most beautiful gummy smile. God, why was he so distractingly handsome? His soft, pale skin, his cat-like eyes. His hands, Lord, you wouldn’t even dwell on his hands. Everything about him was appealing, alluring. His voice, his smell, his gaze. He was devilish.  

  All of a sudden, he ripped off the page he was working on. You tried not to get even more distracted, keeping your eyes on the board, until he touched your arm with his hand. You tensed. “Here, keep this if you want to,” he said, passing the folded paper to you. Curiosity washed over your face and you were about to unfold it, but he stopped you. “I don’t think you should open it now.”

  “Why? Is it, like, an erotic sketch?” You could tell you broke his demeanor a little, he seemed both shocked and amused.

  “I wonder if that kind of thought crosses your brain very often. You’re filthy, Y/N,” he smirked. You almost choked at his tone and his words. He was teasing you, and you refused to go down without a fight.

  “Well, I don’t exactly know you, do I? You could be a perv.” He bit back a chuckle.

  “I’m an honorable man. You’ll see.”

  “Will I, now?”

  “Yes. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

  “You haven’t convinced me yet.”

  “Challenge accepted.” The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, then the bell rang. He grabbed his stuff and got up, then tilted his head and asked, “Do you want a ride… friend?”

  “I thought you didn’t ride here today.” Confusion stained his expression before he realized the meaning behind your words. You could see the enlightenment in his face and suddenly banging your head on a wall wasn’t all too bad. He was too cocky for his own good, and now you’ve just made it worse. Way to go.

  “I parked on a different spot,” he responded.

  “Yeah, sure. Uh, anyways… Thanks for the offer, but I’m going home with Tae.”

  “Suit yourself.” Before walking away, he turned around and said, “I’ll save you a seat tomorrow, Y/N.” Before you could elaborate an answer, he was already out the door, and Taehyung was in front of you with that ‘what-the-actual-fuck’ face he made every time he was caught off guard.

  “I’ll explain on the way home,” you sighed.

        ||\\

  You were both in the safety of your bedroom when you told Taehyung everything. From how Ian tried to do God knows what with you, to why he wasn’t able to. Pure luck. It was pure luck that Yoongi happened to be passing by, and it was pure luck that he’d bothered to check what was going on. You told him Jimmy was there. You saw the guilt and rage clawing their way to his chest, and there it was; the reason you were wary to tell him in the first place. Taehyung was explosive, a force of nature when he let himself indulge.

  “I’ll kill him. Why did you hide that from me?” Even though he was trying his best to hold back, you could still tell how furious he truly was. “Answer me, Y/N, I’m not fucking around here,” he didn’t mean for it to sound like a scold, but it still did.

  “I knew you’d be mad,” you retorted.

  “Of course I’d be fucking mad. I don’t think you understand just how mad I am.”

  “I know. Tae, really, nothing serious happened. It’s not worthy getting yourself in trouble for it.”

  “How can you even say that?” he barked.

  “Promise me you’ll let it go,” you asked softly.

  He looked like he’d just heard the worst profanity fall from your lips. “I don-“

  “Promise, Tae,” you were using your serious voice now, the one you used to tell him that no, it was not okay for him to mess with your books back when you were kids. You took it to the heart too often. He stared at you for a moment or two before sighing.

  “Okay,” he grudgingly said. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he said after a moment.

  “It’s not your fault. Really, it’s not.”

  “I know. I’m just… sorry,” he let his head rest on your lap. You hummed and stroke his hair for a while. These little moments of utter understanding and peace was one of the reasons he was your best friend. The person you could rely on, always. And he could always rely on you, too.

||\\

   A few weeks passed you by in the blink of an eye. After the infamous events of that night, you and Yoongi grew closer each day. Not that it was always easy, he was infuriating at times; you had to be sharp to keep up with the incessant bickering. But, for what it’s worth, you were able to gather that he was much more than just a little shit, even though he tried to deny it. 

   And you suppose that’s one of the reasons to why your stomach flutters and your heart skips a couple of beats when he gets too close. 

   Probably a month too late, you come across that piece of paper Yoongi had mysteriously given you the first morning you sat together.  You took it in your hands with a gasp and carefully unfolded it, taking a sharp intake of breath at the drawing. It was a pair of eyes – your eyes, perfectly detailed by strong, yet delicate, traces. It was beautiful and left no room for doubts as to whose they were. The cocky bastard was actually pretty talented, you had to give him that. Before you had much time to think about it, your phone rang. You hesitated a moment before picking up, the number was unknown.

  “Hello?”

  “Did you like it?” The voice on the other line was coarse and drawn, and you recognized it immediately.

  “How did you get my number?” You asked while laying yourself on the bed, staring at the ceiling. 

   He had become a constant whenever you were at school or at the library. Nothing beyond that. The call was a pleasent surprise.

  “I have my ways. Will you answer at least one of my questions anytime soon?” There was a hint of a boyish amusement in his tone, and that instantly made you lighter. You liked him better in a good mood.

  “You don’t answer any of mine, so why should I bother?” You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you.

  “That’s hardly fair. What do you want to know, George?”

  You scoffed at the nickname. “First things first. I want to know how you got my number.”

  “It’s not so hard to get privileged information on the students’ personal data if you’re charming enough. Ms. Parker has a soft spot for me.” Of course. You should’ve seen it coming.

  “You’re shameless,” you scolded half-heartedly, taking a plushie in your hands and squeezing it.

  “It’s one of my many qualities. So, can you answer me now?”

  “Hmm… I might’ve liked it,” you stated, referring to the book he’d recommended. “But you’re already a pretty conceited man, so I should probably spare you the details.”

  He was silent for a while, and you almost mention the drawing you found in your backpack. But then, he’s talking again. “So you think I’m pretty, huh?”

 “Are you… Have you-“ you stammered in astonishment and he chuckled. “Do you actually select the words you want to hear?” you asked and he hummed.

  “Where are you?”

  “Home,” you answered without much thought.

  “I’ll pick you up in ten. Be ready.”

  “Wait, what?” You jolted out of the bed, dropping the plushie on the floor. “You can’t just… decide that. What if I’m busy?”

  “You’re not.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “But you do,” He sounded almost confused. And he was right, you did want to. Somewhere deep inside your brain there was a voice saying that you should’ve objected at least a little bit more. But, against your better judgement, you kept quiet, and soon enough your silence gave you away. “I’m hanging up now. See you soon, George.” You meant to talk back to him, but he’d already ended the call. That, arrogant, insolent, contemptuous jer-

  Before finishing that thought, you remembered you didn’t have much time. So you took a five minute shower, put on a little mascara and went out of the bathroom to find something to wear. There wasn’t enough time to go wild, so you just went for your favorite pair of mom jeans and tucked a burgundy sweater in. After brushing your hair and your teeth, you were ready.

  As soon as you were done, you heard a horn and rushed to the window. There he was, in all his glory, hips resting against his stupidly cool Triumph Rocket. Black boots, black jeans, black long-neck shirt and his usual leather jacket. Wonder what his favorite color might be, you scoffed. He shot you a smirk that made you hold your breath for a moment. It now occurred to you that you had no idea as to where he was taking you. Also, was it a date? A friend thing? Shit. You should’ve said no. You sighed. It was too late now.

  Before running downstairs, you sprayed a little bit of perfume on the nape of your neck and your wrists. Chloé, your signature scent.

  “I’m going out for a bit.”

  She was sitting by the window with a hot beverage on her hands and a book on her lap. Like mother, like daughter.

  “Last time you said that…”

  “I know,” you cut her off gently. “But I have class tomorrow. I promise I won’t be long.”

  “Is your phone charged, young lady?”

  “Yep, it is.”

  “Then call me if anything happens, alright?”

  “Sure thing. Bye, mom,” you gave her a brief peck on the forehead and rushed out the door.

  He was waiting for you at the porch, even more breathtaking now that you could see him up close. His musky scent was stronger and his pale skin was glowing. He was drinking you in with mysteriously piercing eyes.

  “Come,” he said, taking you by the hand.

  “Where are we going anyway?” you asked. As the both of you approached his motorcycle, you were trying your best not to trip.

  “You’ll see.” He took a helmet off a compartment that you didn’t know to exist and cupped your face to hold you still before he put it on you.

  “Is this like a Hitchcock movie? Will you take me just far enough so I can meet my fate by the end of the night?” A hint of dread crossed his features, but he composed himself soon enough.

  “Do you believe in fate, Y/N?” He asked, fixing the straps under your chin, his fingers setting your skin aflame.

  “I don’t know,” you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but his countenance urged you to provide a proper answer. “Faith is just not my strong suit, I guess,” you mumbled.

  Yoongi pondered about what you said for a moment. “Hold that thought, yeah?” Then he climbed the vehicle. “Hop on,” he started the engine. You were now too aware of the fact that you had never ‘hopped on’ one of those. “Don’t worry, I’m a really good driver,” he tugged his lips upwards.

  “I just… I’ve never done this.”

  “What, ride a motorcycle?” He asked and you nodded. “Trust me. I wouldn’t let anything happen,” he reassured you.

  I know. So you climbed the damn thing and held tight onto his waist, almost comforted by his warmth. He felt the sensitive skin on his back crawl at the contact. Especially between his shoulder blades.

||\\

     You spent the entire ride with your eyes closed. If you had any doubt that Yoongi was a mad man, those god-knows-how-many minutes on the back of his motorcycle had erased them completely. He was going fast. You could feel the wind ricocheting your face relentlessly, and every time he had to make a turn, your stomach fluttered. Sometimes, he turned his head just a little bit, as if checking if you were at least breathing, but you would grit your teeth and snap at him to look ahead, tightening your grip. You could feel him chuckle, his whole upper body being assaulted by small tremors.

  But when you finally arrived at your destination, it was all worth it.

  “Do you like it?” Expectation washed all over his ethereal features.

  “Do I… like it? It’s amazing,” your eyes sparkled with wonder and astonishment at the sight of the ocean. You were at a relatively high spot, like a small cliff, and you could smell the delicious salty breeze that you adored so much. But what truly amazed you, what really took your breath away, was the electric blue lights sparkling all over the wave crests. “Bioluminescence! How did you find this place? Can we go down?” You asked with the biggest smile, a childish excitement seeping through your tone. He giggled, the most magnificent, angelic sound you had ever heard.

  “I’d rather if we didn’t. I don’t want you to meet your fate at those slippery rocks, it wouldn’t be very Hitchcock-y,” he joked. You felt a bit disappointed but chose to let it go. The night, the sea, the sky; it was all too beautiful for you to allow yourself to be petty.

  He took a few steps ahead and sat closer to the edge, wind whisking his hair and making his catlike eyes narrow. You followed suit, sitting in lotus by his side. You both took a minute to appreciate the sight, falling into a comfortable silence, that was soon broken by his husky voice.

  “I come here a lot when I need to remind myself of who I am. Of where I’m from,” he said, still looking at the waters below, eyebrows furrowed. “I never thought of bringing anyone else here before.”

  “So why did you?” Your voice was small, whispered.

  “I don’t know. I guess…” he stopped for a moment. “I possibly just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I don’t know any place else that feels more like home to me. Perhaps I also wanted to share it with you.” Then he turned his gaze to you, eyes reflecting the moonlight. He was divine, bewitching. Especially now, when he seemed to be opening up to you for the first time. You felt your heartbeat speed up at his confession.

  “Thank you,” you said softly, diverting your gaze to the waves. “I can understand why you’re so fond of this place. It’s blissful, feels like heaven.”

   He humms, fixing his gaze on the crashing waves above you.

  “Y/N.” He was surveying your face now, as if trying to read you. Expectant. 

  “Yes?”

  “Do you believe in heaven?” His voice is a whisper and, for a moment, you wonder if you’d heard him correctly. 

  That was probably the last question you’d expected from him, it took you completely by surprise. You inhaled deeply, searching for the right words, but ended up blurting what first came to mind.

  “For all I know, heaven is here. Hell, too. I want to be better, yes, for the people I love. I want to be better for whoever needs me to be, because I know how tough this can get. If there’s an afterlife… at least I’ll know that I tried to be good for the right reasons. So yeah, let’s say I don’t dwell on it. Whatever happens, happens.”

   By the time you finished talking, there was something sparkling deep inside his onyx eyes that you couldn’t recognize.

  “That’s sort of refreshing,” and there it was again. The sheepish gummy smile you adored so much, so utterly genuine and divine you thought you’d die.

  “What about you?”

  “Yes. Heaven, Hell, the whole ordeal. Except for God.”

  “But… How would it be possible for all those things to exist without God?”

  “That is not what I said,” he let out a humorless little chuckle. “Let it suffice that God is… I believe, much too real. Just not how humankind paint him to be. I believe God exists; I just don’t believe in him. Not anymore.” His tone was raw and melancholic. You ached with the need to console him, because he seemed adrift; and that bothered you more than it should.

  Without realizing, your face had gotten closer to his, and suddenly he was all over the place. All you could see, smell, hear, it was all him. He must have known, because then he traced your features lightly with his long, graceful fingers. You thought that was it. That was heaven.  

  You closed your eyes so you could savor every second of it, heartbeat going wild and butterflies assaulting your stomach. He lifted his other hand, and now he was cupping your face gingerly, like you were made of glass. Every touch ignited something foreign and glorious inside of you.

  He shifted, moving closer, and his scent hit you, unyielding, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was enough to set something off, and your hands made their way to his neck on their own as you let out a shaky breath. You pressed yourself harder and sucked on his bottom lip, before caressing it with the tip of your tongue, earning a groan from him.

   Well, shit.

  He took the hair in the nape your neck in a dainty – yet firm – fistful, asking permission with his tongue to deepen the kiss. There was no denying him, you could never. His taste, God, you could spend eternity tasting every single bit of him. When he licked past your teeth, you moaned, and it was so utterly pleasing, sinful, that he felt compelled to go harder, mercilessly swirling his tongue inside your mouth. There was no room to breathe, the neediness for one another unbending.

  You don’t know how much time you spent in that haze of mind-numbing desire, but neither of you dared to stop. Until your phone rang.

  You jerked away, pupils blown wide from the intensity of the moment, skin flushed. You were both panting, eyes trained on each other, searching, scrutinizing, waiting for a reaction. His reddened, glistening lips were parted slightly and he seemed displeased to cut the moment short. Even so, he managed to talk.

  “You should probably get that,” he gusted, trying to catch his breath.  You couldn’t find it in yourself to do anything but nod.

  You took the device out of your back pocket and checked the ID caller, brows furrowing. He mirrored your expression.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s a girl from school. We have history class together. That’s… odd,” you said. You and Sarah have never had a real conversation, one that didn’t involve Napoleon or Julien Sorel. You just had her number saved because of a paper you had to do together a while ago. “Hello?”

  “Y/N? Thank God,” she sounded truly relieved. “Look, I’m sorry to bother you but… We’re at the school’s gym and-“ she let out a loud gasp, and only then you noticed the noise in the background, an uproar of voices and… Did you did hear a punch?

  “Sarah? What is it?”

  “Tae’s here. Y/N, you should come…”

  Your blood ran cold.

  “What? Is he okay? Sarah, tell me what’s going on. Now,” you blurted, already standing, missing the way Yoongi’s face contorted in confusion and concern.

  “We tried to stop them, we really did, I-“

  “Sarah,” you grunted.

  “Okay, yeah. Him and Ian are at each other’s throats right now, it’s pretty bad. Y/N, I don’t think it’ll be long before someone calls the cops. I just thought I’d let you know, ‘cause-“

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” you cut her off, and then hang up.

  You were a lot of things at that moment, but mostly worried and angry. You had told him not to, you had told him to let it go, and he went behind your back. You heart rate was through the roof, adrenaline rushing through your veins. But this time, it wasn’t out of passion.

  “Y/N,” Yoongi had a wary look on his face. “Tell me.”

  “Can you take me back? Tae’s in trouble.”

  ||\\

  He hadn’t meant to. He really hadn’t meant to break his promise, but he knew it was bound to be broken the minute he made it. The idea of someone else touching you was torturous enough, but to think of them doing it without your consent actually drove him crazy with rage. Those unbidden images of you scared, asking that piece of shit to stop, only for him to hold you tighter, closer, wrapping his filthy hands around you… it wouldn’t stop coming to him, even though he’d tried his hardest to restrain them. It had haunted him ever since you told him. He felt sick. He hated himself for not being there for you, with you. Like the disgraceful best friend he was, he’d canceled movie night to get wasted. Ugly feelings, even the ones he didn’t care to admit, pierced their sharp claws at his chest. Guilt, exasperation, jealously.

  He’d tried to suppress the bitterness from watching you with the new guy, he tried to be just glad that he was there and hold out against it, because if he wasn’t… The point is: he really tried. But the way you looked at him made Taehyung’s stomach sink. He’d never seen it before, and he craved it like a man in the desert did a single drop of water. He wanted to be on the receiving end of that gaze more than anything.

  He’d go mad if he stayed inside, so he went out for a jog. Your mother had told him you weren’t home, and he figured you’d be at the coffee shop near school. What a big surprise it was when he found Ian next to a blue SUV that was parked near the gymnasium. He choked out a chuckle; it was just too tempting. Rage boiled trough his veins, and at that moment he knew he couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t not break that scumbag in half, even if that meant he’d be going against your wishes.

  So he did. Every punch, given or taken, satisfied him little by little. Because he also deserved to be punished, he thought.

 ||\\

    “What was that shit that you pulled? After I explicitly told you to stay out of it! Why now?”

  Taehyung had a bloody nose, a deep cut just above his eyebrow and some pretty ugly purple spots all over his upper body, staining his previously pristine skin. When you and Yoongi had arrived at school, you discovered he’d been taken. By a police officer, nonetheless.

  You’d been so mad. But now that he was in front of you, all screwed up in torn clothes, the speech you had prepared escaped your mind. You just couldn’t understand his impulsiveness, and the fact that he was in a tiny, smelly cell because of you was infuriating.

  “We both knew it was bound to happen eventually, so I figured rather sooner than later,” he answered nonchalantly.

  “Taehyung,” you said through gritted teeth

  “What, Y/N?!” He snapped. “You wanted me to let him get away with it?”

  “Yes! Yes, I literally told you that that’s what I wanted!”

  “Well, too bad,” he darkly said. He knew he was in the wrong here. But he was just too riled up to think straight.

  “Okay,” you said, taking a sharp intake of breath while running your fingers through your hair, “Okay, let’s be practical about this. Your dad is coming, right? We can talk about it at home.”

  “Fine,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

  “Fine,” you, too, knew how to be petty. “I’ve got to go outside for a minute. Behave,” your gaze flashed to an officer for a second, but quickly made its way back to Taehyung. When you realized he wouldn’t give you an answer, you just sighed and carried yourself out the door.

  As soon as you stepped out of the threshold, you saw Yoongi leaning on his motorcycle, arms crossed and head hanging from his shoulders. You didn’t know what tonight had meant. You wanted to at least try to figure out if he felt the same as you did, but you had bigger problems. And to be honest, you’d rather sleep on it. It was all too intense and hazy.

  “Hey,” you said, walking slowly towards him. He lifted his head and offered a tiny smile.

  “Your boyfriend really hates my guts, doesn’t he?”

  “He’s not-“ you cut yourself off when you realized he was just messing with you again. Of course he is, he stuck his tongue down your throat just an hour ago. “Anyways. I guess Tae will be out in a couple of hours, but I have to stay here and wait for Mr. Kim. Thank you for… tonight.”

  He nodded. “No problem, George. I’ll call y-“

  Suddenly, his eyebrows knitted together and his whole body tensed as he straightened himself. If you ever told anyone about this, you’d probably be admitted in a mental facility. But you swore that, for an instant, his eyes changed colors, going from pitch black to a deep violet. It happened in a heartbeat, and then he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but at something past your shoulder. You felt a chill run down your spine as you turned around to see what caught his attention.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man was walking towards you. As his lean figure got closer, the tension grew almost palpable, and you could see from afar he had a small smile plastered on his plump lips. But it wasn’t comforting at all. Instead, it was vile, almost sadistic. Your head snapped to Yoongi again, and you saw how he didn’t move a muscle, fists closed tight and jaw clenched. That made you panic a little.

  “Yoongi, what-“

  “Y/N, go inside,” his voice was hoarse and restrained, like he hadn’t talked in weeks.

  No, you wanted to say. That man, whoever he was, screamed bad news. He walked like a predator, and you felt like his prey. Though your self-preservation instincts were going wild with every step he took, something stronger made you want to stay. You knew he wasn’t here for you, but for him. And that sparked a need to protect him that you didn’t know to exist, nor where it came from. However, you just kept quiet and waited for the man to catch up, not missing the murderous aura emitted from Yoongi.

  At last, he stood in front of you, reddish hair and twisted smirk still on his face. You could see him clearly now, and he was beautiful. The kind of beauty you’ve only seen once.

  “Has anyone actually pressed charges this time, little brother?” His voice was deceivingly soft.

   Brother?

  “How did you find me?” Yoongi asked with an icy voice that almost made you shudder.

  “Is that how you greet your elders? Father would not be pleased.”

  “Well, you’re one to talk, aren’t you?”

  “People are still hung up on that, I see,” the man chuckled. “Yoongi-ah,” he said, his feet taking him closer at a slower pace. Yoongi kept his ground, knuckles white from his balled-up fists, while you instinctively took a step back. That’s when they both seemed to acknowledge your presence. Yoongi’s eyes bulged slightly, his pale skin becoming ever paler, while the other wore an unreadable expression on his face.

  “I told you to go inside,” he almost growled, taking your wrist in an iron grip and pulling you to stand behind his back. You didn’t understand. You didn’t understand any of it. Why did he seem so threatened by his own blood? The man was scary, sure, but was he actually dangerous? Your head was spinning, so you held onto his jacket to keep yourself vertical.

  “Were you not planning on introducing me to your friend, baby brother? That’s just rude, you know how much I love meeting new people.”

  “I’d advise you to be careful now, Jin.” The threat in Yoongi’s low voice was noticeable even to you, but Jin didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he relished on it. His little brother didn’t get all protective over just anyone, and the fact that he didn’t want the eldest to know about you pointed straight to a weak spot. One which he intended to take full advantage of.

  “Easy, Prince, no need to get riled up,” Jin chuckled again, lifting both hands in a sign of peace. “What do you take me for?”

  “Neither of us can deny your nature, can we, brother? It’s the reason why we’re here in the first place.”

  “It’s true. Have you told her your name yet? Since you appear very comfortable sharing such details in front of her.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought I had made myself clear the last time we saw each other,” Yoongi changed the subject, hoping you wouldn’t pay much attention to his question.

  Jin’s face turned serious for the first time before he spoke. “They approached me, Yoongi-ah. It would seem that they need their Flam-“

  “Quit it!” Yonngi growled. “Hold your tongue, I don’t want to hear any of it. You need to go.”

  “Not until I have delivered my message.” The well-proportioned man stood his ground.

  Yoongi took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He could not have this kind of conversation in front of you – in front of anyone, for that matter. Jin was breaking the rules; an old habit of his. “Then I need you to wait for me at home. I suppose you already know where I live, don’t you? I’ll meet you there soon.”

  “Alright then. Y/N, it was splendid meeting you. I do hope I get to see you again soon.”

  Yoongi scowled as he watched Jin turn on his heels and disappear in the night. For all he knew, Jin would never get this close to you ever again. He was caught off guard today. He then turned around, black orbs scrutinizing you for a reaction.    

  There were many things going through your mind at that exact moment. Too many questions, he could tell. You looked at him in a grimace of confusion and horror.

  “How did he know my name?” That was the first thing that popped into your mind. You hadn’t said your name, neither did Yoongi. “And who’s ‘they’? And did he really just call you prince? Is that a pet name or something?” You blurted out, sensing you wouldn’t have too much time to elaborate the questions the way you wanted to.

  He looked into your eyes, face contorted in what you could only describe as a desperate hesitation, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a fine line. He was pondering his options. You knew that because, when he made up his mind, you could clearly see the taint of resolution.

  “I can’t answer your questions,” he muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m really sorry, Y/N. Please, just forget about this. All of it.”

  “What are you talking about?” you were on the brink of losing it at this point. First Taehyung, and now this. He wasn’t making any sense. But his eyes spoke to you in ways he couldn’t. Only then, you understood. “No,” you said with a resolution of your own. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me right away, whatever it is, just don-“

  “Y/N.”

  “Yes?!”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Listen to me just this once,” he groaned, stepping into your personal space. He twisted your hair in one hand, holding your face securely to his. When he rested his forehead on yours, your eyes gave into his wishes, closing on their own. “I’ll be gone for a little while, George,” your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt him. He gave you a light peck on the mouth, lips soft and moist, breath hot on your face. “I have to settle some things straight. Be good for me while I’m gone, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid,” he frowned.

  “Will you come back?” your voice almost cracked, ‘cause you weren’t so sure of his answer. You felt foolish. You’ve only known him for a short period of time, after all. But the intensity of your feelings, though you couldn’t discern them clearly yet, scared you.

  This felt horribly like goodbye – it was, at least for now – and you hated it.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes,” you answered straight away.

  “Alright,” he nodded. “Then I will.”

  You didn’t dare open your eyes when he stepped away from you after one last chaste peck on your lips, nor when you heard him start the engine of his Triumph. But when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, you jolted slightly and your eyes fluttered open.  

  “Let’s get you inside, kid” Mr. Kim said softly, brushing away a lonesome tear from your cheek. “Then you can help me scold my boy for making us come all the way to the police station on a school day, how does that sound?” he tried to uplift your spirit, and you offered him a half-hearted smile.

   ||\\

                                                       “Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;

And in the lowest deep a lower deep

Still threatening to devour me opens wide,

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.

Oh then at last relent: is there no place

Left for repentance, none for pardon left?”

     It’d been four weeks since the last time you saw him. A whole month since he’d disappeared completely. At first, you waited anxiously for him to reappear out of nowhere. For him to just slide into the classroom, like he’d done the first time. But as time passed by and the third week came, you grew worried. He didn’t get specific about how much time it would take for him to do whatever it was, but you imagined it would be one, maybe two weeks. But now, a month later, you were beginning to wonder if he’d even come back at all. If something had happened, if he was okay…

  No. He promised.

  You’d rather not dwell on the possibility of something going wrong – hell, you didn’t even know what he was doing or what was that strange conversation he had with his deviant brother in front of the police station. You had a few theories, though. Not that you’d ever utter them out loud.

  Number one: mafia. Maybe not The Godfather sort of thing, since that seemed pretty outdated, but rather… Scarface, perhaps? So you had come up with the idea of Jin being a druglord; nothing more, nothing less. It made sense, to be honest.

  Number two: well, number two wasn’t exactly clear on your mind, but had something to do with super rich parents and an insane heritage. He could be the prince of an empire, right? You didn’t know anything about his family, except that his brother was blood-curdling.

  You just wished to keep your head in the right place until he explained the situation to you. If he explained, that is. Sighing, you tried to contain your derailed thoughts and get back to the real world, where Taehyung needed you to pay attention to Mamma Mia! for the nth time.

  “Alright, that’s it. You didn’t even sing along during S.O.S and that’s where I draw the line,” he said, taking the remote from your hand and pausing the movie. It was a cozy night and you were both plopped on the couch wearing socks and sweatpants.

  “When have I ever sang along during S.O.S, Tae?”

  “I remember it vividly, we were eleven. But that’s not the point,” he retorted. You bit your lip and kept your eyes trained on the frozen screen of the TV, already sensing where this was going. “You’ve been like this for a while now.”

  “Like what?” you pushed, trying to feign innocence. You were not in the mood for this right now. You just wanted to stare unseeingly at the TV and have some private time with your own thoughts until the movie was over.

  He sighed. “Look, I can only guess what’s going on,” he scowled, but tried to compose his features into a serene mask before speaking again. “But I need you to not be in your own head for a minute.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I want to help,” he said, taking your hand in his. The touch was warm and familiar.

  “I know, Marzipan,” another sigh. You took your hand from his carefully and got up. “I’m going to the store, you want something?”

  “What, now? Y/N-“

  “I just-, I need coffee and snacks if we’re pulling this off. If you want me to keep my eyes opened during Moulin Rouge, that is,” you pointed out matter-of-factly

  Taehyung shifted in his seat, face contorted in confusion, wariness and a hint of hurt. “Do you want me to go with you? It’s late.”

  “No, it’s fine. You can stay and plan ahead, I’m sure we’re not stopping at the next one.”

  He watched you silently while you fumbled for your keys. When you found them, he muttered: “Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.”

  As soon as you crossed the threshold, the cold air of the night hit your skin, making you shiver slightly. You closed the door and hid your hands in the pockets of your sweater, bringing it closer to your body in a poor attempt to keep the warmth from escaping.

  Walking towards the convenience store located a couple of blocks from your house, you let yourself get lost in headspace again. You knew you weren’t being fair to Taehyung. As much as you wanted to talk about this situation with him, you couldn’t. It felt like betraying someone who hadn’t even put their trust in you to begin with. Yes, it was unfair, and maybe you were being a shitty friend every time he tried to have a serious conversation about the subject and you brushed him off with an excuse, like getting coffee in the middle of the night.

  You sighed, not really willing to wallow in guilt tonight, and just tried to focus on your immediate task. One step after the other, then one more, and you could already see the lights of a tiny single shop, the only one opened this late at night. It belonged to Mr. Newton, a sweet old baker who treated you kindly every time he was filling up for his cashier.

  You entered the store and heard the little bell announce your arrival. Much to your surprise, Mr. Newton was working there that night. As he saw your expression of detachment, he frowned. So you tried to arrange your features in a polite smile before speaking.

  “Hello, Mr. Newton.”

  “Y/N, child, why are you wandering alone when it’s already this late?” he asked softly, though clearly concerned for your safety.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” you answered, walking towards the cooler where they kept the iced coffee and taking two in one hand, as you went for the chips next. “Tae and I needed a little snack. Movie night.”

  He nodded and you placed the items on the counter for him to scan.

  “Well, then. Tell that kid to come by whenever he can. My wife wants to send some essential oils for Mr. Kim’s aromatherapy sessions,” just as he’d said it, he got a bit closer to you, as if the next words to come out of his mouth were a secret. “Truth is, she misses him. The boy is the only one who can stand her cooking.”

  Despite being moody, you chuckled wholeheartedly. No one could be indifferent to Taehyung’s charms, it seemed.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll tell him.”

  As you went through your wallet to pay the old man, you heard the little bell once again. Mr. Newton greeted the new client, but you were too engrossed in finding the right bills to snap your head in the newcomer’s direction. However, the inquisitive sound that left the old man caused you to steal a glimpse, catching auburn hair and broad shoulders in their wake. You stood still for a moment, trying to recall why those locks seemed so familiar. Until it hit you.

  “Jin?” you breathed, not loud enough for anyone in the store to actually hear you. Just as you muttered his name, he closed the door and turned left, disappearing from your sight. You gasped. “Keep the change, Mr. Newton!” you said – audibly, this time – leaving a ten dollar bill on the counter and grabbing your stuff as gracefully as you could muster, rushing to the door like your life depended on it.

  “No running in the store, kid!” he tried to scold you, but could already feel the cool breeze as you opened the door and looked around, expecting to find his brother. Only this time around you weren’t scared, no. You wanted answers, heart beating fast at the possibility of hearing from Yoongi, maybe even seeing him… Okay, no, not the time for this, first things first.

  When you realized he was nowhere to be found, you ran. Left. He went left. You passed by a few houses and almost tripped on a stray cat, turning your head to the side to check on it and apologizing profusely as you picked up your pace again. A few blocks later, you were already out of breath. You came to a halt and put both hands on your knees, gasping and feeling your lungs burn.

  Trying to ease your labored breathing, you realized that you were probably going crazy. A halfhearted chuckle escaped your parted lips. You were disappointed, even if actually meeting the redhead meant trouble. Trying not to let frustration and melancholy get the best of you, you decided to just let it go and head back home. Even if it was Jin, he probably wouldn’t tell you anything anyway.

 ||\\

    The snow under your feet was slippery as you got out of the library, leather backpack and navy-blue beanie on. You held a large cappuccino on one hand, careful not to spill it as you dodged passers-by and umbrellas every now and then. The streets were a little crowded that afternoon, and you were dying to get home and relish on Mrs. D’Angelis’ famous chicken noodle soup. Maybe she’d even grant you a warm glass of wine if you asked properly. You tried to occupy your mind with ordinary, day-to-day thoughts, trying to ignore the flutter on the pit pf your stomach.

  During that entire week, you were constantly under the impression that something was off. When you were going to school with Taehyung, or grocery shopping for your mother, there was always that tingling feeling on the nape of your neck that told you that someone was watching. Then you’d turn around and nothing. No one was ever there. The uneasiness was uncomfortable, but you didn’t feel endangered, just really jittery. And your motto was: no better medicine for anxiety than tons of caffeine.

  “Mom, I’m home!” you crooned, taking your coat off and discarding the empty thermal cup.

  “In the kitchen, honey!”

  The smell was splendid. You took a deep breath, already yearning for the hot meal, and kissed your mother on the cheek while she stirred… something.

  “Uh, smells nice,” you praised, making your way to the fridge for a glass of water. “I’m shocked Tae hasn’t come knocking on our door yet. Maybe his flair is broken because of the flu.”

  “Is Taehyungie sick, honey? Why didn’t you tell me?” she almost whined.

  “It’s nothing, just a bit of phlegm. But I’ll take some of these,” you pointed to the pots, “for him and his dad later.”

  “You really should. Now go upstairs and change before dinner.”

  You mumbled a response and climbed the stairs to put on some good old band t-shirt and sweatpants. You didn’t notice the broad-shouldered frame behind the door, and as soon as you closed it behind you, you felt a cold hand covering your mouth, while the other held you in place by the waist. Your whole body tensed, eyes bulged and breath hitched. Fuck. You were prepared to let out a loud scream, but his whispered voice stopped you.

  “It’s me, it’s me,” he shushed you. As a reflex, your muscles relaxed. “Gonna take my hand off your mouth now, George,” he informed, slowly moving his hand from your face.

  Of course it was him. His smell was all over the place, his touch still left little electric jolts on your skin. You snapped your head and turned around to face him. You realized your memories could never do him justice. He was so heartbreakingly handsome, you could cry. Pale skin, shiny disheveled raven hair. You noticed the circles under his eyes were darker and he seemed exhausted. Regardless, when your eyes fell on his lips, your body reacted before your mind could.

  Your hands made their way to the nape of his neck, caressing and gently pulling his hair. At the same time, you clasped your lips together on a desperate kiss. His surprise didn’t stop him from matching your frenzy, grunting as he sucked your upper lip and asked permission with his tongue, one that you promptly granted. Henceforth, your tongues performed an erotic, lewd dance as they fought for dominance, swirling and exploring each other’s mouths.

  Only when the back of your knees touched the bed did you realize he was moving you towards it. He broke the kiss for a moment to mercilessly throw you on the soft duvet, and you let out a surprised moan when he immediately covered your body with his, mouth returning to yours. A primal need surged from within you when you felt one of his hands roaming at your side lustfully, gabbing tight on your ribcage, your waist, your hip. He hoisted your leg and you hooked it around him, holding back a loud moan when he pressed his erection to your groin. You could feel your panties drenching from the sudden contact, a new wave of desire making your core ache.

  “Y/N-“ he tried to speak through heavy breathing, his lips never leaving yours long enough for him to finish a sentence. “Baby,” he groaned, obviously trying to say something, but you weren’t ready yet. You rocked your hips against him, earning another lecherous noise from his rosy lips as he closed his eyes shut.

  You used that moment of weakness to knock him to his side, climbing on top of him as you clamped your thighs harder on his hips. His eyes went dark at the sight, a devilish smirk tainting his beautiful features. You didn’t give him time to say anything, taking his lips on another bruising kiss. His hands on your ass, squeezing and groping, and you felt him throb inside his pants. You moaned, a gush of wetness coming out as you clenched around nothing. You couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, pressing yourself harder against his bulge as you rolled your hips, searching blindly and desperately for a sweet release that was already so close…

  “Hold it, baby.” His voice was stern, and he pinned both your wrists on your back, his hands seeming incredibly big when closed around them. He was sitting now, hot, labored breath hitting your lips, heightening your senses and sending shivers down your spine. You crumbled under his dominant demeanor, feeling an inconceivable need to obey, and instantly stood still. It surprised him as much as it did you, and you saw a smug grin plaster itself on his face. “That’s it. Be good for me so I don’t lose my mind.”

  You let out a breath you didn’t know to be holding and weakly nodded, mind still clouded with want. He let go of your wrists and gently pecked your lips, sitting you down on the bed instead of his lap. Father knows he would be physically uncapable of having a proper train of thought if he didn’t.

  “So… I guess we have a lot to discuss first, don’t we?” his smile was sheepish now, hands going through his hair in a nervous tick.

  “Yes,” you breathed out. “What happened? I was so worried, Yoongi, you have no idea. I didn’t even know where you were or what the hell you were up to, I-“ you took a moment in order to stabilize your voice. You knew you were affected by his sudden absence, you just didn’t know how much until now that he was actually in front of you. “I don’t even know what the worst case scenario could be, but I bet my thoughts came pretty close,” you chuckled humorlessly.

  “I’m sorry, I never meant to worry you. If I knew I’d be gone for that long, I would’ve told you before I left. I missed you so much,” he confessed, voice lower than before, and rested his forehead on your own.

  “Tell me. Please, I need to know,” your brows furrowed.

  “I met my brothers,” he paused, waiting for a reaction that never came. It’s not that you were not surprised by the information that he had other siblings, you just wanted him to finish it before you spoke. “Jin aside, I spent… years apart from my family. You could say that we didn’t leave things on the best of terms when I left father’s, so it was a surprise for me when I learned that they wanted to talk. Notwithstanding that it’s out of need, not love.” His heavenly features contorted in hurt and resentment, and you felt you own heart clench. You gave him an eskimo kiss as a sign of reassurance and he smiled timidly. “They offered to take me back. It’s… certainly a grand gesture for the likes of us,” he shook his head slightly and knitted his brows.

  “Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you miss them?” you didn’t know why your voice was so small.

  “Not anymore, no.” His gaze was intense and made your heart beat impossibly faster. “I do miss them. They used to be my whole existence, the reason for every breath of mine. But now… now everything’s changed.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “You.”

  Your breath hitched. If it was anyone else, if it was any other situation, you’d laugh at the cheesy line. But this was him, and that, too, changed everything. That one word was enough to unleash butterflies in your stomach, enough of them to knock you breathless. The truth behind his statement carried a heavy meaning, one that you yearned for and that made you giddy. His onyx orbs were wary, and you wondered if he was blind to the utter relief plastered on your face. It was selfish, but you couldn’t help it. Not when it came to him.

  “H-How come?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t get bashful on me now, George, I’m pretty sure you understand.”

  You tried to scowl, but the grin was insistent on your lips. “Alright, let’s put a pin on that. You still haven’t told me everything. What did your brothers want?”

  “Y/N, there are certain things about me and my family that I cannot tell you. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  “You don’t trust me?” you were mainly curious, but a hint of hurt could be heard, too.

  “That’s not it. It just wouldn’t be safe for you.”

  “Is your family involved in something… illegal? Is that why?”

  “Not illegal, no,” he chuckled.

  “Then I don’t understand.”

  “I know. But please, George, don’t be stubborn about this one. All I’m asking for is a leap of faith,” his eyes were pleading as they bore into yours. Was he aware that he could probably convince you that the sky was neon green if he looked at you like that?

  “It’s a big leap,” you mumbled.

  “I know. Just trust that I have good reasons,” he smiled softly.

  You sighed. “Fine, Romeo, keep your secrets. Just tell me if you get too deep into whatever it is that the Min’s are hiding. I care about your safety just as much as you care about mine.” You forced the heat back, secretly hoping that it did not reach your face in time for you to actually blush.

  “Doubt it,” he grinned. “Dinner is ready, Mrs. D’Angelis will be coming for you soon. I should get going.”

  Your face paled as you rushed to the wardrobe, retrieving some clean clothes from your drawer. “Wait,” you stopped on your tracks in the middle of the room, glaring at Yoongi through narrowed eyes. “How do you know that?”

  “I have my ways,” he shrugged, then tugged his lips upwards on a daring smirk. “It’s a secret.”

  “If you keep giving me clues I might just figure it out. Go on.”

  He chuckled and stood up from the bed, walking languidly in your direction. He touched your nose with the tip of his index finger, tracing it’s way all up to your forehead, then coming down to your jaw, where he grabbed firmly. His lips were smooth and slightly damped as they softly touched yours in a chaste kiss. A ragged sigh of pure bliss escaped you, and you tried to fight the haziness.

  “Bye, George,” he was still lingering when he spoke. As he broke the contact and turned to the window, you woke up from the trance.

  “Stay,” you breathed out. He looked at you with a hint of confusion. “I-I mean, you can stay if you want. I can bring you some of mom’s soup and we can eat it here. But you don’t have to, if you’re bus-“

  “Okay,” he deadpanned.

  “Okay. Yeah, uhm… I’ll go change in the bathroom, you can make yourself comfortable.”

  “Already am,” he said as he threw himself on the bed, bouncing a little. His countenance was amused and he eyed you intently, toying with the elephant plushie.

  “Of course you are,” you snorted, carrying yourself to the bathroom.

  That night, you both relished on your mother’s cooking while watching some old movie about Cole Porter on your laptop. You were sure that it wasn’t his cup of tea, but he payed attention to it nonetheless. After you were done, you offered to take the dishes downstairs, since your mother would probably have a stroke if she knew there was a boy in your room. You stopped by Taehyung’s to check on him and offer his favorite hot meal, but it didn’t take more than five minutes. You were on a hurry, and he knew better than to question it.

  Back upstairs, you and Yoongi curled up under the covers and tried to find something interesting enough to watch for what seemed to be ages, your head resting on his chest and his hands holding you securely by the waist. It wasn’t long until you fell asleep, and only then did he leave, pecking your forehead gently before jumping out the window.

  ||\\

  “Get in.”

  “No,” you tried to end the discussion then and there. As expected, you failed.

  “Y/N, you can’t go back on pinky promise. You should’ve thought this through.” His goal was to sound stern, but in reality you could see the hint of a pout on his lips. “It’s my birthday.” Okay, there it was. That was definitely a pout.

  “No,” you closed your eyes shut and facepalmed – for good measure. “Don’t give me those eyes, I’m not looking,” the sound was muffled by your hands.

  He wrapped his incredibly large fingers around your wrists and whined: “Come on, we’re already here. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Why on earth would you say that?” you instantly took your hands from your face and shot him a glare. He had the nerve to chuckle.

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this alone.”

  “You can’t possibly expect me to do this at all,” you retorted, kicking the snow piled up near the curb, shunning away from his puppy dog eyes.

  “You promised you would! I’ll do it, Marzipan. If you win this round, I’ll get a tattoo with you as a birthday present,” his voice was high pitched.

  You snorted. “I was out of it, mental faculties completely fried. Drunk on power and merlot. Plus, I’m pretty sure you cheated, you could never beat me at Mario Kart,” you grumbled.

  “I did not cheat,” he was outraged. “I’m a lawful man, I abide by the rules, and they are clear: a bet is a bet.”

  You honestly have no idea why you let him talk you into this. Perhaps because you’ve been feeling guilty lately, and therefore didn’t have the heart to turn him down when he broke into your room to collect his victory this morning. It’s a good present, right? To get tattoos with your best friend? He had been trying to convince you since three birthdays ago. You hoped it would be enough to ease a bit of the weight on your chest.

  Truth is, you had been spending too much time with Yoongi these past few weeks. After what happened when he showed his face again, it became routine that he came by almost every night when your mom fell asleep. You’d talk, watch movies, kiss… But what you enjoyed the most were those moments where you curled up in his embrace, face buried in the crook of his neck, and neither of you would say a word. You’ve always appreciated peaceful silence, but those moments were so much more. You felt truly connected to him, in a way you’d never felt with anyone else. Like you were both pieces of the same puzzle, cheesy lines aside.

  Or when he would be the one to rest his head on your chest, blinking lazily as you twisted his silky, raven locks in your fingers. Perhaps those were truly your favorites, as you felt the incontrollable urge – need – to be protective of him, to never let anything disturb his serene, almost childlike countenance, so bare before you in the night’s veil. Before the sun came up and brought back the little wrinkle between his eyebrows.

  During the day, you often returned to his safe haven – one that ultimately became yours, too. The waves breaking against the rocks, the salty breeze, the deep blue of the ocean, you had gotten acquainted to it all in a heartbeat. On occasion, you’d bring warm, fuzzy blankets, hot cocoa and books, spending an entire afternoon on your own personal eden.

  You never meant for any of it to get in the way of your friendship with Taehyung, but counterbalancing proved to be harder than you first thought. Although you may have gotten too caught up, inevitably distancing yourself a bit, you were now eager to make it up to him. He was like family, after all. So here you were.

  “Fine, have it your way. But I’m telling mom that you put me up to this,” you threatened. The snow under your boots making a crunchy noise while you crossed the street to get to the tattoo parlor.

  “She won’t believe you. I’m a saint. I’m her Taehyungie.” He was beaming.

  As soon as you got in, you saw a man sitting behind the counter. He was buff, and you’d bet that pretty much his whole body was covered in piercings and tattoos – mostly about dragons and snakes. Looks aside, his voice was warm and welcoming when he greeted you.

  “Welcome, kids. My name is Eli, how may I help you today?”

  All the drawings and pictures on the walls seemed to have detained Taehyung’s attention, so you plastered a polite smile on your face before answering.

  “Hi. My friend over here came to get a tattoo,” you pointed at the boy beside you and he scowled.

  “We both did,” he smiled at the receptionist.

  “Alright. You have to sign a couple of forms before we get into details. You’re both legal, right?” the receptionist asked and you nodded. “Peach. Just a second,” he turned his attention to the computer in front of him, taking a couple of papers from the printer soon after. He handled you each a consent form. Before you signed yours, you exchanged a look with Taehyung, almost having a whole conversation – bickering – with him through knowing looks.

  “Here you go,” Taehyung handed the papers to Eli.

  “Cool. Do you guys have something in mind? We have a few drafts you can check out. But if you already know what you want, Hyunjin can draw it when you get inside. Don’t worry, he’s good.”

  “I have something in mind,” Taehyung offered a bright boxy smile. “I guess I’ll just explain it to him, then.”

  “Great,” Eli turned his eyes to you, realizing that you definitely had not made up your mind just yet. “If that’s the case, I’ll let him know that you’re going in,” he said to Taehyung, who nodded in response. When the buffy man went to the back, he glared at you through narrowed eyes.

  “I’ll come back with permanent ink on my skin. You better not chicken out by the time I’m done,” he threatened.

  “Hope you don’t regret it within the year,” you taunted.

  “I won’t,” he snorted.

  Eli returned a second later, excusing himself to lead Taehyung to the tattoo artist. In the meantime, you picked a binder that was resting on top of the counter to take a look at the drawings he’d mentioned, hoping to find something you’d actually like – or at least an inspiration. Most of them were very intricate, and although they were beautiful, you wanted something simple. Less is more when you’re tainting your skin for life because of a bet.

  You were turning the pages with such disinterest that you almost missed it. It seemed unfinished, just a sketch, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason as to why it caught your attention in the first place. It was a dragon intertwined in a circle, it’s countenance exuding fierceness and strength. Inside the circle, however, was just an unembellished arrangement of lines, one that was strangely familiar and alluring. 9-7-1-12-6, if you think about a clock.

  “Oh, I see you’ve found Lee’s work. What do you think?” Eli pulled you out of your headspace.

  “Uhm… Yeah, he’s great. His drawings are pretty authentic.”

  “Uh huh, he’s been working on those for a while now. So, do you have any idea what you’re gonna get yet?”

  “Not really. I mean, I liked this one,” you pointed to the page you were previously analyzing. “Do you know if it means anything in particular?”

  “Yes! Actually, it does, but I can’t really remember what. I think it’s a sigil, though. You know, one of those thingies people believe to be magical.”

  “Mhm.” You really didn’t know why you felt the need to purge those next words, but you were saying them before you could stop yourself. “This is it.”

  “What? You’re gonna tattoo that?” Without even knowing what it means?

  “Yes. I liked the dragon.”

  ||\\

  His lips were soft against your collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps on their wake when he moved them lazily to your jawline, wet little kisses making you squirm and sigh. His index finger was tracing patterns on your bare thigh, caressing and examining as if he’d never done it before, as if you were a made of glass. The sun had graced you with its appearance for the first time in weeks, and you wanted to enjoy the good weather as much as possible, so you had convinced Yoongi to lay on the grass by your side.

  “Tired of Miss Brontë already, love?” his velvety voice evinced his amusement.

  “Can’t read. You’re distracting me.”

  He chuckled lightly, delivering small puffs of air on the crook of your neck, and raised his head just enough to look at you, blocking the sunlight and making it possible for you open your eyes. Before he’d made his mission to disturb your concentration, you were reading for him, like people do with kids before they go to bed. It became a thing after the first time you did it, and now he picked a different book every week or so. When you’d asked about it, he just shrugged and declared that ‘It’s just nice. I like hearing you.’ This week, it was Wuthering Heights.

  “Continue, please,” he adjured, laying his head on your chest as a demonstration of good will. You grabbed the book you’d previously set aside and opened it, leaving one hand free to play with his locks.

  “That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least, for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags. In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day, I am surrounded with her image. The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.”

  His eyes were no longer closed, he was gazing at you.

  “Do you pity him?” he suddenly asked.

  “Heathcliff? I don’t.”

  He nodded slowly. “So, you think there’s no redemption, then?”

  “Not for him. He lived and died as an antagonist. Some might think his cruelty is just an expression of his frustrated love for Catherine, or that he conceals at least some virtue, a romantic heart. They expect him to be anything but what he constantly proves to be, they expect misunderstood heroes. But he himself acknowledges his sadistic nature.”

  He stood still, seeming to be lost in thoughts while tracing invisible patterns on your shoulder and refusing to meet your eyes.

  “Would you be able to love someone as tainted as him?” he asked wistfully.

  You lifted your upper body, compelling him to a sitting position as well.

  “I’ve never had to,” you pecked his lips chastely, even though he still kept his eyes trained on the grass underneath you. “Hey,” you dig your nails gently on the nape of his neck, asking for his attention. When he raised his head, the wrinkle between his eyebrows was there again. It worried you that, since he’s been back, it’s been a constant feature of his. Every now and then, his face twisted into an inscrutable grimace. “You understand, don’t you?”

  A half-hearted nod was your response, and he built up the mask to conceal his discomfort once again.

  “Enough vitamin D for you? I can’t stand the heat,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah,” you chuckled, pressing your lips to his forehead and standing up, stretching a helping hand. “Where do you want to go?”

  “My place.”

  Which was code for: Your mom is home and I want to pass out on my bed nuzzling you.

  “Whatever you want, grandpa.”

  “Be a brat and I’ll hit the throttle,” he threatened, positioning himself on top of his Triumph. Sometimes he took full advantage of just how dreadful you found his two-wheeled vehicle. And it always worked. You snorted, climbing on the back seat and wrapping your arms around him. “Hold tight, George.” His warning was delivered with amusement, but you knew better than to take it lightly.

  The fifteen-minute trip went as smoothly as it could, and even though you’d made sure to keep your eyes closed, you still felt dizzy and light-headed when he parked into the old building’s garage. He sensed your distress and got off the motorcycle slowly, careful when untangling you’re your arms from his waist and never completely breaking physical contact.

  “Open your eyes,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back and the other placed on your hip. You took a deep breath and your eyelids tentatively fluttered. His lips brushed your right cheek as he effortlessly lifted you and put you down on the floor, covering the entirety of your hand with his and making a beeline for the elevator.  

  Yoongi’s apartment was on the fourth floor, which happened to be the last one – the building was a small, fading-yellow rectangle in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. In a way, it suited him. Secluded and discreet. Perfect for a misanthrope such as himself, given that you’d never even bumped into one of his neighbors – and you’d been visiting quite regularly. On another note, however, it was uncannily unpretentious for someone like him.

  He stopped for a moment on the front door, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. As soon as he opened it, you made your way to the couch, crashing with a sigh, face buried in the cushion. A minute had passed before he plopped on top of you, compelling a puff of air out of your lungs. You grumbled something about manslaughter, but the sound was muffled. He ignored you, making himself comfortable by nuzzling your neck and taking off his shoes using only his feet. You chuckled, making an effort to turn on your back so you could catch a breath.

  “Sleepy?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair. He hummed a response, content with your ministrations. “I, uh… have something to show you.”

  He raised his head from your throat, eyeing you curiously. “What is it?”

  “Bedroom,” you commanded.

  “Oh, I see,” he taunted, but stood up nonetheless. You rolled your eyes.

  You guided him to his room and closed the door behind you. He leisurely sat on the bed, waiting cautiously for you to proceed. You sucked in a deep breath, growing doubtful under his gaze. Pushing all insecurities aside, you unzipped your shorts.

  “Y/N, what are you doing?” he warned in a low-pitched, deep voice, orbs darkening considerably. You dismissed it, tiptoeing closer to him. He straightened his back and raised his eyes to meet yours, searching for any indication of what you intended to do. You pushed the waistband down, letting the piece of clothing pool on the floor, but he didn’t flinch, attention still focused on your features. When you hooked one finger on the hem of your white panties, he quickly snatched your wrist on a tight grip, brows knitting together. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, baby. You know that, right?”

  Your chest swelled with warmth and affection. After the night he came back, things heated up a couple of times. Once he’d realized how tense and anxious you got at first, he began to hold back, withstanding your advances. You never verbalized anything, but he had a hunch, and pressuring you was definitely not on his to-do list. He was being respectful and caring, and although you shouldn’t accept nothing less, it made you feel safe. He made you feel safe, always.

  “Let me show you,” you murmured, a soft smile blooming on your face. He seemed puzzled, but ended up nodding warily. When you moved your finger, slightly pushing the fabric down to expose your hip, he finally had the guts to jeopardize his restraint and look down. You didn’t know what you expected his reaction to be, but that certainly wasn’t it.

  His breath hitched and he paled, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. He didn’t move a single muscle, whole body tensing up. It was as if he couldn’t fully comprehend the sight before him, like he couldn’t believe. He composed himself soon enough, but you could still see the glint of shock in his eyes. It didn’t make any sense.

  “When did you get that?” his voice came out flat and a few octaves lower than usual.

  “A couple of weeks ago,” you frowned. The tattoo that marked your hip was now almost fully healed. You were doubtful in the beginning, but now you kind of grew fond of it. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you know…” he cleared his throat, fingers twitching. “Do you know what it means?”

  “Not exactly,” you confessed sheepishly. “The tattoo artist said it was a religious symbol and… Truth be told, I’m not even sure why I did this. Just felt right,” you mumbled, realizing then that you probably sounded a tad out of it. You held your lip between your teeth, unsettled.

  “Yes. It’s the sigil of one of the seven archangels, love. It’s… Michael’s… sigil,” his jaw clenched, but his tone was now softer. “It’s used to invoke strength and protection. The ancients believed that, if you will it enough, he will be able to hear your prayers and, perhaps, be of assistance,” he laid his hand flat on your skin, stroking the symbol with his thumb, oblivious to the little jolts of electricity the simple gesture sent through your body. An unfamiliar mixture of dejection, despair and awe flashed through his onyx eyes, and you wondered what it was that he wasn’t telling you that could’ve possibly elicited such reaction.  

  “How do you know all that?” you wanted him to focus on something other than whatever it was that poisoned his thoughts.

  “Father taught me,” he shrugged.

  It’d been a while since he last mentioned his family. But you knew he was thinking about them whenever you saw the accentuated wrinkle every time he furrowed his brows, or when his muscles felt so tense to the touch that he was akin to marble against your skin. He was worried, he had been for a while now. And it scared you. You needed to know.

  “Yoongi…” the uncertainty that laced your tone made him squeeze your flesh encouragingly. “Where is he? Your dad.”

  “Home,” he stated tersely.

  “I know, but… Where is home? And what about your brothers? I know you said you don’t speak to them anymore, you just never explained why.”

  “We’ve already talked about this. They’re home, too. Y/N, just forget it,” he shook his head, avoiding your gaze.

  “Why do you build this wall between us every time? It’s frustrating. I can help-“

  “You can’t,” he deadpanned, breaking off any contact when he got up, making his way to the door. His demeanor screamed for you to back off, that he had no interest in continuing the conversation. But you were done being left in the dark.

  “Why is it so hard for you to trust me, huh?”

  “I already told you that it’s not a trust issue,” he raised his voice. “Why can’t you accept that I don’t want you to get caught up in the middle of my mess?”

  “Well, I am caught up in the middle of your mess!” you roared. “You were gone for an entire month and have been on edge ever since you got back. Something’s going on, I’m not stupid.”

  “Jesus Christ, Y/N,” a deep growl escaped his throat. “It’s none of your business, if we’re being honest here. They’re my problems, I’m the only one who can fix them – hell, not even that.”

  “If you could stop being such a jerk for a second, you’d realize that they became my problems, too, as soon as I fell in love with you. But you’re so far up your own ass that we can’t even discuss things without yelling at each other,” you spit the words. “Do you know what it’s like for me to watch you struggle like you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders? Especially when my hands are tied,” you stepped closer to his figure, heart hammering on your chest after your little speech. It was nothing but a whisper when you said, “You’re not alone, you idiot.”

  His whole expression softened, and you could recognize a faint smile on his velvety lips. Taking a deep breath, he closed the distance between the both of you and let his hand rest on the column of your neck.

  “I am an idiot,” he nodded, visibly calmer. “And you’re stubborn, you know that?”

  “Might have heard something about it,” you grumbled.

  He hummed. “Forgive me. Could you?”

  “Maybe. Will you… I mean, I just wish you’d open up a little. I’m scared, Yoongi,” you confessed.

  “Me, too.”

  “I know. That’s why.”

  He shook his head and lowered it until his skin touched yours. “I’m scared of your reaction, baby. I don’t know if you’ll want me once you discover the truth,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

  “I’d say you’re safe. Unless your family is trying to coerce you into becoming a real life Michael Corleone. You didn’t shoot anyone in the head, did you?”

  He chuckled wholeheartedly and took a step back to maintain eye contact and mock you properly. “That’s your theory? That I’m a mobster?”

  You looked down sheepishly, before answering nonchalantly in a small voice, “One of them.” He couldn’t help himself, even though his hand was pressed tight against his mouth and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears of amusement. He tittered.

  “May I know the others?”

  “No,” you glared.

  “Oh, George, what if I ask nicely? What if I say please?”

  “Not even then.”

  “How about pretty please?” You shook your head, trying to pass through him to get to the kitchen, but he encircled his arms around you from behind before you could grasp the knob. “And what if I tell you that I am, too?” he breathed in the shell of your ear and you held your breath for a second. You didn’t need him to vocalize what you already knew, but you felt butterflies fluttering anyways. Still, you kept your ground, suddenly very conscious of the fact that your shorts were still pooled on the floor near the bed.

  “Closer, goodfella. But not enou-“

  The loud bangs on the front door cut you midsentence. You felt Yoongi’s body stiffen before something that sounded terribly similar to a low growl broke out of his throat.

  “Get dressed and stay here,” he ordered, authoritative. He didn’t spare you a glance before exiting the bedroom, and you felt a dreadful feeling claw up your insides, piercing your gut and making you nauseous. Pulse thrumming viciously under your skin, you fetched your shorts and wiggled it up, fastening the belt with shaky hands. Stop overreacting, you told yourself over and over, growing more anxious by the second. You couldn’t understand why, to be honest.

  Taking deep breaths, you forced your fidgety fingers to stay still as you fell limp on the soft mattress, eyes closed. Your mind wandered to the safe haven: cotton clouds and baby blue sky, the smell of the grass, the books scattered around you and him. For a minute, you could truly take the edge off. Until you heard the noise of glass shattering on the wall.

  Getting off the bed as fast as you could, your head spun. You opened the door quietly, careful not to expose the presence of another person in the house, and made a beeline to the kitchen. While you looked franticly for something that could be useful as a weapon, you tried to stay attentive to the sounds. They were muffled, but you could discern at least two voices, apart from Yoongi’s.

  Alright. Great.

  As any sane person who’s watched more than a few movies would do, you went for the most obvious choice. Knives. Better safe than sorry.

  Almost counting your steps, you tiptoed your way to the living room. The voices were not very loud, but you could easily understand what was being said now that you were closer.

  “It’s imperative that you return with us now,” a dulcet, almost high-pitched voice uttered softly. “I am sure you are aware of your responsibilities. It’s time.”

  You stayed hidden behind the icy-white wall that separated the two rooms, gripping the hilt of the knife so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Maybe you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, that was clearly a family matter. Maybe you should lock yourself in Yoongi’s bedroom and do as he said. But the truth was that you were far too curious – and now far too enchanted by the childlike voice – to stop yourself from prying.

  “I believe you have already forgotten about the current state of affairs, then? Father exempted me from my duties as soon as he banished me from the Gates and sent me to exile,” Yoongi spit. You could see it clearly in your head as he ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance. He sounded… different. You didn’t have the courage to tilt your head and steal a glance, afraid they’d catch the motion.

  “Father warned you about the consequences of your stubbornness, Michael, but you were very much unyielding in your misconceptions,” the second person said, gruffy and curt.

  “It is not a misconception to care for our own flesh and blood.”

  Wait. Michael? Had he been listening to your conversation earlier? If the man wasn’t so deadly serious and the air so dense, you would’ve laughed – although you felt that it was probably not the right time to let out a full-throated  guffaw to mask an anxiety attack.

  “Our own flesh and blood abused his role as a persecutor and bent the rules for his own selfish purposes. Azrael is fortunate if Father ever forgives him, albeit we both know he will. Brother, I know you hold the highest regards for truth and justice, but it was not your place to question an order.”

  You could hear the crude man pacing around the room as he spoke. Hoping to stay unnoticed, you sneaked a peek. The first person you landed eyes on was not at all taller than you, and you supposed that was the first man you’d heard. His hair was silvery, almost platinum blonde, styled in a way that evinced his beautiful forehead. The way he carried himself was elegant and graceful, like a ballerina, and his appearance suited his youthful voice perfectly. The second figure to catch your eye, though, was the complete opposite. Tall, lustrous olive skin and brown hair, he was intimidating at first glance. His steps were heavy on the floor, nearly clumsy.

  “Perhaps there lies the problem. We are never to question, even whilst we deem fit. Azrael is the embodiment of corruption and amorality; it’s consensual, we are well aware. No matter how devious, he is needed. Casting one of the Seven out ought to never be an option. Be that as it may… There are only five of us within the Gates now. Was I supposed to receive graciously the task of exiling our own brother?”

  You were growing considerably annoyed by their choice of words. Why the hell would they be talking like your great-grandparents? All cells in your body were telling you that it was supposed to be cringey, but in reality it was nothing but alluring. Charming. And that’s where all the annoyance came from.

  “It is unwise to go against His instructions. Are you a rebel at heart, Prince?” The man stopped his pacing to let the words tumble out of his mouth, venomous. You could tell by Yoongi’s countenance that he was about to lose his composure, and in a way you were yet to see. His body were trembling slightly in fury, and his lips were compressed together in a well-defined line. You were astounded, however, by his eyes. In that moment, you couldn’t move even if you intended to. They were tinted in a deep violet, just like you had seen before at Jin’s encounter, except that, this time, they hadn’t gone back to black.

  “This has nothing to do with the Rebellion, Raph-“

  “Then why disobey? Do you plan to defy Father as well? It would be entertaining to watch you fight your antithesis for the throne of the underworld,” he chuckled.

  It all happened in an instant, but for you it felt like slow motion. Yoongi was convulsing within himself, as if attempting to refrain a great deal of energy from breaking free. Once you saw blood oozing from his closed fists, you knew it was a lost battle. But never, ever, could you have foreseen what came next, what kind of energy – power – exactly he was trying to repress. For a very brief moment, everything stood still. If you had been able to avert your eyes from him, you’d see the silvery-hair figure shudder. You’d see the faint smirk on the lips of the man who caused Yoongi’s outburst, even though he was, deep down, a tad terrified. But you did not have time, nor will-power, to pay attention to anyone but him, ablaze amethysts shooting daggers at the man before them.

  Then everything came crashing down. Your beliefs, the world as you knew it, it was all taken away ruthless and abruptly once you saw white feathers rip through black shirt. You gasped audibly, falling to the floor with a dull thud as the knife clinked at your feet. None of them noticed, too entranced by the interaction that unrevealed itself. Yoongi got to his prey at an unhuman speed, grabbing him by the throat and caging him against the door. The horrid sound was enough to make you wince through your stupor, and, if it were anybody else, their skull would have cracked. The man, however, only clenched his jaw to suppress a whimper.

  “How dare you speak ill of your Leader like this?” as his voice went down a few octaves, Yoongi’s hold tightened visibly. The man-child seemed as ready to meddle as he would ever be, though still too frightened to actually move. “How dare you, brother, mention the Chief of the Heavenlies in the same breath as his nemesis? Mere one hundred and fifty years, Raphael, and you already built the temerity of being impertinent towards me? Or have you simply forgotten who I am?” his wings were whooshing, as if he was preparing to – quite literally – take flight at any given moment. They were stupendous, bigger than he himself, and so snowy-white, so untainted. Truly immaculate, contrasting with his raven hair.

  His angelic features, albeit glorious, could never outstand the magisterial way to which he spoke, imposing authority. Like he was born for it. Everything about him in that moment urged you to bow before his feet, and you weren’t even the one holding his darkened glare. It was entirely alien to you, a facet of him you could barely conceive, let alone process. Raphael undoubtedly recoiled at his words, but tried to conceal it.

  “Then show me. Do your title justice and lead us to victory, as I know there is no wrath nor passion greater than yours. Not for a moment have I forgotten who you are, Flaming Warrior, but you certainly have.” Raphael spoke, and it fell to the ears like a prayer.

  As Yoongi’s wings retracted once again, you breathed what seemed to be the first intake of air in hours. He slackened his grip on Raphael’s throat, who then bent over in a fit of coughing. The boyish man’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he let out a sigh. Of course, the little truce was bound to be broken the minute one of them laid eyes on you. It happened to be the blonde.

  “Michael, there is a human on your floor,” he whispered, resembling a kid more than ever with his eyes wide open. “Why is there a human on your floor?” he snapped his head, shooting the question directly to Yoongi’s face, and you saw his body stiffen. “Oh, Father! She’s heard our names! Brother…”

  “Silent,” his voice was gruff, and he turned to scrutinize your figure. You weren’t sure of how you looked from the view of an outsider, but you felt… Shock, maybe? Fright? You didn’t know who and what was in front of you, and all you could think was how come his eyes are pitch black now?

  “Yoongi, we violated the law,” the man you now identified as Raphael said.

  “Namjoon,” his eyes never left you as he spoke, “take our brother home and certify yourself that he does not mention today’s events within the Gates.”

  “B-But the protocol-“

  “Does not apply to her, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi cut him off, “If you still need me to fight by your side, that is.”

   He seemed appalled by the perspective of that being an option. “Needless to say, brother, of course we do!”

  “That means I am in charge, then. So, at your superior’s orders, will you be able to keep this to yourself?” Yoongi craned his neck to glance at them through his peripheral vision.

  “If it is what you want, brother,” he mumbled, averting his gaze to the floor in respect.

  “Well, that being the case, I fear we might have to end this dreadful visit already. Notify our soldiers that I am to be expected soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Raphael responded with a worried frown tainting his beautiful face. He touched the cherubic-like man on the shoulder and they both left the apartment.

  Yoongi’s feet were glued to the floor, the same spot he’d been standing since landing eyes on you. Your breathing was labored and hitched; your throat so dry that it felt like sandpaper. He took a little step forward, slowly stretching one hand in your direction. You let out a low whimper, recoiling until you were almost balled up, knees pressed tight against your chest. He immediately withdrew his arm and flinched.

  “I told you to stay in the bedroom.” His voice was flat, it wasn’t a scold.

  “W-What- What the hell just-“ a sob broke through your throat, and only then did you notice hot tears striking your cheeks. “Y-Yoongi,” you weren’t sure of what to say, let alone if you were actually able to choke a whole sentence out.

  “Are you afraid?”

  Yes.

  Fuck, yes.

  Were you afraid of him, though? Granted, his whole countenance while exerting power over someone else sent chills through down your spine. But that was not the man standing before you now, no.

  “Who are you?” you asked, trying too hard to keep a clear head.

  He straightened his back. “My true name is Michael,” he muttered.

  “You know that’s not what I asked,” you objected.

  “Yes,” he sighed, “I know. Can you keep an open mind?”

  “An open mind?” you scoffed. “I’m here, aren’t I? After seeing a pair of wings growing out of your shoulder blades.”

  “You are,” he chuckled humorlessly. He then walked tentatively in your direction, sitting on the floor as well when he deemed close enough. “I’m one of the Seven.”

  Your face twisted in confusion. Your brain was trying to deny what your subconscious already knew. “Go on.”

  “My brothers and I… we are one of Father’s first creations. Have you ever heard of the seven archangels, George?”

  “Yeah,” your voice was nearly inaudible.

  “It’s easier for you to understand, then. We are responsible for maintaining harmony in Heaven. That, occasionally, includes keeping things in order between the Gates and Earth,” he paused, searching for anything in your face that would require him to stop. “I am… let’s say, of great importance to keep the balance between our worlds, including the nether regions. You might have already gathered that I’m their leader, so to speak. I am in charge of all heavenly troupes, every single one of Father’s soldiers is under my command, as well as I am under His. In times of war, I am indispensable. That’s why they call me Warrior Prince; amongst other things.”

  “So it’s… all real?” your voice almost cracked. “Hell, heaven… God?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Then why are you here?” you murmured under your breath and his expression darkened.

  “Immortality can make you petty. Do you remember meeting Azrael? I guess you know him as Jin. Azrael is… unique. Known as the Persecutor, he was the first reaper to ever exist – created before I was, even. He harvests human souls in due time and delivers them to a realm that suits them best. Paradise, Purgatory or Hell. My brother can be misunderstood very easily; his job has brought to the surface a sadistic persona. We all deal with evil from time to time, it was born in our home, but… Azrael is death, it’s a heavy burden to carry. Infinite lifetimes dealing with the worst sentiments a human can ever experience is bound to leave some scars. He can be mischievous and quite a pain in the ass, to be honest,” he huffed, “but his loyalty is admirable. So, when he made an egocentric mistake, Father reunited us all to discuss the best course of action. Much like a trial, if you will. The point is: they banished him to live amongst his… victims for a certain period of time. I could never agree to that, I believe every single one of the Seven serves a purpose, we are all needed to maintain natural balance.”

  “So you rebelled?”

  “No,” he scowled. “I’m not a rebel, I’m… a nonconformist.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “Not for us, it’s not.”

  “Okay. Then what happened?”

  “It’s a long story, if you want me to explain it correctly.”

  “I do. And you’re everlasting, so I bet we have some time to spare.”

  “Right,” he snorted. “My people is a bit traumatized when it comes to defiance, you probably know why.”

  “Because of the devil, right?”

  “Lucifer deeply despises all of his nicknames. But yeah, he’s the reason. A very long time ago, Father decided to expand our family. My brothers and I were content, but when He presented the idea of more… more of us, more love, we agreed on the spot. See, He was never, ever, the tyrant your kind makes him to be. Until Lucifer, that is. He was… exquisite, my brother. From his birth, each and every angel to exist used to say that Father got inspired by me when creating him, but in a very distinctive way. As much as possible, we were the flip side of each other, although extremely similar still, if that makes sense. With time, our bond grew stronger; we became inseparable. Almost everything we did was in each other’s company: from training in the fields to reading manuscripts under the sunlight. My brothers and I didn’t have much to worry about, it was a very peaceful existence. We had not come to know sin yet.

   Needless to say, it did not last. Because we were oddly alike and yet so different, comparisons were nearly inevitable. I didn’t mind them back then, so I thought he would never take it to the heart either. I was wrong. Lucifer distanced himself slowly but surely, and with each passing day, he tried harder to triumph over me in a childish competition, one that existed strictly in his head. He’d become resentful, and his animosity soon spread like wildfire towards the others, too. None of us were able to comprehend a feeling we had never experienced ourselves, so it took us years to make sense of the situation. By the time we did… I guess it was already too late.

   When Father created your kind, the hierarchy became even more apparent: only us, the archangels, were allowed to interact with humans – even so, only to a certain degree and always serving a purpose. Father wished your… species to stay untouched by our graces. Masterpieces, as long as kept apart, he had said. You see, your people got it terribly wrong. Lucifer was never jealous of humans – in fact, he holds deep contempt for them. He was jealous of us, of me, because my new responsibilities evinced that we had different roles on the chain of command. If rancor was his first sin, fury came to be the second. He endeavored to make a point of how unfair it was of Father to ‘play favorites’ and provide the Seven with greater might. My brother was a very shrewd, intelligent being, but his envy made him blind to a lot of things.

  Lucifer used the following years to spread his beliefs right under our noses, and therefore was able to gather a herd of angels who succumbed to blatant lies just as much as he did. That was the beginning of the rebellion. His ability to lead was remarkable, but he could never be a true leader – not that he intended to, anyway. The reason is pretty obvious: my brother did not care the least about those under his directions, they were means to an end. His main goal was to dethrone the Seven, and for that he forged a deadly weapon: the flaming sword. The uprising initiated a war that none of us were ready for, not even him. For seven days, we fought. For seven days, we continuously killed our own. I suppose you already know the end to that story.”

   You were so fascinated by his narrative that you’d already forgotten the reason he brought up the subject.

  “I think so,” you said. “The real thing is actually so… different from everything I’ve ever heard.”

  “I know. Tales never accomplish the whole truth.”

  “But what does that have to do with the reason you’re here?”

  “Like I said, my kind does not tolerate defiance after everything that happened. When Azrael was sentenced, I didn’t exactly make an effort to hide how I felt about it. They didn’t take it very well, so if you ask any of them why I was exiled, they’ll say it was for disobedience. When, in fact, it was because I reminded them too much of him,” he sighed, and you both fall into a pregnant pause. “How are you taking this?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess I just didn’t have enough time to process yet.”

  “I know,” he twisted a strand of your hair in his slender index finger.

  All of a sudden, a realization fell heavy on your heart.

  “Is your time up?”

  His brows knitted themselves together. “My time?”

  “Yeah. You said you’d stay here… for a predetermined amount of time. Is that why they came to get you?”

  “No, George,” he let out a puff of air from his nose, “that’s not why they came for me.”

  “Then why?”

  “Think about it. Why would they need their General for?”

  You shook your head, trying to make sense of what he was telling you. Oh.

  “You said you were indispensable in times of…” your whisper faded to an end.

  “War,” he completed.

    ||\\

                                                                                                                                  “While they adore me on the throne of hell,

With diadem and sceptre high advanced

The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery; such joy ambition finds.

But say I could repent and could obtain

By act of grace my former state; how soon

Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feigned submission swore: ease would recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void

For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:

Which would lead me to a worse relapse

And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear

Short intermission bought with double smart.”

      There was a thin layer of snow covering the streets once again. The friction between the tires and the asphalt was barely there, and if the circumstances were different, that would be your main concern. The wind howled as you cut through it like bullets, and you tightened your embrace around his waist, somehow enjoying the numbing air of a cold late-afternoon. Eyes wide opened this time. When he finally parked in front of the porch, you quickly hopped down and took the helmet off, placing it in the seat you had previously taken. Before you could say or do anything, Yoongi seized your wrist with a leather-gloved hand.

  “I’m positively opposed to this,” he blurted in a last attempt to change your mind.

  “I know.” You tried to free yourself from his iron grasp, but to no avail. It was getting easier to read his features, and you could tell he was still unsure. But you were not. “Yoongi, it’s my call.”

  “Don’t I have a say in it?”

  “Ultimately… no.”

  “Want you to be safe, that’s all. Let us be reasonable about this, why don’t you?”

  “I thought you understood better than anyone that I don’t get to be reasonable about this,” you sighed with impatience. “Please, I—”

  “Okay,” he loosened his grip. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Okay.”

  The light was off in the living room, your mother wasn’t home yet. You told yourself that it was better this way. Making a beeline to the stairs, you went over the little list in your head once again before entering your bedroom.

  Set of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, laptop… What else?

  You looked around, the baby-blue walls somehow mocking you, an excruciating reminder of simpler times. Memories of your childhood swirled inside your mind. All the times you and Taehyung would play hide and seek, the squeals he’d let out whenever you caught him off guard, how he was certainly faster than you, but would let you win a childish race every now and then. The familiar scent of caramel and coffee roaming around the house in the wee small hours of the morning after movie nights, your mom’s chocolate chip pancakes for lunch on Sundays. It all felt like a lifetime ago.

  Hauling your backpack across your shoulder, you had a weird feeling that that was it. That was goodbye. Although Yoongi had promised you’d be back safe and sound in a couple of days, you knew things could go wrong. It was a pondered decision; you were aware of the risks, he’d made sure of it. Still, leaving his side when there was a real possibility that he might not get out alive was just… not conceivable. Logically, you understood that, if things went south, you would not be able to do much. You did not care much for logic these days, anyway.

                                     [Cheers Darlin’, by Damien Rice]

  Stepping out of the room and shutting the door as quietly as possible—for no apparent reason—you hopped downstairs two steps at a time, making sure to avoid staring at other parts of the house that could trigger another episode of nostalgia. Too focused on the task of trying not to focus, you missed the six feet tall barricade blocking the entrance to the living room, crashing into it face-first. If it wasn’t for the unrelenting grip keeping you in place, you would’ve certainly hit the floor.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the flat baritone voice resonated throughout the empty space.  

  Of course. You closed your eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before even contemplating lifting your head to make eye contact.

  “Do you need something?” in a poor attempt to shield yourself, you parroted his dead intonation.

  “Do I need something,” he hummed. Then he chuckled, fists clenching around your forearms. “Are you leaving?” he spat. “What about your mom, huh?”

  “It’s just a couple of days. I’ll call her.”

  By the scowl plastered on his face, your dismissive attitude hadn’t worked the way you planned it to. You had to do this quick, like ripping off a bandage. If anyone could give you a run for your money in this situation, that would be Taehyung. You knew he’d try to persuade you into staying, so you couldn’t risk it. For both your sakes.

  “I see,” he remarked. “Were you planning to tell me you’re running off with your boyfriend or you’d just leave me to figure it out on my own?”

  His venomous words burned out of his mouth at lightning speed, tainting his tongue with a pungent aftertaste.

  “You know I would never do something like that,” the hurt that laced your voice was evident, but, maybe for the first time, it didn’t make him feel half as bad as it should.

  “Do I?” he scoffed. “For the past few months, it feels like you’ve already left. Wouldn’t make much of a difference if you actually did, I guess.”

  That did it. You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you were determined to not let them fall.

  “Okay, I’m not doing this,” you whispered, not trusting your voice enough to speak properly, and pulled your arms out of his grasp roughly. You darted for the closed front door, feeling sick to your stomach at the thought of spending another minute inside the house. He clutched your shirt tightly, as if it was a lifeboat.

  “Wait,” his fists clenched tighter. You could sense him getting closer, but you didn’t have the guts to turn around and face him just yet. He buried his face on your right shoulder, holding your hip now, nails bound to leave little crescent moons on your skin. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “I hate this.”

  Your heart ached. You hated it, too. Pushing Taehyung away was never your intention, but you finally came to understand all the times Yoongi had kept a safe distance before. To keep you safe. You couldn’t risk it, not with Marzipan.

  “It’s fine, Tae.”

  “It’s not,” he shook his head, brushing his nose on the fabric of your blouse. Inhaling deeply, he moved to the nape of your neck. You shuddered. “None of this is fine,” a peck on the bare skin of your neck, and your entire body tensed.

  “Taehyung…” you warned.

  “Don’t,” he begged, turning you around. You were adamant on avoiding his gaze, so your eyes kept darting between your feet and your hands. “Don’t go.”

  While he rested his forehead on yours, one hand on your cheek and the other thumbing your collarbone, you knew what was about to happen. You knew, and, still, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You knew, but it was Taehyung, your best friend. Marzipan, the little boy from the house next door. Boxy smile, disheveled hair, sweet-toothed Taehyung. How wrong could it be? You were saying goodbye to a part of your own soul. How wrong could it be?

  When his lips touched yours, soft and ravenous, you really wanted it to feel right. But the answer to your previous question was: too wrong. You loved him, yes. But he wasn’t him. Didn’t taste the same, didn’t feel the same. His movements weren’t slow yet demanding, his hand wasn’t drawing invisible patterns on your lower back, his smell wasn’t musky enough. It just didn’t feel right.

  “Tae,” you tried to end the kiss, but he led his mouth back to yours like in a trance, nibling on your lower lip. “Taehyung, stop!”

  By the end of it, you were both panting. It dawned you how big of a mistake you had just made, and guilt made you nauseous. Neither of them deserved what you’d just done, neither of them deserved to have their hearts broken because you were such a fuck up.

  “I-I’m so sorry, Tae,” your voice cracked. He was about to answer, but you didn’t want to hear it. You couldn’t breathe, your skin was on fire and there was a big, nasty lump in your throat. You bolted out the door, only to be met with Yoongi’s inquiring gaze. It seemed to have broken a damn, and heavy tears tumbled down your cheeks. He rushed to meet you halfway, brushing the tears away as soon as his hands reached your face.

  “Hey,” he shushed you. “What happened, baby?”

  “Can we go home, please?”

 The crease between his furrowed eyebrows deepened, but still, he chose not to pry any further.

  “Of course, love. Of course we can,” he softly muttered, although still hesitant to take his hands off you.

  You climbed onto the familiar grey motorcycle and hid your damped cheeks on his jacket. The beast rumbled, gaining speed as you cut through the air. The ghost of Taehyung’s lips on yours haunting you the entire way back.

[shihalyfie]

The relationship between the Yagami siblings

The above line is possibly one of the most vital lines in contextualizing the relationship between the Yagami siblings, but is all too often omitted, and so it can lead to a lot of other questions about whether Hikari has dependency problems or whether Taichi has a natural tendency to be overprotective (also not helped by the fact that Hikari’s own voice actress, Araki Kae, was very fond of joking about Hikari having a brother complex). Once the proper context is applied, however, the relationship between the two ends up saying a lot about both individually!

That's the kind of girl she is! She's always thinking about other people before herself, and she'll never tell anyone that she's in pain or having a hard time, even if it kills her! The thing is, she might not have even wanted to come to this stupid world at all...But when people tell her that the fate of the world is in her hands or something, she could never refuse!... ...That's why...That's why I'm supposed to look after her and protect her...

The summary of everything going on between the two siblings at the time of Adventure has to do with the following:

Hikari is “always thinking of other people before herself” (i.e. she “doesn’t want to be a burden”, a very common sentiment among these very selfless kids in Adventure and 02), and therefore will accept massive burdens or pain on herself because she doesn’t want to trouble others. Because of that, she also will not speak out about her pain, simply suppressing it and pretending that everything is fine, while working for others’ sake.

Even Taichi has no idea what she’s thinking, because she’s so bad at vocalizing what she wants or is actually feeling that he has to guess. While he’s obviously emotionally compromised and thinking the worst of everything at the time of the above incident in Adventure episode 48, he also states that “that’s the kind of girl she is,” which implies that the above incident where Hikari got pneumonia was not an isolated incident, and therefore that Hikari has a repeated pattern of behaving like this. Hence, why Taichi has to keep stepping in -- he has to constantly assume the worst and go overboard, because Hikari will not do anything for herself if left to her own devices.

Both siblings are characterized as “dangerously self-sacrificial”; Taichi will recklessly risk his own welfare if it’s for the sake of others not getting hurt, whereas, as just indicated here, Hikari will refuse to burden other people even if it leads to her own personal destruction. This is not the only time Adventure has portrayed the negative aspects of being too selfless (it’s also a huge theme of Sora’s character arc), and it’s also why Hikari so easily offers herself up at the end of Adventure episode 36; it’s not just about Taichi! Hikari just puts others before herself by default to the extent that, while doing something for herself is hard to do, doing things for others is a no-brainer.

This is also why Hikari’s actions of “clinging” to Taichi in Adventure episode 21 shouldn’t be contextualized as her being clingy to him and wanting him there for her own sake -- remember, the point that was made is that Hikari thinks so little about what she wants that she doesn’t even consider her own wishes as an object, so the reason she bids for them to “stay” in this episode is because she knows he’s been in another world, a potentially dangerous one, and is about to go back and risk his own welfare for it. Since her attitude revolves around “other people’s sake”, it’s natural that she’s not going to be very enthusiastic about her brother and their new friend heading back to the unknown like that. (Remember, she seemed to be fine with him being out at camp and being away from her for prolonged periods of time in general.)

Which is especially enhanced when we see the context of why Taichi has his massive freakout in Adventure episode 48, and the way Hikari behaves in both the episode and the flashback:

The conflict in the episode was kicked off by, once again, Taichi being unable to tell what Hikari was thinking or feeling, and underestimating how much pain she was in, while Hikari had been suppressing it because of her selflessness. As Taichi says, he can’t tell if Hikari had wanted to come, or if she had simply come out of “obligation” regardless of how she’d felt.

And, in the flashback depicted, again: Taichi hadn’t insensitively dragged Hikari out, he had legitimately thought she was fine and misjudged her condition, and Hikari had agreed to go out without protest, only for that to be very much not the case. And when Hikari returned, she had no blame for him and only continued to blame herself for ruining his fun. So, again: Hikari doesn’t even think of herself, and only thinks about how much of a burden she’s being on others, and the incident (and presumably others) had brought Taichi into the understanding that he cannot use what Hikari says about herself as an accurate bar for how she’s doing.

The Character Complete File gives us a bit of an interesting tidbit about Taichi and Hikari’s home lives, in that, if you pay attention, you’ll notice that the Yagami siblings don’t share a room anymore by the time of 02. According to both Taichi and Hikari’s testimonies, Hikari had “constructively” kicked him out by hint-hinting that she was actually not very fond of sharing a room with him and was embarrassed by it! She does eventually admit that it’s a bit lonely without the second person around, but she’s very happy to claim her room as “my own little castle”, and, moreover, with the above context, you can imagine that she, once again, might have been self-conscious about being a “burden” on him due to both of their spaces intersecting too much.

So when we do get to 02...

The line from the second screenshot is the most commonly cited line about Hikari’s attitude regarding her brother in 02, but recall that this is from Hikari basically doing her own version of rambling incoherently. The actual context clue required to decipher this comes from earlier in the episode, when, drowning in the negative atmosphere and impact the Dark Ocean is having on her, Hikari has a vision/flashback of saying “I’m sorry” to her brother. Remembering that the Dark Ocean is heavily associated with “negative emotions”: what does “I’m sorry” mean? “I’m sorry” -- or, in other words, “I caused you more trouble again.” So when Hikari says that “my brother always protected me”, she’s basically saying “I’ve been burdening my brother by making him protect me all of the time,” and the fact that she pairs this with a statement “the next time they call me, I may end up there” is one about inevitability -- she does not like the idea of continuing to burden him, and is letting horrible things happen to her because she would rather not keep doing this to him.

This is what threads the apparent “contradiction” between Hikari supposedly being so “quiet” about certain things yet so assertive about others -- Hikari has never shown any hesitation about putting her foot down assertively when it’s about other people’s sake, but it’s always about her own sake and her own feelings when she suddenly clams up. Tailmon even alludes to it herself in the episode:

Hikari is “strong”, and she’s shown it many times -- she’s assertive, brave, and heck, in this very same episode, the moment she realizes the “Hangyomon” need help, she doesn’t even hesitate to do her best to help them even at the risk of pain to herself! But she’s not going to make it until she can accept the help of others instead of denying everything out of worry for being a burden, which is why the issue starts to resolve a little when Hikari finally breaks down and admits that she wants others to help her, including Takeru, whom she had spurned earlier during the episode.

Hence, this is why the “follow-up” to this episode, 02 episode 31, doesn’t involve Taichi at all -- but it does involve a continuation of the same thing about Hikari’s problem, and she even confirms what Taichi had said about her back in Adventure episode 48, that she won’t vocalize her own problems. On top of that, she adds another layer to it: Hikari compulsively suppresses her own problems to the point she’s outright jealous of Miyako for being able to vocalize them. Hikari’s “selflessness” problem is so bad and self-destructive that even she realizes it’s a problem and wants to do something about it, but literally cannot. This is how bad her problem is, and why none of her actions to this point can really accurately be read as her being clingy or wanting to do anything for truly selfish reasons; this problem of “self-destructive selflessness” was so bad that even she didn’t like this about herself. And, hence, why she felt like she was “burdening” her own brother while she was at it -- it was a problem she did with everyone, but since he was one of the people she knew and trusted the most (having literally grown up with him, and all), it had been the worst with him.

Therefore, Miyako is able to address this issue even without Taichi being involved at all, because the problem wasn’t really about Taichi -- but 02 is a series about the importance of relationships and accepting a need to grow with the help of other people, and therefore, Miyako addressing Hikari’s issue of being so closed-in, and encouraging her to seek help and stop accepting her own destruction just to not “burden” others, is likely to help her have a better relationship with her brother in the future.

...although, by this point in 02, this really was more of Hikari’s own issue than it was Taichi’s by this point, because Taichi treats his sister pretty “neutrally” over the course of the series -- when Hikari’s stranded in the Digital World in 02 episode 7, Iori’s the one more panicked than he is, and he’s mostly just concentrated on having an alibi for her to come back with. And he has zero problem with her flinging herself into dangerous situations over the course of the year, including the stakeout trip started in 02 episode 18 (and for what it’s worth, Hikari herself clearly had no issue flinging herself into such a situation). And when he discusses the issue of the new kids in the 02 group having to accept that killing an enemy will soon become an inevitability in 02 episode 43, it’s a pretty serious conversation with him advising her the way he would have advised any of his other juniors.

This is why context is so important! Taichi had said, back in Adventure episode 48, that he’d hovered over her because he’d had no clue what she was thinking, and would have to take extra precautions because she could easily get herself killed like that. But in 02, it’s not like she was constantly suffering a cold, and it’s a lot more obvious that her actions throughout the series were because it was what she wanted to do, regardless of the risks, so it’s her right to do whatever she wants, and therefore he leaves her to it; she’s clearly doing a much better job taking care of herself, so there’s no reason for him to step in.

Hikari also takes his advice at face value and doesn’t have any particular weirdness about it; she’d never put him on a pedestal or anything, she just still happened to have very self-destructive tendencies that were ultimately resolved with the help of the rest of the 02 group. Often submitted as Hikari having proof of putting him on some kind of weird pedestal is her reaction in 02 episode 4, when she gets angry at Daisuke for being disrespectful about an older sibling, but this omits the fact that Yamato (being a very offended older sibling) got in on it too; the point was more about the disparity between Daisuke and Jun’s more vitriolic relationship compared to the more mutual-esteem relationships between the Ishida-Takaishi and Yagami siblings, plus the fact that, even if the perspective was different, Daisuke was being pretty harsh about his wording (he outright says he hates his sister...).

This is also presumably why, when everyone is presented with illusions regarding their personal worries in 02 episode 49, Hikari’s is the only one that has no relation to her family or home life whatsoever. She has nothing to really worry about with her home life, and Taichi seems to be fine and she has no particular interest in what he does as long as she’s not burdening him further. Rather, again, her character was largely about “doing more for other people than doing anything for herself,” so of course, her “dream” ends up being about everyone else in the world being happy.

In the end, it was more about her larger issues of her relationship to “other people” versus her relationship to “herself” than anything else -- it was just impacting the siblings the most since they were, well, siblings.

[vonderbarr]

can you tell us more about your midnight cowboy essay?

Sure! I wrote it over 10 years ago and I can't lay my hands on it, but I’ll talk about it a little. For the paper we were supposed to compare a piece of media and its adaptation. It might have been for a History of Film class. There are a lot of differences between the book and the movie, but most of the changes made were to simplify and streamline the story. It's really a great book to movie adaptation. Obviously big spoiler alerts if you haven't seen Midnight Cowboy.

The first thing that came up was the main characters hair colors. In the book their hair colors are actually switched making Ratso Rizzo a blond and Joe Buck a brunet. That's pretty unimportant in the grand scheme, of course, but it's the first thing I noticed. After seeing the movie it was tough to picture Ratso as a blond.

Joe Buck's back story is really streamlined in the movie, but the emotional beats are all there. The book goes a lot into Joe's childhood being raised by a series of blondes, eventually ending up with his grandmother who gets taken out by a lot of younger cowboys who Joe grows up idolizing. His mother also went on a lot of dates with cowboys and it’s suggested that she was a sex worker.

The movie combines two traumatic incidents in Joe's life into one series of flashbacks. In the movie a teenaged Joe is caught with a girl in the backseat of his car and they are both gangraped by a group of men. The viewer learns this via a series of disturbing images and barely there scenes that spells out the situation as clearly and artfully as a 60s film can and, honestly, still hold up pretty well today.

In the book the girl is used by teenagers and young men, they literally line up each night to have a turn. Joe is the only one she has ever enjoyed having sex with and they start up a secret relationship, but her father finds out and has her committed. Later, Joe is living with a male hustler who he finds attractive in a conflicted way. It's been a long time since I've read the book, but at some point Joe is raped by him and, I think, another man. Again, the scene kind of fades out to the point that I can't remember if they drugged Joe before or not. It’s still clear what happens, though.

Ratso's backstory, however, is completely different. In the movie the pair visit Ratso's father's grave and he tells a story about how his father was a shoeshiner. It gave his father back pain and after he died they couldn't get the boot black out from under his nails so they had to bury him in gloves. It's a poignant scene and one I really like, and it's a good, short background that explains why Ratso tries so hard to get ahead and refuses to do work that he feels is beneath him.

In the book, though, Ratso gets lost among the many kids in the Rizzo household. Ratso was born with a club foot and was ignored by his parents to the point that he almost died of pneumonia because no one noticed he was ill. There’s a line about finding him curled up under the stove nearly dead. Every week Ratso’s father would take the family out to eat and they took up the biggest table in the place and his father was so proud of his gigantic family. Slowly all of Ratso’s siblings and his mother either die or leave until it’s just Ratso and his father sitting at a shitty two-top by the kitchen every week. At this point Ratso is his father’s favorite by default, but all his father does is feel sorry for himself instead of trying to have a relationship with his only remaining child.

It could have been done, but I can understand why they cut Ratso’s backstory considering the movie focuses mostly on Joe. Even though the book is from Joe’s pov, Ratso’s childhood takes an entire chapter and I think it would do it a disservice to reduce it to flashbacks. It might also be confusing since all the flashbacks in the story are from Joe, while the only flash-forward fantasy is from Ratso. This makes Joe a reflection of his past and Ratso the forward thinker and planner.

Both the book and movie show Joe’s arc from an idealistic young man who needs to be saved or taken care of to an adult who’s willing to take care of others. The book especially does a good job of this. The relationship between Joe and Ratso in the movie is more homoerotic than in the book. This is partially because near the end of the book as Ratso becomes more helpless and their roles switch, Joe starts to think that he’ll get married to a girl and Ratso will be like their child. In the movie there’s no inner monologue to clarify Joe’s feelings towards Ratso. On set, both Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman picked up on the homoerotic subtext in the script and may have played it up. There was an article I read where Dustin Hoffman was talking about how the characters should have been sharing a bed, for example.

This is getting away from me, but I do want to mention a scene that I think was perfectly transferred from book to movie. Joe gets invited to a party by this hippy, Andy Warhol-esque couple and there’s a scene on the stoop in front of the building. Ratso is getting sicker and he’s sweating and most likely feverish, but Joe is super excited to go to this party. On the stoop Ratso gets really self-conscious about how sweaty he is and his general appearance and Joe comforts him. He untucks his shirt and uses it to wipe Ratso’s face and fix him up and Ratso just kind of holds him and leans up against him. It’s exactly like the book and is a great example of adapting a scene from book to film.

Like I said, it’s been about 10 years since I read the book and wrote the essay and a few years since I’ve seen the movie so bear with me on my memory here. The essay was, I think, 5 to 10 pages and I have no idea where it might be, but this is just a little bit of overview/what I remember.

Fun Facts! Dustin Hoffman put rocks in his shoes to get Ratso’s limp right and in one take coughed so forcefully that he vomited on Jon Voight’s shoes. They obviously didn’t use the take, but it’s the scene where they’re crossing a bridge in profile.

I think most people know that “I’m walkin’ here!” is an adlib because they didn’t have money to shut down the street for filming and that taxi really almost hit Hoffman. I think most people don’t know that the suit he’s wearing was found in a dumpster by the costume designer.

[route22ny]

Survivor stories: Death, loss and selflessness during the pandemic

By Jacqueline Cutler / New York Daily News

Those days when the word corona made you think beer or crown feel like long-gone innocence.

So much happened during these 18 months that how we’re reacting to different phases of the pandemic and how survivors are coping are worth documenting.

“Voices from the Pandemic: Americans Tell Their Stories of Crisis, Courage and Resilience” is a powerful reflection on the last year and a half. Pulitzer-winning journalist Eli Saslow has managed the near-impossible: He makes you want to read more about the pandemic.

This doesn’t bother with maps of where the virus is spiking or death tolls. It can’t be of the moment. Instead, it’s the story of all of us — those who have taken every precaution and those who refused to acknowledge COVID’s deadly path.

Done in the style of the late great Studs Terkel, these are oral histories as the history is happening. Each section has people sharing their stories in their words.

Sure, it’s edited for clarity, but there’s no spin. It’s unfailingly fair: When a tenant recounts her eviction, the next entry is from a landlord who exhausted her savings trying to not evict people.

Even though we think we know the stories of the pandemic, we can’t – at least not all of them. And we never may. Saslow carefully selected a cross-section of people; some who have since died, some who recovered, some who never may.

Saslow reminds us of the first whisperings. On Jan. 4, 2020, there was news about what was considered a pneumonia outbreak in China. Five weeks later, it had a name, COVID-19.

A month later, life as we knew it stopped.

“She’s dead, and I’m quarantined,” Tony Sizemore, of Indianapolis, says of his love, Birdie Shelton, in the first entry from March 2020. “That’s how the story ends. I keep going back over it in loops, trying to find a way to sweeten it, but nothing changes the facts. I wasn’t there with her at the end. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I don’t even know where her body is right now, or if the only thing that’s left is her ashes.”

With that gut-wrenching opening, we’re off. We meet dozens of people we’ve never heard of, which is precisely the point. Everyone knew when Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson were among the first celebrities to get COVID.

But this book introduces Bruce MacGillis, a man in an Ohio nursing home. He refused to let temp workers who couldn’t wear masks correctly get near him and isolated himself until he was vaccinated.

“I’m a hard-ass about this stuff, and I’m not even a little bit sorry,” he told Saslow. “I can’t afford to take chances.”

Some who tell their stories are the superheroes of the pandemic.

A shift leader of a nursing team in Detroit, Sal Hadwan, recounts insane shifts. While we celebrate and honor health care workers – now more than ever – the dire conditions they were working under were horrifying. Remember garbage bags serving as protective gear? Some had one mask per shift.

In April 2020, Hadwan said: “We’re basically handling the most severe cases in the ER, which is not our training. These nurses don’t have a second to relax. You’ve got one patient’s oxygen running out and another whose heart rate is going wild. All you can do is try your best to hear the alarms and then sprint as fast as you can from one emergency to the next. You hope you make it in time. Sometimes you don’t.”

Naturally, it’s bleak. But there are also stories of humanity at its best.

Burnell Cotlon of New Orleans (pictured above) turned his grocery store in the Lower Ninth Ward into a food pantry. He couldn’t afford to, but some of his neighbors couldn’t afford to eat.

As he said in April 2020, “Last week, I caught a lady in the back of the store stuffing things into her purse. We don’t really have shoplifters here.” He knows the customers in his two-aisle market. The woman swiped a carton of eggs, hot dogs, and candy bars.

“She started crying,” Cotlon told Saslow. “She said she had three kids, and her man had lost his job, and they had nothing to eat and no place to go. Maybe it was a lie. I don’t know. But who’s making up stories for seven or eight dollars of groceries? She was telling me, ‘Please, please, I’m begging you. How are we supposed to eat?’ I stood there for a minute and thought about it, and what am I going to do?”

Colton started running tabs – for the first time. He went from having zero customers on credit to 62 within a month. He kept giving to neighbors until he fell three months behind on his mortgage.

In a postscript, Saslow adds that when Colton’s generosity became known, online fundraisers brought in $500,000. Naturally, he put it to great use: forgiving his customers’ debt and beginning construction on a subsidized apartment building. “He also gave out free school supplies and turned his store into a free vaccination site for the community.”

Every page in this is sobering. Every story chilling, relatable, and absolutely forthright.

For those who lost their jobs and who were living paycheck-to-paycheck, rent became impossible to pay. To lose your job, your health, your relatives and now your home is unbearable. Granted, the news often focuses on the tenants, while many of us assume landlords only take time out from counting their money to harass tenants.

It’s a lot easier to feel for the tenants, who are doing all they can.

Saslow interviewed Tusdae Barr, evicted during the pandemic. Although money was tight before COVID, Barr was making rent with everyone in her family chipping in — until work dried up. Barr eventually found herself ousted, then in cheap motels, and finally with relatives.

If you never thought you could sympathize with a landlord, meet Jayne Rocco of Deland, Fla. She became a landlord 25 years ago when broke, reeling from a divorce. Rocco found a lender, bought and fixed up a cheap house, then flipped it and bought two houses. She continued doing this until she had 10 properties, none fancy. Rocco’s profit was about $40,000 a year pre-pandemic.

Trying to help her tenants and pay her bills, Rocco exhausted her savings. She’s still trying, and still has troubles. With some of the people featured, their troubles are financial. For some, such as a newlywed, former athlete Kaitlin Denis, of Chicago, the effects of long-term COVID, are medical. She’s drained and can barely get out of bed.

And some trying to help, such as Amber Elliot, county health director in Farmington, Mo., found herself threatened with anti-vaxxers posting photos of her kids online.

The book ends with a leading voice of science. Stanley Plotkin, 88, a virologist, “developed the rubella vaccine that’s now in standard use throughout the world.” He’s worked on other life-saving vaccines and consults for the World Health Organization.

“Parents can expect their children to grow up, and that’s a relatively new thing,” Plotkin told Saslow in January. “It shouldn’t be taken for granted.”

If this pandemic has taught us anything, it’s that nothing can.

(source)

[julies-butterflies]

Kiss prompt 25 with boggie (and maybe hinting toward Sickfic cause you know I love when these boys suffer 👀👀)?

50 types of kiss prompts  //   accepting!!  ( for jukebox, willex, reggielukejulie, boggie )

25.   Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.

                         ( read on ao3 here! )

It says a lot about the current state of his life (and friend group) that when Bobby wakes in the dark to the soft echo of someone rummaging around in the loft, his first thought is not “someone broke in”, but “which one is it?”

Slowly, he pushes himself upright. While he doesn’t remember dozing off in the garage, the evidence is all around him. His back is stiff from dozing on the couch in an awkward position; his calculus textbook is still wide open on the table, the equations he only half-finished sitting next to it. Here’s Bobby’s first clue  ---  someone picked up his pencil, and made a few hasty, scribbled corrections in the margins, solving one of the problems he wasn’t able to get.

He’s also sure the blanket covering him now was folded on the other end of the couch before he passed out... and, leading from the doorway, a glistening trail of footsteps have tracked their way across the garage floor, leaving puddles along the way.

He sighs between his teeth, forcing himself to his feet. The trail leads across the floor, straight to the loft ladder. From the still-audible sounds coming from above  ---  not drowned out by the rain outside, which batters the windows and drums on the roof like the roar of a mosh pit  ---  the intruder hasn’t noticed he’s been noticed. Bobby takes care to keep quiet, ascending the ladder slowly. When he pokes his head through the floor, he has to squint to discern shadows through the dim light.

Sure enough --- there’s a dark figure burrowing around amid piles of junk. He’s wrestling with an old quilt buried at the bottom of one of the trunks, and losing. Even from a distance, Bobby can see the dark hair slicked against his temples, the water streaming from his sodden flannel to drench the wooden boards beneath him. He trembles in his damp clothes, shaky movements fueled by restless energy. No doubt, he didn’t realize how much noise he was making.

Bobby leans forward on his elbows, and rests his face against one palm. “For a second, I thought we had racoons. But racoons don’t usually stop to help with homework.”

The rustling stops cold. It’s a minute before Reggie turns; when he meets Bobby’s gaze, he looks like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

“I, uhh ---” He huffs, then shrugs, sending off a hail of raindrops. “Figured since I was already breaking and entering, may as well pay you back somehow.”

“You know you don’t have to, Reggie.” Bobby folds his arms, balancing his chin on top of them both; his foot scuffs idly at the nearest ladder rung. This is far from the first time one of the guys has shown up at Bobby’s garage unannounced; since he never leaves the door locked anymore, it can hardly be called breaking and entering. There’s a makeshift bed up in the loft, and spare clothes in a duffel bag downstairs. They’re always welcome when they need it.

“Yeah...” The word comes out hoarse; Reggie has to clear his throat, ducking his face back into the shadows. “I know.”

A part of Bobby wants to ask  ---  but there’s no point, when he already knows the answer. When it’s Luke, it’s his mother; when it’s Alex, it’s his atmosphere; when it’s Reggie, the world is just too loud. I like how quiet it is here, he admitted once. It feels like a home. (A home, not his home  — there’s a big difference.)

So, instead of asking, he just shakes his head. “You could’ve called me. Or Alex. We’d have come to pick you up, instead of —”

“Alex hates driving on a good day. You want him to go out at night? In the middle of a rainstorm? All the way down to the beach, just to pick me up?”

There’s an edge of real frustration in his voice; and it’s Reggie, so that’s worrying, but Bobby’s own temper can’t help responding in kind. “Well, it’s better than you on your bike, freezing to death! Reg, you’re almost blue.”

For some reason, Reggie chuckles at that, ducking his head again. His sense of humor is as crooked as a wire hanger. Bobby’s learned not to question it, or try to follow the strange routes his mind goes down. With Reggie, it’s enough to just be along for the ride.

No matter how he got here, Bobby reminds himself, the important thing is, Reggie's here. He made it here, where he knows he’s always welcome… and there’ll be time to tear into him for his dumbass choices another day. Tonight, only three things are important: Reggie’s here, Reggie’s safe, and Reggie needs to get dry.

“You’re not sleeping in the loft,” Bobby declares, glancing around the dimly lit ceiling room. Aside from the cobwebs, it’s drafty and leaky up here; Reggie will catch a chill in a second, if he somehow hasn’t already. When Reggie opens his mouth to protest, Bobby just shakes his head, nodding downstairs. “The couch is more comfortable. Grab a blanket, okay? And go through what we’ve got — you gotta change out of those wet clothes.”

For just a second, a smile flickers over Reggie’s face — there one minute, gone the next. He doesn’t say anything, only nods… but Bobby reads his relief clear as day, and his gratitude.

It’s enough.

(No, it’s not — but he can’t change his friends’ shitty lives, he can’t protect them from the world, so it has to be enough.)

Bobby slips back downstairs, and busies himself making the couch comfortable. It pulls out easily into a bed; there are pillows tucked behind it for rainy days just like this one. He folds the blanket that had been tossed over him, and clears some of his papers off the table, just to chase away the clutter. By the time the loft ladder creaks, a few minutes later, the couch is as cozy as it will ever get.

Bobby turns, and almost sighs in relief at the sight of Reggie — in dry clothes, a grey t-shirt and dark sweatpants that hug his bony hips. Bobby never likes to think about how thin Reggie is… but when it’s presented to him like this, so intimately, there’s no way to ignore it. (Home cooked meals, he suspects, are as rare in the Peters household as a trip to Disneyworld; no wonder Reggie inhales any food they put in front of him.) He still looks pale, skin paper white and washed out in the gloom. Though he’s run fingers through his hair, it’s still wild, flyaway hairs clinging to his brow. He hasn’t completely stopped shivering, either, but at least he’s settled down. 

“Here,” Bobby says, nodding to the couch. He can’t help cursing himself; clearly, his bedside manner deserves awards.

Reggie isn’t bothered. He just steps forward, that ghost of a smile back on his lips. “Thanks,” he murmurs, and says nothing more. When Bobby steps aside for him, he settles on the couch, tucking the blanket  around him. Immediately, like a leaf tossed into a windstorm, he starts shivering again. Bobby grimaces.

“So, when you catch pneumonia, is the plan to just ride it out, or…?”

Reggie glances up at him. His expression steals the words from Bobby’s mouth. There are dark circles under his eyes, standing out all the more in his pale face; his lower lip is bitten raw, flushed and sore, and hands fiddle restlessly in his lap.

“Bobby,” he mutters, and something in his voice is… desolate. So absolutely freaking tired... drained and defeated... so wrong for a person like Reggie, who is made of enthusiasm. He’s the bubble of soda in a glass, the dancing blaze of a sparkler, the crackle of a firework, the lilt of a bass line. Reggie is alive in living color… and tonight, the rain has washed it all away.

Something in Bobby’s stomach twists. His heart rattles against the cage of his ribs. Impulse spikes within him, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he has already settled onto the couch at Reggie’s side, and opened his arms wide.

“Okay. Bring it in.”

Reggie’s eyes widen. Touching isn’t Bobby’s thing. It’s Luke’s, sure, and even Alex’s. They’re both all about that casual affection, with too much love to be contained. Bobby shows his affection in quieter ways — a steadying hand, a late night drive, paying for take-out when he knows his friends’ pockets are light. He’s never been sure how to handle all the touching which comes with the package, with the Sunset Curve boys; he’s never known how to start.

Tonight, though, Reggie’s here, and he needs it. So, just for tonight, Bobby is officially a hugger.

“Come on,” Bobby encourages; and that’s all the prodding Reggie needs to gently tuck himself against his friend’s chest.

He doesn’t expect how well Reggie fits there, like a puzzle piece naturally slotting into place. He knocks the breath from his lungs without trying; even as long arms come to wrap around his chest, and a damp head ticks against his collarbone, it takes Bobby a minute to adjust. Yes, he asked for this — he reminds himself of that, as his own arms come up to wrap Reggie in an embrace — but Reggie’s so much better at it, and he’s not sure where to go from here.

“Bobby,” Reggie mutters into his chest. “You have to relax a little, otherwise how’m I supposed to?” He tilts his head up. “I’m the half-frozen one here, but you’re like hugging a scarecrow.”

Bobby snorts. Reggie looks up a little more. His eyes shine dark in the dim studio light as his brows furrow. “Do you not want me to —“

Bobby hushes him with a shake of his head, and pulls Reggie closer, tucking the blanket around them both. Slowly, he leans back against the couch. It seems like the thing to do to relax — and Reggie agrees, if the soft noise of contentment he makes is any clue. He’s still shivering a bit against Bobby’s chest; his voice carries an ominous rasp, and whenever he breathes out, it sounds unsteady. Bobby brushes against his bare arm, and is immediately struck by how cold Reggie still is; even holding him like this, the chill begins to seep into his own skin.

Bobby will soak up every ounce of it, if it means Reggie can be comfortable again.

So, he pulls Reggie close, rubbing a hand up and down his back in broad, earnest circles. He breathes out against the crown of Reggie’s head, hot and repetitive; a few times, he even rocks him, just to get the blood flowing back through his limbs. Reggie doesn’t protest. He barely even moves. It takes a while for their legs to tangle together under the blankets. His arms tuck under Bobby’s; his ear comes to rest over his heart. Slowly, his entire body curves into Bobby’s own, ravenous for any ounce of heat a warmer form can provide.

Even as he does this, he seems to melt, and Bobby knows — just knows — this is the first chance he’s had to really relax in days.

“Exhale, Reg,” he murmurs without meaning to. When Reggie stirs against him, meeting his gaze with furrowed brows, Bobby is suddenly relieved he’s never been able to blush. (Compared to Reggie, who could gauge the weather by the color in his cheeks.)

Still locked into his gaze, Reggie breathes out, in one long gust. It chills Bobby’s jaw.

“You’re so cold,” he mutters.

“Not anymore,” answers Reggie. “Not with you.”

He’s left a damp patch against the front of Bobby’s shirt, and his hair’s still wet. As Bobby watches, a droplet trails its way down his temple, stopping just as it reaches his ear. Before Bobby can think twice, he brushes it away with one gentle hand… and allows his fingers to linger over Reggie’s jaw a second too long before pulling away.

Reggie isn’t staring into Bobby’s eyes anymore. He’s hypnotized by his lips.

And well, Bobby reasons, there’s no better way to warm him up.

That's his justification for not feeling like a horrible person, when he leans in and captures Reggie’s lips with his own.

There’s nothing forceful about it, nothing demanding; the last thing Bobby wants is to take, only to give what little warmth he can. Yet as Reggie stays frozen against him for a moment too long, an icicle of dread pierces Bobby’s chest. He’s just begun to pull away, an apology already on the tip of his tongue, when Reggie suddenly catches him by the back of the neck with one icy hand, pulling him back down.

Bobby’s breath catches; Reggie catches him. For a minute, it’s all either of them can do to be near each other, moving with and against each others’ mouths in slow, earnest rhythm.

Heat? Oh, no — heat isn’t a problem anymore.

When they finally pull back, Reggie’s lips are flushed, his cheeks bright red — there it is, Bobby thinks, with a flash of victory. His breath is heavy against Bobby’s chest, but there’s a smile on his lips all the same.

“I mean,” he says, and pauses for a breathless chuckle, “yeah, sure, that works too.”

Just as Bobby begins to smile, Reggie suddenly jerks forward. His laugh turns into a gasp — and then he’s coughing hard against Bobby’s collar, entire body heaving with it. It’s all Bobby can do to steady him, keeping one hand on his shoulders as he struggles to catch his breath, until the worst of it has passed.

“Damn it,” he mutters, once Reggie has gone limp again. “You’re totally gonna get me sick.”

“I’ll try not to,” Reggie offers generously against his collarbone.

“No, you won’t,” Bobby replies, knowing it’s probably too late already — and also, that he doesn’t really care, so long as he can keep Reggie warm and dry through the night.

When Reggie lifts his head to smile at him, Bobby brushes the rain out of his hair, and grins right back.

[smallandsneezy]

my hero

Bucky falls in to an icy pond and Steve saves him. they both catch a cold in the process.

one thousand words of pure fluff and pre-serum stucky. (you may have seen this on snz tumblr b4 but we don’t have to talk about my past anxiety deletions) (ao3)

 “Buck, wait up!” Steve yelped as Bucky flew onto the ice, moving like standing on a frozen surface on two tiny blades came as easy to him as breathing. Steve pulled at his laces, or tried to, but his thin fingers shook with the chill. It was February, and despite it being unusually warm for the time of year, he still felt his chest constricting with every breath of cold air.

 Bucky was doing spins, albeit haphazardly, in the center, giggling like a little kid. His dark hair was everywhere, his eyes wild and his cheeks were terribly flushed, and Steve loved him so much.

 “Steve, hurry up! Watch, I’m gonna try a flip.”

 “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Steve muttered, buttoning his third sweater and preparing to add a coat, the wooly one that his mom had found for him in a thrift shop.

 Bucky beamed fondly, before spinning a little too hard and landing on his ass. Steve’s head shot up at the cracking noise, and his eyes met Bucky’s, whose were wide with fear. And suddenly Bucky was gone. The ice must have thinned over the week of forty degree weather, because there was a Bucky Barnes sized hole in the center of their pond. Steve scrambled up, searching frantically, and for a brief terrible moment all he could see was cold blue water with a layer of frost on top of it. Then a hand flew up and slammed against the ice, and Steve breathed again. Immediately he ran out onto the ice, which admittedly was a horrible idea, because he tumbled and slid to the very edge of the hole on his stomach. He plunged his hand in, searching frantically for any sign of Bucky. He soon found one, as Bucky’s hand grasped his and Steve pulled with all his might, to no avail. Bucky’s arms were now on the ice, and his head was above water. His lips were blue and everything else was stark white, but he was breathing and it gave Steve another burst of energy. He started yelling, screaming for help in a terrible voice he didn’t recognize, while he looked around frantically, searching for something, anything he could use to pull him out. He settled on a rotten fence a bit down the way, and he locked eyes with Bucky.

 “Hold on, Buck. I’ll be right back.”

 Steve might’ve just been on the verge of an asthma attack but the adrenaline seemed to work even better than his rescue inhaler, because he ran like one of the sprinters from their high school track team. He reached the fence in no time, and yanked at the board until it fell loose. Dragging it over to the middle of the pond, in the back of his head marveling at how it didn’t crack more (Later, in a quiet moment, he realized his body weight was significantly less than Bucky’s. Even holding the giant board he still was less of a burden for the melting ice.) he shoved it into the water. Bucky’s blue tinged fingers gripped it, and Steve used all of his ninety nine pounds of might to pull on the log. Bucky’s top half emerged from the water, and he managed it the rest of the way. He pulled himself out with his arms and then lay flat on the ice, gasping like he’d never had a breath of air before.

 “Buck. Bucky. Bucky.” Steve started to pull his body towards the snowy bank, and with a little help from Buck got him to a sitting position on the damp bench. Immediately Steve started to pull his clothes off, unbuttoning soaking wet pants and a shirt. Bucky looked at his face, his eyes wet with something that wasn’t pond water.

 “F-Finally t-t-taking some initiative, soldier.” This was chattered out between clattering teeth, Bucky’s whole body shaking. He gave a weak little chuckle, and then a louder sob.

 “Shh. Shhhh. It’s okay sweetheart. You’re safe now.” Steve murmured under his breath, finally getting the rest of Bucky’s clothes off and starting to layer his own onto his quivering frame. A light blue button up, a patched up green sweater, his wool coat. Soon, all that was left on Steve was a thin shirt and his underwear. Normally wearing so little would make him self-conscious, but right now he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Bucky started to protest, but Steve silenced him with a single look.

 “Come on, darlin’. Let’s go home.” Steve’s drawl wasn’t from an accent, but from a lack of concentration on his words. Right now, the only thing on his mind was getting Bucky home and keeping him from getting hypothermic.

 ….

 “huhh’EShoo.”

 “Bless you Buck.” Steve croaked out.

 “eeeHishh… kkksh’Ishoo.” Bucky blew into his hankie hard and then smiled softly at Steve, a face made if anything more attractive by his red nose.

 “Thanks Steve. Do you want me to make you some tea, for your throat?”

 “You won’t be doing anything except resting in this bed, tough guy. I’m  fide. Don’t you worry about me, I’m not the one who’s sick.” Even as he said it, Steve’s nose twitched, and he scrubbed at it harshly. He was trying to look casual about it, but Bucky knew Steve and he also knew that this need to sneeze was anything but casual.

 “You sure about that, darlin’?” Bucky teased, leaning over to look Steve square in the eyes from his side of the bed. Steve’s lip twitched, but he tried to keep a straight and serious face even as his nose wiggled and he started to wheezily hitch.

 “Y-y-yes. I’m sure.” he whispered, clearly using every bit of his willpower to control himself. Bucky smiled fondly at him and then poked the tip of his nose. Instantly Steve flew forward, his nose in one hand.

 “eeeK’hish. hh’ISHh. iKKshieu, eck’Tschieu.” Bucky ruefully placed a clean handkerchief in Steve’s flailing hand.

 “Bless you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He paused for Steve to sneeze a few more times, his thin frame quivering with the force of it.

 “Bless you. Still gonna pretend you aren’t even a little under the weather?”

 Steve looked up, his nose bright red and glistening. Bucky handed him another handkerchief (one of his last clean ones, he would have to do laundry pretty soon if Steve kept up like this), and Steve swiped at his nose with it roughly before responding.

 “It’s not too bad. You fell in an icy pond, nearly died, and might be on your way to pneumonia if you don’t rest a bit.” Steve’s grandiose speech used up the remainder of his voice and his energy, and by the end of it he had slumped against his pillow and was gearing up for another sneezing fit. That decided it for Bucky. He climbed out from under the covers and walked to Steve’s side of the bed, allowing for a brief fit of stifled sneezes before kissing his sweaty forehead.

 “Stevie, this ain’t nothing but a head cold. Don’t you fuss about me. It’d be a hell of a lot worse if it wasn’t for you. You’re the man of the hour.” Bucky crooned, wrapping Steve in a sorry looking blanket and dropping what really was his last handkerchief on his lap. Steve pretended to give a sigh and attempted a half-hearted eye roll, but Bucky couldn’t ignore the proud smile and the pleased flush on his cheeks.

 “My hero.”

[danny-chase]

Hello! May I request the pneumonia square on your bthb card for Dick with Bruce taking care of him?

Thanks for the request!

Pneumonia - read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Additional Tags: bruce wayne centric, Dick grayson centric, Sickfic, Pneumonia, Blood, Stitches, Dick Grayson is Batman, Damian Wayne is Robin, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Damian Wayne, Sick/hurt Dick Grayson, mentions past passive suicidal attempt, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, what a surprise they hug each other Series: Part 9 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Bruce hasn't been sure where he stands in sons' lives after returning from the timestream, but a case of pneumonia provides an excuse to sort some things out.

Full story under cut

Bruce only meant to drop by briefly, hand off some papers, and be on his way. He wasn’t exactly sure what made him pause in front of the display case.

Well. That wasn’t exactly true. He did know. How could he not know by the way his eyes gravitated towards the hood on the back of the Robin suit’s cape. By the way his heart sank at the sight of it.

He still thought it unnecessary – a distraction in the fight – it could easily obscure vision. He would have never allowed his partners to wear one.

And that was the trouble, wasn’t it? Damian wasn’t his partner, the hood a visual reminder. Dick knew Damian’s abilities better than anyone, knew whether or not the hood was appropriate. He trusted Dick’s judgment – no – had to rely on it when it came to his youngest.

He’d considered stepping in at first, but it made sense to keep Dick and Damian as partners – they worked well together, provided results. Damian rarely got along with anyone else… and that was changing under Dick’s mentorship. Gotham was doing well, crime rates were dropping, and public approval had risen significantly. By all accounts, Batman and Robin were doing an excellent job.

It was an odd feeling, to be surpassed by your son, at wearing the mantle you created.

It was an odd feeling, to be surpassed by your son, in being loved by your youngest. To have missed out on so much, to have been dead a year and come back with things running (mostly) smoothly, as if the world hadn’t really needed him anyways. He couldn’t quite tell if it was humbling or humiliating when he heard whispers from officers of the new Batman being better than the old one.

But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was-

The walls of the bunker shook slightly, the floor trembling beneath his feet as the roar of an engine reverberated through the entrance tunnel. Swept out of his thoughts, he swiftly placed the stack of documents by the main computer and doubled back to his car.

He didn’t plan on being here long, wasn’t keen on talking – he had the computer back at the manor running narrowing down possible combinations for one of Riddler’s games – he’d already lingered much to long.

With that thought, he opened the door his of car, giving a brief nod of acknowledgement as Dick entered on his bike. Dick didn’t wave back – he always waved when he saw him – unless something was wrong – or maybe he hadn’t seen him – that was the logical answer –

But Bruce still found himself frozen in place, his pulse increasing, heart leaping into his throat as Dick got closer, his mind scrutinizing every detail he could see – the way Dick was hunched over too much – his posture was normally perfect, his left arm was wrapped around his middle – Bruce slammed his car door shut, jogging forward as Dick parked.

“What’s wrong?” He reached up, pulling off the damn cowl, revealing tired watery, reddish eyes. Dick blinked, frowning, his eyes adjusting to the light.

“Nothing.” He pulled back, refusing Bruce’s arm, dismounting the bike himself. The cape obscured whatever Dick was putting pressure on. Dick strode forward, his shoulder squared as he started up the stairs. He felt oddly small looking up at the stark silhouette – and he had to wonder – was this how his kids felt when staring up at his back?

And then Dick succumbed to a nasty coughing fit halfway up the stairs. Bruce bolted up beside him, offering an arm again, swiftly finding blood trickling from a deep gash on his side. Instinctively he tore off a piece of his shirt, pressing it to the wound. Dick looked at him judgmentally, speaking through coughs.

“If you – waited like -” He doubled over again, pausing their trip up the stairs. He put up a hand, as Bruce moved in to simply carry him up the rest of the way. “- m’ fine.” Dick sucked in a shallow breath and they continued on. “ – didn’t have to ruin your shirt. We have gauze.” He mumbled as they reached the top.

Bruce looked down at his shirt, then back at Dick, feeling like a dumbass, but nonetheless glad he hadn’t left him behind. “You would have fallen down the stairs.” He noted, before moving onto the more pressing matter. “Were you gassed? Poisoned? Dick, repo-”

“I’m-” Dick cut him off, only for Damian to drop from the rafters, dramatically landing a few feet away.

“He’s been ill.” He crossed his arms in annoyance, pouting in his pajama pants, wearing an oversized shirt he’d sworn he’d gotten for Dick years ago. “And insisted on benching me even though I am perfectly capable of-”

“Damian, you’re supposed to be in-” Dick stumbled over his own feet – another alarm going off in his mind – Dick was normally graceful. Bruce was tired of this – he made eye contact with Damian, nodding towards their medical closet.

“Grab gauze and a suturing kit.” He commanded, Damian scurrying off ahead. He slipped his free hand beneath Dick’s knees, scooping him up – rushing him the rest of the way to the table as Dick succumbed to a hacking fit. Memories from years ago bubbled in the back of his mind, from a time Dick was smaller, in a brightly colored costume, fading quickly in his arms after a run in with Harvey Dent.

He couldn’t call for Alfred this time. He was halfway across the world assisting Kate, spending well deserved time with his daughter.

Biting back the panic, he did his best to gently set him down, but Dick was heavier than he used to be, and he was a bit older himself. Bruce cringed as Dick hit the table with a bit of a thud – though it seemed Dick hardly noticed – but Damian hissed in disapproval.

“Sorry.” Dick murmured, once he caught his breath, sounding far away – as if standing on the other end of a tunnel. Bruce couldn’t tell if he was spacing out, or if Dick was simply quiet, either way, he ignored the interruption, holding out a hand.

Damian materialized beside him placing the kit in his hands before pressing clean gauze to Dick’s. Bruce yanked off the costume in tandem. Neither spoke as they worked like a well-oiled machine, Bruce sewing up the wound as Damian kept Dick still. He could fix this – it wasn’t like before – the cut wasn’t too bad, he had the skills – he just needed to focus.

Bruce fought to keep his hands steady, as he tied off the end. Dick stared aimlessly at the ceiling, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, rolling down the side of his face and dripping in his eyes. Damian kept him propped upright, from atop the other side of the table.

Dick paused to cough for a moment, Damian pounding his back with furious eyes, as if he was attacking the congestion himself. “Don’t tear the stiches.” Bruce chided, Damian glared, but lightened his taps. Bruce held Dick by the shoulders until he was ready to continue.

Moments later, the bandage was applied, and Bruce scanned for more injuries.

“That was it, I’m fine.” Dick muttered, though Bruce couldn’t tear his eyes away – he could feel the blood on his hands – drying at the edges, slimy under his latex gloves. Dick was too pale, too warm to the touch, too- “Quit looking at me like I died.” He grumbled exasperatedly, his voice painfully horse. The tone snapped Bruce out of his inspection. “I’m fine.”

He turned to Damian – because at least one of his kids was being honest. “How long has he been sick?” He turned, grabbing a thermometer off a shelf.

“Since last Monday.” He replied, critically scanning Dick as well, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Dick scoffed at the remark, looking offended. “Liar, that was just allergies.” He reached up, moving to ruffle Damian’s hair – unsuccessful, Damian easily dodging the attempt.

“Obviously, it was more than just allergies, seeing as you’re still under the weather.” He rolled his eyes. “Likely something viral, the flu perhaps?”

Bruce gave Dick a pointed look, cocking an eyebrow. “You know better than to go out while sick.” That’s how people get killed, how Dick could have gotten killed, how he would have been left to bleed out on the floor if he hadn’t been there, how –

“I thought I’d turned the corner.” Dick’s tone was cool, but his eyes were laser focused on him – he had this way of looking at people, as if he was staring into your soul. “I felt fine when I left.”

“He was doing better earlier.” Damian begrudgingly mentioned, taking some small amount of pity on his brother. He gazed up quizzically, matching Dick’s expression. Bruce shifted his gaze between the two sets of searching eyes.

A moment passed in silence. The weight in his hand finally reminding him of his purpose, he stuck the ear thermometer in Dick’s ear.

“I can do the rest myself.” Dick noted, placing a hand atop the thermometer as well – which Bruce subsequently ignored.

“Mmm.” He noted, checking the temperature. “Almost hundred and three. And you felt fine enough to go out?” He asked, dropping notes of disbelief into his voice. Dick gazed back at him, unamused.

“I meant what I said. It was only supposed be a stakeout anyways.” Irritation was clear, despite his scratchy tone. Damian hoped off the table behind him. “You’ve gone out way worse than this!” Dick broke into raspy coughs, Bruce catching his shoulders.

“I’m going to prepare tea.” Damian muttered, dashing up the stairs, leaving him alone with the sound of Dick’s wheezing.

“Any other symptoms?” Bruce grabbed a stethoscope, snapping a pulse oximeter to Dick’s index finger. “Be honest.” He reminded, Dick avoiding his gaze.

“Bruce, you don’t seriously think I would have gone out if-”

“I know you know your limits.” He acknowledged. He also knew his family (and occasionally himself) liked pretending the limits weren’t there. He slipped the stethoscope against Dick’s chest, listening to his lungs. “Breath in.” Something crackled deep in his lungs. “Chest x-ray.” Bruce noted.

“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” If Bruce closed his eyes, he could pretend it was 9-year-old Dick, complaining about having to be swabbed for strep throat.

“If I’m right, no.” Dick unhappily mimicked his voice. Bruce cocked an eyebrow, giving him an unamused stare. “A list of symptoms would help.”

“I hate it when you’re like this – just tell me what you think.” Dick slid off the table. Bruce caught him by the shoulders, they were burning up. Dick shivered, shaking underneath his hands.

“I think you already know.” He slipped an arm under his son’s shoulders, slowly walking him towards the machine. “Shortness of breath, coughing, wheezing, fever, chills, recently viral illness. Chest pain likely.”

Dick groaned. “It’s just a cold.” Bruce pulled a blanket a nearby shelf, wrapping it around his shoulders. “I’ll be fine with a good night’s sleep. You don’t have to do this; I’ll go to Leslie’s tomorrow.”

“Dick.” He sighed exasperatedly. They could do the x-ray here or drive to the clinic at 2am.

“Don’t, Dick, me. You have stuff to do, thanks for stitching me up but I can handle myself, I thought you were supposed to-”

“Richard.” Dick paused for a moment. Bruce took it as an opportunity to half carry him the rest of the way to the machine. “I’ll take a culture when this is done and send it to Leslie. I don’t mind.”

Dick hesitated before responding. “Fine.”

A few aspirin, couple of tests, and a trip to Leslie’s later, Bruce found himself walking in through the front door of the penthouse, antibiotics in hand. He nearly tripped over Damian’s sneakers, scattered carelessly in the little mud room. Kicking of his own shoes, he moved the little sneakers to the shoe rack, struck for a moment by how small they were.

Making his way into the living room, he found Dick, half asleep on the caramel-colored couch. He clicked off the television, turning off some nature show, Dick’s attention pivoting to him.

“You came back?” He whispered, almost too quiet to hear, but surprise evident all the same – eyes widening, jaw dropping, before he caught himself and returned to a blank expression. Bruce nodded, passing him the medication before settling in a nearby armchair. Two empty mugs sat on the low table, rich aroma still lingering in the air (ginger if his nose was right), though Damian was nowhere to be seen.

His eyes lingered on the mugs – they were handmade, one in the Batman color scheme, the other matching the Robin costume. He’d taken a sculpting class with Dick years ago; they’d made similar ones together. Dick’s was likely in pieces, lost under the rubble of his old apartment, and Tim accidentally knocked his off a table years ago. He tore his eyes away – it made since for Dick to carry on the tradition with his Robin, he just… regretted never making another.

He watched as Dick fumbled with the container, his heart sinking at the uncoordinated attempts to twist off the lid. Bruce swiped it back, popping off the lid, and passing him a pill along with a bottle of water.

The surprise in Dick’s voice weighed on his mind – surely – Dick didn’t expect for him to leave him alone in such a state? Yes – he knew Dick was an adult – knew he could take care of himself – but Alfred wasn’t around if he took a turn for the worse, he couldn’t just leave that for Damian. Worry crept into the pit of his stomach, Alfred had been gone weeks, were there more illnesses Dick hadn’t been reporting? More injuries? Why? Because he didn’t think he would care? He didn’t want to burden Damian? He was too busy to-

“Bruce, quit brooding, I was just surprised you got back so fast.” Dick spoke slowly in carefully low tones, scooting back into a sitting position on the further end of the couch. Curling into a ball, he wrapped the blanket he’d grabbed early tighter, shivering under it. Internally, Bruce cringed at the sight before turning back to his thoughts.

“Hmm.” That wasn’t what Dick said, or why he was surprised. “You didn’t think I was coming back.” It came out more statement than question. Dick coughed lightly, avoiding a response. “I’d like to know why.”

Dick shrugged, too timed to be nonchalant. “You have casework to do.” He wouldn’t meet his gaze, busying himself pulling the blanket even tighter around his shoulders. “I’m an adult. I can handle being sick.”

“I know.” He hummed disbelievingly, his worry growing – Dick had a knack for lying – he really wasn’t feeling well if he was this easy to read. “You know I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t.” Dick warned, cutting him off with a glare. “If Alfred was here, you’d already be gone.” There was an edge of bitterness to his voice, a knowing look in his eyes.

“I…” <em>Haven’t visited in weeks because I feel strange around you and Damian,</em> his mind supplied helpfully.

“I know it hurts to see your…” Dick paused for a moment, catching his breath. “Family like this. Just don’t try to deny it, you disappear every time I get hurt.” <em>Or kick you me out,</em> went unsaid.

Bruce threw an arm over his eyes, taking a moment to lean back against the recliner. For so long, he’d been focused on just getting back to the present, getting back to his kids. But… coming back meant facing up to the times he’d been less than a good father… or older brother… whatever he and Dick had all those years ago.

He took a moment, examining a few memories, his behavior after the Two-Face case, the time Dick was shot in the shoulder, even how he’d acted the first few weeks Dick was at the manor – relentlessly pursuing justice rather than spend time with his ward. It was no secret to most he had regrets. He’d changed since then – never acted like that with Jason. Didn’t disappear after Tim’s father died. He’d changed, but he never –

“I’m sorry.” They stared at each other, speaking in tandem. Bruce’s jaw dropped as Dick continued.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your standards, I know I disappointed you tonight, I shouldn’t have brought the past up, you don’t have to stay-” His words came out hurriedly, rushed and pained.

“Dick.” Bruce hadn’t thought his heart could sink any lower, but somehow, it dropped to the bottom of his gut, his throat closing uncomfortably.

“I’m doing my best, I thought I’d be fine, I just really needed information tonight and I couldn’t go out tomorrow because I need to help Tim, and now I’m going to have to call in Steph, and Barbara’s gonna be upset, and Tim’ll be mad, and it’s Damian’s first week of school, I took him out of homeschool because you wanted him to go to Gotham Academy, but he hates it and he won’t go to bed on time, and I have a board meeting in the morning I’m not prepared for-”

“Richard.” Bruce tried to interrupt, but Dick was rambling, his hands shaking as he pressed one to his forehead, his voice growing frantic. Bruce moved to sit next to the mugs.

“-I know I’m letting you down, you came back to a mess and I’m still trying to get everything settled, and Jason’s still loose god knows where, and I can’t take three steps off this couch without feeling like I’m about to collapse and now I’m taking up your time too for nothing because I’m fine and I can handle this and you should just go back to your case because it’s more important and-”

“Richard John Grayson.” He squeezed Dick’s shoulder, waiting for him to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.” Dick bit his lip, face flushed. Bruce froze, not sure where to go from here. He had more to say, but for some reason, he couldn’t speak. Dick blinked, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, and for a moment Bruce could pretend he was eight years old again – and just like that, he knew what to do.

Leaning forward, he wrapped Dick in a hug, gently patting his back (hopefully breaking some mucus loose). Alarm bells rang in his mind – Dick was warm – too warm, but he ignored them, just holding his son steady as his ragged breath went smooth.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stick around before, I know better now, and I’ll stay this time if you’ll let me.” He paused, gathering his thoughts, releasing Dick back against a stack of pillows. He dropped his elbows to his knees, letting his head drop into his hands. He could fix this.

“You’ve done better than I could have imagined, given the circumstances. Better than I did when I was your age.” He ran Dick’s words through his mind again. “I’ll stay until you’re well. I’ll talk to Tim and Barbara. I’ll figure out where Jason went. I’ll talk to Damian about school, though you might have better luck than me on that one-”

“You’re kidding me he listened to you perfectly earlier.” Dick muttered, tucking his chin between his knees.

“-only because we had a shared goal, and that goal was assisting you.” Bruce continued. “I’ll call Lucius, get him to reduce your hours. I-we can fix this. Just…” his voice caught in his throat. “Get well soon.” Dick, well he was right, it was painful to see him so worn out. It seemed… unnatural, seeing him sick, though he’d seen him ill plenty of times before.

Dick glanced at him, then dropped his gaze, fidgeting with the corner of a little throw blanket. “I’m being pathetic. Bruce. I’m sorry, I can handle this.” He looked back up, determination swimming in his bleary blue eyes. “You don’t need to stay.”

Bruce sighed exasperatedly. “I know. Do you remember the time I got mono? Back when you were a kid?” Dick thought for a moment before nodding.

“Alfred wouldn’t let you leave your room. We played Uno.” He noted.

“And Go-Fish, checkers, chess, and every other game we own. And Clark and Lucius covered for me for two months. And I hated staying put but playing games with you made time fly.” He leaned forward, slipping an arm around Dick, pulling him up again, and heading towards his room. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I would have cut the recovery time in half if I didn’t escape out the window two weeks in. Dick… you aren’t letting me down if you let me cover for you, consider it payback.”

Dick gasped dramatically, only to let out a few weak coughs. “You didn’t! …Actually, I already knew. Alfred and I picked you up after you got your ass kicked, remember?” He shook his head. “I know it’s stupid to go out sick, I saw you do it and I hated it I wouldn’t do that to Damian or you.” He paused, leaving them in uncomfortable silence. “Uh. No offense. Just… you believe me, right? I wouldn’t have gone out if I thought I wouldn’t come back.”

Bruce paused, giving Dick a long look. Memories of Superman’s panicked call coming over his comms, Dick rushing into nuclear wastelands without protection. They’d come a long way since then, Dick had come a long way in the year he’d been gone. “I believe you.”

Dick let out a long breath as they turned into his bedroom. “Okay.” Bruce propped pillows as Dick faceplanted into bed.

“Sleep well.” He murmured, throwing the comforter over him. Dick turned, shooting him a half smile, not making any moves towards the nice stack of pillows. He clicked on a humidifier on his way towards the door, shutting off the lights as he left. “I’m proud of you.”

As he closed the door, leaving it open just a crack, he heard a tired voice whisper “Thanks.”

[whump-town]

Halloween

Right after 5x01 with Reid and Hotch both pulling away, Morgan and Emily take matters into their own hands. 

“I don’t want to.”

Morgan, who up until that point, had really, truly believed that the worst of his year was behind him closes his eyes with a tired sigh. As if the pig farm hadn’t felt suffocating on its own, now it’s tangled in his mind with Foyet. The pigs, Mason, that poor girl, and Hotch. Because that terrible night hadn’t ended for Hotch as it had for the rest of them. They slept while Hotch lay on his apartment floor, his own blood soaking into his clothes. The hospital hadn’t even washed the dried blood from his hair by the time the team arrived.

Emily had the next day. It had taken Derek and Emily both to do the seemingly mindless task. Hotch had been uncomfortable, dirty and the nurses had given them the leeway to tackle the task together. And they were both very aware of how annoyed he was to have to succumb to their help. Hotch can hardly raise his arms to his waist, he wasn’t going to be washing his one hair. And as the oldest of his own siblings and still leaning heavily into that protective mindset, Morgan would heavily prefer it to be him there. So, bracing Hotch’s side with his own body, Derek had held Hotch upright while Emily gently scrubbed his hair clean of his blood.

The scent thick and acidic but slowly replaced with a smell distinctly hospital-like. The water had browned, the suds too dirty to even help only about halfway through. Standing there, Hotch’s body growing heavier and shaking gently against Morgan’s ribs he could see every bone in his boss’s back. And, too soon, they had to call it quiets. The monitors were picking up, distraught with the pain Hotch had hidden so well. His heart missing beats as Morgan had eased his head back into the pillows.

Emily standing there, white as a ghost, with that bucket of water. Hotch was only half-aware of them and their intentions by then. Watching Morgan behind half-lidded eyes and lips pale and parted as he took a dry rag through his hair. Morgan’s mother had always told him that going out in the cold with wet hair would give you pneumonia and while he had never known anyone to get pneumonia like that he wasn’t going to take any chances. Even if they were in a temperature-controlled hospital room.

And through all of that, Hotch had made it. Slowly, through shrieking monitors and more than one scare, alive. A fucking miracle.

“What do you mean you don’t want to go?” It’s Halloween. For as long as Morgan has known Reid, it’s been his favorite holiday. Hell, everyone knows it’s his favorite holiday. Even Hotch gets a little festive in the name of bringing even the faintest smile to Reid’s face. The idea for today, a party to celebrate Halloween, had been done with Reid specifically in mind. Being cooped up in this apartment isn’t good for him.

Reid who hasn’t actually looked at Morgan since he came in, twirls the frayed ends of his blanket around his finger. “I don’t want to,” he repeats. It’s one thing to mop about in this apartment. Here, no one watches him struggle to move. No one looks too hard, too long at his ill-practiced steps. At the crutches tucked under his scrawny arms. Worse is that if he goes, he can’t take his crutches. He’ll have to the stupid wheelchair in his room. Whos open seat is a crookedly carved leather smile, taunting him.

Morgan shakes his head and keeps at his current project. For the past week (has it been a week? He isn’t certain) he’s done nothing but tidies up every space around him. Having attacked Hotch’s apartment-- tearing up that blood-stained carpet, patching the hole in the wall, fixing a leaky faucet in the guest room, and cleaning out his worryingly empty fridge-- he’s come to Reid’s. The thing is Reid is going to make this process a little harder. There are bits and pieces of Reid in every corner of his apartment. Not self-deprecatingly bare like Hotch’s. Here, he can’t disrupt the way books lie because they all have been sectioned and left where they are with purpose. There is a purpose to his chaos more meaningful than Hotch’s out of sight out of mind.

“Well, you have to go.”

Reid frowns, biting his lip to refrain from whining. Despite having done more by his current twenty-four-years of age than any of them, they still treat him like a child. And while any of them might be forgiven for a bit of childish refusal he won’t be. Well, in all fairness, he is prone to a bit more childish things than they are. Reid had to be forced to go to the doctor’s for a check-up after getting anthrax and all because he had thought they might ask to do blood tests. What had made him go, in the end? Morgan taking Reid himself. It was humiliating but when they draw blood Morgan had offered his hand and Reid had taken it.

Now, Morgan’s just asking for a favor. For Reid to suck it up, just this once. To have fun and be easy. “Hotch is only coming because he’s under the impression this is all for you.” And it is, all for Reid. None of them care about Halloween. Hotch least of all. But the two of them are going to go crazy cooped up on their own.

Of course, that’s only mostly true.

It’s entirely Morgan and Emily’s idea.

“Okay,” Reid sighs, scratching self-conscious at his scalp. “I just…” he shoves the blankets off his legs. “Just need a few minutes.” A shower. He needs a shower and, if he’s granted the time for it, a pity nap.

Morgan hums, head bent to his current task of cleaning Reid’s strangely large collection of mugs lining his counter. “As long as you need,” he mumbles.

Two years ago, if someone sat David Rossi down and told him that on a Saturday in October he’d be celebrating Halloween as a fully grown man... he wouldn’t believe them. Add in the fact that he would be doing this because it’s a twenty-something-year-old genius’s favorite holiday and he’s doing it to lighten the mood of his old prodigy… well, he’d consider himself senile.

He should have stayed retired.

As of the last month, he’s been thinking that a lot. Don’t get him wrong, he loves the little ragtag team Aaron’s created in his absence but they're a little crazy and trouble magnets-- Emily and Reid attempt at a second Waco with Benjamin Cyrus, the bombing in New York, and George Foyet. All within the span of a year. He’s only heard about some of the other things they did before he came back.

These freaking kids are crazy.

“Will you just listen to me,” Dave is multi-tasking. Aside from picking out comfortable clothes for the evening he also has got to swindle Hotch into coming out to the party. “For once in your life, Aaron, just listen to me.” As dramatic as that may sound, it’s kind of fair. Even when they prodigy and mentor, Aaron had a flair for taking Dave’s instructions in one ear and out the other.

“Dave,” comes Aaron’s soft rebuttal. He’s exhausted. Much to his chagrin, three days rest has done nothing to mend the bone-tired ache in his body. Add the depression he can feel settling across his sternum and the way his ribs feel like they’re being pried open… He has no interest in watching his team get drunk at Dave’s house. Call him a buzzkill or a killjoy to heart’s content, that’s not going to change his mind.

Besides, the last thing he needs is to start himself into a bad habit of drinking every time he’s sad. Then what? He starts himself down a road of addiction. He comes to work drunk. Derek tries to say something. Dave is worried. He gets fired. He’s no better than his own father.

Rossi’s voice softens, any of the agitation previously in his voice is gone. “Aaron,” he calls through the speaker. “I’m not asking. Emily’s on her way right now to come to get you.” He sighs under his breath, just tired, not even mad. “You can make that hard for her,” Dave offers, knowing that’s what Hoch is going to be inclined to do. “I think we both know she deserves a break from that, though.”

Hotch feels the defeat pull his shoulders down. He’s been an asshole lately. Logically, he knows it’s a progression of all the emotions he’s feeling and burying. Emily doesn’t hate him for that but he knows she’s starting to feel overwhelmed by it. And given how successful his other attempts at pushing everyone else away has been, he might just owe her a little reprieve. To do this one thing without an entire battle.

“I’ll… I’ll be there.”

Dave smiles on the other side of the line, content with himself. “Thank you, Aaron. I will see you there, kiddo.”

It’s always the smartest people that fall for the simplest tricks.

Unlike Derek, Emily does feel bad about their plan. Logically, she’s very aware of how beneficial it’s going to be. If they don’t invite themselves over, Reid won’t ask anyone to come. Which means that he’s got to be getting his meals some other way. The thing is, if he were getting them delivered by a friend unknown to his team members, there should be something left over. Food in his fridge or trash in his garbage can. But there’s nothing.

Why does love have to be so difficult? How is it that some people understand it and others are stunningly unaware? Somehow wrapping their pretty little heads around this idea that they are undeserving or tricksters for having tricked someone into caring about them. If they didn’t love Reid would they feverishly watch over him? Did he really consider himself that sinister? That malicious? That he could trick profilers into loving him? Let it be clear, there is no trick. They are not so foolish and he not so unlovable.

“Derek, I think we might--”

Reid’s wobbly. He’s not yet mastered the crutches (at all). His practice comes only from the hospital and then his instructions had been brief before he was sent down the hall. A nurse just needing to see he could maneuver them and that they were at the right height. So, as bitter as he is to admit it, Derek’s lightly placed hand on the small of his back is very helpful.

Turning to see Emily, Reid lurches dangerous and Morgan moves quickly to stop him from falling. Just behind them, SUV pulled up onto Rossi’s lawn as close as she could pull it up, Emily is helping Hotch out of the car. Even from here, he can hear the lowered grumbling shared between the two. Despite being unable to see Hotch except for one brief moment, Reid’s glad to at least hear the other man. Him and Emily clipping rough comments back and forth. Bordering on rude but it’s between them and they’ve always let one another slide in these areas.

Vaguely he can piece together that they’re arguing about whether or not Morgan’s help is needed. “--wheelchair, that you made me leave-- I will take you back-- walker-- asshole!” Despite how angrily they nip back and forth, it’s all in what they don’t say. Hotch falls into Emily’s guiding step. Not even breaking from his own comment as her hand comes around his hips and effortlessly supports his weight as they take a step up. Neither taking the blow below the belt to note how Hotch’s words get cut off by a hardly contained whimper of pain or how choked his quick, distressed breathing becomes.

Morgan’s help is needed but Emily is too focused on keeping Hotch’s feet firmly planted on the ground and Hotch too worried about not busting his ass on the ice.

Reid jerks as Dave’s front door is thrown open. One hand on his hip, an apron over his chest, he shakes his head at the sight of the four of them. “I can hear you two arguing like children from in the house!” he shouts. He steps out onto the porch, tucking the towel in his hand into his pants. “Grown adults out here acting like children!” There is an unmistakable David Rossi laced fondness in his tone. That, despite his haste movements and dry frown, is taken as such because they know him. And he knows Hotch and Emily well enough to know this would happen.

“Get yourselves inside,” Rossi’s entire body changes when he sees Morgan and Reid. A simple passing hand down Morgan’s back for encouragement. “There’s root beer in the bottom drawer in the fridge, have Henry get you one!”

Reid smiles, suddenly excited for this afternoon. Root beer is… it’s the keystone of his childhood. There was not a matter he and his mother couldn’t handle with a little root beer. And while he doesn’t indulge himself often with that luxury (still some part of his brain fails to comprehend that he has the money to get it) Dave always has it. Hearing that Henry is here, implying Will and JJ too, he feels himself growing giddy. Pleased. He can’t wait to talk to them. For Will to hit his shoulder with his fist just a little too hard and to rustle his hair. JJ hovering and laughing. Henry. Smiling laughing.

Dave keeps going.

His frowning turning into a small while Hotch’s dark eyes find him, a glint of hope. “Our poor hero,” Dave greets in a half-jab at Hotch. He cups the younger man’s cheek, smiling at him. “I assume Emily has been her cruel and unusual self?” Once again, another jab. It’s a perfect balance. He neither takes Emily’s side (exhausted by Hotch’s antics) nor Hotch’s (exhausted by Emily’s antics).

They both scoff, at both implications.

“Hotch is being an asshole,” Emily grumbles, childishly sticking her tongue out at him. “Per his usual self.”

Hotch turns to Dave and returns, “to answer your question, yes she is.”

Wedged between Dave and Emily, Hotch makes it to the porch. Emily only hits him once. Once. He deserved it.

“Would you two behave?”

They get all of two steps in before JJ puts a stop to it. You see, no one ever listens to Dave. Not once has anyone ever listened to Hotch but JJ. No, to JJ, they always listen. And with a slow final few blows, Hotch and Emily stop bickering.

“Now,” JJ has flour on her chest. An honor which means Rossi has let her within his kitchen. “Go sit,” she points to the living room, stepping aside to let them through. “Behave yourselves or I’m not letting you eat until you hug and tell each other you love one another.” Her grandmother used to force that punishment on JJ and her sister as children. Cruel, she had thought then, but JJ has learned it to be very useful. As they pass, she hears them both grumble something about Hotch’s mostly liquid diet and how Emily doesn’t think that’s very fair. JJ throws her own towel at their heads. It’s well worth the shared smirk of mischief shared between Hotch and Emily.

Little deviants, she thinks with an eye roll. It’s Halloween so she lets it slide.

In the living room, Reid and Hotch are left while the others fight over one another in the kitchen. The clatter is heard through the whole house. Morgan making Garcia laugh, a barking sound that draws a smile from Reid. Joyous. Emily lightly teasing Rossi for what she teases is new greying in his hair. She asks if he’d like her to dye it for him the next time he gets his hair colored. Her triumphant laughter is just as freeing. 

“Hotch?”

Beaten by the effort it took to walk all the way to the living room, Hotch had mostly succumbed to his placement on in the lazyboy. A chair, in which, he had never sat once in all the years he’d visited Dave’s. But the recliner is large and he can easily lean to support his side. Keeping an arm wrapped around his aching side. Without opening his eyes, head tilted back he hums. “Yeah?”

Reid’s knee is carefully surrounded by pillows. Even if it’s jostled, it’s fully supported in every direction. He’d been sitting here, watching Hotch’s face steadily grow blank. Masking his pain. He’d wanted to know if Hotch too had been tricked into coming. But then, as Morgan, followed closely by Garcia and the others, step in and Reid finds he doesn’t actually need to know. Hotch came, didn’t he? Left the safety of his dark apartment in favor of their boisterous company. Of little Henry in his Spiderman costume and Garcia and her own elaborate Harry Potter costume. 

Derek hands Reid a plate, mostly finger foods a bit of pasta. His plate mirrors Henry’s. While the other’s all eat healthy amounts of pasta. Will sneaks him a napkin, which confuses him, until Will covers his hand over Reid’s and whispers “there are eight Oreos in this napkin”. Sweets, which JJ and Garcia had deprived him until he cleaned his plate. And when JJ caves, Reid’s stomach full of the carrots, crackers, and grapes his plate had primarily had (as well as those Oreos), and brings him a slice of pie and ice cream Will only shakes his head with a smirk.

Hotch manages a few spoonful's of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. 

“You could eat something else,” Dave ventures, scowling. But Hotch’s body is very displeased and what little solid food he’d managed to eat in the last few days was having a tendency to come right back up. Abdominal trauma, the doctor’s kept informing them, often caused this. They just needed to wait it out. 

“He’s got the palate of a toddler,” Emily mumbles but she means it fondly. She punctuates it by throwing a carrot at his head. He doesn’t have the dexterity to swat it out of the air so it hits his head and he just scowls at her. 

Reid sides with Hotch. “Chicken noodle soup is the best soup,” he offers in Hotch’s defense. Blushing when Hotch just looks sadly at him, as if broken by the idea that Reid is the only person left to defend him. 

“It is,” Garcia tries to add, helpfully. She smiles encouragingly to Hotch but once again he takes them siding with him poorly. If all the sympathy he can garner is from Reid and Garcia, he’s hopeless. He loves them dearly but they effortlessly take his side. “And you leave my boss man alone! If he wants to eat chicken noodle soup then you let him.”

Hotch hums to that, quirking an eyebrow at Garcia, and looking down at Emily. Of all the places for her to sit, she’d chosen the floor. With a whole floor to choose from, she still sat down right at his feet. Resting her back against his shins. Which he didn’t mind but he knew she’d done it just to annoy him. 

Henry grows tired of his adult company and with the sun falling, he knows what’s coming. Even at three, he’s aware of what he’s supposed to be doing.

“Go on,” Hotch encourages. He knows they’re only holding back for two reasons: Reid and him. But Henry shouldn’t suffer just because he managed to piss off the one Unsub brave enough to attack him and Reid unfortunate enough to get shot. “We won’t go anywhere. I’ll put on Doctor Who,” he bargains. “Reid won’t go anywhere.” But it’s not really Reid they’re worried about. “I’ll take a nap,” he offers. Which is what his body needs but he’s not so sure he’ll actually commit to that. 

“Don’t move.” Emily orders.

“I’ll make sure he stays put,” Reid says, with a nod. But given how stupid they both are, Emily loves the commitment but doesn’t take the offer too seriously. Hotch with a blanket tucked over his legs and Reid happily humming away to the Doctor Who theme song, they’re left to the silence of Dave’s house. The others out taking Henry around the block for some trick or treating. 

Hotch does take that nap and Reid contently gets sucked into Doctor Who. Content in ways they both thought were only possible locked away in their own misery. 

[doberbutts]

Yeah, I used to be allergic to clothes too. Now I'm mostly? Over it? But it might be coming back very slightly considering the I'm allergic to my socks thing. I can wear certain socks and I should probably only wear those. I also have the problem of if I don't wear pants my legs get very very very itchy like they're allergic to air, but I've also been dealing with my back and chest are kinda itchy here and there for one or two weeks now and I'm worried I may be getting allergic to certain fabrics again...I really hope It's not me being allergic to my shirts again. I also had to stop getting vaccines after I reacted really badly as a kid but in a different way, but my allergies have gotten better enough that I think now I can get the really important ones, if I'm careful and spread them out and have somebody to watch me, and I don't get the one I reacted to at all. I think it was a good idea not to when I was little and my allergies were so severe, and it's good that I'm at a point where I might be able to now. I got the covid vaccine and I got a fever of 102 + weird my body is weird symptoms but I was okay. I could tell I was going to react strongly to it too after I got the first one. I'm just lucky I'm at a point where I can do that now when I couldn't really before, and I just have to be selective and careful with what I can get. It's difficult when that's not as clear cut and simple as Just getting a shot and it's a lot more complicated than that if you can even get it.

It sounds like you also have dry skin! What helped me for a while was a steroid cream (rx required) for eczema and a fragrance-free lotion that was mostly just vitamin E, but YMMV. I remember that giving me a huge amount of relief to the constant itching of my childhood.

I'm not really allergic to clothes anymore but I also have taken a lot of control regarding when and where I wear clothes as well as what textures I buy so I have been able to minimize things that way as well. And thankfully I found an easy and affordable laundry solution that doesn't immediately make my entire skin very upset. But for the most part I do solve the problem by just being naked whenever possible and wearing the softest, loosest fitting clothes I can when naked is not an option.

So I was sort of the opposite- I was able to be fully vaccinated without much issue when I was little, but then as I aged I became less and less tolerant of shots. When I got the hepatitis vaccine in high school, I ended up in the ER three weeks later with so much swelling, redness, and pain in my entire arm and that side of my back that I could barely move. It took another three weeks to get back to normal. That was my first warning sign, I think, that something wasn't right. I'd always had a weird reaction to the flu shot, but nothing so severe until that one. Then I got the pneumonia vaccine, and nothing happened... and then later that year I got the flu shot that gave me such bad pneumonia I ended up in the hospital.

We'd been doing these vaccines because during a blood workup we discovered that my white blood cell count was basically zero. Paired with the other symptoms- my stomach rejecting any and all food, my hair was falling out, my fingernails were deteriorating, I was losing weight rapidly, and my skin was beginning to be covered in open sores, this pointed to a major immune system freakout and one that was the closest brush with death I'd ever had. They tested me for HIV, they tested me for cancer, they tested me for lupus, they tested me for TB, they tested me for crohn's, they tested me for C-diff, and eventually we circled around to "you must have some other genetic immune thing that's interacting poorly with MCAS" and started throwing vaccines at me to see if that would get my body to restart my immune system as part of an experimental treatment.

Which unfortunately worked a little too well.

At this time, I did not yet know I'd been flagged as a newborn for likely having CAH, and my mother decidedly did not say anything to my doctors while they were trying to figure out why my body was trying very hard to die simply due to the stress of getting a sinus infection and a stomach bug while in my last semester of my third year of college.

And that puts me in a difficult spot, because when I get sick I get real sick, but also when I get a vaccination I also get real sick, so I'm stuck either way.

[solastia]

Call Of The Sea

Pairing: Jungkook X Hoseok

A/N: So, I went a little crazy. Instead of a tiny drabble this became an almost 4k work. *shrug* As for the smut itself, it’s oviposition (meaning eggs for those that don’t know), so there’s a bit of breeding/impreg kink as well as implied mpreg. I spent way too much time thinking about the mechanics of breeding a human male with a male merman and it shows. Anyway, enjoy!

****

There were a million excuses he’d given his roommates about why he felt the need to visit the beach so often. Most of them bullshit. 

He felt more inspired to draw there - which that one was slightly true. 

It cures his super frequent migraines - he wasn’t sure he’d ever had one his whole life. 

He was interested in marine biology - but not for reasons they might think. 

He could never actually tell them the truth: that he spent all of his free time in a beachside cave in Busan because his boyfriend of seven months was a merman. 

For one that would sound insane, and he knew that if he ever told Yoongi he’d probably storm down here to save Jungkook from someone that was obviously a scammer. And Seokjin was probably related to someone in the military and would have the merman become a science experiment in two seconds flat. 

No, he couldn’t tell them. At least not yet. 

So he simply ignored his guilty conscience and let his plastic bag swing as he strolled down to the beach like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

He pulled his hoodie tight around his ears to ward off the cold. It was getting to be late in the winter season and the trips to the beach were practically hazardous for his health at this point - good thing his boyfriend's smile was as bright as the sun. 

Fuck, that was so cheesy. What the hell was wrong with him? 

Anyway, despite what the temperature read, he still wasn't as cold as he should be. Actually, he was almost toasty and he felt like he was just bundling up out of habit rather than need. His temperature had been strange for a few weeks. 

He shook his head and turned onto the path that led to his secret cave. Well, not that secret. Sometimes older kids came out here to party, but not often and definitely not in the middle of winter. 

Once he reached his cave, he pouted silently over it being empty. He must still be out swimming. Maybe with the water being such a freezing temperature, it slowed him down.  

He sighs forlornly, hoping he won’t have to wait too much longer. He lets both of his bags drop to the sandy floor and unzips the pack back, pulling out the two blankets he’d decided to bring. One for sitting, and one big fluffy down blanket so he wouldn’t get pneumonia. 

He snorts to himself as he gets comfortable and observes the water lapping close to the cave entrance. It’s not likely he’d even get pneumonia without the blanket, though. Beyond his strange fluctuating body heat, he’s been putting on so much weight recently it was ridiculous, like a bear getting ready to hibernate. 

Just this morning he’d tried to wear his sexiest pair of jeans for his boyfriend, only to find that his hips had widened so much he couldn’t pull them up. He’d even had to double up shirts and throw a hoodie over it because his pecs were basically tits now. They were so swollen and sensitive, he didn’t know what was going on. 

And don’t even get him started on everything in the plastic bag. He sighed and brought it closer to him as the urge to protect his bounty overcame him. The same overwhelming urge that had caused him to buy all the food in the first place. He sometimes brought his boyfriend little treats here or there because he got so excited, but this had been some primal urge to shower the merman in foodstuffs. 

He finally heard the sound he’d been waiting for - the nearby shriek of a waterproof whistle. He grinned excitedly and pulled the whistle he wears around his neck up to his lips and blew. It was a signal that alerted his merman that it was safe to show himself. 

“Jungkookie!” 

Jungkook grins as the graceful form of his boyfriend appears at the edge of the cave. He beams up at Jungkook from the shallow waters, his silky long black hair a cloud around him and his tail an iridescent blend of oranges and yellows. He’s so bright in the winter gloom that Jungkook’s spirits are instantly lifted. 

“Hoseok! I missed you!” 

“It’s only been two days, silly human,” but despite his words, he looks pleased and bashful by Jungkook’s unashamed neediness. A neediness that never seemed to go away, not since the moment he’d met the merman in this very spot. 

“Whatever,” Jungkook pouts, pulling his blankets up to his chin to hide his blush. “I’ll just keep the things I brought you then since you don’t care.”

“What?! Gimme!” 

The merman smiles sunnily, his lips shaped like a heart. Jungkook melts and relents, peeling the blankets off of himself and striding closer to the edge with his bag. He crouches and ruffles in the contents as Hoseok eagerly leans over to peek inside. 

“Let’s see, lots of things you said you liked before. Cherry tomatoes, tangerines, fish sausages...a bunch of stuff,” Jungkook shrugs, blushing as he realizes yet again that he may have gone a little overboard judging by the bulging contents of the bag. 

Hoseok looks over the bounty with awe, a gleam in his eye that Jungkook wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. 

“My mate has provided for me during the winter months,” he says softly, rummaging through the bag like it was filled with gems. 

“That’s a good thing?” Jungkook asks, surprised by Hoseok’s strange response. He’d known the merman would be excited because he liked human food, but he’d been expecting screaming and huge smiles not...whatever this was. And he’d even used the ‘M’ word again - just like he had the last time Jungkook had let the other rut all over him, leaving him with the bite mark that itches on his thigh. 

Instead of answering, Hoseok slowly looks up at him with an intense gaze. His jaw is clenched like he’s deep in thought and then finally he nods - before turning away and diving under the water. 

“What? Hoseok, where are you going?” 

He fucked up somehow. Did he offend the merman? He’s brought him treats before. What did he do wrong?

Nearly ten minutes later Jungkook is close to leaving. The cold is finally starting to annoy him and Hoseok hasn’t come back. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to. 

He sighs and stands up, deciding to leave the bag where it was. Hoseok could come back for it if he wanted to. Jungkook turns and grabs his blankets, intending to throw them into his backpack when a sudden metallic thump startles him. He looks towards the source, his eyes growing impossibly wide as he takes in the sight. 

Hoseok’s rainbow-hued bag he’d made from discarded netting was familiar to him. The awe-inspiring pile of what can only be termed ‘Treasure’ was spilling onto the rocky ground was something new. Precious gems, ancient coins, golden bangles and crowns, all touched by the sea but still glittering and obviously valuable. 

“Hoseok, what’s all this?” 

“Is this enough?” Hoseok’s voice was intense as he watched Jungkook inspect the goods, his eyes alight with some emotion that he couldn’t interpret. 

“For what?” 

“To provide for you and our young.” 

Jungkook whirled around and gaped at the merman in shock. “Our what now?” 

Hoseok nods briskly like it was just a fact. “Our young. It’s mating season and you accepted my bite. Then you provided me with food to keep my strength up in the winter and able to breed you. By spring, we’ll have our first young!” 

Jungkook drops to the cold ground in shock, staring at Hoseok. 

“Babe, I hate to tell you this, but in the human world a man cannot get pregnant.” 

“Haven’t you noticed the changes to your body since you accepted my bite? Your body widening to better hold my eggs? Your chest filling out so you can nourish our young?” 

“I’m...I...what the fuck?” Jungkook grabs at said chest, feeling their newly acquired plumpness. “Is this permanent? Can I make it stop?” 

Hoseok drooped, his excitement falling from him like a cloak and his eyes radiating hurt. “Yes. You’ll go back to normal after the mating season, whether I breed you or not. Do you...not want me to?” 

Jungkook thought for a moment, going over the past events between the two of them. He supposed he should have known something was up. Hoseok had been getting more...enthusiastic about touching him lately. He’d chalked it up to them getting closer and Hoseok becoming less shy about affection. He’d just assumed that sex wasn’t on the table because of their different anatomy, although Hoseok certainly loved making out and getting Jungkook off. During their last heavy petting session, Hoseok had given him a very intense blowjob that had ended with him biting into the meaty part of Jungkook’s thigh. 

He was definitely crazy about the merman and based on what Hoseok was telling him, he’d basically done everything to make him think that he was down for being his real mate in every way. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Jungkook begins carefully. “But I didn’t know that’s what we were leading to. I didn’t know about the food or the bite.” 

Hoseok’s eyes widen and he clutches a hand to his chest. “I did bad! I forgot you wouldn’t know...I...I’m sorry. I just...it’s instinct and I’ve never found a mate before.” 

“It’s okay. Umm…” Jungkook licks his lips nervously and asks shyly, “What all would this entail?��� 

“Entail? Oh...you mean how would I breed you?” 

“Uh, yeah. And like, how would it come out. And what would happen...after.” 

Hoseok searches Jungkook’s face, his smile slowly growing as he takes in the shy interest in Jungkook’s eyes. 

“Well, first I would make out, as you call it. I like doing that a lot. No one touches lips down there,” Hoseok swims a little closer to the cave edge when Jungkook finally smiles a little. “Then I’ll pump you full of my eggs.” 

“EGGS?! I’ll have to lay eggs? Like a chicken?” Jungkook exclaims, his hands flying to his ass like he could protect it. 

Hoseok chuckles. “No, silly human. My eggs will nestle in your womb and absorb your DNA until spring. Since you’re a human, only one or two will be born and the rest of the eggs will be absorbed as nutrients for you and our young. If you were a merman as well, you could have easily given birth to ten or more. My sister had thirty.” 

“Okay, but how are they going to come out?” 

“You’re not done growing,” Hoseok smirked. “The bite is still working on you and helping your body evolve to handle our mating. If you decide to deny our bond, you will completely go back to the way you were before my bite. If you let me breed you, most of the outer changes will go back to normal until next season, but your new internal parts will stay to keep you compatible for the next season. You are growing a womb and a birthing slit.” 

“Jesus,” Jungkook stares at the merman in surprise and trepidation. “You must like me a whole lot to want babies and stuff.” 

“I do,” Hoseok nodded vigorously. “Bunches and bunches. I’ve never participated in the mating season before. My family called me odd because I was “picky” but now I’m happy I was. My mate is the human Jungkook.” 

“How...uh...how will you get the eggs in me?” 

Jungkook blushes when Hoseok pierces him with an assessing gaze. He was surprised with himself that the thought of walking around with Hoseok’s eggs - while still fucking weird - also got him rock-hard. Like he could keep a piece of the beautiful man with him on land, and one that he could feel inside of him. 

“I have an organ like yours, it just looks a bit different. It’s kept inside until I’m ready.” 

“And...are you?”

“Ready?” Hoseok quirks an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “I’m always ready with you, but do you want this?” 

Jungkook swallows nervously, but the image of finally being fucked by this beautiful person was enough to get him wanting to scream “Yes.” 

Not to mention, the more he thought about it, the more the idea of having a child - no matter how strangely they were made - that was a little bit of him and Hoseok....he found the idea appealing. 

“Okay. Let’s do it.” 

Hoseok’s heart-shaped smile was as bright as the sun. “Okay! Lose all those silly clothes. My bite should be keeping you warm, especially once you get in the water.” 

Jungkook pauses with his shirt half over his head. “I’m going to be in the water? In the middle of winter?” 

Hoseok shrugs, “For a little bit.” 

Jungkook eyes him dubiously. “Uh-huh.” 

Still, he strips, throwing his clothes away from the water as far as he could. He was already embarrassingly hard, his cock barely shaking as he walked towards the merman. 

“Lay down and make out!” Hoseok declared, and Jungkook did so with a chuckle. The merman absolutely loved kissing. He’d been wide-eyed with wonder the first time Jungkook had impulsively pecked his lips, then demanded more almost immediately. One time Hoseok had even challenged himself to kiss every inch of Jungkook - every inch. 

Jungkook laid on his blanket close to the water’s edge and Hoseok pulled himself up to hover over the human. He quietly studied his face, a tiny fond smile gracing his lips. 

“Hi there,” Jungkook giggled. Hoseok grinned and lowered his face more. 

“Hello,” he responded quietly, then pressed his lips to Jungkook’s. 

The human moaned into the soft kiss, loving the slight tang of the sea and chilled skin against his. After Hoseok had received his fill of lips he moved lower, peppering tiny kisses until he reached Jungkook’s neck. 

He growled lightly into the skin, nipping at it playfully. “Hoseok, come on.” 

“Yeah? You need it, precious? Need to be bred?” 

Jungkook’s breath hitched, not expecting the low husky tone of Hoseok’s voice. He growled into Jungkook’s neck, the words sounding like filth dipped in honeyed caramel.

“Want it. Breed me,” he begged in a hushed voice, still battling his shyness. 

“Anything you want, precious. My precious mate,” Hoseok answered, his voice tinged with awe as he stroked his hand all over Jungkook’s soft skin. 

He slid away until he was once away fully in the water and held out a hand. “Come join me in here, Jungkook. You’ll be fine.” 

“Really?” Jungkook asked, eyeing the water with doubt. It was the middle of winter and the water had to be cold enough to kill someone. 

“My bite protects you. Come here.” 

Jungkook scoots to the edge and grabs Hoseok’s hand, letting the merman help him into the water. He’d been expecting a shock, but it merely felt lukewarm to him. Comfortable enough, he supposed. Hoseok held him close then turned him towards the rocky edge of the cave. 

“Grab onto the ledge,” Hoseok whispered teasingly into his ear. 

Jungkook did as he was told, grasping onto the ledge for dear life as Hoseok’s hands traveled down to grab him by the hips. 

“Umm, I’m not prepared. We need stuff.”

Hoseok cocks his head curiously, “Stuff?” 

“Like, slippery stuff. So, uh, it won’t hurt.” 

“OH! No, that happens naturally. I have everything you need. Do humans need extra fluids? How strange.” 

Jungkook chuckles, “Yeah, humans are the weird ones here.” 

“Hey,” Hoseok playfully frowns. “I’ll leave you to drown.” 

“Sorry, sorry. As you were.” 

Hoseok made a ‘hrumph’ sound and tapped Jungkook’s ass lightly. He can feel something floating underneath him and he sneaks a peek. It’s long and wide, a fleshy pink with bumps and ridges covering it in a strange pattern. He glances behind him to stare at Hoseok’s tail, noticing the open slit in the middle of it where the pink...oh fuck that’s his dick! It was at least ten inches long, maybe more, and as wide as Jungkook's arm. 

“That...that’s supposed to fit inside of me?” Jungkook asks breathlessly, staring in wonder at the monster cock growing out of the merman. 

“Mmm, I have to get really deep to protect our eggs,” Hoseok mumbled, pressing a reassuring kiss to the back of Jungkook’s neck. 

Jungkook turns his head and stares at the cave ledge, waiting for the first press. He nearly jumps when the bulbous head touches his rim, forcing himself to breathe as Hoseok slowly forces the head inside. 

The merman sighs happily and rubs his chin into Jungkook’s hair. “You feel so nice inside,” he hums as he holds still, letting the human’s walls work to contain him. 

After a couple seconds Jungkook feels something shooting inside of him. He turns back to glare at Hoseok incredulously. “Already?” 

The merman chuckles. “No, precious. It’s just secretions to help you handle me. It’s a while yet until I fill you properly.” 

“Oh,” Jungkook gulps. 

Hoseok moves his hips again, forcing more and more of his monster cock into Jungkook with every pump. Whatever he’d filled Jungkook with made the slide painless and he felt barely any discomfort. 

His cock continued further and further, until it grazed his prostate and went further still. He wasn’t even sure that a dick was supposed to reach that high without hurting him, but he couldn’t complain too much when the outline of Hoseok’s cock bulging from his stomach made his own twitch with need. 

“Hold on, Jungkookie,” Hoseok rasps, before slamming to the hilt. He only had a second to grip the ledge with all his might before Hoseok started pounding with such raw power that he wanted to scream and they’d only just started. 

He’d never felt so full in his life and the way that Hoseok was hammering into him felt like he was rebuilding his body to fit only him. Jungkook could only whine and sob as his senses were overwhelmed. 

“Precious?” Hoseok grunted, “Are you close, sweet thing?” 

He was. He was so embarrassingly close but he didn’t want to be. Mere minutes of the merman slamming into him like his life depended on it and he was ready to burst. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” Jungkook begs with a sob. “Don’t ever fucking stop!” 

Hoseok chuckles lowly. “Never? You want me to keep filling you up forever and ever? My sweet precious mate. So perfect,” he growls. “I want to stay inside you forever too. Fill you to the brim with my eggs until your belly is round.” 

Jungkook whimpers as Hoseok’s teeth graze his neck and he feels his cock growing impossibly wider. 

“Bigger?” he moans, “Why? I can’t…” 

“You can, precious. Your body is mine. I have to keep you in place so I can fill you up.” 

Hoseok’s dick stretches him more than he’d ever thought possible. The bumps and ridges on it rubbing the inside of his walls until he thought he would go crazy. 

“Hoseok, I’m gonna…” 

“Yeah? Release for me, precious.” 

And Jungkook cums with a loud cry, his hips bucking into nothing as he shoots into the sea. 

“Good job. Here they come now, sweetness. I’m going to breed my mate.” 

Hoseok groans huskily as he grinds against Jungkook’s ass like he was desperately trying to get further inside but couldn’t. He didn’t feel anything different at first, besides the massive river of cum that painted his insides. Then...then he felt something rippling along Hoseok’s cock, making the already large organ wider still. 

“Yes, yesss…” Hoseok panted into his ear as he shallowly bucked, seeming like the act of releasing his eggs made him feel even better than an orgasm did. 

Finally Jungkook felt the first foreign object enter his body and travel up, up, and up. It hadn’t felt that large, perhaps the size of a lemon, and round. However, with the release of the first egg it seemed the others weren’t far behind. 

One more traveled from Hoseok’s cock into him, then another, and another, until he’d lost count. He was unable to do more than rest his forehead against the cool stone floor and try not to be overwhelmed as the little eggs stroked his insides and traveled to their new home in his womb. And he knew it was there because he could feel them settle inside, bulging his tummy and pressing down on his pelvis. 

Hoseok hadn’t been able to stop groaning and bucking as each egg was released, seeming to be in an endless state of euphoria. 

Jungkook realized that somewhere along the line he’d gotten hard again, the feeling of the eggs jostling his sensitive body too much to handle. It wouldn’t take much to cum again. 

Hoseok sighed and finally stopped his grinding, leaning his head onto Jungkook’s shoulder to rest. 

“So good, precious Jungkook. I’ve never felt such bliss in all my days.” 

Jungkook wanted to respond, but he was trying to reach down and tug himself to completion without slipping into the ocean. Hoseok notices and chuckles. 

“Again, my sweet? You like being filled that much?” 

Jungkook whimpers and nods, letting Hoseok bat his hand away to replace it with his own. 

It only takes a few tugs of those long, nimble fingers before he shouts and cums, his cock slightly pained from sensitivity. 

“There we go. And out of the water with you.” 

Hoseok slides out of him and his cock is once again sheathed into his tail slit. He helps to heave the human onto the ledge and lets him catch his breath as the merman strokes Jungkook’s bulging stomach. 

“So big and full. How do they feel?” 

“Um, nice. I like it. I feel...warm and safe.” 

Hoseok glances up in surprise, “Yeah? You like it a lot?” 

Jungkook nods vigorously. “I can’t wait to meet them. What are we going to do when they’re born?” 

Hoseok stares thoughtfully at his hand on the human’s stomach. “I suppose if they have split fins like you they’ll live on land. If they are mer then they’d have to stay with me. At least until I find a way to be with you.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise. “With me? You want to be on land?” 

Hoseok shrugs shyly. “I don’t have much to hold me here, and I’ve always wanted to meet your friends. You speak so highly of them.” 

“Yeah,” he muses, only to freeze two seconds later. “Oh fuck, you knocked me up. Yoongi and Seokjin are going to kill you!” 

“What?” Hoseok asks in alarm. 

“Don’t worry. I think we can get Namjoon on our side, but be prepared for a scolding.” 

“You mean, you want me to join you on land?” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook grins happily. “You’re my family too, and we’re going to have...young. We’ll figure it out.” 

“Yes. Yes, we will.” Hoseok settles and sighs, laying his head onto his mate’s belly. 

[supercasey]

Dumb thoughts on the Child Avatars AU

I dunno, just some dumb ideas I’ve had since I started talking about the AU online/brainstorming about it. (Putting it under a readmore for everyone’s sake)

The “Daisy kidnaps Jon” situation in this AU is Daisy riding her bike to Simon Fairchild’s mansion, holding a water-gun up to both Mike and Jon’s heads, and ordering them to ride with her to the grocery store to buy soda and hang out at a nearby playground for the day. Cue Elias flipping tf out when Jon isn’t at Simon’s place when he goes to pick him up later, Simon being half asleep because he was napping while the kids hung out, and Mike getting soaked by Daisy before he agrees to go with her, and since this happens in, like, late fall or early winter, he gets pneumonia afterwards and can’t hang out for awhile, leading to the kids jokingly saying he’s dead. Btw the only reason the trio was found is because Basira was invited after they made it to the park, and she convinced Daisy to let the boys go home. Daisy literally only kidnapped them because she wanted to play with someone.

Also the Buried!Daisy arc is Daisy getting eaten by a Buried controlled sandbox and Jon jumping in after her. The rest of the kids, who thankfully witnessed this, spent the next three hours digging for them, with Breekon & Hope eventually joining in to help since they were in the area. Daisy and Jon form a trauma bond afterwards and are now best friends.

Jon keeps getting marked by shit and it’s stressing Elias out because hE’S NOT READY FOR THE WATCHER’S CROWN YET!!! He needs more time to prepare, but his son is literally getting marked faster than fucking Sonic.

Speaking of Sonic, seeing as the “Console Wars” (Sega vs Nintendo) are happening during this time period, the kids take the rivalry Very Seriously. The biggest arguments are had between Sasha, Daisy, Julia, and Mike, who are all on Team Sega, and Jon, Martin, Tim, and Danny, who are all on Team Nintendo.

Sasha, close to tears she’s so angry: “Sega DO what NintenDON’T, Tim!!!”

When Martin was born, he only had one thick clump of curly hair that was white, but as he’s grown older and entered the Lonely multiple times, more of his hair has begun to turn white. As of the time of the AU “starting” (so when he’s 8 years old), he looks like he has white highlights in his hair.

Trevor isn’t a fully-fledged Hunt avatar yet, but the girls more or less are, so if you’ve ever watched Wolf Children, that’s pretty much the situation Trevor is currently trapped in. His daughters keeping changing into wolf pups and running wild as he frantically tries to hide their powers from anyone who isn’t Gerry.

(All of the kids secretly know already, even Basira.)

Basira is pretty much the only “normal” kid of the avatar children, save MAYBE for Tim, but he’s been deeply marked by the circus and has a few tiny powers (think S3 Jon as he was figuring out some of his powers, but wasn’t a full-on Archivist just yet).

The season 1 gang (including Danny) are the closest group of friends in the AU, save for Daisy and Basira’s friendship, and they hang out a lot at each other’s homes on the weekends.

Adelard usually brings Jane with him for his “trips” away from the institute, so it’s not unusual for her to be gone for long periods of time. But she always sends postcards and gifts to the institute for everyone!

Helen is three years old, so theoretically she should be able to talk, but she rarely does so, preferring to communicate via giggles and laughter. Only Jon, the Stoker brothers, and Michael can understand her, and they take turns translating for everyone else.

Whenever she’s brought to the institute, Helen takes to toddling around after Jon and Martin, giggling up a storm the whole time. Jon finds it a bit annoying while Martin is endlessly amused by her antics.

A list of the guardian’s/adult’s ages before I fucking forget (as of when the AU “starts” in 1994): Gertrude Robinson - 62, Elias Bouchard “Jonah Magnus” - 51 (200+), Peter Lukas - 55, Simon Fairchild - 83 (300+), Gerard “Gerry” Keay - 30, Michael Shelley - 32, Alfred Grifter - Unknown, Adelard Dekker - 48, Nikola Orsinov - 30ish (100+), Annabelle Cane - 34 (Unknown), Trevor Herbert - 47, Agnes Montague - 25ish (60+), Jude Perry - 35, Jared Hopworth - 29, The Admiral - 10.

The “good” parents all keep trying to set up some kind of PTA meeting so they can actually talk about how to raise these supernatural kids properly, but it keeps going horribly wrong; last time they tried, Alfred Grifter and his band showed up and nearly made Simon go deaf, so no one wants to initiate the next attempt at a meeting.

Tbh, at this point the Fear rituals are more successful than Elias’s shitty attempts at forming a PTA.

At some point in the AU Gerry, Michael, and Trevor all pitch in to buy a decently big house together, which leads to some serious Shenanigans now that Melanie is around Michael and Trevor’s kids/wards... let’s just say there’s gonna be a lot of knife related accidents.

Gerry taught Melanie how to fight when he took her in and it is the single worst decision he’s ever made in his short, goth life, even if he’ll never admit it. Melanie can now beat the shit out of everyone but Julia and Daisy, and it’s pure chaos every time. Tim puts up a decent fight, but he’s been spoiled on easy wins over his brother all his life. Jon tries and fails to so much as push her. Martin runs away crying before Melanie even throws the first punch. Needless to say, the other kids are very cautious about playing with Melanie now.

None of the kids have an education of any kind except for Mike. I’m serious; the only kid who’s decently educated is being raised by Foxy Grandpa Off His Shits McGee! Julia and Daisy have had some public education but not much, Elias refuses to do anything but home-school Jon yet he sucks shit at math, Tim and Danny don’t even know what a school fucking looks like, Melanie and Jane were too young to go to school when they became avatars, Martin has only recently been allowed near other kids so fuck public school (Peter can do math but Nothing Else), Annabelle fucking forgot to give Sasha any kind of an education outside of Web stuff, and Helen is still a very small child. None of these kids have gone to school for more than a few years at most and dear g-d is that gonna suck for them later down the line.

As a result of this, Basira has taught the other kids a few things when she’s come over and insisted on playing “school” with everyone, but she’s still just a kid and can’t always get them to pay attention during her lessons.

Because of this Rosie, Gerry, Michael, and Gertrude have all started making an effort to more or less home-school all of the kids, which has gone... well enough, I suppose. However, things have recently taken a weird turn since Jon keeps giving everyone the answers to assignments/tests via telepathy.

Jon: Whoa, you can make tea all by yourself, Martin!? Martin: Yeah, I’ve been doing it by myself since I was a toddler. I can also do laundry, mop floors, vacuum, and cook a few things, too! Tim: Wow, that’s really cool, Martin! I wish I could do stuff like that. Gertrude, off to the side: *Gives Peter a horrified look* I’m sorry, but did Martin just say he’s been making tea on his own since he was a toddler? Peter:  ╮(╯ _╰ )╭  Unfortunately, I’m severely depressed.

Yeeeeeeeah, Martin’s in a similar childhood situation to his canon one, but at least there are people actually willing to help him out of it in this universe. Also, Peter will clean himself up at some point here, he’s just still dealing with more or less disowning himself from his family and learning hoe to not be so lonely.

Speaking Of Which, the Lukas family are pretty big antagonists in this AU, primarily through Peter’s mother (I’ll come up with a name for her later if I can’t find it on the wiki), who is trying to kidnap Martin and more or less feed him to the Lonely so Peter will get over his “childish feelings” and return to being her favorite child.

And yes, she DOES accidentally kidnap Jon instead at some point... this kid can literally not avoid getting kidnapped.

I like to think Mike and Julia are really good friends in this AU, being the closest in age and all. They hang out a lot since their dads are both so chill and won’t get upset about it, the two of them mostly just playing video games, watching movies, and biking around their respective neighborhoods together.

(Also they may or may not be responsible for a statement that involves a woman seeing a “flying wolf” passing over London... they’ve yet to confess to it, but Elias is dead certain they’re behind the incident.)

The worms incident is 100% Jane’s secret worm collection getting fucking loose... she was keeping them in the walls “for safe keeping” and No One Fucking Knew, not even Elias, until Jon saw a spider, punched the wall, and Revealed them.

Jon and Tim got their scars because Jane lost control of the worms and they burrowed into the kids. Cue a very panicked 999 call from someone in the institute and Child Services almost getting involved, but Elias managed to cover it up.

Afterwards, Jon is incredibly self-conscious about his worm scars, but Martin tells him “now we both have freckles!” and it honestly makes him feel a little better about the whole thing.

Also Adelard makes an effort to track down a child psychologist/counselor with institute ties so he can get Jane some therapy/help controlling her powers. He loves her to the moon and back, and he’s terrified of her getting traumatized by what she accidentally did.

During the incident, a Notthem gets loose from Artifact Storage and attacks Sasha, but seeing as Sasha is of the Web and the Notthem is connected to a Web artifact, it only manages to really hurt her, but thankfully not kill her. She ends up hospitalized for a few weeks, but comes out fine later on. The table mysteriously disappears afterwards, and no one knows if it was Gertrude or Annabelle’s doing, but either way, the kids never have to deal with a Notthem again.

At some point I wanna get into Jon’s paranoia in season 2 for this AU, but I’m considering changing it from being because of the Jane Prentiss issue to be because of Mr. Spider almost killing him. I dunno how exactly it’ll play out, but I think it has a lot of potential!

Okay, before I end this post full of weird rambling ideas for the AU, I wanna make a list of the powers that the kids have at the time of the story “starting”/the ones they develop down the line because Jonny Sims himself said that all avatars have different powers, and I really wanna infodump on my thoughts for the kids!

Current powers of Jonathan Sims-Bouchard: Can simply know things whenever he wants to (so long as the Eye lets him, but the Eye sometimes keeps him from knowing anything he isn’t mature enough to handle), can compel people to tell him things (the other kids are better at resisting it, and so are other people touched by the Eye), can survive on very little food if he’s fed mostly statements/other people’s trauma, can non-consensually feel the pain and emotions of the people around him, has some weak telepathy powers, and he can subconsciously summon tape recorders.

Future powers of Jonathan Sims-Bouchard: Increased healing abilities, can know most anything if he tries, ability to resist other Eye avatars’ compulsions, can survive purely off of statements/other people’s trauma, can choose whether or not to feel the pain and emotions of the people around him, has much stronger telepathy powers than before, can force himself into people’s minds and read their thoughts, and he can summon tape recorders at will (though some still show up without his knowledge sometimes).

Current powers of Martin Blackwood-Lukas: Can disappear into the Fog for several hours at a time (he cannot be seen by anyone but other Lonely avatars while in the fog), can summon clouds of fog that he can momentarily hide things in (including people), can “banish” most anyone into the fog, and has “Sea Captain Eyes” (he knows where the Tundra is at all times, and can lead someone to it without a map or compass).

Future powers of Martin Blackwood-Lukas: Can change his hair color at will (only to red, white, and a mix of the two colors), can see much better in the Fog and can find anyone he’s pushed into it, can more or less teleport using the Fog, and he has what’s more or less a pocket dimension of fog for storage/hiding his friends from danger (think the inside of Gems in Steven Universe).

Current powers of Tim Stoker-Orsinov: Can make small bipedal toys “come to life” for a few minutes at a time (they can’t talk or communicate; only move around and perform small tasks/dances), can tell when a Notthem is masquerading as someone else, is supernaturally talented at gymnastics, and can dance alongside the creatures of the Stranger without being fully corrupted by them.

Future powers of Tim Stoker-Orsinov: Better control over the powers he already has as well as a high tolerance for the Spiral.

Current powers of Danny Stoker-Orsinov: Can order around creatures of the Stranger against their will, can tell when a Notthem is masquerading as someone else, can dance alongside the creatures of the Stranger without being fully corrupted by them, is supernaturally talented at gymnastics, and can change his voice to anything he likes (not always intentionally, though).

Future powers of Danny Stoker-Orsinov: Can more or less “teleport” to other circus locations by walking into theaters, can now change his voice to whatever he likes with his knowledge and consent, can take over as the Stranger’s ringmaster if necessary, can trigger a mesmerizing dance whenever he’d like, and has a high tolerance for the Spiral.

Current powers of Sasha James-Cane: Can communicate with spiders and have them send messages to other Web avatars, can read minds if she tries really hard, can “trap“ other entities in large webs that she can summon (takes a lot of energy), and she has Spider-Man-like abilities (can walk on walls and ceilings, can carry much more than her weight should allow, etc).

Future powers of Sasha James-Cane: Can now read minds without too much effort, can navigate almost any area that’s being controlled/influenced by the Web, can create webs without nearly as much effort as before, can transform her body to have more arms, legs, and eyes, and she now has venomous fangs (which can thankfully be controlled and/or hidden).

Current powers of Alice “Daisy” Tonner: Can turn into a wolf at will/when she’s especially emotional, can smell blood from several miles away, and has supernatural senses/physical abilities.

Future powers of Alice “Daisy” Tonner: Can now track most any monster she’s hunting once she gets at least one good look at them, can communicate with other Hunters via howling, and can navigate the Buried if needed (though this is very triggering for her and will cause her to pass out afterwards).

Current powers of Julia Montauk: Can turn into a wolf at will/when she’s especially emotional, can smell blood from several miles away, has supernatural senses/physical abilities, can track most any monster if she knows their name, can communicate with other Hunters via howling, and she can shift into a bipedal werewolf when she feels like she’s in danger.

Future powers of Julia Montauk: All of her previous powers have drastically improved, plus she has better control of them now.

Current powers of Basira Hussain: She has common fucking sense, something almost none of the other children have.

Future powers of Basira Hussain: She common sense AND she has a werewolf GF now. :) ((No dating for the babies, not until they’re at least teenagers))

Current powers of Melanie King-Grifter: Can listen to Grifter’s Bone without being damaged in any way, the music of Grifter’s Bone makes her powers exemplified for a period of time after she listens to it, the smell of blood triggers her to become violent, she can summon sharp weapons (knives, swords, etc) from thin air, and she can see a red aura around other people who have been marked by the Slaughter.

Future powers of Melanie King-Grifter: She has much better control of her abilities now, she can perform Grifter’s Bone songs for people and keep them from dying/going feral, and she can now also summon other weapons from thin air (guns, baseball bats, etc).

Current powers of Oliver Banks: Can see people’s deaths a week in advance via his dreams, he sees dark tentacles around people who are going to die soon, can see but not talk to ghosts, and he can smell death on anyone who’s undead/controlling other people’s bodies.

Future powers of Oliver Banks: Can raise the dead and control them to do his bidding (takes a lot of energy), can speak cat (not End related; Admiral related), and he can cause people to die within the week if he touches them in his dreams.

Current powers of Georgie Barker: Can see a “death countdown” over people who are going to die within the next thirty days, doesn’t feel any fear whatsoever, can see but not talk to ghosts, and she sees a dark sludge staining the clothes of people who have been marked by the End.

Future powers of Georgie Barker: Can bring people back to life for a minute or so by touching them (think Pushing Daisies type powers), can speak cat (not End related; Admiral is best cat dad), and she can communicate with ghosts much better now.

Current powers of Jane Prentiss-Dekker: Can summon bugs of most kinds from her mouth and under her fingernails, can communicate with bugs, and can fight off most diseases without any trouble.

Future powers of Jane Prentiss-Dekker: Can now completely control bugs via a hive mind effect, can summon bugs from anywhere on her body, has much stronger healing abilities than Jon, and she can see invisible bugs crawling on the skin of those who the Corruption wants her to get rid of (it’s hard for her not to give in to it’s desires).

Current powers of Mike Crew-Fairchild: Can levitate/fly at will, can summon clouds of any kind (rain, thunder, snow, etc) in any conditions, has much higher resistance to the weather/temperature, and he can “banish” people into the Vast at will.

Future powers of Mike Crew-Fairchild: Same as before, but with slightly better control than he had as a teenager.

Current powers for Helen Richardson-Shelley: Can change the world around her to be more like the Spiral (adding more doors, changing the colors of things, causing hallucinations, etc), can change any door into a doorway into the Spiral, and she can amplify her voice (very hard to control as a baby).

Future powers for Helen Richardson-Shelley: Can now summon doors that lead to the Spiral from thin air, has much better control over her powers and abilities than before, can morph her body to be longer and sharper at will, and she can “banish” people into the endless hallways of the Spiral.

((Holy shit, that took awhile))

Anyways, here’s a playlist I made for the AU, feel free to scream at me for my very weird taste in music: Pinky Swear That You Won’t Go Changing