#stops registering it as something important without conscious effort

[puppyeared]

object permanence so bad I have to reread old messages for my brain to go ‘oh yeahhhh I care them’

[wonwoonlight]

when you're both too prideful and you're literally sick.

warning: OC is sick (obviously 😭), that's it? Very short word vomits to help me get back into writing🥲

Jeonghan hates this.

Hates how prideful he is and the predicament he's brought himself into.

Hates how you're not sitting next to him and how you're chuckling at something his members are talking about.

Still, he refuses to break and avoids looking directly into your way even though all he wants is to just pull you into his lap, buries his head in your shoulder, and reconcile.

Fuck. He doesn't even know what the fight was about except that it's gotten too much out of control.

And if he doesn't remember what it's about exactly, then it must not be that important.

So he's been looking at Mingyu who's sitting next to you instead, trying to see you without actually seeing you.

Chan is on your other side, and he knows he must've taken the avoiding thing a little too far if you willingly choose to sit by the one member who, quite frankly, you're still most awkward with out of everyone when the seat next to him was empty earlier.

"You okay?" Shua whispers quietly, obviously noticing the tension between his best friend and said best friend's girlfriend.

Jeonghan shrugs. He doesn't even want to talk about it.

On the other side, Chan asks you the same thing but not for the same reason; you've been a little too quiet, and you seem even more tired than you did when you stepped into the waiting room thirty minutes ago.

You hum though, smiling at him as you fight the pounding in your head. You had considered not dropping by today's rehearsal, what--with the fight with your boyfriend and the fact that you're sick, but you've promised him and the members you'd come and you're not going to not show up just because you're fighting.

Jeonghan frowns at your hushed whispers with the maknae; what could you even possibly be talking about?

Huffing in annoyance, Jeonghan quietly mutters he's going to the restroom before leaving the room. God, he needs to get it together. He's an adult, for fuck's sake, what's stopping him from taking your hand and apologize?

He exhales and dries his hands, frowning at the machine's noise like it personally offends him. Taking another deep breath, he promises to himself he'd ask you to talk after the rehearsal.

Too deep in his thought, he didn't even notice the corridor is weirdly quiet without the usual rowdy laughters going out of the waiting room. He was just about to open the door when it opens itself, revealing a very panicked Chan and Jeonghan finally feels the collective distress within the room, heart dropping when he spots you barely even conscious on Mingyu's lap, Seungcheol and Wonwoo hovering so they can move you to the now vacant sofa.

He rushes pass everyone to kneel right beside you, his head barely registers his members' explanation as he brushes the hair off your face.

"Han?" You whisper, eyes blurry and your head feels like a dead weight.

"Yes. Yes, I'm here, love." He tries to sound as calm as possible, clenching his jaw when he realizes how you barely have the strength to even hold his hand. "What happened, hm?"

It takes a lot of effort to even shake your head, and it almost feels like you're going in and out of your consciousness.

"Why did you come if you know you're sick?" He whispers with a frown, getting nothing but an apologize from you.

"Promised to come." You managed to murmur, though you wince every few words. "Was nothing but a headache."

Jeonghan holds the urge to call you stupid, instead drops his head to your shoulder and squeezes your hand in his. He basks in your comforting scent, his worry easing a bit even though it’s still there.

He can assume what actually happened; you probably downplayed whatever’s happening with your body and showed up because you didn't want to look like you're sulking because of the fight last night.

This pride game you two are playing is going to be the death of you both one of these days.

"Wait for the doctor, okay?" He whispers, away from prying ears and eyes as he drops a soft kiss on your skin.

"Han?"

"Hm?"

"I'm so--"

"None of that." He cuts, sitting up to see your eyes barely even open. "We'll talk later, okay?"

"Okay."

[spoopy-action-at-distance]

I'm aware that I'm a bit of an outlier when it comes to this because I've actively tailored several things in my life to avoid being exposed to ads. I don't notice it so much in my everyday life, but sometimes when I talk to friends I realise how much how much it sets me apart from what other people around me are doing in their everyday lives.

I don't watch TV much, and when I do, I turn the sound off during commercial breaks and intentionally look away. I've built up an ad-blocker wall on my laptop and do not use the internet on anything else, I'm selective with which sites I'll use, and if I still find an ad flashing at me, I often filter it out by hand before doing anything else. I save everything I want as files that I store locally. I've researched how to turn off the in-OS ads that Windows keeps trying to run. I stopped using apps on my phone pretty much entirely. I use my tablet exclusively to read things that I've pre-downloaded as files and then transferred onto it with a cable; it doesn't even have a connection of its own. Someone gave me a router and I never set it up so I wouldn't be tempted to create local wireless access for myself. I've trained myself to automatically pick apart at least one aspect of every single ad that I consciously notice I am looking at. I have a "no ads" sticker over my mail slot. I pre-research almost all my purchases that aren't food or daily necessities and do not go to sale events. The only online stores I browse for the heck of it are small business ones, I unsubscribe from mailing lists if they send ads and I don't go to sites if they don't let me opt out of their cookies. I even stopped listening to a local radio station which plays music that I like because they run so many ads.

Doing all of that for years eventually produced a state of mild alienation from ads that allows me to register them as intrusive in at least some contexts at least some of the time. It has also required me to make choice after choice after choice to achieve and maintain this state, and the amount of conscious effort that has gone into it is staggering.

I've had a friend admit to me that they didn't think they could do what I've been doing because they're afraid that by not knowing what's new with ads, they might be missing out something important that other people know, which would then put them at greater risk of becoming a social pariah. The concern might be somewhat overblown, but the part where ads function as a minor requirement for everyday social interaction in this fear scenario is not all that out there.

Having spent the past decade meticulously weeding ads out of my personal space to a point where I can go several days without seeing one, I can say with confidence that personal avoidance is not a viable solution to the problem of intrusive advertising. The more intrusive advertising gets, the more individual effort we need to expend, the more spaces we need to cede to it, and the more options and opportunities we need to turn down, if we want to keep avoiding it. And that's the issue in a nutshell.

Something so profoundly fucked up between the inverse ratio of shrinking middle class and ever increasing aggression of advertisement

[tciddaemina]

one chance in a billion - or, my take on law, luffy, and romance

one of the things I love about law/luffy is that's its really a one chance in a billion, the stars aligned to make it happen sort of romance

look, I'll explain what I mean. many people headcanon luffy as ace (which yes, valid, we appreciate) but I almost tend to see it as him being so deep into demi that he's functionally ace instead. like, he has the capacity for romantic and sexual love, but it takes that one person in a million to make it happen, so much so that it doesn't even register in his mind at all 99.999% of the time. he has so much capacity to love, and loves so deeply - his crew, his family, his friends - and his love of them isnt any lesser for not being romantic, they are his whole world, as important to him as his own limbs. he loves people, but that love always stops at being platonic. and he's happy with that. hes not missing anything, he's not in want of romance, he's perfectly fulfilled and happy with his friendships as they are. they are enough. they are more than enough

when luffy falls in love, romantically in love, it only happens once. there is one chance for it, one single person in the whole planet he could love in that way, and once that space is filled then it's gone. he doesn't need romance, doesn't pine after wanting a partner. he is as happy without it as with it. there is literally a one in a billion chance that it could ever happen for him, and when that's done that's it

(and yes, for me law is that one in a billion. hes the one person, the one time luffy looks at someone and thinks huh, and if it doesn't work out then that's it. he loves law forever, and it doesn't matter if they never speak again, that one in a billion is gone)

law meanwhile, is more complicated. i don't headcanon him as ace or aromantic, but functionally he sort of exists in that space. this is not inherent to his nature, he can and does have and enjoy sex, but rather a conscious choice on his part and an artifact of his circumstances. he is jaded, and untrusting, and bitter, and cynical, and has lost too many people to ever want to make himself vulnerable again, to ever let himself trust or care enough about a person to give them that much influence or importance. it isn't fear, necessarily, and he isn't either secretly longing for someone or whatever - but it's a vulnerability he refuses to give up, and his experience and cynicism mean that he thinks of the vast majority of people poorly anyway. people are ugly and cruel and selfish, and law knows it.

so for law, it's not that he can't, it's that he won't. law doesn't fall in love. its not something that happens to him without his permission. he is too self controlled for it to be otherwise. if he ever grows to care for someone its because he made the conscious choice to let it happen, to take that step and let himself be vulnerable and care - which he will never do. (sex meanwhile, is something that is fine, but that he doesnt care enough about to seek out. basically, he can do it and like it, but he's also fine without it and can't really see the point of all the effort of it all)

for law to love, he has to let down his walls. he has to make the choice to let it happen, to make himself vulnerable, even if he ends up being burned. (and this isnt vulnerable like, what if they hurt me, it's vulnerable like, what if I decide to care about them and then they die). and here we come back to that one in a billion again, because whoever law loves has to be sort of person who could convince him that its worth it. that even if they die or something happens and he is once again left bleeding and alone in the aftermath, it was worth it. and for me, the only person who can do that is luffy. he steps through laws walls in a way literally no other person does, throws him of guard, off balance, makes him adapt and adjust and change, and ultimately makes him care despite himself. and law doesn't fall in love, but he looks at him and realizes that he could, he could, so easily, if only be let himself. and that is terrifying

luffy looks at law and realizes he wants him in a way he has never wanted someone else, and law looks at luffy and realizes that if he let himself love him, it would be worth it

they are the only one who could ever be it for each other, the stars aligning to being together two people who would otherwise be happy to live without love or romance forever. a one in a billion chance, which once gone, is gone forever.

[commonwealthoccurences]

I’ll Crawl Home

CW: Injury based fic, themes of mortality, low-self-esteem-Hancock, description heavy.

Note: The working title for this was “I listen to too much Hozier” /j

The day was long, dragging into night and with the arrival of dusk came heavy clouds and murky fog, thick and suppressing. Hancock’s quarters seemed far away from it all, the repaired window panes keeping back the damp and providing some insulation to keep in the heat that bled from the fireplace, roaring loud, like it was daring the cold to try and get in. Meanwhile, Hancock was sprawled across his bed, fighting his own battle.

A routine trip into the Commonwealth had turned into something that would leave unforgettable marks on his skin, the switch happening with a white-hot flash of pain that slashed across his back and spread through his veins like ice. Annoyance had registered in his mind before the pain had; something had gotten the drop on him and that didn’t happen often. It was a dark alley, surrounded by high buildings, nooks and crannies, and he hadn’t been thinking straight. Exhaustion did that to you, would make you drop your guard even when you thought you were smarter than that.

With a quick turn that only helped spread the pain faster, Hancock whirled around and pressed the barrel of his gun against the offending ghoul’s temple and the situation was over as soon as he blinked. But the pain lingered, catching like a wildfire across the expanse of his back and moving down his arms as he lowered his gun, drawing in quick breaths, trying to quell the panic that was rising in him. Sure, he’d been injured before, but something about this had struck a nerve; many, actually.

The walk back to Goodneighbor was a slow one, characterized by flashes of agony that flared every time he took a step. Thank God Sole had insisted on clearing out the area surrounding Goodneighbor just one week before. Trying to make it past Super Mutants in his state would’ve been a death sentence as sure as the blood trailing down his back. 

Once the gates to Goodneighbor were pushed open by his shaking hands, Hancock saw his vision narrow, the edges blocked by a fuzzy, black fog that made him want to rub at his eyes until they burned. Maybe he was stumbling or maybe the world was just too unsteady for him to walk in a straight line, but either way, he wasn’t sure he appreciated the added challenge. Before he knew it, he was tumbling down towards the broken cobblestone that made up the entrance to his town.

Except he didn’t get sent sprawling down onto the sharp, rocky ground. Something warm had caught him, something that smelled as familiar as home and was far steadier than he could remember ever being. It was Sole, always the hero, ready to save the day once again. It was in their blood, he supposed, with the way they always seemed to be there just in time. It was as easy as breathing when he allowed himself to fold into them; he was tired of carrying his own weight, exhausted really, and knew they were there to help. Everything would be alright. 

Hancock was vaguely aware of the path they made to the Old State Building, the way their muffled voice called out warnings to drifters that got too close. He was drunk on adrenaline at that point, less than conscious of their surroundings, and let them guide him into the musty smelling building that he called home, and up the stairs. He couldn’t help the gasps of pain he made every time he had to take a step up the stairs and nearly begged Sole to leave him there, on the wooden steps that would inevitably rot underneath him. But the words wouldn’t come out and Sole didn’t leave, they simply mumbled soothing words under their breath and continued heaving his weight up the steps.

Sometime after that he awoke in his bed, face down and nearly suffocating in a pillow. There were hands on his back, which wasn’t such an uncommon situation to awake to, but this was far more gentle. His torso felt stiffer than normal, braced against something foreign, and out of habit he tried to lift his head to turn and look at what was going on. Regret struck him instantly, straight across the back where his wounds had made themself comfortable. One of the hands left his back and pressed against his shoulder, easing him back into the bed. Sole, undoubtedly. He groaned. “I think you’re making a habit out of worrying me, John.”

Their voice felt like it was luring him in, much like the bed, covered in warm blankets and pillows that had been built up to cradle him in place. He wanted far more desperately than his dignity would allow him to admit to turn and curl up with his head in their lap, to let the time bleed away until they decided they were done with him. If they wanted to go he would never stop them, didn’t have the ego to think it was his place to keep them, but as long as they wanted him, he would be there. His hand curled to grip the edge of his pillow at the thought. The urge was harder to resist that he imagined it would’ve been.

A soft sigh rang out behind him and he found himself wanting to apologize. Hancock wasn’t sure why; maybe for worrying them, for making them go through the trouble of patching him up when he was sure they had much more important things to be doing. The image of them dropping him on the wooden steps invaded his mind again. He would’ve spent hundreds of years on those stairs, letting Goodneighbor crumble around him, letting the overgrowth take back over. The world could go on turning while the stairs caved and sent him tumbling to the bottom of the building, the ivy brambles crawling up to bury him in the green, and he would be content to only think of them the entire time, to let the centuries crawl by.

Their touch pulled him back to the present, the life he was living, the one where they had stayed. One of their hands smoothed over the surface of his back carefully, light and gentle, and surprisingly, it didn’t hurt. Something had numbed the pain while he was lost in his daydream. Well, maybe it was a nightmare. He was getting distracted again; it was a fight to stay in the present with them, but he wanted to more than anything. Their movement brought him back once again. 

Except they were leaving and suddenly it wasn’t such a distant thought that he may be left to decay with the building, long forgotten by Sole. He wanted to say something but whatever had numbed his back had crawled up his system and left his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cobwebs. Or maybe it had been centuries already and his sense of time was so warped it felt like they had just left. As this train of thought began to pick up speed, they returned.

Their weight shifted the bed and he found himself finally making the effort to move just so he could get a glimpse of them. He turned his head just in time to watch them fall back against a neighboring pillow slowly and settle into the fabric. They were looking back at him, eyebrows creased with worry, eyes far clearer than usual; they had been crying. Internally, he cursed the pain and drugs that had rendered him immobile. If only he could take their worry from them and tell them he was just fine, that it would be okay. 

Instead, they granted him a small smile in the silence of the room and reached over to rest a hand against his jaw, thumb brushing over the rocky surface of his face. Hancock looked up at them with clouded eyes, slightly confused but far more relaxed than they figured he would be when he seemed to be in such pain. The corner of his mouth quirked up and it sent relief crashing into them like a Brahmin; that smirk was so unbelievably him, and in that instant they knew it would be okay. “You need to eat.” They broke the silence, reluctantly.

John’s eyes were barely focused when he looked at them, but they could tell he was fighting to keep his attention on them. Something about that was endearing, the fact that he was beaten up and bloody, drugged and inevitably exhausted, yet he was still trying to listen. It seemed no matter how he felt he was always trying to give them his all. After a momentary internal battle they reached over to where they had set the soup Farenheit had brought up.

There was no way that in his state John could sit up; this was going to be interesting. They unwound their overshirt from around their body and folded it as neatly as they could before tucking it under his head and prepared themself for the mess that was about to occur. With the bowl of soup in their lap and a sleepy Mayor looking at them as best he could, curious, they dipped the spoon in and lowered the broth to his lips. Most of it made it in his mouth, however, inevitably, part of it seeped out onto their shirt. One down, countless more to go. 

Forty-five minutes and half a bowl of soup later, Hancock was ready to stop. They couldn’t blame him; they were sure the awkward angle was hurting his neck just a few moments into the whole situation. They retired the bowl back to its place on his nightstand and lowered themself back down onto the mattress, as close to him as they could get without disturbing his pillow fortress that kept him from shifting his back too much.

Maybe they had jinxed it. The fabric shifted and they narrowed their eyes, silently scolding as his hand crept out from under the barrier. He was looking up at them so softly that they couldn’t keep up the act and simply reached out to lace their fingers with his. The content that spread across his face was more than worth it and they couldn’t resist the urge to smile. Satisfied, he allowed his eyes to drift shut. 

The wind howled outside, banging angrily on the windows that wouldn’t let it in. The vines, too, were screaming, albeit silently, unable to reach the Mayor of Goodneighbor, kept at bay by the repairs Sole had made, both to the building and to the man himself. Sole simply relaxed fully, at ease finally as they watched Hancock’s breaths shift the blanket they had draped over him.

[5bi5]

We have known about the vampires in this town for a long time now.

Our whole way of living is sort of built around it, actually. The whole water supply is holy water – the water in our taps, in our pools, in our fire hydrants. I've always thought if I had to kill a vampire I'd want to do it with a fire hydrant. You have to think about these things, you know. They teach you in school: wear a cross, carry a stake, hang garlic over your door. Never invite someone into your home unless you are certain you can trust them. And for God's sake, don't go walking alone after dark without some kind of weapon handy.

Things happen, of course. Things are always happening. People will just quietly disappear – most of the time the bodies are never recovered – and although it can't technically be said for certain just what happened, everyone knows. And then they talk. In hushed voices, in places where the family of the deceased – sorry, the "missing, presumed dead" – can't hear them, they talk. She must have done something wrong, they whisper. If she had just worn a cross like she was supposed to, if she had just stayed inside after dark, this would never have happened. Stupid girl – this was always bound to happen to her.

We all grew up watching those same vampire movies as everyone else. Dracula, Nosferatu, even Twilight. Let me tell you something: vampires don't sparkle. There is no sure way to identify a vampire until it's too late. Until there's no time to reach for that stake that you always keep in your purse, that if you could just get to it, maybe you could save yourself, fuck, where is it, where is your purse – there's no time for that. You're already dead.

Although I grew up knowing about the vampires, constantly hearing warnings and rules and stories, I didn't see one (not knowingly, at least) until I was twenty. At this point, although I knew theoretically that I could be attacked on any given day and it was important to be prepared, subconsciously I had begun to believe that it was never going to happen to me. I'd never so much as glimpsed a vampire in two decades, and everyone just droned about them constantly. Surely, if it were going to happen, it would have happened by now.

So, as I cooked a romantic dinner for myself and my boyfriend of three months, the threat of vampires seemed as distant as the possibility of an anvil falling out of the sky and crushing me to death. I was gearing myself up to tell him I loved him for the first time; I was not a romantic person by nature, but things had been going really well so far, so I wanted to make an effort. That effort also included making coq au vin and, in the interest of staying as kissable as possible, omitting the two cloves of garlic which the recipe called for.

That particular evening was one of the darkest and rainiest I had seen in some time, so when my boyfriend showed up twenty minutes late and apologizing profusely, I just told him not to worry, and ushered him in out of the rain.

"Why don't you take a shower while I get dinner on the table?" I suggested. "I can give you a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt." I wasn't really sure my clothes would fit him, but he was soaking and shivering, and he took me up on my offer right away. At worst, I got to see him in a too-tight shirt, right?

I gave him the biggest t shirt and sweatpants I owned, and I set about pouring wine and dishing up soup. In the interest of both warmth and atmosphere, I dug out just about every candle I owned – which, to be fair, was only a handful – and set them on the coffee table, where we could admire them without the smell mingling with the scent of the food. By the time everything was ready, he was back, wearing my sweats and shirt. They fit him better than I would have guessed, but he was still clearly uncomfortable, frowning and tugging at the shirt hem to stop it from riding up. It wasn't exactly the start I had pictured to our perfect romantic night, but hey, if something had to go wrong, this didn't seem so bad, right?

"You look cute." I said, grabbing his hand away from his hem and squeezing it in both of mine. "Come on, Griff, let's just have some dinner."

Griff gave me what might have been a forced smile, and sat down. "Thanks for making this."

"Happy to." I smiled back and took my seat across from him. I decided to wait until his mood improved a little before I sprang the whole "I love you" thing on him. I didn't want to freak him out.

We ate mostly in silence, and I regretted not thinking of a romantic soundtrack to put on. By the time we finished, I was desperate for some kind of noise – or just something to take the sullen expression off of Griff's face – so I suggested we watch a movie. We settled on The Hangover; again, not exactly how I had hoped the evening would go, but whatever made Griff happy.

It didn't take long for his attention to wander away from watching the movie and towards kissing me, which was all fine as far as I was concerned. Good thing I'd left out that garlic, right? I closed my eyes and leaned into the kiss, trying to parse whether this was the right moment to tell him. Before I could decide, however, he suddenly sprang away from me with a gasp.

When I opened my eyes, it was obvious what had happened, but my brain refused to register it. That burn mark in the shape of a cross had been there before I leaned towards him, hadn't it? It wasn't from my cross, the one I always wore around my neck, was it? It wasn't from any cross, of course not, my eyes were playing tricks on me.

I wish I hadn't wasted precious seconds processing all of this. Maybe I could have done something, said something, at least moved, before he was tearing the cross off of my neck with another pained yelp and leaning back over me. The jig was up now, and it was clear that unlike me, he wasn't wasting any time.

I wish also that I could say I survived through some great, heroic moment, but that's not what happened. I just sat there, shellshocked, until his mouth reached my neck and he began to bite – and then my body seemed to act of its own volition, thrusting him away from me with both hands. This caught him off guard, and he fell backwards, landing directly on top of every candle I owned. His shirt – my shirt – caught fire, and he dashed out the door into the rain.

At the very least, I can say that I made the conscious decision to lock the door, and then barricade it with a table. That's about all I managed to do before collapsing on the couch, back into the same spot I had been just minutes beforehand, and burst into tears. I didn't even bother trying to stop the blood leeching from my neck; I just cried until at some point I eventually fell asleep.

They taught us so much about preventing vampire attacks that it never even occurred to me before that moment that I had never been taught what to do if one did take place. Maybe it was assumed that if you got attacked by a vampire, you weren't surviving. Still, that seemed to nullify the point of carrying stakes and wearing crosses and blessing the water and whatnot. Maybe it was because everyone in this town seemed to believe that if you got attacked by a vampire, it was your fault – if you were smart, you wouldn't be out after dark in the first place, now would you?

Except I wasn't out after dark. I was wearing a cross. I survived. And now I had to continue surviving with no idea how to proceed. I couldn't ask anyone, either – even if they didn't lecture me to my face, surely they would whisper about me behind my back. Stupid girl, didn't even realize her own boyfriend was a vampire. What was she doing, inviting him into the house, when he clearly wasn't trustworthy? She should have known better.

For days, I stayed in my apartment, afraid to go out. I showered, with holy water, of course – except, weeks later, it dawned on me that Griff should have been hurt by the holy water. So, what was the truth? Was holy water not really an effective weapon against vampires, as we had always been taught, or was the water we had always been told was holy not really holy at all?

I did the best to cover the wound on my neck with makeup and collared shirts. There was no one there to see it, but I couldn't bear to look at it, and when it wasn't covered, I couldn't stop. I'd just stand in front of the mirror and stare at my neck, thinking of everything I should have done differently. Still, I was alive, wasn't I?

Wasn't I?

The first time I went out, it was to gather supplies: more stakes, more crosses, more garlic. Matches, bottles, spirits, and rags. Knives, too, although I didn't know if they would help or not. I wasn't really sure what I knew anymore.

The second time I went out, it was to hunt. No more being shocked, no more being attacked in my own home. I was taking the fight to them. After all, what was the point in trying to stay somewhere safe if nowhere was safe? What was the point in following the rules if they weren't going to protect me?

The vampires in this town have known about us for a long time now. What started as a solo effort has now grown into a small movement, which I'm proud to say consists of several people whom I saved from vampires. People who, like me, had no instructions on how to proceed – except for the ones that I gave them.

Of course, they've had time to prepare now. They protect their hearts more carefully, they don't reveal that they're vampires until they're alone with a victim, they even carry what I assume is non-holy water to put out any fires we might start. Often, our efforts feel futile; sometimes I'll go hunting several times and not come across anyone I can say for certain is a vampire. It's hard to know for sure if I'm making the right call. Sometimes it feels as if I am making no difference at all, as if I am still sitting on the couch doing nothing.

Still, things happen.

[feynavaley]

Congrats on the 1000 followers!!! You deserve it :) Anyway, if you’re still taking requests, could I ask for fluff involving Canada being doted upon by another member in the FACE family? You can pick which/as many family members as your comfortable with and if it’s canonverse or au. Honestly, what matters more to me is that Canada is being loved and adored appropriately by his family haha~

Thank you so much!! 😍💖 For your kind words and for the request. 😊 I'm afraid I ended up straying a bit from the prompt, I hope it's all right!

———

The Best Reward

“...And this is how you’ll prevent them from fighting and actually have them listen, for a change. You don’t want to give them the occasion to bicker, you see? But the thing is, you also don’t want to make it overtly clear that’s what you’re trying to do. Most people don’t react well if they perceive something as an imposition and will do their best to go against it, at that point. Subtle manipulation, instead, works much better. If you set the right circumstance, most people will follow...”

There was something odd. The thought struck Matthew all of sudden, making his speech lose vigour.

Something’s missing.

A few heartbeats later, he registered it: Alfred wasn’t talking. In the unnatural silence, his brother was staring at him, his face frozen in shock.

Matthew’s breath itched, heat rose to his cheeks.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Was it too much?”

Actually, Matthew wasn’t even sure of what he had been saying... he knew the gist, but not the words he had used. Under the constant pounding, his head was too light, everything felt disconnected and a bit too far away.

I really need another coffee...

He couldn’t recall when he had drunk the last one. He had a vague feeling that it hadn’t been too long... but it hadn’t helped much. Clearly.

Matthew fidgeted on his feet, contracting and releasing his muscle in an effort to get back into focus and fighting the urge to press his fingers to his throbbing forehead. He almost missed Alfred slowly shaking his head, even though his brother was right in front of him.

“No, no, it’s all right!” Alfred reassured him with the genuine earnestness only he was capable of. “You’ve been a huge help, don’t apologize!”

He typed something on his laptop, then stopped in contemplation of the spreadsheet he had shown Matthew earlier. As he did so, he fished a cookie from the plate in front of him and nudged the same towards Matthew.

“Here, have a treat. You earned it!”

Matthew almost recoiled away, barely restraining a grimace. He should have been hungry, he hadn’t eaten in more than a day... but at that point, the slight, constant nausea lingering to the back of his senses sapped away any appetite.

Fortunately, Alfred didn’t seem to notice, too focused on his work.

“Man, I had never thought so much had to go into planning the seats at a conference... You’re so good at this, Mattie! And you don’t even really frequent most of these people at all, how have been able to pick up all of this?”

Matthew shrugged, uncomfortable under his brother’s bright eyes. Alfred’s praises were everything he had ever wanted. He wished so strongly he could accept them, but if he was honest with himself...

“It really isn’t so hard,” he muttered in an apologetic voice. “You just have to watch and listen. I’m sure you could do that too, if you wanted! I guess I just have more time for observing, since I generally have nothing important to contribute on.”

That had come out really wrong. Alfred’s forehead scrunched, a frown tugged at his lips.

“Mattie—”

God, where is that coffee?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m not trying to blame you or anything, it’s just that—”

His pathetic attempt at an apology wasn’t enough, for Alfred’s frown tightened even more.

“Mattie, this isn’t—”

In a stroke of luck, a notification lit Matthew’s laptop just at that moment. A skype call from Arthur.

“Sorry, I really have to take this!”

Without leaving Alfred time to protest, Matthew opened the call.

“Hi, Arthur! Sorry for getting back at you so late, I had some issues with some stuff Chris sent me so I had to call him and then his PM, but I think everything should be in order now!”

He strongly hoped so, at least. He had proofread everything five times, he was embarrassingly prone to typos and small mistakes when he was so tired... He couldn’t submit something like that to Arthur. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more anxiety clogged his throat with the suspicion what he had done wouldn’t be enough...

“I can give it another check though! You know, just to be sure.”

“Matthew...”

Arthur was frowning.

Oh crap, what did I do wrong?

Trying to hide the panic mounting in his chest, Matthew offered Arthur a fake, strained smile.

“Yeah, I’ll do that if you give me just a moment! The deadline is 12 am, isn’t it? Yes, I’ll—”

“Matthew, what are you doing?”

The note of concern in Arthur’s voice made him pause. A moment later, Matthew realized that in bracing himself against the table, he was slowly tilting towards the laptop.

“Oh, sorry!”

He offered Arthur a sheepish smile and straightened up, bringing his arms back to his sides. His head swam at the sudden movement, but he managed not to waver.

I need to get it together.

And a coffee. He also needed a coffee. Or two or three, most likely.

Confusion shone in Arthur’s eyes.

“Matthew, what are you apologizing for? I had asked you to give me a hand with the documentation, and you did everything by yourself instead. Do you know what a relief it was, when I saw everything was in order?”

Matthew could empathize with that feeling so strongly it almost hurt. It was why he had done so, after all.

“Don’t apologize. I am the one who needs to thank you, there isn’t any apology involved in this. And there’s no need for another check, either. I just did it myself, everything was perfect.”

A wave of relief washed over Matthew. A weight he hadn’t even been conscious of was lifted from his chest – but with that, the exhaustion loomed closer as well.

Matthew forced himself to stay stiff.

“Actually, it was even better than what I would have done myself,” Arthur went on from the screen, “I have no idea of how long it took you, but—”

“But you’ve also been helping me with this!” Alfred cut in, startling Matthew.

He hadn’t noticed his brother getting up – but Alfred was now next to him, peering at the camera.

“And it must have taken forever, too! When did you even find the time?”

Matthew shrugged.

“It really wasn’t that much.”

In fact, the more he thought he about it, the more he realized his help could have been much more substantial. Even if Alfred always approached everything with a quite... relaxed mindset, he had as much work as Arthur, after all – it came with being such an important personification. Matthew, instead... there wasn’t such a weight pressing down his shoulders. Not helping his brothers would have just been selfish. More and more ways he could have eased the burden crowded his minds in a dizzying rush, ideas, projects...

His confused thoughts scattered away when a strong hand landed on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“No, Mattie, it was! And you managed to do it for myself and Arthur as well.”

Alfred’s earnestness was almost painful. Matthew know he wasn’t good enough to appreciate such praises, yet, he couldn’t help the small seed of hope that blossomed in his chest.

“Seriously, Mattie, you’re really amazing!”

“I... am?” Was all Matthew could manage dumbly, as he stared at his brother’s bright eyes. Even when he blinked, the confidence they conveyed didn’t change.

“But... I didn’t do that much, I...”

“Matthew.”

This time, Arthur was the one talking. He was using the firm tone he employed to convey he truly meant what he was saying and would not tolerate being contradicted.

“You’ve been an incredible help. You saved me a lot of time and trouble, and from what I understand, you did the same for Alfred as well.”

“Yep! That’s right!”

“You need to accept the compliments, you deserve them.”

“I...”

If both his brothers agreed with that, it had to mean they were right. Matthew flushed in embarrassment – yet, the sudden spark of pride curling in his chest quite welcome.

Both Arthur and Alfred were smiling.

Did I really manage that?

Apparently, he had. The realization finally sank in along with a sudden wave of exhaustion that made Matthew waver.

Alfred’s hands grabbed his shoulders, steadying him.

“Whoa, Mattie!”

“Matthew, when was the last time you had some sleep?” Arthur asked from across the screen, his voice laced with alarm.

Matthew gave a dry, delirious chuckle.

Today marks the third all-nighter in a row.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Who cared about sleep? His brothers were proud of him. Nothing mattered more than that.

Alfred and Arthur exchanged a glance. Eyebrows raised, a slight frown. They seemed to agree on something with a small nod.

“All right then,” Alfred stated with a shake of his head, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I think you’ve earned some good, uninterrupted sleep.”

Matthew didn’t resist as his brother wrapped an arm around his shoulders and started leading him away from the desk. His head was pounding, but his smile didn’t waver.

“Good night, Arthur,” he yawned, even though he couldn’t recall what time it was in Europe so it might not have made sense.

It didn’t feel particularly important, at the moment. He had been useful. His brothers were happy. He was going to have a good rest.

(word count: 1,571)

[theundercovermarvelfan]

(Image Credit: Whumptober Challenge Tumblr)

@whumptober2021

Day Seventeen

Field Care 101

“Please don’t move!” | Hemorrhage | Dread

Sam tucked his wings and tried to roll as he saw the sniper zero in on him, but it was too late. He felt a white hot pain tear through his right thigh. The pain was so intense that he almost forgot that he was still flying through the air, snapping his wings out as he finally registered the fast approaching ground. He managed to lessen his speed somewhat, but the impact still sent him rolling through the dirt before coming to a painful stop laying flat on his back, squinting up into the sky that spun dizzyingly above him.

“Sam!”

Sam was pretty sure that he hadn’t been laying there long when he heard the voice. His head fell to one side - his vision swimming strangely at the motion - to see a set of feet racing toward him. Before Sam had time to really process what that meant, Bucky suddenly dropped to his knees next to Sam and clamped his hands hard on either side of Sam’s thigh.

The pain shot through Sam’s leg and clawed it’s way up the rest of his body. For a moment, his vision whited out in agony as logic left him. Bucky was breaking his leg, he was going to rip it right off, what happened, why was he doing this…

“Stop!” Bucky’s voice finally snapped through to Sam’s consciousness. “Sam, you have to stop! Please, don’t move!”

Sam hadn’t really comprehended that he was struggling against Bucky’s grip until that moment. He laid back, gasping in breath that suddenly seemed thin in his lungs.

“What…?” Sam murmured, his brain struggling to keep up with what had happened in the last thirty seconds.

“You got shot,” Bucky said bluntly. “I called in Torres for emergency evac, he’ll be here in a few minutes with help. Just stay still, okay?”

“The sniper,” Sam suddenly remembered, his brain jumping into overdrive. “He was perched on a building about two klicks east, you can probably catch up if you go now.”

Bucky stared down at him, blinking blankly for a moment. “I’m not going anywhere.” Sam opened his mouth to point out how important the mission was, but Bucky cut him off before he could speak. “Sam. If I move my hands you are going to bleed out in ten seconds.”

It was Sam’s turn to blink at Bucky blankly. Yeah, his leg hurt like a sonofabitch, but somehow he hadn’t considered that it could be a bad wound. Sam glanced down, staring a long time before he could really comprehend what he was seeing. Bucky’s flesh hand was pressed on top of Sam’s midthigh, his vibranium hand pressed on the bottom of his thigh. There was red staining the bottom of his palm and creeping up in between his fingers. As Sam’s gaze dropped, there was more red underneath Sam’s leg. A lot of red.

Blood. All that red was blood.

“Sam. Sam, look at me, damnit!”

With an effort, Sam dragged his gaze up to look at Bucky… who was drifting in and out of focus. Now that he had acknowledged the wound, the pain suddenly came back to him tenfold.

“Am I… dying…?” Sam gasped without making the conscious decision to do so.

“No!” Bucky practically shouted fiercely. “Sam, you are not fucking dying. Help is gonna be here any second and you’re gonna get patched up and you’re gonna be fine. Okay? You’re going to be fine, Sam.”

There was something strange in Bucky’s voice. It took Sam a long moment to place it. There was a note of pleading desperation in Bucky’s tone. His eyes were wide and he was trying to hide the fear, but he was failing.

Bucky had lost so much in his life…

Sam lifted a hand and placed it on top of Bucky’s. He wasn’t helping with the pressure on his wounds, but rather trying to comfort Bucky -- as well as himself if he was being honest -- with the contact.

“I’m gonna be… gonna be fine,” Sam said quietly.

Bucky sighed, looking a little relieved, though his features were still tense. “Yeah, that’s right. In fact… you’re being a bit dramatic right now.”

Sam snorted. “I learn… from the best… Bucky.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Knick Knack Paddy Whack (BAON)

Summary:  As far as Stretch is concerned, there's only one solution when you're addicted to thrift stores. Selling all the crap you bought so you can buy more!

Notes:  Stepping outside of the main storyline for a moment, we'll get back to the aftermath we're all expecting in a moment. 😁

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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Stretch was a bonafide thrift-a-holic, he honestly was, and he knew it. It was an important thing to know about yourself, really, because certain problems arose from bad case of oooh-shiny-itis.

Sure, one ceramic zombie hand thrusting up from the dresser to hold his rings and change was an awesome thing to behold, but an entire collection of zombie hands was a tough sell to the person you were living with, especially if that person was Edge. Not that he’d managed to find a collection of zombie hands and if he had, that thrift store would have been on the weekly check list, for sure. But the same premise applied to ‘zombie hand plus an entire horde of other bizarre ceramics surrounding it’.

Stretch wasn’t bitter about the limitations when it came to his collection, nah, he got it. There were certain things you couldn’t ask for from the person you love, and a house filled up with weird tchotchkes that looked like they belonged to the grandmother of the chainsaw massacre family was a step too far. Plus, asking Edge for more space would be unfair. He’d either agree because he didn’t want to tell Stretch no, or he’d say no and feel bad about it. Nah, the set of porcelain dragons playing instruments in a rock band he’d found wasn’t that important, not if it gave Edge a case of the guilts.

Problem was, Stretch really couldn’t resist sometimes. How was he supposed to turn away a wedding painting of Yoda and Kermit the frog? Or a coffee mug with a penguin orgy on it? He couldn’t, that’s how, but his allotted space was filling up in the house proper and soon he’d started to amass quite the collection in his lab, too. It was when the overflow expanded enough to start infringing on his erlenmeyer flasks that he decided he needed a new strategy. Science waited for no one and definitely not anything with the word ‘taxidermy’ included.

That’s when Stretch came up with the plan. Okay, it wasn’t a plan, exactly, more like a flash in the pants of brief inspiration, but hell, he’d been flying by on those his entire life, why stop now?

One of the places he frequented was an antique mall, which was a fancy way of saying one rung on the ladder above actual thrift store, except they rented stalls for people to sell their stuff, so maybe it was more like a glorified garage sale. People carted in their junk for other people to buy and the cashier up front handled all the transactions. Minimal time, minimal effort, that was exactly what he and his kitsch needed, so Stretch went ahead and rented a stall of his own.

The not-exactly-a-plan worked out pretty well. He could buy something at the thrift shop and proudly display it for a while around the house, and then when it came time to replace it with a new find, he’d add it to his stall and whatever money came from it, he donated to the local kid’s charity that the Antique Mall supported. That meant he got in his kicks and joy without looking like a prequel to a Hoarders episode and Edge only had to deal with the octopus tentacle ashtray for a few weeks.

Seriously, it was a win-win all the way around.

A few things did take up permanent residence, of course; he couldn’t give up his zombie hand. But so long as it wasn’t a clown, (clowns were disposed of by Edge immediately and with great prejudice), he was allowed things like his nested Matryoshka dolls of Nicolas Cages for a time.

About once a week he went down to add new things to his stall, mostly during the weekday hours when the buses were on the empty side and he could take up an extra seat with his box of additions. It wasn’t exactly a secret, Andy came along a few times to help, but he never really mentioned it to Edge. Not until today when Stretch realized he’d let things go a little too long and he had some extra boxes to haul down.

Better to take care of it while he was thinking about it, otherwise it tended to turn into an endless cycle of ‘oh, I should do that today’ and him forgetting, but aside from the extra lugging required, it was also Saturday and the bus would be loaded. Hitching a ride would be required, plus a little extra muscle, and his husband was his favorite source for both.

He found Edge in the kitchen, sitting at their temporary table with his laptop and yeah, it was Saturday, time to drag him away from whatever bullshit work he was doing. Stretch put on his best wheedling face and asked, “babe? can you give me a lift today?”

“Of course.” Edge didn’t look up, what a total waste of Stretch’s beguiling charms. His gloved fingertips were soft against the keyboard as he finished whatever he was typing before glancing up at Stretch, and maybe his schmoozing wasn’t entirely wasted; the way Edge closed the lid on his laptop spoke of a guilty conscious for working on his day off. “Where are we going?”

“downtown,” Stretch tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “i need to hit up my junk and disorderly shop.”

That got him a pause, “Your what?”

“heh, you’ll see.” Stretch curled a finger at Edge in a ‘come hither’ motion that his husband didn’t follow, only watched suspiciously. “c’mon, i need you to help me carry some stuff.”

“This ride is starting to sound less like transport and more like a chore.” But Edge followed him to the basement for the boxes, and, surprise surprise, his willingness to help went up a few notches from wary to eager when he figured out what Stretch was doing. Eh, couldn’t blame him. At the top of the pile was a plush frog with the top hat that played ‘hello my baby’ whenever you pushed on its foot, something Red did every single time he walked past it, plus anytime he’d felt like shortcutting in for a quick press. Time to let it damage the sanity of another family.

The boxes were tossed into the trunk of Edge’s car, frog and all, and soon they were on the road, heading downtown. Truth be told, Stretch wasn’t sure what Edge would make of the place. He tolerated thrift stores well enough, but the antique mall was a different kind of beast. An entire building of obscure collections cluttered together into eclectic displays that others were trying to barter and sell.

There were stalls filled with milk crates of old records, shelves and shelves of antique glassware and dishes. Some stalls had vintage clothing, feathery boas mixed in with disco pants and ruffled aprons. Old instruments, rusty farm equipment, strange kitchen gadgets that looked more dangerous than useful, this place had everything and then some.

Plus, the mall had a certain sort of smell, a musty, dusty scent verging on decay that settled into the sinuses and hung around for a while. Stretch thought it was the smell of a life well-lived and he kinda liked it; after years of thrifting, he associated it with finding treasures, but who knew if Edge felt the same. His tastes in smells (heh) ran more to clean and green, not old-timey funk. Could be it reminded him of shower mildew.

Whatever his opinion of the odors, Edge kept it to himself. He helped with the box carrying and checked out Stretch’s stall curiously but didn’t say much. Probably recognized the stuff on the shelves as having once been on a table or Stretch’s nightstand, until the glee wore off and it ended up gathering dust in the basement. He wandered off at some point, heading into the depths of the mall, and left Stretch to restock his meagre wares.

It took longer than he’d expected. Since he’d opened up his stall, not everything Stretch found thrifting found its way into the house proper anymore. Some of it he bought as a straight-to-video option and he was getting pretty good at finding interesting doodads at the thrifty places that might sell better here, location, location, location, that was the ticket.

Stretch always priced his junk reasonably, usually not much more than he’d paid for it. Wasn’t like he needed the money, and besides, Stretch knew himself pretty damn well, therapy did that to a guy. At the end of the day, he knew what this was really about; all an elaborate scheme to satisfy the inner packrat in his soul that struggled sometimes with giving things away.

Bartering had been built in him before he could say the word; in the Underground, he’d gotten damn good at getting deals for what he could scrounge at the dump. This was the same thing, really, just with slightly different stakes. Dinner wasn’t riding on his latest stash of dvds anymore, always a plus, and these days he could simply look at the empty shelves, content in the knowledge that his Smeagol cardboard cutout had found a new home.

Hey, therapy wasn’t the only way to work out a few kinks in your internal lines.

When the last box was emptied, Stretch wandered up to the front desk to give the lady who ran the front register his new inventory list. That was when he heard it.

There was an old piano up front with a sign on it that said, ‘Do not ‘play’ if you cannot play’. Most of the time it sat silently but someone up there was giving it a good try today. The notes were slower, with obvious hesitations as the player searched for the correct keys, but the song was one Stretch knew. Gently melancholy, a match to the cautious playing.

His curiosity piqued, Stretch wandered over to watch and he wasn’t entirely surprised to see Edge sitting on the piano bench, his attention on his hands as he slowly played. It was a tough choice between watching him play and simply listening to the song and Stretch found himself trying to do both. The uncertain skill in hands he knew so well as they coaxed the music free.

When the last note faded, a faint smattering of applause came from the different stalls around them. Stretch waited for it to end before sitting on the bench next to Edge.

Quietly, Stretch said, “i didn’t know you played.”

“I don’t,” Edge said. He smoothed a hand over the keys, not pressing down, simply touching them. “Not really. I can’t read music, but I know a song or two by rote. A friend of mine pushed me to memorize them.”

Welp, Stretch didn’t have to ask what friend, now did he. An old friend back in another world, and people weren’t replaceable even if they wore the same face. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to; Stretch understood in a way only a few people could, and he settled a hand on Edge’s leg, squeezing his knee gently.

“that was really good,” Stretch offered, “you have a good memory, babe.”

“Some of my memories are better than others,” Edge said. The words were more contemplative than sorrowful, and he didn’t look at Stretch, only touched the back of his hand briefly with his gloved fingertips. “You tend to feature in the best ones, love.”

He reached for the keys again and started to play. The song was more confident this time, bright and cheery, with only the occasional missed note. A handful of other people drifted over, some pausing to watch and some moving on, going about their day with a song to carry them along.

Stretch only tapped his toes and listened as Edge played, more than willing to let him go on until he was ready to stop. If Edge wanted to take a brief dive into the past, then the antique mall was a place for it, where memories and times past mingled with the present.

Besides, a new memory to take home was better than any knickknack.

-fin

Note:  The first song Edge was playing was 'Clair de Lune' by Debussy and the second was 'The Entertainer' by Scott Joplin. In case you were wondering. 😁

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-17)

Word count: 5.3K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: ANGST, miscarriage, accident, graphic descriptions of blood, detailed/spoilery warnings in the tags.

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: Here it is guys, finally. I know most of you already know what’s going to happen but please please heed the warnings. If you have triggers please check the tags, I’ll put in everything I can think of including the spoilery warnings. I had a hard time writing this, so here’s to hoping I managed to convey the emotions.

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23. You da best <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

24th April 2009

“I’ll be fine, really,” you said on the phone. “It’s only seven.”

On the other end Jo sighed. “Y/N, it’s starting to rain again, and it’s getting really dark outside.”

“Weird that it’s already raining in April,” you murmured. “I’m just around the bend of Clinton lake.”

“Why did you even leave the house?”

It was Sam’s birthday in just a little over a week. You really wanted to get him something. Sitting at home wasn’t giving you any ideas, so you had decided to go around to the other side of the big lake and try your luck at the engraving shop there. It had worked and you ended up placing an order for an engraved pen. It was a simple black fountain pen, part of which was made in obsidian, so your message could be engraved. Even if Sam used it regularly, it was supposed to be very durable and you were extremely pleased. You were also particularly proud of the quote you had picked. It wasn’t romantic in any way, but you had heard Sam read it out to you from your favourite book many times in that lovely voice of his.

You hoped Sam would carry the pen to work. Things were hard for him in New York right now, living by himself. He wouldn’t tell you if he ever had troubles at work, but you knew enough of the profession to know that it was ruthless, and sometimes hard. You couldn’t be there with him to tell him that things would be alright. Maybe if he looked down at the pen, the quote would remind him of that.

“Y/N? A storm’s about to hit that side, ” Jo fretted, slightly frustrated on the line. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” you said, peering into the horizon just beyond the lake, beyond the pitter patter on the glass. It really was getting dark. “I’ll be home in a few minutes. In fact, I’ll come over directly to your place. I think Dean could use another apple pie.”

“No!” Jo shouted. “You go to your house.”

“Oh-kay.” Not suspicious at all. “What’re you not telling me?”

“Nothing!” 

Jo’s voice was too high to be believable. Either way, it wasn’t the best idea to stay out any longer. 

“I’m parked at a shoulder,” you told her. “I’m gonna hang up on you so I can get back on the road.

“Okay. Drive carefully.”

“See ya in fifteen,” you grinned as you cut the call on her vague protests. She really did want you to not visit her. Maybe she was throwing you that surprise baby shower afterall. 

“Looks like you and I have to pretend to be surprised, Chirp,” you muttered. 

Slowly, you reversed the car and eased it back onto the road, thinking about how cold it seemed to suddenly feel. Maybe you should turn the heat up further. 

It came out of nowhere. The blow. One minute you were sliding the car onto the road, next minute you were sinking, drowning, the shock not even letting you register what had happened. There was a bright, blinding yellow light- straight in your eyes at first, from a direction it shouldn’t have been coming from. The confusion just spiraled when the road which should have been beneath you was over your head, and then you were spinning out of control. You closed your eyes, unable to understand what was happening till the water hit. Then you started thrashing, trying to get the seat belt to loosen, to get yourself out of the vehicle, but even with all the whipping around, you couldn’t free yourself. The water rose higher and higher in the darkness as you struggled to strain your neck to rise above it… until you couldn’t.

Seconds… then your throat was hurting. No- it was burning. The world was turning upside down and you were in a torrent of water. Frantically, you tried to unbuckle yourself, but your swollen middle made it hard. That thought cleared your head more than anything else and you doubled, tripled your efforts to get out, finally managing to free yourself of the seat belt and open the door. For all your effort, it wasn’t soon enough because the van rolled in the dark water and hit something, plummeting you to the side, against what could only be jagged metal and pieces of glass.

You wanted more than anything to just go to sleep now. Maybe then the cold will seize and so would the sting. Everything was stinging. The cold water was biting into your skin like a thousand knives and the cold was so cold it burned, it set you on fire. But the shards, they were a different kind of ripping, tearing- outside on your skin and… inside.

No. You opened your eyes, and with every last ounce of strength, made your limbs move. There was pain. You knew it deep down that you were in a lot of pain, though right now you couldn’t feel anything beyond the haze in your brain and the ice under your skin. The burning in the throat was dulling, but you used it to remain conscious, to propel yourself up, because there was something infinitely more important in this world than your life. You had to force yourself to swim to protect that thing. 

The ripping once more and a stab… It was gut wrenching to keep pushing the water down with your hands, the consciousness was slipping again. Another convulsive spasm from the inside now… to the point where you felt something other than the cold… you felt it, you felt the pain, primal and devastating inside of you. The blackness overwhelmed you.

Something was patting your face and then something soft was on your lips. Soft and warm. 

“Jesus Christ,” a voice hissed, desperate, then shouted away from you, “She’s not responding! Jesus!”

“Stop with that, you moron,” another scared, deeper voice in the distance yelled. “Get the water out.”

“I-I can’t… I can’t roll her over on the stomach. She’s… she’s… Fuck.”

“Press her chest. We’ve got to do something till the ambulance comes. Slap her face again.”

pat pat pat.

The rain was thudding hard around you, hitting your face like arrows.

“Fuck, I can’t,” the first voice answered. “Her lips are blue and all this blood. Shit!”

“She’s not even shivering.” The other deep voice cursed. “Move aside, you idiot.” A different set of hands replaced the ones on you.

Pumps on your chest and then something on her lips again.

The first man, far away now, was shouting. “She’s gonna die… she’s gonna die… and they’ll think we did it. That bastard drove off and you- you had to stop driving.”

The voice near you growled in frustration. “Oh, fuck off!” He said urgently in your ears. “C’mon dammit! Keep fighting.” The pumping continued, but you didn’t fight to live. You knew it in your frozen bones that the reason you had been fighting for was gone. It was in the blood seeping from your middle, the blood rapidly staining your already drenched pants. It was in the glass and metal sticking out of your body. It was in the unbearable pain and the bone crushing cold, it was in the scared and defeated voices over you… he was gone. 

Pump. Pump. Pump.

“C’mon! Fight!”

You fought, yes. But not to live. You fought to go under, to never resurface ever again. What was the point? 

“Check her wallet,” the man over you commanded. “She’s married. See if you can get a hold of the husband.”

Sam.

“I can feel a beat. Fuck. Thank God.”

The tensed, shrill voice yelled from far away. “I think I hear the ambulance.”

“You hear that?” The voice, soft now commanded. “Stay with me!”

You heard it… you heard the siren… farther and then closer. The pain felt sharper now, agonising like hellfire burning in your veins. More voices, more pain… and then nothing.

***************************

26th April 2008

“Sam?”

“Sam, seriously. If you stop responding, I’ll slap an answer out of you. I swear I will.”

He looked up at the girl standing over him. Jo was scowling down at him, her voice high pitched and reedy.

“You need to eat something.”

He said nothing.

She grabbed him by the shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle. “Are you even listening to me?” Jo might have tried to shake him, he didn’t notice it. “Mom’s sent some food.”

“I’m not leaving her.” 

Jo’s body relaxed just a bit at his response. At least she had gotten one. He felt her take a seat next to him, without letting go of his shoulder. 

“You’re not helping her by starving yourself,” she said. “You think Y/N would want you to torture yourself like this?”

“I wouldn’t know what Y/N would want now, would I?” His voice sounded muted, dead, even to his own ears.

She sighed. “There’s nothing you could’ve done. The baby… Y/N…. you couldn’t have done anything.”

There’s nothing you could’ve done.

They were only words. His brother had said them, and Jo and Ellen; so many times that they had lost meaning to Sam now. Not that they had ever held any to begin with.

“Why’re you doing this to me, Jo?” He asked flatly, without even the intention of an inflection.

She took a deep breath. “Because Dean’s losing it, Sam. He’s fucking losing it seeing you like this. I’ve never seen him look this… this…” Her hands flailed in the air. “Crazed! He’s blaming himself for everything.”

For the first time, he turned to look at her and actually see her. Jo’s hair was coming out of the plait that she hadn’t combed out of for almost two days. Her face was grimy and blotched. Her eyes were red and nose shiny. She looked on the verge of tears still.

“It’s not Dean’s fault.” 

“It’s not yours either,” she yelled, exasperated,

“I should have been with her! Maybe then she wouldn’t have gone out.”

“It was a perfectly good day to drive. She was barely even out of town and it wasn’t her fault that a trailer doing ninety miles decided to make a bend on the wrong side of the road.”

Sam flinched.

The hand on his shoulder slid down and wrapped around his waist. “It was a freak accident. I know you’re hurting, Sam. I have to be blind to not see what this is doing to you, but think about what you’ll do to Y/N if she sees you like this.”

“I thought I lost her, too,” Sam whispered. “The way she looked.” A shudder ran through his body and Jo threw her other arm around him, as if to protect him, as if she could shield him from what had passed and what was to come. 

Sam had stayed with Y/N as long as they would let him. However, no one was allowed in the ICU, so he was forced to remain in the waiting area outside. Be that as it might, no one had been able to move him from here since that wretched phone call.

It felt like eons ago- Sam had paced the living room in their home impatiently, waiting for Y/N to come back from wherever she had driven to. Jo had arranged for a surprise baby shower, and to add to it, Sam had flown in a day early. It was a wonder to see her look of sheer joy each time Y/N found him home! He had spent the hour fixing that one odd joint in the crib, and then another trying to get the rainbow mural stuck on the wall opposite to the crib. Y/N would be so proud. He had been congratulating himself when the shrill ring of the phone interrupted his reverie. The phone call that had changed everything. 

“Y/N’s tough, Sam,” Jo whispered in his ears. “You heard the doctor, right? He said no one that far gone had managed to pull through all in one piece. She had a cardiac arrest from the hypothermia and she’s still with us.” Jo rubbed soothing circles into his back. “Shhh… it’ll be alright. She’s tougher than she looks, that one.”

“I don’t know how to tell her… how to face her.” Only when Sam’s voice broke did he realise that he was already crying. “I can’t see her in pain, Jo. It will kill me.”

“No, it won’t. You need to let others in. Let people help you first, so you can be there for her tomorrow. If you let yourself go to pieces, who’s she gonna turn to?”

Sam simply shook his head as the tears overwhelmed him. He knew he couldn’t stay weak, couldn’t afford to be fragile… especially not now.

Someone cleared their throat and Jo pulled back to reveal the nurse standing in the hallway. “Mrs. Winchester just regained consciousness.”

************

“Y/N, Darling.”

Sam’s voice. The only sound that could mean anything.

“You said she was awake,” he spoke, voice sounding farther.

“She is…” said another doubtful voice. A woman’s voice. “At least she was.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, can you hear me?”

His voice was dim and strained. You didn’t need to open your eyes to see the expression on his face.

“Doctor,” he said, frantic now. “What’s wrong with her?”

Cool hand pressed against your wrist, then another lightly prodded at your eyelid, trying to pry them open. You turned your head to the side, not willing to look.

There was a sharp intake of breath. “Darling?”

“Mr. Winchester, could I please request you step outside while I examine her?”

There was a pause, then the door opened and closed. 

“Mrs. Winchester, my name’s Richard Hawke and I’m your doctor. Could you please turn your head this way?”

You did. 

Against your hazy vision, much couldn’t be made out about Dr. Hawke except his kind eyes. “How’re you feeling? Is there any pain?”

You shook your head. Physically, you only felt numb. Your throat felt scorched, but that pain was welcoming. You needed it to feel something.

“Do you remember what happened?”

One dip your head.

Dr. Hawke looked at you for a long moment. “You’ve been through one hell of a trauma, Mrs. Winchester. It’s a miracle that you survived.” He gave you a compassionate smile.

You knew what his words really meant. ‘Be grateful that, at least, you survived.’

He studied the file he was holding, then said. “We had to perform a surgery when they brought you in. Thankfully, there are no fractures, just deep lacerations on your stomach, back and chest. To let you heal from the surgery and for the stitches to hold, we had to keep you under sedation for over a day and half.”

Dr. Hawke waited for you to give a sign that you understood, when he didn’t get one, he continued. “You need complete bed rest for a couple of days. That means no moving around or even standing for too long. If you’re in pain, please immediately call for the nurse.” His voice softened. “Do you want me to send your husband in?”

You looked him right in the eyes and very deliberately shook your head. 

He nodded and you closed your eyes, not wanting to see a world where your baby would never exist.

***************************

30th April 2008

“Y/N, do you want to take a walk?” Jo asked, trying to make her voice bright. “The doctor said you need to move around a bit, sweetie.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Dean added, in the same tone. “There’s actually sun outside today. No more gloomy, rainy weather.”

Sam felt himself stiffen and Dean shot him a wary glance. No one had mentioned rain in front of her. Their careful exchange was lost on Y/N though, just like everything else had been up until now. For all they knew, she hadn’t heard a word of the conversation. Her gaze was fixed, unseeing on the blinders of the window, through which some of the sunlight that Dean was talking about trickled in. The expression on her face was blank, exactly how it had been since she had first opened her eyes.

No one had told Y/N that she had lost the baby… she had already known. Not that she had told anyone that she knew. Hell, she hadn’t spoken a word in the four days since gaining consciousness. But it was just there, in that hollow look, like a blackhole. Each time Sam looked at her, the pit in his stomach would grow deeper, threatening to swallow him whole. His heart, which felt heavy in his chest beat frantically like its beats were numbered. It scared Sam… it made him feel as if the cataclysmic loss wasn’t behind him, rather it was in front, drawing close with every second that Y/N didn’t speak, didn’t look at him.

Forcefully, Sam shook his head, dislodging the thought. He got to his feet and walked over to the window Y/N had been looking towards. Slowly drawing the blinds away from the glass, he let the sunlight flood the room. He turned around to see Y/N closing her eyes. 

Over her Dean and Jo exchanged a distraught look, then looked at him. Their expression made Sam realise that he hadn’t been meant to see their exchange.

“Okay, rest up, then,” Dean said, in a low, kind voice. He bent down to kiss Y/N on her forehead. “We’ll be waiting outside.”

Jo ran her fingers through Y/N’s hair, then with one dejected sigh, followed Dean out of the room. It didn’t miss Sam’s attention that his brother gripped her hand tightly on their way out.

Sam took his place on the steel chair next to Y/N’s bed and reached out to take her hand. She didn’t shirk it away like she had for the first two days. Now, it lay there, dead, without any movement. Sam might as well have been holding the hand of a marble statue. Cold and hard. The doctor had said not to touch her skin at first… that it might be painful for her after the hypothermic attack, but even after they were sure that it might have passed, Y/N had recoiled from his touch and it had hurt like the lash of a flaming whip against his raw, exposed skin- her rejection. It had been the only visible reaction she had shown to his presence or even his words at first.

Sam had tried, he knew that much. He had tried with every ounce of his soul to put on a smile and call out to her. He had dried his eyes of the last drop of moisture, rid his expression of the last spasm of pain and smoothened it into a smile for her. If it was the only thing he could do now- bury his pain- he would do it for her. He would do it all. If only he knew that he was getting through to Y/N, if only she would spare him just one glance. When he forced himself in the way of her gaze, she would simply look through him. He could touch her and he could kiss her, but it was showing love to only her inanimate body, not his Y/N. She didn’t seem to be in there.

Bile rose to his mouth each time he skimmed his fingers along her cheek, and not even her eyes blinked. The heat didn’t rise to her cheeks. Nothing happened. 

Now, Sam sat next to her, reading out loud, “… Jem finally realized that he had been done in by the oldest lawyer’s trick on record. He waited a respectful distance from the front steps, watched Atticus leave the house and walk toward town. When Atticus was out of earshot Jem yelled after him: “I thought I wanted to be a lawyer but I ain’t so sure now!””

He stopped when the nurse came in with a bowl of soup and placed it on the table next to her bed. “Here’s some soup for you, honey.” 

“Thank you,” Sam murmured, placing the copy of To kill a mockingbird on the table.

“You’re welcome,” she said in a pleasant voice, giving Sam a pitying look before exiting the room.

“C’mon, love,” Sam coaxed, helping her into a sitting position. He settled besides her with the bowl in his hand, dipped the spoon into the thick soup and brought the spoon to Y/N’s bruised lips. She didn’t resist as he tipped it into her mouth. She never resisted anything. Sam wished with a yearning that was acute to the point of pain that she would just raise her eyes and look at him. Look and actually see.

His hopeless longing had led him to tilt the spoon sideways and a line of soup dribbled along her chin. Sam hurried to wipe it off with the folded sleeve of his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N hadn’t even noticed. 

Slowly, she finished the soup, one spoon at a time. 

“That’s my girl,” Sam encouraged, cleaning the last of it from her lips, and raising a glass of water. 

“Do you want to go out?” He asked, trying and failing to keep the despair out of his voice. This time, however, Y/N shook her head and hope, even more painful than the yearning, roared through Sam’s chest. She sometimes reacted to his words, something she never did for anyone else. And that was the one string he had clung to…. one golden string of faith.

“Later, then?” It was there in his voice, too… that same hope.

Slowly she nodded, then turned her head away and closed her eyes again. Sam knew she wanted to be by herself.

He almost bent down to peck her on the forehead, that unsettling fear of impending loss, urging him to do it… but then he thought better of it and stepped outside. When Y/N was ready, she would come out herself. She had said so… she would have to. 

In the strangest way, without even having known her, Sam missed his mother. He knew that if she had been around now, he would have hidden his face in her lap and allowed himself to cry to his heart’s content. He loved Karen, and she loved him, too… but it was different with her. She felt like his favourite aunt. Dean had called both Bobby and her to let them know what had happened. They wanted to come over immediately, but one look at Sam’s face had made Dean decline their offer. Sam didn’t think he could pretend to be alright for any more people than he already had to. 

Everyone else could afford to show weakness. In fact, they did. Jo had broken down more than once right in front of Y/N, and Dean could clench his fists and grind his teeth in frustration about how unfair this was. Ellen was so defeated, she could hardly even be around Y/N without crying. Sam, however, couldn’t show a flicker of what he truly felt. It didn’t look like she registered most of what was happening around her… but on the off chance that she did, Sam would die a hundred deaths before let her see what the grief was doing to him.

He slowly walked to the seating outside, crumpling on the bench at the corner. How was any of this happening? What deity could have been so cruel as to hurt the purest person to ever breathe? Sam had never gotten over how infinitely good Y/N was. For as long as he had known her, she’d never said one mean thing about anyone. Never. He knew he wouldn’t ever stop marvelling at her goodness. He would marvel as long as he loved her… as long as he lived. And yet, if something this horrifying could happen to her? What hope did the rest of the world have? 

There must be no God, Sam decided. There must be no higher power that weighs good and bad in the world, that takes one look at a person and decides how much suffering or happiness they deserved. Because no such entity would be so callous, so stone-hearted to sentence Y/N to this! 

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and Sam felt his brother drop into the seat besides him. 

“How’s she doing?”

Sam shrugged. “Much the same.”

“Did Bobby ever tell you that I didn’t talk until I was six?”

Sam turned to his brother with what must have been a look of shock. 

Dean’s eyes tightened, as he stared straight ahead. “He didn’t? I could swear the old man loved to tell that one.”

“I didn’t know.”

Dean tilted his head. “Well, I didn’t talk for two years after the fire. Honestly, I don’t remember it all that much, but death and trauma does that to a person, I’ve been told.”

“She doesn’t even know the extent of it, Dean,” He gasped, his heart doing that thing again where every breath seemed to labour it. 

“Will you love her less for it?”

Sam whipped his head, angry. “Of course not,” he spat. “Nothing would make me love her less!”

Dean sighed tiredly and Sam realised that it had been a rhetorical question. Sam put his face in his hands, speaking into his palms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that something feels essentially broken inside her. And I don’t know how to fix it… fix her. It makes me feel helpless.”

“You’re not a frickin’ miracle man, Sam! And there isn’t a magical solution for this. Sometimes you have to let grief run its course.”

Dean was making sense, Sam knew that… but he also knew Y/N. Better than anyone alive. He was sure of it… the blankness behind her glassy eyes wasn’t the type that complied with sense or logic. It was a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t explain- not even to Dean, that there was something terribly wrong with her. That it wasn’t simply grief holding her vacant, it was something incomprehensibly beyond that.

“I know you want to be there for her,” Dean said, quieter now. “I know you’re worried, but you’re grieving, too, man. You lost your kid.” His voice broke. “That’s not something you can sweep under the rug.”

Sam bit back the ‘watch me.’ 

He felt too tired, too weary and too scared. 

“How am I going to tell her?” He whispered, staring at the floor in horror. “How am I ever going to tell her that she can’t be a mother again? That they had to remove parts of her body because they were too damaged, crushed? She’ll lose it, Dean. You don’t know how much she loved Ch- Ch… “ He choked up… The name just wouldn’t come out. “It was her dream to have her own family.”

She’d whispered it at night, in a awed, hushed voice, under soft sheets about how she had never really had a family. Just Gran and her- two souls shouldering the burden of memories of people they would never see again. Is that what Y/N would think when she found out? That she and Sam would become two such souls?

“She’s coming home tomorrow, right?” Dean said. “We’ll do everything we can to make it okay. With time…”

Even now, with his brother’s hand on his shoulders and his words in the air, Sam knew that this was not the type of grief he would ever get over. No amount of time could bury the dreams and expectations of the little life they had both yearned for. Sam knew that someday it might get easier to bear, even if it seemed impossible right now. However, it would never truly go away. 

With a fierce resolution, he vowed to love Y/N twice as hard! He would do whatever it took to get that smile back on her face, the light back in her eyes. He knew it in the depth of his being that if they were going to make it through this, he had to figure out a way to get her back first.

What Sam didn’t know was that he wouldn’t get the chance. What he didn’t see was the slight figure, standing at the far corner, behind the door, fingers clutching the frame till the knuckles strained. If he had turned, Sam would have known that Y/N had listened to him after all. She had come out for a walk… seen him slumped over in agony and heard his words of anguish. 

She had heard other things in the short nineteen years of her life. Whispers had followed her everywhere since her parents had died in the car crash. Awful words…

“… Her parents didn’t even live to see her sixth birthday…”

“… It starts before that. I heard she wasn’t even three months old when poor Gertrude’s husband passed away…”

“… Girl’s a jinx if I saw any… No survivors… ”

Sam had heard some of it at her Gran’s funeral, and it had boiled his blood. But he hadn’t dreamed, hadn’t estimated for how long Y/N had heard them, how word by word, piece by piece the rumours had lodged themselves in her mind. They had been lost in the recent bout of happiness, but very much there, waiting to cut her open the moment she tripped. She’d never spoken of them to him, afraid that she might really jinx her luck… terrified, in fact. Now she knew that you couldn’t jinx what you didn’t have.

“…How am I ever going to tell her that she can’t be a mother again.,.”

Sam didn’t see her turn around. For now he let his brother hold him, feel some of the grief ebb away from him into the vastness of his brother’s love. Sure, Sam didn’t have a mother, and he might miss the idea of having her, but he hadn’t ever missed that unconditional love. Dean was there, always had been and always would be.

Sam would need his brother more than ever tomorrow, when in the ten minutes that it took him to park his car in front of the entrance, the private room where his wife had stayed would be deserted. He would shout her name till his throat was sore, and lose his mind trying to look for her. There would be a missing person report filed which would soon be disposed off, because CCTV grab from the Hospital cameras would show her walking out by herself with the bag that they had brought for her. It had some of her clothes, her wallet recovered after the accident with her identity proofs. There was nothing left behind, not the book, not the brush, not even a note. She had left willingly and without a word.

They wouldn’t believe it, though… He, Dean, Jo and Ellen would all get into their cars and drive for a day and a half, checking all hotels, bus stops, gathering spots, showing her picture to see if anyone recognised her and despairing when no one did. Sam would push himself into a craze over finding his wife, the closest he would come to insanity.

When two days later- having driven almost across two states into Texas- Sam would return home, he’d find the gift delivered to him on the correct date- 2nd May. An etched, black obsidian fountain pen, wrapped in fine silk; the note over it proudly proclaiming: “With undying love- Y/N Winchester.”

The etched inscription on the pen would be seared into his soul:

It’s not time to worry yet - Atticus Finch

Sam didn’t know any of it. For now, he was simply allowing himself to be comforted by his big brother. Surely finding some peace again wouldn’t be that impossible, right? Surely this agony would have to end sooner or later. Everything seemed possible in Dean’s arms. 

***************************

A/N 2: Not gonna lie, this chapter was VERY hard to write. I rewrote it twice and edited it thrice. I can only hope that I did justice to their pain and suffering. This is the first time I’ve ever written something so irreversible in a series… and boy, was it painful!

Anyway, we can finally return to happier times! Next chapter takes us back to a very hungover Y/N! Who’s excited?

I’ll try to post the chapter early. You guys can brush up on Part 12 for hints and clues about what is coming ;)

The feedback is literally what’s keeping this story going right now. My immense thanks to all you lovely people who take the time out to be SO kind to me. I love you <3

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[funknrolll]

Lizzo Cuz I love You the epitome of self-love, self-acceptance and feminism: discovering a life-changing masterpiece

Hi music lovers, today I want to recommend an album that has been out for a while and that I will never get tired of. This album is Cuz I love you and it is by the hugely talented artist and goddess Lizzo!! This masterpiece is featuring some important messages and the sounds and melodies and vocal parts are always on point. Let’s get straight to the main topics of this masterpiece.

The lyrics of this work of art were entirely written by the brilliant Melissa Viviane Jefferson, as known as Lizzo. In my opinion, this artist is an extremely positive role model, we all should look up to. The message of self-love, self-acceptance, equality, feminism, positivity she is putting out through her music is just so inspiring, motivating and life-changing. From my point of view and from my own experience thanks to Lizzo, her music and the lesson she is teaching with her art, I feel so empowered, uplifted and inspired. As I have struggled with accepting myself and as I have always had low self-esteem issues that led me to self-doubting myself, now I can say that thanks to this inspiring, empowering and motivating role model, I am finally learning to accept and love myself more and I honestly changed the perspective from I used to see myself and my life from. I really think this is something we all should learn to do.

Personally, I love each and every song contained in this masterpiece, but among my favorites there are Like a Girl, Juice, Soulmate, Exactly How I feel, and Lingerie. Each song I mentioned is just so peculiar and beautiful. From the lyrics to the vocals and the harmonies and the instrumental parts, we can listen to how much work and how much effort, this amazing artist has put into this mesmerizing work of art. I am so amazed by the talent of Lizzo, and we all should feel this way.

Like a Girl is such a beautiful song characterized by a very unique rhythm and some beautiful melodies which in some ways give me some Prince vibes (musically speaking). Additionally what makes this song even more unique is the lyrics. This song is in my opinion, a hymn to femininity and Indeed it is encouraging each and every girl on this planet to emancipate themselves, to fight for themselves, to be strong and to be self-made. Through this powerful work of art, every girl and woman can learn that they do not need a man to be happy amd that their independence is way more important. Additionally, we can learn from this masterpiece that women deserve freedom, will not be controlled anymore and will no longer depend on men. This masterpiece is in my humble opinion, extremely empowering.

Moreover, another song that I love so much is Juice. This work is focused on an extremely relevant topic which is self-love and self-acceptance. This masterpiece is in my opinion extremely uplifting. This song is featuring melodically some 80s vibes that I will never ever get tired of, and the beautifully written lyrics is the jewel on the crown of this masterpiece. The message in this song is simple and extremely effective which is to be conscious of our worth and to love and accept ourselves to be confident and to let it show. This lyrics is so motivating, empowering and uplifting. In addition, Lizzo in the video of the psong is so gorgeous and so confident, and this makes her such a positive role model for everyone on this planet.

Furthermore, another song I find extremely brilliant is Soulmate. This is an extremely brilliant masterpiece and it is basically a love letter that the artist wrote to herself. This work of art is a reminder that the artist wrote to herself to remind herself and to remind each and every girl and woman on this earth that we do not need a man or a boyfriend to be happy, we should be enough for ourselves and we should be our own heroes. On the other hand, this song could be interpreted in a different way which in my opinion should be that to be loved and to change the world we need to start loving ourselves first. We need to be enough for ourselves and understand our worth in order to be loved by other people and eventually change the world. This song is containing a powerful message and Lizzo’s voice is so powerful. She is singing these lyrics out loud, this is such a liberating love letter that this beautiful artist is singing to herself to show the whole world that eventually, she has chosen to love herself and that she “figured out she gotta be her own type”. In my humble opinion, this is such a powerful message that Lizzo also reminded to the lucky fans who attended her concerts.

Speaking about powerful lyrics Exactly how I feel, is another empowering song. This work of art is characterized by some beautifully performed, soul vocals that I love so much. Lizzo’s voice is always on point which is in my opinion what music needed now!! This song with some playful and brilliantly written lyrics is sending out such an important message: staying true to ourselves. The lyrics are extremely clear:  we must be ourselves, we must not let anybody change who we are. We are free and nobody can tell us otherwise. This message is so important nowadays in a world where we let other people’s opinions get to ourselves and hurt ourselves. We live in a world where we are always obsessed with what others might think about us to the point that for instance, we will not live our lives peacefully and happily or to the point that we will hide our real personalities and will wear masks, not allowing other people to see our true colors. This song is such a motivation to put down our masks, to stop caring about other people’s opinions and live our lives without these stupid obsessions. This masterpiece is a middle finger up in the air that screams “Love me or hate me/ I ain’t changing/ and I don’t give a fuck”. This song is, therefore, a hymn to freedom that allows us to show the world our true colors without being afraid. Such a wonderful feeling!

“On a sexier note”, another one of my favorite songs in this total masterpiece is Lingerie. This song is so beautifully sung and the arrangement is BRILLIANT. I can hear how Prince has influenced this artist from either the arrangments and the intentions used while singing. This masterpiece is so beautiful especially because it shows the extremely broad spectrum of Lizzo’s vocal techniques and registers: she can switch from an extremely light head voice to a remarkably powerful masque voice.

Moreover, I can say that this album is extraordinarily therapeutical and healing. I would advise more and more people to listen to the outstanding artist that is Lizzo and to her masterpiece. Thanks to this album and thanks to this superb artist I have learned the significant lesson of self-love, self-acceptance, and self-consciousness. Thanks to this album I have learned to love myself more and therefore to accept myself the way I am. We should all be grateful to Lizzo for giving us such an important message and for opening to us her beautiful heart and soul and allowing us to see what she has been through so that somehow we could find ourselves in her stories. Thanks to this album we can find the strength to be brave and to accept ourselves which is something that could seem extremely difficult sometimes. I really recommend this masterpiece of music because it really is absolutely life-changing.

To sum up, this album has been such a beautiful, life-changing experience that allowed us to learn about self-love and self-acceptance and Lizzo with her mesmerizing voice has been able to sing and teach us this HUGELY IMPORTANT lesson we all should be grateful for. Honestly, I cannot wait to see her in concert here in Italy, it will be one of the best days of my life!!

[atinyidea]

Glitch | Ateez Gang!AU | ONE

⟶ gang!au, hacker!au, love triangle? poly? female!original character

How curious it is, the fact that the police just gave a media conference, confirming ATZ’s involvement in Kyungri’s families newly-appointed murder, just as she sat down for her best friend, Jaehyeon, to be tattooed by one of the gang members?

⟶ glitch ml! main ml!

⟶ prologue | next

⟶  note! if anyone wants to be on a tag list for this fic just let me know!

⟶ 4046 words!

⟶ edited 06.03.2020

ONE: Make Sure One Isn’t Stupid.

Thursday 23 October 2025, 21:39.

“I don't see the point of getting a tattoo to commemorate you breaking up with your girlfriend.” Pyo Kyungri grumbled into her scarf as she and her best friend, Lim Jaehyeon, walked down the street in the freezing, open air. She had been dragged out of her comfort zone – which was essentially just her memory foam bed and fluffy penguin onesie – to make sure Jaehyeon didn't do something one hundred per cent idiotic. She was there to keep his idiocy to a low minimum of 75 per cent.

“It’s not about that,” Jaehyeon replied, grinning across at her, “not really.” He took a pause as the crossed the road. “This is a new step in my life. I want this tattoo to commemorate the best decision I've ever made in my life.” This time his pause was because he was a dramatic idiot. “To get that woman out of my life.” He stressed. “To let go of five years of toxicity. To have my eyes finally re-opened from her cheaters blindfold.”

“Such a way with words for a cold-hearted evil bitch. You can call her that you know, it’s officially her title now.” Kyungri replied, looking at her best friend with a heavy heart.

For five years Jaehyeon had been strung along by his ex-girlfriend, Evil Bitch, and no-one was any the wiser. Kyungri carried around so much guilt for not catching on to it sooner, for not looking into her like she did with literally everyone else, for getting so caught up in a closed case of the crash that killed her parents and brother, that she forgot all about her best friend and what he was going through. Though to her credit, he thought he was in a loving relationship – for all relationships had arguments right, so where was his right to complain about the large small arguments they got into? Jaehyeon hadn’t really opened up about his relationship with Evil Bitch like he previously had with his other relationships. He would never blame Kyungri the way she was blaming herself.

Jaehyeon sighed with a chuckle, watching as his breath came out as mist in front of him in the cold air. At the sight of it, Kyungri seemed to shrink further into her scarf. “Just because she cheated on me – tore my heart out, stabbed through it with her devilish heels as she crushed it under her foot, spat on it before kicking it into the middle of a busy road just for multiple cars to drive over it forever – doesn't mean I'm going to start calling women derogatory names. I never have, and I never will.”

Kyungri’s eyebrows raised as she looked over at Jaehyeon with an amused expression yet, said nothing as they stopped in front of the shop.

Why Jaehyeon chose this particular parlour she wasn’t sure. The shopfront was indeed very appealing, with the purple neon lights casting pretty coloured shadows across the dark street as well as their faces. It was very pretty and Kyungri had to fight the urge to take several million pictures of the shopfront and look like a complete weirdo.

“C’mon, I’m a minute late already,” Jaehyeon mumbled as he pushed forwards through the glass door. He looked back at her as they walked towards the front desk – where a blonde-haired man sat silently tapping away at his laptop – “I won’t stop you though.” He grinned, continuing their conversation from outside. He took no note on how the receptionist had raised his head and now could hear them perfectly, but neither did Kyungri.

No one ever thinks about the receptionist.

“I will!” She exclaimed, grinning back at him. “I’ll call her an Evil Bitch all I like! I call upon the right to freedom of speech!” The young woman joked as they finally turned their attention to the receptionist.

The blonde man – whose hair was looking more sandy-brown than blonde – smiled up at them. As he and Jaehyeon began talking, Kyungri tuned them out taking more of an interest in the receptionist’s face rather than whatever Jaehyeon was saying. His face and features were small, cheekbones high with a clear complexion. His eyes were a gentle brown but Kyungri could see that he was trying hard to hide something behind those kind eyes. She decided not to think about it too much – everyone has their secrets and worries. He wore makeup, subtle oranges around the eyes and his lips were adorned with a light red tint. However, what caught her eye the most was the sheer amount of ear piercings the man had. That and the singular tattoo she could see peeking out from under his collar and around the back of his neck – where his hair was slightly longer and covering it.

Kyungri looked away from the receptionist, Hongjoo as he had introduced himself, not wanting to look a creep for staring exactly the right amount of too much. She glanced down, staring at the bag that hung on her shoulders that carried her laptop. If she was forced to say what her favourite possession – for one never willingly tells anyone their favourite thing in the world if they're not stupid. It would never be taken if no one knew it was important... or something – it would be her laptop. It may be a cliché for a hacker’s favourite possession to be a laptop but this one was quite special, this one she had built with her father. This one she completed her first hack with. While she never really went anywhere without it, all the files on the laptop were actually stored in an external hard drive that never left her person.

That hard drive was the real jewel.

It would be better to ask if she could use their Wi-Fi instead of hacking into it, right? That’s what polite people did.

When she looked up again, snapping out of her little daydream – the memory of switching out parts with her father by her side fading away from her mind – she noticed she stood in front of Hongjoo alone. The blonde man smiled at her, amusement written across his face and Kyungri had to make a conscious effort not to let a blush take form upon her cheeks. She cleared her throat, trying not to make it obvious that she was embarrassed and after a few seconds of silence she finally had the thought to break it.

“Do you have Wi-Fi?” She mumbled, not listening to her own words. She grimaced as soon as the words were out, immediately knowing how stupid she sounded. “That... I can also use?” She dragged out the sound of the words, trying (and failing) to make them sound planned. She looked anywhere but the man in front of her. If Kyungri ever disliked anything, she hated when she got tongue-tied in front of attractive people she had to be around more an extended period of time.

Hongjoo’s amusement never faltered, the smiled on his lips turning into a grin as he shook his head playfully, grabbing a pen and post-it note. He said nothing and if Kyungri was paying attention to anything other than the blue spot on the wall behind him she would’ve seen how his jacket had revealed a bandaged around his right wrist as he lazily reached for the post-it pack.

“He went through to San in the back.” She finally registered his voice, switching her gaze from the wall behind him to Hongjoo himself. His smile was now sweet, gaze playful, as he handed over the password, post-it note stuck to the fingertip he had extended out to her. He motioned with his other hand the way her best friend went. Kyungri gave him an appreciative, if not slightly embarrassed, look as she gingerly took the post-it note from his fingertip, mouthing the words ‘thank you’ as she stumbled her way through to the back. She hadn’t noticed that her attempts to smother her blush had also failed. She had never been good in front of people.

Once she was through to the back, the first thing she heard was Jaehyeon’s laugh. The second was the TV, hanging on the wall, it’s volume setting quite low like it was only on for background noise. She glanced over the room, gaze falling on a chair near the bed Jaehyeon was currently sat upon and she made a bee-line for it.

“What took you so long? Tired of daydreaming?” Jaehyeon teased her once he noticed she was with him once again. Not looking at him, the blush from her cheeks faded and her eyes rolled, Kyungri’s comfortable personality filtering through the small scowl on her lips. Jaehyeon had often told her she was like two sides of the same coin when it came to other people – she could be shy and uncomfortable with someone one second and the next she was rolling her eyes and slapping him on the back of the head for ‘saying something utterly fucking stupid.’ Jaehyeon grinned when he saw her small scowl, knowing that she was becoming comfortable once again before he moved on to introduce the other person in the room.

“Ri, this is the one and only Choi Yusan.” He began, slinging an arm around the other man’s shoulder. Kyungri made no move to answer him so Jaehyeon continued, “Best tattoo artist I know!” He boasted like a father would his only child.

“I’m the only tattoo artist you know.”

Yusan’s reply made Kyungri snort. The sound coming from her before she could tell herself not to. Making the decision that she had to now acknowledge the other man, she finally lifted her head to look in their direction. The man introduced as Yusan – or just San as she recalled the receptionist tell her – was grinning up at a flailing, and ever dramatic, Jaehyeon who looked simply appalled at his words.

“The only?!” Jaehyeon cried out, clutching at his chest like his heart had just been ripped out. Kyungri decided then that she wasn’t going to listen, again. Instead, she looked to Yusan. He was shorter than Jaehyeon. Not by much but she could tell from the way Jaehyeon’s elbow rested on his shoulders and how his head was slightly tilted to look up at the dramatic blonde-haired man. She only noticed this because it was how Jaehyeon himself looked like when he looked at her since she was slightly taller than him. The man beside her best friend was also quite attractive. He has a sculpted face with sharp cheekbones. When he smiled, Kyungri noted the deep dimples that made him both more attractive and way too cute. His hair was dark, a dark brown with dark red highlights, curled slightly at the top like he’d just run a hand through the locks. She decided she liked his hair. Yusan’s grin was cheeky as the two boys began to play around with each other and Kyungri noted that they must be friends. That or they were both overly dramatic and became best friends in the span of a minute – it wasn’t impossible when Jaehyeon was involved.

“I don’t really care how many tattooists you don't actually know, Jae. I’m here to make sure you don't get a penis on your forehead.”

Now it was San who snorted, clapping a hand on Jaehyeon’s back. “You would actually do it and you know it.” He said before Jaehyeon had time to disagree with Kyungri. The two watched as he nodded to himself, accepting that he would probably do that.

With a small smirk lifting to her lips, Kyungri raised a brow at their direction. “You know each other?” She asked, watching as the two of them sat back down next to each other, comfortable enough with one another to be leaning against the other. Jaehyeon nodded at you with a grin.

“I’ve told you about him before, haven't I? We went to the same high school. He was a junior when I became a freshman!” – Kyungri raised her eyebrows in amusement – “Met during my time on the swim team.” Jaehyeon said, sniffling slightly like the thought of no longer being on a high school swim team was so painful. “Been super best friends ever since!”

Now, she knew Jaehyeon was exaggerating but she found the whole thing rather amusing. She looked at the red-haired man with an entertained, questioning look. San chuckled, pushing Jaehyeon away by the face.

“You were on the swim team for three days before you got kicked off and we spoke four times.”

“That sounds more like Jae. He didn’t do very well?” She asked at the same time Jaehyeon exclaimed, “Exactly! Best friends!”

“Not if my memory serves,” San replied to the girl, who had now switched her laptop on and was sat with her legs curled into her body.

“Anyway, please call me San. It just... sounds better.” He grinned, the smile holding a secret that Kyungri didn’t know if she wanted to know.

“Sure. I’m Kyungri.” She smiled before turning her head down to her laptop. When Jaehyeon had shown up at her house earlier that night she was halfway through a job. It wasn’t a particularly hard job, which is why she was able to continue doing it on her laptop and hard drive. Kyungri didn’t like leaving a job unfinished, a pet peeve of sorts. Once she started a job she finished it, there was less chance of being traced the quicker the job was done. Close by, she could hear Jaehyeon’s voice, loud as he always was, talking with San about his tattoo. She felt the smile pull at the corner of her lips before she could do anything to stop it.

Soon after San had begun the tattoo Hongjoo entered the backroom with another man behind him. He wore a work uniform with the name badge ‘Yoosang’ pinned to the black material of his shirt. His expression was slightly downcast: eyebrows furrowed like he had just heard some bad news. However, his eyes sparkled as he shared a laugh with the blonde-haired receptionist as they walked into the room. Hongjoo held a tray with mugs on them, catching Jaehyeon’s attention.

“Oooh? What do you have there?” He asked, nothing but curiosity lacing his words.

“Hot chocolate,” Hongjoo grinned at him, “Want some?”

Jaehyeon was quick to nod, his whole body moving as he did so. Kyungri had to smother a small laugh with the sleeve of her hoodie, he really did look like a child. The small glare San sent him didn’t help the image either. Yoosang made his way to a chair, pulling up next to Kyungri while Hongjoo made himself comfortable on the other table bed on her other side, smiling down at her and offering her a cup.

“Thank you,” Kyungri smiled shyly, taking the medium-sized bright orange mug from the blonde man’s hands. He sent her a wink in response.

“Got kicked out of another job, Yeo?” San asked, not lifting his gaze from Jaehyeon’s calf but letting a smirk glide over his features. The man next to Kyungri just slouched in his chair. Kyungri could feel the way her head tilted slightly at the way San called him Yeo... Didn’t his name tag say Yoosang? Perhaps it was just a nickname, she had no place to judge what friends called each other.

“Yeah, man. That place was just rough.” Yoosang sighed, causing both San and Hongjoo to erupt in laughter. Kyungri didn’t make any move to let them acknowledge she was listening while she watched her program run.

“You’ll find one that’ll stick,” Hongjoo reassured him.

“You need a job?” Jaehyeon piped up as if he knew Yoosang and wasn’t a complete stranger. Yoosang simply nodded.

“Our friend, Chaeyoung, works at a cafe that just had an opening. She’s been bugging me about helping her find someone because her boss doesn’t promote on the internet and Chae has, like, no connections.” Jaehyeon grinned, flapping a finger between him and Kyungri as he explained. “You want it?”

“Dude! you might be a lifesaver, what cafe is it?”

“The Cafe.”

“Yeah, which one?”

“It’s called ‘The Cafe’. Jaehyeon’s a bit dumb to not explain properly.” Kyungri spoke up, not looking away from her laptop. She smiled as Jaehyeon let out a small ‘Hey!’ and San let out a small laugh. “It’s about two blocks away, maybe three I can't remember.”

“Even better, thank you.”

Kyungri glanced up to the man beside her, flashing him a smile. She didn't need to be thanked, Jaehyeon was the one who thought about it anyway. She had opened her mouth to retell her thoughts but was distracted by the sound of a news jingle coming. from the tv. She looked over at Hongjoo – “Can you turn that up for a second” – who just motioned to Yoosang, who lifted a remote in his hands and gently nodded at her.

It was the ten o'clock late-night news. It was usually uneventful but the big red lettering of ‘BREAKING NEWS’ put Kyungri on edge. She didn’t like the feeling that wracked through her.

“In the last hour ago a police report was leaked from Seoul’s Dongdaemun Police Station about an old case that was on the verge of being re-opened with new evidence. A few moments ago we received an official statement from the Cheif of Police of the station, Kwon Soonchul, who announced that the report was real and that the Pyo Family Car Crash of the twenty-fourth of November two-thousand-and-eighteen, a long seven years ago, because of new evidence brought up involving the well-known criminal gang known as ‘A. T. Z’.”

From beside her, she could see one of Yoosang’s arms raise, remote in hand to switch the channel. Without much thought, Kyungri reached out her own hands and stopped him, taking the remote from his fingers and turning the sound up. She hadn’t cared that it may have been rude, she could always apologise later but there was apparently something she hadn’t heard about her family going on and she wasn’t going to just not listen to it. She missed the way the three workers shared a glance only they would understand. Jaehyeon had fallen silent.

“Cheif Kwon also revealed that he would be taking point on the case and that it would have his full attention since the involvement of ‘A.T.Z’ especially since one of the victims, Pyo Mina, had been a quote ‘close partner.’”

Kyungri no longer listened, her eyes unfocused and her body still. Why was this happening now? How was ATZ involved? Why did Kwon Soonchul have to take point? Did the news reporter know they were saying the gang’s name wrong?

“Ri? You good?” Jaehyeon asked, more worried about the expressionless girl who wasn’t moving than the pain in his calf and San continued his tattoo. “What’re you gonna do now?” He continued when Kyungri remained silent, her eyes still stuck to the tv screen but Jaehyeon could tell they were unfocused. He kept talking at her, not wanting her to slip away and shut down in a room full of strangers, she would never forgive herself if she did that. He was about to motion for San to him to stop she Jaehyeon could physically move Kyungri, she moved.

She tore her eyes away from the TV and stumbled a little back into the chair she sat in. She pulled up her laptop from the floor, she had fallen from her lap as she stood up, and started tapping away at the keys. “You’re not thinking you’ll find ATZ are you?” Jaehyeon guessed, knowing his best friend. He was never one for subtlety, why he would talk about this is a room of strangers to Kyungri one would never know. Fortunately for those of KQ Ink, Kyungri was too focused on her laptop and Jaehyeon was as oblivious as always to how all three men seemed to freeze up slightly, falling into silence at his words. “Not doubting your skill or anything but they're not called the Ghost Gang for nothing.”

“No one calls them the Ghost Gang apart from you.”

“Yeah, well.” Jaehyeon grinned, happy with himself that he got her to reply. “People should, its a cracking name.”

“I’m finding out what the police know, please shut up.” It was like the two of them had forgotten they weren’t alone.

“Don’t be emotional about this. It’s just a news report.”

“I.. just need to know.”

“Kyungri! ATZ is an invisible force of immense power!” Jaehyeon emphasised loudly before continuing much softer, genuine concern lacing his words. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

“If they are,” Kyung swallowed, looking up at Jaehyeon, tears on the verge of clouding her vision. “If they are the reason my family is dead. Then I will find them.” Her words were cold, strong, final and Jaehyeon knew she had made up her mind about it. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to change it.

“Kyungri.” His voice was soft. “It’s been seven years.”

“I know.” Her words were fast, snapping back at him. She bit her lip before continuing a few seconds later, her tone much softer and her shoulders falling slightly. “I know how long it’s been. This whole thing doesn’t make any sense, that’s why I’m looking, okay?” She glanced back at Jaehyeon, her eyes flittering between him and San, who had his head down in what looked like concentration. She didn’t want to say anything else, realising just how much they had spoken about her family and her job to complete strangers.

It didn’t take her long to break the police force’s security system and firewall. She would have to notify Gongmyung about how the police may be coming to them with a job quite soon.

“Do you know a Jo Jowon? Or a Choi Jongho?” Kyungri asked, opening the files she had just hacked into. She had asked Jaehyeon but had spoken the words to the whole room. She figured it wouldn’t hurt, they had already heard more than enough. They didn’t seem to care anyway.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Jaehyeon replied almost instantly. “I know a Chu Jongho though, Chaeyoung lives next door to 'im. Why?”

“They're the lead the police have. Chaeyoung’s father is the head officer on the case by the way. As if that makes me feel any better.” Kyungri spat. It wasn’t hard to tell she held contempt for Chaeyoung’s father. She blinked twice before lowering her tone, “I’ll ask Chae later.”

“And we’re done,” San spoke up for the first time since he started working, wiping Jaehyeon’s calf twice with a cloth before leaning back and grinning at him. “You’re done.”

Jaehyeon’s lips were turned to a grin in a split second. Like he felt no pain, he bounced up from the client bed and bounded over to Kyungri, pulling her up by the forearm and dragging her to the mirrors. Kyungri, extremely used to this from her best friend simply rolled her eyes and let him drag her.

“Is that my drawing?”

“Yup!”

“You got my drawing on your leg?”

“Yup!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” Jaehyeon smiled. “Plus you drew it for me.”

“Yeah, when we were fourteen!”

“Well, it’s still my favourite thing you’ve given me.”

“You’re an idiot.” Kyungri smiled, letting her head fall on his shoulder, her arms winding around his torso to squeeze him quickly. Jaehyeon just smiled.

The pair of best friends split off from one another, Kyungri went over to collect her things and pack away her laptop while Jaehyeon was led to the front of the shop by Hongjoo to pay for his tattoo. Her laptop was sat on the floor with the files of Jo Jowon and Choi Jongho up on the screen. Kyungri mentally cursed herself for being so careless and prayed that the other three people in the room hadn’t snooped. They had, but she didn’t need to know that.

As the left the tattoo parlour, exchanging small smiles and tired waves with the three men, in walked a fourth boy. They passed each other so quickly that Kyungri failed to realise that she had been staring at his face for the last twenty minutes.

[cherryeoo]

How Convenient

Cold nights like these were nothing new to Kihyun. Every night was the same. Drunkards staggering through the narrow alleyways to their next destination, couples sitting hand in hand as they occupied shops and cafes while workers burning the late night oil race home to their families. All of them not the least bit concerned about the thing called life. Each of them go about their daily routines, some even repetitive, not worried if this day could be their last. Each one taking life for granted.

But that didn’t go for everyone.

Kihyun would occasionally run into, sometimes literally, someone who lives each and every day as their last, and for some, that day is their last. Those people live good lives and for that, are granted a good afterlife. Nevertheless, however, those that live such lives can be tempted into living different lives - coerced into abandoning sound morals and logic.

That’s where Kihyun comes in.

He’s not your typical man - hell, he’s not even a human being. Though his physical appearance is that of a delicately masucline one, Yoo Kihyun is actually a demon whose sole purpose is to tempt people into doing his own dirty deeds - occasionally carrying them out himself - to ensure that not everyone has the coveted afterlife. He deems it as a sort of balance - like nations who utilize population control, or the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

There are the rare few that are not to be touched and those that cannot be tempted no matter his efforts. Such persons are those who are usually reborn so demons like him can get another chance at trying their hands at temptation, but those happenings are slim. Likewise, only those acquired by near death experiences are able to garner a second chance at redemption.

Entering the familiar location, Kihyun made his way to the back of the dimly lit restaurant’s bar. A lone table in the farthest and darkest corner of the area became his favorite spot. It gave him the perfect view of the entire building making it easier for him to spot unsuspecting targets. Also to his pleasure, he found joy in the speedy process of doing so - after all, Kihyun was the best at what he did.

As expected, Kihyun noticed a slightly intoxicated male near the bar. It should be stated that Kihyun didn’t exactly have any special powers of sorts, he was just a master at the art of persuasion. Many would attribute such professionalism to his appearance because despite his human skin, his physical features were a bit outworldly - some might even deem him supernaturally perfect.

Midnight black hair that shone deeply - almost as if the thick strands were breathing, and perhaps they were. Piercing, yet mesmerizing eyes like a dark abyss capable of disappearing into at a mere glance. Tall and thin - ethereal, really. Every human who encountered him described him as though he were some heavenly being instead of a demon, but to humans, demons were grotesque beings - not someone who looks like a strikingly alluring man.

In addition, each of his targets claimed they didn’t remember anything after encountering Kihyun. With blank memories and only their hands and bodies at crime scenes, the targets would ultimately get blamed for the crime, thus becoming tainted - their chance at a good afterlife lost.

Approaching the rowdy male, Kihyun steadied his hands before he had the chance to spill his drink on Kihyun or anyone else. Leaning closer he whispered into the now still male’s ear before pulling back and looking deep into the stranger’s eyes before watching the man pay his tab and make his way out of the building and into autumn’s chilly night air. A devious smile slowly curved Kihyun’s lips at another deed done that he’ll surely hear about on the news the following morning.

Turning around, Kihyun noticed a woman in the typical short, skin tight black dress eyeing him as if he were a gazelle and she was a lioness. Little did she know it was the opposite - him the predator and she the prey.

Might as well have some fun, he thought to himself before approaching her with long, confident strides.

Daylight poured through the cracks in the curtains. Kihyun picked his coat off of the floor before slipping through the door without uttering even the slightest farewell. Not that he deemed it important - it was a one night stand, after all.

Making his way to his apartment, Kihyun thought of trying a new location tonight. He was starting to gain too much popularity at his usual spots, so he really had no choice but to pioneer onto somewhere new. With a mild sigh, he unlocked the door before slipping into his apartment - shoes immediately kicked off at the door before he moved forward to enter the kitchen for a quick bite.

The apartment was small, but comfortable. Shockingly cozy and cheerful with light colored walls and furniture - definitely not the type of place anyone would think someone like him would live, but Kihyun was different. He enjoyed daylight and living life as a normal human, or what could be perceived as such. When he was alive, he didn’t get to enjoy much of the one he was given, so now he makes up for it the best he can in this life while also carrying out the orders of a demon.

Call it a balance.

Cleaning up after breakfast, he takes a quick shower before laying down upon his bed to run through a mental list of what he could tempt someone to do tonight. There were so many possibilities that he found himself slightly stressed with the realization of just how little time there was in each day. With a sigh, Kihyun closed his eyes before drifting off into a deep sleep. He might be a demon, but he, too, needs his rest.

Waking up to the sound of his alarm, Kihyun sits up and rubs his eyes bore looking out the window to see a veil of darkness from the sunless sky. A small pang constricted his heart upon the sight - he’s becoming more familiar with the sights and sounds of night than he is with daylight. He missed the feeling of the warm sun on his skin, the warm breeze, the sight and sound of an afternoon rain showers and the scent thereafter. He missed all of it, but there wasn’t much that he could do other than release his hand’s grip upon his chest before getting up and readying himself for the long night ahead.

The air was colder than usual. Pulling his jacket tighter around his frame, Kihyun made his way down the opposite end of the street he usually walked. Naturally, he wasn’t too familiar with this area, but he didn’t have anything to worry about - nothing can happen to demons. He had been attacked once by a drunk man that resulted in him being stabbed, but he felt no pain, nor could he die. His attacker, however, could and did at Kihyun’s hand, no less. After all, he couldn’t risk the exposure.

Kihyun had been aimlessly wandering about, zig-zagging through the streets without paying attention to where he was going. Stopping at a corner, he noticed a small convenience store across the street from where he stood - almost ironically as his stomach growled. Caressing his tummy, Kihyun made his way into the building.

The store was vacant except for girl working the register and a younger man browsing through the assortment of alcoholic beverages while stealing glances at the employee every now and then, not even bothered by Kihyun’s presence or the fact that Kihyun was aware of his actions. It disgusted the demon, but he didn’t do anything. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler and a bag of honey chips before making his way to the counter, but as he did so, the other man pushed his way past Kihyun as he slammed his selection upon the counter before leaning in with a haughty smile.

The girl at the register looked calm, but Kihyun could sense that she was nervous. Silently, the demon watched her and the guy in front of him closely as a perfectly shaped brow raised.

Kihyun presumed she was around the same age he was - shoulder length black hair framing her face in a cute and chic way. A baggy hoodie and a pair of black skinny jeans covered her figure as a tired expression seemingly permanently etched itself across her face. Noticing the books beside her, Kihyun realized she was a college student before nodding - this must be one of the ways she’s paying for her schooling.

He had to give it to her, she seemed like a good person, or responsible at least, and for once in his life, he felt conflicted. Despite her good nature, she wasn’t off limits to him, but there was something in the way she acted and carried herself that struck fear into him; almost conscious-like like when he was a human, himself. She seemed like she was living the best life she could for herself and he didn’t want to jeopardize that. He could always easily find a new target, like the guy in front of him.

As he was observing her, the young man before him had become quite bold. It was obvious that he was hitting on her, but his fingers and palms were getting touchy and too close for the female’s comfort. She tried backing up as best as she could, but the small confines of the counter didn’t allow her to escape his reach. Reaching his hand out he went to run his fingers across the side of her cheek, only to be stopped before he could lay a finger on her. Kihyun whipped his hand up and grabbed his wrist. The man spun around shooting daggers at Kihyun as he looked to his wrist and back to Kihyun.

“What the hell, man? Let me go!”  The young man was slurring every word that left his lips.

“I would strongly suggest you not touch her.”

Staring intensely at the man, Kihyun slowly pulled the drunk’s arm back down to his side as he leaned forward to whisper a task into the man’s ear before releasing him. Watching closely, the man took the alcohol back to the shelf and walked out of the store. Turning back to the slightly shaken woman, Kihyun gave her a gentle smile before placing his items on the counter. Returning his hands back down to his side, Kihyun noticed her sigh in relief as tensed shoulders relaxed. Carrying out the transaction, Kihyun smiled at her as he grabbed the bag from the counter before bidding her a goodnight and to stay safe.

“Thank you.”

Her small, soft voice echoed through the now quiet store. Kihyun turned around to glance at the girl once more. The sound of her voice resonating deep within him. He felt frozen. He knew he should open the door and leave, but his body would not respond. Locking gazes with the girl before him, he could see the appreciation in her eyes and almost instantaneously, he felt his body frost over completely.

Is this how people felt when they looked at him? Who was this girl? Why did she have such an effect on him?

Snapping himself out of his daze he blinked rapidly and looked away from her. Clearing his throat, he opened the door as his voice cracked, “Take care of yourself, okay?”

That’s all that Kihyun asked before leaving without waiting for her response. Quickly walking outside and back to the opposite end of the street, his head cleared almost instantly. Briefly halting, he dipped into the shadows before turning back to face the store. He could see the girl staring in his direction, but he knew she could no longer see him. Kihyun watched as she played with the small blue gem dangling on the necklace that hung just below her collarbones, her eyes shifting away from his direction to fall upon two females that walked into the store. Taking the opportunity, he snuck back down the street, but only to turn back once more to peer at her with ever-burning confusion.

An hour later, Kihyun found himself perched up on top of a roof of a nearby building. He couldn’t bring himself to leave the vicinity of the store. He couldn’t leave her. Snacking on his chips and water, the demon watched as the girl hastefully made her way around the store before doing one final check to make sure everything had been completed and the store was vacant. Grabbing her belongings, she switched off some of the lights before making her way out into the night. After locking up, she spun on her heels before heading down the same street Kihyun came from.

Making his way off the roof, Kihyun kept to the shadows as he followed her back to her place. Once he knew she was safe inside her apartment, he made his way back to his place. Gnawing on his lip, Kihyun was deep in thought. He had heard stories about demons being affected by humans, but he always thought they were myths, but now? Now, he was starting to question everything.

Why couldn’t he bring himself to leave that store? It’s like she was gravity and he was being pulled to wherever she was by an unseenable force.

With a sigh, he flopped down onto his bed and rolled onto his back. Staring up at the ceiling his thoughts consumed his brain.

“Humans can’t have an affect on demons, can they?”

[parabellum-rpg-archive]

Congratulations, Joss! You’ve been accepted to play Jackson Sinclair. Please make your page and send it in within 24 hours.

Admin Note: Your writing was so fun to read, but when I got to the part about Jack and his nieces/nephews I WAS READY TO SOB. (ALSO HIS CATS, IM GOING TO LITERALLY DIE) Thank you for applying and we very much look forward to writing with you! -Admin J

CHARACTER DESIRED

Jackson Sinclair

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER IN YOUR OWN WORDS

Jackson is a good guy, which is odd, considering his line of business. His moral compass is perhaps slightly skewed, but he definitely has a code. Don’t hurt women or children, don’t enjoy violence, stay away from drugs, humiliation and cruelty aren’t good motivators, peace is better than war. He might have lived a totally normal life and just been that nice guy on your block who’d fix your car for free if you watched his kids once in a while if he’d been dealt different cards. As it is, he’s a large man with a lot of tattoos, an intimidating presence, and a scary voice, and that means most of the time, he doesn’t have to do anything to maintain the peace. And that’s really how he views his job. Sure, he’s the guy you go to when violence must occur, but perhaps because of his reticence, he’s managed to develop a good reputation. He’ll talk shit out first, and if he decides bad things have to happen, well, you must have done something really wrong. If Jack really doesn’t like you, you might as well just leave, because everyone else will assume you must be pretty fucked up. He’ll still fix your car for free, though the return favour might be something a lot more illegal than babysitting. Of course, given the Sinclair family, it could just be babysitting one of his nieces, aka making sure Paityn doesn’t die and Paisley doesn’t lose her shit on someone. He loves his nieces and nephews, they’re the closest thing he has to kids himself, and his home is always available for anyone who needs to crash there, no questions asked. Despite having a fairly safe and law-abiding youth, he’s surprisingly non-judgmental about what they get up to, as long as they’re not hurting anyone. Paityn is his baby and he frets about her constantly, Priya is the only niece he trusts with anything really important, Paisley reminds him of Piper and thus he’s easily won over by her, Sebastian reminds him of himself and he’s quietly encouraging and supportive, and Shiloh is … well, Shiloh, but Jack will follow that boy to Hell just to drag him out if necessary. The subject of Piper Moreau is forever closed as far as he’s concerned. If Morgan brings it up, he’ll pretend he’s over it, but anyone else better shut the fuck up or they’ll find out what the little-seen but much-feared Jackson Sinclair temper looks like.

WRITING SAMPLE

The day was muggy and overcast, which suited Jack’s mood. He needed to take a jog or something, but getting out of bed felt like too much work. The other side of the bed (he still couldn’t sleep in the middle even now) was empty, but he reached over to it anyway. There was no warm spot left, because no one was there, or had been there for quite some time, but he liked to pretend when it was still too early for him to register the ugly truth. Fuck, he was a drama queen. Never could get over the women who left him. His therapist would probably chalk it up to the abandonment of his mother, but Jack distrusted anything that blamed her when she’d only been doing her best. He still went to every session, and tried to talk things out, because walking around with unresolved shit was just a way to take it out on the wrong person, but part of him balked at the whole process. Irish macho bullshit, of course, but hey, hard to shake your roots, right? At least he wasn’t a drunk, or worse, though he never looked down on anyone who was. Well, guys who ditched their families to fuck around and bitch about their problems, yes (thinking of Kieran O'Connell, he made a mental note to have a word with him), but otherwise, he had a lot of sympathy. Life was hard, and not everyone got to grow up loved and cared for like he had. If you didn’t learn coping mechanisms, you just took the first thing that made life easier, and then that became your coping mechanism. Christ, if anyone heard his thoughts, they’d call him a pussy. It was hard being self-aware surrounded by the Irish. Even Freud said they were immune to therapy.

Dragging himself out of bed, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes and lit it by habit, not even fully conscious, or maybe still in that state between being awake and asleep when your mind is awake but your body isn’t. Or vice versa, who the fuck knew anyway. He should ask someone smarter than him about that. Those thoughts immediately led to Piper, but he shoved them extremely deep down, where they couldn’t touch him except in his dreams. The fucked up shit was even in his dreams, she treated him like shit, and he still didn’t want to wake up. More things to talk about with Dr. Brown. Cigarette clenched between his teeth, Jack padded around the apartment, noting idly that Paityn was sleeping on his couch again. He kept telling her to just use the guest room, but he supposed she liked it better in here. Stroking her hair gently, he tucked her in better and carefully adjusted her pillows so her neck wouldn’t hurt. In being so careful, he almost missed Shiloh on the floor, curled around a series of pillows, which made him grin and go looking for another blanket. The Sinclair siblings were a close-knit crew, often travelling in pairs or packs when danger lurked. Even if the only danger came from inside the mind of the baby of the family. Looked like he was skipping his jog and making waffles instead. Oh well. He was past forty, jogging was hardly gonna change that he wasn’t 25 anymore.

The kitchen was pristine, though that was more thanks to his cleaning lady than Jack himself. Still, he moved around in it with more confidence than any of the guys he was in charge of, who all seemed to live off of take out and food that only required a microwave. They hadn’t had Evelyn for a mother, or his grandparents, who’d all taught him that kitchens were fun, and food tasted better when you cooked it yourself and it had real ingredients in it. He tiptoed around the place, starting coffee and getting the ingredients for the waffles together without making anything more than a whisper of sound. He looked like the kind of man who stomped everywhere, but Jack had never cared for loud men. He found being silent had as much of an effect, and he didn’t like to startle people. Well, unless he had to, but that was work. In life, he preferred to walk softly and leave the big stick at home. There was a chorus of mews, and he looked down at Bedknob and Broomstick, the two alley cats that considered his apartment at least one of their bases of operations. He dragged them to the vet and bought them soft cat beds and even braved washing them when they got into something foul, but they were almost contrarily wild, in spite of all his efforts. He adored them anyway, and poured out the fanciest cat food they were willing to eat into two dishes while assuring them quietly that they were both garbage monsters. His fondness for stray animals was one of those things that Morgan was allowed to joke about, because he was Morgan and they were brothers before anything else, and no one else was allowed to mention. One of his guys had taken a pot shot at a stray dog once. Everyone still talked about that day, though not in Jack’s hearing.

The waffles were sizzling in the iron and the coffee was percolating in the elegant machine that Penny had bought him for his last birthday when he heard stirring from the other room. Paityn hovered in the doorway, always unsure in any space regardless of how many times Jack made her welcome. Scooping up Bedknob, the more cuddly of the two, Jack came over and kissed the top of her head, handing off the cat and nudging her back towards the couch. “Breakfast’ll be up in a bit, Scout. Go'n wake up that degenerate brother of yours. Tell'em he ain’t a dog, he can sleep on the furniture if he wants to.” He’d introduced his nieces, and Shiloh, to Sailor Moon, and had willingly watched the seemingly endless episodes with them when they were children, and they’d been the Sailor Scouts to him ever since, though Paityn was the only one who still allowed the nickname. He’d been the one to take them to their first R movie, and taken them all out for rides on his motorcycle, their little arms clutching his sides so tight it hurt, though he’d have rather eaten his tongue than told them to stop. He’d been the one they called or texted when they were too shitfaced to remember how to get home, or were at a party that had gotten a little too weird, or had made the kind of youthful mistakes that seemed world-ending and could never be confessed to their parents. Grabbing up a plate of waffles, he headed into the living room, telling Shiloh to get his ass off the floor, was he raised in a barn, all while handing the boy a mug of coffee just the way his nephew took it. From the outside, his life might appear lonely, but Jack had family, and that was all that mattered. And who knew, maybe he’d finally talk Shiloh into coming for a jog with him. Stranger things had happened.

[iwritekpopthings]

You (Ch. 22 & 23)

Characters: Misun (OC), Jung Daehyun, B.A.P, other side characters Genre/ Warnings: Romance, fluff, slow burn Word Count: 1361

“Alright, everyone gather around!!” The club president called everyone over. It was about five in the afternoon on Friday, the first day of the play. The play would start in two hours. However, now that everyone had finally arrived, the president wanted to make a little speech. “Okay, so I don’t have to tell you guys how important tonight is. I need you guys to perform the best that you can. If you have any problems with your costumes or makeup, see either Misun-ssi or Fae-ssi.” He waved a hand toward the two who were standing with the lighting and stage crew, apart from the actors. They waved at everyone before the president continued. “I’m not trying to pressure you guys, but please, this is probably the last play I’ll be in charge of since I am graduating next year. So I need this to go well. Anyway, I’ll call for everyone’s attention again soon. Dismissed.”

The group in front of the president broke up as the members moved to different areas of the club room. Daehyun walked over to Misun, a nervous smile on his face. He was being unusually quiet, making the girl look at him questioningly.

“Daehyunnie oppa, it’ll be okay. You’ll do great, you know your lines forward and backward. You can totally do this.” She smiled up at him and Daehyun could immediately feel himself relax.

As he opened his mouth to reply, someone else called for Misun’s attention. “I want you to start getting these outfits on people, Misun-ssi, Fae-ssi!” The club president called out from the other side of the room.

Misun looked at her friend and they both took a deep breath. Time to get to work. “I’ll see you later, oppa.” She leaned in and kissed his lips quickly before grabbing a makeup box and some clothes and walking over to a group of actors.

For about an hour, Daehyun watched her scurry around the room. But when Jaebum approached her to get his costume, Daehyun decided he had had enough. He walked up behind Misun after she handed off the clothes to that boy without a word of acknowledgement. “Misun, I-”

“Misun, can you come help me with this, please?” Fae asked, holding some fabric on a confused looking freshman. Without hearing him, Misun went to go help. Youngjae laughed out loud at his friend’s distress, oddly enjoying the annoyed look on his face. Daehyun turned and glared at the younger boy before trying again.

This time he touched Misun on the shoulder. She turned and looked up at him as she was also tying a bow on a dress. “Misun, I want to-”

“Dae, I’m sorry, I have to finish this. Can you please put on your first outfit for me so that I can get your make up started soon?” She nodded to the pile of clothes on the desk with his name on it and Daehyun just stood there in shock. He couldn’t even register that she had called him such a cute nickname.

With a groan, he grabbed his first outfit and left, going to the closest bathroom to change. When he came back, she was doing Jaebum’s make up and the air between them was definitely awkward. However, Misun was doing her best to remain professional. The second she was done with Jaebum, Daehyun came over, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her out into the hall.

“Oppa! What are you doing?! We don’t have time for this kind of-” Daehyun cut Misun’s tirade off with a kiss. She hesitated for a moment before kissing him back. When he finally pulled away, they were both panting in an effort to catch their breath.

Daehyun smiled at her, proud of himself for finally capturing her undivided attention. “Finally got you alone.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Daehyun oppa, we need to focus right now.”

“But I miss youuuuuu” He whined, putting on his most adorable face in an attempt to change her mind.

Misun smiled at her boyfriend being adorable and reached up to squish his cheeks. “We have less than an hour until the play starts. We can be together as much as you want after that. I might even let you sleep over if you perform really well.” Daehyun’s face lit up at this. He hadn’t spent the night with Misun since last Thursday and he just didn’t sleep as well without her in his arms.

He leaned in and pecked her on the lips again. “Deal.”

“Misun-ah, excuse me, but I need to discuss something with you.” Fae was standing close to them with Youngjae and Sooyeon behind her.

Misun turned around and tilted her head. “Go ahead, what’s up?” As she looked over Sooyeon and she became concerned. She seemed even more pale than she had last week. It also looked like she had lost more weight, like she could pass out at any moment, and like she wasn’t sleeping very well. But the most noticeable thing to Misun was the dress.

Fae sighed. “Sooyeon-ssi’s dress doesn’t fit right anymore.”

“I can see that.” The younger girl walked over and held her ex-friend by the shoulders. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Youngjae grabbed one of Misun’s hands. “Hey, chill, maybe she has a good reason.”

To Misun’s horror, tears began to spill out of Sooyeon’s eyes. “I.. I just… I’m just not okay lately. I don’t.. Don’t know why..” Her shoulders shook and she buried her face in her hands as the other four people looked on, unsure of what to do.

Youngjae felt so bad for her that without thinking, he reached out and awkwardly put one arm around the crying girl’s shoulders. She turned into him and grabbed him around the waist, sobbing into his shoulder. Youngjae looked up at the others in shock. Daehyun watched in amusement as his friend floundered for what to say. The younger boy eventually just put his arms around her and hugged her back.

Misun took a deep breath and made up her mind about something. “Sooyeon.” At first the girl didn’t seem to hear her, so she said it a little louder. “Sooyeon, listen to me!” Sooyeon jumped but looked at the younger girl for her to continue. “I forgive you. It’s really hard for me to say. And part of me wonders if I’m just saying it so that you’ll stop crying. But honestly, I’m over what happened between us. How about sometime before the next play tomorrow you and I get together and talk it all out?”

Everyone just stared at Misun in amazement and she began to feel really self conscious about what she had just said. Daehyun stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He was beyond proud of her for being so strong.

“R-really..?” Sooyeon couldn’t believe her ears. She never in a million years thought that Misun would forgive her.

Misun nodded. “But for now, I need you to pull yourself together so we can get your makeup done and get on with this play. Can you do that?”

Sooyeon pulled away from Youngjae and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m fine. Let’s do it.” She turned and walked back into the clubroom. Fae followed her but not before giving Misun an ‘are you sure’ look.

“Come on, guys, we’ve been distracted long enough.” Misun grabbed both Youngjae’s and Daehyun’s hands and pulled them along behind her so that they could all finally finish getting ready.

*****

“MISUN!! FAE!!” Suddenly there was screaming as people started coming into the room right next to the auditorium. Fae and Misun had set up their dressing room there with all of the supplies they would need throughout the play. Everything had been going smoothly and the two were just waiting for everyone to come back during the intermission. Until now.

The club president was the first to stop next to the two startled girls. As he caught his breath, the two looked back at the door just in time to see Daehyun walk in with Sooyeon in his arms.

★☆★☆★☆

CH. 23 Word Count: 1076

“Daehyun! What happened?!” Misun quickly stood up as the boy brought Sooyeon over.

Daehyun sighed as he laid the unconscious girl on the floor. “Directly after the curtains fell after the last scene, she fainted.”

“Ugh, what are we going to do? She’s kind of an important character!” The club president was pacing around the room.

“You ought to take her to the hospital.” Everyone looked up to see Sera and Yongguk in the doorway. “It’s probably just exhaustion, but the girl needs to be checked out by a doctor, regardless.”

“Unnie! Where have you been?” Misun hadn’t heard from her friend since the last time they spoke face to face over a week ago. She had been beyond worried, but that didn’t matter right now. “Never mind, tell me later. Can you help us out? You know first aid stuff, right?”

Sera observed her friend as she walked closer to the unconscious girl on the floor. “I do, but that’s not going to help much. Have someone call up an ambulance. Oppa and I will make sure she gets to a hospital.”

“No, I will.” Youngjae said as he led the emergency medical technicians into the room, his phone still in his hand.

“Wait, you already called them??” The club president was beside himself. The stress was obviously getting to him.

“I called them the second I knew something was wrong.” Youngjae said, pushing people aside so that he could help the EMTs get her onto the stretcher. “I’ll go with her. Noona, hyung, if you could meet us at the hospital, that would be helpful.” The older two nodded at him and just like that, Sooyeon was taken out of the room, quickly followed by Yongguk and Sera.

Everyone just kind of stared at the empty doorway for a moment, collecting themselves after this intense rollercoaster of events. Finally the club president spoke again. “Okay, but seriously. What are we going to do? Does anyone know where her understudy is? She never showed up this evening..”

“One of the understudies was one of Sooyeon’s old friends. So they probably didn’t show up just to be mean to her.” Misun said, thinking hard about their other available options. She looked up at Daehyun and recognized the look in his eye. “Ohhhh, no. No no no no. Definitely not.”

“Please, Misun!” He grabbed her hands, holding them tightly. “This is an emergency!”

“Oppa, I can’t!”

“Can’t what?” The president was watching the two of them, confused by the conversation that they were having.

“She knows the lines for the second half of the play-” Misun freed her hands and put them directly over Daehyun’s mouth in an attempt to shut him up. But it was too late.

“Misun-ssi, is that true?” She looked down at the ground, feeling her cheeks burn as she nodded her head.  “Then what are we waiting for? You have to do this! Please, there’s no one else!!”

Suddenly everyone was begging Misun to do something she really did not want to do. As Daehyun realized this, he wanted to kick himself in the face. He knew she didn’t like attention on her. He should have waited until they were alone to ask her. Seeing the almost-scared look on her face now was enough to make him feel guilty for years. He sighed and pulled her into a hug, hiding her from everyone else.

“Everyone shut up for like two seconds!” He yelled in his loudest voice. “If she doesn’t want to do it, she doesn’t have to. I’m sure the audience would understand if we explain the situation.” Misun looked up at Daehyun and he eventually looked down at her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you.. I just-”

Misun cut him off with a brief kiss and hugged him tightly. “Oppa, will you be on stage with me? At least to start me out?” She asked in a quiet voice for only him to hear.

“Of course. I’ll even stand in the wings and be right there if you need me.” He whispered back in her ear, hugging her tighter. He felt Misun nod against his shoulder and he felt a small ray of hope.

After a few long seconds, she had made her decision. She pulled away from Daehyun and gave him a little half smile. “Okay, I’ll try.”

The whole room erupted in excited cheers before Misun was taken off by Fae to get changed into the only other outfit that they had left for Belle. Misun applied her makeup while Fae set her hair and both were thanking their lucky stars that Misun and Sooyeon had been the same size when the dress was made.

“Are you sure about this?” Daehyun asked as the two of them stood side by side, waiting for the second half of the play to begin. He could barely take his eyes off of his girlfriend. Belle’s yellow ballgown suited her very well and he wanted to take her away right then. He didn't want any other guys to see her looking this good.

“No..” She replied in a shaky voice. “But it’s a little too late to back out now, huh?”

He reached out and squeezed her hand, holding it tightly. Daehyun leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I believe in you. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?” She nodded and let go of his hand as he entered into the spotlight first.

Misun followed and what came after was a whirlwind of nerves and bright lights. She focused on Daehyun for strength when she needed to, but after she got the hang of it, Misun actually began to have some fun. There was a certain sense of accomplishment that she felt during the final dance scene as she kissed Daehyun for the entire audience to see. She barely registered their applause until Daehyun pulled away once the curtains were down. She blinked rapidly and looked around.

“We’re almost done. Time to bow.” He whispered. Daehyun took her hand as everyone else gathered on stage and the curtains rose again. Taking turns, everyone got to come to the front for their applause. It was the first time that Misun had really looked out into the huge auditorium and noticed how many people were actually there. Finally, they all held hands and gave a big bow together as the curtains fell for the final time that night.

★☆★☆★☆

[pipermca]

A Thousand Years, Part 4

Start at the beginning | Go back a part

Minus 1,031 Years

The words were indistinct at first, but gradually Sunstreaker was able to untangle their meaning. All of his systems were sluggish, and he waited as they slowly warmed.

“Well? Is he recoverable?” asked a deep voice.

“Yes, I’m fairly certain. Yes. Here, look at the processor activity. He’s just finishing his boot cycle.” The second voice was lighter, but had an odd accent that Sunstreaker couldn’t identify. “I wanted to talk to you about some of the information his diagnostics provided, but... Oh, he can probably hear us now.  Yes, I’m sure he can.”

Sunstreaker’s sensors registered a warm touch on his shoulder armor. “If you’re online and can hear me, I want you to know that you’re safe. It looks like you’ve been through slag and back.”

Memories slowly reinstated themselves at the same time that his systems finished warming up. He remembered the shouts, the explosion, then floating in darkness, his spark flaring in pain, sending the distress call, and –

Sideswipe!

His distress call!

Decepticons!

Sunstreaker’s optics flew open and his battle systems roared to life. His systems informed him that his weapons were gone and his armblades had been disabled, but he jolted to a sitting position and rolled off of the surface on which he’d been placed. Then he dropped into a fighting stance, quickly taking stock of his surroundings.

He was in what looked like a small lab. Instruments and monitors covered the walls, and things that looked like they might been taken from Wheeljack’s workshop cluttered the countertops. Two mechs were with him in the lab. Sunstreaker could not see markings, either Autobot or Decepticon, on either one. The first mech was a small, grey minibot who was holding a scanner and a datapad. He stared at Sunstreaker with wide optics. The second mech was a much larger airframe, coloured in red and black. He regarded Sunstreaker calmly and held out a hand.

“It’s all right, Autobot,” the larger mech said. Sunstreaker recognized the deep voice as the first one he had heard. “We aren’t going to hurt you. You’re safe here so long as you do us no harm as well.”

Sunstreaker took another step backwards, and his lower legs bumped into a stool. The room had only one exit, and the two mechs were between him and the door. Sunstreaker’s hand flew to his chest instinctively, remembering the pain in his spark when it could not find his twin. But now, his spark did not hurt. He could not feel Sideswipe at all, but the pain was gone.

Sideswipe was still alive. He was sure of it.

Taking a deep vent, Sunstreaker slowly stood upright. “Where am I?” he demanded. “And who are you?”

The larger mech took a step forward, pausing when he saw Sunstreaker go tense again. “I’m Captain Airjump. And this is Eclipse,” he said, gesturing at the smaller mech. “You’re on the Rhapsodic Memory.” His optics flicked down to the Autobrand on Sunstreaker’s chest plate, and he flared his wings out slightly. “Before you ask, we are Neutrals. This is a science ship, and we want no part of your war.”

Neutrals. Sunstreaker narrowed his optics. At least they weren’t Decepticons. “Where is Sideswipe?” he demanded. When he got only blank looks in return, he added, “He has the same frametype as me. Red, black and white. Audial horns. Shoulder rocket launcher. Lopsided smile.”

Airjump glanced at Eclipse, who shrugged. He looked back to Sunstreaker. “We found you alone. There was no one with you.”

“But you picked up my distress call,” Sunstreaker said firmly. “Didn’t you search the debris?”

Eclipse put the datapad down on the berth and spread his hands wide. “We picked up no distress call. Like we said, this is a science ship; we were coasting here to collect readings from the nearby nebula.” Turning around, he flipped on a monitor behind him to show a cloud of glowing red and yellow gas. “When our sensors picked up a debris field, we investigated.” He turned back to face Sunstreaker again. “We were very surprised when we found you, in more ways than one. Your diagnostics indicated that - ”

“Wait,” Airjump said, holding out a hand to interrupt Eclipse. He smiled at Sunstreaker. “If you don’t mind... What is your designation?” He tilted his helm slightly. “If you don’t want to give us your real one, just give us something we can call you other than ‘Hey you.’”

With a huff, Sunstreaker considered the request. He would need their help, at least for a while, to get someplace where he could get picked up. “I’m Sunstreaker. And I need to get back to Cybertron, or at least to the closest Autobot base.”

“I’m afraid that’s going to be a problem,” Airjump said. “We are halfway across the galaxy from Cybertron.”

Sunstreaker’s processor froze for a moment as he stared at Airjump. Sideswipe must be frantic looking for him. No wonder he couldn’t feel his twin. Sunstreaker flared his plating out before resettling it. “Then... Then you need to drop me off at a base! I have to get back. I have to -”

Airjump held up his hands. “We can drop you at a trading station, but you have to understand... You are very far away from Cybertron. Even with a fast hop ship, it’ll take hundreds of years to get back.”

How could he have gotten so far away from Cybertron? Sunstreaker ran through his memory files again: the fight, the grenade, the explosion... The fact they were fighting in the remains of an old science complex... Who knew what experimental tech Sunstreaker had been standing near when the grenade went off? Maybe it had teleported him in the explosion.

Oh slag... The grenade. Sideswipe had been just behind him, and...

Sunstreaker’s hand flew to his chest again, slapping against the plating just over his spark. If Sideswipe hadn’t been teleported here with him, maybe he had been caught in the explosion. Maybe he had...

Sideswipe couldn’t be dead.

Eclipse made a quiet noise to draw Sunstreaker’s attention back to him. “There’s something else,” he said, wiggling the data pad in his hand. “Your diagnostics indicated that you have been in stasis for over two million years. So that explains why your systems were so difficult to reboot. We’ve refueled you and changed out your fluid reservoirs, so you –“

As his processor screeched to a halt for the second time that day, Sunstreaker stared at the smaller mech. Two million years? He’d been in stasis for two million years? His engine whined as the import of that fact settled onto him. Even if Sideswipe wasn’t dead, surely... After two million years, Sideswipe would think that Sunstreaker was gone.

Or would he?

Sunstreaker knew that if the situation was reversed, he would never stop looking for Sideswipe.

Something else occurred to Sunstreaker, and he refocused his optics on Airjump. “Two million years have gone by... And the war is still going on?” he asked. The war had already been in full swing when he and his brother had been forged. If Sunstreaker had been floating in deep space for two million years, that meant that Sideswipe had lived over half his life without Sunstreaker by his side.

The thought of Sideswipe being alone for that long made Sunstreaker’s tanks lurch.

Or worse... Maybe Sideswipe had gotten caught in the explosion. Maybe he wasn’t alone at all because he hadn’t escaped.

But no... It took a conscious effort to turn his processor away from that line of thinking. Besides, Sunstreaker would know if Sideswipe was dead. But he may have been injured.

Airjump frowned at Sunstreaker as the yellow mech’s processor churned. “If you’ve been out here for that long, the war must have just started when you ended up out here,” he said. “You couldn’t have been fighting for very long. We left Cybertron just after the war started, and we’ve been travelling for almost the same amount of time.”

Sunstreaker tried to make sense of what Airjump was saying, and failed. “No,” he said. “The war had been going on for two million years when… when I went into stasis.”

Eclipse’s optics had brightened as the other two mechs were speaking, and he stepped forward excitedly. “I didn’t want to mention this because it seemed so farfetched, but... Sunstreaker, what was the last date you remember before we picked you up?”

“Fourth Cycle, 289. Why?” he snarled, still trying to reconcile the information he’d been given with what he knew.

Eclipse and Airjump glanced at each other. Then Airjump said, “That’s over a thousand years from now... Into the future.”

Continued here.