#the coffee warmer might actually get him to drink less coffee bc if his coffee is hot he likes it to be hot

[skylarclarke]

From Robin:

All Time Low's "Tell Me I'm Alive" (March 2023) in record format.

All Time Low T-shirt (definitely didn't get it at the same place as the record whaaaaat)

Coffee Warmer. Perfectly regulates the coffee temperature to the exact degree Skylar wants for up to 6 hours (though unclear why he would not simply drink it in those 6 hours. Also it's just the disc part the coffee cup is to illustrate there's a cup on there idk).

"Dear Sky,

I hope year 35 is better than all the other ones. Thanks again for being my big brother and being there for me and Ryder. I love you!

Robin"

.

[pips-fics]

ask: hello :] could i request a fic where maybe yechan's messing around with the rest of the group (maybe during a game, like their minigame heaven?) and ends up with a concussion, and the boys take care of him afterwards? thank you!! (also! trying to choose a favorite lucy fic on your survey was difficult bc i love all of them lmaooo, but especially the ending of your recent wonsang fic, yeop's little comforting bit with the tentative song was super soft and cute :(

tw: blood (from a bloody nose), a head injury/concussion, mentions of alcohol/drinking, fears about death and brain damage from injury, lots of medical inaccuracies (probably), hospital setting

thank you again, anon, you're so sweet <3 i hope you enjoy the fic!!

caution: ghost stories may cause injury –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

the clatter of raindrops against the roof was a soothing backdrop to the absolutely bone-chilling stories that gwangil seemed to never run out of. it had been yechan’s idea - telling ghost stories while they were drinking. gwangil was always teasing him for being too scared to hear them, and yechan had hoped the alcohol would help. wishful thinking, it turned out, but the realization came too late, because there was no way yechan was backing out after egging gwangil on.

it didn’t stop him from curling up in the safety of sangyeop’s lap and covering his ears for the scariest parts of each tale. it didn’t stop him from whining about how sangyeop was the only nice member of their band, either, because that earned him a placating head pat from the vocalist, which felt quite nice.

at the other end of the couch, wonsang was doubled over, cackling at yechan’s terror and at the stories gwangil was telling. he was laughing so hard his stomach evidently hurt, which, in yechan’s opinion, served him right.

still, nights like this were quite fun. sangyeop, who was authentic and kind even on his worst days, became warmer and softer at times like this, and absentmindedly carded his fingers through yechan’s hair. yechan felt safe, even with the fear, which really did him very little harm in this environment. gwangil was a fantastic storyteller, all the more dramatic with the buzz of a few beers, and looked adorable with his cheeks flushed pink. the rain continued on, a steady and calming rhythm to support the melody of wonsang’s laughter.

yechan wished nights like this would never end, but drowsiness began to weigh on him. he sunk into it, breaths deepening and evening out, and thought that he hadn’t felt so relaxed in a long time.

moments later, a clash of thunder jolted him awake and into motion. there was a moment where reality and his dreamscape blurred, and so in an attempt to scramble away from a hazy looking darkness that was probably a ghost, yechan smashed the back of his head against whatever was behind him.

almost immediately, yechan’s ear was assaulted with a too-close cry of pain. he jumped up and away from the noise, still half-asleep, and tripped over the coffee table. yechan realized with a touch of humor and a hefty sense of guilt what must have happened just before losing consciousness.

——

the room felt far too bright as it came back into focus.

“woah, hyung, are you okay?” gwangil’s voice roared loud in his ears, enough to send spikes of pain through his head and stabbing at the back of his eyes. yechan thought the younger man must have been right next to him, but as he took in his surroundings, he realized that gwangil hadn’t even been speaking to yechan, but to sangyeop, a few feet away.

he must not have been out for long, then.

his relief was short-lived. sangyeop’s face was a bloody mess, expression scrunched up in pain. as his eyes met yechan’s, he tried to mask it, but the damage was done. yechan felt sick at sangyeop’s forced smile.

“i’m alright,” sangyeop said, taking a tissue from the box gwangil was offering. “looks worse than it is, i’m sure. yechan-hyung, are you okay?”

“yes,” yechan croaked, finding his throat painfully raw. sangyeop really was the kindest out of all of them, he thought, feeling triply miserable. yechan wasn’t at all sure that he should be standing, but he figured checking on sangyeop was the least he could do, so he made his wobbly way back to the couch.

well, yechan thought, he’d managed to ruin their peaceful night. wonsang, who rarely drank but always mellowed out when he did, was now standing with his shoulders hunched and tense. everyone else looked just as alert. they were all very much awake and feeling as sober as they’d ever been. it was unlikely that anyone was going to want to hear any more scary stories.

yechan felt his eyes burn with tears of anger and embarrassment, and tilted his head back so that they wouldn’t fall. he regretted the action almost immediately. black spots ballooned in his vision and pain bloomed from the back of his head. it was enough to make him woozy. fortunately, wonsang caught yechan before he toppled over, his brows furrowing in concern. yechan quickly waved him off.

“sorry,” he said, wiping away the wetness he’d failed to keep from his cheeks, “i’m no good with blood, and the alcohol, you know, it doesn’t help.”

wonsang nodded, even though he didn’t look convinced. he looked viscerally worried, actually, which made yechan worried, so he turned away. what he couldn’t see would hurt less.

“we should all get some rest, probably,” yechan said, trying to move on from wonsang’s silent interrogation and also genuinely wanting to sleep. he snuck a quick glance at sangyeop (the sight of blood really wasn’t doing him any favors) and was relieved to see that gwangil was helping him clean up what looked to be the tail end of the bleeding.

the others readily agreed with yechan’s suggestion. it was nice to be listened to, for a minute, until yechan found himself alone and in pain and still sick to his stomach, only now he didn’t have the excuse of being grossed out by blood which meant that something might actually be wrong.

maybe he was just tired. yechan tried to convince himself that was it, but something told him it wasn’t. then again, it might have been the voice of his paranoia saying that, telling him that he might have a concussion and that something awful could happen if he let himself fall asleep.

even when he tried, though, sleeping eluded him. the pain had not lessened and had spread to his neck, and even the soft pillow hurt his head. yechan bit his lip, tried to make himself think clearly, and concluded that the solution was informing himself on head injuries via the infinite wisdom of the internet.

the internet told him that he might be dying, that he might have lose his memory or his ability to speak, that maybe his brain has become more akin to a scrambled egg than a functional part of his body, and all sorts of other things that yechan tried desperately to be okay with, or to not think about at all. he tried to focus on the rain, but the rain - the soft, soothing rain, even without its thunder - seemed to have turned on him. he no longer heard a rhythm, but the echo of what felt like each individual drop, amplified, booming, and painful.

——

about three hours later, gwangil found yechan curled up in a corner of the couch, crying softly. his computer was balanced precariously on his knees, light glaring off of the wetness on his cheeks, and gwangil could see that his eyes were bloodshot.

“hyung!”

yechan responded as though he’d been struck, flinching away with a muffled whimper.

“gwangil,” yechan whispered, sniffling. “stop shouting.”

gwangil, who could not remember the last time he’d heard yechan whisper - if he ever had at all - was thoroughly shaken. one thing he was certain of was that he had never seen any of his hyungs cry - not from anything other than being overwhelmed by emotion during a performance.

he didn’t know what to do.

for a few moments, his hands fluttered about uselessly, looking for something to touch, something to fix - but even just speaking had caused yechan pain, so he didn’t dare make contact with the older man. instead, his fingers settled on the the computer and pulled it from it’s owner’s easily relenting grasp.

as soon as he saw what was on the screen, gwangil felt ice cold fear shoot through him. it must have shown on his face, because yechan’s hand, unsteady as it was, ran up and down his arm.

“it’s okay, gwangil,” yechan said, breath shaky. “it’s– i’m just–”

yechan broke off, the absence of words speaking for itself. gwangil inhaled slowly. the instinctual fear had begun to melt away. as soon as yechan started comforting him, gwangil began to understand that the older man was scared, too, and that the words on the computer screen said more about yechan’s fears than about his actual condition. gwangil knew how internet searches went when it came to investigating one’s health.

he nodded, and took another deep breath.

it was probably not as bad as they’d both feared. yechan would most likely be okay. that didn’t mean that gwangil would take this lightly. something was wrong, even if it probably wasn’t life threatening.

another breath.

he thought about how long yechan had sat here alone, hurting and scared and putting himself at further risk, deliberately keeping it all to himself. gwangil thought about how little that mattered, and felt his momentary frustration dissipate. it had been hours already, and yechan was still worried about this - he wasn’t a hypochondriac. something was wrong.

“hyung, you know, right?” gwangil said at last, trying to speak gently. “we have to go to the hospital.”

in the silence that followed, gwangil feared that yechan had stopped breathing.

“okay,” yechan said quietly, finally, exhausted and resigned. and then, in the same voice: “i think i’m going to throw up.”

“…fuck.”

gwangil didn’t know that much about concussions, but he was fairly certain that it was bad practice to move someone with a head injury. if yechan’s uncharacteristic stillness was anything to go by, he would guess that the internet agreed. he didn’t want to leave yechan alone, either, but after careful consideration, gwangil decided being quick was his best bet. he darted off, first to the bedroom. he shook sangyeop awake - quite roughly, probably, but he didn’t have time to be gentle.

“‘gil? wad’s wrong?” sangyeop slurred, half asleep, still.

“yechan-hyung’s hurt his head–”

sangyeop stood up so fast, he almost passed out before he could do anything to help. gwangil steadied him.

“we’ll need you to drive and - can you keep an eye on him? i’ll be right there.” there was a snag in gwangil’s voice, suddenly, the kind that meant a seam was about to come undone and ruin an entire garment. they didn’t have time for that, but sangyeop took a moment to lay a reassuring hand on the back of gwangil’s neck before they parted ways. it was a taste of “you did well, thank you” without the exact articulation - but the words would have to come later.

sangyeop found yechan sitting in the dark with his head in his hands as if it weighed a hundred pounds. he approached slowly, and spoke softly. “yechannie-hyung?”

yechan didn’t even look at him. “sangyeop?”

he hummed lightly in confirmation, and blinked quickly, willing his eyes to work better than they were meant to in the dark. yechan had a hand over his mouth, and sangyeop winced. he suddenly understood where gwangil had run off to, and hoped he wasn’t having too much trouble finding what he was looking for.

“hyung, can i rub your back?”

there was a moment of hesitation, and then a very quiet “please.”

sure to move slowly in order to avoid jostling the couch, sangyeop sat next to yechan. the older man slumped against him, and sangyeop could feel him trembling - from pain or nausea or both, sangyeop wasn’t sure.

“i don’t want to go to the hospital,” yechan mumbled. his voice was muffled against his hand, and unsteady. something like a broken laugh seized him before he continued, “we haven’t left yet, and i already want to come back home.”

sangyeop ached. it was something he excelled at, aching for the people he loved. sometimes it was a strength, and sometimes it just hurt. “i know,” he gently massaged yechan’s shoulders. “it will be okay,” he said.

gwangil returned with a mixing bowl soon after that, so sangyeop never found out if yechan believed him. as soon as the bowl was in yechan’s arms, he was retching. it came on violent and painful - with every retch came a gasp of pain at the movement, and the pressure, and it wasn’t long before yechan started crying.

sangyeop offered a hand, and yechan squeezed it readily. with his other hand, sangyeop did his best to hold yechan’s head steady as his body expelled the day’s meals and the night’s alcohol as well as it could.

in the end, once it started, it was over quickly. after about five minutes of unproductive retching, yechan’s body rebelled suddenly and forcefully, ejecting all of its contents one wave after the next. sangyeop worried that yechan didn’t have enough air, and found gwangil’s muttered reassurances to be a comfort, even though they weren’t meant for him.

fortunately, yechan retained consciousness, sputtering coughs earning him oxygen as his body let up. even so, it was alarmingly clear that the ordeal had sapped every ounce of energy he’d had left. tears streamed down his face, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

gwangil took the bowl without a word, and sangyeop stayed with yechan, hoping the silence was a comfort.

“it hurts,” yechan said, brokenly.

“i know,” sangyeop whispered. the older man looked miserable. “hyung, we’re going to have to get you to the car. gwangil can catch up.”

any other day, sangyeop was sure yechan would have wanted to wait. he hadn’t meant the suggestion to be a test of how poor yechan was feeling, but it confirmed it anyway, had there been any doubt.

“okay.”

gwangil caught up to them well before they made it to the car. they’d taken the stairs, weary of the damage an elevator might do, and it was slow going. by the time they made it to the car, yechan seemed to have run out of tears, or perhaps stopped them by sheer force of will.

fortunately, the hospital wasn’t far. that didn’t make the drive easy, but at least it wasn’t long. yechan was so out of it by the time they arrived that he put up very little resistance about entering, even though it was one of his least favorite places. he was just too tired.

after filling out some paperwork and answering some basic questions, sangyeop and gwangil were forced to wait in the lobby while yechan was taken - more reluctantly, this time - for examination on his own. sangyeop took the opportunity to text wonsang and fill him in on the details, hoping it would soften the sting of being left out of the loop for a short while. gwangil went to the restroom, and returned with red-ringed eyes.

“gwangil…” the younger man turned away, embarrassed, but sangyeop just laughed and hugged him to his side. “you did really well,” he said. “yechan-hyung will be okay now.”

gwangil nodded, but didn’t seem fully convinced until the doctors told him the same thing. it was a weight off of everyone’s shoulders. they were told that yechan needed dark, and quiet, and rest, which would be best achieved at home - but that he should stay the night for supervision. sangyeop and gwangil both decided to stay. it was an easy decision, no conversation needed - there were only a few more hours until morning, anyway.

——

wonsang woke up to a series of text messages that felt like a horror story.

he knew it wasn’t sangyeop’s intention. it was just the way he explained things: chronologically, rather than in order of importance. like, say, maybe mentioning that yechan was going to be fine right off the bat, instead of burying it in the middle of expository explanation and loads of medical jargon.

he knew they’d had other priorities, but he still intended to complain about it when they returned.

it didn’t happen. shocking, really, because wonsang was fond of harmless complaining. it generated good discussions, and he liked the attention, sometimes. he liked the reassurance that he would be heard, if he needed something.

this time, though, wonsang took one look at yechan and wanted nothing more than to make him feel okay.

he was sure the previous night had been worse, but that wasn’t comforting. the yechan wonsang was seeing looked fragile and brittle and pinched - it made him look old, the pain. wonsang wasn’t used to believing the age on yechan’s ID was accurate.

“hyung…” wonsang’s voice was watery when he spoke, much to his own surprise. even having sifted through sangyeop’s messages to find the reassuring truth that yechan would be fine, the worry had been overwhelming. it was still there, but seeing yechan home, in person, had a bigger impact than wonsang had prepared himself for.

“aw, wonsangie, don’t cry,” yechan said, teasing, but his eyes were warm and understanding. gwangil snorted, softly.

“says you.”

sangyeop elbowed the youngest of the group gently, and wonsang wasn’t sure that he wanted all of the details behind that exchange, if tears were indeed involved. if he did, the figured he could get them later.

at the moment, he just wanted to know that yechan was alright.

the group had breakfast together, just a light meal. they agreed that wonsang would keep watch on yechan while gwangil and sangyeop caught up on their sleep, so the group parted ways after that - half of them to the bedroom, the other half to yechan’s bed in the living room.

it wasn’t exactly reassuring, seeing yechan so compliant. wonsang tried to stay quiet, reminding himself that’s what yechan needed, but once he’d ensured that yechan was comfortable and properly resting, the words slipped out anyway.

“hyung, are you really okay?”

yechan blinked slowly, drowsiness clearly weighing him down, and he smiled. “wonsangie, come here.” wonsang obeyed, and yechan brought wonsang’s hand to his own chest. “i’m okay. you can feel it, right?”

under his palm, yechan’s heart beat. it was a steady rhythm, comforting. at times, wonsang had sought out his own pulse for similar reasons. rainy days had never been good to wonsang, and he liked to blame the inconsistency of the rain’s pounding for that, but the steady beat of a heart felt nice.

“it was scary,” yechan said suddenly, honestly. “and it hurt. it still does, but it will heal.”

wonsang’s breath shuddered, and then smoothed. “i’ll stay with you, hyung,” he said. he could hear a smile as yechan spoke again.

“i know.”

——

a very quick reader survey (specific to this fic!) to give your input on some exclusive previews of upcoming fics and to make my day! :)

——

feel free to send more asks! / rules

[carolinenicolettes]

MEET CAROLINE ESTELLE NICOLETTE ! 

(IN)CORRECT QUOTE -

“ this is taking too long ! i’m going to miss the farmer’s market ! ” —scary terry or scary caroline? who knows

“ she liked messy beds and movie nights without any lights on. she liked the quiet company of a few good friends. her idea of love was gentle and silent, like a whisper of a touch. some things are magical and magic, contrary to popular opinion, is often found in the most ordinary of places. ”

BASIC

NAME: caroline estelle nicolette NICKNAMES: n o p e it is caroline or NADA  AGE: 21 BIRTHDAY: may 1st SPECIES: starchild  GENDER: cisfemale PRONOUNS: she/her

FAMILY

MOTHER: amelia nicolette — born into money, massive name in the fashion industry, only wears fashionable power suits and celestial themed jewelry, drinks expensive whiskey neat FATHER: unknown PARENTS: raised by her mother, kind of. had a nanny named maggie growing up whom she loved dearly and was very good friends with a doorman named robert as well. it takes a village, you know. FAMILY: direct relation to the nicolette family that you all know and love aka odette. caroline’s mother is odette’s father’s sister. SIBLINGS: not at all.

PHYSIAL ATTRIBUTES

FACE CLAIM: scarlett leithold NATIONALITY: american HEIGHT: 5′7 WEIGHT: 139lbs BUILD: slender, and a bit insecure about that HAIR: long with a subtle wave , nearly down to her waist for now  HAIR COLOR: golden blonde with a few summery platinum highlights EYE COLOR: baby bluuuue DOMINANT HAND: left ANOMALIES: during warmer months, and nearly year round since moving to california, there are little freckles dusted across her nose  SCENT: seasalt, cocounut, sunscreen . . . . and occasionally mon paris by ysl ACCENT: she fought against that new york accent tooth and nail so none ALLERGIES: cats but also bullshit DISORDERS: dbd — dumb bitch disorder FASHION: an odd mix of vintage. corduroy dresses, plaid skirts, ribbed turtlenecks, velvet headbands, doc marten boots. a lil 60s, a lil 70s, a lil 90s. despite having quite a bit of money, she’s always wearing at least one thing that looks hand-me-down and that’s because her mother never threw anything away, so it likely is.  NERVOUS TICS: rocks back and forth from her toes to her heels, death grip on a camera strap, tucking her hair behind her ears QUIRKS: collects enamel pins, always has a camera on her, closes her eyes when trying to focus on listening

LIFESTYLE

RESIDES: east side, victoria BORN: new york city RAISED: new york city VEHICLE:  black 1969 chevy camaro, rarely ever drives it though as she bikes/skates most places PHONE: iphone 11 pro :\ COMPUTER: mac desktop collecting DUST PETS: too busy sneezing bc of odette’s cat

HIGH SCHOOL EDUCATION: graduated COLLEGE EDUCATION: senior MAJOR: museum studies, photography MINOR: film studies CAREER: freelance photographer, current waste of space living off of that family $$$ EXPERIENCE: apprenticeships in fashion photography, internships in museum curation  TRAINED IN: photography and classical ballet (reluctantly) OTHER: literally just .... she’s had a camera of some sort in her hand since she was like 12

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: liberal RELIGION: worships the ground stevie nicks, cher, and debbie harry walk on but that’s about it BELIEFS: you have to be really careful when buying sweaters from thrift stores because 80% of them are absolutely haunted MISDEMEANORS: none FELONIES: none  TICKETS AND/OR VIOLATIONS: NONE  DRUGS: once or twice but she’s strung out enough on her own  SMOKES: weed, on occasion. cigarettes are gross. ALCOHOL: leisurely, mostly socially. Queen of Beer Pong™ DIET: fairly healthy, not at all picky, a little bougie.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: labels are stupid SEXUAL ORIENTATION: and sexuality is fluid MARTIAL STATUS: never going to happen CHILDREN: *nervous laughter* AVAILABILITY: not at all LOOKING FOR: she’s actually legally blind so

LANGUAGES: english, french

PHOBIAS: fuck spiders SPECIFICALLY. might cry but also doesn’t want you to kill it just... take it out and awaaaay HOBBIES: photography, film — the act of and the watching of, hiking, live shows, bothering odette. literally has/had 3294328049 of them but is really only good at photography/film TRAITS: + adaptable, loyal, charismatic, clever, playful, adventurous ; - flighty, forgetful, cynical, unforgiving, disorganized, impatient SOCIAL MEDIA: the works - snapchat, twitter, instagram

FAVOURITE

LOCATION: photo pit at small venue concerts, anywhere within 10 feet of the pacific SPORTS TEAM: whomst  GAME: playin w people’s HEARTS ...... jk ....... kinda MUSIC: haim, fleetwood mac, the aces... any band with a female lead singer SHOWS: ghost adventures, big little lies MOVIES: frances ha, almost famous, bob dylan: don’t look back RADIO STATION: anything that strictly plays oldies FOOD: loves baked goods BEVERAGE: cold brew coffee, cinnamon spice tea COLOR: a nice dusty rose :\

CHARACTER

MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic good MBTI: isfp — the adventurer ENNEAGRAM: type 7, the enthusiast  ZODIAC: taurus HOGWARTS HOUSE: hufflepuff TAROT CARD: the empress TV TROPES: max mayfield, serena van der woodsen, ainsley howard, donna sheridan and honestly? eloise  SONG: summer girl - haim

IDEOLOGIES: shove it down shove all the emotions DOWN do not feel. you can tell a lot about a person based on the music they listen to when they’re sad. three is the luckiest number.

THE RUNDOWN 

amelia nicolette never intended to be a mother. she was freshly 21, inches from a moment that could launch her career in the fashion industry, and she hadn’t been in love or even interested in the idea since she was seventeen. so when a one night stand with a wealthy older man, left her with morning sickness and an odd appetite for two, she was less than thrilled. 

he was even less thrilled, insisting that she terminate the pregnancy. i’ll drive you, he’d said in a hushed tone. only then did she see the tan line wrapped around his ring finger. a married man. a one night stand. and a complete bastard . amelia decided, then and there, to carry to term and then put the baby up for adoption.

until may 1st at 3AM on the dot when the most obnoxious scream split through the air. a baby, just slightly too small, kicking and screaming relentlessly was born in manhattan. a baby who wouldn’t shut up until she was placed in the arms of her mother, where she fell quiet and calm and she slept. 

amelia nicolette never intended to fall in love, but holding her tiny baby girl, she knew then and there that she was a goner. caroline, as a song that sounded like joy played from a radio at the nurse’s station. estelle, for the stars. nicolette, the only family name she’d ever need. 

for three years, it was just the two of them in a new york penthouse, and amelia learned quickly that she was good at being a mother. but that didn’t change her free-spirited nature or the way her heart had a tendency to yearn for more. she had the resources, and caroline was old enough — . . . and she’d been sketching for years, sitting on top of a portfolio that piled a mile high.

along comes nanny, maggie, and thus began the life she’d lead for the rest of her childhood. mom spent a lot of time at work, building a fashion brand that went international by the time caroline was 6. because of this, she was gone more often than not, leaving caroline to grow up under the watchful eye of a nanny.

but she called every night. made it home for every big holiday, every recital, every birthday. in the summers, caroline would spend her time split between visiting her mother, visiting odette, and visiting a beach house in victoria. there was a certain lack of permanence that caused her to be adaptable, allowed her to be comfortable with change and give into the whims of a free spirit like her mother’s.

but people filtered in and out, came and went, and on the flip side of the same coin, there was a sense of detachment , a fear of getting too close to people who would move out or move on.

despite this, caroline never found herself to be lonely. she was a friendly little thing with bright eyes and a sparkling curiosity, picking up hobbies instead of toys, but never quite being exceptional at any of them. she made friends with doormen and caused problems for the people behind the desk. she became good, early on, at keeping herself busy, making her own fun – . . . all things that have very much carried into adulthood.

she was lucky, and she’s fully aware of it which is why, from a young age, she always did her best to find ways to give that luck to people who seemed to need it. 

things had a tendency to be tumultuous, what with her mother coming and going and her very best friend being in and out of the hospital, but she tried to go with the flow as best as she could. things were good but never truly exceptional.

until she met jude. he’d been in the same children’s wing as odette, and they’d known each other for a little bit before caroline met him. the three of them were inseparable, at first, simply best friends. but as they got older, feelings shifted and two friends became more than that.

our girl was in love for the very first time. and it was sweet and gentle and everything a first love is supposed to be. over time, that love grew, just as they did, and it was visible to anyone with eyes that they were in love. for two years, it was good, he was good. 

and then he wasn’t. despite two years of remission and a healthy life, he fell ill again. there was nothing to do but stand by and watch as six months passed by, far too quickly, and he slipped away into nothing. ultimately passing away just a week before his 20th birthday. 

caroline didn’t allow herself to feel it, for a while, lingering in the denial stage of grief for far too long. new york felt empty without him, without odette, without her mother, and it didn’t take much for her to pack her things and join her mother overseas, taking a gap year from school and focusing on herself, on her photography.

she spent a lot of time with a press pass around her neck. fashion shows and fashion shoots. major events and sports games. concerts and festivals. but there was one thing she loved more than anything else, and that was capturing the off-guard joy of life in candids of strangers on the street or in the crowds of bars and concerts. she found her own style, her own way of storytelling through a lens, and slowly but surely she began to heal.

still, there was no way around the way her heart felt a little heavier, a little darker, and how smiles from strangers at the other end of the bar made her stomach churn. she developed an aversion to new relationships of any sort, anything deeper than surface level becoming a bit too close for comfort. 

and while life traveling was fun, she missed having a sense of home, so she went to where the only other person who felt like home was, finding herself moving into a house with odette in victoria.

she’s been around for a couple of months, coming out of a gap year and looking to finish her degree in the spring. victoria, for now, is home.

these days she’s a little bit more cynical. a little bit less likely to let people too close. a little bit lost but also who isn’t when they’re 21

[uni-yuto]

soulmate!au - yeo one

a/n: happy birthday to this cutie of pentagon! ngl this man makes me question my sanity when i was a compilation of gorilla performances that edit his parts (gOD DAMN HIS FOREHEAD AND SMILE) anyways hope you enjoy!

so you’ve always been interested in the soulmate story your mother always told you as a kid

and you always had questions for her, like when she met your dad and like what was their telling sign

so in their case, it was a tattoo of the different phases of the moon on their wrists

in your case, it was the line or sentence your soulmate would say when you see them for the first time

‘hmm, did you eat yet?’

what kind of sentence is that?????

but never the less you were always looking out for the day it would come

so about 14 years later, you are currently twenty years old

and low and behold you haven’t paid your university bills and you’re working a shift at a cafe to somewhat pay it off without sacrificing your sanity

and the job is nice, people greet you warmly and always seem to put a smile on your face

so you always looked forward to coming in every day

even hoping that your soulmate would walk in

and so your shift goes the way it does, however, you notice a group of boys entering the doorway with what seemed to be cameras following behind them

so you looked to your manager who simply waved your confusion

‘it’s some boy group filming something, they said to get their orders before the cameras start rolling’

you mentally cursed because like

you’re literally the only other person working here

which was a good and bad thing but right now it was a bad thing

but you mentally prepare yourself and head over with a notepad and pen in your hands

you brace yourself and wait to be acknowledged by one of the members

‘uh, so like welcome to cafe nakamoto. can i take your orders? i mean- sorry, order?’

first of all

all of them are flustered because they didn’t get the menus 

and secondly

yeo one’s just staring at you with wide eyes like

‘did she just???’

so he manages to blurt out in the silence of his group

‘hmm, did you eat yet?’

and you’re just standing there stunned before realising the sentence

and without thought, you grip your tattoo before noticing the menus not being present

what a great way to get out of a sticky situation

‘ah my apologies, i’ll get your menus’ 

and you bet that you’re basically scurrying back to your place of shelter behind the counter while yeo one’s watching your back

and all of the guys (even the cameramen and writers) are staring at the man

‘yeo one, did you just-’ hongseok whispered, the males glancing between the female and their group mate

he snaps back to reality as he pushes their concern aside

so you end up coming back with 5 menus and hand it to them before heading back to the cash where your manager is waiting

did i mention he’s dying of laughter as your slip up bc you’re not the type to do these types of things and he’s just trying not to create such a loud noise

while you keep hitting him to shut up while secretly peeking over at the table

you actually didn’t hear who said it, so the fact that 1 out of those 10 cute aND ILLEGALLY HANDSOME guys are your soulmate

and you’re trying not to pick a favourite but it’s so hard

so after five minutes your manager nudges you over to the group and you finally take their order

‘1 whole vanilla cake, 5 americanos and 5 iced coffees’ great :))))))

you already know who’s gonna have to make all of that

a cough cough it’s you hun

#sendhelp

anyways while making their drinks you glance over to their table, wondering what they must be filming

rarely comes a day where a boy group comes to your humble place of work

forever grateful because you look like a wet dog on warmer days let’s be honest

anyways luckily you don’t burn the place down and end up making the best cake you’ve made in your career

so you hold the drinks in a tray in one hand, while the other balances the tray with the cake inside (damn those 5 pound weights your aunt gave you actually paid off :’) )

and you wear a friendly smile but avoid the gazes of the handsome guys in front of you

pssst yeo one’s trying so hard not to look at you, it’s not working

afterwards, you greet them to have a good meal before heading back to the counter, silently praying you don’t poison them

after about an hour or two, the crew of cameramen follow the boys outside, a female staff member paying and thanking you for the meal

you’re a bit sad bc you didn’t end up knowing who your soulmate was

so you go on about your day, despite it being really slow

and you’re the only staff member at the moment since your manager took his break (for some reason doesn’t take a lunch break but a mid-afternoon break?)

and to keep yourself occupied you try experimenting with different drink recipes (praying for your stomach) 

you’re vvv much into the drink making because for one

yeo one entered the cafe about fifteen minutes ago and you haven’t noticed

maybe it’s because you’re humming your favourite song or the fact you’re furrowing your brows in concentration that makes you look cute???

and it’s only till you place the drink, rub your hands on your apron and glanced upwards that you see him

and he’s smiling like an angel

wHO AM I KIDDING HE IS ONE

but ahem he’s just standing there, arms crossed and you’re like ????

who? when? how? where? why? what?

“hmm, did you eat yet?”

and you’re thinking to yourself

‘hES MY SOULMATE HUH WHAT’ 

and you’re thinking, whatever i did in my past life to deserve this amen thank you

‘’I’ll assume you’re my soulmate then? I’m (y/n)”

boi you’re never this cool and smooth how you doin that?

’it’s nice to meet you, i’m yeo one’

and he talks to you while you prepare him a few drinks (since he volunteered to grab more drinks to see you)

and it’s a nice conversation, and you can see yourself liking him more

well duh he is your soulmate

‘hey (y/n), it might be sudden but did you want to maybe see each other time? my schedule is packed because of all my promotions, but maybe you’re willing to wait for me?’

and you’re like ofc ;)

‘uh sure, that would be nice’

and y’all exchange numbers and like

tA DA

that’s how you met your soulmate yeo one

hope you all enjoyed! request for more!

[disarmingly]

fall down lightly interlude  (or on ao3 for easier reading probably bc lol tumblr formatting is out to End Me) (domestic, somewhere backwards on the timeline though not too far back, all things considered....or: the thing i wrote while i was asleep and trying to proof the next actual chapter...yea i can’t believe i’m still working on this either SOBS)

belong - defined as:  beloved

warm...

that's what yoongi registers first, and for someone who has spent the majority of his years cold cold cold, that should be a red flag in and of itself; except it's not. except 'warm' these days means something else, doesn't mean the sun the way you'd think or a fire the way you'd think. 'warm' means a soft mouth shaping good morning against his throat like he's the prey and not the other way around; like he's special.

like he's worth it.

unwilling to open his eyes right away, yet yoongi can find blind with his careful hands the soft soft hair that's growing a little too long now on jungkook, can card his fingers through that hair, feel him sigh, feel him melt against him warmer still, feel him say out loud,

"morning."

on some days yoongi can lull jungkook back to sleep just like this, as if his fingertips carry a lullaby just for him, and they'll sleep until noon or one or later and then jungkook will lament but yoongi has some habits he doesn't care to break. appreciating daytime more, being more willing to be in it, does not at the end of things equate to Liking it more than the night. yoongi suspects if he had been born all human he still would have preferenced the moon's realm; it's where anonymity is at its finest and some people find it fearsome, depressing, or strange. but to yoongi the night is freedom; night is starlight.

jungkook too is starlight.

but he shines even in the day.

yoongi is reminded a little of hoseok (not always, but sometimes, and it's different the way their smells are different --- ocean star, earth sun, so on and so forth --- but it's also the same; because yoongi's love is, in its own way, very singular; it's what makes him so loyal.) his trust is as long as his life and his affection is longer and they must have fallen asleep again after all because when he blinks the sun is shifting into their bedroom at a different height. jungkook's head is a heavy reassurance on his chest and yoongi trails a fingertip down the back of his neck just because he can. a deep inhale brings him closer to home and it would be a lie to say he's not worried.

yoongi is always worried.

under jungkook's over-sized nightshirt a fresh cut glares along the soft slope of his back. it will scar. the various things that are sent or merely attracted on their own to jeon jungkook are out of min yoongi's control. the best he can do is try to be there in time, try to be there at all; make it count. he holds jungkook close as he slips back and up against the headboard, pulling him with him. jungkook is still deep enough in his second slumber that he just nestles closer, his nose pressed to yoongi's clavicle in a way that doesn't look at all comfortable. but he murmurs in his sleep; he smiles, and, well, yoongi figures that's alright. the tentative lift of jungkook's shirt bares the injury and the empty hand at yoongi's side is one rigid unhappiness.

he hears jungkook telling him he's fine. he hears himself yelling at him, telling him if this is going to work then he can't lie. he hears jungkook yelling back.

*

. . .

it had been terrible to fight while jungkook was already hurt, worse when he almost didn't let yoongi help. worst when he did and wouldn't look at him. and yoongi felt human; yoongi wanted to ask: do you regret this, are you done, i---

---i'd understand.

instead he finished cleaning it, applied the antiseptic, and let jungkook slip soundless into their bedroom. he didn't shut the door; jungkook wouldn't; but yoongi stayed awake all that night doing nothing except being unhappy. it was five or so in the morning when jungkook stumbled out, bleary-eyed and yoongi couldn't look at him.

so it came as something of a surprise to feel that warm hand fist in the tail of his own shirt and...pull.

"it hurts."

yoongi spun so fast he almost over-balanced (a sorry excuse for a supernatural creature to be sure) and jungkook's hands caught him by his elbows as yoongi more gasped than whispered, "your wound? do you need an actual doctor? we ca--"

but jungkook shook his head, blinked at him tired from something outside of words and said, "no...not that."

he tugged him into their room, and yoongi let him pull him under the covers where jungkook fell back asleep nearly before he was completely horizontal, which made yoongi wonder if he'd been sleepwalking. he stayed up until nine in the morning when he too finally slept, jungkook a comfort to hold even if he did not deserve that comfort. and he fell asleep so soundly that he didn't hear the softly waking jungkook as he mumbled,

"it hurts when you're not here."

. . .

*

time is a loose concept at best for them at the moment, though they both remain keenly aware that the longer they are together, the more that untruth will surface; how jungkook will grow old while yoongi...won't. sometimes jungkook thinks about how much he loves yoongi and feels guilty for how he still doesn't want to be turned, feels a self-loathing so visceral it makes him nauseous. if yoongi is home, he'll find jungkook, he'll ghost into his presence, hold him by his wrists, press verses of kisses along the side of his neck, his jaw, under his eye, the tip of his nose, the perfect bow of his mouth and remind him,

"i love you now."

or: now is enough.

*

where jungkook feels guilt for wanting to stay human, the guilt yoongi harbors for simply not being all human is as much a part of him as his bones and slow beating heart.

"you didn't have a choice. it's not like i blame you," jungkook frowns as he continues doing his damnedest to peel an apple all in one continuous strip. the cooking network makes it look a lot easier, and he's only maybe a little sour about it. to his side, yoongi is drinking coffee not because he needs it but because he likes it; there's something strong and acrid about its bitterness that reminds him of blood and while it's not substitute he'd liken it to a patch for smoking. not that he's quitting his own kind of blood work; just that he's pushing the envelope on how long he can go without it. you know. again.

well aware of this, jungkook sighs, opens his mouth to say something then hisses, "shit," instead. the knife clatters to the floor as does the apple which rolls petulantly away. the blood welling out of jungkook's finger would have, earlier in their collision, acted like a flame to gunpowder. as it is, yoongi tenses, sets his coffee down awkwardly and tries to not inhale too deeply. he fed from jungkook just a day ago; he's not trying to make a bad habit of indulging again so soon. he's not. in fact he might need to leave, but--

"yoongi? hey yoongi."

one hand curls tight at his upper arm and yoongi startles.

"you're shaking..." jungkook's brow knits and yoongi wants to yell because he's not the one bleeding is he? but when he opens his mouth it's not words that happen. jungkook doesn't let him react; he presses his finger between yoongi's lips and there's a saying that goes 'i'm only human' but in this case it's a little different.

his eyes flicker gold then shut completely and sucking jungkook's finger more enthralled than desperate -- lightly lightly the touch of his teeth tongue and fast hollowing of his cheeks like he's doing his best not to be wasteful -- and well, it's weird because it's not quite the same as putting new holes in him to get his fix but it's weirder yet to find it actually helps.

when he opens his eyes they are gold striated with amber, his lips too red and his breath not quite even. jungkook too is flushed high in his cheeks and even in his ears as he whispers,

"mm....better?"

yoongi, a little shell-shocked by his unplanned afternoon snack, shakes his head to clear it.

"you shouldn't do that."

"why?"

"you can't trust me just because you love me," yoongi blurts out and for a moment there's only silence. how jungkook breaks the quiet wide open is casual except that it isn't, because the way jungkook looks at him is so open that it steals anything else yoongi might have said, warps his head until he can't formulate even the most basic of follow-ups.

this ends up being fine though.

because all jungkook says is, "what if i trust you and i love you."

it strikes yoongi as mortally foolish, how he's never considered that to be possible.

*

there's no rule about how many times a vampire will fall in love, much less a half-breed.

but yoongi has always made his own world and for him, he's pretty sure (he's definitely sure)...

...this is it.

jungkook. the fold of his hand in his; his toothy smile, his resonant voice, their hands bumping into each other on stolen time and borrowed piano keys. this. the feeling of good morning whether it's morning or not. this. the grocery lists, the whites of the laundry gone pink because jungkook did a batch while he was sleepy, the small star projector jungkook is shy about leaving on because  money  but which yoongi always makes sure is on when he's home, this: yoongi's hands fitted at jungkook's waist when he pulls him close closer closest, breathes him in like a favorite taste, kisses behind his ear with the barest hint of teeth and says what jungkook keeps telling him to say -- the truth.

"ah....hungry."

warm hands reassure his own (yes you belong here, yes i belong here) and jungkook laughs a happy sighing sound, lifts one of his hands to reach back and cradle whatever of yoongi's face he can reach -- the side of his head really -- as he says,

"good."

*