#( craves garlic bread AND violence )

[erabundus]

@monogatcri &&. said... Holds garlic bread above him juuuuuust out of reach (it pays to be taller).

he  stands  there,  staring  up  at  his  (  beloved  )  garlic  bread  with  a  stony  expression.  how  droll.  does  he  expect  him  to  JUMP  for  it  like  some  meticulously  trained  circus  animal?  it  hardly  matters  how  sharply  hunger  digs  at  his  stomach;  ren  at  least  has  enough  self  respect  not  to  resort  to  such  inefficient  means.  it's  a  simple  equation,  really;  low  reward,  high  embarrassment.  he  exhales  a  little  huff  and  spins  on  his  heel.

one  step.  two  steps.  three  steps  away.  the streamer  keeps  walking  until  he's  put  an  acceptable  amount  of  distance  between  them  —  roughly  half  of  the  room,  perhaps.  enough  so  that  one  might  be  FORGIVEN  for  misreading  his  intentions.  it  looks  like  a  retreat ...  it's  nothing  of  the  sort.

TURNS AROUND AND CHARGES AT HIM.

[rekas-writes]

Hello, can I order headcanons? If so, I would like a yoru x male reader with an agent whose skills are similar to a vampire, remember to eat healthy and take care of yourself!! ♡

A/N: Hello and thank you for your order! It was really fun to write! I promise I am also taking care of myself ^^ And here’s a note for you to do the same too!

Also, my inbox has quite the stack of reqs, but I’m doing my best to get through the list as quickly and as thoroughly as possible! It’s just a little bit overwhelming ^^; It’s also not helping that Tumblr on my pc is eating my reqs ;-; I’m glad my phone has all of them still (at least I hope it does-)

✧☕✧ Thank you for ordering, please do visit again soon~! ✧🍮✧

Strange Cravings and Love Bites

Pair: Yoru/ M! Agent + Radiant! Reader Source: Valorant

Type: Headcanons - 1,222 words Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life, Angsty/Hurt w/ Comfort at the very end Perspective: Second-Person (You/Your)

TW: Mild references to violence, reader getting hurt, reader biting Yoru and getting a little carried away but he's fine! + thought of Yoru dying at the very end

⋆♱✮☽🦇☽✮♰⋆

You remind Yoru a lot of the classical vampire figure, to the point where he kind of associates you with some of the common tropes. More specifically, the weaknesses. You may not be able to tell with his prickly demeanour, but he is a worrier- especially with those he holds dear, doubly so if it concerns his boyfriend. He doesn't want you to get hurt, and ends up projecting that whenever he gets harsh.

Que his surprise when he sees you eating garlic bread or chilling casually under the sun. You had to remind him that you weren’t actually a vampire, and if they really did burn up- Reyna would have to carry an umbrella to every day mission (You heard her laugh behind you right after. You weren’t sure whether to count your days or to consider yourself on her good side)

Though, that being said, the Sun probably does have some kind of influence over you and your abilities. Maybe you have an allergic reaction if you’re under it too long, or it takes longer to channel your abilities, or you could just feel weaker under the harsh light (Maybe even changing personality like a certain FE character)

Somehow, being beside Yoru makes that all feel better, if just a little. Maybe it’s because he’s your 夜 (*Yoru -> night). Your comforting, starlit night in the overwhelming brightness of day. If you ever spill those thoughts to him, he will short-circuit no matter how hard he tries to brush it off. Any flattery unrelated to his prowess in battle is way harder for him to take in and retort, even with his ego. It’s quite easy to tease him and watch his face glow warm with a blush- like the hue of the setting Sun

"Like the night sky, you're like a blessing to me! My very own good luck charm! Thank you, Yoru."

"... You're terrible at flirting. Focus on the mission already, idiot," // Internally: "adsjjskdjdk???SDAJKDAJHKJDK???"

If your eyes are sensitive to the light, there’s a good chance he gave you a pair of sunglasses. They might’ve even been your first gift from him! Having seen you wordlessly struggling with the glaring sunlight, he either leaves a pair in your locker or shoves them in your face while avoiding your eye contact. He will never admit that he was thinking about you, let alone worrying enough to get you something. Don’t ask, he will scoff and say it’s because he doesn’t want you dragging the team behind with your incompetence. Ouch.

You may have keen senses, like Reyna’s ability to hear people’s heartbeats. Your eyes are sharp, and you can smell copper like a shark despite nothing being spilt on the battlefield just yet; or perhaps your sense of smell is more distinct. Maybe certain people smell sweet and alluring or plain and uninteresting, if you have the urge to feed just like a vampire. You may even need to feed, in order to recover your strength. (On base, you totally drink from "juice pouches" Like some kind of morbid capri-sun)

If it’s the latter, Yoru most definitely draws you in the most. There’s just something you can’t put your finger on. If you focused on it, you'd be able to guess where he was with those heightened senses of yours. Mirror Yoru really needs to watch out when you’re on the prowl, that unique draw applies to him too

As a radiant related to creatures of the night, there’s a very good chance you can shapeshift into a bat! Yoru could never admit it but he thinks that form of yours is very cute. He definitely has the urge to just hold you whenever you shift. He thinks you can’t tell, but you can see the way his expression subtly changes to one of awe. No thought, only hold bat boyfriend gently.

Some agents have definitely found you like that, just napping somewhere in the common room with you in your bat form perched on his head. You might even be able to control or summon bats! He put a limit on how many you could summon in his room, though. He's not willing to have his bed be surrounded in bats, unfortunately :(

There’s been times where you've pushed yourself too far, the strain bearing its weight down on you. Like all radiants, you get tired when you use your abilities too much. You’re running on empty when you get hit badly, body too exhausted and hungry to mend itself like usual. Alone with a hand pressed to your biggest wound, you wait- head growing foggier as time seems to all but slow down.

You can’t describe the look on Yoru’s face when he finally finds you. He’s silent, and you can't hear his usual scolding and sharp insults. It's frightening, you realise. More frightening than your possible death. Instead, he's kneeling forward and offering his arm to your mouth. It’s positively dizzying when you breathe in, self-control broken as your body demands for you to accept.

When you finally snap back to focus, you’d never felt dread like that before, lurching backwards as you try and focus on hearing the thud of Yoru’s pulse. Guilt and anxiety are at the forefront of your mind, with apologies spewing forth and shaking hands. He only brings you into a slight hug, one partially induced out of light-headedness, as he mumbles your name and a partial command/plea,

“Take better care of yourself.”

He makes you swear to come to him whenever you need to drink after that. Yoru can't bear the sight of you like that again, slouched, wounded and gasping for breath with dulling eyes, your skin a sickly hue. He was prepared to offer as much as it took to get you back to usual. He probably accidentally confessed here and now, after realising just how much you meant to him.

If immortality is part of your radiant abilities, deep down, you knew this wonderful relationship would one day become a bittersweet memory. You avoided telling him for as long as possible, not wanting to burden him with your knowledge of what will happen. But one day, it’s inevitable as you gaze at the night sky and count the stars like they’re the countdown to the day you would be left behind.

You’re sombre, the terrifying thoughts weighing you down more than usual, and Yoru can tell whatever it is that had been plaguing you for these past few weeks is really piling up. He doesn’t want to have to force it out of you, but it pains him to see you like this. He’ll wait, no matter how long it takes to gather the strength

That day, you break. It’s as he holds your hand gently- as though you’re made of glass. He calls your name, not your code name, not a nickname. His tone is just as gentle, yet firm- steadfast in letting you know he has you as much as you have him,

“You can talk to me.”

You crack and splinter, caving in to his warmth and comfort. You vent the painful pangs in your heart, the dark storm that rages in your head. All that pent up grief and pain floods out into the abyss of night. To the world’s night and your night; the night that lets you cling close and embraces you readily to soften your anguish

[barbers-glimmerin-darlin]

Get to know me better!

Thank you for the tag @jynzandtonic 💚 (also my eyes fell out my head when I saw your little reference to a home video with Toby, once again you have chosen VIOLENCE)

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

Favourite colour: Emerald green

Currently reading: a collection of Vladimir Nabokov's poetry

Last song: Dealer - Lana Del Rey

Last movie: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Last series: You

Currently craving: a huge bowl of vegetable soup with cheesy garlic bread on the side

Currently working on: my Knight!Kylo Au 💖

(No pressure) Tagging: @mylifeisactuallyamess @themuseic @hedgy-hog @sacklerscumrag @finn-ray-nal-beads (sorry for any repeat tagging guys!)

[quietmyfearswith]

come home to my heart {stucky x fem!reader}

status — completed oneshot

word count — 1,477 words

warnings — none really

pairing — stucky x fem!reader; bucky barnes x fem!reader x steve rogers (tho no stucky action in this)

a/n —took a break from the smutty and tried to write something fluffy,, might write some clark kent or sherlock soon idk lmao,, also my askbox is open for any messages !! hope u all have a wonderful day and are safe !!

masterlist

The relaxing sound of Lorde’s voice filled the deafening silence of the living room — distracting Y/N of her thoughts that were filled with negativity.

She had been told by her boyfriends that some time during the day they would return home following  their deployment in Armenia for 2 months. Upon initially finding out how long she would be away from them, she was extremely dejected but if it meant preventing terror and violence from prevailing, she was willing to put aside the sadness she felt and instead cheered her beloved super soldiers on and bid them good luck and safety on their journey. 

And after worrying and praying for not only their safety, but also the success of their mission, they were finally coming back home to her. Luckily, she had the next two days off and she planned to use them solely to catch up with her lovers. 

Humming along the song, she stood up as she heard the silent ding of the oven and pulled the garlic bread that Steve loved to pair with the carbonara she had just cooked. Setting it down on the table, she placed it beside the cinnamon buns that she had also taken the time to bake earlier since she knew with Bucky having such a sweet tooth, he’d be craving to eat something sweet.

Just as she was heading back to loveseat she was previously planted herself on she heard the rattle of keys and shuffling of heavy feet; soon enough the door did open to reveal the two bulky men covered in dirt and grime, but still managed to greet her with a bright smile. Quickly padding her way to them, she opened her arms and tried her best to wrap her arms around their enormous figures, feeling incredibly happy to have them finally home with her.

As she was pressed against their figures, Steve chuckled, “Hug us any more we’re gonna pass off our dirt to you, baby.” She looked at them with doting eyes and only in that moment did the two soldiers realize how much they missed looking at their best girl. “If getting in the bath with you means that I get to make up for the lost time, then I wouldn’t mind at all.” With that, Bucky dropped his bags on the floor and immediately carried her bridal style, smirking when she squealed at being hauled off the ground, “Well what are waiting for then? Let’s all get to the bathtub already!”

Shaking his head at Bucky’s silly antics, Steve found himself trailing behind them as the latter carried their girl up the flight of stairs. Truly, he misses being home and somehow every time he returns from a prolonged mission, he learns to cherish every moment he gets to spend time with his loved ones.

Upon arriving at the master bathroom, he smiled at how Y/N was filling up the tub with water and Bucky was undressing as he searched for the bubble bath bottle. The super soldier honestly hated bath bombs and preferred having a simple bubble bath — for this also enabled all three of them to be childlike once they played in the tub.

Getting in after the tub had been filled with enough water, Y/N smiled at Bucky as he dropped a generous amount of the mixture and moved to sit beside her. Steve joined them last, having turned on his relaxing playlist and once he went in, immediately snuggled their beloved girlfriend.

“Do you have any intentions of sharing her punk? I missed her too, you know,” Bucky jokingly pouted to which the first avenger shook his head. Y/N opened her arms, inviting the metal armed man to cuddle between her arms and he did so with a smile.

The three of them stayed like that for a while, entangled in each other’s embrace, the soothing voice of Frank Sinatra being the only noise they hear, while the warmth that radiated between their skin and the water being the only thing they felt.

“I’m really glad the both of you came home safe,” the girl lowly mumbled as her lips were pressed against Steve’s forearms. She could never get used to the both of them going away for periods of time and having to constantly worry about their well-being. Despite knowing that what they’re doing is for the greater good, she still can’t help herself to overthink, and more often than not she sees herself picturing the worst scenarios possible.

“We’re here now love,” Steve assured her as he rubbed her comfortingly. Tapping on Bucky’s chest, she signaled for her to get off and with a pout, the man did comply and looked at her puzzled, “Sit beside Steve, I’m gonna wash you both.”

Reaching for a loofa, she put some soap in it and dipped it briefly in the water. She made her way to Steve’s lap first and began on to scrub his shoulders first. Then down his bulging arms in which she playfully squeezed to which both men chuckled at how she made a silly face when she did so. After making sure both his arms were covered in soap, she proceeded to pay attention to his pecs, but before doing so she placed a gentle kiss on them; which resulted in the man’s heartbeat becoming fast, touched by her affection.

When her fingers started to touch the sides of his stomach, right where his stretch marks were, he began to tense. After being injected with the serum, he had stretch marks due to how his body had changed. Though at first one wouldn’t notice it, it added to Steve’s multitude of insecurities. Their love, however, seemed to not see it as a flaw of his character.

Placing a small kiss to his lips she assured him, “I’d kiss that spot but then I wouldn’t be able to breathe with all the water,” her small giggle was something he reciprocated, “Maybe later okay?” He nodded, eyes glued to where she was now pressing the loofa against his legs.

Bucky watched with adoration with how their girl was treating them, and as she climbed on his lap after putting soap on the loofa he saw her bright smile and began working on cleaning the filth and exhaustion off his body. Unlike with Steve, she first started with his chest and stomach, after she proceeded to soap up his arms.

When it came to his shoulders, she washed first the side that carried his metal arm. It was a natural reaction — one he could not help — but when the pads of her fingers grazed the scars, he hissed and closed his eyes. But he quickly opened his eyes upon feeling her soft lips litter kisses on the scars. His eyes had tears peeking out of them by the time she stopped placing tender kisses on them and was now scrubbing his shoulder and the rest of his body.

As she busied herself in rinsing her two boyfriends, they both sat there in awe — knowing that they got to come home to someone who greatly cares and looks after them soothed their bruised and broken soul. Her affection towards the insecurities of their bodies made them feel more proud of them. That if this embodiment of an angel loves and accepts them, what should they be worried for?

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Bucky said after she was done, which led to her tilting her head to the side in confusion. Steve chuckled and placed a kiss on where her eyebrows were furrowed, “For taking care of us,” he explained for Bucky.

Her face smoothed out once he explained, “Of course, you know I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure you’re both happy and safe.” Moving forward, she placed a sweet kiss on each of their lips.

“You don’t know how much what you did meant to us, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered lowly against her hair as he pulled her chest to rest against his, wrapping her in his warm embrace, “Kissing and caressing our scars and stretch marks, being gentle as you wash us, cooking and baking us a meal — like a doting wife you are.” 

Her giggle vibrated against his chest, her hand reaching for Steve’s calloused ones, bringing it to her lips and pressing kisses on them, “I might be an ordinary girl, but I’m gonna make sure I make you both feel all my love for the both of you.”

Steve and Bucky could feel their hearts break and mend back again with how much they were being loved and cared for. Tapping on her hand, Steve moved to stand up from the tub to prevent the tears that were threatening to escape his eyes, “Well come on, let’s dry off and eat the meal our doting wife prepared.”

[hisakata-resutomoshibi]

I’ve gotta ask: what does the word “dinner” mean to fae!Kuro? Does he think he’s going to be eaten? And if your taking votes for the mysterious visitor I’m putting down money on Tsubaki or Lily. Currently leaning more towards Tsubaki.

I'm so glad you asked that Anon! I didn’t have a chance to go into detail and it’s a really dumb cute little thing I wanted to write, so here we go! --->

Mahiru had been watching Kuro over the top of his water glass for a while now; every few seconds he would blink quickly and his eyes would dart around the small pub they were in as though he were looking for someone. Finally the mystery proved too annoying and Mahiru cleared his throat and leaned forward. “What’s your problem now?”

“My problem?” Kuro repeated inquisitively. “What does that mean?”

Mahiru rolled his eyes and rested his chin in his hand. "You're acting suspiciously."

"Ah, and how is that?" He smiled slyly, his lips curling up. "I'm just here having, ah, dinner with you, was it?"

Feeling his patience beginning to thin, Mahiru sighed gustily. "Yes. Here we are having dinner. But you're acting like someone is about to sneak up on you."

"No, no, fortunately, I assure you, we are quite alone." Kuro hesitantly picked up a breadstick and peered at it curiously before waving it in Mahiru's face. "And so I must ask, what is this?"

"A breadstick??"

Kuro shook his head, the lingering grin finally fading from his face. "No, not this. I mean THIS." He once again waved the breadstick but this time Mahiru realized he was gesturing towards the room as a whole, indicating their surroundings and all it encompassed.

"First, put that down!" Mahiru snapped, grabbing the bread and tossing it back in the basket. "And second, what do you mean 'what is this', why are all your questions and explanations so vague and irritating?"

"Fae rules." Kuro said lightly, shrugging.

"Right, whatever." He muttered, hand to his temple. "Well if I take it literally, this is a restaurant. But you knew that, so I'm guessing what you meant was what are- we specifically- doing here?" Kuro merely smiled once more and Mahiru sighed, shoulders slumping. "You're so annoying. This is..." He trailed off, unsure what exactly to call what they were doing. As he pondered the correct terminology, he suddenly pieced together Kuro's jitters and confusion, his strange reaction when Mahiru had suggested they go out. "Hold on!" He yelled, slamming his hands on the table, rattling the dishes. "Do you think this is a date?!"

Several other people glanced nervously over at his outburst and he blushed, hiding his face in his hands. He refused to say anything more and Kuro seemed content not to break the silence so it was not until the entrees had arrived (both ordered by Mahiru) that he looked up again. One brow raised and poking his steak experimentally, Kuro missed when Mahiru cast a cursory look over him.

"You got that from one of those dumb soap operas you were watching didn't you?!"

Reluctantly, Kuro glanced at Mahiru, his glowing red eyes wide. "Unlikely." He finally murmured.

"Bullshit!" Mahiru spat. "You totally did!"

"And what else am I to make of this?"

"That's simple! We're just two people out having... dinner... together..." His brows pulled down in perplexity and he jerked his head back up, meeting Kuro's amused gaze. "No!"

"I haven't said anything." Kuro intoned calmly. "What do I do with this?" He held up the steak, having forgone the fork and instead skewered it with one overly long, black, claw like nail.

Forgetting his mortification, Mahiru burst into laughter, eyes watering at the sight of this strange creature disguised as a man, wiggling an entire T bone steak on his finger. "You eat it, are you kidding me?"

Kuro made a displeased noise, staring down at the steak, glistening in the low table lighting and dripping juice onto the plate. "I can't say that it looks very appetizing."

"Oh, yeah?" Mahiru challenged him, grinning. "And what do you eat where you're from?"

"Where I'm from? Or where I was?"

Mahiru waved a hand in answer, taking a bite of the garlic potatoes that were piled artfully next to the salmon on his plate.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Kuro asked slyly, leaning forward and letting the steak fall back to the plate with a small, wet slap.

"Maybe not." Mahiru muttered, cutting his eyes away. "At least not while I'm trying to enjoy this." He held out a spoonful of the potatoes, watching warily to see if his new "vampire" would react to the garlic. To his surprise, Kuro only raised a brow, going slightly cross eyed as he looked at the potatoes, and snorted.

"As I said, not appetizing."

"You said you didn't need to eat." Mahiru pointed out, lowering the spoon in mild disappointment.

"No, but I did not say I didn't LIKE to eat." He corrected, flashing a glimpse of shining white fangs. "It is one of life’s great pleasures."

Kuro had purred the word and not for the first time since Mahiru had spotted him across the pavilion, he felt a shiver run up his spine. It was a confusing mix of emotions all wrapped up into one knee-jerk reaction; fear, curiosity, and, embarrassingly enough, attraction. But what part, exactly, of Kuro was it that he found attractive? He was almost scared to find the answer to that because there was a small part of him that thought perhaps it might be the unknown, the danger and violence, that Kuro breathed out like carbon dioxide. Only a few hours and he could already feel himself adjusting to, even craving, that primal shock that would fray his nerves when Kuro did something sudden.

"Oh no." He moaned, letting his head fall into his hands in resignation. "I'm in so much trouble."

"And what sort of trouble is that?" Kuro asked, leaning forward, his eyes darting over Mahiru's face in a strange blend of concern and delight.

"None of your business." Mahiru snapped, trying to pick up his fork with more gusto and confidence than necessary and instead sending it spinning across the table. "I just-"

"Of course, you must realize-" Kuro added casually, twirling his own fork between his fingers and smirking as Mahiru glowered at the showy display. "Your trouble is my trouble as well."

A curious emotion trickled down his spine and Mahiru sighed, deciding to decipher its meaning later. "If it's so much of a pain why not just dissolve this- whatever this is?"

"Impossible!" Kuro exclaimed, face twisting in horror. "How could you suggest such a thing?"

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure what it is I just suggested."

"Contract dissolution can be attained through two means." Kuro recited, closing his eyes and holding up two long fingers. "One, death of the holder, and two, transformation." He cracked one eye back open, studying Mahiru. "You want neither of those."

"Which one of us dies?" Mahiru asked jokingly, but immediately regretted it when Kuro flinched as though struck. "Hey, I only meant-"

"You." Kuro interrupted lowly.

In the dim lighting fluttering from the candles and hanging chandeliers, Mahiru thought he caught just a glimpse of those sparkling, twining horns again and he bit his lip in worry. It had been a joke, all of this felt like a joke really, but here, somehow so alone in such a public setting, Kuro had once again exuded that sense of danger and power and Mahiru could feel his confidence in the unreality of the situation crumbling away. "Great." He muttered dejectedly.

Again, I hope you guys aren't taking these too seriously lol. I'm having a fucking rad time but none of this is planned and I have no brain so please just enjoy the fun, dangerous, soft boi time! 💙🖤

P.s. as for the mysterious visitor I have some ideas! I'll be back soon with the next bit~ *finger guns*

[atzdrabbles-blog]

CHERRY PIE ; introduction. 

genre: mafia au, 3rd person.

trigger warnings: yandere themes, kidnapping, drugs, weapons, violence, gang related shit, graphic details about death, adult content, cursing, stockholm syndrome ? 

setting: present day - new york city.

rating: 18+

authors note: the female character’s name is solar and referenced as halsey HOWEVER imagine her however you would like it isn’t too important. this is just an introduction, almost prologue to any more chapters. also !! pls let me know if you’d like to see this on either tumblr or wattpad !! i’d prefer wattpad because it’s easier for me to update.

character mention: solar (original female character), moon (original female character, solar’s younger sister), romeo (original male character, solar’s father) park seonghwa, jackson wang, choi san, kim hongjoong, im jaebeom, jung wooyoung, park jinyoung, park sooyoung (joy), bambam bts (brief mention as the group bangtan), aseven (ateez and got7)

word count: 1.1k

MASTERLIST - INTRODUCTION - CHAPTER ONE

she sighs, the dress pressing tight against her skin, it’s almost as if she wants the night to be over before it’s began. her makeup is perfect, flawless in fact, red lipstick against her lips like a second skin, and eyeliner just right. she takes the black high heals and slides them onto her feet before leaving her bedroom to walk down the hallway and take the stairs to the ballroom; her mother and father’s wedding anniversary party just beginning, the house filled with guests from all over the world thanks to his work.

it wasn’t her fault she was born into that family - a family known for their businesses that weren’t exactly legal. she hated it. years of private schooling, and louis vuitton baggage couldn’t make up for the long nights left alone with only her younger sister to keep her company in the house too large for a family of five. the minute her older brother turned eighteen her went into work, working for their father, and by the age of twenty two he was shot and killed in a fight between rivals. her father was way too old fashioned to believe that his elder daughter should be involved in anything they did and she was thankful for that.

“solar, sweetheart, come on and say hello.” solar’s mother’s voice echoed through the ballroom, and the young girl followed towards her. she didn’t want to say hello, she barely wanted to be there. she just wanted her bed at the moment, her stomach growing - craving carbs, and sweet things. her mind pre-occupied about the thought of pizza, chicken wings, garlic bread - even cherry pie right after. 

it’s an hour into the party when things start going weird, a glass of champagne in solar’s hand as her father started to speak to his guests; businessmen from paris with their wives, leaders of other gangs and their men, and family members who knew nothing of what went on behind closed doors. 

“thank you all for being here tonight to celebrate my twentieth wedding anniversary with my wife, alana. it’s been a wild few years since the passing of our son - “

while she had been paying attention to the speech her father was saying, someone else had his eyes on her. and slowly but surely, he’d managed to get his way to situate himself behind the girl, placing the tray of champagne glasses down and pulling out the ten millimetre gun from his pocket, placing it against her lower back; signalling to his men to follow through with the plan. a plan that had been in the making for the past six months.

“don’t make a fucking sound,” his voice whispered against her ear, ripping through her soul as she held back even a whimper at the object pressing into her skin.”you’re going to listen to everything i say, got it, solar?”

she could only nod her head, a smirk forming against the man’s face. “in a few minutes the lights are going to go out and i’m going to lead you out of this building. don’t worry, you won’t be alone, we have your sister.”

for park seonghwa the thought of capturing the girl he had lusted after for the past year was more exciting than scary - knowing what her father could, and would, do them if he found out or got the chance, didn’t even phase him. he’d have his love in his arms - she just didn’t know she was the apple of his eye. he’d met her when aseven had been working under bangtan in japan; well he didn’t exactly meet her.

she sat in the car while her father had discussed things with the korean gang, aseven being hired as mainly protection with men like jackson wang and choi san in the group they had quickly become sort after bodyguards in both south korea and internationally. seonghwa had spotted the girl with bright blue hair and immediately fell in love with her. 

the “friendship” between the buffalo group and bangtan was short lived, after the deal had finished a few months later the two didn’t acknowledge each other which meant seonghwa couldn’t see his beloved who didn’t even know his name. 

it turned out that the buffalo group had a lot more money than they let on, and brothers (well, half brothers), kim hongjoong and im jaebeom had the idea of taking something romeo treasured dearly and getting enough money to sort out any shit they needed to figure out back home. it was seonghwa who suggested his daughter, jung wooyoung had suggested his wife but the group decided against it. and park jinyoung had an idea that would shake everyone up, brilliant and evil.

it took six months of planning but now they were ready; a select few dressed as waiters had gotten into the party, that had been invite only, while another couple managed to sneak their way into it, thanks to the help of park sooyoung. and now they were ready.

the lights had gone off, like the mysterious man had told solar, and she was pushed out of the building before the gunfire started. the van she was transported into was a catering van with blacked out windows.

once seonghwa had managed to get the girl into the van, he gripped her wrists in his hands, securing them with rope. “now, sweetheart, we don’t want you to get feisty, do we?”

solar let out an almost laugh, lifting her legs up to attempt to kick the taller boy, to which he pouted as he grabbed her legs, knocking her off balance from where she had been made to sit down, “you’re fucking lucky you’re beautiful.” the words were mumbled, and before solar had known it her legs were joined with her wrists, tied up with rope. 

“fuck you,” she spat towards him, anger filling up her blood. 

it took seonghwa a lot of effort not to laugh and say something that would most likely ruin their plan, “if you keep that dirty mouth up you won’t see your sister, princess.” 

that killed her inside, her sister was her entire world. just before she could say anything else, the doors opened and in flew a few more men, masks covering their faces, blood decorating their clothes. 

“mingi, drive!” one yelled, throwing his gun to the floor and wiping his hands. he turned to the girl, a grin appearing on his face, “ah, seonghwa managed to get you i see.” his fingers pressed against her jaw, her face immediately turning away, a mark of blood landing on her cheek. 

“bambam, leave her alone, she’s not yours.”

[sterekchub]

Part 1.

A/N: I’m really sorry. This got SO far away from me and....yeah. 

OCTOBER:

Legend has it that that the Being created the Gods and Goddesses to bring balance to the newly created Earth. Heaven was split into two groups – the Virtues and Sins. The God of Giving and the Goddess of Greed. The Goddess of Moderation and the God of Gluttony. Chastity and Lust. Forgiveness and Wrath. Truth and Heresy. Peace and Violence. One day, Greed decided she wanted total dominion over the Earth. Joined by the other Sins, they tried to overthrow the Virtues.

As punishment, the Being cast the Sins out of Heaven. Unable to destroy immortal beings, they were sentenced to their own domain in the Circles of Hell. The Sins would be cursed for all eternity, unable to partake in their own sins,  only able to watch over other sinning souls.

Once every hundred years, on All Hallows Eve, the Sins can cross from the Circles of Hell into limbo into the mortal world. Only by possessing a kindred soul can the Sins stay in the mortal world for twelve lunar cycles, before returning to  - .

The last word got smeared out by a large blob of ketchup.

“Shit!” Stiles hurriedly grabbed a napkin to clean off the offending strain. He only succeeded in turning the majority of the page a dull red. Shrugging, he stuffed another handful of fries in his mouth, marking the page down as he did so with a blue sticky note, indicating a true myth, rather than a “myth likely to be factual.”

“How’s it going?” Scott stopped and sniffed the air. “Your room reeks like a drive-thru. Have you been eating fast food all week?”

Stiles waved a fry at him. “Hey, this is all brain food.  Deaton gave me all these books and I think half of them are all nonsense. Werewolves and banshees and wendigoes are one thing, Gods and circles of Hell are just made up stories.”

“Have time to take a break and catch a movie? It’s the Halloween double-feature: Scream and Nightmare on Elm Street.”

“Hell yes, Dude!”

***

NOVEMBER:

Two weeks after Halloween, Stiles finally caved and went to see Deaton. It took a while to explain his problem. He wasn’t being possessed like he had been before. There were no periods of time he couldn’t remember, no second voice in his head influencing his decisions. He wasn’t watching helplessly as someone else controlled his body. There was, however, something in his head constantly suggesting foods, regardless if he had just eaten or not. Stiles would eat his usual Chinese take-out order and suddenly find himself desperately craving pizza, his mind buzzing and unable to focus on anything else.

Deaton, as his usual expressive self, didn’t say a word until Stiles was finished his explanation. Then he pulled out the book Stiles had been pouring over weeks ago and opened to the ketchup-stained, blue tagged page.

“Are you kidding me? I thought it was a myth.”

“Most of the supernatural world is a myth.”

“So I’m possessed by an immortal being. Again.”

Deaton nodded. “Gluttony is not malicious in nature. The Sins only possess humans to ah – live vicariously through them. It cannot control you.  Likely it will seek to share and intensify any of you experiences, not try to manipulate you into new ones.”

Stiles’ stomach grumbled. “Really?’

‘It can offer suggestions and perhaps forceful persuasions but aside from the cravings, it holds no actual power.”

“Great. So I’m a demon’s personal eating machine.”

“You could try fighting it. It will only last a year. It may be beneficial. Typically Demon possession does offer the host with extra strength and stamina to ensure their health.”

“Wonderful.”

***

DECEMBER

Stiles had never been happier to have a job that allowed him to work from home. It turned out the trick to keep the cravings down was to either eat a lot at once, or be constantly snacking. So long as Stiles kept munching on things every few minutes, he could actually focus on his work, rather than focusing on his next meal. It had taken him a few weeks of trying to fight against the constant grumbling of his stomach and fleeing images of food running across his head, but finally Stiles had gotten into the swing of living with a Gluttony Demon residing in his head.

It started with Oreos. Stiles had pulled open his desk drawer to finish off the last row of Oreos, needing something sweet after his afternoon of munching on chips. Apparently, finishing those off wasn’t enough and Stiles found himself compelled to run to the store for more. Stiles felt a thrill of excitement that definitely did not belong to him when he saw just how many varieties the stored offered. Stiles supposed that, not having tasted food in a hundred years, the choices of the 21st century were overwhelming.

One of everything went into his basket, Oreos thins, mini, double-stuffed, golden, birthday cake, mega stuffed, mint, red velvet, cinnamon bun, lemon, mystery flavored, peanut butter, chocolate, chocolate hazelnut, chocolate peanut-butter, brownie batter, apple pie, fudge covered, and completely unnecessarily, regular. Stiles gave the Demon credit – he wasn’t picky and wanted to be very thorough in his attempts to try everything possible.

The boxes were finished by the end of the week. It really wasn’t a hardship. Stiles always had a big sweet tooth. Plus, who didn’t love Oreos? He tried not to think about how it took a few seconds longer to force his button his pants on Sunday. Or about how his normal junk-food cravings were becoming alarming frequent and a staple of his daily diet. Stiles’ always had a fast metabolism. For the amount of pizza and cafeteria food Stiles ate during college, he only had put on the freshman fifteen. So he could handle a few hundred Oreos. No problem.

“It’s really not that bad,” he told his father one night on the phone. “It’s an excuse to eat anything I want.”

“You have always been a model of restraint,” John replied sarcastically.

“Someone had to keep the unhealthy stuff away from you.”

‘Just take care of yourself, kid. And don’t call me when you get stuck in a doorway.”

“Haha. It’s under control, Dad. Don’t worry.”

***

JANUARY

Things were becoming less “under control” when the Demon had gone through all the possible snacks Stiles could think of and progressed to wanting full meals. Multiple meals. Several times a day. It was becoming increasingly frustrating to try and work on his novel. He was either focused on what he was going to eat or was sleepily watching dumb videos online as he fell into a food coma. Optimistically, he told himself it was just a phase. Last month it had been snacks, this month it was meals, next month maybe it would be fruit or salads or something.

Currently, he was laying on his couch, polishing off the last of his Chinese takeout order, with reruns of some HGTV show playing in the background. He really did feel like a glutton when he ate like this. He should have stopped a container of sweet and sour pork and five egg rolls ago, but he had kept going. It was hard to tell if the cravings were the Demon in his head or the subconscious need to finish everything. Just to see if he could. Just to feel the weight of having his gut filled, swollen and protruding over his waistband, forcing him to take a few more bites of food, pushing the final egg roll into his mouth before leaning back against the couch with a soft moan of relief. He closed his eyes, listening to woman on television debating what house she wanted. He nodded off before finding out what house she picked, an arm resting over his belly.

Stiles dreamed of pizza. He was in the pizza parlor, sitting at a lone table in the center of the restaurant. Servers stood around him, each offering him different slices, acting like he was some grand judge on a food competition, insisting he had to try them all before he made his decision. Stiles was reaching for piece after piece, stuffing them into his mouth impossibly fast while his belly started to push out in front of him. Another couples of pizza slices, or maybe entire pizza’s later, his stomach knocked over the table in front of him as it kept growing in size…

He woke up with a start and reached for his phone. He already had the pizza place on speed dial.

“Thank you for calling Charlie’s Pizza. What can I get for you?”

“A medium meat lover’s pizza and an order of wings.”

“Is that it?”

“Ye – ” Another craving hit him. Stiles rubbed his still full belly and added resignedly.  “ – and an order of breadsticks. And garlic bread.”

‘Your total will $21.27. See you in a half-hour.”

***

FEBRUARY

“Look, I get it. I’m getting fat and turning into a pig. You don’t need to bring me my – my daily feed or whatever!”

Derek stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You! I know you’ve been having the pack cook for me! Even Jackson dropped food off. From his personal chef!”

Derek set the bag of carefully packaged food he was holding on the counter. “We figured you were getting sick of takeout.”

“I can cook for myself.”

“You haven’t been cooking.”

“And how do you know that?” Stiles asked angrily. “Busy stalking me but couldn’t be bothered to actually say ‘Hi, Stiles, want to do something?’ Or do you just get a laugh watching me do nothing all day but eat alone?”

“I can tell by the trashcan overflowing with take-out containers, Stiles. Don’t blame me for this. I’ve been texting you. Scott has been texting you. You’ve ignored everyone.”

 Stiles shoulders sagged in defeat. “I know. I’m sorry. I thought I could handle this.”

Derek pulled the younger man against him, burying his face in the Stiles’ neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, Big Guy.” He wrapped his arms tighter around Derek. “I do appreciate the food.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be eating only junk-food.”

“Yes, Dad,” Stiles said playfully. “I make sure I’m eating vegetables.”

“Fried vegetables don’t count.”

“They sort of count.”

Derek growled. Stiles stayed still for a few more minutes, content to just be in Derek’s reassuring embrace for a while longer.

“Hey, Der. What if – what it I don’t really mind this?”

There was no answer for a few seconds. Derek merely stiffened, then pulled pack enough to press a gentle kiss to Stiles’ lips. “It’s okay.”

“And I don’t mind getting to eat so much.”

“Okay.”

“And maybe I like being this heavy.”

“Okay.”

Stiles swatted him on the arm. “Forget how to use words again?”

“Ever think I don’t mind either?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank god.” Stiles squirmed out of Derek’s grip and started pulling Tupperware containers out of the bag. “Because I’m starving.”

“Wasting away.” Derek agreed.

Stiles response was lost behind the food he had already started shoveling in his mouth. “This is amazing. Have I ever said that you’re my favorite person?”

“Hmm. Nope. Never came up. Good thing we aren’t dating, or anything.”

“Ass. But I forgive you for making this amazing food.”

“They’re my mother’s recipes. I don’t know if I got them quite right, but I thought you might want something new.”

“Any free food is good food. My entire paycheck has been going to food and new jeans.”

“You know I can pay – ”

“ I am not being the sugar baby in this relationship.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” Stiles grinned. He tossed the empty container into the sink and grabbed a second one. “Sorry, I’d offer you some but –” Stiles gestured to his protruding middle. There was a clear few inches of pale skin sticking out from under his shirt. Time to size up. Again. “Unless you want to hear this complaining all night, I need all the food I can get.”

The food Derek had brought was sufficient enough to keep Stiles’ stomach from growling through the night. In the early hours of the morning, before Stiles was even awake, his stomach started rumbling. Derek left him a stack of pancakes and bacon. Next to the plate was a credit card with a scribbled note: Use it. Please.

***

MARCH (Sorry for Derek and Stiles both being a little bad about respecting each other’s privacy in this section. Not that either of them mind…)

Derek never had a very interesting browser history. He had left it open on his computer, which was just unfairly asking for someone to take a quick peek. Stiles felt mildly guilty about it, comforted only by telling himself Derek eavesdropped on most his conversations and always pointed out when he was lying. Granted, Derek couldn’t exactly lose his werewolf abilities, but still, boundaries. Stiles considered it even.

The browser history had, unsurprisingly, nothing interesting.  A few recipes, a couple of monster lore searches, a least once a week a visit to his credit card statement… That seemed unusual. Derek didn’t even have that card on him; it was the one he had left for Stiles (which he had reluctantly agreed to use after a few arguments. Stiles wasn’t a starving artist per say, but nor was he independently wealthy).

Now it seemed like an even trade off. His boyfriend pays for his food and then – Stiles grinned. Really, it was a miracle Derek hadn’t gotten possessed by the Lust demon. There must be a level of hell reserved for getting off this many times to their boyfriend, without telling them….

Stiles was still sitting in front of the computer when Derek came back to the loft. “So, worried I’m spending too much money, or just very interested in how much I’ve been eating?”

Derek turned so red Stiles was concerned he had forgot how to breath for a few moments. “I can explain.”

“That you’ve been getting off to how much food I’ve ordered? That’s pretty kinky, Derek.” He lifted up the hem of his shirt, letting his belly wobble out. It took up a considerable amount of space in his lap now. “I’d say you like thinking about how fat I’m getting.”

“Jesus, Stiles, I can’t pay my bills without being turned on. Do you know how many times you’ve ordered food in the past month?

Stiles grinned wider. “Just think that isn’t all I’ve eaten. I’ve been putting groceries on my card, and Lydia dropped off some pies and Mrs. McCall made the best mac&cheese casseroles for me….”

“I know,” Derek groaned. “Look at this, Stiles.” He knelt in front of Stiles, lifting his belly up, struggling to undo the button of his jeans, before letting it thud back into his lap jiggling. “You haven’t – stopped – eating.”

“Can’t help it. A glutton has to eat. ‘M getting so fat, Derek.”  “Can’t believe how much food you order in a day. How much does it take to fill this belly now, Stiles? 

“Why don’t - ah” Stiles moaned, leaning further back in his chair as Derek started mouthing at Stiles’ sensitive underbelly. “Why don’t you order some food and I’ll show you.”

[omnical]

I Sing the Body Electric... (2/?)

( Previous - Next )

Summary: Dr. Angela Ziegler knows a few things about Detective Fareeha Amari.

Genre: AU, Romance. Dark humor, supernatural elements.

Characters/Pairings: Angela, Fareeha, Pharmercy; minor: Lucio, Mei

Rating: T, mentions of body gore and third party violence, dark humor.

Links: AO3

Dr. Angela Ziegler did not know what she was doing with her life.

To be fair, she never expected to be haunted by her own insecurities, but Angela supposed reaching her thirties was the primary culprit of her sudden change of heart. She never used to worry, and never used to wonder if she was wasting her life by focusing on her work, until she found it barely made her happy anymore. 

Sometimes Angela allowed herself to sink back into her memories. Mostly whenever feelings of intense sadness came into her mind, unbidden. Memories of when she was a child in her father’s study, wide-eyed and curious about his strange books, and colorful anatomical models with their detachable parts.

She remembered examining them with her pudgy toddler hands, lower lip sticking out as she took them apart --  cillary body, choroid, sclera, lens -- before putting the parts back together again. She liked putting them back together again.

She remembered her parents telling her how smart she was, how good she was, pride lighting their eyes. If she tried hard enough, Angela could still remember their voices. It helped lift her spirits up, sometimes.

However, her parents’ untimely passing did not exhaust love and warmth from her life. She lead a happy and carefree childhood, after her parents died. Her aunt and uncle tried their hardest to fill that silence in her heart with their own voices, and sometimes Angela thought it worked. Your mother and father would have been so proud of you, Angela.

And now, after making a living out of being smart, she became Auntie Dr. Angela, who sent the best sweets and the newest toys despite missing family gatherings for the holidays sometimes.

And birthday parties.

And weddings. Video calls.

Auntie’s funeral.

“It’s all right, my dear. Maybe you can come next year?”

...

Dr. Lindholm found Angela dissociating in front of her computer monitor one day.

He brought her hot chocolate from the coffee machine in the pantry, the beverage watery and clumped up with cheap chocolate powder. And with it, he effectively coaxed her out of her mental calisthenics. She was like a terrified critter hiding inside her burrow. “You always did think too much for your own good.” He said.

She had no one else to turn to, no one else to confide in, until Dr. Lindholm, poorly hiding the hurt he felt after Angela hesitated to tell him initially, managed to make her spill everything with one look.

“When I was your age, I ended up working myself to the bone, too.” Dr. Lindholm grumbled through his words, speaking with a gruff gentleness only a father of seven would have. “Until my poor wife knocked some sense into this hard noggin’ of mine, and I had to look back at myself and what I was missing. But that’s life.”

“Why did you decide to stay?”

“I was happy with my job and I still am.” He answered, tugging his mustache with a thumb and forefinger. “Sometimes you need to figure out what’s best for you, get your hands dirty. But it is different for everybody, Angela. Whatever worked for me might not work for you. These things don’t come with a manual.”

“I see.”

“Guess that means you can do whatever the hell you want.”

“It would be easier if I knew what I wanted to do.”

“Take a day off.” Dr. Lindholm said, patting her shoulder. “Away from all this crap. Maybe that will help clear your head?”

Angela walked to a pub that evening with some of her coworkers, some of them surprised that one of their local recluse bothered to join them at all. She holed herself up against the corner of the pub at first, until Dr. Winston invited her to throw a few darts with him, which was fun despite missing the dartboard the entire time. She also cheered for a losing football team, got into a heated debate about rugby with a baffled stranger, drinking pint after pint. Mirthful brown eyes watched her all night.

After getting ‘plenty pissed’, she went home. Angela woke up with a bad hangover, her mouth sour, and a pulsing headache, wondering if her night out helped.

She felt inclined to disagree after vomiting all over her bathroom floor. It took hours until she mustered the strength to clean up after her own mess.

The next day, Dr. Angela Ziegler deleted her resignation letter, and never thought about quitting her job again.

The steel autopsy table glinted from the bright surgical lights overhead.

When Angela closed her eyes, blinding spots shaped like surgical light bulbs flashed behind her eyelids. She blinked, long and hard, willing them to go away.

When she opened them again, she noticed Lucio was sending her a look over the autopsy table, a pair of forceps in his hand.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“I can see that.”

Angela looked down at their patient.

Hi .

Time to get back to work.

An assistant drone whizzed past Angela’s eyesight with a mechanical hum. Its gears and internal mechanisms whirring and clicking, its optical eye taking photographs of the cadaver, and stowing away details for the report; breaking them down into categories. Nails, skin, hair. And while the drone did its work, Angela exhaled, letting a long breath whoosh from her lips.

“February 8, 1:45 PM. Female, forty-eight years old. Found in her living room, seven hours after time of death, which was estimated at: February 7, 10 PM. According to investigation reports, she died from an unwitnessed cardiac arrest.” Angela frowned beneath her medical mask. “Her family wanted to be sure about the cause of death. As far as we know, she was alone at home. No evidence of assault or struggle.”

The patient’s feet were swollen. Taut skin stretched across sharp lines of bone. The corpse’s flesh -- once brown and aglow with the rosy hue of life -- was now ashen and cold. The patient’s face was expressionless, grim. Mrs. Tanner looked peaceful in her final rest.

I am so sorry.

“Assistant drones found some areas of her clothing were singed.” Angela said. “Very slight, almost undetectable. There were no signs of burns on the corpse, either.”

“That’s weird.”

“Very weird.”

“The police reports never mentioned anything which might have caused it.” Lucio said, “Think it’s conclusive evidence, doc?”

“Maybe. If only things can be that easy.”

Angela fiddled with the plastic shield protecting her face. She fixed her rubber gloves around her wrists, listening to it snap against her skin, as if the sound would quell the storm forming inside her heart.

“Okay, I am ready.” Angela said, “Let’s open her up.”

Lucio handed her a scalpel.

…

“Wanna order Italian later, doc?”

“That sounds great. I’m craving garlic bread.”

“I know this place that makes amazing garlic bread. They make their own bread -- fancy restaurants always make their own bread -- so you know it’s super fancy. It’s a walk away from here, but totally worth it.” Lucio said. “Better not have too much, though, people say garlic breath is a turn off for some people. If you know what I mean.”

Angela held the sternal saw aloft. She sent him a dirty look.

“Hey, I'm just saying.”

“We are recording this session, Dr. dos Santos.”

“Nobody but us listens to it, anyway, what's the harm?”

“Ugh.” Angela turned the saw on and began to cut across the sides of their patient’s rib cage.

...

“Need help there, doc?”

“Yes.” Angela nodded. “Take this to the tray, please.”

“Got it.”

“Thank you.”

Working with the dead followed a careful step-by-step scientific process.

“Checking the pericardial sac. Scalpel, please? The small one.”

The other half of the job was to understand the abstract.

“Maybe a towel, too.” she added. “There is a lot of liquid in the cavity.”

Whenever Angela got bored during her trip to and from work, she found herself watching ordinary people mill about in their daily lives. A person showing signs of nicotine addiction. An elderly woman waiting in a cafe who was probably diabetic, her coffee order later confirming Angela’s guess. A child chasing a cat after recovering from a broken leg, maybe two or three weeks ago. They were textbook and precise observations, nearly perfected after years of practice.

Since their patients did not have the ability to speak for themselves anymore, or show discomfort, or express pain, they took it upon themselves to help reveal the dead’s final words. But it was the unpredictable human mind which added tons of variables and what-ifs in the equation; something unseen from the abstract could turn a murder case around and present truths from lies. Their patient’s final meal. Their medicine intake. Past ailments. Angela had a knack for the abstract.

“What do you think so far?” Dr. dos Santos asked, helping her lift a layer of flesh with a large pair of forceps.

Dr. Ziegler, hands deep inside the body’s chest cavity, answered. “Homicide.”

“How’d you figure?”

“Let’s call it a gut feeling, doctor.” An amused wrinkle appeared around Angela’s eyes, revealing the smile under her mask.

“Ha, very funny.” Lucio said. “Are you suggesting a killer clown appeared from her television screen and scared her to death?” He chuckled, “We should send that report to the Chief of Police. Get his grouchy ass storming our office.”

"Wouldn’t that be a sight."

“Speaking of the Chief of Police--”

Angela and Lucio jumped at the new voice.

A short woman, round-faced and perky, smiled at them from behind the autopsy room doors. “I am so sorry for interrupting you guys." she said with a nervous giggle, "How is the examination going?”

“Lucio and I are still not finished with this one, Mei.” Angela said, bowing her head in apology. “Would it be possible if you told Captain Morrison we will finish this after three?”

“Okay,” Mei shrugged, throwing the pair a knowing look. “I guess I’ll tell Detective Dimples to come back another time.”

Dr. Ziegler dropped her scalpel in Mrs. Tanner’s chest.

“Oh, shit.”

Detective Amari was here.

Detective Fareeha Amari.

Fareeha Amari. She was here.

Angela skidded to a halt outside her office door, and took a moment to stare at the twisted knotholes of the wood. Blue eyes, dancing like two fading matchsticks, unable to focus where she was looking until Angela concentrated all her intent on the silver of the doorknob. She had to find the strength to open the door eventually.

Angela worried her lower lip, fingers combing the messy rat’s nest of hair on her head. She tugged at the lapels of her white coat, which smelled of antiseptic and murk from the autopsy earlier. It stank on her skin, under her nose, and her eyes had deep bags under them, as if they were two small ditches dug out by a worn trowel. The scent and look of death always clung to her, but she thought it was impossible to look nice after spending hours in the morgue.

After a few moments shifting her weight between her feet, she willed steel into her bones and pushed the door open. A beam of white light from the hallway’s fluorescent lighting escaped through the gap, and as soon as she opened the door, a person’s shadow revealed itself stretched out onto the rug. She hesitated, her eyes adjusting from the dim room after walking through the hall. Dark clouds covered the sun, the rain pelting her window, overall encompassing her office with a dreary, gray overtone.

When her eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting, Angela’s gaze followed the unmoving shadow to its source -- who was wearing a pair of soggy black shoes.

Her eyes traced up to dark trouser pants, pressed, creased, hiding a pair of elegant, long legs. A coat hung over their shoulders, limp and drenched from the afternoon rain.

Detective Fareeha Amari loomed above Angela’s desk, surveying the mass of documents and towers of folders strewn about. Her head quirked to the side, probably in curiosity, hair dripping with rain water. It was a miracle Detective Amari did not notice Angela leaning against the doorway, her knees folding over each other, wobbling like jelly.

Taking a shaky step forward, Angela closed the door behind her, careful so as not to startle her visitor. She licked her lips, mind racing over ideas on how to greet the detective without looking like a baffled idiot. Just a simple greeting. She had to sound calm, firm, use her customer service telephone voice. That always worked.

‘Fancy seeing you here, Detective Amari. You cut a dashing figure, as always.’

That was horrible.

“Dr. Ziegler,” Angela forced herself to abandon her thoughts, dragging her eyes away from the pair of long legs gracing her office, and into Detective Amari’s eyes. Dark brown eyes, almost black. It left her rooted on the spot, her knees stopped wobbling like jelly. “Glad to see you again, doctor.”

“Fancy dashing you here."

Detective Amari raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking to an amused grin. “I’m sorry?”

Angela cleared her throat. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

There were a few things Angela knew about the mysterious Detective Fareeha Amari.

First. She had a stress ball tucked inside her jacket pocket at all times. It was orange, like a basketball.

Second. She wore a lady’s suit at work, and sometimes a baggy windbreaker jacket during colder days, instead of a blazer. She wore a pair of jeans and a baseball cap during stakeouts and sting operations. She always looked perfect.

Third. She did not mind being referred to as a they, or a he, or a she. “Doesn’t matter.” Detective Amari said once, “Please call me whatever you like.”

Fourth. A week ago, Detective Amari had a cut on her cheek and a broken finger. Two weeks before that, a suspect made her long nose crooked for a while. Three months ago, she broke her leg after falling off a flight of stairs in the precinct.

Today a broken arm hung over her chest in a sling, and half of her face was swollen and purple like a bowl of bruised mangoes and grapes.

Fifth. Fareeha knew a few things about Dr. Angela Ziegler.

"Please tell me those bandages aren’t hiding anything serious.”

“Got roughed up a couple of days ago." Detective Amari said.

“You should take better care of yourself, detective.”

“I’m used to it, doctor. Occupational hazard.” She smiled, motioning at her cast. “Comes with the territory.”

Angela shook her head and scoffed, trying to keep herself from being charmed by the curve of Fareeha’s full lips, and the grin reaching her eyes. “Oh, nonsense. Let me get you something.”

Detective Amari faltered, “I hope I am not intruding, doctor?”

Angela waved away her weak excuses, and began searching for a towel, a handkerchief -- anything that could help her friend. She ignored a few empty drawers, and quickly closed the one overflowing with rubbish before Fareeha saw her shame.

Finally, she found a hand towel from her tote bag, and handed it Detective Amari with an embarrassed chuckle.

“I guess I should have been better prepared, considering the local weather.” Angela said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? Always raining, and dark, and...” --   stop talking about the weather, Angela -- “Anyway, I hope this can help.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Fareeha smiled, and took the offered towel from Angela’s hand. “To be fair, it’s not everyday a soaked idiot comes in dripping water everywhere after forgetting to bring an umbrella.”

“Indeed. I mean, you’re not an idiot. That’s not what I meant.” Angela twisted her fingers around each other, resisting the urge to caress the bruises on Detective Amari’s cheek. “And you are free to intrude on my work any time, by the way. I don’t mind.”

Detective Amari opened her mouth, pausing as if she was about to apologize for the second time, before changing her mind. “Thank you.”

“Wuh -- ” Words, Angela. “Would you like to take a seat and tell me why you got injured, this time?”

“Just a group of guys assaulting a kid in an alleyway.” She replied with a tight smile, shaking her head. “We didn’t expect it to turn into a car chase across the square to sixth avenue. Backed them up into a building, where they had friends waiting. One of them sucker punched me.”

“Oh, goodness.”

“I broke my arm after tripping over a rubbish bin an hour later.”

“Sounds... exciting.”

“And a lot of paperwork,” Detective Amari frowned. “Which is less fun compared to a car chase, I guess.” She handed Angela the damp towel after attempting to dry her face. Detective Amari took a moment to comb her hair back with her fingers, dark strands curling over her cheek, making it look both neat and tousled and... “Maybe you should take a seat, doctor? Your knees are shaking.”

Angela felt herself fall into her leather chair, boneless -- she cleared her throat. “So, how can I help you today, Detective Amari? Is this about a case?”

The detective tensed, her mouth turning into a frown as she leaned against the edge of the desk, fingers gripping the edge. “Yes, in fact.” She pulled out a thick case file from inside her suit jacket, and Angela wondered how she kept it dry and intact after running through the rain.

“We got a video clip.”

Dr. Ziegler flipped through case file, her knuckles white as she flipped through the pages. Pictures and reported evidence spread across desk in a mess, all of which she still remembered fresh in her mind, while the newly found puzzle-piece played on her computer monitor in a loop.

“Maybe the recording was tampered?”

“Maybe.” Detective Amari scratched the bandage under her chin. “Our techie couldn’t find anything suspicious in the recording. Or the recorder, for that matter. There were no time skips, no evidence of anything being erased. No tampering, as far as we know.”

“So his wife hid the camera inside the… ?”

“She hid the camera inside his bookcase.”

“Because she suspected her husband was cheating on her.”

“I know what this looks like. Jealous wife murders husband, plants fake or tampered evidence to get us off her trail.” Detective Amari said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It is true Mrs. Finnegan has a clear motive, but why would she give us the recording? She could have destroyed it, and we would have never known it existed.”

“Detective,” Angela pulled her glasses from her nose. She paused, resting the spectacles on her thigh. “Are you prepared to tell me he was killed by an invisible creature?”

They shared a look.

“These strange cases have been popping up left and right.” Angela said. “We were working on another case before you came to visit, and believe me when I say I can’t wrap my head around that one either.” She leaned against her chair with a tired huff. “They all look like natural causes -- our autopsies reveal they are natural cases. Oftentimes we leave it as is and shelf it, but I’m often at a loss. It always feels wrong, somehow. Off. Like there’s something missing.”

“I know.” Detective Amari pushed herself away from Angela’s desk. “I feel the same.”

The detective stared at the wall opposite Angela, deep in thought. After a while, the square of her shoulders deflated. “I just came by to inform you, doctor. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you think of anything. Invisible men, werewolves, body-snatchers, whatever you guys figure out.” she chuckled, finding no humor in her words. “As long as there's evidence backing it, I’m willing to hear anything at this point.”

“This is something your techie can figure out more than I can.” Angela said. She smoothed down the crinkles of her dress shirt, trying to find something her fingers could be busy with while the detective stood too close in front of her. Their knees were almost touching. “Strange video recordings aren’t my forte, unless...”

Detective Amari froze.

“No.”

“Unless I -- ”

“Absolutely not.” Fareeha pivoted around her heels and began to pace, her hand expressing her words wildly. “May I remind you about the last time you took a plunge? Light bulbs exploded, things floated around, creepy voices. And I think that body moved.”

“That was completely my fault. I forgot to mention temporary reanimation can happen sometimes.”

“You fainted and you stared at your hands for an hour, doctor."

"Now, I don't remember that..."

Fareeha shot her a dry look. "You were talking about yellow eyes.”

“Sometimes they get annoyed.”

“I nearly -- ” Fareeha closed her eyes and pulled away, biting the insides of her cheek. “I won’t let you go through that again. It’s too dangerous.”

“We don’t even know if I will make contact.” Angela glanced at the door in case anyone else was listening. “Besides, last time was just a tiny, tiny oversight.”

“A tiny oversight?”

“Fareeha, please listen to me?”

Fareeha closed her mouth and shook her head in disbelief, but decided to do as Angela insisted. Instead, she grabbed the orange stress-ball from inside her jacket pocket, and squeezed it with an iron grip.

“I have lived with this curse all my life, and I wasted so much time trying to forget it ever existed. I’m out of practice, I admit, but I am ready to keep trying.” Angela said. “Two times out of ten it can get worse. Three times out of eight, nothing happens. But there is a fifty-percent chance of us getting the answers we need."

"With the remaining fifty-percent possibility of the guy’s head spinning around? I can deal with poltergeists, maybe, but not that."

“The body’s head didn’t spin.” Angela groaned. "Look, whatever, or whoever is running around in this city, innocent people are getting killed.”

“And we’ll do our best to stop them.” Fareeha said. “We’ll search for other solutions. Our techie can check the video again, she’s a genius. The toxicology report is still pending. Maybe he got stung by a bee and he’s allergic. I dunno.” she winced. “Contacting crazy spirits should be our last resort, doctor. God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

“And what if there's no other way?”

“I’ll find another way."

“I can do this.” Angela said, almost jumping up from her chair. “I know I can do this.”

“Yes, but I can’t--” Fareeha said with a frustrated sigh, squeezing the ball hard until her hand shook. “I just wanted to update you about the case and tell you what we found. I wanted to make sure I wasn't losing my mind."

"You didn't show this video to anyone else, did you?" she asked, her sentence a statement more than a question. The detective's accompanying silence was enough of a reply.

"I can’t ask you to risk your life again." Fareeha said. "If something happens to you…“

Angela’s shoulders fell.

The rain outside seemed to grow in volume as they both regarded each other, silent and tight lipped. Heavy droplets pelting the windowpane, her desktop computer whirring, thunder rolling across the dreary city.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Fareeha spoke again. “I can't lose you to one of those things, doctor. You are one of the few good friends I have.”

Angela felt her heart flutter. “Well,” she mumbled, inwardly cursing herself for folding under the spell of Fareeha Amari’s words too soon. “I’m, um, same. You are the same, to me, I mean. A friend.” She breathed in awe.

Detective Amari’s lips twitched into a weary smile, tucking her stress ball back inside her coat pocket. “Don’t fret about this case too much.” Her voice deepened in confidence, and Angela felt her back stiffen in attention. “Please leave it to me. I promise we’ll figure something out. Invisible creatures or no.”

“We will.”

“Are we okay?”

“We’re okay.” Angela croaked.

“Good.” Fareeha sighed in relief, “Shit, I need to go. Busy day in the precinct.”

“Of course.”

“Please take it easy, doctor, and don’t do anything without me. My apologies for taking too much of your time.”

Fareeha gathered the case documents from Angela’s desk, shoving it back inside her coat, and began to walk away before Angela could form a coherent reply. “You have my number, Dr. Ziegler, call me any time. I mean it.” Fareeha blindly reached for the door as she turned to look at Angela. Her dark eyes gripped Angela’s attention like a vice, that it seemed to glow under the dim lighting of the room. “Give me two weeks and maybe -- if all else fails -- maybe I will consider helping you do the other thing.”

“How about next week?” Lunch? Dinner? A movie?

An early morning jog around the park?

Oh, forget that, Angela. You can’t jog even if your life depended on it.

Fareeha laughed. “You are, by far, the toughest, most stubborn woman I have ever met. I’ll give you that, doctor.” she winked. “Two weeks, tops, and I promise I will help you.”

“I will take your word for it, detective.” Angela swallowed, her throat pushing down her traitorous thoughts, as if it would spill out of her mouth if she allowed them to stray.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

Angela tensed, her fingers digging into the arm of her chair as she watched the detective pull her door open with nary a backwards glance. “Wait, Fareeha.”

“Yes, doctor?”

Angela faltered, chewing her lower lip. Her heart aching as a billion sentences rolled through her head, most of them spontaneous invitations to places she has never seen before. But wouldn't it be nice if she had? With someone like the detective?

Live a little.

“Thank you.” Angela said, “For looking out for me.”

Surprise lit up Fareeha’s face. Her smile crooked, and her eyes warm. They felt like a hearth in Angela’s cold office.

“Any time, Dr. Ziegler.”

Detective Amari was already closing the door behind her before Angela could find it in herself to speak again. The last edges of her shadow disappearing underneath the frame; and with it, the final traces of her warm presence.

Notes: This took so so damn long, I'm not gonna lie folks, we spent the entire two month hiatus to expand this little one-shot into a hopefully more proper multi-chapter. We had a lot of fun plotting and planning things out, but man... did you know you can watch human autopsies online? Yeah... you can watch human autopsies online, full and very graphic ones. Very educational!

Anyway, unfortunately, we can't promise another prompt update (though at least now I know which direction and style we're goin with this), since I'll be moving apartments sometime around next month, and things will be incredibly busy as heck, but we will most definitely do our best :D

Thank you very much for reading! Have a nice day, everyone~

Edited (24/09/17): So soon! Had to post this very late and caught a few minor errors I overlooked :)

[saveme-ruinme]

Ambivalent | ONE

~ Superhero AU ~ Namjoon x Reader ~ fluff/angst ~ Rated M (mild violence and suggestive themes) ~ 

character guide/summary // TWO

Word Count: 3.5k

"Yoongi, I'm cold," you whined, pouting at him from the other side of the couch.

"And what do you want me to do about it?" he asks, clearly not interested in your antics as he doesn't even spare you a glance, choosing to focus his attention on his phone.

The two of you were sitting on opposite sides of the charcoal coloured 'L' shaped couch. Yoongi was spread out on the other side of you, wearing black sweatpants and a plain black shirt, not even bothered that it was snowing outside. You were curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped in a thick duvet, wearing two pairs of socks and still you could feel the chill in the air. You loved winter, the snow made everything look magical, but the extreme cold weather could go fuck itself in your opinion. You weren't made for weather that dipped into negative degrees.

"Yooooooongi," you cry.

"No," he deadpanned, not even turning to look at you.

"Yoongi!"

"I'll keep you warm, princess," Jimin said, jumping over the couch and settling next to you.

"But Yoongi is warmer," you complain, wrapping the blanket tighter around yourself as Jimin tugs at it, trying get you to unravel it so he can cram himself in with you. "And you have snow in your hair, where have you been?"

"Running errands," he tells you simply, tugging harder at your blanket. "Let me in, I'm cold too."

"Did you finish your job?" Yoongi asks, turning his attention away from his phone for the first time.

You didn't miss how heavy the atmosphere became, as Yoongi's question had sobered Jimin's playful behaviour for a very tense moment. You had no idea what they were talking about, you never did really, and you they had told you didn't want to know the few times you asked. It was better for you if you didn't know Yoongi said to you once, with a cold demeanour that gave you chills, a sharp contrast to his pyrokinetic abilities. Jimin had brushed you off, coming up with lame quips instead of real answers when you had asked him.

You never asked Seokjin what they did. He was the one that gave them their tasks, but you never asked him.

"Yup, and I already filled hyung in, so don't worry," Jimin informed Yoongi, sounding incredibly serious, something that Jimin usually was not.

Sitting between them as they spoke about things you obviously had no business knowing made you uncomfortable. You had absolutely no idea what they got up to when they weren't around you, and the fact that they weren't willing to tell you frightened you a little. There was nothing you could do, however, except wait for the icy feeling in the room to dissipate.

"Good," was all Yoongi said, before he looked away again, going back to his phone.

There a pause in the room, as Jimin sat in silent contemplation, absently tugging the blanket out from under you and shifted the both of you until he was pressed up against you underneath the duvet. Unfortunately for the both of you, Jimin being under the duvet with you did not make it any warmer. He was still dressed in his dark washed jeans that held onto the cold, bringing it into the warmth of the blanket with him causing you to shy away.

Noticing that you were attempting to shuffle away from his still cold body, he snickered. "It's way too cold today, isn't it?" he asks you, the mischievous edge in his tone making you raise your brows as you wondered what he was up to. "Yoongi-hyung?"

"No," was Yoongi's automatic response.

Jimin focussed all his attention toward Yoongi. "Hyung, we want to cuddle," Jimin pouts, shuffling you, the duvet and himself closer to Yoongi. There was a dark undertone in his voice, something that sounded suggestive and inviting and made people want to do things for him. "You want to cuddle with us too, don't you hyung."

"No." His answered sounded a lot more force than a few seconds ago. "Cut it out."

"Don't be like that hyung, we're cold and you're not. Share your warmth with us, ___ is over here shaking."

You observed in mild fascination as Jimin continued to gaze at Yoongi, eyes bright with focus and mischief. Yoongi had started to squirm from his side of the couch, trying to resist Jimin's temptation. It was futile, he would always give in sooner or later. No one could resist Park Jimin and no one could escape his temptation, not when he willed it upon people. Yoongi, much to his misfortune, was no exception.

The seconds ticked by as Yoongi continued to struggle, trying to block the low whispers of suggestions that Jimin was putting in his head. The two of you sitting on the other end of the couch could feel the heat radiating off him in frustration. You wouldn’t be surprised if he would spontaneously combust in frustration, as it had been known to happen in the past.

"Fine," Yoongi admitted, grinding his teeth in annoyance.

With a shout of victory, you and Jimin launch yourselves at Yoongi on his side of the couch, dragging the duvet with you. Yoongi sighed in defeat, shifting around to fit both you and Jimin on either side of him, letting you drape your limbs over him. You stripped yourself of both pairs of socks and proceeded to dig your feet between Yoongi's legs, sighing at the warmth that immediately soothes your stiff, cold toes. Relief fills you as you burrow against Yoongi's chest, soaking up as much of his heat that he's willing to offer, quietly grateful for Jimin and his powers of persuasion.

"I hate the both of you," Yoongi muttered unhappily. "I'm going to kill you, Jimin."

"You're really heartless, did you know that? You were really going to make us freeze like that?" Jimin asked rhetorically against Yoongi's neck, making him shiver from the feeling of Jimin’s breath against his neck.

"Next time you tell me you're cold, I'm going to set you on fire."

"Don't be mean, Yoongi. We can't all be made of fire like you," you scold, pressing the cold tip of your nose against his chest.

"Well maybe you should try," he quips flatly, still tapping away on his phone. You would crane your head to see what exactly he was doing on his phone for so long, but your face was too warm against his chest and you didn't want to move.

"Don't pretend like you don't like this too, hyung. I know you're secretly a fan of cuddling," Jimin teases, his platinum blond hair falling into his eyes.

Yoongi scoffs at the notion, making you laugh against his chest. Sometimes Jimin and Yoongi were scary with their closed conversations, talking around you about things you were afraid to question, and then there were other times like this that made you question whether you imagined those dark, tense moments that passed between them.

It amused you, how different the two were. Yoongi was constantly dissatisfied with the world, with a mask of perfect disinterest where Jimin was all mischief and seduction, enjoying making people - mainly Yoongi - do his laundry for him.  They also tended to fight like cats and dogs; sometimes literally, but after they straightened out whatever beef they had them, they tended to settle down in a strange setting of domesticity. Well, as domestic as living with a pyrokinetic and someone with the power of persuasion could be.

They were you friends, no matter how weird they were. You still cared for them, and you hoped they cared about you in the same way. You assumed they cared about you considering they were letting you stay in their house for free, telling you that it was your home too. Whatever they did when they weren't around you could be forgiven because they were your friends, something that you hadn't really had in more than a few years.

"What is all this?" Seokjin questions, making his presence known.

"Leeches," Yoongi answers, the same time Jimin says "cuddling."

"Yoongi is warm," you sigh against him, feeling relaxed and kind of sleepy now that you were all warmed up. "The world is too cold and cruel for me, I'm never moving."

"Well you're not wrong," Seokjin mutters under his breath, sounding more than amused. "Well I was going to ask if you all wanted to go out for dinner, but I don't think anyone wants to move."

There were noises of agreement from both you and Jimin, and an annoyed sigh from Yoongi, making Seokjin laugh. He shrugs on a jacket, unable to take his eyes off the playful exchange going on between of you. Seokjin doesn't miss how all Yoongi's rude remarks carry no ill intent, or how he doesn't seem as unpleasant as he usually is.

"Take out it is, then. Suggestions?"

"Pizza," you gasp out, finding that you had developed a sudden craving for it. "A big cheese pizza."

"And pepperoni!" Jimin adds. "With stuffed crust!"

"If you two think you can eat on me I will set your beds on fire," Yoongi threatens. "And I want a vegetarian pizza. Any one will do."

"Hyung, we're getting pizza and you choose the one with vegetables on it?" Jimin asks incredulously, judging his hyung.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "Yeah, so you two thieves don't steal it."

"That was Jimin! Not me!" you blame immediately, poking Jimin in the face who squirmed away from your finger, batting it away from him.

"Cheese, pepperoni and vegetarian, got it," Seokjin lists, sliding on his shoes.

"And garlic bread," Yoongi chimes in. "Lots of it."

"I'll be back soon," Seokjin announces.

"Why can't you just get it delivered? It's cold out there, hyung," Yoongi suggests, craning his head to watch as Seokjin wraps a scarf around his neck.

"So keep a spot warm for me when I get back, but I have a few things to do first, so you might have wait a bit for the pizza," Seokjin informs the three of you.

"Well, have fun hyung. Don't take too long," Jimin says cheerily.

Seokjin chuckles before leaving, making sure to lock the door behind him. You, Yoongi, and Jimin are quiet after that, choosing to enjoy Yoongi's warmth and the soft, platonic intimacy of cuddling with you friends.

He had been following you all night, you had been aware of that since the first time the two of you made awkward eye contact from opposite sides of the room. He was handsome, much too handsome for the likes of you. His unnaturally platinum blond hair had made him stick out since he walked in the room, and everyone in the room was naturally drawn to this quiet, attractive stranger. The stranger in the tight leather pants that made you want to sin, and a white tank top that had a red writing patterned in a circle that showed off his unfairly toned arms.

The scariest part is that with everybody staring at him, this too good-looking stranger seemed to only have eyes for you. You, who did not even want to come to this party, but was dragged here by a good-natured acquaintance who thought you needed to get out more. You, who was wearing an oversized hoodie with a pair of plain blue jeans at a party with girls who breathed fashion and latest trends and put more than a few minutes of effort into their appearance. Not that you were judging, power to the women who wanted to look good, you just didn’t happen to be one of them.

There wasn’t much of you to look at, you were much too aware of that. You were grateful for it because it gave you the ability to wander through the party relatively undetected, which in turn hid you from gross guys with grabby hands. But arguably the most good-looking person in the room seemed to be interested in you, only you, despite the number of people attempting to gain his attention.

Uncomfortable with the attention from the handsome stranger, you turned away from his heated gaze, heading into the kitchen to get a drink. Until now, you hadn't had anything to drink as you've never been comfortable drinking around strangers outside the comfort of your home. You preferred to be with people you know who look after you in case you decide to throw up your entire stomach. You still weren't going to drink any alcohol, you just needed an excuse to escape the man who wouldn't stop staring at you.

Filling up a red solo cup with sprite, you nervously swallowed half of the contents of your cup, cringing at the fizz burning your throat.

"Not a drinker, huh?"

Jumping in fright, you accidentally sloshed the rest of the sprite against your arm. Gasping at the cold drink against your skin, you ignored the heat that bloomed in your face from embarrassment and scrambled for some napkins to dry yourself.

"Definitely not," the stranger laughed, helping to dry your arm.

"Uh you surprised me, that's all," you tried to explain.

"I take it you don't like parties either? I've been watching you; you seem like you want to disappear," the sincerity of his voice made you stop trying to dry all the moisture out of your arm.

Turning, you couldn't tell if you were surprised to find that the attractive man staring at you earlier had followed you into the kitchen. He was smiling at you softly, which was a weird difference from his leather pants that were stretched sinfully tight over his thighs.

"I'm Jimin," he introduced himself as you stood there and stared dumbly at him.

"Uh- ___," you answered slowly, unsure as to why he was talking to you.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Jimin asked, his voice dipping low and suggestive. There was something else to it, something you couldn't describe but you could feel the power of his suggesting pulsing through you, compelling you to follow him. To obey.

"And go where?" you asked to distract yourself from wanting to do whatever Jimin suggested.

"Somewhere fun," he replied, stepping forward into your personal space. "Don't you want to go somewhere fun with me?"

You would've stepped away from Jimin, hoping to create some space between the two of you but you were already pressed against the kitchen bench. Jimin had crowded you, and you wondered if it was because he found you attractive too, or he was just messing with you, wanting to make you uncomfortable. There was barely any space between the two of you, if you looked down to see how close he was you'd knock your head against his. You could feel his breath against your face, and see the ring of brown peeking behind his bright blue contacts.

"Not really," you said softly, not wanting to upset him.

"No?" he repeated, shocked at your refusal.

"No." you repeated firmly.

You shook your head, confirming your refusal and secretly enjoying how Jimin's eyes widened from surprise. You imagined that not many people said no to someone as attractive as Jimin, not when he drew the eyes of everyone when he walked in a room. Jimin had a captivating aura, that made people want to look - yourself included, but you knew that if you went anywhere with him, you’d end up with a broken heart somehow.

There was a moment of silence as Jimin processed what you said. Then he did something that surprised you - other than following you into the kitchen - he started laughing. For what reason, you had absolutely no idea. He just started laughing, taking a step back out of your personal space. You were thankful for that, now that he had backed away from you, you felt like you could breathe again. Although you still weren't sure what was so funny to Jimin, and it had your anxiety creeping up again, giving you slightly paranoid delusions as to why he was laughing.

"You know, I think I like you ___," he finally said.

"Why?" you sounded more than slightly bewildered at his ridiculous statement considering you had just rejected him.

Jimin said nothing, choosing to smile at you. You observed him, confused and intrigued at the same time. You had trouble comprehending how this person you had just met was smiling after you had rejected his advances, and it seemed like a genuine smile too. Jimin smiled and it brightened his face, erasing the dark allure from a moment ago. Jimin was an enigma to you, one that you wished to understand.

The door of your room creaked open, rousing you out of your sleep. You expected it to be Jimin, he sometimes liked to sneak into your bed when it got too cold at night, and you hadn’t seen him all night. He had disappeared after the pizza feast Seokjin came home with, saying that he still had something left to do and locked himself in his room. Whatever it was had taken him a while, as he hadn’t come out of his room when you had decided to retire for the night.

Rolling over to get more comfortable, you closed your eyes again and focussed on going back to sleep, hoping he wouldn’t make too much noise.

"There's a civilian!" you heard an unfamiliar voice hiss, cutting through the darkness in your room.

"How do we know she's a civilian?" another person who sounded unfamiliar to you asked.

In the dark confines of your bedroom, you laid in your bed with your back facing the intruders. You could feel your heart hammering away in your chest, keeping perfectly still hoping that whoever it was would just leave you alone. Fear clutched at your heart, making it difficult to breathe quietly. You willed yourself to stop breathing so loud, afraid that whoever was in your room would notice that you were awake.

"We already got that pryo psycho, maybe we should just leave her here, Einstein didn't say anything about a girl," the second voice whispered.

You squeezed your eyes shut and prayed that they would do just that.

Please leave, please leave, please leave, please leave.

"She probably knows something, we have to take her," the first voice announced, not trying to be quiet anymore.

Fear paralyzed you, as silence fell over the room. You stopped breathing as you laid there in your bed and waited for them to do something. You had never been all that confrontational, and to be perfectly honest you were also somewhat of a coward too. You had no idea what to do, you couldn't think, you couldn't breathe, you only hoped that you wouldn't accidentally wet the bed.

"Get her."

The next few moments passed in a blur.

Blankets were ripped off your body, making you scream and you curled your body in shame, as you had forgone sleeping in any kind of pants. Even though it was cold, you had an electric blanket under your sheets that kept your bed warm for you, so wearing pants was never a necessity in bed. That had turned out to be a bad idea, as whoever was trying to kidnap you was also getting an eyeful on your teenage mutant ninja turtle underwear. Hands grabbed at you, yanking you up at of bed, shouting at you, words you weren't listening to because you couldn't hear anything over your own screaming.

"Let me go!" you screeched, attempting to wrestle your limbs back from whoever was grabbing them.

"Stop fighting! This will be easier if you just calm down!" the person who was attempting capture you yelled in your ear. "Can't you calm her down?"

"I'm trying, it's not working for some reason," the other person said, sounding frustrated but making no attempt to physically restrain you.

"Gonna have to do this the hard way."

Panic seized you, and you screamed until your throat had started to hurt for the exertion. There was nothing else for you to do but scream. You couldn't fight them, the one who had their hands on you was too strong. He had caged your wrists is one of his fists to stop your arms from flailing around everywhere, and his hands feel like stone around your wrists. They wouldn't budge, no matter how hard you pulled and squirmed. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, making you kick at your captor, swinging your body around wildly in an attempt to break yourself out of his hold.

"Muscles," the other one warned as he watched you struggle.

"I don't want to hurt her, what if she's innocent?" 'Muscles' said, not even sounding like he was struggling at all with your flailing body.

If you weren't out of your mind with fear and panic, you would've noticed how stupid, yet agonisingly appropriate his name was. Unfortunately for you, you were otherwise preoccupied at having your fight or flight response - mostly flight - inhibited by this very strong intruder.

“Sorry about this,” was the last thing you heard before you felt your head explode with white hot pain, struggling to stay awake as the world faded away.

[zillowcondo]

A Simple and Luxurious French Onion Soup

“Soup puts the heart at ease, calms down the violence of hunger, eliminates the tension of the day, and awakens and refines the appetite.” — Auguste Escoffier, the founder of Escoffier School of Culinary Arts (his tome of a cookbook)

Part of the reason to make meals involving brilliant flavors is to fill the home with a gorgeous fragrance, especially during the winter months when we are inside far more than typical throughout the year to snuggle in while the temperatures drop.

On Friday of this past week, I found myself craving a cozy meal, one that not only satiated my palette, but dressed up the home’s welcoming bouquet. The week had been busy involving travel, front-end loading upcoming episodes of the podcast, and wrapping up a wonderful kick off to 2018. I must admit I become quite jazzed up for the new year. Perhaps not in the expected way of celebratory rambunciousness, but more of a mental “yahoo!” of sorts. My mind is busy, the ideas are popping and my hope is that I can capture them all to put on paper before they disappear.

And so I found myself picking up onions, Gruyère, a fresh baguette from my neighborhood bakery and using my new soup crocks which I picked up on sale at Sur La Table’s winter clearance (now is a wonderful time to fill the gaps in your kitchenware).

The scent that filled my home was gift enough, but upon sitting down to enjoy a late lunch before heading out to see a movie (Molly’s Game – I highly recommend), my tastebuds thanked me as well.

The beauty of the French Onion Soup recipe is that it is not complicated, and merely needs time to offer the flavor and consistency that is desired. Pull out another project, a book you enjoy stepping in and out of perhaps, and while the soup simmers during its two different durations, sit down and just indulge in a simple task that requires of you to be still. Better yet, this soup can be made three days in advance, refrigerated and simply taken out and reheated on the stovetop, topped with the toasted croutons and cheese, placed under the broiler for 2 minutes and voilà! – lunch or dinner during the week.

As always choose quality everything: from the cheese, the broth, the onions (choose sweet onions only if you want a subtle sweet flavor), and the dry white wine and you will enjoy the simple complexity of a classic winter soup.

French Onion Soup

Servings4 servings

Prep Time20 minutes

Cook Time90 minutes

Ingredients

4medium onionssliced lengthwise or diced (depending upon what you want to enjoy)

3sprigs fresh thyme

1leaf California bay leaf

1/4cup unsalted butter

2teaspoons all-purpose flour

1/2cup dry white winechoose a wine you enjoy drinking

2 1/2cups beef broth

3/4cup water

1/2teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1/2baguette/artisanal bread diced into generous cubes for croutons

1/4pound Gruyère, Comte or Emmental cheese

2tablespoons freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano

1clove garlic

Instructions

On a stovetop in a Dutch oven or its equivalent, cook the onions, thyme, bay leaf and salt in the unsalted butter over moderate heat uncovered.

Stir often until onions are very soft and translucent, about 30-40 minutes.

Add flour and cook, stirring for about one minute until the flour is incorporated.

Pour in the wine and cook, stirring until the onions absorb the liquid, about 2 minutes.

Stir in the beef broth, water and pepper. Simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionaly, for about 30 minutes.

While the soup is simmering, place the oven rack in the middle position and preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Slice the baguette into 1 inch slices. Slice the clove of garlic in half and rub garlic on each slice. Then chop into large cubes. Place on a parchment or tin foil lined baking. Drizzle with olive oil and toast for 10-15 minutes in the oven (toss once halfway through the baking time). Remove when croutons are dry and slightly brown.

Preheat oven to broil. Place soup crocks on the same lined baking sheet (having removed the croutons).

Once the soup has finished simmering, remove the bay leaf and thyme, and discard. Divide the soup into the soup crocks, then place 5-7 croutons (depending upon the size) on top of of the crocks filled with soup. Place 2 slices of Gruyère, Comte or Emmental on top of each crock (letting the cheese go over the sides). Then sprinkle with 1-2 teaspoons of Parmigiano-Reggiano.

Broil for only 1-3 minutes (no longer or the bread and cheese will burn rather than brown). Remove when cheese is melted and bubbly.

Note: In my pictures, I first did not dice the baguette slices and found it hard to eat with just a spoon as the bread needed to be cut. Upon enjoying the soup on the second day, I decided to dice the slices as shared in the instructions and found it much easier to eat as the bread was already bite size.

Note: The soup can be made at least three days in advance, refrigerated and then brought back to temperature on the stovetop when you are ready to serve. The croutons as well can be made ahead of time.

  ~To view more video and clips of the recipe coming together, check out my Instagram Stories “Highlight” scroll, click on “Dinner Ideas”.

  ~View more TSLL Recipes here

A Simple and Luxurious French Onion Soup published first on http://ift.tt/2pewpEF

[justadetroiter-blog]

Food Culture

Detroit to me is home. I wasn’t born in Detroit, but as long as I can remember, this city has been my roots and shaped me into the woman I am today. I work here, eat here, play here, and most importantly get my education here. To outsiders, Detroit is looked at as nothing more than a broken city full of crime and violence. To those that were born and raised here though, we see the beauty and culture in this city we call home. We see the automobile industry, the rhythm and blues, the soul food, and the sports teams that really made our city. Back when Motown was in the midst of coming alive, the artists lived right in Detroit’s own neighborhoods and were locals at the city churches. Music was and still is a major part of Detroit’s everyday lives.

 The culture of Detroit brings a twist on music, food, clothing, and even art. We are home of the National Coney Island and home of ionic foods like Better Made Potato Chips and Faygo Pop. Detroit is the heart of Motown, Greektown, Corktown, and Mexicantown. It is home to the French, Belgians, Germans, Hispanics, Polish, Greeks, Italians, Middle Eastern, and Black populations, each with adding their taste on culture traditions. Culture in Detroit is diverse. That is one thing I love most about this city.

 Detroit has many cultural events that drag the locals out of their houses and into the streets to celebrate the city. One main cultural outing in Detroit is the farmers markets. Detroit prides itself on buying Michigan made products and helping out our local farmers and artists. Year round, we gather on Russell Street on Saturday morning’s to share in Detroit’s food culture. What better way to spend a cold February morning then at the local farmers market? And did i mention they have tasting stations?

 Winters in Detroit, Michigan feel as if they could drag on forever. At the midst of the winter season, I crave for those December snowflakes, but when February hits I want nothing more than to trade in my winter boots for a pair of flip flops. If only Michigan could be yellow and green again, instead of blue and grey. In a little Detroit marketplace, better known as The Eastern Market, sunshine, warmth, and color come together to bring the spirit of Detroit out of those winter blues and greys. I like to think of it as my little hiding place to escape and a place where people are out, smiling, and bringing the culture of Detroit together.

 In the summer this market is wild. People everywhere, shops and booths along the streets, and a sense of community. The winter market is smaller but just as alive. From the moment I walk into The Eastern Market shed doors, I am reminded of just how much this is still my favorite thing to do, regardless of how cold or early it is. People riding bikes, pushing strollers, dancing in the street, playing instruments, exchanging waves, and cooking on the grill. The pretty flowers hang on display, a man is playing the violin, kids are running and playing, and people from all around Detroit make The Eastern Market a community of culture.

 If the perfect Saturday could always smell like fresh tulips, brewing coffee, breakfast burritos, and lavender soaps. Walking around with a basket picking out Michigan grown produce and Michigan made products like face wash and honey. Fresh kale, monkey bread, homemade ravioli, and organic squeezed juices, fill the tables of local farmers. If I had to pick my favorite thing though about The Eastern Market, I would have to say it is the people. Short, tall, black, or white, Detroit shows love to everyone. All races, all religions, and zero politics. This city was made with diversity and this is a place to celebrate it. 

 Let be honest though, I am a foodie at heart. My favorite way to taste culture is to literally taste it on my tongue. Food is a great way to learn about a culture other than your own. It teaches you different tastes, textures, and even cooking traditions. Detroit’s restaurants and locals all gather together to serve up their favorite dishes. Fun fact, I never had a falafel until the Eastern Market and now I can officially say that middle-eastern cuisine is my new favorite. You can get a taste of true Mexican-cuisine, my personal favorite is the chorizo and egg burritos or homemade tamales! You can get a taste of the Middle-Eastern cuisine shaped around strong flavors of garlic, chickpeas, olives, and sumac. If you want a taste of African- American cuisine, the market is always serving up a mixture of soul food that’s cooked right outside on the barbeque, and I must say the hush puppies are divine. Finally, if you are not exactly even sure where to start with food, sampling and tasting is encouraged. Don’t be shy, try it out! Another great part about The Eastern Market is the clothing and jewelry. You can purchase African Dashiki’s, Detroit Apparel, bandana skirts, knit scarves and gloves, and even a Huipil. This market has it all.

 Next time you are feeling down and blue, I encourage you to check out The Eastern Market located right in the heart of Detroit. Just going and being a part of the culture is enough to lift anyone’s spirits to make them feel at home, because after all Detroit is home to so many, and its important to feel the powerful spirit of the city. If you love music, they got you covered. If you love essential oils and homemade soaps, they have the hookups, and if you just want a warm cup of coffee and a positive atmosphere to drink it in, this is your place!