#(most of the time......when he's not being abused or.. enhanced.. in some way..)

[omppupiiras]

I drew your son tonight (very badly) and one of my irls recognized him without my having to say anything 🥹💚 your son is famous!

aaaaaaaa rowan i love him!! 💚💛 vatsa on hyvä ja pyöreä 🥰🥰 he looks like he wants a hug <3 hehe thank you for making my son as mr worldwide as his human counterpart 😆

[fungifaggot]

Alternative!Mark Grayson x Cat!Hybrid Gn!Reader

Content: fluff?maybeidontknow- like in a toxic, abusive way. Also sexual undertones if you squint.

A/n: I wrote this with Mohawk Mark in mind, but it's not specified at all in the fic.

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You were a test experiment.

Born in a secret base run by rogue scientists, your existence was part of an illegal project looking to engineer animal-human hybrids. They tested everything- bears for strength, dolphins for underwater efficiency, and then there was you: a cat hybrid.

You were gifted with heightened senses such as enhanced smell and hearing, night vision, retractable claws, and improved agility- you were the ideal build for stealth missions. You were a natural infiltrator. A thief. And an assassin. They trained you to move in the shadows, to slip through security, and retrieve things that no one else could.

You didn’t question your orders. You didn’t dream of the outside world. You didn’t even wonder why you existed. You just did what you were told. And in return, they gave you food, a place to sleep, and a purpose.

That was until one particular mission.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just sneak into an enemy base, eliminate the targets, and get out without raising any alarms.

You moved silently and efficiently through the base. You had already picked off nearly a quarter of their team, hiding the bodies before anyone noticed.

“This’ll be easy,” you thought to yourself right before a blur of yellow came crashing through the wall beside you.

The impact sent you flying. You would’ve landed on your feet if it weren’t for the solid wall of muscle that tackled you mid-air and pinned you to the ground.

He punched you. Once. Twice. And on the third hit, he stopped.

His fist hung above your face, trembling slightly. You were frozen beneath him, dazed, breathing hard. You’d faced enemies before, but none like this. This guy was stronger. This guy could kill you. And for the first time, you felt real fear.

Maybe it was the look in your eyes. Or the way your fur raised in terror. Perhaps it was because he read the collar around your neck- the one that said “Property of (idkicantthinkofsomething) Inc.”

You had just killed a dozen men without a second thought. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt you.

The last thing you remember was the sharp snap of him tearing off your collar.

Then everything went black.

When you woke up, you were in a cold, unfamiliar cell.

Your ankle was chained to a stone wall. A new collar around your neck. The chain was just long enough to let you pace a few feet. But that was it.

You stayed in this prison for about two months- at least, that’s what you guessed. The only way you kept track was by scratching tally marks into the wall with your claws.

Life in prison wasnt particularly different from your life before. You weren't treated well, and there wasn't much to do, but you were already used to being the property of someone else.

You spent most of your free time working out, grooming your fur, or trimming your nails on the rough stone wall.

Which is exactly what you were doing when the prison alarms started blaring. You heard loud crashes echo through the building, followed by the deep tremor of walls shaking and falling apart. Explosions rang out in the distance, and flames lit up the darkened hallways.

You were afraid. You didn't know what was going on; all you could hear were the loud sounds of the building falling apart and people screaming. You would have taken this moment to try and escape if it weren't for the shackles keeping you in your cell.

The best you could do was sit on your bed curled in a ball, covering your head in hopes of protecting yourself from flying debris.

"What do we have here~?"

Your ears perked up, facing toward the unfamiliar voice.

He looked familiar; his suit resembled that of the hero who had sent you to this prison. ‘Invincible’ was his name, you now knew. However, this guy didn't smell the same- you could tell he wasn't from around here.

You took a defensive position, extending your claws and baring your teeth with a loud hiss.

"Now now kitty, there's no need to be disobedient," He said as he approached you menacingly.

His voice was dripping with amusement. His words were riddled with laughter, even though it was out of place.

"Does this kitty cat like to bite?" he teased, extending a hand out to your face.

As he expected, you did. You clamped your jaw around his hand the moment he was within reach.

He retracted his hand, unphased by the pain.

"Tsk tsk tsk, bad kitty," he said with an exaggerated pout.

He lunged forward, grabbing you by the scruff, and lifted you up as far as the shackles would let him.

"Bad kitties deserved to be punished."

He pulled on your scruff even harder; it felt almost like he was going to rip the skin right off of your body. You knew he could if he wanted to.

And yet you were being held in the air at his mercy- he undressed you with his eyes. Taking in the entirety of your body, soaking in your beauty.

“We don't have anything like you where I’m from-” he mused, flicking at your sensitive ears, enjoying how you grit your teeth in pain.

“How cute…”

He stops talking for a moment, as if lost in thought, before a slow grin spreads across his face.

“Y’know what? I think I want to keep ya! You’re awfully pretty…”

He pulled your limp body closer to his, your limbs still dangling like a ragdoll.

“What do you think about that?” he asks, his smile growing impossibly wider.

It was a rhetorical question; you obviously didn’t have a choice.

You still hadn't spoken. You were worried that if you did, your voice would tremble.

He gently set you back down on the prison bed, releasing your scruff. His hand slid from your neck to your chin, tilting your head upward until you were forced to meet his gaze.

You tensed, unsure of what he would do next.

To your surprise, he started to move his hand gently, scratching under your jaw.

“What is he doing?” you thought to yourself

It was an odd sensation- getting pet, that is. It was something you’ve never felt before. Your creators never treated you to such affection. This was the first time that you have ever felt the gentle touch of another.

It was rather pleasurable.

You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned into his touch, instinctively pressing your cheek against his hand. His touch made your jaw feel warm, and the way he scratched you hit an itch you never knew you had.

“This kitty likes attention, don't they?” he cooed in a singsong voice, scratching deeper.

Amongst all the screaming and commotion happening in the background he almost missed it- the soft rumble of you purring.

You didn’t mean to purr; it just kind of happened.

The suited man jutted out his bottom lip in a fake pout.

“Awwww, I think this kitty likes me!” he teased.

With a swift motion, he grabbed your shackles and tore them from the wall.

“You’re going to make a perfect pet,” he said with a smirk.

“I think it’s time to take you home with me.”

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A/n: sorry this is short, I ran outta gas towards the end of this one.

[finelinefae]

reaching out [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: just one moment out of very many of tennis!h pining over y/n before they teamed up.

word count: 5.5k

contains: enemies to lovers, pining h, angst, abusive parents, mentions of physical abuse, tennis rivals, fluff

a/n: very first tennis!h blurb omggg - i missed my babies so much!! For those who don't know, this is a blurb for my tennis!h series which you can read here !!

. . .

Harry stretched his legs, working his calf muscles, as people settled into their seats in the stands. Today was a big day, one that had drawn a large crowd, but he paid them no mind. Performing in front of a big audience never shook Harry’s confidence. When it came to tennis, his focus was entirely on the game.

It was the county cup semi-final. Harry had competed in the same event last year, finishing in second place behind Henry Waver, who took home the gold before heading to rehab a month later for using performance-enhancing drugs. Harry had come a long way since then, and he was determined to make it to the final and claim first place.

Some might have thought Harry no longer needed to compete in these smaller events, given his path toward qualifying for the Olympics, but he couldn’t stay away. Maybe it was the rush of winning, or perhaps the quiet focus that settled over him when the game began—just him, his opponent, and the swift rhythm of the ball being hit back and forth between them.

He walked over to his bench, some people cheering as he walked onto the court. He was wearing all white, a towel around his shoulders and his racket bag hanging from his shoulder. He reached for his water bottle, pouring it into his mouth. 

His eyes scanned the growing crowd, but there was no sign of his parents—not that he had expected anything different. He caught a glimpse of Mitch chatting with a few girls from their year group on the stairs, but Harry's focus shifted immediately to the center of the stands, only to find it empty.

A frown tugged at his lips, the first sign of emotion since this morning. He glanced around, searching for the one person his heart longed to see, but before he could spot her, his coach clapped him on the back.

"Remember what we worked on yesterday—don’t overstep the baseline and make sure to follow through," his coach muttered, his tone more routine than encouraging.

Harry barely registered the words. He shrugged off his coach’s hand, distracted. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he mumbled, his mind still preoccupied with trying to figure out why she hadn’t shown up yet.

The opposing crowd erupted into cheers as Lionel Boyce stepped onto the court, raising a hand to acknowledge their applause. Harry barely spared him a glance. He had crossed paths with Lionel plenty of times in his tennis journey and knew the truth behind the polished exterior—Lionel was an arrogant opportunist, desperate for sponsorship deals.

Harry took a swig of water, his grip tightening on the bottle as he set it down and reached for his racket. The game was drawing closer, but the empty seat in the center of the stands—the one he had been watching all afternoon—remained vacant. His chest tightened at the thought of someone else filling it. He wasn’t sure how he’d play with a stranger sitting there instead of the person he was hoping for.

The umpire climbed into his seat, and the announcement for the game’s start echoed across the court. Harry felt a firm pat on the back from his coach as he stepped forward.

“Go show him what you’re made of,” his coach said with a nod.

The crowd erupted as Harry walked onto the court. Most of the cheers came from the Crestwood supporters, and while it wasn’t the loudest reception, it was enough to steady his nerves.

Across the court, Lionel sauntered into position, basking in the applause. Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling as Lionel flashed his best grin to the crowd. He didn’t miss the way a group of girls in the front row seemed to swoon, whispering excitedly among themselves.

The umpire adjusted the microphone and cleared his throat, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, play shall begin. First set—Harry Styles to serve."

Harry stepped into position at the baseline, gripping his racket tightly. As always, he raised it and pointed toward the center of the crowd—a ritual that steadied his nerves and granted him good luck for the game.

But this time, his breath hitched.

There she was, sliding into the seat he’d been watching all afternoon. Y/N.

Her eyes found his almost instantly, and for a fleeting moment, the world around him fell away—the roaring crowd, the pressure of the match, even Lionel’s smug presence on the other side of the net. It was just her, sitting there with that familiar stoic expression.

A small smile tugged at Harry’s lips. She was always like this at his matches, focused and intense, watching every move with the same concentration as if she were playing herself. Her unwavering focus sent a spark of determination surging through him.

He adjusted his stance, exhaling slowly as he prepared to serve. With her gaze burning into him, he played to win the entire thing. 

. . .

Mitch had thrown a party to celebrate Harry’s victory over Lionel, just as he always did whenever Harry won anything. It was a tradition Harry had grown fond of, even though he often found himself dreading the expectation to win every time he played. Victory wasn’t typically celebrated in his world—it was expected. But his friends? They always found a way to make a big deal out of it, and Harry appreciated that, even if the attention wasn’t his favorite part. Being around his friends was.

Harry stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of something he couldn’t identify. Mitch was across the room, chatting animatedly with Sarah. Harry was pretty sure Mitch had been infatuated with her ever since she’d transferred to Crestwood four years ago. Watching them, he wondered if Mitch would ever work up the courage to act on it.

He couldn’t help but glance around, hoping to spot someone else. He knew Sarah’s best friend and roommate might be here, too, but there was no guarantee. Unlike Sarah, who thrived on Crestwood’s social gatherings, her quieter counterpart was more selective about where she spent her evenings.

“Hi, Harry.” He turned to see Astrid approaching, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her skin glowing with a fresh tan from her recent holiday in the Maldives. He’d only known about it because his mother, after scrolling through Facebook, couldn’t resist mentioning it during their last phone call.

“Hey, Astrid,” Harry said with a polite smile. He didn’t mind her company, but unlike most of the guys in their year, he didn’t feel attracted to her in the same way they did. Sure, she was stunning—legs for days, an effortless smile—but their shared interests barely went beyond tennis and the fact their parents were friends. Friends who, annoyingly, had been dropping hints about the two of them dating for as long as Harry could remember.

“Congrats on the win. You were amazing out there,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced.

“Thanks. I heard you did well at the Championships the other week,” he replied. He hadn’t actually seen her match but knew through their coach that she’d won.

“Yeah, I’m hoping to qualify for the Australian Open,” she said, her grin widening.

Harry nodded, letting the conversation drift until his gaze caught something—or rather, someone—in the living room. His heart skipped a beat.

There she was.

Her smile lit up her face, radiant and warm, eclipsing even the moonlight streaming through the large windows. Her hair spilled to one side, leaving her neck bare, and she was wearing a sleek black maxi dress paired with chunky heels—an outfit so out of the ordinary for her that it was almost disarming. Harry’s eyes lingered on her longer than they should have, but he didn’t care. He’d been hoping she’d come.

His smile faltered when Adam appeared beside her. Harry’s stomach tightened at the sight. He knew Adam had a soft spot for her—he’d admitted as much—but assured everyone he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Still, seeing them together made something uneasy churn in Harry’s chest.

“Harry?” Astrid’s voice snapped him back to reality. He blinked, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she’d been saying. She followed his line of sight and spotted Y/N. Her tone shifted, tinged with something that wasn’t quite approval.

“Oh, Y/N’s here,” Astrid remarked flatly. “I’m surprised after…everything.”

Harry’s head whipped toward her, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t know?” Astrid asked, her surprise seeming genuine. “One of my friends was at the Country Club a couple of weekends ago. She got lost trying to find the bathroom near the pool and overheard her dad yelling at her—apparently for getting a bad grade on her report card. She said he slapped her.”

Harry’s stomach dropped, cold fury replacing the unease. “He what?”

Astrid shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’ve always thought her family was messed up. My dad had a horrible experience at their Country Club—almost sued them after Mom got food poisoning there.” She kept talking, but Harry wasn’t listening anymore.

His attention snapped back to Y/N, watching her closely. Something was different. To anyone else, she probably seemed the same, but Harry knew her too well. He noticed the way her fingers twisted together, fidgeting nervously. Her smile, though bright, didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her makeup seemed heavier than usual; she rarely wore much or applied it sparingly, but today, it looked as though she was trying to mask something—maybe a shadow or imperfection on her cheek, though he couldn’t be sure.

Harry’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. If what Astrid said was true, there was no doubt in his mind—he’d track down her father and make him regret it in ways that didn’t bear sunlight. But first, he needed to talk to her, to make sure she was okay. The problem was, Harry knew her well enough to realise she wouldn’t just open up if he asked. They weren’t even friends. In fact, Harry was pretty sure Y/N didn’t like him at all. 

It wasn’t really a surprise, considering how they’d met—and the fact that he’d spent most of his days tormenting her just to get her attention. It was childish, he knew, but it was easier than admitting how much he actually cared. And he did care—more than he should, more than she probably realised. Beneath all the teasing and arguments, she mattered to him. So, if she was hurt, none of that other stuff mattered. He just needed to make sure she was okay.

When Harry saw Adam walk away, he seized the opportunity to sneak in. As if she could sense his presence, Y/N looked up, her smile immediately fading, and her jaw tightened. Harry couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. There was something exhilarating about her reaction, the way she shifted from neutral to visibly irritated, even if it was driven by nothing but disdain for him.

“I’m surprised you were willing to show up, love,” he said, his voice carrying the familiar, mocking tone.

Y/N’s eyes flashed with irritation at the nickname, her posture stiffening even further. Harry had always loved calling her that—it was almost like a reflex, especially since she absolutely hated it. He relished in the way she bristled, every time.

“Not so willingly, as a matter of fact,” she shot back, her arms folding across her chest. “I’m only here because Sarah wanted me to come.” She still hadn’t taken a sip from her drink, Harry noticed, as if it were some kind of shield between them.

“Excuses, excuses.” He clicked his tongue with a grin, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “What did you think of the match?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by his question. “You care what I have to say?” she asked, a slight edge to her voice.

“No,” Yes. he replied, his eyes gleamed with a spark of challenge. “But I know you’ve got something to say anyway.”

She gave him a wry smile, the faintest hint of a laugh on her lips. “Well, it wasn’t one of your best, that’s for sure. Your tracking was terrible. You were lucky Lionel cared more about his appearance than his technique.”

Harry couldn’t suppress the chuckle that escaped him. He knew she wasn’t wrong—tracking had been off, and Lionel had certainly played a little too carefully. The dig was unsurprising to say the least but he took it all on board.

“You always have such charming critiques, don’t you?” Harry smirked. “Should I be worried about your career in commentary?”

Y/N’s replied, the sarcasm was back in full force. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just stick to calling it how I see it. You wouldn’t last five minutes with me in your corner, would you?”

Harry leaned in a little closer, their banter familiar and comfortable despite the tension. “You’d be too distracted by my charm to focus,” he said with a grin, savoring the challenge in her eyes.

Y/N scoffed but couldn’t entirely hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “Right. I think you’d find me too busy pointing out all the flaws you refuse to see.”

“Sounds like a good time,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away, the intensity between them palpable in the silence that followed.

“So,” Harry started, the tone shifting slightly, more serious, “what else? What else did you think of the match?” He genuinely wanted to know—part of him knew her critique might actually help him. But the other part of him just liked the way she made him think.

Y/N seemed to hesitate for a split second, the walls she kept up around her cracking just enough for him to notice. “Your footwork was off, too. You were slow on some of your returns, and—”

Harry laughed, cutting her off. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan?��

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not. But I’ve watched enough matches to know when someone’s not giving it their all.” Her gaze flicked to his eyes, sharp and clear. “And I know you can do better.”

Harry’s smile faltered, something unspoken passing between them, something that felt almost like respect. He had a feeling she wasn’t just talking about the match anymore.

“Well,” he said after a beat, straightening up, “I guess I’ll have to show you just how much better I can be, then.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away, her lips pursed as if she were weighing her options. Finally, she shrugged, that same familiar look of defiance in her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Harry’s eyes lingered on her for longer than he intended, “What about you?” He took a sip of his drink. 

She frowns, “What about me?”

“I haven’t seen you training recently,” He said. 

Y/N’s expression faltered, her eyes flashing with something like hurt or fear. “I haven’t had time.”

“What do you mean? I don’t think I’ve spent a day where I haven’t seen you on the court.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry’s brows furrowed as he studied her. There was something about the way she shifted on her feet, the subtle way her fingers tightened around the cup in her hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d sensed something was off, but hearing her say she didn’t want to talk about it made his curiosity spike. It was rare for Y/N to hide anything, especially from him. He’d spent enough time observing her—dissecting her every reaction, every word—to know when something wasn’t right.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, leaning forward, his voice losing its usual teasing edge. “You know you can talk to me, right?” He almost regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because he knew she wouldn’t believe it—not after everything.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Harry thought she might brush him off entirely. Instead, she let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. “Yeah, right,” she muttered, not meeting his eyes. “Since when?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. She was right—he had never given her much reason to trust him. But right now, as much as it pissed him off that she was shutting him out, he couldn’t help but feel... protective. There was something going on with her, something more than she was letting on, and it was like a switch had flipped inside him.

“Y/N,” he repeated, his voice softer now, “I’m not gonna push you, but if something’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone. You know that, right?”

Her eyes finally met his, and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw a crack in her tough exterior—a flicker of vulnerability—but it was gone in an instant. She shook her head, her gaze hardening.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Harry didn’t buy it, and he didn’t think she expected him to. He knew he was on dangerous territory—one misstep, and no doubt she would lash out at him for putting his nose into business that was nothing to do with him. But something in him refused to let this go. He couldn’t just sit there, watching her shut him out.

“Come with me,” he said, motioning for her to follow him, the command in his voice surprising even him.

Y/N glanced at him, confused, her arms still crossed defensively. “What?”

“I’m taking you outside,” Harry said, already standing and grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He could tell she was about to protest, could see the hesitation in her eyes. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of something—determination, maybe, or a mix of things he couldn’t quite name. “You need a break. You’re tense as hell, and I don’t like seeing you like this.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Harry cut her off. “Trust me. It’ll be good for you.”

For a moment, Y/N seemed like she might just walk away, but then she sighed, as if giving in to the inevitable. “Fine. But don’t get any ideas.”

Harry smirked, fighting the urge to laugh. “No promises,” he teased, already walking toward the door.

Outside, the late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the empty tennis courts. Harry tossed her a tennis racket, watching as she caught it awkwardly. He was doing this for her—for whatever was weighing on her, for whatever had her retreating behind that wall. He wasn’t sure if tennis was the right call, but it was something he knew they both shared, something that might bring down some of her defenses.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious about this?”

“Dead serious,” Harry replied, stepping onto the court. He grinned at her.

She hesitated before stepping onto the court, but when she did, Harry could see a flicker of something else in her—the tension in her shoulders loosening, just a bit. She wasn’t fully on board yet, but the corners of her lips twitched upward, and that was something.

They began to rally, hitting the ball back and forth with the kind of casual ease that came from years of practice. Y/N’s form was sharp, fluid, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed, as he always was. But it wasn’t just the way she played that had him captivated.

It was the way she laughed.

The sound was light, unguarded, a sound he hadn’t heard from her in so long. It was like the weight of everything had lifted for a moment, leaving behind only the carefree side of Y/N he rarely got to see. She had a natural smile, the kind that reached her eyes and made them sparkle with a mischievous glint. Harry couldn’t look away.

Her laughter filled the air, echoing across the empty courts, and for a fleeting second, everything felt right. Harry’s heart skipped in his chest as he watched her, the way her eyes shone with a genuine sense of freedom. It wasn’t just the way she looked in that moment—it was how she felt, and how much he wanted to be the reason she smiled like that.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He had always known he had a thing for her—he didn’t even try to deny it anymore. But this was different. He wasn’t just in awe of how she looked, or the way she challenged him to be better—he was infatuated with her.

The thought hit him hard, and he tried to push it aside, to focus on the game. But with every smile, every laugh, Harry found himself falling deeper, in a way that he couldn’t control. There was something about her—the way she made everything feel effortless, the way her presence seemed to fill up the space, making everything more vibrant. She was everything he wasn’t—bold, unafraid, untouchable in some ways. And Harry was starting to realize how much he wanted to be the one to reach her.

When Y/N hit a particularly good shot and spun around with that radiant smile, Harry felt a flutter in his chest. He swallowed, his throat tight, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he could handle being this close to her without completely falling apart.

“You’re not half bad,” she teased, breathless from the rally.

Harry grinned, the praise warming him in a way he hadn’t expected. “I know. You should be honored to play with me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite suppress the grin tugging at her lips. “You’re insufferable.”

And there it was again—her laugh, the way she made everything feel lighter. Harry caught himself smiling at her, not the cocky, playful smile he usually wore, but something more sincere. Something that spoke volumes of how much he was starting to feel for her—how much he had already felt.

They rallied for another few minutes, the sun dipping lower as the evening air turned cooler. But Harry wasn’t paying attention to the time, or the way the game was unfolding. All he could focus on was the way her hair caught the last of the sunlight, the way her eyes gleamed with happiness—and how damn beautiful she was.

“You’re good,” Harry finally said, his voice quieter than usual, almost like a confession.

Y/N gave him a curious look, then smirked. “You finally noticing?”

He wanted to say more, to tell her exactly what he was thinking—but it would only complicate things. Instead, he just nodded, watching her carefully, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I’ve always noticed,” he said, his voice a little too soft, betraying the quiet ache he felt inside.

Y/N paused, her expression softening for a brief moment before her usual mask of sarcasm slipped back into place. “Well, I’m glad you finally decided to admit it.”

The smile she gave him in return was genuine, full of warmth. And for a moment, Harry forgot about the rest of the world, just watching her, heart in his throat, wondering how he had gotten so lucky—and so lost in someone who would never even look at him the same way.

Y/N took a few steps back, wiping a hand across her forehead, trying to shake off the intensity of the game and the weight of the conversation that had been hanging between them. Harry still stood there, watching her, his breath a little heavier from the rally but his focus unwavering. It was as if he was waiting for something to break, for her to say the words he didn’t want to hear but somehow feared.

She didn’t look at him for a moment, her eyes scanning the ground like she was trying to find some way out. But then, when she spoke, her voice was softer than usual, almost reluctant. "You were right earlier... about me being tense," she said, barely above a whisper.

Harry tilted his head, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. His heart rate picked up, and he took a tentative step toward her. “What do you mean?”

Y/N hesitated, clearly at war with herself, as if saying the words out loud would somehow make them more real. But Harry could see the way her fingers curled tighter around her tennis racket, the way her shoulders were drawn up protectively.

“Something happened... with my dad,” she finally admitted, the words slipping out in a rush, like she couldn’t stop them once she started.

Harry’s chest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, unwilling to push her too much. "What happened?"

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes redder than usual, her face more vulnerable than he'd ever seen it. "He... slapped me," she said, the words a simple admission but heavy enough to make the air around them thick with tension.

The air in Harry’s lungs seemed to stop for a moment. His chest tightened, fists clenching at his sides as the words echoed in his mind. Slapped her.

He was careful not to let the anger build, though it was hard. The thought of anyone hurting her—let alone her father—lit a fire of fury inside him, but he knew he couldn’t let it show. Not now. Not when she was looking at him like that, so fragile and raw.

“Y/N,” Harry said softly, stepping closer. His voice was low, almost as if he were afraid the words might break something inside her. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, her lips trembling slightly. “You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured, her voice thick with something he couldn’t quite place. “I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m not pitying you,” Harry replied quickly, his gaze steady. He took a slow, steadying breath. “I’m angry, though. At him. But I’m not pitying you, Y/N. You’re... you’re strong. You don’t deserve that. You never have.”

She blinked, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to steady herself. Harry could see her fighting it—fighting the tears, fighting the emotions that were threatening to spill over.

“I got a low grade on my report card this semester,” she whispered after a beat, her voice so small it almost hurt to hear. “My parents think it’s because I spend too much time playing. They threatened to stop funding my schooling if I didn’t quit. Not that I’m going to quit, but I have to lay low for a while.”

Harry’s heart broke at her words. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take, the thought of her in such a difficult situation, but he forced himself to stay composed. She was so strong, but there was only so much someone could take.

“Does he…” Harry hesitated, the words feeling too heavy to speak, but he forced them out anyway, “Does he do that often?”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak but paused, her gaze dropping to the ground for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, and Harry felt that pit in his stomach grow deeper with each passing second. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

“It wasn’t the first time,” she said, her voice faltering. “But he doesn’t do it often.”

Harry’s eyes darkened with barely-contained anger. His hands clenched at his sides, a reflex he couldn’t control. “Y/N, he shouldn’t be doing it at all,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and tight. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close and hold her, but something held him back. He knew she wasn’t ready for that, and he didn’t want to push her further away.

“No man should ever lay a hand on you,” he added, his voice raw with emotion. “Not ever. You don’t deserve that. No one does.”

Y/N stayed quiet for a long time, her face a mixture of exhaustion and something else Harry couldn’t name. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, but there was no hint of softness in her expression. She had her walls up again, already rebuilding what little had cracked.

“I don’t want your sympathy, Harry,” she said firmly, her voice regaining some of its usual sharpness. “And I don’t need you to protect me. I’ll deal with it.”

Harry’s chest tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But you don’t have to do it alone,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice softer now. “I can’t just stand by and pretend like nothing’s wrong. You shouldn’t have to carry this by yourself.”

She shook her head, but this time, there was no bite in it—just a sad resignation. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, her eyes darting to the side. “I’m not some fragile thing that needs to be protected. I don’t want your help. I just want to get through this on my own.”

Harry could feel the walls she’d built between them—walls made of pain and pride—climbing higher, and the instinct to break them down was strong. But he knew, deep down, he couldn’t force her to open up, especially not when she wasn’t ready.

“I’m not trying to save you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just here. Whenever you need someone to listen, or... whatever else you need. Just know that.”

She didn’t meet his eyes, but he could see the smallest tremor in her shoulders as she exhaled. Finally, after a long pause, she spoke again, her voice quiet but firm.

“I don't need help,” she said, her words like a wall being slammed shut. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need anyone to try and fix me.”

Harry’s heart dropped, the weight of her words hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. But he understood. She was trying to keep control of a situation that was already slipping through her fingers. And maybe she wasn’t ready to let him in, no matter how much he wanted to be there for her.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now, the weight of his emotions slipping through despite himself. “I just... I care about you, Y/N. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Her eyes flicked to his, sharp and guarded. “I don’t need help but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Harry’s chest tightened, but he didn’t let his gaze drop. “Alright,” he said softly. “But I’ll be here. Whenever you need me.”

Y/N didn’t respond, and Harry didn’t push. Instead, he stood there for a moment longer, looking at her, wishing he could say more—do more—make her feel safe, but knowing it wasn’t his place to force anything. For now, all he could do was wait.

And somehow, that felt worse than anything.

“Want to go another round?” Harry asked, his voice lighter, searching for a way to ease the tension.

“I think we should probably head back. Sarah might be looking for me.” Y/Ns expression softens.

“Right” the last thing Harry wanted to do was leave this pocket of space they were in together. He savoured any rare moment of time he had with her alone and this was one of them.

They walked side by side, the silence between them not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken truths. As they approached his flat, Y/N glanced at him, her voice quiet but firm. “This doesn’t change anything, you know. I don’t want you to look at me differently just because I couldn’t defend myself against my dad. I’m strong—it just… it caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Harry stopped, turning to her with an earnestness that made her chest tighten. “Y/N, this doesn’t change a thing. Not about how I see you, or what I think of you. You’re still the strongest person I know.”

Her lips quirked in a small, tentative smile. “Good,” she said softly. Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she added, “And you better win the final.”

Harry chuckled, his own smile breaking through. For her, he would.

For her, he’d do anything.

. . . 

Harry walked into the school the next day with his tie askew, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his white t-shirt underneath, and his blazer slung casually over his shoulder, hooked with his middle finger. He had no particular reason to look so disheveled—he just liked the chaos it seemed to cause.

As he passed Mitch’s locker, he caught sight of Y/N walking down the hallway. Her eyes were trained straight ahead, like she was in her own world, but Harry couldn’t resist. He flashed a smirk and called out, “Hey, love.”

She immediately paused and turned to face him. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, then the corner of her lips twitched slightly, but her eyes were all ice.

“Seriously?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, seriously,” Harry teased, not backing down. “You got something against me saying hello?”

“Not really,” she replied dryly, her arms crossing over her chest. “But I’m guessing you’re doing it just to get a reaction.”

“You know me too well,” Harry said with a grin. “But still, can’t help it. You just look... irresistible when you’re pissed off.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement hiding beneath the irritation. Without saying a word, she lifted her middle finger and gave him a quick, deliberate flip-off. Then, as she turned to walk away, she allowed herself to smile, just a little—just enough for Harry to catch it.

He watched her walk off, his smirk fading as something tighter, warmer, filled his chest. He had always loved the way she carried herself—so confident, even when she was annoyed with him. He liked that she never made it easy. But right now, as she walked away, all he could think was how much he was falling for her.

"God," he muttered under his breath, watching her disappear down the hallway. "I’m so screwed."

[clonetrooperjournals]

Color Blind

Summary : You've been the newest member of the batch batch since they saved you from slavery a year ago. You've been keeping a secret about your sight from the boys but what happens when Tech, the genius clone and your crush finds out? Pairings : Tech x Fem!reader Warnings : angst, self doubt, talks of slavery, talks of abuse due to slavery, color blind reader, fluff, cute fluffy ending, Tech being adorable Words : 2.8k A/N : Okay. THIS. is my favourite fic I've ever written OMG! I hope you all love it because.... aahhh! We do love our boy Tech in this journal! masterlist here

“You know I think if you told Tech he could probably make you something to help you see,” Omega says cheerfully as you sit on the edge of the Marauder looking out at the night sky, “He is the best at that kind of stuff.” 

You giggle, “I know he is... but you all have done so much for me already. I won’t ask for more.” 

Omega turns to you putting her hand on top of yours, “You’re allowed to ask us for things. Were family.” 

You can’t help but smile a bright smile at that word, “I never thought I would have a family. That alone gives me all the happiness I could ever want. I don’t need to ask for more.” 

“Well just think about it. I see how you watch the sunset with a sad smile...”  

You hold her hand tightly, “I’ll think about it.” 

A year ago, if you were to ask what you thought your life would be like you would have said that you were going to die a slave and there was nothing else to it. Then the Bad Batch showed up on your planet and after you risked your life to help them, they freed you from your master and took you with them. You had nowhere to go, no family to find and no credits to start your new life so the Batch offered for you to stay with them in exchange for helping with Omega, and you’ve been with them ever since.  

You have felt since that first day that asking for anything makes you a burden. You know the boys would never see it that way and have scolded you a few times for not speaking up about when you need something but your fear that they’ll regret saving you always stops you. Your master was a wealthy man who always made sure you had everything you needed aside from free will and food. You were always dressed in silk and gold jewelry, for a slave you could have had a worse master, and you were always grateful that it wasn’t the case. You told yourself that so long as you see something to be grateful for you can never complain about what you don’t have, so when Omega learned of your little secret, she’s been pushing you to speak up about it.  

When you were born, you were born color blind. All your life you have seen nothing but grey, black and white, and you’ve never complained. When you were sold into slavery you were repeatedly beaten when you brought the wrong thing because you couldn’t tell the color, it was then that your master figured if you couldn’t be useful in menial tasks then you would be a decoration, something to look at, something to be admired. You haven’t told the boys about your color blindness because it’s never been relevant, you have lived your whole life without seeing color, and so far, it hasn’t been a problem. Omega only learned of it when Hunter gave you two some credits to go get her some new clothes and she asked for your opinion, to which you couldn’t give a truthful answer.   

Hunter comes up behind you two with a small smile, “Time for bed Omega.” 

“Alright,” she yawns dramatically and then whispers to you, “Good night y/n. Think about talking to Tech.” She then gets up and heads inside and Hunter takes her place beside you. 

“Something you wanna talk about?” he asks quietly.  

You look out to the night sky at all the twinkling stars above you, “Your enhanced senses should not be used for eavesdropping.” 

He chuckles, “Can’t help it most of the time. Why haven’t you said anything?” 

“I have lived my whole life without ever seeing color. I can still do everything I have always done, it does not affect me. Are there times I wish I could see the color of a flower? Or the setting sun? Of course, but that's a luxury and as you have said we cannot afford luxuries.” 

Hunter sighs, “Tech could probably build you something out of what we already have...” 

You turn and put your hand on Hunters shoulder, smiling at him, “Hunter. I’m alright. Besides Tech still can’t even have a conversation with me. I’m not gonna make him uncomfortable for nothing.” 

“It’s not for the reason you think,” Hunter says laughing quietly, “You make him nervous.” 

“Nervous?” you question him leaning closer, “why would he be nervous?” 

“He’s not used to being around a beautiful woman all the time,” Hunter says patting your hand with a smirk, “just think about what we said okay?”  

Your cheeks burn and you look down, “Okay...” 

... 

Currently sat in the sand, data pad in his face like normal Tech was researching the flower and fauna of the tropical planet you were all on. You and Omega were walking along the beach picking seashells with bright smiles and even though he was trying not to, Tech could not help but stare. You were wearing a long green skirt and matching tight top, your hair was braided down your back like normal, long enough now that it was almost touching your bum and the sunlight was making your brown skin shine like you were a deity, he has never seen someone so beautiful in his whole life. For that reason, he has the hardest time trying to converse with you and usually ends up a flustered mess that leaves the room the moment you enter it.   

He’s never thought about relationships or being with someone but since you came aboard the Marauder a year ago the thought has been repeatedly on his mind. He sees how good you are with his brothers and Omega, how you are always willing to learn, always willing to help no questions asked. You are the most selfless, generous, kind and caring person he’s ever met and someone that he could see himself with for the rest of his life, if only he could man up and have a conversation with you.  

“Tech! Help!” You yell from the west side of the beach, you and Omega surrounded by Aggrocrabs. Your blaster was drawn, and Omega was shooting arrows off, but the crabs were increasing in number.  

Tech jumps up and runs full force toward the Marauder, jumping in and starting it up flying it over to your location. He hovers above you and Omega as you both continue to shoot down the crabs and he throws down a cable, “Grab hold!” 

You toss Omega up toward the cable first and then you jump off a crab and grab the end of the cable as Tech flies the ship away from the hoard of crabs and toward the rest of the clone's location for a pickup. You and Omega climb the cable and roll into the ship.  

“That was so cool! Those crabs were HUGE! y/n did you see my one shot through the crabs- Oh your hurt!” Omega gasps.  

Tech whips his head back and sees you clutching your arm tightly as your blood pools over your hand and you smile weakly, “I’ll be alright. Just get the boys.” 

Omega runs and grabs the first aid kit while the rest of the batch make their way up and onto the ship with the loot. Hunter drops into the copilot chair telling Tech to go and then all of you take off for space. Once in space Tech sets the course for Ord Mantell and causally but not unnoticed by Hunter keeps looking back at you and Omega.  

“Tech,” Hunter puts his hand on his shoulder, “you should go and treat y/n. Me and Echo will pilot back to Cid’s.” 

“Right. Right. Yes.”  

Echo chuckles from the side, “and Tech? Try to say more than two words to the poor girl. She thinks you don’t like her.” 

Tech gets up hesitantly and mumbles to himself, “it’s quite the opposite...” 

Slowly Tech walks to the back of the ship where Omega is cleaning your wound gently and he looks down avoiding your gaze, “Omega I can continue treatment. You should go and assist the others up front.” 

Omega looks up at Techs blushing cheeks and her eyes go wide as she figures out what he means, “Oh! Yes. I’ll go and read the ships manual... again...” 

You giggle at the two of them your cheeks slightly burning as Tech crouches down in front of you looking over your wound, “Omega did a sufficient job in cleaning the wound so I will just stitch it up and you’ll be free to go.” 

You nod at him as he grabs the needle and thread from the first aid kit with shaky hands, “if you could grab the blue bottle of sanitizer, I would like to clean the wound once more...” 

You freeze and stare at the first aid kit beside you, there’s three different bottles all the same but of course different colors that you can’t see. Tech notices your hesitation as you look at the first aid kit, “Is something wrong?” 

“U-Ummm, no. No, it’s alright.” you say grabbing the darkest bottle from the kit assuming that it was blue, but Tech just looks at you confused.  

“This is not the sanitizer, the bottle is clearly red. Can you not tell the difference?” he asks.  

Your eyes widen as you look into his worried ones and you look down sadly, “N-No I... can’t.” 

“Your injury doesn’t suggest temporary blindness, but I can run several tests and scans to see if there is an underlying cause from the-”  

Slowly you put your hand on Techs shoulder, giving him a small smile, “Tech. It’s not that. I’m... color blind.” 

You and Tech sit there for a moment your hand on his shoulder, cheeks burning brightly as he slowly leans closer to you, mere inches apart as he looks into your eyes more clearly, “was it a birth defect or something that developed in a later period?” 

“I have only ever seen the world as grey, black and white...” you whisper.  

Tech clears his throat and backs away from you suddenly realizing how close he was, his cheeks a bright red you can’t see, “I see. It is quite fascinating.” 

“Fascinating?” you ask as Tech grabs the correct bottle and sanitizes your arm once again then begins to stitch you up.  

“Yes. Seeing the world in a monochromatic way is quite fascinating. How do you differentiate between things if you cannot see based off their primary color? Can you differentiate based on the shade of grey that you see? When someone asks you about a color how do you see it? I will have to research the cause of this it is quite an interesting study...” he rambles to himself as he finished your arm gently placing a bandage over the stitched wound.  

You giggle at the genius, “I would be happy to answer any questions you have Tech.” He looks up at you from his crouch on the ground, his goggles shine off the faint lightbulb in the back of the ship. You look over him slowly never having been this close to him or been in the same room as him this long and admire the man in front of you. His hair is light, and he has speckles of freckles along his cheeks if you look close enough. His armor is white with some paint down the front, a bright color you can tell by the way it pops against the white, and his eyes... not quite dark, not quite light. Maker how you would love to know what his eyes look like as they sparkle in front of you.  

“Tech?” you reach out and gently touch his cheek, “Thank you for treating my arm.” 

He stands abruptly, his heart hammering in his chest and looks anywhere but at you, “You are welcome... excuse me.” He then heads back to the cockpit leaving you sitting there confused and embarrassed.  

... 

Since that day Tech has been putting more of an effort to speak with you, though he typically asks you questions related to your color blindness or runs tests and scans on your eyes, all for his study. You don’t mind really, it’s been nice to be able to just sit with the man you’ve had a crush on for months and let him talk. You've always loved the way he can talk about anything and everything, always curious, always learning, he truly is a marvelous man.  

One night Wrecker had taken Omega out for a not-so-secret Mantel mix run, while Echo and Hunter were at Cid’s and you were cleaning the ship as Tech sat in the cockpit working on something. You were in your own little world of cleaning not really paying attention when Tech appeared behind you and tapped your shoulder.  

“Oh! Did you need something?” you ask with a warm smile.  

Tech briefly smiles back, “Yes. Could you accompany me while I run a quick errand?”  

“Oh um... Sure!” you say excitedly. Tech has never asked you to go anywhere with him before so you are surprised but happy that he’s now comfortable enough around you that he can ask. You follow him out of the ship and together the two of you head into town, you are following behind him as he leads you to an abandoned building on the outskirts of the city.  

You look around confused as he begins to climb the stairs up to the roof, “Where are we going Tech?” 

“You’ll see in a moment.” He responds as you both climb up to the roof. Once on the roof Tech stops and looks at you his heart hammering in his chest. You looked so incredible with the sunset behind you painting you in a wash of oranges and pinks, maker he really is in love with you.  

“What’s going on? There’s nothing up here.” You ask him confused. You see him fumbling with a small box that you didn’t notice he was holding. He looked nervous but then he sighs and looks at you, really looks, making you freeze on the spot. 

He steps towards you and grabs your arms hesitantly, “y/n... I... I made something for you.” 

He trails his hands down your arms till he grabs your hands, gently putting the small box in them, “What? You made me something?” 

He nods and you hesitantly open the box with a gasp, “Tech... are these?” 

“Try them on. I took your measurements so they should fit you perfectly but if there’s an issue then I can-” 

“I-I can’t... I can’t accept these.” you stutter overwhelmed as you look at the pair of glasses sitting in the small box you're holding. Tech takes them out of the box, and you close your eyes as you feel him gently place them on your face.  

You keep your eyes closed afraid to open them, but Tech puts his hands on your cheeks, “Open your eyes darling.” 

Hesitantly you open your eyes, and you immediately start crying. Around you is an explosion of vibrant colors you’ve never experienced. Your eyes flicker over Techs face as his hands still hold your cheeks keeping you in place. His armor is white and a bright painted color just like you thought, his hair is sandy, and his eyes... his eyes sparkle under his goggles a warm color you can only describe as home.  

“You’re so beautiful.” you sniffle as the tears continue to fall down your cheeks onto his hands. 

He chuckles, “No my dear. You are the beautiful one. I... have always thought you to be, which is why I couldn’t utter more than two words since we met.” He leans closer to you his face now inches away from yours, “I am not... good with feelings but, you could say my world has become new and vibrant since you became a part of it. And I wanted you to experience how I see you I... I love you y/n.” 

You reach forward grabbing his neck and slam your lips onto his. He hesitates for a second and then he kisses you back slowly getting more passionate as the kiss continues. After a while you pull away and gently put your hand to his cheek, “I love you too Tech.” 

His cheeks go bright red, and you smile brightly as you see it for the first time. He turns you around and wraps his arms around your waist as you both look out at the sunset, your first sunset. The tears continue to fall down your cheeks as you stare at the sky watching the colors change and fade, “It is so beautiful...” 

Tech who was completely ignoring the sky watching his beloved, replies simply, “yes, it is.”  

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[pompillar]

Okay okay I have some thoughts to share on stigmas and the way they tie into the wish they made. It's not a fun one as much as it is character study and hoping to figure out how the wish and stigma correlate.

Jin - Bianerus - we all know this one, spoken command that compels you to obey at least for a bit of time. Which to me means his wish was born from a place of helplessness. He was in a situation where he had no control at all, so he probably wished for the control he lacked, the ability to make things go his way for once. This is most likely something with his family, his father and sister have been stated to be assholes so... There's that.

Tohma - Argeas - basically the ability to amplify his voice using waves, or sending vibrations into the ground for earthquake force. A bit interesting how he can use it in very different ways. How this reads to me is someone who feels unseen and unwanted, in a position where they feel they don't matter. His wish was most likely to be able to be heard and seen, to leave an impression. Wonder if it was his family like Jin, that made him feel that way.

Lucas - Iggnaim - a literal shield that can be used to block and bounce things away. This one is very easy, his wish was straight up to protect. To save someone, to keep them from harm, most likely his twin brother. (Full metal alchemist vibes???) So it plays perfectly into his knight behavior.

Kaito - ??? - so he's confusing. His stigma could be the enhanced vision making him able to see farther, clearer, read lips and possibly see auras? Idk how even Hyde is confused about it like why do the teachers not even know??? Pushing that aside, it gives me the feeling that he wished for something along the lines of being able to see through lies. Like he was dealing with constant lying and gaslighting and just people hiding things from him. And this was the direction his demon took the urge to see past falsehoods. (of course this is all assuming he's a ghoul... which I don't think he is *gestures to older post about my headcanon for the house of ardici*)

Alan - Yagsal Olbalsa - some type of super strength, possibly trance inducing as well. Oh I love him, this is a sad one though. This type of power would come from a type of powerless feeling much like Jin. But also similar to Luca. Alan's wish was most likely to defend himself or someone else because he felt completely helpless. He needed power, strength, and it was probably around the time of his father's murder that he made his wish.

Sho - Spurno - jams stuff... Ugh this translation kinda blows. Because I've seen another post talking about the Japanese version of it and jamming is not it honey. It's more like a disorienter, making things go in a different direction than planned. And when it's been enhanced it pushes things away. This is a very interesting one. So his wish could be interpreted as wanting something or someone to leave him alone or go away. He wished for distance by force. This could mean his home life might have been physically or verbally abusive. Possibly from his brother...

Leo - Haxs - enhanced hearing that can be boosted to hear further distances and through soundproofing. This is a tricky one because it could be as simple as him being nosey but that doesn't make sense with a demonic pact, it's not dire enough. He might be similar to Kaito in this regard. Tired of lies and sugar coated words he wished to be able to discern what was true. And his demon said heard, literally.

Haru - Bahnti - lessened gravity on his body for super speed. This man... He's got similar motive to Sho but the opposite direction. Looking at it like this he most likely wished to get away from something or someone. To be able to get as far away as fast as possible. Something had this man scared as all hell when he made that wish.

Towa - ??? - weather control? Can summon lightning and rain and possibly earthquakes? Wait is his power just natural disasters? Okay his stigma is very loose and completely weird to me. Truth be told I personally don't think he's a ghoul I think he's a fae. But if we're going on ghoul terms and he made a wish... Possibly he felt no control in his life. That everything was working against him. Depending on what demon he made a pact with they could have had a sense of humor and granted his wish in a very unorthodox way. Giving him control over weather but it's not by choice it's ruled by his emotions.

Ren - Raothtas - (I absolutely spelled it like the monster hunter dragon the first time ngl) so far it's only been used to clean things and boil water faster. So his is hard to determine as of right now... if I had to guess going by his attitude and some of the things he's said offhandedly I think his dad was possibly abusive and controlling to the point it made Ren hate him and interacting with people in general. Maybe a situation where if he did his chores his dad was nicer? Idk I'm spinning my wheels on this one. With not much to go on I can only go so far.

Taiga - Malab - ??? uhhhhh so there's not really anything to go off here. Most likely future sight based or something like that. Until we have more details I can't say anything here.

Romeo - Tiris - makes items into bombs, the stronger his attachment to it the bigger the blast. He is so fascinating for this. I couldn't quite get my head around it at first but I think I have half a thought now. His wish could have been something to do with getting rid of something. Possibly he had a prized possession from someone and they hurt him immensely. Causing him to wish things like physical proof of the connection would just disappear. The demon he made this wish with could have been particularly destructive and decided that disappear meant detonate.

Ritsu - Acimo - hardens his body and garments, nullifying damage. Okay this one seems very on the nose. Clearly he wished for either the power to defend himself or shield someone, or possibly that he couldn't be hurt again. We all know his dad is shit from what we heard so far. I wouldn't put it past him to beat his son. Or it could be other kids at school or anyone honestly. But it feels hard to change the idea that this power and wish came from a place of pain and wanting it to stop, either his own or someone elses.

Subaru - Talnandio - the power to see the past through touch, not really controllable either. Oh sweet multifaceted Subaru... you got traumatized for sure. This type of thing goes hand in hand with Leo's wish honestly. In my mind what Subaru wished for was to be able to see what actually happened or to see the truth. Possibly about the other idol he had an issue with. It could be that the wish was brought on because he felt the need to see what the man had done. Clearly him and Leo have some surprising similarities...

Haku - ??? - motherfucker says he doesn't like using it... I swear to god if his stigma is like fox fire or some shit I will lose it... Not a damn one of these bastards has a fire based power and I'm trying to piece the prologue into this!!!

Zenji - ??? - please give me a hint goddamn!!! I can't write anything for you if you don't sir...

Edward - ??? - *screeching and wailing* what are your stigmas????

Rui - ??? - a temporary pain reliever and healing magic. Rui... can you please get a less tragic backstory my guy? With that type of stigma the wish he made would have been similar to Luca I think. He needed to protect someone, or to save or fix them. Someone important to him might have been dying when he made his wish. But pacts aren't always perfect and you get what you get. If this is the case I doubt whoever he made this wish for survived...

Lyca - Ramsochisa - ability to track things by a smell from memory. Ugh stop it you're too tragic! This feels like it would have come from a wish along the lines of I need to find this person. Maybe Neros, maybe his birth parents. Somewhere down the line Lyca wanted to find them badly enough to wish on a demon for it.

Yuri - Agnihaet - increases brain activity, basically unlocking 100% of the brain for use. I love him because tbh I relate to what I think his wish was for. Someone in his life or a situation made him feel stupid. Or straight up called him stupid to his face. His pride can't handle that. That wish was most likely to be able to prove that he's smart no matter what. So his demon said okay, here's the rest of your human brain enjoy!

Jiro - ??? - involuntary ability to mirror damage onto the dealer, including poison and injections. Ughhhh, my baby... I don't wanna be right. But it's hard to avoid going there. Someone was hurting him, and badly. Enough to make him wish for the pain to stop, for his own safety. For the people or person doing it to him to feel what he's feeling. Almost just a true venegence type of thing. It was definitely from a dark, desperate place that he made this wish. And his demon was thorough about granting it, as it should be... (call that demon me the way it decided to protect him like that)

So in conclusion we have some different base desires in these wishes:

The need for power or control: Jin, Tohma, Alan, Yuri

The need to protect others or oneself: Lucas, Sho, Haru, Ritsu, Rui, Jiro

The need to seek the truth: Kaito, Leo, Subaru, Lyca(?)

TBA: Towa, Ren, Taiga, Romeo, Haku, Zenji, Edward

I'm defintely going to update this in the future when we learn more. I feel like this is a fun character analysis tbh... but zzg gimme the stigmas you bastards!!!

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Angel - Part 5

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Enhanced Omega Reader x Alpha Bucky Barnes

Theme: A/B/O / True Mates

Summary: It's different when you're enhanced. Everything is different, every smell, every sound, touch, feelings. The way it's different doesn't make sense unless you are enhanced. Throw in what comes with Alpha and Omega instincts, and the intensity of your presentation is even more than any other. When you find yourself in need of help you can call on the alpha you trust the most, Natasha Romanoff. You just don't expect to find your alphas at the same time. Are you really enough for them? And can you really be the Luna to the Avengers?

"To be loved, to be loved by your mate is everything." - Wanda Maximoff

Reader is enhanced, has wings and has powers connected to electricity.

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: The reader takes the rescue mission in hand but will Bucky's self loathing lead to problems?

Chapter Warning: Mentions of an abusive childhood, injuries, blood, drowning.

Being enhanced made you different, but how it made you different was also interchangeable from person to person. Jean Gray had once tried to explain it to you, but science and DNA was never your strong point. The one part you did understand was that for some that the DNA activation that made you mutant (or enhanced to be politically correct) was caused by a crisis and your body reacting. Yours was the need to protect yourself as a child. It had started with the flickering of lights when you were upset. With parents like yours that was often. One violent outburst from your stepfather gifted you with static shocks. The next time electricity waved through your fingers. He kept his distance for a few months until your mother heard of undesirables hunting out mutants. Some parents hid their children and others, those like your mother, offered you to them.

You jumped from your bedroom window in a bid to escape, hoping for a soft landing. But the landing never came and you found yourself in the air, your hoodie ripped from your back, and the bralette you were wearing underneath barely hanging on. Your mother had gasped as she rushed to the window to grab you.

At fourteen you had literally ‘flown the coop’. Eventually you found yourself at Xavier’s door. He and the X-Men had taught you to hone your skills but the damage of your life back home had always lingered and you didn’t stay anywhere long. Trust and fear fuelling your worries.

Your work as an AFH, Agent For Hire, led you to Barton and Romanoff, and in turn now, as you dipped through the storm it led you to your alphas. Now though, that wasn’t the priority. Getting them and Sam off the roof of the jet and out the water was. Your enhanced senses confirmed that Bruce was right, Sam was the worst injured. A broken wrist and ribs, a punctured lung, shrapnel to his leg, that although torqued was bleeding heavily. You were sure from his slowing heartbeat he was probably bleeding internally too.

Both Steve and Bucky were holding on to him, the latter yelling at him to stay awake. Each had an arm across him as they used their free hand to grip the jet. Steve’s head was bleeding heavily from where the emergency line cradle had hit him in the head and his breathing was laboured.

Bucky spotted you incoming. His brow furrowed with confusion. He’d seen a shadow fall from the jet and had thought he was hallucinating when he didn’t see any of the others or the emergency line. Now he realised that shadow was very much real, had wings and was about to land on him. You also smelt very familiar.

You gestured as you neared for him to move and he rolled his body away slightly allowing you space to slot him between him and Sam. You tapped his arm and then Steve’s for them to release him, as you slipped one arm under Sam’s shoulder blades and another under his legs. Steve failed to move and his grip tightened. Bucky yelled at him to let go. Steve looked up confused, face bloody, struggling to see you through the storm and the blood that trickled down his face. He loosened his grip slightly as he tried to focus and you used the moment to  shoot upwards into the sky. You were in the jet quickly after and placing Sam onto one of the beds that Bruce had set up.

You signed to Clint.

“Rogers next. Head injury.”

He relayed to Bruce as you jumped from the jet again. The sky lit up with lightning and your hair stood on end reacting as your body responded to the storm around and the static electricity around it. The waves grew higher and more violent as you neared.

Steve and Bucky were battered by the waves and the jet had now tilted slightly causing them to be further into the water than before . Bucky now seemed to be half on top of his Steve and you realised that he was now unconscious, his body going limp as you approached. Bucky was trying his best to keep them both on the roof of the jet and stop Steve falling into the depths of whatever ocean or sea they were currently being thrown around.

You stopped short of landing on the roof of the jet and hovered above them both, wings keeping you in the air. You tapped Bucky’s arm as you gripped the harnesses that usually carried Steve’s shield. He released him as you flew upwards and you caught Bucky’s voice on the wind, you made out the word ‘careful’ and you weren’t sure if he meant with Steve or yourself. You were sure he meant the first. Moments later you manhandled him onto another of the beds. Clint and Nat were quickly by his side as Bruce worked on Sam.

You started to run towards the back of the jet, ready to grab Bucky. You leapt as you had before, your wings having stayed outwards since the first rescue. Your eyes went wide as they locked onto the sergeant below. A huge wave had formed and as it dipped and turned, it pulled Bucky and the jet with it and turned him under the waves. You went to shout but nothing came out. You flew upward and rounded back to pick up speed. The jet resurfaced but there was no sign of Barnes.

You tapped on your glasses and they picked up the pulse of Bucky’s heartbeat. It was getting lower into the ocean and you needed to act quickly. You flew at speed downwards towards him, your wings angled to give you more speed. Nearing the water you put your arms in front of you for a diving motion and took a deep breath. The speed that you’d picked up in the air propelled you into the water and towards Bucky. His eyes were closed but one arm was reaching out in front of him like he had tried a last minute grab of the jet before being buried by the waves. With a few strokes you were able to grab the harness that wrapped around his upper torso and held his weapons. You kicked your legs and fought against the sea, battling to get to the surface. You’d never been this far underwater before and definitely hadn’t had hold of a two hundred pound super soldier in the water either. You decided to use your wings and pushed them into a flapping motion in sync with your legs.

You broke the surface with a gasp. The waves grew bigger by the moment and a brief glance at Bucky in your arms told you he wasn’t breathing. Looking up into the darkness you could make out the lights of the jet, the door still open and Clint hanging out of it waving a flare. Your vision was blurred by the water on your mission glasses but it was enough to guide you back to them. A heavy pull of the water let you know you were in the trough of a huge wave and you knew it was now or never. You wrapped your legs around Bucky’s and slipped your hands into the back of his harness. You pulled and pushed with your wings until you were out of the water and battling your way to the jet.

You landed in a heap, still wrapped around the alpha. You heard Bruce yell to get him breathing and pulled yourself from around him. With Bruce working on Sam, Nat on Steve and Clint lining up a beacon arrow to fire to the jet it was on you.

You pulled Bucky onto his back and checked his airways. His heart was slow but still beating. You blew two breathes directly into his mouth, as Clint quickly joined you. He slapped his face and yelled at Bucky to wake up. You blew another breath into his mouth and decided to shock him with a little static electricity.

Water splashed across your face as he began to cough and you pushed him onto his side. You hit him hard on his back as he moved onto all fours. He coughed up more water and you hit him again before he gasped and gestured at you to stop.

Bucky was confused. One minute he’d been watching you take Steve. Then he was underwater. Now he was on the jet but it smelt like he was at Coney Island.

You watched as he took deep breaths before he muttered that you should have left him. It was quiet enough for the others to miss it with the noise of the jet but you certainly didn’t it and your brow furrowed as you looked towards Clint.

“What did he say?”

You signed back, concern across your face.

“He said I should have left him.”

It was at this moment Clint lost his shit. He grabbed at Bucky and pulled him from the floor, attempting to manhandle him towards the bed waiting for him.

“Hey asshole, she just risked her damn life for you, so you can quit with the self loathing bullshit.”

“I didn’t ask her to do that.” He replied shrugging Clint off.

“No, but she did it anyway. Didn’t even have to ask her and she’s throwing herself into a fucking storm for you three idiots. You’d be dead without her, all fucking three of you. Is that what you want?”

Bucky went to yell back but coughed again and struggled to catch his breath. You listened carefully and could hear he still had water in his lungs. You signed to Clint, who in turn yelled at Bucky.

“You’ve got water in your lungs dipshit. Get on the bed.”

Clint pulled at Bucky’s shoulder and he brushed him off harshly. You felt the mood in the jet shift further and the start of a growl rumbled in Natasha’s chest. A growl from Bruce followed but it sounded more like the other guy. Clint rubbed his face in frustration.

At this point you had really had enough. You were wet, cold and hurt. You were drained. You needed another shower and a warm bed. You heard Bruce ask Barnes again to get on the bed and his response was a growl. Natasha went to react but for once she wasn’t quick enough, as this time it was you losing your shit. You strode towards Barnes and pushed out your wings as a show of force and intimidation. You were almost surprised that it worked and he staggered back in shock and collided with the side of the bed as you crowded him. You grabbed the harness and lifted him up, sitting him on to the bed. You were purposely rough as you lifted his legs and pushed him further on to bed.

You signed angrily.

“Get on the bed and do as you’re fucking told Sergeant.”

It was as you stormed off towards the bathroom that Bucky realised he’d fucked up. It was you that smelt of Coney Island. Well, sugar doughnuts and cotton candy.

The stirring of his alpha confirmed it. You were his.

Next Part

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@animegirlgeeky @mrsevans90 @vicmc624 @elissanatok

[mikethebrave]

guys, i have good news for once. i've found proof of intelligent life out here in these wastelands:

my favorite excerpts:

Will, Jonathan, and Joyce Formed a Special Trio

If Eleven is the main character in Stranger Things, the Byers family is the conduit through which she flickers. Will’s disappearance in the first season spurred the Hawkins community to rush to his aid. The tight-knit camaraderie between Will, Jonathan, and Joyce juxtaposes the stereotypical family composed of kids and teenagers. Parents and children are supposed to fight and bicker in television and other media, often to build the main conflict of the story, but the Byers family already underwent that trauma offscreen.  Lonnie Byers (Ross Partridge) makes a brief cameo in the first season, flexing his standoffish demeanor and abusive nature. It’s clear that the Byers patriarch doesn’t possess much empathy for his ex-wife or his sons. Jonathan valiantly steps into the father, husband, and big brother role, amalgamating into a combination of responsibilities that no other character on the show could dream of emulating. 

Jonathan Binds the Byers Family Together

Jonathan’s multifaceted arc in the first two seasons made him one of the series’ most easily dissectable characters. Stranger Things often differentiates itself from other shows by keeping the antagonists separate from the main characters. There are no Walter White or Tony Soprano-style antiheroes in which fans must compromise one part of their moral compass to appreciate the character. One might think this makes the series boring, but it’s the opposite. Jonathan was proof that a nearly perfect brother and son can still be fascinating to watch. After Will was found in season 1’s climax, he was taken over by the Mind Flayer in season 2. Jonathan again stood by Will’s side as his little brother felt outcasted by friends and society at large. Schnapp and Heaton’s chemistry often leads to tender, humorous exchanges like this one in which the boys remind the audience that being weird can be a human superpower in its own right.  These moments became few and far between in seasons 3 and 4. Will and Jonathan were relegated to minor supporting characters as the aforementioned new additions took center stage. Will at least gets to tag along with Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and the other younger friends. Jonathan often only appears in a few small scenes with his girlfriend Nancy (Natalia Dyer), and the writers even flirted with pushing Nancy back into Steve’s arms in the most recent season. Jonathan spent the majority of season 4 high on marijuana and frolicking around in a faux buddy-comedy routine with the one-off character Argyle (Eduardo Franco).  The decision to waste Heaton’s work from the first two seasons with a 180-degree personality change made no sense. Jonathan suddenly seemed careless, distant, and uninspired, but not in a dense way that could be unlocked by further character development. Little-to-no time was spent on him. While some fans might concur it is a necessary evil to take screen time away from older characters when expanding the world of Hawkins, it certainly transforms Stranger Things from a show about family into a show just about monsters and romances. 

Jonathan’s Enhanced Role in Season 5?

Many theories point to Will being one of the critical pieces to defeating Vecna (Jamie Campbell Bower) in the fifth and final season. His connection to the Upside Down and the evils underneath the surface should open up opportunities for Jonathan to lend his ears and counseling once again. Jonathan grows on an individual level when he aids others. When locked out of his family’s life, it stunts his ability to shine as a listener and an empathizer.  Jonathan’s best scene from season 4 again features a tear-jerking moment with Will. On the cusp of coming out of the closet, Will needs Jonathan more than ever before, and his brother responds supremely to the task at hand. The poignant conversation validates that the Duffers haven’t completely forgotten how to flesh out the Byers family. When the world gets too enormous for the characters and the audience, Jonathan serves as a connector to the most human elements of the series’ thematic thesis. He may not be as funny as Steve or as neurotic as Robin, but Jonathan symbolizes the good in all of us. In a show shrouded in darkness, Jonathan’s presence will be instrumental to forming a satisfying, optimistic conclusion in Hawkins, Indiana.

[yoongleboonglepie]

Pechsträhne Chapter 18

BTS OT7 x Reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter playlist-Youtube music

Chapter Playlists-Spotify

Word Count Approx: 19k

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A/n: Heyyyyyyyy so next weekend there probably wont be an update. I have a bunch of appointments and I'm hosting a BTS festa party with my friends next weekend so I have to prep for that. That said: WOOOOOOWEEEE this one was a can of worms. I can't wait to jump right back in to chapter 19 because 👀👀👀👀👀👀 GAH okay.

That being said, it's my goal to have the family info sheet out before chapter 19. It's an abridged version, because I doubt people want to read individual paragraphs about these people lol. Anywho, Crack on with it. (If you see typos--no you didn't. My ghost reader hasn't read it yet LOL).

CW: depicts severe depression and mild emotional abuse. Read at your own discretion.

 _________________________________________ 

Act 1: A Purpose

The room was obnoxiously bright thanks to the rectangular fluorescent lights that hung overhead, slotted between the bland peppered ceiling tiles, and enhanced by the four sterile white walls that reflected it directly into his eyes. He had let his vision phase in and out of focus ever since the nurse had left, spending the passing seconds watching the lines of the green leather examination table that was ripped and wrinkled from use sharpen and blur. 

His heartbeat steadily from his chest, echoing up faintly into his ears like a distant drum. Overtop of the thrumming in his veins and the faint buzzing of the light bulbs that flickered every thirty seconds or so, a new, louder buzzing bleated over it. Once. Then again, louder and harder to ignore–before the person it was coming from waved a hand in the air from across the room. 

“Mr. Jung–Are you alright?” 

Hoseok jolted from his thoughts, blurry eyes refocusing back to the doctor in front of him who had already opened their mouth to speak again.

“I asked if you had given some more thought to what we had discussed during your previous visit.” Dr. Diaz repeated her earlier question that had gone unheard. 

Hoseok blinked over at her as he regained his physical presence in the room and readjusted his eyes to take her in. She hadn’t changed in the slightest since the last time he had seen her three months prior. Dr. Diaz was a woman in her early forties with dark hair she always wore pulled back and away to reveal some new fun shaped earring her children had given her (today’s were a set of iridescent bubbles that refracted colorful spots over the room), and wide rimmed glasses that she always fidgeted with far too often than necessary. And most of all, she was nice; an avid listener with exceptional bedside manner, always being sure to go above and beyond when he would bring up any of his concerns–the best of all the doctors he frequented. 

Yet still it was a bittersweet reunion whenever he walked up to the check out desk and greeted the same woman he always did behind the front desk who addressed him now by his first name, and was led back to sit on a leather chair that made his back scream at him after the first four minutes. Because it meant he had failed again. 

Every road led him here, as if her office were a pit of quicksand he couldn’t stop trying to fruitlessly wrestle his way out of. No matter how many times he insisted on doing the same dance he had done to get here the first handful of times, he still found himself here in this stupid leather chair.  The steps to his dance of denial were simple: First, he’d find a new primary care physician to share his chief complaints with, ask for a medication refill or two, and humor them with maybe two weeks of physical therapy before the therapists would send him on his way back to the primary care physician because that form of treatment was inefficient. Second, he’d go on a tour of specialists that he had probably already seen and give them the same run down he’d given a hundred times before, where they’d maybe find something else to focus on for a month or so before inevitably finding himself here back at Dr. Diaz’s office with her looking at him with the same knowing glint in her eyes.  

The same one she twisted her rotating stool to give him right now. 

Hoseok gave her a lopsided smile and a weak shake of his head. “You should know me better than that by now, doc.” 

“That’s the problem Mr. Jung, isn’t it? I know you far too well for a patient that doesn’t get any treatment.” Dr. Diaz sighed and she dropped her hand to hang off of the small linoleum ledge where her computer sat, letting her fingers tap against it rhythmically. “May I ask you something, Mr. Jung?” 

“By all means.” Hoseok shrugged, shifting in his chair again with a grimace. “I’ve told you already, you can call me Hoseok. Mr. Jung is my dad.” 

“Well then, Hoseok, what is it that you hope to achieve? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re just wasting money at this point to come see me without taking any of my advice. How many times are we going to do this?” She looked at him over her glasses, dark eyes probing him for an honest answer. 

 Hoseok’s confident facade faltered, and he chewed on his cheek to keep himself from frowning while he tried to scrounge up his good answer. “Dr. Williams sent me back to you for another consultation. Needed to go through with it to get my medication refilled.” 

“I understand how it is you got here today–I wouldn’t be in this seat if I didn’t know how to read a referral. But what do you want to get out of all of this long term?” Dr. Diaz pressed, remaining unbending in her persistence. 

Hoseok’s nose twitched, and he looked down at his bouncing knee distractedly with a shrug. “Dunno.” 

Which was true–he didn’t know. Deep down he wanted to stall until he could find a second, third, or even sixth opinion that would offer him something new, and not with another trip to Dr. Diaz’s Neuro and Spine Health clinic.

“I did see something online about some holistic guy that practices a state over. Thought about giving him a go, cause what do I have to lose?” Hoseok scratched his ear with an uncomfortable laugh that was shoved back down his throat with the gravity of her stare. 

The doctor breathed sharply from her nose and clicked her computer screen off, then used the heels of her brightly colored sneakers to roll her stool to a halt a couple of feet in front of them with both hands braced on her knees.  “I’m going to be frank with you. As your healthcare provider, I want what’s best for you. And while I can’t tell you any of your choices are inherently wrong–I would ask you to please reevaluate where you stand on all of this. You can keep seeing a revolving door of specialists all you like, but you can’t change the truth.” 

“Which is?” He snuck a glance up at her from his hand that drummed a beat on his knee, his restless leg keeping the time for it.

“That you are making it worse by delaying surgery. Each time you push me away and visit some new aged pseudoscience provider, you are effectively diminishing your chances for a smooth recovery and an easier transition. You are putting yourself in more pain–something we can both agree you don’t need.” She held one sun-spotted hand out and placed it on the back of his fist that knocked on his thigh incessantly, stopping it from leaving bruises with how hard he had begun to bring it down on the poo muscle. “I know it’s not the answer you want, but it’s the answer you need. You’re young, and have so much life ahead of you! You can either go through with the recommended procedures and live the rest of that life with manageable pain and consistent care, or you will continue to suffer until one day it gets so bad that can’t get out of bed on your own, and the damage will be so irreparable that surgery will be out of the question. And when that happens, no medicine will have the same effect because you built up a tolerance to them in your twenties. That is the choice you have to make. Not whether or not it happens, but how hard you choose to make it on yourself.” 

His vulnerability left his walls weakened, and her touch brought forth the scent of warm sun and new book pages, accompanied by the sound of small running feet and children’s screams as they played somewhere nearby. Short fuzzy clips of a modest sized box with floral wrapping paper being torn and opened to reveal the very earrings she had dangling from her earlobes. A gift from the recent weeks, he surmised.  

Hoseok swallowed thickly and pushed the visions away, his knee jerking to a stop and the restless movement transferring up into his heart instead. She was right, and he knew it. He was painfully aware of it in the way he felt that he was losing himself with each passing day. Things that he never gave a second thought to had become challenging, and he tried to minimize how they affected him. Cutting activities out here and calling off work there–until the next thing he knew everything was a challenge that’s consequences had to be weighed each morning. Did he want to go for a short walk, or put away his laundry? Go to town with Jin and get out of the estate for once, or rest so work would be just a hair more bearable? A constant game of give and take.

 He just didn’t want to face it. Face what his life could look like after the surgery. He was still clinging onto the frayed rope of hope of delusion that if he just ignored it or just pushed himself a little bit harder, that it would go away. 

“I don’t want to lose what I have left.” Hoseok whispered out through his teeth, the sudden confession  of his thoughts surprising even himself. “I know that sounds stupid with what it could end up doing to me…” 

“It’s not stupid.” Dr. Diaz reassured him swiftly, retracting her comforting hand. “That is a perfectly normal thing to feel for people in your situation. Have you thought about getting counseling for this?” She drifted her stool back towards the laptop, fingers already clacking away at the keyboard within seconds. “It’s very normal to experience a sense of grief for the life you had, or the life you thought you’d have when things like this happen. If that is a prominent issue for you, I am more than happy to give you a referral to one of our therapists.” 

“I’m not interested in a therapist.” Hoseok had to physically stop his lip from curling upwards at the suggestion. “I just want to not think about it anymore.” 

Dr. Diaz pushed her glasses up with her finger as she continued to type, a small smile curving the one side of her lips up. “Sounds like someone who would really benefit from counseling.” 

Hoseok huffed out a defeated sigh and shifted his weight from one hip to the other to try and relieve the one side of the built up pressure. It didn’t work. “What’s the point? It’s not going to change anything.” 

The clacking of her keys stopped–and in a new first–she took two fingers to slide her glasses off of the bridge of her nose and folded the arms down flat, discarding them onto the table. “Hoseok.” 

“That’s my name.” Hoseok’s jest was strained by his discomfort and fell flat between them like a poorly designed paper airplane. 

She ignored it, stepping over it like it never happened. “Do you have anything to look forward to? Anything you can think of to give you purpose?” 

Hoseok paused, the question catching him off guard. He must finally be getting on her nerves, because this was the most forward Dr. Diaz has been in the years that he’s known her. He humored it if only just for a second, turning over his present day life and the current trajectory of his future and emptying what little it consisted of out into his mind to pick through. He couldn’t dance anymore–not without a cost at least. He didn’t have an interest in furthering his education because nothing caught his attention long enough to commit years of his life to. He didn’t have any current hobbies besides playing a few board games with his friends and house mates when they happened to all meet up in the dining room. 

His throat felt tight, his eyes falling down to his lap with a meek shrug. “There’s probably something I could find.” 

“But can you think of one–just one off the top of your head right now.” Her stare felt unavoidable and piercing even if he wasn’t looking at her. 

Hoseok clenched his jaw, and with one twitch of his head he gave her his wordless answer. He didn’t have one. 

Dr. Diaz turned back to her screen to type a few final additions to her notes, the clacking having well started to get on his nerves by now. Once satisfied with whatever it was she had written, she picked up her glasses by one leg and spun them around in her fingers to line them up with her face. “I sent a referral out for counseling and psychiatric services. I suggest you take them up on whatever it is they have to offer.” 

“And my meds?” Hoseok’s voice cracked as he asked. 

“I will authorize your refill.” She stopped the wild spinning of her spectacles and slid them back on her face. “However this will be the last time I do. You have to understand that these medications are addictive, and you need to take breaks from them. You can not rely on these forever.” She stood, and used the toe of one of her sneakers to push the stool under the alcove where it belonged. “Your homework for the next time I see you is to give counseling a try, and come up with an answer for me. You can go try that holistic pain doctor if you’d like, but I suspect I will see you back in my office sooner rather than later. You can preemptively schedule your follow up with Kiana at the front desk. And lastly,” She stopped with her hand on the door knob to give him one last friendly smile, “Try and find something worth fighting for, and then tell me about it next time I see you. I’ll be waiting to hear it.” 

That was the last she spoke to him, holding the heavy door open for him to step through after her as her wordless goodbye. The door hadn’t even clicked closed by the time she whisked herself away to her next appointment. He didn’t need to be told where the front desk was anyway–he had been here enough times to know his way around by himself. 

With his after-visit summary clutched in his hand and his keys dangling from the other, Hoseok took his time on his stroll back to his car to enjoy the early spring chill, combated by just the hint of warmth from the sun to create the perfect weather in his opinion. Too hot and he felt sick, too cold and it permeated his bones and ebbed outwards until he felt numb and stiff. And with spring around the corner–as signified by the deep green of daffodil foliage that had started to pop up outside of the doctors office and the woods along the hotel and estate–he wondered if that would be enough of a reason to give Dr. Diaz the next time he saw her. A reason to give him another prescription and to get her out of his hair. 

He dropped himself into the driver’s seat and tossed the paper onto the center console only for it to flutter onto the floor in the back seat. His fingers tugged the door closed, and for just a moment he let his head fall back against the headrest and his eyes slip closed. For a moment he let himself feel it. 

The pain that radiated down his legs and made his feet tingle. The icy hot shoots that tugged on the muscles of his lumbar and thoracic regions and made him twitch his fingers to find purchase on the steering wheel to keep from grunting. Knives that had buried themselves long ago into his lower spine and constantly rang out with a merciless throb that gnawed at his resolve bit by bit, and his hips that ached from taking on too much of the physical load of his movement. 

“How did it go?” Mariah cautiously broke the silence to his left. 

“How it usually does.” He muttered bitterly, twisting to grab the fallen paper–the movement making him hiss from the sudden contraction along his side. “Take a look for yourself.” 

Mariah gingerly took the paper from his hands and read over it with furrowed brows. Her eyes scanned rapidly from one side to the other until she rose to look at him with pursed lips.  

“If they are suggesting that the surgery is what is best for you–we can make it happen. Anselm and I will cover the costs as we agreed.”

“The cost isn’t the issue.” Hoseok scoffed with a shake of his head. “My parents would probably help with it. It’s what comes after that's the problem.” 

“Hoseok, you are welcome to stay with us with or without a job. We will figure everything out–” 

 Hoseok cut her off with a loud and unnecessary cough, and turned the keys in the ignition. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I have to go back to work in an hour so we should head back.” 

“Well about that…” Mariah started, the seatbelt over her chest and clicking it into place. “I have a different job for you to do today.” 

“Look, I don't have the energy for any of that spooky stuff. I know it’s been a while but I just can’t do it right now.” Hoseok groaned, and spun the wheel with the heel of his palm and craned his neck to ease them out of the parking spot. 

Mariah cleared her throat, suddenly becoming more timid than he was used to. When she still didn’t clarify by the time they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the barren back roads,  he spared her a sideways glance to gauge just how much trouble he’d be in. 

Instead of finding her face pinched in offense–her cheeks were damp and her eyes puffy. She sniffed, and brought her purse up from the floor to hug in her lap against her middle. In this moment he saw a flash of Y/n–youthful and scared, stressed and vulnerable in a way she hated–a rare occurrence for either woman to openly display without just a bit of prying.  

He hesitated, his words coming out choppy and uncertain. “Is something…did something happen or…?”

“Jin called. Y/n accepted the invitation Anselm sent and is on a train from D.C to the Philly station. Do you think you could be the one to pick her up?”

Hoseok slammed on the brakes, and the car protested with a screech to its sudden stop that had them both careening forwards, Mariah shouted in surprise with one hand braced against the dashboard to stop her forehead from colliding with it. Both of their chests heaved as they looked at each other with equal parts distress, and the car sat parked in the middle of the thankfully empty road. 

They didn’t need to speak to know how much this affected them.

_________________________________________

Act Two: Leverage. 

“Try again.” Marah demanded, her fist clenched around a crumpled turtle neck that she offered up to Hoseok’s face with urgency. “Again.” 

“Mrs. Wörner I don’t think that–” Jin put his hand on her wrist to ease it out of his face with little success, trying his best to mediate her excessive demands. She wouldn’t budge. 

Mariah wrenched her wrist from his hold and threw it down on the circular table Hoseok sat at, her breathing sharp and her eyes blazing with residual energy from her earlier sour mood. Her tone was short, biting. “Again.” 

Hoseok slumped in his seat, his energy long since depleted from the countless items she had tossed his way to read. A framed taxidermied bug, a journal, scraps of a yellow dress; but this one struck him as the oddest of the bunch–a shirt that belonged to Y/n that she had snatched from the laundry room on her way out the door. Sure, he had been stuffed into this dimly lit square room more times than he could count, with hundreds of items tossed into his face for him to pull from–all of them ranging from what one would normally consider haunted to things no one would sneak a second glance towards in an antique mart. But never had she given him something of Y/n’s. The feeling it brought to pry into her life made his skin scrawl and his stomach twist with shame. 

Their agreement had been simple: Hoseok would help the Wörner’s by using his…skill sets, and they would help him by using their assets. Neither one of them would ask too many questions about what the other needed, and they liked to keep it that way. Especially Mariah. Yet it was moments like this where a hundred nagging inquiries sprang to his mind, with half of them were unkind. 

Hoseok fingers fiddled with the ridges on the shirt absentmindedly, rolling the folded fabric between his fingers with a furrowed brow. “This feels wrong.” He cast an uncertain glance up to her face, which he regretted almost immediately. 

“I didn’t ask whether you liked doing it, I asked you to do it. We made a deal, Hoseok.” Mariah snatched her purse up from the ground and pried open the flap to rummage her hand through its contents. Her nimble fingers found the object of her interest, and it rattled tantalizingly in his ears as she slammed it down on the table. “If you want any of these, you will do as I say.” 

The tall, orange and translucent pill bottle gleamed at him from the candlelight–a bottle he had thought he had misplaced a week prior. A bottle he had needed so desperately following their group trip to the city that left him in agonizing pain that he had yet to fully recover from, his body consistently functioning on near zero energy from the effort it took to get out of bed and get to work on time. Jin flinched away from the noise and averted his eyes down to the table in a submissive gesture. Hoseok was too stunned to offer the same reverence. 

“How did you–” Hoseok stuttered, gawking at the bottle that was just out of reach. “That’s my fucking meds!” 

“I took them because your mother was worried about you forming a dependence, and requested that I dispense them for you to keep track of how many you are taking. You give me what I need, and I give you what you need. It is no different from our original agreement.” A candle crackled next to Mariah as she explained her heinous reasoning, the shadows it cut into her face making her look more monstrous to him with each passing second. 

This was unfair, and she knew it. But she had him—and she knew that too. 

“If I do this,” Hoseok licked his lips, eyes never leaving the medication that called out to him with the promise of a good night's sleep that he had been lacking. “You’ll give me back my meds?” 

“No.” Mariah lifted the bottle into her hands and turned the label over to read over the instructions. “I will give you one dose.” 

Hoseok grimaced, but the searing burn that crept up his back made it an offer he couldn’t refuse. Just one good night’s sleep would help him have the energy to see Y/n tomorrow–just one would have to be enough for now. 

“Fine.” He relented, and he dragged the shirt across the table and into both fists, stretching and plucking the fabric over his hands for anything to go off of. Only this time unlike his first attempt, he was actually trying. 

Jin slid over a wide metal mixing bowl that jostled and splashed with cool water, leaving it just within Hoseok’s reach for when he would inevitably need it. Hoseok met his brown eyes for just a few seconds and understood the silent gesture: “You’re going to need this. I have a feeling.” 

Hoseok rolled his eyes, marginally so. There was no such thing as just a feeling with Jin–he truly did just know. Thus, he let his eyes fall closed with the comfort of the water dish to his right, and searched outwards with his mind.

At first there was nothing. No phantom smells or sensations, no images or blurred faces and voices to register. There was nothing just as before. Then, slowly as a creeping vine that twirled around his fingertips, he felt it. 

Warmth spread across his chest, and the smell of soil earth and something bitter wafted over him. He felt the warm sun on the back of his neck, and the faint rumble of Namjoon’s voice clipping in and out of his consciousness. “Stick the stem as low as you can, and remove the first few sets of leaves…yeah like that…” 

Following his direction, a short laugh from Y/n, and a response that fluttered by his ears as a welcomed sound. “I know how to plant a tomato Joon! No need to hover over me like that.” 

He saw a few more passing images and sounds he couldn’t place. He heard Jungkook’s laugh that effectively turned his (or perhaps not his)  insides gooey; he saw a dark crystal necklace wrapped in wire like the ones he had seen from the metaphysical store the weekend prior; he caught blurs of his own smile beaming over at him through someone else's eyes–Y/n’s clearly, for he remembered which day it was by the card game that sat just out of his line of sight. There was a bright blurred screen that shined up at him with one word written across the screen that made his tense muscles relax like Y/n’s must have when she saw the word: “Zoltar”. He saw Jimin’s eyes all too close to his own, and heard a heart that wasn’t his pulse frantically in his ears. And lastly, he saw trembling hands reach out to grab a handful of small flowers from Taehyung’s–and he paused here. 

Not because of the wave of jealousy that overtook him from the flustered state he sensed from Y/n–but because of what it was trying to mask: Fear. 

He scrunched up the shirt tighter in his fingers and squeezed his eyes with more emphasis, trying to whittle himself deeper into this particular moment if it would let him–the energy it emitted was strong and difficult to ignore.

Blue and white blotched into view like ink drops in water, and within them the lines and familiar shapes of the estate’s kitchen morphed from the formless blobs of color. A small girl with black melted eyes glowered at him from the kitchen counter, her gray mouth moving in silent words he couldn’t quite grasp. The terror sprang up again tenfold, a sign that he had found the source of the feeling. 

“She saw one of the twins.” Hoseok whispered to his companions, his eyes still closed to try and grab hold of her words. 

“What else?” The chair Mariah sat in creaked under her weight that he assumed leaned towards him. “What happened?” 

The moment slipped through his fingers and out of his grasp, falling away from him until the image of the young girl’s decaying face had dwindled to nothing. He grit his teeth and tried to push harder, reaching out for anything the cloth had to give him. His fingertips started to feel hot–like the skin could lift and blister–and he knew he would have to let it go. 

Hoseok opened his eyes and slumped back into his chair with a quiet gasp, hands dropping the fabric of the shirt and rushing to submerge themselves into the bowl next to him, the lapping of the water and the cooling metal of the bowl soothing the dull ache that had started to pull at his digits. 

“What was it? What did you see?” Mariah impatiently prodded him, one of her hands preemptively clasped around his pill bottle–whether to stop him from grabbing for it or to offer him one, he wasn’t sure. 

“Nothing else.” Hoseok panted, letting his head droop forwards. “The creepy kid was saying something to her but I couldn’t hear it.” 

Mariah stood abruptly, her chair scraping across the wooden floor from where the back of her knees had pushed it away. One of her hands placed itself on her forehead and the other wrapped around her middle, her heels clicking as she paced from one side of the table to the other. 

“And that was all you saw? You didn’t see anything about Yoongi? Or Jungkook?” Mariah’s back was turned to him while she spoke, and naturally, his instincts to lie took over. 

Hoseok pulled his hands from the water and wiped them on a towel the Jin readily offered him. “No. Just the girl. Everything else was too hazy.” 

There was a moment's pause, and like clockwork, Mariah turned to face Jin for confirmation. His friend peered over at him, his almond shaped eyes scanning his face to find what he was looking for while Hoseok remained nonchalant, tossing the towel down onto the table with a tired sigh. For the briefest of moments Hoseok thought Jin might let it go–just this once. That he might overlook the subtle quiver of his brow or his mouth that nervously filled with spit, or whatever it was that gave him away. But he didn’t–like always–and Hoseok knew what was coming when Jin’s eyes took on a more apologetic shade.

“He’s not being honest, Ma’am.” Jin’s voice was quiet and unsteady, his thick brows furrowing as he rushed to add his next words. “I don’t think it’s intentional. I think the images were too unclear.” 

Mariah froze, and spun on her heel to face the two of them. “Is that so? What do you have to say for yourself, Hoseok?” 

“Unclear.” Hoseok let the words fall from his mouth easily, his gaze falling to the table to trace the grain of the wood. “Too blurry to be sure, like I said.” 

Jin nodded in agreement, and when Mariah begrudgingly accepted the answer, she veered back over to the table and dropped her bag onto the surface, clumsily digging through the cloth for her next object of focus. “Fine. We will revisit this at a later date. For now, I want to get back to what it is we were doing last week.” 

Mariah produced a rolled up red tie from her bag and flung it towards him where it landed awkwardly in a heap within an arm's length of Hoseok. “Touch it and tell me what you see. Do not ask any questions.” 

Hoseok’s hand inched reluctantly towards the fabric but stopped just barely a breath away from it, merely missing a few loose threads that sprang free of the seams. “Whose is it?”

Mariah drew her features downwards, pinching her lips together with a disapproving frown and sharp eyes. “I said not to ask questions. Now look.” 

Hoseok glanced over his stretched arm to Jin, who looked back at him blankly. The only sign that he was even truly present was the bob of his throat as he swallowed. Otherwise, Jin looked hollow and vacant–a look he always chose to wear when Mariah made orders.   His hands closed around the tie and he pulled it towards himself, taking a deep breath in and shutting his eyes with his exhale. 

The first thing that came to him was anger–unbridled rage that was supported by the undeniable twangs of betrayal, and a weighted blanket of grief that only encouraged the uncontrollable wrath that poured from every cell in his body. Within his skull, a mechanical clicking sound rang out with each passing second, accompanied by a scratchy voice that hissed out into the darkness behind his eyelids.

“Five.” A click resounded. 

“Four.” The voice laughed, and it made his skin crawl. 

“Three.” Hoseok heard another click, and he felt something that could only be described as devious glee burst from within his chest. A want–no, that wasn’t strong enough–a need for revenge thrumming through his veins. 

“Two.” 

And then he was looking at the foyer, shrouded in white mist like cheap spiderwebs people weave around corners for Halloween. His viewpoint was taller than his own would normally be, and looking through it made the backs of his eyes burn with blinding pressure, like someone was pressing his thumbs into his sockets. 

“Ready or not–here I come~” 

The words left his own mouth in a mumble, repeating what he was hearing out into the room so Mariah could listen. 

The hallway blurred past him, the spirit he was following taking off down towards the Wörner office with a blinding speed and a heavy step that pounded in his ears like thunder. The tail end of someone shorter than him disappeared around a corner, and whoever he was observing darted after it with his pace still increasing like a wild animal on the hunt. 

Hoseok followed his movements, watching as he took the sharp right hand turn down the hall and towards the living room like he was flying. A snarl rattled from within when his target slipped down the next hallway yet again, just out of reach towards the line of bedrooms. 

“Come here, Bär. I will make this…oh so easy for you.” 

The words scraped from the chest of the spirit, and curled through the hall like a wicked promise to do just the opposite. 

“Stop this, Duane.” A new man stepped from one of the bedrooms that belonged to Mr. Jeon, only this was not one of the Jeon’s. This was a man Hoseok recognized instantly, as he had seen his photo countless times before, and had even met–albeit a much wrinklier and slow-moving version of him.  Youngho, his own great-grandfather, stood before the spirit Hoseok was looking into who had now been identified as Duane. 

“You!” Duane growled lowly, pointing a bony finger at the man. “You are just as rotten as he is! I have nothing I wish to say to you!” 

From behind Youngho, Hoseok could see the shorter man scurry from Roland’s room and back towards the foyer where his footsteps vanished. Duane hissed, and chattered his teeth towards the retreating figure and sized Youngho up one last time. 

“Step aside. Unless this is your family officially getting themselves involved? If that’s the case I’d love to send you a…personal invitiation.” Duane’s hands flexed down at his sides into fists

Youngho eyed Duane wearily, his palms splayed out in surrender and his legs braced in a stance to flee just as the first man had. Then his head cocked to one side, and he peered quizzically at Duane, shaking his head ever so slightly with a shadow of disbelief. “Hoseok?” 

And just like that, Hoseok felt the burning sensation eat at the flesh of his hands, licking up his arms towards his elbows with a relentless hunger. The walls of the estate flickered as the flames climbed higher up his arms and into his elbows, doing its best to yank him back to reality from his trance. But something had him holding on just a few seconds longer–flashes of strawberry shortcake piled high with whipped cream, two boys playing on the front lawn with toy swords, dazzling party scenes with loud music and the strong scent of cigarette smoke–

“Brother, why do you insist on being so…” The crackling voice from before staggered, labored rattling breaths cutting him off. “...difficult.”  The sound of skin hitting skin rang from the flickering darkness, and Hoseok tried to push through the pain to listen closer. 

The sounds and shapes blurred again into a swirling muddle of color and voice. A voice Hoseok didn’t expect to recognize calling above the rest. 

“Get him, Oma!” 

Y/n was there–what was Y/n doing there? Panic flared in Hoseok’s chest as he tried to make sense of the vague outlines and distant fighting, and sweat began to bead his brow and drip down the back of his neck in rivulets. Y/n shouldn’t be here. Y/n can’t be here–

“That’s enough!” 

Jin tore the tie from his fist that had started to shake, and Hoseok cried out in agony when the fabric rubbed up against his hands that felt raw and singed from the nonexistent heat and invisible flames. He ripped his eyes open and fell forwards onto the table, struggling to catch his own breath and his shirt hanging heavy on his shoulders that felt wet to the touch from sweat. 

In seconds, his hands were submerged in the water once more, and Jin was taking extra care to dribble some over his forearms to bring down the temperature of the skin to a normal range. 

“What was it–did you see him? What did he show you?” Mariah crowded his side hurriedly, expression pinched with desperation. “What is it that he likes? What makes him angry? What–”

“Give him a second–please!” Jin cut her off with a fraught plea, cupping more water to smack onto the back of Hoseok’s neck, and soaking his shirt in the process. “Can’t you see he needs rest?” 

Hoseok’s cheek pressed against the wood for refuge, his breath escaping his mouth in short bursts that felt shallow and unsatisfying. His back hurt from sitting for too long, and his left leg had started to send shoots of pins and needles down from his hip to his foot, the limb feeling heavy and fuzzed with pain and numbness. He let his eyes trail over the the medication Mariah had left unattended on the table, and he wished desperately that he could just reach out and grab one to mute the agonizing waves of hurt that trailed up his torso and tightened around his ribs, making it harder to breathe than it already was. 

After a few moments had passed, he was forced to answer any and all questions Mariah had asked. Hoseok decided that if he couldn’t lie, he would simply omit some truths–such as completely forgetting to bring up that he had heard Y/n’s voice last. Something about giving that up felt dirty, and in a stupid way, it gave him a sense of control over himself that he felt he lacked. Something to keep for just him. 

He monotonously listed off what Duane had shown him: strawberry shortcake, cigarettes, his brother, music and parties–things Mariah wrote down feverishly in her little pocketbook before tucking it away and out of their sight. 

Hoseok didn’t bat an eye when Mariah tossed him another item–this time an old theater playbill that had disintegrated at the edges with time. He watched it flap onto the table and raise a pointed brow in her direction, gesturing to the item with his chin. “What’s this for?”

“Again.” Mariah dragged the word out far longer than necessary, and tapped the top of his medication with one finger. “Two more for tonight if you care about this.” 

And he did. He did care about the medication–not because he felt the urge to guzzle it down his throat–but because it meant he got to spend time with Y/n tomorrow. And that in that of itself, is what motivated his fingers to lift from the water and curl around the pamphlet, his eyes already coasting the title of “Midsummer Nights Dream”.

_________________________________________

Act three: A Purpose Revisited

“Hoseok, what do I owe you the pleasure of seeing you again so soon? Did that holistic pain doctor fall through?” Dr. Diaz slid into her stool with a friendly grin stretching across her face. 

Hoseok shrugged with a short laugh, crossing one of his ankles over his knee and stretching the sore muscle. “I actually didn’t bother seeing him.” 

Early spring had come and went, making room for a warm steady April. It had been only a month since he had seen her last but something brought him back sooner than he had expected. And perhaps it had something to do with someone returning home, and asking him to dance on more than one occasion…

“And Mrs. Worner, it’s great to see you as well.” Dr. Diaz nodded towards the woman seated to his right, who returned the gesture tensely. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up here, but this is new…and we haven’t seen anything ‘new’ between us since our first interaction.” Dr. Diaz chuckled, and instead of immediately typing into her computer she rolled over to sit at eye-level with them. “So, what’s the plan, Stan? Did you find something to work towards?” 

“You could say that.” Hoseok swallowed thickly, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. “I want to talk a bit more about the surgery. See what all the hubbub is even about.” 

The Woman in front of him clapped her hands together, and the corners of her eyes crinkled with kindness. “Of course! Do you have any questions, or concerns we can go over?” 

There was a moment’s pause where Hoseok genuinely had to think about what his concerns were. He knew the risks–and he knew they were high. But he had never bothered asking what could possibly come after that, his mind too stuck on the fact that he might lose his ability to walk. 

“I know the…” Hoseok trailed off, looking up at her hesitantly through his brow. “I know the risk. But what comes after that? What do other patients in my shoes do after it’s all said and done?” 

“Well,” Dr. Diaz pressed her tongue to her cheek as she picked apart his question, “There are a few things that could happen. One is that the fusion will be successful, and you will only need therapy and rehabilitation, with the potential for another surgery later on down the line if your degeneration worsens. However, as we both are aware, with how much we need to stabilize and fuse, the likely chance of some long-term issues is high–especially with how long ago the original injury was. We could be looking at continued tingling, nerve damage, limited mobility, and constant pain management indefinitely.” She smiled apologetically at him, blinking slowly with a sigh. “But that does not mean your life is over. It just means it will look different.” 

“I don’t know doc, I don’t really like what different sounds like…” Hoseok coughed, trying to will away the tightness in his throat and the urge to run as far away from this discussion as he possibly could. 

The woman in front of him nodded gravely, pushing herself back over to her computer with her heels. “Nobody does at first. But trust me, it will be better to have a set path and some semblance of control over when things happen, and not have them sneak up on you when you least expect it.” 

“Yeah.” Hoseok whispered lowly, bracing both hands on his knees tightly. Thoughts rushed through his mind like a raging river–of all the things he currently couldn’t do, and how that measured up to her chances. If he was being honest, it didn’t sound that different to how he felt now, it just took away the gray cloud that hung low over his head when he get stuck getting out of bed, or his foot stayed numb longer than it should, whispering into his ear with a cynical hiss “will today be the day?” 

His thoughts shifted to Y/n. Her being back opened a new door for his future–one that was brighter and full of more color. One that was accompanied by the smell of fresh dirt, flowers, and something aromatic, smokey, and herbaceous that followed her around whenever she went as of late. It had him looking forward to sitting at the table after dinner to play the same games Jin had forced him to play months prior, and looking forward to waking up for the day knowing he would have the chance to see Y/n again. 

Maybe with her around, dealing with the aftermath wouldn’t be too bad.

“I think I want to do it.” Hoseok broke the silence that had fallen over them and uncrossed his legs so both feet tapped anxiously on the white tile beneath his feet. “The surgery, I mean. What do I have to lose, ya know?” 

The rest of the appointment was a streamline of questions, multiple scheduled appointments in the upcoming months to prepare him for the procedure, and one last updated image of his spine he would need to rerun for in a few weeks. 

Mariah hadn’t spoken a word since they had arrived, and continued to keep her silence as they trekked down the sloped concrete towards the parking lot with his after-visit summary in his hands, and surgery consultation under his belt. Something about the way her mouth quivered to the side told him that whatever she wished to say was fighting for its way out, and as he shut the car door for her and rounded the front to the driver’s side, he readied himself to face the explosion. 

He closed his own door and carved himself a space in the strangled atmosphere of the car. He cleared his throat and turned the engine over to let it warm up for their drive, his eyes fluttering this way and that and his knee bouncing against his leather seat. It had to be coming any moment now. 

“So with the surgery, I would have to take a break from everything for a bit…” Hoseok started, turning to give her an apprehensive look. “We can work out how I can pay you back for–” 

“I don’t think you should be getting the surgery. Not now anyways.” 

Hoseok felt like he had been punched–and he might as well have been. 

“What?” Hoseok’s jaw clenched tightly, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to catch his sudden loss of breath. 

Mariah avoided his eyes, busying herself with jamming her seatbelt into place. “We need you to be here, helping us. Once we get everything settled, then we can discuss surgery.” 

Hoseok couldn’t help himself, the back of his eyes burned with hot rage, and the sting of betrayal. “Are you serious right now? You’re the one that said I should! I could lose everything if I don’t do this!” 

“And so could I, Hoseok!” Mariah countered with just as much fervor. “We need you. Things are starting to get out of control–your friends are ganging up against me, and Y/n is being reckless. If I don’t get the answers I need now, I might never get the chance!” 

“For what?” Hoseok cried, “You’re using me day in and day out, draining me and leaving me out to dry–for what? I just want to stop. I just want the pain to stop! I just want to spend time with my friends and not have to pretend I’m not dying inside!” 

Mariah narrowed her eyes at him in warning, pointing a finger at him accusingly. “You know our agreement. You don’t get to ask questions.” 

“Like hell I don’t! You are putting my livelihood on the line here–” 

“And you’re not?” Mariah scoffed, eyes looking off out the front windshield towards the road. “IF you get that surgery who knows what could happen. You could lose what you have now, you could lose your ability, you could lose–” 

“Oh, so that’s what this is about? My abilities?” Hoseok seethed, his lip curling up to reveal his teeth. Mariah faltered, just enough for him to see he had hit an exposed nerve–that he had found her out before she wanted him to. “You want me to delay my surgery, so you can keep puppeting me around each night for who knows what? In case it reverses whatever it was that happened to me?” 

As quick as her moment of weakness had displayed itself, she shrouded it with iciness, her face smoothing out into a carefully calculated expression of power. “Remember who is paying for all of this. Who handles your insurance, and dispenses your medications?” Her eyes challenged him to counter her, to speak out against her again with the same attitude he had displayed. A threat that was very real in her eyes. “If you care about Y/n, and this surgery, you will do as I say. Your surgery will wait.” 

Hoseok stared at her in utter disbelief, unable to reckon with what a monster she had truly become. He was trapped in her web, unable to wriggle himself free–his only chance at freedom was if she chose to cut him out of it. 

“How long?” Hoseok croaked, his shoulders drooping downwards. “How long will I need to wait?” 

Mariah exhaled sharply from her nose, and the leather of her seat crackled as she situated herself against the head rest to be more comfortable. “However long it takes. And speaking of which…” Mariah wrangled a new piece of fabric from her bag–a red undershirt that was stained with grease, with the hotel’s emblem embroidered on the chest. “I want you to read this.” She held it out to him with expectant eyes, and when he didn’t move to take it she threw it into his lap. “Now. It’s important.” 

Hoseok eyed the name sewn into the fabric wearily, Yoongi Min faded and frayed along the seams. “This is Yoongi’s…What do you want me to do with this?” 

“Read it.” Mariah sighed again, flicking down the passenger make-up mirror to inspect her eyes. “I need to know what he’s up to.” 

“I don’t have any interest in spying on my friends just because you–” 

“I didn’t ask.” She smacked the mirror closed and pointed at the fabric. “Do you want your medication tonight or not?”  

_________________________________________

Act Four: Midas Was A Fool

Hoseok’s hands shook as he gripped the kitchen counter, his eyes trained on the small saucepan of water that had barely started to form bubbles along the bottom of it. His insides burned with vitriol that could only be aimed at himself in that moment. 

He had no one to blame except himself for what had happened to Y/n.  He should have known better than to touch her. Especially when his abilities were heightened after a long day with Mariah sifting through more items that belonged to dead family for snippets of information he couldn’t find important: Paint brushes thats bristles were useless now, books Namjoon had misplaced, letters and photos from Adelaide that came up empty handed, notes written by Jimin, old bullets, strips of fabric, and most importantly–a hat that had belonged to Alain Morel. 

A beast of a man that Hoseok had interacted with on multiple occasions. 

His scent lingered around him, and the feel of the velvet of his cap still itched at his fingertips when he had arrived home. He never should have let himself hug Y/n when he could still feel him floating around his subconscious like a pestering gnat in the back of his mind. 

Him and Jin had taken to calling it “tripping.” If Hoseok was haunted by the energy of an object, or if it had shone too brightly in his mind–sometimes it stayed in his orbit long after he left the object behind in the cabin they frequented. And sometimes, with his touch, he could transfer it to others who were as similarly sensitive as him. Jin had once jokingly referred to him as Midas after he had sent Jin into vivid visions of Lisolette Wörner’s cattle ranch after toying with one of her photos and curved cowboy hats. 

Whatever he touched when his energy was already heightened was at risk from being tainted by his touch. Including the people around him. 

He had been careless–too caught up in how easy it felt to fall back into light hearted revelry with Y/n that he had let his guard down too low–and it left her vulnerable. He knew it wasn’t fully a seizure. But he couldn’t tell anyone else, not when everyone was already distancing themselves from him, and Jimin looked at him like he wanted to bite his head off every time he spoke. 

Hoseok hated crying. He hated the way his throat closed and his eyes puffed, or his cheeks grew red uneven splotches. Yet now his eyes itched with the gradual build of salt water that only spurred his self depreciative thoughts. 

Now in this moment more than ever, he wished to turn back time and reverse the damage that had been done to him to get him here. To make small differing choices that would’ve put him in the audience of the theater that night instead of crawling around the catwalk to help the stagehands that he had come to know as family with how much his parents worked with them. Maybe he would’ve both literally and figuratively had a better backbone to stand up for himself–but he didn’t. And he had to pay the price for it. 

He squeezed his eyes shut as phantom smoke curled into his lungs, and the backs of his eyelids were painted vibrant oranges and red from the memory of the flames that scurried up the wall with a frenzied hunger that couldn’t be satiated. It was a punishment to remember how they looked, the crack of his bones when he fell, the shadowy figure peering over the ledge where he had fallen from down to his helpless body. 

He deserved the punishment for what he had almost inadvertently caused Y/n. 

The door slamming open behind him couldn’t startle him from his mind, he was too locked away behind the bars of his own making. Forcing his mind to stay in the unforgiving heat and the agonizing pain of it all. 

“You have a lot of nerve still being here.” Jimin hissed from behind him, the kitchen door rattling as it closed. 

Hoseok hummed distractedly. Nothing he could say to him would be worse than what he could say to himself. 

Jimin scoffed. “Is that all you have to say for yourself? After whatever you just did?” 

Yep. Because I can’t defend myself. It was my fault, and I hate it. Hoseok settled for another meek sound of acknowledgement, he didn’t feel like spilling his guts out to someone who could only hate him right now. 

Jimin stomped over to the stove, grabbing a hold of Hoseok’s shoulder and yanking him from his thoughts to manually make their eyes meet. “Look at me you–” 

Hoseok watched in horror as Jimin’s eyes glazed over, and his head tipped to one side from its own weight. He swayed in place and Hoseok gaped over at him soundlessly–if he reached out to grab him, he could make it worse, but if he didn’t do anything Jimin could fall and injure himself in a way similar to Y/n. Hoseok could only handle the blame of one person’s fall today, and he acted fast. 

He let Jimin’s hand stay rested on his shoulder and reached deep within himself, finding a small burning fire in his chest that threatened to escape its confines and spread throughout his system with unmitigated heat, and with all he had left in him he pushed–smothering the embers until his body started to shake. His heartbeat faltered within his ears, and his breathing quickened. 

The flames gave way, and he snapped his eyes open to see Jimin slowly coming to, his stance steadying from its sway. 

“You still here with me? I asked what the fuck you wanted?” Hoseok covered up his worry with words laced in spite, meeting Jimin where he was prior to his “trip”–like if he pretended it didn’t happen then maybe Jimin would too. 

“I–” Jimin swallowed, frantic eyes looking at the room around him–the stove, the fridge, the counter, the saucepot of now boiling water and back to Hoseok’s own. “I don’t-”

“Yell at me if you want–but I’m not gonna argue.” Hoseok turned towards the water to hide his face from view, praying to whatever god existed that Jimin would just leave it be and let go of him. “So if that’s all you wanna do, leave.” 

Jimin ripped his hand away and stumbled out through the dining room door, leaving Hoseok with his last few moments of peace–if he could even call it that. He just wanted to finish making Y/n’s food and he wanted to leave this cursed place for the night.

_________________________________________

Act Five: The Cracks

What a Friday night, Hoseok thought to himself bitterly. 

Jin, Mariah and himself huddled around the wooden table he had grown too familiar with, in the same cabin they had been using for the past year. On the table in front of him was the folder they had been instructed to bring that was chock full of letters, notes and passages from another time. 

The page in front of him had indignant fury bubbling beneath the surface of his skin. He couldn’t find a single solid reason as to why Mariah found any worth in this sheet of paper–at this point he thought it was most definitely to spite him. To assert more dominance over him through emotional manipulation and strife. 

“Whenever you’re ready.” Mariah’s hands trembled as she slid Adelaide’s diary entry across the table to Hoseok. 

Jin kept his eyes locked in the bowl of water he stirred with his finger, a rosary wrapped precariously around his wrist and his blessed flask now empty on the table from when he had mixed it with the ice cold tap water. When Hoseok didn’t lunge for the paper, he paused, giving him a trepid sideways glance from the corner of his eye as if begging him to just listen. All of his earlier kindness from their drive here sucked dry by Mariah’s overbearing presence. 

“What am I looking for?” Hoseok asked, skimming over the words of the paper only to find himself unable to move past one word. Candida.

Mariah waved her hand flippantly in the air like she was discussing the potential outcome for a sports game she didn’t care for. A blatant disregard for how much what she was asking him to do bothered hi. “Whatever she shows you. Just like the others–I need to know what she wants–what she needs.” 

Hoseok shook his head, and picked at the edge of the paper with his nails until it lifted into his hands, the inanimate object’s reluctance to lift from the wood a mirroring image of Hoseok’s lack of will to move forward, and Mariah took an extra second to tuck a thin rounded tip brush into his fingers to sit snug to the paper. 

It was so light and weightless, yet it made his body feel weighed down by a gravitational force that threatened to push him into the floorboards and down to the center of the earth. Or more welcomed predicament than whatever it was awaited him under her golden-eyed stare. 

Within seconds, the room was there–damp and smelling of pine and campfire–then it wasn’t. Gone was the cabin and the people he knew, all had wholly vanished into space and time as he was washed away by the rush that could put a mid-western tornado to shame that always followed Candida. 

“One-two-three, One-two-three–Parfait, mon amour !”

Two figures pranced about a black stage, both similar in height yet varying in build. The woman’s hair was dark, pulled back in a long singular rope down her back as she was whisked about the stage while still in her costume from that day’s rehearsal. The man that guided her movements wore thick layers of dramatic stage makeup, yet the shine of his eyes and the glimmering love that radiated from his smile was the brightest thing Hoseok could see. 

“Enough of that vile display! We need to continue on with the rehearsal please!”

The image melted, swirling down the drain of his mind and replaced by a wall of pale pink wall paper that was scoured with strokes of dark black paint. Two hands stained with the pigment frantically wiped themselves along the surface, smearing her handprints into long cascading waterfalls down the walls and onto the floor. Her breathing was labored and frantic, billowing from her lungs without purpose. 

She pivoted in an instant, grabbing her can of paint and launching it towards the crooked wooden door of the room with a cry of outrage and watching it splatter and spill, pooling tar-like liquid over the floor to seep under the doorframe. Her shoulders wracked with sobs as she fell to her knees into the puddle, scrambling to pick it up with her hands–to sop it up with the linen fabrics of her dress and squeeze it back into the can in a fruitless effort of labor for the sake of suffering. 

Cupping paint into her palms, she raised it to her face and held them over her eyes, letting it drip down her face and onto the floor in front of her as she cried. Hoseok’s chest shattered with grief and sorrow, and his brain felt no better off than a pan of overcooked scrambled eggs left on the counter to rot. 

When satisfied with how much inky liquid had sludged down her cheeks and weighed her eyelids down, she wrenched them open to look directly up at him from the floor, her eyes strayed from dark brown to gold, the color only enhanced by the paint that stained her eyelids, cheeks, chin and hands, dribbling down her neck and back onto the floor from the front of her dress.

“Unacceptable. You are unacceptable. Pick yourself up. Unacceptable.” Candida murmured to herself like a prayer, her eyes never leaving where Hoseok watched from. “I must get out of here…I must get rid of them…”

Her head jerked to the side much like how an animatronic would, unnaturally sharp and uncharacteristically rigid as she appeared to look directly at him, and he had to remind himself that was not possible. The scene shifted again–to one he didn’t care to see. 

He saw himself, small and scrawny, crawling heedlessly across the lattice metal of the catwalk above the theater stage where the dancers twirled and leaped below him. He was dressed in black, as he had been directed to by his parents and the stage hands he had offered to help. 

Hoseok loved doing this, working back stage during the shows to help with set changes, lights and sound production as directed. He loved every part of a performance, and it only enriched the excitement that simmered beneath his skin at the prospect of getting his own chance to shine on stage when he was older–on any stage that would take him. 

“Remember, don't stand! Just stay on your knees and point it towards the floor like the rest!” One of the stage hands spoke to him through the speaker in his hands, reminding him of the same thing he had been told a thousand times when he ventured up the narrow spiral stairs up into the rafters. He held a small, weakly lit flashlight clenched in his teeth, his small hands expertly finding the light that had shifted out of place. His nimble fingers worked deftly to right it and tighten the braces to keep it in place.

String instruments switched from punctuated and energetic, to tense small shudders that built suspense beneath a languid clarinet–and that was his cue. He used his body weight to angle to light down towards the stage manually, 

“Good job. Now come on back down–take it easy.” 

The voice crackled into nothing in his ear, and he scuttled back whence he had come, over the dancers and the rings of the spotlight and towards the left hand stage. Just as the staircase came into view he felt the metal pulse with the vibrations of footsteps, shaking the catwalk with their persistence. Hoseok glanced back over his shoulder, finding no source of the noise. 

With a shrug, he continued forwards, only to come face to face with a pair of golden eyes that drilled into his, and a purple wet mouth garbling out hisses and clicks that made no intelligible sound. Hoseok couldn’t scream–it would disrupt the show raging on beneath him–instead he crawled beneath her damp skirts and took off as fast as his knees and palms could push him in a last ditch effort to make it down the stairs. 

He had seen her before–many times in short glimpses in the background of his reflections, lurking backstage at the theater or wandering the grounds at night. Never had she gotten this close. 

Two massive hands scooped him up by his armpits and he flailed in their icy hold, thrashing his arms and kicking his legs to free himself. They were too strong, like shackles of iron around the ball socket of his arm, and they burnt his nostrils with the strength of their putrefied smell.  All Hoseok could hear was the music from the musicians in the pit crescendoing in his eardrums which paired with the wild beating of his heart that fought to rip from his chest. The next thing he knew, he was falling–over the railing to land with a sickening thud at the bottom of the stairs. 

Her eyes were back, staring down at him over the ledge where he had just been thrown, his leg bent awkwardly beneath him and his lower back taking most of the fall. All he could do was look up at her, unsure if he could even move his head to face away. He heard screaming, he smelt smoke–and then her eyes were concealed from view by the tall branches of flame that worked up its strength around him. 

Death was knocking on his door, his pulse weakening in his ears and his vision dotting with black at the edges. All he could see was fire. The staff was gone, as were the ballerinas who had been twirling to his right hand side seconds prior. He howled out with cries of pain, screaming over the roaring heat for someone–anyone–to help him. 

The world blurred around him just as he succumbed to the smoke and the overpowering wave of nerves that fired one after the other from the ones that had undoubtedly been crushed in the fall, and Hoseok was thankfully taken away from the scene once again. 

His feet felt wet and clammy, and the orchestra was taken over by the sound of peeper frogs and crickets. Trees bent down over him from all angles, and he immediately recognized where he was. The lake. 

He looked out over the quiet water’s surface that rippled with the slightest breeze that billowed by, finding exactly who he was looking for. 

Candida stumbled along the edge of it, body threatening to teeter into the water with each step. Every five or six steps or so, she would kneel down and rake her fingers through the water, scooping up mounds of dirt, strings of vegetation or piles of rocks that she would throw back into the water with a snivel and a yelp. 

Her face turned to regard him over her shoulder, and her mouth struggled to articulate her words clearly. “I will get them. I will find them.” 

The paper and paintbrush was ripped from his hands and tossed to the side, and Jin eased his scalding hands into the bath of water that awaited them. As was the usual routine, Mariah barely gave him a second to breathe before torrenting him with question after question, her pen held at the ready in her little pocketbook with such earnestness that it made him want to smack it right out of her hand. 

“He needs a short break.” Jin commented lightly, washing his hands in the bowl gingerly. 

Mariah scowled with a huff, glaring in Jin’s direction. “He can speak while he rests.” 

Jin opened his mouth to offer another thought of his own, but Hoseok cut him off. “She likes to paint. And the ballet.” Hoseok paused, letting his head tip back against the chair with exhaustion. 

“What else? Did she show you anything else? Take you anywhere?” 

Hoseok sucked on his cheek, weighing the pros and cons of another lie. She didn’t deserve to know everything after forcing him to relieve one of the worst moments of his life for the third time. “Nah. Just the theater and a room with pink wall paper.” Hoseok kept his voice balanced and unbothered. Casual even. 

Mariah, annoyingly so, turned to Jin and waited promptly for his input. Hoseok cracked the eye that was closest to him open, looking down the slope of his cheek at his friend with nothing short of hope–a desolate plea to let it go unmentioned. Jin’s eyes quivered, taking in Hoseok’s state with an expression masked of any sincerity. 

“He’s telling the truth.” 

Hoseok tried not to let his surprise show on his face, knowing it would immediately blow his cover. Mariah looked from one boy to the other scrutinizing each miniscule movement they made, then after a moment’s deliberation, she let it go and reached into her bag for something new to cast his way.

While she was preoccupied with selecting her next item, Hoseok found Jin’s eyes again through the barely opened slivers of his lids and mouthed a rushed ‘thank you’ his way. Jin didn’t address his gratitude, turning his eyes down towards the table and the clear bowl of water  Hoseok’s hands rested in to watch the water ripple around his skin. 

Jin never lied to Mariah. 

This was new–and Hoseok wasn’t going to lie to himself, that scared him more than anything Mariah could’ve done.  Because it meant Jin knew something was worth lying for, and if he hadn’t been bothered to do it until now, it meant he wasn’t doing it for Hoseok’s sake. 

_________________________________________

Intermission: Question All, Yet Speak of Nothing

Hoseok braced his hands on the golden railing that rose up to his waist, wrapping his fingers around the cool metal to ground himself in the present. Music boomed from the draped doors behind him, the cause for the ache in his bones and the spasms in his muscles–its entrancing pull something he simply couldn’t refuse moving his body to, no matter what it was that played around him. 

Hoseok dabbed at his damp forehead with the back of his hand, and leveled his eyes up to the twinkling dark sky. He just needed a minute, he told himself; just a few minutes to let the pain go away and he could keep dancing. His friends were waiting for him in there, and he couldn’t let them down–it was New Year’s Eve, he had to push through it just for tonight or else he’d raise eyebrows from his friends. Hell, he wanted to do it for himself, let himself have a little fun for once. Let the consequences be damned. 

“It’s bonkers in there–phew!” Y/n pushed open one of the glass doors that was canopied by heavy red drapes, pressing it closed once her shoes hit the stone patio, sealing them off from the party and the bouncing beat of one of today’s top hits. “Was wondering where you skedaddled off to~” She giggled, sliding up to his side and bumping her hip to his. “What’cha up to?” 

“You said it yourself, it’s bonkers in there.” Hoseok laughed, trailing his eyes down the elegant dress Y/n had worn to the celebration, the color and shape made her glow with the radiance of a thousand suns in the twinkling holiday lights. His neck flushed, and he rushed to avert his eyes–he didn’t stand a chance with her when up against Jimin or Jungkook. She would never look at him the way he looked at her. 

He was a good friend, and there was nothing else to it. 

He cleared his throat and threw a friendly arm over her shoulders, a lopsided grin lifting his cheeks up. “Whatta ‘bout you? You’re gonna freeze out here.” 

“Nuh uh. You’d never let that happen.” Y/n slipped him a coy smile and held his arm down over her shoulders with her hand. “See? Quite the gentleman already.” 

“Sometimes I try.” His smile turned sly, and his cheeks puffed up with his inability to suppress his full grin. “Not for you though.” 

Y/n gasped in offense, smacking his chest lightly. “Rude! And here I thought we were friends!” 

“Who–us? Nah, you got it all wrong. I thought I made it clear I declared you my number one enemy since you deleted my Spryo save file on the PS2 last week?” Hoseok clicked his tongue teasingly. 

“It was an accident! I said I was sorry like forty thousand times…” Y/n’s face flushed a faint shade of pink, her eyes floating from one place to the other with clear remorse 

Hoseok cackled, pressing her tighter into his side with a playful squeeze. “Don’t sweat it. I was thinking about restarting anyway.” 

The two of them hovered close, and while Hoseok knew it was just for warmth, he let a small part of his mind fiddle with the idea that this was more than that–mean more than that. Imagining that she would turn to him and press a kiss to his cheek and drag him back inside by the hand to lug him on the dance floor for another hour until the clock struck midnight and the firework displays started. That she would choose to spend the last few minutes of their sophomore year with him, thinking he was the one worthy of spending that time with than with someone else. A first choice.

“Hoseok?” Y/n’s question was quiet–shy even. Something that had alarm bells ringing in his head, for Y/n was only nervous when something made her uncomfortable or she was upset. Two things that had him giving her his full attention. 

“What’s up? You good?” Hoseok looked for any clues in her expression, but only found something he had never really seen before and wasn’t sure how to read. 

Her eyes widened and she held a hand up to him dismissively, snorting out in a poor attempt to hide her awkward shift in demeanor. “What? Me? Yeah of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Y/n laughed a bit too loudly, and shifted her eyes from side to side. 

“Just checkin’. You’re acting suspicious is all…” Hoseok gave her a staunch side eye to emphasize his point. 

“I just…” Y/n’s fingers fiddled with the sleeve of her dress, flipping the edge to twist right side up, then upside down repeatedly. She seemed to find her resolve with the sixth roll of her sleeve and fixed him with a bashful smile. “I was just wondering if you had ever thought about…like…” Her voice died in her throat.

“Like?” Hoseok elbowed her gently, urging her to continue. “What am I gonna do? Bite you? That was only a one time thing, I swear.” 

Real lighthearted laughter bubbled up from her throat, just like how he liked to hear it the most, and she rolled her eyes at his comment. “It was three times but that’s besides the point–” 

“Nuh uh! Once!” Hoseok cried with mock outrage. 

“Three!” Y/n brought her hand out to tick off each memory on her fingers. “Once when you were losing your bottom teeth and you bit my arm to get one out faster; second time was when we were at the zoo in Philly and Jimin dared you to do it outside of the crocodile exhibit; and third was when we were watching Twilight for the first time and you–being the absolute menace you are–bit me!” 

“Huh,” Hoseok tipped his head to the side in thought, “Guess you have me there. So it was a three time thing. I promise I won’t make it four. So spill~” 

Y/n stared at him pensively, pulling her bottom lip up for her teeth to sink into before releasing it once more. Hoseok had to force himself not to stare at the way it bounced back from the pressure for too long. 

“Have you ever wondered what it would feel like if we kissed each other?” 

Hoseok thought he was dreaming–no, he was sure he was dreaming. He must be slumped in one of the plush red chairs in the hotel lobby outside of the ball room where he’d unknowingly passed out from exhaustion, deep in a slumber where his mind was conjuring up fake images of Y/n speaking to him words he was sure she’d never say. 

Y/n crumbled, curling in on herself in embarrassment at his lack of response. “Sorry–I shouldn’t have–I should really just get back to the party.” She shuffled slowly back towards the door, turning from him in a solemn slump. 

“No, wait.” Hoseok reached out for her, stopping her in place. “You just caught me off guard.” He met her where she was at, in the middle of the terrace with both hands apprehensively encircling both of her wrists. “It might’ve crossed my mind once or twice…” 

“Really?” Y/n squeaked, sounding as breathless as he felt. 

“Yeah.” 

The air was thick with suspense–the good kind where neither of them knew what to do next, but their hearts beat wildly with glee and their cheeks nearly steamed in the cold December air. The music faded and Hoseok took the first leap, closing the distance to place the lightest of kisses to her lips that still tasted of lavender and lemonade from the drinks she had shared with Jimin earlier that night. Y/n moved next, cupping both hands on his cheeks and pulling him in for a second kiss that only lasted seconds, yet to Hoseok it was enough to leave him flying in the stars above him. 

Y/n pulled her hands away slowly, her expression melting into a cross of trepidation and shame. “Did you…?” 

“Did you?” Hoseok rebutted, still too afraid to speak his mind openly.

Y/n shifted her weight from foot to foot, her mouth twitching uncontrollably and her eyes falling downcast towards their shoes. “It was alright. I just don’t know if I want to do it again…” 

Hoseok came crashing back down to the earth, the sounds that had fallen away now too loud and suffocating, and the cold air that had once been refreshing felt biting. He fought a wave of nausea that threatened to overtake him, pushing it further and further down until it turned to a stone that weighed his insides down with its heaviness. 

An unbothered smile plastered itself on his face, and he shook his head impassively. “Me too. No worries.” 

“Are you sure? This won’t change anything?” Y/n eyed him carefully, her feet already carrying herself back towards the ballroom. 

Hoseok swallowed hard, and reminded himself to blink. “Nope. All good here.” 

Y/n heaved a large sigh of relief that hurt him just as much as her words. “Good. We won’t ever have to talk about this again.” She chuckled nervously, and fiddled with the strap of her dress again. “Well, I’m going to head back in…If you want to dance with us some more?” 

Us. Hoseok wanted to run into the woods and scream until he was blue in the face. Us. Not him. 

“Yeah sure. I’ll be in shortly. I’m still cooling off haha.” 

Y/n nodded and smiled brightly at him one last time before returning, slipping through the doors and disappearing back into the party where she would probably forget about this before the end of the night. 

He collapsed forwards and bent his elbows to support his weight on the railing, that not being the only thing keeping him up when his trembling knees threatened to buckle from beneath him. 

Hoseok felt like he wanted to die, but he could never tell her that. Cracks in his soul crept down, splitting him open and leaving him raw and exposed in a way he felt he’d never heal from It wasn’t her fault. He was always destined to be the dirtbag friend that talked too much and laughed too loud. But if it meant he got to keep her in his life then it would have to be enough. Losing her entirely would be the only thing worse than this. 

_________________________________________

Act Six: Friends in High Places

Hoseok waited, his car parked at the end of the driveway to stay away from straying eyes. Jin was supposed to have met him here almost twenty minutes ago, setting his already frayed nervous system into overdrive. 

This would be the first time he’d left the confines of his room since the Spring Pop Up Event two days prior. He couldn’t bring himself to go near the dining room and catch glimpses of his friends that may or may not consider him as such anymore, to put on a happy smile and chatter about who knows what with countless guests that seemed to forget human decency the moment they stepped foot outside of their homes and onto their vacations–he couldn’t bare to do anything. Everything felt filtered into shades of gray, bland and void of anything colorful or vibrant, boring to the eyes and numbing to the mind. 

Still he waited, because at least he could get a dose of painkillers to hopefully knock him out for the night so maybe he could forget all of this for a few hours. He had lost all purpose, like he was walking blindly in a desert with no end. Hopeless was the only thing he could feel, like he had lost all control over himself and his own future–all of it in the hands of someone he couldn’t trust. Giving up felt easy. Especially with nothing left to fight for.

It wasn’t just his body that was keeping him from sleeping anymore, but his mind that replayed Y/n’s face and cutting words in his mind, the finality of her tone. But most importantly, he couldn’t shake the accusations she had thrown at him–mentions of violence and turmoil that he had no clue of. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been avoiding her touch or focusing so hard on keeping his powers closed off from checking in on her, maybe if he hadn’t he’d have some clue as to what was going on, and what the truth was. 

Was Mariah truly the cause of what had been going on with her? When she shoved him, he had only managed to grab snippets of images: dark eyes and racing heartbeats, running–so much running–and horror, the kind one feels when they fear their life has come to an end. Something he was good at recognizing. 

The worst of it was the image of bulging golden eyes he had seen hovering over her shoulder in a vision of her bathroom. 

Y/n had said to stay away from her–but could he really when he knew just what Candida was capable of? 

“Sorry I’m late. I got caught up with something.” Jin settled into the passenger seat with a sigh, melting into the cushion like he was a traveler seeking sanctuary on a weary journey. 

Hoseok picked at the leather of the steering wheel and shrugged halfheartedly. “It’s whatever. Not exactly keen to get on the road myself anyways.” 

Jin eyed him cautiously, his words sitting tucked away behind pursed lips on his tongue, something he did often. Jin always seemed to be holding back his thoughts, keeping them locked away to himself and away from anyone else–so much so that Hoseok toyed with the idea of placing his hands on his skin to try and get a read for what was going on inside his head, if only just once. 

Hoseok started the car in a relaxed roll down the hill, giving Jin the chance to speak if he so wished. The headlamps blasted away the darkness along the tree line, lighting up the eyes of shielded opossums and the gray streaks of wide winged moths that darted in front of the car. Summer was closing in on them which meant he had all of the windows low to let in the warm fresh wooded air, and Hoseok had to take extra care not to speed along the rolling hills and tree enclosed streets to avoid a deadly collision with the deer that frequently hopped and grazed along the roadside or pranced across the asphalt as they pleased. 

They passed one that hadn’t been so fortunate–a doe whose body was smeared with blood and mud, crumpled and twisted into a heap on the bylines. The sweet and rotten smell of death dizzying him for a few seconds before the whipping winds from the windows whisked it away. Hoseok made a face, yet in his own mind he couldn’t help the pity that worked its way up into his heart. 

“Hunters have been slacking these past couple years–huh?” Hoseok remarked lightly as they passed the second mutilated body a few minutes later–another doe. 

“I guess so.” Jin agreed, his eyes tracking the body until it disappeared from sight. “I suppose the ticks will be worse this year then. We should be sure to be aware of that when we are headed out this way.” 

Hoseok hummed disinterestedly, subconsciously taking extra time to search for antlers or glowing eyes to signify any others threatening to break out from the brush in front of them. 

Jin tapped his foot against the floor of the car to the beat of whatever was playing on the radio, his torso leant up to prop his chin up with his elbow on the window ledge, eyes distant and unfocused. 

“What if we didn’t go tonight?” 

Hoseok did a double take, unsure if he had even heard Jin correctly over the wind. Just to be sure, he rolled up his window and served him a sideways glance of evident confusion. “What’d you say?” 

“I just don’t think we should go tonight.” Jin repeated, eyes trained on the trees that blurred past them. 

Hoseok choked back a noise of surprise, eyes widening into saucers. “Yeah, and get our heads chopped off? No thanks. I’m kind of being blackmailed here if you haven’t noticed.” 

The car came to stop at an empty red light, and Jin sighed sharply through his nose, shifting his weight onto one hip so he could shove one of his hands into his pocket to rummage through. Jin fished a small ziplock baggie from his pocket and launched it across the console. “Think fast.” 

Hoseok’s hand shot up to grasp the slippery plastic. His breath hitched in his throat, the light switching from red to green that outlined everything in the shadowy vehicle with a lime green hue. In the baggie was a small amount of his painkillers, probably enough to last him a week or two if he cut them in half and spread them out wisely. 

“What she’s doing isn���t fair, and completely uncalled for.” Jin looked over at him heavily. “It’s not what I signed up for, and it isn’t what you signed up for either. If you want to back out–I’ll pay for it. All of it. Even if she strips your insurance down to nothing I’ll pay for it out of pocket.” 

Stunned into silence, Hoseok ran his fingers over the capsules with his thumb, feeling overcome with a sea of emotions that felt like too much to bear. 

“I don’t know what happened between you and Y/n, but I think you should figure it out. I have a feeling it might work out well for you.” Jin continued on, jerking his chin towards the medication. “And I think you should go back to the doctor–as soon as you can get an appointment.” 

“What about you?” Hoseok croaked, finding his voice once more. “She will drive you through the ground without me here.” 

Jin sniffed, and chewed on his tongue for a few beats before meeting his gaze again. “I’ll figure it out.” 

Hoseok closed his fist around the medication, closing his eyes with a deep dragging breath. Jin was giving him a way out–a way to make things right. Which is exactly what he had been begging for as of recent. Yet why did it feel so…wrong? 

“What brought this on?” Hoseok prodded, opening his eyes to level with him. The light flickered from green to yellow, then back to red before Jin answered.

“Just a feeling.” Jin dodged a direct answer, rolling his shoulders a few times to release built up tension. 

Hoseok scoffed, and when the light turned green he lurched the car across the four way and veered the car to stop along the side of the road, clicking his hazards on. “I’m gonna need a better reason than that–no offense, you’ve been her bitch for months, and now you’re making the switch up?” 

Jin winced at his use of profanities, but didn’t comment on it. “I told you, I just have a feeling–” 

“Bullshit, dude. I’m not going to take the bait if this is a trick.” Hoseok narrowed his eyes at him doubtfully. “Is that what this is? Some sort of test or whatever?” 

“It’s not a test.” Jin shook his head purposefully. “This is me being honest.” 

“Honesty and avoiding the full truth aren’t the same. So which is it?” 

Jin shied away from Hoseok’s intense stare again, looking out his open window into the grassy fields. He twitched his nose a few times and got the same look on his face as he had worn at the beginning of their drive: he was holding back again. 

“I saw what she was going to have you do tonight when I went into her office to grab some of your meds.” Jin swallowed thickly, risking a cursory glance at Hoseok. “I think she’s taking it too far.” 

“Taking what too far?” Hoseok pleaded. “I’m tired of being used like a pawn and being told nothing. What is going on here?” 

“Don’t be obtuse.” Jin glared at his companion harshly, his lips forming a subconscious pout. “You can’t be this much in denial about everything.” 

“About what? The ghost shit?” Hoseok snorted, shaking his head with a cynical laugh. “Yeah yeah–there’s ghosts and she wants me to look at them. But what else? What am I looking at them for? Y/n said–” 

“What did Y/n say?” Jin interjected, his expression imploring him to speak further. “What happened with you two?” 

“That bitch is what happened!” Hoseok snapped back, gesturing in the direction of the property. “You can’t call me obtuse when you are practically blind to everything crumbling around us because of her.” 

“I’m not blind!” Jin furrowed his brow, his tone becoming rigid with defense. “I’m just trying to keep a level head. Nobody can keep their head above water if they are flailing about like they’ve never swum before!” 

Hoseok rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, sarcasm oozing from his mouth. “Yeah, and my body isn’t falling apart.” 

Jin huffed, before closing his eyes tightly and taking a few measured breaths. When he opened them, he had significantly calmed into the same padlocked Jin he had come to know. Elegant and calm, a meticulously curated image that was nothing like the real him. “You want to go somewhere with me?” 

“Where?” Hoseok asked dryly, raising a brow at him. 

“There’s a church in town I like to visit when I feel lost. Maybe some time there can help you find your way.” 

Jin had been the one to tell Mariah that Hoseok wasn’t feeling well through a carefully worded message. The report coming from him meant that she was more likely to believe it–more likely to respect it than if it had come from Hoseok. 

The church Jin had referred to was a tall chapel made of brown stone, still sporting original stained glass, and looked to be at least a hundred years old and counting. Jin had led them through the heavy wooden doors and down the center walkway of the nave to a wooden pew in the center. 

“They close up for the night soon, so we won't stay for too long.” Jin whispered, pulling a string of beads from his pocket and wrapping them around his fist loosely. 

Hoseok leant back against the backrest, the seat anything but comfortable. He eyed the warm glow of the vaulted ceilings, and the overabundance of art that swirled along the walls and windows, telling bible stories he didn’t recognize. He kept his hands tucked into his pockets and away from any and all surfaces–while he thankfully was able to take a dose to numb the pain and gain some level of control over himself, he didn’t trust that whoever at sat here before him didn’t leave a lasting impression on whatever it is they had touched. He didn’t know much about religion, but he knew a lot of its participants were emotional, for better or for worse. 

It smelled strongly of dust and old book pages. The air was somehow both stale and dry yet fresh and abundant. Hoseok turned his cheek to ask Jin a question, but found his head bowed and his mouth moving around silent words of prayer, and decided against it for the time being. He shifted his leg to cross one over the other, his foot already going numb much too quickly. The pew behind him creaked with movement, signalling that they were no longer alone.

“I always thought these seats were uncomfortable.” A woman whispered under her breath to him from behind him, leaning forward to make sure she was heard. “It’s like they want me to be in a bad mood so they can say God fixed my frustrations when I stand to leave.” 

Hoseok flicked his eyes backwards to address the newcomer–a woman no older than her late twenties or early thirties, with her dark hair cropped short to her cheek bones, small pointed tendrils curled conscientiously and delicately pressed against her forehead with gel in swirling patterns. 

When their eyes met, she grinned brightly, the action wrinkling her eyes in an almost familiar manner–though he was sure he had never met this woman before. “Care to join me for a walk? Stretch out those legs of yours.”  She had already risen from her seat, not giving him a chance to respond. “Come on. Just around the nave. Your friend can look after himself if for only just a minute.” 

Hoseok whispered quietly to Jin, careful to keep his voice low. “I’m going to pace around the room a bit. My legs are bothering me.”  

Jin spared him a minuscule nod, keeping his unbending focus on his prayer, and the woman started out of the pew and into the aisle, leading them on a slow stroll about the room while keeping a sizable distance between them. Hoseok didn’t know what had possessed him to let this stranger take control; he theorized it may have something to do with the vague sense of knowing he held for her, or the way she piqued his interest in an otherwise uninteresting world to him. 

“You know, when I was your age, I had a similar case of the blues. More particularly about where my future would take me, and finding a reason to live on when everything I had wanted had been stripped from my hands against my will–though it was due to much different circumstances than your own, I will admit.” The woman’s voice was rich and velvety, tinged with an accent he couldn’t quite place. Not quite foreign, not quite what he was used to–like something out of one of the old films his dad liked to watch on the projector. “And my mother would drag me to this church and sit me down in those wretched pews, forcing my hands and mouth to weep in a prayer I didn’t care for to repent for whatever she deemed worthy of damnation that morning over breakfast.” 

They passed one of the stained glass windows that depicted a mosaic of Mother Mary, and the woman paused to take it in, head tilting back to absorb it in its towering entirety. “Funny how things change–how they shape themselves into mirages of novelty. Ingredients of a supper once eaten long ago are being used to create the same dish, only this time bearing whatever name lures even the strongest and most determined of bugs to devour it.” 

Hoseok made a face, squinting slightly at the woman’s profile. “I’m not quite sure I’m following along.” 

The woman turned to him and smiled warmly, her teeth displaying themselves with the front ones just slightly crooked. “Forgive me, it’s been awhile since I’ve had someone willing to listen to my thoughts.” 

There it was again–a face he could almost recognize. He examined the ridges and divots of her cheeks, the planes of her forehead and the shape of her chin. “Do I know you?” Hoseok questioned, tilting his head to the side. 

“Oh–no. Not really anyways.” The woman started past the window to the next, stopping to do the same inspection as the last. “But I know you, Hoseok Jung.” 

Hoseok lagged behind her, his breath quickening in his chest. “How do you–who are you?” 

“I’m someone who was put between a rock and a hard place–had my hand forced to do things I had little interest in being a part of.” She pivoted on her heel, her hands clasped tightly behind her back as she gave him a once over. “We are quite similar in that regard. Are we not?” 

“Who are you?” Hoseok demanded again, taking a small step back to build space between this mysterious woman who knew far too much about him to be normal. 

“Who I am matters not. What matters at this moment is who you want to be, Hoseok.” The woman closed the distance between them with a few short strides, unclasping her hands to land flat at her sides. “I came here to tell you not to do what I did. Don’t give in–don’t make choices that will leave you haunted with regret.” 

Hoseok flinched back as her hands reached out to grab his, holding them within her smaller ones and running her thumbs over his knuckles delicately. “Let’s see what we can find here together…” She released a pleasant hum, and closed her eyes briefly like she was taking him in and not the other way around. “How I’d love to meet her one day, she sounds like quite the piece of work. Her sister spoke so highly of her.” 

Sunlight filtered through bushy treetops, speckling rounded tea tables that were crowded with women in old fashion trousers and dresses. Hands brushed against hands, fingers danced over plates of cakes and fruit, and smiles tugged at the corners of soft lips.

 Love.

 There was the clink of metal upon metal–swords perhaps–coupled with bellows of laughter of all kinds, triumphant and fearless.

Joy.

 Children droning on in bored monotonous voices over one another in recitation of their ABC’s, one of them more enthusiastic than the other, spry and bursting with youthful excitement at making it to the end.

Pride.

Rain fell in sheets over a crowd of blackened coats and hats, forming a circle around a freshly dug grave, whose neighboring plots looked shiny and new, hardly a few years older, with the same last name etched into the stone. He saw the short casket through the eyes of the woman and felt her sorrow as it was lowered into the ground as if it was his own. 

Grief, and despair.  

Lively hearths lit aflame and hand drawn blueprints; the tangy sharp smell of ink and fresh notebook paper with one singular word inscribed on the inside of the cover. Adelaide. 

Peace.

The illusions vanished from his mind, as did the woman who once stood before him. Hoseok jerked his head in all directions, spinning in a circle to find where she had gone, but found no trace of Adelaide anywhere. Just the empty pews save for Jin’s huddled figure, and the muted atmosphere of the nave lit by bulb and candle. 

Emotions whirled in his chest so profound that they bore holes through his heart and force him off his feet into the nearest pew to drape himself forwards. His chest was a cavity that he had to grip with his hands to keep from spilling onto the floor with silent sobs that shook him to the bone. Tears pooled in his waterline and tipped over the edge onto the red plush carpet of the church. 

He shuddered with his breath, clutching to the back of the pew in front of him for dear life. He lifted his gaze to the altar, and though he could not see it, he knew Adelaide was still there. He could still feel her staring, imploring him up and out of his seat in an imbalanced traipse back through the front doors and out to his car to fall gracelessly into the seat. 

Y/n’s laugh when he cracked a joke at just the right time. Aching shoulders and tired eyes from playing too many video games with his friends on the living room floor. Y/n stood up for him when he was poked fun at just a bit too hard by one of the other boys. Getting to hold one of her hands on cold nights, or just being near each other on the ungodly warm ones. Embracing him when he felt the pressure of keeping up with his sister, reassuring him that she liked his company just as so. 

Love.

He thought of being twirled around the hotel ballroom while his mother taught lessons, sleepovers in Y/n and Matilda’s room, dinner’s where the table felt too full to move his elbows but just right in atmosphere from the rosy cheeks and boisterous conversation of the participants. 

Joy. 

Death was nothing new to him. The family connections being so vast and widespread, there was a funeral almost every year to grieve the loss of yet another one of the people who should still be crowding the dinner table each night. It all came rushing to him now that the dam had been opened. Matilda, G-min, his grandfather, Bear, Margaret, Jungkook’s mother. Death was not the only thing that filled him with this feeling he discovered, sifting through whatever sprang up into his mind against his will. 

Touching Y/n’s side, and feeling her devastating black hole of loss after Matilda seep through his fingertips to coat over his own sadness and oversaturate his soul with that which he already felt within himself. Kissing her for the first and last time, and having her turn him away. The blackness that threatened to eat him alive from the aftermath of their argument, and pull him down to follow after those who had already left. His body. The life he had wanted. 

Grief. 

Yet here he remained, steadfast and consistent (in his own fucked up way). He tried–and goddamnit did he try to push onwards against a current that should’ve swept him away years prior.  While he may not hold the same attributes that everyone else around him carried within themselves and wore proudly on their chests, he was–if anything–resilient. A friend to any of them when they needed it. 

The car jostled much the same as it had earlier in the evening, and Jin plopped into the passenger seat, this time rejuvenated. “Ready to go home?” 

Hoseok used the collar of his shirt to rub at his face, though he knew he was surely red and swollen beyond belief. He barely managed a choked response as he turned the key in the ignition. “Yeah.” 

“Don’t give in–don’t make choices that will leave you haunted with regret.” 

Decidedly, right then and there–Hoseok felt like he had found a purpose within the pummeling waves of blight. And with the windows rolled down as low as they could go, and the warm wind drying away the remnants of his realization. If he couldn’t fix it, he’d fight it. And if he couldn’t fight it…

Well that wasn’t an option to him right now. 

If being a good friend was his purpose, then that’s all he needed to think about. 

_________________________________________

Act Seven, The Final: You Can’t Fix What’s Broken (Or However That Phrase Goes)

Days had passed since Jin had taken him to the church and offered him an escape from the pressing finger of the Wörner’s matriarch, and Hoseok had yet to give him a solid answer as to what his choice was. Not to say that he had any interest in aiding her in her baseless journey and potentially violent escapades (according to Y/n), but if he shut that door completely, he might not be able to crack it back open if he were to find it useful. 

He worked, driving guests to and from their cars or the city as needed, taking just a little more care to listen to them when they spoke about their jobs, families, or meaningless rambles from the back seat. Texts from Mariah went answered like he normally would have before hand, offering up excuse after excuse as to why he couldn’t show that evening. 

A dozen texts, and a few sleepless nights later, Friday ticked by like molasses on a cold countertop. It so agonizingly dragged on that when he had finally parked his car for the day well after dinner had been served, he wished he could pick up his speed to a run up the road and back to the estate's doors to get whatever it was over with and done for. 

However when his hand perched on the railing, his hair stood as a thrum of unknown energy resided on the carved ridges like dust that had been missed during a swipe with a rag. While usually, he avoided letting the house speak to him–something about this felt extra inviting, calling to him with a tingle he could discern as familiar. 

Then he remembered that he was intending to see Y/n today, and wrenched his hand as far away from it as possible. He couldn’t risk anything lingering on him when he saw her, even if he had no intention of touching her skin. 

Skipping up the remaining stairs, he pivoted down the hall into his room, crossing the threshold of orange vintage wallpaper and straight towards his bedside table where he kept the rocks Y/n had bought for him. He stuffed whatever ones could fit into his pockets into his pants, and clicked the door shut behind him. 

This was necessary if he wanted to make things right–even if it scared him shitless to risk fucking it up more. 

The muscles of his legs tremored as he rounded the corner to her hall, and each step felt weighted with cement. But he couldn’t turn back, not if he wanted to have her in his life in any capacity other than distant and strained. 

Weaving around two suitcases left at the end of the hall and pausing outside of her door, he shook out his hands, rolled his neck from side to side, and bounced on his knees to hopefully increase the blood flow he felt he lacked. He chuckled to himself, for how embarrassing would it be if he fell flat on his face when it counted the most. 

A scream tore from the otherside–violent and untamed–and a clamorous crash of wood and glass followed shortly behind it. All traces of hesitation were lost on him, and he all but broke the door in his rush to open it. 

Her room was dark, the windows and lights blocked from letting even the smallest scrap of light filter through. The light from the hall illuminated the scene in front of him, and he froze. 

Y/n was straddling Yoongi over a spray of broken glass, her hand stained red and poised over his chest with a shard of the mirror that had been thrown to the ground beside them. Blood dripped from her palm down onto his shirt from the serrated edges of her makeshift blade, and Yoongi held both hands with shaking force to keep it from coming down straight through his skin.

The two of them looked up at him widely, Yoongi’s wide and dark with fear, and Y/n’s ungovernable and virulent–her irises gold instead of their usual color. Hoseok couldn’t move at the sight of such eyes, terror taking hold of him and choking out all of the confidence he had built. It took him back to looking up at them from below, an association to the feeling of his near death, a hard thing to shake.

“Help me! Please!” Yoongi begged, his arms beginning to bend under the strength Y/n pressed down on them with. 

That’s how he must have sounded to everyone else–begging for his life to people he couldn’t see. Hoseok fumbled with the rocks in his pocket and let them slip through his fingers. While he had no intention of touching Y/n, he was blinded. He had no choice. It wasn’t Yoongi he saw on the ground beneath her merciless stare, it was himself; small and scrawny, broken, frightened, and alone. 

Her hand moved to strike down with a piercing cry, and Hoseok lunged at her, their bodies colliding to land on the bed of broken glass below.

_________________________________________

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Next Chapter

taglist: @kokoandkookie@rkive-joonie@singdancedreampray @erescheesemelted

[pruneunfair]

"My feelings on" part 5. How to get my husband on my side and how it properly tackles abuse, eating disorders, and relationships.

Another super popular manhwa that I can understand why it's so beloved. The Borgias were actual people in history that inspired characters like the protagonist Ruby, and the title itself already feels different since the world of OI is all about being a perfect badass woman, funnily enough, HTGMHOMS does this better than most.

Rudbeckia/Ruby starts off with the behavior of the og fls that a lot of OI make fun of. She is surrounded by what appears to be loving family members and is already being prepped to be married of to Izek, she looks excited and ready to do whatever her family wants until her inner monolog reveals how she really feels about them especially her older brother Cezar. She hates almost all of them and her real reason for being excited for marriage is so she can get away from her abusive household and avoid death which shouldn't be hard since the transmigrator doesn't plan on poisoning her sister in law like og Ruby did. She's a master of hiding her feelings already which is attributed to her past life in a similarly abusive adoptive household.

Right off bat, Ruby is shown to be strong in the mental sense. Not only is she walking on eggshells she also suffers from an ED (likely bulimia), there a quite a few scenes where she's throwing up, refusing to eat a lot, or in later chapters, eating a lot more out of stress. Her family too is whole new level of psychological horror. They aren't cartoonist evil, for example Pope Borgia is usually kind to his daughter and treats her with respect until he feels like she's defying him, all of a sudden that kind caring nature is gone, then he becomes threatening, or her older brother Cezar who has been abusing her for years both physically and sexually, he keeps her in place through fear, intimidation, and attacking her on occasion which is only enhanced after he kills Rubys bird and feeds it to his turtle which gives Ruby a phobia of turtles. It's actually heartbreaking with how eerily realistic it is when these types of people are easily placed like normal family members in certain scenes, because that's often how abusive family members blend in, almost no one knows what they are really like and if you looked at a first glance without context, you'd think "Ah yes, that's just a brother next to his siblings." They're never truly gone, they just know how to hide their true colors so well.

This is why Ruby is so much stronger than a lot of people give her credit for, she's dealing with all of this at the same time and her only hope of respite is being as far as possible from her home country. It's easy to jump to the conclusion that Ruby is just a weak stereotypical protagonist everytime you see her pretend to fawn over Izeks presence but if you read further, you'd know that Ruby doesn't like it any better but she thinks she's doing what's right to avoid Izeks Wrath since she's the only one who knows what he is the one who kills the og Ruby in the novel.

Speaking of which, while Izek isn't my favorite ML ever, I still was shocked to find that I liked the typical cold nobleman persona on him. Unlike a lot of ML's Izek is allowed to be flawed and his negative traits and moments aren't brushed aside, they cause some issues like Ruby going out of her way to appear dainty and sweet so Izek won't kill her. He acknowledges how he has hurt her and grows from it and doesn't push her boundaries. It's possible for the cold Duke archetype to work but a lot of the time, the whole war hero past gets thrown to the side for baseless fan service or they're just unapologetically abusive. Izek however is in the in between. His cold and dangerous persona stays consistent but that doesn't make him one note and he gets to have geninue moments of care for those in his life rendering Izek to still be likeable.

Ive noticed that the narrative also makes sense instead of twisting itself for a stupid chance at a fan service plot. An example is Ellen and Freya.

An unfortunate sideffects from the fandom was on and off hatred of Ellen for considering what Freya had to say, taking her side or not even choosing a side at all. The readers know that Freya tried to get Ruby killed by tricking her into going into a monster infested forest or when she tried to frame Ruby for poisoning her, but does Ellen know that? Realistically she's not going to immediately turn her back on Freya since they were childhood friends along eith Izek but that doesn't mean she screams at Ruby either. Ellen does care about Ruby but she knew Freya longer than she knew Ruby. From her perspective, it' makes sense that Freya would be innocent.

But perhaps the best part about Ellen that makes her my favorite character is how she notices the little details on others. She's the first to find out that Ruby has an eating disorder and it's not out of nowhere either, Ellen and Izeks late mother also suffered from a eating disorder that Ellen witnessed more than once so it gives an explanation on how she can tell what Ruby is going through.

Side characters are treated just as well as the main cast too. From the other guards to the friendly monsters to minor antagonist and even the children are all given attention to be their own beings, it doesn't have to be a lot since most of what I mentioned are minor characters but then you got characters like Ivan who has a life outside of just being by Izeks side.

Out of all the side characters I gotta say the monsters are my favorites. It makes me wish there was a side story where Ruby successfully runs away forever and lives as a little witch with monster companions.

Of course like all media, HTGMHOMS has its flaws but I think I'll chill on this one since the flaws aren't large enough to ruin it and I want to stay positive on something I like for once.

Conclusion: This is a story that does such an amazing job with its commentary. Instead of just saying "Cezar abused Ruby in the past! Feel bad for her now!" For example, we are given actual flashbacks to respect the show don't tell rule. Other characters besides Ruby suffer from their own traumas and they get their own arcs on their hardships and how they recover from it, it handles eating disorders and trauma responses in a respectful way that has an actual effect on the plot. Most of all, it does all of this with the type of protagonist that has been deemed as "weak" before in the manhwa community. Ruby isn't a boss girl who is always successful and smart. She makes reckless decisions, she cries, she isn't always able to one-up her enemies like Freya. She's a human woman stuck in a world that's not her own but she still rises to the task at hand even with all her blunders. Ironically making her more feminist then many of the female leads before her.

[thedubiousdallon]

Okay here's the basic premise for my Heartbroken! Taylor AU. Danny and Annette visit Toronto on their honeymoon, and Heartbreaker decides he's interested and kidnaps her. 9ish months later, Taylor is born. Taylor has an interesting childhood event by Heartbroken standards, because Annette often has enough lucidity to remember and miss the man she married and the life she would've had, though never enough lucidity to actually want to leave Heartbreaker (and only once enough lucidity to put herself between him and Taylor. That's not the kind of thing Nikos would let slide). As a result, Taylor grows up a bit closer than her mother than most of the Heartbroken are to theirs, and she grows up hearing - occasionally and in secret - about the man who would've been and who might maybe possibly actually be her father, and some snippets of what a normal life could've been.

This does not make her well-liked by her siblings, and she gets bullied pretty badly, something that is only somewhat mitigated when she Triggers. She has a lot of antipathy towards her powered siblings of her approximate age for being more socially adept and willing to earn Daddy's favor at her expense. She's got a lot of antipathy for Jean-Paul in particular, because she was part of the group assigned to bring him in, and when she failed, Heartbreaker didn't just punish her, he punished her mother.

Fast forward, and it's only a matter of time before Annette dies of abuse and neglect. With her mother gone, Taylor realizes that there's nothing holding her here anymore, and she makes an alliance with Cherie to escape together. They succeed, but are forced to separate to avoid recapture. They had planned to travel to Brockton Bay, where Taylor has desperate hopes of finding Danny and... well, when she tries to put her hopes for what will happen next into words she feels childish, silly, and depressed, so she's not gonna think about it too hard.

Taylor spends a few days in the city tracking him down, then a few more days trying to convince herself to make contact, only to be nabbed by Coil and pressed into the Undersiders. The story would their escapades as in canon, but with a focus on the difficult interpersonal dynamic between Taylor and Alec, with Cherie being added to the mix once she makes her way to Brockton for a lack of any better ideas (no S9 for her in this timeline!), with them eventually collaborating to get the Undersiders out from under Coil's thumb in something of a "let's do it right this time" reprise of their much more individualistic escapes from Heartbreaker. They would make contact with Danny eventually, but his exact involvement is TBD.

Taylor's power would allow her to detect the presence of everyone within about a block of her, and the ability to choose one person at a time within her range to tap into the senses of, replacing her own perception with theirs. This wouldn't let her read minds or emotions, but would allow her to borrow other parahumans' power enhanced senses. So, like, she wouldn't hear the information that Tattletale's power feeds her, but if Grue was in his darkness when she tapped his senses, she'd be able to see through it because he could see through it. Lastly, while tapping someone's senses, she can put words in their head that they'll hear, but they won't necessarily be able to tell that those words are coming from someone else as opposed to being their own thoughts. Exact responses to this would vary depending on the nature of the target, but one of the most subtle and consistent uses of it would be that, if she suggests specific courses of action while someone is doing something absentmindedly or on autopilot, and it's a suggestion that can be carried out fast enough that someone wouldn't have enough time to think twice, they're likely to do it. Driving a vehicle at high speed? Hard left! Got a gun trained on someone? Safety on!

Her cape name would be Subliminal.

[uhohdad]

If Titan had truly loved someone, how would he act?

WARNING: 18+, NSFW, DEPICTIONS OF NON-CONSENSUAL SEX AND PHYSICAL ABUSE. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION AND TAKE CARE <3

The Head Cheerleader and The Star Quarterback High School Fantasy come true.

There’s something about having a girl like you at his side that just makes him feel twice as powerful as he already is. He can’t help but show off - because knowing that you’re his makes him feel like The Man. It’s intoxicating, your presence. He is addicted to how big and strong and powerful you make him feel. It’s almost tangible in times when he pulls you in for a sloppy kiss on your cheek or forehead. He’ll linger for a moment after his lips leave you, the tip of his nose still pressed to your skin while he breaths you - no, inhales you. Your scent sets his shoulders back and makes him stand a little taller. It wakes him up. Your pheromones are a drug, his performance enhancer.

The cockiness, the teasing, the flirting, it all seems to escalate when you’re around. Silky purrs and hums from a dangerous smile and fluttering eyes watching you get more and more flustered.

You’re his favorite toy to play with.

And Titan makes sure everyone knows it.

You’ll wear his jacket, and he’ll keep the loose fit snug with one of his strong arms slung around your shoulders. He tugs you close, until you’re practically sitting in his lap, and he won’t be discreet when his hand slides down your back. A tight meld as his palm snakes around your ribcage, smoothing over the curve of your waist. He’ll finish on a painful grope to the top of your ass, relishing in the way your squeak interrupts the conversation. His hand will creep to your front long after your squeak has been forgotten, pinching your thigh underneath the table and laughing at you when you flinch and bat his hand away. It doesn’t stop him from returning for seconds, resting on your knee before creeping further up your plush insides of your thigh.

He can’t wait for the moment you turn your head to snap at him, wont be able to hold back his smug grin while he stares down your cute angry little face, because your scolding will be completely undermined by the overlapped marks of his teeth painting the sensitive flesh of your neck.

His feelings for you does not hinder his tendency to push things too far. His teasing and button-pushing is endearing, making you smile more times than not, but some of your biggest fights revolve around him disrespecting the simplest of boundaries.

He can’t keep his hands off of you. And most of the time it’s welcomed, but in public you don’t exactly appreciate being groped and degraded in front of everyone. It doesn’t stop him from holding you steady by your hips to plant a kiss on a bruise he left on your neck the night before, grinding his aching cock against your ass.

You’ll try to whip around and shove him away, a heat on your cheeks as your eyes dart around to make sure no one noticed, but you’re no match for your boyfriend’s powerful grip.

“Titan!” You hiss through clenched teeth.

His fingers dig painfully into your hips when you try and wiggle from him, the strain in his jeans rubbing over the curve of your ass as he slobbers over your shoulder.

“Stop!”

He pulls off your shoulder and presses his lips to your ear, giving you another squeeze from behind.

“Oh, c’mon, no one’s watching Doll Face.”

You grimace at the crude nickname, hands prying to get Titan’s fingers from bruising your hips, but it seems to have the opposite effect.

“I’m not joking, Titan, get off!” Your scold is spoke through grit teeth.

You can feel his smile against your ear, his words nothing but a sickeningly sweet purr.

“Well if you’re embarrassed about giving everyone a show, let’s just go somewhere private, Dolly.”

You give an earnest but discreet tug against his brutal restraint.

“You can’t control yourself until we get home?”

Titan presses his aching cock against your ass and gives another steady grind.

“How am I supposed to wait when you look, taste, and smell this good?”

You give an exasperated huff, stifling the shudder his breathy words send down your spine.

You know it’ll be easier for everyone involved if you just give in.

His voice drops several octaves when he presses his lips to your ear.

“Now.”

Titan lets go of your hips to snatch a wrist, his grip crushing as he drags you to the nearest storage closet, bathroom stall, or dingy alleyway, picking you up by the back of your thighs and pining you against the wall, fucking you until you’re grateful he chose to take advantage of you right here right now. Greedy, brutal cock filling you up, savage grunts and filthy degradations growled into your ear.

“I don’t know why you always put up such a fight, Doll.”

His grip of the plush flesh of your thighs tighten, tits bouncing ruthlessly against your ribcage as he quickens his thrusts, bottoming out and slapping his mound against your swollen clit with each plunge into your dripping cunt.

“Look how wet this cunt is for me,” He grits, eyes long since darkened and drained of empathy.

“You’re made for this, Doll.”

You pinch your eyes closed as your shaking fingers dig into toned shoulders, head lulling against the wall as he has his way with you.

You know this is wrong.

You know that this isn’t how a lover is supposed to treat you.

But Titan’s right.

The arousal soaking his cock proves how sick you are, how you crave the mistreatment and abuse, how you love the possessive hold he has around your neck.

Titan knows it’s wrong too.

Because after he buries his finish deep into your eager cunt, his grunts and powerful thrusts wavering as he claims you as his own, he can’t seem to meet your eyes.

He’s always well behaved after. His touches are soothing, his kisses tender instead of slobbering, compliments spoken with a genuine tongue instead of a condescending one.

The next day you’ll find flowers waiting for you, and he’ll tell you about which flower made him think of you the most. He’ll snuggle up to you, the way a lover should snuggle up to you, and rest his head on your shoulder.

You know he’s just trying to relieve his own guilt. He wants you to remind him that you will still love him regardless of his depraved urges.

And you’ll give in, reaching a hand up to play with his hair and scratch his scalp. He’ll give a hum into your shoulder - a content hum, not an arrogant one.

Your relationship waxes and wanes like this, a stint of good behavior until the corruption creeps back in, escalating exponentially until Titan inevitably boils over, sometimes in lust, sometimes in jealously, sometimes in anger.

You do love him. And he loves you.

He just can’t help it.

⌞ ALL TITAN DRABBLES ⌟

⌞ KONIG X READER HUNGER GAMES AU ⌟

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Hey Syn, do you have any tips how to write traumatised female characters and not make them total assholes?

It so easy to make them unlikeable but they are important for the plot and the MC kinda had a fling with her. (He wouldn't had done it if she is despicable)

Why is it so much easier to write male characters? 😭

So, this is kind of hard because it’s a super fact specific inquiry. There’s no real rules when it comes to writing, which is why the only real writing advice is to just write. Like, there’s no advice I could give that would be absolutely accurate or without exception.

That being said, I came up with a sort of broad, non-exhaustive list of things that come into play when I write? It’s more of potential strategies than anything. At the end of the day, though, focus on what works best for your writing because no two are the same when it comes to things like this.

1) Know why they’re traumatized and how it affects them.

I’m not positive if this is for original fiction or fanfiction, but the key principle is the same. What kind of trauma do they have? How old is that trauma? What happened to make them traumatized? Have they gotten help since then? If so, in what ways were they helped?

I’m always sort of careful with writing the symptoms of trauma in my stories because I often see it used in a way that’s sort of exaggerated or cartoonish. Trauma doesn’t always mean panic attacks or hysteria. Sometimes it does, but not always.

Maybe they had an abuser—maybe that means they struggle with hiding information from the people around them. A lot of people who were abused tend to hide information, to their detriment, even when it doesn’t make sense, because they’re used to hiding things for their own safety.

The thing about trauma is that it’s part of the messy soup that is human emotion and neurosis, so it’s not exactly logical, but it often makes sense. It can be frustrating when people almost pathologically hide information until it’s too late to fix the issue, but it makes sense why they’re like that.

It makes no logical sense to hide problems until they become bigger problems that could have been fixed easily if they had told someone. They sure aren’t doing it for shits and giggles.

They’re doing it because they spent some period of time in their life with someone who was irrational about problems. Someone who just exploded or hurt them or berated them over things most people wouldn’t care about. For that person, hiding things is a survival response, and it is a slow and painful process to turn that response off again.

Maybe they over-apologize. Maybe they lash out. Maybe they’re too sensitive or too aggressive. Maybe they have panic attacks or anxiety or irrational fears. It’s hard to write the trauma without knowing what the trauma is, so you have to spend some time getting to understand what shaped a character.

The thing about traumatizing situations is that they spike your adrenaline. And adrenaline scientifically fucks with your memory. A lot of adrenaline enhances your recall, so you remember your trauma in crystalline detail. Even more adrenaline fucks with your ability to form memories and recall what happened to you.

We are not nearly as rational beings as we want to pretend we are. We are beholden to the electric soup that is our brain, and trauma can fundamentally alter the pathways of that electric soup. People who are trying to unlearn harmful behaviors from their trauma are oftentimes trying to forcibly rewire how their brain works when their brain started working that way to begin with to keep them alive. It is a messy and difficult process. A character who is traumatized is often messy and difficult themselves, but that’s because their brain was trying to keep them alive during a bad time and doesn’t have an easy pathway to revert back to how it should be.

What happened to them to make them like this? How did they survive the source of their trauma? Could it be that the actions they’re taking now are residual survival instincts sending off signals that have nowhere to go? If not, what are they reacting to?

2) read their actions in the best possible light

This is like, my personal life philosophy, but I apply it to my writing too, and I personally find that it adds a lot of depth to characters.

Don’t assume the worst.

Everyone fucks up and does something bad or harmful that negatively affects someone else. It’s part of being human. My personal philosophy is that there are relatively few people out there that are actively malicious or callous when they act.

I think people get afraid, or self-conscious, or angry, and they aren’t their best self that day. They make bad decisions. Or maybe they made the right decisions, but there’s something external that makes it come off like they did something different. Maybe other people’s traumas are making them view a character and their actions in a more negative light than they are due.

I think that there are a lot of versions of us that live in other people’s heads, and some are bad, and some are good, and some don’t lean one way or another. No one is their best self every day.

So, say you have a character, and they do something that you as the audience makes you think “Wow, what an asshole.” What’s the best possible light you can put them in? Maybe they didn’t understand what was happening and reacted wrong. Maybe they were just being irrational and were reacting that way because they were afraid or upset somehow, and later regretted it. Again, while sometimes it is appropriate to ascribe malice to a character (or a person), for the most part, I think most people just need a fuckin break.

Think of all the times in your life where you did something you weren’t necessarily proud of and were embarrassed looking back on. What kind of slack do you wish other people cut you then? Give that to the character. They’re dealing with something. They’re not making the best decisions.

Then give that on to the audience. The writer is the filter that information about a character comes through—what do you want the audience to know about that character so they can understand why she’s not making the best decisions?

3) make sure the characters are more than their trauma

No one is the poor damp little meow meow who is all trauma and nothing else. Make sure you’re writing more to them than just the trauma. If you’re struggling with finding them likable, make sure that something else is something that makes them a little more likable to you while still being consistent with their characters.

Again, it’s hard advice to give because it’s very very detail specific. Character crafting is not a one size fits all endeavor.

When you have a character, think about whether they feel like a real person to you. I’m not talking about adding in personality attributes and hobbies like you’re reading off their stats list—give them experiences that make them feel distinctive and unique to you. I love coming up with silly little backstories for my characters. And I don’t mean the Capital-B Backstory, the big dramatic reveal that gets its own special episode—I mean tiny little stories about their past. The dumb shit you tell your friends about later.

I don’t know if you’ve read one of my current fics pez dispenser debris, but I started writing it while in a total spiral and decided to just let myself cut loose and write every fucking tiny little flashback that I wanted to that I would have normally cut because it didn’t affect the story. From a technical perspective, that fic is written very poorly. But that’s okay, because when I started writing it, I didn’t want to write a story well. I wanted to have fun writing it, and that’s what I did.

Like, I open the fic with a random scene that will have no overall effect on the plot. I am constantly getting sidetracked on random little anecdotes from the narrator about how one character went to America on vacation and was compelled by the spirit of Americana to try Whataburger and drove all the way to Texas to do it, where he somehow ended up winning a rodeo and had a drunken night out with three men who were all named Wyatt, or about how a different character’s family decided to kidnap his shithead brother back into familial bliss and no one told him until he was already in the car so he said “okay” and went with it. Both of those stories take specific kinds of people to do. They help build a sense of personality in a way that just saying “this person is spontaneous” or “this person will be unfazed even when he should be a little fazed” doesn’t.

This character had some kind of prior relationship with the MC—what random, mundane, mildly funny stories do they have together? What did they do when they hung out? What kind of person was she with him that made him want to spend more time with her?

You don’t have to include these in the story itself. Like I said, I wrote pez dispenser debris because I wanted to write the random bullshit side stories without containment. Almost every character I write in any real depth has a bunch of random backstories that will never surface in the story itself. I have a best friend (shout out to my moon wife) who is constantly getting info dump text messages about the backstory of this or that character that will never make the cut but I have to tell SOMEONE because the stories are too fun to keep to myself.

Anecdotes about a character help you create a more distinctive sense of identity which will make it easier to write your character in the long run. How would this character react to X? I dunno, how did he react when his family pulled up, waited until he got into the car, and told him they had his shithead brother in the trunk and weren’t letting him go until he picked up their calls again or someone died? Oh, he said “okay” and went with it? That may influence how we anticipate his reaction to X.

4) understand that steps 1-3 were futile and it’s absolutely impossible to make a character that’s not an asshole and just write them for you

The thing is there’s no way to make some objectively likable character. Like. People are going to take characters in different ways. I’ve written characters who I’ve loved and would die on the hill for their right to process their emotions in messy ways and had readers absolutely hate them. There is no real way to get unanimity from a crowd.

If you want to write a likable character, write a character you like, traumas and all. Chances are, you have someone in your life who has done something a little destructive because of trauma who you kept caring about after. Find a similar balance between traumas and things you like for this character.

I don’t have any female character specific advice, because I’ve never personally experienced much difference when writing different genders. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that gender has no effect on how I write characters, because gender does affect how we interact with society. A man is more likely to have been treated one way by a society or to have had certain experiences within it than a woman is than someone who is non-binary is than someone who is genderfluid is and so on. That could have had an effect on a character and how they interact with the world themselves. It’s just plays a smaller part in my writing than the other things.

If you’re struggling for writing different characters of different genders, it may help to take a step back and just really spend time developing for yourself the details of who this character is. The more distinctive of a personality they have, the less broad characteristics like gender come into play. Usually the characters that have a strong sense of developed identity aren’t the ones who get sent breasting boobily down the stairs.

I’m not sure if any of this is gonna be helpful. Again, the only real writing advice is to write, because there’s always an exception or a new reason to break the nonexistent rules when it comes to writing. Just have fun with it, and the story will always be good. Good luck with the writing!

[ithebookhoarder]

Open Arms (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Description: There are some nights where just having someone waiting for him is all Matt can ask for...

A/N: Who wouldn't want this loveable doofus to curl up in bed with?

Masterlist

It was always late whenever Matt finally got his ass home, after a night out patrolling across Hell’s Kitchen.

Sure, most people would have found your decision to wait up for him night after night insane - especially when you normally had to be at work bright and early the next day - but you didn’t mind. 

In fact, you felt relieved to know that Matt had someone watching out for him, whilst he so tirelessly continued his crusade to watch out for the people and place he called home. You may not have been as strong as Elektra, or any of the other super companions that somehow seemed to gravitate towards your boyfriend, yet this was your way of helping. Of showing up. Of being there for him without donning a mask and mantle yourself… even if you had jokingly mentioned it once or twice. 

Tonight had clearly been a long and gruelling shift, but successful nonetheless. You could tell without him even saying a word, from the way he drifted around your apartment, slowly shedding his mask and muttering to himself as he eventually made his way over to join you on the sofa. 

Cocooned in your favourite throw, you’d been trying to make your way through your seemingly never-ending stack of files you'd brought home from work, but had felt your eyes drooping every time you made it to the end of a sentence. However, it was a better alternative than trying to stay awake watching the late night shopping channels.

Your credit card had been abused enough for one month, and even Foggy had said your home had started looking like the inside of an IKEA show room. 

“What time do you call this, young man?” you teased, turning to gaze up at Matt as he approached.

His smile was immediate. 

Good God, you’d never tire of that adorable grin. 

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he purred, arms winding around you, hauling you close enough for him to press a kiss against the top of your head. “You still working? I thought we agreed it could wait until tomorrow?”

“Wow, Matthew Murdock! You are such a hypocrite.” 

Matt laughed. “Fair enough, I had that coming - but I’m home now and you’re the one still at it.”

Damn it. He had you there. 

“Any chance you fancy taking a break and coming to bed with me?”

With a sigh, you began to put the file down, knowing better than to argue. After all, it was bad when Matt Murdock was the one to tell you that you needed to take a break. Besides, the idea of curling up in his arms sounded pretty good about then. 

“Alright,” you conceded, extending your hands towards him. “You win.” 

With that, Matt grinned and helped you to your feet, clearly pleased with his victory. The pair of you then began to make your way to your bed, peeling back the covers and nestling together in a routine that was second nature by now. 

You didn’t even need to ask for Matt to slide in next to you, crawling across the mattress to rest his head against your chest. It was a moment of vulnerability - one you cherished as you felt the tension seeping out of the Devil in your arms with every passing moment. 

“Rough night?”

Matt nodded. 

He didn’t need to explain. 

He never did. Not when you could read him like an open book. It didn’t matter that you didn’t have his enhanced “super senses”, as you liked to tease. You could tell what he was thinking, and how he was feeling from a single glance. Like tonight - tonight, the way he was so willing to come to bed said that whatever had happened out there, in the dark, he was happy to leave it there. 

His focus was entirely on you, in the here and now, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a rush of selfish pleasure at the prospect. After all, it was a rare thing to have Matt to yourself, and to not to have to share him with the city he called home. 

“You smell good.”

His soft murmur made your lips flicker upwards.  

“Thank you. I may or may not have used your shampoo while you were gone…”

He chuckled, the vibrations making your chest shake. “No wonder you smell so good.”

Rolling your eyes, you flicked him on the nose in retribution. Matt yelped but was clearly exaggerating. This was the man who’d once split his head open and had carried on walking about like nothing was wrong. In fact, he’d only been given away after he collapsed in the middle of his office, giving the game away and terrifying poor Foggy in the process. 

“Ow!” 

Bending down as best as you could, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips by way of apology. You also began to gently run your fingers through his hair, the motion causing him to hum and nestle back down against you. 

So much for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. If only the world could see him now. Like this, it was hard to equate the fearsome vigilante that prowled the night, with the man curled up around you like a stray kitten. 

He seemed so much more vulnerable like this. 

As if sensing your train of thought, Matt spoke. “I love you, you know?” 

“I do. I love you too,” you replied. “Go to sleep, Matty. I got you.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

[ellemaru]

Simon "Ghost" Riley General Headcanons

A/N: This is just headcanons that have popped up in my head or whatever but I'm trying my best to keep it lore accurate/based off of lore. There will be some mentions of abuse, mental health, substance abuse (alcohol and drugs) and body dysmorphia due to how his character is.

General Appearance:

Starting with appearances, I think he's 6'2-6'4 and weighs 200-230 lbs (189-195 cm and 90-104 kgs).

He has prominent muscles, but they aren't Arnold Schwarzenegger huge but still large enough to the point that most people are impressed.

He has short, blondish hair where in the winter, it darkens to a light sandy brown if he doesn't go outside.

He had more of a fair and cool undertone but after spending time in the Middle East he darkened up slightly.

Everyone he knows always debates whether his eyes are green, grey or hazel but he personally thinks they are hazel with a light blue on the edges.

His nose is slightly hooked but is also kind of crooked from the front due to it being broken a gazillion times.

General Personality:

As proven previously with the "Alone" mission, Simon is a pretty funny guy.

I feel like there's a common misconception about him that he's super serious and cold and has no emotion but that's FAAAAAALSE.

When he's not on duty I'm a firm believer he acts sassy with the others to be funny.

He obviously knows that there's a time and place for everything but he also knows when a joke or sarcastic comment is needed to lighten the mood up.

I feel like his enhanced ability to read the room kind of stems from him having to always observe and walk on eggshells with his dad in the past.

Like if he misread his mood he could've potentially gotten hurt, leading to Mama Riley defending him causing her to get hurt too but that's for another post.

Back to the humor I feel like a lot of times he's just unintentionally funny like he'll say something, and because of his delivery people laugh and he just sits there confused like "???? I didn't make a joke"

100% a workaholic with no work-life balance because who needs that when your job is your life!

Once the guy starts working, he ain't gonna stop until he says so.

Super observant, he notices the fine details so if you think you can cut corners around him? You're mistaken.

Simon is moody af but that's definitely heightened by his kinda crappy mental health.

General Family:

He hates his dad.

Did I mention he hates his father?

For sure a mama's boy but not in an "I was my son's first girlfriend" kind of way.

He looks up to his mom like crazy and still has an emotional attachment to her from when he was young due to his father being emotionally, physically, and mentally abusive to him.

Anytime he comes back from a mission, has a rough day, or just needs advice on a decision or life he ALWAYS calls Mama Riley.

She's literally his rock because he sees her as someone who is steadfast and strong who goes based on the facts and how she takes things for face value, similar to Simon. I think this also gave Simon an admiration of single mothers and women in general since he grew up with more of a perspective from his mother than his father.

He loves Tommy to bits and pieces, and they were hands down partners in crime back in their teenage years before Simon enlisted.

If you go around Manchester, you can still see some of their graffiti tags on different things.

When Tommy became a drug addict, Simon was there for him from day 1 till he finally got clean.

A/N: This isn't much but if y'all want more I can work on another that's more detailed! Requests are always open so leave some suggestions on things you want to see!

[cursetopia2]

Phoebe Ribbonedgold

Age: 20 Height: 5'0 Sexuality: Pansexual Race: Cambion hybrid Personality: Mostly polite, a little smug here and there. Gets particularly angry if someone badmouths Eclair.

Phoebe is Eclair’s little sister, adored by many for her devoted nature she got thanks to her sister raising her, and feared for her ruthless defense over her older sibling. She loves Eclair so much, that she does not see herself in their shadow at all. Glory and fame is never her motivation.

She has a natural fear of lightning. It came when Eclair had prayed to Euanthe to cast judgment upon her abusers, which were Phoebe’s biological parents. Of course, she was told this much much later on when they were at an age they could understand such things. At first, she was bummed out that she’ll never know her parents. But, hearing the reason Eclair did all this made her realize it was better off that way. After all, why waste it on someone who treats people like garbage? All children deserve parents, but not all parents deserve children. Meeting the people that enslaved and tortured Eclair since she was three years old made Phoebe feel sick to her stomach. A burning feeling inside her made her never want to see Eclair feel so bad ever again. The thought of Eclair being hurt by someone, when she did Everything she could for Phoebe and her to live a stable life, pissed her off. This was guided by emotions and feelings within that she didn’t know how to describe. It begged, pleaded, to let it aid her in her vow to protect Eclair with all it’s gnarly horns and eyes full unfathomable promise of pain. Desperate to be strong enough, Phoebe decided to accept the demonic parts of herself, sisterly love guiding it in the right direction.

Phoebe knows that she might not fully be presenting as a half and half hybrid of a siren and a demon. However, her hypnotic voice when she sings shows and it draws people in. Still, she wonders if she’d inherit any plumage or scales. She got the tail and horns and teeth of a demon, but no feathers as of yet. Was there such thing as late bloomers for these species? She didn’t know.

But, that was 3 years ago. It was gradually showing itself. It started with the feet and then the wings shortly after. Her baby plumage has started to grow and since they were vulnerable, she hid them in her clothes.

Some demons, like Phoebe’s late father, were gifted in magic. This was something Phoebe inherited along the journey, and Eclair knew that she’d want to be guided by a hand that would be patient and informative. She had the thought of training Phoebe herself, but thought the help of a lovely Hakutaku she knew that lived in the snowy region of Miitopia would be a nice balance of both. Phoebe grew a strong interest in Illusions and Song magic, the latter she hoped would enhance her siren abilities. Eclair’s gentle hand and the help of the Hakutaku’s wisdom had greatly improved her abilities.

Mortal Kombat verse

Phoebe was chosen to become a member of the Lin Kuei by Kuai Liang a few months after he restored the Lin Kuei. Since Eclair wasn't allowed to visit in those times, they communicated via letters that would be travel through bird.

She had a gut feeling about Frost, but wasn't able to put her finger on it for a while. she just knew Frost wasn't really good news. But, wasn't entirely bad, either. Misguided at most. This gut feeling turned out to be right when she got back from a mission and saw no other member was around in the Lin Kuei headquarters. It was a total ghost town, which made her shudder.

Phoebe and Eclair would reunite at The Shirai Ryu's Fire Gardens, where everyone else was at. After hearing what all happened... A deep emptiness and sadness overcame her. Her and her Grandmaster were... the only Lin Kuei left that wasn't cyberized. But because of the mission he assigned her earlier, she was spared from that fate.

Phoebe couldn't help but feel powerless and she began to weep, which prompted her Grandmaster to comfort her just like Eclair. She was one of the youngest to accept being part of the faction, so most considered her the baby and the cutest one I mean look at her of the group. As they cried they sought revenge, to give whoever decided on this hell on earth.

She has Lin Kuei training under her belt, but also has a flare of her own style mixed with it. it would go with her cambion traits, adding her horns and tail to the mix.

Phoebe would put a spiked ball of ice to the end of her tail so she could attack with it like a meteor hammer or flail. She'd extend her own horns with ice and impale people with it. Phoebe would also freeze her hands with gauntlets of ice that looked like claws that tore things to shreds.

But, one of her favorite things to make from cryomancy, is a huge hammer. Phoebe doesn't fully know why she likes to whack enemies with something like that. She just knows it's satisfying to use. She once crushed a demon and all their bones with one when they were trying to creep on Eclair.

If they defeated Kronika: "I didn't think I was much of a match against that crazy lady, but I pulled through. That hourglass was in pretty bad shape when everything was done, however. I had the help of Lord Raiden and Lord Fujin to fix any damage to it, which I'm very grateful for."

"I won't lie, the pressure was immense. It was such a big responsibility, and I'm not sure if I'd be a good timekeeper. But, I am sure I'll be better than Kronika. Who in the right mind makes their own child defy their nature for dumb things like this?!" "So, I restored much of what was destroyed by her and all the enemies. I revived all of the warriors in The Lin Kuei and got both Frost and Cetrion back to their senses. Well, after I had told them off. I purged the darkness within my master's brother as well. It pained me too much to see him so miserable..." "I'll do my best to lead, but I'm gonna accept help from those I trust. This universe will be heading in a better direction, now."

[bluebeary-jay]

Congrats on 1k! 💙 hopefully I'm not late with this? My request is Oberyn + 'if i didn't know any better, i'd say you were jealous.' Anything but angst 🫢

I felt inspired by this one 😌💕 (2.2K of fluff and a sprinkle of some suggestive content but nothing graphic)

Thank you so much darling for requesting!! 🥰💗 I was thrilled when I saw two oberyn asks in my inbox idk why but I love writing for him! Sorry for the wait and I hope you'll enjoy it. Love you!! 💙

Oberyn always said that he did not wish to commit to any serious relationship, for in his mind it equaled to being trapped. But then he met, and eventually married, you – and his beliefs altered slightly. The love you two shared was incomparable to anything else he ever experienced and now there was no doubt in his mind that his whole being belonged to you and you alone. And it was the most wondrous feeling.

It didn’t mean, however, that there was no room in your lives and bed for other people. Especially if they were there to give his gorgeous wife an infinite amount of pleasure.

Oberyn never wanted to unconsciously push you to do anything you weren’t set on doing and the most important thing for him was to make it abundantly clear that his love was reserved only for you. The many beautiful people he occasionally invited to your shared chambers (with your knowledge, of course) were there only to enhance your and his physical pleasure.

He never felt jealousy toward any of them and always made sure your comfort came before anything else so you wouldn’t have to endure this bitter, poisonous feeling, either. And for months, everything was perfect.

But then something changed. All of it happened because of Jorral.

He was one of the helpers in the palace, tall and handsome, with skin smoother than silk. Oberyn assigned him as your personal servant a long time ago to cater to your every need whenever he wasn’t by your side or was summoned by his brother, but he was never worried about leaving you with another man. You were safe in the palace, after all, and the Prince trusted you completely, so the thought of something happening never even crossed his mind.

But then, after seeing how attentive Jorral was to your comfort, he had the bright idea to invite the servant to your bedroom so that they could both give you pleasure a man with only two hands and one tongue wouldn’t be able to. And you loved it. Oberyn loved it, too, of course – seeing you being worshiped by others in the way you deserved always gave him a sense of pride and happiness that he was able to provide it for you.

But even though it was a one-time occurrence, the interaction between you and Jorral shifted significantly.

None of this was your fault, Oberyn understood. He knew you long enough to realize that so very often you weren’t even aware of being flirted with – a fact he experienced first-hand when he was courting you, and one which Jorral seemed to abuse. Leaving flowers in your room and bringing you your favorite sweets between meals was alright – after all, the Prince of Dorne ordered it long before your wedding. But touching you, making up excuses to be alone with you and sitting way too close when Oberyn wasn’t present was somehow way too much.

A vile poison of unknown origin entered his veins and Oberyn Martell was no longer acting like himself. He didn’t know what was happening, and his mind was clouded by the consuming desire to have you as close as possible whenever there was another person nearby. It was an odd feeling for him. Foreign. He never experienced such compulsion before, the need to flaunt the proof of your marital union in front of everyone.

For weeks now he tried to restrain himself against such behavior. It was your choice who you spent your free time with and he’d be a hypocrite if he started to scrutinize everyone you wanted to be close to.

But he realized he didn’t have any problem with other people. It was just Jorral.

One afternoon, he wandered along the water gardens, knowing you’ll probably be here at this time of the day. He tried to get the thoughts of Jorral out of his mind, of the flirtatious smile he directed at you before Oberyn had to leave for a meeting. He reminded himself over and over again that it didn’t bother him and that it didn’t even mean anything when it was him you were married to.

Then, he heard your soft laugh on the other side of a tall hedge, beautiful like twinkling windchimes on the breeze, and all tension left his body – but only for a split second. Because the voice that answered you belonged to your personal servant.

Quietly as a viper, Oberyn went around the wall of green to where you were standing – and indeed there you were, with your back to him and Jorral standing in front of you, touching your forearm. The servant’s eyes darted to Oberyn and he immediately withdrew his hand, but before he could alert you of the Prince’s presence, he took a long stride and snaked his arms around your waist.

“My flower,” he murmured into your temple with a smile, pressing your back closer to his chest when you gasped, startled.

“Oberyn,” you breathed with relief when you finally noticed him. You placed your hand over your rapidly beating heart, but your body was already relaxing in his hold. “Gods, you scared me to death.”

“Apologies,” he said in a raspy voice as his lips latched onto your neck in a tender manner. “My heart was calling for you. I couldn’t wait to have my sweet wife back in my arms.”

You smiled and leaned against him as he whispered words of poetry in your ear. Your hands covered his, wrapped around your waist, and your eyes closed in pleasure as he kissed your neck again and again – completely oblivious to the dark look your Prince was giving Jorral. “I’m sorry I made you wait for so long.”

“You’re here now.” You tilted your head, laying it on his shoulder so that you could see him. Oberyn smiled brightly when you lifted one of his hands to your lips and kissed his fingers, but it wasn’t just because of his wife’s affections – his eyes flickered to the man standing next to you, making sure that he’s watching. “How was the meeting with your brother?”

“Long and dull without you there. I couldn’t stop thinking about how ethereal you looked when I left you, still half-asleep and tangled in the sheets in my bed.”

He put more pressure on those last two words than he intended, but you didn’t seem to notice. Instead you turned to Jorral and thanked him for keeping you company before mentioning something about the topic you previously discussed. Oberyn’s features hardened as his hands roamed aimlessly over your body, craving your full attention, but the smile quickly returned to his face. His thumb – not even on purpose – brushed the underside of your breast, making you squirm and squeal.

“Easy, my love.” He did it again, this time deliberately and chuckled when you said his name chidingly. “You’re always so responsive to my touch,” Oberyn murmured, not even caring now if the other man could hear him. Your proximity was so intoxicating and all his senses were focused solely on you, screaming at him to kiss you already.

So he did.

The Prince of Dorne tilted your chin up gently and brought his lips to yours, his tongue invading your mouth before you even knew what was happening. You whimpered under the onslaught of his open-mouthed kisses, but the sounds you were making only served to fuel Oberyn’s desire. He cupped your cheek, wanting you closer, yearning to touch you as much as possible while you returned his soft caresses. Oberyn knew of your shy nature and could almost feel your inner conflict, the hesitancy whether to bring him closer or push him away – but the love of his action melted your resolve soon enough, making you putty in his hands.

Oberyn pulled away slightly, tugging at your bottom lip trapped between his teeth and making you moan. He relished in those pretty sounds, as well as the shivers raking your body when he moved lower, nibbling at your neck.

“My love…” you began before sighing in pleasure again.

Your husband didn’t stop his actions, trailing his nose down the column of your neck and inhaling your scent.

“You smell nice,” he hummed, burying his nose in the spot where your neck met your shoulder and pressing his lips there tenderly. “Did you bathe beforehand?”

“Yes, Jorral helped me,” you answered matter-of-factly, missing the twitch on Oberyn’s face. “That oil you gifted me recently smelled so good, I didn’t want to get out.”

“That’s true. The Princess stayed in the tub until the water turned cold,” Jorral spoke up for the first time since Oberyn arrived. He smiled sweetly at you, making you return the gesture and Oberyn arch his eyebrow.

“Is that so?” Oberyn asked blandly, staring at the other man. “Wait for me next time, my love. I’d love nothing more than to help you myself.”

“If you wish so.” You brushed his cheek with your fingertips and his eyes flickered back to your concerned ones. “But it’s fine, you know. Jorral is a great help to me an–”

“What do you say we retire to our chambers?” Oberyn interrupted with a sensual purr, putting back a smile on his face. “I wish to hold you in my arms, my love, with your naked body pressed against mine.”

“Oberyn,” you whispered bashfully, looking away in embarrassment. He chuckled, glancing above your shoulder at the other man who seemed increasingly more uncomfortable and bitter by the situation.

“My wife looks so beautiful with this blush adoring her cheeks, does she not?” he asked Jorral, his voice poisonously sweet like a viper’s venom. The servant didn’t give any indication that he heard him, making Oberyn’s eyes darken. “I asked you a question.”

Jorral met his challenging stare begrudgingly. “She does, my Prince.” Then he turned to you. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my Princess?”

“No,” Oberyn answered instead of you. “I’ll make sure she wants for nothing when she’s with me. Now leave.”

He felt your eyes on his face, but didn’t turn around and continued staring at Jorral. A couple of seconds passed between two men before the servant clenched his teeth and bowed his head before making his way back to the palace. Oberyn no longer tried to hide the smug smile tugging at his lips, and only after he disappeared from sight and you were left alone, he turned to look at you.

“Care to tell me what that was about?” you asked with your eyebrow raised, but Oberyn just offered you an easy-going smile.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, my love.” He pulled you into his arms, humming as his eyes followed his large hand tracing your curves. “I was merely anxious to be alone with you.”

“You never minded other people watching… or participating, for that matter.” Oberyn beamed under your scrutinizing gaze, and you squinted at him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

There was no reason to feel sheepish or deny your accusations. If anything, he was proud that his wonderful, smart partner saw right through him.

“Of whom would I be?” he teased instead of answering, tugging you behind him as he made his way backwards to one of the stone benches set nearby. “I am a Prince of Dorne and you’re my beautiful wedded wife. I’ve no reason to be insecure.”

“So it has nothing to do with Jorral?” you asked with fake innocence, but Oberyn shook his head. His knees hit the cold edge of the seat and he plopped down, gazing up at you with love so overwhelming that it threatened to drive him mad. You pressed your lips together to hide a smile on your pretty face when he pulled you to stand between his legs. “So it doesn’t bother you that he bathed me so thoroughly today?”

Oberyn’s body stiffened against his will before he realized that you were just teasing, but it was too late – you gasped and a look of triumph spread across your face.

“You are jealous!” you giggled and Oberyn sighed, leaning his head on your stomach. His hands caressed the back of your thighs slowly, inching higher with each loving stroke.

“What have you done to me, my love?” he asked dramatically, making you laugh again. “Before I surrendered my heart to you, I never felt so sick from watching any of my lovers with another person.”

“But you know you needn’t worry, right?” you inquired softly, leaning down to kiss his hairline, your fingers trailing down his short beard. “I belong only to you, darling. No one else could ever compare.”

A brilliant smile spread across his cheeks and Oberyn tugged on your wrist, encouraging you to sit down on his lap. Once you did, he hugged you tightly, cupping your cheek with his other hand.

“What would my gorgeous wife say to a horse ride along the seashore?” he whispered, gazing up into your eyes. “Just the two of us?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him softly, smiling against his lips.

“She’d love that. But I’m afraid her handsome husband will have to help her change into more appropriate clothes.”

All thoughts of other men left his mind as Oberyn brushed his nose against yours, his chest expanding with overwhelming love at the simple sight of your smile.

“I’m sure he’d love that, too.”