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thepencilnerd · 5 years ago

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– a budding romance | part 1 –

➵ After moving into a new apartment, Min Yoongi stumbles across a flower shop down the street who’s radiant bouquets and even brighter personality catches his eye. What happens when two completely different worlds collide?

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ genre: fluff, angst, slow burn, strong friendship/family dynamic, strangers to lovers, barely a soulmate AU

➵ word count: 16.8k

➵ warnings: swearing, very heavy angst, alcohol consumption, discussions of mental health and past emotional trauma—if you are in need of help, please please seek out professional care. there is hope out there and people that are here to help you. you are not your illness and always remember that you are not alone.

➵ a/n: I finally decided to get back to writing since I was on spring break for a short period of time (and because staying home is cool :) this story was inspired by my newly developed passion for houseplants, of which I’ve amassed a collection of over 30 in the past few months and totally don’t have an addiction to... This chapter turned out to be a very filler-heavy introduction to the universe it takes place in; although there’s not much romance in this part, I’m very happy with how the friendship dynamic between our main/secondary characters and their backgrounds turned out, so I please forgive me ^^

I’ve missed you all so freaking much, and I cannot thank you enough for showering Melophile with so much love throughout the past year. Thank you for being patient with me during my hiatus, and I hope you and all of your loved ones are staying safe, healthy, and happy ❤️enjoy, and please stay tuned for part two ❤️

“Where do you want the shelf?” the mover asked while holding one end of the wooden bookcase.

The sleep looked up from his seat by the kitchen island and “Right by the window,” Yoongi directed, guiding him to the west-facing window that opened up to his balcony. “Thanks.”

Tipping each of the movers, he thanked them once and bid them goodbye, shutting the door. The whoosh of the door closing left him alone in his new apartment with nothing but hastily arranged furniture, the quiet murmur of traffic outside, and of course, his thoughts; he was finally moved in.

Yoongi had thought about moving out for years now, but never brought up the topic until Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook were traveling out of the country more. By the time university had started, he and the guys had all agreed to move into a duplex a few minutes away from campus for time, money, and friendship’s sake. It was only a matter of time before the three boys were scouted off the street by the head of a modeling agency. Might he add that it was a late Friday night, post-finals season of senior year, and all the boys were more than inebriated, so how the man decided that giving contracts to three loud, wild, and utterly wasted uni students was astounding. Either way, the three stooges dropped out to pursue a career in modeling faster than you could say ‘show in Europe.’

After graduation, Namjoon brought up the idea of moving into a smaller building, to which Jimin and Hoseok disapproved of with arms crossed and pouty faces. Taehyung and Jungkook tried to come to an agreement and schedule what times of the year they’d be in town, but with their unpredictable schedules, it was a pointless compromise. Seokjin—the oldest of the seven—was expected to move out before any of them, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he eventually offered to share a place with Taehyung and Jungkook. They were still employed under the same agency and manager, so understandably, they would all share similar shows, shooting schedules, flights, and time spent in and out of town. It was also pretty close from here, so the seven would still be able to spend time together when they had the chance to.

Yoongi was the first to offer moving out so the four of them wouldn’t have to be crammed into a small condo. He had booked a few producing jobs here and there while still at university, so he practically had a contact list of full-time connections. Plus, Jimin had decided to enroll in a master’s program for traditional dance while teaching at a nearby dance studio, Namjoon started his first semester towards a postgraduate degree in literary criticism (again, how the boy had even passed his G.E. chemistry class in sophomore year was beyond anyone’s wildest imagination), and Hoseok had landed a solid job teaching hip-hop classes at the same studio Jimin was at.

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?” Jimin asked Yoongi with worry laced in his voice. The four were lounging in the living room of the quiet apartment. Seokjin and the two younger ones had moved out earlier that morning, and they were probably still getting settled. It was only a ten minute drive from Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin’s new place. Thankfully they’d all be living a relative distance to one another even after moving.

Patting him on the head, Yoongi’s lips formed a small grin. “Don’t worry about me. At least I won’t have to deal with Hoseok’s late night gas bombs...”

Hoseok’s face burned bright red and his eyes grew wide as a storm of curse words flew out of his mouth. “Hey! Don’t blame me, tell Namjoon to learn how to cook raw food all the way through!"

To this, Namjoon threw his comforter at Hoseok, nailing him square in the face. Jimin held back his giggles while Yoongi stared wistfully. He would miss them more than he thought.

“It’s only a few minutes from your place so I’ll come and check up on you guys every once in a while,” Yoongi sighed, leaning into the couch. With everything packed and sent off the day before, it was the only piece of furniture left in the apartment. A distant memory resurfaced as his eyes drifted to the dented armrest. He and Jungkook had bought it at the thrift store on 5th Street after weeks of Seokjin complaining that there was no place to sit and watch TV; a past time he required to “relieve him of his grievances.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, redirecting his attention back to the present moment. “You know, just to make sure you haven’t all starved or strangled each other.”

The four shared one last month together and even helped Yoongi find his new place eight blocks down. According to Yoongi, the day Hoseok ran into Yoongi’s room with the crumpled piece of paper was a match made by hell and granted by heaven.

Snapping back into the present moment, Yoongi’s watch read 12:45 p.m. He rubbed his eyes at how dreadfully early in the day it was and his body was already begging for sleep. By the magic laws of the universe, the familiar sound of his ringtone reverberated through the barren apartment—his new apartment. Walking to the kitchen counter, Hoseok’s name flashed across the screen and Yoongi swiped to answer the call.

“How’s our big boy doing?” Hoseok immediately shouted through the receiver.

Yoongi scrunched his face in displeasure at the volume but couldn’t hide the slight smirk that grazed his lips. “I’m doing great mom, thanks for checking in.”

“We wanted to know if you needed any help settling in!” Jimin’s soft voice, as usual, offered with nothing but joy. Judging by the distant sound of complaining and forced laughter, he had taken the opportunity to snatch the phone away from Hoseok, and Namjoon was now holding him hostage with the force of tickling.

“I second that!” Namjoon’s voice boomed in the background.

Yoongi allowed himself the barest hint of a laugh. “I already had help from the movers, so the furniture is decently positioned already.” Opening up his fridge, he saw that it was unsurprisingly empty other than a few bottles of water. “I might need to run to the grocery store though. Can I call you guys after I get back?”

“Jimin, I swear to god you’re going to regret sharing a room with me!” Hoseok’s voice echoed closer from the other end.

“Call us when you get back! It’d be nice to get to know the shops around the neighborhood,” Namjoon backed up with confidence but he suddenly yelped in pain. Yoongi pictured Hoseok jabbing him in the side like he always did whenever they fought.

Hoseok huffed as he brought up the phone and was in possession of the device once again. “We’ll swing by your place at 6 with food, so don’t worry and buy some basic groceries. Namjoon, I swear—”

“—and make some neighborhood friends!” Namjoon blurted out. “We’ll see you soon!”

“See you soon!” Jimin added cheerfully.

“Miss you bud!” Hoseok chirped.

“Bye guys,” Yoongi chuckled. "Don’t kill each other.” Clicking off, he sighed once more before admiring his new place. The one-bedroom penthouse came with a decent sized-kitchen, in-unit washer and dryer, and included utilities. Not to mention the extra room that he had already moved his studio equipment into and man, that balcony view. It wasn’t considered budget-friendly for it’s square footage, but for the amenities and the part of town it was centered in? A steal.

Even though a job in the music industry didn’t exactly pay well, Yoongi considered himself lucky to have gotten the exposure he did so early. He had been bound to music for as long as he could remember, and it was during his middle school years that he discovered the editing software that changed his life. By junior year of high school, Yoongi had accumulated hundreds of thousands of followers and millions of listens on his streaming account. After he declared his major in university, renowned musicians from all over the world were flooding his email with requests for new songs, collaborations, editing, and everything in between.

As fame and status quickly began consuming his every waking thought, a dark cloud loomed over him. There had been a period of time when sitting in his studio was no longer enjoyable and felt like pure hell. Slowly but surely, it was the same cycle over and over again: get a request from a record label, make a new song, send it back to the tone-deaf money hungry CEO’s of the music industry, and then get feedback on how it’s not catchy enough or "up with the times.” God, that pissed him off more than anything. Good music shouldn’t have to be labeled as such because it fits into the typical mold of some teenage trend; that’s what makes it good.

That’s all they cared about these days. No meaningful lyrics or real talk about everyday life and how the world goes around—only songs about meaningless sex, regretting one night stands, repetitive ear worm tunes, unrequited and dumb young love, or things that talentless, plastic Instagram models could lip-sync and stick choreography to. It’s hard to pursue your passion in a field that you love when it’s hellbent on destroying itself.

Don’t even start with the controversies Yoongi dealt with on a daily basis. Flashy yellow headlines that talked about who this mysterious producer Min Yoongi was, where he was brought up, who he’s dated/is dating, his sexuality, and even his family members and their backgrounds. All of these were topics that every single news and social media outlet had the audacity to stamp on hundreds of magazines covers and copy/paste on their blogs, yet if given the chance, none would have the real guts to ask him in-person, face to face.

Yoongi found himself falling into periods of constant downward spirals. What would he become if he gave in? Who would he be if just shut up and took the money? If he listened to what everyone had to say and gave them everything they wanted? Would they love him any less or hate him even more?

It was half past one when he realized that he still had to go to run errands. Another 30 minutes of the day spent lingering on things that can’t be changed and don’t matter, he noted to himself. Wonderful.

Despite the chilly weather, Yoongi opted to throw on a hoodie and call it a day. His decision to wear ripped jeans was poorly made, but he refused to admit that laziness was the culprit for not packing some spare clothes into a suitcase before moving day. Before stepping out, he quickly slipped on a beanie and a face mask for privacy’s sake. He was really not in the mood today.

Murmuring a quick thanks to the cashier, Yoongi walked out of the grocery store as fast as he could. Within minutes, people had gathered in a crowd around him asking for pictures, autographs, voice memos, and the works.

Every single time he had to turn down someone’s request for a picture because he could not miss the last bus; constantly hiding in fear of someone catching him and finding out where he lives, or worse: his family members; always trying to leave the house at the most awkward time of day so he could actually walk around and get basic shit done. No one knew it, but he hated himself for feeling like the biggest asshole that ever existed when in reality, he was just trying to live a normal life.

Yoongi loved music, but more than anything, he loved how there were people who truly empathized with his songs and the effort he put into making them. He missed the days before fanbase culture mobbed those who genuinely understood what he was trying to say. He missed going out with the guys and not having to worry about strangers following him home and leaking his address for publicity and likes. He missed having the decency of basic privacy and boundaries. Yoongi was grateful for everyone’s unnecessary unconditional love for his work and lifelong devotion to music, but after all, he was nothing but a human being who needed some space to breathe.

Today was no different. He got lucky and managed to snag enough fruits and vegetables to fit into a single paper bag before the overwhelming screeches and overlapping voices forced him out of the mart.

One of the security guards and a few cashiers were kind enough to hold back a few of the people who tried following him out. Giving them a quick bow before scurrying out, he felt like an even bigger nuisance.

What kind of a prick like me disrupts people’s day-to-day life just to get some food...

Should’ve worn a damn ski mask.

Yoongi was two blocks from his apartment complex when the smell of smog and car exhaust was replaced by a tidal wave of—roses? The fragrance of fresh flowers flooded his nostrils with a vibrancy and sweetness that he had never smelled before. Trying to find the source, he stumbled across what appeared to be hole-in-the-wall flower shop.

Treading carefully towards the vivid assortment of colors and warm light, he glanced over at the array of plants that graced the outside shelves. It wasn’t until he started feeling hot that he noticed a patio heater beside the entrance, which doubled as a lamp.

As he admired the wide variety of colors, leaf shapes, and aromas, Yoongi picked up a weathered terra cotta pot. The gritty surface of the pot was splotched with discolored patches of white, probably from water and rain. It housed a plant with small, plump, ovular, dimpled emerald green leaves, and it was vining up the bamboo stick that was staked in the center.

A delicate shuffle of shoes on hardwood accompanied a soft voice. “Need help finding something?”

Looking up, Yoongi’s eyes met the young woman’s gaze. Even through his mask, her friendly smile seemed to glow brighter than the embers from the patio heater. Underneath her apron, she was wearing a fluffy white sweater and a pair of comfortably loose jeans that were decorated with colorful paint-splatters.

Blinking hard after catching himself staring too long, Yoongi shook his head and put the plant back. “Just looking around. Nice place you got here.” If he spoke any quieter, he’d have a new job singing lullabies to babies.

Knitting her eyebrows with an inquisitive stare, he felt his pulse start to pick up. Did she recognize him? Was she going to freak out? Was there something on his face?

She brought her finger up to her quirked lip and widened her eyes. “Botanophobia is my area of specialty!” she exclaimed with joy. “You don’t have to worry about killing a single plant under my wing.” Picking up the plant he set down, she held it out towards him with a warm grin.

Yoongi won’t be the first to admit that of his absent green thumb. When he used to visit his grandmother, she’d always tug on his ear for picking at the hanging pots draped underneath her patio. He didn’t even have a plant near his vicinity until Taehyung brought home individual cactus for each of the guys. Something about keeping it on their desks for focus and oxygen or whatever.

Needless to say that Namjoon and Yoongi both learned very quickly that cacti don’t like water as much as you think.

“Oh,” Yoongi waved his hands in defense. “ I’m not really a plant collecting type of guy.”

The girl rolled her eyes teasingly and handed him a ball of twine from her pocket.

“Stay here until I get back,” she commanded with a stern look and playful confidence. “I’ll be but a moment.” Retreating back into the shop, Yoongi was frozen in place. Guilty if he leaves, not guilty if he stays—

Right as he was about to put the twine on the shelf, the girl came out of the shop with a paper-wrapped package. “Water it once a month and keep it by a window, preferably brightly lit but not necessarily,” she instructed with nothing less than an energetic smile. “They kind of thrive on neglect.”

He was taken aback. “But—”

She held her hand up to halt his rebuttal and took back the twine. “Think of this as a little welcome to the neighborhood gift. I know all of my locals by heart and I’ve never seen you around before.”

“I can’t just take a plant from you,” Yoongi huffed, slightly annoyed at her stubborn nature. She was determined, he’d give her that.

Shaking her head, her hands didn’t move. “You can pay me back the next time you visit, and if you still haven’t fallen in love with this guy—” her head motioned to the paper-wrapped plant in her hands. “—then I guess I’ll just have to work harder.”

Yoongi bowed his head in thanks and accepted the parcel with a tightly pressed smile. She was definitely not one to give in. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that there were still people in the world who loved their jobs as much as this woman.

The dimming sky signaled that it was time for him to get back home. Waving goodbye, the sound of his steps grew louder as the echo of her voice faded farther away. “See you around!”

Sure, the pessimist in him spat.

You awoke to the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window. Drops bounced off of the glass as the sound grew harsher, the water droplets ricocheting off of the already-streaky pane and onto the surrounding leaves of the tree whose branches caressed your small windowsill. The freezing cold air whistled through the crack between your window pane and the latch, causing you to shiver reflexively.

Stretching out your limbs, a large and clearly gracious yawn left your mouth, which harmonized in tandem with your outstretched palms and scrunched face. The warmth of your rumpled and disheveled sheets made you groan, your body naturally refusing to leave the comfort of your own bed. Did you really have to go out today? Using the rusty spring of the mattress to swing your legs over the bed, your feet grazed the cold, damp fabric of your carpet—

“Crap.” Partially awake, your aching limbs dashed across your small studio apartment and rummaged through the pile of rubbish in the spare closet, fishing out an old bucket. You ran back to your room and placed on top of the wet patch of fabric just underneath the foot of your bed. The sound of water hitting the carpet soon turned into muffled pangs. The culprit? A leaky spot in the ceiling of your humble abode that you had so graciously discovered months after you’d moved in.

Your landlord/makeshift, of course, said he couldn’t do anything about it. Something told you it wasn’t that he couldn’t, but rather, he couldn’t be bothered to...

The pleasantly dull morning heaviness that weighed your body slowly retreated, and left you fully aware that your feet were still wet and freezing cold. Very, very cold. It was Monday, right? A sigh escaped you as your hand came up to rub your eyes. Definitely a Monday. Stretching once more, you sat silently and found a moment of peace in gazing at the pouring rain that battered your window.

There was something oddly relaxing about watching the water droplets slowly slide down the glass. Whether it was the transparency of the glass against the clarity of the rainwater, or the different textures of sound as the droplets bounced off of the window onto the tree leaves, one thing was certain: overcast skies and the fresh smell petrichor was one of nature’s many great gifts.

Since the day was still immersed in the early hours of the morning, you were compelled to stay inside and burn through a book or two while in the comfort of your own bed. However, your fairytale fantasy was shattered by the reality that was your day job. You washed up, got dressed, and didn’t bother adding any extra layers to combat the cold. It was, of course, the sensation of the icy biting air against your flushed cheeks that made you treasure this kind of weather all the more. The haphazard toss a mini-umbrella into your bag and the clink of a lock and key was quite complimentary.

Ever since you were young, you’d loved flowers. Red roses, to be exact. It was in your best interest as a 6-year old to tag alongside your dad on his trips to the hardware store. Each time you came home, you ended up bringing a 99-cent fern home that ended up dying a week later. No matter how much your little heart adored each tiny gem, it was only a matter of time before you drowned the plant with too much water. In your pre-pubescent mind, taking care of a plant meant watering it. Every day. Little did you know that tending to a garden meant leaving it alone and giving it time to grow by itself.

Hundreds of plant funerals were held from the tender ages of six to fourteen. Years of experience, tears, frustration, determination, and love ended up raising your brown thumb well. Who knew that you’d end up majoring in biology and horticultural studies? Not to mention starting up an independent business as a flower shop and nursery. Now that was something to be grateful for.

It might seem strange to many; working a job that doesn’t pay a ton or have a stable workload, sitting in a humid shop some days with nothing but the rustling of dried bouquets to keep you company, or learning to appreciate the quiet solitude of white noise against morning traffic. It may have seemed like torture for anyone with some ounce of sanity, but to you, it was home.

Nothing excited you more than when you received the bi-weekly shipment of new plants. You were lucky the rain had stopped by the time you made it halfway to the shop. Marco, your go-to greenhouse guy, was just in time. He was wearing a blue sweater and the navy scarf his wife, Lucia, knitted him for Christmas four years ago.

You’ll never forget the gifts they exchanged that year. It was two days before Christmas and Marco was so busy with deliveries, he didn’t have time to get Lucia a present. Of course, seeing him ramble his worries to you while bringing in the day’s shipment made a lightbulb go off in your head.

As he was unloading boxes, you ran inside and whipped up a somewhat-simple but ever-classic arrangement: red tulips, white honeysuckles, baby’s-breath stems, and a mix of myrtle and lemon leaves to balance out the flower to foliage ratio.

Before Marco could leave, you put the finishing touches on the lush bouquet and finished it off with a gold-dusted bow for added holiday spirit.

“All done!” Marco bellowed. Running out of the shop, you handed him the box that sheltered Lucia’s gift.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered with a giddiness that couldn’t be held back.

“Oh, bella...” His reaction was priceless. With a mouth parted, sparkling eyes, and a wonder-struck smile to top it all off, this was why you loved your job.

“Red tulips for a perfect love, honeysuckles for devoted lovers, and baby’s breath for everlasting love.” The words rolled off of your tongue like a second language.

Marco was still speechless. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Marco, my business would not function without you and neither would I,” you hushed. “This is the absolute least I could do for you and Lucia.”

“Bella!” His deep voice brought you back to the present day. The nickname always made you feel fuzzy. “How are you?”

“I’m doing wonderful, Marco.” Your eyes beamed. “How are Lucia and the girls?”

He laughed, shaking his head with a grin. “As wild as always. Fia and Gianna just started 2nd grade a few days ago. They’re growing up too fast.”

Your heart melted. “It’s always like that, isn’t it? Time flies...” The wistful tone in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Anyway, what’s in today’s box of treasures?” Rubbing your hands together like an animated cartoon, your eyes lit up at the sight of all the new varieties that peeked from the boxes.

“Oh you’ll love these!” Pulling out one of the 4-inch grow pots from the boxes, he revealed to you a healthy Hoya bella. The delicately draped stems with spear-shaped leaves and grooved foliage was breathtaking. A few of them even had a few peduncles, which was where flowers bloomed from. Hoyas were known for their delicate, candy-like flowers, and Hoya bella was a prolific bloomer.

If you had to choose a favorite type of tropical genus, it’d most definitely be the wax plant family. There are hundreds of species within that range from your typical waxy, thick and succulent leaves to thin, hair-like sparse leaves that looked like grass. Expensive grass, might you add.

You couldn’t hold back the excitement. “You brought me hoyas!” Jumping up and down with an overzealous amount of energy, Marco bowed for dramatic effect. Today was already off to a great start.

He counted all the boxes one more time, summing up the numbers in his head. “There are also some krinkle 8′s, compactas, variegated and green carnosas, more bellas, australis, curtisii, pubicalyx, burtoniae, lacunosa, and only a couple linearis. You know how popular those are these days.” Each time he listed off another set of species had you spinning. “The bottom boxes have some pothos, rubber trees, ferns, tradescantias, and peperomias.”

“Thank you thank you thank you,” you exclaimed while giving him a big hug. “Don’t count me guilty if I run home with a few of these.”

A hearty laugh reverberated from his chest. “Always a pleasure, bella. I have to get going. Watch the rain! I’ll see you next week!”

Bidding him a goodbye, you reminded him to drive safe before he was off.

The first customer of the day was a regular; you could spot her bright red lipstick and pinup elegance from a mile away. If she hadn’t said anything, you could have sworn she was related to Marilyn Monroe.

“Good morning, Ms. Simmons!” you greeted as the chime on the door jingled. “How are you?”

Her bright red lips curled into a grin that revealed her immaculate smile. “I’m doing very well, thank you dearie.” Did you mention that she had an Irish accent?

Stepping out from behind the counter, you pulled out the freshly wrapped parcel and unfolded the top to show her. Cupping your hand to speak, the words came out in a whisper. “I got the new shipment of linearis.”

At this, her eyes grew bigger and mouth rounded into an O. She’d been waiting for these grass-leaved hoyas for months now and you had made a promise to her that she was the first on the waitlist.

“You are an absolute jewel my love, an unreal star!” Handing you her usual payment method of cash, you made sure to choose the fullest plant for her before she arrived. Also, you may have added in a begonia and African violet or two. All in the name of agape love, truly.

Even though she celebrated her 70th birthday over the winter, Ms. Simmons was a regular ever since you opened the shop. She always made the two mile walk from her home to your shop every Monday and you couldn’t understand for the life of you why. All you could do was be the best at your job and treat your customers as well, if anything, better than they treated you.

“I’ll see you next week, Ms. Simmons,” you smiled, holding the door open for her as she went on her merry way.

The rest of the day was business as usual. Mary, another regular, came in looking for a rubber tree and a peace lily; she’d just moved into a bigger house to accompany their newest family member, and needed some green so the place didn’t look so sterile.

Isaac, the pastor who worked at the local church, was in need of some rose arrangements for this weekend’s sermon. He always loved how full the ones you had out on display were.

Kat was an old university friend you had stayed in touch with and a fellow “hoya head.” She was the sweetest girl and always brought you coffee and a perfectly toasted bagel whenever she visited. The doorbell always chimed at exactly 12:25 p.m. and she never missed it once ever since you opened the shop’s doors.

“You got a perm?!” you gawked. She’d gotten another haircut. Her once long, pin-straight dark brown hair was now shoulder length and curled like Shirley Temple’s signature look. “You look a-freaking-mazing!”

Tussling the curls with one hand while pushing up the bridge of her cat-eye glasses with the other, she reminded you of a revamped 70’s Betty Boop. “Thank you darling, I’ve been meaning to chop it all off for a while now but the weather has had me down in the dumps,” she remarked in an over the top, received pronunciation accent.

Shaking your head and appreciating her choice of clothing, you couldn’t help but applaud at how she always chose fashion and style over basic comfort.

"We got some bellas and compactas so grab ‘em and go before you get a cold.” Her red dress and black cardigan ensemble was an eye-catcher but did not bode well considering the cloudy sky.

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Yes mom, I’ll take those two and a krinkle, if you please.” You will admit, her energy was something you never got tired of.

The wrapping of planters had become muscle-memory now. Wrap around, fold over, crease the edge, tuck in the sides, and tie with some twine. A snip here and brushing off the excess soil there and voila.

Before she left, you handed her the umbrella you brought from home. “Get home before it starts raining!” you nagged. “I only live a few minutes from here so just take it before you ruin your clothes.” Kat definitely needed it more than you.

She wrapped her arms around you in a familiar hug and promised she’d call you back at home. “Love you!” Perfect timing, too. Right as the door shut, the slow patter of rain had started sprinkling the rooftop, and cars started whooshing by with an added splash.

Cradling your warm cup of coffee was a routine on Kat’s visiting days. The rain was now trickling down the ridged shingles of the roof and down the gutter, droplets of water blurring into coiled trails. Absolutely mesmerizing. After making a dozen bouquets that were on today’s order list, Sara, Louie, Timmy, Kyle, and George visited one by one to pick them up. Soon after that, the day started slowing down and the rain showed no signs of stopping like you had anticipated. It was nearing closing time too, so maybe it was a good idea to head home a bit early.

You rushed to bring in the buckets of pre-cut flowers and ready-made arrangements from outside. You ended up wrapping everything up right on time. Even better, a few new faces showed up. All of your linearis and bellas had sold out today (no surprise), and you got to meet some new customers right before closing time. It was nothing but a joyous and success-filled day in your eyes.

Gripping the cold metal, goosebumps prickled your skin as soon as your fingertips rolled down the gate over the store windows. A smile of triumph grazed your lips. The quietest of goodbyes escaped your lips.

Until tomorrow.

The buzz of alcohol and smell of grease wafted in the air as they all got crazier by the minute.

Namjoon had already burned through three bottles of beer and was on the verge of losing his sense of direction. Hoseok was two sips in before his face flushed a bright red. Jimin was prancing around like a fairy after his third shot of tequila. Taehyung and Jungkook were singing and dancing to bad karaoke songs, nearly knocking over the TV a few times.

Seokjin was the only one who was mildly sober. Again, mildly is a word that should be used very lightly. "Since when did you have a green finger?”

The five paused their shenanigans to glance over at the single plant that decorated the otherwise empty bookshelf.

Yoongi chewed silently, unable to come up with any response.

Jimin hiccuped before talking. “Didn’t you kill a cactus a few years back?”

Again, Yoongi chose to stay silent and give an unbothered shrug. Hoseok’s face still looked like he was contemplating the meaning of life, but he managed to nod his head in confirmation.

“Yeah, Namjoon drowned his, too,” the youngest spoke with a ditzy tone. Taehyung giggled like a child at Jungkook’s strangely accurate description and pointed at Namjoon. Some comment about his messy hair or turtle glasses, or a combination of both.

“I’m old enough to take care of myself so I should be able to take care of some stupid weed.” For some reason, Yoongi’s mouth burned saying those words.

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the comment and got up to grab some water. Of course, his drunk state amplified his clumsiness and caused him to bang his knee against the corner of the kitchen island. Hoseok and Jimin burst out into cackles and snorted as Yoongi rolled his eyes. The alcohol was beginning to pass like water. He should slow down.

“Apparently that one thrives on neglect.” Yoongi finally broke his vow of silence, changing the topic and directing his attention to Jimin and half-there Hoseok. “How’s teaching going?”

Leaning on each other as the alcohol sleeps finally kicked in, they could only raise their thumbs-up with half-lidded eyes.

Coming back with a tray of water cups that remained miraculously intact, Namjoon collapsed down into his seat. “They’ve been working every single day for the past month now. Jimin has his mid-semester show coming up and Hoseok got booked for some choreography with a local theater group.”

Yoongi downed one last mouthful of the bitter drink before calling it quits, enjoying how it burned his throat as it made its way down. “And you guys?”

Seokjin and Jungkook all murmured something about an upcoming shoot in May for the spring catalog.

“Jungkook and Seokjin got booked for a perfume ad and I got an acting gig,” Taehyung explained. The excitement was evident in his voice. Yoongi congratulated the three, cheering them on with another shot.

He turned to the boy rubbing his bruised knee. “And you, Joon?”

It was Namjoon’s turn to shrug. “School is school. Always studying, reading, writing, nothing new,” he droned in a monotonous voice. “How’ve you been handling everything?”

He was talking about all the new deals that Yoongi was offered in the last couple of weeks. Every post on social media was rampant with news of Min Yoongi’s latest tracks and upcoming collabs. Although the boys would never fully understand his stress, their sympathy for him was plenty enough.

“Same old same old. Money hungry bastards trying to get my advice on shitty tracks that have as much depth and complexity as a poptart just to get my signature stamped on it.” Yoongi spoke with painful honesty, causing everyone to sober up and focus on him. He took a final swig of his drink. “Whatever sells, I guess.”

Namjoon and the others shook their heads in agreement solemnly, showing his wordless support and understanding. “You’ll get out of it, Yoongi. Trust me.” He patted his friend’s shoulder in vain, but only Yoongi knew it.

Trying to swallow the words, Yoongi looked over at the snoring bundle that was Jimin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Seokjin was probably passed out in the bathroom. His upper teeth raked across his lower lip, savoring the dull sensation that felt more real than the situation he had gotten himself into.

“Yeah. I’ll get out of it.”

Spring was always the best time of the year. All of the flowers were in bloom and sunlight was streaming through everyone’s window without being unbearably hot. To top it all off, it was also the busiest time for you and your business. The shop was always flooded with customers marveling at the colors that decorated the exterior. When the inside of the shop finally cleared out, you were able to take requests for individual bouquets, parties, and weddings.

“Need some help?” a familiar someone shouted through the crowd of people.

Your head snapped over to the upbeat and bubbly voice you knew by heart. “Kat!” Hugging her over the counter and bringing her behind the register, you quickly thanked her before running around frantically with a notepad in hand.

This became a routine about two springs after you opened up: people piling in by the masses for a chance at bringing home the freshest roses, tulips, and succulents you had to offer, Kat making her weekly visit and seeing you overwhelmed, weaving her way through the horde of people crammed inside the shop and lined up outside, and finally putting on an apron of her own and managing the register while you paced back and forth getting people’s orders.

“What would I do without you?” you mouthed to her as you formed your face into a meme-worthy cry face.

She stuck her tongue out and managed the register like a pro, fingers pressing buttons left and right at lighting speed. You giggled and went back to jotting down everyone’s orders.

1x assmt/ peace lilies; red and white in ceram. pot

2x 4-inch maiden hair ferns delivered

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/ filler foliage

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/o filler foliage

1x dozen individually wrapped W roses with gld. ribbons

R, W, PRP, PNK tulips w/ queen anne’s lace

Succ. terr. for bday, round jar, colorful

Over the course of one day, you used up three ballpoint pens and couldn’t feel your fingers or your cheeks. Writing and smiling at the same time should be an official sport for next year’s Olympics. Kat fared no better. Slung over the register like a floppy piece of bacon, the only indication of any remaining energy from either of you was the heavy sound of breathing.

Stretching out your hands, you set down the notepad and groaned. “Kat?” Checking to make sure she was alive, she groaned back in response. “Thank you.”

She looked up and rested her cheek against the gold glass of the counter. “Welcome,” she mumbled, flashing her signature smile. It was a quarter past seven but you usually closed the shop by five, so why were you and Kat still here? After the commotion of today, both of you were too exhausted to close up, so you just brought whatever flowers from outside remained and ordered some takeout to eat here.

Standing up, your body needed to step outside and get some fresh air. Kat was knocked out comfortably on the counter, so you decided to leave her alone to nap in peace. The first step you took outside made your body tingle. You were constantly running back and forth earlier, but being out of breath and in a mental flux with all the orders made you feel like you were floating.

You inhaled the cold air as deeply as you could and breathed out with an equal amount of force. The sky was tinted a coral pink color and the sun was barely kissing the horizon. Thank you spring for yet another marvelous attribute that only you can provide.

Right before you were about to step back inside, a familiar masked figure entered your field of vision. “Hey!” Calling out through cupped hands, you prayed he could hear you over the few cars that were driving by. His head perked up and even behind his covered face, you could see that he was surprised. Ducking his head in a makeshift greeting, you waved him hello and goodbye, happy to see his masked face again. No point in calling him over this late at night. He probably had things to do. Didn’t we all?

Jungkook and Taehyung were the first ones to point it out.

“Yoongi...” Hoseok uttered.

“How could you?” Seokjin continued, mouth agape in pure disbelief.

Namjoon shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve done this. ‘Responsible adult’ my ass.”

“You’ve had it for two weeks and it’s already dying!” Jimin was the one who finally blurted it out.

Yoongi rubbed his sore eyes. It was 11 in the morning and he was exhausted from staying up all night. The deadline for his upcoming track was this Friday and contrary to popular belief, making a horribly repetitive and catchy song was a lot harder than you’d think. The guys managed to find some time in their schedules to come visit him. He never thought the day would come where he wanted them to stay home.

“It’s fine,” he grunted.

“When was the last time you watered it?” Hoseok asked, inspecting the sick looking plant. He was making that weird face. The one where his nose wrinkled at an invisible stench and eyes narrowed into slits.

“Don’t know,” Yoongi shrugged while chugging a few mouthfuls of water and relished the feeling of cool liquid coating his parched throat.

They all surveyed the state of the place. There were crumpled scraps of paper that littered the hardwood floor like confetti. Empty water bottles were spread across the bathroom, music studio, kitchen counter, and balcony shelf—and who could forget the pile of worn hoodies and shirts that were nestled in the sofa corner and had slowly been growing bigger, congregating to form a laundry mountain.

Namjoon was the one to point out that the fridge was still pretty much empty. “Did you even go grocery shopping, Yoongi?” He spoke with the tone of concern now. If anyone knew how persistent Yoongi was, it was Namjoon. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s skipped meals and sleep just to work on a song.

“Yoongi, we can go out for you if you need us to,” Jimin offered as usual. Hoseok and Namjoon voted in support of his idea, already mouthing a list to Taehyung and Jungkook.

“We’ll go to the supermar—” Jungkook was cut off by Yoongi’s sudden spike of anger.

“I’m fine,” Yoongi replied a bit too harshly. He could only hold in pent up frustration for so long before he burst. “I don’t need you to go grocery shopping for me. I don’t need your help. I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s not your job to bear my burden of being a nuisance.”

They stayed quiet. The ball was already rolling and he needed to get it all out.

“You think I don’t want to go out? To step outside for one day and have nobody recognize me?” Yoongi scoffed, voice dripping with venom and sarcasm. “I want—” he paused. “No, no. I crave that more than anything. The anonymity I had in high school when I was a nobody and only had you guys by my side.

“Back when I didn’t have to bury myself underneath hoodies and beanies, suffocate myself underneath scarves and face masks, or wear sunglasses when it wasn’t the slightest bit sunny out.” Yoongi held back a scream and ran his hands through his hair in anger, tugging at the strands so he could feel tense pain nip at his scalp; he needed to feel anything other than this—this thing inside of him. Realizing that he had directed his vexes toward the wrong people, he sighed. Yoongi buried his face into his hands, disappointed at himself for doing it again.

Sinking into the ground, he couldn’t find it in himself to shed a single tear. In a fit of blind rage, he had just yelled at his childhood friends for absolutely no reason. Guilt was starting to eat away at his conscience; he’d fucked up—bad. What the hell was wrong with him?

The six kneeled down beside Yoongi and enveloped him in a silent hug. The boys had formed their group of seven in middle school and were forever bound by their loyalty to one another. Pushing past the temper tantrums of adolescence and living through the toils of university was all accomplished by the means of what connected them as a whole: friendship. Friends were there for each other through thick and thin, and they knew that none of them were free from the confines of daily life; friends were family

Yoongi pressed the palms of his hands harder into his eye sockets and blinked back the ache that was diffusing across his muscles.

I’ll get out of it.

It was an unusually cloudy day for spring. The grey clouds that were spread out across the sky didn’t seem to bode well for the day ahead. Today went by slower than usual. Granted it was a Sunday, but still—it was an off day.

You were in the middle of pruning the plants that were set up outside the shop when a hand tapped your shoulder. Turning around, you were greeted by a doe-eyed young man and his equally handsome friend. You had never seen them around before and they were each carrying two insulated grocery bags by their sides.

“Good afternoon.” The latter greeted you with an immaculate smile, bowing slightly. His friend mirrored the greeting, also presenting himself with his own charming grin.

Starstruck for a moment, you blinked a few times before gulping nervously. “Pleasure.” You mentally face-palmed your brain. Great job.

The big-eyed one spoke with a certain shyness you couldn’t put your finger on. “We were looking for some advice on plants. For a friend.” Chuckling, he scratched the back of his ear. It was only after a few moments to process their appearances did you realize that they were both attractive enough to be models, or something of the sort. Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you felt like you’d seen them on last month’s fashion catalogue...

“I’m Jungkook by the way.” Shaking his hand, you couldn’t help but be aware of the pink that crept up your face. You tried to hide it with a nervous smile.

Act professional, you mentally scolded. “______,” you introduced yourself.

The other apologized for his manners and shook your hand as well. Your small fingers paled in comparison to his. “Taehyung. Nice to meet you.” His blinding smile made you blush furiously and you were dying inside.

“So uh—our friend, he has a plant like this one,” Taehyung continued, stopping to point to the tray of green carnosas beside his knee. “—and it’s starting to turn brown?”

“Hmm...” you frowned. "Does your friend always have the air conditioner or heater running? Something that might cause the air to dry out?”

The two stared at each other at a loss for words. “Not really, he always complains that the weather is too hot to turn on the heater yet too cold for the AC,” Jungkook elaborated.

“Oh!” He gasped as if a mind-blowing thought had struck him. “There’s a humidifier by his couch. Remember? He always used to complain about nosebleeds when we lived by uni.” Jungkook shook his head up and down like a cartoon, probably recalling this as well.

You were stumped. “You’re sure they’re brown leaves, right? Not yellow?”

They nodded. Damn. Yellowing leaves almost always indicated over watering or under fertilizing. Browning edges and tips usually meant that the plant needed more humidity, but full blown brown leaves?

Sighing in defeat, you packaged a small packet of water-soluble fertilizer with instructions and handed it to doe-eyed . “Try this and see if it helps,” you instructed, praying it would. Hoyas were known as bullet-proof plants, so why a carnosa of all species was starting to decline was alarming.

They thanked you for your help and asked you a few more questions before leaving.

“By the way,” Taehyung asked. “Do you do arrangements for large-scale productions? Like photoshoots?”

You said yes with a gentle smile. “Occasionally I will, but being such a small shop, I try to limit it to only during the springtime. It’s harder to fill out orders for big events when there aren’t that many materials to work with.”

Jungkook’s eyes got bigger than you thought to be possible and beamed, still running his hands through his hair shyly. “Would you be interested in helping us out?”

Raising your eyebrow at their request, you were curious. “What exactly would I be helping with?”

Taehyung started stuttering, his turn to be shy. “We actually have a spring photoshoot coming up for our modeling gig, and we thought it’d be cool to have an actual set full of flowers. Not just a big, white room with oversaturated fluorescents.”

“So you are models?” You felt like Sherlock Holmes had cracked the case.

This time, they were the ones who turned tomato red and cleared their throats, scratching their heads nervously. Humble folks.

“Don’t fret, your secret is safe with me,” you comforted. “What kind of theme are you trying to go for?”

You conversed for the next half twenty minutes about their ideas for the shoot and a little bit about their backgrounds, and you managed to exchange numbers. It turns out they were quite the dynamic duo.

If you hadn’t reminded them that they had groceries that needed to be taken home, you could have easily talked to them for another couple of hours. They were the welcoming social butterflies, not the typical annoying ones that felt the compulsive need to blabber on about nothing.

After saving their contacts into your phone, Taehyung and Jungkook thanked you once more for your time and said they’d see you around.

What an interesting day it turned out to be indeed...

“We come bearing gifts!” Taehyung announced grandly in his signature deep voice. Setting down the bags, the six got to work organizing the food stash. Jungkook, Taehyung and Seokjin were fortunate enough to be in town for a while before their next shoot, and Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok were on spring break. Basically, all of them had been camping in Yoongi’s living room for the past few weeks, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Jungkook and Taehyung had bought enough food to last all of them for a month had they still lived under a single roof. Jimin got to work on washing and slicing up the vegetables, Seokjin was dividing up the cuts of beef, and Hoseok was boiling some water and sauce for the pasta. Meanwhile, Taehyung was busy figuring out how to set the temperature dial on the oven and Jungkook was scolding him every few seconds for not letting him do it.

Namjoon was keeping a keen eye on the water to make sure it was boiling.

“Do you think he’s still sleeping?” Sat on the bar counter of the kitchen, he propped up his chin while resting his elbow on the table.

“I hope so,” Hoseok sighed. “But you know he never sleeps even at the best of times.”

Jimin shook his head. “He was snoring a little earlier, but he might just be swaddled underneath the covers,” he added, the satisfying crunch of the vegetables timed perfectly with his words.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Jungkook asked with worry evident in his voice.

“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready to, but until then, it’s not our place to pry.” Seokjin was the class clown of the group, but every so often he let the wise part of his brain come out. “Let’s cook up a feast, pop open some bottles, and have a good time just like the old days.”

“The water is boiling!” Namjoon shouted, a bit too loud for Hoseok’s taste. He jumped at the sudden spike in pitch like a cat. Bursting into a fit of laughter, Hoseok whacked Joon on the forehead with the wooden spoon, making him howl. A spitting image of siblings fighting on Thanksgiving.

In the other room, Yoongi let out a deep sigh from beneath the jumbled mess of covers. The smell emanating from the kitchen made his mouth water and fooled him into thinking he was still dreaming.

Sitting up slowly so the blood wouldn’t rush too quickly to his head, he stared outside at the glimmering lights of the city that lit up the dark sky. Across the street, he could barely make out the flashing shadows of people’s TV screens behind their blinds and the monotonous, undecorated, cement balconies. For the most part, the sight was nothing extraordinary.

If he shut his eyes and listened closely, he could hear the faint hum of sirens; feel the quiet murmur of the heartbeat that lived and breathe in the city. If he silenced his mind entirely, he could smell the wet cement through the crack of his open window, still damp from the rain that poured hours earlier.

His footsteps were light as he made his way to the kitchen, but not before sneaking a glance at his friends from the hallway. Hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi listened to their voices; somehow even throughout puberty, he could still tell exactly who’s voice belonged to who just by the energy their words radiated.

“You told me to tell you when the water was boiling!” Namjoon defended with a whine, still rubbing his forehead from where Hoseok struck him with the spoon. He swore it was turning red.“I told you the water was boiling!”

Jungkook hung his head down to hide his wide-toothed grin. He was trying his hardest to hold back the snort that threatened to escape. “I think Hoseok meant to let him know with some bit of sanity, not intentionally scare him.”

“Either way, Hoseok definitely knew the water was boiling,” Taehyung chuckled with his mouth half-full. He always liked sneaking bits of food whenever they cooked something.

“Stop eating all the carrots, Taehyung!” Jimin yelled for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I hope your nose turns orange.”

His hand stopped midway, the carrot a mere centimeters away from his mouth which was still open. “Can—can that actually happen?” he sputtered.

Yoongi could picture Jimin’s smirk down to the last dimple. “I don’t know Taehyung, ever wonder why some babies turn orange?

“It only happens if you only eat carrots for a long time, like a carrot juice detox or something.” As usual, Seokjin was the voice of logic and mild reason in Yoongi’s absence.

Taehyung pinched Jimin’s cheek as revenge, popping the carrot into his mouth.

“I don’t know Taehyung,” Hoseok warned, sucking air in between his teeth for added effect. “Now that you mention it, your nose is starting to look a little bit—”

“What?!” A few chunks of carrot came flying out of his mouth, causing the boys to explode into snickers and simultaneous “ew’s.” Taehyung ran to the nearest bathroom and nearly ran face-first into the mirror trying to get a good look at his face.

“Hoseok!!!” he screeched like a demon. “You are so freaking lucky we don’t share a room anymore!”

Jungkook was starting to hyperventilate and clap like a seal, while Jimin, Seokjin and Hoseok sounded like they were on laughing gas from all of their snorting. “How do you fall for that sort of thing?” Seokjin forced out while clutching his stomach and nearly bursting into tears.

“God you guys are so stupid,” Namjoon facepalmed. In reality, he was hiding his ear-to-ear grin and his cheeks were sore. “I don’t know how we dealt with each other for twenty years.”

This made all of them laugh even harder.

Still hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi felt a bruising pain bloom from within his chest. It started deep down in his ribs and moved up his chest, crawling up his throat and contracting every muscle and scraping against every bone as it made its way farther up. The ache grew into a bubble, inflating itself bigger and bigger until it hurt for him to swallow or breathe. His knees buckled from beneath him as his back slid down the wall, his body curling into a crouched position. He looped his hands behind his neck and tugged his face into his knees, the familiar darkness comforting him. He wanted to scream until his throat refused to; punch something until his knuckles were pink, kick a box, bite down on a towel until his gums ached, throw a glass at a wall and watch it shatter into pieces, thrash around until his limbs went numb from the buzz of blood circulation.

He wanted to cry but he didn’t; he wanted to feel the tears as they trailed down his face. He wanted to feel the burning sensation of them trailing down his skin each time he wiped them away, cheek stinging even more after he did.

He needed to cry but he couldn’t.

“Do you wanna go wake him up, Taehyung?” Seokjin asked, his voice waking Yoongi up from his daze. It was more of a gentle command than a question, really. “He never gets mad at you for waking him up.”

On cue, Yoongi walked into the kitchen and pretended to rub his eyes as if he were still sleepy. Sitting at the table, he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Wow, you actually managed to cook something and not burn my place down.” His chest was still sore and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but there was also a part of him that was genuinely impressed by the setup.

“Hey, we’re not all like Namjoon.” Hoseok poked fun at him again and twirled his spatula as if it were a hypnotist wand.

“At least I made sure the water was boiling,” Joon mumbled under his breath.

Yoongi had no energy to smile, but he managed to lift the edges of his lips into the ghost of one. “I’m starving,” he spoke as his voice cracked a little.

The dinner table was already set and they just needed to bring some spare plates over. As everyone began gathering around the food, Yoongi felt the swelling in his chest begin to calm down. He was still having trouble breathing deep breaths, but it was better. Better than nothing.

“Want some water?” Jungkook offered, face still flushed red from laughing earlier.

“Thanks,” Yoongi accepted. He patted the youngest on the head and ruffled his hair like the high school days. Looking around, he studied every single face of his friends, admiring traits he hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate before.

Pouring him a glass, the boys soon joined Yoongi at the table, wine glass in hand. Hoseok handed the extra one he had brought to Yoongi, sneaking him a wink. A grin spread across his lips.

Jimin passed around the bottle of white wine as Taehyung cracked open a mini bottle of red for himself. All eyes darted towards the second youngest, causing him to raise his hands in defense. “Chardonnay gives me a hangover sometimes!”

“Mhm,” Jungkook hummed. “Totally the chardonnay.”

Another circle of laughter encompassed the table. Right as they were about to start eating, Hoseok remembered that he forgot to take the pasta out from the saucepan.

Namjoon stood up so fast, he didn’t have time to voice his pain when his toe struck against the table leg. “I’ll get it!” he volunteered before anyone could stop him. The dining table was right beside the kitchen so why was he in such a rush?

The others trusted him enough with a simple task like pouring something out of a pan into a dish. At least, that was until the boy decided the pasta was lacking a little bit of “zest,” so to speak.

“Jungkook, where’d you put the basil?” he asked while shuffling through the refrigerator.

"In the fridge, second drawer,” Jungkook answered, going back to take a bite of his steak. “Why?”

“The pasta needs some green!” he said with far too much energy in his voice.

Jimin, Taehyung, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Yoongi all looked at one another with the same puzzled expression before shrugging it off. That classical fiction analysis class was probably making him go kooky. The peace lasted for about half a second until Namjoon asked where Jimin had put the knife.

Their calm expressions immediately turned into ones of sheer terror as they looked at each other and scrambled out of their seats at the speed of light.

“Namjoon!” they screamed in unison.

Kat nearly dislocated her jaw. “He texted you again? What did he say? Did you text him back? What did you say? Was he being a dick again? How—”

You smacked your hand across her mouth in an effort to shut her up. Her overzealous energy was really a double-edged sword. On certain days, you absolutely thrived on it. On days like this, you hated it with a burning passion more than you hated maidenhair ferns. They were beautiful in theory but were a bitch to keep happy.

“Kat,” you stopped. “I love you and I would do anything for you, but I really need you to just shut up for right now, okay?” Nodding slowly at your request, you carefully peeled your hand off of her mouth.

“Are you okay?” she asked instead, much calmer than before. “You seem a little off.”

Sighing, you decided it would just be better if you showed her the texts.

Douchebag: hey ______, is this ur number? [ 2:22 p.m.]

Douchebag: i got a new phone that’s y [ 2:23 p.m.]

You: yea [ 2:29 p.m.]

Douchebag: how’ve you been [ 2:35 p.m.]

You: good, you? [ 2:42 p.m.]

Douchebag: {download image.jpeg} [ 2:44 p.m.]

Douchebag: I wanted to snap u this cuz I was wearing the sweater you got me but I guess u don’t have snap lol [ 2:45 p.m.]

You: I deleted all of my apps and never got back to reinstalling them, sorry [ 2:50 p.m.]

Scrolling through the rest of the messages, Kat scoffed in disbelief. “I knew he was scum, but catching up after three years of nothing and acting like everything is peachy keen is a new level of assholery,” she rambled on.

You rolled your eyes, resting your elbow on the counter and palm cradling your temple. “What can I say. I definitely know how to pick them well.”

“And the goddamn audacity of him to send a shirtless pic, masking it as a ‘thank-you for buying me that sweater’ schtick?” she growled, fist clenching around nothing while picturing his face.

“An absolute disgrace,” you tagged along.

“It’s not your fault, ______,” Kat soothed. “I would’ve fallen for his mind games too if he charmed me like that.” She took a sip of her iced coffee and shook her head vigorously. “God he makes me want to punch him in his stupid ugly face with that stupid dumb grin and those stupid poofy curls in his stupid misshaped head—”

“Kat,” you warned again, begging her to calm down. Her vernacular wasn’t the best, but damn was it amusing at times. “We just texted back and forth to kill some time. It didn’t mean anything and it’s not happening again.” It felt like you were trying to convince yourself more than her.

She studied your expression carefully before deciding what to say next. “If he ever crosses the line again, call me.” Placing her hand over your free hand, she gave it a good squeeze. The edges of your lips curved into the tiniest smile and you instantly felt at ease.

“Have I ever told you how lucky and grateful I am to have met you?” you chuckled, ignoring the throbbing in your temple that started early in the morning.

Tossing her hair behind her shoulders like an actress from the Golden Age of Hollywood, her teeth glimmered like diamonds against the bright red lipstick she had on. “As am I, my pumpkin patch sweet pea,” she beamed.

Covering your face to hide your painful grin, the door chimed, welcoming a customer. You fanned your face to calm down your rosy cheeks. “Welcome!” you greeted with your usual bright tone.

“Don’t touch anything,” someone criticized, the quiet sound of a hand smacking skin resounding through the small shop.

“I didn’t!” another voice, most likely the one who was scolded, replied in an irritated whisper.

Sitting up straight, you saw three young men standing right by where the glass terrarium displays were set up. You’d recognize that toothy smile and round face anywhere.

“Jungkook!” Finally getting out of your chair, you couldn’t help but be excited to see his face again. Kat’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she stared back and forth between you and the guys with a blatant, “are you kidding me, you met a cute guy and didn’t bother mentioning it to me” face.

Poking the shoulder of his friend who was scolded, Jungkook greeted you with his signature smile and energetic wave. “______! Namjoon, Jimin, this is ______.”

The taller one shook your hand. “Nice to meet you,” he spoke gently with a close-lipped smile and sensed a child-like wisdom from him that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on. It didn’t help that his horn-rimmed glasses made him look like a teacher and a student.

“Jimin, wonderful to meet you.” The shorter-statured boy addressed you with a nearly angelic tone, voice softer than what you’d imagine clouds to feel like between your fingertips. His silver-dyed hair added to his overall ethereal aura.

Still sat at the counter, a starstruck Kat greeted the three with more confidence and gusto than you could ever muster. “Honored to meet you, I’m Kathryn but please call me Kat.” She strummed her fingers in the air as if she were plucking a harp. Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon grinned, already sensing the quirky nature of her personality. Yup, Kat’s so-called “Kat-Attack” was definitely contagious.

If you had a dollar for every time you blushed because of Jungkook and/or his friends, you’d have enough money to buy your own greenhouse—and live in said greenhouse. It wasn’t until Kat forcefully coughed up her left lung out that you registered how long you had been shaking Jimin’s hand. Pulling away abruptly, you let out an awkward chuckle. This was totally not weird at all—just three attractive, charming, attractive young men who waltzed into your shop on an ordinarily quiet day. Nothing weird. God, you were making it so weird—

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, do you guys want anything?” Kat asked out of the blue. If she was going to do what you think she was about to do...

“No, that’s alright,” Jimin turned down kindly. “We stopped by a café on the way here, but thank you for offering.”

“No problem at all!” Kat smirked just the slightest bit while saying this as if she’d gotten away with a bank heist. “I’ll see you after work, ______!” As she was walking outside, you saw her shoot you a mischievous wink through the glass before running off.

“So,” you started, trying your best to carry on the conversation as if you weren’t the most socially awkward human in the world. “What brings you and your friends in today?”

Jungkook, still as shy as ever, ruffled his hair lightly out of habit. “Well, you see, me Taehyung, and another friend of ours moved into an apartment a while back, and it still doesn’t feel...” he paused, trying to think of the right word. “—homey enough.”

While listening to Jungkook, Jimin and Namjoon were exploring the shop, taking in everything they could with their eyes, smelling what they could with their nose, and feeling every leaf and petal with their fingertips.

“We’re not the roommates,” Namjoon joked. “He dumped us ‘a while back.’” He acted out air quotes around the last three words. You held back a snort.

“He didn’t dump us, Joon,” Jimin corrected. “He found someone else who makes him happier.” Jimin pouted, raising the back of his hand to his forehead and sniffling like a kid.

Jungkook rolled his eyes and scoffed. “These two goofballs are with my other friend,” he clarified. “Taehyung, Seokjin and I have a pretty hectic schedule because of, you know...” Jungkook’s face was dusted with a shade of pink, clearly still too bashful to admit that he was a model.

“I understand,” you nodded, still biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from smiling too much. “So you, Taehyung, and Seokjin share an apartment while Jimin, Namjoon, and—?” Trailing the sentence off with a higher pitched voice, Jimin got the message.

“Hoseok,” he finished for you. “He’s an even bigger dolt than me and Joon combined, trust me.” The image he painted made you giggle.

Eventually, you arrived at the best conclusion you could form with the information given. “Right, so the six of you are best friends and live in two apartments.”

“In theory, yes,” Namjoon established. “But we also have Yoongi who lives by himself.”

“He’s the guy who Taehyung and I came in asking advice for?” Jungkook clarified, helping you recall back to the first time you met them.

You heard Jimin exhale deeply. “He’s sort of like the dad of our group, if you know what I mean. Quiet, kind of emotionally detached but in reality just doesn’t know how to express himself—that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” It slipped out by accident and sounded more melancholic than you thought. You tried coming up with something to neutralize your slip-up. “I’m really glad he has you guys as family.”

Jimin and Jungkook gave you a heartfelt smile—then there was a thud.

Turning around, Namjoon was hiding his face behind his hand while rubbing his temple. The grow light that was hanging still from the ceiling was now swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

You were wincing as if you felt his pain secondhand. “Are you okay?”

He nodded too quickly as if trying to convince you that he was really okay. “Fine. Good. Flower shop. Plants need light. Forgot about the dangling lights. A lot of them.” he sputtered like a morse code machine.

Turning back to Jungkook and Jimin, they too had their faces buried in their hands out of sheer embarrassment. Sometimes, people found it hard to believe that Namjoon was that clumsy in his actions, but even harder for Jungkook and Jimin to tell them that he was their senior.

“Anyway,” Jungkook coughed. “Our new place looks kind of uninviting and Jimin thought adding a couple of plants might make it more cozy.”

Jimin had made his way to the syngoniums and rhaphidophoras. “We have better luck with plants than Namjoon and Yoongi. They don’t exactly have the greenest thumbs.”

Chuckling, you directed their attention to the macrame the 6-inch pothos n’joy that cascaded from the ceiling. Coincidentally, Namjoon was inspecting that exact one. Perfect. “Actually, he’s a pretty forgiving little guy.” Stepping up the ladder and bringing him down, Jungkook’s eyes grew big and his hands flew out to hold the ladder steady. “Thanks,” you blushed again.

Holding the plant up close now, you let them admire the creamy white variegation, watercolor patches of green, lighter patches of green, and the lush leaves. You also showed them the golden pothos, which was a more of a typical chlorophyll green, but it had beautiful yellow and white specks of variegation throughout the foliage.

“I’m assuming you’re all still beginners,” you inferred, to which they all nodded in agreement. “These guys need lots of bright light, but don’t press them up against a window or they’ll get sunburn,” continuing to explain.

“Water them every few weeks and wait until they’re bone dry, then give them a good, thorough drench. Don’t overwater them or they’ll hate you for it, trust me. They rarely ever need fertilizer, but I’ll give you guys some packets to last you a couple of months.”

“Can we take them all home?” Jimin gawked, head tilted up towards the sky and staring at the ceiling that was ornate with vining, trailing, hanging, and branching foliage.

An amused laughter left your lips. “I wish you could, but the next time you come and visit I’ll let you take one of those home,” you promised. “If you want another eye-candy foliage one, you could also take home a brasil.” Holding up the heart-leafed philodendron, the neon yellow stripes down the median of each leaf and clusters of light and dark green looked like they were hand-painted.

“Oh me, me, me!” Jimin’s hand shot up in the air, flapping it back and forth vigorously.

“Could I take one of these too?” Namjoon inquired with a 6-inch pot in hand. “Rhaphid—off... fera—?” he tried to sound out, earning another giggle from you.

“Rhaphidophora tetrasperma but it’s more commonly known as a mini monstera,” you clarified. He formed his lips into an o shape, caressing the delicate split-leaved foliage. “I think you’d be more than able to take care of that one.” Jungkook coughed to hide his snort.

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t drown it,” Jimin assured, throwing you a sly wink. Add another dollar to your bank account, would you?

“Hello, last time I checked we came here to buy housewarming gifts for my house?” Jungkook reminded them in the form of a rhetorical question.

You patted him on the shoulder to wipe the pout off his face. “There’s more than enough plant love to go around.”

“We’re gonna be here all day...” Jimin sighed in content, gently feeling the fuzzy leaves of some African violets. “Say sorry to my bank account for me, will you?”

“I second that,” Namjoon added. “What on earth is this?” Holding up a 2-inch grow pot, you pursed your lips at his dumbfounded expression, eyebrows raised and wrinkled at the odd looking succulent.

“It’s a lithops.” His face contorted more at your reply “They’re also known as living stones. As they grow, they split in half and pop out little baby lithops.”

Blinking to process what he had just heard, Jimin groaned and shielded his eyes. “Don’t say it, Joon.” Looking closer at the plant Joon was holding, Jungkook parted his mouth—

“It looks like a lil’ol buttcrack,” Namjoon pointed out bluntly. The three of you let out a synchronous sigh and buried your faces into your hands, but couldn’t help and burst into laughter right after.

“We are going to be here all day, aren’t we,” Jungkook said muffled through his hands still covering his face.

After the last crappy 72 hours, you were more than grateful to have them keep you company for the day. "I’m more than happy to make some new friends while doing my job.” The words flowed freely from your mind, excited to get to know them better.

After sending each of the guys home with enough plants they could manage to carry, you closed up the shop for the day. Kat texted you right after the guys left in a panic. She completely blanked about the gala she had to attend for her design and commerce class and was running to catch the metro. You could tell she was still adamant on wearing her fashionable but not functional cube-heeled oxfords, as her texts were a mixture of all-caps lock and garbled, choppy sentences.

As you made your way back to your apartment, you couldn’t help but hear a jumble of voices arguing with each other in your head.

Text him back, he misses you.

Don’t. He’s just using you to get what he wants again. He’ll leave just like that last time. Remember last time? You don’t want that to happen again do you?

Scum. Dirtbag. Trash. User.

What if he means it this time?

Asshole. Player. Heartbreaker.

Maybe he’s changed.

Don’t do it. Put your phone down.

What if he actually misses me? What if it’s different this time? Just text him. Nothing bad will happen if you text him once.

Everything bad that can happen will happen, it’s only a matter of—

The slamming of your door seemed to silence the conflicting pieces of your collective conscience. Leaning against the door, you clicked your lock and pressed your hand against your chest, willing yourself to calm down.

You tossed your keys onto the counter and jumped into the shower as soon as you threw your clothes into the laundry basket. The steam engulfed your body with a pleasant heat, releasing the tension in your neck and shoulders that had built up from the sleepless nights in bed.

After spending a little less than an hour in your makeshift steam sauna, you remembered that you actually had utility bills to pay. You quickly got out of the shower and slipped on your usual attire of joggers and an old shirt. The place was chilly, so you slipped on a cardigan for good measure. With your hair wrapped in a towel, you searched through your fridge for something to eat.

“Damn.” The words left your lips before you could stop them.

Of course, it was pretty much empty. You were so caught up with spring orders for the past few weeks, you didn’t get a chance to stop by the grocery store on your way home. Settling on half of a turkey sandwich leftover from yesterday, you were grateful you still had a few cans of soda left to compliment tonight’s gourmet feast.

You made yourself comfortable on your couch that was arranged right across your balcony. There was no use in having a TV if you couldn’t afford to pay the electric bills, and you wanted to utilize the limited space of your studio to its fullest. The fizz of the soda nearly made you choke. It had been a hot minute since you had soda, relying purely on coffee for the past few years to give you that caffeine boost.

The sound of sirens wailing echoed throughout the city and pierced through the hum of traffic with ease. Leaning your head back into the dense cushion, you closed your eyes and listened; the relentless thumping of your upstairs neighbors, probably having another night of friends over; the faint shouts from the restaurant across the street that was overflowing with diners, typical of a Friday night; the gentle whisper of cold air that bled through the crack of your sliding balcony door. You needed to get that fixed ages ago.

The food wasn’t going down well. It was that damn soda. Putting down the last few bits of the sandwich, you stood up and stepped outside onto your balcony. The lights flickered on and you admired the plant shelves you’d set up a few days after moving in. It was a teeny tiny space, but the luscious array of green, pinks, reds, white, and every color in between made it all the more bearable.

You propped your elbow up against the rail that guarded the edge and breathed in for four seconds, held it for five, and exhaled for six. It was working, right? Your hands came up to the sockets of your eyes, applying the slightest bit of pressure to them. There were days where you really wanted to sleep for days on end; a hibernation, if you will. Today was most definitely one of those days. There was one problem—how were you supposed to fall asleep if you were too afraid to?

You were scared of seeing him in your dreams. Not even dreaming about him, no—the fear of encountering him as a random stranger while you were on your way to the floral market or a jogger passing by on your stroll in the park. His face resurfaced in flashes The glimpses of your favorite memories together were now inescapable bursts composed of your worst nightmares.

You hated him. You loathed him with all of your heart, despised him with every fiber of your being and with every single living cell in your body. You wanted to forget about him; you wanted to forget he ever existed and that he ever met you. Every single moment you shared with him and every second you wasted pining over whether he loved you back; you wanted those years of your life back.

But you knew better than anyone that time was never forgiving, and you would never get to relive those years ever again.

The funny thing—actually the hilarious thing—was that you hated yourself more than you hated him. You hated yourself for being the one who introduced yourself to him at that stupid party; you never should have gone to that stupid fucking party. You were such an idiot, what were you thinking?

All those days, months, and years you spent constantly hovering over your phone, begging and pleading for him to send you a text. Something, anything to acknowledge that he still knew your name and to give you the opportunity to manipulate it into meaningless signals, then use that to convince yourself that he actually did care about you.

You couldn’t remember for the life of you how or why you started falling for him. You both agreed to it no-strings-attached. No cuddles, no aftercare, no dates, and definitely no kissing in front of other people or hugging each other. He said his reputation would be ruined if his friends found out about you two.

In love with the idea of being in love, you agreed without a second thought. No feelings, no crossing the line. Simple.

Until he started breaking the rules.

He’d get jealous of you hanging out with other guys, blowing up your phone with questions and angry paragraphs along the lines of “You’re not going to parties anymore unless it’s with me” and “I can’t believe you hung out with Aaron of all people. You know he’s a complete fuck up, right?”

Then he started caring—at least, acting like he did. Pretending. Faking. Lying. Masquerading. Call it whatever you will. He held you close to his chest after spending time with you in his bed, wrapping you under the covers to keep you warm. You’ll never forget the warmth of his chest as his heartbeat thumped against your ear. His fingers traced the outline of your face when he thought you were asleep, never knowing that you did everything in your power to hold back your smile. Then there were times when he’d leave you right after, making an excuse about a night out with his friends or a project due tomorrow. It was always due tomorrow. Other times he would go to the bathroom and then come back to throw you a towel.

“My roommates will be here any minute. You should hurry up,” he’d warn.

Case and point, his games worked. After three years, you were head over heels for him. The memory of how it ended was blocked from your mind. Anytime you tried to remember that day, you always ran into a concrete wall. It was almost as if you built it to protect yourself from something, but what?

The only thing you could recall were the tears. Maybe they were his too, but you vividly remember yours. They flooded your vision with a cloudy film, overflowing in streams and trails down your face and even causing you to choke on them. And the screaming—god, the screaming... More memories flooded in as your hands cupped your ears.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry that I want what’s best for you and that you can’t see how much I care. I’m sorry for being so blind and seeing you for who I wanted you to be, that I couldn’t see you for who you truly are! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Shutting your eyes tightly, you felt a drop of wetness fall dribble down your cheek. You were crying again. A sniffle followed the scoff that came out of your mouth. What, three years have already passed since then? Three years and you were still crying over that asshole?

Wiping at your face with the rough fabric of your sleeve, you bit your lip to concentrate on something else. You stared at nothing to the point where everything looked blurry and your eyes stung. The temperature suddenly dropped, indicated by your shivering. You couldn’t afford to get sick and hurried back inside.

Before you knew it, the clock had struck 11:00 p.m. and you were not the slightest bit sleepy. Sheltered in the safety of your own home, you had an idea that would not only get your mind out of the rut you’d fallen into, but also . Digging through scraps of loose paper, dry pens, and trash in general, you found your old earbuds. They worked perfectly fine, okay? Why fix something when it’s not broken?

Plugging them into your phone because yes—you had a phone which was one of the dying species that still had a headphone jack—you turned on your favorite playlist (appropriately titled stre$$ed) and commenced dancing in your room like someone from the 70′s. The only thing missing was a pair of flare-cut jeans, a splotchy tie-dyed shirt, and a pair of Kat’s over-the-top disco boots.

Even though your neighbors were assholes about keeping it down after lights out, you chose to be the bigger person and take their residence into consideration. Mouthing the words silently and jumping as softly as you could, your damp hair stuck to the edges of your face and flung around, hitting your cheek a couple of times. Truth be told, you were far past the point of caring.

Each time your foot came thumped against the plush carpet was an invigorating strike; every head bob was a liberating release; each labored breath and winded puff felt like the exact opposite, a breath of fresh air.

An escape.

You flopped onto the bed with a heavy exhale, trying to catch your breath. Panting, your face felt hot and every part of your lungs burned like you were being roasted alive on a bonfire. The back of your hand felt cool against your forehead and your eyes began drooping at the soothing touch. Before you could pull the covers up, darkness engulfed your senses and you were out like a light.

Yoongi couldn’t sleep. He had counted backwards from one hundred, two hundred, five hundred, and maybe a thousand. He tried listening to a random playlist full of rain sounds, alpha waves, crickets, and a fireplace crackling. All that came from that was an unnecessary number of bathroom trips, ear scratching, skin itching, and throwing off the covers from the heat he was imagining.

Sitting up in annoyance, Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his forehead resting on his hand, elbow propped up on his elbow. He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about his job, the deadlines he had to meet, the songs he had to make, lyrics that still needed to be written, phone calls and emails he needed to send out—he was supposed to call his mom during lunch.

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing his eyes again. Looking at his alarm clock, the time 12:12 a.m. was outlined in blue. He initially settled on the traditional red one while at the store, but Hoseok convinced him to opt for a more “peppy color.” Yoongi’s lips curved into a soft grin at the memory. Within seconds, his eyebrows knitted together into a frown and his eyes flickered, the subtle expression he bore moments ago now a stone cold gaze.

No matter how hard he tried and how badly he wished and prayed, he couldn’t compel himself to cry. Despite his adamant concentration and determination, he didn’t shed a tear. Not being able to force it out without knowing what it was, proved to be absolutely suffocating.

He tried focusing on something else. The lights, the city, the sounds—he needed to focus on something else. Gazing through the window he’d familiarized himself with, Yoongi took in the view. From his room, he was able to see a picturesque layout of where the biggest main streets of the city intersected. Through the fog, he could also make out the faint edges of the longest footbridge that ran across the skyline. Looking down, the warm glow of street lamps and building lights twinkled through the dark night like man-made stars.

Lifting his head up to the apartment complex directly across from his, there were still a couple of lights on here and there. Yoongi felt validated in the sense that he wasn’t the only one who had sleepless nights. One by one, they started to fade, each apartment light turning off as someone’s hand flicked a lever and went to sleep. It was strangely relaxing to watch. After about twenty minutes of staring intently at every person tune out for the night, he narrowed his eyes at one that remained.

Directly across from his apartment was the faint yellow glow of someone’s balcony light. He imagined the wonderful warmth radiating from it, closing his eyes to immerse himself in the imagination. Looking closer, Yoongi saw the shadow of a woman leaning on the railing. She was shivering.

Bringing her hand up, she wiped at her face and started laughing—crying? He couldn’t see in the dark all that well. Trying to get a closer look, he forgot about the glass that separated him from the outside world and face planted the pane. Wincing in pain, he wrinkled his nose and inhaled sharply through his two front teeth.

He shook it off and centered his vision back to the balcony opposite to his room, remembering to open the window this time. Cold air bit at his cheeks but he ignored it, determined to find what he had witnessed seconds ago. The girl was still leaning on the rail and was staring at seemingly nothing. Her shoulders hiccuped up every few seconds and hands came up to wipe her face again.

Definitely crying.

Yoongi was awestruck. How good did it feel to finally get it out? Was it worth it? Did it feel like you could breathe again? Yoongi soon realized that he was jealous—no, he envied her ability to weep; her ability to shed real, painful, cathartic tears.

He envied the one thing he couldn’t have and would never be able to get.

Following your movement back inside, he should’ve gone back to bed himself, but for some reason, he just couldn’t. His gut told him not to, but then again, that way of decision-making was a 50/50 bet.

Whether it happened in the blink of an eye or this was all some sleep-deprived dream, she ended up going from crying her eyes out to dancing her heart out? She reminded Yoongi of Seokjin’s drunk dancing; good but not good, sane but not entirely, and so rhythmic yet incredibly off beat. Her vibrancy was contagious and made Yoongi smile a real smile for the first time in a while. If you told him that she had bawled herself delirious two minutes ago, he would have snorted. It looked as if she didn’t have a single worry or care in the world....

He felt like a creep. He shouldn’t be up, period. He should be sleeping, not spying on his neighbors. Worse, they weren’t even neighbors, had never met before, nor did they even come a foot close and live in the same building.

Hell, that made it so much freaking worse.

He sighed at how pathetic he felt. Was he that desperate for something he didn’t even know? Yoongi decided to call it a night. Crawling into his covers, they never seemed to keep him warm, no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in them. It was either searing hot discomfort paired with cold sweat or ice cold feet and teeth chattering.

That night by whatever random laws of the universe he slept soundly. Not once did he shoot open his eyes from nightmares or stir in his sleep out of discomfort. Maybe it was from witnessing someone’s emotional outpours and experiencing them vicariously through his own means, or maybe it was the satisfaction of selecting all of his unread emails and archiving them until tomorrow, one thing was for sure—Yoongi had accomplished his goal of sleeping through an entire night; something he hadn’t done for years now...

I’ll get out of it.

“I never thought I’d ever say this,” you started, trying to close your agape mouth. “But I think you guys might have one too many plants.” Looking at their coffee table, it was overflowing with the eight boxes you’d delivered this morning. Yes, there were eight boxes full of plants delivered to a single apartment. Marco would have the time of his life restocking for next week. Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin helped you carry up the boxes and were all staring at the ground sheepishly, their hands clasped behind their backs like children who were caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar.

You offered to deliver the boxes to their places separately, seeing as they had different spaces and floor plans, but that cheeky bugger Taehyung convinced you to rendezvous at his place. Then you wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of walking back and forth between the shop and their corresponding buildings, and the guys would get a chance to meet you.

Guilt gnawed at you for making them interrupt their daily schedules just to bring home some houseplants, but Jungkook insisted that they were all free for the next two weeks; spring break for Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok, pre-season break and scheduling bookings for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.

Meeting Seokjin for the first time and Taehyung for the second was a memorable experience, to put it lightly. You walked in on them running around half naked and throwing crumpled balls of clothes at each other. Turns out they had been arguing about who’s turn it was to do the laundry and neither of them were having it. Long story short, you lived life by the rule that first impressions were a good indicator of someone’s unfiltered, raw, underlying disposition, and in this case, it proved to be entirely true in the best way possible.

“We’ll share, we promise.” Jimin was the first to break the silence but still had trouble meeting your gaze.

Jungkook pointed an accusing finger at Seokjin and Taehyung, his turn to talk. “They didn’t believe us after they saw how many plants we came home with, so we figured we’d invite you over to meet them in person and see whether they convert or not.”

“Safe to say that we are officially convinced,” Taehyung raised his hands in surrender, elbowing Seokjin to do the same.

Hiding your smile by pressing your lips together, a tingling sensation spread across your face at his odd choice of words. When you reminded them about their hectic schedules and voiced your concern about them being able to keep up with care, Seokjin revealed his contract agreement with Hoseok. “He promised that he’d come by and water them whenever we’re out of town for longer than a week,” the eldest explained while biting back a smirk. “He kind of owes me a lifelong debt...”

Forcing out a tight-lipped sideways grin, Hoseok slung his arm over Jimin’s shoulder, bearing a smirk of his own. “Don’t worry, Jimin here owes me a debt of his own.”

A sly grin crept along Jimin’s face. "Considering that my lifelong debt doesn’t have to do with the fact that you bl—” Before he could finish, Seokjin and Hoseok’s hands flew up faster than lightning to cover the boy’s mouth. Taehyung nearly spit out his water and the others were near tears and clutching their abdomens, their mouths sealed tight and refusing to let out one of their pact’s biggest secrets. You admired how loyal and strong their bond was, a rare thing in this day and age.

Shaking your head to distract yourself from their incessant laughter, you pressed your hand over your forehead and widened your eyes in concentration. “Well, let’s get to organizing, shall we?”

Unpacking the boxes one by one, each contained an array of species from pothos, philodendrons, syngoniums, hoyas, pileas, peperomias, baby rubber trees, rhaphidophoras, sansevierias, ZZ plants, money trees, and finally, two mature, green monsteras for each of them to keep in their living rooms. Not knowing what kind of lighting situation they had going on, you tried to limit your recommendations to medium-light tolerant plants. After they alerted you about their east and south-exposure windows, you were relieved in your selection.

“I call the big guy,” Jungkook cooed, picking up the staked rhaphidophora and clutching it to his chest and smirking coyly. “For my room.”

Seokjin whined loudly. “We live in the same apartment!”

Taehyung let out a disappointed sigh and shook his head. “You see what I have to deal with every day?”

Namjoon reached for the philodendron micans. “It’s like velvet!” he commented in awe as he felt the leaves. It was nicknamed the velvet-leaved philodendron after all, but his reaction made you feel fuzzy with plant love.

“Woah this looks like an alien’s flying saucer,” Hoseok noted. Picking up the pilea, it never struck you that the round, green disks did, in fact, look like flying saucers. Once everyone was satisfied with what they were taking home (it ended up taking a lot less time than you predicted), you went to work arranging them around the living room, bedroom, and kitchen, all while explaining to them the water and light requirements, periodic maintenance, and looking out for pests.

You urged Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok to go back to their place first, assuring that you’d meet them there. They said it was no bother and wanted to witness your working process. You were just doing your job, but seeing them fascinated by your passion and vigor was much more endearing than you thought it would be.

Just as you were hanging the macrame pot by their balcony, you heard the front door click open. Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon were holding the step ladder steady for you.

Since you were concentrating on getting the nail at the right angle, you paid no attention to it, assuming it was Hoseok or Jungkook going to recycle the used wrapping paper and packing materials.

“Yoongi!” Jimin called out.

“Good to see you dude,” Taehyung beamed. “Sorry, our hands are kind of full.”

“Could’ve given me a heads up that you had a guest over,” he grumbled, but you couldn’t hear through the rustling of the leaves that smacked your face.

The sound of footsteps grew louder from afar, then paused when you felt a presence behind you. “Jungkook,” you called out, turning your shoulder and looking down to where he was standing. “Do you mind grabbing the pliers from—”

Here’s the thing you never understood about step ladders. Standing on them is considered a safety hazard, yet it’s method of use and reason for existence is to be stood on. You wished you remembered this when you decided to turn around and look down at Jungkook, except, it wasn’t Jungkook. It wasn’t Hoseok either. Despite not wearing a mask or beanie, you instantly recognized that cold gaze, piercing through yours like daggers.

He was equally shocked and mirrored your exact reaction, eyes growing wide and mouth parting as if you were staring through double-sided plexiglass.

“Yoongi, this is _____,” Jungkook introduced comfortably, conversation flowing freely from him. “______, this is Yoongi. The dad Jimin talked about.” While the boys broke into convulsions of laughter, you and Yoongi were still shellshocked. Of all the people that could be in this friend circle, it had to be the guy who crossed paths with you a few of times on the street?

You didn’t register that you’d lost your footing from the ladder until the familiar weight of gravity tipped you over. The last thing you saw were multiple pairs of hands reaching out to try and catch you, but it was too late—your body collided into his before crashing onto the floor as one whole, the clear thud of wood against flesh echoing throughout the apartment.

That’s definitely one way to make a first impression.

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catsvrsdogscatswin · 5 years ago

Text

V8 Theory

Okay I’m about to be that one meme of the crazy-looking guy explaining a red string diagram on a corkboard, BUT-

Volume 8. So, uh, after the ending of Volume 7 my sister and I kinda looked at each other and went...are they seriously going with this? Salem and her army rocking up at the good guys’ doorstep NOW? In what’s very clearly a midpoint or slightly-after-midpoint of the series? When the good guys have no plan or tools to stop or even detour her? No buildup on how they’d figure that out? No nothing?

It reeks of either bad writing or a plot twist.

SO, with that in mind, we fervently pinned our hopes on plot twist. Sure CRWBY drops the ball sometimes, as all writers do, but this? This is big, and I cannot believe that someone in the studio did not raise Serious Concerns if CRWBY proposed some out-of-nowhere deus ex machina.

With the information currently at our disposal, we have concluded that the good guys are basically fucked. Immortal Big Bad at their doorstep with an army, Ruby’s silver eyes proved or at least hinted to be completely ineffective against her, the leader of the government defense has gone mad, gang separated, one Relic lost and the other inaccessible. The only way they could really survive this scenario is to retreat, and it goes against every single one of their characters to just...walk out on an entire city full of people and leave them to the Grimm.

So, and here we come to crazy-man-with-string-diagram, we were thinking the gang has Ozpin make them time travel. How far back or how they do it, we weren’t sure, but realistically speaking, time travel seems to be the only way, with the information we currently have available, that they can “fix” this situation. I shall list our points.

1. Ozpin’s cane was stated to be able to “store time” in the V3 commentary. Granted, this ability may have been scrapped with other early concepts, but Ozpin also mentions in V5 that his cane has “other abilities,” and possession of it seems to be important to him for reasons beyond mere sentiment. Oscar also asks him how to fix this situation in the V7 finale, which may be foreshadowing.

2. Time traveling is a sticky concept to introduce, as it may serve as a fix-all scenario and thus introduce plot holes, but the phrasing was “store time,” indicating both a limit and a need to do so. If we assume this concept has remained, its likely that there is a limit to how far back Ozpin can go, or how much time he can store, and that he must be in possession of his cane to do any of it. This would explain why his time-travel ability was not used to fix the Fall of Beacon: he didn’t have his cane until multiple months after the event, which would mean that he can’t go back that far, and, if they do use this ability in V8, why he can’t do it again for such-and-so amount of time: he’s used all the time stored in his cane.

3. V7 seemed oddly fragmented, and has been stated to be more connected to V8 than most RWBY volumes are to each other. With the time-travel theory, this would be achieved by V8 covering events in V7 over again from a slightly different angle, possibly repeatedly, and filling out the odd scenes and missing portions.

4. CRWBY announced that V8 will take place over several days. While it is theoretically possible to stretch all these days out with fight scenes and long conversations (and shorter episodes), V8 is also stated to be longer than normal. If the gang time-travels, they could experience the same few days multiple times, which would stretch the season time out much farther.

5. The teaser clip of Yang and the others on a motorbike seems to take place in Atlas or Mantle, which is undamaged, and is stated to occur in an early episode. Given as the last thing we see is Salem arriving at the gates of Atlas with an army, this is a very odd switch in tone and narration. If the gang had fled Atlas, they would hardly be in a good mood, knowing they had left the citizens there to the army of Grimm and a mad dictator, and if they somehow managed to fight Salem off, there would have been severe casualties and a mad dictator would still be in charge. If, on the other hand, the gang had traveled through time to return to the starting point-ish of their time in Atlas, their mood would be decidedly more optimistic.

6. Clover’s death. While this wasn’t badly written in and of itself, the implicit psychological damage it would do to Qrow, who had spent most of the volume experiencing character growth and friendly interactions for the first time ever, seems to invalidate all CRWBY’s hard work at giving him a friend (or love interest). You don’t build someone up just to tear them down in one single season: from a narrative standpoint, its needlessly cruel and poorly executed. And whether they intended for Clover and Qrow to have canonically romantic overtones or no, CRWBY would definitely be aware that the fans would pick up on their dynamic, and CRWBY has already proven themselves perceptive enough to avoid the bury-your-gays trope. If time was reversed and Clover lived, the drama would be averted and they could make this decision with impunity.

7. Yang, Oscar, Jaune, and Ren is an odd conglomeration of people to be in one isolated group, as they were in the V8 teaser clip, which may be explained by the fact that Ozpin could only send a select amount of people back in time and they were chosen for this purpose because Reasons. (Maybe Ren for levelheadedness, Yang for critical second-guessing, Oscar because he’s Ozpin’s host, and Jaune for battery pack...and strategy too I guess. IDK.) This would also slot in with the mutters of “Ruby being Yang’s antagonist this season,” as Ruby may act against what time-traveler Yang needs her to do or think.

8. Ren was acting super weird in V7, which may be explained by the fact he’s one of the time-travel dudes and he’s getting deja vu or those weird transitional moments are the result of time divergencies. I’ll admit that this one is shaky but you have to admit that he has been acting really off, plus those whiteout flashes and slow-motions don’t just happen on their own.

Anyways if they actually do decide to do time travel you can catch me screaming that Saturday at anyone unfortunate enough to be near me. Yes that includes you guys.

V8 CH1 Update: Guess its time for clown makeup then, boys.

#RWBY #RWBY V8 #RWBY Volume 8 #I know this all sounds crack as hell #BUT LISTEN #IT COULD HAPPEN #I'll keep adding points as they occur to me

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brandilovevip · 5 years ago

Text

What I Believe About Coronavirus

It’s been a HOT topic on Twitter...

So what do I think is really going on and what do I think about Coronavirus?

Read on.

WHAT IS REALLY GOING ON

When health events like this happen ( and they happen often )

there is always some fear and trepidation. In recent times however it has become an obsession in the media to track and breathlessly report the number of deaths especially with the flu and/or any other viral outbreak. They don’t do this with any of the actual leading causes of death in the USA which are:

1. Cardiovascular Disease deaths each year 647,457 2. Cancer deaths each year 599,108 3. Accidents deaths each year 169,936 4. Respiratory Disease deaths each year 160,201 5. Stroke deaths each year 146,383

So every flu season, despite the flu not making the top 5, we are fed a steady diet of fear and mounting death. When you add in a “rogue” virus like the Chinese Wuhan Coronavirus, things get really out of hand. You would think that they believe The Walking Dead and Outbreak are documentaries.

This FEAR drives ratings and the progressive left’s globalist agenda. This agenda is the agenda of 90% (+) of the global media, the EU , China etc. There are few countries left in Europe and Asia that don’t want globalism. They have already been pacified. The great spirit of America however has not. Donald Trump’s election was a shock to the globalist agenda which is clearly on display in the democratic party. They are now out in the open as unabashed, socialist/communist “progressives”

meaning… globalists.

There are a number of “conservative” publications out there that believe that Covid-19 was created in a lab an purposefully unleashed. I do not believe that is the case, although I do think it is possible. I do however believe that they had foreknowledge of the virus and it’s potential spread & impact.

Why do you believe this Brandi?

Because of Event 201. If you haven’t read about this, you need to educate yourself. This ACTUALLY took place. The “players” and sponsors should be looked at closely.

Only a few months ago, in OCTOBER 2019, Johns Hopkins, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and the World Economic Forum (a fraternity of self-professed globalists) ran a “pandemic simulation” called “Event 201” specifically focused on CORONAVIRUS. Not Ebola, or Swine Flu or even Avian Flu – but CORONAVIRUS. The simulation features the spread of coronavirus in South America, blamed on animal to human transmission (pigs). The conclusion of the exercise was that national governments were nowhere near ready.

Event 201 played out almost exactly as you see it in the world today. Even their propaganda pieces are eerily similar.

Some very disingenuous or perhaps rather stupid people have been arguing that this kind of thing is “normal”, claiming that we are “lucky” that the elites have been running simulations in advance in order to “save us” from a viral outbreak.

I believe that Event 201 was not a simulation but a war-game, played out to study the possible outcomes of an event the globalists already knew was coming. They played it out to see how to use it to their advantage.

In their simulation 65 million people died worldwide. A number they knew was false but it would certainly scare the sheep into submission.

Does anyone really believe that Event 201 is pure coincidence? Does anyone really believe they left up their “findings” for any other reason than to frighten readers?

But what do globalists have to gain directly from a coronavirus pandemic beyond simple chaos that can be exploited?

Interestingly, a representative from Johnson and Johnson, one of the companies that may end up designing a “vaccine” for the Coronavirus, suggested during Event 201 that a “centralized” global economic authority in charge of funding and procuring vaccines for various nations in crisis was an option for solving the pandemic.

The reason why globalists want a collapse is simple – They need crisis in order to manipulate the masses into accepting total centralization, a global monetary system and global governance. They are also rabid believers in eugenics and population reduction.

Regarding a “centralized” global economic authority and a global monetary system ... did you notice the Democrats included language pertaining to a digital currency in their bloated, globalist agenda filled coronavirus bill after pulling the rug out from under America.

The US and China are still currently in the middle of a trade war. This trade war has been demonized by Democrats and RINO’s alike. And despite it being the right thing for America, the Phase 1 deal was always a joke because it demands that China quadruple its purchases from the US within the next 1-2 years. This was never going to happen.

The Chinese cannot be trusted. They are the most evil, unfeeling regime in the world. They are cold , calculated and intelligent. They have made, through money, slaves of many of the worlds largest, most influential and wealthiest corporations and people.

Now, because of the impact of the Chinese Wuhan Coronavirus, there is no chance that China will meet the requirements of the Phase 1 deal as China’s economy will slow under the weight of the pandemic.

Coincidence?

If Trump continues tariffs against a nation in the state of a viral emergency, he will look like a monster. If he doesn’t continue the lockdown and one person dies thereafter, he will look like a monster. They have him in an almost impossible situation. He knows it, which is why he looks so somber & frustrated.

Another advantage of the viral crisis is that the globalist establishment will undoubtedly blame “climate change” for its impetus. Even though there is absolutely no concrete evidence linking human carbon emissions to climate change or viral outbreaks, given enough public fear, globalists will attempt to link the things together as if it is a proven fact.

Not only will they have a rationale for an economic collapse THEY created, but they can also present a virus as an “act of nature”, and use it as a rationale for implementing carbon controls. (ALSO PRESENT IN PELOSI’s DESPICABLE BILL)

So what is really going on:

The globalists are using COVID-19 to their advantage to wrestle back control and complete their globalist mission. They know that if Donald Trump gets re-elected their horror of a dream is over.

BUT BRANDI THIS IS A DEADLY VIRUS, YOU ARE BEING STUPID.

It is a deadly virus. It is highly communicable. But is neither as deadly or communicable as the fear mongers want you to believe. I’m not going to go through all of the FACTS here. But I would encourage you to read this excellent article:

http://archive.is/yuaUq

If the USA follows the pattern in SIMILAR countries with similar population demographics and geography then we should see maybe 250,000 total who have contracted this and a death rate of 1.5% for total deaths around 3,750

We have all been around death. Iv’e lost most of my family and it’s always gut wrenching. But if the numbers hold true, the 3750 deaths due to Coronavirus are about 5x less than the number of homicides we have every single year.

Where do I agree with the trolls that bombard my Twitter account?

I agree that we need to have a far better protocol in place for WHEN pandemics happen and I believe we need to make a HUGE investment into our healthcare system. Some things I would love to see them consider:

1. Everyone wears masks during a “Pandemic Protocol” I know , I know… surgical masks don’t stop the virus from getting in.. but if EVERYONE is wearing them it does stop a lot of the virus from getting OUT. Japan has an 80% adoption rate for masks. They have major population centers and yet.. their numbers remained low.

2. Have tests ready. Jesus. Everyone on the planet seemed to have more tests than us. That’s embarrassing. Test everybody.

3. Isolate & quarantine the most vulnerable to death, first.

4. Immediately close borders and international travel

5. If needed, in extreme situations impose a reasonable self isolation and social distancing period not to last longer than 21 days.

6. Have teams at CDC ready to collaborate with local and international physicians to discuss treatment modalities & vaccines.

7. Build regional medical facilities in conjunction with private, non profit health care systems to handle sudden increases in medical emergencies.

This closing down of the country however and spreading fear the way they have is grotesque and evil. Do you think it’s any less horrible to die from Cardiovascular Disease , Cancer an Accident, stroke, suicide or murder? No. Death is horrible and sad. But it is in fact part of life. I don’t want to die, I’m not looking forward to death but I do know that at some point, it will occur.

I’m ever thankful that in addition to my thirst for facts vs fear, I also have contacts across the medical landscape. In every single case, they tell me the same thing. If you don’t smoke, If you don’t have major underlying medical conditions and are in good health… then you have very little to fear even if you do contract the virus. Yes, it may have a 1.4% - 2.0% death rate but those numbers are skewed toward those 65+ and those with major medical issues. Regardless of age if you are generally healthy, you are looking at a death rate equal to or less than the common flu.

And they also tell me that if you do get it, demand that you be treated with the combination of Hydroxychloroquine and a Zpack unless there are contraindications.

Lastly…

Some things that have become perfectly clear:

1. Socialized Medicine would be a Disaster 2. Open Borders = Complete Insanity

References:

https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/leading-causes-of-death.htm

http://archive.is/yuaUq

https://www.europereloaded.com/how-viral-pandemic-benefits-the-globalist-agenda-event-201/

https://docplayer.net/11605196-Foreign-affairs-april-1974-the-hard-road-to-world-order-richard-n-gardner-volume-52-number-3.html

https://www.technocracy.news/globalization-faces-disaster-with-supply-chain-leaving-china/

https://meaww.com/wuhan-coronavirus-warned-2017-lab-wuhan-deadly-diseases-escape-lab-level-4-safety-scientists

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freewithyourtempo · 6 years ago

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Argue me tender, argue me true (pt. 8)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

Charles was zombing his way across the hall. He felt ashamed and vulnerable, with his guts inside out. He was on edge, waiting mindlessly for anyone to start laughing at his stupidity.

Not that he thought that he would make fun of what had happened…

When he heard someone calling his name, Charles considered ignoring them. He tried to sink in his own shoulders and turned towards the voice. The principal’s secretary was hurrying towards him and waving something shiny in his hand. “Xavier,” he huffed, reprimanding. His forehead was damp and he looked like he had spent the morning rolling up and down the sleeves of his shirt and moving boxes. “Here, keep this.” Something small and cylindric was hastily put in Charles’ hand. It was the key to his collar. “What is-” “Now that it is done, please tell your friend Erik Lehnsherr to reshape the locks of our offices and toilets. Maybe we can’t prove that it was his doing, but we certainly know it was. We are keeping an eye on him. Have a nice day.”

He stomped away leaving Charles gaping in the middle of the corridor. Charles looked down at the key in the center of his palm and closed his fingers around it. “Fuck. Couldn’t you be a bit less. Fuck you, Lehnsherr.” “I thought you were about to do just that.” Charles tiredly hauled his lips in a smile and faced his just arrived friend. “He didn’t like me that much, Moira.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “It happens.” Mora frowned in confusion and adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “How do you-” “I…” Charles rubbed his arm and looked away. “I may have told him that I liked him when I was drunk after Azazel’s party. He told me it was better if I went away.” Moira blinked and tilted her head. “It’s just… So weird.” She admitted frankly. “Like, really weird.” “How so?” “Have you seen Davis around, lately?” “I don’t even know who he’s supposed to be.” Moira rolled her eyes. “The bag of dicks that pushed you against the wall last week.” “Oh,” Charles said. He remembered that day for a different reason altogether. “What’s up with him?” Moira didn’t even try to hide her pleased, seraphic smile. “He has a black eye and a dislocated jaw. He hasn’t been able to mutter his homophobic and mutantphobic shit since that day.” She folded her arms and raised one suggestive eyebrow. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Charles stammered. “I-It doesn’t mean anything,” he denied. The bruise on Lehnsherr's face was freshly painted in his mind. His heart sunk in his stomach and started hammering there. “Lehnsherr has always advocated for mutants. He would have done the same for anyone.” Evidently. “He beat the shit out of him, Charles. He risked suspension. At best. Probably expulsion.” Moira eyed the key in his hand and stared. “Twice this week, I would say.” Charles shrugged again, because he didn't know what to say to that.

Lehnsherr wasn't interested, had said that much. It was better not to dwell on things that almost were. Charles sighed. Or weren’t, apparently, because it was all in his head. He probably spent too much time in there. Moira huffed. “Do you think I should go thank him for this?” Charles asked, holding the key between his thumb and index. Moira linked their arms. “I really think you should, Charles, if you feel like it.”

Charles heard a commotion, then the door of the classroom swung open and banged against the opposite wall. Someone gasped.

Hank appeared on the threshold, pale and agitated.

“McCoy!” The professor exclaimed. “What on Earth is happening?” “I’m really, really sorry, professor,” Hank answered, and he was so upset that his skin was swinging between blue and white. “But I need Charles. Immediately.” Charles stood up and Hank turned towards him. “It’s about Alex. We’d ask Lehnsherr, but we can’t find him anywhere…” Charles pulled the key out of his back pocket and shoved it in the collar. It clicked open with a mechanical swish, and Charles tossed it on the desk.

Voices arose in his head as he had just turned the volume on. “Where is he?” “Park, behind the cafeteria,” Hank answered. Charles hurried down the stairs and together they ran across the corridor.

Alex was standing in the middle of the park, alone. The grass around him was scorched and greyish, and Charles could smell smoke.

Alex’s shirt was pulsing red in correspondence of his chest.

“Oh, thank you, fuck,” he said when he saw Charles stepping towards him, Hank on his tow. He was shivering from head to toe. “Just knock me out already.” “There’s no need for that, Alex,” Charles said, keeping his voice steady. His throat was tight. “Take it easy.” Alex scoffed angrily, and the red in his chest heightened. He clenched his fists and snarled. “Easy? I was about to explode in the middle of the Cafeteria, Xavier. Fucking explode.”

Charles could feel anger, and frustration, and biting terror howling and scratching at his shields like rabid dogs. Everything was flashing red and white, everything was swirling, his mind was cracking under the blows of panic. But above all else he felt a growing heat right over his stomach, boiling and buzzing, ready to cut through his flesh.

“But you didn't, Alex. You controlled it.” “Barely.” Alex looked away, chest heaving. His muscles were strained in the effort of keeping the energy inside his body. “I can’t do this. I shouldn’t be here. I can’t, why don’t you understand. I just can’t.” “But you do, you can,” Charles replied firmly, and stepped forward. “You have been here for months, don’t let one slip up mess with your head.” “My slip-ups could cost lives!” “Mine too,” Charles said, smiling sadly. “And Erik’s, or Janos’. You deserve to be here, Alex, and you're making wonderful progress every day. People want you here and will help you. I promise.”

The raw dogs had receded now, and while Alex looked him in the eyes, vulnerable and hopeful, Charles could only feel angry birds screeching. Terror was no longer stabbing his shields, but Alex's thoughts had to be directed elsewhere, or they could start collapsing on themselves all over again. “Besides, you can’t go before declaring yourself.” Alex’s mind snapped in surprise, as if kicked out of track. His eyes flashed towards a point behind Charles, where Hank had been fidgeting for the last five minutes.

Hank held his breath loudly.

“You’re such a little shit,” Alex accused Charles, blushing furiously and looking at everything that wasn’t Hank. Charles smirked through a fog of embarrassed excitement. “I never said whom you should declare to, dear. But it has been a long time coming, so...” Alex glared under thick eyebrows, but at least his body had stopped trembling and glowing red. “You’re one to talk,” he huffed and folded his arms. “Clearly you and Lehnsherr still have your heads up your asses.” It was Charles’ turn to gape, but immediately stopped when he saw Alex sneering. “Your sources are unreliable, I’m afraid. There’s nothing between us.” Alex raised an eyebrow. “Says who.” Charles swallowed. “Says he.” “That’s not what--” Alex stopped and lifted his hands in surrender. “Know what. Not my business. Morons. Sexual tension is so thick between you two not even my blasts could cut through it. It’s disgusting.” “Mmh,” came Hank thoughtful voice. “I’ll have to vouch for that.” “Shut up,” Charles grumbled, cheeks flagging hot in embarrassment. “I came here to help, and look at what I have to endure. I don’t deserve this.” “You started it.” “Count to one hundred, and if you’re still not shooting lasers through your nostrils by then, you’re good to go. Undeserving scoundrel.”

This time Charles knocked.

He had this whole speech prepared, schemingly littered with thankfulness and apologies about ill-time confessions, and closed by a joke to lighten up the mood. He felt clear-minded and self-possessed, with steady hands and a firm voice. He raised his mental shields. He swallowed against the heart in his throat. He also felt nauseous, but that was irrelevant, all things considered. He just needed to breathe and stick to the scenario sprawled out in his mind. No interruptions, no blubbering, no undignified ogling…

The door swung open. Lehnsherr was steaming hot. Literally. Fat droplets of water clung to the wet tips of his hair and splashed on his neck to ran down the collar of his shirt, darkening the fabric. The bare skin of his arms and throat glistened and puffed slow swirls of steam. He was barefoot. Charles closed his mouth audibly and irritably. “Oh, fuck me.”

@helene-of-spain , @youarerageandserenity, @why-cant-people-just-think, @auri-moon , @starkqnthony, @docty-strange , @starkxavier, @ectoplasmaticpansexual, @season-four-is-imminent, @ unticka

#cherik #cherik fic #my fic #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier #hank mccoy #alex summers #brief mention of hank/alex #enemies to friends to lovers #angst #amt pt.8 #it's coming to and end guys #and other things are coming too #moira mactaggert

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exhaustedfander · 5 years ago

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When is Enough Enough? [Chapter Five]

Summary: In an attempt to distract him from his worries, Roman convinces Logan to tell him the story of how he first told Remus he loved him.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / Epilog

a03 link to story

“Gross!” Logan blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You guys almost had sex in my backyard?! During a party full of a bunch of people?! Logan I’m surprised at you!” Logan attempted to smother a smile, but to no avail. Roman gave him a shove.

“Well, we didn’t. Almost, just as you said, even in my state of…”

“Insane horiness?” Logan rolled his eyes.

“…Arousal.”

“Ugh, that makes it sound worse. And also, you did not need to provide that much information!”

“Well…you did ask,” Logan says simply, earning an exasperated huff from Roman.

“Yeah, yeah, I asked. I still think you could’ve skipped some bits,” Roman grumbled irritably before resting his elbows on the plastic waiting room chair, a dreamy look in his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t like the look in your eyes at all, Roman. It just spells trouble.”

“My brother calls you Dragonfly,” Roman said, lullingly and pleased to see how it made Logan’s cheeks flush slightly. Logan rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes trained on the tile floor.

“Yes…he does.”

“Of all the things I’d imagine Remus calling his lover,” – Roman was keen to note how Logan’s cheeks flushed just a shade redder at that – “I never would’ve imagined something so, well, tender.” Logan shrugged, as though the pet name that set his heart alight every time his boyfriend uses it was trivial to him.

“Remus told me he calls me that because he likes insects.” Roman guffawed at that.

“Surely the reason must be more poetic than that! Dragonflies have beautiful, shimmering wings. Perhaps that’s what my dear brother thinks of you, that you’re shimmering and beautiful.” Logan gave his friend a quizzical glance.

“Just a moment ago you seemed surprised that Remus calls me anything more tender than a dork.” Roman snickered.

“Dork. Which you know also means –.”

“Whale penis,” Logan interjected with a sigh, “Yes, I’m aware. He’s quick to call me that any time he’s irritated with me.”

“He must call you a dork a lot, then.” Logan swatted him in the arm, sending him a pointed glare with no real fire behind it. A silence fell over the pair for a long moment, blanketing them in quiet. Roman could see the gears in Logan’s mind turning, could practically hear Logan’s mind screaming with worry and anger and regret.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Logan sighed, the sound labored and sad. He ran a hand through his hair, an action that in any other instance might’ve shocked Roman. Logan was usually so button-down, so put together. But now here he sat, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, his hair ruffled.

“Yes,” he answered hoarsely, his voice just above a whisper, “I love Remus, dearly. More than anything.” From the sudden surprised, wounded expression that settled onto Logan’s face, it looked as though he’d just come to terms with that. Loving Remus more than anything. A man so driven by logic and facts tossed headfirst into the throws of romance, unable to claw his way back out, no longer wanting to.

In all the time that Roman has known Logan, he’s never seemed truly happy. Of course there were moments where the two would have wonderful times together, carrying out interesting conversations. Roman loved his friend so much, and he knew his friend loved him just the same but there had always been a melancholy settled deep in Logan’s bones. There were moments in the past where Roman wondered if Logan had simply been born to be a fairly sad, unsatisfied person.

He’d fulfilled himself with teaching (Thank god it was a Saturday. The idea of Logan hearing the news of Remus’s injury in his workplace was not a pleasant one) and he spent ample time with his friends. But Logan Sanders had never seeked out love. As far as Roman had believed, he never would. He was a man who kept the company of himself, who maybe could only tolerate himself.

Except…Logan had fallen in love. Logan had let his walls down, he’s let somebody in. He’d let Remus in. Roman still can’t believe it, the thought of Logan and his brother being so in love with each other is not an easy one to comprehend. But regardless of his disbelief, it’s true.

Logan hadn’t told him, he hadn’t let Remus tell him and that…well that did sting. But it was clear now how deeply Logan regretted that, how much he hardly understood his reasoning and Roman couldn’t stay mad. If anything, he was angry with himself. Even not having been told, he should have seen the signs a mile away. Looking back, Logan had seemed happier, and Roman couldn’t wrap his head around it. But he had never even considered that someone might be making Logan happy, least of all his brother.

Remus had seemed happier too, at least that's what he'd thought when he'd seen him. Roman and his brother didn’t see each other often, their relationship wasn’t strong enough to weather the storms of prolonged interactions. Roman regretted that too, now, how damaged they were. When Remus woke up and was alright – because damnit, he would be alright. If he had to, Roman was determined to channel all his energy to pull his brother from the grave. He wouldn’t lose him, and neither would Logan. Or at least that’s what he was telling himself.

“Which one of you said it first?” Logan glanced up at Roman, the tormented expression that had invaded his face replaced with one of confusion. Roman prayed that his asking would distract Logan from his deep-seeded worry rather than escalate it. He didn’t exactly have a better idea.

“What?”

“I love you,” Roman clarified, searching for hope in Logan’s eyes and doing his best to mask his despair when he found very little of it, “Which one of you said it first?”

“Oh,” Logan said, “I did.” Roman couldn’t help but be surprised.

“Really? Oh, was it terribly romantic, Logan? Did you hold my brother close and whisper it in his ear, kissing him like he’d never been kissed before? Did it happen during a candlelit dinner, or perhaps on a picnic as you watched the sun set?” The dramatic questioning earned a tired chuckle from Logan, something Roman considered a job well-done.

“Hardly,” Logan responded through his laugh, “I hadn’t even meant to say it at the time, if memory serves correctly.” Logan said that as if the moment wasn’t carefully archived in his mind, easily accessible and played back often.

“Is that so?”

=+=

Logan walked through the door, sighing as he removed his shoes and set down his briefcase. Logan never disliked his job, teaching had always been his dream. Regardless, teaching fifteen- year-old Chemistry had its exhausting moments and he was thankful to be home.

For a moment Logan wondered if Remus was already over, before hearing a clang from the kitchen and sighed fondly.

“I’m home, dear.” He heard the shuffling of feet before Remus poked his head through the kitchen doorway, his eyes lighting up.

“Dragonfly!” Remus exclaimed excitedly, bounding in Logan’s direction much like an excitable puppy before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Logan chuckled, returning the embrace.

“Hello, Remus. How are you today?” Logan had never thought of himself as someone to use pet-names. It was undignifying, he’d thought, and he certainly wouldn’t want to be called some sappy, silly name. But yet here he was, in the arms of the strange, extraordinarily weird man who had captured his heart. He was beginning to think he’d be willing to call Remus anything, no matter how silly, so long as it brought a smile to his face.

“Better now that you’re here,” Remus responded sappily before pressing a slow, burning kiss to Logan’s lips. The teacher pulled back breathlessly, his hands resting on Remus’s shoulders.

It was only four months into their relationship and Logan had recently given Remus a key to his apartment. If a friend of his had provided a partner with such easy access to their home so quickly into a romantic endeavor, Logan might’ve scolded them. Surely such a thing was unwise, surely it was far too quick. But, strangely enough, Logan had made this decision and none of his friends were aware to scold him.

He hadn’t intended to rush into things at full force. There had even been a concern early-on that Remus and his relationship was more dominated by the desire for intercourse than anything else. Looking back, the thought was foolish. There had been strong feelings between them long before they decided to begin a relationship, feelings that had only increased in volume as time went on.

At first Logan had told himself that how would be cautious, take things one step at a time. but before he was even aware of it, he was breaking his own rules, allowing Remus to go as fast as he liked, allowing himself to do so. He disregarded all hesitations because in all honesty, there were very few. Remus was a very impulsive person. He’d claimed in many instances that there was no rhyme or reason for his behavior much of the time, which Logan believed to be true, but he’d never expected the impulsiveness to carry over to him. Remus did and said what he wanted almost always, he took what he desired to be his. Logan supposed he was taking what he wanted now, too.

“Mm, someone’s happy to see me,” Remus grinned, his mustache curling up as he smiled and kissed Logan again.

“Of course, dear. I’m always pleased to be in your company. And it’s been a rather tiring day.” Remus pouted his lip, releasing Logan from his hold of him and giving his boyfriend a once-over. If his eyes focused on Logan’s lower regions a second or two too long, Logan made no comment against it.

“My poor, sweet teacher,” he crooned, cupping Logan’s cheeks in his own, “Your students are running you positively raged!” Logan quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say –.” Logan fell silent as Remus’s hands found themselves around his waist and hefting him over his shoulder like he was a sack of potatoes. Despite his intention to do otherwise, Logan let out a string of giggles, good lord, Logan was giggling as Remus held him. Remus was clearly much stronger than Logan had previously assumed, not that he was complaining.

“You have the cutest laugh, dragonfly,” Remus announced fondly, setting Logan down on the couch and flopping himself beside him. “Why don’t you let me hear it more?” Logan sighed, recovering from the sudden laughing fit and attempting to adjust his tie. Remus, it seemed, was having none of it as he grabbed the tie and yanked it off, dangling it away from Logan's reach.

“Because I like to be taken seriously,” Logan said curtly, attempting to take back the tie before Remus moved away from his boyfriend and arched his arm back, releasing the tie. The article of clothing sailed through the air, miraculously landing on top of the TV, hanging limp across the screen. Logan exhaled, rolling his eyes as Remus grinned joyfully.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You better believe it, baby!” Remus said proudly, wrapping his arms around Logan’s waist and holding him in place so that he wouldn’t be able to retrieve the tie. Logan struggled for a moment, in vain, before giving up and slackening against the couch.

“Is it so surprising that I want to be taken seriously?” Logan asked, only to find a hand being ran through his hair, quickly ruffling it. With anyone else, Logan would’ve pulled away immediately, spending maybe a bit too much time in the morning making sure his hair is just-so, so much time it might even rival that of Roman’s routine, not that he needed to know. Logan’s appearance was important to him; he wanted people to understand on looks alone that he meant business. But it seemed Remus enjoyed the luxury of all kinds of exceptions, because Logan simply leaned into the touch like he was a cat receiving a scratch behind the ear, enjoying as Remus carded his fingers through his hair.

“My dork,” Logan decided against commenting on the nickname, knowing it would only send Remus into a whale-penis-related-rant, “Always so serious. I adore seeing you like this, so vulnerable with me. You put up so many walls with other people, do you know that?” Logan shut his eyes, sighing contently as Remus massaged his scalp.

“Do I?” Logan asked in a relaxed tone as though he didn’t know that for a fact.

“You do. You’re so certain that people won’t listen to you if you don’t hide away all your emotions and act as austere as possible. But look at you now? So content, so at peace. So beautiful and relaxed.” Logan found he didn’t have the energy to have a rebuttal of any kind, instead melting into Remus with his head in his lap. His boyfriend chuckled at that.

“Is this about the time you attempt and jump-scare me again?” Logan muttered against Remus’s thigh after a moment of silence. A vexed sound bubbled in Remus’s throat.

“Well, maybe I was considering it. But I can’t now, you’ll be expecting it!” Logan laughed lightly at that. It was strange, how much he laughed so openly in front of Remus. With other people, even his friends, Logan often found himself holding back laughter. But it seemed his boyfriend just brought it out of him, whether he wanted it to or not.

“What did you do today, sweetheart?”

“I started writing a new chapter,” Remus said proudly, his hands still massaging his scalp. Logan knew all about the current book that Remus was working on, another one of his growing collection of horror stories that were gaining in popularity recently. At this rate, he might soon be dating a renowned author.

“You’ll have to let me read it when it’s finished,” Logan hummed, “How’s it going so far?” In all honesty, Logan did not usually care for the kind of work that Remus did. He was a horror writer, a style of literature that had never been one to captivate Logan. It was always so far-fetched, so unnecessarily violent. But he liked the way that Remus wrote. Could it be because he was dating him? Perhaps, but he enjoyed Remus’s style. It was brazening and energetic and intense, much like Remus himself.

“It’s going okay, but I think it needs more gore.”

“Don’t you always say that, dear?”

“Well, yeah, but I really mean it this time! I’m writing about a pack of wild dogs tearing a man limb from limb!”

“How dreadful.”

“I know!” Remus responded, his voice almost concerningly happy to be talking about such carnage. But this was Remus, and thus, business as usual. “It’s all so much fun! And after that I came here before you arrived, and I stole your pudding.”

“Remus, the food in the fridge is just as much yours as it is mine when you stay here. Help yourself.”

“I ate it with a fork!” Remus announced loudly, practically beaming.

“That seems…needlessly time consuming,” Logan grimaced.

“Oh, it was! The pudding kept sliding off the fork. After a while I just decided to stick my tongue in the container and scoop it out.” The tone of voice that Remus used while describing the consumption of food was unnecessarily sexual, but again, not surprising. Logan had once seen him nearly fully deep-throat a banana. Was the thought disgusting or arousing? Both, maybe.

“And why couldn’t you get a spoon?”

“Didn’t want to!” Remus said as though it were obvious, his voice almost shrill enough to pull him from his relaxed state. Almost.

“I considered smearing it all over your walls, but then I thought you might not like that.”

“Ah, how kind of you to consider such a thing,” Logan said, voice heavy with sarcasm, “As much as I wanted you to make an awful mess for me to clean up –.”

“Oh! Well, if that’s what you want it’s not too late for me to make a mess!” Remus suggested, diabolical as ever. Logan couldn’t help but laugh half-heartedly at his boyfriend’s strange impulsive nature.

“It’s a wonder I love you as much as I do.” The fingers tangled in Logan’s hair ceased their motion as Remus stiffened. It took Logan a moment to even realize what he’d just admitted. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, he didn’t even notice he’d done it. he’d just been so relaxed, and happy, and enjoying Remus’s company such a great deal –

“You love me?” The question came out slow and quiet, more reserved than Logan had ever heard his boyfriend so much so that it was startling. Logan sat up, his eyes meeting Remus’s hesitantly before he cleared his throat.

“I…yes. Yes, I do.” Panic ensnared Logan’s mind. How could he just blurt something like that out? Should he not have said that? Was it too early to be saying things of that magnitude? Should –

Suddenly Remus was in Logan’s lap, one hand tangled in his hair with the other cupping his face as he kissed him desperately. Huh. Evidently, Logan had not suddenly doomed his relationship.

“I love you too, dragonfly,” Remus breathed out against his lips before reining him in for another heated embrace, biting at Logan’s bottom lip and earning a gasp. “I love you. Desperately.”

Regardless of how much Logan had ignored the desire throughout most of his life, this was what Logan had been craving. This was what Logan had been needing. Love. Pure, unabashed, genuine love. Someone who Logan could let his guard down in front of, someone who he could trust and confided in. Logan loved Remus in a way that he’d never done so for another person. Despite his best intentions and initial hesitation, Remus had slipped through all of the cracks and now occupied so much of his mind, of his heart.

Remus loved him, truly, honestly loved him. All remaining stress of the day melted away as Logan kissed the man who had ensnared his heart.

=+=

“You’re a fiend and a liar!” “Excuse me?” “You said that it wasn’t a romantic story, but you totally lied! That was just about as romantic as they come.” Logan tilted his head, confused.

“What’s conventionally romantic about it? Remus had said something gross and I had responded by telling him that I loved him for the first time. Granted it’s something that...well, I like the way things played out. But it’s not one for the storybooks.” “Who says it isn’t?” Roman queried, “No matter how unconventional, you confessed your love for my brother and it was reciprocated. And the interaction was so uniquely you two.”

“Roman, you haven’t even seen us interact as a couple. How would you know what is or isn’t us?” Roman shook his head, caught up in the excitement of thinking about the happiness his friend and his twin shared. How could he have missed their blatant happiness? It must have been so obvious!

“Well, I do believe I’m starting to understand your dynamic. From what you’ve told me, you two sounds positively perfect for one another.” Roman never thought in a million years he would be telling Logan he and Remus were perfect for one another, but here he was, and it had to be admitted. They just sounded so incessantly sweet in their own strange way.

Just as Roman said so a door opened and both friends straightened their posture. Logan rose to his feet, walking briskly in the direction of the doctor.

“Doctor? Is – is there any news on Remus’s condition? Is he alright?” The smile on Dr. Clark’s face was an immediately relieving sight.

“The surgery was a complete success. Remus is awake now.” Logan’s face broke out in a smile.

“He’s – he’s awake. Is he lucid?” The Dr. nodded.

“Yes, he is. The first thing he said when he woke up was your name, Mr. Sanders.”

Remus was awake, Remus was alive. Remus had awoken with Logan’s name on his lips. Logan glanced from the doctor to Roman and back to the doctor again, his overwhelming relief coming off of him in waves.

“Would it be alright if we saw him? If only for a small fraction of time.” Dr. Clark nodded and quickly Roman was stumbling to his feet too.

“Yes, considering how much Remus has been asking about you, that would be just fine,” Dr. Clark said, opening the door to Remus’s room. The two friends slowly wandered into Remus’s hospital room.

Logan's heart pounded as his eyes met Remus's instantly.

=+=

#intrulogical #romantic intrulogical #human au #sanders sides #Remus Sanders #Logan Sanders #Remus the duke Sanders #Roman Sanders #fluff #angst/fluff #love confession #flashback #sweet flashback scene #I love these boys!#Sammy writes #exhaustedfander #exhaustedfander writes #When is Enough Enough?

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theseerasures · 5 years ago

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Conspicuous Media Consumption, 2019

i mean, everyone's doing these write-ups, right? might as well hop onto the bandwagon

towards the end of last year i had one of my typical existential crises about my media consumption: am i slowly disappearing up my own ass because i no longer care about most of the pop culture people like to discuss ad nauseam? but on the other hand, isn’t it more responsible to find the niche items made by non-mainstream and marginalized creators? on the third hand, wouldn’t i be much happier if i just watched FMA Brotherhood over and over again, preferably while starting a new Mass Effect playthrough at the same time?

the answer to all these questions is probably “yes,” but i decided to try something different going into 2019. for every week of the year, i would try to get through a year’s worth of content for some kind of media, be it comics, video games, TV, etc--they didn’t all have to be recent, or even new to me, but once i was done with that week i’d be done, even if i didn’t finish the content, and i’d make a judgement based what i’d seen on whether i want to continue. mostly, i was trying to avoid what happened to me with video games in 2018, when i was hating every second of playing Uncharted but still felt obligated to finish because everyone and their houseplant liked Uncharted or listlessly doing the Master Hunter achievement in RDR2 because the main quest made me miserable.

the actual outcomes of this Project(tm) are a little more complicated than anticipated--some media i could finish in a day, while trying to play through ALL THE CONTENT OF AN MMO understandably took much longer than a week--but it all kind of evened out. in the end i did 48 weeks of this, and used December as my catch-ups month to follow up on some things i didn’t get to finish. i thought i’d give my thoughts on each of the things i consumed this year as part of this project below in a concise manner--and yes, i know the people who’ve read even one (1) thing i’ve written are probably laughing right now, particularly given how long i took in this introduction just to get to me point, but i really am going to try!! it’s all an exercise in shameless self-indulgence, basically, but hey: if any of you want to chat at length about any of this stuff below, hit me up.

(quick note: you’ll only find media that i chose for this particular project below, so things i watched socially with friends--like certain film properties slorping me back into Disney’s gelatinous monolith--are not included)

Devilman Crybaby (anime, finished 1/5/2019): honestly i should have twigged onto what the year was going to be like when the first thing i drew from the metaphorical barrel was demon tiddies and apocalyptic existentialism. i was determined to dislike it for most of the year due to fundamentally disagreeing with its main thematic thrust, but i kept THINKING about it even months after. at this point i’ve kinda mellowed out. it’s definitely not a must love, but there’s enough queer metaphor and philosophical richness in it to make it worth checking out.

Attack on Titan (manga, 3 volumes finished 1/12/2019): this is the second time i’ve tried to get into this franchise and...yeah, no. i still don’t see the appeal. the fascistic overtones juxtaposed with absolutely no one having a sense of humor wigs me out to no end.

Young Justice (TV, 2.5 seasons finished 1/31/2019): honestly, what even is there to say? they’re my kids. they’re back and grown up and making even more terrible decisions. i screamed when i saw Babs in her wheelchair.

Black Leopard, Red Wolf (book, finished 2/10/2019): i tried VERY HARD to like this book, given how much i liked Brief History of Seven Killings, but it just...didn’t click for me. which honestly is fine, since i don’t think it was made for me either.

Dragon Age (3 games, finished 2/28/2019): i feel like there’s always a part of me that’s going to think of this series as “the other one,” but y’know. it’s good. it’s my second playthrough (as a mage for all three) and it’s good! i even went around killing all the dragons in Inquisition because Knight Enchanter was a blast. appreciate the higher queer content vis-a-vis Mass Effect, even though i couldn’t care less about any of the plot. Dragon Age II is the best one, do not @ me

Bitter Root (comic, 4 issues finished 3/1/2019): i love intergenerational dramas and i love stories about vampire slayers, so this was aces. my only complaint is the pacing was a little slow for a story that was going on hiatus after five issues.

Pearl (comic, 6 issues finished 3/3/2019): i know that he’s done great things and grudgingly admit that he’s probably a net positive in the industry but Brian Michael Bendis can suck my entire dick

Lazarus (comic, 5 trades finished 3/ 4/2019): i really thought this was going to clench the position for comic of the year. it’s Rucka doing Highly Relevant Dystopia! it’s a corporate Lannisters AU! it’s a highly personal story about a woman with high privilege and little agency! what more could you want

Immortal Hulk (comic, 2 trades finished 3/ 4/2019): i vibed with the horror feel, but i don’t honestly think it’s THAT exceptional. being set in 616-verse means there was still ton of baggage i didn’t know or care about, since i’ve now swung more to the DC side of things

thank u, next (album, finished 3/5/2019): didn’t Ariana Grande get canceled this year for some reason? oh well, i liked her album

When I Get Home (album, finished 3/13/2019): i vividly remember listening to this for the first time and feeling vaguely disappointed that it wasn’t more like Seat at the Table until i realized that i was covered in goosebumps. still don’t understand the magic but it is Good

The Bird King (book, finished 3/23/2019): pretty much everything you’d expect from a G. Willow Wilson book--spirituality, the female lead finding Themselves and the Answer and learning they’re the same thing, etc etc. i’m slightly resentful that her Wonder Woman was so lackluster while this was so good, but whatevs

Psychodrama (album, finished 3/29/2019): possibly my favorite album of the year? dense and emotionally raw in a way i really appreciate. Dave has a Mercury and he’s younger than me

Mass Effect (4 games, finished 4/7/2019): wow guys did you know that Mass Effect is good! it is. all of it is actually, even the Mass Effect 3 ending, another controversial finale to a big franchise that i will obstinately defend. even Andromeda, which isn’t AS good as the trilogy but still has a lot of heart. all its bugs have been exhaustively patched since launch anyway

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV, 4 seasons finished 5/13/2019): i’m...still kind of mad about this finale, but can’t exactly deny that this show is one of the best things to ever happen to me, or television probably. i didn’t even mind new!Greg that much! tho he was probably the nail on the coffin of me jumping onto the Nathaniel train.

Knights of the Old Republic/The Old Republic (3 games, finished 7/4/2019): did you guys know that KOTOR II was my first ever video game? i feel like that...explains a lot about me. anyway, the first game is a classic and the second is a deconstructive classic and playing either of them is basically a fun way for me to turn off my brain these days. even the MMO wasn’t as much of slog as i worried it would be. the Imperial Agent storyline had some nice surprises and i dig the general atmosphere of ruthless pragmatism and crushing loneliness.

Wanderers (book, finished 7/13/2019): Chuck Wendig is a very well-intentioned man in dire need of a strict editor. still good tho! some VERY punchy emotional bits and an ending that still leaves me with vague existential terror.

Code Geass (anime, 2 seasons finished 7/20/2019): i feel like this is on the polar opposite of the spectrum as Devilman Crybaby, because i don’t think Geass is GOOD on like, any basis, and i actually find its central moral message kind of abhorrent? but some part of my lizard brain LOVED the High Imperial Family Drama (it’s been a good year for me and Lannister types, hasn’t it? well, with the obvious exception of--never mind), so...yeah. have i discovered the true meaning of guilty pleasure

The Farewell (movie, finished 7/23/2019): how could i not a) watch this and b) love this and c) feel emotionally cold towards this at the same time because the situations depicted were so similar to mine that i ended up feeling kind of alienated

The Nickel Boys (book, finished 8/8/2019): i STILL haven’t read Underground Railroad, but here i am a book late and a dollar short to appreciate Whitehead’s new book. the man’s stylistic versatility is jaw-dropping and i appreciate the plotting in contrast to like, 90% of the litfic out there that’s just “protagonist sad in different milieu”

Durarara (anime, 2 seasons finished 8/31/2019): it’s fucking bonkers and i loved pretty much every second of it? even the second season, where i finally got the BruceNat AU i deserved??? the first anime i’ve seen where everyone was relatively soberly dressed. the answer was love and having feelings and asking your middle school best friend to hurl you like a projectile so you can chop your girlfriend’s head off with a demon katana

Lover (album, finished 9/1/2019): i feel like with all the Discourse surrounding Taylor Swift re: she’s the devil incarnate or re: she’s good, actually the fact that she makes fucking bops gets kind of lost in the conversation. i have no vested interest in her as a person but i liked Lover, even though London Boy was “what if Style but stupid”

Are You Listening (comic, finished 10/2/2019): my actual choice for best comic of the year if i were giving out awards like that. it’s coming of age! it’s grief! it’s queers! it’s trauma! it’s magical realism! it’s cats! it’s expressive gorgeous art! Tillie Walden has an Eisner and she’s younger than me

High School DxD (manga, 2 volumes finished 10/10/2019): i don’t even know how to talk about this series?? i actually kind of came around to the whole “main character is a perv but goes hard for consent” by the end of the second volume, but it’s still...bad. i only can have lingering conflicted feelings about one Japanese adaptation of Christian mythology per year

Ghosteen (album, finished 10/18/2019): much like Immortal Hulk i thought it was fine but over-hyped. it’s Nick Cave doing his Nick Cave ethereal music thing. i still can’t tell what any of the lyrics mean, except Jesus is there sometimes

Watchmen (TV, 2 episodes finished 10/29/2019): i am nOT FUCKING CAUGHT UP so please watch out for spoilers. it is on my high priority list of things to be caught up on tho--i appreciate that the plot is blatantly unsubtle but still manages to give me aneurysms and i appreciate the political overtones just kinda...balances on a razor thin wire and also gives me aneurysms. i wanna say i have no expectations and would be fine if it does a full dive into the horrible bland depths of the both-sides porridge, but i’m sadly a fool who wants to believe in Damon Lindelof

Syllabus/Making Comics (2 comics, finished 12/24/2019): it’s funny--even before Making Comics came out i was like “man i miss Lynda Barry” and then BAM. it’s incredible how her work just makes me feel taken care of, even when we’re wrestling with tough topics or she’s demanding that i draw a Batman in 30 seconds. kudos for immediately shooting to the top of my gift list for my sister also

Allegiance/Choices of One (2 books, finished 12/24/2019): fun and largely inoffensive, but i was honestly hoping for more. the level of Empire apologia going on was too much for me, someone who thinks Mara Jade is the best Star Wars character of all time (still?????? still). it reeked a little of Zahn believing his own hype as the only valid guy in Star Wars Legends of whatever

Aldnoah.Zero (anime, 1 season finished 12/24/2019): turns out i also can only have “trash but my trash” feelings about one Japanese mecha show with higher art pretensions and patriotism verging into jingoism per year, and this one ain’t it. it’s not as good as Code Geass and Code Geass ISN’T GOOD. at least Geass attempted character complexity and moved at enough of a breakneck pace to distract me from its questionable bits. Aldnoah is just...bland, and nothing gets accomplished or revealed in 12 episodes, except the baffling and contradictory motivations of the main bad guy.

Baldur’s Gate (game, unfinished): yet again something i really wanted to like, given *gestures at all the BioWare above*. i think it’s mainly the Seinfeld issue, where it actually predates my own experience with video games and was so formative for the Western RPG genre that what was innovative just comes across as kind of staid now. i didn’t DISLIKE it, and will probably play the sequel since it’s supposed to be more character-driven, but by the time i finished the vanilla campaign i just didn’t have it in me to squint at more tiny avatars on the screen, so the expansions ended up a no-go.

most prominent thing i noticed about this list is that only one 2019 movie made it on the list and ZERO 2019 video games did so. the former i’m okay with because i currently live with two film people with whom i’m happy to tag along to the cinema. the latter bums me out a little more, because there WERE a few things i wanted to play this year, but all of them came out just as my semester was reaching its catastrophic boil, so i had no time. maybe i’ll use my free time after the New Year festivities to catch up on those.

to conclude: this worked out pretty well! i ended up finishing all but one of the things, and only a few were bad enough that i have no interest in seeking out more content. i’ll probably do this again in 2020--we’ll see if the scheduling can withstand a full year of grad school hell

#let's break out a new tag for this since this isn't really meta #conspicuous media consumption

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lihikainanea · 6 years ago

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BFF!Bill you fucking teeeeeeeeease. Unf.

I split part 8 into two parts because 1) I really couldn’t find a good segue so when you can’t write just...split that shit into a new part. HUZZAH AVOIDANCE TECHNIQUES and 2) I was annoyed by how long each segment was getting and I feel like I’m side tracked into 100 million different concepts in each one.

Now, who wants to educate my ass on master lists? because a bitch is tired of hyperlinking all the parts each time.

(Or maybe you should stop writing Leilani and do your actual job. Shut up, conscience. That doesn’t sound fun at ALL.)

Part 1 + 2 / Part 3 / Part 4/ Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

All of this hellfire started with that ‘nani ask to @ill-skillsgard and now here we are 8 fucking parts later and I’ve created this whole personality for BFF!Bill and god that little soft bitch kills me.

***

You weren’t sure how to tell him.

You had high hopes. You really did. Delusions, even. Incredibly high false expectations for just how much your vibrator, or any toy that you owned, could satisfy you after the inferno that Bill had set within you. You tried, valiantly. You even invested in new toys but your body remembered all too well the exact level of pleasure it was capable of feeling and everything just paled in comparison.

When your body did eventually decide to cooperate on some nights, as soon as you started to thrum in just the beginnings of pleasure, images of Bill flooded back to your mind and you tried so desperately not to imagine it was him making you feel good. It was a losing battle. Every vibration on your clit had you imagining it was him back between your legs, sucking it into his mouth and flicking it with his wet tongue. Every time your vibrator bumped that spot deep inside you, you kept imagining it was Bill sinking into you so slowly, so smoothly, feeling every inch and every twitch of him as he groaned his pleasure in your ear. You remembered the way his hips felt flush against yours, and imagined that it was him thrusting into you so deep, rolling his hips for even more friction. You imagined it was him stretching you so deliciously, his lips trailing over your body, sucking deep marks into your skin.

Night after night you tried, and night after night you gave up, dissatisfied, frustrated, pent up again. The toys could mimic a sensation well enough but nothing could compare to the whole experience, Bill’s weight on you, his words and his moans at your ear, his hands grabbing at you. You managed to come a few times, if you really concentrated and worked at it hard enough, but it felt empty and nowhere near the way Bill had you nearly ripping the bed sheets in half and still craving more of him.

So it wasn’t that you were ignoring him while he was away, it’s just that every time his face popped up when he FaceTimed you, you couldn’t concentrate. And it got worse as the weeks went on, you grew more frustrated, more pent up, more unable to find your release. And there he was on the other side of the camera, completely oblivious to how you couldn’t stop staring at his mouth. His jaw. His hands. And how badly you wanted all of them all over you.

You didn’t know how to tell him that you wanted to do it again.

You tried not to make it obvious that you were avoiding him, but you had definitely been slightly less than available. FaceTime dates had been sparse under the guise of you being really busy at work for a few weeks, and when they did happen they tended to be rather short and brief. If he thought anything strange of your behaviour, he hadn’t brought it up. When he returned back home a few weeks later, heading straight to your place, the deep bags under his eyes were a good indication of why he likely hadn’t picked up on your despair. The shoot had exhausted him.

It was somewhat of a ritual between the two of you, Bill would usually head to your place right after wrapping a longer project in search of some TLC. He was often too exhausted to tackle real life again right away, and was in dire need of good meals and plenty of rest. You were always happy to take care of him, unpacking his suitcase and doing some laundry while he slept even though he always insisted you didn’t have to. He’d sleep for days on end sometimes, and you had to wake him up just to make sure he was getting enough food.

Usually, it had never been an issue. But now, with weeks of nothing but frustration and tension under your belt, Bill’s presence in your apartment only made things so much worse. He’d kiss your cheek, and you would have begged for his lips to keep trailing down your neck, sucking and biting as they went. He’d sleep curled up behind you, and you wanted to slither your way under him just to feel the weight and heat of his body on top of yours again.

It was torture, and you finally snapped after he had been home with you for a few days. The colour had returned to his cheeks, which had also filled out back to normal with a few good meals in him. He was standing over a bowl, the kitchen countertop comically reaching his mid thigh, cleaning and slicing mushrooms. Watching his hands--his long, slender fingers that were simultaneously so gentle but applied the exact amount of pressure you needed in all the right places--you lost control.

“I need your help again,” you blurted. It was quiet, almost meek, even to your ears. Bill was unfazed, continuing to slice the mushroom he rotated in his hand.

“Didn’t I just change the batteries in your smoke alarm last month?”

“No, Bill I...” you swallowed hard, “I need your help. Again.”

He stilled, and the heavy silence was almost more than you could bear. His eyes flicked to yours.

“No.”

Firm. Simple. Direct. And completely unexpected. You faltered back a step.

“What do you mean no?” you asked.

“I mean,” he set the knife down, putting both his palms on the counter and leaning his weight on them. He held your gaze. “No.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, and your knees almost gave way.

“Why no?” you asked, and it came out as a pathetic whine.

“Because you really didn’t handle it well the last time.” He picked the knife back up, plucking another mushroom and slicing it, “It almost ruined our friendship.”

“It did?” you played dumb.

“Yes. You broke your promise and you got all awkward about it and didn’t tell me, and I feel like you still can’t look me in the eyes.”

The meekness, the self consciousness you had been feeling suddenly gave way to something much more powerful. Rage. Fury. Humiliation.

“You know what, Bill? Fuck you,” you spat, squaring your shoulders, “You got on your high fucking horse for weeks, saying that you were happy to help and happy that I trusted you to help, and now you go off about how I broke a fucking promise?” you flicked your eyes to his when you realized you had been looking down, and the expression on his face was almost bored.

“Fuck you. Fuck you to hell and back on your high fucking horse. You wanted to help out a friend and now you’re lamenting about the loss of our friendship? Be a fucking martyr on that hill, you asshole, and die horny on it,” you were yelling by the end, and you didn’t care. The name calling was excessive, you knew, but your temper couldn’t be reeled in.

Bill’s eyes, though, quickly changed. And now they were on fire. He set his knife down, making his way slowly around the counter. He advanced on you like a predator, his steps slow and steady, holding your gaze and backing you up until you were against the wall. He placed his palms flat down on the wall on either side of your head, and bent at the waist to be eye level with you.

“You think you’re so tough, don’t you?” his voice kept its even tone, his gaze unflinching, “You bark so loud, but go ahead, show me your bite.”

You shoved at his shoulders, hard, but he didn’t budge. Your chest heaved and you looked away, a sound a lot like a growl and a sob tearing through your throat. Bill tilted his head calmly, recapturing your gaze with his.

“You forget that I’m not just some Tinder date that fucked your brains out,” his tone had a bit of an edge now, though he kept the volume so low you almost had to strain to hear him, “I know you, kid.”

He leaned in, moving his mouth lightly along your jaw line. You could feel his whispers of breath, a brief graze of his mouth on your earlobe as your breath hitched.

“And you don’t scare me, sweetheart.”

He was close enough to feel the rapid rise and fall of your chest, to hear the slight whine now that infiltrated every one of your breaths.

He pulled back, keeping his chest close, and bumping his nose to yours.

“So ask me nicely, like the sweet girl I know you are. And if you ask real nice and sweet like, I might even do that thing with my tongue you like so much.”

You didn’t let his sinful words--or the memories that accompanied them--throw you off. You were still too humiliated.

“I fucking asked you nicely the first--” your sentence was cut off when he jammed a long leg between yours, his thigh rubbing exactly where you needed it. It caught you so off guard, you couldn’t control the moan that escaped your mouth.

“So much fight,” he taunted, his voice calm and low, ”But that’s no way to ask for what you want. You get one more try, kid.” You gritted your teeth, desperately trying not to rut down on his leg.

“Bill, I need your help. Please.” you said, as docile as you could muster.

“Eyes,” his tone was harsh now, and your eyes snapped to his.

“Please, Bill,” you tried again, “I need your help,” you clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging in.

“With what?”

He wasn’t letting you get away with anything.

“Make...make me feel good again, please” you sighed, “I need it.”

You were rewarded with a soft grin, his lips just barely brushing yours.

“Is that what you want, tiger?” he asked, “Want me to make you come again? Want me to lick you, bury my tongue inside you until you’re screaming my name? Want me to fuck you until you’re shaking, making a mess all over me?”

“God yes, please,” you whimpered at his words, your eyes closing. He waited until they reopened, waited for them to refocus, meeting his gaze.

“No.”

And suddenly, he was gone. He pulled away from you so abruptly that it put you off kilter, and he watched as your knees gave and you slid down the wall with a pathetic whimper. You sank to the floor in a heap, burying your face in your hands as he turned his back. Putting distance between you, he reached for the cupboard where you kept the alcohol and poured two hearty glasses of scotch before slowly making his way back to you.

Your face burned with embarrassment, with anger, with frustration, still buried in your hands as he crouched in front of you. He knocked the back of your hand with the glass, beckoning you to take it. You reached for it, wrapping your hands around the glass and then launching it across the kitchen. You leaned your head back against the wall and watched with satisfaction as the glass shattered to pieces.

Unfazed, Bill knocked back the contents of his glass and set it beside him on the floor. Grabbing your arms, he hauled you to your feet as you struggled and pinned you to the wall with his long leg between yours.

“Look at me,” he commanded. You purposely turned your head to the side and he squeezed your arms a bit tighter.

“Tiger, eyes. Now,” he sounded mad enough, so you acquiesced. When he had your full attention, he spoke.

“The last time we did this,” he continued, “You got awkward and started avoiding me. You avoided me the whole time I was away. And that made me think that maybe, at some point that night, you changed your mind. And maybe you didn’t like what I was doing, what was happening, and you didn’t tell me.”

You swallowed hard.

“And I hate that thought,” he emphasized, “So if you’re asking me to go another ‘round, to help you out again, I need to be damn sure that you want it. Understand?”

You nodded your head.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” you stuttered and swallowed, trying to get control of your voice. “I understand.”

“Good. So if you want it,” he leaned closer now, his mouth barely brushing over yours. Those soft lips, you remembered how they worked so smoothly against yours, against your whole body. You lurched forward to capture them with yours but his hand shot out, pushing your chest so your back was pressed against the wall again.

“If you want it,” he repeated, leaning in closer still, “Fucking beg for it.”

#BFF!Bill #BFF Bill #bill skarsgard drabble #bill skarsgard fic

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takemealivelh · 6 years ago

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Battle of the Bands Pt.3

2.4k | Enemies to Lovers | Pt.1 | Pt.2 | I honestly tried to look for a better picture that would fit this but I couldn’t so

“You have a better view.”

To Jaida, there was nothing prettier than a Vegas morning. Pale pink-colored clouds and buildings, people walking with their coffees in their hands, either talking on the phone or with someone beside them. The Eiffel Tower made her feel like she was in Paris, even though she’d never left the states. She wondered if she’d be able to, after tonight.

Ashton shrugged from his position on the bed. Shirtless, red hair pushed back with a waking yawn, swollen marks on display. “Yeah, well… We’ve been around longer.” He reached out for a glass of water he had on the nightstand. “Are you nervous about tonight?”

The Billboard Awards started at 8 pm. Soundcheck was four hours prior and then the red carpet was at 6.

Jaida turned to face him and leaned against the window banister. “Not really." She played with the buttons of the red shirt Ashton had left over a month ago at her place. He thought it looked stunning against her skin color. Unbuttoned, revealing the dark lingerie she had put on for him, covering just the right amount of her bare legs. “I love performing live. I prefer it,” she sighed and spun back around, resting her forehead against the condensed glass that overlooked the city.

The sun was hidden behind the clouds. She liked these kinds of days, they made her feel peaceful. The wild recklessness from the night before had already vanished, all that was left was a comfortable feeling. She could’ve gone as far as describing it as cozy. It startled her. This was the first time she didn’t feel like Ashton’s presence was a bother.

She’d surprised him the night before by knocking on the door of his hotel room, only two floors above from her and JJ’s. Ashton had a beer on his right hand when he opened the door. He didn’t get a chance to utter a word when Jaida unzipped the floor-length trenchcoat she’d bought a few days ago -for this exact reason- and revealed his half-buttoned shirt on her body. Ashton’s eyes had widened, breath caught on the back of his throat. He slipped a warm hand between the fabric of the silk outerwear and the cotton of the red shirt and grabbed her by the waist, making sure no one was around before he pulled her inside.

“You want breakfast?”

Ashton’s voice was husky, drenched in sleep. Throat sore from all the grunting of the previous night. “I was supposed to join my mates downstairs for the buffet, but we can order room service.”

Jaida’s silence was longer than he expected it to be, he wondered what was going through her mind. She hadn’t left like she usually did, and he didn’t want her to go. Their hookups were consistently rough, fast and greedy, but last night had been different.

After pushing the trenchcoat off her body, Ashton had taken his time to tease her. He pressed his body against hers, pinning her against the nearest wall. His breathing had drawn out as he took the liberty to inhale the scent of her skin. He’d trailed slow, hot, suffocating kisses along her jawline. Jaida’s hands hadn’t gone immediately for the zipper of his jeans. She’d held onto his biceps, letting out small whines whenever his tongue would poke out.

“I’m craving eggs.”

Her voice snapped him out of the reminiscence. Ashton wrapped his fingers around the now empty glass of water. He took the time to explore her movements. The way two fine lines appeared between her eyebrows when she frowned. The way her frown seemed to last for only two seconds. How she brought her index finger -her fingernail, to be precise- to her right temple and tapped it four times. The way her chest and stomach seemed to rise when she took a deep breath through the nose, and the sizzling sound she made when she exhaled through the mouth.

She walked back towards him, standing close enough to feel the bed skirt on her knees. Ashton reached a hand to caress the outer side of her thigh, hoping that she’d lean down for a kiss.

“I’m gonna take a shower, can you order?”

It wasn’t supposed to feel like a stab in the chest.

He hummed and nodded, feeling the skin of his arms bristle at the embarrassment of his train of thought.

The water hit Jaida’s shoulderblades as she stood still. In less than 24 hours she would have to go on stage and perform. She hadn’t lied to Ashton, she really did enjoy performing, and she really did prefer that instead of playing in a studio or in a rehearsal room. The adrenaline her body experienced whenever the crowd would cheer, or when she’d catch a glimpse of a thousand people dancing, was addictive. Midnight Street had performed on live TV as well, several times, especially these past few weeks. Somehow, the Billboard Awards performance was stressing her. She didn’t like this new nerve-wracking feeling. She didn’t understand it.

Then again, it was the first time -in quite a while- that she’d have to go on stage, play and prove something to someone.

The tabloids were divided, some of them were on her side. Most of them were on Ashton’s. Even when the Midnight Street single had been streamed well over 60,000,000 times on Spotify, the only reason the numbers were so high was because of Ashton. Her band had a good following that’d been there since the early days. EPs, demos, they were popular. 5SOS was an internationally loved and well-respected band, she was nervous she wouldn’t be able to keep up. The reputation of Midnight Street rested on her shoulders.

“Food’s here.” Ashton knocked on the bathroom door. The steam was seeping through the cracks. She had been there for a long time.

“Okay!”

Jaida turned the faucet off and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. She hoped some kind of acupuncture would help her calm down. But she did not know acupuncture.

“Are you alright?”

The voice echoed through the tiles, travelling to her ears.

“Yeah!” she called, wondering if the weight on her chest would be gone by the night. “Just one second.”

Ashton had put on a pair of pyjamas bottoms to answer the door. He’d texted his bandmates that he had a rough hangover and he’d see them later for soundcheck. The smell of eggs and bacon filled the hotel room. Freshly squeezed orange juice, two mugs of Arabic coffee, whole-wheat toasts, a plate of strawberries, mangoes and pineapple. It took a lot for Ashton not to sink his teeth in the mouth-watering breakfast.

His eyebrows furrowed together when Jaida stepped out in a bathrobe. She had a towel wrapped around her head and her eyes were bloodshot red. Silently, she made her way towards the bed and sat on the edge, grabbed a piece of pineapple and chewed on it like she didn’t crave it. Ashton didn’t want to push her to talk, but he knew something wasn’t right. Her posture wasn’t the same confident one that drove him insane. She looked like a defeated warrior.

They ate in silence. Maybe he should’ve gone downstairs with his bandmates.

But she looked so worried. Ashton mentally cursed himself for thinking like an insensitive ass, but also for thinking like someone who cared.

A bluesy ringtone went off on the other side of the room. “That’s my phone.”

He watched her stand up and answer, he listened to her pretend she didn’t have a million things on her mind. She’d been fine the night before. She’d been tender under his touch and aggressive on top of him.

“I gotta go.”

Jaida huffed and quickly went to grab her stuff on the dresser. Ashton’s suit was hung above, a two-piece black suit and a striped black-and-white shirt. She had joked last night that he’d given her the only piece of color he had in his closet.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes!” She snapped. “Fuck! Yes! I’m okay, I’m-” She trailed off when she saw the concern on Ashton’s eyes. He hadn’t moved from the bed. He hadn’t moved at all.

A long sigh escaped her lips as she threw her belongings back on the dresser and stripped off the bathrobe. Ashton tried not to be hypnotized by her nakedness. It wasn’t the time.

“This is your fault. This is all your fault.”

Her words were harsh as she put the trenchcoat back on. Fingers shaking too much to slip on the lingerie. She let her hair fall, wet, behind her back as she tossed the towel on the floor.

“What? Jaida, what’s going on? You were fine last night, you were-”

“Well, clearly not now!”

They remained silent for a while, eyes locked. Her breathing had increased its volume and its pace. Ashton walked over to her and she shook her head, took a few steps back, the back of her legs hitting the dresser.

He noticed the dark stains on the trenchcoat, droplets of her hair. She looked pale, her lips looked chapped. “I just wanna help.”

Ashton whispered against her skin, arms hesitant to wrap around her waist and bring her closer to him. She looked up at him. “You’ve done enough. It’s your fault that I’m this freaked out about something I do for a living.”

It dawned on him. The countless interviews he had insulted her, he hadn’t thought she would take it so personally. But how couldn’t she, when he was attacking her every single day?

“To be fair, you weren’t so nice either.”

“Yeah, but my band isn’t as established as yours. After tonight, you will still have a career no matter what. I could fucking lose everything I’ve worked for. JJ has bent over backwards for this band, Ashton. Travis and Joel have nothing else. We have nothing else, okay?”

The fast vibrato on her voice broke his heart.

“Let me go!”

But he didn’t. Ashton held her tighter until she calmed down. He felt the tears against his naked chest and he cursed himself for getting too attached to this woman. The same woman who was crying because of him.

“I’m really sorry.”

Jaida pushed him away and wiped the tears off with the sleeve of her trenchcoat. “No, you’re not,” she scoffed.

Before he could say anything else, she picked up her things and pushed right by him, going for the door. “See you tonight, then.”

Jaida had to reassure her band that she was okay. They’d been exchanging looks when they noticed how her hands were shaking, or when she almost tripped on the stairs, or when she almost hit a wall.

“I’m fine! JJ, no. I’m really fine.”

She was dragged back inside the dressing room, JJ’s hand gripping on her wrist.

“Listen, I love you but you need to tell us, or at least tell me, what is going on, okay? Soundcheck is about to start. We can’t have you playing with shaky hands, Jaida. Tonight has to be perfect.”

“Ash, you’ve been staring at your phone a lot. Everything okay?”

It was just the four members of 5SOS in the dressing room. They had just done their soundcheck and were getting ready to go back to the hotel, take a shower and dress up for the red carpet. As the rest of them were putting their guitars and bass in their cases, Ashton was glued to the sofa, not engaging in whatever conversation they had going on.

“It’s about that girl, isn’t it?”

Michael’s voice seeped right through his stubborn brain. Ashton looked up at his mates.

“She was really freaked out this morning. She-”

“This morning?” Calum raised an eyebrow as the rest of the band walked over to where Ashton was sitting. They were intrigued. “You mean, you-”

“Yes, I fucked her last night.” Ashton shrugged and kept scrolling through his phone. He didn’t know what he was looking for, or if he was waiting for a text from Jaida or anything. “Yes, I have fucked her several times since we met. We’ve kept this thing going. And now she’s worried she’s about to mess up her band’s career because of me.”

No one said anything for a while.

“Fuck, she’s right, isn’t she?” Ashton threw his phone to the side and dropped his head between his knees in frustration.

“I mean,” Luke cleared his throat, “you started it, Ash.”

“You’ve said over and over again that Midnight Street is not gonna be around for long because of this, because of that… you really didn’t expect her to-”

Ashton stood up and interrupted Michael. “I can’t deal with this right now, I have to find her.”

“Do you think he likes her? Like, as more as someone he’s hooking up with?” Luke wondered after Ashton left the dressing room.

Michael shook his head, “I don’t know, mate. I do know he really thinks highly of her. And he respects her as a musician.”

“He’s so fucked.”

“Yeah.”

Ashton tried her phone, he tried her room, no answer. She wasn’t on the BBMA’s dressing room, she wasn’t on the hotel’s lobby. He couldn’t find her or any member of her band, for that matter. He needed to tell her that all of his stupid insults were because he felt threatened. Because he thought Midnight Street was a solid band and he didn’t want them to upstage his own.

The interviewers went straight for him as soon as 5SOS stepped on the red carpet.

Ashton, what do you expect of Midnight Street’s performance tonight? Are you going to be watching Midnight Street’s performance? Ashton?

Is Midnight Street’s performance, Ashton, something you’re looking forward to seeing tonight?

He avoided the questions.

“I’m looking forward to everybody’s performance tonight. I think it’s going to be a good night to celebrate music and to show our fans the thought and energy we put in our shows. As a band…”

Ashton didn’t give the answers the press wanted to hear. Instead, he stuck to the ones he hadn’t delivered before, but still rang true. He thought to himself how stupid he’d been, trying to put another band down instead of building up his pride and joy.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, he directed his eyes to where Calum was gesturing with his chin.

Midnight Street had just arrived.

“Fuck.” He mumbled under his breath.

Jaida looked like a vision. He was so accustomed to seeing her in power suits that he almost forgot how great her legs were. A fitting, thigh-length, burgundy dress

This was supposed to be the end of this fic but I couldn’t bring myself to write anymore, maybe one day I’ll finish this but I probably won’t. If you’re reading this, thank you. I just didn’t want to have this draft laying around and not posting it. I’m probably being impulsive and dramatic (that’s who I am) but I am not happy. It hurt to realize that so I’m either gonna take a break or just not come back. Some kind of explanation here. Thank you for reading. It has meant a lot to me.

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#ashton irwin #ashton irwin smut #ashton irwin fic #5sos #5sos smut #5sos fic #ashton 5sos

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writingrei · 6 years ago

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fragmented memories | chapter 6

The white haired half-demon and the black haired girl stared at each other until Kagome broke the gaze by glancing over at her desk before looking back at Inuyasha. His eyes snapped to where she’d looked, seeing 3 sacred jewel shards collected in a tiny bottle sitting on a desk.

Exactly what I'm looking for! Inuyasha thought.

He jumped for the bottle, snapping out his hand.

Kagome gasped upon even seeing him look at the glass container, shrieking, "INUYASHA, SIT!"

The girl's cry made him freeze up and caused the beads around his chest to glow. What the--! The beads forcibly dragged his whole body down to the floor, subsequently slamming his face down onto the end of the desk. Bringing down the front of the desk with him, the back of the desk flew up, turning it into a catapult.

Everything on Kagome’s desk flew off of it, a multitude of books thudding on top of Inuyasha. Time slowed as Kagome watched the jar of jewel shards fly up into the air. Keeping her eyes locked on it as it flew up, moving Souta behind her as she jumped up and snatched it out of the air. Stumbling a bit on her toes to avoid the glass shards on the floor, she hopped away and rushed back over to her younger brother who watched in paralyzed fear.

"Souta, come on!" Kagome practically scooped him up under her arm then frantically opened her door. "Just in case… SIT!" she screamed again.

Inuyasha, who was starting to recover from being slammed into a table, slammed into the ground again with a loud yelp. She ran down the hallway, Souta groaning in her arm.

"Kagome, is something happening?" her mother asked from down the hall, emerging from the room, her grandfather following suit.

Kagome shoved Souta into her mom's arms, him latching around her. "Sorry mom, I'll explain later. Please hide in your rooms, trust me!" she said, turning around and running down the stairs. The pink slippers slapped against the floor, she was thankful she wasn't barefoot.

"KAGOME!!!" Inuyasha screamed, his voice echoing through the house. Kagome could hear him coming after her at alarming speeds, tearing up the hallway walls in the process.

She slid open the door to her house, rushing out and not even bothering to close it. Kagome was met with the cold air from outside, goosebumps immediately running up her skin. Her pink pajamas were not good at keeping her warm. Sprinting to her family's well she clenched her hand, holding the jewel shards tight in it.

I need help. I need to get back to the well!

Looking behind her, Inuyasha quickly closed the difference between them, ready to tear her to pieces.

"Sit!" Kagome said.

He slammed into the ground again, but got back to his feet faster.

I don't think that's gonna work much longer…!

Though, it was a helpful distraction-- it widened the distance between them once more. The little shack that held the well came into her view. Her legs ached with the desire to rest as she continued to sprint, her lungs burning. She didn't expect to have such a workout so late at night in pajamas. The door was in her reach, but her relief came too soon.

Her leg locked the second it connected with the ground again, her momentum subsequently launching her into the door. Kagome’s body smashed into the door, throwing her down the stairs. She shrieked as she felt every corner of the little steps jut into her sides. She hissed at the pain as her body was thrown on the ground, right in front of the well. Her head spun, luckily she hadn't hit it on the fall. She rolled on her back, slowly trying to sit up.

A blur of a body flew over her head, landing on the well in front of her. Inuyasha turned around to face her, standing up on the ledge. His feet curled around the wood, ensuring that he wouldn’t lose his balance.

“Funny place you’ve run off to, Kagome,” he said.

She hated the way he said her name as if it were stupid. It was antagonizing, it was condescending. Memories of him looking at her with mellow and cautious eyes, of him yelling her name out of concern or even playful frustration rolled through her mind. The thought that Naraku took that Inuyasha away from her made her face flush with the heat of anger.

"Inuyasha…" she growled.

One of his eyebrows raised.

"JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!" Kagome screamed, standing up. She was still a bit loopy from the sudden fall, and her knee ached a bit, but this pain could not top the wrenching agony that knotted itself around her heart.

His ears perked up and his eyes widened, blinking a few times, he certainly didn't expect her to respond that way to someone threatening her life.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW AWFUL IT FEELS TO BE ATTACKED WHEN YOU'RE TRYING TO RELAX?!" she screamed, tippy-toeing to get into extreme proximity of Inuyasha’s face. He wobbled a bit, leaning back.

As Kagome glared up at him in the face, she observed his differing features. His eyelashes were extremely sharp and bold, and his eyes cold. Seeing the purple streaks etched into his cheeks made her frustrated, but not at him, only to Naraku. He was taken aback by Kagome’s outburst, his surprised expression the only thing that made him look as innocent as he once did prior.

"THE HELL DO YOU MEAN 'WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE'? WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!" he yelled back as he leaned down, smashing his forehead into hers.

The two teemed with frustration, not letting either of them be pushed back by each other's foreheads.

"I'M KAGOME HIGURASHI," she yelled, screwing her eyes shut as she put all of her strength into pushing Inuyasha back. "AND I JUST HAPPEN TO BE THE ONE WHO UNSEALED YOU FROM THE TREE!"

Inuyasha blinked, sucking in a quick gasp, the abrupt statement catching him off guard. Taken off balance, he wobbled on one foot, his arms swinging around frantically. Before he fell into the well he hopped back from the opening, landing on the ground behind the well.

Kagome took the opportunity to jump into the well, still clutching the jewel shard close to her heart. She heard Inuyasha scream "WENCH!" from above her, spiking her anxiety.

Why did I do that?! He could've killed me! I'm almost sure he would have… she thought, her own voice running frantically through her mind. Coming up face to face with someone who had the intention of killing her-- she should've been scared at the least. In fact, she was scared. She was terrified. Terrified of the thought of someone who she cared for deeply just killing her without a thought, with no regard or memory to the time they'd shared before.

But even then, she knew that he was still Inuyasha, the same Inuyasha who she'd spent months with. She hoped her harsh reminder of who freed him in the first place would actually spur some memories.

The blue haze of the well surrounded her as she traveled from the present to 500 years in the past. Kagome glanced behind her, seeing Inuyasha traveling behind her, his teeth gritted. She was thankful, that he wasn't near her, and that her family was no longer in danger. At least for now.

The glow around her faded away, softly landing on the ground of the well. She kicked off her slippers and shoved the bottle of jewel shards in between her teeth, jumping onto the wall and tried to climb up as fast as she was capable. She was used to Inuyasha or her family helping her out, trying to scale a well on her own was not the least bit fun. The rocks that lined the inside of the well's walls were greeted by Kagome’s hands and feet as she anxiously tried to get grips on it. Her hands ached every time she hoisted her self up one, and her heart pounded with every passing second that Inuyasha wasn't behind her.

Her arms burned, and her shoulders felt like they wanted to disconnect from her body. As adrenaline pumped through her veins, she ignored the pain and exhaustion surging through her body. She dug her nails into the wood of the well’s ledge, struggling to pull herself up. She dropped the tiny bottle out from her mouth, it landing on the grassy ground with a barely audible “clink”.

A cold, rough hand wrapped itself around Kagome’s ankle in a firm grip, trying to yank her down again as she cried out. She strained to hold onto the well, trying to shake off Inuyasha from her. His grip only got tighter as he yanked her again, almost making Kagome lose her own.

“Someone— please help!!” she cried at the top of her lungs, the volume of it scratching at the insides of her throat.

“Quit your crying, wench,” Inuyasha growled from down below.

Screwing her eyes shut, remorse filled her heart as she raised her free foot, making sure to grip the well tighter. She hesitated, but brought her foot down onto Inuyasha’s face, hearing a yelp from the pain inflicted.

She kicked him a few times, jabbing her heel right into his forehead and on his nose until he let go. I’m sorry, Inuyasha! I’m so sorry!

Hoisting herself out of the well, she grabbed the bottle off the ground, taking a sprinting start back in the direction of Kaede’s village.

Kagome panted, the adrenaline wearing off from her blood as the pain really settled in. Between quick and hard breaths, she took a big one and screamed out "HELP!"

A flurry of white hair peeked out in the corner of her eye, her head turning to meet it. Inuyasha outstretched his claws, swinging one arm up to meet Kagome. Turning around, she yelped, bringing up her arms in front of her face to cover herself.

Inuyasha claws raked up Kagome’s right arm, cleanly cutting through the pink pajamas she wore. She cried out, letting go of the tiny jar as Inuyasha cut through her skin. He smirked as his fingers were dyed red, thin trails of the priestess' blood dripping off of his nails, the smell of her blood filling his lungs. The shard in his heart grew dimmer.

Kagome's mind went blank as she fell to the ground, curling up as she grabbed her oozing wound. Her face scrunched up, fighting back the urge to scream and cry.

Inuyasha grabbed the jewel shards, holding up the jar between his index finger and thumb. "Thanks for the gift, Kagome, but you didn't need to be so fussy about it," he looked down at the girl bleeding into the dirt and grass.

She wouldn't open her eyes, but she was alive. The pathetic sounds that Inuyasha heard from her confirmed it.

"Inuyasha…" she whimpered, barely audible.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Please… don't do this," Kagome choked out. "It's… Naraku. Please. Don't listen to him."

What would she know about Naraku?

Inuyasha was interrupted before he could even question her.

"HIRAIKOTSU!" a voice yelled, followed by a giant boomerang cutting through the trees at Inuyasha. He jumped back, letting the boomerang dig into the ground he'd stood on before it flew back up into the sky.

Sango emerged from the forest with Shippo on her shoulder.

"Kagome!" they both cried.

Kagome trembled as she tried to sit up, her arms buckling underneath her. The heat she felt from the adrenaline wisped away as cold washed over her. The loss of blood she was suffering didn't help this either.

"Sango…" she whispered.

"Oh my god!" She dropped on her knees in front of Kagome. "What happened?!"

“Please… don’t worry about me,” she grabbed Sango’s kimono and pulled her down so that her mouth was by Sango’s ear. “Please. Please get back the jewel shards, but don’t hurt Inuyasha too badly, okay?”

Sango looked up at Inuyasha, who raced past them back through the forest.

“But--”

“Sango, please. I’ll get back to the village.”

Sango clenched her teeth, standing up and chasing after Inuyasha. Raising her hand above her head, her Hiraikotsu flew back into her grasp. She readied herself, leaning back and throwing the boomerang forward in Inuyasha’s direction. It spun vertically so as to avoid hitting trees and slowing down.

Kagome slowly got to her feet again, grasping the wound to stop the blood flow. She couldn’t bear to look at her arm and hands stained with her own blood, it was disgusting, and she wanted to faint. Her own desire to retrieve the jewel shards overpowered her brain’s desire to black out, forcing her to run after Sango and Shippo. She was grateful her legs were working for the most part, they definitely weren’t once she really got the time to rest. Shaking her head, she groaned. I’m going to be sore for days…

She took a deep breath.

"SIT!" her head spun after that scream, but she persisted on, hearing her voice echo through the forest.

"Oh, dammi--" Inuyasha was dragged down again, snapping the branch he had just landed on. The Hiraikotsu slammed into him square in the back, forcing out a sharp yell from his chest. The jar flew from his hand, landing in a bush nearby. After slamming into Inuyasha, the Hiraikotsu jammed itself into a tree, jutting out of the bark.

Inuyasha still slammed into the ground, his limbs spread out. He groaned in frustration, jumping up to his feet and faced Sango.

She skidded to a halt, bracing herself for an attack. Shippo growled at Inuyasha, but stayed relatively obscured behind Sango’s shoulder.

"Not so big without your boomerang, huh, wench?"

"Hey!" Shippo jolted up, pointing at Inuyasha. "She has a name, and it's Sango! Use it!"

Inuyasha sneered at the fox demon, who went back to angrily cowering.

Sango clicked something, and two blades raised from underneath her sleeves, tearing through them. She held up her arms and spread her legs, readying herself in a fighting stance.

"Shippo, are you sure you want to stay with me?"

He nodded, but still cowered, saying, "I want to fight!"

Inuyasha cracked his neck, then lunged for the demon slayer and the lesser demon.

----

"Damn it, what in the hell?!" Kouga cursed to himself, shielding his eyes from the dirt flying around him. He couldn't see past the thick gusts of wind swirling around him. "I ain't fallin' for the same trick twice," he said, squatting. His own wind circled underneath his legs, launching him up and out of Kagura’s tornado.

"Dance of Blades!" Kagura yelled immediately upon seeing Kouga emerge. She swung her fan, sweeping a barrage of sharp blades of wind at Kouga.

He yelped, doing his best to narrowly avoid the attacks in midair. Kouga landed on his feet with a hard thud, hissing from the pain of his feet slamming into the ground. He sprung forward at Kagura, who sent off another gust of wind at him to throw him back. It tossed him on his back, and he rolled back and sprung up on his feet.

“I don’t have time to waste with you,” Kouga growled, swiveling on his heel to try and take off in Inuyasha’s direction.

Wind swirled around Kagura, the same vortex quickly appearing in front of Kouga, bringing him to an unwanted halt. He glared at her, balling his hand into a fist as he let the power of the jewel shards allow him to sprint right up to her with ease.

He swung for her face, barely missing as she used her own wind to shove her out of the way.

“If you think I'm going to let you get your disgusting hands on my face again, you're sorely mistaken,” Kagura said, holding her fan in front of her legs and swinging it up into the air, yelling, “Dance of the Dragon!”

The sky swirled, spinning down multiple tornadoes to surround Kouga with the intent of tearing him to pieces. Many nearby homes were torn to pieces from her attack.

Miroku and Kohaku who fought nearby had their attention shifted to Kagura’s large attack. Feeling a strong gust targeting the two, Miroku grabbed Kohaku by the wrist and pulled him out of the tornado’s line of fire.

Kohaku gave no reaction, just stumbled across the ground from Miroku's quick save. He looked up at him with hollow eyes, his lips parting to say, “Your empathy towards this child will be your downfall.”

It was, in fact, Kohaku’s monotone voice that left his body but Naraku’s words that littered his speech.

“Naraku?!”

“I cannot afford to be distracted by the likes of you.”

Kohaku raised his free arm, weapon in hand, with the intent of stabbing Miroku on the head. Miroku batted his hand away with his staff, knocking the bladed part of the Kusarigama away from him.

“Kohaku, you need to listen to me. I have no intention of killing you, but you have to stop! Your sister needs to see you again.”

Kohaku groaned, stepping back. His face turned into that of distress, letting out light groans as he tried to take control of his own body.

I wish I could save him from Naraku’s grasp… for Sango’s sake, and especially for his own.

------

Kagome’s pace slowed, but she followed the sound of nearby fighting and grunting to Sango and Inuyasha’s location. She hid behind a tree, sliding behind a few more to get closer to the conflict. She peeked out from behind, seeing Sango and Inuyasha throw punches at one another. Sango was mainly on the defense, Inuyasha’s newfound speed greatly out matching her.

Shippo growled, climbing up onto the top of Sango’s head, pulling a top out of his pocket.

"FOX MAGIC SMASHING TOP!" he yelled, yanking on a string around the top and let it fly into Inuyasha. It poofed into a cloud, emerging as a top at least ten times its original size.

Inuyasha gasped, not being able to react fast enough as the top spun into his face. Pushing him back, he screamed as it burned his skin.

Kagome cringed, only imagining what he was feeling. A soft glow nearby caught her attention, seeing the light from the sacred jewel shards peeking from behind the leaves of a bush.

Only she could see the jewel shards' light, so the others wouldn't know exactly where it landed. She circled around, making sure to stay out of Inuyasha’s sight as much as she could. She dropped to her knees, crawling on her left forearm and right elbow, so as to prevent her wound from getting dirty. The bleeding slowed dramatically, the blood on her arm and hands drying up into a harder solid-liquid. Despite that, it still ached and burned when the wind touched it.

Inching closer to the jar, she circled the tree it was in front of, aimlessly reaching for it with her injured arm. Feeling it on the tip of her finger, she outstretched her hand to yank the bottle from the bush.

Kagome clutched it in her hand, peeking above the bush a bit to see where Sango and Inuyasha were. The two, and Shippo, were about 7 yards from her, still attacking one another. Shippo tossed another top at Inuyasha, who tore his claws through it with promiscuous ease. He squealed, crawling down behind Sango’s shoulder again. He saw Kagome waving slightly, and holding up the retrieved jewel shards. Shippo’s mouth opened, but he kept a gasp in to not alert Inuyasha of Kagome’s whereabouts.

Kagome nodded, hiding again to make her escape back to the village. A weight was lifted off of her chest but another was added, being her concern for her friends, especially for Sango and Shippo. She couldn’t do anything to assist them a fight, so the least she could do was prevent her… enemy from getting stronger.

She used another burst of energy to try and sprint back to Kaede’s village. She stumbled over rocks and tree roots, pausing to look up at a particularly large one. Her eyes glazed over, sorrow filling them as she recognized it as the tree Inuyasha had once died on. She hoped, at one point, that he’d remember who freed him.

Sango huffed, Shippo’s grip extremely tight on her shoulder. Inuyasha on the other hand, was not out of breath. He stepped forward, lunging at her again and swiped at her face. The demon slayer used his speed against him. She charged at him and slipped under his attack, curving to the left of him. Behind him, she raised her arm.

‘Don’t hurt Inuyasha too badly, okay?’ Kagome’s request played back in her mind.

Sango winced, closing her eyes as she cut down Inuyasha’s back, cutting through his clothes and skin. Shippo covered his eyes.

Inuyasha’s yelped and back arched, his whole body seizing up for a brief moment from the pain. Using her other arm she slashed his thigh lightly to not inflict permanent damage, but enough to immobilize him long enough for her and Shippo to escape. She fled the scene as fast as she could yanking her Hiraikotsu out of the tree and heading back.

She was rattled. She was amazed at how she fended him off, she felt lucky that she could return unharmed— at least this time.

Kagome saw the parting of the forest leading back to the forest. Her breathing was hard and deep, almost sounding like she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Sweat ran down her head and torso, sticking her clothes and hair to her skin. She felt so cold, her eyelids felt heavy as she trembled and her legs started to buckle underneath her. She slouched on a tree, clutching her chest with her uninjured arm as her chest heaved for air. Nauseous rolled in her stomach, occasionally gagging but forced it back down.

Her arm throbbed, the wound pleading for medical attention quickly. From the wound down, her arm was nearly entirely covered in her blood. Her skin underneath felt like it was on edge, the uncomfortable texture coating her arm made her want to claw the blood off.

“Kagome! Kagome!”

Kagome turned her head to the friendly voices. Shippo hopped off Sango’s shoulder, running to Kagome’s feet. Tears welled up in his eyes seeing the state she was in. Sango caught up, her eyebrows wrinkling in shock.

“I’m taking you to Lady Kaede,” Sango affirmed.

She leaned over a bit, letting Kagome fall onto her shoulder. Kagome was beyond the point of speaking, only focusing on slowing down her breathing. Sango essentially dragged Kagome out of the forest, Shippo following behind the two anxiously. She glanced into Kagome’s eyes occasionally as her breathing slowly reduced to a normal pace. She looked exhausted and sad, but there was no shred of anger towards Inuyasha and his attack.

Sango, on the other hand, was frustrated at him, though she knew her resentment was slightly unjustified. She almost wanted to blame everything on Inuyasha, she wanted to yell at him for hurting Kagome, and for not remembering who she was. She knew it wasn’t his fault, but she couldn’t help but be mad. Despite this, she was amazed at Kagome’s patience and hope towards this situation.

She didn’t look close to turning on Inuyasha any time soon.

——-

Do not pursue her anymore for now. Continue, and you will be killed.

“Naraku,” Inuyasha growled.

You’ve gotten too distracted with the demon slayer. You let Kagome escape.

Inuyasha’s ears perked up, sniffing the air. He was right, the scent of Kagome’s blood was significantly farther away.

You must stop relying on your hands and your own personal strength. Learn to use your Tessaiga and the power of the Shikon Jewel.

Crap, he was right again. The Tessaiga remained nestled against his waist, Inuyasha had forgotten all about it. He hissed his teeth.

Return to Kagura and Kohaku.

Inuyasha growled again, the vibrations of his anger rumbling through his body. He got off of his knee, a surge of pain spiking through his thigh. Ignoring it as much as he could, he continued to hop from tree branch to tree branch, his snowy white hair dragging behind him in the wind.

———-

Kouga danced around Kagura’s constant barrage of attacks, getting more and more frustrated the further he was from clocking her in the face.

Miroku returned to evading Kohaku’s attacks, dodging and blocking the Kusarigama with his staff. He hoped he would not be forced back into a corner, he had no intention of hurting the young boy, but he wanted to find a way to keep him behind with them.

Kagura watched Kouga idly, sending out a few Dance of Blades to distract him from evading her tornadoes. He got caught in a few, getting tossed and bruised a bit, Kagura snickering every time.

Kagura. Bring Kohaku and Inuyasha back.

She rolled her eyes, snapping her fan shut. Turning in Miroku and Kohaku’s direction, she called for the young boy. He immediately ceased his attacks on Miroku, sprinting back towards Kagura. The tornadoes parted for him, letting him through without injury. His hair whipped against his face from the wind’s harsh gusts. He stood next to her, becoming as still as a statue.

“Kagura!” Inuyasha yelled, sliding next to her once he emerged from the forest. His leg was hell to stand on, but he remained afoot regardless. “Hurry up and let’s go back,” he hissed at her.

She hissed her teeth, plucking a feather from her hairpiece for the trio to make their escape. Once in the air, her tornadoes dispersed, giving Kouga a chance to breathe. He did not let his moment of rest last long as he squatted and his own wind circled around his feet. Launching himself up at the escaping group, he tried to take one last swing of them before they really got away.

“Kouga, don’t!” Miroku yelled, a bit too late.

Kagura and Inuyasha gasped, but before Kagura could open her fan again, Inuyasha’s hand snapped to the hilt of his Tessaiga. Drawing it, it grew to an enormous dog fang and he swiped for the oncoming demon, narrowly missing him. The sound from Inuyasha cutting the air so swiftly left a ring in everyone’s ears.

Kouga yelped, seeing his own life flash before his eyes briefly as he’d come just under the blade of the sword. He fell to the ground, taking a hard crash and a dust cloud surrounded him from the crash. Inuyasha and the others watched his descent as they got further and further away. Miroku rushed over, kneeling down by the wolf demon.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Kouga wheezed for a second, following it with a cough. “I’m fine, damn it. I’m a damn full demon.”

Miroku sighed.

“Miroku!” Sango called, approaching him. “What… What happened? Where’s Kohaku?”

Miroku did not make eye contact with her. “He got away again. They all did.”

Sango hissed quietly, not surprised by the answer. She shook her head, Miroku finally looking up at her.

“Inuyasha,” she started. “He almost killed Kagome.”

“What?”

“HE WHAT?!” Kouga screamed, snapping up. “Where the hell is she now?”

“I left her with Kaede and Shippo.”

Kouga sprinted towards the house without a word, blowing the two’s hair and clothes around with his wind. They both just watched him leave and sighed.

“Wait, Sango. What exactly happened?” Miroku asked.

“When I was aiding the villagers, I’d seen Inuyasha leave the village and head through the forest. Something told me that if I didn’t follow him, something horrible would happen, so I did. By the time I had reached the well, Kagome was there again and she had been injured. I saw the blood on his hands.”

Miroku just shook his head in disgust. “Do you think Inuyasha drew Kagome back over here?”

“No. To me, it seemed like she had been chased out. She was running away from him.”

“I see.”

The two arrived in silence to a house that was quite the opposite. The two peeked inside to see Shippo wailing on the floor in fear of Kagome being dead, Ginta and Hakkaku desperately holding back a screaming Kouga who demanded for Kagome to confirm to him that she wasn’t dead, and a frustrated Kaede who was trying to assure them that she would be fine and tried to tend to her wounds.

“Hectic. As expected,” Miroku sighed, stepping back outside.

——-

Inuyasha observed the Tessaiga briefly before putting it back in its scabbard. It felt like an extra limb on him, swinging it around just felt like he was trying to chop someone easily. Naraku's incarnation stared daggers into Inuyasha with her flat red eyes.

“You,” she said. “What happened back there? You’re disgusting and bloody,” she said, taking note of the blood that seeped into her feather, dying it with a patch of crimson.

Inuyasha scoffed. “Damn wenches giving me trouble. One of them caught me off guard. Doesn’t matter though, these will probably be healed by the time we get back to the castle.”

“So it’s safe to assume you failed to steal those jewel shards from the priestess?

Kohaku sat idly between the two.

“Shut up,” he scoffed again, looking away. “I didn't get them now… but I know that won't be the case next time. I'll get those shards, no matter the cost.”

---

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#inuyasha #inuyasha fic #inukag #fragmented memories

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