#and the faintest whisper of a B plot

[thresholdbb]

Mmm, yes, the episode about the Donner Party Borg planet, of course

[venusguks]

Solace in Seoul

— Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x Fem!Reader (Reader x Kim Taehyung on the side)

— Summary : the falling apart of you and kim taehyung, and the coming together of you and jeon jungkook

— Genre/Warnings : plot driven, angst, smut, fluff, sugar daddy/baby relationship, student/teacher relationship w kth, bsfs2lvrs w jjk, unprotected sex, creampie, degredation, oral (f receiving), jk just wants to love you :(, jk is the absolute sweetest really, spit drinking?, praise ( TW : MENTIONS OF FAMILY ABUSE/BRUISES )

ACT 1. | 134340

The first time you talk to Jeon Jungkook again, your mind is elsewhere, absorbed in the lingering absence of Taehyung.

Spring's gentle breeze carried distant laughter and a faint melody from the music club two floors down. The sky carried drifting clouds, the ocean carried rising tides, and you — You carried the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Or at least it felt like it.

The piles of envelopes concerning last two months’ unpaid bills have been devouring your dinner table and heart alike. After receiving the countless of threatening voicemails from your landlord, you'd be naive not to expect a visit—but opening the door to Mrs. Joomi’s bitter scorn didn’t make you feel any less anxious. Juggling two part time jobs all the while maintaining A’s and B’s was nothing easy to accomplish. Hell, living wasn't even easy, and yet, it was like nothing you did was ever enough.

Grief was your composer and you were her violin—her cruel euphony reverberated through your tears when you sat on the cold kitchen floor last night, sifting between your savings that barely made up one month's rent. On top of your midnight breakdown, your dad decided to come home yesterday out of all days and, well, you know how that goes.

The door clicks open, interrupting you from your trance. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

Footsteps pad closer until Taehyung is right next to you. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and leans back against the metal railing, facing the opposite direction. It's quiet at first. You've noticed long ago that your relationship with him was one that was filled with silence. “Somethings bothering you,” He’s the first to break it. Neither of you take your gaze off the cerulean blue sky. “You could tell?”

“Of course I can, angel," his voice is cool, gentle, and it carries you away with the wind. "You dozed off through the whole lecture today."

Shame tinges your cheeks with the faintest pink, “oh... I’m sorry. I was paying attention, really, I was just—"

"Love," he saighs, "you have nothing to be sorry about. You could skip to sleep in the nurse's office for all I care. I'm just worried about you."

“What a good teacher you are,” you smile, a teasing one, but Taehyung chuckles dryly. “Trust me, if I was a good teacher, I wouldn’t be doing this," he sounds apathetic, but that doesn't stop you from frowning. You finally turn to look at him, his curls of deep brown swaying. “Taehyung... please don’t say that. You’re an amazing teacher, everyone knows it.”

You hoped he knew how genuine you were. God, you hoped to the moon he knew just how good he was. Taehyung may have already been admired for his captivating smile and his nonchalant energy, but everyone respected him for so much more. He was the type of teacher everyone wanted—the cause of counselor’s headaches every autumn for receiving heaps of transfer requests. Even parents and teachers fawned over him, baffled to see the passing rate in math tests accumulate over the years. It hurt that he didn't see that, and it hurt more knowing he didn't think he was respectable because of you.

The man tilts his head to look at you, smiling softly. “You know I’m only joking, doll.”

“Whether you're joking or not, I still... it just worries me when you talk like that,” you pause, "....do you really feel that way?" Do you really regret this?

Taehyung sighs, and the jeweled rings adorning his fingers are cold against your skin as he tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear. “Worrying is my job, angel, so tell me what's been on your mind instead."

If Taehyung noticed the hurt in your eyes, he chose to ignore it. He always did this. You got it, really, you did. There were boundaries for these sorts of relationships. One step closer would bring him one step back, which was why you never probed him any time he disregarded your questions. But a selfish part of you still felt it was a bit unfair, a bit painful to feel him slip away, to realize he was never there in the first place.

It was strange, how he made you feel. His thumb grazed your lips, his breath was light on your skin—if you concentrated hard enough, you swear you could hear his heart beat. He was only inches away.

So why did he feel so far?

Taehyung was your your lighthouse, your harbor, your shore. Through the snowy December nights where his fingers traced sensuous lines down your bare stomach, to the Spring showers of March where his cold lips brushed your inner thigh—Taehyung had always been your solace.

You knew tangling in sexual affairs with your teacher in return for sealed envelopes was wrong, but how could something so sinful feel so heavenly? The unspoken acts committed underneath draped curtains and moonlight's veil felt too dear to you to be called impure. By your sixth rendezvous, you started to wish the intimacy you shared with him could go beyond silk sheets and star speckled lust.

“I want you to confide in me too,” you said one night under the reluctant shadows of warmly lit candles. “I want to help you too, Taehyung. Please, let me help you.” You could tell he's been agitated the whole week, but you'd been too afraid to ask, afraid of him pushing you away. You didn't know where your courage came from then, all that you wished to be more than a distraction. “I don’t need you to help me," Taehyung growled, and you let out a muffled whimper when he rolled your clit with his tongue, your thighs trembling as you reached for his soft curls. "B-But I care a-about—ahn!" You arched your back as he inserted a finger inside of you, curling into your sweet spot with frightening accuracy. "Don’t need you any way else other than this, doll. Just be good and silent for me." That morning, you woke up to a bed void of the man you loved; a white envelope being the only remnant of that night.

You sighed as you recalled that memory, brushing your own fingers over his, tracing the metal bristles of his rings. “Its nothing."

“Don’t say that, angel. I know it’s not nothing."

“Really, Taehyung, i’m fine. Just stressed is all.”

“Stressed...as in financially?” Your sudden tenseness affirms his assumption, making him sigh. "You could've just told me earlier, angel. Tell me how much you need." A repulsing mixture of shame and self resentment brews in your chest, hardening like bitter dalgona. Dirty, despite money sparking your secret arrangement from the very beginning, that’s how you felt every time it was ever brought up. “Hey, look at me doll," as if reading your thoughts, Taehyung gently draws your face close to his with two hands cupping your cheeks, noses barely brushing. “Don’t ever feel guilty about this. Just treat it as an early birthday present, yeah?"

You couldn't help but frowning, your hands roaming the access of his collarbone. "You already do so much for me, Taehyung...I just...I-I feel bad." You failed to notice how rigid he became then, how his eyebrows dipped with evident frustration. "Y/n, you know that—"

Click!

Before you even realize it, you and Taehyung are off each other. When the blue, paint-scraped door opens, sleeked shoes and lively banter are welcomed by two students, diminishing with a glance at the both of you. "Ah, Mr. Kim, there you are! I was looking all over for you. What are you doing here?" A girl's eyes shift from you to the chestnut haired man. Taehyung easy recollects himself as he pats your shoulder, wearing a professional grin. "I stumbled into y/n here, was just giving her some advice but we’ve finished. What did you need me for?”

"Oh...well, about finals week..." You almost let out a sigh of relief as they continued their conversation, but your breath is instantly caught in your throat when your gaze flickers to the boy right next to her.

You were too startled by the sudden interruption that you haven’t completely processed his presence. You almost wish you hadn’t though, now that his doe, big brown eyes mirror your own.

Jungkook was unmoving, and you could've guessed he was conflicted—whether to say hi or to stay silent. Even if you were in the same grade, it was rare to see his face among the carbon copied uniforms. Class C—1 and C—4 were the furthest from each other, and with being the student council event coordinator, you were either neck deep in documents or tucked in the seclusions of the rooftop.

But due to the proud morning announcements and the hushed whispers of admiration, Jungkook never really strayed too far from your orbit. Referred to as the school's golden boy, Jungkook was loved by everyone. He was friends with members from the fashion department to the swim team to the gardening club—Hell, even the occult club. Teachers and students alike wore lenses of adoration for their school’s pride and joy while you tried your best to look away. He may have been in your orbit, but you were two different worlds, encapsulated by the universe but separated by light years of meteors and stars. Jungkook was a nameless planet to you, as you were to him. You never brought yourself to think about it—never had the time for anyway, so seeing him there, floating with the drifting clouds, even you felt a tad bit shaken.

“—kook...Jungkook, hey, Jungkook! I’m gonna go get my assignment with Mr. Kim. Come with?” He blinks profusely, averting his attention from you to the girl wearing raised brows. “Uh, no thank you. Breaks gonna end soon anyways, I think I’ll stay up here. See you after school though?”

“After school,” she clicks her tongue, waving before disappearing down the stairs. Taehyung lingers for a second longer, his eyes flickering to you. “Well I’ll see you next period, Jeon. Bye, y/n." With that, the door shuts behind them, welcoming an air of awkward silence.

Jungkook is the first to clear his throat, “hi, its been awhile," his earrings dangled with his every nervous movement, and you wondered when he'd gotten all his piercings. "Y-Yeah, its been awhile..." you repeat densely as you watch him take the spot Taehyung left, respecting a distance but not standing too far away. He rests his forearms on the metal railing, his elbow barely brushing yours. “Do you usually come up here?"

"Only during lunch."

He hums, "that explains why I never see you."

You frown, both in curiosity and confusion. "You look for me?"

“I-I don’t!” He sputters too quickly. “I just...its just an observation. We’re in the same year after all, and you’re never with the rest of the student council members.” Your brows raise in amusement, “that's surprising.”

“What is?”

“I didn’t think you remembered my name—honestly didn’t think you even remembered I existed.”

“Of course I remember,” he chuckles, “we’ve been friends for 17 years. How could I forget?”

“14 years,” you reminded softly, “we’ve been friends for 14 years.”

A star in Jungkook’s eyes must have died out when you smiled sadly at him. “Oh...right...” he rubs the nape of his neck, sighing. “This is strange, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you agree, “strange.” And there it is again. Spring’s momentary silence. You watch as the sun slowly disappears behind sailing clouds. Talking to Jungkook, being alone next to him, was maybe even a little bit uncomfortable. After all, you guys had so much history—where do those film rolls of sun seeped memories go? It was as if they floated all around you, tying your fingers together like the red string of fate. After all those years of suppressing them, it was intoxicating, adamant to be remembered.

“This reminds me of middle school,” Jungkook brings your head back from the sky. “In 5th grade, the highest we could go was at the top of the garden shed. We spent all our breaks there, staring at clouds, complaining about Mr. Lim being too grouchy, or wondering where we'd go after school—what ice cream flavor we’d get at the convenience store. Do you remember?”

"Of course I do," despite yourself, your heart softens to the recollection. It was your secret hiding spot, blocked by the slant of the roof and the trees barricading the other side. The sky, wind, and Jungkook had been your only escape from the problem solving in math and the problem solving you had to do on your own when you were 10, wondering what the budget for that week's grocery would be. “We thought we were so cool, that we were on top of the world.”

“Correction, you thought you were so cool. You even promised to show me your own space ship, remember?”

“God, please don’t,” you groan, covering your face with your palms. You knew exactly where this was going, and you guessed Jungkook still knew exactly how to embarrass you. “You told me you were a space—“

“—adventurer!” You beamed a toothy grin, two hands proudly on your hips. Jungkook looked up at you with sparkling eyes, pupils as large as beloved full moons. “You mean...an astronaut?”

Your smile immediately drops into a disappointed frown. You demanded upmost reverence, so you didn’t really appreciate it when he questioned you. “No, no. Not an astronaut. A space adventure. s-p-a-c-e a-d-v-e-n-c-h-u-r-r. Gosh, Kookie. If you want me to bring you along in my journeys, you have to keep up.” Jungkook only nodded, trying his best to stifle a chuckle. He won the 3rd grade spelling bee, so he was at least 85% confident the word adventurer didn't have a 'ch' in it.

He decided to let it go though. He knew—the same way he knew that you’d certainly cry if he corrected you—that you were afraid of heights. If it took weeks to encourage you to finally climb a roof, he was the certain you wouldn’t be able to handle the height of the galaxy. But then again, he always had a soft spot for you. “I’m building a space ship right now actually! Its called the Bon Voyage. When it's finished, I’m going to Pluto. You won’t believe how big space is. There are strawberries there!"

Jungkook’s eyes widened at your silly declaration, and even then, he felt sad. He knew that being a space adventurer—being able to maneuver gravity and time on your own whims—was only an innocent imagination of escapism, but still. Every single time you’d flinch when a hand was brought up near you, every time you’d pull on your jacket despite it being hot, he wished your imagination could be real. Wished he could make it real for you—keep you safe from earth and all your troubles.

“I’d like to see the strawberries.. with you,” Jungkook smiled softly. You grinned, and it was the most precious thing Jungkook saw as you stuck your pinky finger out. “Then it’s settled, I’m taking you with me.”

“To pluto?” He wrapped his small finger with yours, and you sealed it with your thumbs pressed against each other's. “To pluto!”

Jungkook was in a fit of laughter, and despite burying your face further into your hands, you couldn't help but smile. “I can’t believe you knew I was lying. God, I must’ve looked like a total idiot.” His elbows were pressed against yours now, sending a surge of warmth to your heart at the familiar skin ship. Jungkook must have not noticed, for he only kept giggling, and you certainly wouldn't bring it up. “It was cute, really. The strawberries and everything. It was really cute.”

"Whatever, Jungkook," you rolled your eyes, and uncovering your eyes, you looked at him. Truly looked at him this time. His smooth, unwrinkled uniform. His hair that grew over time, kissing past his eyelashes and swaying with the wind. The tiny mole peeking under his bottom lip, the familiar scrunch of his nose as he grinned widely. The speckled brown of his eyes were so warm, almost dreamlike against the golden sun. Under long years of an uncalled contact, of an untouched hand, of a voiceless wonder—‘how have you been?’ ‘what was on your mind today?’—you saw the Jungkook you once knew, your dearest friend. And with his smile, you found your heart aching and full at the same time.

ringggggg!

The alarm jolts the both of you, severing spring’s heartbeat as loud chatter and footsteps disrupt the moment from open windows.

You only stare at each other for a brief second before you give a half smile, “that's the bell, we should go.” Without waiting for an answer, you followed the pace of the rest of school, but before you could take a step down the staircase, Jungkook takes your hand. His grip isn’t tight or rough. Its gentle, reluctant. You turn around, and the sun is behind him, kissing the back of his head with its golden, stray flakes.

"What is it?" You furrowed your brows. “I...its just..." It takes a moment before Jungkook speaks, cheeks tinged with a faint red. "Y/n I, I miss—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt in masked panic, averting your eyes as you pulled your hand back. In truth, you were scared. Finals week would be soon and you didn’t think you could handle any more mental strain than you already had, especially not with him. “I-I think we’re going to be late.” Jungkook eyes widen for a second, stricken with dejection. He mumbles, “right...”

You don’t dare to look at him, turning away, you say, “it was nice talking to you again. Bye, Jungkook.”

ACT 2. | DAYTIME SHOOTING STAR

The second time you see Jungkook again, the spring showers are sharp against your skin. You had just gotten off from your 6 hour shift, and where the sunset hues of timid pink and vibrant yellow were supposed to be, the overcast sky was instead. It's been about 30 minutes since you clocked off, but you knew your dad was home, so you decided to take the long way back.

It didn't matter that you were a blur of blue walking in grey tainted streets. Didn’t matter that the downpour soaked your clothes or that cars occasionally splashed you with murky road puddles. You could be anywhere, and anywhere would be better than where your dad was.

Droplets drooped down your eyelashes, dribbling down onto your phone. It’s screen illuminated your color drained face. You stared at Taehyung’s contact, biting your lip nervously.

YOU :

hey taehyung, can i come over? if that's possible of course|

hey taehyung, can i come over? i|

hey taehy/

.../

i need you|

Your thumb hovered over the tempting, blue send button. Press it, Y/n. Just press it. (But would he mind?) He said it was okay to ask for help. (But... what if he's busy right now?) It's okay to ask. (You'd just be bothering him. If you're too needy, he'll push you away, you know that.) Just press the damned—

“Y/n!” A hand reaches your back, and although it was a mere brush, you yelp in alarm, instantly stumbling back. When you're sure you're about to be submerged into a puddle, a hand firmly grasps your forearm, steadying you as the said person pulls you closer to them. The rain stops—or rather, patters against an umbrella now hovering over you. Your eyes flutter from the hand holding you to the hand holding the umbrella handle, and lastly, the holder.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Jungkook half laughs. When you don’t reply, your mouth only agape, he adds, “are you okay?” It takes you a moment before you nod. You were close, as close two people could be under a small umbrella (or was it because Jungkook has gotten really big?), so you take a step back. But before you could feel even one raindrop on your face again, Jungkook pulls you back into him, “I don’t want you getting sick, y/n.”

“I’m already soaked anyways,” you frown, but he only disregards you. “Where are you heading?”

“Nowhere.”

When his brows threatened to crease, you add, “Got off work a few minutes ago, I was just taking a stroll.” Jungkook opened his mouth, and you were sure he was going to say something in the lines of, “in the rain? have you gone mad?” But to your surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers intertwine with yours. “My homes not far. Come with me?”

"Your...home?” You repeat dumbly, disregarding how warm his hand was—how you missed it, how right it felt in yours. “Yeah, if thats okay with you. If not, then mind if I walked with you?” You pause, taking in Jungkook’s attire. What he was doing in a button down, black trousers, and sleek shoes, you didn’t know—but his dry state save for the few droplets on his clothes meant that he'd much rather prefer to be under a roof. You weren’t sure if he was going to take no for an answer, and being under shelter did sound pleasant. At least, more pleasant than being in wet socks. “Okay,” you say, “take me home.”

When you arrive, you're relieved to discover Mr. and Mrs. Jeon are on a business trip. You missed the Jeons, truly—they were the only family you’ve ever known, but you didn’t think you were ready to see them again.

You remembered Jungkook’s house being an absolute palace when you were a child—modernized with elegance adorned with a scenic garden and a clean landscape—but it still didn’t fail to leave your jaw agape. Expansive was always an understatement. “Here, get changed,” Jungkook hands a towel, an oversized sweater and sweatpants, and of course, fuzzy socks. You only nodded as he led you through the familiar halls to his room. “Just call for me when you’re done, kay?”

“Mm,” you mumbled, still in a daze even after he left. Bittersweet nostalgia filled your nostrils with the scent of vanilla and almonds, a soy candle he still apparently loves. It's only been three years since you’ve last set foot on his grey, hardwood floors, but you still noticed the subtle changes. Instead of pokemon action figures—burnished, golden trophies filled his glass shelves. They were only a few Jungkook was really proud of, otherwise his room would be brimmed with his accomplishments.

Picture perfect polaroids capturing euphoric memories and cheerful grins scattered Jungkook's walls. A refined stereo set replaced the bright blue boom box of your childhood, the one covered with doraemon stickers and scratches. Memories of 4th grades' January flooded your mind, when the blandness of the month was disrupted with color as the two of you jammed to Ego by JHOPE on repeat. Jungkook may have added and taken a few things out, but you found anchor in what stayed the same. His plants that hung from the ceiling were still there, ivies draped with growth over the past years. Kim Namjoon, Jungkook’s long time idol, smiled from a framed poster on his wall. Everything was still polished with his neatness, a habit you had always commended him for.

As you dried your damp hair, a photo frame catches your eye, sitting on the side of his bookshelf. Your breath catches in your throat. You slowly walk to the dainty item, painted white and blue to resemble noon skies. In the corner of the frame ignited a bright, pale limerence. Sparks of vivid blue and tangerine whipped through the wooden confines. You felt your heart thump against your chest. It was a—

"Daytime shooting star!" You gleamed, holding a paint brush into the sky, the handle rough from years of dried paint. It was a hot summer day, a few weeks after the end of seventh grade. Cicadas sung adamant songs through Jungkook's cracked open window as the two of you sat on his floor, blanketed with a fuzzy iron man carpet.

He looked at you quizzically, "a daytime shooting star?" As far as Jungkook knew, there was no such thing. "Yeah," you chirp. "That's you, Kook. You're my daytime shooting star." Jungkook nearly dropped his paint brush then, risking his favorite carpet as he looked at you, wide eyed with stun. You were wearing his t-shirt as per usual, your face smudged with blue paint and an innocent smile. Jungkook hated you for it.

It was always your choice of words—my Jungkook, my Kook, my Kookie, and now, my daytime shooting star—that he swore would be the death of him every single time. He didn't even know what you meant, but he didn't care, because being called yours was enough to kill him.

"Th-Thats stupid," he mumbled as he looked away, a futile attempt to hide his burning cheeks. "That doesn't even make sense." When the air shifted to silence, Jungkook immediately regretted his words. He quickly turned back around, fearing he accidentally hurt your feelings due to his own fluster. Maybe that was when Jungkook realized you really had grown up since the 6th grade, because this time, tears didn't drip down your cheeks. Instead, your eyes were curious and doe as you tilted your head to your side. "Does it matter?"

"What?

“A lot of things don’t make sense, but does it have to matter?” You frowned.

“I-I don’t—”

“I like you a lot, Kook,” and though you weren't at the least bit shy saying so, Jungkook’s emotions exploded everywhere. “I don’t think you need reasons to like someone, but you’re my daytime shooting star, Kook, and that's my reason. Can't I just like you? Does it...does it have to make sense?”

It felt like light years as Jungkook stared, red as he looked into the golden specks of your eyes, glinting from the blazing sun. “I-I don't know,” he gulped, his voice small. He was going to leave it at that at first. He didn't know what to say—what he could say. His mind was as clumsy and berserk as a deflating balloon to your previous words, but when he saw your sullen eyes and mopey pout, he felt an inadvertent panic in his gut.

His eyes shifted to his boom box. Etched on the side of the speaker was Doraemon, giving him a childish wink and thumbs up. Jungkook groaned in annoyance and you looked up, curious as he scratched the back of his head. "M-maybe we could...see it," he mumbled, barely grumbling, but your heart leapt with every syllable of his words. "Someday, together. The—"

“Daytime shooting star.”

You jumped, instantly whirling around to see Jungkook leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed over his torso. His eyes were soft, as if his gaze itself caressed you. “Y-You...” your thumb grazed the flimsy wood. “You still have this.”

“Yeah, and I still don’t have a photo,” he chuckled, making his way towards you. “14 years of friendship and you’d think we’d finally have a perfect picture to put in the frame.” It was pretty silly now that you thought about it. Despite spending a whole summer’s day decorating the item with childlike ambivalence, you never allowed Jungkook to slide a photo in it. No, it couldn’t just be any glossy photograph. You fussed over the concept of a perfect portrait, but nothing ever satisfied you enough, and with each passing year, it must've slipped your mind.

“I don’t get it... We haven’t talked for like, three years, and you still have this?”

"Does it have to make sense that I did?” Jungkook tilted his head, his eyelids lowering to look down at you. You open your mouth to reprimand him for using your words against you, but no words come out. Fuck. You swear it was his eyes—you’ve always said they were full of magic when you were children. It must’ve been that damned spellbinding luster that stole your voice. “What did you mean?” Jungkook takes a tentative step forward.

“Huh?” It came out like a breath.

Maybe it was the dim incandescence of the room, complementing the silhouette of his sculpted physique. Maybe it was the fact that the cloth he wore seemed too thin, too tense around his biceps and broad shoulders. Maybe it was because his first three buttons were left unclasped, teasing the faint outline of his chest. Or maybe it was the fact that you were so used to being in eye level with him—hell, looking down at him in the earlier points of your life. But you realized then, as Jungkook stared at you with a glint you couldn’t seem to quite recognize, how small you felt in front of him. Under him.

“When you said I was your daytime shooting star. You never explained it to me, what you meant,” Jungkook takes one final step forward, and the distance between you is insignificant. You don’t move—didn’t even think you could with your back pressed against his bookshelf. You could only return his gaze, doe eyes wavering beneath his. “What I meant to you...what I still mean to you.”

Your breath hitches, “Kook...”

“Fuck, I missed that,” his voice is low, breathless as his fingers brush your cheeks. “So fucking much, Y/n. I missed you calling my name, whatever you say. Kook, Kookie, Jungkook—I don’t care, just missed your voice, I still do. Don’t you know? Everyday, how much I long for you?”

Your eyes widen at his assertion. Wherever this was coming from, you didn't have the heart to stop it. "J-Jung—"

“—I miss you, Y/n. Any time I'm not around you it hurts and every time I am it hurts even worse.” His voice is so gentle, you fear he could hear the rhythm of your heart beat, palpitating with the heavy raindrops against his window.

“Why....why did you push me away?”

The waves were restless that cold, autumn night—you saw it through the fogged window of the train. Exhaustion tugged your eyes and your muscles screamed with every movement. As the train tracks rumbled beneath you, you wondered if you were even alive anymore, at least, it didn’t feel like it. All that was certain to you was the midnight stars outside, following you no matter where you went.

You didn’t know when the train entered the station, sighing to a stop as the doors slid open with a loud gush. It was probably 2am—Maybe 3, and the carts didn’t hold people this time around. At least you didn’t think it did, you honestly didn’t have the energy to even think about it. You only wondered how further you could go without knowing exactly how far you already went. Your neck ached from your head hanging low, and if it was cold, you didn’t feel it. All you felt was numb. An aching, dull pain eating away at your heart.

It was when you heard rushed heaves and loud footsteps that your eyes widened to see a familiar pair of green converse stop in front of you. You lift up your head to see Jungkook, cheeks red either from crying or the cold, maybe both. His brows were deeply furrowed as he crouched down, his hands gripping your shoulders.

“C-Can you hear me, Y/n? Are—are you okay?” You only nodded. He felt like a mirage, a dream.

You didn’t know what he saw in you that caused the droplets of sorrow to drip from his eye—whether it was the bruises covering your body, or the deep eye bags from restless nights at work—but it made you sad, how he looked at you. You wished he’d stopped. You wished you could be so far away that he didn’t have to look at you anymore.

“You’re, fuck, you’re freezing,” Jungkook quickly pulls his coat off and swathes it around you. “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here earlier.” You shook your head, your dull headache being replaced with confusion. “Why are you even apologizing, Kook? H-How did you even find me? Why are you even here?” You had turned off your cell the whole day and gave no indication to where you’d be. You didn’t even tell Jungkook how you were feeling, it made no sense to see him there, holding you.

“We’re soulmates remember? Of course I’d know,” Jungkook tries his best to give a smile. “I’m here because you are. Just—look, lets get you out of here first okay?” Before you can tell him you can walk by yourself, he lifts you up, taking your hand as he leads you out. “The next train back to Seoul arrives in 8 minutes,” Even when Jungkook and you sit down on a bench, he doesn’t let go. He’s shaking, you realize, with his fingers intertwined with yours. It was as if he wanted to hold you tighter, but he was afraid. Afraid of what? Afraid of hurting you? Or afraid of you hurting him if you slip out of his grasp any further?

“How did you know?” You begin again. “I told you I was sick, I called the school too. A-and how did you even know where I was?”

“You called in sick for three days Y/n,” he frowns, “and you haven’t texted me once. I was so worried, fuck, I was so fucking worried when I went to your house to see that you weren't there. All my calls went straight to voice mail, and I saw...I-I saw the shattered beer bottles, the blood. I-I panicked, even thought of calling the police,” when your face goes rigid, he assures you, “of course I wouldn’t though, I would never do that you. But anyway, it took me awhile to guess, and I wasn’t even sure—just started running. I imagined you’d definitely be in a space ship to Pluto right about now, but I took a risky bet on the train station. You know, being much more accessible to us and all.” When Jungkook finishes light heartedly, you give a dry laugh, “you know me so well, Koo."

His small grin falls shortly as silence does, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb on your hand. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, sad, “You always...you always said you’d bring me. We’re a team aren’t we? You and me, I-I thought...I would’ve been there, Y/n. You know I'd be there for you in a heartbeat. Don't you trust me?”

"Of course I trust you, Kook," you quickly assure him through your thin veil of tears. It hurt too much to know you were the reason for the crack in his voice, for the ache in his heart, for his glazed eyes. You couldn't stand his pity, but you couldn't stand being the source of his grief either. "Then why didn't you call me..? All I ever wanted was to be there for you, all I ever want is to be by your side, y/n. Why won't you just let me help you?”

“Because you don’t understand, Kook,” you croak. “You don't understand how hard it is for me—how hard it's always been. It'll only ever always be like this, and I-I can't just...fuck Kook, I can't just depend on you every time I get hurt. My problems are for me to sort out, I have no one but myself.”

“But you have me, y/n," the tears you fought so hard to hold back falls when Jungkook covers both your cheeks with his hands. The boy inhales sharply, trying to calm himself from crying any longer as he presses his forehead against yours. "It hurts me so much when you talk like that, y/n. You have me, you always have me. A-and it scares me because sometimes it just feels like I don't have you, that I never did and—"

"Jung—"

"You’ve been so distant lately," his breath is shaky and hot against your skin. "....It feels like you’re going to leave me. Please, don’t. Don't leave me behind like this, y/n.” You don't say anything else, too overwhelmed with his heartache beating with yours. In that cold autumn night, all you could do was cry in his arms.

The train arrives shortly.

“Lets go home," Jungkook murmurs sweetly against your skin. He kisses your forehead softly, and when he does, it feels like you already are home.

“Come here,” he grins, standing up with his hand out. You take it. “Have you eaten yet? I can make us food when we get back. What would you like?”

“Honestly? Just ramen.” Jungkook groans as you step inside the desolate train cart. “You know I could cook something way better for us."

"Nothing is better than ramen with eggs, Kook," you chide, giggling when Jungkook rolls his eyes. You take your hand away from him, and Jungkook tenses, only to relax when you cup his cheek once more. “But seriously, thank you, Jungkook. For everything. For worrying, being here for me, for finding me." He smiles, his eyes like crescent moons luminescent with love as he looks down at you, "always.”

"You said you'd do anything for me right?”

“Of course, anything, y/n.”

“Then please stop after this," you keep your small smile even as Jungkook's brows furrowed with confusion. You said it so simply, so plainly that he thought he might have heard you wrong. "What do you...?"

“Nothing will change after this. Nothing. I can't escape from my life, I can't escape from debt or my dad no matter how hard I try—and being the cause of your anxiety won't help me. I don't need a savior, and I don't think you need me holding you back either. We're burdening each other Kook.” With a heavy gush, the train doors start sliding shut and before Jungkook can even comprehend your words, you step out. “Don't have worry about me anymore, okay?”

“W-Wait— y/n—!” He’s quick to run, but it's too late. The doors slide shut, finally severing the thin red string of fate that held the two of you.

The rain falls with your tears as you cry into your hands, guilt washing over you like tidal waves. You remember his face the most, how heartbreak and betrayal etched with the dying fade of his smile. How you left him that day, how you left him everyday after that.

“I-I was just so tired, so tired of everything. I... I'm so sorry I pushed you away. I just didn't want you to worry about me anymore. You were always so good, everything about you, and I was scared I was holding you back and...and it hurt too much to stay knowing I was." Jungkook’s arm wrapped around your waist as his other hand gently pulled your head to his body. You're too stunned to move, but when you gather yourself, you decide you don't want to. You just cry, burying your face into his chest, your hands tightening around his shirt.

"I never once stopped thinking about you, y/n," he mumbled into your hair. "I never once not worried, never once not looked for you, and you—god, y/n—you never once held me back. Silly girl, don’t you know you were the only one who kept me together?” Jungkook lets out a noise, somewhere in between a sigh and a groan as he lowers his head onto your shoulder, "I did everything, anything to keep myself distracted from you. Competitions, sports, art, studies, friends.” His soft hair tickled your jaw as he nuzzled closer into the crook of your neck. “But I couldn’t, y/n, it was always you, it was never not you. Do you know how torn I was, watching you and not being able to talk to you? To hold you, be afraid of losing you even more than I already had?"

The pitter-pattering of the rain against the rooftop fills the voice you can’t seem to conjure. "Did you ever miss me?” Jungkook pulls away, and your eyes lock with his under the blue world. You realize then, by looking at him, just how scared he was. If you pushed him away again, he didn’t know what he’d do.

Reluctantly, you bring your hand to sweep Jungkook's tousled bangs away, brushing your fingers against the shell of his ear. "I did," you whisper, and more clearly, "I-I did, of course I did.” When Jungkook doesn't respond, your hand trails down his neck ... to his shoulders ... to his chest. "Do you hate me?"

Jungkook inhales sharply, "N-no." He could never.

"Your heart is beating so fast.... are you afraid?"

"I am."

"I am too," you lift his hand and place it against your own chest, laying it atop your own heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump, you don’t catch the pink of his cheeks when you’re too busy staring at the sad stars in his eyes. "I was too, back then. I know it's selfish, and i-i'm sorry I hurt you, but I hope you understand what kind of position I was in. I was so young, so scared—I just wanted to be alone, felt like it was a way to protect myself from anything else that could hurt me. I’m different now, I think, more stable—whatever that is," you chuckle dryly. "I can’t promise I won’t push you away, but I won’t leave anymore, really, s-so...."

Jungkook's eyes soften, his lids lowering when you say, "Can you trust me?"

"Of course," Jungkook breathes, “always.”

ACT III. | EPIPHANY

"Just go to sleep already, Jeon."

You've been repeating yourself for the past 3 hours, watching him restlessly saunter around his room. "...swear i’m missing something, I just don't know what..." Jungkook, like the countless of other times, dismissed you as he continued to tap his finger on his chin, mumbling to himself in intense focus. It was only when you’ve finally had enough, groaning and hurling a tissue box at him—which he instantly caught with ease—that he finally noticed your glare. "What was that for?"

"I said just go to sleep already!" You exhaled frustratedly, "you packed your whole room at this point, Kook. I swear you have, like, triple of everything you don't even need—so for the thousandth time, could you please just shut the lights?" It's been a few weeks since that one spring evening, and time started ticking again with Jungkook by your side. It took you awhile to adjust to his company, it was odd—but everything was odd at this point. Odd but comforting when Jungkook started visiting the rooftop every lunch, odd but reassuring when he'd pick you up after every shift, and odd but exciting to spend the night with him before the anticipated field trip to Jeju island. The four days were a granted escape before the tumultuous finals of the upcoming winter. Even you were a bit eager to go, having finally taken a justified leave off work.

"Fine, fine, but if I do end up forgetting something important, I blame you," Jungkook huffs, sauntering to the light switch. “Go ahead,” you roll your eyes, and with a small click!, a satisfied sigh escapes your lips. “Finally,” You snuggled into his pillows, but when the bed dips down right next to you, you realized you had forgotten to ask Jungkook to shut his mouth as well. "Will you sit next to me on the way there?" You squinted to the darkness, raising your brows at the silhouette of his figure. "Jungkook, you're literally my only friend, do you even need to ask?" He chuckled, "but will you? We don't have to sit with my friends if you don't want to."

You hummed, thinking as Jungkook carefully brushed loose strands of hair away from your face, the warmth of his fingers trailing down the side of your neck. You were reluctant about being seen with Jungkook at first, but the choice wasn't left to you when his friends spotted you and him at the library sometime ago. It honestly wasn't as bad as you expected, and more surprisingly, you even clicked with a few with them. Seokjin was one you gravitated to the most, being a truly funny and charming senior that you felt you could look up to. "No, it's fine. I like your friends." Jungkook’s head perked up, and the darkness captures the bright twinkle in his eyes. "Really, you do?" You smile, knowing how happy that must have made him. "Really, I do. Now can we please go to sleep? I'd like to be at least remotely awake for the first day."

“Okay, okay, grumpy head," a bunny like grin appears on his face as pinches your cheek, chuckling when you only grumble in return.

He strokes your hair down one last time before placing a kiss on your forehead. “Good night, y/n.”

"Good night, Kook," the reassuring warmth of his skin leaves yours, and you hear him shuffle in his own mattress on the floor. It's been awhile since you've felt like this, so safe. Though it didn't necessarily matter, being with Jungkook was different with Taehyung, you noticed. When it came to Taehyung, it was as if all your problems could dissipate with his touch. That for a moment, they could just disappear.

When it came to Jungkook, though, your problems were still there. They existed, they were real, and yet, when you with him, it felt like everything would be okay. He was like a breath fresh air, and you felt like you could get through anything—whatever it may be, as long as he was there. With that thought, you slowly, but surely, drifted to sleep.

ringgggg!! ringgg!!! ringggg!!

What happened afterwards came in fragments of fuzzy memories, distorted with exhaustion. It was the phone ringing first, then it was the shuffle of Jungkook rising from his mattress. The ringing, his heavy yawn, the ringing, groggy footsteps, the ringing, the clatter of the drawer—and finally, silence. "Y/n...?" His voice barely reached where your mind was, deep inside the depths of whatever dream dimension you were in. "Y/n," he said again. No reply. "Y/n... Y/n!"

"What?!" You groaned, lazily sitting up with a snarl and a bed head. The ringing starts again and you rub your eyes to where your phone screen illuminated Jungkook's face. "What is it?" You mumble, a little concerned to his expression. "God, is it Mrs. Joomi again? I just paid this month’s rent like a few d—"

"Mr. Kim."

You freeze. The two, single words are akin to iced buckets of water being splashed onto your face, instantly waking you up.

"Taehyung with a heart and moon emoji—but that's Mr. Kim, isn't it? In that photo? That's his first name." Your heart lurches forward. 태형☽<3, displaying a low quality photo of him that you secretly took while he was preparing breakfast. It was once a happy morning, and this was once a happy night—disrupted by its forbidden rays of joy.

When Jungkook finally looks at you through the stark darkness, you can only stare back, your heartbeats filling the silent stun of your dry throat. The bubbly melody stops, and when you don't say anything, Jungkook's voice grows louder, "Y/n what—what the hell is this? Why is Mr. Kim calling you at 3am? Why do you have a photo of him? Why is his contact—"

"J-Jungkook," You nervously moved to sit on the front edge of the bed, attempting to speak as calmly as you can. Jungkook would understand...right? He wouldn't tell, he couldn't. He knows you, your financial situation. It was okay. "Remember when you asked me not to push you away? Well, this is me letting you in. This is me trusting you Jungkook, so please just hear me out." Under the moonlight's glower, you see the bob of his adam's apple rise and fall. "Taehyung, he—"

"Taehyung?" You wince, the acidity of his voice like bitter poison. "I-I mean, Mr. Kim. M-Mr. Kim, he...helps me."

"Helps you?" Jungkook scoffs. "At 3am? How could he—" Suddenly, Jungkook's eyes go wide. "Y/n, you don't mean..."

You nod stiffly, "he gives me money in exchange for....i-its consensual! He helps me," your cheeks heat up, hating yourself for allowing this to happen, having to explain yourself. “A-anyway the point is, you won't tell anyone, right? You understand, don't you, Kook?"

"Understand?! Y/n—he’s a teacher! He's seven fucking years older than us—are you stupid, what were you thinking?!" The sting of his words ring in your ears like a harsh slap across your face. Throughout your years together, Jungkook had barely had the heart to scold you, so you were more than unprepared for his hurtful words. Your shock quickly subdues into anger though, and you stand up, “what I was thinking? What I was thinking?! I don't know Kook, maybe thinking about my fucking electric bill! Thinking about how to pay off debt—how to buy food for fuck's sake! I've looked after myself my whole life, and this is no different."

"Still—This is wrong, y/n! You know that! There are other ways like, like—"

"Like what Jungkook?!" You're in front of him now, pushing at his chest. "Working my ass off in nine to fives? Well I do that, Kook, every fucking day and yeah, a fucking disappointment for me too that it's not enough. You could never know how its like for me, but out of everyone, you're supposed to...! You’re supposed to understand,” you chuckle bitterly, shaking your head as a futile attempt to shake the hot tears away.

"Y/n...” Jungkook’s anger diminishes into a frustrated panic. He tries to reach for you, hold you, anything to keep you from crying because of him—but you turn away, and despite himself, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. He sighs harshly, his voice much softer now, “I just—out of all these years, you could've asked me. I was always there, y/n, and you never accepted me. I know we talked about this already, but the fact that...” He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I do understand, but I was always here. I was your best friend, why did you have to go to him? Am I...am I that unreliable to you?"

Your own heart sinks for him this time, quickly shaking your head. “No, Kook. I-It's not like that. I'm sorry this has to be so complicated, that i've made you feel small. You are reliable, Jungkook. You're my safe place, my person—always have been. I appreciated you so much but you need to understand how terrible it felt for me back then. I hated being pitied by you. You’re my friend, not a fucking philanthropist."

Jungkook takes your hand this time, "I never wanted to help you because I pitied you, y/n. You were always so strong, I don't think you could ever be someone I could pity. I wanted to help because I cared for you, loved you, and it breaks my heart knowing that you went through such lengths when you could've turned to me."

You sigh, threading your hands over the back of his hair. "It was all just circumstantial, Kook. Taehyung found me at a really low point in my life. I didn't search for it, but he was there and i’m thankful for yim, so please Jungkook, please." Your eyes wavered beneath his sad stare, hoping, pleading. Jungkook bites on his lip, cursing, "look...I won't tell on you if that's what you're thinking. I would never do that to you, i'm just worried. He's calling you at nearly 4am, y/n—shit, h-has he hurt you? Did he ever make you do anything you didn't want to?" Jungkook looks frantic for a second, but you quickly shake your head. "N-no! No, god no, he's never hurt me! You know him Kook, Tae would never hurt me." You miss how you even said Tae or how Jungkook's jaw clenched to it.

"I won't say anything, y/n, at least...not yet. You have to end it."

"W-What?"

"He took advantage of you in a low position in your life, y/n."

"N-No Kook, you don't understand!"

"It's not your fault, y/n, it's completely his. He's the adult here, it was wrong. You have to end this."

"But I can't! The money, Kook, you know I can't."

"Then let me help you," he steps closer. Your hands slide to his chest now, shaking your head. "No, Jungkook, my answer has been no and its still no. I refuse to be your charity case," you scoff. "Then you're not going to be. I'll pay you to sleep with me too."

Your eyes instantly shoot open. What..?

"I'll pay you to sleep with me," he repeats calmly. "Anytime you need it, anytime I want it, and I'm certain I'll be able to give you more than whatever Mr. Kim could." Your mouth only hangs open, words dying in your dry throat.

"What's wrong?" Jungkook asks, taking a step closer. This time, you take a step back. "If you were fine with doing it with Mr. Kim, shouldn't it be fine with me?"

"N-No," your voice is barely a shaky whisper. More clearly, "No, Jungkook. I can't just—we just started talking again. You're my only friend, I won't ruin us just for—"

"I won't let anything happen to us, I promise y/n."

"B-but—"

"You don't have to worry about it, okay? Plus, isn't this situation more ideal? You'd get paid more and you wouldn't have to rely on—"

"I love him!"

Its Jungkook's turn to be silent. "What..?"

"I love him Kook," you croak, heat overwhelming your cheeks.

"Y/n..."

"I know it's wrong, I know he seems like an asshole but he's not. I know him, Kook, and i’m mature enough to know myself too. I made my decision back then, and I keep making it today because...I love him." You can’t help but feel your anguish trickle down your eyes, and you cry into your hands. That’s it then. It’s done. You’ve finally admitted it, yet despite the burden of the untold truth lifting—you felt heavier, worse. By now, Jungkook would’ve pulled you into a warm embrace. He’d hush you with soothing murmurs and delicate kisses on your forehead. He’d trail his fingers through your hair, tell you that he knew, that he gets it, that it was okay. But he doesn’t. He couldn’t. You were crying for another man, and all he could feel was ache.

Your phone rings once more, and from the night stand, you see Taehyung’s figure on the dimmed screen. You reluctantly look at Jungkook, but when he doesn’t say anything, his expression unreadable, you take it. "H-hello?"

"Hey, doll," Taehyung's voice is low. "I’m sorry I keep calling, I feel really shit for waking you up at this time. I know the Jeju trip is in a few hours, but I just needed to talk to you."

"No, no, its fine. I was already awake anyways, um...what is it?" You turned away from Jungkook, nervously biting on your lip. Despite everything that had unfolded between the two of you, it was strange. Taehyung never called you at this time after all—and him saying you guys needed to talk only heightened your nerves.

"It's better to talk in person. Where are you? I can pick you up." You shake your head, despite not him being able to see you. "N-No, i’ll come over...is that okay?"

"Yeah, of course, I'll see you soon." With that, the call ends. You can feel Jungkook’s eyes on your back—its overwhelming, and you’re scared to face the definite disgust and judgement in his them, so you don’t look at him when lift your bag across your shoulder. "I’m sorry, I...I need to go.”

ACT IV | LOVE IS NOT OVER

Jungkook hasn't seen you since last night. You never showed up at the meeting spot, never answered his calls or texts—never even once read the 68 of them.

He was certain you came, though—he checked in with Mrs. Yoon before boarding, but you were always good at hiding, and Jungkook was always an impatient seeker. The whole process of arriving, checking into the hotel, and splitting into groups was a whole blur that ended in him never finding you. After spending hours exploring the designated routes through antique shops, cute cafes, pretty sceneries, and meadows with his friends, he started to fear that you didn't come after all—that Mrs. Yoon had made a mistake.

Surely, he would've bumped into you at least once through the whole trip. And where the fuck was Mr. Kim? Jeju was supposed to be the pinnacle of his highschool experience. He’d be elated with the giddiness of being out with his friends, kissed with the gift of delicious freedom. But it was 7:46 PM now, and even when he overlooked the vast beach dipped with sunset's entrancing glow, he felt anything but. Not when Seokjin cracked his lame dad jokes, nor when Eunha got him to bike through scenic trails.

Jungkook sighed as the strawberry milk clattered to the bottom of the vending machine. He spotted it tucked away from the corner of the museum his group wandered into. He excused himself, relieved that their chaperone actually trusted him to be by himself. He needed the space.

He poked the straw through the carton, leaning against the cold metal as his eyes gazed over the glistening waves. He hated you. Always leaving him like this, always making him restless and unsure.

It was when he looked for the moon in the dusk sky that he noticed a familiar silhouette amidst the shore. It wavered with the wind, and Jungkook instantly felt his scorn. The man's jeweled hand was holding a cigarette between two fingers, overlooking the ocean with distant eyes.

Fuck the sand, fuck his expensive shoes, fuck everything. Jungkook doesn't know when he starts running, but he doesn't stop.

It all happened so past—the sun would have missed it if not for the perfect view she had just over the excited ripples of the ocean. When Taehyung noticed his presence, it was already too late. Jungkook had grabbed his collar, and without a second of hesitance, punched him across his face. Taehyung fell into the sand with a grunt, cursing loudly. “What the fuck?!” He turned to his perpetrator, his glare quickly diminishing into pure shock to see his own student right in front of him, eyes poisoned with resentment and hatred.

Taehyung's emotions came whirling at him all at once. The confusion, then the anger, the urge to scream at him and punch him until he was left bleeding on the shore—then the mediating side of him, understanding that he'd done more than enough to get his ass fired, why the fuck would he...?—then the realization. He sighs roughly, shaking his head as he stands. He isn't up for long though, as Jungkook takes another swing. Taehyung’s cheeks scream with stinging pain, but Jungkook’s on top of him, and he doesn’t stop.

"You fucking bitch!" Jungkook seethed, barely feeling his fist continuously bury into Taehyung’s face. He knew. He knew how much you loved him, he knew Taehyung helped you. He knew you'd get angry, maybe even hate him for the rest of his life for this—But maybe that's why he couldn't control himself. He didn't care if you thought Taehyung was some angel. To him, Taehyung was just a disgusting predator who took advantage of your situation, and deep down, maybe it was more for a selfish reason. Taehyung was a man who touched you, who had you—who wasn’t him. "You disgusting fuck. Don't ever fucking touch y/n again, you hear me?!" Another hit, but Jungkook is too blinded with anger to realize the scary amount of blood drooling down his nose and lips, from the cuts of his cheeks. "I know," Taehyung rasps.

"If you know then why did you do it?! You’re a fucking creep, you’re disgusting.”

"I know," another hit, and blood stains his shirt. Taehyung curses and grabs Jungkook's fist before he can throw another punch, pushing him into the sand. "You dick, I swear to god, I swear to fucking god I'll fucking kill you." Jungkook thrashes under Taehyung, but the teacher buries both his wrists into the ground, his weight holding the younger boy down.

“Sh-Shit, Look, I know how you must feel about me, and I know I deserve this, but I would much rather avoid being seen like this so I'm going to say this quick and you're going to listen."

"Fuck you," Jungkook growls, glaring at the man on top of him. His eyes were unreadable, almost enigmatic, and Jungkook hated every unwavering speckle of deep brown in it.

"I don't regret it," Taehyung disregards him. "I liked her—y/n—and no matter what you think of me, that stands true. You must like her too, she told me about you some nights. I have to admit, hearing about another boy when she's laying in my own bed wasn't very pleasant for me, but you made her happy. You mean a lot to her," Jungkook shut his eyes tightly, cursing as he tried to get the image of Taehyung holding you in his arms out of his mind. "I know you don't think I care about her, but I do, so just fucking listen for a second okay? I know i'm no good for her, but you aren't either. You're too immature, we both know y/n deserves way more. See where you are now? Right under me when you could be there for her? Have you even seen her today? Have you asked her how she's been?"

"What... what the fuck are you saying."

Taehyung sighs, and stumbles back to stand, wincing as the harsh winds slap his bloodied face. He nimbly looks for his cigarette, and before he lights it, Jungkook grabs his lighter. "I said what the fuck do you mean?!"

"I ended it with her," Taehyung glares at him, his voice firm, cold as he snatches the lighter back. Jungkook feels his heart drop. “You...what?"

There's silence, and when the man turns to look at the sun drowning into the ocean’s abyss, he lights the cigarette, "the fireworks are starting soon." Jungkook's eyes widens. Before he knows it, he's already running.

You’ve always loved the fireworks.

His footsteps that were submerged into sand were now padding against the concrete of the sidewalk, his heart pounding in his ears. A few cars must have honked at him here and there as he ran through the streets, unknowing of his surrounding because all he can think of his getting to his destination—you. He frantically reaches for his phone, panting.

You

JK : where are you?

my love : my room

my love : 613, 7th floor

JK : on my way.

ACT V. | HOLD ME TIGHT

At least the fireworks were pretty.

Your eyelids drooped, puffed with drowsy red as you watched the sparkling scene on the balcony of the hotel. Evening's cold breeze teased your bare legs, dancing with the delicate ends of your black, satin nightgown. You were hugging yourself yourself, leaning against the cold railings as sparks of vivid red shatter into memories tainted with heartbreak. The red silk sheets that you grasped tightly beneath you. The red lingerie that Taehyung slid off your skin. The red wine he poured into the pan when you told him you were hungry. You liked watching him the most, you thought as he stood in front of the stove, his eyes trained on the steak. You liked watching him unbutton his top, talk about his day, how he let out loud laughter whenever a funny story would come up. You loved when he unveiled himself for you, when he'd strip off his enigmatic persona bare and let you peer into his soul.

But that's all you ever did, you guessed, all you ever could do. You watched him when he smiled down at you, his cold fingertips brushing your waist, and you watched him as he left.

It must've been 4 minutes into the firework show when you heard the doorbell ring. Sighing, you leave the balcony as yellow ignites the night sky. You open the door to Jungkook, his chest heaving up and down, his hair tousled by wind, beads of sweat sticking to his neck.

When he doesn't say anything, and neither do you, you step aside to let him in. You wonder if he was still angry about last night, how he'd react when you tell him—but with the way he looked down at you, tender eyes dawned with sadness, you already understand you don’t have to. "I know," Jungkook steps closer, pulling you into a hug. His warmth embraces you as darkness does when the door clicks shut. "What happened, I know."

You sighed, closing your eyes. The fireworks sounded so distant compared to his heartbeat. Jungkook must've ran for you, you thought as your buried your face into his chest. Of course he would, he always has. Maybe that certainty is what intoxicates you to murmur, "I'll accept it."

"What?"

"What you proposed last night, I'll accept it," you say calmly, quietly. You looked up at him with wavering eyes, "please...I need you right now."

Jungkook's heart practically lurched out of his chest. He knew he should take a step back, tell you that you'd end up regretting it and to take it back before it was too late. He knew, but the devil on his shoulder was much more insistent than his angel, and maybe... maybe his angel wanted it too—so fuck it all.

Jungkook took your lips in a magnetic dance, drawing you closer into him with one hand on your lower back and the other behind your head.

God, you were so lovely. How your head lolled for him, soft, plush lips jarred open. Jungkook has always been good at controlling himself when it came to you, but when he heard the slightest whimper escape your trembling lips, he felt he couldn't hold himself back any longer.

He didn't seek for permission to suck your lower lip, didn’t even seek permission to slide his tongue inside your lovely little mouth when you gasped. He held your chin, deepening the kiss. More, more, more—he wanted more of you. He wanted to explore your body, wanted to make your breath tremble, wanted to find out what you liked and disliked under bedsheets. Jungkook wanted to know you better than anyone else had. He wanted you, needed you.

“Kook,” You whimper into him as he pushes you against the wall, holding your thigh up. He grinds his bulge against your clothed cunt, sending wild tremors along your nerves. “F-feels so good.”

“Yeah?” He takes your other thigh, and you yelp as he lifts you up. Your surprise quickly washes out with haze when he buries his thick tent further into you. You let out a moan, wrapping your legs around his torso. “I can make you feel even better.”

The explosions of the fireworks are blurred with the palpitations of your heart as Jungkook lays you on the bed, his lips immediately finding home in yours. "Love how you sound for me, love," Jungkook’s wet, needy kisses trail down your neck...to your collarbones...to your breast. “So pretty like this, always so pretty,” his fingers ghost your sensitive nipples, perked from evening's cold. He doesn't waste any time to take one nipple into his mouth, his fingers playing with the other.

His cold hand trails down your stomach, finally pressing it down your soaked underwear. He smirks, feeling the soaked outline of your pussy lips. “Already so wet for me baby? How cute."

His plush lips leave your nipple with a pop, instead latching onto the crook of your neck. Your eyes go wide when you realize what he's about to do. “Wait, d-don’t! Not th—ah.” He doesn't allow you to finish your sentence, swiftly sliding your underwear out of the way before pressing a hard thumb over your clit. “Don't deny me, y/n,” His voice is low over your whiny moans. He sucks on the supple of your skin as he slides one, slender finger into you, smoothly drawing it in and out while he rolls your little bud with his other. “Please, need to show everyone that you’re mine,” he murmurs, licking his work, perfectly tinged with a pretty pink . “Besides...” he trails, taking note of your arousal dripping down his wrists. “You love this, don’t you?”

“N-No..! I...ah, K-Kook, Kookie..!” Your voice fails you, moans escaping from your trembling lips. “Jungkook s-stop..!” Jungkook frowns against your skin, and he lifts his head up to meet your gaze. “Why not?” His eyes are dark. You try to fight the muddle of your mind as his slow, tentative fingers continue to work on your cunt. “B-Because...because student c-council. It's inappropriate, and your friends will ask, a-and... mm!—“

“Taehyung?” Jungkook says bitterly, but you’re too indulged with the knot in your stomach. You moan loudly, your hands finding anchor wrapped around his biceps. “I'm sure you don’t want Taehyung to see, do you?” Jungkook's pace is furious now, and you barely make out his words through the thick fog of your mind. You feel so close. “Don’t want him to know that you're with me, hm? That i’m finger fucking you into my dumb whore."

His indecent words paint a wild blush on your cheeks. You never knew Jungkook could be like this, could be so mean.

"You know what I think..."

Jungkook lowers himself down between your sweaty thighs, quivering with painful pleasure. "''Think my dumb babygirl wants me to clean her messy little pussy up. Would you like that, love?"

"Y-Yeah," you moan, desperately bucking your hips up, "p-please eat me out, Kook."

"Needy girl," Jungkook lets out a sigh, his pants tightening around his painful hard on. You were so pretty like this, Jungkook swore he could cum just by watching you.

You almost cry when he pulls his fingers away, instead squeezing around your squishy hips. You do cry, though, when he gives your pussy a tantalizing lick, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. "Knew my baby girl would taste so sweet," he groans. His tongue circles around your throbbing bud, sucking on it.

"Fuck! K-Kook, I-I can't," you wail, tears falling down your cheeks. Jungkook only flutters his eyes open, watching you with heated eyes as his tongue works on your wet cunt.

"Please, g-gonna cum, please!" Your back arches. Jungkook's hands the only thing anchoring you down.

"Then cum, baby, cum for me." Jungkok's voice is tender, coaxing like warm honey. With his encouragement, your dripping cunt spasms, unfurling your cream all over him. "That's my girl," His attentive tongue takes your sweet release, the embarrassing sound of slurping clouding your brain.

"You were so good for me, baby," He cooes, planting one final kiss on your quivering bud. Your cheeks tinge with a shy pink.

He lifts himself up, carefully laying over you so his forehead is pressed against yours. His eyes search yours under the veil of the moonlight. The fireworks must've stopped along the way, your heavy breaths filling the quiet room. "Tired, love?" Jungkook whispers, and you nod timidly, reaching your arms out to hug him.

Your skin is sticky with sweat like melting ice cream on hot summer days, but Jungkook adores his body pressed against yours. His fingers squeeze your smooth waist, placing gentle kisses on your neck, up your jaw, capturing your lips once more in a slow dance. A thin string line of saliva connects the two of you when he pulls back, and he breaks it off with a gentle graze across your wet lips.

"Think you can continue for me, baby?" Jungkook asks soothingly. "It's okay if you can't, of course. Must've been such a long day for you."

You shake your head, your hand lightly tracing the outline of the small scar on his cheek. You still remember the day he fell off his bicycle, somehow managing to tumble down the hill all the way to the train tracks. It must've been the first time you ever saw him cry.

"I want to."

"Are you sure?" His eyebrows perk up. "Because we really don't have to. I don't ever want you to feel like you have to please me. I know you took my offer, but if you aren't ready or comfortable, nothing has to happen. Believe it or not, pleasuring you already makes me feel euphoric." His words have you melt, gentle as a sweet night's lullaby.

"But I want us to feel good together," you say softly. "Please take me, Kookie. I want you." Jungkook's eyes widen, faint pink blooming on his cheeks, and you watch the stars in his eyes grow brighter with your shy gaze. He lets out a small chuckle, "god, you really don't know what you do to me, y/n."

He places a gentle peck on your lips one last time before rising to his knees, discarding his clothes. You're quick to slip off your nightdress and underwear, and you patiently admire Jungkook's toned physique as he worked to unbuckle his belt. Even the moon was enamored with him, tracing its luminous glow from his broad shoulders to his biceps, wrapping around his slim waist.

Your breath hitches when his dick springs out right in front of you, thick and swollen, oozing pre cum. Jungkook watches you with heated eyes, his hand grazing his dick. "Wow," you breathe, sitting up and replacing his hand with yours. Jungkook's hisses when you stroke his cock, doe eyed to his length that throbbed with neglect. "You're so pretty, Kookie. You're pretty everywhere..."

"I should be the one who's telling you that, darling," he lets out a shaky breath through his smile, his hand finding your cheek. "Now, i’d love for that lovely little mouth of yours to suck my cock, but I feel like i'm gonna explode any minute now, and i'd like to do so inside of you," he chuckles when a furious blush takes your cheeks. You let him push you down, positioning himself in between your legs. He takes his pulsating cock in his hands, sliding his glistening head over your cunt. "Would you like that baby? Want me to cum in this cute little pussy? Wanna take Kook's cum like a good girl?" You feel yourself shy from his words, whimpering, "y-yes please, Kookie."

"Tell me how much you want it, baby."

"S-So bad. Kookie p-please, want you to fill me up."

"Yeah?" Jungkook chuckled, a cocky smirk on his lips that made you tremble. "Think your tiny pussy can even take my cock?"

"Y-Yes, m'pussy wants your cock, p-please Kook!"

"Dirty girl, love it when you beg for me," he pushes the blunt head of his cock into your swelling entrance, already having you see stars by the time he fills you up whole. "You okay?" Jungkook breathes out, his forehead falling against yours. You nodded timidly, "j-just need a little time to adjust."

"Okay, baby, tell me when you're ready." He pecks your nose, letting out a shaky sigh as your walls clench around him. When you do, Jungkook takes your knees, pushing them on either side of you so your legs are spread out wide for him.

He pulls out his whole cock so he could see the flush tip of his cock before plunging back into you. You moan loudly to his even pace, bottoming you out with every thrust.

"F-fuck, been wishing for this forever. Just want to punish this pussy for making me wait for this long."

Harsh skin to skin contact and the squelch of your juices mixing together fills your fuzzy mind. You felt so full, you could practically feel him in your belly. "Shit, you're practically swallowing me. You like this, don't you?"

"Y-yeah, love your cock, Kookie," you moan, his pace growing faster and more unforgiving. "I'm never letting you go after this, fuck y/n. You're mine, you’re so fucking mine. Say it, say you're mine, p-please."

"Yours," you whimper, feeling the familiar tingling ecstasy overwhelm your stomach. "O-Only yours, Kookie."

"That's right, baby, open your mouth." You didn't know exactly why, but you didn't question him. He could tell you to do absolutely anything right now and you'd do it. Your wet lips jar open for him, and Jungkook spits in your mouth, sending a wave of tremor through your body. "Swallow."

You listen, obediently swallowing. "That's my girl."

"Kookie, kookie...m'gonna cum!"

"Again baby? You’re so easy, barely have to do anything and you're spilling." You moan to his words, thrusting in and out of you in a hypnotic pace. "Go on then, baby. Cum for me, make a mess over my balls."

Your whole body tenses, feeling the overwhelming wave wash over you. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you release around him the second time. "Good girl, baby, so good for me, fuck," Jungkook hisses to your tightening walls squeezing around him, driving himself into your belly until he pours all his cum deep inside of you.

You practically drooled, his load coming out in spurts of thick cream. When he pulls out, your pussy twitches, his cum oozing out. He falls onto your chest, and your heavy pants fill the room.

After awhile, Jungkook lazily pulls you to lay over him. "Okay, baby?"

"Mm," you murmur into his sweaty chest, trying to recollect your breath. You open your mouth to thank him, but a loud explosion takes your voice. In a second, waves of yellow wash the room, then blue, then purple. Your tiredness subdues into drowsy awe. You sit up and Jungkook does too, positioning you on his lap. "I think this is the second show. Timing is fitting don't you think?"

You giggle, and Jungkook sees daylight in your eyes. "Too fitting. I'm starting to think that this was all part of some big plan."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, laughing as he tucks a hair behind your ear. "Silly girl, of course it is." You look at him quizzically. "We're soulmates aren't we? The universe is just celebrating us."

You smile, sighing as you lean into his chest. "Whatever you say, my soulmate." Jungkook's eyes widen. He felt twelve again, dumbstruck euphoria overwhelming his love for you any time you called him yours. His shock settles into a soft smile, holding you in his arms while you watch the fireworks. It takes him awhile to realize your eyes are closed though.

"Sleepy, love? Thought you loved the fireworks."

"I do," you giggle, pushing him down onto the soft mattress. You snuggle into his chest. "Just listening to your heartbeat."

Jungkook blushes. He was going to urge you to clean up, but with you looking so cozy on top of him, he knew you'd much rather rest. He sighs lovingly, stroking your hair. He hasn't felt this happy in awhile. "About your payment, I’ll wire $800 just for tomorrow, but we’ll officially talk about the—"

“Shhhh!” You grumble, burying your head further into him. “Don’t wanna talk about money right now, just let me be with you.”

Jungkook blinks, and you look up to him with a pout. Purple lights up the seoul's night sky, casting an soft glow on Jungkook’s face. He chuckles, thumb brushing your cheeks.

"Needy girl.”

a/n : wooooo this took the longest time to write. its pretty bulky so whoevers got to this point i love you sosososo and i hope you enjoyed my work ! feedback is welcome and super appreciated, reading comments really do make my day <3 i was thinking of making a sequel/continuation for this but im not so sure ,, we'll see. anyways, i hope you have a lovely day my loves ! stay hydrated and healthy, i hope you eat good food today. make sure to take care of yourself too !

[pollylynn]

Title: Devisal WC: 2000 Episode: Knockout (3 x 24)

What will she give to this? The thing she walked away from. The thing that gave chase. The thing she has since turned on and bared her teeth, her claws, but what will she give to this?

Time.

This has been the answer for weeks. It has been the answer for months.

She fetches down her mother’s ring from its nail behind the shutters, from the place where it stands watch among the photos, the ragged-edged news clippings, the tight scrawl of her own writing. She begins a new thicket of hash marks—sixteen weeks today. Sixteen times she has fetched down her mother’s ring.

She fetches her mother’s ring from its tucked away place inside her jacket, from where it nestles as close to her body as she can bear these days. She fetches it out and stares as it catches the sallow fluorescent light, as she waits for the buzzer to make the cage sting out. The tiny stone flickers with all its might, urgent as an SOS. The chain hisses against itself as the ring spins. It winds. It unwinds.

She mechanically thanks one guard—a different one each week. A different one much of the time? She’s not sure. There’s only the wait for the buzzer, the cage singing out. There is only the ring with its frantic shower of minute sparks.

And then there is the dance with the man beyond the cage. The man inside is a constant. Ryker. She knows his name. She doesn’t know his name. Now slides past then. This time swaps places with last time—with the last fifteen times. Time is what she gives. This is what she gets, a street punk’s game of Three-Card Monte. Find the Lady. Find the Lady.

She knows the man inside, but he does not know her. What will she give to this? Nothing of herself. Nothing of who she is. This is the bargain she has struck.

She grits her teeth. Officer Ryker, she says, and maybe it’s pleasant. Maybe it’s not. Either way, He has a smile at the ready and a lame joke teed up—today it’s a serial arsonist, an armed robber. For her part, there is the polite laugh. When did that start, she wonders? How much time trickled to the bottom of the hourglass before this became their version of Hi, honey, how was your day?

He—Officer Ryker—puts the kettle on, as it were. He dials up the next man inside, some other faceless inconstant, she thinks. A different one each week. A different one much of the time? Ryker rattles off Hal Lockwood’s prisoner ID from memory.

He does not know her. He has never asked why she comes, who Lockwood is to her, what it is she comes in search of, week after week. He simply does everything she does, backwards in uniform-issue shoes.

This is before, though. This is the fifteen times before, and time is suddenly not enough.

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

What will she give to this? The thing that has come for her at last. The thing that has the audacity to tell her that she is not predator, but prey. What is it now that she will she give?

A fucking show.

She blocks Castle’s apologies, his empathy, his pity, like so many blows raining down in the chaos of a bar brawl. She knocks him off balance. She makes a point of how off-kilter they are—how out of the loop he is. It’s all part of the show. He’s sorry about McCallister’s execution? He must not have the faintest idea what she’s been doing for all these weeks, all these months. McCallister’s murder goes in the win column. It’s the paper trail of her dreams. It’s Christmas in May.

Stricken by this, wounded and terrified, by her and for her, he still musters up the courage to point out that Lockwood’s cage is unlikely to rattle? She shows him her back. She struts away at speed, tossing revelations over her shoulder: Lockwood is the B-plot. He is nothing but a drop-kick lapdog. She’s going after the king of the beasts, armed with a chair and a whip.

And that’s all just Act I.

Act II. Interior: Bullpen. She is in constant motion. She she raps out unnecessary orders. The boys are on the case of who ordered Lockwood’s transfer. They are on the tail-chasing mission of trying to find something—anything—on the courtroom impostors. They are on the chopper and recordings of Lockwood’s calls. They are on the job of stating the obvious—say hello to Charlie and Mike: She is Lockwood’s next target, and that suits her just fine.

But it’s a plot twist. It’s an uproar. It’s a red herring? Maybe it’s a red herring.

Everyone’s blood runs cold when the Captain points out that she’d have already been dead on the courtroom floor if it were her back with a target painted on it. There’s no pause for a dramatic musical cue. Castle is on his feet. He is on exposition duty, desperate to change the narrative. his hands fly across the murder board, swapping file photos from slot to slot to slot until the letters that sprawl across each one to spell out deceased become nothing but a blur. Find the lady. Find the lady.

Her eyes are locked on her mother’s picture, the one fixed point she can find amid the frenetic show-time energy. Her ring is missing. The shutters and the nail that tips its head toward the ceiling are nowhere to be found. There is no shower of tiny sparks and no hiss of the chain against itself as it winds, unwinds, winds again.

.

And still, she’s putting on a show. They are putting on a show, and this is how it happens.

What will she give to this? Every poor player among them, piece by piece. Now. This is what she will give.

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

What will she give to this? The ravenous, undying thing that winds itself around her and drops its venom in her ear. There is no question of predator and prey now, there is only who she has been and this undying thing, entwined. The words of Gary McCallister, of Hal Lockwood bubble up—So much bigger than you realize. You can’t hide from him. These, whispers the ravenous, undying thing, are the only true words ever spoken. And for this truth, to this truth, what will she give?

Her mind. Her heart. The twanging snip of threads that have bound her to life—to everything other than this. She will give in. That is what she will give.

It begins in the hangar. It begins with the chopper, scrubbed down, reeking of bleach, looming. It begins with one pathetic bullet hole. Details swirl in the air—stolen, hedge fund, the Caribbean. Wherever her feet land, wherever her shoulders try to straighten themselves, the shadow of the hulking bird presses down on her. This is the metaphor.

Why now?

The question is hers. It is not hers. It is the slither and hiss of threads untangling in her mind, though her voice—out in the world—sounds normal. It sounds like a perfectly reasonable thing to ask, and he shrugs. He calculates exactly the gesture, his tone, the glance delivered on an oblique angle. He is wary. He is managing her.

Time, planning, resources, he says, and every molecule of air in that hangar thrums with black suspicion.

What if it was something else?

There is is again, the slither and hiss. What if it was him? That’s what the ravenous, undying thing wants to know.

I will do anything that you need, including nothing, if that's what you want.

What kind of fool believes that, when he’s standing there, perfectly at home next to a two-million-dollar toy,? He gives a makes sense, yeah, that’ll happen nod as Esposito explains the owner might never have even realized the fucking bird was gone without her one pathetic shot dimpling its tail.

Makes sense, he nods, and what kind idiot would never think to wonder what strings he has been pulling since Dick Coonan, since John Raglan, since she was pathetic enough, needy enough to name him someone she trusts? She lives with his ego, day in and day out. She lives with his savior complex, and what if it was him who set all this in motion?

That’s it. That’s it. The frantic blur of bent plastic cards comes to an end. Find the Lady.

She gives in. She lets the black suspicion rear up and bare its fangs, and when he comes to her—when he dares come to her as though he knows her—she strikes.

What about you, Rick?

Is that what we are?

We are over.

And just like that, she is free. She is swallowed whole. She floats, weightless, in the black.

She gives in.

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

What will she give to this? What has she given to this?

Her family. The one she has built. The one that has built itself around her. The one that lies in ruins at her feet, because she let this thing blot out everything else in existence.

What has she given to this that she can never reclaim?

A decade and more of her life, spent in hiding—spent behind the cheap plastic mask of a heroine, an avenging angel, a dutiful daughter, a warrior. There is the twanging snip of a frayed elastic band, the almost silent fall of an unconvincing disguise falling, falling.

What is left to her—of her—after all she has given to this?

Nothing.

That is the slither and hiss again. That is cowardice that will not see the shower of tiny sparks, that will not heed the urgent SOS sent out by what little of her mother she can carry with her.

And she does carry her mother with her on this day of days. She wears the delicate links of chain next to her skin, beneath the suffocating weight of her dress uniform. She feels her heart beating, beating, beating, against the solid circle of it. She feels unworthy of it. She knows she is unworthy of it. But she carries her mother with her on this day of days. She heeds that urgent message at last.

What is left of her—to her—after all she has thrown on the pyre? Not nothing.

There is a sea of stalwart shoulders around her, bowed by grief that is hers, that is theirs, that is a terrible weight shared among them. There is a sea of tear-streaked faces brave enough to seek the sun, even now. There is a sea of warriors and dutiful daughters, of shining examples, giving and receiving grace. There is a wordless chorus that knocks around the hollow remains of her mind, her heart, as if to say This is how it’s done. This is how we mourn. Together. This is how.

This is what bravery is—to hear them. This is what is righteous and healing—to be a shoulder, a face, a spark of grace, given and received.

What is left?

He is left. She is left. They are left, despite her craven pronouncements, despite his lies of omission and barbed-wire truths. They are left.

She speaks this into being. A tremulous, unfamiliar voice that seems to be hers speaks this unassailable fact into being.

You find someone to stand with you.

It is a beginning. Not a harvest, but a tentative vision for what might grow here. It is not a question. Not yet. She is still in pieces. He is still in ruins. They are still dragon’s teeth, scattered on still-smoking ground, waiting to be human. Waiting to see if they can be human, alone and together.

But still, it is a beginning—a nascent question: What can she take from this?

A/N: So. After taking on a spur-of-the-moment, enormous editing project with a tight deadline, There was total lack of morphousness until 3 AM. Sprawling, writhing lack of morphousness that was only half of this. So I had to add a second half of absolute absence of morphousness this morning, obviously. OBVIOUSLY.

images via homeofthenutty

[zombiesbecrazy]

clark and dick, tol and smol hug? love your writing!

(Umm. This got quickly Out of Hand.)

“Superman.”

Clark turned his head a few more times than he’d like to admit, looking around to see where Batman’s disembodied voice was coming from, before he remembered the communicator on his wrist. It was a standard Justice League issued tech.

Standard JL tech that Batman had never once used to contact Clark. As far as he knew, Bruce hadn’t used it to contact anyone outside of a pre-authorized mission, ever.

“Batman?”

There was a delay and Clark wondered if maybe Bruce had changed his mind or maybe if he had imagined the call all together, when the link came to life again. “I need your assistance in Gotham immediately,” said Batman gruffly before the telltale click telling Clark that the line had been disconnected, without even giving him a chance to respond. 

Clark simply sighed and took off into the sky, headed towards Gotham. Bruce wouldn’t have called him if it wasn’t an emergency.

***

As soon as he came into view, Clark knew that something was wrong. Bruce was pacing back and forth across the roof, an unusual movement of nervous energy while his shoulder were coiled and tight and ready to jolt. It was a weird combination of behaviour for someone who prided themselves on being a bit of a stoic enigma.

Clark landed on the rooftop beside him, but Bruce ignored his arrival, instead choosing to pause his restless walking and look downwards to the street below. A soft grunt escaped him, disappointment evident in even the smallest of sounds, before he turned around to finally acknowledge that Clark was there.

“I need another set of eyes. There is a young boy, approximately nine years old, who went missing earlier tonight. Last spotted on Clifton Street, headed due west. I can’t find him.” Bruce lifted his chin in the direction of the street in question. “His guardians are concerned.”

Clark tried to remain impassive, but it was such a strange request for him to be called into Gotham on even the worst of nights, but to be called in for a single missing child was unheard of when things like that were handled on a nightly basis by Batman and the GCPD. He would absolutely help, he always had told Bruce that he was just a call away if he was needed, but this was never what he expected to be brought in for. “I can take a look but I need a little more to go on. Description? Name?”

“Short for his age. 129 cm tall. Black hair. Blue eyes. X ray scan may show evidence to healed fracture to his left wrist, from approximately two years go.” Clark was about to lift off the roof to start his search when Bruce lowered his voice to continue. “Wearing a red tunic, yellow cape and a domino mask.” His lips thinned as he pressed them together, obviously not wanting to share anymore, but knowing that he had to now that Clark was the one helping. “Answers to Robin.”

What?

“Br-.” Bruce shot him a sharp look and Clark corrected. “Batman, what have you been up to?” Now that Clark thought about it a little more, Batman had been distance from the League lately, always too busy in Gotham to assist with volunteer missions but yet the crime rate hadn’t seen any sort of spike that he knew of.

Had Bruce taken a child into the streets of Gotham to fight crime? He couldn’t have. That would be impossible and no one would do something like that.

Except that all the evidence that Clark had made it sound like it was absolutely what he had done.

Even further, was Bruce now a dad? Who had put his own child at risk?

Clark wasn’t sure which he liked less.

Batman crossed his arms across his chest, giving an irritated look that had no effect on Clark now that he was listening to the way that Bruce’s heart was pounding beneath the armor. Fast, like he was at full exertion. Beads of perspiration on the edge of the cowl. If Clark were a betting man, he would have said that Bruce was doing his best not to have a full on meltdown. “It was a training exercise.”

“What was?”

“Hide and seek. Robin was to hide to see if he could evade me for an hour. Once the hour was up, if I hadn’t found him he was to meet me here. His previous best had been 52 minutes.” Bruce looked back towards the end of the building, fingers tightening around his own arms, Kevlar bending ever so slightly under the stress. “It’s been two hours.”

Clark stared at Bruce, unable to come up with a single word to say to him. Bruce had thought that it was a good idea to bring a kid on patrol with him. To turn it into some sort of game. A nine year old, loose on the streets of Gotham at night, where the worst of the worst lived and a place that frankly gave Clark bad dreams when he spent too much time there. Part of him wanted to yell at Bruce, to try and knock some sense into him, but it was clear that Bruce was already panicking about what was happening, even if it was mostly internalized. There was a child missing, one that was apparently under his charge, and he didn’t know what to do, so he asked for help from the one person he could trust to find him fast. Just doing so was an admittance that he knew he had made a mistake. “I’ll find him.” He eventually settled on, not knowing what else to say. “And when I get back, you and I are going to have a very serious discussion.” The cowl eyes stared at him unblinking, but said nothing in return. Clark floated off the rooftop “Any other ways to narrow it down?”

“He was to stay south of Park Row.” Bruce started to pace the rooftop again, message clear that he was planning on staying put in case the boy, this Robin, appeared unharmed at their meeting place. Batman froze mid step. “The code word is elephant.” Clark raised an eyebrow and Bruce turned back towards the street. “If he asks you. He’s not supposed to go with strangers if they don’t know the code word.”

***

Clark hovered above the city, closing his eyes to try and filter through the sounds of Gotham at night, which unlike most cities somehow seemed to become more alive after the sun was down. Cars driving below. Occasional planes overhead in the distance. As he narrowed his focus he heard families in their homes, parents ushering their kids into bed. He heard drug deals and plots of robberies that had yet to take place. He heard restaurants and bars serving their clientele. Pushing the extra noises aside, he listened for sounds of kids in distress, kids where they shouldn’t be.

There were far too many of them and Clark’s heart tightened at their cries as Gotham filled his ears.

He was going to have to narrow it down and to do that, he had to follow every lead.

The first two children Clark found were homeless, curled up together under a bridge but looked warm under their blankets and sheltered from the wind. He had tried to take them to a shelter for the night, but they adamantly refused, loudly insisting that their mom was getting food and would be right back. Clark wasn’t sure if he believed them or not, but promised that he would be back later that night to check on them.

He didn’t think they would run. Children rarely lied to Superman.

Similar events happened three more times. He found kids in places where they shouldn’t be late at night. They turned down his help. He said he’d be back to check on them later. They waved as he flew away.

It was a frustrating experience to be asked not to help and he was starting to commiserate with the struggles that Batman faced on a nightly basis.

He stopped in a cold, dark alley that was filled with dumpsters and while he couldn’t see them, he could hear dogs barking behind gates nearby, threatening anyone who came too close to their claim. There was the faintest of sniffles that had his attention. Clark slowly followed them, not wanting to scare the child off, when he found the source curled up in a ball and wedged between two of the bins. He would have been impossible to see unless someone was specifically looking for him, face down but with a mop of dark hair and skinned knees curled up to his chest, yellow cape wrapped tight around him.

“Robin?” Clark asked quietly, making the child startle, head raising and a domino mask blinked up at him, tear tracks clear as day splashing down his cheeks.

The small boy wiped his cheeks quickly, doing nothing to hide the evidence of his panic, and took in Clark’s appearance. “S-superman?”

Clark crouched down as small as he could, careful not to block Robin in completely, and nodded. “B sent me.” The child’s eyes widened in a way that was usually comical to Clark when kids saw him in the flesh, but tonight it just made him sad. Had the boy thought that no one was coming for him? Or was he just surprised about who it was who had. He hoped it was the latter. “You hid too well and he couldn’t find you.”

“I got lost. I didn’t want to be scared because I knew he was coming but...” Robin sniffed, pulling the cape taut and trying to cover his bare legs completely. “I don’t know this part of the city very well and the dogs and…”

“It’s okay. Getting lost scares me too.” It was true. As a little kid, probably not much older than Robin, Clark had gotten lost in a corn maze at the fair. It felt like hours that he had wandered the paths, until his dad came in and found him. He had never felt more relieved than he did in that moment. The helplessness of the situation stuck with him, clinging to his memories and liked to slink into his thoughts late at night from time to time.

The small boy hummed in agreement, taking it in stride the idea that Superman could be afraid of something, but if Robin had a close relationship with Batman, with Bruce, he would know that there are always just people behind the masks and people could have fear, mask or not. “I kept waiting for him but he was taking a long time to find me.” Robin whispered, more to himself than to Clark. “Is he mad?”

“Not at you. I think he might be mad at himself. And he didn’t say it, but I think he was a little bit scared too when you didn’t find each other.” Which was an understatement based on what Bruce’s heart rate had been. “Can I take you to him? We can walk or we can fly. It’s up to you.”

“We can… you’d fly with me?” For the first time Clark got a glimpse at a child who wasn’t scared or lost, but rather one presented with a birthday cake on a summer day. The idea of flying had chased away the shadows of the alley, at least in Robin’s eyes.

“If it isn’t too scary. It’s faster than walking and I know my way around Gotham better from the sky.”

“I’m not afraid of flying.” With that confirmation, Clark stood and took a step back and held his hand out to Robin. Robin slid out of his hidey-hole, and reached for Clark’s hand before pulling his back at twice the speed. “Code word?” Robin asked in the most serious tone that Clark had ever hear from someone so young.

Clark chuckled at the idea that a kid dressed in a costume to fight crime was questioning the safety of going with Superman, but not flying with Superman, but he clamped it down quickly based on the unimpressed look starting to appear on Robin’s face; eerily similar to the one he had seen on Bruce’s more than once when Clark has done something that had been deemed silly. “Elephant.” Robin nodded in affirmation, like Clark had successfully worked out at difficult math problem to acceptable success, and took Clark’s hand.

It was so small in Clark’s grasp.

Clark crouch down again to Robin’s height. “We have a couple of seating options of Air Superman for you this evening. You can hold onto my neck and ride on my back. There is the ever popular bridal style carry.” He looked Robin over carefully. Besides the scrapes on his knees, he seemed unharmed, but he was trembling all over, still shaken up from his adventure through the streets. “But the recommended method for a tough night like this is the Super Hug. Tight and secure and the best for when you are feeling a little down in the dumps.” Robin’s eyes widened through the mask and nodded firmly.

Clark had barely extended his arms fully when Robin launched himself at him, arms around his neck, legs trying to wrap his waist but not quite reaching all the way to lock his ankles, and chin resting on his shoulder. Clark gave him a gentle squeeze and rubbed his back in what he hoped was a soothing way, and instantly felt Robin relax into his arms, stress from his night melting away now that he felt save. Long ago, Clark had been nervous with children and babies. Always afraid that he would squeeze too hard or drop them but his Ma had laughed him off.

“Everyone is worried at first, but everyone knows how to hold a child once they are doing it. They’ll help you figure out what they need.”

For the first time, Clark really understood what she meant as he hugged Robin securely in place against him.

“Ready to see Batman, Robin?”

“Yes, please.” Clark felt Robin yawn into his shoulder, settling down further into his arms as the adrenaline from the night leaked from his small frame. “Up, up and away, Superman.”

Despite the claim that he wasn’t afraid of flying, Clark had expected Robin to react as they left the ground. Almost everyone did. They either tensed up or yelled or gave some sort of reaction of surprise, but if anything the boy someone relaxed more, cuddled up to Clark as the ground got farther and farther below them.

As they reached their destination, Bruce watched them approach. To an outsider, it just would have been Batman scowling on a rooftop but Clark saw so much more. His heart rate slowing down, muscles relaxing, jaw unclenching and a slow, shuddering sigh with each foot closer that they got. They hit the rooftop and Robin scurried out of Clark’s hold and ran to Batman, leaping into his arms. Clark did his best to try and ignore the whispered apologies on both sides and the tears that were now flowing freely from Robin as well as the ones that he suspected might be forming under the cowl as the two hugged each other, yellow cape mixing with black. He was going to skip the lecture tonight and just let Batman be reunited with his Robin. The child was safe and sound and they just needed to be together, not hear about their mistakes that they both had made. Discussions and questioning of sanity could be had another time; this was a time for comfort.

He took off from the building again, no longer wishing to intrude on this moment, but Bruce caught his eye, message passing between them.

Thank you.

Clark nodded in return and took off into the darkness that was Gotham. He had other plans, other children of Gotham to check in with on his way back home now that he knew this one was going to be alright.

Hug Drabble Prompt List

[melo-yello]

Zero (Sweet Pea x POC Reader)

Pairing: Sweet Pea x POC Reader

Warning(s): fluff, self image struggles, cursing, a lot of goofy ass nicknames

Summary: Reader is a River Vixen flunking Trig and a certain Southside Serpent so happens to acing that class.

A/N: Season 2 is my fav. Even tho 1 has a better plot. This takes place right after the transfer when tensions were still high. I was feelincrumby about sucking @ Cal 2 so I wrote this. I'm a big fan of the tutoring in secret thing. But this time Pea's the tutor. This is just part 1 I'll be updating soon.

The swish of stapled papers across desks echoes around the silent Advanced Trig classroom as Mr.Larings comes down your row. He offers disappointed huffs and sighs to each student he passes. Simple affirmation the class has seen better days.

“I warned you guys this test was a real doozy.” He says doing his best to lighten the sober room.  He really didn't have the whole ‘I love to fail kids’ math teacher vibe.

Mr.Larings is a stickler for the rules, but he's also the kind of teacher to hand out cookies when the class has a B average.

You flinch back as you lay eyes on the paper in front of you.  The bright fluorescent lighting illuminates the red ink sparkling like stars that your sad excuse for a test.   

“I expect more from a River Vixen, Ms.L/n.” Mr.Larings says shaking his head.

He turns to  the dark haired guy in the desk across from you. The large broad shouldered boy has a harsh half sleep look on his face.

“Good work.” Mr.Larings hums handing him a paper with a near perfect score written in green.  

He sits up and just nods folding his paper in half as the math teacher heads to the front of the class.

Your mouth falls wide open as you stare in awe. This Southside Serpent has been taking this class less than two weeks nearing the end of the 2nd term and he just aced the hardest test you've had all year. And he sleeps half the time.  

Holy shit I might be dumber than I thought.

“If you're wondering how to breathe you exhale next, Pep Squad.” The dark eyed gangster sneers at you as the bell rings.

You let your embarrassment fade into irritation as you gather you bag with a huff and head for the door.

“Ms.L/n. A word?” The middle aged man sighs motioning you toward his desk just as you make it to door. The southsider steps around gasping with a childish grin on his face as he steps into the hallway.

“Mr.Larings I've got vixen practice and Cheryl will kill me if I'm late ag-”  You swallow the rest of your sentence when he gives a stern look over his glasses.

“I suggest look into a tutor. If you fail this next test I'll be forced to recommend you are suspended from the squad.” He says regretfully shrugging his shoulders.

“Bububbbbuubuubut?” You mutter as the horror of losing your spot on the Vixens really sinks in as he ushers you out the classroom door.

Sure this math class has been kicking your ass but it couldn't have been that bad.

Could it?

You've never flunked a class in your life let alone get kicked off the squad for it. You'd be a total laughing stalk of Riverdale High.

God, my parents will kill me if they ever find out.  

…

You rub the soreness from the back of your neck as you walk out the locker room trying to burns holes through the tile with your e/c irises. The next test is in a few weeks and you need a tutor if you are going to come anywhere near passing.

Who could do it?

Cheryl's a math whiz, but she runs the squad.

I'd never hear the end of it.

Ronnie and Betty are out.

On the squad too.

Archie's no good unless it's music or punching and tells Ronnie everything.

Jug's more of English ner-

You collide with what has to be no less than a brick wall. Either that or a small freight train. You determine this by landing firmly on your already sore butt with an 'umph’. A quiet snicker from above disproves both hypotheses.

“Watch Where The F-” You pause as you lay eyes on the closet math geek himself offering a hand with a peeved expression settling on to his face.

“You ran into me, Sis-boom-bah!” He groans impatiently.

Every nasty rumor about the Southside plays though your head as you swallow your insult.

How they're the ones going around pulling knives on people.  

Or how they're the ones selling and making the drugs.

Or how they're the ones that bring all the crime to this side of town.

Or how they're the ones that teach their kids to rob you blind before they're out of diapers.

Ok that last one is just ridiculous.  

Not that you really believed that stuff,but it just kinda came to mind.

Small town gossips just tends to linger.

Like all of sudden you needed more of a reason to be wary of 6’4” guy drenched in sweat in a dimly lit hallway.

And now it's written all over your face.

“Hold your applause a Southside Serpent is gonna help you up, and you can bet your short short covered ass I've got better things to do than have you stare at me like I'm gonna kill you.” He huffs stretching his arm a little further.

“Like I'm scared of you, Jockstrap!” You scoff scrunching up your face as you take his hand as he pulls you to your feet with little to no effort. Like you weighed nothing.

His hands are surprisingly warm and soft but have the slightest worked in roughness.

You reluctantly snatch your hand back in order to save your dwindling pride.

“Could've fooled me, Spirit Fingers.” He deadpans drily waving his hands as he rolls his dark eyes and steps around you to make his way down the corridor.

“In your dreams, Corleone-wannabe.” You snort heading in the opposite direction.

You could have sworn you heard the faintest laughter from the intimidating teen as you head to the parking lot.

…

The full coverage concealer is put to the test of a lifetime as it attempts to hide the heavy bags left under your eyes left from the all nighter you pulled to take on your Trig homework. And you still barely finished problem 1.

Your usual preppy look is replaced with a loose NASA tee and some comfy bleached out ripped jeans and your favorite f/c sneakers. Your messy curls are up in two loose puffs and your ears are sporting some wacky dangly planet earrings.

You snatch the circle lensed shades from your dashboard as you stumble out of your truck. forgetting there's a step between the door and the ground. You fall forward into the parking lot pavement only for a strong warm hand to catch your wrist just before impact.  

“Jesus, Poms Poms, it's a little early for a death drop face first isn't?” Your brave Serpent rescuer snarks sounding a little out of breath.

Did he run over here?

“Yea well, it's a little early for witty banter too, Harley Davidson.” You huff twirling to face your knight in checkered flannel.

“Nice to see you're ungrateful all times of day, Teen Spirit.” He hums arms crossed with a slight grin on his face.

“You know I have an actual name, Black Parade. It's Y/n L/n.” You smirk mirroring him. A playfulness creeping behind your eyes.

“Well Y/n, I think you forgot to say ‘Thanks Sweet Pea for not letting me faceplant on the pavement’.” He smiles gesturing for you to speak. You snort as you make no effort to stifle laughter that bubbles up as you hear what supposed to be his name.

“Come on, Fight Club, Seriously is that the best you come up with?!? That's just ridiculous, Sweet Pea!?!? What's it really?!?” You manage to sputter between laughs wiping a tear from your eye.

His warm smile falls. He stiffens and fixes you with a bone chilling glare as he squares his shoulders. You back into your truck door as your laughs turn into coughs.  You can feel a burning heat crawls across your brown cheeks.

“I meant uh thanks, Sweet Pea.” You smile forcing yourself to stand straight and look him in the eyes.  

“There you go again looking at me like I'm gonna bite your head off.” He sighs rolling his eyes as he walks toward the front doors.

“Gimme a break, between inverses and memorizing the unit circle I barely got an hour of sleep last night. I really need a tutor.” You say sprinting a little to catch up with his long strides. He could easily out pace you, but he slows to match your steps.

“Are you asking me to tutor you? Also we're on Pythagorean identities.” He corrects giving you a concerned but amused look as he swings open the door.

Your eyes widen as you realize what you said.

You have just given a serpent all he would need to screw you over. Not to mention he doesn't particularly like you.

Oh my God, Nevermind I'm definitely dumber than I thought.  Who casually tells a hot stranger that they’re flunking math.

You facepalm.

Wait 'hot stranger’?

“No no no I just...I was uh a ...just umm-” You swallow your muddled explanation as you spot Veronica and Betty walking down the hall in your direction. You latch onto Sweet Pea's toned arm and manage to drag him into a side hallway out of sight. You make sure to hide yourself behind his broad frame just in case.

“L/n you're batshit. You know that?” He laughs watching you spazz out.

You place both hands on your hips and fix him with your iciest glare yet. You find yourself staring straight at his chest. You shift your gaze to his eyes without a crack in his resolve.

“Get this straight, Beanstalk. I need your help, but can't tell another living soul what you're helping me with! It would end me! Not any of your friends. Not any of mine. Not the team. Not the squad. No One At All.” You hiss.

“You know, Bring It On, even though it's ‘super sexy’ being dragged off into secluded parts of the school with you against my will you're not in the position to be making demands. I haven't even agreed to tutor you let alone named my price. Just so you know outting some demanding northsider brat about failing math isn't even a page in my burn book.” He smirks down at you as your hot air goes cold and your confidence crumbles.

“Sweet Pea... will you tutor me?” You whisper staring at your sneakers and kicking at the tile.   

“Didn't quite catch that.” He says straight faced leaning in with a hand cupped around his ear inches away from you.

“Just tutor me...please... I can't flunk this class . I'll do anything.” You huff wrinkling your face in defeat and disgust at being reduced to begging.

He backs away smiling with from ear to ear as he walks to the corner of the small breezeway.

“I've got a free period at 3rd block. I could look at what I'm working with at the back of the library. And after I access the damage then I'll let you know what my precious time is worth.” Sweet Pea shrugs dragging a hand across the nape of his neck and drawing your attention to dull ink on the right side of it. The black snake catches your attention for the very first time. Your teeth easily find your bottom lip and pull themselves across.

“Yea yea that works for me.” You say as you brush pass him shaking any kind attraction from your thoughts and sashaying out into the hallway.

[boohoologs]

[ jeon heejin, 21 ] did you hear? there’s a new addition to the hypehens family! [ boohoologs ] was starting to get known for [ ghost hunting & shaky footage ] and i think they will hit it big this time around as a part of the [ bingecon ] squad at hypehens. [ park dawon ] is known to be [ daring & bold ] and enjoys [ skating everywhere ]. with their vibes of [ colorful pairs of socks and run down buildings ] and a style that is unique, i think they are going to take the internet by storm!

hey everyone, let me introduce you to dawon! for plots and random chats please feel free to hit me up here or add my discord! crabmaster🦀#9886 .

basics

name: park dawon

age: 21

channel name: boohoologs

video type: ghost hunting & urban exploration

spoopy stuff

her past & now

dawon’s parents were never the wealthiest, being working class – so she grew up to be quite humble. 

this never influenced her, though, and it was always more important to her to have fun and to be healthy, rarely encountering any problems with her upbringing. 

obviously, she knew that there were chances she had to miss, knowing from the start that she would never attend university as the costs would just be too much for her parents to carry on their shoulders as well. 

knowing that she wouldn’t grow up to be anyone special, there was a certain lack of motivation, often causing her to not do her homework and spend her days roaming around the backstreets, annoying the ahjummas working at the convenient stores and getting into mild trouble. 

as life went on, being stuck in the circle of not being able to find a job that she would be able to do or something that was remotely well-paying enough, she started visiting the internet cafés more often, spending hours upon hours in the dim, smoke-filled rooms. 

like that, she found a liking to any urban exploration posts she would find, amazed by the beautiful pictures people were taking of seemingly “broken” things. that then slowly turned into an itch for going exploring and ghost hunting herself. 

she had signed up on hypehens, without any big expectations, just to be able to share her hobby with the outside world. 

what had started out as shaky footage of her worn-out vans with her talking over it, showing her surroundings and sometimes intently listening to any little sound quickly turned into better quality and dawon showing herself more confidently in front of the camera once she got signed up into the bingecon network. 

personality

dawon is very giving. most of the earnings she makes off of her content go immediately into her parents' banking accounts. just like any other, she naturally enjoys having money, she just doesn’t make it a big point in her life. 

she is very protective of her friends and always wants everyone to feel comfortable and loved. having fun together and supporting each other is key to her. 

sometimes she can get lost in her own thoughts, struggling to put words together or, depending on the situation, having learned through life that her words wouldn’t matter and that staying quiet would be the better option. more often than not, she has gotten into trouble for spewing out words too big for herself, slowly learning to know better than that, even though she sometimes will still explode into a scramble of words. 

she can come across as rather bold sometimes – maybe because she was never around someone who would shush her at the right times. it’s not her intention to be rude, but sometimes things just slip out of her. 

while she can be quite outgoing and daring in her videos because she slowly got used to talking to the camera instead of behind it, dawon can still be quite shy in person. 

wanted connections & plots

dumb & dumber: dawon definitely needs someone to join her in her risky adventures, someone who has just equally bad ideas as herself. maybe they’re newly found bffs, maybe they’ve known each other for a while? 

rivalries: maybe they have around the same amount of followers, but even if they’re in a different field, they get compared a lot to each other, so there’s this underlying tension, but there’s really no need to not getting along beside that. 

celebrity crush: maybe your muse has been around longer than dawon and she is definitely a fan. an awkward meeting, a lot of sweat and stuttering ensues. 

bad neighbors: the office room your muse uses is right behind the one dawon frequents. while she tries to listen in to her videos trying to figure out even the faintest of whispers, your muse is more enthusiastic while editing/recording – how can they continue living this way? 

collabs, please lots of collabs. 

skating at night: it’s a hot summer evening, and it might be a little date, but since dawon’s main way of getting from a to b is using a skateboard, both of you decide to go on a little adventure at night, just enjoying each other and having a good time. 

if you have any requests or ideas, please let me know ~ 

[caatws]

the game (chp. 3)

(read chp. 1 or chp. 2 on ao3!)

(read on ao3!)

Gamora waits.

The universe continues on from that fateful day, in the Terran year 2018, because she lets it.

She does not allow the dusted to return. She doesn’t raise a hand to the few pieces left on the board, in their absence.

For the first time, she sits back and watches the universe move on, trying to make sense of Thanos’ actions.

Within one Terran month, Thanos destroys the Soul Stone.

She feels it—feels a deep, shattering, rift in her very being, but she still doesn’t budge, because Thanos may have destroyed this year’s Soul Stone…but not the ones of years’ past.

(Honestly, her mind struggles to comprehend it all, because she is mortal and not meant to exist out of time with the stone, but there is no other way.)

But with the destruction of the stone came the destruction of her ability to leave it, to resurrect the dusted and live among them.

Part of her panics. This was a good move on his part.

But it’s not over. It can’t be.

She continues waiting.

What’s left of the Avengers—plus her sister and Rocket—track down Thanos to his garden and kill him, shortly after he destroys the stones.

This is not her victory; it’s quite the opposite, in fact. If Thanos is removed from the game, then the game itself is ended.

Thanos knows this. And the few times she feels his presence in the Soul World, she can detect his sneers and questions, reminding her this is another loss.

But, once again, she doesn’t budge.

In total, she waits five Terran years.

It doesn’t feel like it in the Soul World. She lives out of time.

But that’s when things start getting interesting.

The Avengers decide to use time travel to get the Infinity Stones. It's not a bad plan, considering it's, well, their only plan, but Gamora already senses things will go south.

After all, only she knows the rules of the Soul Stone.

In practically every single past game, she's explained it to everyone, after returning to life with them.

But that never occurred this time around. So no live soul knows—not even Thanos, as the Thanos who did know has already perished.

Somehow, they split their forces up in such a way that two specific Avengers with an established deep, intimate, personal bond are the ones tasked with retrieving the Soul Stone, and Gamora figures the faintest of echoes from past games have swayed everyone's thinking in that direction.

She senses when the two Avengers in question arrive at Vormir and begin ascending the mountain.

She’s come to know each of the Avengers intimately over the…however many years it’s been, that she’s played this game.

Clint Barton. Also known as Hawkeye. He had a wife and family—all lost in the snap. Gamora usually gives them back to him. This time, she didn’t, and instead watched him turn to ruthless slaughter in his efforts to cope. She tells herself that when everything is over and she’s won, she will apologize to him personally.

Natasha Romanoff. Also known as the Black Widow. Gamora sees herself in her—a child stripped of her childhood, raised by monsters to kill others, for some grand purpose a child could never comprehend, but is expected to die for. Unlike Clint, Natasha channeled her grief into attempts to preserve whatever life left after Thanos, and even held out hope that the snap wasn’t the end. An impressive reaction, considering Natasha’s past. Gamora takes notes.

Both are lone wolves, from what Gamora’s observed. But both have learned to work in team settings and have given themselves up for those they consider family and friends.

On Vormir, a fight breaks out between the two of them for who must be sacrificed for the Soul Stone.

And Gamora knows it’s time to stop the game, then and there, because there's only one way this can end—a way she cannot, will not condone, because no one deserves to know this life, the endless cycle.

So, she stands, and says, “We have to reset."

But her child self doesn’t move.

Clint and Natasha teeter closer to the edge.

“No one else is supposed to die this way,” Gamora says, desperate.

Her child self just scrunches her nose, contemplating.

“We can stop this.” Gamora grabs her by her shoulders and shakes her. “Why won’t you stop this?”

“It’s a valid sacrifice,” she says.

Natasha hangs off the cliff, about to let go of Clint’s hand.

“She wanted nothing more than to be with her family again,” her child self continues. “She’s giving up that wish to save them.”

Gamora releases the child, and tries to reset everything herself. She closes her eyes and concentrates, but…

“This is the key to victory,” the child says, and holds up a hand to Gamora.

Orange fills her vision and she falls.

Natasha Romanoff also falls.

Gamora comes to beside Natasha's body. She looks around, but her child self is nowhere in sight.

She looks down at Natasha, and finds herself feeling…numb.

Her mind’s racing with a lot of other things—grief, guilt, anger, confusion.

But in her heart…nothing.

Because this is the first time she won’t be alone in many years.

It’s a strange pill to swallow. Too many emotions to feel at once.

Instead, Gamora thinks back to the countless games she spent working closely with Natasha, plotting against her father. She recalls how intimately they came to knew each other, fellow children of monsters who stole them away from their homes and the childhoods they deserved to use them for their own agendas. Where Peter and the other Guardians couldn’t quite understand Gamora’s past trauma, Natasha was there, reminiscing in her own experiences that left her struggling to do what little good she could do in her world.

She thinks back to the child’s—the stone’s—face, curious and ruthless and unwilling to prevent this tragedy.

Only then does it hit her, and she cries out, over Natasha’s unconscious body, for the second life to be saved, but ruined, by the Soul Stone and its games.

Sometime later, Natasha slowly sits up and look around, expression hesitant.

“Hello,” Gamora says calmly from behind her, trying to maintain a relaxed, yet still defensive, stance, in case she attacks, because this Natasha will not recognize her, and the realization hurts Gamora more than she thought it could. “You’re the one they call Widow."

Natasha looks unsure of what to make of Gamora. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“Anyone. Everyone.” Gamora almost smiles. “You’re one of the most dangerous women in the galaxy.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” Gamora says. “Because they call me the most dangerous woman in the galaxy.”

Natasha’s eyes dart around her quickly, and her hands move to where Gamora knows her weapons would normally be. “Who are you? And where the hell are we?”

“My name is Gamora,” she says, slowly. “And this is the Soul World.”

Natasha calms down fairly quickly after that, once it’s clear Gamora doesn’t pose an actual threat. She paces around a bit, trying to work everything out in her head. Gamora watches.

“What do you last remember?” Gamora asks.

“I remember…going to space. No, not just space—time travel. With…” Natasha pauses. “Clint. Oh my God.”

“He’s fine,” Gamora says.

“The Soul Stone…did he get it?”

Gamora can feel him carrying the stone—carrying them—back to the rest of his team, heart heavy with grief. “At your expense.”

“It had to be done,” Natasha says, boldly, without any hesitation. “Whatever it takes to bring everyone back. And stop that purple son of a bitch.”

Gamora wonders just how far Natasha is willing to take this "whatever" to save the universe.

They watch the rest of the timeline play out together, and the Avengers try to gather up the rest of the Stones to reverse Thanos’ snap. Banner snaps his fingers with his own Infinity Gauntlet, and the world around Gamora and Natasha practically comes undone.

Suddenly, Gamora feels the souls of the dusted leave all at once.

It’s a strange feeling—one she’s never had before, as the typical gatekeeper of the souls, controlling when they’re released.

Now someone else has taken over the controls.

“I can’t believe we just,” Natasha pauses, gesturing vaguely. “We just sit here?”

“There isn’t much else we can do,” Gamora says.

“I don’t like it.”

Gamora doesn’t reply.

Sure enough, the Avengers triumph against Thanos again—for real, this time. It may be a Thanos who doesn’t know what’s to come, yet, regarding the stones and the snap and most definitely not their game, but it’s something.

And then Steve Rogers goes back in time to return the Soul Stone, because he's an honorable man Gamora's come to respect but question, and Natasha no longer owes a debt.

She’s a free woman.

“Come with me,” she begs Gamora.

“I can’t.”

“You have someone—your family—all waiting for you,” Natasha points out, as if Gamora has a choice in the matter. She bites back a cutting reply that would’ve reminded Natasha of the fact.

Gamora settles for, “So do you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Natasha insists, and Gamora swallows back the sudden urge to cry.

“You have to,” she says.

“I’ll come back for you.”

“Natasha—“

“I’ll—I’m gonna figure it out,” Natasha says. “I swear. I will. I’m coming back.”

Natasha fades completely then. Gamora wipes a stray tear from her eye.

“Yes,” she whispers. “You will.”

This is not her victory, nor does she believe it’s the most victorious outcome for the people she’s come to love and admire after countless games who have no memory of her nor any knowledge of her power.

She can get them a better ending—get everyone a better ending.

So, she resets.

This time, after the snap occurs and the dust settles, a familiar face joins her in the interim.

“Why am I here?” Natasha asks. “What—where…?”

“Just give it a moment,” Gamora says calmly. “It’ll come back to you.”

As it does, Gamora watches Natasha’s face embark on a journey of expressions, visualizing her mental process, before Natasha finally settles for a soft, “What the fuck?”

“You're back in the Soul World,” Gamora says, an echo of their first meeting. “And you can now wield the power of the Soul Stone. With me. To defeat Thanos.”

Natasha blinks. She looks like she’s about to say something, raising a hand and opening her mouth.

Then she turns abruptly and walks away.

Gamora takes a few steps after her. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere. I don’t know. Anywhere.” Natasha continues walking. “Just. Not here.”

Gamora watches her walk until she fades into the orange hues, only for Natasha to reappear on the opposite side of where she’d walked to, now walking toward Gamora.

“There is nowhere but here,” Gamora says.

Natasha stops. “This is above my pay grade.”

It's a shitty fate that Gamora doesn't know how to justify. But a selfish part of her relishes in the fact that she won't have to do this alone anymore.

So, Gamora gestures to a nearby pillar, and moves to sit down. "We have a lot to catch up on."

[the-nagakenny-archives]

Pick a title, it may be a series.

The jungle was a strange and wonderful place, its where mother nature was allowed to spread herself wild and free without regard for man or beast. She provided endlessly if you knew where to look, and to many creatures she provided sanctuary. The trees, rocks, and rivers housed endless amounts of species and exotic creatures.. and currently, one of the most enticing was lounging about idly under a large cacao tree. Swinging his thick tail lazily above him to gently brush at the developing pods and branches. As he amused himself with the rough textures of the pods and bark, gentle singing emerged into the world with a soft smile. “Na na na na naaa~ Hmm Hmmmm~” a simple tune for a simple happiness, textures and sensations were so important to the Naga, especially when it came to other living creatures. With someone as curious and outgoing as he, Kenneth often spent his free hours enjoying the sensations of life and welcoming any new encounter with open arms. “Morning opens up~ Your petals and I see, your sweet and smiling face~ Under no guise, these sapphire skies, shimmer in awe of you~” What was he singing about..? Perhaps a past encounter, or simply allowing lyrics to come to his head. Musical talent such as he was rarely held back from inspiration.. after all, natural hunters have to get creative with their methods. He took a breath in to begin on the next verse, “With twilig-“ *snap* “Hm?” The snapping of a nearby branch broke Kenny from his idle state and caused him to perk up and turn around to see what was nearby. “Come on! He couldn’t have gone that far, we shot him in the shoulder for christ’s sake!” The voice of an older man could be heard a few meters away, Kenny flinched slightly at the mention of shooting.. these men had weapons, and even though he was all muscle guns were bad news. Considering how close they were, a bullet could easily rip through him… but more importantly, Kenny was wondering just who they were referring to when they said him. There was a second voice as well, seemingly gruffer and more aggravated than the first. “Yeah but not his lower half, who knows how fast he can go since snakes are pretty much all muscle!” Lower half was a snake huh..? Kenneth’s eyes narrowed as he suspected that these two men came here to do more harm than good.. well, he just had to do something about that now didn’t he? If he was a bit more bestial in his ways perhaps he would have drawn blood over this and finish them quickly.. but, that wasn’t our Kenny. He silently slipped into the underbrush and managed to sneak behind the two older poachers before managing to get himself to higher ground, after all he did work best in the trees. “He probably went to the river, the first thing he would do is clean out that wound.” “Yeah, lets hurry then.” The two picked up their pace, lifting their legs a little higher in their step to proceed quicker through the dense flora of the jungle floor. Meanwhile the muscular Naga above silently listened and deftly matched their pace, slithering and weaving between thick branches with ease to keep his path seamless. The last thing he wanted was to alert these hunters to his presence before he had a chance to take the gun away. Thankfully the forest by the river was far denser than this, so they would have to rest.. and once they did, he would make sure to take care of them appropriately. With a little luck, maybe he would even find that creature they spoke of earlier before it was too late. The tailing continued without interruption for a short while, before one of the hunters spoke again and caused the Naga to freeze in his track. “Look here, blood. Dark red, it must be his.” He and his partner crouched down and examined the blood closer, giving Kenny a chance to poke his head through ever so slightly through a cover of leaves to see what was going on. He scowled at them, his thick brows knitting into an expression of anger at the fact that they were hunting one of his own, he knew that smell anywhere and had been around long enough to know it fairly well. He had to hurry and find an opening to save whoever these men were after. “Its not that thick either, he cant be too far off now.” “Wonder if its the big one or the little one?” “Whichever it is doesn’t matter as long as its one of em, come on!” they charged forward once again. The plot thickens, and the kind hearted Kenneth was only growing more and more bitter towards these two as they revealed themselves to be a danger to more than just one they shot at. As tempting as it was becoming to throw these guys off of a cliff, Kenny was no killer.. he would wait, when the time was right he could take them out without bloodshed.

Sure enough, by the time they were coming close to the river the two men were out of breath, trekking through wetlands and dense vines took whatever energy from them they had left. Out of breath, one of the hunters groaned and gasped into the wet air, “Ah-Haahh-Ahh…!! Okay.. look man we have to rest, my knees are shaking..!” The second and younger one had no intention of stopping.. but to be alone in the jungle was certain death, and to take out their prey they both needed to be ready. Annoyed, he rolled his eyes, “Yeah yeah yeah, just go rest by that tree. Ill keep watch..” You didn’t have to tell him twice, with no resistance the other plopped down on a rock at the base of a large tree, the branches hung down thick like ropes and the leaves seemed more like hundreds of thousands delicate feathers that created the optical illusion of a tree having hundreds of small birds hanging off of the sides. The younger poacher was busy looking forward to see if he could spy the river, turned away from his resting partner.. “Weird tree..” The resting hunter said as he leaned back against the dark smooth bark..‘the bark.. it feels cool.. smooth too..’ He thought to himself, of course, any person behind the fourth wall knew that wasn’t bark. Before the hunter could make the realization he had been duped, suddenly the bark came alive in the form of a single thick tendril, able to cover his entire mouth and neck at once to silence any cry for help before swiftly dragging him up into the foliage without a sound. His hands quickly moving to grip the thick restraint, making him drop his shotgun to the ground which caused the other to turn around. “Yeah yeah all trees are weird.. you ju-“ .. he found the other gone.. “…Bryce?” “MMPH-MM—!!” The older hunter kicked at the air beneath him trying to wriggle free of the sudden grasp. He looked down to the ground, and noticed that what was around him wasn’t a branch, but coils..! He looked up to see a large muscular figure curled above him in the tree was reeling him in like a fish on a line. A dark chuckle emerged from the canopy of the tree as the shadow slowly descended into view.. it was time to put on a show for the.. guests~ “Well well well.. look what little fly stepped into my web tonight..” He laughed darkly, and with a sinister toothy grin, met the poor hunter half way. His copper hair hanging forward to just tickle the nose of the muffled poacher. Bryce, who was defenseless in his current state, stared back terrified that this encounter would be his doom as he watched the pupils of the beast. “You do know.. that there are laws we have here in the jungle..yes?” His voice was deep and rich, even in his motions to be terrifying Kenneth could not shake his alluring nature.. besides, scaring these poachers was a bit of a guilty pleasure. “To come here means to risk everything.. even your life.. and if you value your’s you’ll keep quiet.” His voice rumbled in the pits of his chest, after all now that one hunter was without weapons there was no need to be scared of him, Bryce was scared stiff. The Naga could feel the human’s body temperature drop in his coils, smirking, he pressed his forehead to the others who gasped softly under his restraints… ‘This is how I die..!’ He thought to himself.. “Now… look at me~” With a gentle motion and tighten of his body around the other Kenny turned the man to look at him as his venomous eyes softened and rippled into a soothing pattern of colors. The hunter kept his eyes firmly shut, as he believed he was about to be eaten.. “Bryce!!” The younger hunter called out, both hands on a large gun from the unease of his partner disappearing. This wasn’t good, he was getting closer to the tree and was leaving Kenny with less and less room to work. “Come on..” Pressed Kennith a bit further, his voice quieting to the faintest of whisper Thankfully, the outcry of the second hunter caused the captured one to open his eyes in sudden hope that he would be saved… within moments, the human could be felt relaxing into a limp little doll as he met with the Naga’s, his eyes gradually reflecting the colors and his lids slowly but surely becoming heavy. “There we go.. just go to ssssleep..” He hissed softly, speaking quietly and making sure the human would succumb to the spell before placing him gently on a large thick branch just above him.. One down, one to go. With luck, Kenny hoped he would simply be able to scare the other away. It was too risky to attempt hypnosis when you had an on edge hunter with a gun ready to shoot at the first sight of movement, and with him being so large it was even more dangerous to try and move as his human top was nowhere near as deft as his lower half… what to do? “….Shit..” the hunter cursed to himself, shifting constantly and pointing the gun around like it was some sort of B grade action movie, clearly this wasn’t his first mission at all. He grew closer and closer to the tree, this was bad.. if only there was a distraction that didn’t give Kenny away.. “Hn?” The human perked up, seeing something glisten a bit under the tree, he hurried and crouched beside it to examine his sleeping partners shotgun that had been left here… It was now or never, in these precious few seconds Kennith moved into action. He quickly snapped his tail down the trunk again, wrapping it quickly around the younger hunters shoulders and neck to restrict his arms from moving. “What the-?!!” He cried out in confusion, keeping a tight grip on the gun until another loop around his neck give a sudden and tight squeeze to him, giving the man to begin choking and to drop both guns to the ground to try and free himself from the grasp of the snake. Once Kenny heard the weapons drop, he quickly reeled him up the tree and relaxed his hold on the other just enough so he could breathe. 

With a heavy gasp and a few coughs, the younger hunter glared up to his captor. “You damn monster..! What did you do with Bryce?!” He demanded with the fury of a pissed off hornet, but to no effect of intimidating the large Naga keeping hold of him. “Wouldn’t you like to know..?” menacingly, he seemed to puff himself up as he grew closer to the other, his fangs once again showing in a malicious smile as his pupils narrowed to a sliver. “Better yet.. maybe you’d like to join him..?” Of course Kenny was all too pleased to let the two hunters snooze together in the tree, however since the young hunter had assumed the worst had befallen his partner, he paled before the monster and his face dropped in utter terror as he too thought.. “This is how I die..!” “…or… I could let you leave little one.. if you promise never to return here again..” He hissed, and tilted his head a bit, his mouth open just enough to exaggerate his terror and show a toothy salivating mouth, the slender tip of his tongue poking out to make him look far more menacing… in that moment, he was quite certain he heard the boy piss himself . “I-I WONT..!!” In the other’s eyes his partner was already dead, he was defenseless, and his life was not worth risking to find whatever they were chasing, those corporate bastards didn’t pay him enough for it anyway. “Good… and don’t even think about telling anyone else what you saw here, really.. who would believe you?~” he hissed, rubbing salt in the wound of terror was not a tactic he used often, but it was risky to let him leave here with the possibility of bringing backup. “I PROMISE..!!” The boy was on the verge of tears, and let out a cry as he was swiftly plopped down from the tree, landing on the muddy wetlands beneath. He recoiled for a few moments to gather his bearings before sprinting off back where he came from, completely forgetting about his guns amidst the panic. “Urgh.. I hate doing this.. so much spit..” Kenny pouted, wiping his mouth of the excess saliva  with his arm and blinking a bit as his pupils dilated back to their normal shape and size. But the hunters were taken care of, with luck perhaps this sleeping one would find his way back wherever the other had run off to. It was cleaned quickly, and he continued his journey to the river in hopes of catching whatever creature they were hunting. From the signs of blood on the way here, Kennith worried about the other much more powerful predators and hunters that existed in this jungle. 

Using the canopy and branches he slithered and quickly progressed forward until he could hear the sound of running water, his eyes lighting up a bit as this was a place he frequented on occasion to eat and bathe if his normal spot was too crowded. Before he left the safety of the trees he scanned the area for signs of more hunters or the injured Naga… no hunters, but the scent of blood and metal bullets could be smelled. With that safety he quickly scaled down the trees and along the riverbank, half-way debating if he should search the river while swimming to check underwater as well.. Just as he began to shift and wade his long form into the river, he spied something ahead. Hurrying forward, his hopes were met as he seemed to find what those hunters were searching for. Beside the river, crouching lowly to the ground and huffing in pain was indeed.. a Naga like himself. Kenny’s face immediately washed over in worry at the state of the other, he only saw the back side of the other as the front was slowly pressing itself deeper into the ground. He could tell this was a male by the build and silently looked over him to assess the damage. His back was covered in scars of all kinds. Some looked like weapons, others looked like burns, and some… well, some he didn’t even know what could have caused those unusually shaped incisions. His tail normally sporting the dark umber body and charcoal patterns was sliced and scratched, supposedly from the speed and force of him trying to get away from those humans as the cuts looked rough and there were more than a few leaves, thorns, and forest debris lodged in tail. From this angle Kennith thought he looked like a beaten animal as upon further inspection it seemed there were bruises and strange small red holes along his arms. He hadn’t seen anything like this from such a powerful creature.. despite that, his hair was well groomed and he wasn’t dirty, his physique was comparable to Kenny’s own in terms of muscle structure, even the patches of his skin and tail that were unscathed were remarkably smooth and tended to.. what could have happened? “Hey.. can you move?” He gently spoke, terrified of even going above a murmur as the Naga feared he would break the other.. thankfully, the shivering creature managed to tilt his head up slightly, revealing a small section of his face.. a small scar above a dark brow, sweat dripping down only to disappear into the fine hairs above beautiful pained sapphire eyes.. as they met Kenny’s own he felt his heart sink at the obvious pain of the other was in. He bent down, a large hand reaching out to touch him before pausing, he looked to the other with genuine concern.. “Can I touch you?” The large Naga asked.. the other giving back the faintest of nods, one could even confuse it for a harsh shiver. Carefully, the two warm hands of the other slipped onto the smaller sides of the other, shifting him gently but enough to slip the tip of his tail underneath his torso, eliciting a pained grunt from the other. “Sorry..!! Just, bear with it.. I promise Ill try to do this quick..” It was rare that he had to deal with someone this gravely injured, he had to be cautious. Counting down out loud, at one he used his tail and hands to gently roll the other male onto his back, using his tail to roll him slightly above ground so any wound would not gather any filth inside of it and keep the pain at a minimum. Kenny kept him slightly above ground in his makeshift sling as he managed to get a look at his chest and face. “Oh gods..” He flinched a bit at the sight, the wound where he was shot was deeper than he had expected and in a terrible place too. Blood was seeping out at a steady pace at a deep bullet wound that hit perfectly crooked between his collar bone and shoulder, from the smears surrounding the wound it looked like this man had tried to get the bullet out himself, it only made the wound worse and pushed the object in deeper. This wasn’t good, from the sheer placement of the wound Kennith knew that there would be both bone and muscle ripped apart the entry, healing would take months or even years if it was serious enough. He looked to the body of the man and discovered additional wounds form his desperate fleeing from the hunters, scratches and punctures from the local plants. His chest and rippled abdomen tightening and flexing in time with the convulsion of his pained breathing as he remained somewhat limp in the others cradle. His arms clutching the area around the wound again as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment in silence. “…Let me help you.” Kenny stated, knowing that without his help this Naga would most likely die from his wounds left untreated. “Hah..! N-no..” He choked out, gritting his teeth at another surge of pain before panting. “The.. the hunters.. you need to run..” …even in pain this creature was worried about the well being of another, if there wasn’t a life on the line Kenny would have taken that moment to warm himself with the others kindness. With a shake of his head he bent over the other and looked at the wound closer. “The hunters are gone, I made sure of that.. “ he stated as he managed to see just how deep the bullet was.. he could get it out, but not here. At his tree he had a few tools in his collection of human treasures that he thought he could use to help this creature, but he would have to quick. One of his warm hands slipped down, cupping the smooth chiseled cheek of the man in his embrace. “..look at me.. If you want to live you’ll have to trust me and look into my eyes..!” Kenny was serious in his tone, but still those velvety notes of his voice were detectable.. unsure, but unwilling to die, the man turned his head to the other and looked upon a smoothly flowing stream of colorful rings from the other. With little energy to resist,  the colors were quickly reflected in the other naga’s eyes as his hands once clutching against his chest slipped off and fell limply to the sides.

“..S-sybil..” he murmured out before gently letting an exhale past his lips and falling under entirely. His consciousness slipping into the depths of his mind as sleep swiftly took him under its sweet deep sanctuary.. “Sybil..?” Kenny repeated  to himself in confusion, unfamiliar with the name and curious.. perhaps it had something to do with his state. He didn’t have time to think, quickly he coiled the end of his form in an sort of harness around the other’s chest, making sure to overlap where the wound was and pressing tightly against it to slow the bleeding before wrapping him in a way that was easier to carry given his long and larger form. Without a word and on a mission, he disappeared back into the brush, hurrying back to his tree to help before it was too late.

[dazzledbybooks]

Harbor for the Nightingale is the highly anticipated fourth installment in the popular award-winning Stranje House YA series! #1 New York Times best-selling author Meg Cabot calls this romantic Regency adventure series "completely original and totally engrossing.""Enticing from the first sentence." --New York Times Sunday Book Review on A School for Unusual Girls "Baldwin has a winning series here: her characters are intriguing and fully rendered." --Booklist, on Refuge for MastermindsIt's 1814. In this alternate history, Napoleon has forced Europe to its knees, and now he plots to seize control of Britain.Maya brings the mystery of India with her...With her friends' lives in deadly peril, Miss Maya Barrington, one of Miss Stranje's unusual girls, must serve as a double agent. To do so, she gains entry into Napoleon's duplicitous game on the arm of the enigmatic Lord Kinsworth. She can read almost everyone; not so with this young rascal. Quick with a jest and armed with lethal charm, Kinsworth remains just beyond her reach. Can she trust him?With Britain's future at risk and those she loves in deadly peril, Maya questions everything she thought she understood about life, love, and loyalty.Fans of genre-blending, romance, and action will love this speculative history Regency-era novel filled with spunky heroines, handsome young lords, and dastardly villains--fourth in the Stranje House series. Don't miss the first three books: A School for Unusual Girls, Exile for Dreamers, and Refuge for Masterminds "An outstanding alternative history series entry and a must-have for teen libraries." --School Library Journal on Refuge for Masterminds"This alternative history series will appeal to fans of Gail Carriger's works and The Cecelia and Kate novels by Patricia C. Wrede and Caroline Stevermer." --School Library Journal on A School for Unusual Girls Title: HARBOR FOR THE NIGHTINGALE (Stranje House #4) Author: Kathleen Baldwin Pub. Date: September 26, 2019 Publisher: Ink Lion Books  Formats: Paperback, eBook Pages: 352 Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, B&N, Kobo Excerpt: One Miss Maya Barrington’S Typhoon July 1814, Mayfair, London, Haversmythe House Miss Stranje hosts a coming-out ball for her young ladies All the world is sound. Even if I were blind, I would still be able to see. It is as if everything hums—the trees, air, stones, and people—especially people. They all sing songs. Some songs are more dangerous than others. Most of the guests have already arrived at the ball, and our receiving line is dwindling. Georgie, Lady Jane, and Tess left us to join a lively country-dance. Seraphina still stands quietly beside me. Her inner music wraps around her as delicately as does the silk of her cloud-blue ballgown. With her white-blonde hair, Sera is the closest thing to an angel I have ever seen. On my other side, stands our rock, our headmistress, Miss Stranje, a woman made of iron. The footman at the doors announces another arrival. “Lord and Lady Barrington.” My father and his wife stand in the doorway. The instruments playing serenely within me crash to a stop and clatter to the floor of my soul. He came. I press my hand against my heart to keep it from flapping and shrieking like a strangled bird. Seraphina edges closer so that our shoulders touch. She is trying to lend me strength. The ballroom overflows with people. Dozens of strangers clad in shimmering finery, surround us, laughing and talking, but my very English stepmother ignores them all and marches straight for the receiving line. She holds her nose aloft, and her mouth pinched up so tight that her porcelain white face looks almost skeletal. An out of tune clarinet, she squeaks toward us, every step making me wish I could stop up my ears. People say she is beautiful. My father certainly must have thought so. I fail to see it, especially when her face prunes up as it is doing now. It is a familiar expression. One that causes me to quake nervously while simultaneously clenching my fists. Stepmother. That is what I was instructed to call her. I cannot bring myself to do it. Mother is a title of sacred honor. This woman, whose soul honks like an out of tune oboe, hasn’t the faintest motherly inclination toward me. To me, she will never be anything more than the woman who married my father. Never mind that my mother, his first wife, was a Maharajah’s daughter. To the new Lady Barrington, I am merely the brown-skinned embarrassment her husband acquired in India. Her hate roars at me like high tide slamming against a rocky shore. She halts, and her blond sausage curls quiver with distaste as she plants herself squarely in front of Miss Stranje. She does not curtsey or even nod in response to our headmistress’s greeting. Her words trickle out so sweetly that most people would not notice she is gritting her teeth as she utters them. “Miss Stranje, a word if you please.” Naturally, Seraphina notices. She notices everything—it is her gift. And her curse. She reaches for my hand to reassure me. Of the five of us, we who are Miss Stranje’s students, Seraphina Wyndham is the only one who truly understands me, and I do not want my best friend to suffer if she is caught being supportive of me. So, I smile reassuringly and slip free of her fingers. This is my battle, and I must face it alone. Sera tugs my arm as I step away and furtively whispers, “Do something. Calm her.” She, like everyone else at Stranje House, mistakenly thinks my voice contains some sort of magical power to soothe. It is much simpler than that. My grandmother taught me how to use certain tones and cadences to relax people and communicate tranquility. Most souls are more than receptive, they hunger for it. My father’s wife is a different matter. I have tried in the past, and rather than succumb to my calming tactics, she resists. On several occasions, she even covered her ears and screeched at me. I remember well her accusations of witchcraft and demonic bedevilment. It was on those grounds she convinced my father to send me away to Stranje House. I wish, for Miss Stranje’s sake, Lady Barrington would let me quiet her rat-like tendency to snipe and bite. Although, I’m not worried. I am confident our headmistress has guessed what is coming and will manage my father’s wife quite handily without my help. After all, a rat does not surprise an owl. “This way, Lady Barrington.” Miss Stranje graciously directs our bristling guest to the side of the receiving line. Father’s charming wife clasps my shoulder and propels me forward with her. I could not possibly soothe her now. I’m not nearly composed enough to do it. Indeed, I am battling an overwhelming inclination to yank her boney claw from my shoulder and twist it until she cries off. “What have you done, Miss Stranje?” Lady Barrington releases me and waves her hand at my ensemble. She is objecting to Miss Stranje’s ingenious innovation, a traditional sari draped over an English ballgown. “Why have you dressed the child thus?” Lady Barrington’s fingers close in a fist around the embroidered veil covering my hair. “I’m mortified! You’ve garbed her like a heathen. Surely, this is an affront to everyone here.” She flicks the saffron silk away as if it has soiled her gloves. “How do you expect Lord Barrington and myself to weather this . . . this outrage!” She barks so loud that some of our guests turn to stare. “After the enormous sum we paid you, it is beyond my comprehension why you should do us such a disservice—” “Lady Barrington!” Miss Stranje’s tone chops through the woman’s tirade. “Calm yourself.” Our headmistress stands a good four or five inches taller than most women, and she straightens to make every inch count. “You sadly mistake the matter, my lady. The other guests are well acquainted with your husband’s daughter. In fact, a few weeks ago she was invited by no less a personage than Lady Jersey to sing at Carlton House for the Prince Regent. Miss Barrington’s voice impressed His Highness so greatly that he, the highest authority in the land, suggested your stepdaughter ought to be declared a national treasure.” “What?” Lady Barrington blinks at this news, but her astonishment is short-lived. She clears her throat and steps up emboldened. “Oh, that. I am well aware of Maya’s ability to mesmerize others with her voice. She uses demonic trickery, and you ought not allow—” Miss Stranje leans forward, her tone low and deadly. “Are you unaware of the fact that Lady Castlereagh issued Miss Barrington vouchers for Almack’s?” ���Al-Almack’s . . .” Lady Barrington sputters at the mention of high society’s most exclusive social club. Her hands flutter to her mouth in disbelief. “No. That can’t be. Lady Castlereagh approved of her?” She glances sideways at me and her upper lips curls as if she tastes something foul in the air. “Yes. Her vouchers were signed and sealed by the great lady herself.” Miss Stranje’s face transforms into a mask of hardened steel under which most people tremble in fear. “Not to put too fine a point on it, my lady, but Miss Barrington has been granted entry into the highest social circles. And, more to the point, it is my understanding that the patronesses refused to grant you vouchers. You were denied, is that not so?” Lady Barrington steps back, unwilling to answer, a hand clutching her throat. Miss Stranje refuses to let her quarry wriggle away. “In fact, my dear lady, anyone planning a soiree or ball during the remainder of the season, anyone who is anyone, has invited Miss Barrington to attend. I have stacks of invitations, dozens of notes, all of them begging your husband’s daughter to do them the honor of singing at their gatherings. Indeed, society has taken her under their wing so thoroughly I had rather thought you would be offering me a bonus, instead of this ill-conceived reprimand.” Miss Stranje turns and levels a shrewd gaze at my father, who until this moment stood behind us silently observing. He places a hand on his wife’s waist and moves her aside. This stranger, this formidable Englishman who I used to call Papa with such glee, steps up to my headmistress and takes her measure. After a moment that stretches long enough to hammer my stomach into mincemeat, he nods respectfully. “Very well, Miss Stranje. I shall send additional remuneration to you in the morning.” His wife gasps, and indignation squeals off her like sour yellow gas. He turns to me and reaches for my hand. Every instinct in me shouts to pull back. Do not let him touch you. It has been many long years since I have seen anything resembling a fatherly mannerism from him. I am terrified of what I might feel, and yet even more terrified of what I might miss if I pull away. A sharp intake of breath crosses my lips, but then all other sounds cease. I no longer hear laughter or talking from the guests in the ballroom. No footsteps. No shuffling or clattering. The hum of impenetrable silence muffles everything else as I watch him lift my hand. My father bows slightly, the way all the other gentlemen did as they came through the receiving line. He holds my fingers loosely as if we are mere acquaintances. “You look lovely, Maya, very much like your mother.” He straightens, and I think I hear a whiff of sound—a soft keening, low and mournful. Except it is so brief and distant, I cannot be certain. “You have her fire in your eyes. She would be proud.” He squares his shoulders. “I’m pleased to see you making your way in the world—flourishing on your own.” Flourishing? Hardly. Unable to summon enough breath for words, I dip in an English curtsey that has become a habit. When I am able to speak, it sounds embarrassingly weak and fluttery, like a frightened bird. “I am glad you think so, my lord.” He lets go of my gloved fingers, offers his arm to his wife, and leaves me. Without a backward glance, he walks away. His measured gait is aloof and elegant, no different from that of a hundred other strangers in this room. The hollow thump of his heels as he abandons me hurts far worse than anything the spiteful woman he married has ever said. I wish now that I had not allowed him to touch me. I ought to have run from the house—anything would be better than this grinding loneliness that darkens my insides. I would rather rip out my heart than to fall into the chasm threatening to swallow me. I’ve been in that dark place before. The way he dismisses me without a second thought sends me spiraling back to India. I’m there again, in the stifling heat of his sickroom. Worried, I sneaked in to see him and stood quietly at the foot of his bed. Fear thumped through me like an elephant march as I watched him thrash under the sheets, fevered with the same epidemic that had only days earlier taken my mother’s life. I remember his wide-eyed alarm when he noticed me standing by his bedpost. I was only six, but I can still hear his hoarse shout for the servants. “Get her out of here. Send her away!” “No! No. I want to stay with you. Let me stay with you,” I begged. Crying, I clung to his bedpost, refusing to leave. “Go! Take the chi—” Retching cut his rebuke short. Next came a string of muffled curses. “Out!” “Come, miss. You cannot stay. Your father is very sick.” Servants dragged me, kicking and screaming from his room. Later, my ayah told me Papa wanted me to stay away so that I would not catch his illness. I will never know if that was true or not. My ayah may have been trying to spare my feelings. I do remember telling her I didn’t care if I got sick and died. I would rather stay with my papa. “No, kanya. No, little girl. You must not say such things.” She brushed my hair until it gleamed like my papa’s black boots. “You will live, child. I see this. The future blooms in you. You are gende ka phool.” She pulled a marigold out of a small vase and placed it in my palms. “Protector. Sun lion.” I touched the bright orange petals and thought to myself, what good is such a small flower. It is too fragile—too easily crushed. I was right. The next day, on Papa’s orders, his secretary, a fusty man with little patience for children, escorted me to my grandmother’s family in the north. My father sent me away from the only world I’d ever known. On that long trip, loneliness and hurt chewed me up. Why would he send me so far away? Was he too sick? Or was his grief too heavy for him to share in mine? Perhaps my black hair and olive skin reminded him too much of my dead mother. Or was it because she was gone that he no longer cared for me? Why? We traveled for days and days, journeying toward the great mountains, land of the five rivers, and all the way there, sadness gnawed on my soul. Few Europeans had ever ventured to the old villages and cities along the rivers. People were wary and distrustful of my white escort. He had difficulty finding a guide, and even when he did, we made several wrong turns. I did not care. Numb with grief, certain my father would die, or that he no longer loved me. I was already a lost child. What did it matter if we wandered forever? After several treacherous river crossings, our guide located my family’s village on the Tawi River. The weary attaché deposited me and my trunks in their midst and hurriedly left. I sat in the dirt beside my baggage, completely abandoned. The last ember of hope flickered inside me and blew out. Strangers, who I would learn later were my cousins and aunts, gathered in a circle around me, staring, their faces ripe with curiosity and suspicion. Half-English, half-Indian, I was an unwelcome oddity, who belonged nowhere. I sat in the center of their circle, feeling like an oddly painted lizard. Did they judge me poisonous? Or edible? A woman’s joyous cry startled me. Astonished, I stood up. In my exhausted state, amidst all the confusion, I briefly mistook her voice for my mother’s. I stared at the old woman running toward me. The voice, although eerily similar, did not belong to my dead mother. It belonged to my grandmother. She burst through her gathered kinsman, took one look at me, and opened her arms. Though I learned later she had only visited me once as an infant, she kissed my forehead and hugged me, rocking and murmuring in Hindi. In tears, she declared to all my cousins and aunts that I was her daughter returned home. Grandmother, my naanii, did not care about my mixed blood. She had no qualms about teaching her half-caste granddaughter the ways of her people. Others in our village were not so quick to trust me. I was half-English, after all. But out of respect for my grandmother, they kept their opinions to themselves. Naanii taught me how to make bread, how to mix healing herbs, braid hair, sew, and a thousand other things. More importantly, Naanii taught me to listen. To hear the world around us. Over and over, she told me, “All life sings a song if we will but stop and listen.” I remember standing on the banks of the river washing clothes. “Close your eyes, little bird,” Naanii said. “Quiet your mind and tell me what you hear?” I pointed to her kinswoman standing in the shallows scrubbing her laundry against the stones. “I hear Kanishka humming a contented tune.” Grandmother, ever patient, smiled and asked, “And the stones, little one, what do they sing?” I laughed and closed my eyes tight, listening for subtler vibrations. “They are old, Naanii. Their voices are quiet and deep. I can hardly hear them. Kanishka sings too loudly, so does the wind in the trees and grass.” I opened my eyes. “And the river is especially loud.” “Ahh.” She nodded, wrung out the cloth she’d been laundering, and set it in her basket. “It is true. Water is bold and brash. Very noisy.” She galloped her fingers through the air. “Always rushing to and fro. River thinks she is all-powerful. You must try harder, my child. Listen for the calm voice of the stones.” She laid a smooth pebble in my palm and pointed to one of the large rocks jutting up, splitting the current of the river. “Do you feel it? The mighty waters push and shove with the strength of a hundred horses, yet that boulder is unmoved. Hear how deep it hums, how sure it is of its connection with mother earth.” Years later, I would hear the stones sing, but not that day. That day I heard my grandmother, not just her words; I heard the unfathomable vibrations of her soul. It was as if she was as ancient and knowing as the stones of which she spoke. I wish I were still standing on the banks of the Tawi River. Instead, I am here in London with too many sounds roaring in my ears—the babble of our many guests, the rumble of the city seeping up through the bones of this house. My father has taken me half a world away from the person who loves me best in all the world. Even though she is thousands of miles away, I close my eyes, hoping to catch my grandmother’s distant pulse. I try to block out all the other noises, searching for those melodic threads that run between us even at this great distance. “Maya? Maya! Are you all right?” Lady Jane rests her hand on my shoulder and startles me out of my search. She and Sera stare at me expectantly. “The musicians are tuning up for a quadrille. We are about to return to the dancing. But you seem shaken, what’s wrong?” I look at Lady Jane, wondering how to answer. I am not all right, as she phrases it, but what else can I say, here in this jangling place. “Yes, I hear the music,” I say, and try to smile as if it is an important observation, as if the frivolity of dancing lightens my heart. “Hmm,” she says skeptically, and takes my hand, pulling me along with her like the mighty river carrying a piece of driftwood. I feel her questions clamoring to be asked, but luckily, I also know Lady Jane will restrain herself. This is not the time or place for that sort of discussion. She glances around the room and spots Alexander Sinclair. Immediately she brightens, and I feel joy pulse through her fingertips. “Come.” She leads the way and, arm in arm, we face both the music and crowd together. Other books in series: Title: REFUGE FOR MASTERMINDS (Stranje House #3) Author: Kathleen Baldwin Pub. Date: May 23, 2017 Publisher: Tor Teen Format: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook Pages: 352 Find it: Goodreads,  Amazon, Kindle,  Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Kobo, TBD It’s 1814. Napoleon has escaped his imprisonment on Elba. Britain is at war on four fronts. And at Stranje House, a School for Unusual Girls, five young ladies are secretly being trained for a world of spies, diplomacy, and war… Napoleon’s invasion of England is underway and someone at Stranje House is sneaking information to his spies. Lady Jane Moore is determined to find out who it is. If anyone can discover the traitor, it is Jane—for, according to headmistress Emma Stranje, Lady Jane is a mastermind. Jane doesn’t consider herself a mastermind. It’s just that she tends to grasp the facts of a situation quickly, and by doing so, she’s able to devise and implement a sensible course of action. Is Jane enough of a mastermind to save the brash young American inventor Alexander Sinclair, her friends at Stranje House, and possibly England itself? Title: EXILE FOR DREAMERS (Stranje House #2) Author: Kathleen Baldwin Pub. Date: May 24, 2016 Publisher: Tor Teen Format: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle,  Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Kobo, TBD A School for Unusual Girls is the first captivating installment in the Stranje House series for young adults by award-winning author Kathleen Baldwin. #1 New York Times bestselling author Meg Cabot calls this romantic Regency adventure "completely original and totally engrossing." Tess can't run far enough or fast enough to escape the prophetic dreams that haunt her. Dreams bring nothing but death and grief, and Tess refuses to accept that she may be destined for the same madness that destroyed her mother. Until her disturbing dreams become the only means of saving Lord Ravencross, the man she loves, and her friends at Stranje House from Lady Daneska and her lover, the Ghost-agent of Napoleon, who has escaped from Elba. Can the young ladies of Stranje House prevail once more? Or is England destined to fall into the hands of the power-mad dictator? "Enticing from the first sentence." -New York Times Book Review A School for Unusual Girls is a great next read for fans of Gail Carriger's Finishing School series and Robin LaFevers' His Fair Assassin series.  Title: A SCHOOL FOR UNUSUAL GIRLS (Stranje House #1) Author: Kathleen Baldwin Pub. Date: May 19, 2015 Publisher: Tor Teen Pages: 352 Formats: Hardcover, Paperback, eBook Find it:  Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Kobo, TBD It’s 1814. Napoleon is exiled on Elba. Europe is in shambles. Britain is at war on four fronts. And Stranje House, a School for Unusual Girls, has become one of Regency England’s dark little secrets. The daughters of the beau monde who don't fit high society’s constrictive mold are banished to Stranje House to be reformed into marriageable young ladies. Or so their parents think. In truth, Headmistress Emma Stranje, the original unusual girl, has plans for the young ladies—plans that entangle the girls in the dangerous world of spies, diplomacy, and war. After accidentally setting her father’s stables on fire while performing a scientific experiment, Miss Georgiana Fitzwilliam is sent to Stranje House. But Georgie has no intention of being turned into a simpering, pudding-headed, marriageable miss. She plans to escape as soon as possible—until she meets Lord Sebastian Wyatt. Thrust together in a desperate mission to invent a new invisible ink for the English war effort, Georgie and Sebastian must find a way to work together without losing their heads—or their hearts...  About the Author: Award-winning author, Kathleen Baldwin, loves adventure in books and in real life. She taught rock climbing in the Rockies, survival camped in the desert, was stalked by a mountain lion, lost an argument with a rattlesnake, enjoyed way too many classes in college, fell in love at least a dozen times, and married her very own hero. Together they’ve raised four free-spirited adventurous children. SCHOOL FOR UNUSUAL GIRLS is her first historical romance for Young Adults. Awarded 2016 Spirit of Texas, it is also a Junior Library Guild selection. Publisher’s Lunch listed it in 2015 YA BookBuzz. Scholastic licensed it for book fairs. Ian Bryce, producer of Spiderman, Saving Private Ryan, and other notable films optioned the series for film. #1 New York Times bestselling author Meg Cabot calls Kathleen’s romantic Regency adventure, “completely original and totally engrossing.” Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Pinterest | Goodreads Giveaway: 1 winner will receive a finished copy of HARBOR FOR THE NIGHTINGALE. US Only. a Rafflecopter giveaway Tour Schedule: Week One: 9/23/2019- Caffeine & Composition- Excerpt 9/24/2019- Dazzled by Books- Excerpt 9/25/2019- Two Chicks on Books- Excerpt 9/26/2019- Wishful Endings- Review 9/27/2019- Fire and Ice- Review  Week Two: 9/30/2019- Don't Judge, Read- Interview 10/1/2019- Smada's Book Smack- Review 10/2/2019- Lisa Loves Literature- Review 10/3/2019- Book Briefs- Review 10/4/2019- BookHounds YA- Interview

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[pamphletstoinspire]

BOOK OF JOB - From The Douay-Rheims Bible - Latin Vulgate

Chapter 4

The Book of Job shows how human affairs are ruled by Divine Providence using probable arguments.

"Although you hide these things in your heart, I know that you still remember everything." - (Job speaking to God)  

***

INTRODUCTION.

This Book takes its name from the holy man, of whom it treats; who, according to the more probable opinion, was of the race of Esau, and the same as Jobab, king of Edom, mentioned Gen. xxxvi. 33. It is uncertain who was the writer of it. Some attribute it to Job himself; others to Moses, or some one of the prophets. In the Hebrew it is written in verse, from the beginning of the third chapter to the forty-second chapter. Ch. --- The beginning and conclusion are historical, and in prose. Some have divided this work into a kind of tragedy, the first act extending to C. xv., the second to C. xxii., the third to C. xxxviii., where God appears, and the plot is unfolded. They suppose that the sentiments of the speakers are expressed, though not their own words. This may be very probable: but the opinion of those who look upon the work as a mere allegory, must be rejected with horror. The sacred writers speak of Job as of a personage who had really existed, (C.) and set the most noble pattern of virtue, and particularly of patience. Tob. ii. 12. Ezec. xiv. 14. Jam. v. 11. Philo and Josephus pass over this history, as they do those of Tobias, Judith, &c. H. --- The time when Job lived is not clearly ascertained. Some have supposed (C.) that he was a contemporary with Esther; (D. Thalmud) on which supposition, the work is here placed in its chronological order. But Job more probably live during the period when the Hebrews groaned under the Egyptian bondage, (H.) or sojourned in the wilderness. Num. xiv. 9. The Syrians place the book at the head of the Scriptures. C. --- Its situation has often varied, and is of no great importance. The subject which is here treated, is of far more; as it is intended to shew that the wicked sometimes prosper, while the good are afflicted. H. --- This had seldom been witnessed before the days of Abraham: but as God had now selected his family to be witnesses and guardians of religion, a new order of things was beginning to appear. This greatly perplexed Job himself; who, therefore, confesses that he had not sufficiently understood the ways of God, till he had deigned to explain them in the parable of the two great beasts. C. xlii. 3. We cannot condemn the sentiments expressed by Job, since God has declared that they were right, (ib. v. 8) and reprimands Elihu, (C. xxxviii. 2.) and the other three friends of Job, for maintaining a false opinion, though, from the history of past times, they had judge it to be true. This remark may excupate them from the stain of wilful lying, and vain declamation. Houbigant. --- However, as they assert what was false, their words of themselves are of no authority; and they are even considered as the forerunners of heretics. S. Greg. S. Aug. &c. T. --- Job refutes them by sound logic. S. Jerom. --- We may discover in this book the sum of Christian morality, (W.) for which purpose it has been chiefly explained by S. Gregory. The style is very poetical, (H.) though at the same time simple, like that of Moses. D. --- It is interspersed with many Arabic and Chaldaic idioms; (S. Jer.) whence some have concluded, that it was written originally by Job and his friends (H.) in Arabic, and translated into Heb. by Moses, for the consolation of his brethren. W. --- The Heb. text is in many places incorrect; (Houbig.) and the Sept. seem to have omitted several verses. Orig. --- S. Jerom says almost eight hundred, (C.) each consisting of about six words. H. --- Shultens, in 1747, expressed his dissatisfaction with the labours of all preceding commentators. To explain this book may not therefore be an easy task: but we must be as short as possible. H. --- Those who desire farther information, may consult Pineda, (W.) whose voluminous work, in two folios, will nearly (H.) give all necessary information. C.

The additional Notes in this Edition of the New Testament will be marked with the letter A. Such as are taken from various Interpreters and Commentators, will be marked as in the Old Testament. B. Bristow, C. Calmet, Ch. Challoner, D. Du Hamel, E. Estius, J. Jansenius, M. Menochius, Po. Polus, P. Pastorini, T. Tirinus, V. Bible de Vence, W. Worthington, Wi. Witham. — The names of other authors, who may be occasionally consulted, will be given at full length.

Verses are in English and Latin.

HAYDOCK CATHOLIC BIBLE COMMENTARY

This Catholic commentary on the Old Testament, following the Douay-Rheims Bible text, was originally compiled by Catholic priest and biblical scholar Rev. George Leo Haydock (1774-1849). This transcription is based on Haydock's notes as they appear in the 1859 edition of Haydock's Catholic Family Bible and Commentary printed by Edward Dunigan and Brother, New York, New York.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Changes made to the original text for this transcription include the following:

Greek letters. The original text sometimes includes Greek expressions spelled out in Greek letters. In this transcription, those expressions have been transliterated from Greek letters to English letters, put in italics, and underlined. The following substitution scheme has been used: A for Alpha; B for Beta; G for Gamma; D for Delta; E for Epsilon; Z for Zeta; E for Eta; Th for Theta; I for Iota; K for Kappa; L for Lamda; M for Mu; N for Nu; X for Xi; O for Omicron; P for Pi; R for Rho; S for Sigma; T for Tau; U for Upsilon; Ph for Phi; Ch for Chi; Ps for Psi; O for Omega. For example, where the name, Jesus, is spelled out in the original text in Greek letters, Iota-eta-sigma-omicron-upsilon-sigma, it is transliterated in this transcription as, Iesous. Greek diacritical marks have not been represented in this transcription.

Footnotes. The original text indicates footnotes with special characters, including the astrisk (*) and printers' marks, such as the dagger mark, the double dagger mark, the section mark, the parallels mark, and the paragraph mark. In this transcription all these special characters have been replaced by numbers in square brackets, such as [1], [2], [3], etc.

Accent marks. The original text contains some English letters represented with accent marks. In this transcription, those letters have been rendered in this transcription without their accent marks.

Other special characters.

Solid horizontal lines of various lengths that appear in the original text have been represented as a series of consecutive hyphens of approximately the same length, such as ---.

Ligatures, single characters containing two letters united, in the original text in some Latin expressions have been represented in this transcription as separate letters. The ligature formed by uniting A and E is represented as Ae, that of a and e as ae, that of O and E as Oe, and that of o and e as oe.

Monetary sums in the original text represented with a preceding British pound sterling symbol (a stylized L, transected by a short horizontal line) are represented in this transcription with a following pound symbol, l.

The half symbol (1/2) and three-quarters symbol (3/4) in the original text have been represented in this transcription with their decimal equivalent, (.5) and (.75) respectively.

Unreadable text. Places where the transcriber's copy of the original text is unreadable have been indicated in this transcription by an empty set of square brackets, [].

Chapter 4

Eliphaz charges Job with impatience, and pretends that God never afflicts the innocent.

[1] Then Eliphaz the Themanite answered, and said:

Respondens autem Eliphaz Themanites, dixit :

[2] If we begin to speak to thee, perhaps thou wilt take it ill, but who can withhold the words he hath conceived?

Si coeperimus loqui tibi, forsitan moleste accipies; sed conceptum sermonem tenere quis poterit?

[3] Behold thou hast taught many, and thou hast strengthened the weary hands:

Ecce docuisti multos, et manus lassas roborasti;

[4] Thy words have confirmed them that were staggering, and thou hast strengthened the trembling knees:

vacilantes confirmaverunt sermones tui, et genua trementia confortasti.

[5] But now the scourge is come upon thee, and thou faintest: it hath touched thee, and thou art troubled.

Nunc autem venit super te plaga, et defecisti; tetigit te, et conturbatus es.

[6] Where is thy fear, thy fortitude, thy patience, and the perfection of thy ways?

Ubi est timor tuus, fortitudo tua? patientia tua et perfectio viarum tuarum?

[7] Remember, I pray thee, who ever perished being innocent? or when were the just destroyed?

Recordare, obsecro te, quis umquam innocens periit; aut quando recti deleti sunt?

[8] On the contrary I have seen those who work iniquity, and sow sorrows, and reap them,

Quin potius vidi eos qui operantur iniquitatem, et seminant dolores, et metunt eos,

[9] Perishing by the blast of God, and consumed by the spirit of his wrath.

flante Deo perisse, et spiritu irae ejus esse consumptos.

[10] The roaring of the lion, and the voice of the lioness, and the teeth of the whelps of lions are broken:

Rugitus leonis, et vox leaenae, et dentes catulorum leonum contriti sunt.

[11] The tiger hath perished for want of prey, and the young lions are scattered abroad.

Tigris periit, eo quod non haberet praedam, et catuli leonis dissipati sunt.

[12] Now there was a word spoken to me in private, and my ears by stealth as it were received the veins of its whisper.

Porro ad me dictum est verbum absconditum, et quasi furtive suscepit auris mea venas susurri ejus.

[13] In the horror of a vision by night, when deep sleep is wont to hold men,

In horrore visionis nocturnae, quando solet sopor occupare homines,

[14] Fear seized upon me, and trembling, and all my bones were affrighted:

pavor tenuit me, et tremor, et omnia ossa mea perterrita sunt;

[15] And when a spirit passed before me, the hair of my flesh stood up.

et cum spiritus, me praesente, transiret, inhorruerunt pili carnis meae.

[16] There stood one whose countenance I knew not, an image before my eyes, and I heard the voice as it were of a gentle wind:

Stetit quidam, cujus non agnoscebam vultum, imago coram oculis meis, et vocem quasi aurae lenis audivi.

[17] Shall man be justified in comparison of God, or shall a man be more pure than his maker?

Numquid homo, Dei comparatione, justificabitur? aut factore suo purior erit vir?

[18] Behold they that serve him are not steadfast, and in his angels he found wickedness:

Ecce qui serviunt ei, non sunt stabiles, et in angelis suis reperit pravitatem;

[19] How much more shall they that dwell in houses of clay, who have an earthly foundation, be consumed as with the moth?

quanto magis hi qui habitant domos luteas, qui terrenum habent fundamentum, consumentur velut a tinea!

[20] From morning till evening they shall be cut down: and because no one understandeth, they shall perish for ever.

De mane usque ad vesperam succidentur; et quia nullus intelligit, in aeternum peribunt.

[21] And they that shall be left, shall be taken away from them: they shall die, and not in wisdom.

Qui autem reliqui fuerint, auferentur ex eis; morientur, et non in sapientia.

Commentary:

Ver. 1. Themanite. People of this city, about twelve miles from Petra, in Arabia, were renowned for wisdom. Jer. xlix. 7. Bar. ii. 22. Pythagoras therefore visited this country. S. Cyr. con. Jul. x. --- Eliphaz attempts to prove that no innocent person is chastised. He does not speak of small faults, to which any person may be exposed, and which God may severely punish. But he will have Job to be a great offender, at least in secret, and represents himself in too advantageous a light; though he was really a good man, and meant well. C. --- But this did not exempt him from sin, (C. xlii.) no more than Eliu. C. xxxii. Bonum ex integra causa; malum ex quolibet defectu; as theologians agree. H.

Ver. 2. Conceived? and to which the speech of Job had given occasion. M. --- Sept. "Who shall bear the force of thy words? For if thou," &c. H.

Ver. 4. Knees. It is just that thou shouldst apply thy instructions to thyself. M.

Ver. 5. And thou. Sept. "and has touched thee. But thou makest haste" (H.) to flee. Heb. "art consternated."  We may easily prescribe for others, but when we are sick we know not what to do. C.

Ver. 6. Where? Sept. "Rather is not thy fear foolishness as well as thy hope, and the innocence of thy path?" H. --- Is not all hypocrisy? M. C. --- Many of the assertions of Job's friends are true, but their inferences are false. M.

Ver. 7. Destroyed? They never were eternally. But Abel and many other just persons, have been exposed to tribulation in this world, (W.) for their greater improvement. Yet Eliphaz falsely concludes from the sufferings of Job, that he must have been a criminal. C. --- If any one should now hold the same opinion, we should deem him very ignorant or foolish. But we have observed, (Pref.) that this was not so obvious at that time. Cain, the giants, Her, Onan, Sodom, &c. had been made examples of divine vengeance. But a new order of things was now commencing. Houbigant.

Ver. 8. Reap them. He insinuates that Job now reaps what he had sown. Gal. vi. 8.

Ver. 11. Tiger. Heb. Layish, means also an "old lion." Sept. murmhkolewn, "ant-lion," which some have deemed fabulous, improperly. Bochart, vi. 5. Ælian, xvii. 42. --- Eliphaz tacitly accuses Job of violence and pride. Ven. Bede. C.

Ver. 12. Private. Heretics pretend such obscure visions, rather to get credit than to edify others. S. Greg. v. 18. W. --- Many suppose that Eliphaz was guilty of feigning: but the greatest part think that he had truly seen a vision, but did not draw the proper conclusion from it. C. --- Prot. "Now a thing was secretly brought to me, and mine ear received a little thereof." H.

Ver. 13. The horror. Heb. "thoughts," while I considered the cause of thy distress. C.

Ver. 15. Spirit: angel, or gentle breeze. C.

Ver. 16. And I. Prot. "there was silence, and I heard a voice." Marg. "a still voice." Sept. "But I heard a breeze and a voice." H.

Ver. 17. Maker. It is thought that these were the words of the angel. If God punish without cause, may not the sufferer esteem himself the better of the two? You must therefore be guilty. C. --- Job would never dispute; but God was infinitely more pure than man, who may nevertheless be free from grievous sins. W. --- The highest angel has nothing but what he has received from God, in comparison with whom he is still as a mere nothing. But this does not prove that Job was a criminal, or that he pretended to arrogate to himself any excellence, independent of the giver of all good gifts. He did not assert that he was impeccable: yet, with God's grace, he might be innocent. C.

Ver. 18. Angels, who fell, as the fathers explain it. E. T. --- Heb. "behold, he put no trust in his servants, and his angels he charged with folly." C. xv. 15. and xxv. 5. and 2 Pet. ii. 4. Prot. H.

Ver. 19. Foundation. Children of Adam, whose bodies are taken from the dust. M.

Ver. 20. Understandeth. Heb. "regardeth." Sept. "can help himself." H. --- Man is justly punished because he does not reflect on what he ought. C.

Ver. 21. And they. Heb. "doth not their dignity pass away with them? They die without wisdom." H. - This is but too frequently the case of the great ones of this world, who never discern true from false riches. C.