#my man slow down i could barely keep up with numbers 1-20 why are we signing 80000 in an intro vid i am Suffering

[js337]

writing info/headcanons for g.ojo has me looking up the weirdest combination of things tonight

[libraford]

We interrupt the feral celebration of ousting an oligarch to bring you a story about Yeehaw and his Branch of Mystery.

  It has been a while since we last had some co-worker drama, but man- has it been a weird summer. I mean... we all had a weird summer in 2020, but I don't think I was really expecting this particular... flavor of weird?

 This is a story about Yeehaw, but it starts off with a story about Aggie.

 Aggie was someone we were excited to hire and part of our excitement was that it's rare to find someone with prior floral experience and we'd concluded at this point that it does no one any good to be picky about new hires in the middle of a pandemic. So finding someone who knew the difference between a carnation and a rose was a big deal for us.

 I say that in jest, but saying that we do 'on-the-job training' means that we've had to explain that yes- the flower in my hand that looks like a carnation is a carnation and not some other flower that looks like carnation but is not a carnation. Floristry is a very straightforward practice and for the most part a rose is a rose and a daisy is a daisy and if someone asks for those things, you give it to them.

 The hard part is, as always, making them look good together.

 Which is why we were pleased with Aggie- who previously did weddings for her friends and seemed to have a basic understanding of how to do things with her hands. We were happy to have her aboard.

 ... until you gave her criticism.

 She made her vases embarrassingly short, and if you tried to tell her how to fix it, she'd snap back with "I'm not DONE yet."

 She was done until you said something.

 If you gave her an order for two dozen white roses, she would take it upon herself to mix white and yellow roses together 'because it looks better.'

 It did not.

 Hashtag: #selftaught

 When a client asks for all white roses, there is likely a reason they asked for all white. Given that 90% of our work is funerals, it stands to reason that they are asking for all white because that is a traditional color for mourning. Working with a client means doing exactly what they asked for. Doing a wedding for your friends may get you high praise from people who trust you to work in the same aesthetic as them, but in a shop setting you are being paid to follow things to the letter. Doing so shows that you can follow directions, and they may come back next time.

 You don't know customer entitlement until you've been torn another asshole for leaving out a single rose.

 This seemed to never occur to her, and so criticism was a painful realization that perhaps she wasn't perfect at an art that was exceptionally susceptible to criticism. There were plenty of opportunities to make something in her own aesthetic, it wasn't like she was being stifled. There was a considerable amount of downtime where she filled the front cooler with her own creations- enigmatically giving each of them their own names like "Autumn Walk" or "First Snowfall." (This is not something that we do, on the whole.)

 Not very many of those sold.

 But I think what bugged me the most is that she only ever designed. She didn't take out the trash, she didn't answer phones, she never helped customers. She just... did flowers. Nothing else.

 Oh... and the chatter.

 "Do you travel? Oh, you simply MUST go to Bali sometime! You've never been to Asia? Well, there's nothing like achieving inner peace at a Buddhist temple on a mountaintop in Nepal. They have temples here in Ohio, but it's nothing like the real thing! You say you've never even been off the continent? Well, what are you waiting for? You only live once, you know!"

 Ma'am... we're in the middle of a pandemic. Ma'am... I only get paid so much...

 While trying to relate, I talked about my summer in Montana and she gave me the BIGGEST stank-face. "Montana? Ew, WHY?"

 Look, lady- I lived on a mountaintop next to an active, world-destroying volcano system. If that's not cool, I don't know what is.

 But thankfully, she only worked on weekends. See, this was her fun job. The job she does to stay social during a pandemic and flex her creative muscles while she makes money at her much more lucrative,but boring,HR job. So I only had to see her twice a month when I was manager on duty.

 Then she got fired from her weekday job and went full-time at the flower shop. Poor thing wasn't used to waking up at 7am every day. She was full of suggestions.

 "I think it would be easier for me if we only opened at like... 11am."

"Don't you think we should be taking proper photos of our work? All we would need is a nice camera and a soft lighting setup. Couldn't be much more than $1000."

"Oh I know! We should be doing inventory on tablets instead of writing things down!"

 Okay, you go buy those things then. It took her about a week of making those suggestions to realize that she wasn't real clear on how things worked around here and stopped. She became quiet, less enthusiastic about her 'fun' job now that she wasn't immediately the star of the show.

 Enter Yeehaw.

 We were excited about Yeehaw, too. He didn't just have experience with flowers- he had experience with a flower shop. He gave a good interview, he seemed like he knew what he was doing and was very passionate about flowers. He was definitely an entire hippie, but about 1/3 of all plant people are. Most importantly, we still had like three spots to fill left from our pre-Covid staff.

 Hired.

 There was an overlap of about a week where Aggie and Yeehaw worked at the same time. His work was... immaculate. Just... astonishingly beautiful work. You didn't even have to show him how to make anything. He just... knew.

 Well, Aggie didn't  like that much- we had only nice things to say about this new guy but all she ever got was criticism. And if we complimented him on something he made, he would give a little 'namaste' bow. And I could see her fuming with rage each time he did this.

 One day, she rushed into the back to take a phone call and any time someone went back there for a vase she would lower her voice as if keeping a deep secret. Twenty minutes later, she called Grandpa into the back as well to discuss something. Ten minutes later, Aggie left the building with her Live, Laugh, Love bag, looking pissed.

 "Where did Aggie go," I asked Grandpa.

 "She got a new job," she said. "Doing HR somewhere."

 "She didn't even say good-bye," Blue said, appearing unsurprised.

 And so we went on with out lives without really putting much further thought into Aggie, apart from the occasional 'you simply MUST visit Bali' line thrown in for bougie emphasis.

 Which brings us to the next part of the story, and that is Yeehaw.

 There are some details to know about Yeehaw that are kind of difficult to fit into a story neatly. Here is a brief list that may come in handy to know later.

-He lives with his mother.

-He drives a Tesla.

-He can afford the Tesla because he was in a terrible wreck that had him hospitalized, and a lawsuit was won.

-Because of this, he has two screws in his head at the temples.

-Unrelated, he has hair that goes all the way down to his back.

- And...

 "Grandpa, we need to tell you something," Blue said. "In private."

 Blue and Kali pulled Grandpa aside while Yeehaw slowly put together a funeral order. "Grandpa, there's no polite way to put this: Yeehaw is drunk as fuck."

 "He smells like whiskey," Kali said.

 "He's stumbling everywhere."

 "And he won't stop... burping."

 Grandpa paused. "There's something I need to tell you," she said, and she reached for a manila folder. "Yeehaw has something called... what's it called..." She leafed through the file and produced a paper, reading from it. "Auto-brewery Syndrome. His body actually produces alcohol anytime he eats bread or sugar. If he's drunk, it's because he can't help it."

 We each had a chance to go over the doctor's note, verifying that yes- that sure does look official. Everyone had questions, but it did answer the one I had about why he was sitting in the break room literally drinking peanut butter from the jar.

 So that was incredibly interesting and we no longer asked about the burping or why he was so slow.  

 However, the fact that he was so slow was extremely frustrating. Our average number of orders runs approximately 100 per-day. This can be eased somewhat when we have a full-staff with five designers- an average of 20 designs per person in an 8-hour day, 3 per hour.

 But it's a fine line some days, and if one person cannot keep up it turns into a struggle for all of us.  

 We did our best to accommodate. We gave him all the day-ahead orders so that we wouldn't be behind and he'd have all the time he'd need to make his gorgeous pieces.

 We were willing to make it work.

 A number of factors came into play one day, but most notably: Yeehaw's Tesla wouldn't start and he had to take the bus. So he was late.

 I think I saw him make one entire item in the two hours that we were in the same room. He went to lunch around 12:30, I took mine around 1:00. I saw him stumble back in from lunch, looking... out of it. Just... absolutely incomprehensible- mumbling, barely upright, his hair out of the bun, quite possibly sleepwalking- who knows?

 I saw him for that brief Sasquatch moment... and that was the last that I saw him that day. It was around 4:00 that  Grandpa asked the question:

 "Where's Yeehaw?"

 And no one had an answer. We all had places that we thought we'd seen him: cleaning the cooler, in the break room, heading to the bathroom... but no one had really... seen him since he stumbled back in around 1:30.

 We checked all these places.

 None of them.

 The person who actually managed to find him was Sarge, who noticed his feet sticking out from behind the bushes behind the building.

 "Huh," he said, presumably. He gave the feet a light kick and Yeehaw slowly sat back up. "Hey dude. You... okay, there? They're lookin' for you inside."

 Yeehaw mumbled something to Sarge and got to his feet, stumbling back into the shop without further interaction. He appeared into the workspace, holding a branch in front of his face for mysterious reasons. There were still twigs entangled in his long hair.

 "Where were you at," Grandpa asked, concerned.

 "Oh, I was in the bathroom," he lied from behind the branch of mystery. "I'm pretty tired. Is it okay if I go home?"

 Bewildered, Grandpa gave him permission to leave. It was soon after he left that Scout found his phone in the empty sink. "Who's trying to wash their phone," he asked in the loud manner that is characteristic of old white men. It rang while in his hand and one of our designers snatched it from him. It was his mother.

 "Hello," said the designer. "Yeehaw went home early, but he left his phone behind. Can you bring it home to him?" Mom agreed, she was just over at Trader Joe's anyhow.

 We thought, of course, that we were doing something smart and nice. Yeehaw's mom looks just about what you would expect the mother of a 30-year-old hippie that drives a Tesla to look. Grandpa, in a polite way, explained that he'd fallen asleep in a bush. To which Mom seemed neither surprised nor concerned about his behavior.

 "Okay. I'll be at Hallmark."

 Somewhere between the bus stop and Bexley, Yeehaw must have realized that his phone was not with him and so he came back looking for it. Despite his mother being literally in the same strip mall as we were, he seemed irritated that we'd taken the initiative to make sure his phone got to him.

 "Well, I bet if you just went down to Hallmark she'd give you your phone and probably give you a ride home."

 He mumbled something and then left.

 This seems like a decent place to pause, because him leaving the second time in the day should be the end of the story. However... at 5:00 in the evening there was still two hours left in the work day and from past experience... that is plenty of time for a lot of things to happen.

 The thing to happen was a phone call.

 "Hi, this is Jade from the main store. We've gotten... some... interesting phone calls. Is there... a... hmm... is there a dead body out in front of your store?"

 Pause.

 "We'll take care of it, bye."

 Who wants to be the one to poke the cadaver on the sidewalk? A volunteer from the audience! Ms Crowe: won't you come down?!

 I have had it planted firmly in my mind that Crowe certainly understands the concept of fear but does not recognize it. Apart from being one of our most reliable drivers, she is also a performer, a street medic, an activist, and most notably... a fire-breather.

 You have your hobbies.

 Point is- she's brave enough to check to see if the person laying on the sidewalk was dead or simply overdosed.

 As it turns out, it was Yeehaw- curled up in the fetal position with his arm covering his face.

 "Hey," Crowe said, poking him with her foot. "Heeeeeeey," she said again but more firmly this time. He moved, blinking in the evening the sun. "Buddy, you can't be laying around on the sidewalk. You gotta move on."

 Again, he slowly got to his feet. At this time, his mother emerged from Hallmark to see him talking with Crowe. A group of four people escorted him into Mom's car while he stopped every few feet to perform another 'namaste' bow.

 You think this is the end. But what have we learned?

 There's always more.

 He came in the next day as if none of this had happened. Conversation was difficult because we both desperately needed to know what the fuck happened and also did not want to trigger something. So we didn't bring it up. He apologized for leaving early: chronic fatigue syndrome, you know.

 Other places would have fired him, but we're a very forgiving workplace. Falling asleep on company time is not, in any way, the worst thing that someone has done at this location while still keeping their job. There was Sugar and her drugs, there was the dude that used the company van to pick up prostitutes (this was before my time), there was the guy that screamed at customers over the phone... it's a long list.

 The primary concern of our employers is whether or not you are a reliable person. If you routinely show up for your job and do the work, you're going to be okay at least for a little bit. And Yeehaw, for all his impeccable fuckery, at least showed up every day.

 We kept this at the back of our minds.

 One day, after the Day We Found Him In a Bush was behind us, one of the designers mentioned that they'd seen where Aggie works now. It was not in HR.

 It was our major competitor.

 Now, Grandpa knows this competitor well. She knows all her competition. It is the nature of a lot of florists to, once they've gotten sick of one place, move on to the next one and spill the beans on their operations there. So Grandpa gets the dirt on everyone.

 This particular shop was very regimented. You don't wing it- you follow the recipe as listed. He's been known to pick discarded flowers up off the floor and tell you exactly how much  money you're costing the company by letting it fall, to the cent. If you get so far as to make casket sprays, he will take your first one and chuck it across the room if it even looks like the stems are in there too loosely.

 This is what I mean about us being an easy place to work.

 Hashtag: #ohfuck.

 People come in and out of your life like that, in little ways. Sometimes you just have to have a little laugh at it. But what I thought was funny was that she felt the need to keep her new employer a secret, as though we would get jealous or tattle. Curious thing.

 Now that the glamour of Yeehaw's arrangements had worn off, we were starting to see more and more odd behaviors that didn't seem completely related to drunkenness.

 "Did you just fart?"

 "No, that was a spider barking."

 Amazing.

 Conversation with him was becoming... difficult. As I sat in the break room with my quick lunch and he drank soup out of a mayonnaise jar, he mentioned his area of study in college.

 "Cognitive Psychology and Hindu Philosophy, huh? That's an interesting combination."

 "Yeah," he said, funneling an amount of squash soup down his throat. "It'll take the rest of the world about 100 years before they catch up to where I am."

 I sat, posed in front of my beef and broccoli which I was eating with a fork, trying to process a logical reason why the rest of the world will be sleeping in a bush in one hundred years. "Uh... huh."

 This was followed by another thirty minutes of silence where I desperately wanted to know what he meant by that but didn't want to be the one to ask him.

 People will tell you that a hippie is generally an ineffective, benign kind of person who chants 'love love, peace peace' in a circle and consider that to be an action for change. But I can say with absolute certainty that I have met some downright egotistical hippies in my life. Those were lessons in bias- which I will have to save for other times.

 Eventually, Grandpa became frustrated with his slowness. We presumed that his speed of choice was a combination of his meticulous nature and his various ailments, but with the Christmas season coming upon us it was becoming much more than a series of symptoms.

 Previous persons who lacked speed were chatty, would play on their phone, or get distracted. But Yeehaw... Yeehaw simply moved like a tranquilized sloth. He slowly picked off each leaf, each thorn, each guard petal and took a minute for each action. He would put in his greens and then contemplate it powerfully for ten minutes before putting any flowers in... slowly.

 In the time spent doing this, I had already made something of a similar size and was starting on the second one.

 It was during one of these times that Grandpa finally said something.

 "Yeehaw, that spray is due in thirty minutes. Is there a way you can go any faster?"

 He looked up from his greens, held one carnation to his face, and said:

 "If you wanted me to move faster, you would pay me better."

 Let me start by saying that we do not get paid well. We don't. Compared to other flower shops in our city, we are probably the lowest-paid. This is something that the company is starting to work on with benefits and raises, but any amount of change takes time. (And its still better paying than when I worked in retail. But that's another book.)

 Yeehaw had been here for exactly one month. I don't know a single workplace that gives you a raise after one month and still lets you sleep on the clock without firing you. He knew what he was getting paid when we hired him.

 So anyways, he slowly grinds down our nerves to a very fine dust- burping, farting, falling asleep on his feet, staring intensely into space, talking about how much he should be making but isn't, bragging about his enlightenment, and generally just slowing down production.

 And then Grandpa had her well-earned vacation week. Blue was in charge for the most part and the week leading up to Halloween is generally pretty slow, so it was a good week for her to have a break with few mishaps.

 Eh... hehe. Yeah.

 Yeehaw... disappeared again. We checked the cooler, we checked the break room, we checked the bushes out back, we checked the sidewalk out front.

 He was in the bathroom.

 So we left it.

 He was still in the bathroom an hour later.

 We had one of the male drivers pound on the door to check on him. When Yeehaw opened the door to the men's room, there was a wad of toilet paper on the floor that he'd been using as a pillow.

 If I may pause here to explain- our men's room is disgusting. I have deep cleaned it several times only for it to become a germ-fest once more in a matter of hours. I don't ask who is peeing all over the floor because, honestly, I have no desire to know what grown man can't aim his willy in the right direction.

 So in order to fall asleep in the bathroom, you have to be willing to sleep in pee. During a pandemic.

 He reappeared in the workroom, put his apron back on, looked around at all of us still working and said: "Wow, it must be really hard to get fired here."

 It was at this point that Blue informed Grandpa.

 "Tell him that he's fired," Grandpa said, clearly 1001% done with this.

 "I'm not going to fire him," Blue said. "I don't think I can fire anyone."

 So she had the driver that found him do it, which was confusing for all of us. He ended up calling Grandpa to clarify. And by 'clarify,' I definitely mean 'beg for his job back.' A synopsis of the 20 minute phone call went like this:

 "What do you mean, I'm fired?"

 "Just that. You're fired. I'm tired of it, Yeehaw. You don't work here anymore."

 "Why?"

 "What do you mean 'why?' You spend all day making a total of three arrangements and then you wander off somewhere and fall asleep."

 "I can't help it if I have chronic fatigue syndrome!"

 "This is a physical job. If your body can't handle an 8-hour shift without falling asleep for two hours, this isn't the job for you. Tell me: where is that fair to the girls that you do 3% of the work while they pick up the slack and you wander off to sleep on the clock?"

 "I simply do not care about them."

 "You don't care that you're shoving all the work on your coworkers, and that's why you're fired."

 "I wish you'd given me a warning."

 "Tell me, Yeehaw: how many employers can you find that will allow you to sleep on the clock for two hours and let you off with a warning?"

 End of discussion.

 Now, you're probably wondering where Aggie comes back into this. Just hold tight, I'll get there.

 The Sunday after he was fired, he came in to pick up his paycheck. I was busy handling a minor emergency where one of our funeral homes forgot to order a spray and I had to make one as fast as I could. We held a brief conversation while I made the spray in a hurry.

 "I'm here to pick up my check," he said while I greened the spray and leafed through the paychecks simultaneously.

 "Here you go," I said, handing it to him without much fanfare. I presumed that he was looking for sympathy or some kind of followup or... I don't know. Sorry you suddenly care about your job?

 "So what are your next plans," one of the designers asked, trying to coax more information out of him while I did the work of three people.

 "It's kind of funny," he said slowly... as he did all things. "I've only ever been fired from flower shops." He paused, thoughtfully. "I think I'm going to go apply to the shop in Bexley that Aggie went to."

[filmwuju]

[TRANS] Character Introduction: People around Seongyeom & Mijoo

Ki Jeongdo | Yook Jiwoo | Ki Eunbi | Kim Wooshik | Kwon Young-il | Kim Hyunjin | Park May

Ki Jeongdo (Male, late 50s) Seongyeom's father / Four-term assemblyman

A politician who was an athlete. Back then, he was renowned as the nation's thief for snatching actress Yook Jiwoo, who was the nation's first love, at the prime of her youth. Rising to fame, he threw his hat into the political ring, as if he was waiting for this. Him moving into his wife's family home as a live-in son-in-law was also for the campaign fund.

Managing a family that can be recognized by citizens during elections was also Jeongdo's long time plan. As a man, Jiwoo was his trophy; and being the father of siblings who are national athletes, he was able to bear national sentiment. Seongyeom's home becoming a show window family was entirely Jeongdo's volition. Family means gathering together when needed and taking a harmonious photo, that's it. Just one is hard enough already, how incredible is it to raise two national representatives of South Korea? He regards fatherly love as an instinct, and thinks what he's doing to his children is true love. Not knowing that for the person receiving the unwanted love, that love can become violence.

He has always been privileged with vested rights, and since he's in the upper class, he always lived with pride. He has never doubted his capability of going higher, higher up. Most politicians are likewise, their final goal is running for the presidential election. And since they're running, naturally, they want to win. But Seongyeom, who used to be an obedient chess piece, keeps causing trouble. So he's contemplating on how to quash him.

Yook Jiwoo (Female, late 50s) Seongyeom's mother / Actress

A top actress hailed as the nation's first love. If there's Suzy in the 2000s, there was Yook Jiwoo in the 1980s. During the early days of her career, she went by the stage name Jiwoo, without the Yook, because her last name comes off as stubborn. This was her agency's policy. Later, Jiwoo saw her name on a movie poster and threw a huge fit. Since then, she goes by her full name that sounds stubborn for a "female" actor.

She's a perfect actress named as the Queen of Cannes; but she's a born actress who, in pursuit of her career, is far from even the letter M in the word "mother", much less be an excellent one.

Ki Eunbi (Female, 30) Seongyeom's sister / Pro golfer

She doesn't know how to love in an ordinary way, because she's never lived an ordinary life. The world's number one female golfer. With that title alone,  men—regardless of their skin color—approached her, not knowing how Eunbi is like after falling in love. There are no exceptions—whether they have a strong build, or got a straightforward personality. By the time they realize how scary Ki Eunbi is not as the queen of golf, but as a lover, it's already too late—so accept your fate. Once she takes a bite, she does not let go until she gets sick of it. There's no place to escape unless you go to the edge of the world.

Of course there's an exception. When their love for her dies down, she lets go without hesitation. It was always easier to figure out separation than love. The same goes for her family. The time she spent with them in her whole life wouldn't amount to even one year because of her trips abroad. They always separated the moment they met, and she felt worried at the thought of Seongyeom, who would be alone in the huge house. My poor little brother. Their father, who likes to rank, compares them frequently; the media, who likes to chatter, bashes him regularly. My little brother Seongyeom. Seongyeom, whose sin is getting born as my little brother.

Of course she worked hard, but Eunbi's talent played a bigger part. Her sense of distance is more outstanding than others, and she's exceptional in controlling her strength. They said the only thing left for a first placer to do is to fall downwards, but Eunbi didn't know how to fall. If she didn't have talent, would it be a different story? While having these thoughts, she saw Seongyeom and thought, hmm.. it would be stressful to have no talent.

She's even sick of the first place now. Feeling bored, she was thinking whether she should retire and rest a bit, but her beloved little brother caused big trouble. What can I do? My little brother wants to do it. It's an older sister's duty to act as his shield, and I won't die from doing it for a few years more—so just for a bit longer, I'd have to stay in the first place for him.

Kim Wooshik (Male, 20) National track and field athlete

He lost his parents at a young age and was raised by his grandmother. Unlike someone his age, he believes in superstitions. But rather than saying he believes in them, it's more like he's familiar about life and is treated as a precocious child. His self-sufficient grandmother clothed him in cleanly washed clothes even though they're old, and did everything she can so that Wooshik can grow up as a bright and optimistic person. Wooshik, who grew up just like how she raised him to be, was perfectly kind and honest. He wasn't good at studying but he was smart; his hands were slow but his feet were fast. Naturally, Wooshik chose track and field. It was also a sport that he could do even with no money. He fell in love at first sight after watching Seongyeom's race, ran all the way with Seongyeom as his goal, and became a national athlete. It's his wish to run a relay race in the same competition with Seongyeom before the latter retires. No records or competition, just as Ki Seongyeom and Kim Wooshik.

He once saw a passage that said forgiveness is the biggest revenge. That's like saying the powerless can't do anything but to forgive. Ever since his days in  sports high school, he experienced countless assaults and abuse under the force of power. And you say that's the biggest revenge? It was a day when he got beaten by his seniors as usual. He roughly wiped the blood from his nose using his sleeves. The superstitions Wooshik believed in were of no help at all in the face of reality. The one who offered Wooshik practical help was Seongyeom. He told him that forgiving is the victim's right. He told him that he doesn't need to forgive if he doesn't want to. As the only person who told him that, how could Wooshik not admire him.

Kwon Young-il (Male, 29) National track and field athlete

South Korea's track and field record holder. As the best sprinter, he lives up to his reputation of South Korea's No.1 track and field athlete who receives unconditional support from track and field fans. He's a narcissist who cares about nothing but himself, but takes an interest only in Seongyeom. It's because he's jealous.  Whenever he's free, he picks a quarrel with the forever runner-up Seongyeom and ends up saying foolish words. I'm the real first placer, but why does it feel like I'm being pushed back by Ki Seongyeom every single time?

But still, as Seongyeom's long-time colleague, and as a sportsman, he's a friend who supports Seongyeom for the path he's going.

Kim Hyunjin (Male, early 40s) Assemblyman Ki Jeongdo's aide

Would there be another expression that puts a limit on Hyunjin as much as the phrase "aide by nature" does? However, he is a capable aide—to the level that everyone would agree in unison—who grasps everything about the Ki family, including Assemblyman Ki himself. He's machine-like, making one wonder if his heart is made of steel; he does not feel things like conscience and warmth.

Park May (Female, 35) CEO of imported film distributor May

Her name was originally Maehwi. Was it her dad's poor hearing, or her mom's poor pronunciation? Her dad, who heard Maehwi as May, registered her birth with the name "May". For a long time, her mom called her Maehwi and her dad called her May. To May, the actual party concerned, it didn't matter whatever they called her by. What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

May believed in fundamental things. This was also due to her peaceful and cool nature; is it because of that? Entering a translation and interpreting university at the top of her class and finishing her studies in a graduate school of the same expertise, she was walking the so-called elite course. But then she set aside her career path and went into foreign film translation. The reason was simple. Because films are fun, but film festivals are freaking fun. She was in Busan when she first met Mijoo. At the Busan International Film Festival, which she skipped her class for, their sharing of the same bed at the guesthouse was the beginning of their relationship. After getting to know her, she found out that she's a distant junior of hers under the same department in their university. Mijoo was 21.

There is no bad Mijoo in this world. This is the pet theory of May as the dog owner of Mijoo. Mijoo—rough and clumsy, which makes her cute and pure too—was like a dog sometimes, she had no hesitations in baring her claws at arrogant things. From then on, May took it upon herself to be the dog owner. She was worried. If Mijoo meets a good person, it feels like she'd overcome her struggles and become extremely successful*, and if she meets a bad person, it feels like she'd get stabbed with a knife in the midst of selling drugs in a backstreet. All or nothing—Mijoo, who has no in between, didn't have a lot of things. She said she's never met a nice adult in her 20 years of life. Ah... I'm stuck. No choice, I'd have to be the nice adult for Mijoo, she decided**. Just like that, she spent around 10 years of time with her, as a senior and roommate.

She had more curiosity and energy before compared to now, but she feels no excitement nor interest in whatever she does these days. When she was young, she simply felt that her older seniors were cool, but now that she's at that age, she understood. There's just no fun in doing anything. She's done them all, tasted them all; the energy she used to pour out without reservation had been exhausted since long time ago.

Around that period of ennui in her life, an unsavory incident broke out in the translation industry she's been working in. She left translation behind and set up an imported film distributing company. As a small company that mainly imported independent films and art films, it involved a lot of legwork, so business trips is a norm. Her dream was to be a salaried employee for a lifetime, but why'd she become a CEO? CEOs like salaries too.. she didn't know of this fact until she became one herself. Is this, depressing? May, who was mentally healthy, immediately began her visits to the psychiatrist. Antidepressants help people who help themselves, and May wants to help herself properly. And since she's on it already, it's better to be bright and healthy.

T/N: * The idiom used in the original text is 개천에서 용 난다, which literally means "a dragon rises up from a creek." Often translated as "rags to riches," it is used to refer to someone from a humble background who overcame their hardships and became extremely successful.

** A longer translation that would more properly express the nuance of the original sentence would be:  May decided that: I'm not the best choice, but since there's no one else to do it, there's no choice but for me, at least, to be the good adult for Mijoo.

(orig post link from writer Park Shihyun’s DC gallery post)

[pearl-blue-musings]

Perchance to Meet pt. 3

whoops is it time for a little bit of angst??? i think it’s time for a little bit of angst. 

warnings: cussing, suggestive language, attempted assault, sexual assault, stalking, unwanted advantages,smut, angst, another smut warning cause i haven’t written smut in a HOT minute, please 18+ cannot stress that enough 

masterlist for my writing

Part 4 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One date had turned into three which sprouted into many many more. Despite having challenging schedules, the two new found lovers made time for each other. Aizawa didn’t really think he’d get a chance like this but here he is, standing outside the bookstore he frequents as often as he can with a tiny goofy grin on his face.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

He stutters out a response upon seeing the outfit his girlfriend decided to wear. It wasn’t an easy thing to squeeze out of the man, but after the fifth date and the first time she spent the night at his place the couple made it official. Even his co-workers couldn’t believe the sleepy man had a girlfriend on top of everything he already does… But here she is, wearing one of his favorite outfits of hers as they meet up for a brief date.

“I was about to drop dead if I had to wait any longer,” he whispers as he leans in to give her a chaste kiss on the lips. “I love the way you look tonight.”

(Y/n) looks away embarrassed. Even though they had been dating for over three months now, she still couldn’t get used to Shouta’s flirting and downright cuteness. “T-thank you, Sho. I’m glad you get a few hours before your patrol shift starts.” She looks to him with bright and eager eyes that he could get lost in forever. “So, where are we going?”

It takes a little willpower in Aizawa to hold back a smirk as he enjoys the view of her impatience adorn her features. He’s not sure who will be more excited for the date, him or her.

“You’ll see,” he snickers. Her eyes roll as they stroll along the street. The setting sun ahead of them litters the sky with beautiful purples and oranges; a few clouds line the skies giving the world around them an ethereal feel.

They continue to walk for about ten more minutes, having mindless conversation about anything and everything, from how he’s going to be a homeroom teacher for the next year, how she wants to add a café portion to her bookstore to draw in more people and have more income, it flows seamlessly.

Soon they stop at a store front that is unfamiliar to the woman. Once she sees that her lover has stopped, she looks to the sign and suddenly her face lights up.

“Shouta, shut up are you serious?”

He leans down to her ear, “we’ve walked by this before and I’ve always noticed how your eyes linger here. So I got us reservations.”

The sparkle in her eye is unfazed as the grin on her face only gets wider.

“A cat café!? Shouta, I can’t- I mean you took me? Here? God, you’re amazing! I just-“ she ends her sentence by pulling him by his jacket collar and kissing him lovingly. After his initial shock, he cups her face with his warm hands and deepens the kiss. The feel of his lips on hers is a sense she never wants to tire of; she’s practically addicted to it already.

Aizawa hesitantly pulls away, “as much as I’d like to continue that, we don’t wanna miss our reservation, Kitten.” He kisses her on the cheek and pulls her inside the establishment. Once inside, the couple gets swept up in the ambiance of the place. (Y/n) had an inkling that this date wasn’t just to make you happy, but to make a certain cat lover of a man next her happy too. She had picked up on his love of cats and strays on their other dates and she may or may not attempt to adopt one of the cats as a surprise.

Two hours went by too quickly in the couples opinion, but they had to sadly leave. Their stomachs and hearts full, the two begin their walk back to the bookstore. A deep voice breaks the content silent. “I really don’t want to go on patrol tonight.” (Y/n)’s eyebrows furrow at his statement and silently urges Aizawa to continue. “I want to keep looking at you like this. So happy and content… I wish our schedules weren’t so crazy.”

“I do too,” she breathes, “but that’s how it is and I get it. I mean, we both know each other at this point and know that we’re busy. It’s life, we do what we love and hopefully someone will be there with us you know…”

The momentum of the conversation slows as they reach the bookstore. The words she wishes to say fill up her lungs begging to burst from her lips as she stares at the pre hero before. She gulps whatever anxiety she has and blurts out the words she’s wanted to say all night.

“I love you.”

Black eyes widen at the proclamation and then soften once he sees the shyness and slight fear (Y/n) poses in front of him. He steps up to her, staring at her lips then back to the eyes he can get lost in forever and whispers, “I know, I love you too Kitten,” and softly kisses her lips.

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

“Hey, it’s (Y/n), I mean, yeah it’s me… But where are you? I’ve been waiting outside the club for about 10 minutes now. I know your patrol ended half an hour ago. Just call me back okay?”

(Y/n) grouchily hangs up the phone and pouts. She knew he was out late which is why she wanted him to pick her up from work so she could spend the weekend at his apartment. Aizawa had just finished the first week of school as the new 1-A homeroom teacher and his girlfriend knew he would need sometime to relax. Begrudgingly, of course.

She looks to her phone again and sees that it’s approaching 2:30 in the morning. Normally she doesn’t take closing shifts because of the bookstore, but wanted to align her schedule with Aizawa’s for some time together. After almost a year don’t you think he would have been a little more considerate of this fact? This wasn’t easy for her with the new café being added to her store and having to hire new employees; she needed this one little thing.

“Fuck it, I’m walking by myself.”

Clearly a bad idea. Blissfully unaware, she sullenly walked away from her second job and toward Aizawa’s apartment. The city at night wasn’t always the safest and she knew that, but she had been waiting for more than 20 minutes for Aizawa to show and he hadn’t so she took matters into her own hand. She kept her bag close to her body as she sped walk, attempting to keep her roaring thoughts at bay.

Her phone buzzes which halts her mind, and herself, and she stops in her path. She reaches in a sees a text from him saying “omw”. That’s it? And just now? Barely being on her way, she decides to turn around and go back to their original meeting place.

Bad idea number two. Roughly, she bumps into a stiff being and trips back a few steps. In front of her is a man in a long coat and hat, covering most of his identity. “Excuse me,” she mutters past him, but is abruptly stopped when his hand grips her forearm.

“You don’t remember me.”

“Sir, let go of me.”

“Why don’t you remember me?!”

Panic rising in her, (Y/n) begins to struggle against her assailant. “Sir I have no idea what you want from me! Please let me go.”

The man, clearly hysterical, pulls her into a nearby alley and slams her against the brick wall. The woman winces in pain and tries her best to not cry in front of this stranger. “Please, just take my bag… Don’t hurt me!”

“…Why don’t you remember me? You served me for months at the club. Months! You always made my favorite drink, always made me feel better. I love you (Y/F/n)! I always gave you extra tips when I came in and now I find that you’re thinking of quitting?! Is there someone else? I left my wife like you said I should because I wasn’t happy!”

The more the man rambles, the more she starts to remember. He went by the name Shuichi Oda and from what she gathered had a rough night. Obviously a drunk, it seems like things haven’t been going well for him. She remembers having some brief conversations with him to make her patron feel better but… Damn it! She knew that this was the downside of her quirk, some people took it too personally.

“Look, Shuichi-“

“You do remember me!” He exclaims and pulls her into an unneeded hug and starts to pet her hair. “I’ve been waiting for you to be alone for quite some time. Your quirk made me feel better. You, made me feel better.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she shakily tries to reason, “I’m just a bartender. It’s my job to make people feel better.”

The man hits his head with his fist, frightening the woman. “No! With you, it’s different, see?” After he says he leans in to sloppily kiss her, holding her still against the wall behind her. His hands begin to roam in places they shouldn’t which make tears start to form in her eyes. “Please don’t cry,” he wipes a tear from her face but she moves out of his reach. “Don’t be scared, I love you. And you’re gonna come with me and be with me forever okay?”

“Please,” she screams, “let me go! I have- mmph!”

“Sh sh sh sh, we can’t have you screaming! Others could hear and try to take you away from me!” The hand he placed over her mouth is now covered in tears from her eyes. She bites at him, but his maniacal smile only gets bigger. “I don’t feel physical pain darling, just emotional.” As soon as he says that, his wandering other hand goes toward her breast and he sighs in contentment. “Oh how I’ve longed for this-“

“That’s enough!”

Soon Shuichi is being thrust into the air. He’s wrapped up in bindings and hanging from a nearby streetlamp. Eyes glowing red stare at the apprehended man and pull the wraps tighter, causing him to cough in pain. Aizawa tugs on the wraps to make the man hit his head on the light and pass out. Luckily some sirens are heard closely as someone walking by heard her scream and called for the police. Aizawa was on his way and followed the direction of the police cars hoping it didn’t involve his lover.

An hour later finds the couple walking into the pro hero’s apartment. A strong silver blanket is still wrapped around (Y/n)’s body as they make their way in. They both take off their shoes and settle in silence as the events of the last hour replay through their minds. They don’t even bother to eat anything and start to get ready for bed. Her pajamas are partially on when he sits down on the bed and mumbles, “why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Hm? What was that?”

Sighing louder, her turns to face her. “I said, why didn’t you wait for me like you were supposed to?”

(Y/n) scoffs as she pulls his shirt down her body. “Are you kidding me? Why didn’t I wait? Why were you late?” Her question came out more forceful than she intended but it had been a very long day. “I rearranged my schedule so then we could get off work around the same time for once. Where the hell were you?”

“Don’t give me that,” he states getting louder, “school went late so I began my patrol late.”

“Would it have killed you to tell me that instead of keeping me waiting?”

“Would it have killed you to wait where I wanted you to? Then maybe tonight wouldn’t have happened.”

Her mouth flew open at his assumption. “Are you saying me getting attacked was my fault?!”

Aizawa rolls his eyes as his frustration grows. “If you had just stayed there and waited I was going to get there.”

“Yeah sure! But did you forget the part where that nutjob has been following me for months? He would’ve gotten to me regardless.”

“That’s because you’re too kind. Letting people think that all their problems and issues will go away with just the right fix!”

“You’re ridiculous!” You yell, “Is that really what you think of me and my quirk? Is that what you think I did to you?” (Y/n) moves around the bed to get face to face with him to prove more of her point.

He stands up off the bed to look down at her. “It could be like that for him or any other guy you’re kind to or use your quirk on. All you had to do was wait!”

“And we’re back to where we fucking started. You were late! What was I supposed to do? Wait for the next guy to come along and fuck me over in the middle of the night?”

“(Y/n) that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Oh is it? Then why do you keep putting the blame on whether or not I waited?”

“Look,” he recedes slightly, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about me being late, but you can’t just walk around by yourself like that!”

“Fuck off, yes I can! I’ve done it before why does it suddenly have to change now?”

“Because I fucking love you, idiot!”

Throats hoarse after the shouting match, black eyes shut as he sinks into the bed. (Y/n)’s conviction begins to falter as she follows him onto the mattress. “Shouta?”

He takes a deep breath in attempt to control himself, “I know I should have told you I was late, I’m sorry. But, I’ve never felt this way about anyone. When you weren’t there, I panicked.” He leans onto her shoulder while she rubs his back soothingly. “I was so scared for you. When I saw him touching you, I saw red.”

(Y/n) breathes deeply taking in his words, “Sho…”

“I don’t want to lose you, or have you be hurt because of me. I’m a pro-hero and a teacher at a prominent school, I’m bound to have some enemies.” He sits up to meet her gaze, holding her face in his hands. “That guy hurt you because of you and I wasn’t there.”

“Sho, it’s not your fault.”

Silence falls over them, letting the weight of their words settle into their beings. He brings her forehead toward his as fresh tears fall from her face wetting his skin.

“Kitty cat, I’m sorry for yelling.”

She kisses him lightly, “Me too.”

He kisses her again, and again, and again, Until the light, chaste kisses become deep and full of lust. Her hands find solace in his hair as her lips grant his tongue entrance. He pulls her closer to him, hoping that she can feel his erection through his pants. The feeling of him grinding against her sleep shorts elicits a moan from her mouth that makes him harder. They break for air, a line of saliva connecting them as their pupils dilate.

“Fuck I wanna keep going but you’ve had a long day.” He tries to pull away from her only to be brought in for another breathless kiss. His hands automatically went to her hips. “Kitten,” he moans into her lips.

“We have the whole weekend for me to treat you right. The whole weekend for you to be screaming my name, calling me daddy,” he smacks her ass at that comment earning a hiss from (Y/n) which ended up making her even more wet. “But we need to sleep.”

“Fuck you Shouta,” she whines. “I wanna fuck you now. I’m already so fucking wet for you and I know your dick is itching to be in my mouth or better yet in me.”

Aizawa grunts at the implications but stays strong. “No, sweetie. As much as I really want to, we gotta sleep.”

“Please I want to forget he touched me so please do something or else-“

At that she’s quickly pinned to the bed with the strong man above her. “Don’t forget,” he whispers, “you asked for this.” He slowly drags her bottoms down her legs, exposing her dripping sex to him. It took everything in him to not move too fast. Once her pj bottoms were thrown across the room, he situates himself between her legs, rubbing his hands up her calf, to her thighs enticingly slow. A pressure is felt on her hips as she’s being held in place by her lovers grip.

On instinct her hips buck slightly, eagerly awaiting what’s to come. The feel of his breath on her inner thigh sends her thoughts into a frenzy, only for him to place his lips around the sensitive skin. His kisses are feather light that they almost don’t feel like they’re there, but she’s reminded as soon as his teeth make contact with her skin. A whine escapes her lips at the action, making Aizawa growl.

“Fuck, kitten, you’re so wet for me.”

“Mhm, ah, only for you Daddy- ah fuck!”

All his restraint came undone at the pet name as he wrapped his lips around her folds, sucking and tonguing her with earnest. The way his tongue would flit in and out of her wet hole drove him crazy; it was like she was made for him and only him. He continues to lap at her folds, already starting to feel the pressure build up within her.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna cum for Daddy this early, eh? All I’ve done with eat you out and I’m not full. Plus,” he sneaks a finger into making her hiss and cuss, “I don’t think you’ve had your fill yet Kitty cat.”

Her moans and whines are music to his ears as he doesn’t let up his ministrations. Now two fingers deep into her, he begins to scissor her open while sucking on her abused and pronounced clit.

“Ah, fuck Sho. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” (Y/n) is breathless as her back arches off the mattress for the umpteenth time. She can feel him smile against her as he lifts up to face her. “Then cum Kitten, cum for Daddy.” His motions speed up and upon hearing her scream out his name mixed with curses, he lets up. God, she looks beautiful like this. Her body is covered in a glimmering layer of sweat, her stomach moving in time with her rampant breathing as she comes down from her high. No one else will get to see her like this, no one. Aizawa wipes away sweat from her brow and leans in to let her taste herself on his tongue. The action alone is enough to make him want to burst, which he is tempted to do.

“Damn, you’re still so wet and slick for me,” he notes swiping a finger against her to reaffirm.

“Babe, rollover. I wanna ride you.”

The lovely man above her lifts an eyebrow at her request, “as you wish, princess.” He is then forcibly pinned, almost like what happened to her not too long ago. “Fuck, you look so hot from down here babe.” He knows that she needs this, to feel to be in charge and take the lead. So he doesn’t help her line up the tip of his hard cock to her entrance, and he doesn’t push himself up into her like he wants.

A wanton moan escapes his lovers lips as she finally settles herself on his cock. She feels the grumble and twitching from her his dick inside her and the feeling is euphoric. The pro-hero’s breath gets shallower as he waits for her to move on him, again holding himself back from taking charge. Once she starts bouncing on his cock, all he can do is whisper and moan out praises and curses. “Fuck, Kitten. That feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah babe? You like the way I’m riding your cock?”

He hisses, “fuck yeah. Please do it more- unf.”

Suddenly he feels a new and ecstatic feeling as she gyrates her hips in ways that have him seeing stars. He’s trying to figure out if there’s some kind of pattern. And then it hits him.

“You spelling your name on my cock, yeah?”

A gasp for air is heard from both of them before she responds, “I’m just, ah, letting you know who this belongs to baby.”

“Ah fuck, Kitten, I’m gonna cum soon. But first,” his voice lowers as he grabs her breast in his hand. His thumb flicks over her nipple, earning another moan before he wraps his lips around it. His tongue continues to work the hardening bud as his hand kneads her mound. His free hand works its way to her clit and begins to rub it fiercely.

“Fuck Shouta, if you keep doing that…”

A slick pop is heard as black eyes bore into lust filled ones. “I know Kitten, we’re so close. Come on, let Daddy cum. Let me cum inside baby.” “Yes, yes ah fuck- FUCK!”

The melodious sound of moans and whimpers fill the once noiseless bedroom as the couple comes down from their highs. They fall onto each other, sweat covered and full of love for each other. Their breathing starts to slow the more they wait out, still being connected by their sexes. (Y/n) is the first to move as she slowly removes herself from her boyfriends embrace, whining at the loss of contact. Aizawa leans up slightly to take in her form and beauty.

“I’ll go grab a towel and some water.”

He pecks her cheek and leaves the room. Once he returns, he sees (Y/n) and fondly smiles. She had finally fallen asleep after everything was said and done. He rolls his eyes but continues to clean up their little mess. He leaves her water glass on her nightstand while he had finished his.

Aizawa pulls the covers over the two of them as he cuddles into his girlfriend, watching her sleep soundly. She looks ethereal right now, no problems or stress on her features.

“I swear I will protect you. Whatever it takes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ha ha hahahahaha it’s so long whoops but yee if the option is there the taglist is open!  @kiribaku-queen @shinsouskitten @therealwalmartjesus @prk-pyo @cupcake-rogue

[monaisme]

Day 2: “I can’t take this anymore.”

Day 2: “I can’t take this anymore.”

“Dude? Are you sure you’re okay? Ned asked for the millionth time. “Maybe you should call Mr. Stark?”

Peter refrained from rolling his eyes, wholly aware that it would definitely aggravate the headache that hadn’t dulled since, well... Flash. He pulled his binder and Spanish textbook out of his locker. “Ned, seriously, I’m—”

“...Still a loser! Isn’t that right, Penis?”

Peter barely had a chance to brace himself before Flash was slinging his arm and the entirety of his body weight over Peter’s shoulder and laughing. “I still can’t believe you didn’t see that soccer ball coming!”

Peter shoved Flash’s arm off. “Shut up, Flash.” Peter growled. “It’s sort of hard to see something coming when it’s behind you.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “But Pete?” he started, “Your Peter tin—”

How Ned had managed to keep Peter’s identity a secret so far was a mystery. “Yes! Ned!” Peter interrupted. “My Peter tinnitus!”

Ned floundered.

“Yeah, it totally sucks!” Peter’s eyes widened with panic. He definitely wasn’t getting any help from Ned. “It really only flares up when,” he lowered his voice and stared at Flash, “I’m shmucked in the head by uncoordinated teammates.”

“Who are you calling uncoordinated, loser?! That was precision at its finest. In fact, I should totally get someone to hack the school’s security system and get a copy for me! Imagine all the views on my TikTok! Oh! I know—I can loop it! The world will see your idiot face over and over and over... AND over!” Flash finally trailed off with dreams of viral video fame, then looked Peter dead in the eye. “You, Penis Parker, are the best target EVER! I don’t know why I bother with the others.”

Peter’s headache pulsed and he had to bite back a groan. “Look, can we save this for another time, Flash. I’m not in the mood.”

Flash stared at him for a second, blank faced, then quirked an eyebrow. “Okay, Parker, another time? Done. Let’s see how you feel after school, if that’s how you’re gonna be.”

“What? No way—”

“Stuff it, Penis.” Flash got up in his face. ”You’re about to be my new after school ‘appointment.’ Lucky for that foreign exchange student, huh?” With that declaration, Flash flicked Peter between the eyes and headed down the hall towards his own locker and out of sight.

Peter let himself fall back into the lockers and rubbed at his forehead with a defeated sigh.

“Peter?” Ned spoke quietly. “If you want, I can call Mr. Hogan for you. Mr. Stark gave me his phone number for emergencies and if this isn’t one then...”

“Ned, please stop.” Peter begged. “We have one more class and then I can head to the tower, take some painkillers, and forget about Flash and this crappy day.”

“But Flash said—”

“Ned, I know what he said!” Peter snapped, then took a hopefully calming breath. “Let me worry about it, alright? Flash is obviously having one of those days and you know it’s better me than someone else when he gets like this.”

Ned shook his head in disagreement. “Dude, no. Not today. You already feel like shit.”

“Well then, you can go and tell Raveed that Flash is looking for some after school entertainment!”

“Maybe if you talked to Morita...?”

“Seriously, man? Flash has the school admins by the gonads and you know it!” Peter pressed his fingers to his eyes trying to counter the pressure. “Do the iPads in the library generously donated by Harrison Thompson ring a bell?”

Ned snorted. “How someone named Harrison could CHOOSE to name their kid Eugene, I’ll never get it.”

Peter offered a fake chuckle in return as the warning bell rang. “Ugh, have fun in Comp Sci, man.” Peter moved into their handshake. “Meet you back here after class?”

“Naw, Pete, remember?” Ned’s hands followed Peter’s lead. “I’m getting picked up early. Dentist appointment.”

“Well, shit.” Peter huffed. “Wish me luck then.”

Ned bundled Peter in a hug, “Hello? Dentist?! You wish me luck!” Ned teased.”Besides, you don’t need luck, Pete. You’re Spider-Man.” And Ned left Peter standing alone in the hallway.

With no one to fool, Peter deflated.  He mumbled a ‘mierda’ and shuffled off to Spanish class.

* * * * * *

Regret.

That was all Peter could focus on as the clock ticked down through the last 20 minutes of class. He regretted not letting Ned call Happy and he definitely regretted leaving his phone in his locker. Now if he wanted to contact anyone, it was with his Starkwatch and that was not something he wanted to deal with. A text saying ‘Hey. Killer headache. Need drugs’ was one thing. Any message sent via the watch was forwarded to ALL of the Avengers—even the newly pardoned ones.

... And he sure as heck wasn’t dealing with them.

He should have listened to Ned.

Or called someone himself.

Or just drowned himself in the boys’ washroom sink to put himself out of his misery.

... And he still had to deal with Flash.

Crap.

Yup. So much regret.

10 minutes—5 minutes—2 minutes...

Time slowed to the point where he wondered if the Time Stone was in play. It was just a fleeting, silly thought, but still too soon. His stomach clenched as he thought back on the time when—

Peter jumped as the final bell of the day rang through the room.

Crap.

He swallowed back saliva, the nausea distracting from his headache for a moment. That is until Flash strutted past Peter’s desk, cuffing him across the back of the head, brightening his pain once again.

“Don’t keep me waiting, Parker!” Flash sang out as he exited the classroom.

Double crap.

He tried to drag it out, slowly packing away his school items with unnecessary care. He’d have taken forever if he could, but that dream died with Senora Ramirez’s, “Vamos, Peter! Rapido por favour!”

Smiling back weakly, he replied, “Si, Senora Ramirez. Adios.” And he skulked out the door.

The hallway was almost empty by the time Peter made it to his locker, thank goodness. While his enhanced healing had barely started to touch his headache, the exhaustion of his metabolism trying and tentative hunger battling with his queasiness were real and uncomfortable. The quiet was good.

He took some deep breaths. “Okay,” he thought, “No thinking about the stones at school.”

More focussed, Peter managed to open his locker and grab his phone as it buzzed with a new text but his attempt to read it was interrupted by a rough shove; Peter’s shoulder connecting painfully with the locker’s frame.

“What part of ‘Don’t keep me waiting’ did you not understand, Penis?” Flash grabbed Peter by the shoulder and spun him around. “This is a smart school, ya’ know. Or maybe Mr. Scholarship doesn’t understand, huh?”

Peter flushed in embarrassment. “I’m smart.” Peter whispered.

“Well, if you’re so smart, you wouldn’t have made me have to come back into the school. Or are you deaf, too?” Flash shoved Peter back into the lockers.

Peter remained silent.

Flash slammed Peter back again, his head snapping back, too. “Dammit, Parker! Why do you make me so angry?”

How could anyone answer that question?

Again, Peter impacted the lockers. “You’re so pathetic, Penis. Standing in the gym, begging me to make you suffer.” Peter slammed again. “It’s so satisfying,” Flash hissed. “You’re practically asking for this.” With that, Flash reared back his fist and slammed it into Peter’s cheek. Spider-Man or not, it hurt, and the white bursts of light behind his eyelids spoke to that.

Was he begging for it?

Peter’s thoughts wandered to the time, in that moment when he slid down the wall to the floor. Had Raveed managed to catch his bus? Was he running late? Maybe his host family had picked him up.

A rough kick to his side pulled him from his thoughts. “There. That’ll keep me going ‘til tomorrow.” Flash grinned and stepped away.

Peter exhaled in relief.

“Nah,” Flash landed another kick to his thigh. “I lied. THAT will keep me going ‘til tomorrow.” Flash turned and jogged down the hall. “See you then, loser!” He turned the corner and was gone.

Peter closed his eyes and tentatively rested his head against the locker. Okay. It was done. He was okay. Peter picked up the phone that had landed on the floor beside him—Raveed had to be gone by now.

His phone buzzed again.

3:04pm

TonyBaloney: Hey! Got Rogues in house for meetings. :(

3:07pm

TonyBaloney: Reschedule?

Peter closed his eyes and inhaled. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... and held the breath, only to lose his focus when his phone buzzed a third and fourth time.

3:08pm

TonyBaloney: Use that credit card. Buy some Thai for you and Aunt Hottie!

3:08pm

TonyBaloney: But don’t tell her I called her that!

3:08pm

TonyBaloney: Seriously, she’ll kill me.

Peter huffed out a real laugh at that. Aunt May would geld Mr. Stark if she ever found out his nickname for her. Not that he could tell her. But what was he going to do about the weekend? When Mr. Stark had invited him for the weekend, Peter was relieved. May was going away for some training conference in New Jersey and had told Peter to ask Mr. Stark to play babysitter. The spontaneous invite had kept Peter from looking like a kid and May got her wish. Win-win.

... and now none of that mattered.

3:10pm

PBWanKenobi: Np, Mr. STart. See you Tuesday?

3:10pm

PBWanKenobi: *Stark

His phone didn’t buzz again, and Peter didn’t expect it to. The Rogues tended to keep Mr. Stark pretty distracted. Besides, even feeling like hot garbage, Peter could still get excited about a suddenly free night of Spider-Manning. And really, how much energy would he expend helping little old ladies crossing the street?

* * * * * *

Hours later, Peter could ignore that deep ache across his shoulders and back and even the occasional tug as his mask stuck to the healing cut on his cheek. The headache was still a little much (read that as borderline unbearable), but he’d call the evening a win.

He was swinging and considering stopping at that new Mexican place across from the Dunkin’ Donuts for a burrito or two when his Spidey-senses flared and Spider-Man was twisting away from his original course toward an alley about a three blocks down the street.

His senses blared now. “Karen, call 9-1-1.”

“Peter, if I call now, you run the risk—”

“Don’t care.” His neck almost burned from the intensity. “Call now.”

A woman screamed in obvious pain.

“And tell them to send an ambulance.”

“Calling...” Karen responded and left Spider-Man to do what he did best. Save the day.

Spider-Man took no time to assess the situation and react: A man and a woman in a physical altercation- well, more like a behemoth of a man beating the shit out of this poor lady, oblivious to the fact that someone had joined the party.

She’d fallen unconscious, only held up by her hair grasped in his one hand as he pulled his fist back to punch her again with the other. A thwip of webbing and the man’s fist stopped in its path.

“Wha-?”

“Hey! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?!” Spider-Man called out as he gave the webbing a yank and pulled the man away from his victim while blasting a cushion of webbing onto the concrete beneath the woman’s head.

The man’s initial confusion had passed quickly enough. He tried to remove the webbing from his right hand, but when that failed, simply went after Spider-Man with his left. “You got no business, here, ya’ freak!” He raged as he swung and missed. “She’s my woman! You got no say!” He swung and missed again.

“Dude,”Spider-Man jumped back, “Women have had the vote for, like, a hundred years! I’m pretty sure that she’s,” He jumped back again, “not your property, man!”

“She’s mine, ya’ bastard! And she knows what she did!” he raged, “She deserves everything she gets.” The man lunged one last time, going full bore on the young vigilante—and playing right into the trap. His fist came down as Spider-Man jumped up onto the alley wall. The crunch was nauseating and Peter was sure the man had to have broken at least three knuckle bones, if not several bones in his hand proper. He dropped his knees and cradled his injury, whimpering.

Spider-Man took advantage, securing the man to the ground with more webbing. He wasn’t going anywhere.

That taken care of, he rushed to the still unconscious woman on the ground. Now that he’d taken care of that dude, he could focus. “Karen, ETA on the ambulance?” He kneeled beside her prone body, better taking in her injuries.

“Two minutes, Peter.”

Okay, he could do two minutes. Her breathing was a little rough, and both of her eyes were swollen shut. He looked away, focused on the ground beside her and—were those teeth? This wasn’t the first beaten woman he’d helped, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that this one was different. He pulled in deep breath, and shook his head to try and clear it... but then this damned headache. No. Help would be here soon and she’d be okay. Yeah, she’d be okay. He was sure of it. He grabbed her hand, “You’ll be fine, lady. Help is coming.”

He pulled in a breath. He was okay.

The man in the webs sneered. “Awww, you’re so cute. Thinking that this is the last of it.” Spider-Man glared back him. The man gave a chin nod in her direction. “Who do you think is gonna bail me out?”

“No one deserves this, man! Why’d you do it? You could’ve killed her?” Spider-Man yelled. “Why?”

The man laughed, ugly and low. “You wanna know why?”

Spider-Man stared back at him.

"I’ll tell you why. ‘Cuz she’s so stupid, the bitch practically begs me to hit her. She needs to remember her place, that she’s nothin’ without me.” The man sneered, “and sometimes, it just feels so damn good.”

Flash’s words from earlier in the day suddenly echoed through Peter’s head. Yeah, Spider-Man was done for the day and Peter had a lot to think about.

“Karen, ETA?”

“Arrival is imminent. Might I suggest taking refuge on a rooftop to avoid detection by the local authorities?”

Peter looked at the bruised and swollen woman on the ground, gently placed her hand at her side, and then Spider-Man plastered a patch of webbing across the woman beater’s mouth. Peter didn’t want to listen to him anymore.

The ambulance and patrol car skidded to a halt in front of the alleyway almost simultaneously. A police officer exited his vehicle with weapon drawn and preparing to clear the alley for the EMTs to come down with their equipment .

“Peter?” Karen inquired.

“Yeah, I know. That’s my cue to leave.” And with the flick of a wrist, Spider-Man was off and away from the scene.

* * * * * *

It was past his curfew, and save for the fact that he was pretty sure he’d saved the life of that woman in the alley, stopped several muggings, a car accident, and finally caught that pickpocket that’d been targeting tourists for weeks—well, he’d regretted every decision he’d made since getting off of the subway after school.

He’d planned to stop after that man, but an inexplicable need to atone for his very existence ate at him and within minutes of stopping on that first rooftop, he was off and at it again.

And now his face still bled, his head pounded, and he wondered if his shoulder had dislocated and then corrected itself at some point in the evening. His ribs ached, his bruises throbbed, and something... something gnawed at his gut. No. Not something. Everything gnawed at his gut and thoughts were swirling around in his brain and he kept wondering why and how and if...”

“Incoming call from Tony Stark.”

Peter closed his eyes and drew in a calming breath.

“Peter?” Mr. Stark’s deceptively calm voice came over the comm. “Care to explain to me why I’m having to give the Spider-Baby a call at 1:27 on a Saturday morning when your curfew is midnight on the weekend?”

He didn’t know what to say, so he stuck to the truth, “I’m just thinking, Mr. Stark. I promise.”

“And you can’t do that from the comfort of your own home?”

Peter closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure that was the best plan, being alone in that exact moment.

“Pete? Are you going to answer me, ‘cuz Karen and FRI are both works of AI genius and I know this call hasn’t dropped.”

Peter inhaled again. That realization made it all too much. He wanted to...

“Pete?” Mr. Stark was alert now. “Pete? What’s going on?”

“I’m...” a sob fought its way free. What was Peter supposed to say? He wanted so badly to say he was good—that he was great and just taking in the cityscape before heading back to the apartment. He wanted to talk about the hot dog vendor who gives him extra sauerkraut on his hot dogs, ‘cuz it’ll put hair on his chest. Heck, he’d have settled for a story about free churros...

But he just felt so heavy.

“Peter, I’m calling up a suit now. I can be to you in two minutes.”

Two minutes? He had two minutes, and then Mr. Stark would know that Spider-Man wasn’t a superhero—he was a distraction, a target, a victim. That he existed solely for the universe to pour all of its hate and misfortune onto him for the benefit of others. That no matter how hard he tried, it would never be enough. That maybe Flash and Toomes and every punch and kick and stab were karma for Ben? His parents? That maybe if he wasn’t here...” Peter sobbed again. How could he say that all in two minutes?  

Instead, Peter whispered, “Mr. Stark? I can’t take this anymore.”

There was a silence, then, and Peter panicked at the thought he’d said too much.

“I mean—it’s okay, I just...”

“Pete. Hang on just thirty more seconds, okay? I’m coming to you, right now. Do you hear me?”

Peter nodded.

Mr. Stark chuckled, “I can’t hear you nod, kid.”

“I hear you,” he breathed.

“Okay, ‘cuz I bet there’s a lot of stuff goin’ on in that head of yours that needs some revisiting and I imagine it’s not processing quite right just now, what with the concussion you’ve been dealing with,” Mr. Stark cussed under his breath. “Kid, Karen is telling FRI that you already had that concussion when the suit went on?”

Peter huffed a laugh and looked out onto the city. “Um,” his voice warbled as he answered, “It’s been a pretty shitty day.” He could see Iron Man in the distance.

“Definitely sounds like there’s a story there, kid.” Mr. Stark landed a few feet away then moved towards him, faceplate flipping up to reveal a look of concern. “I want to hear it but first, I think you need this first.” The Iron Man armour melted away and Mr. Stark pulled Peter into his arms.

Peter tensed. The hugging thing wasn’t new for them, but Peter was convinced that he didn’t deserve this—any of this and he couldn’t... couldn’t...”

“Hey, kid, you’re safe here.” Mr. Stark soothed. “I’ve got you.”

Peter burrowed himself into Mr. Stark’s chest, then shook his head ‘no.’

His head hurt so bad and he couldn’t stop crying.

“Hey, FRI? Can he take the mask off?”

A voice spoke out from the watch resting by his ear. “I’m afraid not, Boss. There are several CCTV cameras set for specific ongoing undercover operations. This would disrupt four active stake outs and potential chain of evidence.”

“Damn.” Tony thought for a second. “Hey, buddy,” leaned to talk quietly into Peter’s ear. “I’m gonna give you a lift, ‘kay? We’ll hang out at the tower, just like we planned and have a bit of a staycation this weekend, sound good?”

Peter’s energy level was ebbing but, even still, he remembered, “No, don’t want the Avengers to see me like this.” He pleaded.

“Yeah, they flaked after the last meeting wrapped up, bud. The tower’s free and clear. It’d be you and me and bad 80s sci-fi. What do you say?”

Peter shrugged. It was all he could give.

And Mr. Stark took it. “Okay, kiddo, I’m gonna let of you now so I can get back into my suit, okay? And then I’m gonna pick you up so we can get this party started... whenever you’re ready.”

Peter hesitated, and then pulled himself out of Mr. Stark’s arms. Peter stepped back, looking unsure of himself.

With the tap of a button, the suit completely encased the man in seconds. “Alrighty, then. How do you want to do this, Pete? Piggy-back? Bridal-style?”

Peter was paralyzed with indecision. “I... I... um...”

The faceplate flipped up again and Tony took in the boy’s state, “How’s about dealer’s choice, hey?”

Peter nodded in relief and managed to not squeak when Iron Man scooped him up into his metal arms. “Why don’t you just relax. I’ve got ya’.” And with that, Iron Man rocketed off the rooftop and towards Avengers Tower.

It seemed that Mr. Stark didn’t feel as much urgency returning to the tower as he had when he’d headed over to Peter on the roof.

It was nice.

“Hey, Pete?” Mr. Stark interrupted the quiet, “I’m lookin’ at the injury report that Karen sent FRIDAY. I know you can’t be feeling great, so how’s about we make a quick pit stop at the medbay and get you checked out, huh?”

“I’m fine.” The words left his mouth before he could process it.

Mr. Stark was quiet for a minute, and then, “You know, Pete, just because you can deal with feeling bad or are even used to feeling bad, it doesn’t mean you have to settle for it.”

Peter remained silent.

“You don’t deserve to be in pain, bud.”

How could Peter reply to that? He lowered his head into the Iron Man’s chest and they continued onward.

Within moments, they were touching down on the landing pad outside of the Stark penthouse. Peter waited to be put down, but Mr. Stark walked forward, the suit dismantling around him until it was simply Mr. Stark carrying him.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Hang on, kid. Almost there.” He grunted in exertion.

They made their way to the couch where Tony gently placed Peter, sitting him down on the couch before planting himself on the coffee table in front of it.

“Okay, first things first,” Tony announced and reached forward to carefully remove the Spider-Man mask.

Peter allowed it, but kept his eyes lowered.

But Mr. Stark wouldn’t allow that. Mr. Stark cupped Peter’s cheek and guided Peter’s face upward. Peter tried to look away, but Mr. Stark refused to allow it.

“Peter Parker, you look me in the eye right now, please.”

His tears welled up again, but he did it.

���Good job, kid. Now I need you listen to me, and you listen to me good.”

Peter couldn’t look away.

“You do not need to be okay with feeling bad.”

Peter shook his head to disagree.

Tony continued. “You do not deserve to feel bad,” Tony wiped away Peter’s tears. “And you sure as hell do not need to hide from any of the people that love you that you feel bad.”

Mr. Stark moved his calloused hand from Peter’s face to brush a curl from his forehead. “If you need a list of people who love you, they include, but are not exclusive to: Your Aunt May, Ned, MJ, Rhodey—who still wants you to call him Uncle Rhodey, by the way.”

Peter chuckled.

Mr. Stark beamed, “Now where was I? Oh, yeah! Happy—just don’t tell him I told you,” Mr. Stark gave a conspiratorial wink at that one. “Pepper! And Brucie! Do I need to keep going? ‘Cuz I will. Hell, I bet that guy that makes your sandwiches loves you, kid.”

Peter didn’t know what to say.

“I’m at the top of that list, Peter.” Peter could hear the affection in Mr. Stark’s voice.

“You, Mister Peter Park, are allowed to not be okay. Sometimes life is shit, but half the fun is in getting through this together. You got me?”

Peter managed a timid nod.

“Good, so do you wanna go to the medbay and see if we have something for the killer headache you’ve got to have?”

“Please,” Peter replied.

“You’re feeling pretty bad?”

“Yeah, and, uh...” Peter didn’t quite know how to say it. “Um, I’m not okay.”

Tony shuffled closer, pulled Peter into an all-encompassing hug, and whispered, “I hear you, Peter, but we’re gonna get you there.”

@febuwhump

[thestayway90]

Unexpected Attachment: Chapter 1 - Stray Kids Imagine

Author: thestayway90

WC: 2385

Warnings: None

Characters: Stray Kids OT8, OFC/Reader, OFC/Reader’s Older Brother

Summary: Setting up the story, introducing the characters. OFC/Reader meets some of the Kids... if you can get through this chapter it’ll be a lot more exciting in the next one I promise!!!

Author’s Note: Hello all! This is my first attempt at a Stray Kids Fic so I hope you all enjoy...

Not 100% sure where this is going (I have a plan but we’ll see) but it will eventually be a OFC/Reader x Felix Relationship (coz I am whipped for that boy).

I would love any and all feedback including criticisms and ways you think I can improve!!!

Enjoy lovelies <3

You certainly didn’t expect to wake up with an iguana staring you in the face. But after two months of living with your brother, it really shouldn’t be a surprise you anymore.

You glared at the unfamiliar creature digging in its tiny nails but its only response was to blink lazily back at you, unfazed by your thunderous expression.

“Joshua!” you yelled, startling Tink from underneath the bed, the white ferret streaking for freedom as Josh appeared in the doorway.

“Oh, whoops, sorry,” Josh said as he quickly plucked the green reptile off of the bedspread. “I was wondering where Dewey had got too.” He smiled widely, stroking the placid Iguana on the head.

You sighed and sat up, stretching slightly, questioning, “Dewey? Another rescue?”

Josh glanced up guiltily. “You should have seen how they were keeping him?” He replied, placing the reptile on the floor where the green creature started making his slow way down the hallway, Tink following it curiously. “Made me pay them an arm and a leg, though.” Josh commented ruefully as you hopped out of bed.

“Well luckily you just got promoted then. More money to rescue all the poor neglected animals of Seoul,” you told him cheerfully, patting his cheek as you walked past on your way to the bathroom.

You immediately cursed, tripping over an orange streak that suddenly darted towards your legs, swiping at your ankles before disappearing in a blur of motion. “Toast!” you hollered, hopping on one leg, rubbing the injured ankle. “I’m going to cook you in the fryer, cat!” you threatened the empty air, stomping towards your original destination.

“180 degrees for 20 minutes should do it,” you muttered under my breath, closing the bathroom door behind you. “Just enough for nice crispy Toast.”

It wasn’t until you had already sat down on the toilet that the feeling of being watched prickled the back of your neck. You looked up and in the gloom between the top of the medicine cabinet and the ceiling were two glowing eyes.

You gave a small shriek of surprise and then giggled at your stupidity. “Hey Meatball,” you said, as the large fluff ball ignored your greeting, curling up and turning his back to you until he was barely visible.

Shaking your head and muttering about pedantic animals, you made your way down to the kitchen.

“Honestly Josh,” you said as you plopped down on one of the stools, grabbing the cup of coffee he offered gratefully. “We should start selling tickets. Come and see the miraculous menagerie squished into a tiny apartment in the middle of downtown Seoul.”

Josh raised his eyebrows at your tone and then smiled wickedly. “Toast get you again?”

“Seriously that cat is the devil itself,” you moaned, reaching down to rub your poorly abused ankle.

Josh burst out laughing, no sympathy in your feud with the tiny orange tabby. “Whats that 3 to 1? You need to work on your ninja skills.”

“Talking of ninja skills, don’t you have to go?” you pointed to the time displayed on the microwave clock, making Josh swear and quickly grab his jacket, a piece of toast still hanging halfway out of his mouth.

“Can you put Dewey in the tank for me,” Josh shouted over his shoulder as he grabbed his bag and raced out the front door.

“Yep. Have a good day at work,” you yelled after him and received a muffled, ‘Love You’, as the door shut behind him.

It took you fifteen minutes to find the elusive reptile, leaving only five minutes for you to quickly throw on some clothes and get half way presentable before your online class.

An hour later you leant back in your chair, rubbing your temples, glad that there wasn’t another class until later in the afternoon.

You were just contemplating whether to start on one of your many assignments or not when a familiar ring echoed through the kitchen. You searched confused until you located Josh’s phone that had somehow got wedged underneath a bag of cat food.

The number flashing on the screen was labeled ‘Work’ and guessing who it was you picked up, bringing the device up to your ear.

“Why, hello!” you answered, smiling as a familiar voice echoed through the speaker.

“I forgot my phone...” Josh’s wail made your smile widen.

“Uh huh, I noticed,” you responded unhelpfully, digging Tink out from a cupboard he’d worked his way into.

“Can you bring it to me, please please pretty please!” Josh begged. “I can’t leave right now and I really need it!”

You made him suffer just a little, staying silent while placing Tink in his escape-proof enclosure.

Finally you agreed, “Of course. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thank you, thank you Nugget,” Josh sighed in relief, using your childhood nickname in his gratitude.

“Okay, see you soon.” You hung up and grabbed your shoes and keys, making sure all the gremlins were safely locked away, before exiting the apartment.

You walked the ten minutes to Josh’s work, enjoying the blue skies and stunning weather while strolling briskly.

You arrived at your destination and tilted your neck backwards to read the large JYP displayed prominently on the side of the towering skyscraper that Josh worked in.

You entered through the lobby, approaching the receptionist while Security Guards eyed you with mistrust, alert for any suspicious behaviour.

Luckily you recognised the receptionist from the few times you had accompanied Josh to work, flashing her a wide smile as you came to a stop in front of her.

“Hello again, love,” she greeted you in heavily accented English. “Are you here to see Joshua?”

You held up your brothers phone with a rueful smile. “He forgot this and asked if I could bring it to him.”

“He’s probably only the fifth floor,” she said helpfully, signalling to Security to let you through.

“Thank you,” you told her gratefully, walking through the security turnstile that the Guard pushed open.

You crossed to the elevator and pressed the button, happy when one opened immediately. Once inside, you pushed the button for the fifth floor, watching the numbers tick over until the doors chimed loudly.

Stepping out into the hallway, you stood awkwardly for a few minutes, trying to decide where to look first.

A door opened to your right, raucous noise echoing into the corridor as a guy backed into the hallway, talking loudly and making faces at those still inside.

He turned and jumped when he saw you standing behind him, clearly startled, hands flying up under his chin, arms hugging close to his body as his eyes went impossibly round.

“Ah, hi... sorry,” you said apologetically, feeling the need to explain your presence. “I’m looking for Josh, Joshua. Do you know where he is by any chance?” You asked hopefully.

The guy immediately relaxed and smiled widely, cheeks dimpling adorably. “You must be his sister!” He exclaimed happily in a slight American accent, beckoning you towards him. “He’s in here actually.” He turned back to the room he had exited, holding the door open for you to pass by.

You slipped through the doorway and was greeted by three pairs of eyes, startled by an intruder into their space.

Josh’s expression quickly turned from surprise to glee as he jumped from his seat to wrap his arms around you in a tight hug. You held his phone out towards him, staring around at the room surrounding you.

It was a music studio, electrical equipment made up of a complicated mess of knobs, dials and switches covering a huge desk to one side under a window looking into a recording booth. The walls were clad in some type of soundproofing material and there was a large comfy looking couch accompanied by two office chairs.

“You’re a life saver,” Josh said gratefully, pocketing the precious device, as you switched your attention to the other occupants of the room. Noticing your gaze Josh quickly gave out introductions.

“This is Han.” He pointed to the kind boy who had shown you where to go.

“Chan.” The boy with the shock of red hair smiled lopsidedly and nodded his head amicably your way.

“And Changbin.” The last boy looked serious until he gave a very wide smile, lighting up his entire face, making you unconsciously smile in return.

“Guys, this is my sister.” Josh finished, his tone brimming with pride, as he squeezed your arm lightly.

“Nice to meet you,” Chan said his familiar Aussie accent immediately putting you at ease. “We’ve heard a lot about you from Josh.”

A blush immediately started staining your cheeks, wondering exactly how much your brother had told them in the short weeks he had been working with the k-pop boy group.

“I was just about to get some coffees. Do you want one?” Han was still hovering in the doorway, with an expectant expression.

You immediately started shaking your head. “You guys look busy. I should get going!” You took one step towards the door before Han blocked you, hands waving in the air.

“We’re not busy. We’re actually taking a break. Do you like milk? Sugar?”

You smiled ruefully at the persistent man. “I’ll take it black with two sugars please.”

His face lit up with genuine joy and he ducked out the door, humming as he went.

You turned back to the remaining occupants of the room. Chan patted the empty seat beside him, presumably Hans one he had abandoned in search of caffeine.

You sat, twisting side to side in the spinning office chair, as Josh took his place on the couch on the opposite side to Changbin.

“So....” Chan drew out the syllable, his intense eyes focused on you. “We heard you’re studying to become a Social Worker? How is that going?”

“Uh, not too bad. It’s all online which is good coz I don’t have to get out of my pyjamas most days but it’s also terrible coz I have no self-motivation or control so usually end up scrambling to finish my assignments thirty minutes before it’s due!” All three boys laughed and you smiled at the welcome sound.

“Is the course through a Korean University?” Changbin questioned curiously, his English thickly accented.

You shook my head. “No, it’s through a Uni back home in Australia, thank goodness.”

All three boys eyebrows raised at the last sentiment, questioning your relief.

You quickly held up your hands, trying to wave off the misunderstanding. “No, I don’t mean that a Korean course wouldn’t be just as good or better, just that my Korean is so terrible that I would struggle even more than I am now!” You tried to explain emphatically.

Understanding dawned on their expressions and Changbin gave a small chuckle.

“You’re Korean’s that bad huh?”

You grimaced and then said, “Eotteohge saeng-gaghaseyo?”

Chan and Josh both burst out laughing, and Changbin tried to hide a smirk but failed miserably.

“It’s not the worst I’ve ever heard,” the kind rapper commented, trying to save your feelings.

“She’s been working hard on it,” Josh felt the need to interject. “She’s only been learning for two months since she came to live with me.”

The two k-pop idols turned their gaze towards you, expressions now impressed.

“Very good,” Chan complimented encouragingly.

The door opened and Han struggled through, balancing two cup holders full of cups.

Josh immediately jumped up and grabbed one off of him, the younger guy smiling at him gratefully. “Thank you, Maenijeo.”

“I’m still not used to that,” Josh admitted, as Han quickly distributed the coffees to their rightful owners.

“You deserve it,” Chan told him, as Josh and Han sat back down on the couch, squishing together a little next to Changbin. “We were over the moon when they told us you’d be our new Manager. I was just glad for the extra help with producing.”

Josh blushed a little at the praise from the Leader, twisting his fingers round the cup in his hand. You beamed with pride at him, knowing how hard he had worked to get where he was.

Aware that Josh was probably getting a little uncomfortable being the centre of attention you turned to Chan, asking, “What are you working on?” And then belatedly realising, “Although you probably can’t tell me, I guess.”

“Actually Josh was just telling us about some ideas he has for our new music.” Chan nodded his head towards your brother, making him blush even further, undermining your attempt to change the subject.

The boys started chatting about music, most of the technical stuff going over your head, but you enjoyed watching the four boys talk so animatedly about something they were clearly all passionate about.

Eventually you sighed, checking your watch and groaning as you noticed the time.

“I have to go,” you told the others regretfully. “I have an assignment to start before my next class.”

The three boys protested but Josh pointed out that they too had work that needed to be done.

You said your goodbyes, promising to return and visit the three boys you’d somehow become friends with.

Josh gave you a tight hug and offered to walk you out but you immediately declined, knowing how busy he and the boys were.

You gave them one last wave and then let the door shut behind you, crossing over to the elevator and pressing the button, waiting patiently for it to arrive.

Once inside you pulled out your phone, double checking the time for the next class, balancing your still warm coffee in your other hand.

Noticing a message regarding one of your upcoming assignments, you were too engrossed in the device in your hand to look up when the doors pinged open.

You automatically started walking but somehow managed to catch your foot on the metal grating on the floor, pitching forwards with no free hands to stop yourself

Luckily, or unluckily depending on your point of view, your fall was stopped by a solid form, as strong arms caught at your waist to stop your hectic descent.

Unfortunately for the owner of the hands, although they managed to stop your fall they didn’t manage to stop your coffee’s, the caffeinated beverage covering you both in lukewarm liquid.

[millie-ionaire05]

Saudade - Ot 7 | 09

Ot7 BTS

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Rating: M (Mature)

word count: 2,188

Trigger Warnings: Hospitalization (rehab, mental institute). Mental health issues (Text Reason to 741741 if you need to reach out for help). Insinuated M x M (if you squint hard enough). Substance abuse (alcohol, pills | call 1-800-662-4357 if you are dealing with this). Weapons (gun, knife). Smoking (cigarettes, weed). Mentions of suicide/attempted suicide (National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255). Violence (murder/attempted murder). Mentions of blood. Mentions of therapy sessions (these are not accurate representations, please leave it to proper professionals). Mentions of physical abuse (Call 1-800-799-7233 if you are dealing with domestic violence) WE DO NOT GLORIFY THESE WARNINGS/TRIGGERS; THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY, AND DOES NOT RELATE TO ANY OF THE MEMBERS. IF YOU ARE DEALING WITH ANY OF THESE, PLEASE REACH OUT TO YOUR LOCAL AUTHORITIES FOR ASSISTANCE, OR THE NUMBERS LISTED ABOVE.

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January 14th, 2018 | 15:20

   “I think he’s starting to remember.”

   Yoongi’s words reverberate like a threat in his brain as he downs another bottle of soju, disregarding the shot glass he’d previously been using. The desire to quiet the voice overrides the need to take things slow. Namjoon stumbles, colliding softly with the wall. He shifts, his back sliding clumsily down until his ass hits the ground and he releases the bottle, hearing it roll across the floor a bit from him.

   From his pocket he pulls out the drawing Yoongi had brought and his heart begins to thrum furiously beneath his ribs. A smudge of the graphite used tints his fingers as he unfurls the paper. Swallowing hard, he stares at the dark image, the strokes seemingly etched hurriedly on the page as if the artist felt the inspiration would disappear from his mind before he could finish it.

  As he continues to stare, the raven becomes a blur, Namjoon’s eyes beginning to lose focus. Could things have been different if he had tried more? If he had intervened and forced them to talk it out, would things not have gone so far? Would they all not be so estranged from each other?

   Letting his head fall back as despair washes over him, he turns to gaze over at the afternoon light streaming into his place from two square windows high above a small table and chair set against the container wall. In his peripheral vision, he makes out the tattooing needle, ink and supplies he has stored in that area and sits up, eyes widening slightly. He stumbles up onto his feet, sauntering over unsteadily before plopping down into the chair, his mind now locked on one thought only.

   Tattoo the bird as tribute.

   Even in his inebriated state, he doesn't worry about making a mistake. This was the one thing he was good at. His fingers are nimble, steady as he opens a new needle and attaches it to the nail gun along with the ink. An incessant buzzing soon fills the quiet space as his brows furrow in concentration.

   He barely feels the pain of the needle as it rapidly punctures his flesh repeatedly, delivering the black ink to the space beneath his skin. At the faint sound of police sirens in the far distance, a memory from the prior year comes to the forefront as he focuses on each line and stroke. A memory of him and Taehyung as they’d been tagging a concrete hedge in the middle of the night. After a few drinks, the two had grown bored, looking for something to do. Taehyung had brought a few cans of spray paint and suggested they add a bit of art to the playground not too far from where they were. He hadn’t really been down for that, but Taehyung had insisted and he didn’t want him to go alone. It wasn’t long before they had reached the spot and Taehyung began spray painting the area.

   They chuckled and teased each other as Tae colored the cement, both too busy enjoying themselves to notice the police car patrolling the area. Blue and red lights flashed across the wall, alerting Namjoon first. Straightening, eyes-wide, he tapped Taehyung’s arm, his chin jutting out to the area behind him, simultaneously snatching up his younger friend’s backpack. Taehyung turned, mouth and eyes turning into large O’s before the two began to run.

   Though their feet pumped swiftly, eating up the pavement, they were no match for the police and were soon caught, the officers none too gentle as they slammed them against their vehicle. Namjoon couldn’t help but grin over at Taehyung as the cuffs clicked into place around his wrists. Taehyung returned the gesture with a boxy smile of his own, even as one of the officers opened his bag, the spray cans spilling out onto the asphalt below. His smile dissipates as the officer grows rougher with Namjoon, yanking him harshly, hurting his arm as they straighten him up. It was then that Namjoon noticed the shift in Taehyung’s eyes go from mirthful to worried.

   He had been concerned with how the officer was treating Namjoon, but he had also come to realize that his parents would be notified of his arrest and were not going to take it well. Especially his father. Taehyung’s father was very strict and was known for physically showing his displeasure in the way of bruises and nicks that would decorate his skin.

   Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as if to clear the images from his mind. Letting out a heavy breath, he stands, walking towards a tall floor mirror he has leaning against the opposite wall. He’d placed it there for his clients to check out the ink he’d apply to them. Namjoon turns his forearm towards the mirror, twisting his wrist left and right as he takes in the image he’d permanently etched there.

   A lump forms in his throat, as he remembers receiving a frantic phone call from Jin just a few days after Taehyung and he had been arrested.

   “Slow down, Jin-hyung. I can’t understand a word you’re saying,” Namjoon urged.

   He could hear Jin take in a breath and let it out before he made another attempt to convey his message.

   “It’s Taehyung,” he began again, his voice shaking terribly. “He...Jesus, he tried to kill himself, man.”

   “What?!” Namjoon exclaimed, his heart falling with a thud into the pit of his stomach.

   “Look, we’re nearby,” he’d informed him. “Can-can I just bring him over? I can’t do this on my own.”

   “Yeah, yeah.”

   “Just have a towel and some clothes ready...for both of us.”

   “Wha…”

   But Jin had hung up without elaborating and after a few seconds of staring at his phone, random scenarios accosting his mind, he’d sprang into action, grabbing towels and clothes for Jin and Taehyung. And he’d been right. It had not taken but about ten minutes for them to reach his place.

   After Jin had pounded on his door, Namjoon opened up to the sight of Jin holding up their younger friend. Taehyung raised his head slowly, his cobalt blue hair plastered to his head and face. He moved as if his head weighed tons, his eyes meeting Namjoons almost reluctantly. The dark orbs swam with guilt and exhaustion. Snapping to, he reached forward to help Jin bring Taehyung in.

   The two assisted Tae with undressing and drying up. There was a lavender tint to his lips, his face pallid and devoid of it’s usual tanned color. His skin was icy to the touch. Namjoon shivered fearfully. They dressed him quickly and Namjoon had to bite his tongue to keep from demanding what had happened. He led him to his sofa bed while Jin went into the bathroom to switch into dry clothes.

   Taehyung didn’t speak as he crawled onto the pull out bed, his eyes already fluttering closed as his head touched down on the pillow. Namjoon tucked a thick blanket around him, squeezing his shoulder gently before straightening up. Jin was just stepping out of the bathroom, his dark brown hair slightly dishevelled.

   “Can we talk outside?” Jin questioned, glancing over at Taehyung’s presumably sleeping form.

   Namjoon nodded and grabbed coats for both of them. Zipping them up, they stepped outside, puffs of steam expelling from their mouths as they met the cool Spring evening.

   As the door clicked behind him, Namjoon could no longer wait for the details, demanding, “What happened?” Jin ran both of his hands through his hair in exasperation, his usually plump lips pressed tightly together in a thin grave line.

   “My being there was just pure chance, ya know?” he started, head shaking as he paced back and forth. “I keep trying not to think about how differently this night would have turned out had I not had the fucking sudden urge to go night fishing.”

   “Jin-hyung,” Namjoon insisted. “Just tell me what happened.” He paused, staring at Najmoon, his eyes full of terror.

   “Like I said, I went to the pier to go night fishing, fish bite good in this type of weather.” He closed his eyes, trying to get himself back on track. “Anyway, I had casted my line when I saw the moonlight gleam off of something in the water. At first, I just thought it was a dolphin, but it wasn’t moving. I turned my flashlight towards the object and realized it was a person. I didn’t even think twice. I took off my clothes and jumped in.”

   “Jesus,” Namjoon swiped a hand down his face in surprise.

   “I couldn’t really see their face, I just grabbed them and swam with them to the water's edge. Once on shore, and we were beneath a street lamp, the blood drained out of my body when I saw it was Taehyung. He was so pale, his lips blue. God, I panicked for a moment, but it was just a moment. I performed CPR on him and it worked, obviously,” his hand signaled towards the door.

   “How did he end up in the water?!” Namjoon exclaimed.

   “When he came to, he didn’t want to say, but he finally admitted he had climbed up the scaffolding and jumped in. Since he doesn’t know how to swim, he was hoping he would drown.”

   “What? Why?”

   Jin shook his head, “He said he didn’t want to be a disgrace to his family.”

   “Shit,” Namjoon cursed, biting at his lower lip. “His father must have reamed him pretty badly for him to want to go to this extreme.”

   “Yea,” Jin agreed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the coat.

   “Look, I’ll take care of him tonight,” Namjoon dropped a comforting hand on Jin’s shoulder. “Go home, get some rest. I’ll talk to him. He’s going to be ok.”

   Jin nodded, “Ok. I’ll call in the morning to check up on you two.”

   Jin had left then and when Namjoon re-entered his home, Taehyung’s eyes were open, staring out, unseeing.

   “Tae?” Namjoon called softly, and his eyes refocused and landed on him. “You’re ok. You’re safe now.”

   “He told you,” he whispered, despondently.

   “Of course he did,” Namjoon sat down cross-legged before Taehyung. “We are all brothers after all and we don’t keep things from each other.”

   “Yeah,” he sighed.

   “You want to tell me what happened?” Namjoon probed. “I mean, what made you want to do this?”

   Taehyung drew his body into the fetal position, his brows drawing down tightly.

   “My...my dad didn’t take my arrest too well,” he admitted. “He beat me when I came home and told me I was a disgrace and had brought dishonor to our family. I figured killing myself would restore my family’s honor.”

   Namjoon’s eyes glittered with unshed tears, as he tried to remain strong for his young friend.

   “No. Killing yourself will not restore your family’s honor, Taehyungie,” he told him softly. “Living an honorable life will. Don’t do anything to get arrested again and work hard. That’s all you have to do. Can you promise me that?”

   Taehyung sighed, but nodded. “I promise.”

   “OK then. Let’s get some sleep.”

   Putting down a comforter on the floor, Namjoon curled up underneath a blanket next to the sofa bed, and slept knowing Taehyung was alive and well next to him.

   Namjoon picks up the soju bottle he’d released earlier and throws it angrily at the mirror. What had happened to their brotherhood and their promise to never keep things from each other? The glass shatters, falling in a glittering cascade at his feet. He looks down, his reflection a broken image across hundreds of shards. He catches sight of the white lily tattoo on his other forearm that he’d previously given himself.

   “Namjoon, listen, it’s Jin,” his hyung sighs heavily into the phone. “I got a missed call from Taehyung earlier. He’s been arrested again. He asked me not to tell you, but you know what happened last time and I couldn’t…. You have to get him out. We can’t let his parent’s find out this time.”

   Namjoon replays the voicemail left the previous night, cursing himself for drinking that night and not bothering to charge his phone.

   Namjoon takes the picture of the bird and walks to his kitchen to grab another drink, whiskey this time, pouring it into a short glass. Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he brings the sheet towards it as he flicks it open. The paper instantly kindles, growing brighter as the flame licks up the dry surface. Namjoon’s eyes follow the chard edge as it swallows up the initials that had been scribbled on the back. When there is nothing but a corner left, he drops it into the amber liquid. As the hiss quiets, he brings the alcohol to his lips. The ash and whisky slide down past his lips to mingle in his gut with the beer and soju he had previously drunk. Jin's pale face flashes before his eyes just as he passes out in a heap on the floor.

[popunktomlinson]

this is just the mess of all the fics that i read between december ‘19 and may ‘20 for my own reference but if you want to check any out there are stars next to my favorites! this is mostly drarry with some larry, scorbus, and one (1) wolfstar pairing.

Larry:

Missed Connection - kingsofeverything (3k)

Harry is absolutely clueless when it comes to figuring out if other guys are into him, so he enlists his friend Niall to assist. That may or may not be a mistake.

Like Candy In My Veins - littlelouishiccups (85k)

“Um…” Harry said slowly after a moment. “Okay. That’s… this is… Let me get this straight.” He lifted up a hand and swallowed. “You told your family that you have a boyfriend… and my name was the first one you thought of?”

(Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for.)

Forget the Silent Nights - LadyLondonderry (45k)

The last Christmas with the seven of them in that broken old house on Redwood all together was probably one of the most memorable holidays each of them had, what with the wedding and the the snowstorm and the raccoons in their attic…

And the baby they stole, of course.

Point. Drop. Call. - 4ureyesonly28 (2k)

Teenagers get bored on a hot summer day and decide to play a little game…Whoever loses has to call their crush, no matter who or where they are.

Drarry:

Written on the Heart - who_la_hoop (114k)

When he’s hit by an illegal love-spell though, Harry finds he has more to worry about than whether or not Blaise Zabini actually wants to be his friend. For if everyone affected has been blessed – or cursed, by the look on Malfoy’s face – with a magical tattoo revealing the name of their soulmate, what does it mean that Harry’s skin remains completely bare?

hello goodbye (’twas nice to know you) - tamerofdarkstars (5k)

Draco Malfoy thinks he might know whose thoughts are scrawling themselves on his skin, but that's crazy. Impossible, even. It has to be a mistake.

Self-indulgent soulmate AU where the thoughts of your soulmate inscribe themselves on your skin in a shifting magic tattoo

Hope Springs Eternal (But Love Springs in the Forrest, Unannounced) - lettered (12k)

Draco falls into a love spring. Harry saves him! And now they’re bonded for life. Draco is horrified. Harry thinks it’s kind of neat.

The Lesbian Muffin Debacle - abusing_sarcasm (7k)

Pansy and Ginny have a muffin-induced potions accident and Draco and Harry are stuck watching their love life from the sidelines - quite literally. Fortunately, they're able to give each other a hand.

✨The Owl Who Came for Christmas - dracogotgame (18k)

Draco has a debt to pay off, no matter what Potter thinks. And he has a Very Good Idea to go along with it. Things don't go as planned.

Strange Bathfellows - bixgirl1 (28k)

It started with a bath. Or a potions accident. Or maybe it started before that, but who can tell anymore.

Featuring: Uncomfortable wanking, more comfortable wanking, mutual wanking, bath sharing, inappropriate betting, secret shagging, those secrets at Hogwarts that everyone knows, and oblivious Harry who knows one thing: he's falling in love.

Something I Don’t Want to Stop - lq_traintracks (16k)

It's Harry and Draco's eighth year, the Houses have been all but demolished in favor of unity, and they're being forced to room together. How ever will they cope?

Psuedo - dysonrules (24k)

Draco runs into an interesting man during a drunken night out. Pansy slips the man Draco's address, not realising that he is actually Harry Potter in disguise.

Things get a bit out of hand after that.

Two Truths and all those Hidden Lies - keyflight790 (8k)

It didn’t matter whether Draco knew about the Polyjuice or not; nor did it matter what face Harry deigned to hide behind in the club. Draco could spot Potter a mile away.

The Other Side to Draco Malfoy - makingitwork (20k)

Draco Malfoy's best friend is Theodore Nott, the only person he trusts. So The Golden Trio decide to make Harry use Polyjuice Potion to see what Draco knows about the war.

The only problem is, while pretending to be Theodore Nott, Harry discovers another side to Draco. A better, lonelier side.

Right Hand Red - lq_traintracks (73k)

Harry felt Malfoy's breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory.

Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy.

Malfoy felt inevitable.

Good to Me (And I’d Be So Good to You) - AWickedMemory (9k)

Everyone returns to Hogwarts after the war, but nothing is quite the same. Harry's groupies are creepier than ever, Ron and Hermione are snogging all over the place, and the once-proud Draco is shuffling around like a kicked puppy. But that's okay: Harry's got a plan.

Good Company - Greenflares (8k)

With Hermione and Ron always together, Harry's return to Hogwarts to complete his education isn't exactly fun. Somehow, it's his unlikely friendship with Malfoy that keeps him sane.

The Lip-Lock Jinx - Casis Luna (20k)

The Lip-Lock Jinx, a jinx that renders the victim mute that can only be undone in two ways: if the caster reverses the spell on the victim, or if the victim serves the purpose of the jinx and kisses the person that they desire. It’s just Harry’s luck that he gets jinxed by Ginny Weasley and he’s in love with Draco Malfoy.

Like Diamonds We Are Cut With Our Own Dust - raitala (11k)

Draco has borne the mark of the Dark Lord for over ten years. It is familiar to him, but he pays the price for it every day, and Harry has noticed.

Burning the Ground - lq_traintracks (10k)

"Strap him down," someone said, and Harry felt the rage thicken inside him -- the viscous fear.

Magical bindings pulled taut around his wrists . . . He felt a wand touch his arm and then a sharp bite as something punctured the skin, and a sweet, cool tonic rushed his veins.

His breathing slowed. His eyelids drooped. The ceiling went grey and dark. And then he heard a woman's voice sigh, "Someone, get Healer Malfoy."

✨Turn - Saras_Girl (307k)

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Around You Moves -ignatiustrout (30k)

Harry knew Draco was gay when he invited him to move in. He’s never had a problem with this. So why does he feel so weird about Draco bringing men home all of a sudden?

Who Else But You - jeni_andtheafterthought (6k)

Draco loses his soulmate before he understands what that means. Then, it happens again. Quite the anomaly, Draco is encouraged to keep a journal following the experience. Finding his soulmate, solving the mystery surrounding his soulmate bond may be more than he bargained for.

you’ve got the antidote for me - Kanadakicksass (21k)

When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want.

✨Grounds For Divorce - Tepre (122k)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

Symbiosis - fireflavored (20k)

sym·bi·o·sis (sĩm'bē-ō'sĩs) n. Biology A close, prolonged association between two or more different organisms of different species that may, but does not necessarily, benefit each member.

Through The Looking Glass and What Draco Found There - magpie_fngrl (17k)

Draco discovers the Mirror of Erised is a portal and he enters an alternate reality where your deepest desires come true. Or how Draco found himself in the world of his dreams and Potter had to come and ruin it.

Bond - AnnaFugazzi (173k)

I started to write this before HBP came out, and crossed my fingers that HBP wouldn't make it totally non-canon. No such luck, I'm afraid. This, therefore, is an AU story, where (SPOILER) still teaches (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn't try to (SPOILER), (SPOILER) didn't succeed in (SPOILER), (SPOILER) never dated (SPOILER), and most importantly, (MAJOR ENDING SPOILERS) never happened.

Two Wands Make a Right - dannyfranx (21k)

Harry's wand is playing up and Hermione thinks she knows the answer, but why does she have to be right all the time, why does Draco Malfoy have to be so god damn difficult and why is he wearing his tie backwards?

Running on Air - eleventy7 (75k)

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

You Send Me (Honest You Do) - firethesound (37k)

As far as potion accidents go in general, and deaging incidents go in particular, Draco knew this could have been so much worse. Harry only lost about ten years, and all his memories are still intact. But the sight of him looking as if he’s stepped straight out of Draco’s Hogwarts memories has dredged up a whole mess of complicated feelings Draco thought he’d buried years ago, and Draco really doesn’t know what to do with any of it.

✨What We Pretend We Can’t See - gyzym (131k) ✨

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

Eternity - TheFiestyRogue (1k)

On one's 21st birthday, one's soul mark is burnt into one's skin. It could be anything; a name, a number, a symbol.

Technicolor Beat - fortunate_cookie (5k)

"H-Harry, you..I don’t-understand...", the blonde said breathlessly looking to the equally as breathless Gryffindor.

"Yeah. I...yeah...", Harry replied intelligently.

or the one where harry and draco are soulmates and there's a chase involved.

such a softer sin - therewascourfeyrac (16k)

After Draco meets Harry Potter, he's left with two tattoos, one on each wrist. One for a soul mate, one for his enemy. He's never known any one else who has the same name on both wrists.

Just The Two Of Us - Hekatee, Pierian (3k)

Harry finally meets his soulmate. Except his soulmate has been given a heavy dose of morphine and has no idea that his drugged-up rambling includes the words that change Harry's life forever.

Timer - JulietsEmoPhase (2k)

“If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?” Of course, Harry had to miss the moment his clock ran out.

Two Weeks - shiftylinguini (22k)

If Harry had to guess which out of he or his Auror Partner, and tentative new friend, Draco Malfoy, would turn out to have Veela ancestry, his answer would be: neither, because that is ridiculous. Finding out the answer is actually him, and that his Veela heritage is wreaking havoc on his ability to work, sleep, and above all be in the same room as Malfoy, is a surprise to say the least. But this is fine. Harry’s been through worse, and he can just sit this one out, regardless of how much his body is screaming for the one person he doesn’t want to ask for help. Can’t he?

A Convenient Impracticality - firethesound (39k)

Somehow Harry ends up agreeing to a fake relationship with his ex-nemesis-turned-friendly-acquaintance-with-benefits, except for some reason it involves an awful lot of actual dating and, sadly, not much sex. Confused? Harry is too, but when has anything with Draco Malfoy ever been as straightforward as it seems?

Precious Memories - ravenclawsquill (18k)

When Harry’s Pensieve breaks with a very important memory trapped inside, he has no choice but to hire an expert to repair it. Then Draco Malfoy steps out of his Floo, and Harry isn’t sure what to expect. He certainly isn’t anticipating tea, biscuits and gold-rimmed glasses.

Helix - Saras_Girl (93k)

Seven months after the end of the war, Harry is feeling lost. Fortunately, he is about to be offered an unexpected and sparkling chance to find himself again.

Temptation on the Warfront - alizarincrimson (180k)

Draco Malfoy is forced into hiding with the Golden Trio and dragged into their search for horcruxes. What ensues is a journey of redemption, unexpected friendships and an unwanted, turbulent romance with Harry Potter. Warnings for swearing, sexual content, and dark themes.

Scorbus:

re-read:

The Unicorn Incident - who_la_hoop (18k)

Growing up is hard to do, especially in the shadow of your father's reputation. Scorpius Malfoy has a tough time keeping his resolution to be the best Slytherin he can be when schoolboy games, unicorns, incompetent friends and a beloved enemy all conspire to teach him something different – and rather wonderful – about himself.

Scorpius Malfoy’s Future Wife - josephinestone (2k)

Albus Potter and Rose Weasley's parents have a bet on who Scorpius Malfoy is going to marry. If it's Lily, they will be just like Ginny and Harry; If it is Rose, they'll be just like Ron and Hermione. Harry witnesses the answer.

Never Trust A Slytherin - who_la_hoop (12k)

Al grinned. It would be the crowning glory of his final year – the one thing that would prove, once and for all, that he was not his dad in any way, shape or form. He would seduce a Slytherin – the son of his father's great enemy – and prove to Scorpius Malfoy his perfect trust in him. How hard could it be?

Wolfstar:

The Electric Fizzing Prick Pistols, or Whatever - whitmans_kiss (4k)

Everyone is born with Words on their arm that connect them to their Soulmate. James finds his, Sirius had everything figured out back in First Year, Peter doesn’t talk to girls anyway, and Remus thinks he’d very much just like to put his earmuffs back on and disappear.

[mayquita]

Call Me (25/?) - Another One Bites the Dust

Hi everyone. Happy Friday! I'd like to apologize for the delay once again. I've been on vacation with a lot of children around and I've found it quite difficult to concentrate (among other inconveniences) but I finally managed to finish the chapter! Also, taking into account my usual habit, the chapter ended being super long, so I decided to split it into two parts. (I might like the way the first part ends, so I found it interesting to cut it just like that. You'll find out the reason when you read it)The good news is that the second part is already finished so I'll post it in a few days.

I'd like to express my gratitude to three savior angels, @saraswans and @onceuponaprincessworld, thanks for your continued support and your advice. @chrissascorner, thanks for helping me edit the whole thing. You three are the best. Thank you also to everyone else for your patience and for your support. I hope the wait was worth it.

Summary: Emma loses her phone after a chase, but she finds a phone in a cafe just when she needs it most. Killian forgets his phone in a cafe when he is about to take a flight to Ireland. Killian makes a call to his own number hoping someone answers on the other end of the line. What will happen when Emma is the one answering the call?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8Chapter 9 Chapter 10Chapter 11 Chapter 12Chapter 13 Chapter14Chapter 15 Chapter 16Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24

FF.net Ao3

//

Chapter 25 - Another One Bites the Dust

Friday, September 15, 2017

Emma should have suspected that the capture wasn't going to be that easy. She didn't even have time to address the skipper. The moment his eyes fell on her, the guy ran away like a bat out of hell. Shit!

So it was going to be one of those days... Emma resigned herself and did the only thing she could do, run after him. Her body at least seemed to accompany her — or maybe it was the desire to conclude this case. She kept the pace, at least for the first few minutes, but the asshole was in very good shape, and even though she was forcing her body up to its limit, the distance between them increased.

Her legs were starting to feel heavy, she was running out of breath and her lungs were burning from the exertion. Her frustration and anger were what kept fueling her to continue the persecution. Luckily the guy had gone into a nearby park, because she wouldn't be able to deal with passersby or worse, with traffic.

She ran and ran in a frantic race, crossing the park at full speed, her heart threatening to get out of her rib cage while frustration grew in her as she watched the guy get farther and farther away.

Her long-awaited opportunity came just as she was about to give up. The guy found a stairway in his path and had to slow down as he descended. Emma did not think twice and acted impulsively, accelerating and shortening the distance until he finally came within reach. Without taking any time to assimilate the possible consequences of her act, she literally jumped on him, grabbing him by the jacket at the last moment.

In retrospect, she should have kept her mind cold or not act so recklessly, without assessing the risks of her actions. At that time, though, her urge to get home was what prompted her to act that way. And she would have achieved her goal if it were not for something as ordinary as gravity, or as the saying goes, what goes up must come down. She and her prey were not going to be an exception, of course.

The impact on the ground was brutal. Both her head and her left shoulder collided with the hard surface, getting to knock the air out of her lungs and causing her vision to blur and her mind to become foggy.

The numbness caused by the blow prevented her limbs from responding but at least she was able to maintain her grip on the guy. She thanked all the deities she did not believe in since the man was not fighting to get free, probably also affected by the impact.

She needed air. Both the race and the impact had caused her lungs to empty and now she was having difficulty reintroducing oxygen into her system. Shit! She also needed to handcuff the guy before it was too late. The last thing she wanted was for him to escape. She could not fail, not after taking so many risks. But she was so exhausted and her mind so numb that she was unable to think correctly or even move.

"You bitch, get away from me!" The muffled voice of the man reached her ears, as she felt him begin to stir under her grip. A wave of panic seized her as she tried to give orders to her brain to act. In vain. Just as the guy started to squeeze, loosening her hold, a shadow appeared at their side. Leroy. Thank God.

She would never be as grateful as at that moment for Graham's idea to install a tracking system on their devices while they were staking out. That was the reason why Leroy had managed to catch up with them just in time. He clearly was not as fit as she was, because the poor man appeared a little agitated, cheeks flushed and breathing ragged. He was hunched over, resting his hands on his knees while trying to catch his breath after the unexpected sprint. 

"Holy shit sister, that was quite a jump." He addressed her between gasps. "So, another one bites the dust, eh?"

It was odd in Leroy to show his emotions, but, despite her condition, Emma could detect a hint of pride in his voice. The blow must have been stronger than she thought, because that wasn't possible, was it?

The moment the perp caught sight of Leroy he made an attempt to get up, so Emma had no choice but to use the little energy she had left in tightening the grip, ignoring the intense pain she had begun to feel in her left arm.

Leroy recovered quickly from the race, as he hastened to pull out the handcuffs, taking her place and grabbing the guy. Only then did she slip away and sit up quickly, anxious to get away from the asshole. Big mistake.

Her head began to spin as she felt her ears pulsing and her vision blurred. Shit! Could it be that she had gotten a concussion? No, it couldn't be. It was just the blow, wasn't it?

"Easy there, sister, need help?" She ignored Leroy's worried voice and instead focused on trying to fill her lungs with air while closing her eyes to keep everything from spinning around. It was then that she noticed a warm liquid sliding down the left side of her face. Thinking it might be a drop of sweat, she raised her hand to wipe it away, feeling a shock wave of pain through her arm towards her shoulder. She gasped in pain while holding her left arm with the other hand. Shit, shit, shit!

"You're bleeding, Emma. I'm calling Graham." Emma barely registered Leroy's words, too focused on keeping her breathing stable and not moving her arm. What she did hear was the guy's grumble.

"She is not the only one, look at my face." The guy barked. "You crazy woman, you've managed to break my nose, bitch!" Emma glanced sideways in his direction to find the guy handcuffed to a nearby bench, a torrent of blood slipping through his nose. In other circumstances, she would have thrown a proper retort, or she would have made a significant gesture with one of her fingers. On this occasion, though, she simply ignored him as she accepted the tissue Leroy was handing her.

"What the hell happened here?"

Graham's unexpected voice caused her to wince since she didn't expect him to show up so soon. For some reason, a strange sensation settled in the pit of her stomach. Far from being proud of the success of the mission, she felt weak and somehow a bit frustrated. Yes, she had gotten the guy, but if it hadn't been for Leroy, she wouldn't have been able to keep him from running away. She hated feeling this vulnerable and helpless. Certainly, her headache and shoulder pain didn't help.

"I... I just fell." She mumbled, her eyes cast down to the floor. She wasn't in the mood to handle Graham's worried look.

"You just fell?" Even without looking at him, Emma could imagine his stance, his hands on his hips as he watched her through his narrow eyes. Gods! She hated these situations.

"She flew, literally, boss. It was quite a catch."

Thanks for your contribution. She had to suppress both a snort and the desire to glare at Leroy. Not that it would have had much effect. The only thing she would have gotten would have been a grimace, with probably several wounds adorning her bloody — literal —face.

There was an awkward pause while Emma tried to avoid eye contact with her boss. The silence was only broken by the complaints of the asshole who had put her in that situation.

"Emma, are you okay?" Graham tried again.

"Yeah, yeah. It was just a knock, I'll be fine." Emma said in an unconvincing tone as she felt Graham approaching her. Her heart began to beat strongly as she bit her lower lip. She shuddered when she realized too late that, of course, she had also split her lip. Great. Just Great.

"No, you're not fine. Emma, look at me." Graham demanded as he gently grabbed her left arm causing intense pain to run up to her shoulder, an involuntary gasp escaping her mouth. He loosened his grip immediately. "Did you hurt your arm?"

There was so much concern in his voice that she could not help but look up at him. Another mistake. Both his intense scrutiny and serious expression caused her stomach to tighten in knots as the headache increased. She was not used to these kinds of displays towards her. Far from making her feel protected they made her feel vulnerable, weak. She was strong, she did not need anyone to take care of her.

"I'm fine." The words came out in a tone perhaps too sharp, but she couldn't care less at that moment. She just wanted to get home to lie down curled up in a ball and sleep until the next day. Everything would be better then. It should be.

"Emma, we should go to the hospital, I can take you." Graham insisted, approaching her tentatively again.

"No." No way was she going to the emergency room. Not when she had lived such unpleasant experiences in the past there. She wanted to go home. Unfortunately, she could not just run away since she would not be able to drive in her condition. Shit. Shit. "Could you... could you take me home?"

"Emma ..."

"Okay, I'll take a cab." She assured in a defiant tone as she held his gaze. There was something characteristic in Graham's eyes, honesty. She could clearly see the conflict he was suffering just by looking at his gaze. She was also able to see the moment when he gave up, the glow in his eyes faded slightly.

He let out a heavy sigh as he ran his hand over his face. "Fine, I'll take you home." Next, he addressed Leroy in his characteristic professional tone. "Take care of our perp. Let me know when you get rid of him."

As Graham informed her, he had tracked them by driving rather than following them on the run. She didn't mention it, but she couldn't be more grateful, since she was feeling increasingly weak and her head kept spinning, preventing her from being fully aware of what was happening around her. The sooner they got to the vehicle and she dropped into the seat, the better.

She counted as a small victory the fact that she was able to fasten the seat belt without help. The moment the car began to move, she closed her eyes and snuggled into the seat, turning her face to the side window. That didn't stop her from feeling Graham's penetrating gaze on her from time to time. At least he had the deference to keeping silent. 

That oppressive silence also had its disadvantages as it stopped possible distractions, giving free rein to her brain, despite the numbness, to recreate old experiences that she would prefer to forget. She was aware that sooner or later she would have to go to the hospital if she wanted her shoulder to be fixed. Even so, the mere thought of going there caused a wave of nausea to crawl up her throat. In the end, her weakness was stronger than her, the memory of her last visit to the emergency room three years ago too powerful to be repressed.

 //

Everything hurt.

Emma woke with a start, a strangled sound in her throat and eyes wide open. A sense of uneasiness took hold of her, as she felt unable to discern where she was, while the brightness that surrounded her caused her eyes to squeeze shut.

She instinctively turned her head to avoid the source of light, keeping her eyes closed as she forced the rest of her senses to work for answers. Gradually, she began to regain awareness, flashes of what had put her in this situation coming to her mind sporadically.

Her new state of consciousness also brought her something unpleasant. Pain. She felt her whole body sore. It was as if someone was drilling her skull from inside and, in turn, as if she had a band pressing on both sides of her head. She also felt like a dull ache in her left arm, as if it had been numb and gradually began to wake up, like a foretaste of what would be a much more intense pain.

She was in a hospital. She did not even have to open her eyes to know it. The unmistakable smell of something similar to disinfectant penetrated her nostrils, while the rough touch of the sheets that covered her scraped her skin. She also felt an intravenous line on her right wrist while her left arm remained immobilized.

She had fallen. Her brain had worked through the haze that had settled there allowing her access to her memories. She had been running, chasing after a guy who had skipped bail when suddenly something —no, someone — had gotten in her way near the Orpheum Theater. She had had to dodge the person to avoid hitting her with the subsequent consequence that she had not only lost the perp but that she had stumbled and fallen, hitting her arm in her descent on some sort of bollard.

A wave of panic washed over her when she realized something else. She had never lost consciousness after the fall. Yes, she had also hit her head, but she had been fully aware of everything, of the intense pain in her arm that had led her to have to grab a cab. Even she remembered having arrived at the hospital on her own. Why then did she feel as if she had just woken up? Why did she feel her throat dry and a sense of continuous nausea?

A new flash appeared in her mind, helping her to clear up her confusion. Her arm had broken so badly that she had needed surgery to fix the bones. A sound, half a groan half a sigh came out of her mouth when she realized that she would have to stay there for a while longer when all she wanted was to go home and snuggle in her bed. 

Just then the door to the room opened giving way to who seemed to be a doctor or nurse. After the opportune introductions, the doctor confirmed that fortunately, everything had gone well and that she would be released soon, but she would have to spend at least that night in the hospital under supervision.

"So Miss Swan, we have not seen any names listed as an emergency contact. Would you like to inform someone?” Although the doctor addressed her in a polite tone, with a gentle smile on her face, she did not miss the glimpse of pity masked in her kind words.

No, she didn't have anyone. She didn't need anyone. It wasn't a big deal, she would spend the damn night there and return to her apartment the next day to continue her life as always. Why then did she feel more alone than ever? Why did she feel a lump forming in her throat and her chest constricted? She should be used to it. She had always been alone, why should it be any different now?

Her inner voice was the one answering for her. It was not the fact of spending the night alone but the realization that there was no one in this world who cared about what could happen to her. She did not even have a boss since she worked on her own. She could have hit her head in the fall and died. And her death would not have had consequences. Nobody would feel her absence, nobody would miss her. 

She was all alone.

At least she didn't have a hospital roommate. She wouldn't have to witness potential visitors entering the room that would never be intended for her. It was a poor comfort, but she needed to hold onto something to calm the growing uneasiness that was bubbling inside her.

"Miss Swan, are you alright?"

The doctor's worried voice brought her back to reality. She realized that she hadn't answered her initial question. As painful as it was, she owed her an answer so, before replying, Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly in an attempt to pull herself together.

"I'm fine, just tired." Emma immediately hated how her voice sounded, broken and defeated. She swallowed, pressing her lips together and blinking a couple of times to keep her emotions at bay. "And there's no need to inform anyone, thank you."

Her gaze drifted to the window in an attempt to avoid the doctor's more than likely expression of pity. "Are you sure? Keep in mind that when you're discharged, you may need help for a while, since your arm will still be healing."

"I'll be fine." She mused without bothering to look at her as she silently implored the doctor to leave her alone. She owed no explanation to anyone. She did not need anyone.

The doctor seemed to catch the hint, since after a few more words of courtesy she finally left the room, leaving Emma alone with her ghosts. After letting out a heavy sigh, she clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes closed in an attempt to invoke the sleep, ignoring the spiral of feelings dancing inside her. 

She would be fine, as always.

Although Emma would never admit it, her brief hospital stay had an effect on her beyond an injured arm, a few hours of rehabilitation and a deeper hole in her heart. Since she was not going to be able to work for a while, she decided to take some additional web design classes while considering a change in her profession prospects.

That change never occurred, but at least she was determined to make some adjustments in her life, no matter how subtle they were. She began to feel that usual pull in her guts, indicating that the time to run had arrived. There was nothing in Phoenix that could tie her to the city anymore.

Several months after her accident, she applied for a job offer in Boston at a small bail bond business. 

When she got the job, she packed the few belongings she had and headed for her new destination without looking back. She told herself that she was tired of working on her own, that maybe it was time to have someone else's support, even in the form of a boss. The reality was that although she still felt the thick walls around her heart, a tiny crack, barely a scratch on the surface, had begun to form. Only time would tell if that almost imperceptible fissure became bigger or if on the contrary, she would have to add even more bricks to her protective shield, when the betrayal or abandonment would visit her again irrevocably.

 //

"Emma? Still with me?"

Graham's unexpected words caused her to jump up in her seat, as the vestiges of her memories faded slowly bringing her back to reality. Even in her semi-reverie state, Emma was able to detect a hint of concern in his voice, as if he wanted to make sure she was still conscious.

"Just resting." She mumbled, returning to her initial position, with her head turned toward the side window and her eyes closed. The journey to her past had brought with it a sense of deja-vu from which she hadn't been able to detach herself, increasing her desire to get home and shut herself away from the world for a while. The trip was taking too long, though, and she felt increasingly uncomfortable under Graham's scrutiny.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she noticed how the car slowed down. Emma had every intention of running away the moment the car stopped completely, but Graham was faster, addressing her before she even reached the door handle.

"Emma, wait."

Emma had no choice but to suppress her desire to escape. Instead, she turned her head reluctantly to look at Graham while holding back a sigh of resignation. His serious expression and his frown of concern did nothing to alleviate her sense of uneasiness.

"You're a tough woman, I get it. But you don't have to go through this alone. Your shoulder is probably dislocated and you have a nasty bruise on your head. You should be checked." He insisted on a firm voice.

Her body decided to betray her before she even had time to reply, sending a new wave of pain to her shoulder. Emma pressed her lips together to stifle the whimper, but Graham's intent gaze didn't seem to miss her suffering.

"Emma, you are clearly in pain, stop being so stubborn, and let me take you to the hospital." There was a hint of pleading in his voice, but it was also evident that he was losing patience. She did not blame him, but the fog in her brain prevented her from correctly processing the situation, her only thought was to get home, get into bed and forget about everything for a while.

"Nothing that can’t be relieved by a painkiller, I'm fine Graham." She snapped in a tone perhaps too harsh, but she was also losing her patience. To emphasize her words, she held his gaze defiantly until finally, Graham seemed to give up, letting out a deep sigh as he ran a hand over his face.

"Fine, you win." She suppressed the desire to raise her fist in triumph and instead went to open the door, but Graham's words stopped her again. "At least promise me you're going to call Killian."

Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes widened slightly when she heard his name. A wave of something like self-reproach washed over her when she realized that she hadn't thought of her boyfriend all this time, which was somewhat ironic since she had gotten into this situation precisely because of her desire to reunite with him. Or maybe her subconscious had deliberately pushed him out of her mind, because the mere thought of Killian finding out what had happened and realizing about her condition caused her stomach to tighten into knots, a new wave of nausea creeping up to her throat.

"Emma..." Graham warned her again.

He is going to have a heart attack. If Graham's reaction had been a bit excessive, she didn't even want to imagine how Killian would react.

"Call Killian or I'll call him, I mean it."

At this point, she was going to accept any of his requests if it meant that she could finally get out of the damn car. She was beginning to feel suffocated in there.

"Fine, I'll call him. May I go now?"

The wrinkle of concern was still deep in between his eyebrows, but at least his lips drew the ghost of a smile. "Tell me if you need me to pick up your car, okay? And take care, Emma, please."

Emma simply nodded in a barely perceptible movement and finally — finally — got out of the vehicle. As she walked towards the entrance to her building a weird thought crossed her mind. At least her lower limbs had not been affected. She noticed a certain weakness in her knees, but at least she wasn't limping. The picture she would have offered would have been quite pathetic in that case, dragging one leg, with her face half-covered in blood and holding the wounded arm with the other hand. She should even feel lucky. Pretty fantastic.

She wasn’t going to call Killian. Nope.

Even in her more than likely state of concussion, she was aware of her mixed feelings colliding inside her. 

A sense of mild panic settled in the pit of her stomach at the uncertainty of how Killian would react when he saw her.

Her little inner voice seemed to whisper that he would worry, and that he was going to take care of her. But that voice was silenced by her overwhelming emotions. It wasn't so easy to get rid of that sense of vulnerability, which spread throughout her body, as a reminder of what it would be to rely on someone, to blindly trust someone and risk that person decided at some point that it had been enough, acting like everyone else before and leaving her alone with her heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

That feeling clashed with the fear of experiencing the same sensation of loneliness as when she had visited the hospital for the last time.

Given her growing weakness, she did not seem able to fight against those thoughts or position herself in favor of any of them. The fog inside her head was getting thicker and she could not move her arm without generating a wave of pain. She needed to rest, close her eyes and allow her brain to stop working for a few hours. But first, she needed painkillers.

She was on her way to the bathroom to grab the first-aid kit when her phone started buzzing, causing a jolt in her. She cursed while maneuvering with her good hand to pull the device out of the compartment from under her shirt. The call ended before she could reach the phone and she almost thanked it because —how could it be otherwise?— it was Killian calling her.

Emma noted with some surprise that there were several unread messages and a few missed calls. She had been so focused on her discomfort and the mixed feelings haunting her that she hadn't even noticed the phone until now that she was surrounded by silence.

She didn't have time to read the messages received when the phone began to buzz again. Definitely, the blow in the head had seriously affected her brain as she found herself unable to give her hand the right orders, her thumb acting on its own and sliding down the screen to answer the call. Before she could say a word in greeting, Killian's agitated voice reached her ears.

"Emma? Thank God! I was starting to freak out since you didn't answer any of my messages." Her eyes filled with tears just listening to his voice. Gods! She had missed him. One part of her wanted only to feel his presence by her side, his intoxicating scent, his protective arms around her. The other part, however, was the one that seemed to be taking the initiative.

"I was in a chase. You know."

"I know, I know. But since you're answering, I guess it's over now, right?" After a brief pause, Killian continued talking without giving her time to reply. "Are you on your way to my apartment or do you prefer me to go to yours?" Her heart constricted in her chest upon hearing how happy and relieved he sounded. Before answering, she bit her lower lip hard, not caring that it started bleeding again. 

"About that—" Her voice trailed off as she cleared her throat trying to sound a little more steady. "—I'm quite tired after the chase, so I prefer to stay at home and rest."

She must have sound convincing enough because Killian replied by maintaining his jovial tone. "No problem. Let me grab something to eat and I'll be there in half an hour."

Let him, let him. Her inner voice begged. For a moment she was tempted to do so, her body craving his touch after several days of being separated. But then she remembered the state she was in and a wave of panic in the form of nausea crawled up to her throat. In the end, her irrational fear stood out, causing her old habits to resurface.

"I meant alone." This time Killian did seem to detect her harsh tone. For a moment the line was silent, while Emma held her breath and bite her lip again waiting for his reaction.

"What's going on, Swan?" He asked finally, any trace of joy in his voice suddenly vanished, giving way to a tone of concern that did nothing to mitigate her inner turmoil. She had no choice but to do what she did best, get defensive.

"Nothing. I'm so damn tired that I just want to go to sleep."

"I could help you relax." He tried again with that suggestive voice of his, causing her skin to tingle at the mere idea of how he could help her in that regard.

Before she could respond, though, a new wave of pain ran up to her shoulder. She had to press her lips together to prevent a gasp from escaping from her mouth and reaching Killian's ears. Instead, she took two deep breaths in an attempt to pull herself together.

"I'm serious, Killian. I'm not in the mood today." She hoped her slightly trembling voice wouldn't give her away.

Again an oppressive silence hovered over them, only cut by a heavy sigh on the other side of the line. "What's wrong, Swan? I'm quite perceptive and I know something isn't right. So tell me."

Far from making her confess, his demanding tone caused her impulse to hide behind her protective shield to become more intense. She was not used to this and didn't know what the right way to act was, but what she did know was that she owed no explanation to anyone.

"I'm fine. I just wanna go to sleep." She snapped. This whole situation was getting on her nerves. Her physical condition did not help in the least, her headache increased at times. She was serious when she said she just wanted to sleep, but Killian seemed not to have caught the hint, since he insisted and insisted.

"Did something go wrong in the chase? Are you hurt? Is Graham with you?" Before she could reply he continued, his voice sounding more and more worried. "And don't tell me you're fine, because I'm not buying it, Swan. Not when we haven't seen each other for five days and a couple of hours ago we had already agreed to meet today. So what has changed? Tell me, Emma, please. What's going on?"

Tell him, tell him, tell him.

I can't. I don't know how to do it.

"I will call you tomorrow."

"Don't push me away. Talk to me, Emma, please." He begged, causing a wave of guilt to settle in her stomach. She had screwed everything up with that reckless movement and put them both in such an unpleasant situation that she didn't even know how to react, so she acted by habit, attacking.

"Stop controlling me. You're not my father."

"Of course not. I would never abandon you."

His words acted like a dart piercing her heart. He was right, though and maybe she deserved that low blow, but that didn't stop his reply from inflicting an even deeper pain than the physical she was already feeling, since it was nothing more than a reminder of what she always would be, an orphan.

"Gods Emma. I didn't...I'm so—" 

"No." She didn't need to hear his apologies. Not now, maybe never. She was so furious and frustrated that she was tempted to press the button to end the call without any warning. Although she was a real mess at this time, at least a glimmer of lucidity appeared in her brain, reminding her of the issues he had with abruptly terminated phone calls, one of the crosses he had to bear due to the post-traumatic stress disorder he suffered. She wasn't that cruel. "I'm going to hang up now."

She didn't need anyone. She clenched her jaw and hardened her features, dropping the phone on the couch and then headed for the bathroom. Her determination was short-lived, though, especially when she realized how difficult it was to function with only one hand. Even more so when the lid of the damn first aid kit seemed to be blocked and she found herself unable to open it.

The back of her eyes began to sting as the growing frustration gripped her, but she blinked furiously, preventing tears from spilling. She had always managed well by herself. What if she couldn't reach the antiseptic? She could simply use water and some tissues.

That was when she finally decided to look in the mirror. A gasp escaped from her mouth the moment her eyes fell on her reflection, the urge to cry appearing again. Her face was a mess. She had gotten a nasty wound above her left eyebrow that was still bleeding a little. In addition to her split lip, there was also a bruise and several small cuts on her cheek, probably caused by the rough pavement of the park and her left eye appeared partially swollen. A small sigh of defeat slipped between her lips, but she forced herself to regain her composure, moistening one of the tissues and beginning to wipe away the blood that had already begun to dry.

Her facade of a tough girl weakened at the moment when her eyes met with the eyes from her reflection in the mirror. It was as if her own reflection was recriminating her for her poor way of acting and her inability to handle the situation correctly.

"You should have told him.”

“I don't need him. Or anyone.”

Great. Now she had begun a silent argument with her own reflection. She had definitely gone insane after the blow to the head.

“So you don't need anyone. How are you supposed to open the first aid kit? How are you going to fix your shoulder?”

“I'll figure it out.”

 "No, you won't. You're used to acting on your own. I get it. But you're not alone anymore. What are you afraid of?”

Thick tears began to slide down her cheeks, clouding her vision and blurring the image that the mirror returned. She was afraid of feeling too much, of giving someone else the power to destroy her. But she was also afraid of herself, because no matter how much she masked it, she couldn't help feeling like a failure. It had been her own irresponsibility that had put her in this mess and she seemed unable to get out of it.

Her reflection did not seem to have compassion, as it continued to attack her by throwing reality in her face.

"How would you have acted if he had been in your position?”

The mere idea of Killian injured caused a feeling of unease to crawl up and form a lump in her throat, while her heart tightened in her chest.

“I would have panicked.”

"Just like him. It's what happens when you love someone, you worry. And he loves you, Emma.”

"He has never admitted it out loud.”

“Maybe not with words, but his actions speak for him. You love him and he loves you. You have nothing to fear. Call him. Let someone take care of you for once. You deserve it.” 

"Oh God. I'm such an idiot." She squeezed her eyes closed as she pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to keep the tears from falling. She took a trembling breath as she tried to slow the rapid beat of her heart. Once she seemed to have calmed down enough, she looked at herself in the mirror again. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her lips while her head moved slightly, nodding in encouragement. After one last look at her reflection, she headed back to the living room and grabbed her phone, looking for Killian's chat window.

She wasn't surprised to see some missed calls and several messages, but she ignored them for the moment and concentrated on typing with one hand.

I 'm sorry. Do you still want to come to my apartment?

His response was immediate.

I'm the one who should apologize. I'll be there in twenty minutes if that's fine with you.

It’s ok. Thanks.

Her heart fluttered at the mere thought of seeing him again. Although the fear of his possible reaction was still latent, now that she seemed to have finally dared to overcome one of her concerns, she couldn't wait to see him. There was no doubt that those twenty minutes were going to become eternal.

She didn't have to wait that long, luckily. Seventeen minutes later someone knocked on her door. Her stomach tightened into knots as her heart skipped a beat, but she hurried to open the door. She just hoped he didn't get a heart attack when he saw her face.

//

Thanks for reading, let me know what you think :)

The next chapter will come in a few days, this time with both Killian and Emma's POV.

@rouhn @couldnthandleit @teamhook @malec4everr @ijustwantyoucaskett-always@kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @suwya @thisonesatellite @lfh1962

[ashhdolll]

One Semester

Part One

Have you ever made love before? Not that quick, rough, pumping sex you have after a night out and the high from that “You up?” text has got you going, no I’m talking about real love making. The love is writhing and rotating between the two of you, I mean you can FEEL it being created as your bodies do that familiar dance. You want more, they want more, because what you’re creating isn’t just physically pleasurable, it stimulates your whole being... See I’ve done that just once in my life before and it has fucked everything up for me every since.

Senior year of college in Greensboro all you want is a fucking blunt, a paycheck and your degree. That’s it. If you haven’t joined an organization by now don’t even worry about it, you’re officially almost nonexistent on campus and that’s how you wanted it to be.

While a good majority of my friends had graduated in May, my senior year had extended to the fall semester so I would have to wait until December to turn my tassel. The fall graduation also extended my living situation another year that I had not planned nor saved for and why would I? There was weed to buy nigga!

To help my parents pay for my rent I decided to return to my old fast food job, I won’t say which one but if you have four dollars and some change you had a nice meal that could hold you for two hours. It was my second go round working there (I had previously worked there my sophomore year) and the manager, Ms. B was just as much of a crazy pastor’s wife looking bitch as before. Just imagine Shirley Caesar 5’9 with permanent shoulder pads and Shenehneh’s wig-you see it? Okay, that was my manager, she was loud, mean, blunt, and still one of the best women I know. She was the type of grandmother that my sensitive soul couldn’t handle so God sent her to me in another way-every reprimand stung for me and I had to learn not to take it personally. She was strong and I loved that about her and she loved me too. I was great with the customers inside and even better with them when I worked the drive thru, coming back to that job was like riding a bike. Listening to an order with four number 3 meals, two large and two medium. Oh and can one of the drinks be a half and half vanilla/chocolate shake? She loved how I would shove the ice in the cups, pour drinks and begin taking another order all before the former car has even paid for their meal. I had to be like that or Ms. B was going to bitch me out in front of everyone and loudly too. Her voice was like the crack of the whip, almost everybody would jump or got into their respective places when they knew she was around or heard her coming. She noticed everything which always annoyed me when I would be trying to sneak a four piece nugget in my pocket to snack on so that I could soothe the hunger pains stabbing my stomach.

I worked five days a week and also had class five days a week so morning shift was my friend. Waking up at 7:30am just barely making it to the 8am shift was a real struggle for me, especially since my shift was supposed to start at the time I got up. But, I had gotten used to it, and at eight in the morning my work started. Slicing tomatoes, breaking up red onions, opening fresh packs of mayonnaise (six containers of each) and also making bacon.

Now the bacon was the hard part. In the morning it was a bit easier since we opened at 10am. If I had gotten to work at my scheduled time I may not have been so overwhelmed but it was my senior year and if I didn’t want to be in my class I needed to graduate what the hell did I look like rushing to work for less than $9 an hour?

There was a process to the bacon that is simply too long to explain. In verbatim, there are six sheet pans you use to cook the bacon in the oven at a time. Six pans = one tin container of bacon. Before morning shift starts, Ms. B wanted ten containers of bacon ready. Two for each sandwich maker and then another six on the side over a warmer filled with a a bit of boiling water-to keep it hot. It was a tiring process, bacon got too burnt? Put another six in, start again. Bacon not done yet? Keep it in for another three minutes then it’ll be perfect. But shit, I haven’t even starting putting the fucking mayo in smaller tins, gotta go to the free- ‘JADA DID YOU CUT UP THEM TOMATOES YET?’ Ms. B would yell that from her office, she knew I forgot. Lemme get these tomatoes. Slicing, slicing, slicing, putting them in the tin containers. Slicing, slicing slicing, more containers. Slicing, slicing, cut your left pointer finger. Red drips down and the pain is almost not there but at the same time you can feel it. “JADA IS THAT BACON BURNING??”

Got to start another six pans.

These were my mornings from May to December. It would usually just be me, Ms. B and another older lady, Ms. Lydia who for some reason enjoyed being Ms. B’s bitch although they were around the same age and same height. Always “yes ma’am”-ing her like a house slave. By 10am the orders started and I was always the one taking orders until about 11 or 11:30, making my job duties change to taking orders and money, washing dishes, cutting bacon to put in the fridge so that it’d be ready for whoever my replacement was and trying not to burn my final six pans of bacon.

Either Jessica or Devon would come in and take over taking orders while I rushed finished my other duties before 1:30pm which was when I was off because at 2pm, I had class. If Jessica was coming in, it was definitely going to be a giggle fest. The customers loved her and so did I. She was five foot even, had beautiful caramel skin was just a naturally beautiful woman with brown playful eyes. All types of men wanted her affection but her girlfriend was the apple of her eye, she couldn’t be swayed. From the moment I met her we clicked. From jokes, to relationships, to marijuana we meshed. It was like I was meant to be there with her to survive this job because she sure as hell made coming to work a lot easier. She had my back at work and outside of it and I always spoke up for her whenever Ms. B made a slick comment about her (She would always say “I don’t know why you and Jessica have to always be talkin’ back” ‘because you always talkin’ hoe’ was my telepathic response).

When Devon would come in, it was a “hi” and “bye” situation. I had avoided that particular burger joint my senior yet to hopefully wipe of greasy memories from working there as a sophomore so to come back was a little embarrassing. There were a few people I knew that were still working there but they weren’t in school. The Locals is what us college kids called them. The Locals weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Most had kids and were in their late 20s or early 30s. Making my stomach drop and forcing me to think “What’s next? What happens when December ends?”

Devon was A Local, born and raised in Greensboro and had went to college for a year before withdrawing-he was an In-Betweener. He was three years my senior but didn’t work there when I did previously yet he was an amazing worker. Always on point, always clear and fast too. He was about 5’10 and had a very strong build, but you knew he also indulged in an extra slice of cake or two. Not chubby but solid. A man. Skin the perfect walnut color with a full low black beard, not that scraggly at all. Devon wore glasses, black frames and square and his work hat covered his completely shaved head. I’ve always liked guys that knew having a shaved head was much better than sporting a barely there hairline or premature balding. Completely shaving it all off told me that that particular man was realistic and in touch with what is. I like people like that, who don’t live in a fantasy and know how to accept things how they are.

Devon was attractive, plain & simple. But was he my type? The hell if I knew, I didn’t think I had a type. After a break up with my boyfriend of two and a half years I didn’t give a fuck about a “type”. Give me liberty or give me dick. But I had gotten tired of the random, late night fucks. It’s great, don’t get me wrong, but having someone that loves you after he orgasms is the thing I missed the most. I was tired of dealing with men in general and my focus was on graduating and paying my rent. Everything else in between that was a distraction. 

Anyway, Devon was a dweeb for sure. When he’d take orders sometimes he’d change his accent. Going from a terrible ‘English’ accent to an even worse ‘African’ accent. He mostly took orders in his normal voice but on occasion when he was extra bored he’d switch up to entertain himself. His Johnny Cash impression was pretty good though.

We had been working together for about two and a half months. By that time I stayed away from almost every side conversation that came my way if it wasn’t from Jessica. I just wanted to work these measly six hours and go the fuck home, nothing more, nothing less. I’d speak to Devon in passing. (“Can I get some ice please?” “He says his burger was supposed to have no ketchup, not no mustard” “Can I get a small fry please?” ) and he was always so helpful. I appreciated it immensely. When things were busy we’d bump into each other at the fry station-it was very tight over there no more than about three feet of space. Everyone was always squeezing, knocking and prodding into one another’s rib cage. Devon would fill up a carton of fries while simultaneously elbowing my tit as I waited to stand over the hot bulbs and get my carton of fries. Other days I couldn’t wait and I’d have to force myself to get there, if he was standing there I’d lightly touch his back to let him know he was about to get pushed out of the way. I couldn’t wait to go home and smoke.

When we had slow moments we’d chat. Or rather they’d talk while I eavesdropped and cleaned my area, because if you weren’t cleaning or stocking something Ms. B would ask you why. Now you standing there looking lazy and stupid. I learned in life that it’s best for you to do what you know needs to be done without someone telling you to. I was cleaning around front counter after the lunch crowd cleared out. The lunch rush is what you fear and also what you thank God for because it allowed three hours to go by and you were really working. No jokes, no kikis, straight up labor.

As I was cleaning up, Devon and the sandwich maker that day Ahmad were joking around like guys do and ended up on the subject of Spongebob Squarepants, which then leads Devon into a ballad of ‘Striped Sweater’.

‘What in the fuck...’ I think to myself. I had to turn away to keep from laughing in their faces. These grown niggas singing a song from a cartoon. Graduate me please. It wasn’t so silly that I was annoyed but it was silly because I hadn’t seen that type of carelessness and vulnerability before from a guy since my break up. A lot of men in college I surrounded myself with were professionals in training. Already thinking about what they were going to do next when I myself hadn’t even started to think about what’s happening right in front of me. But that also made them stiff to me-as if they cared too much about how the world was going to perceive them once they left the university world. I’m sure Devon was not attempting to portray himself as carefree, he was just singing a song from memory. He was just being himself, a funny and unapologetic square who loved Christian hip hop. But that’s when I finally noticed him. He was watching me think because when I turned his way he quickly looked around and pressed on his headset-oh he’s just taking an order. No words come out. Yeah, he was watching me.

The days went by and we would talk more and more. Little bids here and there. His quirkiness & sweetness made me feel good. I didn’t know it then but that’s how I felt. One day, during our shift while it was slow and we were talking he asks “Do you have a Facebook?”

“Yes.” I answered.

“Okay type your name in and then I’ll add you”

And so it began. So not only was I able to see Devon at work, but I’d come home, take a shower and see what post he’d tag me in, reactions to my statuses. I’d see comments on my pictures “You think you cute” “Lips!!” It was fun. Playing that little game. See I’m not stupid, men are men. He looks good, I look good, I mean come on. As fun as this was I knew we were going to get down to business-real business. Grown business. He was still living with his family on the other side of Greensboro and I had my own place. ‘Let me know when you’re ready for me because I am’ was the aura I was beginning to give off to him. I knew he wanted it but didn’t know what to say or how to initiate it properly. He was treading lightly and I appreciated it so I decided to take the reins and invite him over.

The first time he came over I wasn’t nervous. It was going to be my own research project as to why or why not he deserved to be inside me. We were just going to watch something on TV, snack, talk about work and then he’d leave and I’d make my decision from there. I had been off that day but had already showered a crowded library and the gym stench from my tired body. I very much wanted to reschedule his presentation but it would’ve been my third time rescheduling with him and I knew he wouldn’t have came over at all if I pushed it to another day-a guy has his limits. Plus I figured the visit would be short, no more than an hour then back to my blunt and Netflix. A modern romance.

A text then knock at the door alerted me of Devon’s presence. My roommates were gone so I had the apartment to myself for a while with no distractions so I could really make my decision. I opened the door and there he was, fresh off work in his all black uniform. The stench of grease and old meat filled my nostrils and apartment making my stomach turn. I smiled.

“Hey how are you?” I asked motioning for him to come in further.

“I’m good, just tired.” He said while coming in and standing over me. Devon was inches away and I could smell the nuggets he ate on his breath. I looked up at him and realized how much taller than me his when I don’t have my work shoes. I felt little, but safe. He give me a nice warm hug I lowkey didn’t want because now my Dove body wash was getting mixed with grease. As he pulled away he took off his book bag and work shoes and his height fell two inches-that’s better. I looked down as saw three holes in his socks but didn’t say anything, nor did he. He was tired and took the bus to faithfully to make it to work and home every day. ‘I’ll buy him some more’ I thought to myself.

I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, “You want some juice?” I ask. I had bought some just for him because he loves sweet drinks. Sodas, juice, ICEE’s, whatever. As long as it had some type of simple syrup in it, that nigga was gonna drink it. No answer. I turned and looked back at him and caught him looking at me. Like it was the first time he’d really seen me. And technically it was, he’d never seen my outside of work or outside of a picture on whatever social media account. No, he was looking at me now. The at home Jada. The Jada that very rarely wears a bra or panties at home and who has much more under her work uniform then he guessed. Whose skin shines with moisturizer instead of sweat from work, the tattoos he didn’t know she had on that pretty brown skin. He was seeing me for the first time and I knew he liked what he saw. I liked that he liked it.

“Huh” he said.

If you can ‘huh’ you can hear. “Do you want some juice?” I asked again.

“Yea that’s cool”

I dipped my head into the fridge to cool my face and pretend to look around for the one juice that was sitting in front of me. The heat from my face was matching the heat downtown where my second brain (aka vagina) was located.

He sat on the couch and patiently waited as I poured his drink. Talking about some sports notification he got on his phone-like I gave a fuck. As I brought him his cup of juice he reached into his book bag and pulled out a bag of food from our job and traded me. I opened I sat next to him and I saw that it was filled with four chocolate chip cookies from our job. It costs ninety-nine cents to add to any meal and customers rarely took advantage of it. I picked up the slack for their obliviousness and stole cookies whenever the coast was clear. Devon would help and drop them in my bag when I’d be leaving for class. He knew they were my favorite.

I smiled again. Two smiles in less than five minutes? Yes it’s a wrap. “Thank you, I appreciate it” I told him.

“You’re welcome big heed”

I rolled my eyes, this nigga is so corny I love it. “How was work today?”

He sucked his teeth, “Man you know how it is, Ms. B yelling, hungry construction workers, annoying college kids like you.” He smirked at the end and looked at me out of the side of his eye.

“What the hell ever.” I softly nudged him.

The TV was turned to Family Feud and he seemed interested but I was not. Steve Harvey and his constant disbelief at outlandish answers was getting old but I put up with it for the sake of nostalgia.

We chatted, watched TV and showed each other things on our phone. Devon gulped down his juice and set it on my mama’s wooden coffee table. “Your place is nice”, he observed, “You don’t stay by yourself do you?”.

“No”, I answered “I have two roommates but one is moving out in a couple weeks.”

“Are they here now?”

“No”

Silence. Thinking. Thinking about us here alone together. Wondering.Things could happen, they should. Back to reality.

“Do you wanna watch anything else?” I asked him and handed him the roommate.

He took it from me and put it back on the coffee table. “Nah I don’t mind watching this”, he says and he wrapped his arm around me.

Ahh shit. I hadn’t been this close to a male body fully clothed in a minute. Although he smelled like an air fryer he felt so soft and firm. I relaxed but still squirmed under his arm. Not out of being uncomfortable but to give some sort of relief to my pulsating lower brain. This moment had been brewing since we started talking outside of work. The slick comments, innuendos and fake eye rolls had all lead up to this. As soon as Devon pulled me to him, the faucet turned on. Baby she was ready, begging, yearning almost. She needed it. Now.

“You good?” He asked and looked at me. We were so fucking close I could smell the last of the sweet juice on his breath. His pouty full lips were inches away. So no my nigga, I am not good and I would like your lips on both sets of mine, please and thanks.

“Yea, I’m fine” I croaked out. Perfect now I sound like a twelve year-old.

“Mhm okay.” He said still looking at me. Or in me rather because he was looking deep into my eyes. As if my eyes were going to give him the answer to a question he just thought of asking. With his left arm around me he held my face with his right and kissed me deep but gentle (that’s how all of our encounters would be...). Firm enough to let me know he was a grown man but also soft enough to let me know he knew how to take his time. It was like kissing a plump cloud, very soft and I needed more. The kiss went from sweetness to straight up lust in a flash. I pushed myself up to give more mouth and he pressed right back into it. Opening his mouth slightly I went in for the kill and slipped my tongue into his mouth. Tracing it and he held on to my face. He tasted so sweet. The kiss continued and an electric shock went down to the middle of my green sweatpants. I moaned in his mouth. He moaned back. The front door swung open.

It was my roommate that was moving and her boyfriend. And here I was in her couch pre-best orgasm of my life sucking face. Welcome home. Me and Devon quickly separated out of embarrassment and also gratefulness. Had they come five minutes later we would have been much more than roommates, definitely family.

“Hey how are y’all doing?” I asked sweetly. I know we looked nuts, my shirt was twisted, we’re breathing heavy, it smells like fries in here. She’s gonna call the fucking cops on me. We had only been leaving together for a few weeks. We barely spoke or saw each other because she was in nursing school. Gone early in the morning, coming in in the evening and going straight to bed. She didn’t even use the kitchen. A quiet girl who never interfered, I hope she’s doing well. Devon and I scooted away from each other slightly to look more comfortable and less like humping rabbits.

“Good, you?” She said with some surprise in her voice and eyes. Her boyfriend glanced quickly then looked straight ahead making a beeline for Jordan’s room. I didn’t answer and watched as she shuffled behind him. Good, hurry up and get the fuck in your room. I wanted to turn the desire up a few more notches in here. It was early September and in Greensboro the breeze begins to get crisper in the evenings. The cold air they brought in when they opened the door turned the heat down that we had generated.

Bruce Banner was back.

As the door closed to Jordan’s room I looked at him and smiled. He kissed me again and held my face. “You’re so pretty with those dimples.”

I cheesed harder. Marry me.

Devon released my face and checked his phone. “I gotta go lil mama.”

My heart broke. Not really but the one in my vagina sure did. If the sex was like the kiss it was definitely going to give me what I needed, and wanted. 

‘Just ask him if he wanna fuck you from behind in the doorway real quick’, my Lower Brain whispered.

‘Calm the fuck do-well that’s not a bad idea, I don’t think my other roommate is going to be home for a -no. Stop, just relax.’ my Actual Brain decided.

“Oh, well alright. Can you come by again tomorrow?” I asked him hopefully. He stood up and walked to put his shoes back on and I followed. As I walked it felt like a puddle of lust was in between my legs. Send help.  

Devon turned and looked down at me, pulling me close to him by my waist. I could feel the hardness in his pants slowly depleting.

Lower Brain, “Girl that’s just how he gon look when y’all fuck’

RB: Bitch, I know I can’t wait, shut up!’

He kissed me deep again, but quick, so he wouldn’t get us both started again. “I can’t do tomorrow, but Tuesday after I get off at five I can come by.”

LB: Tuesday is a day and a half away, you sure you’ll be okay?

“That’s perfect”, I said looking up at him. “I’m out of class out 4:45.”

And it really was perfect. I’m always out of class around 4:45, he’s off at 5pm but when you work in fast food, you’re never really going to get off at your scheduled time. At five is when you begin to have an attitude because your replacement is taking their time getting to your position to relieve you or they haven’t shown up at all yet-oh and people are still ordering because they have no idea there’s a shift change taking place through the intercom. Then the complaining to whatever manager on duty starts which is when they realize they have to let you go. After stocking up your replacement, stuffing burgers, cookies or even a salad into the bag you brought with you to work and getting your complimentary drink it was finally time to clock out. See by that time it’d be around 5:45pm, Devon would let me know he was on the way or outside and I’d already be showered, shaved and ready to finish what we started. 

“Perfect.” I love the fast food industry. 

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

I haven't seen an ED hc on here yet and I need to project a bit so here's this: at the begging all the queen boys were skinny as hell but as time went on the only one who remained that way was brian. and everyone assumed that it was all natural. what they didn't know was that brian consciously started eating less when he got to the age where people's metabolism usually slows down. he was well aware that his skinniness was part of his trademark look and decided he needed to keep it that way (1/3)

he started cutting down the amount and frequency of his meals but the others never noticed - brian had always been peculiar with food (not eating meat or unhealthy things etc.) so they assumed he ate at home whenever he refused the takeout they had in the studio. in the mid 80s they slowly start noticing that brian’s no longer just skinny, but also sickly looking but still don’t say anything, assuming he might have a stomach bug going on (touring can bring that on quite easily after all) (2/3)

then, a couple of months later, brian passes out in the studio and the boys finally connect the dots. they feel incredibly guilty for not noticing the signs and are determined to help brian recover. (3/3) //if you could please write something where the boys realise all this had been going on without them noticing and then try to figure out how to help brian out of this mess while he refuses to believe that he needs help at all (can be gen or you can add a ship if you’d like)

TW explicit mentions of Eating Disorders, Disordered Eating, Anorexia, Orthorexia, Hospitalization and excessive vulgar language. 

All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand…

For my life still ahead, pity me…

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

Again.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

One more time. So you remember how you fucked up.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

24 ribs sticking out from grey ashen skin.

Brian’s bony finger traced over each one as he counted outloud, eyes focused on the full body mirror in front of him.

You remember how handsome you used to be? Remember when theyjutted out like a fucking Greek god? But you ruined it. You ate that chocolatecupcake like the pig you are and now you’re fat again. Fat and disgusting.

“One, two, three, four, five…”

It doesn’t matter if you cry about it. It won’t make you anyskinnier. Put on your running shoes, fat ass.

“Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…”

RUN!

Brian wiped his face free of the tears, eye’s falling downto his bare feet. Skeletal but most people’s standards but bloated looking tohim. He had blisters on his heels from running a mile every morning, but itdidn’t matter. Pain was beauty, right?

♚

Of all the numbers, zero is the most beautiful. Brianthought that to himself as he ran around his neighborhood, the sun dipping inthe sky, crickets already chirping.

His knees hurt so bad, his chest was on fire and he was surehis blisters had reopened, but he had done this to himself. If he only atethings that were good, he wouldn’t have to run this second mile. If he juststopped inhaling anything that came into sight, he could be home right now,settling into a night’s rest.

But he was out here. In the cold English sunset, wearinglayers of jogging clothes to try and keep warm. He deserved this. Briandeserved this.

The day he hit his goal weight, he’d never have to do thisagain. He’d be doing zero laps.

♚

It was nearly midnight before he tempted to step on thescale.

The bathroom was so dark. Only trickles of moonlight pouredin from the window. He refused to turn on the lights since he weighed himselfnaked. Having to see his bare body was revolting. There was so much wrong withit. His legs were too chubby. His stomach so round. His cheeks akin to a hamster.It was better in the dark.

The cold metal of the scale sent a shiver up his body as hestepped onto it. He had to squint to see the number, but he was sure it hadgone up since this morning. That fucking cupcake.

8 stone.

Tears pricked his eyes. The number had gone down. Why was hestill so big?

So big.

Who could like someone so grotesque as him? With so muchskin? With so much fat?

Brian hugged himself, elbows tucking into his concavestomach.

He was disgusting.

♚

“You’re drinking your coffee black, Bri?” Roger asked, nosescrunched up as he peered into Brian’s coffee mug. Brian pulled the mug closerto him defensively but smiled and lolled his head as if nothing was wrong.

“You know I don’t drink milk, mate,” Brian said, taking asip of the acrid brew, forcing his brow to stay unfurrowed.

“Since when? Thought you were vegetarian, not one of thoseweird animal hippies,” Roger said eyes narrowed.

“Well, I’ve decided through research that the milk industryexploits cows. Did you know that mother cows and their c-“

“Yeah, yeah, alright. You could at least put a sugar or twoin there, you mad man,” Roger said with the wave of his hand, Brian’s plan atboring him with animal ethics having worked.

Brian smiled to himself, taking another sip. Roger was outof his mind if he thought he’d ever put sugar in anything he ate. Might as welleat straight fat. At least his little plan worked.

♚

“Brian, sweetheart, you look absolutely pale! Have you caughta cold?” Freddie said, a hand pressing against Brian’s clammy forehead. Brianducked away from the touch, laughing nonchalantly as he did.

“Perhaps? I feel, uh, fine. Maybe I’m just low in something,”he said as convincingly as possible. His fingers started to twiddle with the sleevesof his shirt that was far too big.

Freddie gave him a look he couldn’t decipher but he nodded.

“Well, you better rest up. Can’t have our main guydeveloping an ailment before our show tomorrow, huh?” Freddie said, a handstraying onto Brian’s bony shoulder. The touch made him erupt into goosebumps.

Did he know?

Does it matter?

♚

“Brian, we need to talk,” John said, his grey eyes big andstormy.

His gut dropped to the floor, heart pounding so hard itechoed in his ears. Was the gig up?

Brian wouldn’t go without a fight.

“What about?” he said casually, crossing one leg over theother, leaning back on the couch backstage.

John sat down next to him, uncomfortably close. Brian didn’tlike people touching him. It made it all the harder to hide.

John looked around to see if anyone was around before heleaned and whispered, “The crowds really big tonight. I, um, I’m kinda nervous,”

Oh sweet jesus. Thank god. Thank god.

The anxiety melted from Brian, a small smile growing on hisface.

“John, how old are you? You silly man,” He said jokinglybefore pulling John in for a hug.

The bassist grew rigid, not reciprocating. It’d only been a second,but the atmosphere grew bleak and heavy. John pulled away, face tightened infear. He looked over Brian for a second before he left in a hurry without somuch as a word.

Did he feel how skinny fat Brian was?

Who cares?

♚

Just because you finished a successful tour does not meanyou get to pig out. Look at all this food. It’s disgusting. Unhealthy. Do youwant to be fat? Don’t you want to be the skinny boy everyone knows and loves?

But I’m so hungry…

Hunger is good. Hunger means you’re strong. Hunger means you’rebeautiful. Hunger means you’re worth something.

I don’t feel good.

You won’t feel good if you get fat. If you stay fat.

I really don’t feel good.

Put that carrot down. Do you know how much sugar carrotshave? Do you want to poison your body with junk?

I think I’m gonna…

The after party for The Game fell silent. They’d all beendrinking, laughing, eating and a few other illegal activities when they heard athud. Hundred of eyes searched the room for the source of the noise untilsomeone spotted a collapsed Brian by the single veggie plate in the corner ofthe room.

Flurries of bodies and voices, yells and whispers erupted,some rushing to the phone, some running over to Brian.

Roger, Freddie and John surrounded their guitarist, panicfueling their every move.

“He’s bloody cold! Has someone called 999?” Roger shouted,rolling Brian over so he was on his back. It was a frighteningly easy task todo, the guy being light as a feather.

“Brian, sweetie, wake up please. Help is on the way, love.Stay with us, please,” Freddie pleaded, eyes misty as he held Brian’s handbetween his own, hoping to warm it up some.

John just stood next to the three, mouth and tongue seized,body trembling uncontrollably.

This is good. This is really good. Maybe soon you’ll benothing. Zero. A beautiful number. A beautiful state to be in.

♚

“…He was in fucking heart failure…”

“…electrolytes too low…”

“…emaciated…”

“…bone’s of a 60 year old…”

“And if he had died?”

“…you never said anything!”

“…was I supposed to know what this was?”

“He’s alive no thanks to any of you…”

♚

Brian’s eyes opened sluggishly, theonly thing he could seeing being an intense white light.

Was this it? Was he in heaven? Was allof this finally over? The pain and the cold and the empty stomachs and the migraines?Was that all gone now?

“He’s awake,” a mousy voice said.

Brian’s vision cleared, revealing awhite ceiling.

So he wasn’t dead.

He looked in the direction the voicecame, shivering when he saw it was John. His face was so swollen and so redfrom crying. It looked like he’d done a week’s worth. When their eyes met, Johnlet out a heart shattering sob, burying his face into Brian’s bed sheets. Theywere soaked.

Why was John crying so hard? He justpassed out was all. Nothing to be bent over.

His eyes scanned the room for other faces.

He found Roger’s. His eye bags wereunprecedented. His hair mused like he’d been trying to pull it out. Rogershrunk back into his chair, looking down at his shoes instead.

He didn’t have to look for Freddie.

Freddie walked up to Brian’s bed, hisface untelling. He looked at Brian’s IV, which he just now noticed he hadbefore he opened his mouth to speak. He faltered for a moment but spoke.

“Brian, I am so, so sorry,” he said,voice cracking, throat dry. He reached for Brian’s hand, but Brian pulled away,shaking his head.

“For what, Fred? I just passed out! It’sno one’s fault,” he said incredulously. They all looked like train wrecks for asimple blackout?

Freddie recoiled at Brian’s wordsbefore he softened again. His eyes parted from Brian’s, licking his lips. Whydidn’t anyone want to look at him?

“Brian…you didn’t pass out. You wentinto heart failure. You were in the ICU for 3 weeks in a coma. It…they had touse the electric paddles on you on two separate occasions,” his voice grewthick, obviously trying to push away the urge to cry and scream.

“They thought you weren’t going to makeit,” Freddie mouthed, his shoulders caving in as a few tears escaped down hischeeks.

Brian blinked before finally look downat himself.

Various bruises on his arm fromdifferent IV’s and blood draws Burn marks on his chest. And a line running downhis chest, all stitched and taped up.

A number 1, almost.

Not a zero.

He looked up to Freddie, jaw hanging.

“You needed a bypass, Bri,” Freddiesaid, a nervous hand rubbing his neck.

“W-Why?” Brian choked out, his mindhaving gone blank.

Roger snorted from across the room. “Youknow why,” he said bitterly.

And it was true. Brian knew why.

The room was quiet except for Deacy’smuffled sobs.

“I…I…the…I..can’t bloody think withyour crying, John!” Brian snapped. He didn’t mean it, he really didn’t.This..illness made him do horrible things. Nasty things.

John responded by growing smalleralthough his crying didn’t. Freddie wanted to bark back, but this wasn’t right.None of it was. Instead, he grabbed John and left the room. Roger was the onlyone who could talk to Brian about serious stuff anyways.

Brian gulped when the door slammedbehind the two. Now it was just him and R-

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Rogerasked, playing with the hem of his shirt. There was no malice in his voice.Just a simple question.

“I..didn’t think anything was wrong,”Brian said, which was the truth.

This, whatever it was, made the worldsplit in two. Reality and what went on his brain both felt real. He knew he wassick, but he wasn’t. He knew he was skinny but he wasn’t. He knew he was dyingbut he wasn’t. It was hard to know the truth sometimes. All the times. It washard to reach out when everything felt both okay and crumbling. Which was thetrue one?

Roger let out a puff of air from hisnose, eyes fluttering shut, desperate for sleep. In times of crisis, he seemedto be the only one capable of keeping their wits about, so he’d been on babysittingduty for nearly a month. He wanted his bed so bad.

He wanted his best friend too.

“That’s fair,” he said with a sigh.There was another silence between them before Roger got up and padded over toBrian’s bed side. He plopped himself onto the uncomfortably wet sheets but paidthem no mind, instead looking at the skeleton before him.

“We’re all really sorry, Brian. None ofus knew you were fighting a battle alone. We just thought…I don’t know what wewere thinking. But we thought you had a handle on whatever you were doing and thatwas wrong of us to just assume,”

“You needed us and we weren’t there.There’s only so much we can do about the past though, right? But we’re gonna behere for you from now on. When they send you to the psych w-“

“Psych ward?” Brian spat out, sittingup straighter in bed.

That’s where crazy people go. I’m notcrazy. I’m fine. I’m fine. I don’t belong there. They’ll make me eat. They’llmake me gain weight.

Roger just took in Brian’s anxiety, an uncharacteristicallygentle hand laying onto Brian’s bandaged chest.

With the sincerity and sweetness of amother, Roger said, “We almost lost you Brian. We almost had to bury you. We’renot going to let that happen again. You’re not going to leave us like that,”

Brian laid back against the bed, hisonly veiny and pale hand going over Roger’s.

Nothing felt real. Nothing made sense.Nothing was good. But he knew he could trust Roger. That infernal voice buzzingin his head might have been his constant companion, but Roger was his bestfriend. And best friends don’t lie.

Brian blinked away a few tears, hiswhole body tired, in pain and in a mental tug of war, but he said, “Okay,”Roger collapsed for the first time in weeks.

♚

John held onto Brian so tight, his faceburied into his neck. He would prefer to never let go, but he knew he had tosoon.

“Brian, I lo- you’re my best friend,okay? Get better?” he said before letting go. Brian smiled, patting his back.

Freddie came in for a hug next, meltinginto Brian’s embrace.

“I need my guitarist back. My soul brother,”Freddie said, kissing Brian’s cheek.

Lastly was Roger who just held out hishand for a shake. A firm one.

“See you soon, mate.”

Brian looked at all of them, taking intheir faces before he had to go. Wheeled out from the hospital and into the vanthat’d be taking him to the psychiatric ward.

The future ahead was scary and unknown,but he wanted to charge ahead. He wanted to live. For his friends, his family andmost importantly, himself. He wanted to play guitar and sing and eat and neverworry again.

All he wanted was to be four again.

Not zero.

Never zero.

Take heart my friend we love you

Though it seems like you’re alone

A million light’s above you

Smile down upon your home

[agentdagonet]

Echoes, Ch. 26

Find it here on AO3

Find it here on tumblr:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

          ‘You know I love you, yeah?’ Michelle’s voice didn’t waver, but her eyes remained focused on the cup she clutched between her hands. They were sat together on the sofa, enough space that Daisy could fit between them, had she been awake; Eggsy hummed in agreement, mouth preoccupied with the tea they had masterfully made themselves to give them a way not to talk. 

           They both knew they had to, the way they were going just couldn’t continue for much longer. Something had to give.

           ‘... I’ve spen’ a lot of time, mum, tryin’ to find a way to explain my shit in a way you’d get it- but, see, knowin’ how to talk to someone means you gotta know ‘em. An’ it kinda hit me that we don’ know each other well ‘nough for that.’ Eggsy sighed, one hand tugging through his hair while the other held the cup on the armrest. ‘Not as adults, at least- an’ I don’t want to be harsh on you, but it feels like you still see me as a kid cos you weren’ really awake enough to see me when I was one.’

           ‘I know your age, Eggsy-’

           ‘It ain’t about age, mum- least, it’s not about the number. It’s about where my head’s at, the age I am here,’ he brought the hand from his hair to hiss temple, ‘an’ here,’ his heart, ‘not some numbers.’

           ‘I don’t understand.’ It’s quiet, muttered around the lip of her mug, with a furrow between her brows. ‘I know the estates and… and Dean,’ she swallowed heavily, ‘weren’t very forgiving or anythin’ but we got by.’

           ‘When Harry came by and told you about dad,’ Eggsy turned fully toward his mother, who was buried in her mug and growing tenser by the moment, ‘when he gave me this medal cos you were just gonna toss it out of spite,’ Eggsy pulled it from his shirt and over his head, laying it on the cushion between them, ‘he told me to take care of you.’ Michelle’s head shot up, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

           ‘The first time Harry ever saw me, he knew who we were- dad talked about us constantly. He knew the news he was going to deliver was awful and that nothin’ could replace what he saw as his having taken from us. He blamed himself- he fought tooth an’ nail to get that medal for us against every regulation there was- and he knew you weren’ gonna accept help from anyone but he gave me the medal anyway. Told me to take care of it- and you.

           ‘I didn’ really get it at the time, but then you just… didn’ get up for a while. I had to go to school, I had to eat, and you didn’t seem to hear me askin’ you about that stuff. I didn’t get a buncha stuff at school and you wouldn’ help me so I ended up talkin’ to my teachers and figuring it out me’self. I started figurin’ my own food- an’ then I started figuring yours. Tried to pester you into much of anything but it was just so hard. An’ then you started dating again- or, well, going out, an’ I had a whole new challenge.’

           ‘It weren’t all that, babes-’

           ‘Mum, I love you, but it was. My fears for Daisy, the reasons I didn’ tell you when I found out what really happened to dad, aren’ just nightmares an’ shit made up. I don’ want her havin’ to do even a fraction of what I did at her age. The fact that you can’ see, even now, everythin’ that was wrong back then scares me.’ Eggsy lifted his mug back to his face, barely sipping as an excuse to pass the buck for a bit. 

           ‘I just… I guess I can’t put it all together in a way that makes sense, Eggsy. Harry- the one who told me about your dad’s death, who died ‘imself, and then wasn’t dead- his guilt ain’t yours, and I don’ get why you’d be so torn up abou’ the death of a man you barely knew. An’ keeping secrets is one of the few things I know the estates taught well, I don’ like it but I understand that bit. Mostly. Still hurt, tho.’ Michelle sounded entirely lost, and wished desperately for a cig or a stiffer drink than tea- but she was trying not to rely on shit like that anymore.

           ‘Harry told me to take care of you- so I did. Not that I really thought he existed for a bit there, to be honest. Without the medal I’d’ve chalked ‘im up as a figment of my imagination. I just knew that someone ‘ad given me an important job, and I was gonna do it. But, to be honest mum, you’re tough as shit to take care of. I started to give up, an’ I went off to the Marines to try an’ make something of myself for me. Figured you was okay, what with a live-in boyfriend an’ all, but that weren’t the case at all, cos-’

           ‘Daisy.’

           ‘Yeah, mum, Daisy. You called up me in a panic, bangin’ on about losin’ me like you lost dad and I dunno if you really knew what you was doing. Maybe you weren’t doing it on purpose- I hope you weren’t-’ the last was murmured, ‘but you used my takin’ care of you against me. You pushed every button, pulled every trigger, and then- d’you remember the last bit o’ that call? I can’t forget it.’ 

           Michelle shook her head, mug forgotten on her lap.

           ‘You tol’ me that it wasn’t like I could make a career out of that anyway. You just… dismissed my choices like they didn’ matter a whit- I was nearly twenty, mum! Did you know there’d been Olympic scouts at my gymnastics practises? That girly shit Dean said was a waste of money coulda gotten us out of there, no medal necessary- I liked gymnastics, but someone else said different and you leapt to please ’em. 

           ‘You didn’ really treat me like a person; you didn’ explain or ask what I thought or even talk to my coaches. One day I was doin’ something amazing and the next day I was told we were never going back there again, and yeah I wasn’ an adult but I’ve never been an idiot, mum. Just. Over an’ over again you showed me that I wasn’t the most important thing in your life, or even like top five sometimes, so I stopped tryin’ to be. I let Dean get to me, let ‘im use me to run his shit and whatever the fuck else he wanted to keep ‘im from goin’ after you or Daisy an’ I stopped trying to find a way out.

           ‘I gave up, got myself stuck, an’ Harry just abou’ dragged me back into bein’ a person again withou’ even knowin’ it! He was a right prick about it at first- said he though’ dad’d be “bitterly disappointed” in me.’ Much to MIchelle’s confusion, Eggsy grinned his way around the words and huffed a laugh. ‘He was actin’ on the assumption that my life choices were my own- but I set him straight quick. Got me goin’ off about posh arseholes and silver spoons, an’ looking back I think he was a bit proud I didn’ hold my tongue, but then Poodle and the boys showed up. And, well, you know what happened after that. Fuckin’ Dean, and Harry saving my arse cos I refused to grass on ‘im even after… well, after everything.’

           ‘I think you’ve gotten off topic, Eggsy. I don’t need a step-by-step of you ‘n Harry-’

           ‘Except that’s exactly what you asked for, mum. You don’ get why his death fucked me up so badly an’ I’m tryin’ to explain it to you- but you don’t really want to know why it affected me so badly- you’se wonderin’ why his death affected you long after you’d put ‘im and his message from your mind.’

           ‘Now wait a minute, Eggsy- I ain’t lying to you about wanting to know shit. I’m not lying about wanting to understand why his death put you in such a state. I’m not making shit up about not understanding and trying to understand you. I don’t get it, I’m trying here,’ she wiped at her eyes angrily, refusing to look away from Eggsy despite the state she’d suddenly put herself into, ‘but you’ve got to give me something to work with, babe! You’re going on about bein’ grown up and at the same time you‘re harping on about shit I can’t even remember!’

           ‘EXACTLY!’ Eggsy jumped to his feet and threw his hands up, thankfully having dropped his empty mug to the ground beforehand, ‘That’s the fucking problem, mum- you don’t remember. And, maybe, what you do remember somehow measures up as not as bad as some other shit but I don’t have that luxury! You know what I remember? You, blacked out on the couch; you, lettin’ Dean’s boys paw at you in the livin’ room; you, turning away the first time Dean hit me; you, ignorin’ Daisy crying for hours until I gave in and got what she needed.

           ‘And, yeah, I know shit was tough- I’m not tryin’ to compare sufferings or some other bullshit- I know you think you were doing the best you could; I know you think you did the best you could with the shitty hand you were dealt. I know.’ Eggsy stopped, took a deep breath in his nose and out his mouth, lips pursed tightly, and did it again. Again. Until the red faded from his face and his heart slowed down enough to feel rational again.

           Michelle hadn’t moved. She tried to convince herself that she was listening out for Daisy moving about in her room, what with the ruckus, but adept as she was at lying to herself it wouldn’t stick. This man in front of her was a stranger to her- she knew he was her son, but she didn’t know anything about him, apparently. She didn’t know his goals or his struggles, she didn’t know his friendships beyond the tangential moments they crossed her path directly; how was she ever supposed to bridge this gap she hadn’t known was there?

           ‘Eggs-’

           ‘Let me finish, mum- if I don’ do it now I don’t think I’ll try again later.’

           ‘Okay.’ She swallowed heavily, hands so tight around the mug she was surprised it hadn’t shattered, and waited.

           And waited.

           ‘D’you know what I don’t remember, mum? I don’t remember dad’s voice. I don’t remember his laugh or much of anythin’ about him to be honest. Sometimes I think I see him when I’m asleep but I dunno how much of that’s just my head making shit up with the one picture I’ve got of him, and how much of it is an actual memory I can’t get to when I’m awake. I don't want to find out how much of it's all in my head, honest. An’ maybe all that’s not the healthiest start to a relationship, of any kind, but it’s a sight better than drugs and a meal ticket.

           ‘Harry didn’t save me, and fuck knows he was a right arse at the start of it; but my refusing to grass gave him enough reason, I guess, to give me the chance to prove myself. He threw every one of my biggest regrets, especially the ones I didn’t get a choice in failing at, in my face. An’ then he turned it about in a way only someone used to getting his way can- he told me to jump. And I said “why not” instead of “how high” an’ he was glad for it. He didn’t give me shit besides a chance; he didn’ tell me what was goin’ on ‘til it were too late to turn back and let me prove myself. Not to him, but-’

           ‘To yourself. He… He took you away from everythin’ that held you back an’ let you push yourself. He let you figure yourself out without any of us stoppin’ you.’

           ‘He believed in me, mum; and, yeah, it all started cos he figured he’d as good as killed dad himself but he let me figure it out myself. Never treated me like a kid or like I was less a person for bein’ different- and I fucked it up anyway, mind, but he let me try- and then he died and the one person who’d believed in me was gone. An’ the last thing I’d said to him was accuse ‘im of havin’ dad stuffed somewhere in his house like one of them pinned butterflies. He went straight off for America from that fight, an’ then he died-’

           ‘And you blamed yourself.’ Her Eggsy, if she could call him that to herself without wincing, had gone and fallen into the same pit Harry had after Lee. He slumped back into the sofa, head hung low, and Michelle took the moment just to look at him. To see the way his jaw clenched and unclenched the same way Lee’s had when he was upset. The way Eggsy’s eyes had the same tilt his dad had had. All the little pieces of Lee that Eggsy had no idea he’d inherited because she’d refused to talk about him and brought people into their lives who forbade it. Because she’d... let her grief consume her.

           ‘Well, now I know what Merlin was on about,’  Michelle muttered to herself, one hand propped against her chin, ‘when he said I’d let my grief consume me. I didn’ even see you was strugglin’ more than I was, babes, cos it was different. I ain’t gonna claim that I get it now,’ she shook her head and a self-deprecating laugh escaped, ‘but I’m gonna say that I’m gonna try and see that I don’ understand and that’s okay.

           ‘I know I didn’ do right by you, Eggsy; I know I let other shit be more important and I pushed you away cos you reminded me so much of Lee that it… it made me angry. How could I keep bein’ who I’d been before, when he was gone? And I didn’ even realise that I was takin’ it out on you. Or,’ she corrected herself, ‘maybe I did, but I didn’t want to admit it to meself. I spent so much time tryin’ to ignore everything that’d changed and not enough trying to figure out how to be your mum- a mum, actually- after everythin’. You kept gettin’ bigger and then you were grown and leavin’ me and I just… panicked.’

           Eggsy refused to meet her gaze, one hand clenched tightly in a fist while the other rubbed itself aimlessly against the sofa cushion. He’d always known his mum was fucked up; the older he got the more obvious it was that she’d just had all her strings cut when his dad died and she let just about anyone make choices for her cos she couldn’t handle the responsibility of being a person. And yeah, having the explanation helped and all, but it was a bit like finding out that Snape’d been a dick because he was a spy and loved Harry’s mum- it was a good reason, but it wasn’t an excuse. It didn’t make things better in retrospect, it didn’t make him happier to know; it didn’t bridge the gap she’d dug between them. It was a good way to learn what not to do- but didn’t help much when trying to figure out what TO do.

           ‘I don’ think I’m ever gonna understand, Eggsy, but I don’ want you avoiding me- or Daisy- cos of the shit I did before. Or didn’ do. I ain’t gonna claim to fix it or anything- but I want to try an’ do better; I want to learn how to be… well, maybe not a mum- think you’re a bit old for that, an’ that’s where I fucked this up in the first place. I tried to push you to talk an’ you weren’t ready, or maybe just not ready to talk with me ‘bout it, cos I thought I knew best. And it’s pretty obvious here that I don’t. So, maybe I can learn to be your friend- one that’s got a load of stories to teach you what not to do.’

           ‘You’re always gonna be my mum, tho. You fucked up, a lot, and I’m tryin’ not to… to project my past onto Daisy cos you’ve changed. V-Day made us all re-think a lot of shit, in a lot o’ ways, and I know you’re trying. There ain’t much to drink here, you’ve been chattin’ with Harry and takin’ Daisy to school and being a proper person. I can see it. But, sometimes, seein’ you trying makes me mad as hell- cos why wasn’ I enough to try for?’ Eggsy felt a tear escape, traitorously run it's way down his cheek, but refused to wipe it away. He was allowed to feel, damnit.

           ‘Oh, Eggsy, there was nothin’ you coulda done. You did your best- I just… wasn’t quite there yet. I couldn’t see past the moment I was stuck in like- like your bloody snowglobe, that one Lee brought home for you his last leave. Everythin’ was fine long as I didn’t leave that bubble and tha’s on me, babes. My shit ain’t your responsibility, an’ that goes double for your guilt over Harry. Obviously his dying didn’ stick, but you’ve gotta let that shit go or you’re never going to see eveythin’ that’s in front of you.’ Michelle thought briefly of Harry the first time he’d come by, how lost he’d been when she’d just brushed aside his guilt like a stray bit of dirt where it shouldn’t be. ‘And I ain’t talkin’ about being grateful- I know you’re plenty grateful that shit’s landed as it has, love- but you… I dunno, maybe it’s just cos I see you so little with that “tailoring” job,’ Michelle mimed the quotations with her fingers, ‘but it feels like you’re doin’ the same shit I did, but, like, the opposite. You’re tryin’ to keep yourself in that moment back when shit wasn’t all fucked up, an’ if you’re moving forward it’s fuckin’ slowly.’

           ‘Like you’re one to talk, mum.’

           ‘But tha’s just it- I was doing that. I was stuck and stickin’ there and I didn’t even care I was doing it ‘til some madman decided to shove my faults in my face in a way I can only thank every god above and below Daisy doesn’t seem to remember.

           ‘Learn from me, Eggsy- don’ get stuck just cos it seems safer.’

           ‘I don’t know how to be safe, mum- I just know how to get from one crisis to the next.’

           ‘Good thing you’ve got the time to learn, then. Even if you’ve got yourself a group of folk who prolly don’t know any better than you do.’ That seemed to cut loose some of the tension, both chuckling and bumping shoulders, and when had the space between them shrunk so much? Physically, mind, but hopefully they’d started filling in the emotional gaps.

  ��        They sat in silence for a while, finishing off their now-so-cold-it-was-a-little-gross tea and clearing the sitting room. They got up to wash their mugs, stood comfortably beside each other at the sink, a happier echo of tense moments past. Michelle didn’t want to leave anything for Eggsy to wonder at, cos chances were that they wouldn’t ever speak like this again. This was the only chance she’d have, probably; but even if it weren’t she needed to know that Eggsy had heard her.

           ‘I need you to know that I mean it when I tell you I love you, Eggsy. I don’ really know how to love you, now, but I know it’s there- I just can’t express it right, I guess. And I’m so proud of you- you grew up so much when I wasn’t looking. When I was lookin’ away on purpose. But you’re an amazing young man and I am so proud of you- even when you won’t tell me all about your fancy dangerous job and I have to imagine what’s goin’ on.’ Eggsy smiled ruefully and scrubbed a hand at his neck, cheeks flushed but unrepentant. Michelle smiled and slowly opened her arms, wriggling her fingers to goad Eggsy into her embrace- which he did without protest, and she lifted herself just enough to reach his ear and whisper the words she couldn’t bring herself to say to his face.

           ‘You’re so much like your dad; you’ve got his justice and his fury and I’m gonna try an' tell you that more often. You deserve to know that you’re doin’ him proud- and he deserves to be remembered.’

[cosmichoneyedblossoms]

Until I See You Again

— Midnight Dreams —

Pairing: Choi San x Manager Reader

Genre: idol au | soulmate au |

Word Count: 2,351

Warnings: None as of yet

1 | 2 | 3

It was him again, he appeared in front of you like a villain in a fairytale. You hoped that it would change each night you closed your eyes, but here he was, right behind you. You were scared to be near him because how he is in these dreams, but right now, your adrenaline kicked in as your feet hit the ground, looking for anywhere to hide. Your pace slowed as you came to a tall fence, knowing you couldn’t make it over, when a large hand gripped your shoulder and yanked you back. Warmth spread through your back from meeting his chest, his arm wrapped around you, holding you against him, “Don’t run from me, Y/N… Why do you push me away?”

“W-What…?” Your voice husked as he turned you around.

“You’re the only one who makes me this way… so… take responsibility…” His fingers wrapped around to the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing at your tender skin.

“Who are you…? What are you talking about…?”

“You’re telling me…” He leaned in, his tongue appearing to swipe over his lips, “You don’t remember?” You could feel his warm breath against your skin, he was close enough to taste, he was—

Your eyes shot open to the dull morning sunlight pouring into your bedroom, the feeling of your heart pounding in your chest made you let out a sigh as you rubbed your eyes, “Again with this guy?” You hissed rolling over to grab your phone, the screen lighting up as you held it up to your face, “6:20…”

You sat up, running your hands through your hair, your thoughts beginning to wander back to the guy in your dreams. He had been loitering around in your dreams since you could remember, but his face doesn’t ring a bell to anyone in your life. You let the thought of him linger in your mind as you got ready for work, remembering his deeply sculpted features, the curl of his when his eyes fell onto you, the way he sent your heart racing with the barely there smirk. He was beautiful, you couldn’t deny that, but who is he?

You double checked your ensemble in the mirror before leaving, making sure that your off the shoulder shirt wasn’t showing too much skin to be considered inappropriate for work. Just as you were about to walk out the door your phone dinged.

[7:30 A. M.] KQEB: Hey, Y/N. Can you stop in before going to Seven Seasons?

[7:32 A. M.] You: Of course. I’ll be there in about 30.

You slid your phone back into your pocket, wondering why your boss would want to see you. You haven’t done anything wrong that you know of, matter of fact, managing Block B has been the best job of your life the past two years even after Zico chose not to renew his contract with the company. You’ve been keeping the schedule filled with events that would give them time with their fans, they’ve been on time to everything, and no complaints from the boys about you, so what could he possibly want from you?

You walked into the KQ Entertainment building and made your way to your boss’s office, anxiety beginning to upset your stomach. You got onto the elevator and pressed the floor number as well as the “close” button when a voice called out, “Hold the elevator, please!”

“Oh!” You held your hand out to stop the closing doors for a guy with curly sandy blond hair to rush into the elevator.

“Thank you.” He breathed, bowing a bit.

“You’re welcome.” You pulled your hand back and let the doors close, you waited to see if he chose a different floor, but when you got to your floor, he followed you out. You glanced at each other, awkward smiles coming to your lips as you went separate ways ways down the hall; your heels scuffed over the carpeted hallway as you reached your boss’s office, your knuckles quickly rapping against the door.

“Come in.” The deep voice from the other side hummed. You opened the door to be met with dark eyes on the other side of the desk, “Ah, Y/N. Come take a seat, please.” You nodded and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, his fingers clicking and scrolling on the mouse, “So, I’ve called you here today to discuss your contract with Block B.”

“Oh…?” You raised an eyebrow as he pulled some pages off the printer.

“Since they’re doing some recontracting with Seven Seasons, they don’t need a manager from us. They’re going to hire one within—”

“So, I’m getting a reassignment?” You asked, annoyance clear in your voice.

“After Zico left, it left the future of the band in the air… so… we’re placing you with a new group.” He turned the stack of papers in front of you, your eyes falling down to them to see it was a new contract.

“Ateez…?”

“They just debuted and they’ve become extremely popular within the couple of years they’ve been training. I think you would make for a perfect manager for them.” He smiled hoping this wouldn’t upset you too much, but watching you roll your eyes and sigh told him you were pissed.

“You’re telling me to tell my boys, that I’ve been with for over five years, that I’m being reassigned?” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Well…” A weak smile passed his lips, “We’ve already spoke with them…”

“You what?”

“We had to let them know that they were getting a new manager—”

“You went behind my back and told them before letting me know? Wow.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes once more.

“It’s not like that—” A knock at the door cut him off, he stared at your rigid figure in the chair before offering an invitation to the person behind the door.

“I’m sorry for intruding…” The sandy blond haired boy walked into the room, your eyes turning to fall onto him.

“That’s okay, Hongjoong. You came at a good time. Y/N, this is the leader of Ateez, Kim Hongjoong.” You stood up to meet his gaze and he bowed to you.

“Ah, we met in the elevator.” You bowed your head to him as he stood back up, his warm sienna irises catching the sunlight.

“Hongjoong, this is Y/N, starting tomorrow she is your new manager.”

“Aish, what does he think he’s doing reassigning me?” You whined while slamming your beer can against the table.

“Did you even see it coming?” You turned your eyes to the right of you, Seungyeon’s darkened eyes finding yours.

“Nope, absolutely not.”

“That’s completely messed up. You’ve done everything for Block.” Byungchan mumbled across from you before taking a drink from his beer can.

“It’s not like I had any say in it anyway. After Zico left, there wasn’t much Seven Seasons could do, and they haven’t put anything new out in a while…” You ran your finger around the rim of the can, getting lost in the warm buzzed feeling taking over your body.

“How is this baby group, Ateez was it?” Sungwoon’s voice coming from the left of you brought you back to the conversation; you shrugged your shoulders in response as you reached for another can of beer.

“I have no clue, yet. I meet them all tomorrow. Hongjoong, the leader, seemed pretty level headed… so I hope they’re good at what they do and they give me no problems.” You hummed, opening the can and taking a drink of the bitter liquid. Byungchan pulled out his phone and let his fingers tap over the screen before speaking.

“Apparently they’re a eight member group consisting of Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San…” Upon hearing the name San something sparked inside of you, as if you’ve heard the name before. You searched your mind trying to find the person this name belonged to when your head started throbbing. You ran your fingertips over your temples, attempting to soothe the pulsating pressure when a hand ran over your back.

“How did I know I’d find all of you here?” The familiar voice above you made you relax into your chair and let your head roll back to look up at the man next to you; soft features came into your vision, ones that you had fallen for since you could remember.

“Ah, Dongyeon to Y/N’s rescue, as always.” Sungwoon chuckled starting to get up out of his seat.

“How did you know I was here?” You asked, your words starting to slur together.

“When you, my dear, have a bad day, I can always find you drinking outside the store with these guys.” He leaned down wrapping an arm around you, pulling you up out of your chair, “Why don’t you come home with me tonight? Can’t let your dad see you coming home like this.”

“But I haven’t even finished my can yet…” You reached for your half empty can to watch Seungyeon pull the can from your reach.

“I think you’ve had enough tonight, Y/N.”

“Listen here you Monkey—” Seungyeon shoved a piece of cold fish cake into your mouth, hushing your protest.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed.” Dongyeon squatted down, “C’mon, let me carry you.” You took his offer and wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your weight on his back. He wrapped his arms around your legs and stood up, adjusting his hold on you, “Goodnight guys.” Dongyeon dipped his head.

“Get home safely.” Byungchan laughed watching him turn around with you on his back, your eyes drooping closed as you rested your head on your arm. The walk to his apartment wasn’t far, but you wished it were, the fading fall breeze against your skin made you hum against his back. The warmth from Dongyeon alway made you feel at home, like you were safe every time you were around him, it was one of the few things you remembered.

“Yeonnie…” He smile at his whispered name.

“Yes?”

“Do you know a San…?”

“San…? I don’t think so, why?” He questioned, walking up the steps leading to the apartment.

“Byung mentioned his name as a member of the group I’m going to manage…” Dongyeon was surprised by how much you were talking, you usually passed out on the walk to his house, but tonight you were eager for conversation, even if your words were slurred.

“Not off the top of my head, honey.” He approached the front door and opened it, the bright light from inside the apartment making your squint.

“Drunk again, Y/N?” You lifted your head to see Dongyeon’s brother, Jisoo, standing in the kitchen, his warm skin soaking in the light. You lifted a hand, giving Jisoo a thumbs up to his question, “Should I run her a bath?” He asked and Dongyeon shook his head.

“Nah. She’ll shower in the morning before she goes to work. She just needs to sleep off this buzz of hers.” He wandered to the back of the apartment to his bedroom and flipped on the light before sitting you down on the bed, “Don’t lay down yet, I need to take off your makeup.

“You’re such a good boyfriend.” You cooed watching him get into his dresser, your favorite shirt of his to sleep in appeared in his hands.

“Am I really?” He teased walking back to you, “Arms up.” You hummed in response and did as he asked, and lifted your arms up, Dongyeon soon removing your shirt and bra, and then sliding his shirt onto your body, “Go ahead and take off your pants while I grab the remover.”

“You trying to get me nakey, Yeonnie?” A laugh erupted from him as he walked out of the bedroom. You popped the button on your pants open and slid them off your body, exhaustion finally taking over. You laid down, closing your eyes, waiting for him to come back when something cold met your skin, a groan escaping your lips, “Cold…”

“I know, just endure it for right now.” Dongyeon whispered, cleaning the makeup off of your skin. He admired your beauty as your started to drift off into dreamland, his hands brushed wild strands of hair out of your face while making sure that he left no streak of makeup on your beautiful skin. He tossed the makeup wipe into the trash can and turned out the lights in the room; after changing out of his clothes, he crawled into bed with you, pulling the blankets over your sleeping figure. The dull moonlight danced past his curtains, casting a glow against your skin, he reached out to run his fingertips over your shape, “I love you, I hope you know that.”

“You got this… stop freaking out, you’re their new manager, you just saying ‘hi’ and then you’re going to see their old one. Just a few minutes and then you’re out of there…” You breathed as you stared at the door handle to the dance practice room. Your shaky hand gripped the handle and opened it, the sound of music and feet scuffing over the floors poured out from behind it. Eight pairs of eyes turned to you as one of the boys walked over to turn off the music.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Hongjoong was the first to greet you, “Let me introduce each of the members to you.” Six of the boys lined up in front of you as the seventh one walked towards the back of the studio, “Here we have our rapper, Mingi, and next to him we have our line of vocals. Yeosang, Seonghwa, Jongho, Wooyoung, Yunho, and…” The last person joined the line up, your eyes resting on his face, “Last, but not least, San.” Dark brown, almost black, hair came into your vision as well as features that looked like the Gods had sculpted; you knew that face and the smirk that appeared on his lips: he’s the guy from your dreams.

“Until I See You Again” Master List

[lurafita]

Petvengers Chapter 3

Read chapter 1 here: Chappy 1

Read chapter 2 here: Chappy 2

:-) Guess now what kind of animal Stephen gets, and see if you guessed right later in the chapter! Cookies for everyone who knows who Detective Davis is. :-)

To stave off any confusion that might come, MJ's parents are divorced, and Michelle has no blood-related siblings. *Insert name here* has no blood-related siblings, and his mother died.

Regarding the pet introduced in this chapter, please remember that this is a fanfic. I therefore take some liberties with the laws on which animals can and can not be held as pets. 

Dr Strange

America may be the land of the free, but it was sadly not the land of good tea. Not if you asked one Dr. Stephen Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts.

He could have sworn he still had a stash of the fine leaves he had brought back from his last visit to Kathmandu, but he hadn't been able to find it anywhere. His quest to find a vendor that sold decent tea, had taken him almost all the way to the ends of Manhattan, but at least he now had something to tide him over with, until the next time he was due to visit the monastery. If it weren't for the almost unbearable summer heat outside, the trip might not have been so bad.

Since he was in his civilian clothes, he headed for the nearest alley to open a portal to the Sanctum. No need to draw attention to himself, after all. He wasn't Stark.

He had barely stepped foot into his home, when he heard the voice of the boy, Peter, coming from the sitting room.

"-which is why MJ is currently getting ready for a 'get to know you' dinner with her possible new stepfather and brother. Ned and I researched the guy beforehand, of course, but he checked out. He is a police detective with the Brooklyn devision, and so far we haven't found anything that would point at him being dirty or the likes. No shady connections to the Mob, no underhanded courtroom deals, no crooks or witnesses that vanished under suspicious circumstances while connected to any of his cases, and no secret Swiss bank accounts."

Stephen could only shake his head at what he heard, even as a fond, little smile stole itself across his lips. Kid was watching too much TV. It seemed Wong shared this perspective, as he could hear the other man next.

"While your devotion to assure your friends safety is admirable, don't you think that hacking into the police stations database is taking things a little far?"

How Wong could say something like this, and still sound completely relaxed, was a mystery to Strange. He himself was contemplating to inform Stark of his ward's latest shenanigans, so that the man could perform some damage control.

"One can never be too certain. But don't worry, we made up for the hacking by strengthening the departments firewall. Their data was almost as easy to get to as the hospitals. I actually think I met Detective Davis as Spiderman once, and he seemed like a pretty nice guy. I'm not actually too worried, but I will be keeping an eye on things."

By then Stephen had made his way to the room, where Peter and Wong were talking, both had a glass filled with cold water before them on the table, while the Cloak of Levitation had draped itself beside the teenager on the couch, apparently listening in on the conversation as well.

"As long as you don't commit any more felonies while 'keeping an eye on things', Spiderman, that's perfectly alright."

The boy immediately grinned at him.

"What's up, Doc?"

Stephen sighed. Sometimes he really despised Bugs Bunny. Wong nodded at him in greeting and the Cloak fluttered one of it's corners, which was it's way of waving hello.

He continued on to the connecting kitchen, and started boiling the water in his teapot.

"What brings you here, Peter? And how come your canine companion isn't with you?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Peter pout.

"It's too hot for Hope. We went for a walk yesterday morning, and he burned his paws on the asphalt. Colonel, too. Tony sectioned off a few yards behind the tower, and had a company deliver some soil and fast growing grass seeds. And pavilions for some shadow. So any outside activities for the animals are restricted to the new backyard, until this heatwave passes. But it's just as well, because Arthur is still getting used to his new leg Dad and Bruce built him, and he still needs to take things slow. And Eames can more easily stretch his wings there, without bumping into anything and having to maneuver around walls and stuff."

Stephen, thanks to Wong, knew all about the little arachnids efforts to turn Stark tower into a zoo, and could deduce that Colonel, who had also burned his paws, was one of the pets that Peter had coerced someone into adopting. 'Eames', likewise, must be an avian type of animal that now belonged to one of the Avengers. But he had no idea who or what 'Arthur' could be.

"Arthur? Did the Avengers get a new member?"

To his surprise, Wong answered the question.

"Arthur is Sergeant Barnes adopted, young raccoon, who lost his hind leg to a hunter trap. He is very cute. Peter sent me pictures."

Said teen scowled at the Sorcerer Supreme.

"Which you would have gotten, too, if you finally accepted my friends request on Whatsapp."

Thankfully that's when the kettle let out a shrill whistle, and Stephen could finally start brewing himself a cup. He would not be able to get through what was to follow, without a nice cup of tea.

"Peter, you have my number for emergencies and other important things, not to spam my phone with pictures of every cute, little critter you come across. I remember the day you adopted Hope. Wong's phone vibrated so much with received messages from you, it fell off the table. Also, I don't have Whatsapp."

Completely ignoring everything else the man had said, Peter zeroed in on that last statement.

"What about twitter?"

"No."

"Instagram?"

"No."

"Tumblr?"

"I don't even know what that is."

"You gotta have Facebook at least! Even Steve has a Facebook page, and he uses a flip-phone!"

"Definitely not."

Peter, seemingly beyond shocked, turned to the older monk beside him.

"How do you live with him?"

Wong sighed, shook his head, and took a sip of his water.

"'Tis the cross I must bear."

Thank the Ancient One that his tea was done! He took a long drink, disregarding the scalding temperature, and sighed in relief. Better.

"Why don't we get back to my first question, shall we? What brings you here, Peter? Do the Avengers need assistance?"

Peter grinned and dove for his backpack.

"Nope! I just brought over the next part of the Harry Potter movies for Cloakie!"

He quickly yanked the movie disk out of his backpack and held it aloft triumphantly. And then the Cloak of Levitation, an ancient, magical, powerful artifact, that was revered by many, fluttered in absolute excitement and tackled the teenager in a hug, while also grabbing the movie.

Peter laughed, Wong smiled, and Stephen resisted the urge to burrow his head in his hands, and instead took another sip of his tea.

After he had managed to untangle himself from Cloakie, Peter downed the rest of his water, thanked Wong for the beverage, and stood up.

"Alright! I should be on my way now."

"Do you want me to open a portal into the tower?" Stephen offered, remembering the sweltering heat outside. Peter shook his head.

"Thanks, but I wanted to fit in a little patrol before going back. Though I don't expect a lot to be going on, with the temperatures outside. Thank God the suit has air conditioning. Bye Doc, bye Wong, bye Cloakie!"

Two "Bye Peter"'s and a full body flutter from the Cloak, and the young superhero was gone. With the closing of the front door, Strange sat down on one of the couches and relaxed. He liked Peter a lot, but the boy could be a bit taxing at times. As he drank his tea and watched the Cloak fly off in search of his laptop to watch it's new Harry Potter movie, he never noticed the deeply amused, knowing and conspiratorial little grin Wong was wearing.

                    -------------------------------------------------------------

"So, MJ said the dinner went really well. She likes the guy, said she had a good feeling about him."

Ned told Bethany, the shelter worker who had been there when Michelle and Peter had guided Sam and Bucky into pet adoption. Peter had boosted himself up on the reception counter, and was carefully stroking the soft feathers of the big snow owl perched on his arm. While Bethany wouldn't normally allow a visitor to have one of the animals in the open like this, and in the buildings lobby to boot, she had made an exception for Peter. Not only was the boy extraordinarily good with handling the animals, he had also needed a little pick-me-up, seeing as the persisting hot weather had not allowed for his dog to accompany him to the shelter.

Peter added his own little tid-bits.

"The son had apparently been a bit quiet, but she said he seemed very sweet."

Bethany nodded.

"Well, I believe anyone would feel a little awkward, meeting their father's new girlfriend, and girlfriend's daughter. How old did you say the boy was?"

Since Peter was very busy smiling over the cute faces the owl was making as he pet it, Ned answered the question.

"11. Though MJ did get him to talk a bit about hobbies and stuff. She said he has a real interest in art, especially graffiti painting."

Peter chimed in then.

"Which means he and MJ will have plenty to bond over. Hopefully she doesn't make him take up her 'painting people in distress' thing. Otherwise my frowning face will likely be the first of many, to one day appear on walls all over the city."

Ned paled visibly.

"Dude, that's horrifying."

Bethany laughed softly.

"Now, now boys. You shouldn't fret about things like that. My wife always says that artists carry old souls. Anything they draw, is worth drawing. Even a frowning face."

She winked at Peter. Bethany was totally cool. She was 58 years old and had been together with her wife since they were both 20. When America finally lifted the ban on gay marriage, they had been one of the first same-sex couples to tie the knot in 2015. Peter opened his mouth to reply, when his ears picked up the distant (though rapidly closing in) sounds of screaming and cursing. He grinned.

"Ned, get your camera ready. Operation: Harry Potter, is about to begin."

The other boy obediently pointed his camera towards the entrance, and before Bethany could ask what the boys were talking about, she heard a male voice screaming at someone or something to: "Stop it, goddammit! You insufferable piece of magical cloth! If you don't let me down this instance-"

And then suddenly the doors burst open and what looked to be a man, swaddled in... a red cape?.. came literally flying in.

Peter jumped from the counter (carefully though, so as not to unsettle the owl still perched on his arm), and took a few steps forward.

"Cloakie, you made it!"

Then the cape seemingly unraveled itself from the man (giving the poor guy quite the spin in the process), and came floating over to the teen and owl.

While Bethany was still trying to cope with the fact that there was an apparently living article of clothing, hovering in front of Peter and seemingly ogling the owl (which ogled back just as much), the man the cape had dragged into the shelter (and boy, that was definitely a line of thought she never expected to have) was slowly getting his bearings again. Then he pinned a very pointed gaze at the two teenagers, and made a notable effort to keep his voice calm.

"Peter. Ned. Would it be correct for me to assume, that you are to blame for my unwilling journey through the streets of Manhattan?"

As Ned tried to shrink back behind his camera (that he still kept resolutely focused on the sorcerer), Peter just grinned brightly at the man.

"Absolutely. Very astute of you. Guess that's why you are the Sorcerer Supreme."

 (Oh, so that was that magical superhero that her wife had told her about. Really, her love was such a fangirl where New York's hero community was concerned. Well, at least that entrance made sense now.)

The man, (Dr. Strange, if Bethany remembered correctly), narrowed his eyes at the teen.

"And for what possible reason, do you require my presence?"

Cloakie had extended one of it's corners to lightly pet the white owl on the head. The owl seemed to like it.

"We need a designated adult to sign the adoption papers for Hedwig. She is a 9 year old snow owl. Her owner was a huge Harry Potter fan, which is why he named her Hedwig. He sadly died in an accident not too long ago, and his remaining family didn't have the kind of space to take Hedwig in."

The eyes narrowed further.

"If you want to adopt another pet, then get your aunt or Stark to sign the forms."

Peter shook his head.

"But Hedwig isn't for me."

Bethany looked on intrigued as suspicion formed in the sorcerer's eyes.

"Peter, I'm not getting a pet."

The teen rolled his eyes.

"I know. Hedwig isn't for you, either. She is for Cloakie!"

As if to underline his point, he lifted the arm with the owl a bit, drawing all eyes to the way the Cloak of Levitation cooed (could a cloak coo?) at Hedwig.

The look on the doctor's face right then, was one that Bethany had seen many times on her sister in law, when she had to explain to her 4 year old daughter why she only got one birthday every year.

"Kid, the Cloak of Levitation may be a sentient being with it's own will, but it cannot adopt an animal."

Peter gave the man the most deadpan look that Bethany had ever seen him make.

"I. Know. Which is why we need you to sign the paperwork. Didn't I say that? I thought I said that."

He looked questioningly at Cloakie, who nodded in agreement, and then went right back to petting the owl.

Stephen decided not to suffer any more of this lunacy, and waved his hands to open a portal to the Sanctum. Before he was able to fully step through, however, the Cloak had settled around his shoulders and dragged him back into the shelter's lobby. He directed his stern gaze at the Cloak.

"I don't care how much you love Harry Potter, you will not keep an owl in the Sanctum."

The Cloak folded both of it's lower ends together, in an imitation of a human folding their arms over their chest. Stephen pointed a finger right at it.

"Don't give me that look. We are not taking that owl home, and that is final."

Hedwig, (with a little whispered encouragement from Peter), took matters into her own hands (claws? Wings?) and gave the teen an affectionate headbutt, before flying off his arm and right through the still open portal, into the Sanctum. While Stephen was still trying to process this fully, his magical cloak fluttered in excitement and dove right after it's owl. The portal closed right behind them. Stephen stared.

Before he had the chance to chase after his wayward magical artifact, Peter was suddenly before him, shoving a bunch of papers and a pen into his chest.

"Great, doc! I knew you would come around, though there was really no need to get Hedwig to your home in such a rush! Now, let's just quickly take care of the formalities. You wouldn't want Bethany to think that you were kidnapping her animals, right?"

The wide, brown eyes looked meaningfully first at him, then at the older woman behind the counter, then at a still filming Ned.

Master of the mystic arts, Sorcerer Supreme, protector of the magical realms, Doctor Stephen Strange, let out a long suffering sigh, and grabbed for the adoption forms.

                       -----------------------------------------------------

When roughly twenty minutes later, a portal opened up in the sitting room of the Sanctum Sanctorum, through which stepped a thoroughly annoyed Stephen, Wong was already prepared with a cup of steaming tea.

"The Cloak and Hedwig are in the upper level, playing a game of tag." He quickly handed the cup over, completely ignoring the calculating eyes his friend was bestowing him with. "I have already placed different perches for our new roommate all over the house. The special bird feed is in the kitchen."

Then the older monk calmly sat down in his armchair, and resumed reading the thick tome of incantations before him.

"You were in on this, weren't you?"

Wong casually turned a page.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

Stephen swore loudly, took a sip of his tea, and vowed to find a way to get revenge.

[bnha-hcs]

Japan’s #1 Housewife - Chapter 1

“Tiki” you say “Why are you starting another series when you already have like 4 you haven’t touch at all during your absence”

Shhh I say it’s okay one day I’ll get to those even though I’ve been so dead. Plus I’ve been sitting on this idea for like a month and I need to get it out. Anyways here’s my new Aizawa X Fem Reader series Chapter 1 that literally no one asked for hrrrrrg

You’re Japan’s #1 housewife. Your quirk is to be able to make things larger or smaller to which you use the full extent of in your cooking specials on TV and other promotional appearances for commercials and product lines. If you need a bigger pot for cooking, you just use your quirk to make it bigger. If the pieces you chopped up are too big, you just make them smaller. You live in a large suite in the middle of the city with a spectacular view and are paid more money than you know what to do with. You’ve written many books since high school about cooking and how to manage a family of picky eaters in a mini series on an early morning talk show. It’s a busy life, and yet… You find yourself bored sometimes with what to do.

Despite you being called Japan’s #1 housewife you’re… actually not married at all. In fact you have all the suitors in the world coming after you and it’s everyday you have to sift through a mountain of love letters just to get to your real work. Your assistants are sweet enough, but sometimes it’s a little hard hearing about their love lives and how they’re all getting married. You’re much younger than a lot of the cooking hosts that you’ve been with on shows, and it’s been a question as of late of whether or not you’ve found yourself a lover and be the real housewife that your namesake suggests.

You were at an interview this morning on the news about a new recipe book you had come out with recently when they main hosts popped a series of questions. You had to sheepishly tiptoe around the situation and say that you hadn’t been thinking about it lately. It was true though, the thought never seems to pop up, and with your hands full with your work and any sort of charity work you can have your secretaries fit into your schedule… you were honestly too busy for a relationship right now. Until this afternoon apparently decided to prove you wrong. And today you realized that you shouldn’t have taken your “boring” life for granted.

It had been such a long time, and though you hated to admit it, you once thought you could make it at a hero. You had enrolled at UA for a while, but truth be told you actually couldn’t cut it. Your two best friends were so understanding of you when you decided you were going to transfer to a different set of classes. Even though you were super smart when it came to grades, it just didn’t work out for you when it came down to heroics. But today you had decided to catch up with your old friends. They were teachers at UA now, being full fledged heroes for years, and you couldn’t be prouder.

“Yooooo (Y/N)!” You heard Hizashi yell from the table at the cafe.

“Shhh!!” You hushed him while putting your finger to your lips. People were already starting to look over to you as they heard your name. “You can’t just yell like that!!”

“You seem to have forgotten who you’re friends with, (Y/N)”

You turned your attention to the second male at the table, your bag falling down your arm as you went to sit down in the third seat. Shouta looked the same as always - tired and ready for either a nap or 20 shots of espresso.

“I guess so, but you could try a little harder not to blow my cover.” You sighed, pushing your sunglasses up. “I’d rather not be swarmed at a cafe if we can avoid it…”

The two of them gave you a deadpanned look and you pouted a little bit. To be fair, it was your idea to meet up with them for some lunch, barely managing to fit this in between the three of your schedules. Being an adult was hard… You could’ve just met up at your flat downtown but you just felt like that was too… boring. It was nice outside too!! On a day like this you hated to be in a stuffy old room.

“Anyways… how have you two been? I hope your students aren’t driving you insane.” You sigh, fiddling with the ends on the menu as you looked it over. After a few moments you reached over to Shouta’s plate to steal some of his coffee cake before taking a sip of a cup of coffee that they had already ordered for you.

Hizashi and Shouta shared a look and you instantly knew that it was unfortunately not that easy. You had heard all of the things happening with the league of villains and all the attacks that happened. Especially after the fall of All Might, things at UA had been hectic to say the least. Seems like the days never let any of you rest.

“I’m sure you already know how things have been on our end.” Shouta mumbled  making you feel a tad bit bad for even asking. Even Hizashi seemed a little more worn down than usual as he just tiredly nods. You all share a sigh.

“But yo (Y/N)!! You’ve been up to a lot recently too haven’t you??” The blond suddenly asks, springing up in his chair.

“Oh you know… just the usual same old same old…” You mumble. “The press can’t seem to leave me alone about my love life.”

“Why don’t you just wear a fake engagement ring like every other single person your age. Maybe they’ll stop asking.” Shouta suggested. You squished your face with your hands as you thought about it

“It’s not that easy I have to actually HAVE someone related to it.” You sighed taking the ring you had gotten last week off your left middle finger, putting it on the ring finger to see how it looked. “But maybe I can try it…”

“You still haven’t found someone??” Hizashi asks in such large surprise that you can’t tell if he’s serious or not. “At this rate you’re going to die old and alone. I’ll light a candle for you, (Y/N).”

“Oh shut your face loudmouth.” You almost hiss at him. “I don’t see either of you with rings on your fingers either!!”

“Hizashi is too loud he just scares everyone away.”

“Hey that’s mean!!”

“Shouta’s kind of right though you are kind of-”

“IT’S WHO I AM.”

“Shhhh!!!” You’re laughing and trying to get Hizashi to stop screaming in the cafe. Multiple people have already been eyeing you this whole time making you uneasy. If your friend was going to continue being loud and lament about your teasing, you might have to take this elsewhere before-

“There she is!!!”

Ah shit.

In a flurry there’s a mass of reporters, cameramen, and photographers coming at you. You’re groaning and looking at your friends with such dread on your face that they can’t help but laugh. The crowd now coming every closer, you’re begging them to help get you out of here, but it looks like you’re all stuck as everyone begins to crowd around you. There’s nothing but strings of questions being thrown at you, some about your latest work, others about your next appearance on the hit new competitive cooking show, or if you think that you’ll still have brand deals with All Might after his big secret came out. But most of them are…

“Are you currently on a date with two of your suitors??”

“Who are these men that you’re with today??”

“Wait aren’t those two teachers at UA?!”

“Miss (Y/N), are you keeping a secret love life from the media?? When are you going to release your love interest??”

Oh what a fucking bother. You’re groaning even louder now.

“Oh no these two are just old friends of mine from high school and we just wanted to-”

“But Miss (Y/N) we saw you sharing a coffee cake with THIS man right here!! How do you explain that!!”

“It was an indirect kiss you two shared the same fork!!”

Oh gods is this a goddamn high school drama??? What are these reporters about anyways… Oh wait sHIT THE RI-

In a loud chorus of voices you hear all the people in the crowd are now seeing the new placement of the ring on your finger and it’s definitely NOT GOOD. You feel your soul leaving your body as you send Shouta a side glare. This was his idea!! Now you’re in more trouble than you wanted to be in right now, and you were sure it couldn’t get any worse. But of course it could!! Because this wouldn’t be interesting if there wasn’t some sort of sick twist at the end!!

Glancing over at Hizashi you can tell that he’s trying hard to hold in his laughter, and you could believe that him seeing his two friends being mistaken as being married was probably the funniest thing in his damn life right now. Especially because it’s Shouta, and the thought of that man ever being married to such a dedicated and well known housewife like you was… well, it was a fun thought to entertain wasn’t it? So why not help it along the way?

“That’s right folks you heard it first here!! Japan’s Number One Housewife is married to the underground hero Eraserhead!!!”

You and Shouta stop dead and look at each other with wide eyes, slowing turning to face Hizashi with such blatant rage and intent to kill that if this wasn’t a public place with crowds of witnesses… he’d definitely be dead. The two of you watched as reporters rushed over to the loud mouthed idiot that just sealed their fate, to ask him questions about you. You’re so embarrassed that you feel like you could die right here and now. There was no way you’d be able to get your ass out of this mess now. And as the cafe became more and more bustling with people it became more apparent that this wasn’t just a dream either.

It was a goddamned nightmare.

[a-common-haitian-name]

The Legend of Little Jane

Please do not distribute my work to other sites without my permission. This was a small assignment for school that is mainly for the purpose of getting feedback. It is a bit long though so please keep that in mind.

On November 19th, at exactly 11:24 at night, detective John Lynch was asked by his friend Nick to come over. The night sky was dark and dull, not a sole star in sight. The only sources of light were from the old, dim street lamps, flickering on and off repeatedly and revealing the secret city below. The lights revealed the dirty streets that was filled with tired men trudging through the streets, worn out from work or yelling on their phones, or soccer moms coming out of bars after breaking their sobriety, or addicts wandering around aimlessly, looking for their next fix, their clothes old and torn. He adorned a long brown trench coat, with black slacks, and black leather gloves before he went out into the night. John felt the cold, winter air hit his face as he left his old, and deteriorating motel room. It was only going to get colder, John remembered, and groaned as he walked to his car. His feet made splashes in the puddles from the rain, and he shivered as the icy water hit and seeped into his pants. The once shiny blue paint on the car was now chipping off on the sides. Scratches and dents aligned the right side of his car, ranging from long to short, deep to shallow, and the word destroyer was keyed jaggedly on the left. John couldn’t afford to get it fixed. John opened the door and watched as a few beer cans fell onto the pavement with a soft thunk. Some were empty and crushed, while others were half full and spilling onto the concrete. He could smell the old beer coming from the floor of the car. It was putrid and filling John with disgust. John promised himself that he would clean his car. John moved the trash and paperwork out of his way (he couldn’t tell which one was which) and started the car. While he waited for the car to warm up, he took a small, black, leather notebook the size of his hand out of the glove compartment and opened it up. The notebook was old, and John couldn’t remember how long he had it, or who even gave it to him. The edges of the book were curled in, and the once white edges of the book were now brown and crumpled. The cover of the book was bumpy and rough, like sandpaper. The words methane and fire were the first words he saw written in the book, next to acid and smoke. Some of the words were either scribbled in the book, almost to a point of unreadability, or they were written neatly and with care, perfect enough for Catholic school. John liked to write in the book. It kept him sane, and grounded. It was a way to avoid the dreaded reality of his miserable existence. John wrote 11:24 and went to see what his friend needed. At 11:45, John arrived at Nick’s house. It was an old Victorian house, bought because his wife was richer than both of them combined. The outside was a light blue, with many windows and white borders. They had once bright plants in the front of their yard, that wilted and lost their color, and had yet to be replaced. Nick was an old friend of John’s. He was a nurse at the hospital across their small town, and has a wife and 3 kids, 2 boys and 1 girl, all 3 years apart. John could barely remember what they looked like. A part of John wished he could have something like that. Nick was standing on his porch, pacing back and forth, his bare feet hitting the wood at a fast rate. The red wood under him squeaked like an old mattress as he walked. Pit pat. Pit pat. Pit pat. The rhythm replayed in John’s mind until he approached Nick, and Nick stopped pacing. Fast flashed through John’s mind, and he made a note to write it down later.

“John!” Nick’s voice sounded panicked, and he looked somewhat disheveled. His dirty blonde hair was all over the place, and his gray robe was opened slightly, revealing dirty gray sweatpants and an old, tight-fitting t-shirt.

“What is it Nick?” It was the first time he spoke in hours. His voice was almost gone, and his breath smelled like cheap liquor and breath mints.

“I need your help! There’s this girl who might not be safe! Her parents aren’t answering the phone when we try to call them, I’m really worried because it’s been a few hours, and... and...” Nick was talking too fast for John to understand, and John asked him to slow down. “Nancy, my wife, has been tutoring a little girl around Susie’s age,” Susie was his daughter, about 6 to 7 years old, John remembered. “Nancy gave the girl her number to call us whenever she needed something, like to be picked up or if she needed food, and she called tonight, well I think it was her because no one was talking on the other line, and I don’t know if she’s alright! She might be hurt or in danger or worse-” John stopped him from saying anything else. Nick tended to ramble when he was nervous. He would’ve talked for hours if John hadn’t stopped him.

“Nick, tell me where she lives.” John ordered slowly, as to not push him into another tangent.

“It’s in the woods, 20 minutes east of Old Al’s pitstop.” John thought back, trying to remember where that place was. Old Al was long dead, and with him went the pitstop. No one has taken care of it in years. The place was surrounded by overgrown vegetation, and its only visitors were kids going to drink and vandalize the place, or animals passing through. John wondered why anyone would want to live near t///here. Despite his skepticism he got into his car and drove to the house, though in the back of his mind, a voice was telling him not to go.

When John arrived at the house, an eerie feeling passed through him. The entire area around the house felt empty. There were no trees around the house, no animals making any noise, not even a car in front of the house. The house felt out of place, like someone just picked up a house and placed it down at a random spot. The outside of the house was a plain creme color, and vegetation crept up the sides, clinging onto nothing before falling back down, only to repeat the same process over and over again. Growth flashed through his mind. Write it down later, John reminded himself. John knocked on the giant, white door and watched as it slowly slid open, with no one on the other side. John peeked inside, checking to see if anyone was there.

“Hello?” John called, but he received no answer. His feet hit the fluffy blue welcome mat, and he wiped the mud off his shoes as he stepped inside. The house was as empty on the inside as it was on the outside. To the left of him was a kitchen, where everything was white and clean. No dishes in the sink or any leftover food on the counter. To the right was a living room with one small couch against the brown wooden floor. In the middle was a long hallway with three white doors. Probably a bathroom and two bedrooms, John guessed. There was nothing on the walls. There were no family photos hung up, nor where there any Christmas decorations put up early. There were no undecipherable drawings from children of houses or of their family, or any annoying toys that make noises that ring throughout the house. The walls were the same crème color as the outside, and the furniture wats the same shade of white. The house was completely silent except for the drip drop of the water from the sink, and the low murmur of the tv in the living room. In the middle of the living room there was a little girl. She sat with her knees up to her face and her eyes glued to the tv screen, not blinking even once. The child had wispy black, curly hair, which was cut into different, and choppy lengths. Her eyes were black, unmoving, and caught in a trance. She was wearing a pair of blue fairy pajamas that were old and seem to be becoming too small for her and had a bandage on the inside of her right arm, from a scratch or a fall, John guessed. Bruised, John thought briefly, before walking up to her. The girl was shivering intensely, and John couldn’t blame her. The house was freezing, and John didn’t spot a heater anywhere. He squatted down to her level and waved a hand in front of her face. She still didn’t move. John’s eyes flickered from her to the tv. She was watching an old black and white show, one that John couldn’t remember the name of. The same scene was playing repeatedly. A woman, pale and doe eyed, running through the halls, away from the fast approaching shadow that was going to consume her whole. John walked to the tv and turned it off. When he looked back at the girl, he saw that she was now staring back at him. “My name’s John. What’s your name?” She only blinked once and shrugged her shoulders. “Where’s your parents?” John asked her. She stared at him for a few seconds, still not blinking, and stood up slowly, stumbling as she got up. John noticed Jane written poorly on her leg, the lines jagged and rough. “Jane? Is that your name?” John asked again but got no answer. The girl walked past John, into the hallway, and stopped in front of the first door on the right. Jane (John guessed that was her name) stood there for a few seconds before turning the shiny yellow knob and opening the door. John pulled Jane aside and walked into the room. John then faced the unholy sight of two dead bodies on the bed. One man and one woman. They both had black hair and had olive skin. Their eyes were closed, and they both looked so peaceful. They weren’t dressed like they were ready for bed. The man was in pair of basketball shorts and had a t- shirt on, while the woman had on a bathrobe, which was slightly open, revealing the lingerie under it. The only thing that were alike between the two were their golden wedding bands. Husband and wife. John concluded. Parents. John looked behind him to see Jane just staring at the two on the bed.

“Nothing’s alright in the end...” Were the only words Jane spoke. John quickly grabbed Jane and left the room, spotting a propane heater on the way out. John called the police, and sat with Jane until they, and the paramedics, arrived forty-five minutes later.

“Propane poisoning, I’m guessing.” The paramedic told him, watching as someone took the now empty tank of the propane heater out of the house, two body bags following close behind. “We’ll be sure once a full autopsy is done... Is that the daughter?” The paramedic tilted his head to Jane, who was sitting quietly on the ground right in front of the tv. John nodded. “So sad to see someone experience something like this at such a young age.” John decided he would drive Jane back to the police station. John led Jane to his beat-up car and opened the back door for her. Jane moved the liquor covered papers and beer bottles to the side and sat in the car. John closed the door and went to the driver’s side, where destroyer was waiting for him. John got in his car and looked back at Jane one last time before driving off. Fast, growth, and bruised ran through his head, replaying over and over until the loud sound of the rain drowned it out. John was brought back to reality when he heard the low rumble coming from the back.

He looked at Jane through the dirty mirror and asked her, “Are you hungry?” John received a small yes in response, and John decided to visit a small diner nearby. Betsy’s, John thinks the name was. The diner had been there even before John was born. It was a small diner, big enough for 10 tables and a kitchen. It was white and always smelled of cleaning supplies, cheap food and cigarettes. It was starting to rain when they arrived at the diner, and they had to run inside. They sat at a small booth in a corner. “What do you want to eat?” John asked Jane. She shrugged. John ordered her french-fries. He ordered himself a beer, which arrived quickly. The two were quiet while they were waiting for Jane’s food, until John decided to break the silence. “Jane do you know what happened to your parents?” He asked.

“They died...” Was her answer as she shifted in the plastic red chair. Pit pat. Pit pat. The rain became louder as it hit the window and dropped to the ground. Jane’s food arrived, and she started to eat it slowly.

“Do you know how?” It was a long shot, and John didn’t know why he was asking her these questions. He blamed it on the liquor.

“They were fighting,” She started, tearing a fry into 3 tiny pieces with her little hands before eating it. “I’m not supposed to move when they fight.” There was a tinge of sadness in her voice. Pit pat, pit pat, pit pat. That eerie feeling from earlier was back now.

“Did you move?” John asked. Jane only nodded her head, looking down at her plate.

“I didn’t want to hear it anymore. They were so loud, all the time. I wanted it to stop.”

“What did you do?” John asked. His beer was gone now, and he was starting to become anxious. A tear rolled down her face, and she made no room to wipe it away.

“I took the tank... I remember father telling me not to breathe too much of it because it could hurt me, but I saw father using it all the time, so I thought I could do it too.” John took notice of how she said father instead of dad or daddy. Formal pounded into his head. “They came into the room and pushed me out. They were still fighting. The tank was still on.” Jane stopped eating and was full blown crying now. John could imagine how it played out. The parents, still unnamed, stormed throughout that one-story house in the middle of nowhere. One was probably chasing and yelling after the other. Little Jane was sitting tightly in front of the tv, probably put there to distract her. Later, the tv is turned down, while the yelling continued. For how long, John didn’t know. They had probably taken the argument to the kitchen or outside, close enough for Jane to hear it. Jane, most likely at her limit, took the tank from the kitchen or a toolshed in the back. John wondered how long it took Jane to drag the tank to the room. Four, maybe five, minutes. He imagined Jane turning the gas on, waiting as the gas quietly filled the room. Pit pat. Pit pat. Pit pat. John imagined the parents coming into the room, one of them yanking Jane by her arm and taking her out the room. They were still arguing and probably weren’t paying attention to the open tank. They probably argued themselves to sleep and died through the night. Dark came to him.

“Why didn’t you say something?” The sound of the rain became unbearable at that moment. Jane, her tears now gone, didn’t give him an answer, and only looked out the window next to her.