#nothing better to do cause i’m all alone (besides the mandatory nurse in my room) so might as well get some writing done for y’all!

[elliesbelle]

part 2 to “while i die” is in the works, my loves 🤍

lmk if you’d like to be added to the taglist, but it’d be better for us both if you follow my blog where i reblog all my works @belleloves! be sure to turn notifications on to get notified when i update! 🤍

[justimajin]

It’s a Reverse Basket ◍ Part 17

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU

⇝ Words: 6k

⇝ Summary: Basketball is your everything; your passion for it running deep and wanting nothing more then to play the sport. Problem is, the sport isn’t offered competitively to girls and with that, all your hopes immediately fizzle away… …but who ever said that was going to stop you?

⇝ Warnings: pg13; *casually throws in a load of angst*

gif credit.

⇝ Previous Parts: Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

⇝ Next Update: Tuesday, July 7

Jungkook is dying.

His nose is congested to the point where breathing no longer feels like an easy option, his pink eyes are watery like he’s been crying for hours and his chest aches from the constant coughing fits he’s been having.

He’s dying and it appears that his friends have started to notice.

“Jungkook!” The high pitch of Taehyung’s voice makes him wince, the latter rushing over to him in his dire state, “Are you sick?!”

As if the thermometer sticking out of his mouth and the blanket wrapped around his shivering body wasn’t enough of a dead giveaway, Jungkook lets out a guttural groan to confirm it. Taehyung’s eyes widen and he instantly dashes away only to leave Jungkook and his feverish temperature alone.

“Y/N, where are you??” Taehyung’s voice is loud enough to be heard within the walls, “Jungkook’s sick!”

“He’s sick?” Your much calmer voice questions, a set of soft footsteps growing louder in the direction of his room. You appear at his door, eyes concerned and stature hesitant as you approach his bed and place your palm against his forehead. “His temperature is really high..…”

You quickly jog back into the kitchen, Taehyung darting his eyes between you and Jungkook in confusion. He opts out for staying by his dear friend’s side, watching you re-emerge with a glass of water and some medication you’ve picked up.

Jungkook gratefully exhales once you place both things in his hands, downing the water as fast as he can. Handing the glass to Taehyung, he slumps against his pillow and closes his eyes, both of you worriedly glancing at each other.

“He should rest for the day, don’t let him do anything and make sure he eats at a proper time.” Taehyung nods with the information you relay at him, only now noticing the large bag that’s been strung around your torso.

“Are you going somewhere?”

You hum, “I’m visiting someone.”

“Is it Yoongi?” Taehyung questions right away, an intrigued brow raised up. You hurriedly shake your head, a bit flustered.

“U-Uh no…” You stare at Jungkook again, taking in how pale his skin is and the way he keeps shivering, “Take good care of him when I’m gone though.”

“Roger that.” Taehyung grins, “I’ll get Jimin and Hoseok to help me, so don’t you don’t have to worry.”

You smile, pacing back to the kitchen to retrieve a wet towel. Catching a glimpse of Jungkook’s sick form one last time, you plant the towel on his forehead and decide to back away, ignoring the concerned feeling weighing down in you.

After making Taehyung promise to text you every two hours for an update, you head out, hoping that Jungkook has been left in good hands.

***

You’re gone by the time Jungkook opens his eyes.

He doesn’t have the strength to even fully open them, only mustering to weakly peek through the crack of the door when there’s an echo of voices and a beam of light coming into his room from the kitchen.

“What about carrots?! I’ve heard they’re good for sight!” Hoseok blares, a thudding sound that was similar to a knife cutting against something resonating through the walls.

“I don’t know if Jungkook likes carrots though….” Jimin whispers.

“Of course he likes them! He’s practically a bunny!” Hoseok protests, inducing a sigh from Jimin. 

“I’ll go check on him for now, just make sure Taehyung doesn’t burn something in the meantime.” He quietly says to Hoseok.

“I heard that Jimin!” Taehyung accurses right away. Jimin opts out for hurriedly rushing away until he reaches Jungkook’s room, shutting the door with a relieved exhale. He turns only to be surprised at Jungkook’s new awakening, hurrying to his side.

“You’re awake!” Jimin cutely exclaims, Jungkook’s heavy breathing telling him the latter wasn’t fully functioning just yet. When Jungkook lifts his hand, Jimin instantly takes it and helps him straighten up, swiftly propping up his pillow so he can lean back properly. “Are you hungry? Taehyung was going to make you some porridge.”

Jungkook abruptly chokes, breaking out in a cluster of coughs. Jimin grabs the water bottle resting on his desk, quickly handing it to him.

“Don’t worry Jungkook, Taehyung’s been practicing cooking. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Although Jimin gives the impression of an encouraging friend, he truthfully is worried about what Taehyung will create, hoping that having Hoseok constantly monitoring him will bring some good.

“Do you want me to bring the nurse here?” Jimin questions with Jungkook still not looking so great. There’s a layer of grogginess to him, like he’s been in an eternal slumber only to have woken up now. His large nose has also been entirely covered in a hue of red, the sniffles appearing to not leave him any time soon. 

Jungkook promptly shakes his head and Jimin sighs, knowing that he was simply being stubborn at this point. The only reason he didn’t want to see the nurse is because he would definitely be issued a note that would cause him to miss the upcoming practices – the exact ones slated to start gearing all of you up for the upcoming championship.

However, it doesn’t take away the concern Jimin has if Jungkook’s in such a state, rest and time off being mandatory if he wants to even get better.

Suddenly the door of his room comes barging open, Taehyung dressed in his signature apron with a tray in his hands. Hoseok hurriedly follows behind him, the scared expression on his face contrasting the content one Taehyung holds.

“I made you porridge from my own hands Jungkook!” Taehyung cutely exclaims, placing the tray down and spooning out some to him.

Jungkook weakly moves to take it, his eyes flickering across the terrified looks Jimin and Hoseok throw at each other when he gulps it down. His features scrunch up, twisted as if he had eaten something incredibly bitter and chalked.

“W-Why is there so much salt in it?” He crocks, coughing to have it stay down as Taehyung spins around and stares at Hoseok and Jimin confused.

“Is there too much salt?” He raises a spoon to both of them and they cower away.

“We’re good! If Jungkook says it’s salty then it's probably salty!” Hoseok pipes up, backing out as much as he can.

In the midst of this, Jungkook sighs, a strong feeling inside him telling him that it was quite possible for him to die at the hands of his friends instead of the cold he was stuck with.

After changing out of your clothes, you pat down the simple white dress you wear and adjust your falling locks. Peering at your watch, you recall Yoongi telling you that he would pick up by the side of the school.

“Hey.” You look over your shoulder to see him dressed in a simple black dress shirt and jeans. It’s different from what he usually wears, having become too accustomed to seeing him in either a jersey or shorts and beanie combo.

“Hey.” You smile, gliding over as he takes your hand.

“It’ll take about two buses to get there.” Yoongi informs you, leading you along the sidewalk until you see a station come into view, “An hour max.”

You hum, carefully treading through the crowd in order to get aboard the bus. Yoongi helps you climb on and swiftly grabs a seat, letting you take the one beside the window before he’s plopping down beside you.

Darting your eyes outside the window, you eagerly take in the view. Living at your high school has it’s own set of perks, but one of the biggest disadvantages is that you don’t really get the opportunity to explore aside from games.

You feel something poke your shoulder, whirling to see Yoongi gazing at you. He raises his hand, his fingers outstretched.

“There’s five of us.” He begins, “Me, Yoonji, my older brother and my parents.”

You nod, his debriefing almost sounding like he was explaining a game strategy to you. “You’ve already met Yoonji, she’s the youngest and in middle school.”

“My older brother graduated from university recently, he’s quieter but easier to get along with in comparison.”

You smile, recalling how it wasn’t hard to click with Yoonji because of her resemblance in both appearance and personality to Yoongi, “I really wanted you to introduce you to him today.”

Frowning when he stops, you can’t help but wonder, “What about your parents?”

Yoongi’s form stiffens next to you, his eyes avoiding yours and that’s when you remember how he explained his parents getting in the way of his basketball dream. A part of you contemplates if this is the first time he’s going back home, the answer only lying ahead of you in one hour’s time.

Jungkook’s eyelids flutter, barely conscious after being fed all of Taehyung’s disastrous porridge. His stomach aches like it’s eaten something that it probably shouldn’t have been consumed, the concoction somehow lulling him back to sleep once he passes out again.

“Jungkook!” The sounds of shoes squeaking alert him, whirling around to see a young man with light brown hair and dressed in the same white jersey he wears, “The championship is coming up! Aren’t you excited?”

Jungkook shrugs. He wasn’t filled with as much excitement as he was with nervousness, the day’s slowly counting by.

“Not really, I still have more practicing to do.” He mumbles, trekking over to grab a basketball. Yugyeom frowns, pacing after him.

“Why don’t you practice later? We were going to grab dinner in a while.”

Jungkook ponders the offer, wondering if he can put off practice for tomorrow until someone struts in.

“There’s no point in asking Yugyeom, nothing gets in between Jeon and basketball.” Another voice nearby snickers at him, Jungkook’s eyes morphing into a glare as his grip on the ball tightens.

“Don’t say that Minhyuk.” Yugyeom turns to Jungkook with a smile, “So no then? Practice instead?”

Jungkook solemnly smiles, “After the championship is over.”

Yugyeom nods understandably, walking over and looping his arm around Minhyuk. Jungkook scowls when the latter throws him a dirty look, sending a distasteful message that he doesn’t need to see.

He wishes Yugyeom would stop hanging out with Minhyuk and his friends, but he knows he can’t help it when they’re all unfortunately on the same team. Letting out a sigh, he resumes shooting hoops. 

~

Jungkook can’t believe what just happened.

Moments ago, he was in the fast-paced environment of the game, the crowd roaring as he effortlessly slides through players missing gaps and consistently lands points. Another moment he’s lying on the ground, his ankle and knee painfully throbbing.

“We have an injured member!” The coach calls out, the referee blowing his whistle. Jungkook notices himself being lifted, his eyes barely making out who it is until his coach and Yugyeom comes into view.

Yugyeom is signalled to head back into the game as Jungkook is sent over to the nurse, but his blood boils when he catches the faint smile drawing on Minhyuk’s features before everything goes blank.

~

He ends up missing the championship.

Everything passes by a blur that day and when he wakes up, he discovers that it was suggested he be replaced to continue the game forward. He’s missed the opportunity he’s been training for, tossed to the side simply because of an injury.

Yoongi has a small house.

It takes you about fifteen minutes to reach it, being the last of many on the road. Intricate stone steps lead you to the entrance, where you notice the abundance of plants surrounding it, ranging from growing fruits and vegetables to plush flowers and daisies.

Someone is already sitting on the porch, legs crossed and a book tucked in her hands. Her gaze slides over to you once you emerge from behind Yoongi.

“Y/N.” You warmly smile and the book Yoonji was reading is discarded as she gets up, dusting off her skirt and sending a narrowed glare at her brother. “Took you long enough.”

Yoongi doesn’t even say anything back to that, simply quirking up an eyebrow. He reaches for your hand again and leads you to the front door, making you a bit flustered as you’re literally holding hands in front of Yoonji. She doesn’t seem to notice though, merely concentrated on unlocking and twisting the knob.

Once the door is shut, you take a look around.

It’s warm and cozy, a light brown theme overtaking the home. You find there’s more plants set aside inside the house, but it isn’t as much as you found outside. Other than that, it’s extremely clean too, not a speck of dust in sight.

“I tried cleaning up a bit.” Yoonji acknowledges when you survey the home, “Wait here, I’ll go find everyone.”

You nod and Yoonji leaves. Your eyes are still glued to the home’s layout, as if you were discovering a piece of Yoongi that was carefully tucked away.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Yoongi lets out a nostalgic exhale and you hum.

“Is this your first time coming back…?” You ask quietly, cautiously eyeing him to make sure you weren't prying too much.

“Yeah….” Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, growing dismayed, “I haven’t come back here since–“

“Yoongi?”

Both of you pivot to the sound of shuffling down the stairs, a young man suddenly appearing. His confusion flickers into recognition, and that’s when he’s instantly tugging Yoongi into his arms.

You giggle as Yoongi becomes flustered, hugging the man back and throwing a playful look at you when he hears your laughter. He suddenly seperates from him, curious eyes rolling to you, “Oh! Whose this?”  

You’re about to introduce yourself but Yoongi takes the words right out of your mouth.

“This is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

The man’s eyes light up at that, “Really?” You timidly nod and a giant smile breaks through him, “That’s great! I’m Min Junki, Yoongi’s older brother.”

Your eyes light up in surprise. While Yoonji looked like an exact replica of Yoongi, his older brother’s appearance is drastically different. You can suppose they have the same eyes, but other than that you wouldn’t have even guessed they were related.

Yoonji suddenly reappears, her eyes darting over in surprise. “Oh, you found Junki.”

Junki smiles and that’s when Yoonji steps to the side, a much older woman coming forward behind her.

You blink as she draws closer, her arms crossed and a glare set in her eyes. Her hair is longer and curler in comparison to Yoonji, a set of glasses resting on her nose and a long purple shawl draped over her shoulders. She has the same eyes as the rest of the people in the room, her appearance matching more with Yoongi than anything.

She doesn’t acknowledge you though, rather her menacing glare is set on someone else entirely.

For a moment, no one speaks. Yoongi and her continue to stare at each other, until she finally opens her mouth.

“You look like a boiled dumpling.” She scoffs, tugging her shawl closer. Her eyes then land on you, causing you to recline a bit behind Yoongi, “Who are you?”

“His girlfriend.” Yoonji pitches in, resulting in her frowning even more and suddenly giving you the urge to disappear.

“Hm.” She spins around without another word, heading into the kitchen. You’re not sure what to take from all this, but when Yoongi gently ushers you to sit down with him, you know he can sense the puzzlement stemming from you. 

Junki and Yoonji do the same, already growing comfortable with your presence despite only knowing you for a short period of time. They start throwing out questions back and forth, sparking your interest in them as well. You discover that Yoonji can be extremely sarcastic and ruthless, but her somewhat intimidating stance hides the childish side she has when Junki steals some of the snacks she was eating and passes them over to you with a smile as she pouts.

Junki on the other hand, contrasts all of them. He can be incredibly quiet like Yoongi but just like he said, he’s easy to get along with. It’s obvious to decipher that he’s the oldest as well, concern immediately sparking up on his features whenever Yoongi is brought up into conversation. 

“I heard you guys had a game recently that Yoonji went to.” Junki explains, “How was it?”

You beam, “It went great, we ended up winning.”

Junki’s smiles, “That’s good to hear, did your family get a chance to see you too?”

You falter a bit at that, a hand already placing itself on yours. You shoot Yoongi a grateful look.

“My family actually doesn’t know I’m attending this school…”

Yoonji stares at you in surprise and Junki frowns. Yoongi simply stays put, as if he knew what was about to come.

“You can say I’m doing something they won’t approve of.” You wistfully smile, catching Junki’s eyes flickering over to Yoongi. The gesture makes you do the same, noticing that although Yoongi was sitting right next to you, it seemed like his mind was somewhere else.  

Your eyes wander over to the staircase, recognizing that there’s still a soft sound of footsteps right above your heads.

When Jungkook comes to, there’s a woman standing at the foot of his bed with her arms crossed.

His brows furrow, mouth opening to say a string of words. A thermometer is being shoved into it before he can, loud stomps echoing through the room.

“A high fever.” She mumbles, “Along with a stuffy nose and a sore throat.”

She gestures at the piles of tissues collecting near his bed and the water bottle resting on his desk.

“What...a-are you…doing here…?” Jungkook croaks, his voice barely making out. 

“I was called.” Soyoung steps to the side to reveal three very concerned faces, all glued to Jungkook’s dreary form. “By them.”

“Sorry Jungkook…” Jimin whispers, head lulling down in shame.

“After Taehyung’s porridge, you fell asleep and looked even worse.” Hoseok explains, “We had to call her here.”

Jimin nods and Jungkook lets out a sigh. This was the last thing he wanted.

But then his sight scans across the room, taking in how Jimin occasionally concerned glances at him while Hoseok darts his eyes over to what Soyoung was scribbling down on her notepad for Jungkook. Taehyung stands with them, curiously peering into the kitchen where he still has a bowl full of hearty porridge left.

He cracks a smile, wondering how long it’s been since his own team was so worried about him.

“Fine.” Jungkook mumbles, turning his head to Soyoung, “You take a look at me and if I need to stay in my dorm for a couple of days, I will.”

“That won’t be necessary.” As Jungkook’s eyes spark up in confusion, Soyoung points down to her notepad, “I’ve prescribed some helpful medication. Just drink a lot of fluids this next couple of days and you’ll be fine by the time you guys head for nationals.”

His eyes perk up at that, a loud cheer erupting into the room. The three individuals from his team are ecstatic that he’ll be joining them for their final game, something that doesn’t let the smile disappear from Jungkook’s lips.

Night falls and preparations for dinner commence. 

Junki had initially offered to go out for dinner when Yoongi’s mother remarked that she wasn’t expecting any extra guests, however at the suggestion she interjected and said she’ll see what she can do. Yoonji goes upstairs and Junki talks to Yoongi, leaving you to be alone in the kitchen as you help her set the table.

Her back is turned as she plucks out dishes from the cabinets, with you swiftly moving around the table and arranging everything.

“Is…” You pause, wondering if you had heard her say something, “Is he eating well…”

You stop for a moment and hum. “And is he doing okay….with basketball and such…”

The way she says basketball makes you wince, as if simply getting it off her chest was too much to bear.

“He is.” You reply and her shoulders sink down, like those questions had been weighing far too heavy on her.

That’s when she swivels around, bringing the remaining dishes and assisting you with placing them around the table. Once you’re done, you turn to go find Yoongi but her arm snaps onto your wrist, holding you in place.

Your eyes light up if she needs anything else, but the guilt painted over her features has them contorting instead.

“He hasn’t come back ever since he left.” She quietly mutters, her eyes filled with dense regret, “But he came back t-this time, with you…”

Your eyes warm understandingly with the words, “If he ever needs something, p-please let me know.”

A tender smile lines on your lips and you place your hand on top of hers, “Of course.”

She reciprocates your smile, finally appearing to be on the same page as you. Facing away from you, a light scoff leaves her lips.

“Aish Yoongi-ah, where did you find yourself such a nice girlfriend?”

Her words make you blush and she chuckles, leaving your hand. You go on to search for Yoongi, darting your head left and right, but to no avail do you find him. Instead, you bump into someone else.

“Y-Y/N!” Junki nervously laughs, “Is something wrong?”

You hum, “Where’s Yoongi?”

“Uhh he should be back soon– oh there he is!”

Your eyes widen when Yoongi emerges from the staircase, his cheeks red and his fists clenched. You tap his shoulder and the look in his eyes when he turns around almost makes you jolt in fear, only for him to rapidly blink it away.

“What happened?” You whisper, the hostility radiating off his form growing more and more apparent. Yoongi merely shakes his head, taking your hand and leading you away.

“Come on, let’s go have dinner.”

You nod but can’t help notice how incredibly coarse his voice is.

***

By the time dinner rolls around, a seat is left empty in the corner.

You’re sitting on a chair that Yoongi’s mom pulled out from the attic and the one you were originally going to sit on has been tucked away once his mom insisted you sit on a different one.

When a light-hearted conversation is started by Junki at the table, Yoonji pops in with her own sarcastic remarks. Yoongi’s mom occasionally pitches in, letting out low chuckles and then pestering Yoongi to eat more by sliding a whole bowl of rice over to his side. Yoongi protests, but then his mother proclaims that he doesn’t even eat enough rice and he sighs defeated, spooning it out in front of her as a way to show he was eating it.

It makes you smile but you can easily tell the difference in Yoongi’s posture. It’s almost like he’s forcing himself to eat, a cutted edge to his tone that reminds you of the time you had argued over the game with Seokjin.

Your gaze shifts, glancing at something else entirely that no one in the room seems to address.

The empty seat in the far corner is starting to bother you.

With a deep sigh, you get up. Everyone suddenly stares at you, even Yoongi.

“I need to use the bathroom.” You mutter, Yoongi’s mother rising from her seat and then gently ushering you where to go. You gratefully smile, following her directions for the most part.

That is, until you suddenly take a sharp right turn.

Your footsteps are quiet, no one noticing that you’ve long disappeared into the spiraling staircase instead.

You’re met with six doors when you reach the top. You assume the four bigger ones belonging to individuals of the family, the smallest one being another bathroom.

And you assume the one that’s slightly cracked open unlike the rest if where you need to be.

A knock resonates on the door’s room.

“Come in.” A deep voice rings through the thin layer of the frame, your eyes widening once your suspicions have been confirmed. With another deep breath, you take a step inside and shut the door fully.

The man sitting at the desk stares at you strangely in glasses, like he hasn’t been expecting anyone to come through the door. His appearance matches with Junki’s more than anything, but his posture is a lot similar to the one Yoongi currently holds.

You ask the question that has been sitting on the tip of your tongue.

“Are you Yoongi’s father?”

His stare on you suddenly narrows, so characteristically similar to what his son would do. He darts his gaze back to the papers sprayed across his desk, two heavy words escaping him.

“Please leave.”

You take a sharp inhale, brows furrowing. 

“Min Yoongi. Bangtan Sondeyeon’s Ace Captain that’s returned for five consecutive sessions. Holds a record of 15 points and 3 rebounds and has led several teams into victory thanks to his rigorous training. He aims to head into nationals soon with his current team.”

His father frowns, “Why are you telling me all this?”

You softly smile, “I thought hearing your son’s accomplishments would help understand why he decided to pursue basketball in the end.”

He has a similar reaction to his wife at the word, but his is filled with more anger compared to hers. “He’s going to get nowhere if he keeps attending that high school and he’ll end up regretting the day he didn’t listen to me.” His gaze intensifies on you now, sharp words being spat out, “I don’t suppose you’re also interested in that same stupid game he plays?”

Your eyes sink in dismay, “I suggest you leave, there’s no way I’m going to accept his decision.”

When his father resumes back to his work without another word, you remain in defeat. Pivoting on your heels with a sigh, you begin scrambling in your mind for anything else you can say to change his mind, but unfortunately, you draw a static blank.

Your feet come to a halt. 

You suddenly turn around, his father’s eyes perking up in rage now.

“I told you to leave, where are you back ag–“

“You weren’t surprised.” You simply say, eyes darting around the man’s office now. Your words draw out confusion from him, a giant smile forming on your lips as you walk over to a shelf of his.

“When I told you about Yoongi’s accomplishments, you weren’t surprised.” Hope spikes up in you, the man scrambling to his feet the longer you stare at his broad shelf full of books and decor. That’s where you find it, your hands coming into contact with the smooth disk carefully placed into a casket.

The words are scribbled messily on the disk in a green marker, but it’s enough for you to flip it around by the time he makes his way over to you.

“Yoongi’s basketball games.” You whisper, a knowing smile on your features sd he helplessly stares at you, “All this time…you watched and even recorded his games. That’s why hearing his statistics didn’t surprise you.”

“H-How did you….” He mumbles, still not believing you found what he was desperate to hide.

“You’re Yoongi’s father.” You lightly laugh, placing it in his hands, “I assumed the apple and the tree wouldn’t be so far different from each other.”

His father silently stares at the disk, dejected. “I was curious….” He begins, “Curious to see what was so important about this blasted game that had my son going against my wishes.”

You smile, “He’s good at it, isn’t he?”

His father hums, “Very good. More than I could have imagined.”

“So why are you acting like he isn’t?” You question, painfully aware of what could have occurred in this office before you had arrived.

He sighs, “It’s complicated…”

“It shouldn’t be.” You softly say, “All it takes is for you to admit that what Yoongi did was right in the end…and that you’re proud of him.”

From the conversation you had with his mother, you can tell there much more to the story of his parents than Yoongi thought. Although you know this is something you know you can never expect from your own family, you don’t want Yoongi suffering through the same result because of his father’s stubbornness.

His father looks up from the disk and you encouragingly smile.

***

The last thing Yoongi expected when you returned, was seeing his father by your side.

He abruptly gets up his seat, his features harshly contorting and it only confirms to you that you ended up making the right call. His father doesn’t speak a word, simply sitting on the empty chair in the corner and beginning to grab some of the food spread out on a plate.

His presence causes a cascade of confusion, but then he utters words that have them all in surprise.

“When is your next game?” His father doesn’t move his gaze away from the table, but he catches Yoongi off guard completely, who can’t seem to muster any words for a response. 

“We’re actually heading into nationals in these upcoming weeks.” You beam and his father hums as Yoongi avertedly glances at you.

You throw him a sincere smile, though you don’t think it’s helped with the shock he’s facing. Dinner passes by after a few more conversations, mainly from Junki who asks if he can attend the next one with Yoongi’s father as Yoongi remains paralyzed from the thought. You end up answering most of their inquiries, swiftly taking a hold of everything when you don’t want any of it to become too much for him.

As you prepare to leave at the front door, Yoongi’s mother smiles and requests for you to come again. You thank her for the hospitality and Junki shakes your hand with Yoonji throwing you an intrigued smirk. Yoongi stands to the side beside you during all this, his attention getting captured when his father steps forward.

“Stand up straight.” He sternly commands, “You can’t be slouching all the time if you’re playing basketball.”

The comment seems to throw Yoongi completely off, who merely scoffs and finally gives a reaction, “I am standing straight.”

His father hums, standing beside his wife when you lean down to put your shoes on. Yoongi lets you lean on him as you struggle, sending a smile in his family’s direction.  

“It was great meeting all of you.”

“Come back soon.” His father states, “And don’t forget to bring him too.”

He points to Yoongi who rolls his eyes, opening the door to let you out. You step out and wave back, before the door completely closes.

You walk content beside Yoongi, “They all seem nice.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer you and you pause, wondering if something was wrong. You don’t pick on how he waits before the two of you are further away from his home, instantly spinning around before you almost walk into him.

He hugs you.

You blink, not expecting him to suddenly do that out of the blue, but the way he clings onto you tells you something else.

“I don’t know what you did or how you did it,” He mumbles, “b-but thank you…”

There’s a tender smile on your lips, patting his back soothingly the longer he hugs you. You pretend not to see the harsh trembles his back shutters through or the way he instinctively tightens his grip on you, simply left smiling and turning a blind eye.  

The door is swung open when you enter, locking it behind you and Yoongi. The sound of footsteps alert both of you, a patch of fluffy hair poking out.

“Y/N, you’re back!” Taehyung exclaims, his eyes landing on Yoongi, “AHA! So you did visit Yoongi!”

You smile, having long changed out of your clothes, “Something like that. Is Jungkook doing okay?”

Taehyung grins, ushering you to follow him. He presses a finger to his lips, gesturing for you to be quiet.

When the door to Jungkook’s room opens, you see the following: Jungkook is sleeping underneath a mountain of blankets, bowls of porridge, empty water bottles and tissues placed next to the bed. Jimin is unconscious at the foot of his bed and Hoseok is passed out on the ground, resting his head on one of Jungkook’s pillows. Soyoung sits in the corner, a book in her hands and glasses perched on her nose.

“Oh,” She peers up, “You’re back.”

“What happened in here?” You question, shuffling over to Jungkook to plant your hand against his forehead. His temperature has exceedingly dropped, shifting into a more normal number compared to before. The movement causes him to stir though, eyes fluttering open.

“Y/N…?”

“Are you feeling better Jungkook?”

He nods and Soyoung helps him get up. The movement causes Jimin and Hoseok to stir too, all eyes landing on you.

“Seems like you all took good care of him.” You smile but then Jungkook coughs, head lulling against his pillow.

“You should have seen what happened here while you were gone. I almost thought I was going to die at one point.”

“If you ate all my porridge, it wouldn’t have been a problem!” Taehyung exclaims, earning a whine from Jungkook as you chuckle, “Oh by the way Y/N, Yoongi’s asleep.”

Taehyung points behind him to the couch and you catch a glimpse of his head resting against one of the couch handles.

“Yoongi?” Jungkook wonders and you hum, facing Taehyung. 

“It’s fine, let him sleep.” You say with a faint smile, observing how his expression seemed a lot more content in comparison to this morning. “He’s had a really long day.”

[losingmymindtonight]

Ok, but speaking of The West Wing, that scene when Pres. Bartlett is being rolled into emergency surgery on a freaking gurney after being SHOT and is just like "If I don't speak to my daughter in the next minute I'm gonna start throwing punches" cause Zoey was throwing up... Have you ever seen something more Irondad than that?

I’ve been wanting to write this since I saw that episode and since one of my favorite authors brought it up, I must fulfill. And THEN I hear that it was your birthday, so now it’s MANDATORY that I offer you writing as a ceremonial gift. It’s not nearly as much as you deserve, but I hope it’s something!

WARNINGS: gun violence, hospitals, surgeries, mentions of vomit, mentions of shock

–

Tony had been in a lot of firefights in his time, but he never got used to them.

He didn’t really know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. If it showed that he’d retained some of his humanity, or if it proved that he had always been ill-suited to the superhero job.

Then again, when the popping of gunfire went off and the world exploded into shattered glass and screaming, none of that philosophical pondering really mattered anymore.

Someone shoved him to the ground within a second of the first shot. The breath whooshed out of his lungs, sidewalk digging into his palms. There was shouting in his ears, the scrabble of shoes right next to his face, and then he was being hauled up. Shielded. Pushed up, down, forward. His knees his concrete, grass, asphalt. He scrabbled to call the suit, but then he remembered that he didn’t have it. He didn’t have it.

Screw Ross and his laws. Screw the Accords. Just… Just screw it all.

More gunfire. To his left, someone screamed.

A car door swung open right in front of his face, and someone shoved him inside.

Tires squealed. The car jerked as it hit a curb.

He gasped in air. Someone was talking to his right. The same someone that had pushed him down, had been shouting.

In the adrenaline drop of after, he realized that it was Rhodey. Because of course it was Rhodey. Of course.

The Colonel (which was a title that would never sit right in Tony’s gut, because the man would always just be his best friend, would always be the nerdy 18 year old who scooped him up at MIT and never let him go) was sitting beside him in the backseat, hand resting heavy on his shoulder. He looked easy and calm, especially for a man who had just been shot at. That’s probably what the military did for you, he supposed. Maybe he should’ve enlisted after all, just like Howard had wanted.

Then again, Tony had always been terrible at taking orders.

“Easy, Tony. You’re alright.”

He shook his head, tried to get a grip back on reality. His ears were still ringing, he could still hear the popping of bullets in his skull. “What-What the he-”

“Tony,” Rhodey said, firm and commanding, “breathe.”

“I am breathing,” he snapped. 

He felt like he’d lost something. Like he needed to-

He snapped back into himself like whiplash. It hurt, to hit reality at full speed, but the pain was drowned out by the terror.

Peter.

He scrabbled for Rhodey’s sleeve, fingernails tearing into his suit jacket. “Peter, Peter, Rhodey-”

He didn’t have to say anything else. Rhodey lunged forward, grabbed a walkie-talkie out of the front of the car, reaching past a driver that Tony didn’t even know the name of to do it, and started talking into it so fast that Tony’s shock-addled brain could barely keep up.

“This is Colonel Rhodes. I have Tony in the car. Is Peter secure? Does anyone have Peter Parker?”

Crackle of static. Then,

“Affirmative. I have Parker.”

Tony could’ve fainted with relief. His head swum, vision blurring at little at the edges. His chest ached, too. Probably from hitting the pavement so hard. Or, heck, maybe it was just from worry. Peter was bound to be the death of him someday.

He jerked the walkie-talkie out of Rhodey’s hands. “Get him on the line. I want to talk to him.”

“Sorry, Sir,” the voice said, and Tony didn’t recognize it, which made his heart skip, because the last time he’d seen Peter, the kid had been with Happy, going ahead to the car while Tony stopped to shake hands with the crowds gathered outside the gala. “He can’t talk right now.”

The color leeched out of the world. If Peter had been hit… if… if Peter had been hit…

Rhodey leaned forward, not pulling the walkie-talkie out of Tony’s iron-tight grasp, but slipping his hand over Tony’s so he could use it. “Is he hit?”

“No, Sir, he’s not hit.”

The reassurance only settled some of Tony’s fear. “Then why can’t he talk?”

“He’s… He’s vomiting in the car, Sir.”

“What the he-”

Rhodey gripped his shoulder again, shaking him a little to catch his attention. “Easy, Tony, this happens sometimes.”

What an absurd thing to say. How could anyone be so calm about his child vomiting in a car. There was nothing normal about his child vomiting in a car. 

Had he mentioned that his child was vomiting in a car?

He grit his teeth until his jaw ached. “What do you mean this happens sometimes?”

“I mean that it happens,” Rhodey snapped. “He might’ve gotten an elbow in the stomach, but it’s probably just shock.”

Just shock. Shock. They’d just been shot at, almost certainly because of Tony, and now his kid was in shock.

He regretted everything. He didn’t even know what everything encompassed, but he knew that he regretted it all the same.

“Is Happy with him?”

There was more static. The empty crackling was driving Tony mad.

“Hogan put him in the car.”

His stomach flipped. “But he’s not with him?”

“No, Sir. But he’s got two security guards with him, Sir, as well as me.”

Rhodey’s brow furrowed. “Why isn’t Happy in the car?”

“Hogan put the kid in the car then stayed behind for the ID agent. He thinks he saw something, something that might be-”

They hit a pothole. Pain, sharp and hot, lanced up his side. He gasped, reaching up to grab the spot with a wince. He kept his eyes trained desperately on the walkie-talkie, as if he could stare through the plastic and see Peter on the other side.

He heard Rhodey take a sharp breath, and then his chin was being gripped, gaze jerked away from the only line he had to Peter, to his kid-

“Tony?” Rhodey’s eyes searched his face. There was something wet on his lips. “Tony, did you get hit?”

He blinked at him. What? Did he get hit? Peter was vomiting in the backseat of a car, doors and steel and roads away from him, and Rhodey was asking stupid questions like did you get hit?

Hands dragged up his side, came away wet, and suddenly, Rhodey didn’t look very calm anymore.

“Turn around!” He shouted to the driver. “We’ve got a GSW.” Rhodey was grabbing his face again, forcing their eyes together. “Tony, breathe. Don’t pass out.”

He glared. “I’m not gonna pass out.”

The car jerked in a 180, tires squealing against the damp pavement. Rhodey steadied him as they tilted.

“Where’s Peter going?” He gasped, vision still swimming from the sudden change of inertia. “Where are they taking Peter?”

“To the Tower.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To the hospital.”

“No, no. Take Peter… he needs to get looked at, too. And I wanna see him.”

I have to see him.

For a second, it looked like Rhodey was going to argue. Then, he just nodded, acquiescent, and used the hand not pressed against Tony’s abdomen to grab the walkie-talkie again.

“Bring Peter to the hospital. We’re taking Tony there now.”

Static. Then, the same voice as before.

“Affirmative. The kid wants to know why.”

Tony jerked a hand up, wrapped bloody fingers around Rhodey’s wrist. “Rhodey, don’t tell him.”

“He’ll find out when he gets to the hospital anyway, Tony,” he hissed, then spoke his next words into the walkie-talkie. “It’s a minor gunshot wound. Tell the kid that he’s conscious, talking, and still being a pain in my ass.”

He grinned.

Yeah, that’d make the kid feel better.

–

There was a stretcher and a medical team waiting for him as soon as they arrived.

Apparently, being a high-profile superhero billionaire won you some pretty good emergency medical care. Who knew.

It did not, however, win you any breaks in the pain department. Moving him onto the gurney still absolutely sucked. He’d been shot before, which probably wasn’t something a lot of people in the world could say, but he always seemed to forget just how much it hurt.

Rhodey was talking rapidly to one of the nurses as they wheeled him into the hospital and down a hallway.

“He’s got a GSW in his abdomen. Entry and exit wounds.”

The nurse nodded. “BP is 134 over 78. Pulse is 108. What’s his pulse ox?”

“98,” someone else shouted, just out of Tony’s view.

A man in a white coat was jogging beside the gurney. He was the first person to actually address him, smiling thinly. “Mister Stark, I’m Doctor Keller. I’m the trauma surgeon on duty. Considering the circumstances, everything is looking pretty steady. The exit wound is a good sign when it comes to any possible internal damage and we’re really liking your vitals.”

He felt like snarling. None of this was what he wanted. He didn’t care about the hole in his stomach. He cared that somewhere, his kid was vomiting all alone in the back of a car. 

“I swear to all that is holy,” he spat, “if I don’t speak to my kid in the next five minutes, I’m gonna attack someone.”

“He’s on his way, Tony,” Rhodey reassured.

“He’d better be.”

They rolled him into a trauma room, stopping in the middle and not wasting another second before swarming him. He heard the click of the stretcher’s breaks, the chatter of voices saying bits and pieces of things he understood and things he didn’t. Pairs and pairs and pairs of unfamiliar hands were touching him, poking and prodding and attaching monitors. There was a sting in the crook of his elbow as one of the nurses started an IV.

“Okay, Sir,” Doctor Keller said, patting his shoulder, “we’re just gonna get you stabilized. Do you have any medical conditions?”

“Well,” he drawled, “I’ve been shot. Does that count?”

Rhodey snorted.

He reached out and grabbed a nurse’s wrist as she reached for his IV, then re-found Doctor Keller’s face. “I want you to wait until I’ve seen my kid before you give me the anesthesia. Do you understand?”

Thankfully, the surgeon seemed to understand who was in charge in this situation, and it certainly wasn’t him or his staff.

“Of course.”

He let of the rest of the minutes blur by, nodding along with whatever Doctor Keller and his nurses said and trusting Rhodey to actually be paying attention.

Then the doors swung open, and a receptionist pushed Peter through.

Despite the pain still burning up his side, he could breathe again.

The kid was pale, shaking. His wide eyes blew even wider when he took in the scene in front of him: nurses and blood and all. 

“Tony?”

“I’m okay,” he called gently, pain getting shoved in the backseat, everything getting shoved in the backseat in favor of this kid, his kid.

“Tony?!” Peter repeated, more frantic this time despite Tony’s attempt to comfort him, and he rushed forward, slipping past the nurses and Rhodey and bumping into the gurney’s guard rail in his haste to get close.

“They didn’t hit anything,” he soothed, reaching up to brush some of Peter’s hair out of his face. “They’re just gonna look around and make sure.”

Peter’s eyes darted down to the bloodstain on his shirt and up to his face. “Are you… Are you in a lot of pain?”

“No. No, of course not.”

“Are you lying?”

“Of course he is,” Rhodey snarked, stepping up to grip Peter’s arm. “He wants you to tell all your friends how brave he was.”

“Duh. Plus, I want all these guys,” he gestured to the nurses, “to feed the reporters a story of how I was up-beat and joking around.”

“You are brave,” Peter said, looking close to tears.

“Peter, I’m fine,” he murmured, heart aching at how distressed the kid seemed. “I’m just so happy to see you, buddy.”

A nurse tentatively tapped his arm. “Sir? We really need to begin.”

“Right, right.” He glanced up at Rhodey. “Make him,” he jerked his chin towards Peter, “get checked out. Don’t let him talk you out of it.”

Peter was shaking his head, frantic. “No, no. I wanna stay.”

He smiled to cover up just how much the plea pierced him. “Won’t be able to fall asleep if you’re here, bud. You’re just too exciting to have around. Go on with Rhodey. I’ll see you when I wake up.”

“But-”

“Nuh-uh. No ifs, ands, or buts. I’m the adult here. Plus,” he reached out and poked Peter’s side, “I have a hole in my stomach, so I think I get the veto card right about now.”

“That’s not funny,” the kid whispered, weakly letting Rhodey pull him back, away from Tony, towards the doors.

“I thought it was pretty funny.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Well, I’ll work on my jokes.” He waved as Peter paused in the doorway. “See you later, squirt. Be good for Rhodey.”

“Don’t die,” Peter called back, voice hitching dangerously.

He nearly laughed at the absurdity of the request. “It’ll take a lot more than this to kill me, kid. Trust me on that.”

The doors slid shut, obscuring the kid’s face from view. And with Peter gone, with Peter safe, there was nothing left to cling to.

He gave the nearest nurse and thumbs up and let the drugs wash him down.

–

When he surfaced again, Pepper was there.

She smiled when she sensed his eyes on her, reaching forward to intertwine their fingers. “Hey, honey.”

He swallowed past the stinging in his throat. “Peter?”

“May’s got him in the waiting room,” she murmured, as if she’d been expecting the question. “They wouldn’t let him in until you were awake.”

He nodded, trying to kick his brain into gear despite the pain meds slogging through his system. “Is everyone okay?”

“There weren’t any fatalities. A few injuries, but nothing serious. Happy hit his head, but it’s only a minor concussion. They treated Peter for shock while you were in surgery, but he’s just fine now.”

The information absorbed slowly, but Pepper waited patiently. Always waiting, always patient.

“Did they catch them?”

“The gunmen?” It wasn’t an actual question, not really, but he nodded anyway as Pepper continued. “Yes. One’s dead, but the other’s been taken in for questioning.”

“Did they say why they did it?”

Something dark fell over Pepper’s face. “Yes.”

“And?”

She brushed a hand through his hair, biting worriedly at her lip. “You have to promise to stay calm.”

Foreboding was brewing in his stomach. Pepper never danced around an issue like this. She was always straightforward, bit between her teeth. 

“Please just tell me,” he whispered.

“You weren’t the target.”

He blinked, trying to process what the hell that meant.

“Then who was?”

“It was… It was Peter, sweetheart. They were trying to get Peter.”

Everything froze. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, wasn’t enough gravity to stop them all from peeling away from the ground. That… That couldn’t be. Peter wasn’t a target, wasn’t something that was meant to be viewed through a pair of crosshairs. Peter was a child.

“Why would they-”

Pepper was already talking, voice low. “Tony, these people are crazy-”

“But they tried to… they tried to k-”

“Yes, Tony, but we caught them, so they aren’t going to be able to try it again-”

“That’s not enough,” he hissed, bringing a hand up to cradle his tender side. “That’s… That’s not enough.”

“Oh, honey…”

“I want to see him.” He gripped the thin hospital sheets in his fist. “Please, Pep. I need to see him.”

“Alright,” she said softly, pushing to her feet, “I’ll go get him, but then you need to rest.”

“Wait. Pepper,” he called, stalling her in the doorway. “Does he know?”

Does he know who those bullets were meant for? Does he know that he wasn’t meant to make it into that car alive?

“No,” she said, voice grave.

“Let’s… Let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

She jerked her head in response. “I’m on it.”

–

It looked like Peter’s whole body went dizzy with relief when Pepper pushed him into the room. It seemed to be contagious, too, because the sight of the kid’s eyes, wide and hopeful, made his chest go fuzzy.

“See?” He grinned, gesturing at himself with his IV free arm. “Even old men can got shot and survive nowadays. Modern medicine is just that good.”

“You’re okay,” Peter breathed, and he sounded so airy and out-of-body that Tony was genuinely worried that he might just faint.

He kept up his smile, beckoning gently, trying to get the kid close enough that he could catch him if he did. “Sure am.”

“You’re okay.”

There was something manic filling up Peter’s gaze. Something that made Tony even more desperate to comfort, to protect. “Uh-huh,” he said, and the softness in his voice surprised even himself. “Everything’s alright now, buddy.”

The kid pressed himself up against the hospital bed’s barrier. “That was, uh, that was… scary.”

Peter sounded so small, and Tony was suddenly assaulted by the image of what the kid must’ve looked like while he was in surgery: frightened, alone, in shock.

He hadn’t forgotten how the kid’s uncle had died. And from the expression on Peter’s face, neither had he.

“Are you okay?” He asked, and he didn’t know entirely what he was looking for in an answer. Of course Peter wasn’t okay. At least, he wasn’t okay like that. Maybe he was asking for a different kind of okay. A superficial kind.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

He smirked a little, reaching out to lightly poke Peter’s stomach. “No more puking?”

A blush flushed through the kid’s face, and the embarrassment was a nice change from the fear. “Shut up. At least I didn’t get myself shot.”

The words hit a little hard, considering the conversation he and Pepper had just had, but he forced himself to hide it. “To be fair, that wasn’t actually in my plan.”

“But it still happened,” Peter whispered.

“Wow,” he said, cracking a smile, trying desperately to coax the dejected look off of the kid’s face, “it’s almost like you’re starting to understand how I feel every time you go out on patrol and come home with a stab wound in your gut.”

“But that happens when I’m Spider-Man,” Peter said, voice tight and stricken.

And Tony understood. He understood the hidden meaning in the words.

“It’s not supposed to happen when we’re outside of the suits,” he murmured, finishing the kid’s unspoken thought with a gentle voice.

“Yeah.” The kid gave a jerky nod, as if solidifying something in his head. “Yeah, it’s not.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. There was… There was nothing to say. Peter was right. Why should any kid ever have to reconcile himself with the fact that people were going to shoot at them?

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he whispered, because that was all he had. It was the only truth left that wouldn’t hurt.

The corner of Peter’s mouth quirked up, and it was the first sign of a positive emotion that the kid had given him since entering the room. “Yeah, well, it was obviously your fault.”

He smiled. “Obviously.”

They’d figure it out, he supposed. His wound would heal, he’d quietly exert whatever authority he could to destroy whatever organization had targeted Peter in the first place, and the terror still lingering in the kid’s eyes would fade and flicker and die. They’d gone through worse things and survived. Peter certainly had, as much as that fact pained him.

They’d figure it out, because they didn’t have any other choice. Because they had to.

And, of course, because they always did.

[kosmosian-quills]

Dire Diagnosis

A little something for @cirianne set in her Street Magic universe. A young Lilly Atwood is learning of her magical abilities, and the life of her and her family is about to change forever. This was a lot of fun to write, honestly, I love Gwen and the kids. Enjoy!

POV: Gwen

This hour, this hour right now, is the one chance at peace, quiet and relaxation that I am permitted before everyone returns home and delves the household into chaos.

I’m laid down on the sofa haphazardly, not quite caring about how one of my feet are hanging off the edge of the cushions. I’ve closed my eyes, simply enjoying the silence, not even focussing on a single thing outside of this deep breath I’ve taken after all my work today.

I’ve been for the groceries, I’ve done the laundry, I’ve cleaned the house and I’ve prepared dinner – all I need to do is heat it when Charles returns home later – but I need to pick Max up from kindergarten shortly, so I should enjoy this moment while it lasts. At least the twins can make their own way home alone. Is there anything I’ve forgotten to do so far?

No, Gweneth, absolutely not.

I should not think about this at all, I should be proud that I’ve got a little while to myself for now, I shouldn’t think about this. I need to relax -

Brrrrrrring, brrrrrrring, brrrrrrring!

I should have known it would be too good to last.

I groan in frustration as I make my way to the phone on the edge of the coffee table, briefly looking at the numbers. 12:04, Oakbank High School. I do a double take on the numbers before I accept the call, it’s entirely unusual for them to call home. Not rare – there have been occasions where I have been asked to pick up one of them when they’ve been sent home ill, or Peter has been acting up and needed me to speak with him and his tutors.

Peter, that’s what this is about. What has that boy done now?

Just a few weeks ago he got into a fight with some older students over something trivial, and I had to go speak to him there. He was sporting a split lip and a black eye, and I had to listen drowning in shame to the mother of the older boy insisting that my son apologise to hers. Peter had insisted that it wasn’t his fault. The older boy had been shoving him in the locker room and this time he ended up ripping his schoolbag, so he only did what he thought was a suitable punishment.

Peter’s a good boy, really, but the school could not simply overlook the fact that my son was the one to get violent here. I tried to stick up for him, I did, but the other boy’s mother would never let me get a word in edgeways. She was out for his blood, and I just sat there. I think I let him down that day, we had sat in silence in the car journey home and he simply locked himself away in his room when he got home. He wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to talk to him, and Charles didn’t fare much better when I told him what had happened.

I feel my chest tighten at the possibility of another incident with Peter, this time worse than before. I picked up the phone, slowly and carefully. “Hello, Atwood residence?”

“Good afternoon, I’m calling on behalf of Oakbank High School’s Nurse’s office, am I speaking to Gwen Atwood?”

The nurse. One of them is simply ill. I release the breath I had been holding in and continue to talk to them.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“I’m afraid we need you to come in, urgently, and collect Lilly. It’s serious, and we need you here as soon as possible.”

The fear that had been expunged from me came back to my lungs with a vengeance. I felt the blood drain from my face, and I was barely coherent. Something’s happened, something serious, Lilly has been hurt or injured or worse -

“What? Has something happened? Is she okay?”

“I’m afraid I cannot discuss it over the phone, how soon can you be here?”

I arrived at the school in record time, and was instantly led to the nurse’s office. There were three people inside, aside from my daughter, sat with her knees together and her hands clutching at the hem of her skirt, just above the knee. The moment I entered the room, she looked up at me – her face was pale, her green eyes wide with terror and tears streaming down her face.

The other three adults looked like the nurse, the Principal, and some other well-dressed person of importance, but I don’t know who he is.

She shot to her feet and wrapped her arms around my waist within seconds. “Mom,” her voice was raspy and weak, but she looked physically okay. I had expected her to be covered in cuts or bruises or blood or a sick combination of all three, but the only thing wrong with her here that I can see is how upset she is.

“What’s happened? Are you alright, Lilly?”

“I’m afraid, Mrs Atwood, that your daughter will not be attending our school anymore.” The Principal stated matter-of-factly. “Effective immediately.”

All of the air was sucked out of my lungs the moment he said that. Lilly, being expelled? No, absolutely not. I can’t believe this. She’s never even so much as had detention before. She’s a straight-A student, she works hard and tries hard and has good relations with her teachers, just what is going on here?

“What do you mean? Please tell me, what’s happened?”

The nurse was the next one to speak up, her normally gentle voice and calm demeanour suddenly filled with seriousness and… somehow, a little cold.

“You’re aware that the Council requires all students to undergo mandatory regular blood tests four times a year?” I nodded slowly in response. “Ma’am, your daughter is affiliated with magic. It’s not showing yet, but she will do in the next few months, and I’m afraid that the school policy on the matter is removal from public school.”

I look down at my daughter, who is trembling like a leaf and clutching at my coat, not looking at me directly, before I finally found my voice.

“Lilly? No, no that’s not right. How, why, why would it just be Lilly? She has a twin brother, surely he’d be…”

“A lot of progress has been made on the discovery of magic in young people, Mrs Atwood, but I’m afraid that the fact remains that we don’t know everything. Your son simply doesn’t show any signs of magic, we’ve even tested him twice with another sample to be safe. Your son shows no signs of magic at all.”

The person beside the Principal, the well-dressed one, spoke this time. “The decision stands, Mrs Atwood. I’m here to explain what happens now, because she cannot continue her education here, for her safety and the safety of others.”

Lilly. A mage, I can’t believe this, I honestly wish I was dealing with Peter’s disciplinary issues right now. I wish he had been in another fight. I would rather face that than face this.

Mages are dangerous, they’re nobodies, they’re evil things who only seek to cause harm, that’s why it’s so important to educate them.

But not Lilly, Lilly is and always has been a good girl, she doesn’t deserve this!

“You can’t, please, she’s just a young girl –“

“They all are, ma’am, but you have to understand that we need to ensure she doesn’t harm herself or others,” they reached into their suit pocket and handed me a card, “as you can see, I am a liaison for the Council in the Discovery of Mages. I’m here to make sure her transition is as smooth as possible for the both of you.”

“How… it can’t be true…”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ve had this same conversation with hundreds of mothers like yourself, and as rare as magic is, it’s real and it has awakened in your daughter. You understand that we cannot simply ignore this, it has to be reported.”

---

“Are you mad at me?”

Lilly broke the silence first, looking at me with her wide emerald eyes. Her voice had wavered, she sounded like she was going to cry, I caught that tremble as she ended her question.

“Of course not,” I didn’t look at her, mainly because I was still driving. I couldn’t take my eyes off the road for too long, “why would you think that?”

“Because it’s all my fault.”

“No, sweetie, of course it’s not your fault –“

“It is, Mom! I’m, I’m just like those monsters that keep making trouble. I’m just like them!”

“Lilly –“

“Dad always said he hated what mages are, they’re troublemakers and they need controlling and punishing for their crimes. Dad’s gonna kill me!”

I couldn’t take this anymore. Her sobs were breaking my heart. I punched on the hazard lights and pulled into the side of the road, slowing to a halt and turning to my daughter, leaning over the gearbox and handbrake to pull her close to me.

She’s crying into my shirt so heavily, she sounds so utterly terrified that I can feel her shaking as she sobs into me – I feel like I’m a truly terrible mother. There’s nothing I can do to stop what will happen to her soon – she’ll be taken away to one of the academies for her education, and the thought of her leaving home like this is truly awful to think about. I

“Listen to me, Lilly, I love you so much, and none of this is your fault. Do you understand?” I asked through my own tears, wiping them away quickly with my fingers. “Your father loves you, and you know he does. He is not going to kill you for this, because he knows you’re not like the others.”

“I’ve, I – I’ve heard th-things, M-Mom…” she mumbled, “ab-out the acad-demies…”

“They’re just rumours, Lilly,” I tried to sound reassuring, but I knew that the weakness in my voice did nothing to establish confidence in my daughter, “you’ll see Uncle Jason when you’re there though, you know it’s his job to look after the students.”

“But what if, if they’re not rumours, Mom? What if they’re real?”

I didn’t have an answer to that, and I couldn’t even do anything more to reassure her. We just sat there in the car for a while, and I wanted to keep her there forever, to not make her go through such an ordeal.

But I must.

[forevermizu]

Too many thoughts

For the past several day, I've been in a really bad rut mentally with my anxiety and depression. Finally kind of crawling out a bit but my brain just has too many thoughts going through it and it's been extremely overwhelming. So here's just a rambling vent post to try and get some of it out. And obligatory on mobile so please excuse any spelling or grammar issues.

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Sometimes I wonder if part of my problem with my mental illnesses is based on where and when I grew up. Middle of fucking extremely conservative, end of the D.A.R.E. era, anything different is scary and wrong and you are wrong for being different Midwest nowhere U.S.A. And of course, as my beautiful lady luck willed it, I was different.

My mom used to say all the time, "She'll break down into tears if you even look at her wrong." Not in those exact words mind you because my mom was way better at phrasing it than me. But she was right. I was "sensitive" to an extreme. If I saw someone glance as at me, it might look like I was given the side eye or a stink eye. My brain would jump to, "Oh god. They're mad at me. What did I do? I don't know! I don't want them to be made at me!" And I would start tearing up. Oh I tried not to, getting madder and madder at myself that I was crying which just made me cry harder. And the other kids noticed so I became a target to bullies. I mean, I also made amazing friends, but the bullies would see me trying not to cry and decide that I needed to be put down further because nothing makes little kid bullies feel better than the tears of another.

And, mind you, that I had been this way my ENTIRE childhood. Like, I literally do not remember a time that I was not this "sensitive". Heck, I remember being like 4 at preschool and running to my mom at pick up because it was my turn to lead the pledge that day and none of the other kids would do what I said and even the teacher just sighed and told me to forget it and sit down. Then I was mocked the rest of the day because of how bad it went and how hard I was trying not to cry.

But everyone just told me to suck it up. That I need to stop being a crybaby and then it would get better. Like I wasn't already trying. Hell, in first grade, I accidentally stabbed myself with a pencil and started crying because it fucking hurt. We were reviewing the alphabet because it was like the first week or so of school and this was back when kids didn't have to know how to read and write before kindergarten. The para was trying to help me while the teacher kept going and asked for the next kid to give an example of a word that started with C.

"Crybaby. Cause (me) is a crybaby."

I had just stabbed myself with a number 2 pencil and was bleeding. The para had just noticed that the lead had broken off in my hand was still there. I felt like I was justified in crying. But the rest of the class didn't agree cause they all laughed. My teacher did tell them that that was very mean and took away a few points for some kiddie reward thing but that was kind of it. The para found a bandaid and slapped that on my hand and we went on with the day. Never went to the nurse either. I still have that piece of pencil lead in my hand and can still see it. So yay for a permanent reminder...

My friends were awesome and tried to help me but I don't think any of us realized that something was actually wrong with me. Looking back, I realize that I've always had some form of anxiety. Doesn't make any of it better but it gives me something to explain why I was the way I was. But back then, I didn't understand that other kids didn't freak out from looks because they just saw them for that. Looks. They didn't see the train tracks as a foot trap or every clap of thunder as a sign that a tornado was going to come. They didn't worry about what others thought as much because they could push it off better than I could. But I couldn't.

I had trouble falling asleep because the quiet let my brain wonder. So I started watching TV till I passed out not to stay up, but because I wanted my brain to stay quiet. Well, mostly for that reason. Toonami and Adult Swim was awesome for little me.

Anyways, like I said, my friends were awesome but when I looked around and saw what looked like everyone else hating me, it did a number on my self esteem and confidence. I just wanted others to like me. So, when all the teachers would praise me for being so smart or that I did something well, I soaked it up. I was a teacher's pet. And when the anti-bully movement swept through and told us to tell a teacher whenever we see bullying. Bet you can guess what happened next.

I became what everyone called a tattletale. If my peers didn't like me but I thought my teacher's did, I always went to my teachers for any issue. A kid knocked over my sand castle? Teacher. A kid called me a bitch (yes. In elementary school). Teacher. I heard some girls gossiping about another student. Teacher.

I didn't really stop to think how the other kids felt being told on. I just went to the teachers because that was what I was told and they already didn't like me, so what was the worse that could happen?

Well, it got worse for one. And soon some of my teachers started getting annoyed with me and saying that I just needed to stop...being me. Grow a thick skin. Stop provoking them. "If you stop being a tattletale, they'll like you more. Nobody likes them."

But they were the ones that told us to come to them when we saw bullying or if we were being bullied.

By the end of 4th grade, I think the only thing that kept me remotely sane was my few friends.

But our town has an overpopulation of the schools. They are constantly trying to shift around how the kids are separated out because none of the buildings can handle them all. Like, there were 5 or 6 elementary schools in town but only one middle school. So to help integrate and break up the amount in the middle school, we had intermediate school for 5 and 6th grade. There were 2 of these. My best friend went to one and I went to another. The rest of my friends were in completely different classes and I never saw them.

Suddenly, I was alone in school. Very quickly, all the kids grew to hate me, throwing me down to the bottom of the food chain. And the teachers either didn't care or didn't like me. This is about when, looking back, that I think my depression really started to develop. From about the age of 10 to 12ish, I was alone. Sure i made new friends but not in my class so i still didn't have anyone in the room to depend on.

Another important detail is, at least for where I grew up, this was when people didn't believe that depression was an actual thing. That it was a made up illness for lazy people. That everyone got sad. They just need to sack up.

Looking back...I showed WAY too many signs of depression that I really should have been noticed and diagnosed back then. But everyone just thought I was "sensitive".

And, because of what was being expressed by others, I angrily denied that voice in my head that said that maybe there was something to this depression. That maybe that's what was wrong with me. But that couldn't be right. Even if depression was real, what did I have to be depressed about? I had three square meals a day, pets, my parents loved me and my sister and were still together, I didn't have any reason to be depressed. Even when my mom had a heart attack. Even when my grandma died. I still had so much. How could I be depressed?

This was about when mother nature threw her hand into the lot and granted me my horrendous period. Suddenly, now I was always anxious, always depressed, but I was also always angry at everything. I was just...done with it all. When my grandma passed, I had to go through mandatory "grief therapy" in school. It made me miss my bus every day so my mom had to pick me up and had to sit and wait until she finished work to go home. I think this was about when I started to maybe think something was wrong about me.

But what could I do about it? I had seen commercials about medication for depression late at night but D.A.R.E. had beaten me over my head that ANY drug, including medications, was the absolute worse thing you could ever do. Medications were for people that needed them to survive. That had "actual" things wrong with them. Any other use of any type of medication was bad and just like using crack or meth.

Besides...telling anyone that I needed help would only bother others...and really, the only thing I could think of that would make it any better was if I just stopped existing. But whenever those thoughts came up, my anxiety would spike because, y'know...death.

My sister says I finally grew a back bone at the end of 6th grade but not really. I was still just as "sensitive". My hormones just made me respond in angry instead of crying. I still cried, but I was just so angry all the time. This continued through 7th. I didn't ask for help because what could I even do? There didn't seem to be anything that would ever make any of what was going on in my head better and easier to deal with.

Then my mom had another heart attack and we had to move. We moved to a smaller town and suddenly, while everyone still kept their distance and I didn't fit in, I wasn't hated. I could breath a little because yeah I was different, but there weren't as many others to worry about. I made new friends and created my own niche group. I was still constantly anxious and depressed and angry, but it was...better.

I met others that suffered from depression and were on medication. They seemed so happy and not...tired like I was from fighting all the time with my brain. It had gotten better during the day, but the silence of night brought with it thoughts of death. And I hated it. Hated myself for them. Others were managing, why couldn't I?

...I haven't gone to bed without the TV or youtube on since 10th grade...I'm 26 now...the silence brings too many bad thoughts. White noise makes my anxiety spike though. It has to be listening to some sort of talking.

But it was better during the day, most of the time, so that was good. Other than my friends, I avoided anything that would put me in large groups because I didn't want to deal with all that stress again. My mom still gives me shit for not joining the Honors Society because it would look good on my college applications.

Eventually, I got pretty numb to the world around me. The only things I really cared about were my friends and family, anime (yes I was a weeaboo/otaku), and writing. Some days, those were the only thing keeping me going.

Eventually, I met my future husband through fanfiction (go figure) and it started getting better. College sucked, but at least people finally noticed that I needed help. I finally got told that I didn't have to keep fighting like this. I started going to therapy and got.put on meds.

And holy shit, it was like overnight. I still had times of being anxious or depressed but no where near as bad. I could hold conversations without always being worried about how I came across or double meanings. I could start falling asleep without thoughts of death, though I still need something playing. I unlearned bad habits I developed to cope and learned new ones.

But more than that, I watched as the same world that had told me that I was wrong change to be more accepting of mental illnesses. I didn't feel as alone because others were going through similar things. I finally got to see that I wasn't wrong. Just different.

I still look back to when I was growing up and wonder how different everything could have been if just one person growing up had said that this kid needs help.

Well, I guess they might have. According to my mom, my teachers complained to her about having me tested for then ADD, now ADHD. And she did. But the docs said I didn't present the right symptoms. Except nowadays, docs realize that girls present with different symptoms to boys. Soooo...maybe something would have been noticed if they knew that now. But who knows.

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Sorry for the long rambling post. Just needed to get it off my chest. Might delete it later.