#one thing about 6 year old me is i would be in the tiny plastic kitchen cooking some plastic fried chicken for my 6 year old husband

[strangeswift]

i think mike and will play house when they’re little kids, like they pretend to be husband and wife. and then when lucas joins the group and wants to be included mike is like okay well i guess you can be .. our son? and then years later when they’re like 13 lucas brings it up as a funny story and mike is like DON’T talk about that. and lucas is like ok damn chill out bro. fast forward to a few years later when mike and will start dating and lucas is like Oh okay it was a touchy subject i get it. when he brings it up again will thinks it’s hilarious but mike is just like.. go to your room, you’re fucking grounded and additionally i am putting you up for adoption.

[sirfrogsworth]

Froggie's (Almost) Very Productive Day

I try to fit as many out-and-about chores as possible into a single day so I only have one set of post-exertional malaise consequences instead of consequences after each day of doing a thing. So any time I decide to drive, I try to find several tasks to accomplish all at once.

My first stop was the Family Services Division in the hopes of getting some help with grocery bills. I am making ends meet, but it seems to be getting harder each month. And maybe I could have skipped my trip to Florida and saved that money, but if I don't do something drastic for my mental health, I fear this first holiday season without a parent could send me into the darkness.

I needed to do an interview to finish applying for SNAP. I wanted to do a phone interview, but the next appointment was in January. So I went to social services where they allow walk-in appointments. I waited in a tiny plastic chair for several hours until they called my name. She yelled out "Benjamin" because when most people see "Grelle" they aren't really sure how to say it. (Rhymes with belly.)

She started my interview and it was going swimmingly at first. But then she started asking questions about the house and my inheritance and my trust. I had no idea what to tell her. It feels like a mistake now, but I have had pretty much no involvement in that process. I have no idea how it works. And I started to panic because she was acting like I was committing fraud or something by not mentioning the trust. But the entire point of the trust was to protect my benefits. Nothing is mine. I own nothing. I have no access. But I had no idea how to explain that.

Maybe my lawyer can help me apply, but I did not want them investigating everything and screwing things up before we even have the estate through probate. We specifically hired a lawyer and went through this convoluted process to make sure everything was on the up and up. But she really made me feel like I was doing something wrong. And that made me panic, which probably made me look even more guilty of something. So I just canceled everything and left.

After a few hours in a crowded government office, I decided to head to a different crowded government office.

I know I didn't need it until 2025, but I decided to go ahead and get my Real ID thingie before my first flight. I was kind of hoping they'd retake my picture because my current driver's license is... well...

And I'm so glad they took my big terrible picture and made it into a smaller, more terrible picture.

People complain about the DMV, but the one near me runs like a machine. It was filled with people and I still only had a 10 minute wait time.

I'm starting to wonder if all of those 80s comedians who were all, "What's the deal with the DMV?" were exaggerating.

Good stuff, Jerry.

I head up to the counter and ask for a Real ID. She asks for two pieces of mail and my birth certificate.

And this disappointed me a little bit.

I did my research. I went to the Real ID website and used their interactive guide to figure out exactly which documents I would need. They gave me this entire checklist and I printed it out and went through all my records and mail trying to find everything.

I had to wait a week for my internet bill to come because it's the only thing I forgot to change to paperless. This took a lot of effort and I was ready to be validated for being so prepared.

And she asks for two pieces of mail.

Any mail.

So I was off to get new tires.

Driving around on 8 year old bald tires was giving me anxiety. I didn't have the money for new tires, but I remember the guy saying they had financing. Recently several of my past debts went past the statute of limitations, and so my credit score lifted itself out of the pits of "poor" and into the realm of "fair." So I decided to take a chance and apply for a Discount Tire credit card. It's a 6 month payment plan with no interest, so that didn't feel as predatory as all the credit card offers I get in the mail with 8000% interest.

We started going through the approval process and I was answering all of the questions and then I saw the name of the bank offering the credit. It was the same bank that tried to sue me and also the bank that can longer collect due to the statute. I was worried they put me on some sort of list and would deny me. But, to my surprise, they approved me instantly. And wouldn't you know it, they gave me almost exactly the amount needed for a new set of tires.

I'm hoping we'll be doing another auction of the house stuff soon, so I plan to pay off the card and then cancel it, but this was the only solution I could come up with to drive safely until then.

I was having a weird day where photos of crusty rich wide dudes followed me everywhere I went. Here is my good ol' boy governor at the entrance to social services.

And at the tire place, I noticed this fella...

Why does every rich CEO think they are a font of wisdom capable of creating compelling quotes?

Does he think no one has ever said "work hard" and "have fun"? And after he said this was he like...

"That's gold, put that in *every* store."

"Oh, and use that picture of me where it looks like a handsome gal just grabbed my undercarriage."

He probably thinks, "Well, no one has put these specific generic platitudes together into a single mega-platitude. I am a genius."

"Be honest, work hard, have fun, be grateful, pay it forward" sounds like he had a bunch of motivational posters on his wall and started reading them all at once.

Like, every line could have a picture of an eagle above it.

In any case, the guy at the tire store, Dakota, was really nice. He made the experience very low anxiety. And he really liked my Thor's Hammer keychain with built in fidget spinner.

He went around showing it to all his coworkers. "Look, it even spins!" And they were like, "Dude, where did you get that??" And I was like, "Amazon." Now I'm just imagining 10 dudes at a tire store all fidgeting their hammers.

As nice as he was, Dakota was still a salesman and had a job to do. He gave me two tire options and tried to upsell me. The cheapest tires had a "1" rating for winter. He said they get "super hard" in the cold... I tried not to giggle. But I explained I drive about twice a month and mostly to the grocery store. If it is a bad winter day, I'll just wait or get delivery. He understood and set me up with the cheaper tires.

He then checked out my car and noticed my tire pressure sensors were dying. I keep getting a warning light on my dash. Apparently they all have tiny batteries in them that die after 7 years. And you can't just replace the batteries so you have to install brand new sensors.

And this is where my social anxiety got me into trouble.

I don't actually need these sensors. They are usually inaccurate. I prefer to test my tires with an actual gauge. But I got so caught up in his sales pitch that I agreed to replace them... at $60 each. For that I could have gotten the fancier tires. I really don't care if an orange light shows up on my dash. And I looked up the price online and a pack of 4 is $30. Though that is without installation.

But still... I wasn't thinking and he was so nice that I was just like, "I want to please Dakota. Saying no might make Dakota sad." Dakota's job is selling me but that doesn't mean I have to buy anything. He would live if I had said "no thanks."

To make my blunder more blunderous, when they finished the tires he asked for my key fob. And it decided that was the time for the battery to die. And in order to reset the system for the new tire pressure sensors, you have to press two buttons on the fob for 7 seconds. Thankfully I had a spare fob at home, but if I want my fancy new $240 sensors to work, I have to return to Dakota and have him initialize them.

I really hope these are the Cadillac of sensors.

Or, like, the ones they use on Cadillacs?

They better be accurate, is what I'm saying.

I do feel safer with new tires. So I am glad I did that. And I gave them a good obligatory kick and felt the tread. They seem nice enough even if they get boners in the winter. It's crazy how bald my other tires were in comparison. Like, I can fit half my finger down into the tread on the new ones—which did not get them super hard.

The way I drive, I probably won't wear them down. They'll probably start to rot before I do.

Before I do, meaning before I wear them down.

Not before I rot.

I am not in a rotting competition with my tires.

I was then off to Sam's. I decided all of my hard work accomplishing 2 out of 3 goals deserved some sushi. So I grabbed some California Rolls and headed home. On my way out, a Hummer and a Porsche nearly collided in the parking lot. And they sort of got stuck facing each other. One of them needed to back up and they both signaled at each other like "You back up, I'm not backing up." And it was just this weird standoff between the two douchiest looking cars you could imagine.

I mean, you have to be a douche to drive a Hummer.

I still remember the mystery Hummer dialysis patient from when my dad was going 3 time per week. We could never figure out who owned the Hummer, but we knew it was not the underpaid nurses and techs. So it had to be one of the patients. And none of them seemed the type. We never solved that mystery.

That hummer started off a delightful safety yellow. (Elon would cry.)

They decided this wasn't extra enough... so they did this...

Katrina and I could never decide... are these cow spots or the world's least effective camoflauge?

There was another patient who drove this old beater...

And I loved seeing this car because we had the same one when I was a little kid. I'm afraid the aesthetics of the 1980s Caprice Classic did not stand the test of time, but it had great sentimental appeal for me.

But this maroon beast that squeaked and sputtered its way from here to there belonged to a very sweet older gentleman. Sometimes he and my dad would be dialysis buddies—sitting next to each other in the recliners. And the worst thing about dialysis was the boredom. All you have to do is watch broadcast TV with 4 channels.

All of the TVs require headphones. They give you your own set of super cheap headphones in the dialysis welcome bag. They were very uncomfortable so I ordered my dad better ones with cushioned ear cups.

His dialysis buddy noticed them and thought they looked nice. And then he revealed that his free headphones broke and he didn't know how to get new ones. He had been watching TV with no sound for weeks. So, I bought another pair with the soft ear cups and my dad gave them to his friend. And it just made me happy imagining the two of them watching The Price is Right in matching headphones.

I do have to make fun of this sweet old man a little bit. When I walked passed his car I noticed he implemented the world's most effective anti-theft device ever created.

That's right... The Club™.

If someone decides they have to have a 40 year old car with an engine that sounds like a dying hyena and a hubcap missing... they are out of luck.

But hey, you gotta protect what is important to you. And if I needed a getaway car and my choices were between his beater and the Cow Hummer, I'd take his ride for sure.

Well, I'd try... and then get arrested because The Club™ is undefeatable.

Do NOT look that up on YouTube. It's 100% true. (And the Lock Picking Lawyer doesn't count due to him being able to break into Fort Knox with a paperclip and then doing it again to make sure it isn't a fluke.)

The dialysis center is in the same complex as my local Tolerable Schnucks and I still see that maroon boat of a car every once in a while. I always smile whenever it is there because it lets me know he is hanging in there and hopefully still has sound for his TV.

Wow, I went off on a mega-tangent.

I didn't even finish talking about my day. Where was I? Oh, the douche standoff finally ended. The Porsche Douche capitulated and backed up. Probably due to the fact the Hummer Douche has 0 visibility behind him.

When I got home I started devouring my sushi. I finally heard back from my lawyer. He submitted the last of the evidence for my appeal. And I was finally able to confirm he got the records of my ECT treatments from 20 years ago. I worked so hard to get those. At first, they forgot to send all records before 2011. I had to call back and figure that out. They shipped them and they didn't arrive until a week before we had to file. Everything was so last minute and my anxiety has been... palpable. It felt like when I did my science fair project on Sunday night.

He's hoping to get a decision at the beginning of next year. He warned me that these appeals are usually rejected. And that the most effective method of approval was a hearing in front of an administrative law judge. But that could be delayed by up to a year. So I might need to figure out how to survive until 2025. As long as my brother does what he is legally required to do, I should be okay. But counting on that also gives me palpable anxiety.

And that was my day.

Every time I go out is always an adventure.

But remember...

BE NICE. EAT YOUR VEGGIES. PET CUTE DOGS. DREAM BIG. KEEP YOUR TIRES WARM... FOR REASONS. 5 LIFE LESSONS -Froggie, Mildly Famous Internet Person

[itsmebytch001]

can i request the morales family with a toddler reader who has a bad habit of running off or disappearing, and also do you think aaron would have those baby leash things? its like a backpack with a stretchy thing attached to keep the child from running off?

You developed the habit of going on walk about at 6, the first time it happened you two where going clothes shopping, when he turned around with a pile of things for you to try on, you were gone.

you were gone

YOU WERE GONE

Holding a hand full of clothing he began to walk up and down every isle yelling for you, drawing the attention of the shop employees and sourouding shoppers. One lady approched him with a name tag, Sammy.

Sammy: "Excuse me Sir, is everything okay?"

Now, Aaron wasn't stupid, he knew if he a single Dad expressed that he had lost his daughter, they would under mine him as a parent, maybe even get child services involved, but he had now checked every single isle and you were no where.

Had someone taken you?

Where you lost?

Aaron: "No, no I've lost track of my daughter"

Sammy: "Okay, well what dose she look like? I'll send out a call for her"

Aaron: "Uh, well she's 6, but looks a bit older, a bit chubby, long black curly hair, uh wearing a purple sweater and black joggers"

Sammy: "And her name?"

Aaron: "Y/n"

Sammy: "okay" She leant into a tiny speaker on her tshirt.

Sammy: "Were looking for a missing 6 year old, wearing a purple sweater and black joggers"

Aaron was still looking over the isles while standing in front of Sammy, scanning again and again over the shop just to catch a glimpse.

Sammy: "We can take you to the front of the shop to do a call out if you like?"

Aaron: "Yeah Yeah" He wasn't really listning, just still looking over the store, Sammy began to lead him to the front of the shop where there was a small desk and a mic.

Sammy: "Once I press this button, anything you say will be blasted around the store, okay?"

Aaron: "Okay"

Sammy pressed the red button, and Aaron leaned over to the mic.

Aaron: " Y/n, Its me Papa, If your here I really need to come to the front of shop, where the plastic models are, okay? I'm not mad, just please come"

His voice echoed in the store, while across the area shoppers and employees where looking for you, and after about twenty minutes Aaron kept just pacing again and again at the front of the shop, until another shopper came to talk to them. "excuse me, but there's a little girl who's locked herself in a changing room and is refusing to come out"

And so Sammy escorted Aaron into the girls changing room, ignoring the strage look from other Mom's and young girls, and he understood why, he a grown man was standing in the Womens section of the changing rooms and trying to get a small girl out from one of the rooms. Aaron knocked on the door.

Aaron: "Baby Its me, can you please open the door?"

Y/n: "No."

Aaron: "Why not?"

Y/n: "Beacuse I like this dress"

Aaron: "Okay?"

Y/n: "And I know you won't let me buy it"

Aaron: "And why's that?"

Y/n: "Because Its $74 dollars"

Aaron: "Baby, that's way to much for just one dress"

Y/n: "NO! I Love this dress and I'm not leaving until you buy it"

Aaron: "Y/n...Open this damm door"

Y/n: "No"

Aaron: "Open the door"

Y/n: "NO"

Aaron began to giggle the door knob to no avail.

Aaron leaned over to Sammy.

Aaron: "Do you have a master key or something?"

Sammy: "Yeah, Ive sent someone after it"

He groaned as he giggled the door again.

Aaron: "Open this door right now Y/n or I'll give away ALL YOUR DOLLS"

Y/n: "NO!" You screamed back.

Aaron began to bang on the door with a closed fist again and again.

Aaron: "I will Y/n Don't play with me!"

Eventually after about a half hour of yelling back and fourth, finally another employee came with the master key, Aaron backed away from the door and watched as Sammy opened the door, you rushed out the room full speed, Aaron tried to catch you in that yellow dress but you slinked past him, sprinting down the hallway and towards the exit, it took Aaron to fully tackle you to the ground to stop you from running past the detectors.

It was due to this incident that you were forced to wear a child leash, or course miles gave you flac, while he was able to walk freely where ever he liked, while you were a dog.

Whenever you would make a run for it, your Dad would haul you back so quickly your whole body would jolt forward, but you found a way around it...The Micheal Jackson Lean...

You would lean so much forward that if it weren't for the leash you would fall forward, and if Aaron moved towards you, you would fall on your face, now of course Miles also found this funny, Aaron was paranoid that people would take this as abuse, get child services involved. But eventually, after about a year you finally stopped trying to run off, and you were free from the child leash.

[aesfocus]

TW: ANIMAL DEATH

A tiny little celebration and recounting of this lil old lady, who passed away yesterday april 22 2024, 6 years to the day her adopted sister left the world.

Read on to learn about her adoption story and some of her fav things!

I made sure she had a comfortable lovely weekend, but she let me know it was time.

So who was Turtle?

In Aug 2010 I went to a local shelter and adopted 2 kitties. One a kitten we named Genki, and another a 1+ year old mystery owner surrender they named Hello Kitty.

She saw us and started yelling and slamming herself on the glass to show us how to pet her. She snugged onto my lap immediately in the little private room to meet her and I was in love instantly.

But back at home she was very scared. She hid under the couch for three days only peaking her head out to eat some food and then she went back in. This would be the last time in her life she would be shy, but I didn't know it so I named her...

Alligator Snapping Turtle; Turtle!

She quickly became my shadow. Clinging to me night and day. She would jump onto the back of my chair, lay on my back and slowly slide down towards my butt. She did this so frequently she managed to break the chair, eventually. After that all my chairs have been bought with more room for her to snug me. For a whole decade.

If someone visited, she would insist they hold her, or she'd sleep on them in their sleep. She once was held through a 3 hour long DnD session by someone she had just met; she loved people. Loved being pet, but above all, she adored me.

She had a specific meow for me, she spent every single night for nearly 14 years in between my legs, and unfortunately, as she got older she got separation anxiety real bad. She would cry and cry for about an hour each time I left. (I rarely do as I no longer work but even a trip to the grocery store did not leave her happy!) I know this because my husband had plenty of videos of her standing at the door hoping I would return.

No matter what I did in the house there she was.

But lets back up a moment, remember that bit about owner surrender? That intake form was interesting. with questions like "What is your pets favorite toy?" came answers like 'small glove'. She spent at least a year in someone with 7 children's garage. They fed her 'cheep food' and knew very little about her past other than they found her about a year prior. No judgements to them, but this girl was a lap cat to end lap cats. You would pick her up and move her to stand and she'd jump right back into your lap. She's dig her claws in if she thought you were trying to leave. She wanted the warmth god damn it!

Here is her on top my husband. Human's were good options.

Heat vent? Also a great option.

She would, when I worked, stay in bed in the covers right where I left her until I came home from work, all nice and cozy.

She loved it when my husband worked from home, gave her ample time to try and fry his laptop during his breaks or lunches.

But her fav place was on top of me. I set up my desk just for her actually! This big living room chair was purchased so she could always be near me.

Because the previous snug situation was not cutting it!

Here she is on the chair I bought for us.

She was never very photogenic, because she saw my hand and wanted pets. If I wasn't petting her she'd cry and show me how to pet her with her paws, or she'd flop around or rub herself on something and look up at me like 'come ooooonnn you know the good spots.'

Or she would do a 'turkey twerky'(where cats twitch their tails and step from foot to foot rapidly in excitement).

Her fav toy it turned out was not a 'small glove' but in fact the simple spring. Yellow was her fav color of the springs, but past that any small bit of plastic she could chase around and yell at was great. She was a very loud little lady!

I sang her a song daily for about ten years;

"Her name is turtle! and she's a turtle! And she's got a lot to say!"

after which she'd generally make a BIG meow and I'd give her tons of attention. Because she was my lil baby girl.

But her all time fav thing, beside me of course, was going outside. She didn't get to much as I believe in, and have, indoor only cats, but on special nice days we'd go outside and she'd gets some nice supervised time with the grass. (She made the other cats jealous because only she was let outside without a harness, but that's because if she wasn't in about a 2 foot radius of me she'd come back and yell at me to follow/I was able to out run her.)

Last year I had her shaved, because she was a fat cat who was struggling with cleaning herself so we were going to get on a rotation of shaving and baths and brushing to make sure she stayed nice and clean...

But unfortunately she began to drop in weight very quickly, the primary sign something was very wrong.

She was adopted on the same day as Genki, and six years to the day she passed on the same day as her sister. Genki lost a very long fight with a fungal pneumonia in 2018 and our hearts shattered and then yesterday they did it again.

If Turtle was my heart, my little shadow, then Genki was my husband's.

Turtle was such an amazing good friend, I have so many memories of her and it doesn't seem real that she's gone. But I wanted to keep this light, and positive, and so I will end it with, adopt.

Don't shop, adopt. You never know who is waiting for you in a shelter, what kind of very full wonderful life you can provide each other! Hello Kitty became Turtle and she knew that name, she'd come running any time I called, she was my very best friend and I miss her so fucking much.

[elvisabutler]

so i originally was thinking to myself "conceal don't feel" about my feelings about this year and basically gushing about all of y'all but everyone has been doing it and look, look, i'm trying to be better about not coming off as an aloof person when i'm really the sort of person who thrives on at least little tiny hellos from people who i know like me. despite being as old as i am i'm secretly always that shy 12 year old who has her people and wants more people but sucks at talking, alright?

anyway! none of that is the point. the point is that i haven't been in fandom for about 5ish at least years? like don't get me wrong, read fic, watched shows but me writing fics and interacting? good heavens no. and i think the last time i wrote fic was 2011 ( ironically also an rpf-ish fandom, there's something to be said about that maybe ) and so when i went into elvis i wasn't expecting much. but then i watched it and like- i had been a causal fan of elvis before- my parents were both born in the 50s so they're just about that interesting age to where my mom wished she could have been elvis's girl ( her older sisters too so clearly it's genetically a thing on my mom's side haha ) and my dad thought he was cool. point being i always knew of him and he was some at least tiny part of my life and that's part of the reason i wanted to go see the film. plus i honestly wanted to se ehow plastic looking they made austin look because baby those posters did him no justice.

and then i fell head over heels. watched it 5? times in theaters maybe 6, once with my mom who fell head over heels for austin butler which was not something i had on my 2022 bingo card and yet! and realized that oh heavens the fandom was mostly on tumblr let's boot up the old account and make a side blog and write a fix it fic ( that i am trash and still haven't finished ) and then @floralcyanide made their discord and eventually let me join and the rest was history?

not going into a lot of detail but i really cannot overstate how much this fandom and how genuinely sweet it is came to me at the right time. i've been missing having a solid and consistent creative outlet since i got married but especially since i had my daughter. and then in comes the elvis movie and austin butler and elvis in general and lord help me it's been a whirlwind. filled with stuff i'd never write and just a lot of fun times.

i wanna say thank you to all my favorite people who i either read your stuff or you read mine or i drool over your gif work or something else seeing y'all in my notifs always brightens my day just a little.

@superbatson @powerofelvis @headfullofpresley @venus-haze @cryingabtab @infatuatedharleys @areacodefan @star-shard @purejasmine @burninlovebutlerr @pearlparty @troubleinapinksuit @imperialmarchingthroughthegalaxy @karamelcoveredolicity @foreverdolly @powerofelvis @fantuhsise @flwrs4aust @she-is-juniper @elvisstyles @butlerstyles @missmaywemeetagain @bisexualwvtson @carnevol @mamaspresley @sassy-ahsoka-tano @butler-on-beale-street @dreamersparacosm @lindszeppelin @pennyroyalcreep, @slowsweetlove @blainesebastian and @ anyone else who regularly likes my stuff or engages with me i see y'all and i adore y'all. if i missed y'all don't take it personally i'm so tired today it's a wonder i remembered my own name.

and to my queens of graceland @aconflagrationofmyown @ab4eva and @butlersxbirdy y'all already know my love and to my other daily my life would not complete if i didn't say hello to y'all @blurredcolour, @eliseinmemphis and @bcofl0ve i love you guys. and @succsessions don't think i'll ever forget that one time you messaged me out of the blue when i was so stressed and wrote Some Tags ( tm ).

i'm gonna make it my mission to get to know some of y'all more in 2023 because truly i love this fandom so much and if it wasn't for this creative outlet appearing out of thin air, i think i'd been in a bit of a rougher spot than i am today and really i wanna just talk and interact more. and i promise y'all i don't bite if you're scared to talk to me, i'm an actual puppy, ask anyone who talks to me for longer than two minutes.

but basically happy new year y'all hoping all of our 2023s are fantastic and i love everyone in this bar so much. does that meme date me, i feel like it does.

[the--morning--room]

RESURGAM (Arthur Harrow x F!Reader) Chapter 1: "Humility is a Christian grace"

"'My dear children...it becomes my duty to warn you, that this girl, who might be one of God's own lambs, is a little castaway: not a member of the true flock, but evidently an interloper and an alien.'" -Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

WARNING: Child abuse (verbal, emotional)

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

AO3

Reader, I present to you a story of love, justice, and the night sky; of a man who has no conscience and a woman who never learned to listen to hers. Her name is unimportant to me; I have known many countless thousands of human names in my time watching over them, and I simply cannot be expected to keep track of every single one. It's not as if she is anything special to begin with, not to a god, at least. In the interest of simplicity, I will refer to her as precisely what she is to me: a Thorn in the side if ever there was one.

As for the man with no conscience, I do know his name, and in the interest of your well-being, reader, I tell it to you in the hope that this knowledge will help you to avoid any possible encounter with him. This man's name is Arthur Harrow.

I, the unfortunate creature tasked with recording and narrating this godless nightmare of a love story, am the god Khonshu, master of the night sky and self-appointed distributor of righteous vengeance on humanity's behalf.

The Thorn's story, for our purposes at least, begins about sixteen years before Harrow entered her life. Harrow, at this time, was still a novice criminal prosecutor with brown hair and glass-free shoes. He was also my avatar, the Fist of Vengeance. In a different part of the same country, the Thorn was a sullen, watchful ten-year-old girl wearing a school uniform designed for a child several years her junior, and standing on top of a plastic chair. Her weak legs crossed awkwardly, she tugged with fumbling tiny fingers on the edge of her pleated skirt, the skirt that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

No, it wasn't the skirt's fault. Even the Thorn herself knew that. It was her mother's fault for making her wear it, for not having the money to replace it with a more comfortably fitting copy. Or it was Marc Spector's fault for snatching her lucky hat, the one just like the hat Bessie wore in Tomb Buster, and putting it on his own stupid, dumb, big baby face head and laughing at her until her indignation graduated into rage and then into the wild fury that sent her careening, monkeylike, over both their desks and ripping it from his dumb curly hair and shrieking that he was the meanest person ever and that she hated him and never wanted to play at his house ever again, and also gave him quite the pathetic (albeit passionate) swat across the face.

Or it was the Teacher's fault for choosing this last moment to stride into the classroom and let his eyes fall immediately on the Thorn, half-squatting and half-straddling over Marc's desk with a rather impressive disregard for her own dignity. Luckily, he didn't see the slap. Unluckily, what he did see was the way the back of her tiny plaid skirt had flipped carelessly inside out, revealing just the slightest glimpse of the garment underneath.

He didn't yell. He wasn't that kind of man.

He was worse.

First, he said her name. She hated the sound of it in his mouth, his soft voice dripping with benevolent disappoinment that a stranger might easily mistake for genuine care.

The torture was underway.

"I assume you brought something to change into?" he said placidly, knowing perfectly well what her answer would be.

She shook her head.

"And what made you think that was an acceptable thing to wear to school?" he inquired innocently, surveying the frayed edge of the unholy garment with the cool contempt of an Academic (something the Teacher erroneously considered himself to be).

She doesn't remember what she said next, as the world around her had by now begun to adopt a kind of surreal sheen. There was a vague awareness of the students around her, but whether they were laughing, contemptuous, or simply dumbstruck, she could not have said. Somewhere very far away, Marc offered his sweater: "She can just tie it around her, then the skirt's not a problem anymore, right?" (Always the chivalrous defender, even in childhood—most humans would call this a great virtue, but I can only see it as Marc's most fatal flaw.) The hotly contested hat lay forgotten in the cold linoleum shadow under the desk.

Then all she knew was the closeness of the Teacher's body to hers, the simmering malice with which his claw of a hand gripped her shoulder, the invisible column of shame that sucked the air from around her, and the frail, unprotected nakedness of her thighs. The agonizing screech of metal on linoleum—a chair, adult-sized, chipped vomit-pink plastic, dragged to the center of the classroom just for her. She found herself on top of it, a martyr at the stake, her executioner poised to light the kindling.

Words. Not flames.

"Do you know why you're standing here?" the Teacher asked. "Why I've had to interrupt your classmates' education this morning?"

She thought of the climactic final showdown in Tomb Buster: Bessie tied to the stone altar, the undead Aztec priest preparing her for sacrifice. The harsh grin of moonlight glinting against the knife. A sneering voice from nowhere: "You see? This is where it has to end. There is no other way. No tree can ascend to the light of Heaven if it doesn't descend to the depths of hell!"

Again the Teacher said her name, the degradation of it scorching her back to the present.

"Do you know why we have a dress code? Who can tell me?" He addressed the class this time, his voice glittering with self-satisfaction. "No one?" Reader, not since the days of the "Great" Alexander himself have I witnessed such a grotesque display of misplaced cocksuredness (and coming from me, that is saying quite a lot).

"This classroom is a place for learning," he explained, "and we can't learn when there are distractions present, can we? For the same reason we don't bring footballs and electronic handheld gaming devices to school, we don't allow certain students to wear clothing that may draw the attention of other students away from their classwork and cause them to have thoughts and feelings that are not appropriate in a school environment."

"That doesn't make any sense," Bessie retorted, her glamorous curls pasted to her face with sweat. "Heaven, hell, why does it have to be one or the other? What ever happened to the good old-fashioned middle ground?"

Silence pounded against the impersonal grayish walls of the classroom. She couldn't speak. It was as if her voice had been ripped away by the iron tongs of humiliation. She tried to imagine how it would feel not to have legs. It would look pretty strange, a little girl's torso floating overtop the chair, plaid pleated skirt shivering in the naked air like the tentacles of a jellyfish.

"Wait a sec," Marc Spector interjected. "Did you just say her legs are the same thing as a video game? 'Cause, no offense, but that's kind of wack, man."

Oh, dear reader, you have never heard such a silence.

"Marc," the Teacher smiled coolly, "go to the principal's office."

Marc shrugged, and did as he was told.

"Where's your friend Dr. Grant now, when you need him the most?" the voice surrounding Bessie taunted.

As he was leaving, Marc turned to look the Thorn straight in the eye. He winked, gave an almost imperceptibly quick thumbs-up, and disappeared into the black hallway to seek out his fate in the principal's office.

"Well, Dr. Grant may have me beat for brawn, you've got me there," Bessie conceded. "It's true, I may not be a swashbuckling hunk with superpowers temporarily granted to him by the lunar god of the Aztecs, but I am proud of what I am: I am…an anthropologist!"

Her body was coming back to her. She felt her legs again. They were frail, pathetic little ten-year-old human legs, but they somehow supported her nonetheless. Her mind was returning as well, sane and conscious and billowing with righteous anger. Next would be her voice. She turned to the Teacher, looked him in the face. The glitter of inherent masculine certainty in her eyes wavered, and he came to stand in front of her. Her eyes were almost level with his.

"How dare you make a mockery of my classroom," he said, so softly that only the two of them, and of course, any gods watching silently over the scene, could hear the menace that slicked over his words. "You're disrespectful, immature, a self-serving little s—" his gaze flicked distastefully downward, to just below her cursed skirt, and back up at her, "well, you know what."

He turned back to the other students. "No one is to speak to her for the rest of the day. If I see any of you so much as look at her, it'll be a detention."

The Thorn's voice had clawed its way out of its prison of shame; it was bursting through the surface—

"You're sick." The words poured from her soul before she knew she was saying them. "You're a horrible teacher, and an evil, sick, perverted man. I will never, ever forget what you did to me today, even after I'm dead."

The teacher's face darkened. (No tree can ascend to the light of Heaven if it doesn't descend to the depths of hell.) "Well," he said, all pretenses abandoned, no longer the well-meaning teacher, but an adult man confronting an equal. "Is that all?"

It was not. "You'll get what's coming to you," she spat, speaking from somewhere outside of herself, "even if it takes a million years, you'll get what you deserve. All evil people do. God or the universe, whatever's out there, because you know there's something, they'll make sure you pay for how you treated people like me." She stepped down from the chair and walked out of the classroom. No one followed.

The school hallway stretched before her like a liminal nightmare. Somewhere down at the end, Marc was receiving gods-know-what kind of punishment for standing up for her. A throb of remorse went through the Thorn's heart as her earlier words came back to her like the aftershock of an earthquake: You're the meanest person ever, I hate you, I never want to play at your house ever again! Then the anticlimactic phip of her palm against his cheek.

The thrill of her victory over the Teacher had all but drained away. In its place was the ripe, purplish stickiness of shame, soaking and dripping over her insides. She felt it oozing from her heart, down her lungs, trickling over her ribs one by one, and at last laying to fester and congeal at the bottom of her chest cavity.

"You'll get what's coming to you," she had said to the Teacher, "even if it takes a million years, you'll get what you deserve." And she was no better than him, really. Marc was her friend. He had been joking with her, trying to make her laugh, and she had screamed abuse and attacked him. And even after that, he had defended her when she had no voice to defend herself.

In the end, she was no different from the Teacher. A person who hurt other people for no reason.

She turned back to the door of the classroom. It gaped, vacuous, a silent challenge. Behind her was the cryptlike hallway to the principal's office. To her left, a window was open just wide enough for a small body to slip through and escape into the beckoning woods.

Her options were few, and all equally inadvisable, but one was easier than the others by a large degree. Before another thought could invade her head, she swung a leg over the windowsill and struggled through to the sticky outdoors. The trees welcomed her, a lost fugitive desperate for sanctuary, and she vanished into a wall of green.

She walked until the August heat had made a nest of discomfort in her parched throat and her legs, slashed into bloody stripes by the choking undergrowth, screamed for rest. Somewhere to hide, that's all she needed. A special place just for her.

The forest heard her need, and all at once the cave was known to her. The narrow archway of its black mouth howled a soft, mournful promise: Safe here.

After stopping to craft a makeshift slingshot using a lopsided Y-shaped stick and a hair elastic from her wrist (Dr. Grant warned Rosser never to enter a mysterious cavern without a method of self-defense handy), the Thorn plunged into her new home. This, she thought, would work just fine. It was dark, sure, but she would teach herself to make fire by rubbing two sticks together, and besides, that wouldn't be a concern until nighttime. Every home needs a bed, so she gathered a heap of pine needles from the forest floor and spread them in a crude rectangular shape on the damp stone ground of the cave. By the time she was finished with these preliminary moving-in essentials, her throat was a furious desert fire of thirst. When her attempt to use a fallen leaf as a makeshift cup failed, and since no one was around to scold her for bad manners anyway, she dropped to all fours, pressed her face to one of the tepid puddles that dotted the cave's floor, and slurped until the filthy water was nearly gone.

Then she crawled to her pine needle bed, where she fell asleep thinking of her wallpaper at home, a jocular pattern of alternating hippos and crocodiles making an enthusiastic but fruitless attempt to dance ballet. She loved that wallpaper. She would miss it. Perhaps she could recreate it on the walls of her new home, like the cavemen did. But what will I use for paint? was her last thought before sinking away into sleep.

[justminawrites]

Satellites

AO3

1 | 2 | TBC

Jacin woke with a splitting headache.

It didn’t take more than three seconds for his lunar guard training to kick in: Rope. Chair. Feet. Metal. Breathing. Cress. 

As his eyes adjusted to the complete lack of light in the room, Jacin flexed his wrists, which he found were tied behind his back with a length of plastic-resin cord– standard issue for lunar prisoners. 

Rope. 

He was sitting on a hard, uncomfortable metal surface, but from what he could tell everything around him was metal. The seat was metal, the ground under him was metal– either they were in a  shipping container, or a torture chamber. 

Jacin tried to ignore the pounding in his head, echoing like drum beats, like the military exercises he’d once been so eager to playact, when he was young and naïve enough to believe in his country. 

He’d noticed immediately that whoever had tied him up had taken his shoes, and tried his best to repress a shudder as the cold leached into his bare skin and crawled up his legs, leaving tiny goosebumps in its wake. 

Chair. Feet. Metal. And the last one was– 

“Cress,” Jacin called quietly, shifting his arms in an attempt to loosen his binds. 

She was cuffed to him, the two of them back to back, and still unconscious - he could feel her petite frame pressed against him, sharp shoulder blades digging into his spine, and tried his best to shake her awake.

“Cress,” he repeated urgently, wondering for a second if they’d drugged her harder than him for some reason.

“Uhn.. no Carol.. I can’t come in.. today.”

Jacin tried not to feel too relieved at the sound of her mumbling. This plan would go much slower if he was the only one awake to execute it. 

He twisted his hands a little, grabbing the closest thing he could reach (the skin of her forearm) and pinched. Hard. 

“Mm.. what– OW!” Cress shrieked, jolting from the pain, but he instantly shushed her.

“We don’t have much time,” He hissed as she took a second to take in her surroundings, “–if I’m right, they’ll start it up the moment we show signs of being conscious.”

“Start what?” She shot back, still emotionally stinging from the wound, “What’s going on?”

“Let me get out of these ties first.”

As Jacin worked to quietly slip out of the ropes, Cress swore (that was new), turning this way and that, making it difficult for him. 

“They took it!” She whisper-shouted in panic, “They took my shoes, they took everything– oh stars."

Jacin finally grabbed her hands to make her stop. 

“They must’ve searched us before they locked us in here,” He explained as patiently as he could,

“That’s probably why you’re missing your taser.”

“No you don’t understand, they took the– wait how’d you end up here?”

Jacin let go of her and continued to work his hands free. After a few seconds, he managed to get one of them loose and released a long, drawn out breath. 

“Drugged,” He said matter-of-factly, “Same as you. I managed to get the one hiding in the hover but there must’ve been a sniper in one of the opposite buildings.”

Cress stayed quiet for a few seconds and just when he thought she was about to apologise for involving him in all this, she huffed,

“I knew it! I knew this was a bigger deal than everyone said! Take that, Carol.”

Jacin’s jaw twitched. They really hadn’t been friends for a while.

The Cress he knew was so filled with doubt and uncertainty, even on her best day, that she spent half her time clinging to her boyfriend like he was some kind of social screen through which she could filter out any potential rejection.

It had been six long years since the lunar revolution, but everything about Cress seemed to have changed in the last 6 months - since he’d left Artemisia and she’d begun her new job as a member of the ISA (Information Security Analyst) Department of the Lunar Government.

Even in his wildest dreams, Jacin wouldn’t have pegged her for a patriot, much less a civil servant; Cress was the last person from their old crew he’d envision carrying a gun and reporting back to someone, and that included the Emperor. 

“No please, don’t thank me for singlehandedly orchestrating our rescue,” He replied wryly, freeing his other hand and stretching his cramped muscles, before turning around to untie hers.

“Huh, oh thanks, Jacin,” Cress said absent-mindedly, shifting around in the dark once he’d pulled away the rope.

“Sorry for getting you inv– oh, I knew it! It is gone!”

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” Jacin said, rising to his feet. 

The room was still completely dark, so he reached for the nearest wall and began to walk alongside it, gauging its perimeter. 

The wall was smooth, but with sharp corners, not disproving his shipping container theory, and the room was about as big as a lunar palace bathroom, or a medium-sized swimming pool. Once he’d paced the length twice, Jacin started to look for any telltale grooves or panels that might hint at there being a trapdoor.

“Find anything?” He nearly flinched as Cress’s soft whisper tickled his left ear. She’d gotten taller; another thing he didn’t recognise about her. 

“What’d they take?” He asked, instead of answering the question, “–besides your shoes.”

“My jacket, my weapons, and the USB I had on me, with all the details about the encryption glitch.”

Cress didn’t sound angry, just puzzled, as though she was trying to get into the headspace of the attacker who’d done this to them. He couldn’t see her face, but he imagined her wrinkling her nose in frustration and clamped down on the sudden urge to snort. Jacin would never admit it, even to himself, but he’d missed her.

“Isn’t it strange? Why would they take our shoes?” Cress wondered out loud, her voice moving from his left to his right, “Just to check for weapons?”

“Could be just to mess with our heads,” He shrugged, “Psychological torture.”

“Wow,” She whistled, “You haven’t changed one bit. How do you say the scariest things with a straight face?”

“You can’t see my face,” Jacin countered, still feeling up the wall, “I could be smiling.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile.”

“And you never will,” He promised, now knocking on the metal to check for hollow spots.

“Aha!” 

Jacin turned away just in time as a sharp spear of white light sliced through the darkness and shone right onto his face. He blinked away brown spots as the flashlight now pointed to the wall he’d been blindly examining, Cress on the tail end of it, holding what looked like a tube of lipstick.

“Lip-light!” She said helpfully, though he hadn’t bothered to ask. The unexpected brightness had only confirmed what he’d been afraid of.

“Nothing,” Jacin said flatly, a flicker of fear colouring his tone. The walls were as smooth as the floor; there was no way out.

Cress didn’t say anything as he sunk to the floor, his back to the wall and tried to focus on a solution. Maybe the perpetrators would attempt to contact with them through a built-in speaker. Or some kind of chute? But he knew that it’d be too late by then; they were goners if they waited for any kind of acknowledgement from the people who’d kidnapped them.

Jacin watched Cress wander around the room in no particular order, shining her lipstick-flashlight in each corner before finally coming to sit beside him. He hadn’t realised he’d shifted away until she shook her head in disbelief.

“Really, Jacin? I’m not contagious, y’know,” she huffed, hugging her knees to her chest.

“So those yoga pants were a deliberate decision then?” He couldn’t help himself.

“Ha. Ha.” She switched off the light, plunging them into darkness again, “I get it. You’re too cool to hang out with your nobody friends now.”

“I never said that.”

“Well, you sure act like it,” Cress sighed, her voice sounding strangely old, “Scarlet and Wolf ask about you all the time, even Iko wants to know why you never reply to her comms or her vidlink invites or the e-birthday-cards she sends every year.”

Jacin noticed she’d chosen to omit a certain space Captain from her list of well-wishers but refrained from asking why. It wasn’t his business, after all.

“Scarlet asks about me?” He said instead. 

He remembered the redheaded Earthen girl Winter had so impulsively befriended; the two had gotten off on the wrong foot, and it was impossible to imagine them tolerating one another, much less her actively being concerned for his well-being.

“You haven’t shown up for the last three anniversary dinners,” Cress listed off the top of her head.

“You never participate in our group vidlinks– even Cinder turns up and she’s a princess for star’s sake!– and, up until a few weeks ago you didn’t even set foot outside Artemisia.”

“This has nothing to do with Winter,” Jacin replied reflexively. Maybe he’d gotten used to the temperature, but the room seemed oddly humid now, something like sweat prickling the back of his neck.

She gasped like she’d caught him in the act, “And don’t get me started on that whole scandal with Princess Winter! I commed you so many times–“

“Cress,” He warned, “Drop it.” 

“It would’ve been nice to get a comm back y’know,” she pressed, “I was worried about you.”

His breath caught in his throat.

“I’m worried about you.”

Winter turned her big, doe-like eyes on him, closing the box he’d just given her. Blood and shame coloured his cheeks, and he was glad no one else was around to see them.

“Look at me.”

She took his pale, shaking hands in her own steady ones.

“Maybe we should take a break.”

“Jacin?”

He snapped awake like he’d been shot. 

Jacin was splayed out on the floor, blinking away a shorter blackout than what he was used to. Cress hovered over him, her cool fingers on his sweaty brow, the lip-light illuminating the grey, stony ceiling above them. 

He caught her wrists and pushed them away. Gently, he hoped, as her eyes flashed with hurt. 

“Please,” he said tightly, propping himself up, I just need some space. She pursed her lips but scooted back.

The air had gotten thicker, a humid soup bowl of sweat and the faint smell of burnt plastic, and both he and Cress were sweating now. He reached behind him, pressing one palm to the wall in confusion and felt it pulse with warmth. What?

“Was that normal?” Cress asked finally, looking over his shoulder, “Do you faint like that regularly?”

“I don’t faint,” He replied, absent-mindedly checking the ground beside him for where he’d tossed their ropes. 

“Jacin you just collapsed out of nowhere,” concern bled into her voice, “Are you seeing a doctor?”

“I’m fine, Cress.”

Jacin waved her away as his hands found the thick, white cords that’d been used to tie them up. Parts of the plastic-resin had melted into itself, softening and curling into useless putty, while the rest stayed firm.

“But–“

“Pass me the light.” He said, his voice sharp. 

She handed over the lip-light, startled, and he rose quickly, now heading over to the metal bench they’d been tied to. Jacin turned the little flashlight to the ceiling right above it and swore. Loudly. He should’ve known. 

His sudden outburst drew Cress from her place on the floor and she looked up to the small panel illuminated by the light. A thin groove along the wall, nearly imperceptible if you weren’t looking for it specifically but big enough for a person to get out of if they managed to flip it open.

“Quick,” he said, handing her back the flashlight, “Get on my back.”

She hesitated for a few seconds before he grabbed her arm and placed the lip-light in her palm, closing her fist over it.

“Cress,” He tried not to tint his words with the bitter tang of fear that was already churning in his stomach.

“We need to go now. This whole place's about to become a sweatbox.”

Her eyes widened.

Jacin had suspected as much, the moment he’d woken from the drug-haze. Though he hadn’t been assigned to oversee the torture of criminals and political prisoners under Levana’s rule, he’d watched as those who were returned to the barracks covered in scars and grime, whispering amongst themselves about entire rooms undergoing severe renovations to accommodate the Queen’s insatiable appetite for large-scale persecution.

One of those rooms was this: made of volcanic rock and metal, the hot air released into the room would be trapped within its walls, ideal for inflicting severe dehydration, intense burns, or even death (based on their crimes), without the unnecessary need for human contact. The method was so impassive and guilt-free, Jacin would’ve commended Levana’s ingenuity, if he didn’t hate her with every fibre of his being.

The only problem was, he had no way of knowing wether their attackers intended on slowly wasting them away, or burning them to a crisp, but he didn’t want to stay and find out. 

“Alright,” Cress said finally, popping the lip-light between her teeth.

Jacin turned and crouched obediently, waiting for her to climb onto his back. 

A few awkward seconds later (she was heavier than he remembered too), Jacin climbed onto the metal bench, his bare feet bristling with discomfort - the chair was hotter than the floor - and waited for her to push open the grooved panel.

Cress’s arms barely reached the ceiling, her legs swinging from his shoulders, but she didn’t complain.

“‘ow’d you mow ao’out dis exshhit amyway?” She mumbled from above him, flashlight still in her mouth.

“Training.” He replied curtly, but continued when he felt her stiffen, “One of the guards got trapped in a sweatbox-room once and I helped get him out.”

Cress fell silent for a few minutes, and all he could hear was the sound of scraping as her hands struggled to find purchase on the metal.

“There’s some kind of weight on it,” She said out of breath, tucking the lip-light away, “I can’t push it open.”

“I think I need to stand.”

He paled. The metal under his feet had begun to sear.

“I don’t know if that’s–“

It was too late, she was already hosting herself up using both her hands and feet, as Jacin did his best to keep his balance without burning his foot off. The longest ten seconds of his life later, Cress was able to push open the creaky panel a fraction, her feet firmly plastered on his shoulders.

“See anything?” He called, wiping away the sweat that dripped into his eyes. 

“Like what?” She whispered back, trying to peek through the opening. He could think of a few things. Guns. Guards. Security cameras, depending on where they were.

“Anything.” He repeated instead.

Cress huffed and attempted to push the wall again, recoiling in shock from the heat. 

“It’s burning– Are you–“

“I’ll live,” he grit his teeth, “Any progress on that escape hatch?”

She shook her head instead of answering and proceeded to lean all her weight onto the panel instead. Jacin wondered if the hiss of flesh on metal was coming from above or below him.

The hatch creaked again, this time longer and more pronounced, and Cress let out another happy Aha! before struggling to pull herself up and out. 

He felt the weight on his shoulders disappear slowly, then all at once, and looked up to see that a portion of the wall was fully open, gaping out into the night sky. 

Jacin felt his throat tighten for the second time that day.

How long had it been since he’d seen the stars?

At one point in his life, the stars were the only things that’d kept him going. No, that wasn’t completely true: Winter had been the only thing that’d kept him going. 

He lived for her, he breathed for her. He’d died for her. Again and again. But now she was gone. Sitting somewhere far within the depths of the palace in Artemisia, smiling and laughing and loving someone else. Watching the stars with someone who wasn’t him.

“There’s a rope-ladder thing here,” Cress popped into frame, blotting out the stars with her curled blonde bangs, and Jacin caught himself just in time. The knife-twist in his heart had momentarily distracted him from his burning feet. 

“Just grab on, I’ll try to pull you up as far I can.”

A few seconds later, what looked like a climbing rope made out of interlocking metal links, dropped down from the opening. 

Jacin shook his head and grabbed onto the chain, clearing his thoughts. Enough. This wasn’t the time or place to sit and mope like a beaten dog. He’d have plenty of time for regret, once he was back in his apartment, alone, where he could spend the rest of his days blacking out.

The chain went taught as he began to climb and it was all he could do not to imagine Cress on the other side, pulling and pulling to keep him up. He grabbed ahold of the burning metal and hoisted himself onto the roof, sweat sizzling as it dripped off his arms, and collapsed on his side.

As he took gasping breaths, his burnt skin scalding under the cool night air; he felt the vibrations of the metal as Cress too flopped down beside him, the edges of her pixie cut tickling his cheek. 

For one brief beautiful moment, Jacin pretended it was Winter laying beside him instead. That it was Winter’s soft curls on his face, and her honeyed giggle that would echo into the dawn that drew close. 

Any second now he would turn to the side, and she would look up at him with her gold-flecked eyes and say I do. Of course I do, Jacin. I love you, with that sweet, lilting voice of hers and everything would be okay. She wouldn’t close the box, she wouldn’t take his hands, she wouldn’t say the dreaded words that left him so empty he’d nearly drank himself to death.

“Hey.. are.. okay..” 

Her voice trailed away as he closed his eyes, stars imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Any second now. 

[bunny584]

JUJUTSU KAISEN'S ANATOMY

A/N: God I LOVE when you guys let me break the 4th wall. Most of you guys already know my specialty but in my junior years of residency I had to rotate on different services as part of training. Everyone loves a well rounded doctor. 

Anon, you’re insane for this ask. I could never write a full medical fan fic because it’s TOO close to home and I already spend 100 hours/week at the hospital I need to escape it somehow. 

Nevertheless, I’m SO happy to indulge you, baby. Let’s get into it. I’ll break this up into two parts. The Attendings, then The Residents. 

ATTENDINGS ON CALL

Dr. Satoru Gojo:

Specialty: TRAUMA SURGERY

Most people incorrectly assume trauma surgeons to be stern and intense. I would argue that they are the opposite. They are so deeply unserious. My co-residents and I legit played pranks on our attendings 24/7 during the rotation - right up this blue-eyed psychopath’s alley. When push comes to shove, they get the job fucking done. The most calm under pressure. A patient comes in coding and requires a thoracotomy and its your first one. You have less than 5 minutes to access the heart and massage — Satoru would stand behind you. Steadying your hand. 

“Good. More pressure on the incision. Spread the fascia. Good. Don’t puncture the lung, they need that right?” 

And the second you get to the heart he gives you a tiny nod of approval. Takes over at the head of the bed. You’re in for a LONG OR night with Dr. G, hope you had dinner.

Dr. Suguru Geto: 

Specialty: PLASTIC & RECONSTRUCTIVE SURGERY

Alright chat, hear me out. I know what you are about to say. I am biased because it’s my specialty and the boy is fucking pretty. But contrary to popular belief aesthetic surgery is 10% of our field. We do burn, hand, bony and soft tissue craniofacial (cleft lip, palate, etc), cancer reconstruction, trauma reconstruction, etc. Suguru is meticulous. He can sew up a severed 4 mm peripheral nerve with his eyes closed. He demands perfection in EVERY case. In the OR he watches your hands like a hawk. 

“Don’t skive the blade or the dermis will be uneven.” “Approximate, don’t strangulate.” “Cut that stitch out and do it perfectly the next time.” 

And when it’s good. I mean fucking flawless. He looks at you over his mask with those violet eyes. ONLY smiling with his eyes. 

“Good job. Make it perfect next time.” — This is the highest form of praise you will ever receive from a plastic surgeon. We are chronically unimpressed. Take it and RUN. 

Dr. Kento Nanami:

Specialty: TRANSPLANT SURGERY 

Phew this one is going to make me emotional. Nanami has a very special and private ceremony he does to honor those that have given life to others with their bodies. He sits on the top of a hill by the airport. For each plane that takes off, he names a donor patient, thanks them, and says his goodbye. Your first kidney transplant (personal experience) you cry like a little baby when they pink up and the patient starts making urine at the end of the case. 

Nanami tilts his head and chuckles. “Congratulations, doctor. You just made your patient urinate. How does it feel?” 

For a patient who has been on Hemodialysis for a decade. Chained to machines 3x/week. Can’t remember the last time they’ve independently gone to the bathroom? It feels fucking amazing. You’d cry too. 

Dr. Ryomen Sukuna

Specialty: ORTHOPEDIC SURGERY 

Who here is shocked? Raise your hand? Because I don’t know WHAT contract the orthopods have with the Gods but every single one of them is 6’5, works out 3 times/day and drinks muscle milk in between cases. The thing about Ryo is that he doesn’t give a single FUCK if the patient is 99 years old on blood thinners, 10L of O2 at home because of COPD — he WILL take them to the OR and he WILL smash that hip to smithereens because a hip replacement is a hip replacement okay?

I kid you not, my attending and I came into the OR to finish reconstruction on an ortho case. I’m 5’3, my attending is 5’0. The orthopods were 6’5 and 6’6 the patient table was basically touching the ceiling. When we scrubbed in they had the audacity to say:

“Can we lower the table to plastics height?”

RUDE. 

Dr. Shoko Ieiri 

Specialty: NEUROSURGERY

This one is obvious. Neurosurgeons are brilliant. Naturally some of the most gifted humans I have ever met. Special grade. And given the unfortunate outcomes a lot of their patients face, they all have a darkness about them. Both charming and intimidating. Twisted humor to cope with devastating loss after loss. I don’t have to explain much here. After a 15 hour Chordoma case, Shoko walks outside the HOSPITAL to smoke a CIGAR.

Literally everyone is like???? Aren’t you a literal doctor??? Our moody brunette just takes a long drag and says:

“Do me a favor. If I ever need a ventilator to breathe for more than 48 hours, pull the plug and smother me with a pillow.” 

(Shoko I’m here anytime if you want someone to smother—what?! Who?)

Dr. Utahime Iori

Specialty: ANESTHESIA 

The Gas Gang. EVERYONE loves the anesthesiologists. Fiercely intelligent. Insane handle on physiology. The sleeper pick. They are the smartest person in the room. Surgeons are just fancy plumbers. Anesthesiologists actually keep the patient alive. And the thing about our Gas Gods, is that they WILL take a coffee break, ok? All that standing for 10 hours shit is NOT for them. 

Part II Here: Meet your first year residency class. Grunts. Bottom of the surgical food chain. Hope they slept after med school graduation because the first shift lasts 36 hours. And you work every second night until you drop.

Eat when you can. Sleep when you can. And DON'T fuck with the pancreas (and for the love of GOD don't fuck the attendings)

[cherieye]

Apparently my eldest brother and my niece are coming to visit next week. My brother is supposed to help my dad hook up a water well to the barn. I don't know logistics wise how it's going to work with 6 humans in this tiny house...my folks are saying they can stay in the barn once the well is hooked up...but meh, that sounds iffy. I kind of wander how my 8 year old niece will feel being here after a couple days... I hope I can entertain her while she's here and it won't be boring for her.

The last thing I would want is her having a memory of visiting her grandparents bored and feeling extremely awkward about their living situation.

(Like having to burn all the trash, including toilet paper...I'm not going to go into that uncomfortable house rule)

And how I have to dump my cat litter outside in the yard around the trees or the drive way because my folks don't want to pay for trash service here.

.... We burn everything, including plastic...so I am most likely going to die from cancer at some point.

I'm probably going to be the one that ends up feeling most uncomfortable, most likely...knowing me.

I really hope my brother doesn't hit me with "I would go crazy living here'

Brah, please don't...ya talking to your chronically mental ill sister. I hope he doesn't disregard what I deal with everyday, especially in this environment where I'm forced to live in isolation and have to be "okay' with it.

[joontopia]

Find You Now | KSJ Oneshot - Preview

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader

genre: smut, angst, dashes of fluff

au: ex childhood friends to lovers, college drop out

rating: explicit, nsfw, 18+

current word count: 7K and growing

preview word count: 1.5K (unedited)

fic warnings: TBD

preview warnings: slight angst, slight pining

summary:  It’s been 4 years since the last time Seokjin has seen you. Four long years since he has seen your face, since he’s heard your voice, since he left you behind in your small hometown to find himself. But the only thing he found was how empty his life was without you. Following the downfall of his most recent relationship and the news of his brother’s engagement, Seokjin’s back home looking to fix the mistakes he tried to escape. To fix the friendship he lost, the pain he caused, and to find his happiness again. If only he could find you now.

This is a part of the Not A Phase Collab hosted by @suhdays​ - Inspired by the song Ocean Avenue by Yellowcard

Release Date: By Monday May 31st, 2021

It’s just past midnight as Jin pulls into his mom’s driveway, softly closing every door of his car as he gets out and retrieves his suitcase from the trunk. He turns slowly, taking in the stillness and quiet of the street he grew up on, stopping the moment his eyes fall on your house across the road. Not much has changed about your house, save for the vacancy of your car. Your typical parking spot in your parent’s driveway is empty, leaving Jin to wonder if you’re not home or if your father finally cleaned out the other half of the garage, allowing you to park inside.

From the faint illuminance of the street lights, he’s able to see the hibiscus bushes that line the outside of your home. The flowers not yet in bloom due to the time of year. His eyes shift over to the cherry blossom tree at the corner of your yard, sight trailing up its growth until his gaze ends at the highest point. The top of the tree still reaches just above your bedroom window on the second floor. Jin’s lips twitch up into a smile as a memory surfaces in his mind.

6 years earlier

“It was intentional. I’m telling you!” You rant, pouting as you stab your spoon into the cup of ice cream in Jin’s hand.

You’re sitting next to each other outside of the local ice cream shop, sharing two big scoops of chocolate and strawberry that had cost Jin the last of his weekly allowance. You had begged him to take you out for a treat, having just endured one of the most awkward conversations with your parents, promising him that he could choose the flavor as a form of sweet talk to get him to agree. He ended up getting a scoop each of both you and his favorites, his heart fluttering at the sight of your bright smile when he joined you outside on the park bench. The moment Jin handed you a spoon, you immediately dived in, a mixture of the two flavors disappearing into your mouth in a flash. A subtle hum of satisfaction slips past your lips from the taste. Jin shakes his head as he smiles, dipping his own spoon in for a scoop. “Chocolate and Strawberry is a match made in heaven. Two favors that go together perfectly. Like best friends, just like us,” you would say each time Jin asked you about your favorite indulgence.

You remove the spoon from your mouth, waving it around in the air as you share with Jin the scarring conversation with your parents that led to this impromptu outing. They finally decided it was time you had ‘the talk.’ If the topic at hand wasn’t bad enough, your dad even shared with you how he used to sneak out his childhood bedroom, your current bedroom, to meet up with your mom. Information that you stated you’d be better off never knowing.

“Did you know there used to be a big oak tree there? Branches so thick, dad brags about how easily they held his weight as he climbed down them,” you grumble. Jin’s eyes are on you, nodding along to your story as he listens. His attention is slightly distracted the moment he feels your hand cover his causing the both of you to hold the ice cream bowl together as you try to steady it, scooping up a generous portion of the treat with your spoon. The subtle touch redirects his mind from your words to his surroundings, suddenly aware of how closely you two were sitting next to each other on the bench.

It’s not unusual for the two of you to be this close to each other, having known one another since you were in diapers. But now at the age of 16, Jin can only blame it on teenage hormones. What else would explain his rise in blood pressure being this close to his best friend? Surely not the intoxicating scent of your perfume. The one he quickly recognizes as the very brand he got you for your birthday last year. Nor the change in how you do your makeup, the natural tones and faux bare minimum style accentuating your facial features. Allowing your natural beauty to shine.

Jin observes as you bring the plastic utensil up to your mouth again, turning the spoon upside down at the last second before placing it on your tongue, your glossed, plush lips closing before pulling the now clean spoon from between them. He watches as the tip of your tongue peeks out, swiping at a rogue drop of melted chocolate ice cream on your bottom lip and he’s momentarily mesmerized. Lost in wonderment at how his favorite flavor would taste from your lips. He’s brought back to reality from a painful thump on his forehead, the result from where you flicked him with your fingers.

“Yah! Are you even listening?” you scold him, doing a terrible job at stifling your giggle from the pout that forms on Jin’s lips as he rubs his wound. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What’s the big deal? I thought you liked the Cherry Blossom tree,” Jin asks, ears turning red as he looks away from you. Scooping a hefty amount of ice cream into his own mouth to avoid answering the second part of your question. You roll your eyes at him and continue in your rant. Jin quietly lets out a small sigh of relief at you letting his obvious avoidance go.

“I did like it. LOVED it even. My dad said he had the old oak tree removed and the new tree planted shortly after learning I was going to be a girl. But now I just see it as a traitor tree. With branches not thick enough to let me sneak out.” You’re back to pouting, Jin catching the down turn of your lips from his peripherals. How badly he wants to kiss that frown away, the sudden urge to see you smile filling his thoughts.

He hadn’t realized he turned towards you, fully facing you with his spoon in his mouth until you were speaking to him through a fit of giggles, the sound of your amusement like music to his ears. “What are you thinking about, Jinnie?”

Jin is at a loss of words the moment his gaze meets yours. Your eyes full of genuine curiosity as you look up at him, a soft smile one your lips as you wait for him to answer. A slight breeze picks up, causing loose strands of your hair to blow into your face. On instinct, Jin reaches with his free hand, moving your hair back and tucking it behind your ear. Not missing your tiny gasp as your cheeks turn a soft pink from the intimate action. “Have you always been this beautiful?” he thinks to himself as he lets his fingers linger on your cheek. Unsure if it’s just wishful thinking, he swears your face is getting closer to his. Not able to tell if it was from him leaning in or you or both. The moment is suddenly broken by the sound of a car horn blaring from somewhere behind you, causing the two of you to jump slightly back from each other as Jin drops his hand from your face. Clearing his throat, Jin spoons another helping of ice cream into his mouth before passing the bowl towards you.

“Well,” he says, breaking the tension between you two as you take the ice cream from him, “Guess we’ll just have to think of another way for you to sneak out then.”

The smile you award him knocks the breath right out of lunges. The beauty of your happy expression being the most wonderful thing Jin has seen all day. A similar smile reactively graces his face, telling himself then and there that he wants to only ever make you look at him that way all the time.

A somber feeling takes over Jin as he brings himself out of his memory. Turning back towards his house, he walks up to the front door, quietly turning the key and going inside. Locking the door behind him, he carries his suitcase up the stairs, his head turned down the whole way to his old bedroom. He hadn’t kept his promise to himself, so easily breaking it only two years after making it. Entering his room, Jin drops his suitcase on the ground and closes his door. Falling onto his bed, he hopes that once he is able to find you, you will grant him the mercy and honor for him to redeem himself. Allowing him to see that beautiful smile once again.

[bluejay-writes]

I Thought I'd Lost You - Chapter 1/14

You can also read this on Ao3!

Fandom: Blooming Panic Rating: Mature Pairings: Quest/MC(OC?) Updates: Regularly. At least daily. As often as I can get things formatted and posted. Important Notes: Spoilers for Quest's Route. Half of this is a chatfic. Summary/Blurb to get you sucked in:

Seraphina thought moving across the country and changing her looks would keep her problematic ex off her case. Staying under the radar should be easy. Besides, what could happen on a tiny fan server for a webnovel, anyway?

Quest thought he'd left his old life behind. While that meant leaving his first love behind as well, he thought that was a fair trade for her safety. Little did he know they'd meet again on the tiny fan server he moderated. Or that the rest of his past would be right on her heels.

“Sera, can you take the trash?” her manager called to her, and she sighed. Of course she got to drag the last, heaviest, bag of trash out back to the dumpster. One more week of this hell and she’d be working her dream job in the city. She hefted the black plastic bag over the rim of the dumpster, the sound of a thud and breaking glass the usual accompaniments to the late night trash drop.

She turned, a shadowy form by the doorway catching her attention. For a moment, she thought her eyes were deceiving her.

“Quest?” she asked, but knew immediately that she was wrong. Quest was gone.

“No, baby, your knight in shining armor is never coming back.” The voice said. 

“Trent?!” She said, backing up a few steps. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to get what’s mine.”

“Trent. I broke up with you a month ago, what the fuck?”

“You thought you could get rid of me that easily?”

The man in the shadows advanced on her.

Seraphina sat straight up in her bed, her heart pounding so loud she could hear it.

“Fuck.” She said, one hand to her chest as she stood and went to get a glass of water.

There’s no way I’m getting back to sleep anytime soon. Maybe I can catch up on Blooming Panic before I go back to sleep. Ugh. So much for getting an early night for once.

Lola was sure everyone in the building could hear her heart pounding as she yanked the blinds shut.

“Mood.” Sera muttered, sipping her water, wishing for not the first time that it was something harder.

She briefly considered calling Xander, but stopped short of picking up her phone. No, this was something she would have to go through alone.

“As usual, poor Lola baby. All those hotties, and no one to hold you through the rough parts.”

As the shocks rattled through her body, all Lola could do was panic. Was she going to change in a way she liked? Would Xander still like her? Would she become a completely different person? Like it or not, Lola was about to find out. She sat down on her bed and took a deep breath. “Lola 2.0 here I come…”

Sera wiped the tear that was trying to escape from the corner of her eye. These chapters always hit her so hard, probably because they were hitting closer and closer to home the longer the story went on. That was another chapter done. She couldn’t help but feel like she was getting close to the end of the story. The next chapter would probably be the last one. Three entire years of a story, and it was about to end. Sera sighed. She was almost more awake now than she was before reading that. Next to her on the desk, her phone buzzed. A quick glance told her that her boss wanted her in the office at 5am.

“Seriously, Ned? Seriously? Ugh! If I hadn’t had that nightmare I’d have been asleep already and my alarm doesn’t go off until 6!”

Sera decided not to respond to the idiot. Let him sweat whether she’d show up on time and bail his ass out of whatever problem it was. Of course she would, but he deserved to worry about it. Tomorrow morning was already going to be full of reports, number crunching, and unavoidable meetings. Now, she’d be lucky to sneak in a cup of coffee.

Scrolling tumblr digging for any new Bloomic fanfic, a message popped into Sera’s inbox.

Anon: Come join the Bloomic Fan Server! [Discord Invite Link]

Sera looked at the link. It was probably spam. There were no Bloomic fan servers or forums or anything. She knew. She’d looked. Extensively. It looked like a download for a completely different program, but… the chance to connect with other Bloomic fans… Sera clicked the link. Tomorrow was already going to suck. Today… today was for her. Even if that meant fending off a computer virus from a bad decision, at least it was her own damn decision.

The program downloaded with no issues, and looked like a specially branded discord server.

After setting up her username and some role things about pronouns, Sera was dumped into the server where people were chatting.

BloomBot: SixOfCoins has joined the server. —SixOfCoins is now online— xyx: why would i lie to you  xyx: i have literally never lied in my life nightowl: LOL onionthief: salo… BIGLADY: >_<;; salociN: What ? onionthief: Do you honestly believe onionthief: that onionthief: you can get to a ‘secret internet’ onionthief: by plugging your router into the phone jack? salociN: Have you tried it …? onionthief:  onionthief: No! xyx: see xyx: he doesnt even know what hes talking about Quest: everyone, please Quest: we have a new member BIGLADY:  BIGLADY: wha!!! o/ two2: oh shit nightowl: welcome!! salociN: Hello! June: welcome! <3 SixOfCoins: Hello, everyone! Quest: hello and welcome, @SixOfCoins salociN: Wonderful to have a new person around :) Quest: let me know if anyone gives you a hard time Quest: we want you to feel comfortable here! June: yeye BIGLADY: mhm mhm

Sera blinked. 

“Let me know if anyone gives you a hard time.” he’d said. Sera’s mind drifted to a time when another person, a different Quest, had pulled her aside at the bar to say those exact words.

What if he’s not a different Quest though? her traitorous heart suggested, but she squashed that thought flat. Quest was gone, as if her nightmare wasn’t enough to remind her of that, thanks.

two2: mmmmm SixOfCoins two2: do u want us to call u Six, or Coins, or…? SixOfCoins: Six to one, half dozen to the other, lol BIGLADY: omg nightowl: LOL SixOfCoins: Just call me Six. June: okay!! Six it is!! Quest: does everyone want to introduce themselves? nightowl: ME! onionthief: Hello, I’m onion. I’m a university student. xyx: bland nightowl: i’m NIGHTOWL! and i’m a university student as well!! nightowl:  nightowl:  SixOfCoins: Hm, alright!  SixOfCoins: nightowl clearly typed his username with capslock on the first time… SixOfCoins: don’t know why it’s all lowercase. BIGLADY knows where it’s at.  xyx: LMFAO two2: i’m ALMOST a university student two2: almost,,,,, BIGLADY: i do know where it’s at! BIGLADY: XD i used to be a university student!! look at all of us ~ xyx: this server is too educated Quest: xyx… June: hello helloooo, i’m June <3 June: I’m probably the biggest blooming panic super fan. nightowl: sdjfkghkf nightowl: it’s true!! Quest: ha Quest: who’s left - me and salociN? nightowl: AND XYX xyx: lol u wish xyx: hello i am xyx SixOfCoins: i can see that! hi!! xyx: oh u can? xyx: ur very cool, Six Quest: lol see, why bother trying xyx: hello I am xyx and i enjoy money Quest: god… June: sorry, @SixOfCoins, he’s always like this. SixOfCoins: Well, I am ostensibly coins, a type of money, so I think we’ll get along fine. xyx: lol right okay onionthief: It’s quite annoying two2: hey remember that jail role he used to have nightowl: OH YEAH xyx: wait nightowl: JAIL JAIL JAIL xyx: ON WHAT GROUNDS Quest: pls Quest: xyx, we’re trying to greet someone new xyx: i AM greeting her????????? Quest: sigh xyx [Jail]: i will not forget this injustice Quest: uh huh salociN: Introductions? nightowl: YA!! salociN: You can call me salo. I have a lovely wife that I dote after and I’m enjoying my retirement. June: salo is the best <3 June: now you, Quest! Quest: lmao Quest: I’m the server moderator - let me know if you run into any issues with these people xyx [Jail]: ‘these people’ wow Quest: you deserve it June: wait if we’re going to be posting face pics, does anyone have that really old one of quest? two2: huh? xyx [Jail]: ohhhhh baby xyx [Jail]: sec Quest: wait what picture xyx [Jail]: 

Sera backed up from her computer so hard, her chair fell backwards, and if it weren’t for the fact that her apartment was tiny and she hit her bed, she’d likely have fallen flat on her back and smacked her head into the floor.

Quest was Quest. QUEST IS QUEST.

Somewhere behind all of her panic, her heart was swimming in a pool of “I told you so” which it deserved, but Sera was too stunned. How could Quest be here? He read Bloomic? Long enough to be a moderator on a server?! Moreover, he was fine? He seemed to at least be happy in that photo, which was definitely more recent than… the incident, so…

Sera looked back at the screen, and at her phone, and at the screen, and out the window and… She should probably log out for tonight. Right? Right??

Quest: oh no nightowl: OH LOL nightowl: WASN’T THIS FROM A DRINKING NIGHT Quest: i can’t believe you saved that xyx: 

Shit. She had to say something about the photo before she left, or else he’d know his photo affected her, and… no, she just.. ugh. Honesty. Brutal honesty.

SixOfCoins: You look like a happy drunk! lol SixOfCoins: Definite moderator material. Quest:  Quest: sure lmao SixOfCoins: I have to run, just found out I have to be at work in 6 hours, and… yeah. —SixOfCoins is now offline—

Sera flopped onto her bed, her brain and heart and everything a mess. First the nightmare about Trent, then a random server, and now Quest is actually Quest? Despite her thoughts, her body was exhausted, especially after the near fall and the concussion she definitely didn’t get thanks to her bed, and she slipped into sleep.

[minmindreaming]

Dad Mode | Chapter 1

Word count: 4.5k

Genre: Fluff (with the smallest sprinkle of angst)

Pairings: Dad!Namjoon x Teacher!Reader (feat Kid!Jungkook)

Summary: It’s been three years since the first time he walked into your classroom, small, shy son in his arms, already whining about the first day of class. Yet even as Jungkook now turns 6 you still feel yourself blushing around his cute dad, Namjoon. What happens when you find yourself alone with him? And the two of you struggle to keep your crushes at bay

A.N: 2 years later and I come back with a freaking Dad!Namjoon fic, of course...

A soft giggle made the man turn around, his eyes wide as he looked around frantically. To the casual listener the sound wouldn’t have sounded any different than any of the other kids running around the playground, but Namjoon could pick that one out in any crowd. He stood up, looking over the large seesaw for his little trickster, but alas, once again he couldn’t find him. “Jungkook I swear to god… I lost okay? I lost, just come out” But the small boy was nowhere to be seen. Namjoon sighed heavily, not even being able to mask his worry as other parents played with their kids happily. “Jungkook… please I-” “Need some help?” The sun shone from behind your frame, blinding Namjoon for a second before he was able to focus his sight. Your smile was the first thing he noticed, as soft as he remembered, always shining with a sense of calmness that even his own nerves couldn’t beat. “I can’t find him…” he admitted without fear, he knew that after all this time there was no way you’d judge him You laughed softly, nodding as you crotched down to his level, looking around the area as you focused your hearing to find the same soft giggle Namjoon had been listening for, “he’s always been the best at hide and seek” you admitted, laughing a tad harder as Namjoon sighed in exasperation. Your eyes trailed towards the large plastic castle left of the seesaw, a few brown strands peaking up from the top floor of the tower, a small smile covering your lips as you spoke, “Kookie… I was about to go start with the class games… But I guess since you’re not here I’m gonna have to ask Taehyung to help m-” and like clockwork, those tiny brown eyes were staring right at you “No!” Namjoon’s mouth fell agape as he saw his son sliding down the castle’s yellow slide and running straight at you, as if he hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes making a fool out of his dad. You opened your arms and instantly the 6 year old ran into them, clinging to you with all the confidence in the world, knowing damn well that he was gonna be the one helping with the class games. “You promised I could help!” he exclaimed, pouting as you stood up with him in your arms “Well, you’re the one who was slacking in your duties to go play hide and seek” you answered, trying hard not to laugh at his shocked face. “It’s not my fault!! Daddy took too long to find me…” And now it was Namjoon’s turn to pout. You turned to the man, giggling softly as he stuttered, trying to think about something to say, something to protect his integrity as a dad… But Jungkook was right, Namjoon had absolutely no idea where he was. You shook your head softly at Namjoon, making sure he knew it was okay before you put Jungkook down on his feet, ignoring the small pout the boy gave you before he ran straight towards his dad’s side. “Why don’t you go get the rest of the boys into our room Kookie? I’m just gonna clean up here and i’ll be right there okay?” you asked as you smiled at him softly The boy nodded excitedly, always happy to help, and not a second later he was running towards the small kindergarten you had started a few years ago. You watched the boy with a small smile, even the sight of him bringing you a sense of joy you knew was special.  

“I swear, he makes me look so bad…” Namjoon groaned, patting down his olive chino pants as he stepped towards you “He’s one of the happiest little boys I know Mr. Kim,” you started, giving him a genuine smile, “he makes you look great” Joon’s eyebrows rose at your words, staring back at you for a second before his eyes softened, whole body relaxing just as his dimples appeared on his face, a small, shy smile on his lips. “He really loves it when you’re able to join for break time, it’s easy to tell, that cheeky smile of his doesn’t leave his face for the rest of the day” you commented, trying not to sound too excited yourself. After all, you were only talking about Jungkook Namjoon looked back at the building Kook had run into, a small smile on his lips as he nods, “yeah… I wish I was able to come more often I just-” “It’s okay,” you said, a hand on his shoulder as you started walking towards the building, “that’s why I’m here Mr. Kim” Namjoon watched as you passed him, his eyes mindlessly trailing down your frame, taking in the way your strands of hair peaked out out your messy bun.. How your cream coloured blouse tucked into the back of your light jeans. The way you always looked entirely too perfect for someone who spent the day looking after children. He caught himself staring, shaking his head lightly before he followed you into the small building and towards the main classroom where he could hear the children welcoming you excitedly. He waved goodbye to a few familiar parents as they started heading home or towards work, the large red clock on the wall signalling to him that class was about to start and he himself should be making his way to work. But he couldn’t help but head in for another peek. He leaned against the classroom’s door frame, smiling as he saw Jungkook running up to you the second you reached your desk, the boy clearly enamored with his teacher. Namjoon tried to hide the smile it brought to his lips, knowing that one came from a deeper place, more dangerous… It wasn’t everyday that he was able to see Jungkook this happy with someone else, of course it would make him feel a certain type of way, but he shouldn’t let that interfere with the somewhat professional relationship he had with you. Jungkook’s caught sight of his father, his large front teeth on full display as he ran towards Namjoon, tiny arms trying their damn hardest to circle the tall man’s legs. Namjoon patted his hair down softly, smiling, “hey, I’ll be back later okay?” he tried, but Jungkook put up no fight, “I know” he smiled up at his dad. He knew Namjoon was always there to take him home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- You were proud of the fact that you hardly let the kids see you anxious, knowing damn well how easily they can pick up on other people’s anxiety. But right now, listening to your favourite little boy crying his eyes out, it was getting really really hard to stay calm. You stepped closer to Jungkook's desk, the boy with his head shoved up against the wooden table as he tried hiding his tears from you, despite his wails being loud enough to fill the whole room. 

For almost an hour now you had tried calming him down, staying with him as he watched one by one the kids leave at the end of the day, his smile faltering with every single friend that walked out the door. But by the time the last one left, he could barely keep the sobs in. Despite the thousands of apologies Namjoon had already blasted your phone with, the man was still stuck at work. By now, you knew it was inevitable, and you couldn’t fault him from struggling to juggle his work and Jungkook, but the boy did not see it that way. “Kookie… Daddy is just late, you’ll be home soon okay?” you tried, flinching softly as Jungkook wailed louder, “Nooo… He left me here! He left me…” Your heart broke at the hurt you could hear in his voice, and as you looked at the clock once again, your mind was made up. You made your way to the other side of the room, dialling Namjoon’s number as you turned away from Jungkook. It didn’t take him long to pick up, and immediately you could hear the desperation in his voice, the man struggling to stay on the phone as he rushed into his car. “(Y/N) is everything okay?! I’m on my way! I’ll be there soon I-” “Mr.Kim,” you started calmly, not wanting to let him ramble on, “everything is fine, Jungkook is okay… I’m just…” you closed your eyes… trying to stop the blush making its way onto your face, this was what was best for Jungkook, “why don’t I drive him over to your house?” You could hear Namjoon pause, and for a second you regretted your decision, but just as Jungkook sobbed again the man spoke, “really?” “Yeah,” you continued, “I think Jungkook is just uncomfortable not being home, and I know it takes you longer to get here so it might be best for him if I just meet you at your home? It’s no trouble for me to drive hi-” “Yes! Oh my god (Y/N) yes, thank you so much, wow, I-” You cut him off again, the sound of him using your first name finally cracking you and making you blush, “it’s okay! He’ll just be happy to be home… I’ll see you soon then” you finished, perhaps a bit too rushed before you quickly hung up. You stared at the wall for a second, for the first time in years your crush coming back to hit you with full force. But you knew now was not the time to fangirl over the cute single dad at your work. Jungkook needed you, and you weren’t about to let a silly crush get in the way of making your little Kookie feel better. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time you rolled into Namjoon’s driveway Jungkook was all but knocked out in the back seat. His cheeks were still stained with tears, eyes still slightly puffy as the young boy struggled to keep them open. He had panicked so much earlier… No wonder he was tired. You parked the car, looking back at him for a second with a small frown. The way he freaked out, the things he said… You know he was thinking back to his mother. You didn’t know the details, and you know Jungkook was too young to remember. But the boy was too smart for his own good, surely by now he had put two and two together. It wasn’t hard, seeing all his friends always being dropped off by two parents while he always only had Namjoon. You sighed as you opened your door, walking back to grab him from his seat just as Namjoon opened the front door, running down the steps. You pulled Jungkook’s sleeping body into your arms, signalling for Namjoon to be quiet just as the man was about to speak. But he saw you, softening his steps as he got closer, a sad frown on his face as he got a glimpse of Kook’s cheeks. You gave Namjoon an understanding smile, following him towards the house before you passed the sleeping boy to his dad. Namjoon held Jungkook close, his hands gripping the boy a tad too tightly as he whispered towards you, “will you wait here a second? I’m just gonna take him upstairs” You nodded as you stepped inside the house with him, standing by the entrance as you watched Namjoon quickly make his way to the second floor. You took the time to look around, smiling softly as you saw both their personalities plastered around the home. You could see Namjoon’s style within the earthy tones that filled the home, the whole clearly decorated to perfection, before hurricane Jungkook took over with his action figures and games, laying over every furniture piece in the home. Your eyes shifted towards the stairs as you heard Namjoon walking back down, finally noticing his appearance. The usually put-together, care-free man had certainly had a stressful day. His bleached white hair had been pushed back, the sleeves of his brown shirt rolled up to his elbows, collar opened a button-too-low. You blinked a couple times before looking away, acting as if you were still just looking around as he reached you. “Miss. (L/N) I am so so sorry for this. I had absolutely no way of getting out of my meeting earlier and…” he tried, pushing his hair back once more as you raised your hands to calm him, “no no, don’t worry! Really, these things happen” He looked at you as if he wanted to apologise once more, but caught himself. Honestly, at this point even Namjoon couldn’t keep track of how many times he had done so that night, and in his mind no amount of apologies could make up for what had happened. You swayed slightly as you looked around, the awkwardness finally getting to you and flaring up your nerves. “I should go…” you muttered, trying your best to sound casual, but Namjoon was apparently hellbent on making your heart flutter. “Wait! Uhm… Can I make you some dinner?” he started, your eyes widening at the proposal, “Jungkook might be too tired to eat but I’m sure you’re hungry. Please, it’s the least I can do” For what felt like forever you just stood there speechless. You knew that any second now you would become a blushing mess, maybe you could still get out of it somehow? But as Namjoon saw the gears in your head turning he double down, the sweetest puppy eyes looking down at you as he insisted once more. So that’s where Jungkook gets it from… You giggled at your thought, nodding your head slowly and holding back the other giggle that his bright smile enlisted. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Namjoon was Jungkook’s dad, a client, you needed to be able to act normal around him. This little crush had gone on for way too long anyways. Namjoon led you towards the large kitchen, motioning for you to sit behind the large granite island as he made his way towards the fridge. You rested your chin on your hand as you sat down, watching him as he moved around, grabbing glasses and plates, only to stop as he looked for what to make. At this point you had known Namjoon for a while, and you had seen Jungkook play pranks on him enough to know when he got nervous. You leaned right to look around him, giggling softly as you noticed him staring at his weirdly stocked fridge blankly. His body picked up your giggle, and he turned around with a sheepish grin, clearly thinking about how he'd explain to you that he was a terrible cook. But he forgot that you were best friends with his kid. “You know, a little bird told me that you guys’ favourite meals come straight out of there, and not the fridge” you joked as you pointed to Namjoon’s phone sitting on the counter. The man turned to look at it, chuckling lightly as he knew there was no hiding things from you. He didn’t keep secrets from Jungkook and apparently Jungkook didn’t keep secrets from you either.  “Yeah… This household runs a little differently… I’m-” but he stopped himself. He had apologised enough tonight. Honestly, why was he even doing it that much? Namjoon couldn’t remember the last time he had been this nervous around a woman, especially after Jungkook was born. But whenever you were in the room he just couldn’t stop himself. It also didn’t help that you were kind, beautiful, Jungkook absolutely loved you, and you were so, absolutely, incredibly, ho- Breathe Namjoon. Without much thought he grabbed a bottle of white wine from the fridge, not noticing the look you gave him as he grabbed two glasses, chuckling to himself. He placed both glasses on the island across from you, only looking up at you as he was opening the bottle, and immediately realising what he was doing. “Fuck, I didn’t even ask. I’m sorry, I… Would you like some wine? Oh no wait you’re driving, I just, I-” You giggled at his reaction, shaking your head slightly, “it’s okay. It’s been a long day, I could have one glass, just one” He sighed in relief as you agreed, pouring both glasses before putting away the bottle and walking around the island towards your side. He passed it towards you before sitting on the stool beside you, a tad too close perhaps. Maybe this was where him and Jungkook had breakfast? For a second you dared imagine how cute the two would look, Jungkook asking for help to get on the stool, Namjoon feeding him as you grabbed both a glass of orange juice from the fridg- Why were you in that fantasy? You brought the glass to your lips to shut up your thoughts, the tang of the white wine making everything a little better. “Thank you Mr. Kim” “Namjoon” Your eyes widened slightly at his word, watching him as he chuckled, “you can call me Namjoon. I mean, we are having a glass of wine in my kitchen… And how long have we even known each other for, 3 years? I think it’s about time Miss. (L/N)” he grinned casually “(Y/N). You can call me (Y/N) then” you smiled, trying to hide the excitement of hearing it from his lips once again. “It has in fact been a long time though, 3 years this year… God I can’t believe Jungkook is 6” you whined, remembering the cute little boy that waddled into your class that first day. 

“You tell me, sometimes I think time is playing a trick on me…” he agreed. Namjoon took a sip of his wine before he turned his body towards you, his face a little more serious, “how was he?” 

You knew what he was asking about, and from the looks of it, he already knew the

answer. But you still wanted to try, “he was fine! A bit confused but you know he’s young and-” “Y/N…” 

You stopped, sighing before you told him the truth, “he thought you had just left him there… I had never seen Jungkook like that, he was terrified. I tried calming him down, it had only been an hour, but he was…” you trailed off, remembering how absolutely heartbroken the boy was. But as you looked at Namjoon, you could see the same exact feeling in him. “Is it because…?

“His mother… Yes” Namjoon sighed You noticed your own question, groaning at yourself for bringing it up, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry” But Namjoon shook his head, giving you a small smile, “it’s okay”. But why? Why was it okay? Namjoon rarely ever talked about Jungkook’s mother, yet somehow he felt inclined to tell you about it. Without thinking about it further he went on, “I haven’t talked about it much with Jungkook, but he knows. He was too young to remember, but he knows…” he sighed, taking another sip of his wine before he went on, “we were both young when she found out, too young to be having a kid. But I was so sure of it, I just wanted to be a dad. We actually tried, and it worked, for a little while. When Jungkook was just a baby he took up enough of our time that we didn’t really notice how badly things were going… But by the time he was two she just couldn’t take it anymore” For a moment, you found it hard not to feel resentment for a woman that would just leave Jungkook and Namjoon like that, but Joon didn’t seem to hold any grudge in his heart. “I was lucky enough to already have my career by then, but she was only just getting started. The pressure on new mothers is so insane… It wasn’t fair for me to make her give that all up for a life she didn’t want” He looked up at you, eyes widening slightly at the look of sadness you had, before he chuckled, shaking his head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring the mood down. I don’t blame her, or regret anything, it gave me Jungkook and that’s all I care about.” You wanted to say something, to tell him he was doing great and everything would be fine, that you were there for him. But who even were you? The teacher? Was it really your place to say anything. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself? What made you open up the school?” he asked, clearly wanting to change the subject You thought about it for a second, smiling to yourself as you remembered the journey it took to open your small little school, “I had always dreamed of working for myself,  and after my Masters it just seemed like the right choice. I was definitely ready to take the leap and open my own place but god I was so scared” you chuckled, a small blush on your cheeks, “I’ve always loved kids, I mean, I studied for this you know, but owning your own business is a whole other beast… I just knew that I wanted to be able to help kids on my own terms, without all the bureaucracy that came with my old school. They treated the children like clients there, I would never have been able to stay with a kid like Jungkook if a parent was late, and that’s not right…” You looked up at him, smiling softly as you noticed he was giving you his full attention, “It’s crazy to think that i’ve been doing this for almost 5 years now…” “I mean, given that i’ve trusted you with my son for over half of those, i’d say you’re doing a pretty good job” Namjoon offered, his dimples showing as he smiled at you You giggled, nodding, “thank you for that Mr.K- Namjoon… It’s honestly been such a treat to be able to watch Kookie grow.” 

“It makes me happy too. You’re probably one of the most consistent things in his life… I’m just glad he has some other than screw-up ol’ dad to rely on” 

Honestly, how many times had Namjoon had this conversation with himself? Jungkook was lucky to have you, you were probably the closest thing to a mother he had, and a freaking perfect one at that. Namjoon could not recall the amount of times he caught himself thinking about that, only to tell himself to stop being a creep. But it was almost impossible for him not to fall hard. You are practically everything he ever wanted. “He really loves you Namjoon,” you started, smiling at him as your hand mindlessly reached for his, “you should see the way he talks about you… You’re his hero. He’s a very lucky boy to have you as a dad and he knows it. It’s time you figure that out too” you giggled softly, trying to reassure him. Namjoon stared at you for a second, his expression unlike anything you’d seen before, yet you couldn’t make yourself look away. “You really love him, don’t you?” he asked Your eyes widened for a second, a blush making its way onto your face as you finally felt the reality of your words reach you. Was it too much? You didn’t want to seem weird or like you were prying too much. But you couldn’t hide the fact that Jungkook held a special place in your heart, one that not many of your students had touched. There was just something about him that just made you want to be there… “He’s a special boy” “You’re special”

Namjoon looked down at your hand atop of his, his own turning slowly to be able to grip your wrist, pulling you towards him slowly. He looked up, eyes fixed on yours as he searched for any sign of discomfort, but the gaze of pure hope you had simply solidified his resolve. Without much more thought his other hand cupped the side of your face, pulling you in for a slow, deep kiss.

Your eyes fluttered shut, body leaning into his as you whimpered softly against his lips, the feeling of them on your making your mind go blank. You couldn’t stop yourself as you reached for his shirt, pulling him closer as your hands gripped the fabric tightly. And Namjoon was right there with you. He didn’t think twice about hoping off his stool, lips never leaving yours as he pushed your legs apart gently, moving to stand in between them before he deepened the kiss. Surely by now your whole body was on fire, hands gripping at every last inch of his shirt as you tried keeping yourself grounded somehow, trying your best to stay sane and calm, but as you felt Namjoons tongue running across your bottom lip, you lost it. “Namjoon…” you moan quietly Yet all it did was alert the man of exactly what you two were doing. “Fuck… (Y/N) I’m so sorry I, I didn’t mean to go this fast I just -” “No! I…” but how could you tell him you liked it without sounding too desperate? “Please…” you looked up at him, your hand gripping his shirt tighter. Namjoon stared back at you for a second, his eyes a tad wide before it finally hit him, and he wasn’t about to wait another second. He had waited almost 3 years already. His hands cupped your face, pulling you in for a heated kiss, the frustration of having waited this long apparent in how he held you close, lips moving as if in sync with yours. You two were practically drowning in each other,  you two pressing against each other in the most delicious of ways as the world around lay there forgotten. So much so no one heard the small steps walking down the staircase. “Daddy, what are you and Miss (Y/N) doing? The quiet voice made your flinch, both of you tearing away from each other so fast you were sure you could feel some whiplash from it, but it didn’t stop either of you from looking at Jungkook and shouting, “Jungkook!”  

[suicidalslasher]

forever & always. ➤ tom. h.

Happy Valentine’s Day~!!! I couldn’t contain myself and or stop myself from writing about my favorite Valentine’s day killer. So, here you go :)

WARNING: descriptions of gore and blood. in this one-shot, the reader’s pronouns are she&her.  i might make a part two of this, depending on how well it does. maybe not. i like how it ends, regardless. either way. enjoy.

The news spread like wildfire. No matter which way you went, there was always a flame, reaching out towards those to burn. Try as you may, you can't get away. The words that littered the air was nothing more than burnt ashes fluttering around, burning each object as it flies above said thing or said person. In this case, the people of a small town called Valentine Bluffs were the ones burning from the inside and out. They felt trapped within the smoke, unable to seek out which way to escape the dangers that had followed.   The terror; the trauma; the panic and anxiety attacks; All of it - they thought it was long gone.... they were finally going back to being normal, how things used to be. 

They were going back to a life that wasn't full of fear, having to look behind your shoulder constantly and being careful of who you trust. It was all going to be okay, happy once more. They'd finally be able to celebrate their favorite day once again.  But... as you may have guessed, it's not quite  easy to put out a rapid wildfire. All it takes is a small fire to expand out into something bigger, bolder, and scarier. You can't escape the flames. No matter how big or small. You cannot ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that  glazes across your skin as the fire around you grows larger, making you feel smaller and smaller by the second.  The words, however, the statement that was fluttering around like specks of ash,  wasn't at all a sentence (nor an actual fire)  but a name - Harry Warden.  1997. Valentine's day. Everybody, in & out of town, knows what happened.  For a brief period of time there, nobody celebrated Valentine's day, having thought it out to be cursed.  Yet, as time went on, there was no sign of Harry Warden. No copy cat killer version of him, neither. So, the people went back to celebrating. Writing hand written love letters,  buying cheaply made cards at the local supermarket, buying and or receiving overly priced chocolates. Anything, everything, people did it with  love in their hearts and a smile on their face.  Today was Valentine's Day, once more. Expect it wasn't the way it had been for the past 9 years. It was exactly like the day in 1997. History was repeating itself.  Instead of love, presents, and reserved dinner dates being celebrated and shared, the town of Valentine Bluffs  got decomposed, rotting corpses,  instead. Blood scattered outside and inside of buildings. 

  It was worse than before, more bodies were showing up without their hearts and the missing body piece would be found neatly placed in between a plastic heart shaped box. All of which would be sent to the police station as a joke, as  a threat.  Even a card would be taped on top or under the container, though the sentences were far from cheerful and loveable.  A few of them had been thrown aside, only having been read once. Those who opened it and read it aloud usually found themselves cringing in dismay  as they read the paragraph out loud all while  shifting around in their seat, uncomfortably.  

Once they read it, they shook their heads as tears welled up in their eyes before they threw it into the trash bin or ripped it into hundreds of tiny pieces, not daring to open another letter that's brought in. Evidence or not, the workers couldn't keep their breakfast or lunch down when they'd read the cards.  The recent two cards had said;  From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near!  And the last victim, a girl named Maryanne Anderson, had gotten a card right before she was found dead, her body laying in a ditch to rot.  Her card had read; Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you.  Nobody knew who the new killer was, or if it even was a new killer, copying Harry's schemes and following in his footsteps.  It could have very well been  the same man all those years ago. That's what they were saying.   (Y/N) (L/N) was in her car, driving back home from work when her favorite song had been replaced with an alarm, cutting off her favorite part. "Oh, c'mon!" She groaned, hands hitting the steering wheel in annoyance  before she goes to turn up the volume anyways, wondering what's so important that the town and the police station had to turn off her favorite song. 

She knew about the murders, she knew there was a serial killer around, she already knew this already. And yes, she was petrified, as most people were. When the first body showed up, the mayor of town announced there'd be a curfew until they found out who is doing all of this. Whether it was one person or more, they'd find a way to capture the killer. No matter what. There was not going to be another murder.

 (Of course, there was more.) 

 (The original curfew was getting home at 9:30. Now, it had gone down and you'd have to be indoors, at your house, by 6:30 PM.)  Students in school would get out earlier, as well as the adults in town. The only ones who didn't get to go home so early in the day were those who were trying to protect the people of Valentine Bluffs.  "We are sorry to interrupt that song there," came the  radio host's deep and groggy voice. "However, this is more important than your favorite throwback jams. I've gotten an officer here with me, he had just shown up not even a second ago to tell us more news on the situation we are currently in. So, please, listen carefully."  "Yeah, whatever. I already know what's going on. Tell me something I don't know." (Y/N)  turns off the radio as she pulls up in her driveway, feeling a sense of comfort clouding over her, another day, she's okay; safe and sound, unlike a few of her old high school friends that were gutted like fish and butchered like pigs. 

She shivers at both the bitter and harsh wind brushing against her  as she steps out of her vehicle and the obvious visual of whatever masked man (or men) that's around, killing innocent people for whatever given reason.  Hurrying along the steps to her porch, she digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, finding them within seconds before she's pushing them into the door as quickly as she could. She didn't show it, tried not to show it, but she was as anxious and paranoid as everyone else was. 

(Y/N) was  trying to hold back her fear but the moment she gets home, locking all the doors and windows, the uneasy feelings creep up on her and every negative emotion takes charge.     With a sigh, she falls down onto the couch with a plop, reaching for the remote, she turns on the TV, attempting to try and get her mind off of things.  Of course, every station wasn't what she wanted to watch, the news replacing every channel.  She skipped and skipped but it all remained the exact same. With a groan, she decides to listen to what they were saying, even though she really didn't want to hear it as it'd only make her anxiety worse.  "I am Jonathan Godfrey. We're sorry to interrupt your daily scheduled programs, however, a man you may know as Tom Hanniger has escaped from his stay from a mental hospital."  (Y/N)'s eyes nearly budge out of her head at the mention of the man's name,  the remote she had in the palm of her hand goes flying, falling down onto the ground by her feet. Tom? Mental hospital? It didn't make any sense! Everyone... including her, thought he was dead! She, with shaky fingers, grabs the remote to turn the volume up.   Jonathan's own eyes were wide as he read the teleprompter, his voice now grew shaky as he spoke. Fear was written across both his and his co-worker’s face. "Unfortunately, we don't have any more information or news as to where he's escaped off to. Or where he may be as of the moment. All the reports, every last piece of information we have been received  has said he's been missing since two days ago.  He can be anywhere.  More importantly, he can be here, hiding out." His voice trembled as he spoke, it was also very faint - almost ghostly. Quiet as a mouse. His skin was pale, making it appear as if he was a ghost rather than a living person that sat in the chair there.  

 Jonathan couldn't continue, this much was obvious, therefore his co-host, Abigail Miller, continued where he had left off.    "This being said, please, lock the doors and windows of your home. If you have a weapon to guard your own life and protect your ground, get it out now. Please, protect yourself the very best you can. And do not, I repeat, do not answer the door. Do not leave your home whatsoever. Whatever is outside of your house is surely not more important than your life.  

“Whether it is Tom that has been doing this or not, we're not exactly sure. All we tell you is to be careful and remain indoors until we can find Tom and or find the Valentine's killer. This has been Jonathan Godfrey and Abigail Miller, with the news. Stay safe and God bless." The program that was previously playing showed up finally, the neon colors swirling together to form the title of the show, along with a fairly way too cheerful theme song playing faintly in the distance as the introduction played out. (Y/N) had never heard of it before, but from a quick glance, it appeared to be a sitcom from the late 70's.  The only source of light was coming from the television screen, casting colorful shadows across (Y/N)'s face. She had felt too tired to have turned on the lights upon entering her house. Work was short, the hours having grown thinner because of the curfew, however, it was still tiring all the same.  She instantly regretted not doing so now, however. 

She sat in the dark, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she pulled a near by blanket around her shoulders as if the thick fabric would comfort her and protect her. The room had gotten colder ever since the report was announced. Goosebumps ran up and down (Y/N)'s body, the baby hairs on her neck stood on end as a shiver slid up and down her spine. Despite the blanket being around her body, she felt nothing but cold, numb. Suddenly, the TV went out with a soft 'ping'.    (Y/N) gasped and her heart stopped beating all together.  She felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't tell if she was going crazy either when she heard what sounded like  footsteps coming down from the hallway. She sat, frozen, on her couch, unable to move, unable to breathe.  Then.... a knock. Followed by another and another. It was right outside, coming from not the front entrance but the back yard. "(Y/N)? (Y/N), please..." came the voice.  ​​​​​​​And (Y/N) recognized that voice anywhere.  She knows she shouldn't.... everybody said not to but... she couldn't help herself.  Getting up as quickly as she could, she runs down the hallway, the sounds of her feet echoing against the thin walls as she reaches the door, tugging it open.   There, on the other half of the door, stood nobody other than Tom Hanniger himself.   He looked up, surprised she had answered the door.  Giving her a weak, lopsided smile,  Tom's pulling her into a tight hug, his head falling down in the crook between her shoulder and neck, tears flooding his eyes as he soaks her shirt, silently weeping. "(Y/N).... fuck, I've missed you so much, missed you so bad." Tom confesses with a sniffle.  "Tom... I- what're you doing here? They're looking for you, you know this, right? Everybody's looking for you. And.... and I- fuck, Tom! I thought you were dead. Everybody in town thought you died the day your father did." (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hide her true feelings. She was a mixture of emotions. Angry, happy, sad, scared - she was feeling every single emotion there possibly was. "I know... I know. I-I have a lot to explain and a lot to tell you but please, right now, can we just- can we just play pretend?" He asked, moving away from her shoulder as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes remained watery and his skin was flushed as he looked up at (Y/N).  (Y/N) guessed it was a mixture of three things - running away from the mental hospital to where her house was to  the bitter and harsh February air. Plus, the crying he had just done, too. His face was red and blotchy from all three. Despite it being so cold, sweat trickled his face, a few drips of it falling along side his cheeks. "Play pretend?" (Y/N) echoed, tilting her head to the side, unsure of what he meant.  "Let's play pretend." He repeated, licking his lips. "Let's play pretend and imagine none of this horrid, crazed shit is going on right now. Let's pretend it's only me and you. It's Valentine's day, isn't it? Let's celebrate. After all, it was one of our favorite days to spend together."  Heat rose to (Y/N)'s cheeks and she bit on her bottom lip, rocking back and forth on the bottom of her feet.  "Tom.... I-I'm...You want-" She couldn't from sentences, her thoughts were mushing together and it was all too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to pass out. "I want you, (Y/N). I want you as bad as I did then and I want you just as badly right  now. There has never been a day where I wasn't thinking about you. You were the love of my life. I still love you, maybe even more, now. Let's celebrate, please. We can talk about everything tomorrow morning. I promise I'll tell you everything.  Right now, let's play pretend, let's act like it's just us again, like when we were teens.... I've missed you. And.... and I know you've missed me too or else you wouldn't have opened the door." And, yeah, okay, he was right.  "Tom..."  "(Y/N)." He stepped closer to her, closer than he had done before, as he rests his hand against her cheek, fingers brushing against her skin as he looked into her (E/C) eyes.  "I love you. I never stopped. And I know you love me, too.... so, please, baby girl.... can I just show you how much I love you?" (Y/N) shouldn't have answered the door. She should have called the cops when she heard his voice. Everything was too much of a  coincidence. 

Her power was working perfectly fine until Tom had shown up. 

Now that she was thinking about it.... 

There was also no victims until she had heard the news Tom had left the asylum. Three days ago.... 

Three days ago, there was the first victim; Maryanne.  If she thought too much about it, got too deep into the rabbit hole, she would have assumed Tom Hanniger was the Valentine's killer - The Miner.  Yet... looking at Tom, she knew he wasn't - couldn't - be the killer. If he was, he would've killed her too, right? Tom Hanniger's been through too much, and just like she was there before, she was going to be there for him now. Through Hell and back.  

She would stay by his side, no matter what. She still kept the old promise ring he had given her in high school, along with the note in which he confessed his feelings. In which, he told her - one day - he'd marry her. She was the perfect girl for him, as he was the perfect man for her.  A promise is a promise. When she said 'forever and always', she meant that. (Y/N) knew Tom meant it, too.  "I love you too."   Tom's quick to place his lips on (Y/N)'s and (Y/N) is quick to kiss him back just as hungry, just as fierce. She tangles  her fingers through her hair and pulls on it, earning a groan from Tom. Satisfied with the result, she tugs him into her house by the sleeve of his shirt, slamming the door shut with her foot. 

"I've missed you, baby." He says, not daring to pull away from the kiss.

"Show me how much you've missed me then, baby." She mumbles against his lips. "Oh, I'm going to."  "Let's go celebrate Valentine's day the right way then. Come on, let's go upstairs."   Tom grins and  (Y/N) smiles back before she's pulling him up the stairs and into her bedroom. 

Forever and Always. It was them until the end. Nobody would ever separate the two of them, again.... not even Harry Warden was going to destroy Tom’s happiness... not this time.

[onlyangelcas]

boats and a blue-eyed birthday boy

read on ao3

The boat won’t start, because that’s just Dean’s luck. His son is inside, celebrating his 4th birthday, and his surprise gift is malfunctioning right before the big reveal.

Ever since Dean, Cas, and Jack moved out of the bunker and into their cottage-style lake house, Jack had been obsessed with the water. He was enthralled by the lake, spending hours on the dock watching the fish swim by or dipping his feet in on warm days. Cas fueled his interest by purchasing every book and guide about lake-dwelling creatures and plants.

Jack’s obsession was pushed even further when their elderly neighbor had offered to take him fishing on his boat. From that moment on, boats became all the rage in the Winchester home. Books about boats moved in next to the lake books on Jack’s bookshelf, his cowboy themed bed sheets were swapped for a set adorned with tiny sailboats. Dean and Cas had to practically restrain him from pestering their neighbor for a boat ride everyday.

That’s how Dean found himself purchasing a repaired boat from some guy in southwest Minnesota. He had made the drive to pick up the boat a few weeks ago, it was relatively affordable, not a luxury speedboat or ridiculous pontoon, but perfect for about 6 people to climb on board for a day of fishing or relaxing on the water. Dean had made a plan with El, their elderly neighbor, to keep the boat stored in his garage until Jack’s birthday. El was happy to help, even took apart the motor to make sure everything was working and got it in the water that morning to surprise Jack.

Now, Dean is huffing over the damn thing, trying to decipher why it won’t start. Everyone else, including El, the only person that could actually help him, is inside trying to keep Jack distracted while Dean preps the boat.

“Shit,” Dean curses, after another failed attempt at turning the engine over.

He slams his forehead into the steering wheel, frustrated tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Four was the worst year of Dean’s life, for obvious reasons, and he wanted to make sure that Jack’s fourth year was everything that his wasn’t. He knows it’s stupid, to get this worked up over a freaking boat, but this boat was so much more than that. It was a promise to Jack that he would always be there, he would always love him. So if he’s a little emotional over the possibility that this boat will ruin his son’s very important 4th birthday, who can blame him?

Dean turns his face toward the sky, the sun peaking through the tree branches to warm his skin. He thinks this is a moment he would pray, if he had anyone to pray to. Considering his two favorite angels are already inside the house, it seems kind of arbitrary. Instead he just looks at the sky, watches puffy white clouds drift by lazily, and wonders pointlessly about what he did to deserve this.

“Looks like you could use some help.” Says a gravelly voice Dean instantly recognizes as belonging to El.

He runs a hand across his face, quickly wiping away any evidence of tears. “You think you can get this thing going?”

“I should have told you earlier, you got to give it some gas as you turn the key.” El says simply, nudging Dean out of the way before pressing his foot to the accelerator and starting the boat.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Dean declares, slapping a hand to the other man’s back. “I thought the day was ruined.”

El laughs, adjusting his trucker cap and turning to face Dean with a serious look. “Boy, you think this boat not running would have ruined the day?”

Dean cocks his head to the side slightly, a mannerism he’s picked up from Cas after all these years. “Would have been a bummer if Jack’s surprise tanked.”

“You coulda given that kid an old thing with a couple of paddles and he woulda been ecstatic.” El smiles, clapping his shoulder affectionately. “All he really wants is something to share with you.”

In moments like these, El reminds him of Bobby so much that it almost knocks the wind out of him. There’s a lump in Dean’s throat, he quickly turns his head toward the ground and lets out a wet laugh.

“You and Cas,” El starts again. “And I guess Sam helped out, too. You guys raised that boy right, he doesn’t need things to be happy, he just needs people.”

Dean looks up, his glossy eyes meeting El’s, he gives him a soft smile. “Now, how’s about we go get that kid and show him his gift.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughs. “It’s showtime.”

El promises to keep watch of the boat while Dean jogs back up to the house. He pulls open the backdoor and immediately bumps into Kaia, who is looking at him guilty with her hands tight around Claire’s waist.

“Really? This is a birthday party for a 4 year old.” Dean attempts to scold, but there’s no real heat to it.

“Sorry!” Kaia yells as Claire says, “Who died and made you a patron saint?”

Dean laughs loudly at that, pressing a kiss to the side of Claire’s head as he passes. He makes his way into the kitchen, where Sam and Eileen are putting the finishing touches on Jack’s birthday cake.

Where’s Cas? He signs when Eileen catches his eye.

Living room. She signs back, giving him a warm smile.

He can hear Rowena’s laughter filling the room before he even steps over the threshold. She’s standing to the side of the living room, deep in conversation with Jody and Donna. Jack is on the floor with Alex, talking animatedly while he secures one of her braids with a bright pink hair tie. Jack’s wearing a red cowboy hat with a t-shirt that says ‘This is my 4th rodeo’, the shirt was Cas’ idea, along with the matching ‘Jack’s 4th Rodeo’ shirts that everyone in attendance is adorning.

Cas is perched on the sofa, watching Jack and Alex with a fond look in his eyes. Dean slides his hand across Cas’ shoulders and bends down to plant a sweet kiss against his lips. “It’s go time.”

Cas smiles excitedly as Dean sticks his hands under Jack’s armpits and pulls him to his feet. He reaches into his back pocket and retrieves a bandana that he begins to fasten over Jack’s eyes.

“Alright everyone, it’s time for Jack’s big surprise.” Dean says as he secures the bandana around Jack’s head. “Head out to the backyard so we can show our birthday boy his present.”

Everyone files out the backdoor and into the yard behind the house. Dean and Cas each take one of Jack’s hands in their own, leading him toward the dock.

“Okay buddy,” Cas says once the three of them reach the rocky shoreline, the rest of their family gathered behind them. “You ready?”

“Yes! I’m ready!” Jack nearly squeals.

Sam has his phone out, no doubt recording the moment so no one ever forgets it, as if they ever would.

“Everyone countdown with me,” Dean says, reaching for the bandana.

“Three… two… one!” The group counts off in unison as Dean releases the bandana in one swoop.

Jack stands there slack-jawed and in awe for a moment, clearly overwhelmed by the sight in front of him. “A boat?” He asks more than states.

“Yeah, baby, it’s for you.” Dean says, a little confused by the 4 year old’s reaction.

Jack turns to him and Cas, his hands still holding tightly onto theirs. “Our boat?”

“Yeah, Jack, your daddy picked it out for us.” Cas states, running a hand through Jack’s hair.

Jack releases both of their hands then, throwing his arms around Dean’s neck so aggressively that he tumbles from his crouched position onto his butt. “Thank you daddy!”

Dean buries his face into Jack’s neck, hiding his suddenly teary eyes, and says, “Happy birthday kiddo.”

Jack pulls away and places his small hands on the sides of Dean’s face before leaning in and pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “I love you daddy.”

Dean huffs a wet laugh, looking over Jack’s shoulder to see his family watching with eyes as shiny as his own.

“I love you more, Jack.” He says, smacking an equally sloppy kiss to his forehead. “Now, how ‘bout we take it for a spin?”

“Papa too?” Jack asks, eyes lighting up.

Dean looks up at Cas, who has tears slipping unashamedly down his cheeks, and smiles. “Yeah, papa too.”

After they get Jack secured in his life vest, he takes his spot at the front of the boat, kneeling on the seat and leaning precariously over the edge to watch the boat carve through the water. Cas is seated next to him, one hand looped tightly in the back of his life vest, and Dean is at the wheel. The sun is setting over the horizon, reflecting off the lake and painting them in a picture-perfect orange glow.

Jack looks back at Dean, his blonde hair curling slightly from the spray of the boat, his gap-toothed smile is wide and unapologetic. Cas is looking at him, too, affection and love spilling over every feature, his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin.

“I hope I can be 4 forever!” Jack yells, letting out a wild laugh as Cas reaches over to tickle his neck.

Dean knows, somewhere in the back of this mind, that he should be worried that Jack is getting older. One day he’ll grow up, probably move away, and their house will no longer be littered with plastic sailboats and tiny socks discarded around every corner. At this moment, though, he can’t find it in himself to worry. Jack won’t be 4 forever, but he’s sitting in front of Dean with a smile like sunshine, toothy and perfect, laughing raucously, unashamed in his joy, and that will always be enough.

[inskz]

lucky charm - lee minho

pairing - lee minho x reader

genre - college!au, best friends to lovers, very cliche fluff (lucky girl starring lindsey lohan kinda vibes???)

words - 4k

note - this is just a cute little drabble i wrote while im still waiting for my covid test results to come back so that i can leave my room and see the sun again 🤪 pls be careful everybody take care of your health 💚 enjoy!!!

- - - - -

“You must be kidding me,” you sigh when you see Minho’s hand has turned into a fist, his rock crushing miserably your scissors. Once again, you lost at rock, paper, scissors. And once again, you’re the one that is going to wash your best friend’s dishes that have piled up in is tiny kitchen sink throughout the week.

“Fuck that. This is so unfair,” you grumble, throwing the dishtowel in Minho’s stupid yet perfectly chiseled face.

You make a beeline for his bed, which is actually only a few steps away from the kitchen. Being a broke college student definitely doesn’t allow him to rent a spacious studio, let alone a two-room apartment. You throw yourself headfirst onto his uncomfortable mattress, whose springs always poke your back at night.

“Life is so unfair,” your friend mocks you, dragging out every vowel of his sentence dramatically.

No doubt, you would be strangling him at that very moment if you weren’t so busy playing dead, hoping he would forget about your pitiful existence.

But there is no way mister Lee Minho would miss out on an opportunity to have his gross plates cleaned by someone else. Grabbing onto your ankle, he drags you out of bed until you plop down on the dirty carpeted floor (Minho has the unfortunate tendency to procrastinate vacuuming too). At this point, you are fake crying, throwing a literal tantrum, like a 6 years old child would.

“Life is unfair!” you yell, your feet kicking in the air in pure anger.

At least it is to you. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been lucky. The only instance you got remotely close to it was when you found a four-leaf clover last summer. Well, only if you disregard the fact you stepped into dog poop  on your way to picking it. Oh and that you were wearing brand new white Converse. 

On the other hand, it seems like the boy has the whole crew of the Olympus gods on his side. Not one day goes by without his guardian angel manifesting its presence. 

Minho has always been the lucky type. The type to get an extra nugget in his box of 10. To find 20 dollars bills on the ground. To win every single Instagram giveaway he participates to (and lord knows how much he likes participating to them). 

But how can you be mad at him when he always happily shares his food with you, invites you to the restaurant without you even asking, and gives you his prizes, pretending he doesn’t need them? You don’t believe him when he says he see no use in a panda onesie or a waterproof bluetooth speaker. Deep down, you know it’s his way to silently love you. 

But well, you can still blame him for occasionally taking advantage of your misfortune to make you do his dreaded house chores, just like right now. 

Everyone thinks you are a bizarre duo. Even you can’t fathom how in hell you two became best friends, considering how awfully your first encounter went three years ago. 

On orientation day, he asked you for the time, probably because his phone was dead (or maybe because he was dying to talk to you?)

Without hesitation, you lifted and rotated your wrist so that you could see your watch. Little did you remember; you never actually owned a watch and you were holding a fancy 7 dollars iced coffee, which, of course, did not have a lid on because plastic is bad for the environment (duh). 

Minho couldn’t help but burst out in hysterical laughter when the whole drink spilled on your jeans. For your defense, you didn’t sleep at all the night before  since you were terrified of being alone in your new dorm room the first few days (weird stuff happens all the time in dorms, okay?). If he had asked you for your name, you probably wouldn’t even have been able to tell him. 

But Minho thought you were the funniest person on campus, and he really needed a clown like you to entertain him throughout his endless college semesters. That’s what he told you anyways. Not that he thought you were the cutest human being he had ever seen. 

Why would he when you are the literal definition of a mess: always having toothpaste stains on your sweater, bags under your eyes, messy hair, tripping and falling, missing buses, breaking things, losing stuff. 

Most of the time, you just forget your keys and Minho lets you crash at his place since he hasn’t got any roommate and he isn’t used to sleeping alone, especially without his cats. It surely isn’t because he loves waking up next to a very groggy but adorable you every single morning, no.  

Minho manages to bring you back to the countertop despite your reluctance. Positioned behind you, his arms trapping your body to make sure you can’t run away from your duties, he dips your hands into the soapy water, and you can’t help but squirm at the touch of an unknown substance sticking to a plate that has probably been soaking here for a week. You despise doing the dishes and your friend knows it.

You hear him giggle in your ear while he is playing with your arms like you are some type of marionette, making you to take the sponge and squeeze dish soap onto it. 

You’ve never been the kind to like proximity nor seemed to be Minho, but for some reason, you always end up glued to each other. You hate public displays of attention and pet names a little less when it comes from him. Or maybe you don’t hate it at all and actually crave it every single minute that goes by.

Before he has the time to come up with the Machiavellian idea to soak your pajamas in dirty water (because you know he would inevitably have at some point), you yank his hands off of you and start scrubbing angrily the dirty cups. 

Minho stays behind you anyways, observing your every move, his chin propped up on your shoulder like a curious little bird. To be honest, his presence is kind of getting overwhelming. But whatever, it’s not like his slightest touch makes your heart warm up in comfort or that he smells like fresh linen drying out on the porch of a cottage house on a sunny Sunday morning or anything. 

“You missed a spot. Here” he murmurs teasingly, his lips almost touching your earlobe, while he points at the handle of his hideous ‘world’s greatest dad’ mug Jisung gifted him last christmas. 

You know he has noticed the way you shivered violently at the feeling of his breath tickling your skin because he starts snickering loudly. 

“I swear to god if you don’t shut up and go seat on the couch, I’ll slap you so hard with this spatula you’ll regret you were even born,” you say, turning around suddenly to menace him with the plastic utensil. 

Of course, he isn’t afraid one bit. Right now, you really wish you could make the smug, but oh so attractive, look on his face disappear. 

“Alright, ma’am” he laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll let you do your thing”. He lets himself fall onto his dingy couch. 

You can hear him humming one of his favorite songs above the sound of the water running. It would probably be getting on your nerves if his voice wasn’t so pretty.  

“Chan’s sick, so we’re not going to the gym tomorrow night. Do you wanna eat tacos? El Huero has even better deals than usual” he asks you, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. 

“Aren’t the deals supposed to be on Tuesdays?” You frown and scrub a little harder the frying pan Minho has burnt the night before while trying to make chocolate chips pancakes for diner, because why eat savory food when you can have dessert for every meal, right? It is one of the few advantages of living without your parents you both truly enjoy. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Tomorrow,” he yawns, probably exhausted after what you put him through last night. You forced him to catch up on the entire season of Love Island because you desperately needed someone to bitch with, and what better partner than Lee Minho.  

You take a quick glance at him and see him stretching himself across the cushions like a cat. You always thought there was something feline about his features. While you’re drying the mugs with the dishtowel, your mind wanders uncontrollably, thinking about his piercing eyes, his delicate nose, the corners of his lips that curl up a little… 

All of the sudden, your hands freeze. Minho is too immersed in TikToks to notice the stupor on your face. “Wait. Today is… Monday?” you stutter. 

Alarmed by the sound of your voice, his eyes finally leave his phone’s screen to look up at you. “Yeah” he repeats slowly as if you are the dumbest person he has ever encountered. 

And you truly are. You are pretty sure your heart has stopped beating. Minho’s “world’s greatest dad” mug you’re holding slips between your fingers and comes crashing on the floor with a deafening sound. The pieces are now scattered all around you, making you unable to make out what’s written on it anymore. Not a big loss, if you ask. 

“Y/N, you know that’s my favorite mug!” he exclaims, leaping up from the couch. “I’m sure you did it on purpose,” he mutters while he’s trying to collect the small fragments, in vain. 

But you’re too shocked at this very moment to pay attention to the glare your friend is giving you. To be honest, Minho has only two moods: glaring at you or teasing you.  

“My interview,” you finally manage to say, and Minho’s eyes go wide as he realizes the critical situation you’re in. 

You check the time on the microwave: 10:45. In 30 minutes, you’re supposed to be on the other side of town, being interrogated by boring businessmen that are going to decide whether or not you’ll be accepted for a paid internship in one of the most reputable music label of the country. Basically, decide whether you’ll live a happy and fulfilling life, working in the sector you’ve always dreamed of or end up miserable with a boring office job and a massive college debt. 

“Holy shit,” Minho whispers. You can see a wave of panic washing across his face for a split second, but, as always, he manages to find his composure back immediately. 

He has never been the kind to lose his cool, except to scold you when you forget the names of his cats and their respective coats’ color (which you unfortunately often did forget). 

“What are you doing? Get dressed!” He tells you when he sees you’re still standing there dumbfounded in the kitchen, like the famous Robert Pattinson meme, wearing an oversize Kermit the frog shirt with a dozen holes in it and his favorite Adidas sweatpants you always stole from him.

“No, it’s too late. I can’t make it,” you mutter, your breath short. You’re paralyzed, as if there is a 20lbs rock sitting at the bottom of your stomach, pinning you to the ground. 

This isn’t bad luck, you think. This is karma. This is what you get for skipping classes to watch telereality shows in your bed with your best friend and not even realizing it isn’t the weekend anymore.

“Miss me with that bullshit.” He runs to his closet and rummages through his drawers, throwing every piece of clothing that’s on his way to find an appropriate outfit that would fit you. 

“You’re gonna go do this interview even if I have to drag you all the way there.” He pushes you into his bathroom since you still haven’t moved an inch. 

You manage to brush your teeth and your hair, fighting through the nauseous feeling that is building up in your tummy. 

When you come back to the living room, Minho has found dress pants and a sweater that might not look utterly ridiculous on you. He lets you change in a corner, while he runs around the room collecting all your essentials. 

“You’re coming?” you ask him when you see he is already wearing his puffer jacket.  

“You really think I’m gonna let you go all by yourself when you’re literally not even able to put your shoes on properly”. You are, indeed, struggling with your laces, as if your fingers are suddenly made out of butter. 

Minho ties them up for you and you literally feel like he’s your babysitter. You know you’re gonna hear about this for months – what are you saying- years! But all you can think about at the moment though, is the fact that sneakers are definitely not appropriate for an interview. 

He throws your warmest coat at you, grab his keys, and by some type of miracle, you’re both out to the door in less than 10 minutes. 

You try to call the elevator, but Minho grabs your arm and leads you to the staircase. His hand never leaving yours, he runs down the stairs and you have no choice but to follow him as fast as you can. 

You can’t count how many times you missed a step and fell at this particularly slippery spot, between the 5th and the 4th floor, but weirdly enough, it doesn’t happen today. 

When you finally reach the ground floor, you exit the complex and Minho hops on his old and rusty bike that he had attached to nearest tree the night before.

“There’s no way I’m riding behind you on this death machine,” you laugh nervously. The memory of that one time Minho convinced you to seat into his bicycle basket (as if you could even realistically fit in it) and you both fell seconds after he started to pedal is coming back to your mind.

Sure, it was after a long night of drinking, you were both tipsy and it was the only way to get you home since you had spent all your uber money at the bar, but still! You’re pretty sure the bruise on your butt hasn’t disappeared to this day.  

“Hurry up,” Minho groans, ignoring your complaint. You unwillingly seat on his flimsy pannier rack and wrap your arms around his torso. 

You haven’t even left, yet you’re already holding onto his puffer jacket for dear life. A giggle escapes your friend’s mouth (which you think is very inappropriate in such a desperate situation) before he lifts his feet off the ground and starts pedaling. 

You try to ignore the loud squeaking of the bicycle drive by shutting your eyes tighter and rehearsing your introduction you have prepared over and over in your head. No matter how hard you are trying, you can’t remember what you are supposed to say just after your age (which, as you can imagine, isn’t really far into your monologue). 

By the way the wind is lashing your face, you can tell Minho has picked up the speed. His breathing is getting louder, his heartbeat faster and you can’t help but think you’re probably way too heavy for him to bike you around like that. Maybe he shouldn’t skip his gym sessions with Chan so often. Or maybe you shouldn’t have eaten the leftover pancakes for breakfast after all.

You find the courage to open your eyelids and are pleased to see you’re already halfway there, probably because every single one of the traffic lights you encounter is green, and your friend is going surprisingly fast. Is luck finally starting to smile upon you? 

Your mad race comes to a halt when you reach the address of your interview. You hop off the bike and so does Minho who, by the way, is a panting mess. He’s barely able to catch his breath, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, but he’s beaming at you when he realizes you’re just on time. 

“Go” he gasps, pushing you in the direction of the building’s hall. 

You walk up to the glass door but as your hands are about to push it, you pull a 180. Your friend sighs loudly, already knowing what’s coming next. 

“Wait. No. I can’t do this. I’m not prepared” you tell him frantically. “I’m freaking out. I think I’m gonna pass out.” You are now walking in circles, mumbling incoherently. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Your heart is racing in your chest and your hands are getting clammy at the simple thought of failure. But guess what? You can’t fail if you don’t even try! One more good reason to just go back to bed and forget about your sad life for a good 8 hours, right? 

“Y/N, you’re the most talented person I know, you’re gonna do just fine” Minho catches you in his arm to stop your endless pacing. You would probably think this gesture is endearing if it wasn’t just meant to make sure you couldn’t run for your life.  

“No, I’m not. What if I throw up in front of everybody like that one time during the Romeo and Juliet musical?” You look up at him and his face is only inches away from yours. You’re sure you would be swooning at how beautiful he looks if you weren’t so terrified at this very moment.

“You were nine,” your best friend says, and you swear you have never heard him speak to you in such a sweet tone before. His voice is like honey and lavander but it doesn’t soothe you like it should. 

You manage to break free from his embrace to crouch down, in an attempt to slow down your breathing. If only you had data left, you could be watching those short relaxing videos on your phone. They always work. But no, you had to spent it all on online games, just one week into the month. You really are beyond help.  

“Y/N I know you’re scared, but if you miss out on this opportunity, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life.” Minho is lowering himself so that you can hear him, even though you’re curled up in a ball. 

“And I’m warning you, I won’t want to hear you complain about it,” he adds, this whole situation obviously starting to get on his nerves. 

If you were him, you would have probably left a long time ago. But this isn’t your best friend’s way of behaving. You know he would never abandon you no matter how annoying you could be (and you could be very annoying sometimes). After all, he is always the one holding your hair while you puke in the toilets when you had a couple too many drinks.

It takes all your willpower to stand up but there is no other way, you have to do it. You can hear the time ticking dangerously in your mind, as if your brain had turned into a clock.

“You’re right. Slap me,” you say, looking at him straight in the eyes, dead serious. 

“Wha -“

“Slap some sense into me. They do that in movies when people are panicking. It’s like throwing a bucket of cold water in someone’s face. But clearly we don’t have a bucket and we don’t have cold wa- “ you start blabbering. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not gonna slap you!” Your friend isn’t usually that horrified at the thought of beating your ass. In fact, he has felt the desire to rip your head off more than once, especially when you’d steal all the duvet at night, but at this moment he is just scared you might have actually lost your mind.  

“Just fucking do it Minho!” you scream, your hands clenching the front of his grey hoodie he always looks so divine in. 

Minho has never obeyed you, and this is not the day he is going to start. 

He puts both of his hands on the sides of your face and crashes his lips onto yours. 

You would be lying if you said you have never imagined the day your best friend would kiss you. It happens pretty much every single time you look at his cute pout a little too long. But one thing is certain, it isn’t like you pictured it to be at all.

You were convinced your heart would go so wild it would burst out of your chest and your head would spin so furiously you’d lose your balance. You thought your stomach would fill with butterflies to the brim and your whole body would be on fire.

But none of that is happening. On the contrary, every single muscle in your body relaxes under his touch. The way his soft mouth presses gently against yours makes you calmer, almost at peace amongst all this turmoil. 

Minho is kissing all your tension and stress away and you catch yourself letting a sigh of relief escape your parted lips.

As if you have kissed him already hundreds of times in your past life, Minho feels like home. He’s a safe haven you can always take refuge in during troubled times. Ever since the day you met, he has never left your side.

When he breaks away from the kiss, you notice your breath isn’t so ragged and your mind isn’t so foggy anymore. You’re serene. His cold hands are still cupping your face, slightly squishing your cheeks, and you feel like an idiot sandwich for asking him to slap you seconds before.

“That can work too, I guess…” you mutter.  

“You’re okay?” he asks, staring at you with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen.

You just nod, unable to say one more word, and sprint to the entrance, not wanting to make your interviewers wait any longer than they already have.

“Good luck!” You hear him yell just before the door closes behind you and you can’t help but grin from ear to ear.

- - - - - 

Thirty minutes later, you finally step out of the fancy lobby to find a very bored Minho leaning against a tree, patiently waiting for you.

“You’re still here?”

“Of course, I am,” he says, his mouth full of croissant. He gives you a large iced coffee he probably went buying to kill time. Your lips unconsciously curl up into a smile when you notice it comes from the same chain that the one you spilled on your lap on the day you first met him. 

“How did it go?” he asks you, sticking his buttery pastry into your mouth so that you can take a bite.

“Way better than I thought” you answer, right after you swallowed. You hate the way flakes would always get stuck between your teeth. But Minho is always there to warn you about it before anyone else notices, and even pick them for you if you can’t manage to, which, when you think about it, is kind of gross. 

There are two things the boy knows about you: you’re the greatest pessimist on earth and you’d rather die than admit you were wrong (especially if it meant he was right). So for you to even say it wasn’t that bad, means it went phenomenal. 

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ but I told you so.” He smiles so wide you can barely see his eyes anymore. You have to look away, otherwise you know you might become instantly blinded by love.

“Maybe I could use some more of your luck” you mumble, staring at your shoes and kicking the red leaves that were surrounding your feet on this sunny autumn morning. 

“Really? And what makes you think I’ll share it with you,” he teases you, leaning forward to incite you to look at him in the eyes. 

“That.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck and pulls him in, in order to close the space that is still left between your mouths.

At first, Minho stiffens, taken aback by your bold move. But soon enough, he caves into your touch. He kisses you back fervently, like he means it. 

His fingers entagle in your hair, his arm wraps around your waist and his chest presses against your body. You’re melting in his embrace, submerged by a wave of bliss which he alone seems to know the recipe. 

It feels new, yet so familiar. Like it was supposed to happen, like it was written in the stars. 

He tastes like croissant and Americano. Like fortune and fate. 

And you can’t help but think you’re the luckiest person on earth.

Who cares about winning the lottery when Lee Minho is your lucky charm? 

[the196thbattalion]

star wars human! high school! au

i’ve seen so many headcanons circling throughout the star wars tumblr about high school au’s, so i wanted to share my bit with all of you :D

anakin skywalker

five words: REBEL CHILD ON A MOTORCYCLE.

he doesn’t like riding the school bus because it makes him feel extremely claustrophobic, so he scrapped and scavenged up parts to make his own customized motorcycle, which he lovingly dubbed artoo.

the blue and silver detailing was the joint effort of ahsoka and obi-wan, because anakin doesn’t know how to paint.

if he can catch up to the bus, he’ll ride alongside it and flip off the students on it before revving on ahead of them. (the freshmen think it’s the funniest thing in the universe)

probably one of the most well-known juniors in the entirety of temple high school (mostly because of his shenanigans but partly because he’s dating padme fuckiNG AMIDALA, PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE DAMN SCHOOL)

he always wears this worn-down leather jacket his mom gave to him before she passed away, and refuses to take it off, even though it’s somehow “a violation of the dress code and should be outlawed.”

his hair alone has seduced eight different students (boys and girls)

sometimes during study hall, ahsoka or padme will get a hold of his hair and style it into little braids or make a super rad ponytail.

he really likes iced coffee with milk and sugar. he puts in the milk to make it nice and light (it’s aesthetically pleasing, obi-wan!), and then like eight tablespoons of sugar to make it actually taste good.

his favorite class is mechanics, taught by kit fisto.

anakin spent months on a mechanical arm project to replace his clunky plastic prosthetic, and he was so freaking happy when it was finished; he almost cried. (he did cry and ahsoka got it on video)

obi-wan kenobi

a mixture of the soft™, pretty™, hippie™, grunge™, vsco™ and nerd™ tropes.

he really likes peppermint tea with lots of honey but takes his coffee black.

he has had too much tea.

someone needs to stop him.

almost all of his classes are ap courses, and if cody hadn’t been watching when obi-wan was making his schedule, all of them would be.

him, cody and padme have ap english with mace windu, and cody knows how much his classes stress him out, so he lets obi-wan sleep during class and sends him the notes

the only ap class obi-wan doesn’t take is mechanics, and he shares that class with anakin.

anakin and obi-wan are super close with each other. kenobi was there when ahsoka was adopted, and anakin was there when kenobi got his cat. (they were like 5 okay)

“NAME IT C3PO OBI-WAN, OR I SWEAR TO FUCK-” “what kind of name is that, and why would i - anAKIN PUT HIM DOWN!?”.

mr. fisto constantly has to split them up for disrupting the class, but it’s almost like they can communicate telepathically, and the teachers have a running bet

mace windu literally bet $50 on these fucking nerds so you know it’s for realsies

in reality, they’ve just gotten super creative with passing notes.

kind of off topic, but he has these brown harry potter glasses that he uses (kinda for reading???? but mostly so he can do that anime pushing up glasses thing)

cody thinks it’s the funniest shit ever

whenever cody is feeling stressed, obi-wan just does the thing™ and BOOM! happiness.

people think he’s a goodie two shoes, and honestly, it’s really easy to think that. if the iconics are trying to do something stupid, he’s usually the voice of reason.

but parties?

…

you know what, just ask anakin for the video footage.

ahsoka tano

this hs!au ahsoka tano turned me bisexual confirmed ✔

okay before i go into her style, which is mainly what made me drool over my computer, can i just put skatergirl!ahsoka out there?

spray painting of the rebellion symbol all over the bottom of her board and on items in a couple of the places where she skates the most (like the back of an abandoned car yard)

her instagram is filled with these super cool vhs-tape recorded skate videos (u know)

lots crackhead 3am visits (starring anakin, rex, kenobi and barris) to a gas station to get slushies and grind the shit out of the curb connecting the store to the parking lot

trying to teach anakin how to skateboard but he just can’t figure it out? uh yes

“try to balance skyguy!” “HOW DO I MOVE? DO I SCOOT? SNIPS THIS ISN’T FUNNY AND I WANT TO GET OFF – GUYS, STOP LAUGHING!”

okay okay okay i’m done

for now

anyway, her style???? is so???? fucking????? cool!!!!!

her genetics gave her a 80% of having vitiligo, so it really wasn’t a surprise when patches of her skin got lighter, but it still freaked her out a little bit.

basically, went like this: “DAD, I’M TURNING WHITE!” “???? oh my gosh ‘soka, no.”

she has long braided dreadlocks she dyed a super bright orange with various colored beads woven into them with the help of anakin and padme. she usually styles them into little space buns atop her head.

her entire clothing wardrobe consists of fishnets, neon bomber jackets, at least 11 bisexual beanies™, handmade patchy jeans, white tank tops, and light-up platform shoes.

she doesn’t give two flying fucks about the dress code, and – IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MOST BUSY HALLWAY - punched principal sidious over whether or not she “could wear shorts that short” (anakin may or may not have cheered when she broke his nose).

the fetts (chuck have mercy)

*cracks le knuckles* i’ve put it off long enough

we have: fox (24), wolffe (19), cody (17), rex (17), echo (16), fives (16), boil (15), waxer (14), hardcase (13), jesse (12), longshot (8), kix (6), tup (3), gree (2) and boba (9mo)

wolffe is off at college - fox already graduated and moved out, that cheeky little fucking shit - but both still keep in good contact with the fam, and it’s a constant clamor between eleven of the siblings of who gets to talk to them first

fox majored in government/politics, bly is majoring in space/astronomy, and wolffe is majoring in police/law enforcement shit (i don’t know how college works, so sue me)

cody and rex are juniors, and despite their similar looks, the amount of schoolwork each of them completes drastically varies

cody is the honor roll student, valedictorian, whatever you want to call it

rex kinda just either does the work really well or 9/10 times gets distracted by anakin or ahsoka sending him some nice spicy memes

cody tried to tutor rex but it ended up almost landing tup in the hospital

“that’s really simple, actually. if you – vod? rex, are you okay? what are you oH NO TUP DON’T PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH-”

fetts on the varsity football team is like a right of passage in the family

right now, only the juniors of the fett family are on the team, but the coach has eyes on fives and echo for next years team

SPEAKING OF

echo, fives and boil are the infamous sophomore trio that pulled the milk bucket prank on the gym teacher, pong krell.

they had to help the janitor (99) clean up afterwards, but they genuinely enjoyed 99’s company, because he’s rad as shit and knows all the secret school passageways.

to be honest, not one person (except maybe sidious) was complaining

that motherfucker makes everyone run like eight laps during gym class

even mr. windu gives them a small smile in the hallways after that

boil says he was blackmailed into it

waxer is a freshman (the poor dude, i’m so sorry), and he always looks out for the nervous freshies

if someone is having a bad day, he’ll give them a lollipop (he carries around a whole bag), a place to sit during lunch, and a shoulder to cry on

all you need to do to find waxer is to locate this long ass line of children

the school counselor, plo koon, sometimes brings his niece numa into school during the day because he can’t find a babysitter, and waxer. fucking. loves. her. PERIOD.

w+n pull these tiny little pranks on teachers, and the staff pretends not to notice, but numa always giggles and gives them away.

boil has a soft spot for numa too, and sneaks her rice krispies.

bonus shit i want to add in but can’t figure out where to put it (or i’m just gonna add it on and shit)

plo koon adopted anakin after his mother died (him and anakin’s mother were good friends), and found ahsoka on the side of the street, shivering like a maniac.

he doesn’t know where ahsoka came from, but he loves her so gOD DAMN MUCH.

he’s the school counselor, and still keeps in touch with a lot of students even after the graduated (he thinks that majoring in law enforcement/police is a bit dangerous for wolffe but he still supports his unofficial but basically son 100%)

yoda is the super old but radically rad english teacher.

his entire point of existence in my mind fic is to troll the shit out of palpatine.

a recent conversation starring yoda and palps: “did you give the students the mountain of extra work i assigned them?” “for the students, that was?” i’m sorry. my bad, that is.” “this is the seventh time, yoda.”

okay but for real

mace windu violently roots for the school football team.

“BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM, CODY! YOU TOO...OTHER CODY!”

“THAT’S A HOLDING! THAT’S A HOLDING!”

“REF IF YOU DON’T COUNT THAT TOUCHDOWN THEN I SWEAR TO SAMUEL L. JACKSON I WILL COME DOWN THERE AND BEAT YOUR SORRY PINSTRIPED ASS!”