#so sorry if ill get slow with them and the quality drops

[kari-go]

Can we see Dragon!Stephan and Turtle!Ivan, for some reason I started to ship them.

This is the second time someone said that they ship them xd and like,,, its kinda cute

[pinknatural]

Pick out the biggest, reddest, juiciest strawberries. Wash ‘em real good. Lay them out on a tray covered in parchment paper. Pat them dry, and leave them out. Put some chocolate chips in a bowl, and microwave in 30 second intervals. After the chocolate is good and melted, pick up the strawberries by the stem and dip them in, coating them thoroughly before putting them back on the tray. 

Dean’s never made chocolate-covered strawberries before. Never had a reason to. It’s kinda nice, to dedicate all his focus to making sure the chocolate is covering up the berries evenly. To try not to get them to drip. 

Since moving into the Bunker, Dean’s found that baking is fun. He likes putting a bunch of stuff together and seeing delicious results. And chocolate-covered strawberries aren’t exactly rocket science, but he knows they’ll taste good and make Sammy happy and that’s all he really wants, right?

Plus, he thinks, gently placing another strawberry back on the parchment paper. He doesn’t think Jack has ever had a chocolate-covered strawberry before, and he can just picture the kid’s excited eyebrows at the taste. 

He picks up another strawberry, pinching all the leaves between his fingers so they don’t get chocolatey. He dips it nice and slow into the glass bowl, turning it gently as he brings it out of the chocolate.

“What are you doing?” 

Dean yelps, nearly dropping his strawberry. 

“Jesus christ, Cas, you snuck up on me!” he says, turning to glare over his shoulder. Cas is standing just behind him, staring curiously. He could’ve been there for two minutes or twenty. Dean didn’t even know he was in the Bunker, let alone the kitchen. “I’m not kidding about that bell, dude.”

“Apologies,” Cas says. He doesn’t sound a bit sorry at all. Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to his strawberry, putting it on the tray next to the other completed ones. Cas moves in closer. “What is the purpose of this exercise?”

“Chocolate-covered strawberries,” Dean says. 

“I see that,” Cas says. He sniffs, as if the smell disagrees with him. “But why are you covering the strawberries in the chocolate? Is it for a spell?”

“No, it’s a dessert. Like a candy, I guess,” Dean says. “For Valentine’s Day.”

“Ah, yes,” Cas says. “Unattached drifter Christmas.”

Something in Dean’s heart stabs, at that. He hates that Cas has heard him say that, or heard Sam reference it, or whatever. 

“Yeah,” he says, looking away from Cas’ eyes. The strawberries are safer to look at. “I guess.”

Cas’ big hands enter Dean’s field of view, and he plucks up a strawberry. Not one with chocolate on it. A naked one. Despite himself, Dean looks back up at Cas. It’s hard to not look at him. He has a very nice face.

“What does chocolate strawberries have to with the patron saint of bees?” 

“Bees?”

“And epilepsy,” Cas says, squinting at the strawberry. “And the mentally ill. And happy marriages.”

“Uh, it’s more about the happy marriages thing,” Dean says. “Valentine’s Day is about love and shit.”

“And strawberries,” Cas says, nodding wisely, as if he understands everything. He sets the strawberry back on the tray. Dean’s not sure if he’s fucking with him or not. Surely after all this time on earth, Cas knows what fucking Valentine’s Day is. 

“You give the strawberries to your Valentine,” Dean says. “Or chocolate or whatever. Or those fucking disgusting chalky heart things. But Eileen loves chocolate-covered strawberries and so these are for Sam. To give to her.”

Dean told Sam to make his own chocolate-covered strawberries, but Sam said that either Dean could make them or he would buy some from the store. And Dean does not trust fucking Hy-Vee to have quality chocolate-covered strawberries. He picks up Cas’ naked strawberry--the last one--and dips it into the chocolate. 

“That’s very kind of you,” Cas says, watching him. “To help Sam out.”

“Whatever,” Dean mutters, holding the strawberry up so the excess chocolate can drip back into the bowl. “I wanted Jack to try some, too.”

“You say that like it will make me think you less kind,” Cas says. Dean is tempted to throw him out of the kitchen. But goddamnit, he likes Cas and likes when Cas hangs out with him and asks stupid questions about Valentine’s Day. But knows that Saint Valentine is the patron saint of epilepsy, or whatever. Ugh. 

Dean never knows when Cas is leaving, anyway, so he’s gotta take all the time he can get. He leaves his strawberries behind and fetches another glass bowl. The white chocolate chips are already out, beside the opened bag of regular chocolate chips. 

“I thought you said white chocolate was an abomination,” Cas says, watching Dean pour some into the bowl. 

“It is,” Dean says. “But it will look fancier this way, trust me.” He puts the bowl in the microwave, punches in a 3-0-enter then turns around to look at Cas. He’s inspecting the neat line of chocolate-covered strawberries. They’re a little messier than Dean wants, but hell, it’s his very first try. 

“I don’t understand why you would put the chocolate on the strawberries,” Cas says. “My understanding is that strawberries are perfectly good on their own.”

“Dude, bacon is perfectly good on its own and we put chocolate on that,” Dean says. He crosses back to the counter and picks up a strawberry by the stem, holds it out to Cas. “Go on, try it.”

He expects Cas to take the strawberry from him--chocolate end first, and then he’ll get chocolate all over his fingers and Dean will die a million deaths watching him lick the chocolate off. Instead, Cas does something a thousand times worse and leans forward, biting into the strawberry without taking it, like Dean’s feeding it to him or some shit. 

Dean has a vision of a picnic somewhere, red and white checkered blanket and all. The sky is blue and the grass is soft and Cas’ head is in Dean’s lap and Dean’s feeding him strawberries and kissing him between each one. 

But instead Cas just--doesn’t break eye contact. Just stares, as he bites into the strawberry, chews and swallows. 

“Good?” Dean says, mouth dry. 

Cas closes his eyes, licking his lips. “Mmm, very.” He straightens back up. Even though he licked his lips, he missed a little--has a chocolate mustache. Dean has the insane urge to lick it right off his face. 

“Uh, you got some--chocolate,” Dean croaks instead. He mimes with his own thumb. Cas swipes the chocolate and succeeds in smearing it everywhere. 

“Did I get it?” he asks, and his wide blue eyes hypnotize Dean into reaching forward and wiping the chocolate off Cas’ face with his own fingers. Then Dean licks the chocolate off his thumb. 

Then Dean realizes that the microwave is beeping and the white chocolate’s first 30 seconds have been up for a long time, and he should probably go get that, and he escapes across the kitchen. 

“The strawberry molecules and chocolate molecules are very pleasing together,” Cas says. “Do humans put chocolate on other fruits?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, stirring the white chocolate frantically. If he doesn’t look at Cas maybe Cas will think that what just happened was normal, and that Dean isn’t fucking insane. “Uh, apples, bananas, pineapples. I think I saw it on kiwi once. Uh, maybe orange slices.”

“Fascinating,” Cas says. Dean puts the white chocolate back into the microwave. “Yes, I think Jack would like that very much.”

“Good,” Dean says. He goes to the fridge, gets a beer. Opens it on the side of the counter and takes a big swig. The microwave beeps.

It’s all melted. Dean grabs a spoon and goes over to the berries. He is not confident about this part at all, but crazyforcrust.com said to use a spoon. And hopefully he can get, like four or five good-looking ones for Sam, and the rest can be for him to pig out on on the fourteenth alone in his room while he tries not to wonder where Cas is. 

He dips the spoon into the white chocolate and covers it, then raises it over a strawberry and zig-zags over it, letting the white chocolate drip and drizzle overtop.

“See?” Dean says to Cas, who he knows is watching. “You can hardly taste the white chocolate this way but it looks good.” Well, it doesn’t look bad. Dean’s sure they’ll look better as he goes.

“I see,” Cas says. He points to the drizzled strawberry. “Are you giving that one to Sam?”

“No,” Dean says. “That one was just a practice one.”

“Good,” Cas says, and he picks up the strawberry by the stem. Dean’s never, ever seen him go for seconds before, but he makes a mental note of it. But then Cas turns the strawberry around, unmistakably offering it to Dean. “You should have one. You made them.”

“But--” Dean starts to say, and then Cas brings it up, so it nearly touches Dean’s lips. He looks at him with the same kind of focus he gives to a hunt, or smiting demons. 

“Eat it,” he says, nudging Dean’s lips with the fruit. Dean opens his mouth and bites into it. Maybe Dean would lay his head on Cas’ lap in their picnic, and Cas would feed Dean. 

The strawberry is good, probably. Dean’s not really sure what it tastes like. All he can see are Cas’ eyes, boring into his. 

Dean swallows. 

“You don’t have any chocolate on your face,” Cas says. He sounds disappointed. Dean can’t unpack that. 

“That’s ‘cause the chocolate is less melty,” Dean says, mostly on autopilot. He feels a million miles away. “Cause it’s starting to harden.”

“Okay,” Cas says. “Can I help with the drizzle?”

“Oh,” Dean says, shaken out of some kind of trance. “Sure. Get a spoon.”

Cas fetches one. He holds it like an instrument of war. Dean loves him so fucking much.

They drizzle white chocolate over the strawberries. Cas does it so precisely his drizzles look like they came from the store. Dean’s drizzles improve. He makes a couple decent ones. For Jack, he guesses, ‘cause the ones Cas made should probably go to Sam.

“I gave you a strawberry,” Cas says out of nowhere. “And you gave me one. Does that make us Valentines?”

Dean freezes. 

A moment later, his heart restarts and he looks at Cas, who is solemnly drizzling. Then he looks innocently up at Dean, and Dean realizes that Cas has absolutely been fucking with him this whole time. Absolutely knows about Valentine’s Day, absolutely ate that strawberry out of Dean’s hand on purpose. Dean narrows his eyes at him. Cas tilts his head. 

“You’re a menace,” Dean grumbles. 

“That’s not a no,” Cas says. 

“You’re right,” Dean says. “I guess it does make us Valentines.” Cas smiles, a tiny, private thing, and then looks back down at his drizzling. 

“Good,” he says quietly, and Dean ducks his head, cheeks warm and heart fluttering, and he lifts up his spoon. 

It’s kind of cold in Kansas in February, but Dean imagines him and Cas wrapped in blankets,  feeding each other chocolate-covered strawberries in front of the TV. This time, he thinks, he’ll actually taste the strawberry. And you know what? Dean’s sure that those strawberry molecules and those chocolate molecules are gonna be fucking fantastic.

Especially if he gets to kiss them off Cas’ lips. 

(ao3)

[honeyvettel]

17+24 PeccoVale

17. tending to an injury/wound/illness + 24. showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house | pecco/vale, set after jerez 2025, slight daddy kink. cw: mention of blood, wounds, self-harm. [1.1k]

(from this prompt list here)

pecco never thought of himself as a violent guy. not even when he was younger, when boys his age would spend afternoons smashing broken things in the empty lots outside turin, or picking pointless fights in school courtyards just to feel the weight of their own fists. he never joined them. he stayed in his lane, quiet, unbothered, keeping his distance; and maybe that’s what made them hate him most of all— the way he seemed not to care, the way he never flinched. they must have thought he believed he was better than them. and he did, sometimes. now, pecco is not so sure anymore. not when he’s been lying crumpled in the corner of his motorhome for the past half hour, watching blood bubble out from his knuckles and pool on the floor in slow, sticky drops. drip.drip.drip. he isn’t a violent guy. it’s just that sometimes the ringing in his head gets too loud, and the air presses down so heavy it feels like it might choke him. and when it gets like that, he needs to let it out— something not as final as jumping off a rooftop, but close enough to scrape against the same kind of hurt. so he punched the wall. big deal. people do worse these days, he tells himself— shoot their families, set their lives on fire for no reason at all. a few cracked knuckles hardly makes him a monster. still, it’s not the same when you spend years polishing this image of yourself, parading around your gentlemanly qualities, the kind of man who gets to wear a clean badge around and stand among the good guys. pecco wonders if they should take that badge away now, after this— inconvenience. he scoffs under his breath, staring down at the blood drying slowly across his knuckles, flaking at the edges. it had felt good at first—the first punch, and then the second—the sharp, jarring shock of it collapsing the noise inside his head into a perfect, blissful silence. now, all that he feels it’s just guilt. tomorrow there’s testing; tomorrow he’ll have to show up into the garage and explain the torn skin to his mechanics, find some half-truth that doesn’t make him sound as fucked up as he feels. he doesn’t even have a first aid kit lying around to try and save the situation— just his hands, split open and empty. he presses a fingertip to the worst of the scabs, feels the pain spark outwards like fireworks, a reminder to himself of what he’s capable of doing to his own body. he sits up, before he can start slipping into that dark place again. and he walks, to the only person he knows can make everything right again.

“pecco.”

when he opens the door, valentino’s voice cuts through andalusia's heavy, humid air—sharp, and surprised. he fixes his gaze to the way pecco is curling his hand to his chest, trying to hide it with the trembling shelter of the other. but the blood is too visible not to notice. "come, come," valentino says quickly, already turning back inside. "sorry," pecco mutters, stepping in. "i—i don’t have a kit in my motorhome."  he feels like he should offer an excuse—a slip in the shower, knocking something over in the garage. but he knows valentino is smarter than that; he has always been able to see through their clumsy lies. “sit on the couch,” the other instructs. valentino disappears into the bathroom, and comes back holding a small plastic box. when he finally gets a good look at pecco’s knuckles he hisses under his breath. “ah, that looks–” but doesn’t finish the sentence. he gathers pecco’s hand between his own, and starts dabbing antiseptic into the worst parts, brows pinched. pecco knows how squeamish valentino is with blood and injuries; he is too, more often than not. sometimes he wonders if he’s inherited it from him — the way every kid from the academy carries some piece of vale without even noticing. he looks down at the split skin and feels his stomach turn. “don’t look,” valentino shushes, as if he can read pecco’s thoughts. the cotton ball soaks through fast, and valentino swaps it for another with quick, steady hands. “sorry, i don’t— i can’t—” pecco stammers, the words crumbling as his throat tightens. the shame coils like a cord around his heart; he feels like a child, disobeying his father’s warnings. but vale only flicks his wrist, a light, dismissive gesture. “you should ask luca about the time i tried to put a dent in the garage door,” he says, voice easy, almost laughing. “pathetic, really. barely scuffed my knuckles, but the pain—god, it was something else.” he peels open a sterile bandage and begins wrapping it around pecco’s bruised hand, the touch gentle. “bad times, those,” valentino murmurs, half to himself. pecco guesses it must’ve been those grim years at ducati, when the bike was a wild, stubborn thing refusing to bend. the thought twists inside his gut; he’s got the best machine on the grid and here he is, punching walls like a messy teenager. “there we go,” valentino says cheerfully, tucking the last strand of gauze neatly under the strip of tape. pecco stares down at the bright white of the bandage, how the blood is already seeping through. a wave of humiliation crashes over him before he can do something about it, hot and stinging. his hand looks small, ridiculous; useless. “pecco,” valentino says, when he notices the tears that has gathered around the corner of his eyes, a note of sorrow stitched into his voice. he rises just to fold back down beside him, knees brushing. valentino's arms open, and pecco goes without thinking, curling small and tight. “it’s nothing,” valentino breathes against his temple, pressing a kiss there, light as a benediction. his hand moves along his back —up and down, up and down— a slow, unhurried rhythm meant to soothe. “daddy’s here,” he says around a chuckle, the same teasing lilt from the other day in the garage, where they had hugged and vale told him about his nonna. he had gathered him in his arms, shaking him gently, laughing. ma che bravo che sei, ma che bravo. she’d just shake me, and shower me with praise, vale had said. pecco doesn’t know what to do with any of this, now. he just buries his face tighter into valentino’s shoulder, heart hammering hard and uneven. “you’ll figure it out,” vale says, voice lower, pitched soft against the shell of his ear. “i know you will.”  pecco, selfishly, tries to believe him.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Undercover (part 2)

Part 1

Summary: She just wants him to leave her alone.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: im sooooo sorry for the amount of time you had to wait for this part, but i promise ill try to write faster 😉

(again, its been almost one and a half years since i read the books, so theres a possibility i write something thats not canon. so if you see it, no you dont 😉)

anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Shoving her clothes into her bag was not the best idea, considering it was only increasing the amount of work she'd have to do later on.

But it sure made her feel better, and who was going to stop her?

Dropping the lumpy backpack to the ground, Y/n stalked back over to the small cupboard she had been given, and ripped out the leggings, pants, shirts and anything within reach of Y/n's slender fingers.

A knock on the door drew Y/n's attention, and she scowled at the unmoving thing.

"What?" Y/n snapped, pushing her clothes into the poor bag.

Y/n was sure that were the bag a living being, it would have cursed Y/n to hell and back for the torture she put it through.

She was also sure living in hell would have been a better option than going on a mission with Kenji, that too as a last resort.

No one answered back to her angry inquiry.

Reigning in her groan of frustration, Y/n stomped to the door and nearly ripped it off its hinges as she opened it.

There stood Kenji, with his signature asshole smile on his ugly little face.

"Are you deaf?" Y/n hissed.

He had the audacity to blink at her, raising his eyebrows, like she was being unreasonable.

She probably was, but who cared about that?

"I think I should be the one to ask you that."

"What do you want?" Y/n sneered.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, his shit eating grin unwavering. "Just wanted to make sure you hadn't died of happiness that you were going to be working with me-"

The door slammed in his face before he could let more bullshit spew from his disgusting lips.

Y/n could hear his soft laugh through the wooden door, and she cursed Castle for the slow renovations.

Most of the Omega point had been upgraded, given metal and good quality doors through which sound was hard to pass unless people spoke through a microphone. But Y/n, as her luck would have it, had been assigned a small quarter in the part of Omega point that would be last to get upgrades.

It also did not pass Y/n's notice that the part Kenji lived in was the first to be renovated.

"Don't get too excited Y/n!" He yelled through the door, and Y/n whipped around, glaring holes into the worn wood.

"The only thing I'm excited about right now it killing myself."

"Nice one Y/n." Kenji laughed, loud and free.

Y/n said nothing, her anger dissipating at what she'd just revealed to him. Hoping that he would leave, she defeatedly walked back over to her backpack and dumped all its contents on her bed, settling down to fold them all neatly.

A moment of silence passed, and there were no sounds other than the soft rustle of the clothes on Y/n's lap.

Though a moment was all she got.

"You're joking, right?" Kenji called out.

Y/n ignored him.

"Y/n?"

"Go away Kishimoto."

Maybe he could hear the defeat in her voice, maybe it was the way she did not really scream, but he began knocking on the door frantically.

"Hey! Y/n!"

When Y/n did not acknowledge him, he suddenly began pounding on her door. "Y/n. Open up."

"Fuck off."

"Tell me it was a joke and I'll fuck right off."

"Leave me alone."

"Say it Y/n. Say that you-"

"I am not going to hang myself Kishimoto." Y/n yelled, frustrated, before mumbling to herself. "At least not today."

"Fine. I will leave, but remember, this conversation is far from over."

"If you don't leave right now, more than this conversation will be over."

A pause.

"And what's that?"

"Your life."

He laughed, and it slowly faded away like he was leaving, just as a small smile faded onto Y/n's face.

Asshole.

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @cassie6392 @harrystylesfan2686 @eve175

Kenji Kishimoto Taglist: @kennedy-brooke @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter

[iwrite-sinsandtragedies]

Hi, I'm back 😩

Sorry for just like, dropping off the face of the earth there for a hot minute, but my life has been this specific brand of absolute dogshit that has left me hiding under the floor boards - quite literally - since mid october, and I'm only just starting to get my battery back to like, maybe 10% again now.

TMI under the cut, and probably quite a bit of a ramble;;

SO.

Life has been shit. Like, shit shit.

Like, I'm warning you now, this is trauma and abuse shit.

Suffice to say that I'm the kind of person who tends to get taken advantage of and not speak my feelings or stand up for myself. It comes from a place of pretty severe trauma and mental illness, of course, but knowing that and knowing myself doesn't make things any easier in my life really. It just makes me self-aware and subsequently frustrated at my own slow progress.

For example, at present: I've been locked inside my room since the above mentioned, mid october. I have to ration food and water, I can't be too loud for fear of being caught, I sneak out for one bathroom break a day, if I'm lucky, and I have had to work with sanitary wipes instead of showers since this bullshit began - which is fine for the body, but fucking useless for the hair 🤷‍♂️ this wouldn't be such an issue if I didn't have eczema, but I do and so I am suffering, I guess.

Why, do you ask? What has caused this situation? Stupidity has caused this, my friend. Stupid people including my stupid self.

For a bit of backstory context: Several years back, I was chased out of my house by an abusive family member. It was 30 below and I had nowhere to go but, I remembered someone offered to help me, if I ever needed it - so I ended up on his doorstep! He happily took me in as he was like a father to me. There was no expectations for me, it was clear I was abused and traumatised (I was horribly malnourished and anemic at the time) and I was a naturally reclusive and quiet person anyways. So they gave me an old dusty room and left me be.

They being him and his father. For simplicity's sake, we will call them Dad and Gramps. I'll start by saying that I love and adore my Dad. Also, I don't hate Gramps, despite all he's done to me. Even if sometimes I think I should.

Gramps is an old cowboy. Crass and backwards and poorly educated. He's spent his whole life working and drinking and smoking and driving really really fast. He thinks insulting people is how you make friends and his favourite past time as a young man was starting fights. He's had several failed marraiges and has several dozen people (related or not) that call him dad. He's done more than anyone that I've ever met but that also means he thinks he knows more than anyone and no one can tell him what's wrong or right.

He's got a lot of good and bad qualities. Is what I'm saying.

Among those bad qualities, unfortunately, is sexual harassment. Which, I suppose should have been a very clear and blarring warning sign right from the beginning but, as a survivor of child abuse and SA, my boundries have always been miles behind from where they should be. Additionally, I had nowhere else to go 🤷‍♂️ it took several months and me getting visibly angry with him and telling him about my previous abuse before he finally stopped slapping my ass but, his language towards me never really fully went away;;;

Despite this, I stayed. I was unemployed and terribly ill and struggling to get through my previous traumas and depression, so I stayed and helped around the house however I was able to make up for me occupying space. The room I was staying in was musty and filled with mice and their filth, so I had to clean the space. The big old bed was filled with droppings (inside the boxspring especially) but Gramps refused to let me get it replaced unless someone would pay for it. So I layered it up with a dozen blankets and it's still the bed I sleep on to this day. In my brain, it wasn't much different from the bed that I had as a child, so I just put up with it 🤷‍♂️

As the years went on, my health continued to decline. The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong, they tossed around words like 'heart failure' but wouldn't confirm a diagnosis. My muscle wasted and I was never able to catch my breath, I started having fainting spells. At my worst, I would spend days in bed.

Despite all this, I somehow became Gramps's unofficial caretaker. Unbeknownst to me, his whole family couldn't stand to put up with him because he would complain for sympathy and demand to be waited on hand and foot. I can't deny that I'm gullible, so when he started his sob stories, I went out of my way to help. If you can't tell by now, my fawn response is pretty strong - I've been told more than once to consider myself before other people but, it just never occures to me in the moment, I guess.

And so, I took care of him. No matter how aggrivating he was, no matter how often he belittled me or insulted me, no matter how stubborn he was or how little he listened to me; no matter how disgusted I was at the kind of things he suggested to me. It was nothing I hadn't dealt with before so I just 🤷‍♂️ put up with it - like an absolute fucking idiot.

This went on for several years.

It affected everything I did. My health never got better because I was too busy taking care of him (and others) to set time aside for myself. My friendships were impacted and even started to decay in several instances because of my declining mental state. It felt like, no matter how hard I tried to mend things with people, to keep up face and hold things together, it all just kept slipping through my fingers - until I had nothing to hold onto at all.

In the beginning of 2023, Gramps got diagnosed with cancer.

Now, an additional note that I should add here is that his family throughout all of this was entirely absent. In those several years I was caring for him, I was calling 911 nearly once a month for his heart or his breathing or because he stumbled and fell. I was helping him get dressed and cleaning his (and his friend's who is also an asshole old man) shit and piss off of the hallway and bathroom floors. I was cooking his meals and giving him baths and sitting on his bedside in the middle of the night when he had a breathing attack or got too lonely. I was buying his groceries and carting them up two flights of stairs, I was fixing his tv and enduring his fits of anger and yelling and pandering to every nonsense request he had on top of that. On top of all of my own problems, I was entirely alone in taking care of him.

When he got cancer, I was still entirely alone in taking care of him.

When he started getting angrier, more stubborn, more vocally abusive. When his diabetes spiked and his eyes started going blind and he was swearing and yelling at me because he didn't want to go to his appointments or use a walker or a wheelchair despite not being able to see 5 feet in front of him. When he refused to eat, when he refused to let me sleep.

When he started with the verbal threats of violence.

When he started touching me again.

And I had nowhere else to go.

I tried to ask for help. I genuinely did. Which is honestly a huge blarring warning sign for me because, if I'm asking for help, I'm probably close to a mental break - and I was - but, despite me saying, mulitple times to multiple people "I need help. I can't do this. I'm out of my depth. Can someone help me." No one ever did.

It all came to a head shortly after my friend group fell to pieces. I just wanted everything to turn off after that. Gramps and I got into an argument, a real proper one where I finally got angry back, and he took a swing at me and I decided that was enough. I was done. I went into my room and locked the door and curled up in bed and did my best to ignore his threats and his yelling. I cried until I fell asleep and thought about killing myself and I continued to think about it for the next two days. The entire time I was in there, he was upstairs, right above my head, promising to call the poliece to kick me out or promising to beat my face or break my neck.

I texted my Dad, I told him how I felt. He called his sister and she took over where I left off.

I still had nowhere to go 🤷‍♂️

So now, here I am, over 3 months into this bullshit. I filed for emergency housing within the following week of that madness and I've been hiding in this room and waiting ever since. My laptop was packed up in an emergency bag for the first month and a half / two months since I was in perpetual fear at that point of making even a whisper of noise or being caught without my bags packed and ready to go. I've had one dear and solid friend that's stayed with me and helped me through the worst of this all, even despite being an ocean away. Without them, I don't think I would have made it this far tbh.

So!

As you can probably tell, tumblr has been the LAST thing on my mind lately 😂 I've only really started coming back to it in the last month or so and I have just had no energy to put towards my blogs at all.

But, I'm slowly coming back!

I have a few drafts saved, so I'll probably trickle those in eventually. OL has been on my mind as of late, as well as BG3, which is why I'm posting here again at all. So, I hope to do something with this little sprout of inspiration that's managed to grow out of my head.

In the meantime, yeah 🤷‍♂️this is where I've been, under the floor boards, hiding in the dark, and just biding my time until I can escape.

Sorry for the long ramble! But also, not sorry at all, because this is my blog and all that 😂 For me, it's nice to finally put all this down somewhere, at the very least. Hopefully I won't have anything to complain about again for a long while after this. Honestly, I'm just hoping that I get that email soon that says there's finally somewhere safe for me.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Tangerine headcanons/ imagines

tangerine x female reader

tw: none! just cute stuff that makes us sad

okay so I love analysing people and ive been in love with him since march/april, so this was a piece of cake- also im obsessive and lonely so was super easy lmfao

these are just things that I think (kinda self indulgent) but if you disagree that’s fine too

princess treatment- he’d treat you like royalty

huge softie at heart

love language wise:

 physical touch- I feel like he’s quite handsy, he always has to be touching some part of you

 acts of service- he’d always be willing to help you, does things for you. makes you snacks and drinks throughout the day- like if you’re busy, he’d pop in and give you a tray of stuff you may need

 quality time- he’d value the time you spent together, even if you weren’t doing an activity together (both in the same space, doing your own things) he’d designate certain days for just you

 gift giving- he’d spoil you like crazy, he’d remember certain little things about you and get you a thoughtful gift based off that (like if you mentioned something you wanted to try for just one second midway in a conversation you had months ago, he’d remember it)

words of affirmation- he’d call you tonnes of pet names, I feel like he’d say ‘my’ in front of it to make it more special. he’d tell you he loves you, how special you are and how much he adores you etc

----

hates everyone but you vibes- he’s standoffish to everyone, but when it comes to you he’s the complete opposite; he speaks very soft and kind towards you

he treats you like the most valuable thing on earth

very patient with you

protector x protected energy- he just always wants you safe

nose and forehead kisses

lots of thumb stroking on your cheeks 

lots of intense eye contact- he admires your eyes

feel like he’s a hip and thigh kinda man

I feel like you’d be very close to Lemon, and sometimes it’ll wind him up. Lemon would tell you embarrassing stories about Tan- you’d love it while he’d hate it

I get ride or die vibes- kinda like romeo and juliet, just minus all the death

he secretly loves your chick flicks, he pretends he hates them but watches them with you every time

he also pretends he hates when you call him sweet things but he definitely looks away to smile

he’s very slow to warm up, takes a bit of time to crack him open. on the outside he’s a doberman but on inside he’s like a ragdoll

gets a bit possessive, not in a scary way- but I do think that sometimes it could be

feel like he’s the kind that will literally worship you

you clean his cuts and wounds after missions

he runs warm but you run quite cold, so he’s always trying to warm you up

I feel like you’re the first person he’s actually loved romantically

drinks black coffee and ofc tea

definitely a whisky drinker, he loves a good whisky by the fire

I feel like he’s very clean, likes to keep everything organised. maybe a bit of a perfectionist

always smells good

very romantic and extremely charismatic- a natural charmer. funny and lots of inside jokes

he’s a great caretaker- looks after you really well. if you’re ill he’d be with you at all times, not caring if he got sick too. and when it’s your time of the month he’d get you hot water bottles and you’d get lots of back rubs etc

he loves it when you use your fingers to trace over his tattoos, same goes for his chest hair too

also loves when your stroke through his hair

he gets really irritated in hot temperatures- and starts swearing a lot more

I feel like he’s kind of set in his ways about things/ he knows what he likes, and that you help open his mind about trying and doing new things. you help keep things fresh and exciting

some reason I feel like you’d have daddy issues idk why, (sorry if you do, also sorry if you don’t lmao)

he might follow you like a lost puppy, he’d literally do anything you say

you’d be best friends as well as a couple

he’s very reliable and would drop anything for you

if you needed to rant or vent, he’d be there lending you his ear. he’d be an incredible listener

very attentive

feel like he’s a fast driver, but never when you’re in the car

if someone flirts with you or someone was mean to you at work he’d say “where are they? I will fuckin kill em”

private but not secret relationship

definitely a homebody

whenever he goes past the florists or to the shop, he’d always bring some flowers back for you (more often than not- it’ll your favourite type of flower)

leaves you sweet notes around the house

that’s it for now, hope you liked

[deng-yi-deng]

CDramas I watched 2022 edition

I thought this would be my shortest cdrama list ever (+ 1 kdrama) because the year started out so slow, but it picked up dramatically towards the end. Still, this year was more about excellent English language shows (OFMD, WWDITS, Sandman) and dropping dramas when they did not spark joy, which was often.

Surprise shoutout to NRTA for doing one (and only one) thing I agree with - trying to cut down on the overall number of episodes per drama. I do think this is improving overall quality, forcing dramas to tighten up writing and pacing.

I had zero interest in watching this year's hits (Love like the Galaxy or Love Between Fairy and Devil) because of petty personal preferences so here's my 'best of the rest'. Fave of the year goes to Strange Tales of Tang Dynasty, the surprisingly well-done costume-buddy cop-mystery-dramedy that I didn't know I needed. Honorable mention to New Life Begins (adorable) and Side Story of Fox Volant for favorite wuxia.

If you want to read a very thorough review of Strange Tales, check out the top review on my drama list (for once I agree with mdl ?!).

*Indicates that the drama was dropped - not an indication of lack of quality, just that I didn't finish

Luoyang

Bad and Crazy (kdrama)

Sword Snow Stride*

The Wind Blows from Longxi*

Heroes*

A Dream of Splendor*

The Side Story of Fox Volant

Light Chaser Rescue

Strange Tales of the Tang Dynasty

New Life Begins

see below the cut for my insightful complaining biased reviews

Luoyang (风起洛阳 ) (2021) 2.5/5🌶

I finished this in 2022 so it's on the 2022 list :)

Fun fact: WYB's character is not the main character despite the 217,876 gifs you may have seen. I had high hopes for this one as the novel it was adapted from was written by the same author of Longest Day in Chang'an which I liked. TL;DR version: it does not come even close to Chang'an in terms of the level of screenwriting, directing, art direction, or production. Acting is also weaker on average, but some actors weren't given much to work with.

Huang Xuan is very good, as are many of the actors in minor roles (Old Carrot!!) - I may try to check out some of his other dramas, and would LOVE to see him work with LYX but alas probably never gonna happen. (they're both dancers! and can act! and are handsome! haha, that makes me sound so shallow.) WYB looks like a block of wood through the majority of the drama. Even if (like me) you interpret him as being autistic, it doesn't work. Song Yi's character might win for worst writing for a female character ever! Which is really saying something in cdrama world. Literally the most epic fail of the Bechdel test - she can't even mourn her father for a minute before refocusing all her attention on Erlang-bae. The romance - for either couple - was completely unnecessary to the thriller plot. Erlang and Liu Ran are on my NOTP list for sheer gag-inducing pointlessness. Huang Xuan and Song Qian tried to have a little chemistry but the sparks failed to ignite (see plot) and...sorry Victoria, after seeing you in Broker and then this...not impressed.

Sets & costumes were supposedly expensive (though the ghetto/Unwelcome Well set looked as fake as an old Shaw Bros set) I think most of the $ was spent on hiring lots of extras which - good to get people employed but ? Action scenes - well, you may have already read about them. If not, go ahead and do that I won't pile on. Pacing was brisk but the plot holes. Oh lord. The plot holes. Ending has a completely unnecessary twist (of the knife). Like Chang'an it got progressively weaker after the big mid-way shocker and ended not with a bang, but with a whimper.

Bad and Crazy (kdrama) 4/5 🌶

This was one of the more entertaining things I watched this year - actually looked forward to a new ep each week. Good acting, lots of action, satisfying ending. I was a little uncomfortable with how they characterized mental illness, but once I gave up and told myself (10 times before each ep.) that it's just a drama, was able to enjoy it.

*Sword Snow Stride (雪中悍刀行) 2/5 🌶

I wanted to like this SO MUCH. Finally some wuxia! With actors I like! The plot is ok, the characters are fun and interesting. Lots of really good actors, many familiar faces. There was humor! And some original ideas but... it was s o o o o s l o w. I lost interest during each episode (sometimes falling asleep) and had to force myself to watch the next one - there was just no momentum episode to episode. I gave up around ep 20. Fight scenes could've been better, which for wuxia is kinda important ya know? (I won't even comment on the cgi since others have already done that - it's not great). I really can't emphasize enough how much I wanted to like this. It's like all the ingredients were there for an amazingly satisfying dish but it was served lukewarm and watered down? I'm also getting a little tired of Zhang Ruoyun playing an all-knowing smartass.

*The Wind Blows from Longxi (风起陇西) 2/5 🌶

Acting: fine. Music: too loud in spots. Sets/styling: good. I didn't mind the dark palette, it seemed appropriate for 3 Kingdoms spy drama. The problem? I found myself wandering away to get snacks or looking at my phone too often, then having to go back and see if I missed a crucial bit of dialog. There was no momentum, nothing felt like it was at stake - which for a slice of life drama might be ok, but this was a spy/political thriller! Chen Kun and Bai Yu were ok (but just). I've heard the dialog is disconcertingly modern in spots, which is not a problem when you're using eng subs. The big red flag for me was the guy at the end who explains what just happened. Like. No. If you have to do that to your film/drama you have FAILED storytelling 101. I should be able to enjoy the story knowing only the basics of history (which I do) and then you fill in the exciting bits. Dropped this mostly because the ending was spoiled for me around ep 16 by a mutual who reblogged a gifset that gave away the identity of the double agent and had NO TAGS AT ALL much less a 'spoiler' tag. And this was before it wrapped for non-VIPs. Uncool. SO UNCOOL. TAG YOUR POSTS PEOPLE.

*Heroes 说英雄谁是英雄 3.5/5🌶

Another wuxia! Maybe...please...maybe? Pros: Baron Chen doing the most dramatic cape flipping, blood coughing, suffering stoically performance ever. And he wasn't wearing a wig - it was. his. own. hair. Just inject that sh!t directly into my veins. Good pacing, decent acting and characters (at least for the guys). Trope-y but it's the tropes I like, so yay!

Cons: fight scenes were of the comic-book pose/quick-cut type rather than actual fight choreography. Which is what you get when you cast actors and not martial artists so yeah, but man, it really makes me want to just watch some old HK movies. And surprise, surprise: tissue paper thin female characters particularly Wen Rou (and her costumes - ugh just no to the western-style ruffles.)

Though I was eating this with a spoon for the first 24ish episodes, I ended up dropping it (probably not forever) because it turned into a smorgasbord of angst and I wasn't in the mood. So if you are looking for angst with a side of suffering, then that would be a pro, I guess?

*A Dream of Splendor 梦华录 3.5+/5🌶

What? Well written female characters? In a female-centric historical drama? For me? Aw, you shouldn't have - no, actually you should have, and you should do it again!

Dropped this because I had English language shows to watch (hello Sandman) and it sort of lost steam for me - somehow the way it's shot made it a bit more of a slice of life than plot-driven drama? and NGL I was also tired of reading my tv, but I will try to finish someday.

Pros: production, costumes, pacing all pretty good. Aforementioned prettiness. The plot revolves around the women supporting each other, with the romance being sort of second? kind of? which I love, but also the FL & ML have great chemistry.

Cons: both the FL and ML are a little toooo perfect - too pretty, too smart, too accomplished (the ML was the #3 scholar, passing the test when he was young yet also is a master at wushu and swords? ah, ok) but this is a minor quibble since this is a cdrama.

Fun fact: was watching this and Heroes at the same time and Sun Zujun is in both and plays...a rich, hot, sexual predator in both. Um, hope you don't get typecast my dude. (his acting is pretty good so best of luck to him.)

The Side Story of Fox Volant 飞狐外传 4/5 🌶

Yay! More wuxia this year! please let this be the one....

The first few episodes are movie-quality: sets, action, art direction, sound, acting are all fabulous. Towards the middle it settles down into more typical cdrama territory. Based on a Jin Yong novel, it's what you would expect, and I think has been adapted before. Since I haven't read the novel or seen other adaptations I can't compare, so perhaps this wasn't as well received because it diverged from the novel?

Unlike the other wuxia this year, did not suffer from bad writing for the female characters! Full of tropes, but everyone was pretty well written - despite immediately loving Miao Renfeng, I also loved the 'bad guy' (who's character name I always forget, so will be referred to only as Peter Ho - he did a great job of making a bad dude sympathetic.) Qin Junjie was giving me Chen Kun vibes all over the place - I may try to watch Listening Snow Tower just for him.

Not really sure why this didn't do better. I assume because it's yet another Jin Yong adaptation, and the competition (LLTG and CJL) were more appealing to a (female) audience.

Pros: good acting, great actors, solid wuxia story with a strong start and well done (if tragic) finish

Cons: weak middle - pacing and overall quality dipped a lot. like they put the B team on all the middle eps for cinematography, editing and direction

Light Chaser Rescue 追光者 3.5/5 🌶

Finally a Luo Yunxi drama I can watch, though I'll admit if he weren't in it, no way I'd be watching. Though some of the marketing makes it look like a cp drama, it is in fact an ensemble cast, with the focus being on the diverse people that make up volunteer rescue squads. It's very politically safe and tbh was not surprised they chose to air it during the party congress.

Surprisingly for the moralistic/didactic theme, all the couples were really cute and well done, so if you want romance, there is some. The effects and sets were realistic, and everyone's tragic backstory was tragic. You may need tissues for this one if you're a crier. It wasn't without some super cringe moments (spoiler: the little orphan would be doubly scarred for life by their attempts to help him 'heal') but in general was ok.

Wu Qian (Janice Wu) was really good - I'd only seen her in two things when she was much younger, and she really is a mature talented actress. I'll say it - even better than Xixi, who did pretty good but still can improve, especially in shouty scenes where his emotion looks a little forced. (see, see, how I can critique my fave?)

Pros: Luo Yunxi and Wu Qian

Cons: not enough of the cute dog, didactic and moralizing, weak plot that is barely credible half of the time, often felt more like a bunch of 'how to survive x disaster' instructional videos strung together rather than a coherent drama due to choppy editing

Strange Tales of Tang Dynasty 4.5/5 唐朝诡事录

Please cdrama gods consider blessing a season 2 of this because it was so much fun! Even though Su Wuming is a disciple of Dectective Di, I think I liked this even more than the Detective Di movies I've seen (!) because as much as I love Su Wuming, the genius detective trope is a little played out for me, and giving him a great foil in Lu Lingfeng made the whole thing more enjoyable.

The writing for and acting of the two leads was so enjoyable to watch. They had great buddy cop chemistry that really elevated the whole drama. Female characters were pretty well written and realized, and some of the villains were downright enjoyable (creepy ghost guy, you looked like you had so much fun!) Production values were fairly high across the board - sets, visuals, costumes, sound, for what could have been a very cheap drama. Everything seems to have been done with care and attention to detail. Though the plots are a little silly sometimes I didn't mind because they were entertaining. Also tw to people like me who are sn*ke phobic - uh there are lots of scenes you will need to skip in the second mystery.

The drama starts at the end (!) which was an interesting way to wrap the whole thing up, but also an odd choice because they ended up basically reusing most of the first ep for the final episode? In between there are several loosely strung together 'supernatural mysteries' that our guys find themselves solving in different places all across the country. Each mystery is only slightly more difficult to solve than your typical Scooby Doo plot, and similarly any supernatural element is soundly debunked by the end.

Pros: writing, acting, chemistry between leads, production values, almost no romance (a pro for me)

Cons: easy 'mysteries', almost no romance (a con for many people it seems)

New Life Begins 卿卿日常 4/5

I hadn't planned on watching this, but I like Bai Jingting ok and needed something to watch after Strange Tales of Tang Dynasty and this looked cute. Spoiler: it is pretty darn cute.

If you're looking for an angsty palace/harem type drama this won't be it. Instead, they use the conceit of 9 vassal states sending a bride for the princes of the Xin kingdom to explore the different ways a society can treat women. It's a very very girl power drama. As such the female characters are pretty well done and acted, but the male characters aren't reduced to being caricatures - all have reasonable personal failings.

Is it realistic, even for a costume drama? I don't care. Sometimes a work of fiction is to show you how things could or should be - in this case the jerks get their comeuppance and the ladies get to succeed. Sure, sometimes the girl power message is a lil' too heavy handed but I'll take it for the overall message and the humor.

Just realized I rated this higher than Dream of Splendor and I should justify myself - Dream of Splendor is overall a better drama, but this was more tightly paced and because it had a larger ensemble there was more going on to keep my interest. That and the fact that this had humor pushed it up a little notch for me.

Pros: cute, mostly light and funny, well paced, decent plot

Cons: I didn't really feel any of the cps (I came closest to shipping Li Wei and Yuan Ying) but YMMV

[bluejayblueskies]

for tma fantasy week prompt 7: legend

.

Jon’s foot slips on a tree root, and he nearly falls before he manages to catch himself on a tree, the rough bark cutting into the palm of his hand. He mutters a curse and checks to make sure he hasn’t dropped any items from his basket. The mushrooms and herbs seem to be in order, and Jon carefully tucks a delicate white flower back into place before starting forward again.

 That’s what he gets for foraging at night, he supposes. But the flowers he’s looking for bloom in a very specific time frame, and if he doesn’t pick them then, they’ll lose their medicinal quality. So, Jon grits his teeth and slows his pace slightly, taking more care with where he places his feet lest he end up actually hurting himself or—gods forbid—losing some of his supplies. He needs those flowers; most of his medicines rely on the little purple blossoms clustered near the shore of the lake, and he’s the only one who makes them. So, he spends most of his nights in the woods and most of his days fighting off exhaustion. The bags under his eyes have reached rather impressive proportions.

 It’s not his fault everyone else is too scared to venture into the woods at night. Putting so much stock in a local legend, in what is essentially a child’s tale, is ridiculous, and Jon will have no part of it.

He’s heard the legend before, of course, so many times that the words have begun to grate on his ears like sandpaper. According to legend, there had once been a man who lived in the very center of the forest. He lived alone, isolated and hidden away in the trees, with only the flora and fauna for company. But it had never bothered him, and he had spent his time painting the forest in yellows and purples and blues, spreading wildflowers all the way to the edges of the wood and carving paths in the earth for creeks and streams to flow. (This was the part that annoyed Jon the most; a man living alone in the woods he could believe, but that? Ridiculous.)

 The man had grown comfortable being alone. He’d loved it. And then, one day, another came to the center of the wood, looking to build a home there. The stranger stepped on the flowers the man had carefully cultivated and scared away the birds and disrupted the gentle silence of the trees and the leaves with boisterous words. So, from within the forest, the man summoned a great fog, thick and heavy as it rolled over the ground and through the trees, and swallowed the stranger whole. And then the man was alone again.  

 Something something legend says he still lives in the woods, something something only comes out at night, something something people sometimes see fog peeking through the trees when they get too close, whatever. It’s all nonsense. Jon knows it is, because he’s been visiting the forest at night for months and he’s never seen anything but a few startled rabbits and a plethora of moths.

 They’d even named the place after him. Blackwood Forest. Jon had always disliked the name—it felt rather repetitive for it to contain both wood and forest, and there had almost certainly never been a man called Blackwood living in this forest.

 Jon is crouched by the lake, halfway through collecting that night’s quota of flowers, when he realizes with a start that he can’t see his hands clearly anymore. They’re hazy before him, like he’s viewing them through warped glass, and when he looks up and over the lake, he’s met with only grey, stagnant and flat and unmoving as it surrounds him.

 Jon stands, gripping his basket tightly. He can barely see its contents; they’re smudged by the fog, turned greyscale and desaturated. His own skin looks sickly, like all the color has been drawn out of it.

 “Hello?” he says, his voice too-loud in the stillness that surrounds him, and if it shakes a bit he pretends it doesn’t because he’s not scared. There’s no ghostly specter of a man planning to trap him in fog forever. It’s a temperate night; fog is to be expected. There’s nothing supernatural about a bit of fog.

 Then, a voice drifts out of the fog, and Jon nearly drops his basket in shock.

 “You’re not supposed to be here,” it says. The words reverberate through the fog, echoing over and over again until they trail away into nothing.

 What? Indignance wipes away Jon’s surprise in the span of a breath, and he snaps back, “I can go where I very well please, thank you. I’ve been coming here for months, and I’m not going to stop just because you tell me to.”

 Gods, he’s talking to fog. This is a new low for him.

 There’s a moment of silence before Jon swears he hears the fog sigh. It’s almost absurd enough to make him laugh. “Still, you… you should leave.”

 Jon scoffs and decides to entertain, just for a moment, the notion that he’s speaking to the man everyone’s convinced is haunting these woods. “What, can’t you just threaten to steal me away? To hold me captive in the fog forever? Apparently, it’s what you do.”

 It’s quiet for a long while—long enough that Jon begins to shift impatiently and consider how long it might take him to navigate out of the forest without being able to see the route in front of him. Then, so quietly Jon can barely hear it, the voice says, “It’s not.”

 If Jon didn’t know any better, he’d think that whatever’s hiding in the fog sounds sad. “What?”

 The fog clusters a bit heavier around Jon, tickling at his skin and leaving behind a fine mist of water, before retreating suddenly, leaving the ground and the trees bare around him, illuminated by the moon above. And, not five feet away, stands a man, his edges blurred and every part of him an icy white, from the curls that spill down his shoulders to his skin to the cloak he has wrapped tightly around him (though, when Jon looks closer, he thinks that might actually be fog, thick and clinging to the man’s skin). The man is looking at a point just behind Jon’s shoulder, avoiding his eyes. “It’s not,” he repeats. “I- I don’t want to hurt anyone. I haven’t hurt anyone.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Who’s there to hurt? Nobody comes here anymore.”

 Well. Jon still doesn’t believe in legends, but this is hardly a legend anymore, is it, with the man in question stood there in front of him? A bit warier, Jon says, “So then… what do you want?”

 The man looks at Jon then—really looks at him—and a shiver runs through Jon’s body like he’s just stuck his hand in ice water. “I… I don’t really know?” He hugs his cloak tighter to him, the fog shifting as he does so, and continues, “I… I suppose we could… we could talk?”

 “Talk,” Jon repeats flatly. “I hardly see why the fog was necessary, then.”

 A few tendrils of fog snake out from the man, reaching toward Jon, before the man seems to notice, and they retreat back into the fabric of his cloak. More sharply than Jon expects, the man says, “I’m a bit out of practice, okay? Like, a few decades out of practice. I think I’m allowed a bit of leeway.”

 Maybe Jon’s imagining things, but he thinks, just for a moment, that he sees a flash of color—a wisp of tawny brown lacing through the man’s hair. When he blinks, though, it’s vanished, and so he puts it out of mind. “And what did you want to talk about?”

 The man pauses at that, wrings his hands together. “Anything?” he says finally with a small shrug. “Like, er… what do you use the viccolas for?”

 “The what?”

 The man gestures toward Jon’s basket. “The viccolas? They’re one of my favorite flowers here—a shame they only bloom at night, really—and I used to use them in my tea, to- to help with the pain. I, er. I used to be quite ill before I…” The man trails off and makes a small, distressed noise.

 “Died?” Jon suggests helpfully.

 “What?” The man’s head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide with surprise, and there it is again—that small flash of color, just for a moment, this time along the side of the man’s face, a light peach almost indistinguishable from the pale white surrounding it but there all the same. “No, I- I’m not a ghost! Why- why would you think that?”

 “To be fair, you do look like one.”

 The man makes a frustrated noise. “I- I suppose, but that’s- that’s not what happened! I’m still alive, I’m just not—”

 The man cuts off again, sharper this time. When he speaks again, his voice is choked, as if with tears. “I’m just not human anymore, I don’t think.”

 Well, Jon could have told him that much. It’s really rather obvious. Still, he doesn’t think that would be well received. So, instead, he says, “I use the flowers for medicines. Nobody else comes into these woods at night, but I’ve never been afraid of- well, of you, I suppose.”

 He wants to ask the man if he’d created the flowers. If he’d painted them by the lake like the legends say. But that would be ridiculous, and Jon’s not keen on indulging his own childish sense of curiosity.

 “Oh,” the man says quietly. “So, then, you… you’ll keep coming back for them?”

 Jon frowns. “Yes, of course. Some of the people I help would die without the medicine I give them.” His expression turns wary again. “So I would suggest you not try to stop me.”

 “No, no, of course not,” the man says quickly, looking rather horrified at the thought. Which does put Jon’s mind at peace a little. “I… I suppose I just thought that maybe we- we could talk again? Er, whenever you come back, that is.” He lets out a small, bitten-off laugh. “I promise I won’t surround you with fog this time?”

 “Yes, that would be preferable.”

 The man’s eyes brighten at that, his irises lit briefly with a flash of baby blue. “Is- is that a yes?”

 He looks so excited at the prospect of another conversation with Jon—one that will surely feel just as much like pulling teeth as this one, though that could just be Jon’s poor interpersonal skills. And unlike what some people might think, Jon is not heartless. Besides, he can’t deny that he’s curious about the man who lives at the center of the Blackwood Forest.

 “All right,” Jon says with a small nod. “I’ll be back this time next week.”

 The lips that smile back at him are rosy red. “G- great! Er, sorry, I- I realize I never actually asked… what’s your name?”

 After a pause during which Jon briefly entertains the notion of giving out a false name, he says, “Jon. You can call me Jon.”

 “Jon,” the man says, as if testing its weight upon his tongue. “I’m- I’m Martin. Er, Martin Blackwood.”

 Right. A bit of truth in the legends after all, then.

 Jon leaves with his flowers, and Martin fades back into the fog that hangs over the lake’s surface. And when Jon returns the next week, they talk. And the next, and the next, until it becomes routine. Until it becomes something Jon looks forward to. Until he spends most nights in the woods, sat next to the lake and unraveling every facet of a man whose life is so much more than has been spelled out on paper.

 And when the flashes of color begin to resolve into vibrant skin and hair and eyes and Martin begins to cry, Jon wraps his arms around a man who’s become solid once more and finds him warm.

[d00m-d4ys]

Disclaimer: i know this could be better (quality-of-story-wise) but it could also be a whole lot worse, so imo that absolves me of both editing and basic grammatical discipline. Please enjoy the latest instalment of my ‘the subplot of jiang fengmian possibly cheating on his wife was boring; yu ziyuan and cangse sanren should have been besties’ agenda.

Curfew is one of the many rules that chafe, and so she disregards it as often as she can. As undignified as it is to scales the walls of Cloud Recesses, she seethes, it could all be avoided if she was allowed spar with Zidian and teach the second heir of Lan not to look down his nose at her.

This moon is high by the time she returns, and she nearly topples to the ground as a voice calls, “Don’t fall.”

She steadies herself, telling her racing heart to calm itself. She looks to her left and sees the girl: a rogue cultivator, hair diligently unkempt and at odds with her pressed student’s robes.

“Don’t concern yourself with me,” she tells her sternly.

Cangse Sanren sits up, eyes wide. “I wasn’t concerned! Merely speaking aloud. Ignore me, honoured Violet Spider.”

“You mock me?” Zidian crackles in her hands.

“But of course. Jiangs fight best when they’re angry.” She comes to her feet like a puppet tugged along by its strings, lighter than air and undeniably coordinated.

Zidian hisses louder. “I am not Jiang, you insolent—“

Cangse Sanren moves almost too fast to track, and Ziyuan strikes on reflex, Zidian splitting a layer of roofing in half as Cangse dodges back, landing safely out of reach on top of the guard tower. She whistles, long and low. “So this is Zidian. Why do you hide her away?”

She curls her fingers around her ring protectively, unsure of what the girl means to do.

“Is that why? Afraid someone will steal it?” Cangse lights back down on the roof, confident in a way that Ziyuan hates, but not enough to risk using Zidian again. “I’m sorry for insulting you. What are you, if not a Jiang?”

The question catches her off-guard, and she answers before she can think better of it. “This one is Yu Ziyuan.”

“Yu Ziyuan, Yu Ziyuan— I can’t promise I’ll remember, but I’ll do my best.” She bows, again catching her by surprise. “This one is Cangse Sanren.”

She swallows. “I know.”

Cangse straightens up and grins at her, tucking her sword into the crook of her elbow. “I think we’ll be friends. Yes?”

She’s about to answer when the roofing beneath her feet turns slick as ice, sending her plummeting to the ground. Cangse lands mostly on top of her with her many bony appendages, and for a moment all Ziyuan can do is sit there and quietly groan.

It’s probably not a good sign that the clan leader himself had caught them sparring out of grounds and after curfew, but at least she isn’t alone.

-

After that, it was quite obvious that Cangse would continue to be a permanent pest.

“A-Yuan,” she begs, already reaching for Ziyuan’s bowl. “Cangse is so hungry, how can A-Yuan be so cruel?”

“Eat your own damn food,” she snaps, and learns not to regret it. Cangse sighs and returns to her own bowl, identical to hers excepting the absence of bamboo shoots.

Cangse seems to attract trouble: she can see across the room Jiang Fengmian making a beeline for her table, followed shortly after by a disciple whose name escapes her.

The usual niceties are as excruciating as always, and they find themselves seated across the table. Cangse drops her chopsticks and slams her hands down, earning them several dirty looks. “Young Master, I must know your name.”

There is a moment where Ziyuan can see disaster blooming. Both men look delighted at the attention, and both move to answer her question.

She dumps her bamboo shoots in Jiang Fengmian’s bowl, interrupting his train of thought and drawing his attention to her.

It’s a risky gamble: the bamboo shoots are inarguably the best thing in a Lan’s diet, and she doesn’t want to invite implication into her actions, but something so grand and distracting and (hopefully) confusing is enough to render him speechless.

Unfortunately, it also draws Cangse’s ire, though the servant — Wei Changze — is blissfully unaware of her blunders, still basking under Cangse’s attention.

Jiang Fengmian colours a bright pink that she privately thinks is very becoming, and she can only hope that his interest in Cangse is only infatuation. “Thank you, Lady Yu.”

-

The Jin arrive, finally, and so too does her friend from across the river. Hua Yufei is just as ladylike as she remembers, but her immediate taking-to of Cangse Sanren is concerning, to say the least.

“Is it difficult, being a rogue cultivator?”

“Perhaps it is, when comfort is a concern. I have often slept outdoors on nighthunts, when no inn would have me.”

Yufei shudders. “I could never,” she swears, hand daintily resting on her collarbone. “Ziyuan, did you hear the news, or shall I tell you?”

“What news?”

“Sect Leader Jin is in want of a match for his son. I have it on good authority that I am in the running, and that Jin Guangshan favours me.”

Her mother had sent word that her own marriage now had a wedding date, and it filled her with equal parts dread and relief.

Cangse bumps her shoulder, jolting her out of her daydreams. “Congratulate your sworn-sister, A-Yuan, for I have no earthly idea what any of you are talking about.”

Yufei gets far more excited than she should, and hurries to sit next to Cangse. “See that one there? The Jin with peonies on his sleeve? He is Jin Guangshan. If I am to marry him, I’ll be Madame of the second-richest sect in Xianxia.”

Cangse looks critically at him and evidently turns up little to compliment, to Ziyuan’s vindication. “He seems very . . . friendly.”

It’s a very kind way of noting his lecherous staring at the servant pouring his tea. “He will not give up his ways under marriage, Yufei.”

“What do I care if he galavants through every brothel in Lanling? I need only bear a son, and my wifely duties will be complete. I will have Koi Tower, and he shall have his fleeting pleasures. Let others take care of him.”

-

The lectures end, somewhat successfully: Lan Qiren’s facial hair had suffered Cangse’s vengeance, Hua Yufei had secured a tentative proposal from Jin Guangshan, and Jiang Fengmian no longer looked scared of her when she spoke to him.

Yufei hugs her tightly before dashing after the Jin delegation. Cangse stands by her as the Jiang sect prepares to leave, disiciples running about accomplishing what they should have several hours beforehand. “Is Yunmeng your home?”

“For now.” Her betrothal was entering into its vital stages, and it wouldn’t do to return to Meishan just yet. “And yours?”

She lifts one shoulder, staring out over the bustling Jiangs. “Wherever I’m needed.”

Ziyuan spots Wei Changze trying to look as though he’s not watching Cangse Sanren, fiddling with something in his hands. If they’re not careful, the Jiang sect will lose two fine cultivators. “Then you should come with us.”

-

Yu Ziyuan knows that something is wrong. She knows it as well as she knows that her daughter is six, that her son is three, that she has not seen her ill-gotten sworn-sister since before either of them were born.

She leaves without a word, away on her sword and letting her heart guide her.

The last of her steady letters had come from Yiling, paper smelling faintly of sulphur from the Burial Mounds. So west she steers herself, flying hard through the gathering storm and buffeting winds until she hears Cangse calling for her husband. She descends hard and almost falls, Zidian flaring out and cracking against the encroaching fierce corpses. Two fall back, weak enough to be banished, but four more advance in their place, and she seizes her sword for the task of disposing of them.

Cangse does not struggle with fierce corpses. She has a way with them, tames them like dogs under her immortal’s teachings. Ziyuan is almost afraid to turn around, sheathing her sword and searching the gloom and thicket for a trace of teal robes, a beaded jade hairpiece.

“A-Ze!”

Her voice is near. She can hear two sets of footprints, one surer, the other more cautious.

Something was wrong with this forest, if it had separated Cangse and Wei Changze. She feels as though she might crawl out of her skin, the resentful energy mounting with each second she remained. She rushes through thicket and brush, forcing her way through layers of the maze array with sheer force of will, far too angry to be waylaid by such child’s play.

The final layer stretches like rice cake before snapping, and it felt as though a layer of wet cotton had been ripped from her ears, the sounds of the world coming into sharp focus with painful suddenness.

Cangse is there to catch her, though she seems disoriented. “A-Yuan?”

Her voice shakes, and she hates it. “We have to leave.”

Cangse’s mouth sets. “Not without A-Ze.”

The maze array changes even as they speak, and Cangse is too dizzy to do anything but slow them down and ensure they remain trapped. She feels her mouth twist grimly as she wraps her hand around her wrist, dragging her to the edge of the array. “I will find him.”

-

She doesn’t regret finding Cangse first. How could she, for her own sworn-sister? She refuses to regret. She will not regret.

It’s difficult to muster that conviction when she lays Wei Changze’s body down on the ground, overtaken by the hole in his chest where his heart once was.

Cangse wails when she sees him, a keening, heartbroken sound Ziyuan has never heard a person make. The sound is pure pain, and for a moment all she can do is stand there and think about how devestated Jiang Fengmian will be, when he hears the news.

She kneels, wanting to at least close his eyes. Cangse’s wails abruptly peter off and she screams, “Get away from him!”

The suddenness of it startles her away, and Cangse throws herself over his body, protecting him. “Don’t touch him. I won’t let him be sullied by such hands.”

“Such hands?” Already, she is angry. “Say your meaning.”

“You always hated him,” she accuses. “You could have saved him. Why didn’t you save him?” She touched his cheeks, crying over his glossy, dead eyes. “Why didn’t you help him first?”

“And risk the same happening to you?” She doesn’t regret. She doesn’t.

“You should have! He’s the one who should live. It shouldn’t be me.”

She stands, too angry to say anything constructive at the moment. “Wei Ying will be in Yunmeng, while you grieve.”

She’ll never be sure if Cangse Sanren would have heard anything of the living world in that moment, her ear pressed to a dead man’s chest.

-

Jiang Fengmian is in his office, and she lets herself in. “Wei Changze is dead.”

The news is sudden, and horrible, and Fengmian spends a good few minutes unable to speak. “What happened?”

She meets his watery gaze. “A nighthunt. He was overpowered.”

“And Cangse?” He licks his lips. “Is she—“

“You are aware they have a child?” She feels so very angry, and it is easy to blame it on his apparently poor memory, instead of its true source. “You do know that? Or have you only read their letters to trace Cangse’s calligraphy? Are you so eager that you forget your duty?”

He has the decency to look ashamed, but not enough to muster a response.

She scoffed and left the room, making her way to her children’s’ quarters.

-

Cangse Sanren arrives just as Ziyuan’s lies to her son began to wear thin.

She lands softly in the training grounds, leaving stunned and gaping disciples in her wake. She strides to wear Ziyuan stands, supervising Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying as they spar.

“I want my son back.”

Ziyuan lifts her chin, crossing her arms. It hides her anxiety: Cangse is dressed in mourning white, and her eyes are sunken with lack of sleep. She is much paler than she used to be, and much angrier.

Cangse scowls at her, at her silence. “Wei Ying. Come here.”

Wei Ying looks up with a gleeful cry, and rushes to embrace his mother. For a moment, Cangse is her old self again, swinging him into her arms and kissing him on the cheek.

But it soon fades, and Cangse Sanren fixes her with a steely glare and utters perhaps the last words Yu Ziyuan will ever forget:

“Until we meet again, Madame Jiang.”

[estherwritess]

I was wondering if you could write something for Tendou? Maybe he's getting back to his dorm room after a long pracctice, only to find his s/o lounging on his bed wearing one of his sweaters, and reading his jump (that he hadn't had an oppourtunity to read yet) how would he react? Headcanons or a one shot are fine, I'd just love to see more content for tendou, and your blog is amazing, I love your writing :)

Thank you anon! Hearing that made my heart go uwu, I hope you enjoy this one shot too! 🥺💕 And I agree! Tendou deserves more content! 

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 842 words

You often hung out in Satori’s dorm room; it was way more fun than staying in your own dorm room after all. It wasn’t that you and your roommate didn’t get along well, but you guys had your differences, so you’d often choose to spend the night at Tendou’s room; who, by the way did not have a roommate. He also owned the bigger bed out of you two, so when he was away at practice, you’d lounge around, waiting for him to come back from practice. It happened so many times that he’d given in and had a copy made of the door key.

Classes were over for today, so you made your way over to his dorm, greeting the few acquaintances you’d made over the few months while visiting Satori. When you entered his room, you dropped your bag and flopped down on the bed. Glancing at the clock you pushed yourself up using your arms.

6:02 pm

It would take a while for Satori to finish practice, making you wonder what you could do to fill time; you had no homework left to finish as you’d had a free period after your teacher had fallen ill. It was quite chilly in his room, probably because the dorm had an issue with heaters barely working this time around. Letting yourself slide off the sheets, you padded over to his closet, hanging onto the open door while debating on which one of his sweaters you’d steal this time. Your eyes fell on the wide, school – distributed sweater which had Shiritorizawa printed in bold letters on the back

You remember them handing it out to all the members of sports teams, sadly you weren’t participating in any kind of sports, so you didn’t get one. You were pretty jealous, because damn, the school got them pretty high-quality sweaters. You saw the opportunity and slipped the soft sweater over your head. Discarding yourself of your uncomfortable uniform clothes, you also took a pair of his loose shorts and slipped them on. Pure bliss, you grinned as you let yourself fall back onto his bed, relishing in the comforting feel of the sweater, it also smelt like Satori, which made it even better.

While you were aimlessly rolling around across the soft dark blue covers, your eyes caught the edge of a magazine sticking out from a shelf in his nightstand.

Woah! Was this the newest Shonen Jump?

You grinned, picking up the fresh-looking copy, he wouldn’t mind right? You usually read it together; this time you really couldn’t wait as there was a featured piece of your favourite manga and you were itching to read it.

You were so immersed in the magazine that you hadn’t noticed the time was moving forward, fast. And before you knew it the door flung open.

“Yoo hoo! Y/N? Where’s my baby?” His expression seemed to exude excitement, but his body language told you something other, Satori looked worn out. Their coach had probably made them do a bunch of punishment laps; your face softened as you felt a bit pitiful towards your spiky-haired boyfriend.

“Hey, what are you…” he lunged forward, engulfing you as you both erupted in a fit of giggles. “Sorry Satori, I couldn’t wait to read it! You know I was waiting for that manga to be featured!”.

He stuck out his tongue, “too bad! I’m here now so you’ll have to wait”. Leaning in closer to you, his warm breath making you shiver, “you look so cute wearing my clothes, why don’t you do it more often?”.

You giggled, “I’ll try to,’ nestling yourself closer to him. When laying down with him, it was almost as if time slowed down. You were so hyper-aware of every breath, every sigh and every sniffle. These were some of the best moments there were, just you two. He proceeded to wrap his arm around you and trace your jaw, “so, how was practice?” you closed your eyes. People are always surprised when they find out Tendou is actually a gentle boyfriend; you didn’t blame them; most people only knew him as the ‘guess monster’ from the Shiritorizawa team and the fact that he was often annoying his teammates. But it was true, you’d never been with someone as gentle as he was. Fleeting soft touches, gentle words and warm hugs.

“mm, you’re a curious one aren’t ya?”, he turned his head to look at you with a big grin, “practice was good, thank you for asking”.

When you got up to get something from the adjacent room, you heard some muffled noises, you frowned and peeked from behind the door frame. There was Tendou, splayed across the bed, head pressed into a pillow kicking his legs up and down like some kind of schoolgirl in love who got a cheesy text from their crush.

“You alright there?” speaking up you stepped from behind the doorframe.

“Huh?” his eyes went wide, “yes, just didn’t expect you to look so damn cute in my clothes”.

Pfft, dork.

[spellcasterlight]

[Shino x Tenten] - SFW Headcanons

The Insect Prince & The Weapons Mistress. Separate? Dazzling. Together? Blinding.

They get together slowly, getting to know each other over time, sharing small conversations over friend dinners, creating shared memories by shared missions and understanding each other after training sessions until one day Tenten realises that the person she wants to tell most about her day is the Aburame, she isn’t as confused by this new realisation as she thinks she should be.

When she finds Shino, Kiba teases him for the way the hive user seemed to brighten when she appeared. When Tenten asks if Shino would like to have dinner with her Kiba again teases at how fast he agrees; and that’s how it begins.

Tenten shows affection in true Team Gai style, with hugs, and with Shino she is no different; she showers him in hugs and small kisses, she was never good with words and so will let her physical affection do the talking.

Shino’s affection is less showy, especially in public, a hand hold is what Tenten learns to expect when the insect user initiates affection, but when they are alone the insect user will tell her all the ways he loves her, physically, emotional, spiritually, combined with gentle caresses and the smallest brushes of lips until the weapons mistress’s cheeks are rose red and she tries to hide in her hands in embarrassment. He never lets her, but she still tries.

Tenten spent her Genin days covered in dirt, and grass, and blood, and whatever else found in the training grounds because of her intense training with her team. She doesn’t flinch or recoil at the sight of bugs like other girls do. They’re just something else that lives in their village with them. So when the weapons user finds a random insect or two crawling over her hand she simply sets it aside and carries on doing whatever she originally was.

Shino teaches her to slow down, to take her time, to simply take a step back and breathe. She isn’t used to it, not at all. Growing up in Team Gai, and always feeling like the weak thread she had pushed herself constantly, has always been training, always been learning, always been looking for ways to improve herself, to keep up with her teammates.

So when the Aburame heir convinces her to simply sit with him for the afternoon and do nothing her nerves are jittery with should-be-doing-something energy. But as Tenten sits there, listening to him read to her about insects she couldn’t even hope to pronounce the name of, the weapons mistress curled into his side, she decides this is nice, she liked this, she would be okay to do nothing with him again.

The opposite is true; Tenten convinces Shino to come to friend dinners and joint team training sessions more were he would usually opt to wonder the gardens in silence instead. The insect user will admit it is good for him, to spend more time with his friends, not just in a training capability either but to simply be around people. It is whenever, at a joint team meet up, Naruto himself tells him he was looking for him, that they were waiting for him to show up, Shino knows that is partly in thanks to Tenten that he has become a more permanent, memorable, part of his extended friend’s lives.

They both have niche knowledge subjects that they hold dear to their hearts; insects and weapons, of all sizes and abilities. They may not understand the content but they understand the excitement and love the other has for their specialised topic. Tenten will happily talk Shino’s ear off about a new sharpening technique or a tried and tested way of expanding the range of paper bombs and the Aburame heir will listen intently, almost absorbing her excitement as his own.

Shino will tell her about a new species of moth that has started settling in the area, or a change in the breeding habits of dragonflies and as long as he tells her when she can lay by his side, like he’s telling her like a bedtime story, or if she can twirl a kunai in her hand she will absorb every word.

Shibi accepts Tenten with open arms, anyone who brings his son so much happiness is instantly welcomed into his family, his home and his clan. The elder Aburame watches them interact as they take walks through the Aburame compound’s gardens, or over meals, or when they are simply talking about their days.

She is more animated then either of the Aburame men; it seems to bring Shino out of his shell, makes him more comfortable to be more forward with his thoughts and opinions on matters. The weapons mistress happily pointing at everything to hear what information Shino has about the insect or the flower or whatever else had caught her eye.

Tenten openly asks for Shino’s thoughts on things were most others would simply talk over him, Shibi likes this quality, a lot of Aburame have felt the sting of being swept aside in conversations. The conversations the three of them have over dinner are faster, slightly more energetic than if it were only the two insect tamers, Shibi could get used to it.

When the Team Gai member happily waves the clan head goodnight before taking his son’s hand, the Aburame heir giving a small smile at the gesture, Shibi is cemented in his knowledge that she is good for Shino.

Kiba, Hinata and Lee are their biggest supporters. Those three grew up with them, have known them since day dot, and therefore can see the differences in them to know Shino and Tenten help bring out the best in each other.

Shino smiles more, talks more, get’s more involved. Tenten is more firm in her belief in herself, takes more time to relax and look after herself, and happily talks about the Aburame as if they were her family from the start.

Anything that brings out this new level of happiness and contentment in their friends couldn’t be anything but spectacular. 

As their relationship grows his hive starts to do small things for Tenten without her asking, she has shown no ill will towards them and the weapons user shows their host more love and adoration than he has ever felt. His hive will automatically block attacks against her person in battle when they can, they bring her objects from across the room, seek her out when they believe Shino needs her. Tenten likes his hive; she thinks it’s like having a guardian animal. When Tenten tells Shino this he can only pull her into a gentle hug and thank her. She doesn’t understand why he’s thanking her really but she hugs him back with a contented smile.

Shino will not immediately run to Tenten’s side in battle when she in injured, like Naruto or Kiba would do for their partners, he knows how strong she is, how capable she is. The Aburame heir will watch her pull herself back up, dust herself off and throw herself back in the fray; in the rare times where he does need to assist her there is not a trace of the enemy left to bury. His silent rage at anyone thinking they could take Tenten from him spurring his hive into completely destroying the opponent.

She adores Shino’s hands, Tenten will happily spend an entire evening listening to his day as she inspects his hands in the dying sunlight; they speak of their different combat strategies, different personalities, and the different lives they have lived. He secretly loves when Tenten lets her hair down at night time; he watches her brush out her chocolate locks, mentally comparing her to the beautiful princess in a tower from a fairytale.

Surprising the both of them it's Tenten that says "I love you" first. She asked him to pass the ink for an elemental sealing scroll on a lazy Thursday afternoon. Tenten was about to explain which of her many inks she needs when Shino passes her the correct one automatically. The weapons user looks at him like she's having an out of body experience. 

"I have watched you long enough; to know the differences; Tenten," and just like that an emotional dam in her breaks violently.

"I love you Shino," her own eyes widen at the admission, but now that her mouth has started it doesn't want to stop. “I do, I love you, I love you so much Shino.”

The Aburame heir is over hugging the emotional weapons mistress the next second and he’s so confused and panicky because he’s never seen her like this. When her tears settle from her emotional overload and her body falls into his embrace she whispers it again, calmer, steadier.

“I love you so much Shino,” she laughs, light and watery then. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say.”

And then Shino is hugging her so tight she can’t breathe whispering that he loves her too and then she starts happy crying all over again.

Shino has always wanted a daughter, but when he confesses this can never be Tenten frowns and asks why.

“Aburame’s; rarely; have female children,” the insect tamer confesses with a heavy heart.  “It was; many; generations ago that we had our last female born child.”

“How come?” Is all Tenten can think of to ask back.

“We; do not know,” Shino tells her, his grip on her hand tightening slightly.

Tenten snuggles further into his side before speaking again. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll break tradition,” the Team Gai member grins up at him. “I’m an optimist remember?”

He doesn’t believe they would, if they had any children at all they would be boys, but he loves that she would try to give him hope; that she believes they can do anything as long as they are together.

Surprising no one it’s Shino that proposes. During one of their regular walks around the Aburame gardens at night time, when they turn a corner and her jaw drops when she sees fireflies dancing in the sky spelling out the words ‘marry me?’ she turns to Shino with a giant smile half hidden in her palm.

“You know that’s corny right?” She asks him but he doesn’t care, because she’s smiling and hugging him the next second chanting “yes, yes, yes” over and over again.

His mother’s engagement ring fits her ring finger, the beautiful single emerald on a silver band shines in the light of the now dancing fireflies.

They tell their teammates first. Lee and Hinata start immediately happy crying and the taijutsu user pulls the two girls into a rib crushing hug. Kiba only punches Shino in the arm and tells him “it’s about damn time.”

They are married in the Aburame gardens they love so much, Gai and Lee crying before the ceremony even starts. Tenten wears a three quarter length green dress with her hair down like he likes and Shino wears a black formal kimono with his usual sunglasses. When they kiss, symbolizing the beginning of their marriage, Shino’s hive dances around them buzzing happily. Tenten’s teammates only cry harder.

Separate? They are well rounded, interesting, whole people in their own right. Together? They would help each other, work alongside each other, never overshadowing the other, nurture the best in each other and care for each other deeply.

Separate? Dazzling. Together? Blinding.

[thewatermelloncat]

Breaking Rules for Brothers

Summary: Polly insists on confining Tommy to his room after he had picked up some kind of flu. Though it isn’t Tommy’s desire to leave his room that her instructions ignored, but his youngest brother’s desire to see him.

Author’s Note: Set before Season 1 and mostly written from Finn’s perspective.

Warnings: None

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Observance is something you learn fast in the ghetto. A slight change in a man’s pace, the limp in his step, a hand reaching behind the folds of his coat, mere examples of behaviour noticed daily. Sometimes your life will depend on it, sometimes it won’t. But it pays to be aware.

It is unfortunate yet fortunate all the same that the walls of the betting shop consist of mostly bars and windows. Unfortunate because there is little in the way of privacy. Fortunate because you can observe what is happening around you. 

This morning instead of focusing on her paperwork, Polly finds herself observing Tommy. Glancing through the layers of windows into his office seeing him slumped in his chair resting his head in his hand over the desk. If anything, they are both lucky that it is a quiet day in the betting shop. The last race had been three days ago and all the bettors had already collected their winnings, and the next race wouldn’t be for another couple of weeks.

Polly can see how boredom would influence him to slouch over his paperwork, but she knows that he still has plenty to do and plenty on his mind. Maybe it’s stress that is causing him to act this way? Then again it is unusual for Tommy to wear his emotions so heavily on his sleeve or to wear them at all for that matter.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It had been a bit of a fight for Polly to regain focus on her work, but she had done it. Checking over a few of the accounting books before piling them off to the side of the desk. Arthur had messed up on some of the adding as usual, but they had been easy fixes.

“You should have gone to class more often” Polly barely looks up at Arthur as he enters her office.

“Say I did. Doesn’t mean I would have paid any more attention” Arthur tells her eyeing the stack of books timidly, knowing what his Aunt is alluding to. Drawing in a breath and pulling down at the bottom of his blazer, he moves on before the conversation can go any further, “Tommy wants to see ya.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Stepping into Thomas’ office Polly immediately picks up on details she couldn’t notice through the windows. The glistening of the glass had hidden the pallor of his skin and from a distance she couldn’t see the lines that lie beneath his eyes. With his shoulders slumped and posture looking heavy, he truly looks dreadful.

“How are the books looking?” he cuts straight to business. At times he could make his voice sound gentle when needed but now with his tone muted, Polly can tell that this is something different.

“All expenses have been paid out” she tells him, choosing to ignore his vocal quality for now.

“What about the bets coming in?”

While Polly informs him about the slow intake of bets which is to be expected at this time, she observes Tommy’s tired gaze flicking to her before falling down to his desk then raising back up again. In amidst detailing the ratio of bets over the horses – Monaghan Boy falling behind after his recent loss as planned – she watches Tommy shift in his chair with a deep sigh.

“Are you listening?” she checks, her voice not holding any annoyance, before adding, “you don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m sorry. To be honest I’m not feeling well” he sighs dropping his pen and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve noticed as much” Polly says. “Serves you right for wondering around in the rain doing deals in the dark.”

“The deals had to be done, Pol.”

“You could have picked a better time” she points out.

Tommy offers her no rebuttal.

“It’s a slow day” – Polly nods her head towards the door but her attempt of getting her nephew back to bed is interrupted.

“Huh’ihCHSSHHhh!” Tommy turns to the side raising a loose fist to cover a sneeze which bends him almost in half.

While he sniffles and turns back, Polly reaches into her pocket to pull out a handkerchief, knowing that he doesn’t often carry one. He fixes her with a sceptical look when she holds it out to him.

“Oh, come on” she scolds. “Who cares if it’s a woman’s handkerchief.”

Reluctantly he takes it from her and deals to his nose, politely turning away from her as she steps back from the desk.

“You need rest” Polly tells him when he lowers the square of fabric.

“I have meetings at the factories” he dismisses.

“No, you won’t go there” she shakes her head. “The ash will go straight to your chest.”

“Pol, there’s still money to count and rounds to do” Tommy tries.

“All of which your brothers and I can handle.”

He seems to be caving in to his exhaustion as he lets out a long exhale.

“This hasn’t settled in yet; you best get into bed before it does” Polly holds a hand out towards him and he stands sluggishly from his chair.

Together they set off to the staircase, Tommy rambling about all the people they need to see about what, despite Polly already having a pretty good idea about it.

“I can write it down” Tommy suggests when they reach the base of the stairs.

“I’m sure I can remember” Polly smiles at him reassuringly, turning him around to face the top of the stairs. “Up you go.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The sky threatens to spill with rain again as Finn hurries inside to the kitchen of the betting shop. Throwing his school books down on the table he looks around not finding the person he is searching for.

“Where’s Tommy?” he asks Polly who stands at the bench fixing a cup of tea over by the sink. “He was gonna take me to see the horse.”

“Your brother’s not well” she says gently as she turns around from the bench to see Finn’s expression drop in disappointment. “Can you take this up to him?” Polly ignores the fall in expression, handing him the cup of tea.

Still processing his disappointment, Finn doesn’t question it and takes the cup from her before heading up the stairs.

As his footsteps begin to fade from the kitchen Polly calls out to him, “don’t spill it!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Finn never really went into Tommy’s room. His brother was normally up before him and went to bed long after him, so with him never really being in his room there was no reason for Finn to visit. Still the room looked about the same as the rest of theirs, same striped walls and small space. A few things were different between his and Finn’s own room, being the gun on the bedside table and the extra rounds of ammunition.

Cautiously Finn weaves his way around the door which stands ajar, moving further into the dim room darkened by the drawn curtains.

“Tommy” he says as he carefully lowers the cup of tea onto the bedside table in the small amount of clear space left on its surface.

“Tommy?” he repeats when his brother doesn’t move as expected.

He doesn’t move again and worry grows within Finn as he sees a sheen of sweat beading across his forehead. Curiously, he reaches forward touching his fingers to Tommy’s skin like he had seen his brothers and Polly do before. In an instant he draws them back with a gasp, holding them to his chest and cooling them off with his other hand like they had been burned.

“You’re burning” Finn says after seeing Tommy’s eyes flutter open for a brief second when their skin had touched.

“’s fine” Tommy mumbles weakly with his eyes already closed again. His voice is barely comprehensible with him not even half awake.

All through his life Finn has been told to listen to what Tommy says, but now he doesn’t trust his words. He knows that there can’t be any way that he’s fine – and that he needs help.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Polly was about to scold her youngest nephew for thundering down the stairs when his brother is ill in bed, but all words of admonishment fall away when she sees the young boy’s expression.

In amongst the panicked rambling, she is able to discern the most important facts: that Tommy wasn’t waking up and that he is burning with fever.

When she’d heard enough, she gently shushes the boy and senses John, who had been standing with her, move over to the sink to run a dish towel under the water. When the youngest member at last quietens down, she turns to John who hands her the cloth, before striding up the stairs with Finn trailing closely behind her.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When she’d listened to Finn telling her about Tommy’s fevered state, part of her had assumed it was fuelled by a child’s exaggeration. Though stepping into the darkened room, she was dismayed to find that it hadn’t been.

In an instant she is over at the head of the bed placing the cool towel on Tommy’s burning skin. Hearing heavy footsteps, she turns around to see John maneuverer his way around his youngest brother, carrying a bucket of water over to place down next to her. After nodding to him gratefully she looks back over to Finn who stands still in the centre of the room.

“Go! Out!” she instructs forcefully, sounding angry although she doesn’t mean to. Not wanting the youngest Shelby to see his brother this way. He’s still a child for goodness sake.

Finn shuffles on his feet. He knows that this is no place for him and that he’d only get in the way, but he also knows what is happening is important and he doesn’t want to leave.

“John will take you to see the horse” Polly commands hoping it will be a welcome distraction.

John doesn’t question their Aunt’s words and grabs Finn by the collar, hauling him out of the room before any protest can be made.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was dusk by the time they got back to the betting shop and they’d almost missed dinner. When they got inside Ada made quick work of fixing Finn a plate while John sorted out his own before joining Polly and Arthur talking business.

As the dishes are being cleared away Finn works away on his homework at the table. He finds it hard to concentrate with the adults talking about far more exciting things than the maths equations in front of him. And it’s especially made harder when he overhears Polly mention that Tommy had woken up enough to hold a conversation before.

More than anything he wants to go up and see him. Be able to rid his mind of the last image he saw of him. Though he knows he can’t abandon his homework under the watchful eye of Ada. He sighs frustratedly and contemplates lying and saying he finished it already but he knows someone will see through him. All of them being able to lie easily themselves can pick up on who lies to them. That was something Finn had learned the hard way.

“Got stuck?” Ada draws his attention back to his work.

“No” Finn mumbles unhappily. “It’s boring.”

“I know, but you have to learn it for when you grow up enough to manage the books” she reminds him.

“Arthur can’t do math” Finn points out.

“But he wishes he could” Arthur calls out from the centre of the betting shop, having overheard him. He flicks Finn a wink as he stands from his chair. “Shall we do it together, eh Finny?” he suggests as he comes over to him. “Maybe we both might learn something.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Having worked through his maths work with Arthur, Finn not only found that Arthur was much better at maths than he gave him credit for but that time went by a lot faster. Still by the time he’d finished there was already talk of him turning in for bed.

“Can I see Tommy first?” he asks Polly sheepishly as she prepares to shepherd him up the stairs.

“Perhaps we’ll leave that till tomorrow, yeah?” Polly suggests gently. “Leave him to rest a bit longer.”

Finn nods dejectedly before climbing the stairs. He sees the point in that but it doesn’t stop him from sparing a longing look at Tommy’s door as he walks past.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Finn didn’t want to go to school. He thought that Polly might have let him off but with Tommy’s work needing to be covered and no one to watch over him, he knew it was pointless to ask. It’s not like he was going to get up to any trouble but if he told them that no one would believe him.

The kitchen is a bustling mess with John trying to get his kids ready for school while Polly prepares their lunches. Finn stands quietly in the corner holding the lunch Polly had given him, brooding to himself about the day ahead.

In amongst the chatter of the younger children, Finn doesn’t notice Tommy’s footsteps until he stops at the bottom of the staircase. Wearing a coat thrown over a shirt but missing his usual vest and pocket watch, Finn doesn’t think he’s seen him so underdressed.

“Get away from the kids!” Polly warns him, more panic in her words than discipline. Havok would be wreaked if any of them got sick in amongst the family.

Immediately Tommy steps further backward in the alcove, raising his hands in surrender.

“You should be in bed” she scolds. Knowing he’s not fit to be up after seeing him lean a forearm against the wall in order to remain upright.

Tommy looks at her like he doesn’t understand what she said before diverting the topic. “Remembered I’ve got to sign papers to go out.”

“For God sake, Tom. You’re not working today” she objects, helping John shepherd the kids out the door, nodding for Finn to follow them.

“There is only three and they’ve got to be done today. I’ve already read over them” Tommy justifies as Finn pushes himself out of the corner and steps out the door, becoming deaf to the remainder of the conversation.

Walking away from the house he kicks his boots at the gravel road, John’s children running off ahead. He knows Polly would scold him for scuffing his feet along the ground – it would only serve to wear out his shoes quicker. Though he doesn’t care as he lets his mind wander elsewhere. Even through the day of school all he can wonder is whether Polly did ever let Tommy sign those papers.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Yelling isn’t an uncommon thing to hear within the Shelby household, but Finn’s voice is scarcely involved. It’s too muffled to be understandable from where Tommy lies in his bed, newly disturbed from sleep. And he can also make out the sharp tone of Polly but can’t make out what she is saying either. Still, it’s out of the ordinary for them to argue with one another and that’s concerning enough to have Tommy rising from his bed.

Making his way across the room he covers a couple of coughs behind a fist before turning the doorhandle. As he swings the door open, Finn comes into view, stomping up the stairs with a scowl on his face.

“What was that all about?” Tommy asks, his voice painfully muted.

Finn startles, freezing on the staircase, not having expected his older brother to be there. After a second or two of staring blankly at him, he looks down at his shoes. “Aunt Polly won’t let me see you” he mumbles hesitantly. “She says you should be kept resting.”

“Well, I’m awake now, aren’t I?” Tommy steps back from the door and nods his head to the centre of his room, welcoming Finn inside.

Though Finn heard him, he’s hesitant to move and stays with his feet rooted to the staircase.

“You’re already seeing me now, aren’t you?” Tommy justifies before leaving the doorway.

Against his better judgement Finn follows him inside and positions himself down in the chair Polly had left by the bed. For awhile he sits in silence not looking at Tommy and not knowing what to say.

“I know what this is about” Tommy breaks the long silence eventually. “Polly told me” – he stops to clear his throat, more to interrupt the sentence than to fix his voice. Wanting to avoid directly repeating what Polly had told him about how Finn had found him. “She never meant for you to see me like that.”

“I know” Finn says quietly, still not looking at Tommy.

“I didn’t mean for that either.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Still, you shouldn’t have had to see me like that.”

“It’s just life, ain’t it?” Finn finally looks at him.

Tommy pauses. “Yeah… it’s just life.”

Another silence falls over them and this time Finn is the one to break it.

“John took me to see the horse.”

“Did you like him?” Tommy asks, sounding a bit brighter at the new topic.

Finn hums happily before saying, “John didn’t know shit about him.”

Tommy cracks a smile at his use of language. “John doesn’t know shit about anything.”

“When will you be better?” Finn suddenly changes subject.

“Hopefully soon, eh?” Tommy tells him before promising, “when I’m better I’ll take you out on the horse.”

And for the first time that day Finn smiles. To him nothing sounded better.

[gutterclan]

Sanctuary Pack Stories: The Herbalist [Part Three]

[Eight and Dace continue on their journey to track down an expert herbalist in an effort help cure the illness ravaging The Sanctuary Pack]

It’s good to be on the move again; a blue, brilliant winter morning, the air crisp and clear as glacial runoff. A few stubborn birds perch in the barren trees, trying their songs against the silence.

Dace clears her throat.  "Eight. I wanted to say."

"Hm?" Eight looks up, half-startled. She's been deep in thought all morning; 'hunting clouds', as Saturn would say.

And no wonder. There had been a moment, the night before, when Dace had made a mistake. Had made Eight uncomfortable-- had made things uncomfortable, between them.

Eight’s eyes meeting hers; her breath fogging in the winter air, and Dace had thought, I’ve missed this more than I can say. Something must have showed in her face; Eight had stepped away, fast, turning her head. 

She has been quiet, since.

"Just: last night. If I made you uncomfortable, or something." Dace shrugs,  keeps her eyes fixed forward. "You know-- sorry. Won’t happen again."

"Oh!" Eight shakes her head. "Oh no, Dace, that's-- No, I wasn't. Uncomfortable, I mean! It's fine."

Dace does twist, now, to look over Eight. She's not looking back; has her head craned around, staring with great intensity into the trees.

"Alright," Dace says. Resolves to keep a little more distance, anyway, if Eight’s going to be too polite to admit when she’s wrong-footed. 

The walk on, the loudest sound for miles the crunching of their paws through the crusty snow. The sun creeps its slow way across the sky.

 Eight clears her throat, venture: “Um, so--  how is it?”

Dace looks up.

“Being a-- scout. Or a loner? I mean--” she shrugs, looks briefly at Dace and then away again. “I don’t know. Is it-- fun? I guess? Do you like it?”

Dace nods. “It’s alright. It’s good, actually.” She looks out at the frozen wood: at the towering trees, bark black against the snow, the sharp pine-needle smell. At the sky, a piercing, thorn-sharp blue above. “I do like it. In fact…”

In fact, they're right by that old pond, aren't they? The frogs will be dug into the mud hibernating-- they could dig some out, like that crow had shown Dace last spring, and--

She looks sideways at Eight. Remembers her odd stiffness the night before. Clears her throat. “In fact, though, it can get a little boring.”

“Oh?” Eight cocks her head. 

“Sometimes.” Dace shrugs. “And you? Healing? That seems-- interesting.”

A stiff pause. Eight huffs. “Well, I guess-- a little too interesting, lately. Um.”

Dace winces. “Of course. Scat, Eight, I’m sorry-”

“No--” Eight shakes herself. “No, it’s okay. It is- not just now, I mean- interesting.” She laughs, a little awkwardly.

They walk along for a while. Dace watches her paws; studies the prints she makes, tries not to think about much else. 

After a while, Eight laughs again. “I’m sorry, Dace-- I don’t really know-- there aren't. Sorta, fun anecdotes, I guess? It isn’t--”

“No, you’re fine!” Dace huffs. “Just uh, not used to travelling with someone else. Probably getting too chatty.”

“No.” Eight sighs. “If it was spring- or summer or even fall, really- I could show you plants and stuff? Like herbs? But.” She looks out over the forest; undergrowth buried under months of snow, the trees dormant, roots all locked away beneath the frost.

“Sure,” Dace says, easily. “Bad season for it. Maybe--” I can come by in spring, and you can show me then. She almost says it. Clears her throat. “Maybe this would have been a little more fun in spring,” she settles on instead, trying to keep her voice light.

“Less cold,” Eight says, by way of agreement. 

They walk on-- endlessly, they walk on. 

It’s five more days of travel to reach the bear, and even Dace is starting to get a little footsore. The hard, icy surface of the snow is wearing away at her pawpads, sure as rough stone would.

Eight isn’t any better, facing all the same strain of long travel with none of the practice Dace has. She limps up to where Dace has paused on the edge of the forest, and comes to a stop, breath fogging as she catches her breath.

They’ve come to the edge of the forest.

Beyond, the prairie goes on forever. White, flat land, rolling endlessly on until the blue curve of the horizon. It seems very exposed. Dace imagines living there, without shelter of tree or rock, without shadow or undergrowth, and shivers, despite her thick winter coat.

Eight makes a low, uncertain sound in the back of her throat. She’s hunched up into herself; ears flat, tail tucking under, and Dace’s chest squeezes. 

“Pretty weird,” she says, to break the silence. 

And she hasn’t been saying as much, lately. Been trying to give Eight her space. But it’s worth it, now, to see Eight relax, a little. To see her stand up straighter.

“Pretty weird,” she agrees.

And still the prairie stretches on. Beyond the shelter of the trees, a wind kicks up, and a tumbleweed of snow goes skating out across the plain, silver against the brilliant, endless blue of the sky.

“Hoot,” Dace says, and finds her voice comes out a bit hushed. She clears her throat. Tries again. “Hoot used to talk about-- where she came from.”

“Mhm.” Eight can’t seem to find the words to respond; that’s okay.

Dace goes on. “On hunting trips- back when I was hunting- She's say about the ocean. You know?”

“Yes,” Eight says, low.

“About how there was somewhere the land stops. And it’s just water forever, after that. Until the-- the edge. Do you think...”

She doesn’t know how to put it. But Eight nods, eyes still fixed rigidly forward. “Yes,” she says, again. “This is-- it seems like--”

The both look out over the prairie again. Flat land, stretching on. It must end, somewhere. But--

Dace shakes herself. “Well,” she says, sounding just short of upbeat. “Well. Our bear lives out there, somewhere.”

Eight nods. “Yes,” she says. “Right.”

And if she sticks a little closer to Dace’s side, as they step out onto the plains-- Well. Dace can’t blame her, for it. 

It makes her feel better, too.

They reach the bear that evening. A low hill, a copse of cottonwoods, the ceaseless, piercing howling of the wind, unbroken across the whole of the prairie.

“Strange place for a bear to den,” Eight says, her voice very low. “Isn’t it? I mean--”

“Yes,” Dace says. Finds herself speaking very softly, involuntarily. She tries again, clearing her throat. “But from what I’ve heard, he’s a strange bear. He couldn’t help us if he wasn’t.”

Her voice comes out a little more strongly, and Eight straightens up. Nods. 

The cottonwoods grow close together, trunks dark and strangely straight, an unnatural quality to them. The wind breaks as they come through the trees, and leaves an eerie silence- not much better- in its absence. 

Dace’s own breath is loud in her ears. Something brushes her shoulder-- Eight, drawing close. They look at one another for just an instant. Dace lets out a breath, slowly. Is suddenly very glad to have Eight here with her, in this strange place.

The ground is rucked up by the roots of one enormous tree, in the very center of the grove; its bark is nearly black against the snow, the sharp white-blue of the sky. A dark space peeks out between the gnarled roots. 

They have come to the bear’s den, at last. 

Dace thinks, for a wild, stupid moment, of the stories Rover tells to pups; a great Rowan tree, a pack of monstrous wolves. 

She stares up at the giant cottonwood. Shakes herself. “Hello?” Her voice, thankfully, does not waver. “We’ve come from far away, seeking medicine.” She pauses. Looks sideways at Eight. 

Eight looks back at her, ears pulled down in uncertainty. “I’m a healer myself,” she tries, and Dace touches her shoulder, briefly, encouraging. “But I can’t heal this sickness-- we need your help.”

Another pause. The den is all shadow, before them; a deep pit, an open mouth, plunging down into the frozen earth. Dace can’t quite make herself step towards it; shivers at the idea of it, squeezing herself blind and helpless between the roots, towards who knows what.

She tries again, instead. I will go, she tells herself, sternly, if he does not answer this time, I will go in. “Great-- bear healer. May we speak with you?”

Nothing, for a long moment. Dace takes a breath-- wrenches herself away from Eight’s warm side and pads forward to the mouth of the den. Here goes, she thinks, and then--

“Dace!” Eight says, tight with alarm, and at the same time another, deeper voice sounds out.

“Well,” it says. “There’s no need to shout.”

Dace turns, slowly, and there is the bear.

A massive shape, almost unreal. His huge, blunt head dips down beside Eight, nearly the size of her entire torso. His shoulders, humped with muscle, could put pause to a bison. He crouches, peering at Dace, and when he curls his lip up to sniff, his teeth flash long and white.

Eight is stiff as if she’s frozen solid, only a paw’s length away from the creature. The whites of her eyes show, plainly frightened, and Dace wrenches herself into action. 

She folds into a bow, back hunching, tail tucking automatically. They don’t hold with submission much, at Sanctuary, but it is nearly instinctive to do it now. 

“Great bear,” she says, eyes fixed firmly on the ground- on the bear’s immense paws, heavy and clawtipped, digging furrows into the snow. “I have heard of your healing from other creatures--”

“Yes, yes,” the bear says, his deep voice strangely cheerful. “The geese, was it? They do love to gossip.”

Dace looks up at him, startled, for a moment, and then drops her eyes again, hastily. “It-- was the geese, sir.”

If the bear notices her surprise, he says nothing of it. “Hm. Just as well. Follow me, then!” And he shoulders past Dace- a brush of immense strength, something like one of the human’s cars blowing past on their roads- a near miss, an impression of power- and then he is by, lumbering awkwardly down into his den, and there is nothing left to do except to follow. 

[mushi-shield]

reason why I really love Tom McDonald music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6FmwBPDT-w  "People So Stupid"

What a contradiction, being human is so tragic Focus on minorities, ignoring all the masses Hallelujah, everyone, activism saved the planet No more plastic straws in paper Just paper straws wrapped in plastic, congratulations

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxJtX081jj4   "WHITEBOY"

I would never hate a man for what God gave him in pigments And I would never plot against him just because he is different I would never judge a human for the cards he was given or Call them lesser than myself 'cause of the race that he's mixed with

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=omMpqbuyDdc   "Straight White Male"

Fine, y'all don't gotta be my friends Y'all don't gotta like white men Y'all don't gotta hold my hand Y'all don't gotta have my back Y'all don't gotta, y'all don't gotta, y'all don't gotta, uh Y'all don't gotta see my side Y'all don't gotta be down to ride Y'all don't gotta do anything but ghost And I'mma do me even when it's the most, yeah

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ita4g_oDyns  "Politically Incorrect"

Don't let 'em censor your thoughts Don't let 'em make you regret that you talked Don't let 'em tell you that nice is the law Tryna make you all right here when nothing is wrong, yeahWords hurt you, clothes hurt you Memes hurt you, jokes hurt you, we hurt you Half the time you don't even probably know what hurt you But you super mad, trust we heard you

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHBMbZdCpSk  "Cancelled"

I don't care if you mad at me, okay? Go ahead and change the channel Don't waste your time tryna cancel me, okay? They love me 'cause they know that I'm an asshole Say what you want, I guess it is what it is Haters can talk but they can't cancel the kid Go 'head and go off, try and say this is it But I swear to God, you can't cancel the kid

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2l6JUNFAJ9o  "Fake Woke"

Use violence to get peace and wonder why it isn't working That's like sleeping with a football team to try and be a virgin Politicians are for sale and someone always makes the purchase But you and I cannot afford it, our democracy is worthless If a man has mental illness call him crazy, say it silently When country's going crazy we accept it as society

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t86ClLM3ZGY  "NO LIVES MATTER"

Freedom's dead, if you have an opinion, take it back (facts) People hate the president, if you don't then you trash (facts) Indoctrinate the nation using news and mainstream rap (facts) The government abuses us, it's all part of the plan (facts)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B2K1xQOp4qo  "White Trash"

This is for my white trash, the ones the whole world hate The ones who voted for Trump, got labeled racist but ain't The ones with ball caps, "Make America Great" Who love their country to death Who struggle on minimum wageAyy, they angry about illegal aliens Takin' work that maybe they could get Single parents with some baby kids Hated for being a patriot All my life, I've been white trash All my life, it's been like that The whole world been left leanin' I'm proud of the right who fight backBeen chewed up and spit out They scream but no one listens They're so in love and vote for Trump 'cause fuck a politician They're our neighbors They're our soldiers, our men and women and children They're middle class families who got forgot by the systemUh, in God we trust and all the guns are just backup Rockin' camouflage, don't tread on me, get smoked like tobacco Yeah, we're white trash, we rednecks, crackers since we were young We grew close, we move slow, these colors don't run

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gT5DpOiQ_WA   "Fake Fans" (DISS) 

Look, I ain't changing for a buck, I ain't changing for a fan I ain't changing nothing up, this is who the fuck I am If you fuck with me, I'll hope that y'all enjoy it Beware of all the fake fans trying to destroy it, yeahI ain't switching it up, I am the man that I was Way before I blew up and everyone fell in love Never once gave a fuck, been doing me from the jump And I will never become the man that you wish I was

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zeb7bVA3pjE   "Im Sorry"

Sorry, that doesn't bother me I don't owe anybody an apology I don't have no regrets in my biology Reload and shoot for the stars, y'all look like astronomy No one as hot as me, copy me commonly Wannabes, y'all are so shockingly comedy Carry the weight of my songs all on top of me I will not break, I'm not made out of potteryBury your bodies on acres of property Place them at angles like sacred geometry Down with modesty Everything I drop is quality Promise, like honestly, follow me

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83Ntpeih4f4&t=236s  "Buttholes"

Someone's always gonna hate you no matter what Might as well just be yourself and let people think you suck Opinions are like buttholes, everyone got one they cover up And all you gotta do is follow through When you're yelling that you don't give a fuckI ain't letting anyone piss in my Cornflakes Stay the hell out my face, and I will stay out of your way I know that life is cruel, and lately it ain't fair at all You hate your job, your phone is lost, there's evil men and racist cops Yeah, I don't care if you are black or white or gay or straight Or old or young or smart or dumb or where you're from or what you make The only thing I care about is living like I'm not afraid Of dying while I'm sleeping, so I seize it while I'm still awakeWe're so angry, hating everyone we don't know We can't even take a joke, we should really let it go And be happy, stop talking shit on our phones And blocking everyone we know, we've been being buttholes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ueyNLoRWdao  "American Dreamz"

We're distracted by free porn and compilation videos of puppies and kittens While our children use the internet to bully one another and then purchase ammunition So addicted to your phone that you ignore the kids and never give them any supervision So they learn to build a bomb with things you keep inside your kitchen and you wonder how they ended up with life inside of prison We mourned a dead gorilla, but don't care when it's a person, we're forgetting that we're human We're angry that chickens are being locked up in cages and then forget we do the same to kids in our institutions When they ask you about stupid shit, you tell 'em they should Google it Then you wonder why the troubled youth are homicidal lunatics You think it's tragic when a shooter killed a student But then say it's all a plan for them to change the constitution

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQ4tAbwi31I  "Castles"

  Everybody's got a story; if you look a little closer, you can see it in the wrinkles in their face They can hide it in the silence, they can bury it and fight it, but it comes out when their hair is turning grey You can feel it if you touch 'em, you can tell that they are troubled, you can hear the story running through their veins We all travel different roads, and we put on different clothes; underneath it all, we're really all the same

Everybody has a tale that they're too afraid to tell, you can see it in the cracks in their hands They can cover it with smiles; if you walk a couple miles in their shoes, then you'll know where they stand Everyone who really lived had to climb out of a ditch they were in before they found the right path If you wanna know the truth about what we've been going through, then try to put your phone away so you can ask

We've all got problems, and we all feel alone We've all been haunted by the secrets we hold We could fill our coffins with the rocks they have thrown Or we could build our castles with the sticks and the stones We've all got problems, and we all feel alone We've all been haunted by the secrets we hold We could fill our coffins with the rocks they have thrown Or we could build our castles with the sticks and the stones

We are the neighbors that you'll never meet We are the strangers walking down your street We are a million faces in the crowd We are the ones the system's tearing down We are the people working to survive We are more than just our nine-to-fives We are the shopping malls and streetcars We are one, it's time to tell 'em just who we are

[silverlightqueen]

21 Things To Do This Summer PJM

y/n has a week left to live and 21 things she wanted to do this summer. Jimin vows to help her do them all before she dies and give her the summer of a lifetime.

jimin x reader - angst, fluff, comedy, non-idol!au

Part of BangtanHQ’s ‘Bangtan Boardwalk’ at the ‘Summertime Sadness’ booth!

Rating: Mature (heavy themes and strong language - read with caution)

Word Count: 16.9k+ (she’s a monster omg)

Warnings: death and illness, discussion of death and illness, jokes about death and illness, brain tumour, discussion of eating disorders, brief mention of murder and crime (y/n jokes that Jimin could be a murderer or a thief), explicit language throughout, I think that’s it but please let me know if you noticed that I missed anything

a/n: here’s the first part guys! if you enjoy it, make sure to check out the other fics in the Summertime Sadness booth, and the other booths on the Bangtan Boardwalk! a huge thank you to @silverlightprincess​ for proofreading this massive fic, I love you so damn much x

silverlightqueen masterlist

y/n’s Summer Bucket List

21 Things to Do This Summer

1) Make a new friend

2) Dye my hair

3) Go on a road trip

4) Do pavement chalk

5) Get everybody I talk to to sign a shirt

6) Have s’mores at a bonfire

7) Get drunk and skinny dip at the beach

8) Make a wish balloon

9) Go to a fairground

10) Have a picnic

11) Get a tattoo

12) Sleep under the stars

13) Cloud watch

14) Try camping for the first time

15) Have a water fight

16) Make homemade ice cream

17) Have a pyjama day

18) Send a message in a bottle

19) Watch fireworks

20) Go to a drive-in movie

21) Make a photo album of it all

‘Hey! Hey, excuse me! Hey, wait, you dropped something!’ I can hear someone shouting and, despite the tears running down my face, I roll my eyes, wondering why the idiot who dropped something doesn’t stop to get it. ‘Excuse me! Hey, wait!’ I hear, the voice getting closer, before I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I realise; I’m the idiot.

I turn around to see a boy. The first thing I notice is the piece of paper in his hand. The second thing I notice is that I already know him. ‘You dropped thi- oh, y/n! Hey! Long time, no see. Wait, whoa, are you crying?’ he asks, and I roll my eyes again as I frustratedly wipe away my tears. ‘No, Jimin, why? Does it look like I am?’ I spit out sarcastically. ‘Okay, I’m going to ignore how rude that was because you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m going to be a good person and return this to you,’ he says, holding out the piece of paper. When I realise what it is, I snatch it from him, tucking it safely into my bag and mentally chiding myself for nearly losing it.

‘Thank you. Sorry for being rude,’ I say before I turn away, continuing to head home. It’s only after a few seconds I realise he’s walking beside me, and I speed up, trying to get away from him. He speeds up too. I slow down. So does he. I stop in my tracks, turning to shoot him an annoyed look, and he merely grins back at me, blinding me with his annoyingly handsome smile.

‘What do you want, Jimin?’ I ask tiredly, deciding not to be rude after he returned my list to me. ‘Well, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, so I thought it’d be nice to catch up. And I also know you, and you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m not going to abandon somebody who I have history with if they’re crying. And, as well as being a very caring and empathetic person, I’m very curious, and so I have to find out why you’re upset,’ he says, and I frown, continuing to walk, even more annoyed when he continues to walk alongside me.

‘It’s none of your business, Jimin,’ I say sharply, hoping he’ll leave me alone. ‘Well, obviously. It’s your business. But the nature of being curious is wanting to know other people’s business,’ he says as though he’s speaking to a little child, and I shoot him another look. ‘You’re practically a stranger.’ ‘I am not! We had classes together through the whole of high school!’ ‘I’m not going to tell you my business,’ I say with a note of finality, hoping he’ll leave the subject. And leave me, for that matter.

‘Would you tell me if you knew me better?’ he asks thoughtfully, and I roll my eyes. ‘Probably, yes.’ ‘Okay. I’m a Libra, I hate spinach and 13 is my lucky number. Oh, and I dance,’ he says, and I literally want to bash my head against a wall. ‘That does not mean I know you better. It just means you overshare.’ ‘Well, you can’t say I’m practically a stranger. Maybe only half a stranger,’ he says, and I let out a humourless laugh at how persistent he is, and he grins, mistaking it for a real laugh.

‘God, what is it with you? What do I have to say to you to get you to leave me alone?’ I ask, stopping in the street and putting my hand on my hip. ‘If you tell me why you’re crying. Or, should I say, were? Because, if you haven’t already noticed, you’re no longer crying. Thanks to me,’ he grins, and I actually didn’t notice that I’m not crying anymore.

‘Well, your stupid ass has distracted me,’ I admit, and he laughs, the sound quite… endearing. ‘So? Tell me then. I think I deserve to know. Considering I cheered you up,’ he says, and I roll my eyes yet again. ‘I said that you distracted me. That is not the same as cheering me up. Listen, Jimin, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone. It’s nice to see you again, and I hope everything’s going well in your life, but it is not a good time for me right now. My patience is seriously wearing thin,’ I say, continuing to walk, but he still walks beside me, making me want to throttle him.

‘I think your patience was already thin. And I’m a good citizen, so I would never just let a pretty girl crying pass me by without asking what’s wrong. Especially if I already know her,’ he says lightly, and I roll my eyes. Is he seriously trying to flirt with me? ‘Jimin. Leave me alone,’ I say seriously, putting emphasis on every word as the anger begins to bubble up in my stomach. ‘Not until you tell me what’s wro-’ ‘I have a week left to live!’ I shout, losing my temper, and his face instantly transforms from teasing and light, to shocked and guilty as tears fill my eyes. That’ll teach him not to pry into other people’s business.

‘Oh. Oh, gosh. I’m sorry, y/n. I wouldn’t have asked if that’s what it was. I thought you were gonna say you’d broken up with your boyfriend or something. I’m so sorry,’ he says, sounding sincere, but I merely roll my eyes, turning and walking away, and hoping he’ll leave me alone now. ‘How’d you know?’ I hear him say from beside me, and I sigh aloud, having to physically restrain myself from hitting this boy with my bag.

‘What?’ ‘How’d you know you’ve only got a week left to live?’ ‘I went to the doctor a couple days ago, for chronic headaches. They did some scans, and then I got a call this morning to go to the hospital. They told me I have a brain tumour. Terminal. They said I’m lucky if I have another ten days,’ I say tiredly, a couple tears falling down my face which I wipe away hastily, and he takes a deep breath. ‘Wow. I’m really sorry. That’s… terrible. Is there no treatment?’ he asks, and I sigh again. ‘Yes, but they said it’s unlikely to cure it, it’ll only delay my inevitable death, and it’s… painful. I’d rather die sooner than later if later’s gonna hurt. Or it could get rid of the tumour, but it could ruin my future quality of life; I might not be able to speak the same, walk the same, even think the same. So I’ve refused treatment,’ I explain, not sure why I’m opening up to him, and he nods. ‘Reasonable. I’d do the same.’

We walk in silence for a few moments before Jimin starts speaking again. ‘So. Where are you going now?’ he asks, and I side-eye him. ‘Home.’ ‘To your boyfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one.’ ‘Girlfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one of those either.’ ‘Spouse?’ ‘I’m single.’ ‘Parents?’ ‘Don’t live with them.’ ‘Siblings?’ ‘Only child.’ ‘Friends.’ ‘Don’t have any.’ ‘What about all your friends from school?’ ‘I matured; they didn’t.’ ‘Oop. Roommates?’ ‘Nope.’

‘You live alone?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘I have a dog. If that counts,’ I say, and he grins. ‘Of course it counts. What breed?’ ‘A miniature husky. His name’s Coco, and he’s literally tiny,’ I say, a small smile coming onto my face at the thought of my baby, and he holds a hand to his heart. ‘That’s a cute name. My friend, Taehyung – you remember him, right? – he has a Pomeranian who’s tiny, called Yeontan. Tannie for short. Tan for even shorter,’ he says, and I smile despite myself.

‘That’s so adorable. Maybe Taehyung can have Coco. He’ll need a new owner,’ I say jokingly, and Jimin winces. ‘Don’t you feel like it’s too early to make jokes?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘It’s never too early. By the time it’s okay, I’ll be dead,’ I say bluntly, and he lets out a strangled laugh, as though he wants to hold it back but can’t.

I still feel a little shocked, but mainly numb. I went through the stages of dealing with bad news whilst I was still at the hospital. I started by denying it, and telling the doctor that something in the scan must be wrong. And then I got super angry that it hadn’t already been identified and screamed a little at her (it was my own fault, though – I’m the one that didn’t go to the doctor until it’d been months of me having headaches). Then I tried to bargain with the doctor, and ask if there were any treatments that don’t hurt or wouldn’t cause me irreversible damage, or if there was any chance I would survive any longer. And then I cried. A lot. And by a lot, I mean a lot. I got through a box and a half of tissues. I was at the hospital for three and a half hours, and spent two hours of that crying. And I was still crying when I left.

I guess I’m now in the acceptance stage. I didn’t know it was possible to move through the stages that quickly.

‘What was that paper you dropped? Your diagnosis?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘All my paperwork was in a folder, loads of it. I threw it in the recycling at the hospital.’ ‘Glad to see you’re looking after the planet for those of us that’ll still be here when you’re gone,’ Jimin says, almost tentatively, and I burst out laughing, covering my mouth. ‘That was funny,’ I admit, and he grins, relaxing. ‘I do try.’ ‘Yes, you’re very trying.’

‘Anyway. What was that paper then?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘Do you, like, make it your life’s mission to pry?’ ‘No, it comes naturally. A lot of girls receive it well, actually. They like it when someone good-looking seems interested in their life,’ he smirks, and I shoot him a disgusted look. ‘Big-headed much?’ ‘Just truthful.’ ‘Well, I’m not receiving it well. Clearly.’ ‘I guess you’re not like other girls then,’ he muses, and I shoot him another look. ‘Please don’t tell me you think that’s a compliment, because it isn’t,’ I say, and he laughs. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Let me rephrase it. You’re not like the girls that I’m used to being around.’ ‘You’re probably used to being around girls just as pretty as you.’ ‘You think I’m pretty?’ ‘Shut up.’ ‘Well, you’re right. But it’s okay, because you’re not just as pretty as me. You’re prettier.

But anyway. Are you gonna tell me what that paper is?’ he asks again, skimming over the fact he’s now called me pretty for the second time, and I sigh, giving up. ‘It’s a summer bucket list. I saw this girl reading a book with the same name in the waiting room at the doctor’s surgery the other day, and it inspired me to write one,’ I admit, and he grins. ‘That’s cute,’ he says, and I roll my eyes, looking away from him. ‘Well, I’m gonna die before I get to do any of them anyway,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Oh. Yeah. Forgot about that,’ he says, voice small, and I nod.

We continue walking, his shoulder a few inches from mine, and I distract myself from the slightly awkward silence by looking at our surroundings instead. It’s a lovely summer’s day today; warm and sunny with the most beautiful breeze. Families are out in force despite it being a weekday, little boys running around shirtless and barefoot, and little girls in cute summer outfits. Chill ‘vibey’ music floats through open car windows, couples share ice cream at the café we walk past, birds chirp in the trees that line the road. It’s such a beautiful day. I even shaved my legs and put on a cute floral playsuit. So much for sunbathing in the garden.

‘Hang on,’ Jimin says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. ‘What?’ ‘Who says you can’t tick off your bucket list?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m going to die, Jimin,’ I say slowly, and he lets out a frustrated noise. ‘You have a week. That’s more than enough time for us to do it all,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Us? Who said anything about us?’ ‘I’ve taken it upon myself to help you tick off this bucket list.’ ‘And I’m taking it upon myself to refuse your help.’

‘Um, rude. Why?’ he asks with an amused glint in his eye, and my eyes widen even more. ‘Are you kidding? We barely know each other. The closest we ever were was when Nayeon and Jungkook dated and we all planned at their joint birthday party, and when we got paired together for that History project. That was years ago; I have no idea what kind of person you are now. You could be a murderer,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re going to die anyway,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘Okay, I’m allowed to joke about it; you are not. You could be a thief.’ ‘Again: you’re going to die anyway. But, I’m not a thief, so don’t worry. You’ll still have all of your belongings to put in your will.’ ‘Excuse me. Stop joking about my imminent death.’

‘Listen, I want to help you. Let me help you tick off your bucket list,’ he pleads, and I’m surprised at myself for actually considering it. I’m going to die anyway – I might as well spend my last few days having fun. Even if it is with an unbearably curious person from my past. ‘Please let me help you. I’ll consider my life a waste if you don’t,’ he says dramatically, dropping to the floor, making enough of a scene for people to look over at us. ‘Jimin, get up,’ I hiss, and he scrabbles at my shoes. ‘I’ll die if you don’t let me. Please, y/n, please let me,’ he wails, and I look around embarrassedly, feeling lots of stares on us.

‘If I say yes, will you stop making such an embarrassment of yourself?’ I hiss, and he looks up at me with wide eyes and a grin, nodding. ‘Then, yes. I’ll let you help me,’ I sigh, and he jumps up from the floor, a wide smile spreading across his lips. ‘Okay, let’s see what I’m working with,’ he says, and I look at him blankly. ‘Let me see the list,’ he prompts, and I pull the list out of my bag, handing it to him tiredly.

‘Okay, let’s see. ‘y/n’s Summer Bucket List’. Cute. ‘21 Things to Do This Summer’. Only 21 things? This’ll be easier than I thought,’ he says, before his eyes scan down the rest of the list. As he reads it, I look him up and down, inspecting him. He’s changed since school. A lot. He’s now around 5’8’’, with clear golden skin, chocolate brown eyes, plump pink lips and ink black hair swept back from his forehead (must be dyed because I remember his hair being a lot lighter than this). He’s dressed in a pair of grey shorts and a plain white t-shirt, a loose grey jacket over the top of it with pair of sunglasses at the back of his head. ‘Okay, well, you’ve already achieved number one. Making a new friend,’ he says, pointing at himself with a grin, and I roll my eyes exasperatedly. ‘I don’t know you well enough to call you a friend,’ I say, and he sighs.

‘That’s the best bit. You barely know me, and I barely know you. We can be whoever we want to be. All I know about you is the vague stuff from school, and I know that you had high hopes for this summer, but you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness. And you’ve only got a week left. And that you’re grumpy and get annoyed easily and are not receptive to strangers. And you’ve got a dog called Coco. All you know about me is the vague stuff from school, and that I’m a Libra, I hate spinach, my lucky number is 13, and that I dance.’ ‘And that you’re annoyingly curious and persistent and stubborn and think a lot of yourself.’ ‘Exactly! That’s literally nothing in the grand scheme of things.’

‘So you think we should lie to each other about what and who we are?’ ‘No, no, you’re misunderstanding. Haven’t you ever wanted to be like someone, but you’re too scared to, or you’re too stuck in your ways?’ he asks, voice soft, and I nod. ‘This is your chance. We barely know each other, and we have no more than a week together. You get to be whatever you want to be, y/n, and we’ll tick off everything on your list. We can be like those reckless teenagers from all those stupid films. What have you got to lose?’ he says gently, his eyes big and his words convincing.

‘We can’t do all this in a week,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Can’t is not in my vocabulary. And neither are cannot, unable to, won’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t, mustn’t-’ ‘Who in this century says mustn’t?’ ‘We can easily do all this in a week. Even less than a week,’ he says, and I raise a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Ambitious, but I don’t think so.’ ‘And that’s not in my vocabulary either. But… give me four days,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Four days?’ ‘Easy. I could probably do it in three, but I’ll say an extra day just to be sure,’ he says confidently, and I roll my eyes.

‘Haven’t you, like… got a job? Or, like, studying? You can’t just devote four days – or more – to helping me tick off my bucket list,’ I say, and he rolls his eyes. ‘Why are you so sensible? Trust me, there’s nothing I have to do,’ he says, and I raise an eyebrow, not believing him for a second. ‘Fine,’ he sighs, ‘I work with my friend – Hoseok, remember him? – at his dance studio, but he’ll let me have some time off,’ he says, and I’m still slightly sceptical, but decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Why do you want to help me? Haven’t you got better things to do with your life?’ I ask him, voice small, and he smiles, seemingly endeared. ‘There’s something tragic about you, y/n. You went to the hospital alone to be told that you’re going to die. And you don’t live with anybody. And you have a list of things you wanted to do this summer, but won’t be able to do them without help. My help. Of all the places you dropped that paper, you dropped it in front of me. And of all the people that could’ve picked it up, it was me. We haven’t seen each other since we left school, and even though the odds of us seeing each other again were slim, look where we are. Fate works in mysterious ways, y/n. Let me help you. For old time’s sake,’ he says softly, and I feel that little voice in my head whisper, ‘why not?’

‘You know what? Let’s do it,’ I say, throwing caution to the wind, and feeling a little bit of excitement bloom in my chest. ‘Wait, really?’ he asks, surprise on his face but also… hope in his eyes. ‘Yeah. Let’s do it,’ I say with a small smile, the excitement in my chest flooding out into my veins. He jumps up and pumps the air, whooping and shouting in celebration, and I don’t even feel embarrassed of him, finding it quite endearing.

‘Okay, let’s get started. It’s 12.32, so we have until 12.32 on Sunday to tick the whole list off. Let me look at the list again. Um… well, number one’s done. And the last one, the photo album, we can buy a photo album now and take pictures as we go along to put in it,’ he says, thinking aloud, before he turns abruptly. I look around in alarm before rushing after him. ‘Where are we going?’ ‘There’s a supermarket just down the road that we can get a photo album from. Oh, and we can buy an instant camera too! Cuter pictures,’ he says, and I roll my eyes with a small smile on my face.

‘We should just scrap that one. It’s not like I’ll be able to look back at it, so what’s the point?’ I say, and he frowns at me. ‘Well, we could say that about all of this, but it’s about making your last few days exciting and fun and an experience of a lifetime. So don’t say ‘what’s the point’, because there is a point,’ he says firmly, and I keep my mouth shut, unable to stop a small smile from appearing on my face.

We enter the supermarket, the change in temperature making me shiver in my skimpy outfit, and Jimin looks over at me. ‘Oh, my God, my mum would kill me if she knew how ungentlemanly I was being right now,’ he says, taking his jacket off. ‘No, Jimin, it’s fine,’ I try to stop him, but he’s already handing it to me and taking my little backpack from my hand. ‘Let me. Have you ever been treated like a princess?’ he asks, and I shake my head shyly. ‘Then take the jacket and let me hold your bag. It’s the least you deserve,’ he says, and I smile to myself as I shrug on the jacket without further complaint, watching amusedly when he puts on the backpack.

He leads us towards the electronics, the back corner of the store, and makes a beeline for the camera section. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ he asks, and I hesitate. ‘It’s hard to choose a favourite,’ I say quietly, and he rolls his eyes, an amused smile playing at his lips. ‘Okay. What’s your favourite colour out of these?’ he says, motioning to the instant cameras, and I think before answering, ‘that one. The pastel blue.’ ‘Ah, nice choice,’ he says, picking one of the boxes up and heading over towards where the photo albums are, and I follow after him. ‘This one’s perfect!’ he says, pointing at one the same colour as the camera, and I nod, Jimin picking it up with a grin.

‘Right, let’s just double-check this list and see if there’s anything else we need,’ he says, getting the list out of his pocket again. ‘Hmm, we could buy some chalk to do number 4. And we can buy a shirt and markers to do number 5,’ he says, thinking aloud again, walking ridiculously quickly to where the art and school supplies section where the chalk and markers will be, before rushing off towards the clothes section, having me running around behind him.

Once we’ve picked out a plain white button-up dress shirt, we head over to the counter, Jimin chatting amicably with the cashier as I hang behind, surprised and slightly envious of his ability to speak to strangers like they’re close friends. ‘Would you mind doing us a favour?’ Jimin asks, and the cashier nods instantly, scanning through the shirt. ‘Can you sign this shirt? Just, like, with your name and your… job, I guess. We, um, we’re doing a project,’ Jimin says with a grin at me, and the cashier nods again, looking a little confused as Jimin hands her a marker from the pack. She writes ‘Soojung –supermarket cashier’, before handing Jimin the marker back with a grin.

‘Have you got film for this camera?’ Soojung asks as she scans it through, and Jimin looks to me, both of us exchanging an embarrassed glance. ‘No, but it’d probably help,’ I say frankly, and Jimin nods with a laugh. ‘I’ll go and grab them for you,’ the cashier says, getting up and running off. ‘We could’ve gone and gotten it, she didn’t have to,’ I say, and Jimin grins. ‘Perks of being a nice person – people do things for you that they don’t have to,’ he says pointedly, and I scowl at him. ‘Was that a dig?’ I demand, and he grins even wider. ‘Not at all, my dear, y/n,’ he says, throwing an arm around my shoulders, and I roll my eyes in response, the cashier reappearing with a couple boxes of film.

‘Do you want just the one or…?’ ‘We’ll take both,’ Jimin replies, the cashier nodding, scanning them through. ‘Gonna make some summer memories?’ the cashier asks, and we exchange another glance, a small smile playing at Jimin’s lips when he replies, ‘something like that, yeah.’

‘Okay, let’s have another look at this list,’ Jimin says once we’re seated in the back corner of his favourite coffee shop, pulling the list out of his pocket and reading it through. ‘So you’ve already made a new friend. Me. We’ve got the chalk for number four, and a shirt and markers for number 5. I should sign the shirt, right?’ he says, and I nod, thinking this’ll be easier if I let him do what he wants, and he grins, writing ‘Park Jimin - y/n’s fabulously beautiful assistant and school friend’. I raise an eyebrow, and he raises one back, challenging me to say something, but I just shake my head with a small smile.

‘Let’s look at the rest of them. Number 2, dyeing your hair… I have a trillion boxes of dye at home, that’s easy. Number 3, go on a road trip… we can do that, and tick off the others as we do it. Number 4, pavement chalk, we can do with Taehyung on his and Namjoon’s driveway because Tae’s good at art and their driveway is huge. Number 5, get everyone to sign a shirt, won’t be difficult, we just have to remember. Number 6, have s���mores at a bonfire… let me think about that one. Number 7,’ he begins, before looking up at me with a smirk, and I roll my eyes, a little embarrassed.

‘Don’t laugh. It’s something that so many people have done, and I never have,’ I say defensively, his mouth falling open. ‘You’ve never gotten drunk?’ he asks jokingly, and I laugh despite myself. ‘No, idiot, I’ve never skinny-dipped, but I’m pretty sure I’ll only have the courage to do it if I’m drunk,’ I say, and he nods, looking at me thoughtfully. ‘You can leave me with that one too, I’ll think about it.

Number 8, make a wish balloon, that’s easy. Number 9, go to a fairground… that may be a bit more difficult, but I’ll get it done. Number 10, have a picnic, easy. Number 11, get a tattoo, ooh, that’s fun. I know the perfect place. Number 12, go to a drive-in movie… difficult, but I’ll find a way. Number 13, cloud watch, super easy. Number 14, try camping for the first time, that’s easy too. Number 15, water fight… that’s easy as well. Number 16, homemade ice cream, easy. Number 17, pyjama day, even easier. Number 18, send a message in a bottle… should be easy. Number 19, run through sprinklers… shouldn’t be too hard. I hope. Number 20, stargaze and fall asleep under the stars, should be easy enough. And Number 21 is well under way already,’ he says with a grin.

The photo album already has two pictures in it; one of Jimin and I smiling and squinting in the sunlight, and one of us with the cashier, who looks a little awkward, but it’s fine. Nothing will be more awkward than telling her we’re trying to tick off a summer bucket list within a few days because I’m going to die soon. I was right – Jimin has a serious habit of oversharing.

‘Hi, welcome to the Sweetbrew. I’m Yoongi, I’ll be your server. What can I get you?’ a barista says, sounding like he wants to die, his entire face hidden behind a menu. ‘Yoongi,’ Jimin says, snatching the menu to reveal a boy with porcelain skin, mint green hair and brown eyes. I recognise him as one of Jimin’s best friends from school – Min Yoongi.

He was always one of the quieter members of their friendship group. Not shy, but more calm and laidback – it was easy to seem like that when surrounded by his friends, every single one of them having been big and loud characters. But he was just like the rest of them in that he was definitely popular, and desirable too. Everyone saw him as this sensitive and kind boy, his passion for music reinforcing that even more, and there was always somebody that was crushing on him, his look unique and intriguing. And he’s only gotten better looking since school, more mature and manly, yet still with the soft and delicate features that he had back then.

‘Oh, Jimin. Hey,’ he says, sounding a little more lively, before he turns to look at me. ‘Ah, y/n, right? From school?’ he asks, and I’m surprised at how quick he recognises me. ‘I told the group chat about you. Sorry,’ Jimin says, and my eyes widen, Yoongi sitting in the spare seat at our table. ‘What? When?’ I ask, and he grins. ‘While you got distracted playing with that puppy outside the supermarket,’ he says, and I frown.

‘Did you tell them everything?’ ‘No. Well, nearly everything. I told them what we’re doing, but I didn’t say why. Obviously,’ he says, and I fix him with a glare. ‘Oh, it’s okay to tell a random shop worker, but not your best friends?’ I ask, Yoongi shooting him a look too. ‘Not cool, Park,’ Yoongi says, and Jimin scowls. ‘I already apologised for that. I have a serious problem with oversharing,’ he says, Yoongi and I exchanging a glance as we chorus, ‘we know.’

‘Why are you doing this? If you don’t mind me asking,’ Yoongi asks, curiosity in his eyes, and I sigh. ‘I’ve got a brain tumour, so I’ve got, like, a week left to live,’ I say bluntly, Yoongi’s mouth falling open. ‘Oh. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, y/n, that’s awful,’ he says, sounding a little awkward, but I wave him off. ‘It’s fine. I’ve already gone through the five stages, and am now sufficiently distracted from my impending demise by your stupid friend,’ I say, Jimin scowling.

‘Well, at least he can make up for being stupid by helping you tick off your list. Anyway, you guys want drinks or you just chilling?’ Yoongi asks, and Jimin looks to me to answer. ‘I could do with a drink.’ ‘What would you like, y/n?’ Yoongi asks, and I hesitate, not quite sure. ‘Um… I don’t know. Jimin, what do you have?’ I ask, but Jimin already looks like he’s cooking up a scheme. ‘What fruits do you like, y/n?’ he asks me, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘berries, pineapple, mango, kiwi, peach. I like everything.’

Yoongi and Jimin exchange a glance, talking without words, and Yoongi nods before disappearing into the back. ‘Anyway. We need to get Yoongi to sign your shirt before we leave, remember. And then… we can go to Tae and Joon’s to do pavement chalk. And we should be able to make the ice cream at Tae and Joon’s too. Then we can go and pick up stuff from our houses before we go on the road trip,’ he says, and I hold up a hand.

‘We’re gonna have to go to mine before we go to Taehyung and Namjoon’s, because I’ve left Coco with the neighbour. I told her I’d only be a couple hours and it’s already been… nearly four,’ I say, Jimin nodding, and I can practically see his mind working. ‘We can get Coco and take her to theirs, and she can play with Tan while we get on with ticking things off. And then we can take her on the road trip with us the next day,’ he says, and I nod, getting more and more excited with his ideas.

‘Are you gonna drop me home tonight and then pick me up in the morning?’ I ask, and he thinks. ‘How about… we sleep over at Tae and Joon’s? You can get all your stuff when we go now, and then we’ll be able to leave first thing in the morning,’ he suggests, but I’m sceptical. ‘Won’t they mind?’ I ask, and he shakes his head instantly. ‘They’re so chill about this kinda stuff. They really won’t mind. We all sleep over at their house all the time because it’s the biggest. There’s more than enough space,’ he says, obviously trying hard to convince me, and I nod. There’s no point worrying about intruding at their house when their best friend seems to be the most intruding person in history.

Jimin looks back down at the list, thinking hard, and I smile to myself. It’s sweet that he’s putting so much effort in to try and tick off this list, even though we barely know each other. The most we ever said to each other at school would’ve been ‘d’you have a spare pen?’ or ‘can you pass me the bottle opener?’

Yoongi reappears after a couple minutes with two plastic cups in his hands, the drinks within them vibrant pink and orange. ‘I call this one… ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’. I put in the syrups for all the fruits you named and a lot of sugar and ice,’ he says, putting them down with a flourish, my heart warming as I smile at him. ‘Thank you. It looks amazing,’ I say, taking a sip, my eyes widening as the flavours explode in my mouth. ‘And it tastes amazing too,’ Jimin says, having already taken a (large) gulp.

‘I’m not the best barista here for nothing. But, y/n, you gotta take the credit. It is named after you,’ Yoongi says, and I roll my eyes with a smile. ‘Get out of here. But, for real, it tastes great, Yoongi,’ I say, the boy giving me the cutest gummy smile, and then I notice Jimin fiddling around with the camera. ‘What are you trying to do?’ I ask, stifling a laugh, and he sighs defeatedly. ‘Take a picture of us with your drink,’ he says, and I hold back a smile, ‘get someone else to take it.’

He ropes in an innocent woman sat beside us with her friend, and she takes a while to focus the camera on us and get the three of us in frame, but when the photo develops, it’s pretty good. ‘Perfect. Right, let’s head back and get Coco,’ Jimin says, and I hold out a hand. ‘Wait. Yoongi, will you sign this shirt?’ I ask, and he looks a little confused. Nevertheless, he signs it as ‘Min Yoongi – creator of the iconic ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’ drink and y/n’s school friend’.

Jimin looks thoughtful as we rise from our seats, and I side-eye him. I’ve noticed that a little bit of panic appears in my chest when I see that look on his face. ‘Yoongi, you busy tonight?’ Jimin asks, and Yoongi shakes his head. ‘I’m never busy,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘When d’you get off work?’ ‘4.’ ‘Come ‘round to Tae and Joon’s. I got an idea,’ Jimin says cryptically, wiggling his eyebrows at me, and I give him a look.

‘Okay. See you guys later then,’ Yoongi says before turning to head into the back. ‘Wait. Don’t we need to pay?’ I ask, and Yoongi smiles at me, a little sadness behind the expression. ‘It’s on the house. I might even speak to the manager about getting this drink put on the menu,’ he says, and I smile at him, trying to ignore the tears in my eyes. ‘Good idea. Thanks, Yoongi. See you later,’ I say, Jimin bidding him goodbye as he disappears into the back. ‘Okay,’ Jimin turns to look at me with a grin, ‘let’s go get Coco.’

‘Oh, y/n. Oh, my angel, I’m so sorry,’ Mrs Choi says for the eleventh time, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, and I smile sadly. ‘It’s okay, Mrs Choi,’ I say, not sure what else to say, when Jimin appears at my elbow. ‘Everything’s in the car now, so whenever you’re ready,’ he says with a grin as he hands me the house keys, Mrs Choi looking him up and down. ‘Oh, Mrs Choi, this is Jimin… an old school friend. Jimin, this is Mrs Choi, my lovely neighbour who my dog likes more than me,’ I say, Mrs Choi laughing as Jimin shakes her hand, bowing his head politely.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, y/n, Coco adores you. He cries whenever you leave him with me,’ she says, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘And then cries when I come to pick him up,’ I point out, and she waves a hand dismissively. ‘It’s because I feed him so much,’ Mrs Choi says, and I laugh, Coco appearing in the doorway behind her. He comes bounding up to me, my heart filling as he rests his front paws on my leg, and I bend down to pick him up. ‘Hi, baby. You okay?’ I say, showering him in kisses, and ducking away when he tries to lick my face. I hate when he licks my makeup off.

‘That is the cutest dog ever,’ Jimin says, and I hold Coco out to him. He instantly takes him into his arms, and giggles when he licks the tip of his nose. Coco leaps out of his arms, and he panics, trying to catch him, but he does it all the time, bounding around the front garden. ‘Here,’ Mrs Choi says, handing Jimin the little tennis ball she keeps beside the door for when she plays with Coco. He instantly throws it and Coco bounds after it, running straight back to him with it in his mouth.

‘He’s handsome,’ Mrs Choi observes quietly so Jimin can’t hear, and I roll my eyes. ‘And doesn’t he know it?’ ‘Are you… and him…?’ ‘Oh, God, no. I… there’s a list of things I wanted to do this summer, and he’s helping me get through it all before I...’ I trail off, and she nods, blinking furiously, obviously trying not to cry. ‘That’s lovely of him. Make sure you take lots of pictures to show me,’ she says, and I grin. ‘We’ve already started a photo album. Actually. Hold on,’ I say, getting the camera out of my bag as Jimin bends down to pet Coco who jumps on him, the unexpectedness making him fall onto his back. I get a really cute picture of him lying down, laughing, with Coco on his chest, trying to lick his face.

‘Lovely. Well, I’ll let you get to it. But make sure you come to see me again before… well, when you get back from ticking off your list,’ she says, pulling me into a hug, and I screw my eyes shut, trying my hardest not to cry in front of her. She’s been like a mother figure to me since I moved out of my parents’ house, always coming over to check if I’m okay, bringing me food and inviting me around at least once a week, looking after Coco whenever I need her to. I’m heartbroken that I’m going to be leaving a hole in her life when I go.

‘I will. See you later, Mrs Choi,’ I say, pulling away from her, and we exchange a sad smile. ‘See you, y/n. Be careful, dear, and have fun,’ she says sadly, pressing a kiss to my cheek, giving me one last long look before she disappears into her house. I don’t blame her; I’d be struggling to deal if I were in her position.

‘Okay. Let’s go,’ I call to Jimin who’s sat cross legged on the floor, Coco running towards him with the ball and dropping it beside him. Jimin’s standing when I reach them and he hands me the ball, Coco’s eyes never leaving it. ‘Do you want Coco to sit on my lap or do you mind him sitting in the back?’ I ask, as we walk towards his car, and he shrugs. ‘He can sit in the back, I don’t mind,’ he says, and I pull open the back door, putting the ball in there, and Coco leaps in without hesitation. I shut the door behind him before climbing into the passenger seat, Jimin already sat in the driver’s seat.

‘You ready?’ he says excitedly as he starts the engine, putting on the radio which is currently playing Justin Bieber. ‘Yep. Let’s do this,’ I say, sneaking one last look at Mrs Choi’s house. And then it hits me. This might be the last time I look at her house. I might die before I get to see her again.

My body goes cold all over, tears prickling in my eyes as my throat constricts painfully. It just repeats in my head again and again; ‘I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.’

Coco realises I’m upset before Jimin does, and he begins to whine from the backseat. ‘Is Coco okay?’ I hear Jimin’s voice distantly, and when I don’t reply, I hear him coo, ‘Coco? What’s the matter, boy?’ And then he looks over at me.

‘Oh,’ he breathes out, instantly pulling over. ‘y/n,’ he says gently, reaching out to take one of my hands, and the second his skin touches mine, I burst into tears. He shuffles as close as he can, the gearstick separating us, and he leans across the gap, pulling me into his arms. I sob into his shoulder, letting him hold me as the tears come in an endless flood, whispering the words ‘I’m going to die’ every few seconds.

Once I’ve calmed down (and feel ridiculously uncomfortable in the position we’re in), I gently push away from him, and he releases me, still holding one of my hands in his. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper, and he frowns. ‘Don’t apologise. You’re allowed to be upset. Like, you’re going to die, for God’s sake; you can cry about that. Cry as much as you want, you’re entitled to do so. Just… tell me when you’re upset so I don’t say something stupid,’ he says ruefully, a small laugh falling from my lips, and he grins.

‘It’s just… it’s not fair. There’s still so much I wanted to do with my life. I’ll never work in my dream job. There are so many beautiful places I’ll never get to see. Tokyo, Mexico, Portugal, Bali, Dubai, India, Australia, Brazil, Hawaii, The Caribbean, The Maldives, Greece, Morocco. So many things that everyone does that I’ll never get a chance to do. Fall in love, get married, have a family. I’ve never even been in a relationship,’ I say with a harsh laugh, and Jimin sighs.

‘You’re right, y/n. It’s not fair, it’s not fair at all. You deserve so much more, so much better. You’ve been robbed of the rest of your life. You’re allowed to be angry. I’m angry,’ he says so simply, and it feels as though his words just… make it all okay. It’s hard to explain, but they feel like a consolation. They make me feel like the way I’m feeling isn’t me just being irrational, or a spoiled brat, because I know that it could be worse. They make me feel like I’m justified in my thoughts and feelings. And that’s what I need right now.

‘Thank you,’ I say, sniffling a little, and he smiles at me. ‘You’re most welcome, y/n. Now. Are you ready to go to Tae and Joon’s or would you like to cry for a little longer?’ he says teasingly, and I laugh, shoving him gently. ‘Drive, you moron,’ I say, and he gasps as he starts up the car, a small grin playing at his lips as he says, ‘Moron? I’m about to give you the summer of a lifetime in four days. Do you think a moron could do that? No, of course they couldn’t.’

‘y/n! Oh, my God, girl, it’s so good to see you!’ Taehyung exclaims the second I open the car door, running over from the front door and throwing his arms around me. I was always a little closer to Taehyung than I was to Jimin, because we had quite a few classes together. I hug him back, my face practically smushed against his chest as he holds me in a bone-crushingly tight embrace.

‘Hey, Taehyung. How have you been?’ I ask as he releases me, his hands still on my shoulders. He holds me at arm’s length, looking me up and down, before an appreciative grin spreads across his face. I hold back from pointing out that he still has the same adorable boxy smile from high school. And then I register his bright blue hair, stifling a laugh at how eccentric he still is. ‘I’m good. You got hot, y/n!’ he exclaims, and I feel blood rushing to my face from embarrassment.

‘Thank you. But look at you! You’re so handsome, Tae,’ I grin, and he grins back with a little wink. Everything about him is just as appealing as back then. Tae was definitely a ladies’ man… and a men’s man too. He was loud and bubbly, his personality easily grabbing the attention of everyone in any room, and his laugh was crazy infectious. He was the perfect mix of cute and hot, and he’s only gotten hotter, with his manly features and strong build.

‘Thank you, babe. Come in, come in. Jimin, do you need a hand with the bags? No? Good,’ he says, not even waiting for an answer from Jimin before he drags me up towards the house, the other boy muttering behind us as I hear him pop the boot open.

The second I step over the threshold, a ball of fluff appears and begins yapping at me from behind Tae, and he bends down to pick it up. ‘y/n, this is my beloved son, Kim Yeontan, or Tannie for short,’ Taehyung says, introducing me to his little Pomeranian, who has now quietened down and is staring at me with a curious look in his eyes. ‘Hi, Tannie,’ I coo at the dog, reaching a hand out to stroke his head, and he lets me with a contented little growl low in his throat.

‘Ah, he likes you! He rarely likes strangers. Little coward,’ Taehyung says affectionately as I slip off my shoes, Jimin appearing in the doorway with my bag (a suitcase, actually – yes, I might be dying soon, but I wanna make sure I look good when I do, so I had to bring plenty of clothes) in one hand, and Coco in the other. And then the barking match starts.

Coco and Yeontan incessantly yowl and woof at each other, both of them scrabbling to get out of Jimin and Tae’s arms. And then Taehyung puts Tan down, and Tan instantly shuts up, hiding behind his dad’s legs. Jimin does the same, putting Coco down, and he tries to get Jimin to pick him up again. ‘They’re both cowards,’ I mutter with a smile as Taehyung leads us down the front hallway, Yeontan trotting along beside him as I follow behind, Coco hanging back with Jimin as he takes his shoes off and shuts the front door.

We enter the kitchen, and if it wasn’t clear from the outside of the house, it’s made clear now; this house is beautiful, and expensive. It’s roomy and spacious, modern and clean, with classy and tasteful furnishings. ‘I love your house, Tae. It’s so nice, and I love the way you’ve decorated,’ I say, and he beams at me, eyes nearly disappearing behind their lids. ‘Thank you, y/n. It was all me – Joon has no sense of decoration,’ he says, sounding genuinely touched, and Jimin raises an eyebrow at me as he walks in. ‘Look at you sucking up,’ he mutters with a grin, and Tae and I both shoot him dirty looks.

‘You want something to drink, y/n? Before we get started on the chalk?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘I’m okay, thank you,’ I reply, but he’s already distracted with the list that Jimin’s put in front of him on the marble island counter. ‘Ooh, so this is the list? Let’s have a look,’ he says before reading it intently. Once he’s done, his eyes flit up to me, before flitting back down to the page.

‘Don’t take offence to this, okay?’ he says, and I already brace myself for a mocking remark. ‘Some of this stuff is, like, basic teenager stuff. How have you not done all of this already?’ he asks softly, and I feel a little embarrassed. ‘I don’t know, I just… after high school, I drifted from the girls – I still talk to them every now and then, but it isn’t the same – and I didn’t really… make any new friends to do these kind of things with. I have my work friends, but the most I’ve ever done with them is a night out. And in high school, I guess I was… too cautious and too scared to join in on these kind of things. We went on a group trip to the beach – I was the only one that didn’t skinny dip. The end of school prank was dyeing our hair in the school toilets – I was the one of the only ones that didn’t dye mine. Everyone planned a camping trip together – I didn’t go. I was, and still am, a little… uptight, I guess? I wanted to change that this summer, but…’ I trail off, and Tae surprises me by nodding sadly.

‘Jimin told me on the phone while you were talking to your neighbour,’ he says, and I shoot Jimin a look. ‘I thought it’d be better if you didn’t have to keep telling people!’ he exclaims defensively, and I nod with a roll of my eyes, thinking his reasoning is fair enough. ‘I’m really sorry, y/n. There’s not much someone can say in these kind of situations, but I just want you to know that I’m so sorry, and that it’s so unfair,’ he says gently, and I smile sadly. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’

‘Now, anyway. Shall we get on with this list? I know Jimin said that we can start with chalk and ice cream, but…’ Tae says, voice a lot more cheerful as he sidles over to me, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger, ‘I think we should dye your hair first.’ ‘Dye it?’ I say, lifting a hand to pat my hair protectively, having not yet worked up the courage. ‘Yep. I have trillions of box dyes upstairs – you can choose any colour you like,’ he says, and I look over at Jimin who grins, nodding encouragingly.

A few minutes later, I’m sat on a stool in Tae’s lavish bathroom, a towel resting over my shoulders as I inspect the boxes laid out on the counter in front of me, Taehyung and Jimin stood behind me as Coco and Tan play in Tae’s bedroom (they seem to be the best of friends now). ‘I’m thinking I shouldn’t go too wild considering it’ll be my funeral in a little while and my parents will probably want an open casket,’ I say musingly, Taehyung choking on air as Jimin holds back a smile.

‘Good idea. Maybe… highlights or ombre rather than the whole head?’ Jimin suggests, and I nod, feeling a little more at ease at not having to take the full plunge. ‘Okay… what colour then?’ Taehyung asks, and I look at all the colours. ‘Um… I don’t know. It’s really difficult,’ I say a little timidly, both boys nodding reassuringly, trying to give me a little more confident. ‘You’re right, it is difficult. How about… two platinum blonde streaks at the front of your hair?’ Taehyung asks, and I nearly choke.

‘Blonde streaks… like an e-girl?’ I ask, and Tae laughs, nodding. ‘It’s on trend, and I think you’ll be able to pull it off really well,’ Tae says thoughtfully, and whilst I’m still not convinced, Jimin nods excitedly. ‘Yes, that’d look amazing! Go on, y/n, you should!’ Jimin urges, eyes locked with mine in the mirror, and I sigh before nodding with a small smile. ‘Why not? Go for it,’ I say, the two of them exchanging a grin.

Before I know it, the front sections of my hair have been bleached and foiled, and a timer has been set for 20 minutes. And Jimin is contemplating dyeing his own hair. ‘I mean, I’ve had black for so long, and I need a change, right? I’ve been wanting to go bright for a while. But do I go a natural bright, or a colourful bright?’ he muses, Tae fake yawning at him in the mirror, coaxing a giggle from me, but Jimin doesn’t notice, too busy inspecting the dye boxes.

‘If it helps, I liked it when you went blond at school. You look nice blond,’ I say, and he looks at me in the mirror with a thoughtful look in his eyes. ‘Bright blond, or platinum blond, or dirty blond?’ he asks, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘bright blond.’ ‘Okay, let’s go bright blond then,’ he says instantly, disappearing off to get a towel from Tae’s airing cupboard.

‘That was… interesting,’ Tae says with a smirk at me in the mirror, and I look back at him confusedly. ‘How so?’ ‘He never takes anyone’s advice when it comes to his hair dye. And he never decides that quick,’ he says, his smirk even wider, but Jimin reappears before I can reply. I try to shake off Tae’s words as Jimin looks for the right box dye.

‘Maybe I should dye my hair too,’ Tae says, looking at his blue locks in the mirror. ‘I like you with brown hair, Tae. I’d like it if you had brown hair at my funeral,’ I say, and his eyes widen slightly at the mention of it again. ‘Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. We should all have natural colours for the funeral, out of respect,’ Jimin says, and I frown. ‘No, I don’t mind if you guys had the craziest colours ever. I just think you look so… classically handsome with brown hair, Tae,’ I say, and he looks smug at my compliment. ‘Okay,’ he grins, reaching for a box dye, Jimin and I exchanging a look in the mirror as he says, ‘guess I’m going brown then.’

‘When did you go brown, Tae? And you blond, Jimin?’ a voice suddenly says, making all three of us jump. There’s a man stood on Taehyung’s front garden, and I remember him as Jung Hoseok from school. He was cute back then, but he’s handsome now with his golden skin and his silky brown hair. ‘About… 90 minutes ago,’ Taehyung says, currently drawing what looks like a heart but could also be an alien, and Hoseok nods as though it’s perfectly normal.

‘Hey, y/n. Your hair looks nice,’ Hoseok says, shooting a heart-shaped smile at me, and I smile back. I’m still not used to my hair being blonde when it falls into my face, but it does look nice – Tae and Jimin did a good job. ‘Hey, Hoseok. Thank you. Tae and Jimin did it.’ ‘Please, call me Hobi. Anyway, how are you?’ he says before wincing, obviously already aware of my situation. Jimin really can’t keep his mouth shut. ‘I’m okay. How are you?’ I ask, and he nods, replying, ‘I’m good. Excited to work on this list.’ ‘Well, get some chalk and get your ass down here to help us,’ Jimin says from where he’s sprawled out on the gravel, drawing a dog (or attempting to, anyway).

We’ve been working on the chalk for just over an hour, listening to music from Taehyung’s speaker that’s sat in the doorway (Coco and Tan have already knocked it over several times whilst they’ve been playing). Bright chalk covers nearly all of Taehyung and Namjoon’s driveway – except for where Tae and Jimin’s cars are – rainbows, flowers, hearts, clouds surrounding us (as well as a bunny, a pineapple, a unicorn, a slice of watermelon and Jimin’s dog).

‘It looks like you’re nearly done,’ Hoseok observes, and I nod, wiping my forehead clean of sweat. ‘Yeah, we are. This isn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be,’ I say frankly, the others all laughing. ‘The fun comes from taking pictures with the chalk,’ Taehyung says, and I get up instantly. ‘Okay, let’s just take pictures and then carry on with the list,’ I say, the three of them laughing again as Jimin and Taehyung get up from the floor.

Taehyung instantly goes into director mode, making me lie down in a gap in the chalk. Jimin stands over me, one foot on either side of my waist, taking pictures on both the camera and his phone whilst Taehyung directs him on how to take them and me on how to pose, Hobi using his phone torch to give us better lighting (it doesn’t make much of a difference, but he’s trying).

I start to feel a little embarrassed, wondering what we must look like to Tae’s neighbours, before I remember that life is short – mine especially – so I should make the most of it without worrying what people think of me. After a few minutes (and a few dozen pictures), I get into it a little more, and the boys all begin hyping me up, Jimin making a few flirty comments here and there.

And then Jimin joins me, Taehyung taking the camera and Hobi directing us (he’s even more… bossy than Taehyung, instructing us down to the simplest things – the positions of our fingers, the direction we look in, the angle of our heads. Everything.)

‘You guys are gonna make her regret asking for help,’ a voice comes from the driveway, all of us looking over to see Namjoon and Jungkook from school stood there, leaning against the Jimin’s car. ‘Watch the car!’ Jimin exclaims, both of them heading over. ‘Just for the record, I didn’t ask for help. Jimin forc- I mean, Jimin volunteered his help,’ I say, correcting myself when he shoots me a dirty look, the others laughing.

‘It’s good to see you guys again. Did you walk here?’ I ask, and Namjoon nods. ‘It’s good to see you too. Jungkook picked me up from work, and then we dropped his car off and walked here. We all live really close to each other. Jimin, Jungkook and Hobi live on the road up there, and Jin and Yoongi live on the road down that way,’ Namjoon points, and I nod, thinking how sweet it is that they all live so close together.

‘JK, the blue’s gonna have to go,’ Tae says to the baby of their group. He’s changed more than all of them; he still has his big eyes and his cute bunny teeth, but that’s where the similarities end. He’s so handsome, and his body is lean and tall. Not as tall as Namjoon, though; he always was tall, but he’s grown even more now, and he’s gorgeous, with his dimples and blond hair. It’s like only beautiful people are allowed in their friendship group.

‘What?’ Jungkook asks, confused, his eyes wide. ‘You need to dye your hair brown again,’ Tae says, Jungkook frowning. ‘Why? I’ve only been blue for a couple days. Don’t you like it?’ ‘It looks great, but we’re all going natural out of respect, for y/n’s funeral,’ Jimin says casually, Jungkook choking and Namjoon slapping his back with wide eyes. ‘Jimin. You can’t just drop it in like that,’ Hobi reprimands, but I wave it off. ‘It’s fine, I’d prefer if we just spoke about it normally. Anyway, you don’t have to go brown, Jungkook, it’s okay,’ I say, Jungkook nodding, still looking a little shell-shocked.

‘Can we get up now?’ I say to Hobi from where I’m lying on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder with Jimin, and he shakes his head. ‘If you want to make a scrapbook, you can’t just have pictures of you and Jimin in it. You need to get pictures with all of us,’ he says simply, and I bite my tongue, knowing I’ll just have to suck it up. Twenty minutes later, I’ve taken several pictures with all of the boys, and it was a little fun, I guess. We’ll have run out of film by the end of the day at this rate.

But my head’s starting to hurt a little, and I know I can’t take anymore. ‘Can we stop now? I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ I say, sitting up, and they all look a little worried. ‘Is it from being under the sun for so long?’ Hobi asks, nervously, but Tae speaks before I can reply; ‘no, it’s probably the hair dye.’ Jimin looks at them both incredulously. ‘I think it’s the tumour in her brain,’ he says slowly, and I can’t help but share his exasperation at their stupid suggestions, the boys all falling into a shocked silence as Jimin looks to me with thinly-veiled amusement.

‘Yeah, I think you’re right, Jimin, it probably is,’ I say, holding back a laugh. ‘Do you want some painkillers?’ Tae asks weakly, and I smile, shaking my head. ‘I’m okay, thanks. I might just have a little lie-down, if that’s okay?’ I ask, Tae nodding straight away. ‘I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms and you can have a shower, or a nap, if you want?’ Tae suggests as Hobi and Jimin help me up, my head dizzy and light, and I nod. ‘That sounds perfect.’

I blink in the slices of soft sunlight that fall between the blinds onto the bed, sitting up carefully. My head feels a lot better after that nap, which was the best nap of my life, by the way. Tae and Joon must be seriously rich, because this bed is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. And the room is super lavish, monochrome and clean, with a deep carpet and expensive looking furnishings. The bathroom was nice too, and I dragged out my shower a lot longer than usual, my skin smelling fresh with Tae and Namjoon’s expensive passionfruit body wash.

I slowly climb out of the bed, looking at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror on the wall opposite me. I still can’t get used to the hair, but it does look good. Tae has good taste, and he and Jimin put the dye in really well – the front sections of my hair are the perfect vibrant blonde. Tae put all these different haircare products in it after he washed out the dye, and it feels healthier than ever before. It’s obvious he’s dyed his hair plenty, because he’s clearly an expert. He could be a hairdresser if he wanted to.

I open my suitcase and get out a bralet to put on (my pyjamas are satin, and I’d rather not have my nipples visible through them in a room full of childhood friends I haven’t seen for years) and put it on beneath my black button-up pyjama shirt. I quickly splash some water over my face to wake myself up a little before I head downstairs, following the loud voices that lead me into the kitchen. Namjoon’s stood at the counter, making coffee, Jungkook, Jimin, Tae and Hobi sat around the breakfast bar with two new arrivals; Yoongi, and Seokjin. Seokjin literally hasn’t aged a day, and he’s somehow even more handsome than he was back then, with his plump lips and swept back dark hair.

‘Sleeping beauty awakes!’ Jimin exclaims when he sees me walk in, and I smile softly, still a little sleepy. His blond hair really does look good, the perfect summer colour, and Tae’s looks really good too – the dark brown locks make him look like a model. ‘y/n! They were right, you really are gorgeous!’ Jin exclaims, jumping up and pulling me into a hug, and I try to supress the embarrassment I’m feeling at them talking about me, and telling Jin I’m gorgeous. One thing I remember about Jin was that he never used to feel embarrassed, at anything. Sometimes he’d get a little shy, and his ears would go red, but he’d never hesitate to do something, even if it was embarrassing, if it would help to ease any awkwardness and make people feel comfortable.

His hugging me, despite us barely speaking when we went to school together and not having seen each other for years, is just what I need, and a perfect example of how kind Jin is.

‘Thanks, Jin, but look at you! You’re really handsome,’ I say honestly, feeling at ease after his hug, and he grins at me. ‘You didn’t call me handsome, y/n, but you called Tae and Jin handsome,’ Jimin pouts, and I roll my eyes at him. ‘She knows Tae and I are the best-looking, that’s why,’ Jin says, and Jimin scowls at him before looking back at me, still waiting for an answer. ‘Just because I didn’t say it out loud, doesn’t mean I didn’t think it,’ I say matter-of-factly, and he grins proudly. ‘What about the rest of us?’ Hobi asks, all of them flashing smiles at me, and I blink a few times. ‘You’re all handsome. Now stop smiling at me before I faint,’ I say, all of them laughing.

‘Coffee, y/n?’ Namjoon asks, but I shake my head. ‘I’m trying to cut down on my caffeine intake. Thanks, though,’ I say, and Jimin frowns. ‘y/n, it’s not like it matters,’ Jimin says, everyone wincing, and I laugh, nodding in agreement. ‘You’re right. I will have some, please, Namjoon,’ I say, everyone laughing again as Namjoon nods with a smile, getting another mug out for me. ‘Sit down, y/n,’ Tae says, patting the empty seat between him and Jungkook, and I sit in it, feeling a little self-conscious. I’m in my pyjamas, with no makeup and slight bedhead, and they’re all just… so handsome.

‘What do you guys do? For you all to be at home at… 5.38 on a Wednesday?’ I say, reading the time on the clock. I have all of the boys on social media, so I vaguely know some of what goes on in their lives, but not much. It’s hard to keep track of everyone from school. ‘Um, I own my own photography business. We do photography for weddings, parties, photo shoots, etc. and we’ve had some pretty high-profile clients, so we’re quite successful. And I do some art on the side, and some of my paintings have sold well, hence the fancy house. I get to work from home most of the time, because I mainly do editing – I’ve hired photographers, but I do a couple weddings here and there,’ Tae says, and I’m impressed, though not surprised. Tae always did have a talent for art, and he was the photographer for the school newspaper, so this career is perfect for him.

‘I own my own dance studio, and we only open on Monday and Tuesday 6-9, Thursday 3-6, and then Saturdays and Sundays,’ Hoseok says and, again, I’m not surprised; Hoseok always loved his dancing and he put more effort into dance than into his school work, but I guess it paid off.

‘I work for Hobi and Tae. I teach classes every day that it’s open, and then I do some photography work every couple weeks. And I do some shifts here and there at a tattoo shop,’ Jungkook says, and I think it’s really cute that he works for his friends, though I wonder if it sparks any arguments between them. I look at Jimin when Jungkook mentions the tattoo shop, and Jimin grins with a little nod, my stomach turning. Obviously, he was referring to where Jungkook works when he said he knew the perfect place for me to get a tattoo.

‘I do all the finances and admin and paperwork for Tae and Hobi, and I work for a small record label, producing and rapping,’ Namjoon says as he puts my coffee down in front of me, and I thank him with a smile, quite surprised to hear Namjoon’s career choice. To be fair, Namjoon excelled in all of his subjects, so he’d be good at whatever he chose to do.

‘I’m a part-time chef at this restaurant in the city, and I’m also studying to become an actor,’ Jin says, and I’m impressed. I didn’t know Jin was interested in cooking or in acting, but now that I look at him, he really does look like an actor, and I could imagine him as a chef too, with one of those big white hats.

‘I’m a barista, as you know, I teach a couple piano lessons a week, and I do some rapping and producing at the same company as Namjoon,’ Yoongi explains, and I remember how good he was at piano. He was chosen to play at one of these awards’ evenings we had at school, and we were all so impressed at how good he was. Rapping, though? I never knew he could rap.

Everyone looks at Jimin to answer, but he looks back blankly before saying, ‘I already told her my job.’ They all nod before looking back at me. ‘What do you do, y/n?’ Jin asks, and I roll my eyes. ‘I work part-time as an assistant at a law firm, and I’m studying to become a lawyer. Or I was anyway,’ I trail off, a little sad that I’ll never be able to do my dream job, and the boys all give me pitying looks. Except for Jimin, who says, ‘damn, y/n, you’re clever. Law student, huh?’ I nod with a smile, and he grins. ‘You could’ve got in on the family businesses, and done all the boring legal shit for us,’ Jimin says, and I grimace, internally endeared at him calling them the family businesses. ‘I’d have passed. Sorry,’ I say, the boys all laughing.

‘Okay, enough chit chat. Let’s carry on with your list,’ Jin says, picking it up from where it sits in the middle of the island, and I take a sip of my coffee. ‘Should I wash the chalk from your driveway?’ I ask Tae and Joon, and they both shake their heads. ‘I was about to, but Jin stopped me. He wants some pictures with you and the chalk,’ Tae says, and I let out a sigh, all them laughing. ‘We’ve literally spent all of our time on the chalk so far. Your four days are gonna fly by,’ I say to Jimin, who waves it off with an easy grin.

‘Stop trying to worry me. Four days is plenty. You go take some pictures with Jin, and Yoongi, while I set up the next thing for us to tick off,’ Jimin says, getting up and pulling me off my seat, pushing me towards the door. ‘Make sure you get plenty of good pictures,’ Jimin says to Tae with a mischievous glance at me, who nods, and I roll my eyes. ‘We’re gonna run out of film,’ I say, but Jimin shakes his head with a grin. ‘I went out whilst you were asleep and got some more supplies, including a few more boxes of film,’ he grins, and I let out a deep sigh as Tae and Jin drag me outside, Yoongi trailing behind, and Jimin waving at us from the doorway.

‘Done with your photoshoot?’ Jimin asks as we walk into the living room. ‘Yes, thank God,’ I say, throwing myself down onto the sofa. ‘Jin, you’re way too demanding. We were out there for forty-five minutes,’ Yoongi says, flopping down next to me, and Jin scowls at us from the doorway. ‘Tae wasn’t getting my angles!’ he exclaims, and Tae’s eyes widen. ‘You’re not blaming this on me. I own a photography business, so don’t accuse me of being a bad photographer,’ Tae says, Jin opening his mouth to speak, but Jimin interrupts; ‘don’t argue. y/n’s dying.’

They go silent, and I burst out laughing as Jimin grins at me. ‘You can’t drop that into every conversation, Jimin,’ I laugh, the others relaxing a little, and Jimin shrugs. ‘I can. Just watch. Anyway, before you get comfy, we need to go into the dining room,’ he says vaguely with a knowing grin, and I narrow my eyes at him. ‘I don’t want to, because of that look on your face,’ I say suspiciously, and he laughs. ‘Come on, y/n, we gotta tick the next thing off your list,’ Jimin says amusedly, holding a hand out to me, and I take it after a moment of hesitation, letting him pull me up. He doesn’t let go of my hand, dragging me behind him into the dining room, and it takes a little while for me to register what’s going on.

The table is set up with these different machines, and Jungkook sits at the table with an empty seat beside him, a lamp set up to cast a bright light onto the empty chair. And then I spot the little book on the table, sat beside a bunch of needles lined up on a small white sheet.

Jungkook’s about to give me a tattoo.

‘Oh, hell no,’ I say, turning around, but Jimin grabs me around the waist before I can walk away, picking me up and carrying me over to the door as I struggle around in his arms, the other boys watching amusedly. But Jimin’s freakishly strong, and my struggling doesn’t work. He puts me down in the empty chair, and I pout at him before looking around at the others. Tae, Jin and Yoongi are stood in one doorway, blocking it, and Namjoon and Hobi stand in the other, blocking that too. I literally cannot leave, and when I look down at the needles, my stomach turns.

‘Do you want to look through the book?’ Jungkook asks gently, and I sigh. ‘Not really,’ I say, all of them laughing as he hands me the book, and I flip through it. ‘Can you all stop looking at me? Or at least put on some music so I don’t feel so tense,’ I say, more laughter rippling around the room as Taehyung gets his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a couple times, gentle RnB music floating out into the room from the ceiling. They must have a built-in sound system – their house really is boujee.

I scan the book and some of the designs are cute, but none of them really stand out to me. ‘Struggling to choose one?’ Jungkook asks quietly, the others having conversations between themselves, and I nod. He rolls up his sleeve, and shows me the various tattoos that cover his arm and hand. He has a flower, a skeleton hand, the word ‘Truth’, the woozy emoji, a purple heart, a little crown and some black stripes with various numbers and letters on his hand. ‘They all stand for different things. Like, for example, this is the tiger flower, which is my birth flower, and the letters all stand for the guys. So you could get some that are meaningful to you, or you could just get something that you think looks pretty. It’s up to you,’ he says, and I nod, thinking.

I decide on getting my birth flower, a little bolt of lightning and my parents’ initials. ‘Why don’t you get something summer related?’ Jimin suggests softly, and I think before nodding. ‘Like… the sun, or something?’ I ask, and he shrugs. ‘Whatever you want. You could get a picture or a quote, anything you want. It’s up to you, y/n. It’s your body,’ he says, and I nod, thinking about the first idea I had for a tattoo when I wrote that list. ‘How about ‘we’ll always have summer’… or is that silly?’ I ask, and Jungkook shakes his head straight away.

‘Of course it isn’t silly,’ he says, but Jimin looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Who’s we?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘I don’t know. A general ‘we’, I guess? Like… as bleak as life gets, as boring, as sad, as hard as life is, there’s always the hope, the promise, the excitement of summer. So no matter what happens, we’ll always have summer,’ I explain, Jungkook’s eyes widening, and Jimin nodding at me with a small smile. ‘Wow, that’s so deep, y/n. You’re so clever,’ Jungkook says, and I laugh, waving it off.

‘Have you decided yet?’ Hobi asks, and I nod, feeling a little nervous. ‘I’m getting my birth flower, a bolt of lightning, my parents’ initials, and ‘we’ll always have summer’. What do you think?’ I ask, and Hobi smiles, looking impressed. ‘You’re getting four?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘Might as well.’ ‘Where do you want them?’ Jungkook asks, and I hesitate. ‘Where does it hurt least?’ ‘Your ass,’ Jimin says with a grin, and I swat at him whilst the others all laugh. ‘The least painful is usually your back, the outside of your arms, the inside of your forearm and the outsides of your thighs. Hands aren’t too bad, and nor are shoulders,’ Jungkook explains.

After a lot of deliberation, we make the decision as a group of where I should have them; birth flower on my inner forearm, my parents’ initials on my right ring finger, the lightning bolt on the side of my ribcage/side-boob, and the quote on the back of my left shoulder. ‘How long will it take, Jungkook?’ I ask as Jungkook sets up all his equipment, the others arguing about what we should have for dinner. ‘Please, call me JK, or Kook, or whatever. And, it shouldn’t take longer than a few hours, because they’re all quite small. The quote will take the longest, and I can usually do quotes in an hour and a half, so I’d say… three hours, maybe three and a half?’ he says, and I feel dread at the thought of being in pain for that long. But it’s fine. I’ll be fine.

‘Are you still not done?’ Taehyung demands as he enters the room, Jungkook’s eyes still fixed on my finger as he sighs. ‘Relax, I’m doing the last one now. I’ll be done in a few minutes,’ he says, and Tae huffs. ‘You’re taking ages. We want to do the next thing on her list.’ ‘Don’t rush me, Tae. Tattooing is an art,’ Jungkook says calmly, Tae rolling his eyes from behind Jungkook’s back, and I hold back a laugh.

It actually wasn’t that painful, surprisingly. The worst thing was having to stay still for so long. He started with my birth flower, and it was fascinating to watch the ink appear on my skin, at first. The fascination soon wore off, and I was itching to move, but I knew I’d just ruin it if I did.

Then he moved onto the quote. I had to tie my hair up into a bun and sit backwards on a chair whilst he did it, and Jimin fed me some of the Chinese food they’d ordered, keeping me entertained with his stupid antics. Jin tried to feed Jungkook, but when he choked Jungkook with a chopstick, Jungkook decided he’d just eat afterwards.

And then he did my lightning bolt. I had to take off my top and unclasp my bra, holding it in place with my arm out of the way so Jungkook could get to my side-boob easily, and I told the boys that none of them could come in whilst he was doing that one, because the bra kept slipping. Jungkook was very professional though, and I can’t even imagine how many boobs he’s seen over his time working as a tattoo artist.

And now he’s doing my fingers. I’m used to the stinging pain now, and I’m very proud of myself for not crying. Tae shows me some funny videos on his phone whilst Jungkook carries on with the tattoo. ‘And… done!’ he exclaims, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. I look at my hand, pleased with how the tattoo looks. ‘Thank you, JK, it’s great.’ ‘No problem. Right… let me give you the aftercare speech,’ he says as he begins to put the weird jelly stuff and a bandage onto my finger. It’s weird how professional he is – I saw him passed out drunk at house parties more times than I can remember, and now he’s giving me tattoos and telling me how to look after them properly.

‘Don’t remove these bandages for 24 hours, and when you do, wash the tattoos, gently, with an unscented soap and water, and pat it dry afterwards. Put on some of this ointment twice a day, if you can, but you don’t need to put on another bandage. Wash them a few times a day, gently, with unscented soap and water, and always pat them dry, and then put on an unscented sensitive skin moisturiser. Obviously, you’re going to tick those things off your bucket list, and I’m sure a couple involve being in the water and sun. We usually advise against being in the water and sun, but obviously, you’re not going to do that, so just don’t be in the sun for too long, and put plasters over them when you go in the water, to try and stop them being infected. It’s not really that big of a deal if they do get infected because…’ ‘I’m dying anyway.’ ‘Yeah, that. So don’t worry about it too much, but just try your best to be careful with them. Oh, and don’t go into hot water, if you can help it. Have cool showers, and not for too long, either. I think that’s it, but if you have any questions, just get my number from Jimin and text or call me. Do you have any questions now?’

‘Only one; would you rather I transferred you the money, or do you want cash?’ ‘y/n, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not charging you,’ he says as though it’s obvious, and I frown. ‘Jungkook.’ ‘No, y/n, I’m not taking money from you.’ ‘Why not? I haven’t got anything else to spend it on, remember? And it’s taken you ages!’ ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not accepting any money from you, and that’s it. I do free tattoos for the boys all the time – Jimin’s got several from me. Just see it as a gift from an old friend,’ he says simply, with a grin, and I can’t help the small smile on my face. ‘Thank you, JK,’ I say, and he grins even wider, his cute little bunny teeth on display. ‘No problem, y/n.’

‘Are you done now? Can we move on to the next thing?’ Tae says excitedly, Jungkook nodding with a laugh at his eagerness. ‘Come on, then,’ Tae says, grabbing my hand and pulling me up, dragging me out of the dining room. He leads me towards the back door, pushing it open and moving aside to let me out first, and I gasp when I see the garden. ‘I know it’s not that big but it’s the best I could do,’ Jimin says as I slip on the sliders that he puts down on the floor in front of me, stepping out onto the light wood decking.

Tae and Namjoon’s garden is beautiful – it’s obvious at least one of the two loves gardening. The decking has steps down onto the grass which is healthy and neat, a dark, rich green, and there are trees and flowers of all different colours lining the light wood fence that runs around the garden. Fairy lights are strung up around the fence, casting a warm yellow glow across the space and there’s a fire pit in the middle of the garden, a small fire inside it with a garden furniture set placed around it, four armchairs and two two-seaters.

‘Oh, my God, this is great! Did you already have a fire pit?’ I ask Tae who shakes his head. ‘Jimin went out to buy one earlier,’ he says, and I look to Jimin with a frown. ‘You shouldn’t have. Let me give you the money for it,’ I say, and he shakes his head before I even finish speaking. ‘I don’t think so. Come on,’ he says, holding out an arm to me, and I take it with a begrudging smile. He leads me down the decking steps, across the grass to the bonfire and he sits down in an armchair as I sit in the two-seater beside it, Tae and JK following behind, the leftovers of the Chinese food in Jungkook’s hands.

‘Where are the others?’ I ask, and Jimin looks a little sheepish. ‘I, um, went to get supplies when you were sleeping, right? Well, I bought the fire pit, but I forgot all the other stuff,’ he explains, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly, and I hold back a laugh. ‘What other stuff?’ I ask, just as Jin and Hobi appear through the back door. ‘The biscuits, the chocolate, the marshmallows, the roasting sticks. Everything else,’ Jin says exasperatedly, the two of them coming to join us.

‘Where are the other two?’ Tae asks as they take their seats, Jin taking a prawn cracker from Jungkook’s lap, the boy shooting him a dirty look. ‘Putting the stuff onto plates for us, because a couple of us are too messy and, apparently, we’ll drop melted marshmallows and chocolate onto the grass and ruin it,’ Hobi says with a roll of his eyes, and I have a feeling he’s quoting Namjoon. ‘Am I wrong, though? There’s still the patch of grass that’s discoloured after Jimin spilled beer on it!’ Namjoon exclaims, holding blankets in his arms, Yoongi following behind with a tray in his hands, paper plates atop the tray. ‘How many times do I have to apologise for ruining your grass before you forget?’ Jimin asks tiredly as Namjoon and Yoongi take their seats, and Namjoon gives him a hard look. ‘As many times as it takes for the grass to return to its proper colour,’ Namjoon says, and I can feel an argument brewing so I quickly change the subject.

‘Shall we get a picture?’ I ask, not realising that another argument is about to start, over who’s going to take the picture. ‘Oh, my God, we’ve been arguing for five minutes! Just let me take the picture!’ Yoongi exclaims (after five minutes of arguing), his annoyance only half-hearted, and I pout. ‘No, Yoongi, I want you in the picture. I want us all in the picture,’ I say, Jin sighing and grabbing his temples before sending Namjoon to ask their nice neighbour, Mr Lee. I feel bad for disturbing him at 9.09pm on a Wednesday, but they insist. It’s more than a little awkward when he starts asking questions and Jimin says with a grin, ‘we’re ticking off y/n’s summer bucket list because she’s got a brain tumour and she’s going to die in a week.’ It’s like he can’t take the pictures quick enough after that, practically sprinting out of the garden once he’s done.

Yoongi gives us all our plates, Jungkook balancing his on one knee whilst he eats his Chinese food, and I feel pretty stupid when all of them instantly know how to put their s’mores together. ‘Have you never had s’mores before?’ Jimin asks, and I shake my head sheepishly. ‘Here, let me show you. You gotta just put a marshmallow on a stick,’ he says, and I copy the way he spears it on the stick. ‘Then you hold it over the fire for a little while, until it goes a bit brown, and then turn it over the other way,’ he says, holding his stick over the fire, and I do the same, turning it the other way once it’s browned a little. ‘And then you get a piece of chocolate and put it on top of a biscuit. And then you put the marshmallow on top of that. And then you put a piece of chocolate on top of the marshmallow, and another biscuit on top of the chocolate. Then you take it off the stick and… you got your s’more!’ he says, holding his s’more up with a flourish. It looks a lot neater than mine, but I’m still proud of myself for managing to not set fire to anything. ‘Just wait a little for it to cool down. Kook learned that the hard way,’ Jimin says pointedly, the other boy pursing his lips embarrassedly as we all laugh.

The sky is still high and light with clouds, though the sun has disappeared over the horizon, the moon a pale white circle against the soft blue. The air is still warm, but not with the humidity of earlier today, a cool tinge to the breeze that glides across my skin. It’s the perfect summer evening, made even better by the light conversations we have and the alcohol that Taehyung brings out for us – Jimin, Yoongi and Jin drink their soju like it’s going out of fashion, Jungkook, Namjoon and Hobi nursing beers instead whilst Tae and I sip on our Malibu and coke (very little Malibu actually in it). The s’mores are amazing, the warm gooey marshmallow, rich melty chocolate and crunchy sweet biscuits a perfect combination – whoever came up with s’mores is an actual genius.

‘Do you want some more s’mores, y/n?’ Hobi asks once my plate is empty, and I groan, the boys all laughing. ‘I think I’ll explode if I have another. I’ve eaten more today than I have in the last week,’ I say, clutching my stomach. ‘I’ll have one, Hobi,’ Jungkook says with a cheeky grin, and Hobi shoots him a glare, no real venom in it. ‘Get yourself one.’ ‘You offered to y/n!’ ‘You’re not dying in a week,’ Hobi says, eyes instantly flitting to me to see if I mind, but I’m already bursting into laughter, my head falling onto Jin’s shoulder which is shaking from his laughter too.

‘Are we terrible for joking about death?’ Jungkook says once we’ve all calmed down, and I sigh. A cold breeze rushes past us, biting at my skin, and I shiver, pulling my blanket closer around me and shuffling forward in my seat so I sit closer to the bonfire. It’s gotten so much cooler so quickly, all of us wrapped up in blankets. ‘What can we do but joke about it? I think I’d cry if we didn’t,’ I say into the silence, the boys all just listening as I stare into the flickering flames, deeply inhaling the smoky scent in the air.

‘It still doesn’t feel real. How do you prepare yourself for death?’ I ask, voice a little shaky, and Jin puts a hand on my shoulder gently. ‘I wish we could tell you, y/n, and make it easier for you, but it will never be easy to see someone of your age die. Old people, who have lived their lives, they can prepare for death. I don’t think you can. And I’m sorry for that, I really am. We all are,’ he says softly, his kind words bringing a sad smile to my face. ‘Thank you. Thank you all, for doing all this today, and Namjoon and Taehyung, for opening your home to me,’ I say, all of them reflecting my sad smile back at me.

‘We’d have done it even if you weren’t dying, y/n. Please, don’t think we’re only doing this because you’re dying. We’ve all known each other since we were kids. And look at all you did for us. We’d have done all of this for you regardless of your health if you asked us to,’ Namjoon says, and I look at him in confusion, wondering what he means. ‘What did I do for all of you?’ ‘We were talking about this whilst you were asleep. Remember when I was riding my bike past your house, and I fell off it?’ Namjoon asks, the others laughing at the mention, and all of a sudden, a memory I didn’t even know I had appears in my mind.

We must’ve been around 7; I don’t remember what I was doing, but I saw Namjoon on the floor outside of my house through the window, clutching onto his knee with his bike beside him. I ran and got the plasters from where they were in one of the kitchen cupboards, and practically sprinted outside. I sat down on the floor beside Namjoon, and there were tears in his eyes, and his knee was bloody. Not knowing that you’re supposed to clean a cut and disinfect it, I’d just put a plaster on for him, and then my parents saw what was going on, and took Namjoon inside to properly clean the cut, me following them in with his bike in my arms, and then they phoned his mum to let her know what had happened. Our school was a tight knit community and all the parents were friends with each other – they all had each other’s phone numbers.

‘How do you remember that?’ I ask, smiling at the memory, and he grins. ‘It’s the first act of kindness I remember experiencing. And it might have been simple, but it taught me to be kind, and do things for people when I didn’t have to, because that’s what you did for me,’ he says, and then all of the boys share the stories of things I did for them over the years we went to school together.

For Jin, I’d lost one of his crayons and then I’d brought in a whole new pack for him. When his mum mentioned it to my parents and thanked them for buying Jin a new pack, they’d had been confused; they hadn’t bought a new set of crayons. I’d taken in one of my own sets for him without telling them. Jin brought it into school every day and shared it with me and only me, and wrote both of our names on the packaging so that everyone would know that they belonged to the both of us.

For Yoongi, I’d recorded his piano performance at the awards’ evening because I’d overheard his mum saying she’d forgotten her video camera at home and didn’t have a smart phone to record it on. I’d sent it to him that night, letting him know why I’d recorded it, and he’d thanked me before showing his mum. I never knew this at the time, but apparently she was so happy that she cried, and made Yoongi give me a present to thank me. I didn’t know that Yoongi was the one who put the thank you card in my locker with a necklace in it a couple weeks later – he’d been too shy to give it to me face to face (I’d been so confused, wondering who was thanking me and for what). I still wear the necklace sometimes – it’s a silver chain with a little butterfly pendant that rests between my collarbones.

For Hobi, I’d spotted a random bag in the school car park, and checked the belongings to see that it was Hobi’s – his wallet had been in there, along with a load of money and some dance clothes. I’d brought it in the next day and gave it to him, and he’d thanked me profusely. What I didn’t know at the time was that his mum had worked multiple jobs in order to fund his dancing, including buying him all that dance gear, and that he’d thought that someone would’ve stolen it all because they were worth a lot, as well as stealing his wallet. But instead, it’d been returned back to him, with everything still in there.

For Taehyung, I’d been the only one to say I liked his drawing, back when we were little kids. It was of a little alien cartoon character, with a heart shaped head (the same thing he’d been drawing in chalk on the driveway earlier), and everyone else laughed at him and called it silly and said it looked nothing like the real cartoon. But when I told him it was nice and that I thought it was really good, it made him want to draw it more, before he started drawing other things too, and his passion for art had been sparked, all because of a little compliment from me when we could barely write our names.

For Jungkook, I’d been helping clean Dahyun’s house after her house party, and I found him passed out in the upstairs bathroom. I got Dahyun to help me get him into my car, drove him home (I knew his address from a party he’d had once), used his house keys to get him in his house, helped him lie down on the sofa, forced him to drink some water and then left a note beside a full bottle of water to letting him know who’d dropped him off at home. And then I’d locked up after myself and posted the keys through the letterbox. His mum had phoned my parents the next day to thank me profusely, and brought over some cupcakes – they were amazing, by the way.

And for Jimin, maybe the most important of them all – I’d done my end-of-year presentation on eating disorders. We had to do the presentations for our language grade, to show that we could speak with fluency and precision and accuracy, and we were told to do it on an interesting topic so that we would be motivated to write an engaging presentation. Almost everyone else did theirs on superficial things, like their hobby or their favourite celebrity. Mine was one of the only serious ones. Everyone had praised mine – I always was good at language – and I got one of the highest two grades (Namjoon and I competed for the top of the class in every lesson we had together). But what I didn’t know was that, thanks to my presentation, Jimin realised he had an eating disorder. He was virtually starving himself, not eating for days at a time, whilst over exercising, because he hated the way his body looked. And because of the helplines and websites I put at the end of the presentation, he sought help, and spoke to his parents about it. He went to the doctor with his mother, and they put him on a diet plan to get him back to being healthy. I helped him to be healthy again.

My eyes are teary when Jimin finishes speaking. I’m so touched that he remembers, that they all remember the acts of kindness I did for them. And whilst Jimin’s was unintentional, it was still so important, and I’m proud of young me for deciding to do her presentation on a serious topic. I’m proud of her for being such a kind person all the time. This truly is karma – I did these nice things for them back then and they’re repaying that kindness back to me when I need it most. And then I realise why Jimin was so desperate to help me – he just wants to help me like I helped him.

‘So, really, y/n, don’t thank us. We owe you,’ Namjoon says, all of them nodding in agreement, and I beam at them, tears beginning to spill down my face. ‘Don’t cry, because you’ll make me cry!’ Jungkook shrieks, all of us laughing as Jin hands me a tissue, and I dab the tears away. ‘God, what’s wrong with me? I never cry this much usually,’ I say embarrassedly, and Jimin grins. ‘Don’t be embarrassed about crying. I think I’d have cried out all of the water in my body if I were you,’ Jimin says, coaxing a laugh from me. ‘Me, too,’ Jungkook says, sniffling a little, and we all burst into laughter when we see that his eyes are full of tears. ‘My God,’ Jin says, his lip curled up in mock disgust, ‘you really are a cry baby.’ ‘Can you blame me?’ Jungkook asks defensively, wiping his eyes, and Jin’s eyes widen. ‘Yes! You’re not the one dying!’ he exclaims, setting the rest of us off again, our laughter carrying in the cool summer air.

[marueonmain]

WINDFLOWER

part four ~ it was them like that ~ 

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

A/N: I rewrote this part twice wanting it to be perfect readable. I am grateful for every like/retweet: to quote our boy himself “I wish I could shake all your little hands.” Messages/asks are always highly appreciated. Strive to have a good quarantine, and take care of yourself!

Summary: Alex goes to find Sammy at his apartment and is met with an odd reception from Y/N.

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Language. Minor (Non-Graphic) Injury.

Word Count: 2.6k

Alex woke to the feeling of incessant buzzing in his hand. It was not a bright morning. With a groan, he opened his eyes – feeling the crust in the corners of them – and looked to his phone in his right hand. It buzzed with silenced notifications, and the screen lit up with banners and alerts. He tried to fight through his exhaustion. There was an odd taste in his mouth; he swirled his tongue around, attempting to produce saliva to little avail.

Propping himself on his elbows, he pulled his phone to his chest and read the lock screen. Nothing it said made sense. When he activated the touch ID, his phone opened to instagram and the last thing he watched before passing out (in his street clothes on top of his bedding). He had been watching an instagram story he was tagged in – even worse – it was George's instagram story.

To his horror, George had posted a solid three minutes of him dancing. Despite the overall low quality of the videos and darkness of the club, it was clear that it was indeed Alex who was throwing his limbs and jumping around erratically.  

George had also managed, even in his inebriated state, to post the worst of the videos on twitter. And his followers were going mad. Three hundred retweets, five hundred comments, and at least a thousand laughing-crying emojis in all. 

Alex groaned and tossed his phone to the end of the bed.

Getting up was a slow process. He had to stop to ground himself every few steps. While grasping a weak hand on his side table, he picked a pair of black joggers off the floor and replaced his white jeans with them. He moved steadily, grazing his fingertips along the wall as he went to his cupboard, and ripped a shirt from its hanger in an almost aggressive manner. He changed into it.

Eventually, he made it to his bathroom. After splashing water on his face and sticking his head under the faucet for a good minute, slurping the water like he would if he were drinking from a garden hose, he felt better. Alex tossed his hair around with his hand, pulling it forward and down, smoothing the cowlicks. Its slight greasiness was not too noticeable. He huffed, gathered his essentials (wallet, keys, phone) from his desk/bed, and left.

"You up already?" George called from where he sat on the sofa eating cereal. "It's before noon."

"Shut up. I saw your instagram story." Alex stood in the kitchen with a blank gaze debating whether to eat then or later. "You made me look like a complete bellend; I don't appreciate it."

"You wanted to dance! Who am I to deny the imallexx stans their behind-the-scenes exclusive?"

Rolling his eyes, Alex left the kitchen. At the front door, he slipped on the most available shoes there: which happened to be George's crocs (he swears he bought as a laugh but wore all the time).

"I'm going to go pick-up Sammy.” 

George snorted and said, "You mean pick-up off the floor, probably."

"Just be ready to film when we get back."

Standing out in the hall, breathing in the fixed smell of wet dog in the carpet, Alex thanked himself for being young enough to be able to near blackout and be just a touch ill in the morning.

It was not a full two minutes between Alex leaving George and him stepping out of the lift onto the floor above. Coming up on Sammy and Y/N's apartment, there was a fleeting regret that he wished he had thought in his morning haze to brush his teeth before showing up unannounced. But it was too late as his hand was raised and rapping on their door.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Alex watched the door handle jump as it was twisted and pulled on the tiniest amount possible. Just enough for the latch bolt to disengage and reengage so that it rested – holding the door open – against the doorframe. There was no proper greeting. He felt like an intruder having to push on the almost closed door and let himself into the apartment: though invited not necessarily welcome.

Inside it was bright with all available light fixtures on including a scattering of floor and table lamps. There was the sound of a running shower.

To his left was Y/N ducked into her refrigerator. She pushed things around on the top shelf before landing her hand on a carton of eggs. Taking them out, she sat them on the counter next to a mixing bowl. She turned her back to Alex but not before flashing him a tense near straight-line smile.

"Hi." Y/N counted out three eggs from the carton. "Sam's in the shower."

Alex grabbed a bar seat. He rested slouched against the backrest but kept his shoulders square and arms open. Hair fell from his fringe, and he jerked his head out of instinct, flipping the hair out of his face. A bit bedraggled. The chain still around his neck from his night-out. Lithe arms stuck out from armholes three times their size as he drowned in the large yellow crewneck.

It was the same yellow as the one Y/N complimented him on earlier. Not that he recognized it when he was throwing on clothes. Not that he would admit he recognized it.

Y/N cracked three eggs into the mixing bowl with one hand and tossed the shells into the kitchen bin. She stood, her feet set like an arrow, with her toes touching. Next to the mixing bowl was a waffle iron with a red light on top and a baking mix box. She held it up; her mouth moved as she read off the ingredients on the recipe on the back of the box to herself.

Alex forced a light chuckle. "I'm surprised he's up. He was out of it when we dropped him off."

"You all were," mumbled Y/N into her collar. She placed the box down and stirred the contents of the mixing bowl with a fork and a quick hand. Her head was down focused on what she was doing; a little wrinkle formed between her eyebrows.

"You got me there." Alex shifted in his seat, scooching up so he might rest his forearms on the counter. He proceeded to crack his knuckles to occupy his nervous hands. "How is Sammy?"

"Fine."

"He's helping me film a video." Like a smiling dog promised and expecting a treat, Alex straightened up in his seat. He searched Y/N's side profile for a read on her but came up blank.

"Hmm," hummed Y/N letting up on her battering of the waffle batter.

It was evident in how his spine slumped and how he returned to resting on his arms that it was not the reaction Alex expected. The reaction he hoped for was a reaction at all but no such luck.

"I guess he would have told you. I'm a youtuber." Alex added in a stronger voice (as if her not hearing him was the issue), "So is George."

"Uh-huh." Polite in tone but nonetheless dismissive.

"I was hoping you'd text me, then I'd have your number as well."

Y/N gave no response. Her eyes were clouded and distant. Leaving the batter to sit, she crossed the kitchen and pulled open a drawer of miscellaneous utensils. While she searched for what she wanted, the fingers of her non-dominate hand drummed a rhythm against her hip.

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Alex.

"What?"

"Was it last night? Did I do something to offend you? I was trashed." He spoke plain, hiding the hint of hurt in his voice. His open palm-up hands moved in a series of give and take type gestures.

His bit of babbling grabbed Y/N's full attention. She pulled her focus up, from her search in the utensil drawer to Alex's face. Her hesitant gaze stopped at his mouth and nose before going further up.

Their eyes met. Alex felt a surge of warmth rushing upon him: a warmth he could lie in forever. Die in. So even his bones might one afternoon be exposed to it. It was clear at that moment (as if it was not before) that being around Y/N was not something Alex knew how to handle or react to.

There was an undeniable switch in her gaze – a moment of real recognition – and if eyes could talk, hers would have sighed and happily said, oh, it's you.

Alex reiterated, "I promise I don't remember a thing."

"Sorry, Al." (a pause like she did intend the nickname but then thought it inappropriate) "Sorry, Alex. It's not you. I just have a lot I'm thinking about."

"You don’t have to apologize; I was just a little worried is all." He relaxed, dropping his hands, letting them fall to his lap.

"You're sweet. Thank you." Her hand settled in the utensil drawer; she pulled out an ice cream scoop and held it at an odd angle. Fiddling with the lever as if checking it worked. It did. Y/N turned her back to him once more to place the ice cream scoop on the counter with the mixing bowl. She picked out the fork from the bowl and continued stirring the batter.

Sore from slouching and general aching muscles, Alex stood from the bar seat and stretched.

"You make a lot of breakfast foods, huh?" he asked as he stood with solid feet and twisted at the middle as far to his left as he could; he twisted to the other side as his spine screamed at him. "Is that your favourite then?"

"Why? Got something against breakfast?"

"I like buttered toast as much as the next—" Alex was distracted mid-thought when he lifted his foot and put it down again to the sound of a quiet crunch. Light speckles of paint dotted the floor, and when he lifted his foot, under it was a small chip of plasterboard.

"Toast, you said? How extravagant!"

A framed picture was stuck on the wall nearest Alex: one he did not recognize as being there before, but half the apartment was not yet unpacked when he last was there. How bad could you screw up your wall hanging something? He pulled on a bottom corner of the frame and peered behind it.

It was a fine hanging job. There was just a fist-sized hole in the plasterboard wall. And the framed picture was covering it.

Y/N glanced over to him. "That's nothing – just a little accident from last night. Could thank George for that if you like."

"George did that?"  He exclaimed, reeling as if he were about to faint. Alex made a fist and compared it to the hole. George and him about matched in height – matched hand sizes. While the hole in the plasterboard could eat Alex's hand.

Y/N's face dropped as she rushed to correct herself, "No! Not at all."

"You scared me," the words rode out on his bated breath. He put the framed picture back in place, moving to retake the bar seat.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that." Y/N gave a shallow shake of the head.

"What did happen?"

"Oh," she sounded exhausted, "Sam got angry because George was teasing him about something."

"What was it about?"

"I couldn't understand it. None of you lot were making sense," she said unconvincingly

"Come on, Red."

And there at his words or in reaction to the strange atmosphere Y/N rolled her left shoulder back and, when it returned to its natural resting position, she twitched. Her head turned forty-five degrees to the left, and her chin lifted so that her cheek was parallel to the ground for about half a second until her muscles relaxed, and she stood regular. Y/N spoke soft, "I don't know."

"Well, Sammy must have said something. Or George."

"Stop." Y/N spoke clear and stern, throwing her voice despite not facing him. "You were all giggling like idiots and piss drunk. Ok? It was bound to happen."

Atop the waffle iron, the red light switched to green. Y/N tilted the mixing bowl toward herself and grabbed the ice cream scoop. She stirred it around the bowl. Her elbow lifted from her side in the motion. It was shaking. She was shaking. Trembling – even if just a small amount.

"Ok," Alex said without thinking. 

The ice cream scoop gathered the golden batter. It would have looked delicious if his stomach was not so knotted.

Lifting the waffle iron lid, Y/N poured the batter in a circle from the outside-in, when the lid dropped, snapping shut on two of her fingers. "Ow! Shit."

She raced to the sink: turning it on to its coldest setting: she kept her hurt hand at a distance. Her free hand grasped her inner elbow supporting the extended arm. As the water bathed her burnt fingers, Y/N stood bent over with her head tucked under her arms and muttered a string of curses.

"Fuck. Are you alright?" Alex rushed around the counter. "Did you break them?"

"N-no. No." She was stuttering through distressed gasps.

"Red, it's not great." Alex laid a hand on her shoulder and another over her free hand on her arm. He felt her continuing to struggle for breath and start a self-soothing type rocking on her feet – not about to give in to the panic. "It’s not great, but you got to calm down. Follow me."

He pulled his lips in and inhaled a slow breath as if through a straw, exhaling it just the same. It took ten seconds of him doing the exercise on his own before Y/N began to follow. And it was them like that. And it was nice – given the circumstances.

Both their shirts were damp from the splashback of the running sink.

Half a minute passed. Y/N had not gained her complete composure, but her breathing evened out, and her muscles relaxed enough that Alex had to reposition himself to support her as she leaned into him slightly.

"Thank you." It was audible though her chin was still tucked to her chest.

"It's alright...I can't cook either."

She laughed a short laugh. "You were lying earlier?"

"I know, pretty believable."

Sammy walked in from the master bedroom: shirtless with his wet hair dripping water onto the floor: and his eyebrows knit together in immediate confusion and concern. Set in action, he rushed over to the kitchen and pulled Alex off Y/N (sending him stumbling over himself to regain balance). At Y/N's side, he turned off the sink and took hold of her hands, avoiding the burned fingers.

"Red. What did you do?" he asked.

"It's alright," she assured, and it was, as most minor burns are after a few seconds under cold water.

Alex was frozen in place – watching them – reconciling his protective instincts with his disorientation. And despite where his eyes landed in physical space, he was far off in another place in his mind.

Staring at him with a skewed frown, Sammy asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm– I was going to pick you up to film."

"Right." He straightened Y/N and himself up to be standing. "I'll be up in a bit."

It took a moment for the command from Alex's brain (move) to reach his legs. In that time, he stole a glance at Y/N whose face canvased a flustered blush. She smiled. A metaphorical dart whizzed around his head, striking a metaphorical bullseye, and producing a singular thought.™

He wished he could go back to about twenty-three lines ago. To when she was leaning on him.

Alex smiled a reassuring smile in return and shuffled out of the apartment. Two steps from the closed door, he heard Sammy say to Y/N in a hushed voice, "I’m here for you, Red, but you should have known better."