#when grandmas gone my ant might take him

[devils-little-sista]

.

[queenofbaws]

Hello hello! I wanted to let you know that I had the brilliant idea to show my friends the fun but embarrassing ways of Social Suicide (RIP our dignities). Needless to say it’s not as amusing to play it than reading about it lol

Sooooo I come begging for at least but not exactly 6 sentences of a Social Suicide round for old times sake? Maybe between Josh, Conrad and Dylan? I live for the kind of chaos those clowns would bring to the table!… and want to read about other’s embarrassing experiences to forget about my own let’s be real here

Anyways I hope you’re doing well as we unwillingly keep living through historical events :D

at-least-but-not-exactly-six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

---

“Now, look, I’m a man who enjoys a good game of truth-or-dare...”

“Yeah, you’ve got that look about you,” Dylan said, narrowing his eyes as he tilted his head first to one side, then to the other, acting like he was passing some sort of silent judgment on Conrad’s whole deal. Which, well, he was.

It was enough to get him to come up for air at least - a miracle in and of itself. “Thank...you...?” He waited to see if there would be any followup to that absolutely inscrutable statement, and when there wasn’t, turned back to Josh. “But what you do? Nah. Nah, that’s not truth-or-dare, man. Not even close. What you do’s more like...” He lifted his beer as he thought, taking a drink to buy himself some thinking time. “It’s more like...”

“Social Suicide,” Josh answered for him, tossing his phone onto the coffee table in much the same way a bettin’ man might place his chips. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point, my guy. It’s in the fucking name. Now are we playing, or are you gonna chicken out?”

Never one to pass up the opportunity for dramatics, Dylan set his phone down next to Josh’s despite not fully understanding why. “I mean, I’m down,” he said with a shrug. “I’m sort of completely incapable of experiencing shame in any kind of meaningful way, so like, why not, right?”

“A man after my own heart,” Josh grinned, sarcastically laying a hand flat on his own chest. “That just leaves you, Conman. Ante up.”

“Fuck no. Who do you think I am, Wash? This’ll shock you, but I do actually learn from my mistakes, so I’m gonna go ahead and pass on this one.”

There was nothing - nothing - about Josh’s posture that suggested he was even close to giving in. If anything, he leaned in that much closer towards Conrad, his eyebrows high and his eyes insistent. “Now I know you don’t mean that. I’ve known you for how long? And in all that time, I have seen you maybe, and I mean maybe, learn a lesson twice. The first was when you left those two-liters in your trunk overnight and they froze.”

Conrad scowled, not like he was upset or anything, but like he was recalling all the time, energy, and cold-hard cash that’d gone into getting his car reupholstered. Which was, of course, precisely what he was doing.

“The second was the night you drank that entire bottle of RumChata by yourself.”

“Oooh,” Dylan teased, steepling his fingers together as he chuckled. “Party boy, lookit you!”

That got Conrad to lift a hand, waving it furiously as he shook his head. “God don’t - urgh. I can’t even smell that shit anymore, don’t go saying the word, Christ, dude...” He visibly gagged, washing the memory down with another gulp of beer. “But you’re wrong, as usual. I have learned a third lesson.”

Josh slid his eyes to Dylan for a second there, blinking once, very, very slowly. “You hear that?” he asked. “Three.”

“I’m extremely impressed. That’s more than I’ve ever learned. Willingly, anyway.”

He ignored both of them wholesale, pointing an accusing finger Josh’s way. “Lesson three I learned the last time I played this fucking game with you and you sent a bunch of nudes to my grandma, you literal psychopath. Lesson. Learned.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, wait.” Dylan reeled back to get a better look at Josh, his eyebrows flying upwards. “I’m sorry, am I hearing this shit correctly? You sent your own dick pics to Justin Timberlake’s granny?”

“Justi - hey, screw you, man. JT’s got nothing on me.”

“Alas, Ives, you are hearing incorrectly.” Josh shook his head, then pushed himself off the couch to join Dylan on the floor, splaying his legs out so they’d cross over Conrad’s ankles, specifically. “I sent Conrad’s nudes to his grandma. Such are the risks of the game.”

It took a second for that one to process. When it did, he rocked backwards as though Josh had grabbed him by the shoulders and shaken him. “Okay. Okay, see, now I’m like, doubly down to play this game,” Dylan grinned. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

“No it’s not,” Conrad groaned. “It’s not hilarious at all! It’s awful, it sucks, and it’s a literal exercise in sadism.”

“I’ve told you before, man,” Josh smirked. “You shouldn’t have all those nudes on your phone anyway. It’s trashy.”

“Your mom sure seems to like them.”

Dylan swiveled around towards Conrad. “Okay, so is there anyone besides me who hasn’t seen your nudes? Because I’m starting to get, like, serious FOMO here.”

There was silence as Conrad glared between the two of them, his eyes narrowed and the lip of his beer bottle pressed to his chin. His shoulders rose with a single monstrous breath, and then he let it out in a roar of a groan, slamming his bottle down before reaching into his pocket and throwing his phone into the pile. “Fine,” he snapped. “Fine. Know what? It’s fine. I’ll play your stupid game, Wash, but I’m not going easy on you. You’re going to rue the fucking day you were born by the time I’m done with you.”

“Joke’s on him,” Josh muttered, leaning in towards Dylan and muttering through the side of his mouth despite being plenty loud enough for Conrad to hear. “I do that shit every day.”

“You and me both, man,” Dylan sighed, shaking his head. “You and me both. Now who’s going first? Because the promise of complete and utter social humiliation sort of has me salivating over here.”

Conrad rolled his eyes up to the ceiling as he came to terms with his inevitable demise. “Lesson four’s a’comin’,” he groaned. “I feel that shit in my bones.”

[kenmasgameboy]

     【ｓｙｎｏｐｓｉｓ】

oikawa toru has so many girls falling at his feet, but it wasn’t always like this. when y/n met him there was no one yet to inflate his ego, when he was pure to himself, the person he is when it isn’t performative. she fell in love. after forcing a rejection from him, where he says he never saw her as a girl, she’s determined to become the absolute perfect girl for every one except him.

profiles: [ student council ] [ on the block ]

masterlist

listen to the mixtape while you read

↬ entry #1: age 6 ➺ chapter 1  ➺

𝕚. caught one.

"Play outside!" You had heard this demand a million times growing up from your sweet grandparents. Your mother's parents did what they could to provide as normal a childhood as possible for you despite having a hole in your life that rested in not having your societally normal guardians. But thanks to them, it never really felt like that hole bothered you growing up. You still didn’t understand fully what had happened yet, the bliss of being so young. As doting as they tried, midway through the day, the clock would strike the time when their joints would remind them they could not continue playing with their rambunctious grandchild any longer that day.

So opening the door would be an exciting change of pace. You would go outside by yourself playing on your front porch with the new toys you had. But nobody to play with. Always going outside after the other neighborhood kids had already gone inside for dinner that day. The quiet of the neighborhood would overwhelm the excited girl. You had far too much energy to play in silence.

Singing while you played, dancing with your favorite stuffed animal until you were too exhausted to stand. You would become tired only when the orange and peach lights would tint the sky in a flattering manner. You'd lay down in the tall grass, breathing in the fresh air and singing the rest of your favorite song to yourself, squeezing your stuffed bunny to your chest.

Suddenly a net comes down on top of your bunny, which was resting peacefully in your arms.

"Iwa-chan! Look! I caught a gnarly one!" You opened your eyes in a panic to see a young boy with soft brown curly hair. His brown eyes sparkling as he stared down at you. You weren't used to playing with other kids, especially not ones that made your cheeks rosy just by looking at him.

Looking back on it now, the feeling of your blood pumping in your veins and electric shock of looking into his eyes for the first time may never be a feeling you feel again.

"You just caught a girl, Toru! That's gross she could have cooties!" Another boy approached, he had dark spiked hair and a large bandage on his cheekbone. Both boys were considerably dirty from bug hunting.

Toru screamed upon the mention of cooties. He took his net back, "No! That can't be true! My little sister doesn't have cooties!"

"It is true! Makki said even little sisters have them! That means nae-chan too!" Iwa told him, Toru screamed again.

"Hey! Do you have cooties?" Toru asked you, you sat up, "And you better be honest! I can always tell when someone is lying!"

"Cooties? No! Of course I don't!" You said, straightening out your shirt. Toru got close to your face, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he studied it. You didn't lean back, even though your face was scared of his judgmental eyes. You were strong enough to take it.

"I believe you." Toru smiled, backing up and crossing his arms, "She's clear, I know it."

"Are you sure?" Iwa asked, approaching slowly.

"Of course, look—" Toru grabbed one of your hands off your stuffed bunny and held it in his own. "No cooties here."

Even though his hands were dirty, and one of his fingers had an alien band aid on it, it lit up a part of yourself you had no idea existed. This lonely part of your heart you didn't know yearned for peers. For friends. For someone as sweet as him to show you a shred of kindness. You couldn’t help but feel your stomach twist into a knot in the bottom of your gut.

"Whatever. Don't touch me with that hand, though! I'm not taking stupid risks like you do!" Iwa barked back, turning around and walking toward an ant hill.

"Are you alone?" Toru questioned, your sorrowful glaze that went over your eyes as you tighten your grip on your bunny was enough for him.

"Say, what's your name?" Toru brought your attention back to his lively smile. You couldn’t help your sudden nerves that overtook your throat. You were not that shy of a child, pretty average to say the least, but with his attention making you feel so special you wanted to shrivel away into nothing on the floor.

“Sorry for Iwa-chan, he can be a little aggressive..” Toru shrugged, searching through his pockets for something. He pulled out an oreo packet half eaten but offered it to you. “Do you want these?”

You could only gasp and grab at them, but he pulled them out of your grasp before you could grab them.

“I’ll trade you these for your name.” The boy smirked with his height advantage over you, though not by much he still was able to hold the oreos out of your reach and laughed at your struggle. Your grandmother never let you eat such sugary treats, even told the teachers at school you weren’t allowed to partake in the same desserts as the other kids. There was nothing you could do but comply with this person's request. He giggled at your sad attempts, “Shorty!”

"L/N Y/N. At your service." You said confidently, putting your hand up to your forehead in a salute, "Oh and this is Bun-Bun. Is that enough?"

"I'm Oikawa Toru,” He smiled and brought his hand down to give you the treats you desired, “and that's Iwaizumi Hajime. But you can call him Iwa-chan."

"Don't call me that!"

"He likes it, don't worry about that." Toru cupped his mouth with one hand to tell you that at full volume and waved off Iwaizumi with the other hand, “You’re new to the neighborhood, right? I’ve seen you before from my window, I live right there.” 

You nodded between shoving oreos into your mouth.

“Why do you only come out when all of us are done playing? We’d love to have another friend playing tag!” Toru said his best attempt to try and get you to join their group when something clicked in his head.

“Iwa-chan, what if y/n is the evening bug we’re supposed to find?!” Toru exclaimed.

“Don’t be stupid, girls aren’t bugs.” Iwa said, his eyes searching the ground and combing through the long grass that hadn’t been cut in a long time.         

"Evening bugs?"

"Bugs that are only around in the evening! And I thought that since I only see you out– uh, nevermind." Toru explained, your eyes were wide and burned his face, “Iwa-chan’s big brother said there should be tons over here.”

"That's so cool! What can I do to help?" Your large eyes stared into Toru's heart, ready to do whatever he needed. He felt his face get all hot and his throat get itchy. You were one of the first girls that weren’t one of his sisters to get this close to him. 

“N-nothing, why would you want to do that? Aren’t girls scared of bugs?” Toru waved you off.

“No way! If I kill a bug in my house my grandma will give me a dollar, so I’m always picking up bugs.” You said so proudly, pointing at your chest. Even though you looked as dainty as any other girl your age your voice was louder than expected and your words had no restrictions. 

“You really are weird, huh?” Toru picked on you, your face fell at the comment. And he panicked, “I didn’t mean that in a mean way! I’m sorry. I– sorry I’m not great around cute girls. I mean! Nevermind.”

“You’re the weird one, saying embarrassing stuff like that.” You said, hugging your bunny closer to your chest in a frustrated manner. That comment was so embarrassing your body felt like it would explode.

“You should meet my little sister, Nae-chan, she’s kinda weird like you are.” Toru meant it as a challenge, but you didn’t take the bait. You didn’t know his sister anyways or how weird she might be.

“Does she like oreos too?” You asked, squinting your eyes in seriousness.

“Duh!” he responds quickly, and he whispered loudly:  “Who do you think I stole those from?” 

“Dumbass! You need to apologize to her for stealing!” Hajime threw his shoe at Toru, causing him to comically fall to the ground. “She’s probably going to cry and I hate it when she does that.”

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll do it after we go home.” Toru insisted, then reached up to grab your arm and pull himself up. But all it did was cause you to fall over next to him. The thin grass tickling your neck and elbow landing directly above Toru’s shoulder forcing you to land on your side. Your face being insanely close to the boys. You watched his face light up and it turned to the side.

Nose to nose. Tips of noses just barely touching each other. 

Too close. You were scared, but you couldn’t move.

His brown eyes looking directly at you. They paralyzed you in place.The world felt silent just for a second. Maybe you just hit your head on something or maybe…

“No, loserkawa do it now! She doesn’t deserve that.” Iwa yelled and both you and Toru looked like you were snapped back to reality. Toru was the first to look away only to stick his tongue out childishly at his best friend.

No, don’t leave!

“Fine! But I’m taking Y/N-chan, so have fun being alone!” Toru replied. Before you could say anything, he grabbed your hand to pull you onto your feet and started running. The image of the back of Toru’s head, running toward the sunset.

The way the orange glow of the sun made his brown curly hair look almost red, the way it bounced. The way his face turned around and laughed at your shocked expression. His hand felt so warm in yours, it sent shock waves up into your chest to force your heart into doing its first flip of your life. Your nose felt red hot at the lingering tingling Toru’s nose left. You wiped at it with your hand that you held Bun-Bun in but you couldn’t get it off. Your hand was so sweaty from his touches, you thought it might slip out of his grasp but he hung on regardless. He was stuck to you like glue. You didn't know it yet, but you weren't going to be lonely anymore from that day on.

ba-dump... ba-dump... ba-dump... ba-dump.....

***

        【ｆｕｎ　ｆａｃｔｓ】

➺ although she isn’t a bug, y/n was exactly who Iwaizumi’s older brother wanted them to find. he just simply put it in terms for those boys to understand, he knew they’d never resist finding a rare bug for their collection. he just thought she looked like she could use some friends her own age.

➺ after y/n heard this she thought she had a crush on Iwaizumi’s brother (who was 5 years older than them) for like 3 years. or at least that’s what she told people

➺ y/n only comes out at night because her grandparents are trying to protect her from her biological father who has been trying to win her back in a court case. her father is doomed to lose, but still has tried to come by the house to take her with him. In order to prevent this, her grandparents have been keeping her inside during the day, then at about 4pm they know dad should be going to his night shift and feel easier about letting her play outside. 

➺ y/n was completely oblivious to this being the reason her grandparents were cooping her up most days until she was about 11. she felt awful about the amount of tantrums she threw and how many times she tried to sneak out.

➺ Toru was there for her during all of this, he would come by the house every day. Some days it was just him, some days he was dragging his friends there with him, always ringing the doorbell for her to come play volleyball since with y/n they had almost a full enough team for 3 on 3. Or 2 on 2′s with two people being “coaches.”

➺ That became one of the kids only activities, because it was one that y/n’s grandfather could come supervise since he had played himself. 

➺ y/n wanted to become a libero just like him. 

➺ other days, Toru would just beg for y/n to come over and play ping pong, sing karaoke, paint, ride scooters or bikes, anything he could think of that would convince her grandma to let her come hang out with him. Her grandma caught on, and would just watch them in the street between their houses as they played many things.

➺ because of Toru, y/n slowly stopped hanging out with only Bun-Bun.

taglist: @chibishae34 @bby-bokuto @shittykawaa @1-800-schmacked @artsamber @berriesii @bbyazu @roseestuosity @gaytoasterstrudels @mirdy47707 @trippy-kitty @iwanttogotopluto @hvneymun @a-listaire @princessmidas @glyxiebear @akaashiwife @anejuuuuoy @kiyoojima @deimmortales99 @unstableye @sugawarabby @haikyuufairy @ashaite @bettys-other-shoe @defchamseoul @honeymoneyy @animatedrapture

reply with a comment or send an ask to be aded to the taglist!! if your name is crossed off it’s because i couldn’t tag you, let me know if you’ve changed your username!

a/n: also i hope you guys don’t mind the first fluffy prologue to this story, these memories will be littered through the story. so we start off with age 6, then we’ll read about current day at 18, then flutter back between memories from middle school. the smau stuff will be for when reader is 18! i swear the angst will come! this probs the only fluffy chapter ya’ll will be getting LMAO. so let me know if you guys liked it bc i’m scARED.

also bun-bun was the name of my stuffed bunny i used to take everywhere for everyone who cares hehe

[dog-day-morning]

The word of God tells us we shall suffer for the cause of Christ, he who seeks a greater reward must attain a greater faith. Unto whom much is given that much more is required. You wanna eat that whole caramel cake, you crave that sweet tea, you pursue that woman in a nightclub hoping to get her in a compromised position, face down tail up because face it, we're not willing to bow down to the will of God, but we’re so happy, and ready to give in to that round mound of doo doo brown. The 3 Hebrew boys Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego went into the fiery furnace defying Nebuchadnezzar's declaration to worship him. These men had the inspiration, strength, and courage to say, even if He doesn't deliver us, we know that He can. That kind of faith is called perfected faith. We can be lazy because we refuse to work with what God gave us before the day of calamity comes to devour us. Tribulation is kicking into high gear, and many of God’s people are none the wiser. There are people who were working 3 jobs before, and after this pandemic became a global concern who know what is on the horizon. You don't need an Issachar spirit to discern the times; read the Bible. He also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you say at once, ‘A shower is coming.’ And so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat,’ and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time? The gov't has pulled back on unemployment benefits forcing many to find a job. The 2 righteous servants in the parable of the 3 servants increased the wealth of their employer who trusted 3 men with different amounts of talents [money], and the 1 who didn't work diligently for his master inherited weeping, and gnashing of teeth. God invested in us, and He expected a greater return from this major investment. Jesus was the greatest financial venture ever made. The Father placed His faith in His Son who in turn gave Him many more sons that walk amongst us waiting for the Day of Judgment. This investment which supersedes all, but are intertwined will never decrease, and forever increase. The 144,000 isn't a spiritually inspired interpretation based on mine, and Mima getting the Holy Ghost or having an encounter with the Holy Spirit to speak in tongues. Sit down grandma, your Depends are leaking brown stuff that reeks of formaldehyde, and raw chitlins. God is looking for a righteous Nation to worship Him not themselves. These men, and boys who represent the 12 tribes of Israel have never been defiled by women, and hopefully not by men either. You lucky mother You can take the word literally or as a misinterpretation. Those who don't believe in the written word who believe that God's word isn't infallible aren't all to blame for this heresy. Those who originally interpreted the King James Bible added to, and took from are suffering for a misleading interpretation. The prophetic which God didn't let man corrupt altogether has pretty much played out verbatim. We may be dying to a world that is trying to kill our faith that God has no intention of doing until He finds His true worshippers, and He’ll never destroy one's faith in Him. Winter is coming and you and I must be prepared. We must live like today is our last without being caught up in fear. I'm suffering from a form of laziness called jackass. God shall supply all your needs, but faith without works is dead. The ant has the intuition to work throughout the Summer knowing that Winter is coming. A lot of these drones won't live to see the finished product. Ant mounds look like the Pyramids of Giza that secure the Queen, but where is the King? They serve the one who gives life that sustains the colony, she is their goddess, but what happens if the Queen dies? There's more than one Queen serving the colony who can breed an entire colony independent of one other. fulfilling their role while working together in unison with the others who all serve a greater purpose. This

is a major element that drives the Kingdome of heaven. Christ is just like His Father In the Kingdome that includes the Holy Spirit which they will pour upon all flesh again soon. There are no cowards or sinners in the Kingdome. The angels are not as drones, they are blessed warriors.

Revelation 21:8

8 But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.

1 Corinthians 6:8-10

8 Nay, ye do wrong, and defraud, and that your brethren.

9 Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind,

10 Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.

Alkebulan we need to wake up and get right. Black American's of the tribes of Judah, Gad, Reuben, and Issachar you need to aim at my forehead, and scatter my scatter brained grey matter all over the pavement. When Joe Biden told a radio podcaster if you don't vote for me you're not Black, he must be color blind. This vaccine that suspiciously looks like the Mark of Whodunnit. They can plant a microchip in your arm that can track your every move, financial transaction, and possibly your dreams while you sleep. Some Walmart stores are refusing to take cash when you check out; they only take debit, and credit cards. These are signs that we’re living in the End Times. The Last Days. I'm looking at this as a sign to get the hell outta this city, and decompose. What in God's name am I afraid of? Jesus took a beat down like a man on a mission.. You're not weak or simping if you gave your life for a people you fed, healed, gave sight to, preached to, taught them a new way to live, pray, love, told them about a Kingdome greater than Jerusalem, and you didn't kill anybody in the process knowing what they were going to do to your physical body in an almost retarded like bid to destroy their salvation. I've done none of that; my bad. Stop looking for men, especially zaddy to deliver us. “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” Some of us foolheartedly called Bill Clinton the first Black president when he's not, never can, or will be to me in any sense, Barack wasn't either. Thomas Jefferson, the third elected president, who served two terms between 1801 and 1809 was described as the “son of a half-breed Indian squaw (Black) and a Virginia mulatto father (Black).” Abraham Lincoln, the nation’s 16th president, served between 1861, and 1865. Lincoln had very dark skin, and coarse hair and his mother allegedly came from an Ethiopian tribe. His heritage fueled so much controversy that Lincoln was nicknamed “Abraham Africanus the First” by his presidential opponents and cartoons were drawn depicting him as a Negro. Warren Harding, Calvin Coolidge, Dwight David Eisenhower, and the scourge of the South Andrew Jackson were all n**gahs. I’ll see you come Hanukkah you self-hating black, Uncle Ruckus’s. I don't celebrate Thanksgiving, why should I be overjoyed about the genocide, and enslavement of God's people? Christmas is what it is. Hopefully you will celebrate this holiday season together fulfilling God's prophetic word. I can't unless you kill me. The Christmas holiday is as pagan as Joel Osteen is at scamming. David Duke, you might wanna go to ancestry.com, and take a DNA test. You might be 30% Swahili. By the looks of those big, gorilla nostrals you had before that rhinoplasty. You, and Bull Connor may be related to Idi Amin. Your biggest shame is your greatest blessing. Personally you can kiss the skid marks in the middle of my skid marks after I take a fresh dump. Conservative, political pundits, and wannabes whose names I won't mention, but one in particular who looks like he smoked 23 blunts in 15min. with no filter. Please keep him in California, and let him drown with his zaddy, and pancaked tail, bowed hipped women. Use your lips as a floatation device dude. These people are ashamed of the God who has blessed many, and plenty. These people suffer, hopefully not always, from the white savior or white zaddy complex. The truth isn't in any of them, that's why they're so adept at lying when making bold-faced statements before the public that opposes their previous opinion like people don’t have YouTube or google. I’ll Bing a factoid or Yahoo that mother to get the truth I may even pay for it, gimme a dollar. My inability to walk amongst men as a man has stagnated my propensity to live That's BS, my Apostle said something this past Sunday that's stuck on my forehead. YOU'RE LAZY!!! I am what I am, a pain in the rear end. This has gone on way too long. Sometimes

I feel as though God wants me to kill myself because the PO PO won’t. I would feel better if my natural family would stab me in the neck, not my back, with a piece of diseased, pork, spare rib from a boar hog, and let me die from a rare form of trichinosis. The people have spoken while I’m playing Jay, and Silent Bob. Father, get me outta here. Elohim, 9/16/2021

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Grandma Knows Best

Masterlist

Summary: Three months and you were still on edge ready to run at a moments notice and Clark is beside himself with worry, it was time Martha nipped this in the but once and for all. Grandma always knows best.

Warning: Angst, Swearing, Past Trauma,  Panic attacks

A/N: so this one is very angsty the next chapter should be happier and a little humor but I wanted to have this final 'melt down' I hope you enjoy it xxx

Taglist: @sofiebstar​ @thefangirlsblog​ @gooseyhouse​ @charliestufff​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @loserrlauraa​  @cheeseman​

The potting shed was old and rickety, Clark and Konner were going to fix it up over the weekend well fix it up; they were going to knock out all the panels and put perspex glass over it making a humongous diy green house,  they were going to home depo to order the glass tomorrow, but for now it was perfect shelter for the older plants. Around six weeks ago Martha had dragged you in here to plant your first ever plants. It had been fun, poking tiny holes and planting the seeds you were out here everyday watching,waiting for a shoot! But after a week you had gotten bored and stopped looking until she had told you of the first few leaves of spinach had popped through...It seemed within days of that all your plants had sprouted, none had died and to say you were proud was an understatement. You loved watching them grow something about caring for the fragile plants watering and feeding them pellets and tending them was soothing in a way. Whenever you got to overwhelmed you'd come out to the shed and take care of them, it was a place you could escape all...Except grandma. Martha had all but exiled the boys when she noticed Clark pestering you inside. she could see that gardening was becoming a solace for you, something you did without a care and she was pleased. You moved slowly behind Martha as she showed you how to dead head some of the plants and curb the tomato's so that you got less leaves and more fruit. You watched fascinated as she made quick work of the tall tomato plants plucking the new budding stems that would only produce leaves that would shade the fruit so it couldn't ripen. She turned looking to you concerned today she planned to air out a few things with you it was high time you had a little heart to heart.Three months. Three long months and still you held back Martha was worried, you hadn't settled, well you had but you were still skittish ready to run at a moments notice. They hoped you'd be more relaxed but it would seem you were the opposite more guarded and secretive and not once had you referred to them as family. It saddened her, konner had let slip that you were frightened of hurting someone...Namely her. But the woman trusted you. Clark was beside himself he didn't understand what he needed to do he was a father...Your father and he hadn't a fucking clue! Martha had decided it was time to nip these silly fears in the butt herself something tells her you needed a female touch. Clark had come to her a few days ago in floods of tears he had tried to take you shopping for clothes and you'd refused so then he offered to get a meal and when you turned that down it was coffee even though he didn't even let you drink it...He just wanted some one on one time with you he had been so excited for you to come home, he wanted a daughter...But you didn't seem to want a dad? He couldn't understand it he was lost and confused he desperately wanted you to open up to him, wanted to wrap you up in his arms and fight off all your doubts but...He didn't want to rush things, Bruce had called him out for being overbaring at first and said things take time but still he was impatient. What if you thought he didn't care because he was now giving you space? He hated the idea of you fearing being abandoned and alone again. You seemed happy on the face of it but when no one was looking your face was blank a mask hiding everything below. The longer you stayed here the more he could see you pull back you were fighting it, fighting being safe secure and happy. He couldnt get through to help neither could konner he had been trying to hard and you'd shut yourself off from him, Clark didn't want that to happen with him. It crushed him knowing you were still frightened and had decided that it would be an idea to just stay at the farm. He wanted to give you stability but he wanted you to come to him to open up and talk or or at least treat him like a father even if you didn't call him dad.

Martha moved slowly around you discreetly positioning herself between you and the door. She knew you'd try to avoid this and if you had the chance you'd run off and hide and that was not happening...Not again last time you'd been gone for a whole twenty-four hours the Clark had found you sleeping at a bus stop at two in the morning scaring the daylights out of everyone. She turned to face you a small smile was on your face as you prodded the leaves on your prized cucumber plant the first cucumbers just starting to form. "You know your dad was thinking of helping you design your room... I got a few catalogues of wallpaper and stuff...Ideas for designs from the home depot" You looked up at her blinking with a soft smile then moved slowly stepping up beside her placing your hands on the wooden Table in front of you. "He shouldn't...No point we're moving to the city again so...Yeah" Martha tilted her head letting out a breath placing the ant powder over your the cucumber plant to keep away the earwigs. "Well that was the plan...But your dad thinks it might be best to keep you and konner away from it... So your all staying here its not like he has to worry about getting to work~" she gave a sly smile and nudged you softly then frowned at your sour expression. "I didn't realize" Martha eyed you cautiously and stopped tending to the veg and turned. Then dipped down to your level you met her eyes for a second. What she saw broke her heart you were hurting and unsure still so lost. "Well now you do...So tell me what do you think you'll do to your room...I'm sure it won't be pink!" You took another deep breath poking a finger in the soil drawing a line in it. And shrugged. Its not something you thought about kids in the system didn't decorate, everything is temporary. "Don't know....Shouldn't bother...Only two years" Martha turned a placed a hand on he hip unimpressed. But you couldn't help feel she already knew that'd be your answer. "Now what the hell makes you say that? You think were gonna what? Kick you out at eighteen? Honey no that’s all behind you now...I mean christ Clarks still here and he's what thirty seven? Thirty eight" You flicked your gaze to her then back down to the spinach shoots in front of you moving the spritz them with a mix of water and dish soap helping keep away bugs. You arched over to the small container that held a mix of rock salt and crushed egg shells it helped keep away the slugs and snails. "I...Its hard I forgot what its meant to be like...In the system you just get thrown out...Go to the streets....Always weed to run or something or you can go to the sewers" Martha frowned at that "So that was your plan? You were going to be a drug runner? Or go Live in the sewers?" She asked none to impressed you felt scolded and skittish under her gaze and you didn't even see it. A mothers; in this case grandmother's disapproving gaze was felt. "I...I was a drug runner on and off...Then well I made a delivery to the Joker...He was...Frightening and I called it quits after that...Didn't want to be near the big leagues...Big people let their little people die" Martha crossed her arms this was new you never really spoke about how you survived normally brushed them off. "You ever try these drugs?" The question was meant to be casual but didn't quite hit the mark, you shook your head truthfully. "Couldn't risk it...If I reacted bad I could of...Well killed people so it just didn't seem like a good idea" she eyed you carefully and nodded she believed you. "Right well don't let you dad find out... But seriously you should think about what you want to do with your room everyone needs their own personal space" you heaved a deep breath smoothing out the layer of eggshells on the dirt covering the pot. Martha said dusting her hands off leaning on hand on her hip the other palm was flat on the table next to you.

"Okay right out with it...Come on whats going on in that mind of yours?" Her voice wasn't irritated she seemed more worried, wanting to know what was going on so she could fix it rather than to berate you for it. You swallowed moving our arms shrugging at her with a heavy sigh. "Just...I- it only been a few months not that long- things are going well now...But they might not be-I'm still dangerous my power can react at anything at anytime-" you were cut off by a clump of moist dirt hitting your cheek splatting across your lips making you spit and retch. Ew. You growled looking at her with a scowl. "Hey-what the fuck?-ugh ew no stop it!" Martha scoffed and flicked another small clump of mud at your face making you splutter spitting out the small flecks of dirt in your mouth. You looked up appalled at her wiping your tongue and she just hummed chuckling nodding a playful smile. "Yes I see it has incredible reflexes, nothing gets passed it~" you glared at her as she chuckled louder then flashed your eyes playfully and pulled at the water in the watering can urging it up the spout sending a large slosh of water over her croc covered feet she jumped back giggling lightly but stepped back to the table moving the pots back turning around leaning back on the table patting it. "Up you go darling time for a little chit chat" you frowned Your laughter dieing...This was it, they'd grown bored of you...You bit your lip preparing for the inevitable still wiping your face wanting the dirt off but obeyed sitting on the table looking down. She didn't let you for long stepping in front of you tilting your face up and pushed away a few locks of hair. "You always hide behind these curls...I wish you'd pull them out of your face and let me see my beautiful little granddaughter..." Martha spotted the eye roll and pinched you chin making you look at her. "I'm not your grand-" she frowned moving the hair to stay behind your ears then smiled. "Hush....Ah and there it is..." you frowned not following her trying to avoid her all seeing gaze "There’s what?" You bit out still expecting to be told to pack up and leave. These types of talks are never good, your being shipped off. Back to the tower not that you'd stay fuck them you never needed them. You don’t need anyone! "The doubt of a scared little girl, you hide it or you try to...But its there your eyes are a window we all see it...You think your poker face is perfect but...You Y/n L/n Kent are an open book...Clark sees it to he wants to help he loves you, I love you and so does konner" You furrowed you brows and tried shaking your head wanting to look anywhere other than her. You couldn't look her in the eye with whats coming, they stutter when you do makes it harder for them to be rid of you. "I-I don’t know what- Look I don’t need an excuse just say what you need to say!" she shook her head tutting and continued butting in before you could talk yourself into a panic. "Don’t give me that crap...You still think we're just gonna dump you off somewhere eventually...Well you better think again missy...You are my granddaughter, Clarks daughter and Konners sister and that is the end of it we love you! And nothing is going to change that y/n..." "W-What? Your...your not getting rid of me? But that’s what they do...When they want to talk" you asked heart clenching but Martha gasp seeing you trying to bottle up your devastation and anger. She turned cupping both sides of your face shaking her head looking mortified you'd think such a thing. It was then she truly saw just how much damage was there. You thought you were disposable and could be thrown away at anypoint. "No! No no of course not...Oh god sweety no listen I just-This is exactly why we need to talk my love...We are never ever abandoning you...My god your ours! And you are never going anywhere! We love you but we...We don't really know what you need you never ask for anything love...But your here and that's it you belong here with us" you blinked rapidly you couldn't help but buy it, believe maybe foolishly that this time it was the real deal. You whimpered trying to save face wiping away the tears before they shed. "B-but my power-" you started to argue but was quickly shushed as she held a finger to your lips and rolled her eyes with a light hearty chuckle. "Makes you no more dangerous then Clark or Konner now enough...I don't care, and I don't want to hear it anymore...You hear me? You are not going to attack me at all we all know that by now...Your breaking your fathers heart, he knows you still feel unsafe here and your just waiting to be abandoned again and its not happening...Now this afternoon you and your dad are gonna sit down and look at some ideas for you room which you are both going to redecorate together over the weekend. A few days bonding with him will do the world of good and might make you finally accept that you are going no where" you looked down with a deep sigh and picked at the loose splinters of wood on the table pulling thin strands of the wood.

"He loves you, you silly girl we all do...I know you still have your original bag packed stuffed between the desk and wall, it's how we found you last time" you snapped your head up to her what? Your bag gave you away? She shrugged to you with a cheeky grin. "Oh what you think that phone's been magically charging itself for three months? I've been charging it and your uncle Bruce may have tracked it for us to find you quicker...Having your dad flying all over smallville in the state he was when you went missing wouldn't have been very subtle...He'd have ripped the place to shreds and terrified the locals" you blinked at her. He was actually worried?  You thought it'd been an act. you flushed heart tingling and warming when the thought of someone caring enough about you to worry when you vanished. "I hope that soon you will unpack it...Clark is...He is at a loss he wants to get to know you but doesn't want to push he is frightened he would chase you off...Just please talk...Whatever it is we can help we just want you to be happy and safe" you looked down sadly unsure how to express yourself. The Kents had been brilliant but you just...Something made it hard for you to let go of the past. Your Mum and Dad the ones you couldn't save who died whilst screaming...They had called out for you! for you to save them but you couldn't you were weak...Defenseless even with this gift you couldn't protect them...A life time of guilt a life time of being alone, telling yourself that you can't lose people if you don't have them around you. How could you explain that? how did you explain it wasn't what you'd do necessarily it was also what if you couldn't help? couldn't save them? tears welled in your eyes at the thoughts and you sighed shuddering a breath. Martha moved closer standing between your knees and hugged you pulling you to her shoulder holding you tight rubbing your back hushing you and suddenly for the first time you cried. You sobbed gut wrenching cries into her. Until then the only other person to hold you had been Clark and that had been to prove a point. You moved trying to pull back apologizing for snotting all over her but she was having none of it she held tighter petting your hair softly kissing your head. "Hey?...Its okay...I got you baby we got you...You don't have to be frightened anymore...Or alone we are here for you...We are my love I promise" you shook your head still weeping into her the flood gates opened and you let loose. Martha was happy and gutted, she knew you needed to get this out but at the same time it was difficult to hear you shatter like this. A normally stoic sarcastic unshakeable and frankly stressed out teen finally cracking masks dropping and finally opening up, showing the true terrified little girl she really was. "But its bad!...I shouldn't-youll just!? and like the rest I cant-I wont!!" You fought to maintain an even voice but failed miserably spitting out the words rushing them with broken sobs. Martha was quick to ask she needed to know whats going on, needed to reassure you to fix the issues if she could. "Whats bad pumpkin? What's wrong sweety?" Her voice was calm a gentle lull that aimed to sooth you and draw the truth from you. "...M-My parents they-they died!...I tri-ed they y-yelled for help-to me THEY CALLED OUT TO ME! and I didn't...I couldn't and on the beach...It was my fault! mine...If I'd held on they could have made it!! and-and now with you guys! I wont be able to...I can't.? Youll die! And itll be my fault! Its always my fault...And then its- I don't want to replace them-my real parents" You shook your head no. you tried pulling back again this time Martha let you and moved holding either side of your face as fat tears still streamed down your face. You cried harder coughing and hyperventilating choking on your own sobs panicked looking for a way out. She held steady holding both hands firmly on your face well aware of the earth beneath her feet moving sifting like sand but she ignored it, her grandbaby needed her and so she began talking you through the attack.

"shh shh calm yourself down...Thats it its okay...Your alright I've got you...I've got you baby... Good girl see thats it a little more...Deeper breaths in then out...Good" Martha held her breath as you coughed a few more times your breathing was fast but you were calmer your tears still flowing freely but it was a soft quiet crying as opposed to the borderline hysterical sobs moments ago. That was it the final piece to the puzzle, you didn't want to disrespect your real parents by accepting new ones- or in this case a new father. And you felt responsible for there deaths carrying that type of guilt wasn't healthy for anyone. "...Okay...Okay baby...Grandma understands now...It wasn't your fault...None of this was your fault and don't you think otherwise ever...Your parents loved you and were probably yelling for you to hide and stay still...And the beach that wasn't your fault the atlanteans did that...They tried to declare war honey...If you wanted to I'm sure your uncle Arthur would talk to you about it...He felt guilty when he found out" you gasped and shook your head panicked at her.

"No! It wasn't his fault" she smiled at that he'd be happy to know according to Clark the man was beating himself up over it. She'd have to mention something to Clark to get the message across. "Or yours love...You couldn't have known what was going to happen...No one did we didn't-Clark didn't" You sucked in a deep breath and shook your head and opened your mouth to argue that you should have been stronger. "No no...I'm not done love...Do you think your mum and dad would want you to be alone?...Isolate yourself and refuse to live with a new family? That they want you to be unhappy?..I'm not asking you to forget them but its been a long time and maybe its time to accept that another family wants to be yours to protect you and guide and love you in your parents stead" you frowned wiping your face in vain as the tears still poured. "B-But what about you?- what if I can't save you? or Konner or-or" Martha shook her head at you chuckling raking her hands through your hair over and over in a soothing motion. "You don't have to...You don't have to save us love...Your dad is superman there isn't a lot he can't over come and konner is just behind him...And if anything ever happens here I'll have all three of you...Please don't make yourself unhappy in fear of loosing us, we aren't going anywhere" you blinked at her but gave a small smile Martha relaxed and hugged you again giving you one last kiss on your forehead. "Really? I'm- I don't need to....I wont be alone?" she shook her head at you somehow getting this off your chest made you fell lighter, it was freeing. You nodded thoughts still racing, no one ever took the time to really listen but it- Martha made sense your parents wouldnt want you to be alone would they? even if it was your fault which you still belived it was...They probably were crying out for you to hide, they must have known what was happening and only managed your name befor everything collapsed...The beach, well that was...It was war or the start of one. Seeing that she had gave you a lot to think about she patted your shoulders and nodded to the house. "Go have a shower and relax, we can plant these in the garden tomorrow...Just chill for today okay?" you gulped and slipped off the table to the floor slowly and turned timidly to hug her taking her by surprize you moved up on tip toes kissing her cheek and pulled away. "Thank you Grandma...That-You made sense" and with that you ran off letting the door slam behind you on your way out sprinting to your room. 

It took a while but after a few days of deliberation you finally come to terms with everything. Nothing else had been mentioned about it over the past few days, well things had been pretty normal but you'd been thinking alot. Martha made a lot of sense it wasn't a eurica moment but it had switched you on. Maybe it was time to move on...You'd never forget your parents you'd never stop loving them but maybe...Maybe you could love your new family to. That’s what they were...What they were trying to be a family it was just you that was the problem, to cut off and dare you say 'emotional stunted'. No one had ever just let you unload onto them like that before, by the time you were due to start therapy you were already in the hospital being sedated under the mental health act. You never had anyone to talk to and by the end of that ordeal you'd found a way to deal with it, reasoned with your own guilt and had your own take on what happened. Maybe this could be a new start...Its never to late right? Maybe you should just start interacting instead of avoiding them, you and konner got on you were friends but Clark and Martha...You'd tried not to be around them much. No point getting under their feet besides you didn't need to many attachments if you were completely honest talking to konner was just so you didn't go mad, you needed atleast one person to talk to. It was late on friday morning when Martha and Konner had left to go shopping. You woke up to Martha placing some more design magazines on your desk by the door. Grandma you mentally corrected yourself had said she was going out and would be back around dinner time with take out. She must have brought them up to try and sway you, wanting you to make the first move with..Dad. You hadn't approached him yet still nervous and every time you did get a bit of spine Konner was there to you didn't want to make a fool of yourself. She winked at you and nodded, it will be fine. Once she left you sat up skimming through the book's quickly then looked about the room you were in, it was spacious and at the back of the house...You hadn't the foggiest idea what to do with it at all, you’d never done this sort of thing before. You felt silly but it was kind of a big thing for you...The finality of making your mark on the house. It was daunting. You held the catalogues in your lap for a moment looking around...You should probably paint it your favorite color right? but what was your favorite color?...It had been so long since you thought about stuff like that you were stumped. You moved slowly to the door magazines in hand, it was time to start trying. You padded down the stairs timidly and peeked through the banister, Clark was in the kitchen sitting at the table. You sat on the step for a few seconds taking deep breaths watching him from between the wooden spokes in the banister then nodded you moved and hovered by the door. He looked tired reading the paper before him drinking his coffee. He must be tired there was an incident in india last night..Landslide he was there for a few hours digging out survivors and that says alot considering who he was. You crept up behind him and stood awkwardly curling your toes.

"Err clar-Dad?" He froze shoulders going rigid and turned slowly blinking a few times, he was shocked but happy? A grin spread across his face making his eyes practically glow. He swallowed placing down the paper he was reading. "Y-yes? Whats up?" You could see a slight tremble as he was trying to contain himself. You moved and sat next to him and placed the magazines on the table. "I err...well Grandma said that I can decorate my room...She got me these but, I've never done it and don't...I don't know what I can do or what to do...I can you help me?" He nodded quickly clearing the table he was vibrating with excitement, happy that his mother got through to you. You smiled and spread out the books. "So what do you like? Have you thought about any colors or themes" you blinked a little and flicked through the first magazine. "I like the sea" you said in a small voice sounding weird you'd never really spoke about your likes and dislikes before it was kind of irrelevant. You suddenly perked up drawing Clarks attention as you gasped seeing a few images of murals. "I...That’s cool I like the second photo...With the big mural its cool..." Clark looked over your shoulder smiling nodding it was very light and airy the room was three walls of faux white brick the final wall was a huge mural of the suspension bridge separating Gotham and Metropolis. "It is different you could have the mural on the wall across from your bed" you thought about it and smiled sheepishly nodding. "You think they have a beach one...Not like white sand and clear water...But like rocky? With forrest and stuff that sort of seaside raw and rugged..."  Clark smiled as you muttered away listing off ideas. Finally you were showing your true colours a bright and happy young girl slowly peeking out from behind her curtain of curls. "Well they should if not we can always go and take our own pictures" you gasped looking up at him shaking your head. "No no we don't...You don't have to do that..." you mumbled quickly avoiding his gaze. "Its no hassle...I do work for the daily planet I have access to some of the best cameras around...Ixm sure we could get a panoramic shot..We can fly out and find you a perfect spot it won't be that hard to scale it up and have one printed" he shrugged closing his own magazine waiting for you to answer. You twiddled your fingers it did sound fun...You'd never been anywhere before by plane the idea of going somewhere even quieter then this was very tempting you could just imagine the waves. "You can't book a holiday just so I can decorate...I'll just find one online" he chuckled at you shaking his head trying to hold back his amusement, he didn't want you to think he was laughing at you. "Oh no sweetheart I meant I will fly us out somewhere...It'll take a few minuets but there’s a great couple of island's near Vancouver extremely beautiful and lush there should be some good places there " you faltered then flushed. Oh yeah he can fly...Over the past few months you kind of forgot he was superman he was just Clark to you...Now dad. You took a breath. It was weird saying dad again. But you didn't feel bad about it just uneasy, what if he was doing this just to make sure you don't loose your mind and turn on them...Was that it? There must be a reason.

"Hey honey whats wrong? Gone all quiet all of a sudden, if you don't want to I can always ask your uncle Arthur to take a photo for us...Hell he might even have a few of his buddies photo bomb for you" Clark added trying to lighten the mood but secretly he was worried. Your happy dispositions had gone and you looked ready to run off and hide again. He was a little disappointed at the prospect of not being able to fly you off and spend a father daughter day at the beach, but these things would take time. "No no we can go! I want to go! it's just...I err forgot you were...That you could...Your just normal around here and just feel a little silly...I've also never been flying like at all and its just a little daunting" Clark grinned placing a hand on your shoulder squeezing it lightly. He was relieved you did want to spend time with him you were shy that was all. "That’s not silly at all and I promise flying with me is the safest way, I wont drop you, I'll never drop you, you can count on it...How about we go tomorrow afternoon? I can go borrow a camera from the office in the morning" you smiled into your lap twisting your t-shirt in your fingers nodding quickly trying to keep your nerves at bay. "Really? That's err fast and what about konner and grandma? Won't they want to come?" Clark's heart melted and burst all in one hearing you worry over your brother and grandmother. He was finally at ease. This wasn't a ruse you did think of them as family you did already love them. He'd ask his Ma about what was said but he doubts she'll tell him. But even if she didn't he's forever grateful to her because what ever was said has finally worked and for the first time he can truly say he felt like you'd accepted him as your new father and that meant the world to him. "Well they might but I have it on good authority that whilst we are having our father daughter weekend. Ma and konner are going to have fun of there own and spend the weekend in the city 'living it up' I have no doubt in my mind that they will be making good use of my savings...I have a feeling konner is going to wrangle himself a new xbox..." you looked down nervously the whole weekend? Alone with him. He moved his hand to ruffle your hair. "Hey...Its okay like I said we don't have to go flying, we do have to go to home depo tho ma still wants her makeshift greenhouse." You frowned he sounded defeated you turned facing him eye steely determined not to chicken out. This had to work, this was your home and you had to try harder. "I want to though...A-and like you said...You wont drop me I'd rather go flying for the first time with you rather then konner...He'd drop me just to catch me again and I'd probably piss myself" you muttered akwardly. "Then its settled! Tomorrow we go to the beach and take photos for your bedroom! Do you have a swimsuit? And some summer clothes it might be hot there and pack some suncream I wont have you burning! If you forget it your staying in the shade~" you smiled meekly at him nodding you did have a few summer clothes, some cotton shorts and a vest top should be fine. "Good you can pack a bag in the morning" he added grinning ear to ear finally feeling as though he had a chance to step in. You had opened the door and it was his job to make it stay that way. You crouched over the books with him feeling more and more confident as you began pointing out things in the books that you liked with him finally relaxing with him. Then it hit you like a truck. This really was it! Your very own room, your own home and a proper family.

You felt yourself getting choked up windpipe closing tightly only managing a few small hums in agreement as he pointed out different things colors and diy ideas. You took a deep breath trying to swallow the lump away from your throat. It was when tears blurred your vision and you sniffled trying to hold it back that Clark made his move wrapping you up in his arms all but dragging you out of your chair onto his lap. You wriggled trying to be released more out of habit then actually wanting to get away but he held firm tucking your head into his shoulder shushing you. "Your alright...I've got you I promise" he didn't speak after those words letting them sink in, he didn't need to say more then that his message was clear. You'd been accepted the fear and anxiety was melting away in one huge mass of relief as he just held you close one arm pinning you to him the other moving grabbing the pen that lived on the kitchen table and a small note pad used for shopping lists. He bit the lid off the pen and began writing a small list of what you'd need to get for your room. You tucked your face into him whining pitifully for the first time in years feeling truly safe and secure.

[buthowaminotdeadyet]

Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Baby shark

Mommy shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Mommy shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Mommy shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Mommy shark

Daddy shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Daddy shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Daddy shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Daddy shark

Grandma shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Grandma shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Grandma shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Grandma shark

Grandpa shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Grandpa shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Grandpa shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Grandpa shark

Let's go hunt, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Let's go hunt, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Let's go hunt, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Let's go hunt

Run away, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Run away, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Run away, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Run away

Safe at last, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Safe at last, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Safe at last, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

Safe at last

It's the end, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

It's the end, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

It's the end, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

It's the end

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly.

Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground.

The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible.

Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black.

Ooh, black and yellow!

Let's shake it up a little.

Barry! Breakfast is ready!

Coming!

Hang on a second.

Hello?

Barry?

Adam?

Can you believe this is happening?

I can't.

I'll pick you up.

Looking sharp.

Use the stairs, Your father paid good money for those.

Sorry. I'm excited.

Here's the graduate.

We're very proud of you, son.

A perfect report card, all B's.

Very proud.

Ma! I got a thing going here.

You got lint on your fuzz.

Ow! That's me!

Wave to us! We'll be in row 118,000.

Bye!

Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house!

Hey, Adam.

Hey, Barry.

Is that fuzz gel?

A little. Special day, graduation.

Never thought I'd make it.

Three days grade school, three days high school.

Those were awkward.

Three days college. I'm glad I took a day and hitchhiked around The Hive.

You did come back different.

Hi, Barry. Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good.

Hear about Frankie?

Yeah.

You going to the funeral?

No, I'm not going.

Everybody knows, sting someone, you die.

Don't waste it on a squirrel.

Such a hothead.

I guess he could have just gotten out of the way.

I love this incorporating an amusement park into our day.

That's why we don't need vacations.

Boy, quite a bit of pomp under the circumstances.

Well, Adam, today we are men.

We are!

Bee-men.

Amen!

Hallelujah!

Students, faculty, distinguished bees,

please welcome Dean Buzzwell.

Welcome, New Hive City graduating class of 9:15.

That concludes our ceremonies And begins your career at Honex Industries!

Will we pick our job today?

I heard it's just orientation.

Heads up! Here we go.

Keep your hands and antennas inside the tram at all times.

Wonder what it'll be like?

A little scary.

Welcome to Honex, a division of Honesco and a part of the Hexagon Group.

This is it!

Wow.

Wow.

We know that you, as a bee, have worked your whole life to get to the point where you can work for your whole life.

Honey begins when our valiant Pollen Jocks bring the nectar to The Hive.

Our top-secret formula is automatically color-corrected, scent-adjusted and bubble-contoured into this soothing sweet syrup with its distinctive golden glow you know as... Honey!

That girl was hot.

She's my cousin!

She is?

Yes, we're all cousins.

Right. You're right.

At Honex, we constantly strive to improve every aspect of bee existence.

These bees are stress-testing a new helmet technology.

What do you think he makes?

Not enough.

Here we have our latest advancement, the Krelman.

What does that do?

Catches that little strand of honey that hangs after you pour it.

Saves us millions.

Can anyone work on the Krelman?

Of course. Most bee jobs are small ones.

But bees know that every small job, if it's done well, means a lot.

But choose carefully because you'll stay in the job you pick for the rest of your life.

The same job the rest of your life? I didn't know that.

What's the difference?

You'll be happy to know that bees, as a species, haven't had one day off in 27 million years.

So you'll just work us to death?

We'll sure try.

Wow! That blew my mind!

"What's the difference?"

How can you say that?

One job forever?

That's an insane choice to have to make.

I'm relieved. Now we only have to make one decision in life.

But, Adam, how could they never have told us that?

Why would you question anything? We're bees.

We're the most perfectly functioning society on Earth.

You ever think maybe things work a little too well here?

Like what? Give me one example.

I don't know. But you know what I'm talking about.

Please clear the gate. Royal Nectar Force on approach.

Wait a second. Check it out.

Hey, those are Pollen Jocks!

Wow.

I've never seen them this close.

They know what it's like outside The Hive.

Yeah, but some don't come back.

Hey, Jocks!

Hi, Jocks!

You guys did great!

You're monsters!

You're sky freaks! I love it! I love it!

I wonder where they were.

I don't know.

Their day's not planned.

Outside The Hive, flying who knows where, doing who knows what.

You can't just decide to be a Pollen Jock. You have to be bred for that.

Right.

Look. That's more pollen than you and I will see in a lifetime.

It's just a status symbol.

Bees make too much of it.

Perhaps. Unless you're wearing it and the ladies see you wearing it.

Those ladies?

Aren't they our cousins too?

Distant. Distant.

Look at these two.

Couple of Hive Harrys.

Let's have fun with them.

It must be dangerous being a Pollen Jock.

Yeah. Once a bear pinned me against a mushroom!

He had a paw on my throat, and with the other, he was slapping me!

Oh, my!

I never thought I'd knock him out.

What were you doing during this?

Trying to alert the authorities.

I can autograph that.

A little gusty out there today, wasn't it, comrades?

Yeah. Gusty.

We're hitting a sunflower patch six miles from here tomorrow.

Six miles, huh?

Barry!

A puddle jump for us, but maybe you're not up for it.

Maybe I am.

You are not!

We're going 0900 at J-Gate.

What do you think, buzzy-boy?

Are you bee enough?

I might be. It all depends on what 0900 means.

Hey, Honex!

Dad, you surprised me.

You decide what you're interested in?

Well, there's a lot of choices.

But you only get one.

Do you ever get bored doing the same job every day?

Son, let me tell you about stirring.

You grab that stick, and you just move it around, and you stir it around.

You get yourself into a rhythm.

It's a beautiful thing.

You know, Dad, the more I think about it,

maybe the honey field just isn't right for me.

You were thinking of what, making balloon animals?

That's a bad job for a guy with a stinger.

Janet, your son's not sure he wants to go into honey!

Barry, you are so funny sometimes.

I'm not trying to be funny.

You're not funny! You're going into honey. Our son, the stirrer!

You're gonna be a stirrer?

No one's listening to me!

Wait till you see the sticks I have.

I could say anything right now.

I'm gonna get an ant tattoo!

Let's open some honey and celebrate!

Maybe I'll pierce my thorax. Shave my antennae. Shack up with a grasshopper. Get a gold tooth and call everybody "dawg"!

I'm so proud.

We're starting work today!

Today's the day.

Come on! All the good jobs will be gone.

Yeah, right.

Pollen counting, stunt bee, pouring, stirrer, front desk, hair removal...

Is it still available?

Hang on. Two left!

One of them's yours! Congratulations!

Step to the side.

What'd you get?

Picking crud out. Stellar!

Wow!

Couple of newbies?

Yes, sir! Our first day! We are ready!

Make your choice.

You want to go first?

No, you go.

Oh, my. What's available?

Restroom attendant's open, not for the reason you think.

Any chance of getting the Krelman?

Sure, you're on.

I'm sorry, the Krelman just closed out.

Wax monkey's always open.

The Krelman opened up again.

What happened?

A bee died. Makes an opening. See? He's dead. Another dead one.

Deady. Deadified. Two more dead.

Dead from the neck up. Dead from the neck down. That's life!

Oh, this is so hard!

Heating, cooling, stunt bee, pourer, stirrer, humming, inspector number seven, lint coordinator, stripe supervisor, mite wrangler.

Barry, what do you think I should... Barry?

Barry!

All right, we've got the sunflower patch in quadrant nine...

What happened to you?

Where are you?

I'm going out.

Out? Out where?

Out there.

Oh, no!

I have to, before I go to work for the rest of my life.

You're gonna die! You're crazy! Hello?

Another call coming in.

If anyone's feeling brave, there's a Korean deli on 83rd that gets their roses today.

Hey, guys.

Look at that.

Isn't that the kid we saw yesterday?

Hold it, son, flight deck's restricted.

It's OK, Lou. We're gonna take him up.

Really? Feeling lucky, are you?

Sign here, here. Just initial that.

Thank you.

OK.

You got a rain advisory today, and as you all know, bees cannot fly in rain.

So be careful. As always, watch your brooms, hockey sticks, dogs, birds, bears and bats.

Also, I got a couple of reports of root beer being poured on us.

Murphy's in a home because of it, babbling like a cicada!

That's awful.

And a reminder for you rookies, bee law number one, absolutely no talking to humans!

All right, launch positions!

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz! Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz!

Black and yellow!

Hello!

You ready for this, hot shot?

Yeah. Yeah, bring it on.

Wind, check.

Antennae, check.

Nectar pack, check.

Wings, check.

Stinger, check.

Scared out of my shorts, check.

OK, ladies,

[oveliagirlhaditright]

I sort of missed writing KH fics that took place in the KHII era, so I wrote this story where Sora and Kairi confessed their feelings for each other between KHII and DDD, but that then makes it AU. Fluff. Oneshot.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29577108

You Raise Me Up

Kairi’s PoV

Kairi was writing her feelings for Sora in her drawing pad… It was silly, she knew, because she should have been using this gift she’d been given for art. And while she'd meant to, Kairi found that it was the written word that was really where she was at these days. But it would of course be while she was doing this, that Sora would approach her and steal the book from her.

It was an absolutely beautiful day: birds seemed to be having a contest to see which of their wings could turn the most yellow when they flew close to the sun… dogs were barking gleefully, as they played frisbee with their masters nearby… and there was even a street vendor who seemed to be purposefully leaving out their spoiled food, so that even the ants could have something to eat.

All-in-all, everyone was trying to do their best today—Kairi knew that she was—and she had hoped that Sora would be, too. But nope. He had to tease her about something that was so personal, he didn't even know.

"Sora!" Kairi squealed, as she jumped into the air from where she'd been sitting and tried again and again to fetch her book from him, while he danced about her... dangerously close to running into a bicyclist at this point. "Give it back! You can't just steal a lady's art without her permission! Did you learn nothing from when you learned manners and had to bow down to that Princess Jasmine, or whatever it was you said?!"

Sora must not have, because he completely ignored the point that Kairi was trying to make—that he had learned some propriety on his journeys, and thus should have been using it now—but began reading Kairi's carefully crafted words, as she then desperately wanted to take a shovel to her own head... just anything, so she wouldn't have to be privy to this.

"'How he attempts to give everyone lovin', without them realizing his own heart is broken.'"

At first, Sora didn't seem to realize that her words were about him. She saw his mouth starting to form the word "who". And whether he would have thought that “who” was a real person or a fictional character if he’d gotten to finish his first thought, Kairi didn’t know.

But then Sora seemed to finally get that this was art that she was making with blood, sweat, and tears, and settled down and handed her her book back. And a small smile played at his lips as he seemed to speak from the heart: "Kairi, you should really think about becoming a poet... or an author, as one can also sound poetic in novel speak."

And if he was going to play it civil to save their friendship, Kairi could do the same. And she grinned at her friend now, as she put a strand of hair behind her ear and somewhat wanted to hide from the world. “You know what? I’ll really think about that.” And be glad that that is the lead you decided to take, and that you haven’t realized the poem was about you… because I love you.

Then, Kairi and Sora had a wonderful afternoon of being good people and helping the professional fishermen nearby with their jobs. And when they were given some of the best fish as a reward for this, they took it over to the sick Riku’s house to try and cheer him up some.

…

Sora’s PoV

 A Few Days Later

Sora looked out the window—bored in school, as he always was—when he noticed that Kairi was outside.

Kairi was a girl he'd had a crush on, ever since she'd washed up on the islands when she was five. But he figured it was a hopeless case, since Kairi was kind of popular and surely liked his friend Riku... And he wasn’t trying to dwell on it, anyway, since he was generally a happy person…

But he wondered what she was doing outside! It wasn't like Kairi to skip class, or anything like that. Though Sora didn't see her class with her right now, so where could they be? Had they just gone into the greenhouse before she had? And why did she look sad?

Kairi, what's wrong with you? Sora found himself thinking, as he nearly got out of his seat to go to her.

Unfortunately, Sora's teacher noticed his lack of attention and ordered him to stand up and answer a question, whilst his thoughts were all for Kairi. "Homura Sora!” his sensei demanded, “What are the first digits of pi?"

"Oh. Erm... S-sorry!" Sora stammered. "Uhh... I believe they are 3.14159?" And Sora sat down--slightly embarrassed now--but glad that he knew the answer when he was called on, and wasn’t humiliated for once: even if people were still whispering about him for having been a space cadet. Yikes.

But still only feeling for Kairi, Sora looked out the window again and saw that she was for sure crying! He wondered if she'd sensed her grandma die or something…

Raising his hand, Sora decided he was going to ask for a personal day and go check on Kairi.

…

“Kairi, what’s wrong?!” Sora demanded the moment he saw his best friend. And then he took her in his arms to comfort her, the moment he saw that something must have happened since she was crying.

“My mom had a heart-attack, Sora. Thankfully, she’s okay. But I didn’t know she would be when I came into school today—God, now I don’t even know why I came in today—but now that I know she’s alright, I should probably go into class again and not be hiding out here. But I don’t know if I can. My emotions are all spent. Is that crazy?”

“No, Kairi,” Sora promised the girl of her dreams after she’d babbled. He then put his chin atop her head, held her ever tighter to him, and drank in this moment. Sora couldn’t get over how well her scent of strawberries smelled with his of chocolate... “It’s not crazy at all. Emotions aren’t logical. Just take it easy, okay? And if there’s anything you need… know that I’ll be there for you.”

And Sora had thought that Kairi would say “thank you” and just leave it at that, but she surprised him—as it continued to rain around them, wrapping the two of them in a warm blanket on this hot island. “Actually, Sora… I wrote some of my feelings about what happened to Mom down. And I- I wouldn’t mind if you read them. I think it might be therapeutic for me, even, if you’d do that,” Kairi said shyly, stepping away from Sora so she could hand him her sketchbook.

And it was so rare for Kairi to be shy, how could Sora anything but “yes”? He even responded more gently to her here than he normally would, and that was really saying something.

“Of course, Kairi. I’ll read anything that comes from your beautiful heart!” Sora beamed with his eyes closed. He then decided to lay it on a bit thick and be a bit of the flirt that Donald always accused him of being. But he meant every word he was saying here. Because how could he not, when he loved Kairi so much?

And he flipped open the redhead’s sketchbook to find words about the mayor… but instead he found himself seeing ones about himself.

Kairi had written that she liked him, but was afraid that he wouldn’t feel the same since she saw herself as useless?

And Kairi must have realized he’d flipped to the wrong page by accident, because she was already trying to rip the book away from Sora and stammer out explanations. “I swear it’s not what it seems lik-”

But Sora was already cutting off his precious girl, who had jumped off a balcony and fought for the first time to save him. “Kairi, you are notuseless. Don’t ever think that. But as for the rest of it… umm, I have to go. But I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Sora, wait!”

But Sora wasn’t listening. He was already Quick Running away, as he really needed to think here.

Later, he’d realize that he’d left Kairi at the worst time imaginable—and he would berate himself for it—since she had just been through so much already, and he was probably making her think he didn’t like her back.

But at the time, all Sora could think was that Kairi liked him… but probably didn’t love him.

…

A Day Later

Even after thinking on what Kairi had written over and over—as Sora laid in his bed, summoning and dismissing his Keyblade and rinsing and repeating—he couldn’t make out what she meant, exactly, and where they went from here.

It was clear to see that she liked him (she’d written that much, after all). They were at that age where one would start having crushes, after all… but did she love him in the way that he did her?

And if Kairi did have feelings for him... what if she only felt that way because he was a hero, and because of all the things that he'd done for her?

Sora was miserable when he thought that last part. And suddenly, he needed to get out of his house that just felt suffocating at the moment. So, he began peddling away on his bike, cursing the fact that he had his “driver’s license” in other worlds, but not here yet.

And really... maybe he deserved to be miserable, for having accidentally read that part of her journal. But he still had to wonder to the gods of Mount Olympus just why everything had to be so hard…

...It was only when Sora just happened to see Kairi after this—with her hair dyed black?! What? Had she thought she was “dark” for having “hurt his feelings” to make him run off like that, and had thus dyed her hair to match how she thought her heart was?—that he realized he had made a huge mistake in thinking so little of her.

“Kairi!" Sora exclaimed the moment she was over the threshold of the store she’d just been at. And her concerned expression turned into a smile as soon as she saw that he was giving her a thousand-watt smile, Sora thought.

And running up to the love of his life… and taking her hands in his, and just deciding to play it brave here, Sora asked Kairi what he knew he should have yesterday. "Kairi... do you have feelings for me?"

Kairi shrank back at this—something Sora instantly hated himself for, because he knew it was his fault because of how he’d reacted last time—but he couldn't tell why. Was it that she was embarrassed to admit it if she did... or did she still think he couldn’t feel that way for her? If so, Sora promised himself he’d help her to build her confidence up, if it was the last thing he did.

Shockingly, Kairi threw herself into Sora's arms—letting the coconut milk she’d been holding fall to the ground as she did so—and didn't stand there clenching her fists uncertainly, like he had feared she would.

But Sora could tell by how lightly Kairi held him, that this embrace was still of friendship and not romance. But why-

"I- I do, silly… I love you," Kairi replied now, as she chose that moment to look over his shoulder and focus hard on the little dipper that was just beginning to appear in the sky. What as a way of distraction? That would be Sora’s guess. "I'm sure you know that, from the tiny bit you spied from my diary. How- how could I not like you when we've been best friends for so long? But if you don't feel the same way-"

And here, Sora could only begin humming a song he was writing in his head to go with this perfect moment going on. It was very Eric of him, Sora thought, but he wouldn’t complain in the slightest. Because Kairi loving him was monumental in and of itself... but it felt good to know that she loved him for him, and not because she thought she owed him for sacrificing himself for her!

So, Sora stroked Kairi's hair once and even kissed a strand of it, as he leaned his cheek against her own.

“I love you too, Kairi. I always have. …And that’s why I stabbed myself with the Keyblade of People’s Hearts, and will never regret it or anything I do for you. …And I’m sorry I’ve made you think differently by how I’ve reacted lately. I guess we both had our own insecurities to get over, huh? Hehe. But I swear I’m going to show you how special you are to me, Kairi. Starting with telling you that you should bring your red hair back? But, hey. If you’ve decided you want black in it too, that’s also cool.”

Kairi giggled at Sora’s rambling—a sound that was like music to his ears—and his knees buckled at for how he was probably failing here… but Kairi was swift to rise him up again, both figuratively and literally.

“Then let’s be a couple together, Sora. I guess that’s all there is to it. And I also think us helping each other believe in ourselves more is a good idea… Like me believing I don’t have to be Supergirl to keep your attention. In fact… do you think you could carry all the coconut milk I bought home for me? It’s kind of heavy for me, to be honest.”

Now it was Sora’s turn to laugh. And he kissed Kairi’s head before adhering to her request. “Of course, princess!” And he moved to pick up the bags… but soon after, the two of them decided to compromise and each hold one half of the bag as they walked back to Kairi’s home.

Then, Sora and Kairi made cookies (with the coconut milk) for the first time together as boyfriend and girlfriend as a get well present for Kairi’s mother. But they snacked on a few themselves, of course.

All-in-all, it was the perfect everything.

[beyond-the-mirror]

Red Riding Hood and the Red Devil - Dante x Reader (200 Followers Special)

Just recently I was navigating tumblr when I realized that my current follower account was already above 200 and I was like “… whaaat?”

I want to take this chance to thank you all for your support and the positive reception of my beloved works Nocturnal Encounters and Music of the Night. Your feedback DOES MEAN A LOT to me and I want to encourage you to leave as many comments as you want so I know how to keep improving myself and my writing skills. And also thank you for reading my random, spontaneous headcanons that I know you didn’t ask for but I still provided just ‘cause.

Anyways, I dedicate this story to all of you. It will be divided in three parts and let me warn you now that part two and three will be quite spicy. 👀

WIthout further ado, let’s head into this story! 

Part Two - Part Three

……….

Part One

When your neighbors entered your bistro that morning, you definitely weren’t expecting the news they were about to deliver you.

Your grandmother was shopping at the market, going on her daily routine as always, when she suddenly collapsed in the middle of the crowd. Luckily the doctors managed to give a proper diagnosis, nothing than couldn’t be cured  normally with the proper treatment and a lot of rest. The problem laid on the advanced age of your dear grandma, her weak complexion being a potential catalyst for the illness to worsen shall she not receive extensive care and attention.

She was the only family you had left, your parents died during your teenage years and she had no other children beside your mother. Hiring a personal nurse was out of question, with the medicines already taking much of your modest income. With no other option available, if someone had to step up to this task, it had to be you.

As soon as the apple pie you had baked cooled down a bit, you packed it in your basket along several other home-cooked meals and the elixir bottles the doctors prescribed. With everything properly packed, the only thing left was waiting for the carriage to arrive.

A knock on the door signaled the coachman’s arrival. Before heading out, you quickly put on your favorite cape to protect you from the chilly air outside. You had acquired it years ago as a present from your grandma, a handmade cape colored in the most vibrant and dazzling crimson you had ever seen, only the richest roses gardened with the utmost care could compare to the beautiful garment in any way. You would always wear it during fall and winter, always making sure it never got damaged or torn. Because of it, everyone you knew in the little city you lived lovingly nicknamed you ‘Red Riding Hood’.

Thanking sincerely the short staff that worked by your side, you hugged each one of them before departing, may heaven bless them for their unconditional support during this hard time of yours. As soon as they heard the news, they immediately stepped up without question, offering their total help to keep the bistro running in your place so you could focus completely in your grandmother’s treatment. They were amazing and trustworthy people, your business was indeed in rather good hands.

With one last goodbye, you climbed onto the carriage. The plan was very simple: you would stay at your grandma’s as much as she required, only returning to the city for supplies and her prescribed elixir when needed. She lived not too far away by foot, her house being at the outskirts of the neighboring village, but considering you were carrying a basket full of food and a suitcase, going by carriage was definitely the better choice.

“Everything will be fine.” You assured yourself, grasping the front of your cape as if holding on to that sense of security.

……….

“I’m sorry Miss but we can’t keep going. The road is blocked.”

“Blocked? What happened?”

You were wondering why the carriage stopped so suddenly. As you got out, the answer laid clearly right in front of you.

A rockslide was blocking the ample road ahead and stopping all travelers from going any further. It was such an odd sight, there had been no storms or earthquakes recently for the steep to be weakened to such length. Everyone present was utterly baffled, just what exactly happened here?

“I’m afraid it will take a few weeks to fix the road.” Added the coachman, his tone full of sorrow since this incident was definitely going to affect his job. “There’s nothing we can do to keep going. We must go back.”

No. You were not going back. Your grandma needed you and there’s no way you were going back. “What about the forest? If this passage surrounds it, then by walking straight from here we should eventually make it to the road again, am I correct?”

A worried expression took over the coachman. “You are indeed correct Miss, but please don’t go there. The forest is too dangerous, many people have gone missing and the locals always warn not to enter under any circumstance.”

“You are very kind sir, but my family needs me. You don’t need to come with me.” You handed him the accorded payment for his service. “Thank you for your service, you may go back to your family now.”

The old man gulped “In that case Miss, there’s something you must know if you insist on continuing.” Reaching into his leather bag, he fished out a small compass as well as a map, which he proceeded to unroll. “According to this map, the portion of the forest you need to cross is actually quite short, which means you should be able to get out in no time as long as you walk in a straight line. Please, I beg you to take this compass with you, it has a small charm embedded on the back for protection.”

The look the man was giving made it impossible for you to refuse, not to mention that the compass would definitely come in handy. After he unloaded your stuff and climbed unto his seat, you thanked the kind man once again. “Please take care Miss. I will pray for your safe return.” With those words, he bid you farewell and returned home.

……….

Red Grave Woods was quite an enigmatic and feared forest to everyone who knew about it. It may appear silent and peaceful to those who didn’t know any better, and that misjudgment almost always lead to rather tragic consequences.

You walked in a hurry across the woods, hood over your head and never once looking back. One of your hands tightly clutched the front of your cape, once in a while letting go to briefly check the compass encapsulated within its grasp. You did your best to keep a cool mind, just like the coachman mentioned ‘the portion you need to cross is actually quite short’.

‘Just a little more. Just a little more.’ You repeated mentally over and over. It would be over soon. Sooner than you thought. However, you couldn’t help but feel as if something could happen to you at any time, you knew just how vulnerable you were by going all alone into the woods.

And the pair of glowing red eyes watching over you knew it too.

In just an instant, the temperature drastically dropped, making you stop dead in your tracks. Your heart pounded in your chest so loudly that you thought it was going to explode.

Clutching your cape and the minute compass, you whispered a short prayer to try and calm yourself down. You reminded yourself ‘Don’t turn back. Whatever you do, don’t turn back.’

“You know it’s quite rude to turn your back on someone, don’t you?”

A deep distorted masculine voice had just called you from right behind, leaving a deadly silence taking over the ominous woods. Not even the wind dared howl any longer.

You stood frozen in place, refusing to look back or even acknowledge the mysterious presence behind.

“Not to mention it is straight up an offense to trespass into another’s home without an invitation. Aren’t you quite the naughty girl?”

‘Don’t look back, (Y/N). Under any circumstance, do not look back.’

“Come on little red lady. Let me see your pretty face.” His warm breath tickled the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine. Well, whoever this creature was, you might as well face him. Whatever fate you were about to meet, at least you would do it upfront.

Very slowly did you turn. “Ahhh there she is!”

You kept your eyes closed as you faced him, until you finished gathering enough courage to finally flutter them open. Before you stood a tall anthropomorphic creature, a man covered head to toe in a dark scaly armor with a burst of red energy on the center of his chest, magma rivers traveling along the cracks between the many scales and ridges of his body. He had a set of thick red wings curled down and bellow his arms, resembling a coat of sorts. Four red horns protruded from his head backwards, accompanied by a set of short white spikes on top of his head and another bellow his chin. His blood red eyes were fixated on you, and his lips formed a smirk that revealed two rows of sharp fangs.

This demon towered over you, he could easily toy with you and crush you like an ant whenever and however he wanted, yet he simply stood there staring at your form.

“What do you want?” you inquired the beast, trying your best not to show any weakness or hint of fear.

The demon chuckled at your false bravado. “I should be the one making that question. Didn’t your parents teach you not to play in the scary woods? A big bad wolf could attack and gobble you up in one single bite, or should I say a big bad devil?”

Was he being playful? By his mocking tone you concluded that he was merely toying with you like a cat would a mouse, and oh how that infuriated you so.

“I’m afraid I do not have time to humor a stranger. I have an urgent matter to attend to, so whatever it is that you want with me you will tell me right now.”

“Oooh a feisty one.” Truth be told, he was impressed with your attitude. No wonder you had caught his eye, you were definitely entertaining him. “But sadly that won’t do you much help, oh no.”

The demon circled you, scrutinizing you with his glaring eyes. “And what is that supposed to mean?” You followed him with yours, not trusting him enough with your back towards him.

The creature hummed “This forest consumes, my little red lady. Many, many horrors have made this place their home; shadows who love preying on the innocent, especially on little innocent girls playing in the woods. Oh, how they love those in particular.”

“And let me guess. You are one of those horrors.”

His chest rumbled with laughter “Actually, this is your lucky day little one. For it turns out, I may just be the kindest demon you will ever encounter in this cruel world.” The devil gave a dramatic bow to you, his ruby eyes staring at you before giving you a charming wink.

You huffed at the devil’s strange demeanor. There was nothing trustworthy about him, but it’s not like you could run away easily. The best course of action would be indulging him in this game of his, only then perhaps you’ll find a small chance to survive.

The red devil took notice on the way you kept your basket close to you, and he wondered the reason why. A short breeze blew, and the red devil was no longer in front of you.

“Now I’m curious to know what do you keep in this thing of yours. Whatever it is, it smells delicious!” His voice was now behind you, and in his hands he held… your basket! But how? When did he-?

The demon sniffed as he held your basket to his face. He could make out the rich aroma of fruits, herbs and spices; his mouth watering at the positively delicious food inside.

“Hey! Give that back right now!” You immediately tried snatching it back, only for him to lift it beyond your arms reach thanks to his incredible height. He simply ignored your struggling form and opened the lid, and sure there were several kinds of prepared meals that looked utterly delightful. Herb-crusted pork loin, sweet apple pie, homemade pizza (his favorite human food, and with no olives! ) and… suspicious-looking purple bottles? He picked one of those with a clawed hand to examine it up close.

“Huh. What do you keep in this weird bottles eh? They smell kinda funny.”

Before he could possibly break them, you managed to snag the one he was holding. “Those are elixirs! Now unhand that basket this exact moment!”

“An elixir… What do you need this medicine for?”

He watched the way you frowned, eyes now with a hint of worry. “My grandmother… she’s terribly ill. She’s the only family I have left. I need to take care of her, otherwise she…” No. Now was not the time for tears. Show no weakness in the presence of a demon.

To your surprise, the red devil actually returned your basket, with him now knowing the reason why you were walking so hurriedly before.

“Why are you holding your tears, little one?”

By the time you realized, the mysterious creature was now kneeling before you, one of his claws gently catching a stray tear that managed to escape your eye. Despite being an entity of fire, brimstone and flames, the warmth he emitted wasn’t scorching, on the contrary, it was inviting and comforting.

“Because sitting and crying won’t make a difference, it won’t save my grandma. I must stay strong and keep moving forward.” It was hard, but you managed to keep your composure.

The red devil hummed, his chest rumbling and purring. “Let me offer you a deal then.” He got back on his feet before continuing. “I shall be your guide and guardian in this forest so you can make it to your grandma’s house unscathed and with no unsolicited attacks from the local demons. How’s that?”

You quirked an eyebrow towards him. He was willing to what now? “What? You’re giving me your protection just like that? Surely there’s something you want in return considering how cunning and deceiving your kind is.” He may seem nice, but there was no way he would offer something without expecting an exchange for another, it’s how demons were and always will be.

“And you are absolutely correct about that, little red lady, very insightful indeed. Now now, what could I possibly ask from you? Mmm…” with a finger on his lips, the creature made a show of pondering his request. A snap of his fingers signaled that he had made up his mind. “Got it! Actually it’s something really simple, but very fun.”

He came closer to you, hooking a clawed finger under your chin and tilting your head upwards so you could meet his gaze. “How about…” he leaned down, his breath fanning over your lips. “… a kiss?”

You immediately pulled away, a crimson blush bright on your cheeks and nose tip. How dare he make advances on you? And during the dire situation you were going through?

The demon simply laughed at your reaction, amused by the indignant scowl you were giving him. “C’mon little one, it’s only a tiny peck I’ll be giving you. It could be on your cheek, if you are feeling unsure about it.” Another wink from him. Was this creature for real?

“Ugh! You sly devil.” Such insolence! It seemed that this little game of his would not stop… yet you remembered what you told yourself before, the best course of action is to indulge this demon for better chances at survival. “… Fine. Just go ahead.”

His smirk evolved into a full wolfish grin and once again, he towered over you while you did your best to avoid his eyes. First he leaned down, taking his time to smell your scent. It was sweet, intoxicatingly so, with floral hints then and there. After a few seconds of silence, you felt his lips press against the flushed skin of your cheek. They were surprisingly soft and plump, staying there for what felt like an eternity. When he pulled away, you almost missed his warmth and proximity.

“There. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Your blush deepened. No, it definitely wasn’t so bad after all.

“So. If we are about to continue together, I think it’s only fair you give me your name. I want to know who is my traveling companion this nice morning.”

This time it was you who smirked. “Only if you tell me yours first. Since I’m obviously at a disadvantage, if I give you my name now, it would only grant you even more power over me. You go first.”

“Not bad, little red lady. Not bad at all.” Oh you were incredibly smart, the oldest tricks in the demon book would definitely not work with you. He had just met you and he already liked you, his intuition was right when he witnessed you entering the forest with determination in your steps.

“You may call me Dante.” He took one of your hands, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss at your knuckles. “How should I call you, little red riding hood?”

You smiled at him, this time it was a sincere genuine smile “You may call me (Y/N).”

[cinnaminsvga]

fox rain | three

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. namjoon) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid namjoon is (oh and like... ant gambling rings??) → words: 15.7K → a/n: this is late by a month and my whole life is a joke. i hope this makes you laugh bc i made namjoon extra dumb for y’all (for no extra charge. suck it, chipotle.) also: check bio for other chapter links for now!

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

“This can’t be my fucking life. Can it?” you say to your own reflection, curtains of despair dripping from every inch of your visage. Your reflection stares back, the same dead eyes twitching imperceptibly from the lack of caffeine in your system. At this point, you wouldn’t be sane enough to be surprised if your parallel self would reply, perhaps with some scathing remark about how you were slowly losing your grip on your life. Not that it would be unwarranted, anyway.

After Hoseok’s explosion the other day, your weekend doesn’t exactly feel as exciting as it usually is. Of course, your mood is still a vast improvement from last week when you were out of commission for most it after your mental breakdown. Although, it doesn’t erase the fact that you’re still knee deep in shit and that you have no idea how you’re going to face Hoseok and Jimin the following Monday.

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

The day seems to be in much better spirits than you, and it would be a waste not to let the universe’s good mood try to make you feel better as well. There is a coffee shop just a block away, and maybe you could take a walk in the sunshine afterwards to help relax the dread consistently knocking at the back of your mind. It’s a little bit optimistic, but it’ll have to do.

Shrugging on a thin cardigan over some other semi-decent clothes, you step out of your stuffy apartment with a spring in your step. You didn’t bother with any of your usual morning ritual, seeing as how you don’t plan on meeting with anyone you know from university anyway. So what if your landlady Mrs. Park sees the bird’s nest on top of your head? Who is she going to tell? Her gang of old auntie friends all hate you already for wearing a “TRANS RIGHTS” shirt in front of them, so it’s not like you’re vying for their acceptance.

Other than your less than friendly neighborhood aunties, there are better old people to hang around anyway. Nearby the coffee shop, there is a senior home where you used to volunteer during your spare time until your other commitments forced you to give up your spot to some other benevolent soul. Since you have been meaning to visit the grandmas and grandpas there when you got some free time, you suppose it would be nice to talk to kind ol’ Ms. Kim today and listen to her recount her many youthful adventures (which is, more often than not, a euphemism for her various sexcapades in the 70s.)

The senior home is closer to your home than the coffee shop, so you choose to stop and gaze at the plain-looking white building with its neatly trimmed bushes and white picket fence. It looks out of place in the neighborhood, with its very suburban and Americana design, but you know it is only because the owner of the establishment had gotten her inspiration from Forrest Gump. She has a crush on young Tom Hanks, and you honestly can’t blame her for it; that man… he is a Man, with a capital M.

You’re in the middle of debating whether you should buy your coffee first before visiting the seniors when you hear a distant shout coming from within the house. Alarmed, you take a step back, almost falling on your ass and onto the sidewalk. You pause, tilting your head to try and peak over the fence and through the large windows that showed the reception area within. You recognize Hana, the receptionist, sitting by her desk in her usual green scrubs, her head bowed over a book as if the sound had not fazed her in the slightest.

“Am I crazy? Am I starting to hear things?” You wonder aloud, still staring at the innocent-looking home. Has the universe had enough with your lacklustre existence that it has caused you to hear nonsense? Is this only the beginning of your slow descent into madness?

You don’t have to fret over your sanity for too long because moments later, the shout repeats itself. Like the previous one, this one sounds just as pained and anguished, though you aren’t sure if it was a male or female who had screamed. For all you knew, the person might have either stubbed their toe or gotten a knife stabbed through their chest; it’s not like you spend time distinguishing the subtle nuances of tormented screams. However, you are more certain now that it had come from within the home, even though Hana has yet to react to the chilling noise. She flips to the next page, tired eyes squinting at the small text.

You are stuck at an impasse: do you go inside the home despite the possible danger of entering a secret cannabilist society of which your acquaintance has been initiated to, or do you turn around and go home where it is 100% more likely for you to survive the next 24 hours?

The choice becomes apparent to you, however, when a tall, lanky boy bursts out of one of the doors behind the receptionist, with his arms piled to the ceiling with dinner plates on the cusp of making their way to the floor. Even through the window and behind a fence, you can tell that he is in dire need of help, which Hana does not seem likely to extend. The mess of legs makes a beautiful display of himself, his lower limbs flapping about aimlessly as his body contorts to try and keep himself and the plates balanced.

Finally, after what feels like hours of torture watching the poor volunteer make a fool of himself, he manages to steady himself, his legs crossed together like he’s trying to hold in his piss. Carefully, he squats down, placing the plates on the floor in front of the receptionist desk. For a moment, you feel as though you should be applauding, for whatever reason.

Now without dishes obscuring his face, you can make out the identity of the flailing giraffe man. He turns, fingers combing through his distinctly colored hair––

Oh god. It’s him. You gotta get out of there, fast, before he recognizes you. Maybe if you run quickly enough, then maybe he won’t notice you when he looks out the window around.

“Ha,” the universe laughs, clapping their asscheeks to the rhythm of Ludacris’ Move Bitch Get Out Da Way™️ with a smirk. “Cute of you to think your life isn’t basically a 20-year long trainwreck in motion.”

Inevitably he turns around, his eyes immediately locking on your face despite being half-concealed by the fence. He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he lights up, recognition flooding his features. Even though you cannot hear him clearly, you just know that he said something stupid, judging by the way Hana has finally looked up from her book to stare at him weirdly.

Please don’t come out and greet me. Please just let me wave at you awkwardly and for you to stay where you are. Please don’t go out and talk to me––

Your prayers go unanswered once more as he sidesteps the wall of plates, his hip just barely grazing it and almost causing it to tumble down. The pile sways precariously from left to right, miraculously staying put as he rushes out to greet you. You can only imagine the mess he’d have to clean up if it did, shards of cheap porcelain left behind in his awkward, fumbling wake.

Luckily (or unluckily for you), he makes it out of the senior home in one piece. He crosses the short path to the fence in two inhumanly long strides, slamming the fence door open with a wide swing. It smacks loudly against the railing, the hinges making a pained groan as it looks to be at the inch of its life––literally. You vaguely remember replacing the screws on it just before you left over six months ago… Surely you hadn’t done such a shoddy job? Although, you know that simply can’t be true. After all, you’re dealing with none other than destruction incarnate himself, Kim––

“Y/N!” Namjoon greets happily, his dimples deeper than you remember. You swallow heavily, trying your best not to sweat under his overly enthusiastic gaze. God, you should’ve gone straight to the coffee shop when you had the chance.

Nothing like facing disaster head-on, as they say. “Hey,” you reply half-heartedly, though the walking inflatable tube man doesn’t seem to mind your lacklustre mood. He grasps your hands for a shake, swinging your entire body up and down with the care of a man who does not know his own strength. You, his unfortunate victim, are left to suffer through his artery-bursting grip.

“Oh god, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! Not that I’m not normally happy to see you at university, but––” He speaks so quickly that it’s hard to keep track of the specific contents of his sentences, so you can only hope that your unenthused nods will be enough to placate the bumbling buffoon. You resign yourself to a fate similar to the bobbleheads on the dashboards of those white suburban soccer moms.

“Wait, hold on.” What on earth..? You are full on gaping at the piece of work on top of his head, not even pretending to be polite as you try to process what is in front of you. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

You know from old Facebook photos that Namjoon has natural black locks, though you can’t say that his wacky hairstyles were also inborn. Ever since you have known him, he has always dyed his hair a sandy brown color, complimenting his tan skin. Now, however…

“You mean the weird blue streaks?” Namjoon says, rubbing a few strands thoughtfully. His hair is a walking disaster, and this is coming from someone who has seen what Kim Seokjin has done to his clients. (There’s a reason his Yelp reviews are terrible… He deserves negative stars, if you’re being honest.)

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

“Uh… Kind of?” He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I had meant to change my hair color to something more exciting, so I asked the kids at the daycare and they suggested blue. Problem is, the seniors said they preferred my brown hair but I already promised the kids so… Here we fucking are,” he says in one breath, appearing as though what he said was obvious.

“So your solution was to compromise… by coloring half your hair blue, like some botched version of Death the Kid?”

“Exactly!” He beams, glad that you understand him perfectly.

Oh my god… He’s… No words are coming to you right now, but you get the picture.

The thing about Kim Namjoon is… he’s not… bad. Or dumb, for that matter.

Okay, not the best compliment out there, but it’s true. You’ve known for as long as you’ve been a university student, and your first meeting is certainly one for the books. You wouldn’t exactly consider him a “friend,” and an acquaintance is a bit of a stretch on most days, but he’s a nice guy. He’s eccentric in the most positive way, and not at all in the same chaotic and evil way that Seokjin is (for which you are thankful for.) It has always been a bit tricky to get close with him, as his head is always so far up in his work that it almost feels like he’s being reclusive on purpose.

If you ignore the fact that he has that odd propensity to volunteer himself in any job on the face of the earth (with him being unqualified 9 times out of 10), it is easy to see why people think so highly of him.

He is a scholarship student with a 4.0 GPA, is the youngest candidate to ever receive the university president’s yearly public commendation, and has already released two reputable mixtapes with high praise from critics nationwide. He’s nothing if not a prodigy, and he’s amassed a hefty following for his accomplishments. As a music major yourself, it’s hard not to be a little starstruck with him if you’re being honest.

Most of all, you remember the first song that you had ever heard from him: Moonchild. You still can’t quite believe he let you hear one of his many masterpieces when the two of you had just been total strangers. The lyrics had been so heartfelt, so intimate, that you felt as if you were intruding on his personal space or something. But he had let you listen, let you take a peek at what goes on inside that nebulous brain of his. When he does things like that, it makes it easy to understand why people might think your love poem might be about him. He’s just so… easy to admire.

The poem isn’t about him, but. It could have been, in some other life. (Or maybe it is.)

(Was.)

(Will?)

Regardless, you still have to convince him otherwise. You just simply aren’t ready for that type of development, much less with him. Despite all his good sides.

Thus, Kim Namjoon leaves you at a standstill. Why do you feel so fucking weird about harboring this idol crush on him? How can he be so dumb and so smart at the same time? He has blue fucking hair for crying out loud! He’s causing you cognitive dissonance just by existing, and it’s giving your meagre amount of brain cells a workout.

Oh shit, have you been ignoring him? You were totally zoning out this entire time, haven’t you?

Somewhere around the time you were having your mini mental breakdown, Namjoon’s mouth had stopped moving, giving you an expectant look. Oh shit. He probably asked you something. Embarrassed and unwilling to give away that you had not processed even a single word out of his mouth, you nod and give him an approximation of what you assume is a friendly smile.

For a second, you think that you might have gotten away with it when Namjoon’s face breaks out into an enormous grin. He grabs you by the shoulder and envelops you in an chokehold-like embrace. You let out a wheeze, clawing at his biceps with your remaining strength to try and prevent your untimely death due to asphyxiation. “Namjoon..?”

He lets out a shriek at a higher octave than you thought a man of his size was capable of. Somewhere out there, a dog probably perks up at the supersonic sound. “Y/N, I knew I could count on you! Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with the elders for Zombie Tea Time!”

Now that caught your attention. You pause in your squirming to fix him with a confused expression. “I’m… I’m sorry? What did you say?”

His smile never falters. He presses his cheek against yours, rubbing it happily with a hum. In any other scenario, you might have fainted from how adorable he was being, but seeing as how all your blood is still trapped in your upper extremities from his vice hug, it is difficult enough trying to remember how to stay alive.

“Every Saturday, the senior home hosts this event called Zombie Tea Time where the old people all get to have their faces painted with fake blood and all the volunteers have to pretend to be innocent civilians trying to get away from them!”

The more Namjoon speaks, the more you feel your sanity dripping out of your ass like diarrhea. “Ex. Excuse me? Say that again?”

“Yeah, it’s a new thing the volunteers are trying out this month,” Namjoon says, finally (finally) releasing you from his hug. You don’t know if your flushed cheeks are from embarrassment or a stroke. “Like I said, we’re a bit shorthanded today, so I’ve had to wash the plates from breakfast AND pretend to get eaten by senile zombies. It’s… a lot.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You grimace, patting him on the shoulder empathetically. You freeze. “Wait. So that’s why you were screaming a while ago?”

“Huh?” Namjoon pauses, before his face does something funny where it looks like he’s either going to sneeze or take a shit. Thankfully he does neither, but instead reaches his hand around his back like he has an itch he needs to scratch. He makes a pained yelp, plucking something out from his asscheeks and pulling out what appears to be––

You stare at the object in his palm. “Are those… dentures?”

“Hmm…” Namjoon stares at it, too tired to be disgusted. He just nods his head sagely. “Must’ve been when I was too slow to dodge Mister Lee’s lunge. I was beginning to wonder why my ass felt like it was being eaten out.”

“Please, never say that sentence to me ever again.”

“Yea,” he agrees, sighing faintly. He pockets the teeth much to your horror, patting it gently like he hadn’t just placed a pair of dentures in his fucking scrubs. He dusts off his hands, his lips pursed so that his dimples stand prominently on display. You barely contain yourself from sinking your finger right into their hypnotizing abysses.

He looks at you hopefully. “So… Uh. You said you’ll help me?”

Oh right. You fucking said you’d help him fend off a hoard of virulent old people in face paint.

You look to the right, where the coffee shop is just within sight. Sweet, sweet caffeine, tantalizing you with its saccharine presence, dangling its wretchedly addictive power over your head. If you breathe deeply enough, you think you can smell the coffee beans from here.

You turn back to Namjoon, and you can physically feel the weight of his hopeful gaze on your shoulders. Your defenses have never crumbled so quickly in your life. Fuck him and his stupidly handsome ass.

You sigh, resigning your fate to eternally being whipped for a pair of pretty long legs and size B man titties. “Let’s fucking do this, I guess.” Easier said than done, but you already have one foot in elephant shit, so might as well submerge your whole body as well.

You follow Namjoon closely, having to take two extra steps for every one step that he takes. He crosses the reception area quickly, sending energetic finger guns at Hana which unsurprisingly goes unrequited. You take the more inconspicuous route and wave shyly at her, intimidated by her even after you have long since stopped working here. She levels you with one of her infamous hundred yard stares, lips turned downwards as she appraises you.

“You’ve decided to come back?” she asks, leaning back on her chair with a huff.

Namjoon is in the midst of trying to once again carry all the plates in his Play-Doh arms, so you’re a bit distracted when you shake your head in response. “Uh. N-no, Namjoon just asked me to help with the dishes, that’s all.”

“That’s a shame,” Hana says, no trace of disappointment in her voice whatsoever. She returns to her book, buzzing open the double doors to let the two of you pass. She flicks her hand lazily at the commotion happening behind her. “Better hurry back in there. The seniors are getting antsy.”

The doors open automatically, and you almost topple over when you are immediately bombarded with the terrifying symphony of old people hollering obscenities at frantic volunteers trying desperately to get away from their gnarled clutches. The hoard hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, and you fear to wonder what type of horrors that you will have to face once you step through those doors. You absolutely refuse to die on this hill, not when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet.

“I don’t think we’ll die,” Namjoon says, as if he can read your mind. You look at him skeptically.

“You think?”

He clears his throat. “I can’t promise we’ll come out of this unscathed, though.”

He takes a tentative step forward, the pile of dishes wobbling dangerously on their perch. You are quick to steady the leaning tower of Disa(ster), managing to transfer half of it into your own arms. You grunt, adjusting your stance so that you do not accidentally lose your grip. “Dude. How the hell did you get all those plates out here in the first place?”

Namjoon stands up straighter, the weight significantly easier for him to manage now. He smiles cherubically back at you, eyes crinkling cutely. “Oh, I was literally on survival mode and trying to stop lil Mrs. Sun from gnawing my leg off. The elders can smell fear you see, so they were definitely going to climb on top of me like World War Z and probably kill me.” He pauses, deep in thought. “Although, I think I dropped a plate or two while I was escaping, so watch your step!”

He says all of that with the same eagerness as man who is about to do something crazy, like jump out of a plane or walk a tightrope over a 100 ft canyon. Though, you have to admit that this entire scenario feels like it is on the same calibre.

“Is it me, or are the old people here 10 times crazier than I remember when I volunteered here?”

“You used to work here?” Namjoon says, amazed. “Oh, I didn’t know that! I only started a week ago when some other person resigned due to mental health issues or something.”

“You sure that this place isn’t the cause of their mental decline?” You say it like a joke, though you mean it seriously. Maybe the universe had been looking out for you when decided to get out of this place.

“Hmm… Maybe. Although, we only received this shipment of old people fairly recently.”

Pause. Rewind. “S-shipment?” you repeat, staring at him wildly.

Like the lovable airhead that he is, Namjoon fails to notice your astonishment and instead takes the first brave step forward through the double doors. He tilts his head towards the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him. The plates rattle dangerously from his movements. “C’mon, we gotta get these plates cleaned before the lunch crew comes to take over their shifts!”

Walking to the kitchen is easier than you thought, especially after you take into account the fact that all the old people completely ignored you and chose to only attack Namjoon, for whatever reason. You like to think that it is because the seniors still remember you back when you were still volunteering here and that they hold some semblance of endearment for you, but Namjoon begs to differ. In fact, he screams out his hypothesis as to why you have been left unharmed, all while two older women climb his back like demented crabs.

“Y/N! I think they can’t attack you because you’re in civilian clothes! They only attack scrubs!” Namjoon says, swatting away one of the women off his back with a surprisingly coordinated headbutt. She shrieks as she falls, landing on all four legs like a cat would do. She hisses lowly at you, before scuttling off to somewhere unseen.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” you wince, watching Namjoon unsuccessfully trying to spin quick enough to dislodge the remaining senior.

Namjoon perks up when he catches a glimpse of his attacker’s face, giggling and appearing as if he isn’t currently being assailed by a senior citizen. “Oh, Ms. Kim! I didn’t see you there. I love the zombie make-up you got going. Who helped you?” He looks at you, as if imploring you to compliment her as well.

“Uh. Yes. You’re looking very… yellow.”

Ms. Kim snarls, baring her teeth. “It’s the jaundice,” she says.

Not wanting to stand in that hallway any longer, you carefully place the plates back on the floor before you gently unclamp the old lady’s talons from Namjoon’s poor biceps. You wince, feeling the length of her nails and knowing that Namjoon is going to have some nasty scars.

You tell him so, but he only shakes his head. “Nah? I think they’d be pretty neat! Battle scars are cool right?”

You grimace at him. “If that’s… what you think, then sure.”

After grabbing your plates and hurrying after him before the elders make note of Namjoon’s survival, the two of you share a sigh of relief as you both slowly start piling them into the dishwasher. The task is menial and repetitive, and despite what Namjoon’s earlier chattiness might have suggested, he is quiet while he works. The silence is not as awkward as you feared, and honestly the peace is a welcome respite after all the chaos that you had to endure in such a short period of time. Although, silence has never been a good friend to your overworked mind, as it allowed you to stew inside your own head for much too long––and you have found in your 20 years of existence that it is probably for the best that you are not left without external stimulation for too long.

But here you are, forced to do exactly that. You would have engaged in some conversation with Namjoon to stop yourself from getting in over your head, but you are afraid of what sort of embarrassing topics might spew out of your mouth if you do. Heaven forbid that you start geeking out on him about your unhealthy obsession of collecting miniature glass horse figurines––that is a secret best kept between yourself and the tentacle monster under your bed.

You begin reflecting on the events from the past two weeks, replaying them second by agonizing second and ruminating on the state that your pitiful young adult life has become. The more you allow these memories to simmer, the more you slowly realize the weight of the accumulated stress that has long since made you hunch over like a goblin.

Hoseok and Jimin’s argument comes to the forefront of your mind, the unexpected heat coming from both of them confusing you to no end. You still don’t know the source of their ire towards one another, but what baffles you the most is how you could have missed it in the first place. Sure, you had thought they were at least more than acquaintances; one does not simply challenge a near stranger to a dance off in the middle of a library three times a week, for more than two months and counting. Friends might have been a stretch, though you can’t say you’re familiar with how their schedules look like outside your tutoring sessions together.

The question is though… should you interfere? Normally, you would have stayed far away from anyone else’s drama––you just aren’t the type of person to stick their noses in other people’s business. Yet somehow, you feel as if your poem was the catalyst to this violent chain reaction, that you have inadvertently caused the foundation of a precarious building to explode and bring the whole thing crashing down. To think that your silly love poem for a boy who hardly knows that you exist has become the center of so many people’s lives… the entire thing is giving you a headache.

Speaking of headaches… you should probably confront Namjoon about the poem as well. It is probably best that you plan your approach better this time, seeing as how your two previous attempts have been anything but stellar. Namjoon can’t be that difficult to convince, right? And even if he does see right through you, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would laugh cruelly at you in the event that he figures out that you are the author. Not like Seokjin, at least. Luckily no one is like Seokjin, the fucking rat bastard that he is.

(In the distance, Seokjin has the sudden animalistic urge to slip anthrax in your milk tea the next time he sees you.)

You glance at Namjoon from the corner of your eye, definitely not ogling the way his arms flex as he loads the final couple of plates. The breath catches in your throat when you realize that some time while you were busy swimming in your junkyard of a brain, he had rolled up his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying his god-like veins for the eyes of the deplorable (you) to feast upon.

Your mouth feels dry, even though other parts of you feel more moist than you remember. Oh god, now is not the time to remember how hot this fucking nerd is.

Despite the fact that your biological clock is screaming “HORNY HOUR” at your monkey brain, Namjoon continues to be thankfully unaware of your internal panic. He closes the dishwasher door shut, clicking it on with a relieved sigh. He gives you a megawatt smile and makes your heart leap into a somersault, probably knocking around some vital organs along the way.

“Thanks so much for the help, Y/N! Couldn’t have done it without you!” he cheers, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You wheeze under the impact, waving away his concern despite feeling like your lungs have probably slipped out of your asshole.

“It’s no problem, Namjoon…” you sigh, gazing sadly as Namjoon begins to do a final sweep of the kitchen before inevitably going to sign off for the day. You know your window of opportunity has already closed, and if you had not spent so much time staring at his beautiful man tiddies, you are sure you could have been a little more productive with him. Curse him and his damn chest.

But now, at least you’ll have more time to think of how to approach him and bring up the poem when you aren’t, like, seriously decaffeinated and on the cusp of a heart attack. You are about to bid him farewell with your tail between your legs when his hands cup your cheeks, catching you off guard.

You splutter incomprehensibly, arms flapping about like a fish out of water. “Wha––?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention! After my hours here at the senior home, I have the afternoon shift at the daycare center near our university and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

If Namjoon’s cool, large hands holding your face like a delicate flower had caught you off guard, then his sudden invitation only exacerbated the furious blush blooming across your neck like a rash.

So what do you say?

“Meep,” is what you say, like the verbose poet that you are. Y/N, renowned campus poet, has the vocabulary of a five year old.

“Is that a yes?” Namjoon smiles, letting go off you in favor of looping his gangly arms around your waist. Another unflattering noise escapes your throat at his proximity and his firmness. “That’s so great! The kids love seeing new faces, and I bet they’d love to have a pretty girl around instead of plain ol’ me all the time!”

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

“Yea, sure!” Namjoon says, his stupid grin still on his stupidly handsome face. He does not appear to be embarrassed at all by his brazenness, which is starting to make you think he is either a well-seasoned flirt or just plain oblivious to the implications of his own words. Knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him that the latter might be the reason.

Compliments and unintentional flirting aside, you really did not feel up to another harrowing experience with Namjoon at one of his other volunteering stunts. You are but a woman in clown shoes, and even the most seasoned clowns must have their rest.

“Listen, Namjoon… I don’t think I can go with you. I have to go, uh,” you pause, your hamster brain working a mile a minute. “Water… my dog? No, I mean… feed my plant.” You cringe, mentally slapping yourself.

Namjoon, the sneaky bastard, hits you with his strongest and most potent puppy dog eyes in his arsenal. It was super effective! “Please, Y/N? I won’t take too much of your time! Just play with the kids for two hours and I promise to leave you alone!”

C’mon, Y/N. Focus. Are you the type of woman to break down her defenses for the wilful fancies of any man? You’re made of stronger stuff than this. Surely you can look him in the eye and tell him straight to his face that you would prefer to go home and rest on this beautiful Saturday than go frolicking with a bunch of snot-nosed children––

“Oh, sure. Why the hell not?” you say, like the dumb fucking idiot that you are.

Namjoon’s dimples deepen even further. You glare menacingly at them, knowing full well that they were entirely the cause of your weakness.

“Thank you so much, Y/N! The kids will really appreciate your presence! C’mon, we haven’t got time to lose!”

Namjoon does not even give you the time to fully comprehend your own pitiful existence before he nearly tugs your arm out of its socket as he maneuvers you to the local daycare just a few minutes away from the senior home. You don’t get to say your farewells to any of the seniors or your old work colleagues, but it might be for the best… You will need all the sanity left in your body to survive the rest of the day with Namjoon.

On the bright side, that means you’ll have the chance to talk to him about the poem, though you’re still hesitant to do so with how badly your previous stunts had ended up. But then again, when else would you get another good opportunity to talk to your crush acquaintance about this? You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see what happens next, and hope for the best.

You have been at the daycare for almost three hours now, and there are still no signs of you ever bringing up the poem. You might as well sign your last will and testament with the macaroni art supplies currently decorating your body, making you look like a morbid pasta dish monster from hell. You hope to god that the sticky stuff all over your skin is just cheese… White, rubbery scented cheese…

“Ain’t this fun?” Namjoon calls out from somewhere, presumably under the mass of ten or so toddlers all climbing him like a tree. You are caught in a state of déjà vu as the children start feasting upon any exposed areas of skin that their kid-sized incisors can find.

You just wanted to talk about the fucking poem for fuck’s sake! Instead, you have to deal with thirty 2-foot children and one 6-foot manchild during one of your only free days in a week.

A miniature demon tugs your sleeve, forcing you to tear your eyes away from Namjoon’s slow demise. You bend down to the little gremlin’s height, mouth twitching upwards in what you hope is a somewhat decent smile. Judging by the kid’s unimpressed face, you doubt it.

“Yes?”

“Miss Y/N? Can you tell your boyfriend that Jake peed in the ballpit again? Aera slipped on the puddle and now she’s crying and disturbing the younger kids.”

Record scratch, freeze frame. Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that. Out of all the things the kid had said, you are sure that his implication that you were Namjoon’s girlfriend should not have been on the top of your list of priorities, and yet here you are, your cheeks as flushed as a baboon’s ass.

“He’s not––We’re not––” you stammer, waving your hands as you try to explain to this unenthused six year old that what she said was entirely impossible. “Namjoon is just a friend!”

You turn to look for the man in question, desperate for him to back you up when you realize he is no longer there. Confused, you leave the huffing child in search for him. You leave the main playroom and search the nearby nurseries, the kitchen, the bathroom… all of them with no Namjoon in sight. Just so you can cover all your bases, you decide to check one of the supply closets too, not really expecting to find anything except––

“Namjoon? What the fu––fudge?” You quickly correct yourself, noticing that not only is Kim Namjoon inside the cramped broom closet, but he is also surrounded by five other children huddled around what appears to be a series of tupperwares connected together by plastic straws.

Namjoon hastens a glance at you, before refocusing his attention back onto what he deems to be more important. He nudges his shoulder against the smallest of the bunch, stage whispering into her ear. “Jihyo, did you bet the three lollipops on Ant #3?”

Jihyo shakes her head, looking mildly offended. “Oppa, do you think I’m dumb? I bet all of my chocolate bars on Ant #6.”

Namjoon whistles lowly, impressed. “All-in? You’re one smart lady.”

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

Namjoon has the audacity to hold a finger up to silence you. “Give me a sec… Okay, Seungcheol. You said ten hard candies for Ant #2?”

“Namjoon. Are you seriously running a gambling ring in a daycare?”

He peers up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m, uh… Teaching them about capitalism.” He deposits the candy bets into his pocket before starting the timer on his phone. The children begin to cheer raucously, little fists pumping up as they watch their bets race towards a slice of cake.

“I can’t believe this,” you groan, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow you whole.

Eventually, Namjoon exits the closet, gently closing the door. The shouts of the children become muted immediately. When you gaze inquisitively at him, all he does is shrug his shoulders. “What? Secret clubs allow people to explore their interests.”

At this point, you don’t really want to argue anymore. And so, the hectic day goes by, full of running after the children and occasionally having to reel Namjoon in when he does something bordering on negligence. The parents slowly start filtering in by five in the afternoon, most of whom pat Namjoon affectionately on the back and thanking him for his stellar daycare service.

“Oh, Namjoon! My little Jihyo absolutely adores you! She hardly wants to leave whenever I come to pick her up.” Jihyo’s mother smiles, slipping a small tip into Namjoon’s waiting palm. The little shit pockets it, bowing graciously at her.

“All in a day’s work, madame. I just love children, you know?” he says, sighing dramatically.

From behind her mother, Jihyo gorges herself on her prize winnings, shoving a whole packet of M&M’s into her mouth. She swallows them quickly when her mother turns to bring her home.

“I hate this,” you say to yourself, smiling through the pain.

“Oh, before I forget!” Jihyo’s mother dashes back inside, startling you. She approaches you, grasping your hands in hers and shaking it wildly until you can hear your joints pop out of their sockets. “Your name is Y/N right? Thank you for taking care of Namjoon, too. It’s so nice to see that he’s finally snagged a girl as pretty as you.”

It is a testament to how dead inside you truly are by how nonplussed you are by their unfounded accusation. At this point, they could congratulate you on your recent engagement to Namjoon and you probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Thanks.” All in a day’s work of being a madman’s little bitch for the day.

After the last child is taken away, your Saturday finally ends. There had been no poem discussion and no progress made; only your respect from one of your long-time crushes being whittled away like the soaps on those ASMR channels until you are left with useless cubes of Irish Spring scented granules.

On your way home, you pass by Seokjin sitting languidly on the bench outside the coffee shop that you had originally intended to go to this morning. The closed sign greets you impetuously, and your wounds are salted further by the sheer presence of the most annoying man on the planet.

Seokjin sips on his venti iced Americano, Gucci sunglasses tipped downward on his nose. An odd, high pitched windshield wiper sound escapes his lips, and you belatedly realize that he must be his version of laughter. “Y/N. So nice to see you. I’m guessing that you just came out of a… fishy affair?”

You grind your teeth, flexing forward with the intent of hitting the rat bastard. Fish crackers fall out of your hair in clumps from your movement. “I’ll eat your toes if you say another word about this.”

You say that, but you know that there will be photos of you out on Facebook by the time your head meets your pillow for the night, as you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter go off as you limp sadly back home.

The following Monday, you resolve to talk to Namjoon during your History of Music class together.

Now normally, you would never subject yourself to sitting near Namjoon in class. No, it is not because of your debilitating crush, nor his eccentric personality, nor something unexpected like insanely toxic body odor (which he does not have, by the way. He always smells alarmingly like cotton candy.) In fact, nobody likes to sit near Namjoon, made apparent by the two row radius of empty chairs around him. As much as everyone adores and idolizes him for his talent, no one can stand his propensity to overachieve like the infuriating know-it-all that he is. His hand is perpetually up in the air, begging to be picked for recitation, always with something profound to say.

“Sir, I don’t think your notes are correct. From my research, that type of music would not have existed until the 1600s––”

“Namjoon,” your professor seethes, Powerpoint clicker clutched tightly in his fists. His left eyebrow twitches concerningly as he tries to calm his breathing. “I would prefer it greatly if you do not question the actual expert in this area, is that okay with you?”

Yeah. He is definitely not someone you’d want to sit beside.

Though, he really makes it hard not to want to be around him. Despite all the imperfect parts of his personality, Namjoon always looks like the cover model of what a perfect college boyfriend should dress like. Terrible dyejob aside, his hair is slicked back in a fashionable way, revealing his beautiful forehead for all of humanity to behold. He is wearing a fitted graphic tee under a denim jacket, with loose brown slacks that look good on his endlessly long legs. To top it off, his signature wire-frame glasses sit daintily on his nose, making him appear as smart as he is.

You are suddenly reminded of the true scale of your crush on him as sweat begins to build on your neck and down your backside. How the hell are you going to approach him now that you are perfectly aware of how good he looks? It is people like Kim Namjoon that remind you of this universal truth: attractive people only exist to cause the less fortunate to forget how to use their basic motor skills.

Focus. Remember how much of a crackhead he was last Saturday? Okay, retain that information. Remember how fucking stupid he is, and this will be much easier on your heart and your loins.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to where he is seated, right at the front of the class. It is a long way down the auditorium to where he is, and you can feel the stares of a few of your classmates as you make the treacherous journey right into the proverbial lion’s maw. You do your best to ignore them, quietly sliding up next to him and waiting for him to notice your presence.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he is jotting something frantically on a notebook, a mess of words in more languages than you can speak decorating every available space on the smooth white pages. At the top of the paper, you can see what might be a tentative title for a song, perhaps? You can’t be too entirely sure, as Namjoon is part of so many clubs and organizations that he might as well be writing next week’s lunch menu for the cafeteria.

(Highly doubtful as Namjoon has a reputation for allowing inflammable things to catch on fire, but you wouldn’t put it past him to at least try and apply for a culinary position.)

It seems that Namjoon is too immersed in his writing to greet you himself, so you have to be the one to steel yourself and strike a conversation with him instead.

“Uh. Hey… Namjoon?” Smooth like butter. Seokjin would be proud.

Namjoon doesn’t reply. He keeps scribbling along, humming something indistinct under his breath.

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

No response. Again, “Hello?” You wave a hand in front of his face. His blinking slows for a second, but he continues to ignore you.

Starting to get pissed off, you huff quietly to yourself before bringing your palm backwards and slapping him upside the head. “HEY PANINI HEAD! YOU FUCKING IN THERE OR WHAT?”

That manages to bring him out of his headspace, thankfully. “Huzzat?” Namjoon jumps, cradling the back of his neck gingerly as he stares at you, confused. Recognition filters through his eyes as he realizes belatedly what had just happened. He blushes slightly. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. Were you really going to ignore me for the rest of the class if I hadn’t slapped you?”

Namjoon shrugs, grinning in that cute goofy way that he does. “Sorry. ‘M not used to people sitting beside me, is all. Glad to have a friend in this class though! Have you always been in this class?”

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

Namjoon nods, turning back to his notebook. “Sorry for ignoring you. I really didn’t mean it. When I’m in the middle of writing, it’s kind of hard to get me out of my own brain. Plus, this draft is due in two weeks and I’ve scrapped three pages worth of lyrics already… I’m kind of in a panic right now.”

You peek over his arm, trying your best to decipher some of his words. Your interest is piqued, always having wanted to see his draft notebook ever since that first time he showed you Moonchild almost a year ago. “Lungs have capsized… I am drowning in my own body… Wow, those are some dark stuff.”

“You think so?” Namjoon squints at his own messy handwriting. “I got inspired by the fish in the aquarium I volunteer in. I’m actually excited to go back there, because I want to play it for the fish and see if they like it.”

“Isn’t it better to play it at the daycare of senior home so you can actually get… human feedback?”

Namjoon gasps, hand to his heart, offended. “How dare you assume that fish can’t give quality feedback!”

“Right,” you cough, raising your hands in defeat. How dare you, indeed. “Sorry.”

Namjoon sniffs, closing his notebook just as the professor walks in to start the class. “You better be. The fishies get really offended when people say stuff like that.”

The professor begins the moment he sets down his things, so you know you won’t have time to bring up the poem, not when Namjoon is already starting to fall into his overachieving know-it-all student persona. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Hey, I have to ask you something later after class. Will you stay behind for a few moments?”

“Sure,” Namjoon replies cheerily, flipping on his laptop to start taking down notes. He stops in his tracks before gazing warily at you. “Hold on. If this is about the fishies again…”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, so you sigh instead. “No, Namjoon. This isn’t about the fishies.”

Appeased, Namjoon returns to listening attentively to the professor drone on about dead musicians and their impact on musical culture. You hardly take any notes, still nervous about talking to Namjoon about the poem. What would be the best way to approach the subject, you wonder? Your previous attempts with Seokjin and Hoseok had featured a lot of yelling and arguing, and you would prefer not to leave a bad impression on Namjoon of all people. Additionally, you don’t want to know what arguing with Namjoon would entail, because you have a strong feeling that any debate with him will only leave you second guessing your entire existence with how good he is at flipping the subject. Or, you could always kick him in the knees, but that would be like overpowering a baby––you’d be a monster for taking advantage of him.

The short one hour lecture flies by quicker than you would like. To your surprise, Namjoon only interrupts the professor twice, so you suppose that’s a win for everyone else.

“Alright class. Please remember that the research paper regarding 17th century music is due on the Friday before your break,” your professor says. He points a stern look at all of you, and maybe you’re imagining it, but somehow you feel like he pauses just a second longer when he passes his gaze over you. “And please, try not to send your paper to the entire student body to air your secret little crushes like a bunch of lovestruck idiots.”

Your ears turn an unflattering shade of red as most of the students chuckle at his little joke, all of them probably not knowing that the lovestruck idiot was just a few seats away.

“C’mon, Namjoon.” You sigh, shrugging on your backpack as you wait for him to finish packing up. Namjoon watches you curiously, brows furrowed.

“You seem dejected. Are you having trouble with class? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“N-not… not really,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we talk about this outside? People for the next class are starting to come in.”

Namjoon follows you dutifully from behind, and you can hear him bid his farewells to a few giggling freshmen as the two of you exit the lecture hall. They coo openly in his presence, with one of them bold enough to compliment his fairly generous bosom, her fingers twitching as if she is only one push away from grabbing them by the fistful.

You walk towards the small cafe near the entrance of the building, grabbing one of the empty chairs and gesturing for Namjoon to sit across from you. He does as you say, confusion still gracing his handsome features.

“So, will you tell me why you’ve called me out here now?” Namjoon asks. Before you can respond, however, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a half squished sandwich. He offers you the less crushed half, like the gentleman that he is, but you find it hard to accept when you feel like your stomach is turning inside out with nerves.

“Umm… How do I say this…” You groan, leg bouncing so incessantly that the poor table begins to shake. Namjoon doesn’t even try to stop his other sandwich half from sliding over, instead giving you a concerned glance.

Fuck it. Better to rip the band-aid off in one swoop, right?

“Y/N––?”

“Namjoon, are you aware that people think someone wrote a stupid love poem about you?”

His previously open mouth clamps shut, then. He stares at you in confusion, a dollop of mayonnaise hanging off his jutting chin. “What?”

Panicking slightly, you’re quick to continue your train of thought, probably to your own detriment. “NOT that the poem is about you, by the way. Well, it could be? No? I DIDN’T WRITE IT!” Pause for heavy breathing. “A-anyway, that’s not the point… I just wanted to ask if you were… umm… aware of it. Yeah. That’s it.”

Ohhhh my god. You stupid idiot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck you fucking stupid piece of shit ass tit fuck what other swear words are there oh yeah FUCK!!!

In the midst of your personal mental beatdown, you fail to see Namjoon’s genuine look of confusion, his head tilted to the side as he watches your face turn red. He chews on his sandwich thoughtfully. “Uh? No? I’m not aware? I really have no idea what you are talking about, Y/N.”

You finally stop swearing at yourself. “Wait, really?”

Namjoon nods his head. “Really. What poem are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t really like being teased; I get enough of that from Seokjin.”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon raises his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t joke about something that is clearly giving you distress.”

“It’s not causing me distress!” You screech back, voice cracking from your tone going up a pitch. You clear your throat. “Um. Wait. So that means you haven’t heard about the huge rumor going around about a love poem being about you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, lips pursed. “Not a clue. Am I supposed to?”

Huh. You stare at the imbecile before you, his previously handsome looks starting to look less appealing by the minute. Is this shithead for real? Did you really spend hours worrying over how you would approach him about the poem, only to find out that he has no clue what you’re talking about? Like, how is it even possible for him not to know? You can’t even spend a minute doing anything without someone bringing up that stupid mistake of a poem. How the hell did you ever have a crush on him?

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

“Oh shit,” you curse, slapping a palm to your mouth. Did you fucking say that out loud?  

“Sorry,” Namjoon swallows thickly, a large bite of his sandwich visibly going down his gullet. “I was chewing too loudly so I didn’t hear you properly.”

You heave a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe being an idiot has its benefits.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t anything important,” you say, already arranging your things to get up and leave. If Namjoon is oblivious to all the poem shenanigans that have been circling campus, then who are you to inform him? All you can hope now is that he remains ignorant of the poem at all, and chalk it up as a success in your book. It’s not like he’s going to be curious to find out more anyway––

“Wait! Don’t go! You’ve piqued my interest now. I wanna know what you were talking about,” Namjoon pipes up, leaning his lanky body sidewards so as to block you from leaving. You halt in your movements, surprised by his sudden inquiry.

Sweat starts to form in the middle of your back at his earnest curiosity. “I––it’s nothing, Namjoon. I was just messing with you. Don’t worry about it.” You laugh nervously.

“I don’t think you were?” Namjoon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have been so adamant to call me out here just to be joking.”

“Listen, I really have to go. I have another class soon and I wanna grab lunch before I––”

“You said something about a poem.” He remains undeterred, pulling out his phone. “And it’s about me? Well, not about me, if that’s what you’re saying…”

“Hold up!” You snatch his phone out of his hands, holding it behind you to keep it from his reach. Even though you know his inquisitiveness is not his fault, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to punch him square in his cute little nose. Hell, you don’t recall wanting to fight anyone as much as you do right now.

(Seokjin sneezes somewhere in the distance, feeling offended for whatever reason. “Y/N should only be punching me,” he thinks to himself as he dumps way too much purple dye on this poor lady’s head.)

“Why are you being so weird right now? Give me back my phone!” He pouts at you, not at all knowing that your resolve is already quickly crumbling before him.

“I…” You gulp, foot tapping restlessly as you try to think of what to do. “Okay. Fine, I’ll show you the poem. Just… don’t read too deeply into it, okay? It’s just a stupid thing that got too many people excited over nothing.”

“Sure,” Namjoon nods his head, acquiescing quickly. “I don’t really like paying attention to much of the rumors and trends that happen on campus. I just want to see what this poem is all about.”

“Just… don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, returning his phone to him. You direct him to the university confessions group page, watching as his fingers fumbled with his keyboard. Eventually, he gets to the post (pinned to the top, forever mocking you for your stupidity) and reads the short piece in record time.

There is a pause where neither of you speak. You know he has finished reading it from the way he has started to scroll down to the comments, though he quickly jumps back to the top when you glare at him to stop. He leans back into his chair, closing his phone and stares at you expressionlessly.

You click your nails across the coffee shop table as you observe him suspiciously, his lack of response making you more nervous. “Well?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up––but not in a way that might suggest glee or satisfaction––and he stays frozen like that for a bit. You have the sudden urge to wave your hand in front of him to check if he’s fine, and being the type of person to submit to your urges, you do as you please.

Thankfully, he snaps out of it, blinking quickly as if he’s forgotten that you were there. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. The poem, uh… How do I put it…”

“What?” What on earth could he have a problem with? Does he genuinely think the poem might be about him? “If you’re starting to think that the poem may be about you––”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Namjoon opens his phone again, peering at the poem questioningly. “I was just going to say that this poem is a lot less impressive than you were hyping it up to be.”

Excuse me??????? He did not fucking just say that.

“You did not just fucking say that,” you verbalize, glowering at him. You can feel the fumes start to steam out of your ears, but Namjoon remains oblivious (as per usual) to your emotions. He just hums, shrugging his shoulders with his nose upturned in the air, as if he had just smelled something horrible.

“It’s just… the meter is all messed up… Like, I’m all about free verse or whatever, but I can tell the author is trying waaaay too hard to keep whatever rhythm they had going on in the first verse.” He scrolls through the poem some more, before stopping somewhere in the middle. He shows you one of your favorite verses with a look of something akin to disdain. “And what’s up with all the moon references? That theme is so overused.”

“YOUR MIXTAPE LITERALLY HAS A SONG CALLED MOONCHILD! THAT’S WHY PEOPLE THINK THE POEM IS ABOUT YOU!” You explode, spittle flying everywhere from the force of your shout. A group of freshmen sitting nearby jump up in surprise, though most of the older, more dead-eyed college students do not even bat an eye at your spectacle. This university is full of cuckoos, is what they are probably thinking.

The biggest cuckoo of them all looks at you defensively, frowning somewhat irritably. Namjoon continues, “Yeah, but I used the moon in my song in a classy way! I would be offended if someone would write this poem for me after being inspired by my song.”

Is it possible for blood to boil inside your veins? Because you’re really starting to feel heat trail up your back up to your neck, causing you to see nothing but red and the tantalizing vision of your hands around his neck. Easy, Y/N. You can’t afford anger management therapy; you have a tuition to pay.

In all seriousness though, you cannot take this any longer. You have suffered long enough while having to follow Namjoon around like a bitch for two days, and if karma still wants to use the strap on you, then she’s going to have to do it some other day because you cannot physically stand being around Namjoon for another ten seconds if you can help it. And this is coming from someone who is around Kim Seokjin at least twice a week, so it is obvious that your patience and sanity is truly at its limit.

“I’m done.” You are barely able to keep yourself from slamming your head against the table. Instead, you stand up hastily, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shoulder your bag quickly, waving at him without even turning to face him. The sooner you get away from him, the better. “You can think what you want. Just live your life, man. I’m done.”

“Okay? Well, have a nice day, Y/N!” Namjoon calls out a cheery goodbye, though his tone obviously still sounds confused even as you walk further and further away from him, a trainwreck of a human being. You resolve to yourself to call Hana the next morning to ask her to slip some opened sweets into his jean pocket so the ants at the daycare might climb out of their shelter to bite him in the balls.

How did you ever have a crush on that bastard? I guess that mystery will have to remain… unsolved.

Unluckily, your mood does not improve after lunch, nor do you calm down after your next class either. In fact, you are still steaming when you arrive to your tutoring session with Hoseok, so much so that you have completely forgotten to be worried about him after the events of last Friday.

(Record scratch, freeze frame. Pause. What the hell happened last Friday again? Your overworked brain cells can only handle one stressful event at a time, so you suppose that problem with Hoseok and Jimin will have to be solved another day.)

Hoseok, the caring boy that he is, also forgets to retain his moodiness from Friday’s argument when he spots you looking like you were about to pop a blood vessel at any moment.

Hoseok sits hesitantly in front of you, even placing his textbooks gently onto the table as if any sudden sounds might cause you to self-combust and splatter your guts all over the library floor. The only thing really keeping you from doing exactly that is because you wouldn’t want poor Jungkook the library assistant to have to clean up your mess.

“Umm… Hey, Y/N. You okay? You look kind of… red.” Hoseok says carefully, smile twitching on his face.

The suddenness at which you slam your hands on the table causes not only Hoseok, but also Jungkook who is three whole bookshelves away, to jump up in surprise. The former makes a terrified scream to accompany his leap into the air, staring at your frantically with his fists held up in defense.

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

“SHUT UP!” You point a finger menacingly at him, making him shriek once more. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding audibly. “YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT, HOSEOK? I’LL WRITE THE NICEST POEM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR YOU, OKAY? YOU DESERVE IT! FUCK WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS! I’M A GOOD WRITER AND NOTHING KIM NAMJOON SAYS WILL CHANGE THAT!”

Hoseok’s mouth opens, agape. He doesn’t know how to respond, not quite understanding what you were saying in the first place. A lot of angry words spilled from your lips in such a short amount of time, and Hoseok was more impressed with your flow than anything. Were you a rapper, by any chance?

Unaware of Hoseok’s musings, you huff loudly to yourself, slamming open your lecture notes and shoving them aggressively towards him. “ALSO, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF WRITING A REVIEWER FOR YOUR MIDTERM! PLEASE READ THROUGH THEM IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!”

“Umm… Thanks?” Hoseok says, not really sure which part of your loud declarations he is specifically thanking you for. He sneaks a glance at the front desk, thankful that it is only meek little Jungkook in charge today and not the cranky older librarian who already has a personal vendetta against you and your tutoring group for being public nuisances (not that she was unjustly pointing fingers, of course).

Your mental collapse aside, the rest of his tutoring session goes smoothly, with Hoseok still walking on eggshells around you just in case you might feel like exploding again. You know, for fun or something. Although, he does end up asking if he can leave a few minutes early, saying something about a paper due at the end of the week. The excuse doesn’t make you bat an eye until Jimin arrives for his own session, his grin faltering when he sees his hyung not there to greet him with their usual dance battle in the library.

“Ah… Guess Hoseok-hyung really is still mad over what happened…” Jimin sighs, slumping into his chair. He thumbs his textbook thoughtfully, tongue sticking out like a puppy.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over soon,” you say hopefully, though your heart isn’t quite in it either. Coughing awkwardly, you pluck his textbook out of his hands, desperate to talk about something else other than your crumbling interpersonal relationships. You pause at the page, however, before staring incredulously back at Jimin.

“Jimin.”

“Hmm?” Jimin is still listless, head pillowed by his arms on the table. “What?”

“This is a book on differential calculus. I’m supposed to teach you about writing academic essays.”

“Oh yeah,” Jimin sighs, closing his eyes. “I stole that book from some freshman on the way here. The English textbook I usually bring is with Taehyung right now.”

You pause. Actually, now that you think about it… “Jimin, do you actually even go to this university? What the hell is your major, even?”

“Wha-?” Jimin yawns, fanning his mouth with his hand. He blinks sleepily at you with a big, doofy grin. “Sorry, I played MapleStory for hours last night and I haven’t gotten much sleep. Can I just sleep during this session? I’ll still pay you or whatever…” he trails off, stretching like a cat under a patch of sunlight. Before you know it, the soft sound of Jimin’s snoring fills the silence.

Thankfully, Monday ends without much more commotion. You may have come out of this experience a little bit more broken inside, but hey! That’s what character development is all about, babey. You are just glad that Tuesdays are usually your quietest days, as you only have two classes to worry about. It is also one of the days when you have Creative Writing with Sera, who usually manages to rope you in to get greasy fast food after class. Despite the traumatic experience that particular class has indirectly inflicted upon you, your usual zeal and excitement does not diminish in the slightest. After all, writing will always be your first love, so there isn’t any way some silly poem mishap will make you detest it.

Hopefully nothing else will go wrong, because you aren’t so sure your sanity can take much more of a pounding.

(Fwip. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of karma putting on her strap.)

“Alright class, see you guys on Thursday. Don’t forget that we have a quiz at the beginning of class on Thursday, so please don’t be late.” Professor Puth says, his eyelids blinking out of sync. You hate to be someone who assumes what other people do during their off days as it is none of your business, though the perpetual cloud of marijuana that clings around him can only do so much to mask what his recreational activities might be.

“Dude, I think Prof Puth is finding Nirvana soon,” Sera says loudly, earning the giggles of a few classmates nearby.

“I’d be surprised if he could even find the exit of this building,” you snort, just as the man in question trips over air and nearly faceplants on the ground. Like the model students that you are, you both pretend to be busy doing something else, leaving some other poor soul to help your professor.

Two girls that you vaguely remember from somewhere approach Professor Puth. They are quick to help him straighten up, if his groaning and gasping are anything to go by. He thanks them gruffly and waves them off, but the girls seem adamant to stay put.

“Professor, I have a question…” One of the girls asks, nervously tugging on her ponytail. Her friend giggles surreptitiously beside her, urging her to continue. Their odd demeanor causes signals to go off in your brain, telling you to stop and listen. You tug on Sera’s hand, halting her from leaving.

“Wait. I wanna hear what they’re gonna ask,” you mutter, ignoring Sera’s complaints about being hungry. She can wait for her McNuggets for another five minutes, no matter how much she pretends that she’s starving. You had seen her eat two whole burritos before coming into class today.

Professor Puth raises his brow. “Yes? What do you need?”

“We were just wondering if you could… tell us anything about the identity of the author from that poem?” The girl manages to get all of it out in a rush, cheeks flushed as her friend nods fervently beside her.

“Yea, Prof! We’ve been dying to know! The suspense is killing us, knowing that the mystery author is in one of your classes!” The other girl continues, glittery excitement practically exuding out of her in waves.

Professor Puth sighs, leaning heavily on his desk. He appears about as done as you feel. “Listen… You can badger me all you want, but there’s no way I can tell you. Privacy laws prevent us from sharing information like that without prior consent, even though that student in question might have accidentally sent her assignment to the entire school.” You might be imagining it, but you think Professor Puth points you with a knowing look. You gulp, hastily bowing your head and pretending to fiddle with your phone.

“Aww, Prof! It’s been days and the university hasn’t shut up about it! Surely one of the theories on who the author and muse are must be true, right? You can tell us that, at least.”

You can’t bear to keep listening any longer, though Sera has started to become more interested in the conversation as it progressed. “Wait, wait… I wanna hear the Prof’s opinion,” she says, grinning despite your nails digging crescents into her arm as you try to pull her away.

“No can do! Remember, I have your freshman Halloween pictures saved on a harddrive, and you wouldn’t want me to accidentally send that to the entire student body as well, would you?”

That manages to snap her out of it. Quickly, the two of you leave the lecture hall and away from possible discovery by your poem-frenzied classmates. You are also relieved to be able to breathe in fresh air once more, after being stuck in that class surrounded by liberal art students for two hours. You always do feel a little bit more relaxed after class with Puth, although that might just be from all the secondhand drug use.

Perhaps the fumes really did dull your reflexes, as it takes a while before you realize that Sera has been nudging your shoulder.

When you finally glanced at her, there is a sneaky grin on her face: never a good sign. “So,” she begins, a singsong quality in her voice

After having been her friend for long enough, you have become adept at telling what Sera is going to say next. Call it intuition or whatever, but you like to think of it is a self-defense mechanism. As much as she is your friend, she does love digging into your personal life like it is the cover story of some shitty tabloid. You have to prepare yourself to be interrogated.

“You’re going to ask about the poem, aren’t you?”

Sera rolls her eyes, like you shouldn’t have even asked. “Duh, of course I am. What else would I want to talk about?”

You shrug your shoulders, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have asked ‘Hey, Y/N! How’s your mom been? Have you been eating and drinking well?’ You know, like a normal person.”

“Well, firstable, your mom is literally my friend on Facebook and I saw her go out to that bougie high tea place with Jennie’s mom the other day, so I know she’s fine,” Sera says as the two of you round a corner, heading closer to the parking lot where her car is. “And secondable, you don’t fucking drink water, because you like pretending to be a dehydrated piece of jerky.”

“I just like drinking apple juice, okay? Water is weird,” you say defensively, kicking a pebble as you walk.

“Nah, you’re weird,” Sera counters, ever the creative debater. She remains undeterred, however. “So. Any updates on the poem situation or am I going to have tickle the details out of you?”

You groan, pushing her away from your sensitive sides. “Please don’t… I have no upper body strength and I won’t be able to push you off!”

“That’s the point.” Sera laughs, pinching your cheek. She snatches her hand away, only narrowly escapes getting bitten by you. “Why don’t we skip my torture methods then and go straight to the juicy bits? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

“What if nothing has happened since I last saw you?” You grumble, miffed that she really isn’t letting it go. You just want to have one relaxing day, is that too much to ask?

Apparently, it is. Relaxation is a rare commodity these days. Sera snorts, patting you condescendingly on the back. “Nonsense. You’ve got that post-mental breakdown glow around you. You look absolutely radiant with stress!”

The conversations pauses for a bit when you make it to the parking lot. You don’t have to walk too far, as her car is parked relatively close to the exit, which is just another display of how lucky Sera often is in comparison to you. While your unfortunate plebeian ass is busy drowning in shit, Sera is off somewhere aboard a yacht, getting a massage from some Instagram thot.

She hops into the driver’s seat, waiting for you to put your seatbelt on before backing out with one hand on the wheel. “McDonalds?” she asks, though it is pretty much a given that is where you are going. The last time you both tried diverging from your usual hang out spot, you got intense food poisoning from eating at Chipotle. Sera came out completely fine though, that lucky bitch.

She continues her questions on the drive there, and you relent by telling her most of what has happened to you over the past few days. You gloss over the argument between Hoseok and Jimin, not really wanting their spat to suddenly go viral on Facebook as well. Everything else, however––

“Wait, so you talked to Kim Namjoon? The Kim Namjoon? The Namjoon that you had an embarrassing crush on during our first year?” Sera laughs maniacally, almost driving off into the wrong lane. Luckily, you are quick to latch onto the wheel, saving the two of you from becoming roadkill.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“No, but Y/N! That’s literally so fucking funny!” Sera’s laughter has simmered to a giggle, despite the fact that she is still trying (and failing) to furtively glance your way when you hit a stoplight. “Is he like how you remember? God, do you remember how you were after you first met him? All starstruck because your senpai showed you a draft of his single? ‘Oh, Sera! He has the most amaaaazing flow! I’m going to suck his di––’”

“Shut up!” You whine, slapping her in embarrassment. “Believe me, that crush has died, along with any respect I may have had for him. Men are scum, and I’m going to only date girls from now on.”

“Fine by me! More dick to suck for me, I guess.” Sera teases, whistling innocently. Bold of her to assume that there is any innocent or pure bone in her body; you’ve seen her thirst tweets and no amount of holy water can cure the disease that your vision must have sustained.

“I just want the rumors to die down… It would make my life way more bearable.” You murmur to yourself, sliding down your seat.

Sera is silent for a while. The McDonalds is just within sight, so Sera waits until she has finished parking before she turns to face you fully, uncanny sincerity in her expression. It unnerves you how serious she is, not when you know that this is the same girl who would snort sugar packets if you bet her $5. She places her hands on your shoulder, fixing you with a meaningful look.

“Listen, Y/N. I know all of this is tough right now, but I’m sure it’s going to be alright, okay? The rumor is going to die down soon enough, and everything will be back to normal. Stay strong for now.” Her voice is soothing, sympathy dripping from every word. As mortifying as it is to admit, the tears flow down your cheek effortlessly; perhaps it is the consequence of having to bear this burden on your own for so long without anyone actually telling you that it’s going to be alright.

“Thanks… I think I needed that,” you say after a while, sniffling just a bit. Sera grins fondly at you, wiping your tears.

“No need to thank me. I may be a chaotic shithead, but I’m also your friend.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, gesturing for you to do the same. “C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll even share my nuggets with you.”

Despite her best efforts at comfort, you still feel a little bummed. You allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, as McDonalds is a prime location to feel shitty about your life choices anyway. The heart attack inducing food, the barely hygienic facilities, the minimum wage high school employees… Nothing else screamed “I’d rather be dead but it could also be worse” quite like Mickey D’s often did.

You wait by one of the booths while Sera goes off to order for the both of you, leaving you with her phone and other belongings. She promises to let you eat four out of the twenty nugget pieces, which is asking a lot considering who you are dealing with. Sera could probably eat sixty nuggets if she so desired, but only stops herself so she can be physically well enough to continue being a thot. Chasing men all day requires physical fitness, or so she says.

When you go to place her things on the other side of the booth, you notice that Sera had accidentally left her phone unlocked. You can see that she had been previously looking at one of those popular forum sites for your university, where most of her repertoire of gossip is usually sourced from. You aren’t usually the type to frequent those types of pages, with good reason too. That exact forum is the reason of your current stress, where your most private thoughts and feelings were revealed for all to see. Any sort of positive opinion you might have had for that site was immediately dashed the moment that cursed poem was released into the wild.

It kind of pisses you off that Sera still uses that forum despite knowing how much anxiety it has caused you, but then again, there is only so much you can expect from her. Her appetite for drama and chaos is her way of life, her only other hobby aside from writing. You also vaguely recall her saying that she gathers inspiration for her short stories from some of the more outrageous posts made by your fellow schoolmates.

In the end, curiosity gets the best of you as you stare at the open webpage, tantalizing despite the murkiness that lies within. Oh, lighten up. It’s just a confessions page… Besides, you also kind of want to see what people are saying about your poem, and whether the commotion might have died even slightly over time. (Unlikely, but you remain hopeful.)

“Let’s see,” you murmur to yourself, sneaking glances at the counter to see if Sera is close to ordering. She appears to still be next in line to order, so that might give you enough time to read a few of the comments on the post. It doesn’t take you long to find the original post either, since Sera seems to have been perusing the same thing just beforehand.

“Typical Sera...  Sympathetic in the streets, a nosey bitch in the sheets.” You snort, scrolling quickly through the comment section. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for a few overenthusiastic responses from a couple of people who have bombarded the forum so much that it takes you a few moments to navigate past their thread. You catch a few words here and there, mostly the names of the seven possible muses and not so much the names of any of the possible authors. Honestly, you are more than happy with these turn of events, perfectly content as long as your identity never sees the day where it becomes associated with that disaster piece.

You sort the comments by popularity, wanting to know what everyone’s biggest guesses are. You want to remain hopeful, but as the results start to load, the wave of nausea that suddenly hits you may have been the first warning signal that you should probably stop before you read something that you will regret.

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

[+103, -4] i’m really hoping that kim seokjin is the muse of the poem!! has anyone seen the ads for the new play he’s staring in? he totally looks like the lead actor in a romantic comedy ^^

➾ [+54, -69] psh. that idiot, the muse? PLEASE anyone who has ever worked for kim seokjin KNOWS that it’s physically impossible to form a human connection with that man

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

[+88, -3] WAIT why am i not seeing kim namjoon’s name more often T_T he deserves more love!! stream moonchild or else i’ll bite your ankles

➾ [+1, -6] lol i miss when namjoon used to do actual hiphop… fucking hippie dippie go fuck a tree and some crabs while you’re at it

You sneak a look over your shoulder. Sera is at the front of the line, reciting her orders while the harried employee has to quickly punch in the inordinate amount of food items. Okay… While no one’s looking, time to downvote a couple of these and maybe report some of these assholes… No way in hell are you letting anyone think Moonlight Sonata is about either of those Kim idiots. You would honestly rather out yourself than let anyone think they are worthy of such public displays of love and humiliation.

You are just about to close Sera’s phone and vow never to set foot on social media ever again when the next post catches your eye––the first one where you actually see your name. In fact, your name is generously sprinkled a number of times in this one specific thread.

“Wait a second…” You squint at the top of the thread, reading out the username of the original poster. Is that… Is that your name?!

“User Y/NKook… Oh my god!” You shriek loudly, almost dropping the phone from your sweaty palms. It must be the same person who had organized that merchandise booth in the cafeteria the other week! The number of upvotes on the post isn’t making you feel any better.

posted by u/Y/NKook [3h ago]:

[+98, -5] idk why you noobs are even trying… intellectuals KNOW that y/nkook is real and i won’t take no for an answer… give me my childhood friends to lovers fic RIGHT NOW because this slowburn has been going on for years now and i can’t stand it!!!

➾ [+11, -0] omg op do you know them personally?? how’d you know that they were childhood friends?? i go to the same drama class as y/n and jungkook but they never sit together… are you sure it’s them??

➾ [+20, -1] of course!! they’re even neighbors… besides, haven’t you heard what his nickname is? his friends call him moon eyes for a reason! they say that y/n is the one who gave him that name ^^

You feel your eye twitch, disbelief flooding your senses. Why is this weirdo shipping you with Jungkook? You guys haven’t even spoken properly since elementary school… How does this dude know who you are? Are you being stalked? You whirl your head around, scanning the restaurant for any suspicious people who may or may not be following you. Is this what celebrities feel like when they get shipped with their friends? You feel a sudden surge of respect for them, unable to grasp the situation that you are in. God, you really hope Jungkook hasn’t read any of these.

You go to switch Sera’s phone off, feeling less accomplished than ever before. Maybe it is best to save yourself the anxiety of seeing your world fall apart and try to delude yourself into thinking that the past two weeks have never happened at all. However, there is a certain appeal to reading things that you know you should not, like watching a car crash and unable to look away. The urge to keep scrolling and gaze upon your own personal hell is hard to stop when you have already gained momentum.

“One last post, then I’m done…” You are hard set on that promise, not wanting your apprehension to destroy your peaceful afternoon completely. The next post on the forum greets you with a high upvote number, sending a lick of fear to run down your spine at what you might find. Please don’t be about Y/NKook, you pray helplessly. Little did you know, there are worse things to worry about other than being shipped with your friends.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

[+154, -5] hey guys i’m back again with another update! so i’ve managed to shorten the list a bit since last time i posted, and i’m 100% certain that kim seokjin is not the muse! sorry, gamers… our prince is in another castle it seems. worry not, though! that only helps our search better and shortens the list. on the other hand, the authors list has also been edited! turns out that neither jodi nor melody is the author, as they both submitted poems about something else. if you are interested to see the updated lists for both muse and author, please head to my profile and look for the original post titled “Mystery Moon Author & Their Mystery Muse” :-)

You have never clicked on a profile as quickly as you did in that moment. Not even a notification from UberEats could make you move that fast.

Lo and behold, the post that started it all is right at the top of the user’s profile, with the significantly shorter list that they had promised. Sweat begins to build on your temples when you realize that the authors list has decreased to seven names, with your name still obstinately sitting at the end of the lines. When will your suffering end?

There is still something that doesn’t sit right with you, however. As you peruse this user’s profile some more, you feel as if there is something weird about it that you can’t quite place. You never did like using this forum, so maybe you are just not used to the layout of the website? What is it about this user’s profile that is making your stomach coil with nerves?

Wait a second… Why is there an edit button beside their profile picture?

“Y/N! I’m back! Sorry for taking so long; I think I ordered too much again. You’re fine with BBQ sauce on your nuggs, right? That’s all I asked for––” Sera had been happily chirping away, sliding into the bench across from you before finally noticing your stoney face. She pats her face, rubbing her cheeks in confusion. “What? Do I have something on me?”

“How fucking dare you!” You hiss, slamming her phone on the table. Unfortunately, you had accidentally locked the phone in your anger, showing only a black screen.

Sera flinches backwards, bewildered. Her eyes flick to the screen and then to you. “Huh? I thought you liked BBQ sauce on your nuggs? I mean, I can ask for sweet and sour sauce if you want…”

“Unlock your phone right now and explain to me why you have triceratops’ profile logged in.”

Your words begin to click in Sera’s mind. Her face grows pale, her body unconsciously sliding further into the booth to hide from your glare. “U-uh… Haha, what on earth are you talking about..?”

“Don’t even try to lie, Sera. I saw everything, and I honestly don’t know if I’m madder that you betrayed me or that I was stupid enough to believe that you were my friend.”

Sera splutters incomprehensibly at first, waving her arms in panic as she tries to save her ass. “I––! You––! It wasn’t like I––”

You lean forward, peering at her coldly. “Oh yeah? What wasn’t it like? It wasn’t like we were friends?”

“No, of course not! I mean,” she backtracks, tongue-tied. “We are friends! It’s just… I made that post before I knew you were the author and I originally sent the poem to just a couple of people because I was so impressed, and I just wanted to––”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, holding up a finger. She squeaks, staring at you fearfully as you slowly get up to your feet. You cry out, “You were also the one who released my fucking poem to the world?!”

“Anna ou––” Sera whimpers, slapping her palm to her mouth. She lowers it, whispering ruefully. “I… didn’t mean to say that…”

“Oh, so you were meaning to lie to me even more?” You seethe, ready to burst into flames.

The poor McDonalds employee who had come to deliver your order to your table seems too frightened to approach the two of you, her arms shaking both with fear and the weight of five orders of 20 piece chicken nuggets. “Uh, is this a bad time?” The girl asks, eyes darting away from your heated glare.

Instead of answering, you grab the tray from her hands and dump the contents on the table. Sera squawks pitifully when a few of the nuggets fall to the ground, though she absolutely yells when you start chucking them at her head like tiny oily cannonballs.

“What the fuck––Dude stop!” Sera has her arms up in defense, shielding her face from your fiery attack. The sound of you ripping open a BBQ sauce packet has her straightening up, however. “No, not the BBQ sauce! Anything but that!”

“Give me one reason why I should show you mercy.” Your hand is poised to pour the sticky sauce all over her white Valentino bag, ready at a moment’s notice.

“Please, Y/N! I’m really sorry!” Sera jumps out of the booth, and goes on her knees. She clasps her hands together, shaking them frantically. “I really didn’t know it was you at first!”

“Well then, why didn’t you fucking take the post down the moment you did know it was me? I thought you were my friend!” You clench your fist around the BBQ sauce packet, causing some of it to spill onto her bag. She makes a desperate noise.

“I just… I like the attention?” She knows this is the wrong answer, judging by your unimpressed expression. She sighs heavily, head bowed in shame. “Look, I’ll fix this, alright? I genuinely didn’t do this wanting to hurt you… I just got so caught up in the clout that I didn’t really think about what would happen if you found out!”

“‘If’ I found out, huh…” You echo, more disappointed than angry now. You slump back into your chair, taking care to grab the napkins and cleaning the sticky mess on your skin as best as you can. “You really were going to continue doing this for as long as it took, huh?”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” Her voice is soft, repentant. It doesn’t do much for your sympathy, however.

“Fuck you, honestly. If you really are sorry, you’ll fix this mess as soon as possible.”

You reach for your bag, your movements jostling a few more nuggets to tumble to the floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, not wanting to see if Sera is doing her Crying Face Emoji impression to try and soften you up. Not this time. This time… you don’t think your feelings can recover after this.

You have read enough stories about heartbreak and longing, but you don’t think any of them top the experience of losing a friend you realize you never even had.

The next morning, there is a new post on the forum from user triceratops.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

[+0, -0] Hello, friends. I think I’ve found the author.

It’s Lee Sera.

[the-stark-bunch]

New Years

“I still this this holiday is pointless,” Peter sighed. Despite his cynical words, he was smiling and playing chess with Yukio. “It’s kinda boring. We sit on the roof and watch the ball drop, kids whoever we’re with and make resolutions we know we won’t keep.”

“I agree with you on the resolutions part, but what was that you were saying about boring?” Riri said over the intercoms.

“I’m sorry that you guys have to work on New Years Eve,” Yukio said, moving her queen to take out one of Peter’s bishops.

“It’s okay, we do it every year,” Nate said.

“It’s our little tradition and attempt at keeping New York on our side,” Tony agreed.

“Just be back before the ball drops,” Cassie said. She leaned back on the roof of Stark tower and stared at where she knew stars were supposed to be. “After all, I only bothered staying for New Years to be with you guys.”

“We will be home before it drops, don’t worry,” Rhody said. “Any updates from my mom?”

“Ms. Rhodes is on her way to the tower right now.”

“Then we will be back in a minute,” Tony said.

A few moments later, after Peter and Yukio’s game had ended and Cassie had curled up in her cousin’s lap, a quick burst of wind signaled their family’s return. Iron Man and War Machine landed first, their suits de materializing into Tony’s arch reactor and Rhodey’s watch. Iron Heart and Iron Lad landed next, the machines on the edge of the roof working quickly to take off their suits so that Riri and Nate could freely walk towards the small group.

“Where’s Harls?” Peter asked.

“He went to pick up his grandma at the airport,” Tony said.

“Don’t people notice when two Iron Lads are running around? I though Nate was supposed to be Harley’s stand in,” Yukio asked.

“I am. I was Harley’s stand in tonight,” Nate explained. “He’s in an Iron Legion suit to safely escort Ms. Rhodes to the tower after last year’s fiasco.”

“And I’m a damn good escort,” Harley’s voice startled them too look to the entrance of the stairwell. He was in a knitt red sweater that Riri and Peter assumed to be a gift from Roberta, as neither of them had ever seen it. The gutter in question had her arm looped with Harley’s, her smile softly illuminated by the hint of blue radiating from her grandson’s chest.

“You better hope no one takes that sentence out of context,” Peter teased, walking over with Riri to meet them halfway. Both teens received tight hugs and kisses from Roberta before she left them go and made her way to their father and her son to give them a similar greeting.

“Mom,” Rhodey grinned, hugging her close for a moment. “I hope Harley wasn’t too startling in the suit when he picked you up.”

“Oh not at all, I can sense my boys from a mile away. Even in the suit, I knew it was really him,” she assured.

“She almost said my name in public,” Harley said with his characteristic smirk. “Nate and I could have had our cover completely blown right then and there.”

“Shush now,” Roberta playfully scolded. “Don’t give your mama such a hard time. I was excited.”

“I’ve called ‘Ant-Man’ Dad in public by accident before,” Cassie said. “Not many people noticed, and anytime someone did I just said I was on a phone call with my dad.”

“How about in this New Year all of all try our best to avoid those slip ups,” Nate said. “Now come on, the ball is dropping soon.”

Everyone gathered on the picnic blankets and lawn chairs that they had set up, looking over the sky scrapers to time square far in the distance. They could barely actually see the ball, but the live sound feed from the intercom told them the time until the new year began.

When the countdown reached a minute, Scott and Hope called on FaceTime so they could count with the family.

Thirty seconds. Harley could see Cassie’s eyes gloss over with unshef tears as she stared at her phone. They were happy tears, he could tell, but the kind that were bittersweet.

Twenty five. Peter wondered how the Howletts were spending their New Years Eve. He knew they had gone down to Canada, but hadn’t heard from Wade in a few days. He wondered if they might have kissed if he were here.

Fifteen. Riri texted her mom a happy new year ahead of time so that she didn’t forget. It had been a while since they talked, and she made it her resolution to call more often.

Ten. Ned and Yukio both thought of their significant others.

Nine. Rhodey hugger his mom again and kisses her head.

Eight. Roberta hugged her son back and squeezed Harley’s shoulder.

Seven. Nate looked up at Cassie to catch her looking up at him. They smiled.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One. Tony thought about how lucky he was, and how much joy the last year had carried. Every year just seemed to get better with his kids by his side.

Happy New Year.

[megashadowdragon]

The True Face of Pariston, The Kurta Clan Massacre and The events that lead to it

source : www . reddit . com/r/HunterXHunter/comments/6jzwyo/theory_the_true_face_of_pariston_the_kurta_clan/

Ok, so there was a post recently saying Pika was partially responsible for the massacre of his clan. I also had a fever dream a few days ago and the answer to to the Kurta mystery suddenly appeared within the dream. The fore mentioned post said that basically Pika was responsible because he didn't let the elder know his eyes went red while he was on his mission in the human town during the test, so someone spotted him. The Kurta are nomads, so anytime they think someone might find their location, they change it. Since the Elder hadn't known about Pika's incident, they didn't move the village, and, well, we know what happened after that. So, here's my theory with the evidence, step by step:

1)Pariston is Sheila

The evidence we have for this is;

-they look extremely alike

-Sheila wanted to become a Hunter, Pariston IS a Hunter

-Sheila has the rat ears, while Pariston is the Rat Zodiac

-Sheila's suspicious behaviour(see next point)

2) Sheila(Pariston) didn't get lost in the woods, he was searching out the area for the Kurta clan

-Pika and Pairo find her in the woods with a broken leg and severely dehydrated, but when they give her water, she has a few gulps and suddenly, she's back to normal!(Was she just faking it?)

-To show her gratitude, she gives them a book*, which is really weird and random since they don't speak or read the language(was the book some kind of tracking device or had a chip in it?)

-There's a scene that shows them(Sheila, Pika, Pairo) holding their forefingers against their closed mouths(the generic hand sign of keeping something a secret). Did she tell them not to tell anyone in the clan they found her? Did she want her appearance to be kept a secret so the clan wouldn't be alerted?

-Sheila's leg starts to heal but then SHE STARTS FALLING AND HURTING IT AGAIN MANY TIMES ALL OF A SUDDEN. This is the most suspicious part. But the question is, since she obviously wanted to prolong her stay there, why would she want to do that? Still, suspicious as a mother#ucker.

-She one day suddenly decides to leave and leaves them a letter saying goodbye and all that jazz. Why is this suspicious? Pika and Pairo are shown in the panel being surprised at her leaving, so they thought she still had to rest some more to heal her leg. Amplifies the above point about her faking a leg injury.

3)Kurapika's (seemingly) fatal mistake

-Pika's seemingly fatal mistake was when he was on his mission to the 'outside' with Pairo world during the test, when he got mad and his eyes reddened. A bunch of people saw this and word must have gone around. He didn't inform the elder about this, so , in his mind, when he heard of the massacre, he thought it was his fault. Why do I say he 'thought' and not 'it WAS his fault'?

Because of the tracking device in the book Sheila(Pariston) gave him. That book was actually the reason the Troupe managed to find the Kurta village, and not the fact Pika had his 'outburst of red'. Pika doesn't know this and it only amplifies his rage and creates terrible self hate and blame, since he thinks the massacre of his kin was his own fault.

Kurapika's(and Pairo's) true fatal mistake wasn't this, it was not informing the clan of Sheila and accepting the book*

4)Origins of the Kurta Clan

-To those who more or less frequently browse this sub, the belief that Kurta originate from the DC is prevalent. The evidence is abundant(their huts and the birds they use for transport are also found on the DC map, Kurta traditional symbols resemble the lake Mobius and the gatekeeper's fate symbols) Here's a good post that proves this point:

www . reddit . com/r/HunterXHunter/comments/5ugjiq/the_lake_mobius_strip_the_kurta_and_the_dark/?utm_source=amp&utm_medium=comment_list

Mobius, in case anyone doesn't recall, is the name of the great lake the known world of HxH currently resides in. The name "Mobius" seems to originate from the Mobius Strip; an example of a mobius strip is a ring of tape with a half twist on it. Anything caught in a Mobius strip, by it's definition, cannot escape the boundary of the Mobius strip. A Mobius Strip can also be made into a three dimensional plane so the boundary is a circle, but it would look something like this....

It is also interesting to point out that if a line is drawn at the seam, it ends up at the starting point but on the OTHER side of the Mobius strip. If the line continues it will end up back to where it was. I believe the lake they reside in is going to be shaped like a Mobius strip and will cause a great deal of problems once they realize the shape of the "lake" they reside in. The Dark Continent must reside somewhere on this Mobius Strip, perhaps off to the side somewhere. If I had to guess it would be far, on the other side of the starting point like the example I stated.

Further evidence of that basically confirms this is this image from the manga when Ging is talking about the Dark Continent to the specialists on the boat.

What gets even stranger is the fact that on Kurapika's robe, you can CLEARLY see a Mobius Strip on his robe.

 I think this is conclusive evidence that the Kurta have some tie to the Dark Continent and Kurapika is going to learn some truths about the Kurta if he survives his trek to the DC.

There are 3 Mobius Strip instances in HxH to my knowledge:

Kurapika had it on his second Kurta robes in the YorkNew arc

The known human world is in the center of a giant lake - Lake Mobius

2 books that Don Freecs wrote/is writing about DC form a Mobius Strip

And we know that Chimera Ants came from DC to the Human world. Here is the scoop - almost every explanation about how traversal works in a Mobius Strip is using ANTS as an example 

 google Mobius strip ants and see it for yourself

So, basically I think the Kurta came from DC(well, duuuh). But why did they come?

Well, we know that every time mankind has tried to explore/colonize/invade(colonize and invade? wtf? - I'll explain) the DC a calamity has befallen humanity IN HUMANITY'S OWN WORLD. This is an important distinction. There were 4 calamities mentioned: Hellbell, Papu, Brion, Zobae and Ai (also probably the Ants, but that's a theory for a different time). Well, these weren't the only ones. The one that was overlooked and not mentioned was the "Great Kurta Retribution" and the Creation of Meteor city.

Sidenote: Did you know the Vikings were the first ones(from Europe) to discover and try to colonize North America? (They have sagas about it, and they called it Vinland). What happened to these Vikings? They arrived accidentally in NA while following the water currents, decided to colonize the place, got in a fight with the natives and we're all killed by the same natives in retribution.

Now, back to HxH. Here's what I think happened: In the place of Meteor city, there was once the capital of a large, wealthy kingdom. This kingdom decided to explore(or better yet, colonize) the DC. They sent their army and fleet across the ocean. What they found were the Kurta, who, even though they lived in small huts and rode birds, were extremely advanced and strong. This DC-exploration force at first glance thought the Kurta were weak and primitive and so they wanted to conquer them. Long story short, this exploration fleet got their asses handed to them, and a big war ensued. The Kurta were beating this Kingdom badly, the conflict moved from the DC into the Known World , and as the climax, the Kurta destroyed the Capital of the kingdom and other large parts of it. In this place of rubble and trash Meteor city was born. The name of Meteor city comes from the time of Kurta invasion, and I guess the Kurta attacked the Kingdom with blasts from the skies that resembled meteors, and also turned the Capital of the Kingdom to rubble and ruin with these attacks. Yes their power was that great(remember when Uvogin mentions to Pika while they were fighting that the Kurta were really strong, this is what he meant).

After their undisputed victory, the Kurta forces started to return to the DC. A small number of them stayed behind in the known world, since it was more peaceful than DC. They also had to remain in hiding, always migrating, since humanity now hated the Kurta and would gladly hunt them given the chance.

This happened so long ago that people slowly forgot what happened to the part of the world that is now Meteor city, and The Kurta Invasion faded into myth and legend. The only people who DIDN'T FORGET were the elders of Meteor city, who have the forgotten history handed down from their predecessors. The flame of revenge still burns in them, for they do not forget the destruction of their once glorious Homeland. This is the reason The Troupe were ordered to kill the Kurta. It was revenge for what the Kurta did. In the note they left at the site of the massacre, it said:"We reject no one, so take nothing from us.". They(Meteor city) have become the World's dump, where people leave dead bodies, junk, waste and even children - they accept everything and reject no one, so take nothing from them, since they once had everything taken from them(the Kurta War).

-The view of the Kurta as merciless Invaders and monsters lives on even today, even though people don't know it's origin. We can see this clearly by the reaction of the people when Pika 's eyes turned red when he was with Pairo in that town. The reaction was much, much stronger than what you'd expect. Those people were TERRIFIED! That grandma even called Kurapika "Red-eyed devil", like it was a monster's name from a scary story parents tell their kids at night to scare them into behaving well. Like:"If you don't do eat your veggies the Red eyed devil's will come take you!"

Kurapika will probably discover his origin and the truth about the Kurta calamity later in the DC arc

5)Final proof on Pariston

-You know what's odd about Pariston/Sheila? Except the part that he and Pika NEVER met after the Kurta massacre(when he was Sheila)(smart Togashi!)-The panel where he said to Ging that "He loves destroying those he loves/is fond of".

Ok, the guy's a psycho, what about it?

Well wouldn't you say he kinda got to like Pika and Pairo when they found him/her in the forest and were taking care of him/her for weeks? Hadn't those 3 spent hours conversing, sharing stories, and getting to become closer for multiple hours a day?

Yes, but where are you going with this?

Do you remember the panel where Prince Thunder Sandwich is sitting on his sick throne of body parts?

The head in behind him is probably Pairo's. Now, why did all the Kurta have their eyes removed, except Pairo, whose head they severed whole?

Sheila only met Kurapika and Pairo, and now you're telling me the only person with the preserved severed head with the eyes from the Kurta, is one of the only two people from the clan Sheila has met?

Do you remember what Pariston said, about destroying those he loves? He probably tortured Pairo the most during the Kurta massacre, and finally sawed his head off,(pretty dark, huh?) not only for his own pleasure, but as a message to Pika, who he also wanted to torture and kill, but when he came there with the Troupe Pika wasn't there, so he wanted to at least hurt Pika by making him find Pairo's decapitated body. That's what hurt Pika the most, beside his case of extreme survivor's guilt.

(Also, when Pariston reminisces about loving to kill the people he loves, a doll with it's eyes torn out is shown! A Kurta eye reference!??)

-Also, as I mentioned before, Kurapika and Pariston(in his male form) have NEVER MET. Probably because if they had met during, let's say, Chairman election arc, the the shit would had hit the fan and chaos would ensure. Togashi's a really good writer, and he has been saving this for later on in the story. Kurapika not visiting Gon wasn't bad writing, it not only served as good characterisation to demonstrate how Pika descended into darkness even deeper, but now it makes even more sense from the story perspective - Pika wasn't meant to meet with Pariston yet.

-This will be the final point on Pariston/Sheila: Isn't it so convenient that "a lost female traveler" discovered the massacre. I mean, come on! It doesn't take a genius to realise this was Sheila/Pariston, and ain't that SUSPICIOUS AS FUCK!!?! You're telling me he/she GOT LOST(it specifically says she got lost in the manga) again and conveniently wondered upon the scene of the massacre?

I think Pariston/Sheila either came there to confirm the kill,in which case he wasn't there at when the massacre was happening. This is the less likely version.

The likelier version, considering what happened to Pairo and his/her relationship with Pika, I'd say Pariston/Sheila was there at the scene, maybe even coordinating the Troupe, ordering them to exclusively cut off Pairo's head, and then reporting the incident to the news to inform Kurapika of the tragedy(to Pariston's delight). They probably killed the Kurta some days immediately after Pika left to find the cure for Pairo, waited for him for some weeks to return so they could ambush him upon his return, but when he didn't show up in those weeks, Pariston reported the story to the authorities as "the lost female traveler, Sheila"

*Many people got hung up.on the fact that the book Sheila gave the boys was called "Adventures of D Hunter", since D Hunter is probably Don Freecs. The reason I think this isn't important and this isn't neither the West books OR the East book is this; The V5 organisation members mentioned that the stories about the DC were well known in the world but people thought they were just fiction. I think the book Sheila gave them was to them just an ordinary (DC, non)fiction book(with a tracking device).

Tell me your thoughts on this theory. It was a lot of fun making it!!!

@hamliet   @aspoonofsugar

edit:  addition by @gallyl 

Wow. Very interesting. Now I also think Sheila was specifically searching for the Kurta Clan, and that she is Pariston or connected to him (a relative?). As for the Kurta massacre, I still like to think that the Troupe did what they did out of cold greed. But the idea about the war is good and provides the explanation for the existence of the meteor city.I also believe that Kurapika and Melody are connected not only by friendship but by fate too: the Kurta clan were associated with the devils, while Melody was injured by the Devil’s Sonata. I guess this sonata could be composed by someone from the Kurta clan. This supports the idea above that the Kurta clan was really powerful and capable of destruction. That’s why Melody is on the Whale ship too. In this regard (as a possible hint to Devil’s music, Kurta and the war in the meteor city?) when Chrollo starts a revenge massacre in the Yorkshin city, he orchestrates Requiem music for Uvogin killed by Kurapika.

[gumnut-logic]

The House

Title: The House

Author: Gumnut

24 - 25 Mar 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “Virgil, do you believe in god?”

Word count: 3628

Spoilers & warnings: Some discussion of religion.

Timeline: Standalone

Author’s note: Started as sleepy fic, then did whatever it felt like. I have no idea how this fic happened. I have the urge to disown it. I hope you enjoy it anyway. Many thanks to. @scribbles97 and @i-am-chidorixblossom for putting up with my whining about it :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Edit 14 Dec 2020:

This is an uneasy fic. A very emotional one. It asks questions I think people faced with life and death every day might ask. It is a hard life and it can shake a person to the core.

-o-o-o-

The winds rushed down the mountain side and rattled the curtains and blinds of the old house. The windows were open in the bedroom and he lay curled up on the queen size, the breeze caressing his skin.

It was a cool wind. Created by the loss of the sun and its heat on the plain.

Outside, in the paddock, Thunderbird Two stood up on her struts, silent and regal, towering over the homestead.

The only sound was the sigh of the gully winds.

And he lay listening to it.

It was musical in its own way, like an evening lullaby. They had been known to be a howling banshee, but tonight they were simply gentle.

He needed them to be.

Why he was here, he didn’t really know. It had been a mid-air decision, a course change on a whim. He just felt a need to be here.

Of course, it became obvious to John rather quickly and his questions just increased in urgency. In the end, Virgil had simply apologised and cut him off.

Sometimes there just were no answers.

So he parked his ‘bird in the paddock and walked through the knee high grass to the house. He didn’t have a key, so he went in through a window. No doubt the security system was screaming up a storm somewhere, but he didn’t care.

A pair of knowledgeable hands and a few pulled wires solved most of that and he would fix the rest later.

No doubt Brains would improve the system as a result anyway.

He walked through the rooms, staring at the dust cloths, marshalling the memories, watching the ghosts as they danced in his minds eye. All his brothers were here. Various ages, various expressions. A nick in a door frame spoke of the time they had tried to move the couch out of the living room and into the kitchen on some hair-brained scheme involving their own home cooking show. The couch had made it, taking a chunk of the doorframe with it. It was the flour on the seat cushions that caused the most concern...well, until Grandma discovered the three raw eggs Gordon had stashed under the pillow, under his head, on the couch.

The kitchen was the focus of the building. The ghosts were almost solid. For a moment he thought he had tripped over Gordon, collided with Scott, only to turn around and come face to face with his mother.

But she evaporated as he froze. Younger knowledge overwriting what he would prefer to believe.

The dust on the floor held no footprints but his own.

He turned away and climbed the stairs to his room.

It was large. The Tracys had never been poor on space. They may have been short on money from time to time in those early days, but never short on space. The building had been built generations before Virgil, during a time of prosperity, and they had built big. So five boys, a sister, a grandmother and her son had as much room as they needed,

He yanked the dust-covers off his bedroom furniture and threw it all out into the hall and for a moment, he was home again, the paraphernalia he had left behind still scattered around him like a snapshot from his personal history. He opened the windows to let the evening breeze in and sat down almost involuntarily on the bed.

Why had he come here?

There were only memories, no answers.

“Virgil?”

He sighed.

“Virgil!”

His lips thinned a moment before he slapped his comms off and unbuckling his baldric, threw it to the floor. He resisted the sudden urge to stomp on it in a fit of childish temper.

Instead he stared down at his hands, still wrapped in his blue gloves. They blurred a moment as he realised they were stained, flaky brown caught in the stitching and seams.

Suddenly he couldn’t get them off fast enough. They hit the floor beside his baldric with a solid thud as he stood up, ants suddenly under the lining of his uniform. His eyes traced more stains, red-brown caught in the fabric, soaked into the edges of his pads as if attempting to reach through the material and leach into his skin.

An incoherent sound and his fingers were scrabbling at his harness and his belt. His toolkit his the wooden floor with a clatter. The clink of his harness followed and it was with some urgent desperation that the rest of his uniform followed, boots and all. He stared at it, a pile of blue fabric and silicon leather.

It was kicked out the door to join the dust cloths in the hallway.

He ended up standing in the middle of his room in only his black t-shirt and shorts.

Hunching a little he returned to his seat upon the bed and resumed staring at the floorboards.

Ultimately, he had no idea how long he sat there, thinking nothing and doing less. At some point he curled up on the bed. It was hazy there for a bit, the only constant being the winds blowing down through the gullies into his window...just like they had when he was a boy.

His mother would come and secure the windows for the night, closing them just enough to let the cooling breeze in, but not let the curtain billow and rattle enough to keep him awake. The bed had been smaller then, the dresser higher, the room larger. She used to sit on the side of the bed and sing to him. She had shared her love of music and to this day he kept those tunes close to his heart.

Mom...

If he closed his eyes he could imagine the breeze was his mother’s fingers playing with his hair.

He squeezed his eyes tight, shutting out the remainder of the evening light as moisture attempted to pool in their corners.

Control...breathe through it.

He let it all go on an exhale, ignoring the faint whimper that accompanied it.

Another breath, somewhat shaky, calmed with another exhale, and he let his body fall limp on the bed, tense muscles relaxing.

Oh god.

The breeze rushed over his skin teasing goose pimples. He grabbed the edge of the old doona and rolled himself into it, facing away from the dresser, away from the windows and, cocooning himself safe, he hid.

-o-o-o-

Virgil’s report of his mission failure had been professional and succinct. His voice was its usual confident self, the content factual and unemotional.

Perhaps that should have been the clue.

Halfway across the United States, Thunderbird Two committed a flight path deviation and landed in Kansas.

And Virgil stopped answering his comms.

John knew where his brother was and even possibly why, but that didn’t make him any less worried.

After half an hour of dead air from TB2, John was really beginning to worry.

His first instinct would have been to contact Scott, but his eldest brother was currently in Japan attending a cable car disaster with Gordon and Alan. So, asking Grandma to fill in for him, her worry as blatant as his own, he took his second option and realigned TB5 with Kansas and, dropping down to Earth, went after Virgil himself.

It only took a matter of minutes. Gravity was its usual obstacle, but he chose to ignore it. He would likely pay for that later, but he had more important considerations at the moment.

It didn’t take him long to find the jimmied window, or to climb through and follow the dusty footprints. His own tread was near silent in his spacesuit, only the creaking floorboards betrayed his passing.

The air was stale and old. The family hadn’t returned here since Dad had gone missing. No one had mentioned it, probably because no one wanted to face this place without him. It was still functional, fully furnished, protected, awaiting its owners’ return should they need it. The building was huge, but the Tracy family had long outgrown it and moved out to save the world.

John followed the footprints up the stairs. He passed his own empty room as the trail led him directly to Virgil’s and the pile of discarded dust cloths outside his door. He frowned at the balled up uniform and the green of his brother’s baldric.

Stepping ever so quietly around the mess, he peered in.

A huddled shape was curled up on the bed.

“Virgil?”

The shape made a muffled sound.

“Virgil?”

“What?!” The head that shot up angrily held a mess of black hair and a pair of red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes. The eyes frowned. “John?”

He took a step inside the room. “Are you okay?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. You wouldn’t answer your comms.”

His brother turned away from him. “Sorry.”

John frowned again. The single word was a mix of sincerity and put-upon sarcasm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you honestly think I’m going to believe that? You’re half naked, lying in an old bed in a deserted house.”

“So what do you want me to say?”

“The truth wouldn’t hurt.”

Virgil stared at him a moment, only to look away again and not answer.

John sighed, walked over to the bed and sat on the edge in echo of something he had done so many times as a boy. He used to come in here and talk Virgil’s ear off about space and stars and his latest science projects. Virgil, in turn, would nod, say the right things at the right time and generally be the good older brother. John suspected that Virgil hadn’t understood half of what he was saying, but the older boy had never said anything. Not that Virgil wasn’t smart, just his interests lay in different areas.

They were both quiet by nature and Virgil’s patience drew John to him. Mostly because he would listen. One of the hardest things about being a far above average student with very specific interests was finding someone to talk to about them. John wasn’t a big talker outside the family, but that was because society in general was lost two words into any sentence he wanted to construct. John had no use for general gossip when he had spent the day discovering a new extra-solar object. Who cared who won the football when Neptune was aligning with Earth in a way that wouldn’t happen for another one hundred and sixty five years?

It was Virgil who stopped and listened as a young John Tracy babbled about his latest discoveries.

He was his big brother.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that.” It was rough and abrupt.

“You did your best.”

“I know that, too.” A sigh. “John, I just...need to be alone right now.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What?” At least Virgil shoved the cover off his head to glare at him for that. Could be considered progress.

“If you had truly wanted to be alone, you’d be back on the island on some deserted beach, or locked in your room or your studio.” He looked around at the memories held in stasis. “Here...here you are far from alone.” Memories danced.

Virgil swallowed, looking anywhere but at John, before letting his head drop to stare at the doona wrapped around him.

“Why are you here, Virgil?”

His brother didn’t answer, just throwing himself back down under the doona and curling up.

John sighed.

Perhaps another angle.

“Did you know Alan stores his marshmallow stash on Three? Scott discovered it yesterday and promptly stole half of it in revenge for Alan stealing his chocolate stash last week.” He waited.

Muffled. “How do you know that?”

“I have ways.”

“Spies?”

“Spy.”

“Eos.”

“Uh huh.”

“Why you telling me then?”

“So you know how I know who you are currently painting.”

As predicted that did it. Virgil sat up, immediately angry. “What the hell have you been doing in my studio?”

Calmly. “I haven’t been in your studio, Virgil.”

“But Eos has.”

“Yes, she has. And you can’t complain, because she can’t knock over paint or damage your paintings. We...just like to keep an eye on you.”

“Why?” Brown eyes were staring suspiciously.

“Because unbeknownst to the rest of my family, I’m not a damned hermit.” Perhaps he hadn’t meant to say it quite that way, but at least he had his brother’s attention now. “I like to see how my family is going and it is not like I can just poke my head in the door to check up on you is it?”

“Ah, yes, you can and have.” Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “Are you okay up there?”

John shifted where he sat. “We are fine. The subject at hand is you, Virgil.”

An immediate retreat. “I’m fine.”

Oh, for god’s sake. “I know you are painting Mom and Dad.”

Virgil didn’t react. Didn’t say anything.

“This morning wasn’t your fault.”

“No, it was fate.”

John frowned. “What?”

“It was damned fate, John. Fate that I grabbed that extra mouthful of coffee before leaving. Fate that I had a head wind in transit. Fate that I was too damn late to save anyone!”

His brother was trembling, fire in his eyes. But it wasn’t a passionate fire, it was one that consumed, damaged and left nothing but ash.

“Virgil-“

“Why, John? Why does it keep taking? It took Mom. It took Dad. It took that entire family. WHY?!” Virgil hit the bed, the mattress simply springing back as if nothing had happened. “I keep trying and she keeps taking.” This last was said in a failing voice, Virgil’s baritone cracking.

John took in a breath. “Virgil, do you believe in god?”

Brown eyes latched onto him, desperation in their depths. He didn’t answer immediately, those eyes shifting away to look back down at the bed. “I did.” A pause. “I do.” His brother swallowed, his shoulders dropping. “I don’t know anymore.”

John wasn’t a toucher, but he felt the urge to reach out and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

He didn’t. He simply answered. “Neither do I.”

Virgil stared at him. Their family had been brought up to trust in god. To thank and obey and do good. When their mother was taken, their father’s faith was shaken. The family struggled, but eventually that god was welcomed back.

Their faith didn’t survive the loss of their father. Not in a family sense. Each brother had taken on their own thoughts, wrestled with the demons of life the best they could. John knew Scott had lost most of his. Scott had born the brunt of the loss of both their parents. Harsh reality had beaten faith from the man. He wouldn’t use the word ‘bitter’ in relation to Scott. The situation was more a disillusion, a broken trust that could never be forgiven.

The two youngest Tracy’s still went through some of the motions of faith, but John doubted the spirit was behind them.

John, himself, hadn’t entirely lost his beliefs. They had just changed, evolving into a reverence of the universe, an amazement at the possibilities and sheer awe at creation itself. Whether there was an deity at the centre of it all? He had learnt enough to know he didn’t know enough to make a determination. But there was hope, there was imagination, and just that little bit of magic beyond all the science.

Virgil, he knew, didn’t follow any of the rituals and his celebration of religious holidays like Christmas and Easter was mostly secular. But he had always thought that of all of them, Virgil was the most spiritual. With his connection to the world around him, his sensitivity, his art, and, despite all the horrors he had witnessed, his belief in the good in people, Virgil was the most likely to hold on to his faith. And as far as John could see he had. As part of who he was more than anything else. Something quiet and kept to himself.

To see him sitting here questioning it...

“You came here for Mom and Dad.”

That did it. Those red rimmed brown eyes blinked and teared up. John swallowed himself, his throat growing tight.

Those eyes stared at him a moment longer before Virgil once again let himself drop to the bed, this time staring up at the ceiling. “For god’s sake, Johnny.” An awkward sniff.

“Am I right?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to you.”

His brother ran a hand across his face. “Goddamnit.” A hitched sigh. “Why?”

“It was meant to be.”

“How can you say that? How can the death of a family of five be ‘meant to be’? I had their blood all over my goddamned hands, John! There wasn’t a damn thing I could do. I tried! I tried so damned hard and I couldn’-“ He broke off with a strangled sound.

This time John did reach out and touch his brother’s leg through the bedclothes. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I’m so very sorry you had to experience that.”

“It sucks.”

John squeezed his leg.

There was a silence for some time. Virgil biting his lip trying to control his emotions. John simply holding onto that leg and honestly trying to work out whether he should offer his brother a hug or not. He had no doubt that if their positions had been reversed, Virgil would have grabbed him already, but John was hesitant to take the step himself and felt the shame of that indecision.

Eventually, it was Virgil who broke the silence. He cleared his throat. “If there is a god, I’m not very happy with them today.”

“If there is a god, I’m sure they understand why.”

“Well, good luck to them, because I don’t understand their motivation at all in any shape or form.”

“It is not ours to understand.”

The glare from the bed slapped him across the face. “That much is obvious with the whole I don’t understand thing.”

“Virgil-“

But his brother sat up abruptly. “You were right.” He shimmied across the bed to the edge and put his feet on the floor. “I did come here for Mom and Dad. And I was stupid to think I would find either of them here. Call it a fantasy and let’s go home.” He reached for his boots.

“Virgil, come here.” John held out his arm, gesturing towards himself with his hand.

His big brother stared up at him. “John, you don’t have to-“

“Come here.” The Space Monitor spoke and Thunderbird Two automatically obeyed. John couldn’t help but smile just a little at the reaction.

Virgil scowled at him. “Smart ass.”

John dropped his arm around his brother’s shoulders and drew his head onto his own. Virgil was larger than he, but shorter, and John used every inch he had to his advantage. “You may be my big brother, but I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a long time now and it might be my turn to help you.”

Virgil frowned. “You’ve always help-“

“Virgil, shut up.”

His brother’s eyes widened, but his mouth closed.

“I don’t know if there is a god, I don’t know why Mom and Dad were taken, or why that family had to die. All I know is that I have a good brother who tried. Who always tries. If I have faith, it is definitely faith in you. You and the rest of our family. We do good, Virgil. The universe can not ask any more of us.”

Quiet. “What if it does?”

“We can only give what we have.”

“Until we have nothing.”

John’s heart lurched. “Virgil-“

“Johnny, thank you.” His brother reached around and clasped his shoulder. “I appreciate this more than you realise, I promise. I just...I just need time.” A weak smile. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

That heart fell into his boots. “Virgil-“

But his brother was heading towards the door, grabbing his uniform. “You need a lift home?”

John shook his head. “I need to return to space. No acclimatisation time.”

Realisation sunk in on Virgil’s face. “Shit, John, Of course, why the hell didn’t I....Scott will be pissed.”

“You were distracted. And besides, Scott is going to be too busy yelling at you for your course deviation to even notice I dropped in.”

“Good point.” A sigh. “Thank you, John. Sorry for the worry.”

“I’m used to worry, Virgil. I have four brothers, one sister and a variety of extended family who regularly attempt to turn my hair various shades of colour.”

“Don’t worry, it’s mutual.” A breath. “And John? I do have faith in you, and Scott, and Gordon, and Alan, and Kayo, and Grandma, and Brains. You...you are my family and we do do good. I just wish...” Virgil didn’t finish the sentence. He threw his uniform back on, grabbed the dust covers and with John’s help, spread them across the furniture, including the bed.

Following their footsteps back to the window, Virgil reset the alarm and they darted over the pane, closing it behind them.

The elevator decelerated into the field and John strode towards it, watching his brother approach his ‘bird. Virgil reached one of Thunderbird Two’s struts and for just a moment, reached out and touched it, running his hand over the cold metal before dropping his head against it and closing his eyes.

John opened his mouth, but the moment passed and Virgil moved on to the open hatch and was swallowed by the green behemoth.

“John?”

“Yes, Eos?”

“Is Virgil well?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[thebestdefenderofearth]

AVENGERS: ENDGAME  SPOILER WARNING

“Dread it. Run from it. Destiny arrives all the same.” 

Our destiny is here, Y'all and I did not ask for this! 

How dare they start with Tony recording his death scene? Seriously let's talk about that dialogue for a minute. 

“Hey, Miss Potts.” This part doesn’t sound like it’s part of the same sentence as the rest of the message. Still, my heart breaks at how he calls her “Miss Potts” when it could’ve been Mrs. 

“If you find this recording... don’t feel bad about this. Part of the journey is the end.” God, we know Tony is always ready to die, but him accepting it and saying it to Pepper when he doesn’t even know if she’s alive... this is cruel. On top of that, he still wants her to not feel bad about any of this. Yeah, I’m not okay. 

“Just for the record, being adrift in space with zero promise of rescue is more fun than it sounds.” Typical Tony, trying to deal with his pain the only way he knows how by telling jokes. Also, hint hint rescue + Pepper. What if Pepper gets this message and suits up as Rescue.

“Food and water ran out four days ago. Oxygen will run out tomorrow morning... that’d be it.” Again, he’s come to terms with his death. I can’t deal with this. 

“When I drift off, I will dream about you. It’s always you.” This calls back to every single time he’s been on the brink of death and his last thoughts are always with Pepper. Also, “I have to protect the one thing that matters. That’s you.” I’m not okay. I am not okay. This cruel, MARVEL. 

The Marvel Studios logo dusting off was uncalled for. How dare you?!

Thano really out here living his best life, not caring that he just f*cked over everyone in the galaxy and basically left everyone depressed af. I hate this grape. 

So, glad everyone’s back in the Avengers HQ. Hopefully, Pepper and Rhodey are there with them. I really want them to be. 

“Thanos did exactly what he said he was going to do. He wiped out fifty percent of all living creatures.” Natasha looks so distraught when says this, it breaks my heart. 

Steve CRYING!!!! Look, I know I said wanted to see Steve vulnerable but god damn that shit hurt. Like, stop hurting my babies, Marvel, STOP. 

Bruce looks so sad and stressed out. He’s obviously been in the lab a lot, probably going over who can help them and how to unf*ck this mess. Let’s talk about the details here for a sec:

Scott Lang: missing. This probably means that Scott was in the quantum realm for some time. 

Peter Parker: missing. So, I have no idea if reports say that Spider-man was also beamed up when Tony was. But, if that’s not the case then Aunt May probably showed up at the Avengers Tower asking about Peter :(. Or if it is the case then they assume that Peter and Tony are just both gone. 

Shuri: missing. WHAT?! EXCUSE ME?! Marvel is going to take away our Princess?! How are they going to drop that bombshell in the trailer??? HOW DISRESPECTFUL. I’M SORRY BUT WHAT??? Now I have to be further emotionally scarred thinking about Okoye and Ramonda finding Shuri. Marvel just doesn’t care about our feelings anymore. 

Okay, Steve’s next dialogue KILLS me.

“We lost. All of us.” Pans to a shot of Thor. My poor pirate angel baby is all upset. Probably suffering a ton of survivors guilt and blaming himself. I WON’T HAVE THIS. 

“We lost friends.” Pans to Nebula on the Milano looking super distraught. Cuts to her gently stroking someone’s shoulder, most likely Tony’s. This is where Marvel needs to cut it. They cannot have Tony die in space. They cannot have this man suffer through his worst f*cking nightmare. How goddamn disrespectful are they? I won’t stand for this cruelty. 

“We lost family.” Cuts to Clint with swords over a bunch of dead bodies. An implication that Clint lost all of his family and that is not OK.  

“We lost a part of ourselves.” Clint removes his Ronin mask and turns to face Nat. Obviously, Clint lost a part of himself and became Ronin. He’s like Sorry Hawkeye can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Because he’s dead. 

“This is the fight of our lives.” Steve and Nat in the Quinjet(?). Steve looking down at his Peggy picture. Now, I think they’re trying to draw a parallel to The First Avenger. Before Steve takes the plunge and ‘ends’ his life, he looks at a picture of Peggy. It could be the same sacrificial tone. OR it could mean that Steve is traveling back in time and is going to see Peggy one more time and he’s preparing himself mentally. 

Now, the next part is the final nail on my coffin 

Nat: “this is going to work, Steve.” 

Steve: “I know it is. Cause I don’t know what I’m going to do if it doesn’t” 

Can I just say that I LOVE this Steve Rogers and this attitude? But, at the same time, this makes me super nervous. The background has a heartbeat pumping rhythm to it. Now, this is potentially done to dramatize the scene and make it seem as if Steve and Nat are about to risk it all. This is the high stakes game and this is the last hope. Which SCARES the shit out of me. 

Next, we see the Avengers logo being assembled from dust and rocks. Which could be a hopeful sign! Could be foreshadowing the snap reversal! But, of course, at what cost? 

And then we see it, the title... ENDGAME! The one that both Tony Stark and Stephen Strange predicted. My heart cannot take it! I’M SCARED. 

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE. OUR SMOL BEAN, OUR HERO, SCOTT LANG IS HERE. I almost cried of mixed happiness and sadness when I saw him. Few points here. 

Scott is dressed normally... he’s not wearing the Ant-man suit that we last saw him in. Which means that he probably had some time to go home and maybe figure out what happened? OR this is Scott from the future? I’m very confused on how Scott shows up there and how he got out of the Quantum realm, but I’m glad the world’s greatest grandma is back. 

He came in the van! The same van that has the miniaturized Quantum portal thingy. So, this could be the key to time travel if that’s what they’re going to do. Remember at the end of Ant-Man and the Wasp, Janet warns Scott about “time-vortexes.” Scott could be the key! 

Natasha is wearing the same clothes we see her in earlier when she's done the whole “Thano did exactly what he said he was going to do” speech. Which means that this could be very early on in the film. Which means Scott comes in very early on and plays a bigger role! 

I think Steve might be wearing the same clothes as when we see him crying? It’s hard to tell because he was wearing a leather jacket when he cries and now he’s only in a black long sleeve (that looks so good), but yeah. Just again confirming that Scott comes early on. 

I know Scott sounds a little cheery, but he also appears kind of in distress and a little nervous. At the end when he says “can you buzz me in?” He looks kinda jittery and anxious. SO, it makes me wonder what might have happened the rest of his family.

Anyway, this trailer was disrespectful and made me depressed again. Marvel needs to stop hurting all of my babies. They better fix this mess. 

[hermankopusortizorsumshite]

Phillip Drabble

WARNINGS: Language, and possible trigger warning, mentions of torture

She steps into the diner, eyes scanning the area and when they stop on him her heart falls into the pit of her stomach. With quaking hands, clammy with nerves she sinks into the booth far enough away that he couldn’t see her. After almost a decade of close friendship, he suddenly wasn’t interested in being friends anymore. It hurt more than she’d like to admit, as she ordered a french vanilla latte, that a black coffee wasn’t ordered with it as it had been so many times before.

She listens into the conversation, hearing Phillip chatting up Sky VanderVeen. Hearing his stupid pick up lines made her heart thump off beat. Sky’s laugh was like needles on a chalkboard. After drinking her latte and journaling her day, she stands and hovers at her table for a moment too long, and gets spotted.

Upon seeing her, Phillip springs from his seat and meanders over to her, giving her a light hug. He felt like a long lost childhood blanket, soft and familiar, but the longer he stood there, the more he started to feel like a cactus, pricking her skin.

“You heading out already?” He purrs, his voice washing over her.

“Ye-yeah, got a lot to do today. See ya later PK!” She calls as she dashes out the door feeling suffocated by his very presence. The outside air felt like a drink of cold water to her, calming her fraying nerves and soothing her burning skin.

“Hey! Wanna get a drink later tonight?” He calls from the door. She gives him a quick ‘hang loose’ before disappearing out of sight. Stumbling into the grocery store, she tucks her journal away into her bag before heading to the fresh produce for something to cook later. She packs into a bag a few select veggies before finishing up her minimal shopping.

“Hey Lana, you busy tonight?” Asks Grant, a cashier at the grocery store who’s been trying to date her since high school. Phillip was always at her side, so she didn’t worry about it, but recently he’d gotten quite confident and it was rather unnerving to her.

“Yeah, actually. I’m meeting up with Phillip tonight.” She nods, never making eye contact with him. She found he usually backed off if she didn’t make eye contact. His hand reached for hers and she quickly yanked away. The hand grabbing and helacious flirting had only gotten worse after Phillip became busy.

“Say, how about we go out after that? I know this really great spot. It’ll be fun. I have some friends meeting us up there, you can bring Phillip if you want.” He offers, and a confidence falls over her for a second, and she agrees, telling him Phillip isn’t coming. With wide eyes, he smiles and tells her he’ll see her after her drink with Phillip. With a sigh and a nod, she leaves the market.

“Hey, wanna hang out?” Phillip jogs up to the car as she tucks her couple bags into the passenger seat. Looking up at him across the top of her little red car, she makes eye contact for a moment before dropping her eyes back to the concrete.

“Sure!” She tries to sound happy, but she knew it wasn’t working. Taking a couple strides, he stands next to her and touches her shoulder gently. A tear starts to form in the corner of her eye. He hadn’t made any contact this gentle and meaningful in a long time.

“What’s wrong punkin?” He asks, his nickname for her sounding so harsh in her ears. It was almost as though they were strangers, trying to connect on some level. He’d broken their bridge, and it hurt her to admit it.

“Nothing. You wanna stick around for dinner?” She asks, hopeful for a yes. He pauses, and she feels it. The moment of hesitation. It stings like a thousand bees. “It’s alright. Go out. I have- uh-- other plans anyways.” She stammers out, slamming the door and heading to her side and starting to climb.

“You have plans?” He asks, slightly shocked. The look on his face makes her blood begin to bubble as it boils in her veins.

“Yeah actually. I know, I have plans. I, too, can have a personal life that I don’t feel compelled to tell you. It’s amazing.” She hisses, dropping into the seat and grabbing the door to slam it when he grabs the top of the door, stopping it.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you can’t be like this. I’m dating, it’s not the end of the world.” He growls, she kicks him in the thigh, making him stumble backwards as she slams the door shut. Just as she punches the lock, the tears fall down her face. Heartbroken, Phillip watches on as she falls apart, knocking desperately against the glass. “I’m sorry. Lana, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Open the door, please.” His muffled pleas come through the glass, watching on as she bawls and slams her petite fists against the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry too. I’ll see you later.” She murmurs putting her car into drive and leaving Phillip in the parking lot confused and hurt. He thinks back to the earlier meeting, seeing her. She was very off then, she didn’t make eye contact. She was jealous. She had feelings for him and didn’t say anything. As he stood in the parking lot, watching grey ominous clouds eating away the blue, he realizes she’s heartbroken because of him.

As he pulls into her driveway to find her car there, he sighs in relief. They had once shared this house on Deerhill road, but now, his room stood the same. He calls out to her, but no response. Finding it strange, he listens carefully for something. Anything. No sound, not even the low music she always played. Unnerved, he searches the house to find her gone. Tugging his phone from his pocket, he dials her number and it goes to voicemail. Putting it into the back of his mind, he paces for a moment longer before heading out to Marie’s.

“Hey mom! Is Lana here?” He asks, bobbing around her head of hair to see behind her.

“Sorry Phillip, I haven’t seen her all day. You tell her I wanna chat when you find her.” She smiles, giving Phillip a nod before going back to the stack of petitions on her table. Finding it odd, he supposed she was out being social. He decides he’s being a little ridiculous to wig out, so he calms down and heads to Sky’s grandma’s to pick her up and go out. He had promised her dinner, and since he assumed drinks were cancelled, he might as well spend the night with her.

 When she and Grant arrive there’s no one there. Becoming jittery, she watches as he leads her towards a table set in the middle of the room.

“Where is every one?” She asks, her voice quaking. Shooting Phillip a quick SOS text, she checks her phone frquently, and no response. Sending another text, she watches a little green check mark appear, meaning she’d been left on read.

“They’ll be here in a few.” He assures, pulling out the chair for her and pushing it in, she is quickly given a small glass of wine. After about twenty minutes, no one else arrives. Getting weary of the situation, she finally stands and asks where everyone is. She sends another text to Phillip, but he doesn’t answer, again leaving it on read. Her heart sinks.

“It’s just us, honey.” He growls, a dark grin on his face.

“Grant, you said other people were coming. I invited Phillip.” She murmurs, very serious.

“You didn’t. He and Sky are on a date as we speak. He was upset with you.” He smiles, pulling out some handcuffs and metal tools. She tries to sprint but he tackles her, dropping her to the floor and handcuffing her. Dragging her to the pile of pallets stacked against the wall, he tosses her against the scratchy wood. He pulls out a hand gun and sits it against the table as he pulls out the tools. “I’ve been waiting for this day for so long.” He grimaces, giving her another sickening smile.

“Leave me alone!” She shrieks, throwing her shoulders back against the wall. With a maniacal laugh, he digs a scalpel into her thigh. She lets out a scream, her body trembling from the pain.

“Now, don’t talk. Don’t move. It’ll be over soon my dearest.” He murmurs, tucking a piece of hair back behind her ear. He starts his torture on her, his scalpel making little cuts into her ivory flesh, leaving crimson trails following the blade.

“Please, what do you want?” She begs, becoming woozy.

“I have it right here.” He whispers against her skin, leaving her skin crawling like thousands of ants. Taking a deep breath, she kicks out, the metal blade clanking onto the floor. Standing with quaking legs, she starts to run. She sprints towards the closest house, realizing she’s at the old plant in town, she gives a quiet prayer and pounds her legs harder against the pavement. She comes up to a restaurant and sees Phillip sitting against a booth with Sky. She crashes her body against the window to get his attention. Dropping to the ground, Grant’s face comes into view and she gives a shriek, praying Phillip was coming. Grant grabs her quickly and drags her into the alley she’d just come out of, and starts to wail his fists against her body. Unlocking the cuffs, he drags her to the car and shoves her into the backseat. Her body hurts too much to move, to fight. She supposed she should say her last prayers as she would probably die.

“If I can’t have you, my dear, no one will. Especially Phillip Kopus.” He growls, pointing the pistol at her. Her heart pounds against her chest plate, leaving little room for thinking of feelings. All of a sudden, tears fill her eyes, watching as Phillip walks next to Sky, walking straight passed the door, his arm around her shoulder.

“Phillip.” She whispers, sending one more text.

 Punkin: sorry love you

 Phillip’s eyes drop to his phone, another notification. He gets a little agitated, but looks at it. It wasn’t like her to send stuff like that to him. She was very reserved, didn’t usually say ‘love you’ without a little ‘lol’ at the end. Another message comes through as he’s putting his phone into his pocket.

 Punkin: Alley can see you help

 He finds that message to be unnerving. Turning around to face the alley, he sees a dark car shadowed by the building. As if in slow motion, a flash fireworks from the car, followed by the gun shot echoing through the alley, and Sky ducks behind a dumpster but Phillip sprints to the car. He knew she was there, knew she was hurt, but he didn’t think clearly. The man had a gun, but he didn’t care.

He throws a knife into the rolled down window, dropping the man and dragging him from the car and tossing him aside letting him groan and cry out. Diving head first into the car, he gathers her against himself and yanks her from the car; dropping to his knees, hugging her against him.

“You didn’t listen.” She whispers, smiling faintly at him.

“I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, carrying her towards his truck.

“I’m sorry. Won’t make it.” She sputters against him, holding his face in her hand. He stops for a moment, eyes locking onto hers, the tears burning the back of his eyes.

“Don’t say that shit.” He growls, putting her in the car and taking Sky to her car before speeding out towards the hospital. As he drives too fast, running every red light and stop sign, Harold’s Dodge Ram whips out an follows him as the siren wails.

“Phillip-” she chokes out. Hands land on his arm. He shakes his head as he squeals into the parking lot and carries her inside.

“She needs help.” He states, his face collected and calm. Though as he stood there calm, his insides were doing a gymnastics routine all their own, flopping against the walls of his abdomen.

“What happened?” Asks a doctor, grabbing a gurney and helping him put her down gently.

“She was shot, that’s all I know. She was in the backseat of a car and Grant Levaugh had her in his car. He shot her.” He growls, grabbing her hand and pressing little kisses to her hand.

“We’ll take her back for emergency surgery. We’ll know more afterwards. Leave your info at the front desk.” He points haphazardly towards a desk as he rolls her away from him.

 He paces the waiting room for hours, Marie and Junior joining him soon enough. No words are exchanged as they wait impatiently for her results. He goes over his texts from her, all were calls for help and he ignored them. He thought maybe it was a play to get his attention. He’d been so careless as to think it was just a call out.

“Phillip, what happened?” Marie murmurs, carrying a light, sad smile; but her eyes were understanding.

“I got a text. Turned around and boom. The gun went off. Someone said she ran into the window right in front of us. She was so beaten up I didn’t recognize her at first. I just assumed it was a crackhead. It’s my fault she’s like this. I’m sorry.” He whispers as his hands rake through his thick dark hair.

“Don’t blame yourself baby.” She whispers.

“I started the fight. I left her alone. I let her leave alone. I knew he’s been that handsy but I was always with her. I never gave him the chance to do anything to her. The one day I don’t go-” he stops for a moment. It had been months since he last went with her to the store. He’d left her alone with that crazy guy for months, and she’d been safe until she agreed to go on a date. Cops come walking in, eyes locking on Phillip.

“Kid, how long ago did you shoot her?” Asks the captain. Phillip gives a low growl.

“No. It was Grant Levaugh. He’s probably still in the alley. She stabbed him when he shot at her. Good shot.” He gives a low smile.

“We’ll need to talk to her. Is she alright?” He asks. Phillip stalks towards him.

“Yeah, she’s dandy. Just here for a physical.” He barks out, sarcasm dripping off his words as he spins on one heel and stalks away.

“Family for Lana?” A voice calls, and Phillip rushes him. “She’s stable for now, we’ll know more once the tests come back, but for now, she’s stable and asking for you.” He points to Phillip with a little smile. He runs towards the room, swinging the door open to find her propped up a little in bed. He smiles, a tear falling down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, reaching towards her to be surprised when she pulls away.

“Don’t.” She growls. “You didn’t answer my texts. Why.” His eyes drop to the floor, the anger and fear mixing together in a stomach turning cauldron.

“I--”

“You don’t even have an answer. You just read them and went on. You just ignored me. He was digging a scalpel into my leg. He was gonna kill me.” He cries out to her, his tears falling down his face.

“I stopped him. I stopped him. I left Sky out on the street and just ran towards you. I told the cops you stabbed him in the neck, you’ll look badass.” Tears fall down both their faces as she gives a little laugh.

“Sky. Everything is about Sky.” She scoffs tiredly, giving him the darkest of looks. His hand gently touches hers and she yanks away from him, giving a cry in pain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know. I don’t wanna see you again. Thank you for helping me, I’ll always owe you but don’t come around.” She coughs, trying to hide her wavering voice. She was in pain, but she was done with him. He grips her hand as she tries to pull away, and touches her face gently.

“Listen to me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Give me another chance. Give me one more. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored it.” He mutters, his voice soft and broken, tears falling down his face. Phillip was never one to cry, but here he was. He was heartbroken, falling apart because of his own mistake. He knew he didn’t deserve another chance, but he prayed to every god that somehow she’d give him one more go.

“No. I’m sorry I can’t. I need to learn to stand on my own. I need to be by myself. I love you, Phillip.” She whispers, kissing his cheek.

“I can’t let you do that. I can’t. Not after today, you shouldn’t want to be alone.” He begs.

“Phillip, please leave.” She whispers, leaning away from him. He nods, head down, and walks out. “Phillip, I love you.” He glances up for a moment, eyes red with tears.

“Yeah.” He whispers, heading out without another word. Marie catches Phillip’s arm as he stalks out.

“What happened?” His eyes meet hers and she sucks in a breath, assuming the worst. “What happened?”

“She’s done. With me.” He chokes out, starting towards the door. Marie makes her way into the room, Junior not far behind.

“Honey, how you feelin’?” She asks, looking to her with a smile.

“A little pain, but nothing like telling Phillip to leave.” She murmurs.

“I bet. He was pretty tore up.” Junior coos from behind Marie.

“He tell you what happened?” She asks, lips pursed together. Tipping her head inquisitively, Marie waits for her explanation. “He ignored the first two messages. He finally looked after the last one.”

“Baby, he isn’t perfect, but he’s been pacing that waiting room for two and a half hours non-stop waiting to hear about you. He almost got a speeding ticket, but Harold let him go. He was worried sick. Just give him one more chance.” She pleads, leaving the woman confused and hurt.

“I need to stand on my own, I want to know I have my own back. If he’s gonna marry Sky I need to stand on my own two feet and fight for myself. I’ve been weak for too long, always expecting him to fight for me. I can’t be that weak little girl anymore.” She nods, ready to fight for herself.

“He’ll never look at her the same after tonight.” Marie assures, patting her hand. “He couldn’t make a sentence when he left. He was so upset. You said you didn’t need him.”

“I said I don’t wanna rely on him.”

“I want you to. I want you to rely on me for the rest of our lives. It was wrong to leave you alone like that. I went over it in my head until I couldn’t think straight. I’d do anything for you, leave people in firing zones to save you. I ran head-on towards a guy with a gun because you were in trouble. You don’t have to say anything, but you needed to hear that. I love you. I’m sorry for ignoring the earlier messages. I’ll teach you self defense, you’ll be able to kick my ass. Please, just don’t shut me out. You’ve been one of my only friends for so long.” He presses a soft kiss to her cheek, tapping the end of her nose with his finger before turning to walk out.

“I love you too.” She whispers, reaching towards him. He rushes to her side, grabbing her up into a gentle hug, pressing a kiss to her lips.

[searchingwardrobes]

Someone to Watch Over Me: 11/26

I meant for this chapter to be longer, but after three days in bed and feeling worse, I finally went to the doctor where they put me on codeine cough syrup among other things, and well, I wasn’t sure how long I would be upright at my computer . . . I wanted to get an update to all of you on this story if it killed me after so long of a wait. I just hope this narcotic influenced mess makes sense. And yes, that says 26 chapters up there. I’ve got this all outlined finally, so I hope you’re all in it for the long haul!

Summary: Emma Swan is ten when she first sees the pair of bright blue eyes watching her from the cracked door of the wardrobe. She thinks it was just an imaginary friend, until she sees those eyes again at 16 and 23.

Nominated for Best Canon Compliant / Canon Divergent MC WIP in the OUAT Fandom Awards.

Rating: T

Trigger warning: attempted rape and violence in chapter two (but not graphic)

Words: 1,500 and some change (in this chapter)

You can read it from the beginning on Ao3

Tagging @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @kday426 @thislassishooked @bethacaciakay @teamhook @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @vvbooklady1256 @mythologicalmango @shireness-says @let-it-raines (If anyone wants to be added to this tag list, please let me know!)

 The first time Killian Jones kissed Emma Swan at the age of ten, he had felt as if his heart might explode and his face might permanently be tinted red. It was such a brief brush of his lips against her cheek, but that cheek had been the softest thing he’d ever felt in his life. Granted, his was a life filled with very little that was soft or warm or tender, but Emma Swan’s skin against his lips was special all the same. He’d lain wide awake the rest of the night, replaying it in his mind, his face still flushed at the thought of it.

Time the next day had seemed to crawl as he counted the minutes, the seconds, until he could see her again. His heart had crashed when he found her room empty, her bed cold. He should have known as soon as he saw the little stuffed rabbit. It was a kind gift, and it was soft, and it smelled of her. When his captain had tossed the silly plaything, as he called it, far out into the waves, Killian had watched the little ball of white fluff with the bright pink ribbon float away from him until it was a tiny speck on the horizon. With it, he felt hope shrink as well. His would forever be a life of sharp edges and hard callouses. Liam’s occasional embraces and slaps on the back meant the world to him, but they weren’t soft like the rabbit.

Or like Emma’s cheek. Her hair.

Killian the man turns his head upon the soft pillow in his bed at Granny’s to bury his nose in Emma’s hair. He pulls her close against him, his mind still partially lingering in sleep where he saw the boy he was look longingly at that silly bunny bobbing on the waves. He couldn’t know then how the wardrobe would take him back to Emma again, and the man he is can scarcely believe his good fortune. He runs his hand along her arm, coming to rest at her hip where he draws small circles with his fingertips. So soft. Emma hums and turns in his arms, nuzzling her nose into his collar bone as he inhales her scent.

“You’re brooding,” she mumbles against his skin.

“No, I’m thinking. There's a difference.”

She pulls back slightly to look up at him sleepily. “Mmm, really?”

“Aye,” he explains, brushing her nose with his, “brooding involves dark thought, and my thoughts this morning are bright.”

She runs her hands up his chest. “And what bright thoughts do you have this morning?”

He runs his fingers through her hair, breathing in her wonderful scent. “How soft you are. Your hair, your skin. When I was a boy, that’s one of the things that captivated me. How soft your cheeks were against my lips. How soft your hair.” He presses a lingering kiss to her right cheek, and she giggles.

“I don’t recall you touching my hair. Not when we were ten.”

“I could just tell it was soft,” he mumbles against her jaw.

He trails kisses lower, down the column of her neck, then to her collar bone. She moans in a deeply satisfying away, her fingers carding through his hair, but then the clock radio on the nightstand begins to beep and her moan turns to a frustrated one instead.

“Shit,” she mutters, throwing back the covers.

Killian sits up, thrown a little off-kilter by the sudden change. “You set the alarm?”

“Yeah,” Emma mutters as she sifts through the shopping bags she had never unpacked yesterday, “I’ve got to catch Henry before he heads to school.”

“Oh,” Killian nods, “is this about Bae – er, Neal?”

“For one,” Emma replies as she hooks the clasp of her bra. Killian tries to concentrate on her words as she shimmies into a pair of leggings, though the bounce of her breasts make thinking a little difficult. Those are soft too. “I also need to talk to him about the newspaper article. Knowing Regina, she’s made sure he’s seen it.”

Emma pulls a sweater over her head, but before she can head for the bathroom, he reaches out and pulls her back down to him. She yelps and smacks him in the chest.

“You can’t toss a six-month pregnant woman around like a barrel of rum, pirate!”

He chuckles as he presses a quick kiss to her lips. “Sorry, love, you just are so damn beautiful this morning.” He then brushes her hair out of her face and then cups her cheek with his hand. “And don’t worry about Henry. He has a big heart. Even if he is upset or hurt, I have a feeling it won’t change how much he loves you.”

Emma smiles, grasps his face in her hands, and presses her forehead to his. “Have I told you that you’re the best husband in the world?”

He looks smug as he replies, “Only about a thousand times.”

“Then make it a thousand and one.”

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

Emma stands nervously about a block from Granny’s, yesterday’s paper clutched in her hands. She had tried sitting on the bench to wait, but the morning cold seeped through her leggings, and her nerves are fidgety, so she’s ended up pacing up and down the sidewalk instead. When she sees Henry heading her way, her heart rises up to her throat.

“Hey kid,” she tells nervously.

“Hey, Emma.”

She gestures to the bench nearby. “Can we talk?”

He glances over her shoulder. “I can't miss my bus.”

“I’ll be quick, I swear.”

He shrugs his shoulder, removes his backpack, and plops down beside her. He doesn’t seem upset, so that’s a good sign. He surprises her by speaking first.

“If this is about the story in the paper, it’s okay.”

Emma blinks. “It is?”

“Yeah, I mean, now I understand even more why you gave me up. You couldn’t take care of me in jail.”

She smiles in relief and grasps his hand. “That’s it exactly, Henry. If I had kept you, they would have put you in foster care until my sentence was up, but you could be adopted right away. And even when I got out, there was no guarantee a judge would see me as a fit mother. Young, no job, do . . . do you understand?”

He nods. “I do, really.”

She glances down at the paper in her hands. “But, that’s not all, Henry. I mean, I never wanted you to be ashamed of me, or disappointed. I know you thought I was a hero, but I’ve made mistakes, and -”

“A lot of heroes have a tragic backstory. Han Solo, Ant-Man, The Green Arrow . . . some even did bad things.”

Emma smiles. “You into comic books?”

Henry grins. “Yeah, my mom – I mean, my other mom, she isn’t too crazy about them, but she buys them for me anyways.”

Emma frowns. “How are things at her house, Henry? Are you sure you’re still okay living there?”

Henry deflates a little and stares into his lap. “I know it was her who put that stuff about you and Hook in the paper. And she’s always telling me you won’t love me like she does. That’s hard, but . . . I know she loves me. As much as she can.”

Emma puts her arm around him, then almost weeps as he turns in her arms to hug her tight. She means to say something comforting, but the words won’t come. Instead, Henry mutters something against her shoulder.

“Grandpa told me that Hook killed those men to save you.”

Emma pulls back, her eyes wide with surprise. “He did?”

Henry nods. “I was real upset when I saw the paper. I ran off to the loft.” He shrugs. “I didn’t really know where to go.”

“Hey,” Emma assures him, “they’re your grandparents. You can go to them any time you want.”

“That’s what they said. Grandma gave me some cocoa.”

“Good. So if things at Regina’s ever make you feel uncomfortable or scared, you can go to them or come to me. Okay?”

He nods. “Okay. But if I stay with her, it will keep everyone safe.”

Emma bites her lip. She doesn’t want to put Henry in the middle. Regina may be the enemy of her and her parents, but she’s also the only mother Henry’s ever known. She’s the one he’s gone to when he was afraid or sick or upset ever since he was a baby. She doesn’t want him to feel guilty for that or feel he has to choose sides.

“That’s very brave of you, Henry,” she finally says hesitantly, “but we’re the adults. You’re the kid. It’s our job to take care of you, not the other way around. Okay?”

He smiles and nods, “Okay.” He reaches for his bookbag then, and Emma knows she needs to get to the other topic. The harder one.

“Um, Henry, there’s one more thing -”

“Is this him?”

Emma startles at the sound of the familiar voice behind her. She turns and rises from the bench, her eyes wide to see Neal standing there.

[ladyluck852]

Jealousy (Lee Taemin x Reader)

A/N: yikes sorry this took so long! I’ve been in a weird writing funk for the last few weeks but I hope this makes up for it🖤 I love my little ant eater. And yes you can ready the title like the chorus of the Monsta X song because that’s what I did.

Summary: your boyfriend Taemin gets a bit jealous after you begin working on your collaboration with his best friend Kai, but the reason why will surprise you.

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: cuss words, some suggestive actions, nakedness, jealous boyfriend

“I’ll bet you five bucks that he’ll show up” Jongin said, sitting beside me and handing me a water bottle while I simultaneously wiped my sweat and read through the five messages my long term boyfriend Taemin had sent me. It was our third day in the studio practicing choreo for my upcoming collaboration with Jongin, or as the world knew him, Kai from EXO. Taemin had been acting weird ever since he heard about the collab, and while I trusted him not to be an asshole I knew how he worked when it came to me and other guys, that guy being his best friend or not.

“Why do we have to make bets? He’s my boyfriend I already know he’s on his way over here in the tightest pair of jeans and a grandma sweater” I teased, pushing Jongin’s arm before drinking half the water in my bottle. I loved Taemin, I could love him for the rest of my life, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to tease him for the rest of my life either. Because I was, I really was. Jongin was the same way, he was a constant fixture in our daily life at home since they were best friends, and having lived and breathed the trainee life I saw him a lot at work too, he and Taemin were a lot alike. Dancing machines and chickens without heads when it came to anything else, dorks, but the sweetest little things ever.

“Hello” I heard a voice say, following a knock on the studio door, Jongin elbowed me as I turned to see Taemin walk in wearing a pair of shorts and a long sleeve. I sighed, wrong in my assumptions and blaming it on the fact that I had been in the air conditioned studio all day and didn’t know the weather. He sat between Jongin and I, kissing my cheek before making a face and wiping his mouth, “you taste like sweat”

My mouth fell open, something in my head pointing out all the other things his lips have touched on my body but he acted like a baby over sweat. Like I’d never kissed him after a concert when he’s pouring sweat into buckets, I narrowed my eyes at him but he didn’t notice, he was too busy talking Jongin’s head off, I heard them make plans and shook Taemin’s shoulder, “where are we going?”

“Jongin and I are going to go eat” he said, smiling widely at me as I glanced around the room wondering if anyone else heard that. It was empty, but I think the tiny bugs under the floor might have.

“Okay and what about me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as Taemin pat my head gently.

“You don’t eat short ribs babe” Taemin said cutely, continuing to pat my head as I contemplated shoving his hand away. But that would be hostile and Jongin was here, if he wasn’t I would be body slamming Taemin into the workout mats... but he was.

“Oh we can go-“

I cut Jongin off, smiling as I grabbed my things, “it’s fine. I’m leaving. See you!”

I grumbled to myself the entire way back to my car, expecting Taemin to show up along the way and kiss me and tell me he was kidding, but he never did. Because of that I got kind of sad, wishing Taemin would get over it and come home soon, picking up takeout from the restaurant across the way from our place and telling me he loved me. Instead I had to get takeout alone and eat it on the couch while fantasizing about a bath and a date with my moisturizing overnight face mask.

I was in the middle of my bath, staring at the bubbles when I heard Taemin yell for me in the living room. I laid my head against the rim of the tub sleepily, not bothering to answer when he finally found out where I was and sat on the mat next to the tub, “Y/N I’m home!”

“Yay,” I muttered, staring at the bubbles because I didn’t want to see his face, “I hope you enjoyed yourself”

“Yeah it was fun, I never get to hang out with my best friend” he sighed, an emphasis on the words ‘best friend’ making me grit my teeth.

“I’m taking a bath” I said, finally looking over at him as he shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. Well normally it wasn’t, he always sat with me when I took baths, “I don’t want you here”

His mouth fell open slightly, his eyebrows pushing together as he brushed his blonde hair out of his face, “Y/N!” he whined, “I was gone all night and you didn’t miss me?”

“Why would I? I knew I was going to see you anyways, we live together” I said before I could stop myself. I had to admit I was upset, I knew he was being overprotective of me but his jealousy was also going into overdrive in both directions.

“Sorry if you’d rather spend time with Jongin” he mumbled, staring at the floor as my foot angrily moved to click the stopper in the tub to let the water out. I stood up, not bothering to towel off and hopefully getting water on Taemin before leaving the restroom. I threw a robe on, knowing he was going to be more dramatic than I was and not wanting to yell at him while naked, “what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? You’re the one ditching me and not even inviting me to hang out and eat with you and your friend. When normally you won’t let me breathe if it isn’t within five feet of you” I muttered as I pulled a comb through my hair, sitting on our bed and watching Taemin cross his arms in the doorway. He had a wet spot on his shoulder and I almost laughed, almost.

“Well maybe I just don’t want you breathing around my friend” he said, a smug look on his face as I took my robe off and got into bed.

“You’re full of crap”

He made a whining noise, I didn’t have it in me to look at his face but I’m sure it was ugly, “I just don’t want you to take my friend”

I rolled over so fast it hurt, my body was sore from dancing and I got tangled in the sheets while I watching Taemin get dressed for bed, “you’re kidding me right?”

“What did I do now?” He muttered childishly, turning around with shirt over his head. Once he pulled it down his cheeks turned red, probably because I was naked and looked like a crazy person, but let’s face it I was the crazy person in the relationship.

“You think I’m going to take Jongin away from you? Why...Taemin!” I groaned, laying back on the pillows as he hopped into bed and wrapped his arms around me. He kissed my face as I whined like a child.

“It’s just we’ve been friends for so long and he already likes you a lot, I don’t want him to tell you my secrets and take you to our favorite lunch places because then I’ll get jealous” Taemin confessed, pulling me against his chest as I pulled away to stare at him, only having heard one thing.

“Secrets? What secrets?”

“Man secrets”

I narrowed my eyes, “I’m your girlfriend, if you want to marry me you have to tell me your secrets. All of them. Even the one’s Jongin knows”

“Well that’s why you’re still my girlfriend” he snorted, patting my face as I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him closer.

“Marry me” I whispered, pressing my nose against his as he laughed, shaking his head.

“No thanks you crazy woman. Stop trying to steal my best friend okay? He’s the only one I have” he mumbled sadly, my eyes bugging out of my head when I thought of all the other people Taemin called his best friend. Myself included.

“What about me?” I whined, shaking his shoulders as he pulled me closer and pushed me against the pillows, “don’t get any ideas, I’m mad at you”

“You’re my best friend. I love you. Let’s get married” he whispered between kisses, holding my head as I glared at him.

“What do you want?” I sighed, admiring how his eyes never once left mine, maybe he didn’t want to keep me up and make me even more sore than I already was.

“A chance to make up for making you mad. Even though I don’t know what I did,” he smiled cheekily, kissing my forehead before rolling onto his back. He pointed to his torso, raising his eyebrow at me as I stared at him, “all yours. Go for it”

“Taemin what makes you think I want to do any work right now?” I asked, squinting my eyes when Taemin started to whine and make a girly noise.

“Oh babe you never let me do anything, why don’t you let me-“

I cut him off, his terribly impersonation of me making me question all four years of our relationship as I climbed on top of him, “for the love of god Lee Taemin, shut up”

“I love you, even though you’re mean”

I rolled my eyes, cupping his face in my hand as I kissed him, “I love you more. I promise I won’t steal your best friend, now tell me all of your secrets”

“Y/N no!”