#you know barring an injury or physical issue

[a-salty-alto]

Reblog with where you're from (USAmericans if you're willing to specify state too that would be great)

I need to know if my suffering is just because my school district hates students or if it's a common thing

[matthewtkachuk]

bad at love

Breaking your brother's only unspoken rule—don't date his teammates—has never been an issue in your adult life. Until now.

pairing: jt compher x reader

warnings: angstttt, smut, a minor car accident with mentions of injury (broken bone/concussion), and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc. etc.)

word count: 4.9k

a/n: hiiiiii @comphy-and-cozy i'm your super secret fic exchange writer! sorry this is a day late and a dollar short. one of these days @wyattjohnston is going to perma-ban me from participating in exchanges. until that date she remains my ever loyal editor. mad thanks to @thomasschabot for reading it first and telling me they loved it even though they're contractually obligated to do so and for physically being there when the fic idea popped into my head <3

It’s not the first time you’ve shown up at your big brother’s house with a face full of tears and a couple bags full of all your worldly possessions. Despite your best efforts and well intentions—if you had to guess—it likely won’t be the last. 

It is the first time you’ve done so with him being a married man, and so it’s your sister-in-law whose comfort you really seek and are expecting to pop up behind the slowly opening door in front of you. 

Unfortunately for you, and for the poor soul you really don’t know that well, it’s not Kenzy who opens the door but the over-the-summer pick-up from Colorado. 

If it had been any of the other, more tenured of your brother's teammates, you might have been waved inside with nothing more than a sympathetic glance and an unspoken ‘again?’. 

Instead, JT’s look of utter confusion has quickly evolved into something more akin to a quiet rage, and you’re reminded that he is a big brother himself. The look is familiar to you, having inspired a similar one on Dylan’s face more times than you can count. 

It’s been a really fucking long day, and you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to have any sort of reckoning with some guy you barely know in your brothers drive way. 

JT’s in the middle of some sort of sentence that begins and also ends with “What—” as you none too gently push past him in order to finally gain entry to the house. 

The mix of sympathy and feigned disinterest that greets you on the faces of your brothers teammates who occupy the large sitting room has your stomach rolling uncomfortably. It seemed like the entirety of the Detroit Red Wings were always around to witness your spectacular failures. What must they think, watching you disappear with the next great love of your life, only to reappear once again with bags packed in a manner of months?

You could hazard a guess at what your brother thinks, the variants of ‘I told you so’ that live and die on his tongue without ever leaving his lips. He wraps you up in an infamous Larkin hug that serves to fix a tiny crack of your broken heart, and so you revel in it like you used to revel in the comfort when the pain you felt was because of falling off the monkey bars when you were a kid. 

But, he has a house full of hockey players to entertain and Kenzy has a glass of wine with your name on it. Dylan returns to the living room and you slide out to the back porch with your sister-in-law, briefly catching the eye of the one who let you in. You don’t see the telltale signs of judgment reflecting back at you, but maybe something else entirely. 

Outside you pour your soul alongside the Malbec. Curled up on the wicker chair under a blanket you tell Kenzy about Owen and the promises he failed to keep. She oohs and ahs at the appropriate times, commiserating without belittling you. 

By the end of the night your heart—and the bottle of wine—feels a little lighter. There’s a little less shame as you make yourself at home in the spare bedroom that might as well permanently be yours. 

Owen visits you in your sleep, breaking your heart again and again until his face morphs into one with a ginger beard and kind eyes. 

-

Those kind eyes become a fixture in your post breakup life. If he’s not hanging around your brother's house, he’s bumping into you at the local coffee shop you frequent when you’re in Detroit. If he’s at neither, he’s obviously at the games you attend in support of Dylan alongside Kenzy. 

At Dylan’s, you barely speak to his teammates and friends beyond simple pleasantries. At your coffee shop, it starts at small talk but grows to be considerable conversations that dip just below surface level. 

It’s at Little Caesars Arena where he really endears himself to you though. Warm ups are arguably your favorite part of the games you attend. You like to look out at the signs, from the heartwarming to the obscene—picking out your favorites and giggling about the latter with your sister in law. 

Dylan’s always been really good about tossing kids pucks, and his big bleeding heart only grew larger when he got the red C strapped to his chest. Some of the other guys, even some of the so-called vets are less good about it. 

JT’s just like Dylan, maybe even a little kinder hearted. He takes the time to read the signs that are meant for him, never turns down a trade for a puck and even gives a stick to a kid whose sign says he came all the way from Denver to watch him, his favorite player, play in Detroit. 

It warms your heart. 

So much so you don’t even notice you’re staring until Dylan’s slamming himself into the boards in front of you to startle his wife. She rolls her eyes and calls him a name not worth repeating while you try to pretend like you weren’t just fixated on his teammate. 

The thing is Dylan has never outright said his teammates are off limits. Not since you were a teenager making eyes at his USNTDP teammates anyway. 

The memory keeps you from looking JT’s way the rest of the warmups, but once the puck drops your eyes can’t help but wander. 

-

Wandering appears to be your specialty, considering you’ve gotten yourself lost in the underbelly of the arena. 

Your first mistake was leaving Ken’s side—she was your ferryman, guiding you down the River Styx, and without her, you were lost in Hell. 

Were you overdramatic? Maybe. Were you lost with no hope of getting out? Still overdramatic, but definitely a possibility. 

The walls begin to look the same, and you’re half worried you’ve accidentally fallen into a back room or something stupid when you stumble upon the one who caught your eye earlier. 

‘Stumble upon’ is a gracious way of saying you absolutely smack into him and fall on your ass. 

He hauls you up effortlessly with one hand and your skin burns beneath his grasp. 

“What are you doing?” you both say in near unison before he laughs. 

“I was getting my shoulder checked out, what are you doing all the way over here? Are you lost?”

Regardless of what he was doing, JT obviously has more of a reason to be found wandering the halls of the arena. And he’s right, you’re most definitely lost but you play it off like he’s crazy. 

“Me? Lost? No, I know exactly where we are,” you bluff. 

JT’s eyebrows raise and he nods slowly. “Which is…?”

Well, he’s called your bluff but he also gave you a key context clue. “Near the athletic trainer, obviously.” 

He laughs again and it has your cheeks feeling hot. 

“Okay fine, maybe I’m a little bit lost and maybe I was contemplating how I’d be trapped down here forever before you knocked me over.”

“I’m sorry, but you ran into me.” You roll your eyes and begin to argue, but he doesn’t let that happen. “Doesn’t matter, I can help you find your way out.”

You swoon dramatically, only half joking as you reply “My hero.”

Now that you’re no longer focused on navigating your way out of Pan’s Labyrinth, you’re free to focus on your close proximity to JT. Based on the way his eyes dart between meeting your own and staring at your lips, you assume he’s just as aware.

Is this not what you’ve been wanting since you knocked on Dylan’s door? But that’s part of the problem, and you’re sure JT is thinking the same. Not only is your brother his teammate—and you’ve always been off limits to your brother's teammates to your chagrin growing up—but he’s JT’s captain, too. There’s a million ways this thing could go wrong and blow up in both of your faces. 

You could get caught, and be forced to sit with Dyl’s disappointment. You could hurt the one person in your life who consistently showed up for you and loved you and cared for you. 

Not to mention you could risk it all for nothing—could crash and burn spectacularly as you were wont to do. Could fuck it all up with not only your brother, but JT too and be left with nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone behind your brother’s back, but you had a sneaking suspicion things would be worse than they were when you were 15 to his 16. 

Ultimately you decide fuck it, because what’s life without a little risk?

Tentatively, you slide your hand over the rough beard covering his jaw. When he doesn’t flinch or move away from you, you lean in closer. 

He’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving closer, letting you make the first move. 

It’s probably a terrible fucking idea, but you’ve never been accused of being someone who makes good decisions when it comes to romantic partners. 

The first press of your lips to his is cautious, barely a brushing of your mouths, just to get a taste. Quickly you become a woman obsessed. Unable to get enough, the kisses turn frenetic, bordering on sloppy. 

He reciprocates in kind, his mouth hot and heavy on yours while his hands grasp and pull and hold. His very essence consumes you, taking over all of your five senses and pulling noises from you that you didn’t know existed. 

If your arm burned from his grasp earlier, your entire body has caught fire. 

You’re unaware or probably more accurately uncaring of your public nature, despite your earlier hesitance. Now you just want more and more and more of JT, as much as he is willing to give and maybe even a little more. 

He seems to be on the same page, entire body wrapping around you and pulling you deeper and deeper. 

Unconsciously your hands begin to pull at the waistband of his pants and it’s then that the two of you finally separate. 

You’re worried you’re going to find regret in his eyes and excuses on his tongue, but he’s just looking at you intently. 

“Not like this,” he says. “Not here.”

“I don’t want to wait,” you protest, but he shushes you with his mouth. 

“It’ll be worth the wait.” 

And worth the wait it is. 

-

It's sexy at first. Clandestine meetings in dark hallways, sneaking in and out of JT’s apartment that’s on the same floor as Jake Walman’s, covert texts and quiet phone calls where you get off on the sound of each other's voices. 

It doesn’t take long for you to want more, though. To fantasize about not just what his calloused hands can do to your body, but what it would be like to hold one in your own while walking down the street. To show up at a home game and have everyone know you were there to support not only your brother, but JT too. 

It’s a fantasy that is only stoked by the comfort you feel walking around JT’s apartment in just his t-shirt with his number on the shoulder. By nights spent together at his dinner table, on his couch, in his bed. By sweet texts and stupid memes and random photos of things that made him think of you. 

You don’t dare speak your desires out loud though. For fear of JT not wanting the same thing or for fear that he would, you’re not quite sure. 

It’s a tough situation to be in. One where you’re worried you're heading to a fork in the road that has JT on one side and your brother on the other. 

You have no delusions about the two paths eventually forging back together again, know that you’ve come dangerously close to that intersection marked with a big fat caution sign. 

Probably you should speak to JT, get on the same page about where you’ve been and where you’re going. Following that, assuming he secretly yearns for the same thing you do, you should probably then come clean to Dylan. 

Probably you should do a lot of things, but unfortunately what is done in the dark always comes to the light and sometimes it happens quicker than you can make your mind up. 

-

A road win presumably has JT in a good mood. He’s texted you letting you know he’ll be home before midnight, requesting your presence in his bed. 

It’s an easy yes, considering you’re already in the aforementioned bed. It’s nice to get out of Dylan’s house, of the suffocating feeling that you’re intruding in someone else’s home, on someone else’s life. 

There’s really nothing particularly sexy about the way he finds you, but his eyes darken upon finding you curled up in his bed just the same. You’re not attempting to recreate a sexy pose from a boudoir photo shoot, and one of JT’s shirts and a pair of boy shorts aren’t exactly fancy lingerie. 

That doesn’t stop him from dropping his bag dramatically and stripping from his dress shirt and pants. 

“Awfully presumptuous,” you say as if the very fact that you’re in his bed in not much more clothing than he is. 

He shrugs, “Not presuming anything. I’m fine if you just want to sleep, but I’m sure as shit not going to sleep in those dress pants. Bad enough I had to sit through a plane ride like that.”

His tone is teasing, but the implication that he would be just as fine falling asleep beside you as anything else pretty well takes all the fight out of you. 

“C’mere,” you say instead of a catchy comeback, lifting the covers and inviting him into his own bed. 

He wastes no time sliding in beside you and curling up around your body. “Hi.”

You snort and hide your face in his neck. “Corny.”

“I’ll show you corny,” he says, but you shush him by pulling his face closer to yours until your lips brush. 

“Thought I was presumptuous,” he says upon breaking the kiss. 

You roll your eyes—“Shut up.”—and kiss him again. 

He doesn’t manage to keep his mouth shut, but at least this time it’s to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

The temperature of the room rapidly increases—between the weight of his body covering your own and your body’s reaction to his fervid kiss, you feel the need to lose at least one item of clothing. 

“I need—“

Luckily he quickly understands what you’re trying to accomplish by pulling at the hem of your shirt, lifting off of you long enough to assist in removing it from your body. 

He makes a noise of appreciation at the bare skin revealed to him before diving back into your lips, this time with one hand cupping your right breast. 

Appreciative noises of your own build in your throat when that hand slides down your body to dip into your underwear. It’s teasing touches at first, until you reciprocate by cupping him through his boxer-briefs. 

Finally you both shed that last remaining layer, uncaring of where they end up in the bedroom. There’s a brief pause while he rolls on a condom and then he’s entering your body like it was made for him and him alone. 

There’s no rush about his pace, just gentle thrusts and soft moans and sweet praises. 

Sex with JT is so good, better than with anyone else you’ve ever been with. He’s the very opposite of a lazy, selfish lover. It’s like your needs and your pleasure come first, and you certainly do too. 

The positioning of your bodies is so intimate, bodies close, mouths slotted over each other with intermingling breaths. 

You worry you’re getting too caught up in that intimacy, possibly running in a direction not quite warranted and so you seek to depersonalize it a touch. 

“Let me,” you say softly while gently pressing a hand against his shoulder, indicating you want him to lay on his back. He moves willingly, even helping you climb atop him. 

It feels just as good with you on top, and the bit of distance between your upper halves means you can breathe a bit better. 

It’s easy to get lost in the feeling, to tilt your head back and focus on your movements and the feel of his bruising grip on your hips. 

Feeling the pressure build in your stomach, you slide a hand down your abdomen to where your bodies meet while the other grasps your breast just for something to hold on to. The added friction to your clit is pulling you closer and closer as you move on top of him. 

He’s staring up at you with lust filled eyes, mouth open in a mix of awe and pleasure. A look of almost disbelief on his face. His hands are still on your hips, now helping the movement of your body on his when your body lights up like the fourth of July with your orgasm. 

It’s hard to keep moving while in the throes of pleasure, but it’s like JT can read your mind, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you until he finishes too. 

Your whole body tingles as you collapse on top of him, relishing in the feel of his arms wrapping around your body. Leisurely you kiss for a minute, until your heart rate returns to normal and you feel like you’re not likely to fall over when going to the bathroom to clean up. 

When you return, you’ve slipped on one of his shirts once again. There's a soft look on his face as you crawl into bed beside him. It only cracks when you quietly whisper, “should we order pizza?”

“I think you’re the girl of my dreams,” he laughs. 

The room is quiet, filled with only the sounds of your breathing and occasional kissing as you wait for the delivery. 

Finally the doorbell rings. “I got it,” you tell JT and pull on a pair of discarded sweatpants before pulling the drawstring so they don’t fall. 

You don’t bother to check the peephole, certain it’s your food which turns out to be a giant mistake. 

Not only is it not your pizza, it’s also the last person you want to catch you with sex hair in oversized clothing that obviously belongs to the guy you’ve just had sex with. 

Dylan’s mouth has dropped so far down it would be comical if it wasn’t also horrifying. 

“Dylan I–” you start to explain yourself but pause midway through. How could you even begin to explain?

“I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head, hands curling at his side. “Actually no, I can’t believe this from JT, I can definitely believe this from you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap. 

Your brother laughs sardonically, “Well you’re not exactly known for making the right decisions when it comes to relationships.”

JT exits his room, no doubt lured by the loud voices and the lack of food. “Hey man, come on, let's talk about this like adults.”

“Like adults?” Dylan is incensed in a way you’ve never seen before. “Now you want to talk about things like adults? The time to talk was before you started sleeping with my sister behind my back.”

“I’m sorry you found out like this–” JT continues to try to defend himself, defend you while you stand there speechless. 

Dylan interrupts, “Sorry I found out or sorry you got caught?”

JT goes to respond but Dylan cuts him off again. “I trusted you dude. I told you she was off limits, and not only did you ignore me, you went behind my back.” He then turns to you. “And you? My teammate? Seriously? You couldn’t have chosen literally any other douchebag to treat you wrong?”

That snaps you out of your stupor. “JT doesn’t treat me bad!”

A different kind of look crosses your older brother's face then. “Well when he does, don’t come running back to my house and crying to me.” 

Dylan slams the door and you sit in the quiet of the room for a minute with your ears ringing. 

The reality of the situation hits you. 

“I can’t stay there, God not only am I a fuck up but I’m homeless too.”

“You can always stay here,” JT offers and it really bothers you that you can’t tell if he wants you to, or if he’s just offering because of his hand in the most recent blow up of your life. 

“I’m pretty sure his baby sister shacking up with his teammate he doesn’t want her with isn’t exactly going to win me any favors with Dyl,” you reply. 

“Well I’m pretty sure he’d rather you be here than living on the street.”

Ordinarily you think that would probably be true but the look on his face when you opened JT’s door is seared into your mind. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

-

In the end you do move your things into JT’s apartment. Kenzy is the accomplice to your crime, helping you pack your things while the team has practice, wrapping you in her arms and telling you that he just needs some time. 

“He loves you,” she says. 

You’re not so sure. 

That’s probably overdramatic. You’re sure he loves you, and you sure hope he forgives you. You’re just worried that this time you’ve both done and said things you can’t take back and you’re not sure how things will move forward from here. 

It’s not all bad though. 

Living with JT is surprisingly easy, even right one might say. You fit directly into each other's lives like perfect puzzle pieces. His strict routines of practices and morning skates and games—both home and away—allow you the space to complete your own work on your own time. Cooking pregame meals together and curling up beside him when he takes his pregame naps quickly become some of your favorite activities. 

You dance around the feelings talk, never quite broaching the subject. But it can’t feel this right if it’s all one sided, all in your head, right?

He’s even kind enough to let you drive his SUV even though the price tag makes you nervous every time you’re behind the wheel. You’re not a bad driver, as evidenced by the fact JT lets you drive the Audi, but you are possibly on this side of over cautious as a result of a bad car accident in high school. 

Three home games after your fight with Dylan and approximately zero words or text messages exchanged between the two of you, you find yourself in the passenger seat. 

“I could have taken the bus,” you protest weakly, almost knowing exactly what JT’s response will be. 

“Over my dead body,” he laughs, eyes flickering over to you before focusing on the traffic in front of him. “Just pick me up after practice or text me if you’re still out and I’ll find a ride.” 

“I’m not gonna leave you stranded at the arena, of course I’ll be there after you’re done.” 

It’s oddly domestic, kissing JT across the console and then sliding into the driver’s seat that he vacates. You wait as he grabs his gear and walks away, you do really love watching him walk away. 

The moment is cut short by catching a glimpse of your brother's vehicle. He’s not in it, obviously already inside the arena, but the sight of it makes your stomach clench all the same. 

Thoughts of Dylan and his disappointment and worry that he’ll never forgive you flood your mind the entire drive. So much so that when the next light turns green, you let off the gas without realizing that there is a larger SUV running the red. 

It all happens so fast. The screeching of tires, the crunching of metal, the pop of airbags going off and then a blinding pain in your wrist. 

In the end, you’re pushed into the wrong lane of traffic, the other vehicle damn near in the passenger seat you occupied only fifteen minutes ago. There’s a distinct ringing in your ears and you offhandedly wonder if this is what it feels like to get boarded. 

“Are you okay? I’m calling 911.” The words sound like they’re underwater, and it takes you several seconds to realize they’re being spoken to you. Turning your head to the side, you try to get the words out to say you’re fine, but you’re blocked by the airbag that has gone off near your head. 

Emergency services come quickly, a perk of living in Detroit you suppose. Embarrassingly, it takes the jaws of life to peel off the driver's side door to get you out. A cop takes your statement and then you end up in the back of an ambulance. Despite your assurances that you’re fine, one raised eyebrow from the female paramedic and the idea that you’ve probably broken your wrist has you agreeing to the ER visit. 

It’s then that someone asks you if there’s anyone you want to call. Heartbreakingly, your first thought is Dylan and your second thought is you’re not sure he’ll pick up. 

Your third thought is JT and his SUV that you’ve probably totaled. 

One of the paramedics helps you dial the equipment manager’s number, the one you were instructed to only ever use in case of emergencies. If ever there was a reason…

When he picks up the phone, you have to explain that you’ve gotten into a tiny fender bender and if you could please speak with JT and yes I mean JT not Dylan. 

“Are you okay?” JT all but demands when he picks up the phone. 

“I’m totally fine,” you fib, and then concede based on that same female paramedic once again raising an eyebrow. “Okay so I might have broken my wrist but–”

“Which hospital are you going to?” he interrupts. 

You tell him, but try to say, “It’s okay you don’t have to–”

He interrupts again, “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up quicker than you can ask how he’s going to get there without the car that you’ve wrecked. 

True to his word, he’s sitting on a chair in your hospital room when you return from getting an x-ray. He stands abruptly upon your entrance and takes the three strides to stand in front of you before hesitating, like you’re made of glass. 

You take matters into your own hands and slide your good arm around his back, careful to not jostle your injured wrist. There's a slight tremor to his body that you feel run through yours. 

“I’m okay,” you say comfortingly, rubbing your good hand along his back before pausing. “Your car though….”

The tears are already starting to pool in your waterline as he pulls back. 

His hands slide to cup your jaw as he speaks seriously, “I don’t give a damn about the car. It can be replaced, you can’t.” A tear slips out before you can stop it and he brushes it away with his thumb before kissing you softly. “I care about you. So much. And that phone call scared the shit out of me.”

Despite the less than stellar background and circumstances, his words have your heart leaping in your chest. “I really care about you too,” you whisper and kiss him again. 

“Where is she?” you hear coming down the hall and it occurs to you that your brother is still your emergency contact. 

“Did you tell him?” you ask JT who promptly shakes his head. 

You don’t even have time to step back from JT’s embrace before Dylan comes crashing into the room. JT wisely pulls away and gives Dylan the space to place his hands on your shoulders and scan for any signs of injury. 

“I’m okay,” you reassure him but the words feel hollow considering they’re the first you’ve said to him in more than a week. “Broken wrist they’re gonna cast and probably a concussion. Can’t say the same for the car.”

Eerily similar to JT, Dylan replies, “Cars can be replaced–”

“But I can’t,” you say in unison with him. “I know, JT said the same thing.” 

It’s like Dylan remembers his teammate then, eyes sliding over to where JT stands and then back down to your slowly purpling wrist. 

The room is silent except for the sounds of medical equipment and the faint sounds occurring outside the door. 

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison with your brother again. 

“No, I'm sorry,” he says first. “I’m your big brother and I’ve seen you get your heart broken too many times. I’m always going to worry about you but I was out of line.”

“I’m sorry we went behind your backs and I’m sorry you found out that way. We should have just talked to you, I should have just talked to you.” 

“Truce?” he asks, like you’re 10 and 11 again, fighting over something silly and trivial. 

“Truce,” you confirm, hissing when you knock your broken wrist as you pull him in for a hug. 

Later, when you’ve gotten over the guilt of totaling JT’s barely used Audi and the cast on your wrist is long gone,  it’ll be a fun story to tell at parties. About how it took an idiot running a red light for you to define your relationship with JT and to reconcile with your brother. 

[atzfilm]

— from eden; (m) part two (finale)

there's something wretched about this. something so precious about this, oh what a sin

— yeosang/f.reader, seonghwa/f.reader

— vampire!au, angst, smut (16k)

— you never thought you'd fall for your best friend. and yet there you were, stumbling upon him in a lover's embrace. heartbroken, you escape to a quiet bar not far from where you work. a man with a pretty mark on his face distracts you.

— content; mxm content, cussing, blood, blood drinking (it's painful, not sexy 😭) heartache, injuries, anxiety, death, violence, slightly descriptive murder (?), attempted assault (nothing happens aside from brief arm touch), insults, mention of threesome

part one

yeosang and you enter the restaurant, your hands tucked in your pockets. with yeosang’s lack of warmth, he often reaches for your palm in his, but you insisted that for tonight, you stay away from unneeded physical contact. it isn’t like you’re uncomfortable with it - you just want things to go smoothly. yeosang frowned at your suggestion but obliged, knowing you want things to be okay between the three of you. your eyes scan the seats until it lands on the back of seonghwa’s head. you look at yeosang before moving forward, he himself barely a step behind you.

seonghwa stands when he sees the two of you, embracing you with a tight hug before looking at yeosang. you never though you’d see the two of them together, the sight strange as you watch them interact. seonghwa holds out his hand and yeosang shakes it firmly. you can see the gears turn in your best friend’s head as he embraces his hand. it’s similar to the look you’re sure you gave him when you first met. you all sit down, you across from seonghwa and yeosang next to you. they exchange greetings as the waiter comes and places menus in front of you.

“you’re cold yeosang,” seonghwa says after a moment, looking at you briefly. “you’re just like y/n. no gloves?”

“naturally cold,” yeosang murmurs. you haven’t noticed before, but the set of yeosang’s shoulders are a bit tense. likely due to the topic of conversation. you decided together that it would be best to speak to seonghwa about his… condition, in person. depending on how the conversation turns, you want to tell him tonight. not in the restaurant.

“pick what you wanted?” you look at seonghwa, and he mulls over the menu. you envy him in situations like this - he’s quiet, but he never lets the lull of silence bother him.

“yep, the usual.”

oh, maybe not this time. the silence is almost painful.

“i’ve gone here a few times,” yeosang speaks up, glancing over the food. “the last time i came the hamburgers were delightful. fries a bit too soggy for my taste,” he sighs, frowning. “at least the chicken i ordered was crispy.”

“chicken it is then,” you nudge him.

the waiter comes back as you place your orders.

your hands are folded in your lap, holding yourself back from biting your lip. seonghwa wanted the two of you to come for a reason, and though you don’t expect it to be said immediately once you’ve sat down, the anticipation is wearing you down.

“i’ve known birdie since we were kids,” seonghwa begins, taking a sip of his soda. “she probably told you already, but we’ve been best friends since then. it was just recently when i realized that i love her in a romantic sense.”

“she has,” yeosang says simply.

“and you have no problem with that?” seonghwa’s brows furrow as he looks at yeosang. “nothing at all?”

“it might be surprising given the amount of time we’ve been together, but i do love her. and i have no issue with her loving someone else while being in a relationship with me,” yeosang shrugs. “all i want is open communication - if her feelings change or if yours change if we decide to move along with this, we just speak about it. it’s difficult, but that’s how something like this can work.”

seonghwa stares at him, “you’re serious about this? you're willing to share someone you love?”

“hwa,” you frown.

he sighs, “it’s just. i don’t want… i didn’t think i’d ever agree to anything like this,” he whispers. his fingers drag along the indentations of the wooden table, tongue dragging along his lips. “i thought you’d be with someone else and that’s true, it happened. but this?” he looks between you and yeosang. “it… i don’t want to be an afterthought. i don’t want to be treated like someone that could be thrown away. and it might be stupid of me to say anything like this because i know you better than i know myself, birdie. i know you wouldn’t hurt me that way. but it scares me. it fucking terrifies me that one day you will decide that this was stupid and give up on me after some time. that’s what i’m worried about most.”

yeosang does not respond, knowing it’s your chance to speak this time.

“i know how hard this is to wrap your head around,” you say, gaze glued to his face, though he does not meet your eyes. “when i finally confessed to yeosang, we both knew that i haven't moved on from you, and despite my own insistent yeosang encouraged me to settle my feelings before pursuing something with him. and at the time i could imagine my life with him, i really could. but having you not there with me, i don't think i'd ever move on from you, seonghwa. feelings are very fragile, and the very last thing i'd ever think of doing is hurting you. i love you, and i want this to work. between us.”

seonghwa does not say anything, likely digesting the words you say the food arrives moments later. all of you that the waiter for the meal.

“i know my words are less impactful since we are not well acquainted,” yeosang takes a small bite of his fries. “but i would like for you to know something, if i may.”

seonghwa nods.

“when y/n and i arrived here, no, just before, she spoke to me about you. explained your emotions, how you react to certain things and phrases. told me of your likes and dislikes, of topics to tread lightly on and to be aware of. she didn't even want me to hold her hand when we arrived out of fear it would turn you off.”

the temperature in the room grows, your own face warming. he does not mean to embarrass you but you can feel the emotion manifesting.

“she was afraid when i spoke to her about you, when i asked questions. corrected me when my assumption about you was incorrect, scolded me when i said something out of line. these conversations, these little talks between us – from that alone i could tell that y/n loves you more than she even knows. and you and i both know she is kind hearted. her heart is full of love. she loves you truly, without restraint.”

yeosang passes seonghwa his fries, “it would be a shame to not try, at least. see if it is comfortable. we all don't have to be together each time we meet. you can meet separately if it feels strange to have me around. our relationships with one another will be separate.”

“are you interested in men?” seonghwa asks him. yeosang's sweet cheeks lift at the question.

“i don't have a preference, i just enjoy people. but if you wonder if i am attracted to you,” yeosang glances at you for a brief moment. it is something he does often to see if you are uncomfortable. the expression on your face must be neutral enough for him to continue. “you aren't bad on the eyes. i don't anticipate a relationship between us, though. my heart is occupied by y/n right now.”

there is a bit of silence that simmering between the two of you.

“i don’t want to jump into anything right away,” seonghwa starts, thanking yeosang for the fries. “even though i did confess to birdie right when we both met again, i didn’t really know the circumstances of what’s happened over these months. i do, though, want to continue something with her. and seeing as you’re both okay with that, i am too. we can just take it slow, then?”

you can’t hide the smile slowly rising on your face, the softness in seonghwa’s eyes forming as he takes in your expression. “we can,” you agree.

“and you don’t have to not touch each other while i’m around,” seonghwa adds in, chuckling when he sees your movements still. “it doesn’t make me uncomfortable in the slightest, you know.”

“i didn’t want anything to be too much,” you admit beneath your breath. yeosang slides closer to you almost immediately after seonghwa’s blessing, a snort escaping your lips at his enthusiasm. “way to play it cool.”

“i like touching you,” yeosang shrugs.

the night slows down after that, small banter back and forth between the three of you. seonghwa warms up as the hours pass, and soon enough the employees begin cleaning up the cafe, a signal for you to leave. yeosang takes his hand in yours as you stand, the cool temperature of his hand making you shiver. seonghwa follows by your opposing side as you walk out, the cold night more than chilling. the lump in your throat is massive as you look at seonghwa, knowing that you have to tell him what yeosang is. that you can’t hide it from him if you want this to work. yeosang knows this as well, thumb rubbing small circles into your palm.

“seonghwa, before we move things forward there’s something else you need to know,” you start, grip tightening around yeosang’s hands. “it’s important.”

the familiar worried look settles in his eyes as he looks between the both of you. things were moving forward so well, it hurts that you need to bring this up at all. but you trust seonghwa, more than you trust yourself. he wouldn’t tell a soul what he knows if you didn’t want him to.

“better to let it out in the open,” he says slowly.

“would you…” you trail off, gaze moving just behind seonghwa. yeosang steps forward as seonghwa turns around, his hand leaving yours. the sight is hard to watch.

the man’s hands wrapped around the woman’s body, pulling her into him. from a quick glance it would just look like they’re wrapped in a lover’s embrace, but you can see the dark shine on her neck, the way his hands are still around her, the limpness of her body. if she is not dead she is soon to be. even in the night you can see how pale she is from where you stand.

“what’s going on?” seonghwa asks, looking at you. you're unable to respond, yeosang leaving the two of you by yourselves. you can remember how he told you there were no vampires around, rarely do they ever even appear in your town. so seeing one so blatantly suck the life out of a person in front of you allows dread to slide over you. seonghwa takes a step forward but you grip his forearm so tightly, you’re sure to leave a bruise. he looks down at you in confusion, eyes widening when he sees the fear on your face.

“y/n, you have to let me go help-”

the sound resonates around the two of you. your heads whip in the direction of the crime, the woman’s body slumped against the pavement as the two vampires fight. it’s too fast for your eyes to keep up, but you do see it. the wooden stake shoved into yeosang’s chest and sticking out from the back. seonghwa is as stunned as you are, your heart dropping when you see his injury. another loud crack echoes through the air. yeosang falls to his knees, hands pressed against the ground to hold himself up. he moves again, slow enough to see him collapse in the nearby park, hidden behind the thickened bushes.

you let go of seonghwa and run over, first glancing at the woman on the ground. her eyes are open and glazed over, life no longer with her. seonghwa is just behind you, stopping for a moment to gaze at the woman's body. there's nothing the two of you can do – but neither of you reach to dial the police. you move near yeosang, but seonghwa is first.

“birdie, what the hell,” his hand wrapped around your forearm is steel, brows furrowed tightly as he holds you behind his body. his gaze has not left the crouched over body of yeosang, the hole in his chest slowly closing. you watch as the parts begin to mend, muscles stretching across the gap, ribs forming in its absence. the sight itself is gory, your own eyes elsewhere as yeosang dry heaves. it is ironic to say that your own heart is breaking looking at him, but you cannot describe it any other way. you push past your fear and begin moving toward him again but seonghwa does not lose strength in his hold on you.

“hwa, let go.”

“you’re not getting near him. he’s not… he’s–”

“seonghwa. he’s not human, i know,” you interrupt his stuttered words. his head turns immediately to look at you, eyes flicking between yours. hurt and confusion mix together. his hold loosens enough that you pull away from him, crouching next to yeosang. his hand reaches for yours and you grasp it without another word, lips pressed against the back of it. you don’t think of how it’s coated with blood or how it’s not his. no. all you do is wait and watch. his shuddered breaths, trembling lips. eyes closed.

“what’s going on?” seonghwa has not moved from his spot but he has not backed away either, watching the two of you. “is he some type of experiment?”

“a vampire, just like the one that attacked that woman,” you say. “we were going to tell you hwa, until it happened. it was going to be easier to explain.”

“not sure anything like that is easy to explain, y/n,” he moves closer. you hear him crouching down next to you. he is afraid, that you can clearly see. but he does not leave your side, eyes stuck on your crumbled partner. “is he… will he be okay?”

“yes,” you murmur. “i think so. i hope so.”

“is there nothing we can do? to speed up the process?”

it’s surprising how easy he is taking in this information. you glance over for a moment, eyes flicking to his hand that touches yeosang’s free one. their fingers are entwined, seonghwa’s trembling in his hold.

“blood, probably,” you whisper low, hoping that yeosang is too focused on his healing to hear you say it. “but i don’t think–”

“no,” his tone is hoarse as it escapes his blood coated lips, head shaking slightly. “no.”

“no then,” seonghwa says. “we wait?”

yeosang slowly nods. “yes.”

and that is what you do. hidden in the moonless night, tucked beneath the tree seonghwa and you used to rest when you were children, staring at the man you love mending himself.

–

it takes a little more than a hour before yeosang is able to stand up on his own. seonghwa and you help him to his feet. he does not waste any time in letting apologies spill from his body, chest heaving. you silence them with a small smile and a shake of your head. seonghwa shuts it down well, lifting yeosang’s arm to let it wrap around his shoulder. he assists him with walking to yeosang’s car. you climb in the backseat first, helping seonghwa lower him down to the seats, his body lying horizontally, head resting against your thighs. your fingers push his blood soaked locks away from his face, unable to control your own trembling. he turns his head slightly, pressing a small kiss to your pants.

“i’ll be fine, pretty.”

seonghwa climbs into the front seat. he adjusts his mirror to focus on the two of you. your eyes meet in the reflection, your worried gaze meeting his identical one. it is something you love about him. how easy it is for him to care despite the circumstances. he asked you just before if he should call the police but both yeosang and yourself denied the request. there's no way to explain what happened tonight. nothing that would end up letting the three of you leave without question. seonghwa drives slow, apologizing each time the road hits a bump. yeosang murmurs no need as he does it, eventually making it to his complex. the two of you pause for a moment, thinking. how could you bring him through the lobby when he looks like he’s walked out of a murder scene?

“garage has a private entrance. the key is in the glove compartment,” he gestures forward. seonghwa reaches over and takes it out, quickly opening the driver’s door to help yeosang out. the movements are quick as you do so, cameras around the garage increasing your worry. you enter the elevator, seonghwa passing you to the key. you glance at the two of them before shutting the doors, turning the key and hitting the top floor.

yeosang snickers at you, head resting against seonghwa’s shoulder. “you know what they say about vampires not being seen in reflections? works here too.”

“i can see you in the mirror, yeo,” you frown.

“if i let you, yes,” he takes in a long breath, clearing his throat. “i’m able to hide myself enough that outsiders cannot see. so, the guards would just see the two of you carrying around an invisible person. i only suggested the garage because it would be too hard to explain carrying a body they cannot see. i wonder how it would look,” he chuckles, his cough overcoming it. seonghwa and you exchange a worried look as the elevator ascends.

“i’m fine,” he mumbles, clearing his throat. “just a blood bag and rest. you can leave once you drop me off. the both of you.”

“no.” “absolutely not.”

yeosang does not protest, but you can see the disgruntled expression on his face. once he's stable enough, likely after a few more hours, you know he's going to scold you for hanging around while he's like this. it wouldn't be the first time you've run away. but you cannot do such a thing now. your mind would wander if you left him in this apartment. if the attack was truly random maybe you'd be less worried. nevertheless, he's one of your loved ones. you'd never forgive yourself for leaving him alone. and with you staying, seonghwa won't leave. not until he understands everything that's happening.

the elevator doors slide open, your steps matching their slow ones as you enter the apartment. seonghwa helps guide yeosang to his room with instructions. you enter the kitchen, opening the fridge door. the bags line each shelf, cold to the touch. does he want you to warm it up?

“this is true, then?” the stool slides against the hardwood floor as seonghwa sits, eyes on the open refrigerator. “he's really a vampire?”

“as real as he'll ever be,” you play the bag in the microwave, hitting the timer. “i was as shocked as you are now when i found out.”

“and it doesn't scare you?”

you hold your tongue. does it? before, you were downright afraid of being in the same room with him. you've grown used to his true nature, your love superseding any uncomfortable feelings that appeared. but are you still afraid, deep down?

“it did,” you admit, keeping the bag closed. you stare at it, thinking. “but i love him, hwa. if he were a secret dragon or a shape-shifting hybrid creature i'd still love him.” and that is true. there is no hesitancy in your voice. you love him. you tuck the bag beneath your arm, giving seonghwa a quick squeeze on his arm before entering yeosang's room.

he stares at the ceiling, chest rising and falling slowly. he somehow looks paler, the warm amber lamp shining on his skin. he tilts his head, blinking slowly as he smiles at you. you take the bag out of your hand, placing it in his. he pauses as he stares at it, nail tracing around the outline of it.

“thank you,” his tone is low. “you didn’t… when you saw the woman, you were calm.”

you see her sullen, cold face in your mind as he mentions it. it makes your throat tighten a bit, but it's not an unfamiliar sight. “seonghwa and i, before we had our current jobs, we were in medical school. cadavers were something quite common to see. the only reason why i didn't freak out,” you admit. “i doubt i’d forget anytime soon, though.”

“i'm sorry y/n,” he places the bag to the side of him, hand reaching for yours. you lift yours with ease, letting him entwine your fingers. “i should have told you to leave. i would have been fine alone, i let you see it. i could have done something quicker –”

“you're not blaming this on yourself, are you?” you stare at him in confusion. “you didn't cause her death, yeosang. this isn't your fault in any way.”

“i thought, when we left the restaurant, the smell outside was vaguely familiar. it smelled of death. i pushed past it because i thought it was just me imagining things. if i truly, truly let it settle this wouldn't have happened. i could have saved her.”

“listen to me carefully,” you lift your free hand, resting it against the side of his face. his eyelids close. “you are not at fault, yeosang. this is not your fault. you didn't kill her. you tried your best to save her. you almost died trying, yeo,” your gaze moves to his chest, the open wound merely a smaller hole now. “you did everything you could. sometimes it just doesn't work out the way we want it to.”

“the vampire is still out there,” he whispers.

that is true. wherever it came from, it still roams the streets. and if what yeosang believes is true truly is, there's nothing stopping him from feeding on more innocents. soon enough the murders will raise suspicion, grow fear in the community. it worries you that's for certain.

“there's nothing to be done right now unless you're well.”

his lips tilt downward a bit, but he doesn't say anything to deny your words. “you can go for the night if you'd like, pretty.”

“i'm staying,” you reach for the bag around him, placing it back in his hands. “i'll be in the living room with seonghwa. bother me anytime you want.” you go to stand, but yeosang's grip on your fingers does not loosen. “yeo–?”

“not just my apartment, y/n. if this… if all of this is too much for you, i wouldn't blame you if you decided to leave me.”

“i’ve told you before-”

“and i’m asking you again.” he interrupts you, eyes unblinking. “i love you, and i know this relationship we have will put you in danger. just because i rarely am around vampires does not mean someone won’t appear in the future. i’d never want to put you in harm’s way, and i need you to know now that that will happen. i’ll try my best to protect you, but there may be a time that i won’t be able. i need you to think about this, carefully. i wouldn’t mind if you stayed the night to think it through, and if it takes longer than the night i’ll understand. just, don’t say yes because you care for me. think of your future, of what you’ll be risking if you stay.”

you lean down, lips pressing against his birthmark. “i will. get some rest, okay?”

his nod is shallow, letting go of your arm. you give him one last look before closing the door completely, locking it behind you.

seonghwa sits on the edge of the couch, mindlessly clicking through the channels. his gaze shifts to you once you enter, bored eyes brightening as they move to yours. “is he alright?”

you sit next to him, adjusting yourself on the couch. “he’s as good as he can be. hopefully better tomorrow.”

he nodes slowly, “are you okay?”

that’s a more difficult question to answer. “he was there for me when i let myself drown in my sorrow. i drank so much a few months ago. it made me forget what i lost. seeing him right now, so defeated, i just don’t know what to do to help him. i feel stuck a bit, you know?”

there is no question why you did that, how you ended up that way. it was your own heartache that thought it would be best to mend yourself with alcohol. you’d never blame it on seonghwa and he’d never suggest doing so. but you can see in his eyes, how they grace their gaze on you, how the lump of his adam’s apple tightens as he swallows. you reach over, hand covering his own, a small pinch of skin between your nails.

“it’s better now.”

he nods slowly, lids fluttering. “i hope so.”

“yeosang helped with it,” you say again, gaze subconsciously roaming to his closed bedroom door. “it was a lot to deal with on my own and he was there to pull me out of it. i haven’t touched alcohol since.”

“i’m glad he was there for you,” seonghwa holds your hand, playing with your fingers. “i hope i can be there too.”

“you’re here now even though you don’t need to be,” you say simply. “you're scared of him but you haven't said anything to discourage me. you're scared, and you're still here. i went through a lot back then seonghwa and i have so much more to work on, but i won't do anything like that again. you're here for me, and i will not leave you.”

he takes in a long breath, eyes closing. “i know. but it's nice to hear you say it, birdie.” he tilts his head to look at you. “all we can do right now is wait and see if he needs anything. i can tell from knowing him for a day now, he seems a bit stubborn.”

you frown, “takes one to know one.”

he snickers, tongue dragging across his chapped lips. “ha ha.”

-

“now there’s two of you i have to deal with?” wooyoung stands there, arms crossed as it flicks between seonghwa and yourself. yeosang did warn you before you slept that he may be dropping by since he told him of the incident, but you didn’t expect it so early in the morning. dawn just breaking. you barely slept, a couple of hours of sleep obvious in the way you stand. seonghwa stands slightly in front of you, unmoving as wooyoung enters the home. his eyes meet yours, questions in their gaze, but there’s nothing to really explain from your side. you know wooyoung as well as he does.

his hair seems a bit longer since the last you saw him, pulled back from his face with a hairband. he throws down the duffle bag on yeosang’s couch, rubbing his face. “you saw the fuck, right?”

with brows knotting together, “excuse me?”

“the immortal, the nightwalker. vampire, whatever. you saw him?” wooyoung turns to look at you, eyes flicking up to seonghwa. “both of you did?”

“yes-”

“did he see you?”

you cannot really remember, but he had to have seen either you or seonghwa. the encounter was brief, but you weren’t too far away to go unnoticed. the possibility of him seeing you rather than not is really high. still, you cannot be too sure of it. “maybe.”

“yes or no, it’s a simple question sweetheart.”

“how the hell are we supposed to know when it was pitch black outside?” harshness etches seonghwa’s words as he frowns at wooyoung.

“easy there, flesh sack,” wooyoung raises his hands, grinning. his canines dig into his lower lip as he does so, turning back around to dig through his back. “if the guy did see you, it means that he knows you hang around the immortal who almost killed him. puts a target on both of your backs. but if he didn’t see you, you’re safe for now. until he comes poking around here, that is,” he pulls several things from his bag - knives, small containers of unknown substances, clothing. he pauses for a moment, thinking. “i think this is enough for the two of you.”

“for what exactly?”

wooyoung grins, brow raised, “for killing a vampire, stupid girl.”

the door to yeosang’s bedroom creaks open just as you're about to retort. you see his pale hand first, fingers outstretched against the wall as he steadies himself. he looks a bit better than last night, hair frazzled, face a bit sunk in. and despite all of that he still looks aggravatingly handsome. life is never fair. he coughs, slowly making his way into the room. he notices how you look at him with worry, lips closed as he meets your gaze. the expression disappears when he looks at wooyoung. annoyance clear.

“haven't i discussed this with you already? you speak to her with dignity, not insults. she's done nothing to you.”

“all humans are stupid, it wasn't just meant for her,” he shrugs, avoiding the look his friend gives him. “but apologies, human. and other brooding human.” the glazed look he gives seonghwa does not go unnoticed by anyone in the room. you grab a pillow and throw it in his face, a whine escaping his lips. “hey–”

“focus, wooyoung,” yeosang merely sighs, but you can see the laughter on the cusp of his stern statement, squeezing your arm. “now's not the time for one of your conquests. we have to kill him.”

he murmurs something beneath his breath, shooting you a glare before sighing. “it won't be as easy as i thought. he's turned.”

defeat settles in yeosang's gaze, “are you for sure?”

“no born acts the way he has. draining a human in public, no care for the consequences? i know you've been preoccupied lately, but there's been a string of murders around here. three dead humans in two weeks. it's unsettling. unsettling enough for others to take notice, yeosang.”

yeosang's lips tighten. “perfect.”

“sorry to interrupt, but would you please explain for the two humans?” you ask. yeosang looks between the both of you, thinking.

“you two must leave town. it's not necessary to take others since they blend in. this town will be crawling with my kind, and they will target you.”

“yeosang, what are you saying–”

“y/n,” wooyoung interrupts. “listen to your immortal lover, okay? newborns causing chaos in a town bring out the born vampires. and not just one or two. they come in groups, they scour the town for the one who has been causing this to stop it. to keep our secret hidden. and we can only last a day or so without a drink. you get what i’m saying?” wooyoung looks at seonghwa. “you're already around a vampire yourself. yeosang has not placed a claim on either of you, but we can smell you. we know. our kind target humans like you first. they may attempt to mark you.”

seeing the confused looks on your faces unmoving, wooyoung turns to yeosang. “have you not explained anything to them?”

“we've been preoccupied with other things as of late.”

wooyoung shakes his head, “we're wasting time like this. look,” wooyoung holds out his arm, sinking his teeth into his skin. dark blood seeps out from the bite, dripping to the wood below your feet. “when we bite, our fangs extract a sort of poison, i suppose. it enters a human's bloodstream. your scent changes, and you become only desirable to the one you have been marked by. it's our way of having our own blood supply at all times. since yeosang has not done that to either of you, you're not safe. others will want you because you smell like a vampire, so it's presumed that you know of us already. they will make you their feeding station. rarely do humans survive more than a week. so, get your little buddy here, grab some knives before you go, and get out of here. far away, preferably. i'm not interested in saving humans who don't listen. and as you can tell, i'm only here for my best friend, not the two of you.”

“kindness will take you far,” yeosang says softly. he looks at you and seonghwa. “can we speak alone for a moment? in my room?”

you follow yeosang, said man stopping briefly when he sees seonghwa not following. “you as well, seonghwa. it's important for both of you to know.”

surprise swallows seonghwa's expression as he follows the two of you into yeosang's room, the door shutting behind him. he pinches the bridge of his nose, a long breath escaping him. neither of you interrupt, letting him settle his train of thoughts instead.

“this is a larger problem than i presumed it to be. if it were an older vampire i would have been able to track it down by myself tonight. as you can see, plans have changed. i… i know its sudden to leave the place you know, but i hope you do. even my apartment now is not safe for the two of you. in another city, farther away from here, you will be okay. you will blend in. this one is too small, and i'll worry. for the both of you.” yeosang looks at seonghwa. “it's important that you take my words seriously when i say this. please leave until i tell you to come back. call off work and use my cards to care for yourselves if you lack funds. wooyoung took the liberty of booking a hotel before he came. it's a suite of some hotel line he often uses. it has enough room for several people if needed.”

“you’ll be okay?” you ask. yeosang steps closer to you, pressing his forehead against yours. the temperature of his skin was always enough to calm you down, but your heart still beats on wildly. if the vampire nearly killed him last night, there’s a chance it could do the same when you go.

“i have backup now, pretty,” his thumbs brushes your cheek, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “do you trust me?”

“of course.”

he presses his lips against your forehead against before stepping back, “seonghwa, stay safe as well. you risked yourself for me yesterday without knowing me for more than a few hours,” his lip tilts, arms resting against his chest. “not many beings in this world would do the same.”

“you’ve done all that you can, yeosang, it’s little for me to give back to you,” seonghwa holds out his hand. yeosang takes it, but instead of a handshake, he pulls him into his body, arms wrapped around his torso as he gives him a hug. the sight is humorous in itself - yeosang isn’t one to initiate embraces wit others. seonghwa looks taken aback for a moment, before patting yeosang’s back. you hold back your laugh, glancing between the two.

“hate to break up the love fest,” wooyoung swings open the door, frowning. “but i can smell them coming. best to leave now rather than later.”

you give yeosang another quick hug before turning around, seonghwa following close behind. his step around wooyoung is obviously keeping a distance between them, wooyoung himself grinning at his actions.

“if you ever grow tired of these two, you always have me loverboy,” wooyoung laughs, an ouch escaping his lips immediately after. you snicker, sliding your hand into seonghwa’s and leaving the two vampires alone.

-

traveling to the hotel is quiet. you texted hongjoong soon after leaving the condo and explained enough to him - he told you he wouldn’t leave his home no matter the circumstances. it settled your heart enough, trusting his words. seonghwa and yourself were never really much for talking, moreso now since your mind is somewhere else entirely. you trust yeosang. you trust him entirely, but worry has always been at the forefront of your mind. if you could you would have stayed with him. but your presence would only be a hindrance. having him distracted worrying for you while there’s a danger creeping through the streets of your neighborhood is the last thing you want. and despite how much you dislike wooyoung, you’re thankful for him being there. if yeosang trusts him, so do you.

seonghwa is glued to your side the entire way. hand never leaving yours, arm brushing if it must for a brief moment. little space exists between the two of you. being best friends you rarely ever gone a day without speaking, but it feels entirely different now. his touch somehow feels more present in your mind. his gaze heavier as it rests on you. knowing he cares for you the same makes even the brush of his thumb feel different. the way he holds his straw between his lips as he takes a sip, adjusts his jacket, holds the door open for you - it is all alluring.

you rub the sides of your mouth, trying to push those silly thoughts away. now’s not the time to fixate on little things.

“birdie, though i love your trust in me, please keep an eye on where you walk,” seonghwa nudges you slightly, pulling you around the layer crater in the sidewalk. “i’d rather you not hurt yourself while we’re away from home.”

“sorry,”

“no need,” he tucks your arm around his, guiding you down the street. “there’s a lot happening. it’s hard not to concentrate on it.”

“you think he’ll be okay?” the question is more for yourself to answer than seonghwa, but he takes the bait, stopping at a red light.

“from what i’ve seen thus far, i do,” he nods. “and he’s not alone now. he has his friend with him. i’m sure two can take down one.” seonghwa chooses his words carefully, walking around at the change of the signal. “he loves you too much to leave you behind, birdie.”

“i love him too,” you say, and seonghwa smiles.

“i know,” he looks down at his phone, brows furrowing. “this is the hotel?”

the two of you look at the building ahead. it’s tucked between two large business structures, brands you’ve only seen in ads not target towards you. the hotel could be the fanciest place you’ve ever entered. you glance between him and yourself, clothing thrown together at the last minute. neither of you appear wealthy enough to even look at this place, let alone stay in it. you look at the confirmation wooyoung sent over briefly.

“it’s the place,” you sigh. “a warning to look decent would have been nice.”

entering the lobby is surprising. no one gives you strange looks, customer services unlike anything you’ve experienced. you barely get a word out before bell hops take your bags and guide you to an elevator hidden behind the guard’s desk. they bow as the doors close, seonghwa and you matching the gesture as the doors close. all of it is enough to make seonghwa lean against the wall of the elevator, exhaustion coating his features.

“what did that weasel tell the hotel we were? chaebols?”

the thought doesn’t surprise you at all. from what you’ve seen - seen enough - of wooyoung, you don’t doubt he’d be able to convince everyone that you two were that important. the staff almost insisted on giving you a new pair of shoes to wear before you ran away. the elevator door slides open, the room appearing before you. the two of you hesitate before entering.

the decor is obnoxiously expensive, enough so that you doubt anyone has step foot into this place in months. you place your bag on the dating lined chair carefully.

“so he's a pretentious asshole then?” seonghwa murmurs. you snicker, making your way around the room. “i know they've been around for a while, but i just can't imagine having enough money to afford a place like this.” seonghwa touches the bed that lies in the middle of the room. a box full of chocolates sits on top of the towel in the middle, expensive wine resting next to it. seonghwa's brows furrow as he picks it up. “1954, birdie. it's older than our parents.” he places it carefully on the kitchen table, shaking his head. “it's probably worth more than we'd make in thirty years.”

“he has expensive taste,” you murmur, pushing it further to the middle. your phone vibrates, yeosang's contact appears across the screen. you press it without another thought, reading the message quickly.

yeosang: the two of us will be busy tonight – wooyoung told me he left a few things in the fridge and out and about. also said not to worry about the cost :/ i love you, pretty girl. take care of seonghwa. it shouldn't be more than a few days.

you: please be safe, i love you. tell wooyoung to stay safe too.

yeosang: ♡

“he'll be mia?” seonghwa asks, and you nod, plugging your phone into a nearby outlet.

“he said to take care, and to have anything we'd like. i guess wooyoung already paid in advance,” you sit down at the counter, folding your hands. seonghwa takes the chair across from you, carefully sitting down. you can't help but laugh, his cheeks tinting at the sound.

“they won't charge for your ass print in the cloth.”

he narrows his eyes at you, a slight pout forming on his lips. it's endearing, enough to push your worries far behind. if ever so brief.

“it's best to be careful.”

the next few days are uneventful. yeosang sends you updates in the morning and at night, voice messages filling the air as you wait for anything significant. seonghwa and you slowly grow used to the change in your relationship. it's easier for your lips to press against his temple, his on your cheek. nothing is rushed, no one's boundaries pushed. you tell him stories of things you've done while you two weren't speaking, and he tells you the same. your laughter warms up the cold, emotionless hotel room. on the first and second day seonghwa insisted that you take the largest bed in the middle of the room, he himself sleeping on the couch not too far away. there's other bedrooms around but he's never mentioned it. you know it's for the two of you – just because danger is farther away doesn't mean it can't happen. but on the third he sleeps next to you, fingers reaching for the other's. it is on the sixth day, sitting on the couch near each other, when you receive the call. you're too engrossed in the film to hear your phone vibrate, only the second time when there's a bit of silence do you notice.

seonghwa pauses the movie as you place the phone on speaker, yeosang's photo with you coveting the screen.

“hi yeo–”

“hide. now.” wooyoung’s voice speaks through, quick, resolute. “he found you. you have a couple of minutes, maybe less. we're on our way, but he'll make it first.”

the call ends. you freeze, unable to move. seonghwa grips your arm and pulls you, turning off the television and grabbing your phone off the counter. he hurriedly enters a spare bedroom, glancing around quickly before entering the walk-in closet. he digs through the bag wooyoung gave the two of you, passing you a knife. you take it from him, gripping it tightly. neither of you say a word as you wait. your heartbeat throbs against your eardrum, the thought of a vampire wanting to kill you crawling through the hotel room – if you could only cry. seonghwa sprays the mist around the two of you. wooyoung told you it'd hide your scent temporarily.

seonghwa stares at the closet door, his body fully in front of yours. it shakes, but he holds himself with strength. waiting just as you are.

wood cracking against the wall echoes around the suite. you flinch, hand covering your mouth. you concentrate, desperate to not be the one who tells your position, causes the two of you to die.

glass shatters in the kitchen. before you know it, the closet door is thrown open. you can barely blink before the vampire grips seonghwa’s neck, clawing through it completely. your scream is barely heard over the surrounding chaos in the apartment. you chase after, knife in your hands. the vampire looks at you, eyes narrowing once it sees the weapon in your fingers. still holding seonghwa, it moves to you, fist slamming into your stomach and throwing you to the floor.

“shit,” wooyoung grips the vampire’s neck, dragging him off of seonghwa. there’s little skin on him that’s not torn apart, barely much left in front of you. you crawl over to him, hands hovering over his body, unable to figure out what to do. his gaze slides over to you, shaky hand reaching to grip yours. you do so without missing a beat. their fight continues behind you.

“he’s going to die unless i do something,” yeosang appears next to you. his own body is covered with blood, staining his clothing. he doesn’t look at you but instead, cups seonghwa’s chin and turns his gaze to focus on him. “do you want to die, or become one of us?”

“yeosang-”

he ignores you, eyes on seonghwa. “nod yes, move your eyes up and down if you want to. you’re going to die if not. there’s nothing left to save.”

you want to say something, anything. but yeosang would know better than you. if you called an ambulance, there’s still not enough time for them to do anything worthwhile. if seonghwa says no, he dies. he will die.

you look at seonghwa. his eyes flick to the side, to you. before closing. his nod is barely visible but you see it. you see him shake his head up and down. yeosang’s nail drags across his wrist and presses it against seonghwa’s mouth. he leans down, teeth sinking into his neck. you look away, the muffled screams of seonghwa filling your ears.

“human, we need to get away, now.” wooyoung grabs your arm, pulling you to your feet. “it happens fast. newborns kill the first human they see. you can’t be here,” he tugs on you harshly now, throwing your body into his. you feel numb as he guides you away from your two partners, seonghwa’s body thrashing in pain the last thing you see before you’re pulled out the room.

-

you aren’t too sure the last time you’ve seen yeosang and seonghwa. wooyoung and hongjoong kept you company several times a week - either the nosy vampire or your friendly friend would stay around your apartment or work for hours at a time. it was to make sure you were okay, you know that, but it grew tiresome. they care for you and you’re endless grateful, but their faces popping up reminded you that the people you love are mia. the last time you heard from yeosang - seonghwa and him were across the country in the middle of nowhere. to teach seonghwa how to interact with humans without ripping their necks. wooyoung explained that for newborns it could take a while - from months to years. you’d wait endlessly for them to come back, that you know. but just… a simple video call would settle your heart a bit. even if it was only for a couple of seconds.

or perhaps you were just being selfish.

“surprise!” wooyoung enters your apartment (he somehow has a key?), several bags tucked beneath his arm. he drops them unceremoniously to the floor, the sound echoing around your place. hongjoong pops up in the doorway just behind him, grinning widely. ah, right.

hongjoong’s partner that he’s been interested in? well, the world is quite small. you just didn’t think the one he’s been writing poetry for would be jung wooyoung.

“go away,” you grumble into your coffee, steam fogging up your glasses. you wipe your index finger against the plastic in a windshield wiper motion, placing your cup to the side. “i said i am fine.”

“you’ve been saying that for months now, we know,” hongjoong points out.

your frown sinks into your cheeks. “then why are you here?”

“good news!” wooyoung hops over the suitcases, throwing his arms around you. you whine at the tight hug, struggling to pull away. he pinches your cheek, pulling away. “those stinky vampires of yours are home~!”

your eyes widen, moving around wooyoung to look at hongjoong. he nods in agreement. he holds up a suitcase. “we thought you might want to go and visit right away, so wooyoung grabbed all of my suitcases from my storage and brought them here.” he glances at them scattered about. “even though i told him we only needed maybe two.”

“yeah yeah,” wooyoung rolls his eyes at his partner, looking back at you. “ready to go?”

-

home isn’t what you expected it to be. what wooyoung meant by home was actually a large structure in the middle of the woods, dozens of miles away from city center. the idea of it being so far was obvious, but it just brings back the reminder of what happened. of what you’ve done to bring him into this situation. the guilt has sunk into you ever since it’s happened. you brought him around you, into this. and this is the end result.

hongjoong stayed behind for also obvious reasons, the car ride filled with wooyoung’s singing voice as he drove. you pull your luggage out of the car, wooyoung helping you with the other.

“he’s not the same as he was, y/n,” wooyoung explained on the way over. “be careful around him. he may look the same as the human you once knew, but he’s not. he’s a predator now. he can be set off at the slightest trigger.”

you grip the handle tightly as you make your way up the steps. you’re sure the two vampires can hear how your heart beats. trying to focus on settling it did nothing but make it go by faster. wooyoung stands rather close to you as you walk up, almost on top of you. precautionary enough.

“don’t mind if i stay with you three for a bit, right?” he asked you this in the car. “just in case.”

the front door swings open before you could ring the below. you barely get a chance to look at yeosang before his arms are around you, face tucked into the curve of your neck. he smells of mint and lavender, the scents filling your nose as you hug him back. he pulls back only slightly to press his lips against yours softly, hands cupping your face.

“i've counted the days i would get to see you again,” is the first thing that falls from his lips, thumb stroking your cheek. “remind me to never leave your side.”

“i've missed you too,” you say, smiling. you reach up, tucking his hair behind his ear to see his pretty mark. “a lot.”

“come inside,” yeosang glances at wooyoung just behind you. “thank you for bringing her safely.”

“you bet!”

you enter the foyer, the ceilings a couple of stories high. it's quite grand. you shouldn't expect anything less from him when you've slept in his apartment, but it still shakes you how wealthy he truly is. an amount of wealth you'd never get to attain in your short life. the whistle of a breeze makes your head turn to the sound, eyes widening slightly .

seonghwa does not move from where he stands, arms resting against his chest. you hold your breath as you look at him, taking the sight of him in. the last time you saw him he was soaked in blood, barely alive. seeing him fully healed makes the anxiety in your heart lessen. he does not move from where he is, but you can see the look in his eyes. desperate. unsure of what exactly, but your guess wouldn't be far off.

he does look different though.

his skin is clear of blemishes, hair healthier, gaze more focused. oddly still, much like yeosang and wooyoung. you've come to realize all vampires have that slight eerie feeling around them. it's something you've grown used to, makes it easier to spot one. yeosang's hand slides to rests on your waist, holding you close to his side. seonghwa follows the movements, brows slightly furrowed.

“you're okay,” you whisper.

he immediately meets your eyes again. he opens his mouth to speak, closing it again. you can see how his eyes shift to yeosang, not saying a word.

“seonghwa is…” yeosang pauses. “he's been around humans to make sure everything is okay but, he still struggles. i told him that you'll be coming and he didn't think he was ready. i pushed him a bit for this, i admit.”

oh.

he didn't want to see you. no wonder he doesn't move from where he is. the disappointment must clearly be on your face, because seonghwa finally speaks for himself.

“i'm sorry,” voice strained, barely above a whisper. “i'm scared of hurting you, y/n.”

y/n. not birdie.

you nod, reaching to grab your bag in the doorway. wooyoung already has it, stepping past you and hongjoong. he nudges seonghwa on his way past him, “help me put this stuff in her room.”

“okay,” he slowly reaches for the handle, delicately wrapping his fingers around it. the sound isn't loud, but you hear the cracks echo around the quiet home. no one says anything. you try to not make any obvious surprised movements, but you suck in your breath ever so slightly. seonghwa turns to look at you.

fear. fear is what you see now.

“i'm sorry, i didn't mean to, i–”

“no worries,” you say quickly. “it's hongjoong's, not mine. im sure he has so many more thrown around his house somewhere.”

he disappears around the corner with wooyoung. once he does, yeosang pulls you outside, shutting the front door behind him. neither of you exchange words as you walk past the car and down the small dirt trail. his hand leaves your waist and slides into your fingers, holding you tightly. far enough away, he glances to you, lips in a straight line.

“this is hard for him. all of it,” yeosang admits, kicking a small rock out of the way as you meander. “in the beginning he was not… he wanted to die, y/n. and i told him to wait a few days, because newborns often feel that way in the beginning. the hunger is neverending for them. for me, i can feel full. newborns, they cannot. with every breath they want to fill what they have lost. that's why vampires rarely turn humans. it is a painful existence for a few years, never truly getting that burning feeling away until a decade or so has passed. if… if it were any other circumstance, i would have told him everything that comes with it. but we had little time, and he was dying. we had to make a decision then.”

“it must be tortuous for him then.”

yeosang nods slowly. “terribly so. which is why he did not want to see you. but he needs to eventually. it is difficult to explain, but we, our kind, feel emotions differently than humans. more intensely. his need to see you would only exemplify as days past. it would become uncontrollable. so me arranging this was for both his safety, yours, and all of us seeing each other again. he hates the idea right now, but it is better than him suddenly entering your home and doing something he may regret.”

“it's that bad? he would have killed me?”

yeosang moves his head up and down again. “he would have. he could still y/n. he could hurt you. that's why wooyoung will be staying with us as well. to watch him with me. just in case things go sideways.”

“too bad, i thought he was starting to like me,” you say cheerily, laughing at yeosang's frown. “listen, him and hongjoong have been bothering me every day you've been gone. if i hear one more joke i might actually lose it.”

yeosang laughs. “i don't doubt it.”

“but yeo,” you stop walking. “thank you. you… didn't need to do anything like this. you've been taking care of him, and i don't know how i’d ever truly let you know how grateful i really am. you saved him. you've taken care of him. i just,” you wrap your arms around him, sinking into his embrace. “i love you.”

“i love you too, pretty girl. and you don't need to thank me for something so simple. i told you i‘d care for anyone you care about.”

“this visit, yeosang,” you murmur into his chest. “if it's a lot too soon, i can leave before the night ends if that'll be better‐”

“no. and you coming wasn't only for him, i missed you too. and i'd rather you stay for a while.”

despite your worry you hum in agreement, tucking yourself further into his body.

—

neither of the two are around when you walk back instead with yeosang. he murmurs something about them in seonghwa's room as he guides you throughout the house. there isn't much decor around, quite empty, but he explains that he will be leaving his lease behind and moving into this home permanently. the drive with wooyoung took several hours of travel – him being so far away weighs on your mind a bit. you doubt there's anything out here that would hire you. which means less time you three would be together.

“the closest town is not too far down the road, just a few kilometers. they have a lot of places looking to hire, and apartments available if someone wanted to move closer,” yeosang notes.

“good to know.”

he opens your bedroom door. your suitcases rest at the foot of the bed. it's grand – similar to the suite you stayed in with seonghwa a few nights. it's a blank slate though, frames empty, dresser clear of items. your hand brushes along the carved design embedded into the wood, listening to yeosang speak.

“we kept it free of everything so you can pit your personal touch. is it okay?”

you turn around, noticing how worried he looks. you haven't really spoke to him throughout his tour, mind elsewhere. you smile at him, truly genuine. “it's more than okay.”

he lets out a low, relieved breath. “good. i grabbed things and put them in the cupboards. if you ever need anything, everything is up for grabs.”

“lunchtime!” wooyoung’s voice swallows the silence, echoing into your room. you let yeosang take the lead, his hand in yours as you walk down the steps. the clattering of plates and laughter are the first things you hear when you enter the kitchen. wooyoung places a bowl of ramyeon on the table as you enter behind yeosang.

“one bowl for the human, blood for the rest,” wine glasses click against the marble table, filled to the brim with the thickened liquid. yeosang sighs and takes it, glancing inside.

“feeding is usually done without y/n around, woo–"

“it’s an innocent drink, yeosang. nothing more.”

“it's fine,” seonghwa appears around the corner. his eyes rest on your hand holding yeosang's, taking his glass and sitting at the table. “i can handle it.”

“still…” yeosang mumbles. you sit in an empty seat, leaving a space between seonghwa and yourself. his hand tightens around the stem of his glass as you do so, wooyoung taking the spot in between both of you.

“i would have made it on my own but yeosang bought a fuck ton and piled them in the closet. would be a pity to let it go to waste.”

“thank you for the meal–”

“anything for my second favorite human,” wooyoung nudges you, downing his glasses.

conversation flows with ease around the table with the help of wooyoung. your flow of words does not come as easy, your demur obvious the more you try to come up with responses. yeosang can see it so you're sure the others can. after a few more minutes or so of this, the shattering of glass stops conversation. seonghwa stares at the pieces that have fallen, the stem crumbled beneath his harsh grip. his gaze flicks to yours.

“am i supposed to pretend this whole time?”

you thought you'd have a chance to speak to him alone about what happened. to somehow fix what's been broken over time. “hwa–”

“this fake conversation is just useless. you barely looked at me when you entered through the door. you don't even want to sit next to me. but youre all over him, your fingers haven't left his hand since we've sat down. you even went on a little stroll with him. is there nothing to say to me? nothing at all, y/n?”

there's so much to say. so so much. “seonghwa, you've been through a lot. i didn't want to spring everything on you when this is the first time we've seen each other in months–”

“you're still not looking at me.”

you look up from your bowl to stare at him. his irises aren't the dark brown you're used to seeing, light brown staring back. brows furrowed, lips downturned. a scowl the longer your eyes rest on his face. there isn't any warmth there as he looks at you. “i'm sorry.”

wooyoung pushes his chair back, slightly angling himself toward you. seonghwa looks at him briefly. “what do you think i'd do?”

“i don't know, newborn. you guys are kind of unpredictable.”

“wooyoung,” yeosang's voice is laced with warning.

“what? am i not allowed to tell the truth now?”

seonghwa scoffs, “no, please do. you'd be the only one saying it around here.”

“how about we all just take a moment, hm?” yeosang glances between the two of you. your hand has slipped from his once seonghwa has mentioned the touch, though the newborn’s eyes still burn on the space between you. “we haven’t see each other in a while. emotions are bound to rise. wooyoung, can you go out for a moment and leave us?”

wooyoung raises his brow at the suggestion but stands, patting seonghwa on the shoulder as he leaves the room. you’re sure he’s within hearing distance of the three of you, but it does bring a semblance of privacy.

“i didn’t… i thought you would have hated me after all of this,” you admit softly. “i’m not scared of you seonghwa, if that’s what you think. i’m just scared that you’ll never forgive me for what i brought you into. you didn’t choose this, you could have still been a human, oblivious to everything that’s happening. you wouldn’t have had to die,” you close your eyes for a moment, taking a long, deep breath. “i’ve just been waiting for you to blow up on me all day.”

“is that what you’d think i’d do?” seonghwa’s brows tighten, head shaking slightly. “is that what you truly think of me?”

“i wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“birdie,” the way he says the nickname is soft, tender. he does not make a move to get closer to you, but he does shift his body so that it faces yours. “i’ve missed you this whole time. why would i hate you for what i chose? i could have left once i saw that other vampire, but i didn’t. i chose to stay with you, because i want to stay with you. i’d never blame you for it, you didn’t tell that vampire to hurt me. you tried to get it away. we both did. things happened.”

you hear his words, you do. but the longer you look at him, the longer you stare at the faint scar on his neck, the more it hurts. “it could have been prevented.”

“it could have.”

“but it wasn’t.”

he shakes his head, “it wasn’t.”

you stand up from your chair, seonghwa following your movements. you can feel how yeosang watches closely as you move to stand in front of seonghwa, your hand slowly reaching towards his skin. he seems to be holding his breath as you lightly touch his cheek, finger tracing the scar that crosses over his brow, jaggedly curving down to the corner of his lip.

“it hurt,” you whisper. “i could see that it did.”

“it was temporary.”

“you remember the feeling?”

“y/n,” yeosang speaks up this time, but seonghwa ignores him.

he wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you closer to his body. his chest falls at the breath escaping him, hands delicately wrapped around you. your hand does not leave the side of his face as he presses himself into you. “it was the worst pain i’ve ever experienced in my short life. it’s funny how back then i thought nothing would hurt more than you leaving me, and san breaking my heart. it was something so much more different than that.”

his grip around your body slowly tightens. it is not enough to be uncomfortable, but you’re aware of the lost look in his eyes, your fingers dragging around his scalp as he continues.

“i remember seeing you go, i remember yeosang giving me his blood and ending my life. i remember every second i’ve been away from you, every moment i’ve killed an animal because the hunger does not feel like it will end.”

his arms tighten more. this time, yeosang stands up.

“seonghwa, focus.”

he still ignores yeosang’s words, continuing. “every day i thought that you would come, you would call and check on me. but you never came, you never did. i thought that you hated me, i thought you were disgusted with what i’ve become. i thought you gave up on me.”

“i wouldn’t.”

his body shakes. you know from yeosang well that vampires cannot cry, but you feel something wet against the bottom of your sweater. you look down, eyes widening at what you see. instead of tears falling from his eyes, blood seeps through the ducts, dripping down his cheeks, staining the fabric. you try to move his focus but his hold continues to tighten.

it begins to hurt.

“seonghwa–” yeosang grips his arms, ripping them off of your body. you step back only slightly.

it is enough for him to lose himself.

the movements are quick. yeosang holds seonghwa around his waist, wooyoung moving around you to assist. seonghwa continues to sob as he reaches for you around them, jaw tightening, hands gripping their bodies. wooyoung looks back at you with sympathy, before pointing to the corridor.

“my room. now.”

vaguely remembering where it’s located, you quickly make your way to the back of the house. shattered glass and wood cracking echoes around the home as you quickly run up the stairs, entering wooyoung’s room and shutting the door. there’s not much inside aside from his suitcase open, clothes neatly laid out on the sheets.

a body slams against the bedroom door and your heart races, until a painful groan escapes seonghwa’s lips. despite how much you want to look out and see what’s wrong exactly, you don’t. the doorknob clicks and opens, yeosang entering the room and closing it behind him. his body pressed against the closed door as he breathes heavily, fingers running through his blonde hair. he looks at you, sliding down to sit in front of it. you move to sit across from him, gaze flicking between his.

“it was just a small misstep, his emotions are hard to control right now,” yeosang whispers softly, hand reaching for yours. you take it, his shoulders relaxing at your touch. “that subject, that night, it still hasn’t fully settled within him yet.”

“the blood?”

“normal,” he smiles at you. “turned can cry, but their tears make their food supply dwindle. wooyoung took him out to hunt. they’ll be back soon,” he swallows, thinking. “perhaps he was right. this might have been too much for him so soon. i might have been selfishly thinking of seeing you without really settling on what it would have done to him. don’t-” he presses his finger between your brows, rubbing it quickly- “make that face. it is actually my fault this time.”

“what do we do then?”

his head tilts as he leans it against the wood, looking at you. “depends. when they come back wooyoung can bring you back home, though i doubt he’d be amused with driving hours again. or you can stay in your room for the night and we bring you back tomorrow.”

“or…” he leans forward. “we try again. i watch him closely until i know it’s safe enough for you to be with him alone. and we go from there.”

“hm…” you press your finger against your lips, eyes tilted to the ceiling as you pretend to be in thought. yeosang laughs at you, pulling your finger away and pressing his lips against yours.

“i’m not one to assume, but i believe it’s number three?”

“ding!” you grin, and he rolls his eyes.

—

it was easier said than done.

much much easier said than done. wooyoung kept his distance when need be, but he often appeared just when you’ve forgotten him. they went out to feed several times a day, most occurring when yeosang saw a flicker of change in seonghwa when you spent time together. you couldn’t stay forever with them and eventually had to go back home, your weekends spent visiting the two when you could. it worked as good as it could have, though you did miss spontaneously visiting yeosang when you can, the trip now much too far for you to go on a work night. you missed the soft tap of yeosang’s fist against your apartment door, his shy smile as you turned the knob making a tired night less exhausting.

after that first night seonghwa has not crossed a line after it. his touch is often quick and never lingers, but you enjoy it nevertheless. the anger that resided in him became mute, his laughs echoing yours whenever you are around. nothing has really changed in your relationship aside from the lessened amount of touching, but that would grow in time. you’re just enjoying his presence, his light. there isn’t a day that goes by where you don’t video call him, whether it be to complain about your day or listen to his.

“does he miss me?” seonghwa’s voice is light as he asks, though you can feel how heavy the words are.

“he does. you never call him.”

“i know,” he sighs softly. “it’s… it feels different now. i’m not sure what to do if he wants to see me. i don’t know if i’ll be able to handle that.”

“hongjoong would understand, hwa. you know that. him and wooyoung are together almost everyday.”

sometimes you forget yourself how involved they are. until you call hongjoong and hear the recognizable laugh echoing in the back. he's understanding, endlessly, knows how difficult it is for seonghwa to approach him. you look at seonghwa in the call, thinking.

“you have that look on your face.”

“what…” the tone of your voice is pitched, hiding the smile. “we can video call now. if you want.”

“the three of us?”

you wouldn't let him go through it it alone if he didnt want it. “of course.”

dialing hongjoong's number is quick. his grin is wide when he answers, eyes widening when he sees seonghwa on the call as well. there's a brief silence before hongjoong breaks it with a silly joke of his. seonghwa’s laughs, and it moves on from there. eventually you leave them alone to catch up, the weight on your chest lifting. hours pass when you receive a message from the both of them separately.

hwa: im forever grateful for you, birdie. thank you.

hongjoong: dude… now what if i was naked?? at LEast prep me!

—

“there's no reason for you to be so cold!”

“i told you we're fine. aren't you going on a trip with hongjoong in a couple days? go bother him,” yeosang waves wooyoung off, hand pressed against his face as he tries to lean in for an embrace. he sighs, attempt forgotten as he looks at you. he gives you the familiar look – lips protruding, eyes narrowed. it would have worked if you didn't see the glare yeosang sinks into his face, unbeknownst to wooyoung.

so you merely shrug, adjusting yourself into the soft cushions. “he's the boss around here, not me.”

“we both know he listens to anything you say. come on,” wooyoung's frown deepens. “do you not like me around?”

“we've had a large dose of your presence lately, perhaps a few nights away wouldn't hurt. or several. a month wouldn't be so horrible,” yeosang grips wooyoung's luggage, dragging it out and down the hallway. wooyoung’s groans could be heard from where you rest, your amused smile shifting to seonghwa as he walks into the room.

he glances down the hall at the two bickering, shaking his head as he sits neck to you. without prompt, you adjust yourself to make him more comfortable. instead of his usually avoidance of your touch, his hand wraps around your wrist lightly, tugging you. with questions in your eyes you follow his lead, until your body is pressed against his, head resting on his chest. his scent is still as it was when he was human – lavender, a hint of vanilla. his arm wraps around you, hand resting on your arm.

“i found that yeosang has grown tired of wooyoung hanging around everyday.”

“they used to be together, you know,” you point out.

“really?” you nod, sinking further into his body. “can't imagine it, they bicker like lifelong enemies. every time one of them enters the room the other points out something and they get into an argument.”

“ah, no wonder yeosang wants him gone.”

“he's out, finally,” yeosang enters the room, sighing loudly. “can you tell hongjoong to keep him hostage for a while? i don't think i can handle another dose of him anytime soon.”

“i'll send him a text,” you snicker, opening your phone and doing just that. you do not question how seonghwa embraces you, his body relaxed. it's taken so long for him to even kiss you, so this – you could just cry if you thoughts lingered on it anymore.

yeosang sits on the opposite side of you. “good riddance.”

“he's been so nice to have around,” you point out. “even i started getting along with the asshole.”

“nice is an exaggeration,” seonghwa mumbles.

“don't be mean… or else i'll make you walk down that path with him.”

"how will i be able to walk away now that i finally have you here with us?" his brow lifts, a small smile on his lips. "you’ve entrapped me too deeply in your embrace for me to leave. unfortunately for you, you're stuck with me. it will take more than a mere scolding for me to walk away. and i am very sure seonghwa feels the same, no?" yeosang's gaze moves to your lover. the warm expression does not go unnoticed by you, so surely yeosang sees it as well. his grin grows wicked, giggles falling from his lips. "i love when you look unsettled."

"you know i hate the teasing," there's no malice in seonghwa's voice as he says it. "birdie should have chosen someone more tolerable to love. all you do is annoy me."

yeosang nudges his thigh with his foot. "ah ah, you enjoy me too much for her to push me away. and i'm prettier than any of the other men."

seonghwa gasps, widening his eyes. "and you're an asshole!"

"it's the face i was born with, there's nothing i can change about it," he shrugs.

“a pompous asshole, then.”

the jabs back and forth as you watch do nothing but make you ponder. their relationship has evolved over the half year since they first met. their indifference to each other is no longer that. neither has expressed to you that their relationship is anything more than platonic, but the small changes have not gone unnoticed by you. the subtle gazes they send one another, the affection as they tease, the lingering eyes. the eyes are what has stood out to you the most. gazes often wandering to settle on each other's lips. even wooyoung has not let certain moments slip by – teasing often moving into heavy silence. you're not one to push for confesses, but as yeosang has told you two before, if things change, it should be spoken. you wouldn't be bothered if they cared for each other as you do for them, you would just like to know about it. secrets don't settle well, as you've grown to learn.

“can i ask you two a question?” you say between the beat of silence, looking at yeosang. you're unable to directly look at seonghwa due to the position you have settled in, but your hand brushes against his to bring his attention forward. “has something happen between you two? have things changed?”

“in what way?” seonghwa asks simply. and it is a valid retort, though you're sure he knows what you're inferring.

“do you two want a relationship beyond what we have arranged now?”

yeosang is not one to be caught off guard, but you can see how the inquiry has unsettled him, the usually calm demeanor of his stilling. his eyes move to the man that holds you in his embrace. you lean up despite wanting to linger there longer so you're able to gauge their reactions together. seonghwa's eyes are worried as they stare at yeosang, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

“i don't want to push anything if you aren't ready to discuss it, but i can feel that something is happening. i just don't know what exactly.”

yeosang’s fingers comb through his hair, eyes scattered. “it's complicated.” he looks at you, smile small. “it wasn't meant to end up this way.”

“you make it seem like it is the end all be all,” your joke falls flat as you glance between them, the air somehow growing colder. “have you both lost feelings for me?”

“no,” seonghwa says almost immediately, shaking his head. “if anything they’ve grown.”

“then i don’t understand why you’re looking at me like you’ve broken my heart,” you admit. yeosang glances at seonghwa again, before turning his body fully towards you.

“let me preface this all by saying that we haven't been intimate without you knowing, y/n. we would never do such a thing, ever. seonghwa, he and i… since i am the vampire that turned him, we will always be tethered. he will always hold something for me in his heart. i have told him this a few months ago, let him know that if he feels unsettled it's because of this. and we've talked it out, acknowledged it. i didn't think it was necessary to tell you right away since it didn't really affect anything. it wasn't a secret, it just wasn't my first thought. but things began to change recently.”

“how recently?” you ask.

“a couple of weeks ago, i suppose? everything was normal between us. we were still friends. and then things changed overnight for us both. as i’ve stated prior, i have always found seonghwa attractive. but since i was involved with you, and was not interested in anyone but you, that is how far it has ever went. until a few weeks ago. he and i were practicing his restraint in the livingroom,” yeosang looks at him. “it was a simple exercise. i held warm human blood in front of him, forcing him to endure the smell. he’s learned self-control quite well over the past few months, so it was moving along as usual. but as we were conversing, i’m not sure what changed. we began indulging in conversation other than simple small talk, speaking of our lives. i comforted him on the lost of his, embracing his body - and that’s when i felt my own feelings shift a bit. he must have seen the look on my face because we separated after that, and avoided one another for days. wooyoung was the one who forced us into a room together to discuss our feelings.”

“it was hard,” seonghwa murmurs. “i’ve dealt with so much this past year, so this sudden onslaught of feelings was overwhelming, to say the least. i mean, we-” he gestures between the two of you- “haven’t even moved forward in our relationship because of what happened to me. how could i grow feelings for someone else? it just didn’t make sense to me. especially now with this new life of mine. i thought the emotions were stemming from our blood attachment, but i realized it was much more than that. completely different.”

you’re unable to speak, letting their words settle. at another time, maybe, it would be upsetting, knowing that in your absence they began loving each other. the only feeling that you can discern is relief. before that night of terror you didn’t know how this relationship would turn out. if it would even survive past a year. and of course, there is still no guarantee that it would last, but knowing that they care for each other as you care for them is soothing. the only way it’d be hurtful if they hid it from you.

“love is a reach for me right now,” seonghwa says. “but i can very much imagine that feeling emerging in the near future.”

“you humans make things so complicated,” yeosang murmurs.

“i’m not even human anymore!”

“live a few hundred more years and then maybe i’d consider it,” yeosang reaches for you, your hand entwining with his without a word. “pretty girl, you’re silent. tell me what you’re thinking.” seonghwa leans forward as well, hand resting against your thigh.

your lips rise, a small laugh huffed from your lips. “nothing really. i’m just happy.”

yeosang’s brow raises. “happy?”

“i mean, all i wanted was for you two to get along well, maybe become friends. now i don’t really need to worry about that. i was happy that seonghwa had you while he was going through this, and now i’m even more happy that he has you for more than that.”

“us, pretty girl,” yeosang’s fingers squeeze yours. “he has us.”

“you speak as if i’m not here,” seonghwa scowls, looking back at you. “are you sure this is okay with you, birdie. no hidden feelings?”

“none,” and that you’re sure of. there isn’t even an inkling of dismay cast in your thoughts. “is that why you told wooyoung to go away?”

yeosang sighs, “he’s been around for too long, that’s why. we also did want to spend some time together, but we didn’t want to progress any further until you knew of it. and it’s a bonus - now i don’t need to see those eyebrows of his wiggling every time i give seonghwa a glass of wine.”

“wine?” you look back at seonghwa. “you drink wine? you hated wine.”

“i did,” seonghwa agrees. “but it’s disgusting taste quells my hunger for a bit. makes temporarily abstaining from drinking blood easier.”

yeosang laughs at the look on your face. “that’s exactly how i looked at him when he told me the same.”

—

the sounds of your knife sliding through the mango echo around the quiet kitchen. seonghwa’s presence made you jump when you felt his lips press behind your ear, a soft sorry whispered in your ear before he sat at the island, watching you. you haven’t spoken up and neither has he, merely observing as you slurp the fruit, licking the tips of your fingers as you do so. you’re so involved in your own world that you have yet to notice yeosang watching along with him, their eyes glued on your mundane behavior. but soon enough, your gaze glances forward, startled when you see the two vampires’ gazes on yours. you begin to snort, until your irises meet seonghwa’s. the last time you’ve seen a gaze like his is when yeosang feeds, his soft brown eyes completely darkened. you stop in your cutting, gaze moving to yeosang. he is no better than the other, pale hands gripping the back of seonghwa’s chair.

“did i do something wrong?” your voice is barely audible, placing the knife to the side. “are vampires allergic to mangos?” the whine that spills from seonghwa’s lips is so heavy, you still as he places his head in his hands.

“hwa-”

“birdie, you really don’t know your affect on me?” he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down his face. “it makes me wonder how obtuse you can possibly be?”

“she’s vaguely aware,” yeosang grins, eyes trained on your hands. “but i don’t think she truly knows how in tune we are to her. frustrating, is it not?”

“truly,” seonghwa shakes his head. “am i ready now?”

yeosang tilts his head, thinking. “i cannot tell. it’s been a few weeks now without incident, but again, things can change in an instant.”

it’s as if you’re not there at all. “hello?”

their eyes meet yours briefly, the surly looks enough to quiet you. yeosang has told you how he can hear the pick up of your heartbeats, the smell of you. so you try your best to control your own meandering thoughts, mangos swirling in your mind instead. just as you begin to slide another slice into your mouth, seonghwa stands, grabbing the cutting board and sliding it closer to him. you whine, and he frowns.

“do you not understand how i hunger for you, birdie? you keep on making those noises, and it’s making me desperate.”

oh.

you slowly chew, unable to hold back the grin that draws itself on your lips. “imagining me sucking your dick?”

“an unsexy way of saying that, but yes,” he agrees.

yeosang hums, letting go of the chair. “then we discuss it.”

the look you both give yeosang is enough to make him shrug, sitting down in his chair. “you both have praised me for my open communication!”

“less talking this time, please?” seonghwa nearly begs on his knees as he says the words. “listen to your elders.”

“i’m several hundred years older than you.”

“and you are still frozen at an age younger than me, so who’s really the winner here?”

“i never realized how terrible you are at math, hyung.”

seonghwa’s eyes widen at that, words lost. yeosang merely rolls his eyes, gesturing for you to sit. you follow his instruction as he clears his throat. “the talk is short. actually just a few sentences, really. pretty,” yeosang smiles at you. “seonghwa and i want to make love to you, desperately. due to seonghwa’s nature now, we cannot risk him having sex with you on his own without someone at least listening in. but me standing outside would be too risky, just in case things get out of hand. so…”

“you want to have sex with me together?” you raise your brow.

they both nod.

“okay by me.”

the look on seonghwa’s face is humorous. without another word he stands, pulling you from your seat. you yelp as you’re thrown over his shoulder. his slim figure makes you forget how strong he truly is now, laughing as you’re dragging to another room. yeosang is close behind him, meeting your eyes briefly.

“now?” you say between giggle, patting seonghwa’s back.

“now. i really am sorry i’m so eager, but i’ve waiting nearly a year for this moment, birdie. a bit of enthusiasm from you goes a long way.” you cannot help but let your laugh escape your throat, yeosang matching your tone with ease. your eyes meet one another as seonghwa turns down the hallway, passing by your room in favor of his. you have never felt such warmth spilling from your chest, such hope and love like this.

before meeting yeosang, you didn’t quite believe in anything solid - assuming that with each passing moment something would break, something would hurt. and though you’ve both hurt while you are together, each in different ways, the horrible misery that you’d feel is no longer there. the hurt, the humiliation, the rancid taste in your mouth gone. he helped you, guided you to where you are now. perhaps you knew as you sat at that bar, liquor sitting in your stomach, drowning yourself in alcohol so your thoughts became nothing. maybe you knew then, seeing the soft smile of the stranger next to you hold your gaze.

perhaps you knew that sometimes love is this simple.

[oftenwantedafton]

ransom | steve raglan x female reader

rating | explicit

part 1/?

words | 4.1k

cw | alternate universe, kidnapping, captivity, restraints, minor violence, eventual smut, no explicit content this chapter

summary | Kidnapping and holding a prisoner hostage for ransom isn’t a new situation for Steve Raglan. He’s been with the organization for years. He’s experienced, skilled, good at what he does.

What he doesn’t know is how to handle the feelings he’s developing for this latest captive. When the ransom demands are finally met and it’s time to release you, he’s not sure he’s ready to let you go.

ao3 link

You haven’t spoken in forty eight hours.

The other men in the organization might have found this favorable, considering what you’d left them with: verbal abuse layered upon the physical marks at your protest in being captured. Bites and scratches mar this kidnapper’s own arms, sustained before he’d secured you properly, your wrists now bound behind you back and your ankles fastened to one of the motel room chairs while he washes in the bathroom, scrubbing at the injuries with the little bar of soap provided. It had been a long week thus far, watching and waiting for the opportunity to take you, issuing the ransom demands and dragging you across state lines, literally kicking and screaming.

Your eyes speak volumes as you glare at the man emerging from the bathroom, the obvious hatred melting into satisfaction at the sight of the marks you’ve left on him before he unrolls his sleeves and refastens the cuffs. Futile, maybe, but pleasurable to view nonetheless. You’ve escaped with little damage yourself, the bruises and abrasions more from your own struggles than anything deliberately inflicted. It wouldn’t serve much purpose to damage the organization’s solitary but extremely valuable bargaining chip, the only daughter of the man indebted to them, not even legally old enough to drink alcohol yet. A young member of the opposite sex that some might judge fairer, weaker.

He doesn’t believe you’re weak; not really. There’s a fire in your stare that he feels sear his skin. You want him dead, but you want to see him suffer first. You’re angry at being kidnapped; angrier still that the demands haven’t been met yet. The indignity. The outrage. When you’ve realized you’re getting nowhere screaming threats at your attackers, when the hours pass and it seems more and more likely that for now, at least, no help is coming, you’ve chosen this vow of silence instead. So you continue to glower resentfully at the tall, middle aged man that’s taken you, that sinks onto the edge of the bed and switches the television on, glancing over the evening news before jabbing his thumb against the power switch once more.

He rises, gathering the car keys, sunglasses, jacket, baseball cap, and wallet from the top of the dresser, one hand reaching behind his back to readjust the weapon tucked there after the disguising accessories have been set in place. He’d had the gun digging into your ribs earlier when you continued to fuss about getting in the car with him, an implied threat that had finally forced your cooperation. The vehicle itself is a cheap, used thing that he’ll likely exchange for another before long, paid for in cash. All expenses for this venture are paid for with cash, so there is no trail. He’s been around long enough to know where security cameras are placed in stores, the proper way to angle his face to reveal nothing. He has a history of changing his name and appearance to keep himself from being discovered. He doesn’t dawdle or linger in any one particular location when he’s actively working a situation like this. He’s made good time with you already, in spite of the initial struggles, and he intends to continue on that trend.

The bearded man glances at your bound figure. “I’m going out to get dinner. I’ll be back shortly. Behave,” he adds, though he knows you’re not going to be able to escape. As expected, you don’t respond verbally, merely scowling. You seem to have learned your lesson about the futility of the struggle to break free, your body sitting still now. He imagines your limbs must be sore. There isn’t any give in those bonds, and that’s entirely intentional. He’s not taking any chances.

When he returns with a brown paper bag containing a pair of styrofoam cartons filled with Chinese food and a six pack of beer, he can hear your stomach growling. You haven’t eaten in two days either, refusing anything put before you. He can see your lips chapping already, envisioning how parched the interior of your mouth must be. There are bottles of spring water in the fridge, one of which he retrieves now.

He settles into the chair across from yours at the small kitchen table with a sigh, lifting the cover of the first container and surveying the contents. Dive fast food restaurants are often generous with their portions, he’s noticed, and this one had been no exception. Fried chicken and crab rangoon and skewers of beef teriyaki layer over a heaping mound of pork fried rice. He doesn’t miss your eyes flicker to that meal, the quick dart of your tongue between your lips to try to moisten them as he frees the plastic utensils the restaurant has supplied from their wrappers. He takes a bite of the grilled meat and a spoonful of rice, chewing thoughtfully, meeting your gaze. The anger and resentment is back, but now it’s mixed with a hollow want. He takes a swallow of beer to finish washing the mouthful of food down, setting the bottle back near the ring of condensation it’s already left on the table. He’s willing to bet that surface is particle board and not real wood.

“Do you want to eat?”

He sees the tremble in your lips. You clearly do want to, but not under these circumstances. Pride has halted you from speaking thus far, but as strong as it is, he can see you wavering now. Another grumble issues from your belly, and a slight tinge of color blossoms in your cheeks. You nod, a few short, shallow movements, and he stands, dragging his chair closer to yours.

“You should drink something first. Slow sips. Your stomach isn’t going to appreciate this at first.” He cracks the top of the water bottle off and holds it up to your lips, tilting it slightly. It takes a bit of practice to coordinate, trying to keep it from spilling down your chin, but a few successful swallows are accomplished, hard gulps that are loud. You cough a little, likely having ingested some of the liquid down the wrong pipe. He sets the bottle down, waiting, and you nod, indicating you’re alright.

“I can feed myself.” Your voice sounds rusted from disuse. You’re forced to clear your throat midway, as if trying to get accustomed to speech again.

The captor leans back in his chair a little. “You could, if you’d been a little more cooperative than this. You’re going to have to earn that privilege.” He cracks open the second container that mirrors the contents of his own dinner and opens another set of plastic utensils. He doesn’t bother asking what you prefer, digging into the rice and lifting it toward your mouth. He sees you hesitate, still displeased with this arrangement, but you surrender, lips parting to accept the sustenance. He hasn’t fed anyone in years, his children long grown and gone, but it reminds him of that same task. You’re doing your best to scowl, to shoot daggers at him, but there’s a satisfied little moan that accompanies that first bite.

He thumbs the television remote to get some background noise, eyeing his wristwatch to be certain of how long before the next check-in phone call is due. He manages to get a steady rhythm going, alternating between feeding himself and his captive.

“They didn’t give you any sauce?”

The first words you’ve spoken since your claim that you can feed yourself. He looks at you, bemused, before reaching into the paper bag to extract a couple of packets of soy sauce, a small container of hot mustard, and a larger tub of sweet and sour sauce. Your eyes light up at this last one, and he cracks the lid, dipping one edge of battered chicken into the container before offering it to you. Some of the sauce drips down, and he wipes your chin with a napkin. You look embarassed now, but not overly, eyes closing rapturously over the sensation in your mouth.

His lips twitch and you don’t miss the amused gesture, your features hardening again. “You have no idea what it’s like.”

“Really? I have no idea? You’ve missed a couple of days’ worth of meals. I’ve gone longer than that.” He finishes the first bottle of beer and cracks a second.

“Sure you have.” You roll your eyes. “How long are we going to be staying in this dump, anyway?”

“That depends. Your father hasn’t shown any inclination towards wanting to repay his debts and retrieve you. Maybe we’ve done him a favor.” He shakes his head. “We won’t be staying more than a couple of days. Then we’ll keep moving.”

You frown, shifting in your seat. “This is total bullshit. This has nothing to do with me.”

“Not directly, but your father owes us, and he’s going to pay. One way or the other.” There’s a touch of something menacing in his tone.

“Killing me isn’t going to make him change his mind. You’re not going to do shit to me. You can’t afford it.” Your chin lifts defiantly.

“You trying to provoke me, sweetheart?” His tone is calm, almost casual, but there’s nothing friendly in those pale blue eyes.

His cell phone interrupts your reply. He digs it out of the pocket of his slacks, flipping it open and pressing the button to answer. “Steve. Yeah, we’ve made it. No issues. Probably another night. Nothing on the news. Right. Keep in touch.” The phone snaps shut and he sets it on the table. “You were saying?”

“Whatever. Are you going to share the fortune cookies, Steve?” The alias he’s currently using is said with a heavy dose of distaste. Maybe you think that having a name to address him by makes you some sort of equals. Diminishing his authority. You couldn’t be more wrong.

“Sure. Which one do you want?”

“Left side.”

“Fair enough. Let’s see what they say.” He tugs open the plastic wrapper of the right one and cracks the cookie open, looking over the slip of paper, one eyebrow twitching. Then he repeats the process for yours, lifting a sliver of the broken dessert to your lips. “Watch the teeth.” You accept the offering, teeth scraping his fingers but not really bearing down. He unfurls the scrap of paper tucked into the other fold and lays it out on the table in front of you.

A new romance is in your future.

“Yeah, right,” you scoff. “What did yours say?”

He slides his own closer to yours.

What you seek is almost within your grasp.

You make another noise of disgust as he begins clearing the table, storing the leftovers in the refrigerator.

“I need to take a bath.”

“You can take a shower, but I’m going to be in the room.”

“As if. Pervert.”

“It’s too much of a risk to leave you unattended. You haven’t yet exhibited any behavior to make me trust you. Quite the opposite, in fact. So make your choice.”

“What am I going to do, attack you with a spare toothbrush? Hang myself with the shower curtain? Be serious. No deal.”

“Fine.” He shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. “Are you ready for bed, then?”

You groan in frustration, tipping your head back. “Okay, fine. But the shower curtain stays closed.”

“Of course. Let me get things ready.” A flicker or recognition when you see him lift the duffel bag filled with your spare clothes, a bag with toiletries and makeup, though the latter had been grabbed in error by the other men more than anything else. His own bag is still in the bathroom, where he’d set it earlier. He brings your things into the bathroom, then returns, dumping his own bag beside the bed. “Let’s get you upright, shall we? I don’t think I need to remind you, but I’ll say it again, just in case: behave.” He begins loosening your bonds, crouching to free your ankles first and then working on releasing your wrists. He lets you massage your sore, cramped joints only briefly before one hand clamps around an upper arm and he guides you into the bathroom.

Once inside, he closes the door and leans his back against it. You slip off your shoes and step into the shower, the curtain dragged aside with a rattle of metal hooks. Clothes begin appearing, pushed out through a small gap between the wall of the fiberglass tub and the curtain, then dropping to the linoleum floor. There’s a narrow window set high on the opposite wall that’s sealed shut, looking as if it’s been that way for some time. A spiderweb is tucked into one corner, and a layer of grime cakes the glass. In spite of its size, placement, and poor condition, it’s one of the reasons he didn’t want you in here unsupervised, in case you managed to make use of that potential escape route.

Steve’s eyes shift around the room, breezing over the shower. The gun he still has tucked inside his shirt is digging into his spine, but it’s a familiar, reassuring feeling rather than being uncomfortable. He wonders how long it will take for your father to finally cave, paying what he owes and purchasing your freedom; if his willpower will be sapped, his spirit surrendering just as easily as yours has begun to in the space of a few hours alone with him.

***

The water feels heavenly on your skin, but you can’t fully enjoy the sensation, because that man is just outside the curtain.

Your scrub hastily, grateful he’d at least supplied you with your favorite shampoo and body wash from the bag with your possessions. It’s a strange feeling, to be full and satiated after being empty for a couple of days. You don’t think you could have stood it much longer. Greasy takeout probably wasn’t the best choice for your first meal after fasting, but for now, you feel good—as good as you can, under the circumstances.

As soon as you shut the faucets off, a bathtowel is thrust into the slight gap where the curtain ends, and you grab it wordlessly, hurriedly drying off. The one set of pajamas that’s been packed soon follows. You lay the towel on the bottom of the tub and begin dressing, sliding into a short sleeved tshirt with little pink hearts and matching pajama bottoms, along with a pair of plain cotton panties. At last you’re decent, ready to face your captor. You drag the curtain aside and head for the sink, swiping at the fogged mirror before dragging a comb through your wet hair, then grabbing deodorant and applying it to your underarms, careful to keep the hem of your shirt down to avoid revealing anything. You brush your teeth last, your eyes meeting your captor’s, reflecting in the silvered surface in front of you.

“Finished?”

“Yes.” You’re already dreading the feel of your restraints being replaced. There is no give with this man’s applications. He’s clearly expert at what he does.

“Let’s get you to bed, then.”

“My clothes…” You gesture towards the pile on the floor.

“I’ll take care of it. Let’s go.” He jerks on the door handle and a waft of cooler air spreads over you. You hadn’t realized quite how stuffy the small room had gotten until now.

“Dude, seriously? You’re going to play with my used panties? I knew you were a pervert.”

He sighs heavily, looking irritated. “I’m just going to shove everything in a bag. I’m not going to…play with them,” he says, mouth twisting over the word disdainfully.

“Whatever.” You follow him back into the bedroom. “So how is this supposed to work out, exactly? With only one bed?” Now that you’ve broken your self imposed vow of silence, you find yourself wanting to ramble, releasing all of the pent up questions and comments you’d been concealing.

“What do you mean? You sleep on one side. I sleep on the other. And don’t call me a pervert again,” he adds. Your jaw snaps shut. You had, in fact, been about to hurl that very insult at him.

“They must have had a room with a double,” you grumble in disbelief.

“They didn’t, in fact. Popular location off the highway. Busy time of year.” He shrugs. You think about what he says. So many people around, but not one of them can help you.

You watch as he draws back the coverlet bearing an awful, tacky floral pattern, revealing a pilled fleece blanket and topsheet. It looks clean, if worn, so you suppose you’re grateful for that. At least, you’re hoping it’s clean. How many other people had stopped at this seedy looking motel, perhaps engaging in some duplicitous activities?

Steve tucks his fingers between the blinds, spreading the slats and taking one last survey of the outside. Apparently satisfied, he turns his attention back to you. “Alright. Enough break time. Back into the restraints.”

“You don’t have to. At least leave my legs free. It’s so uncomfortable.” You try to soften your tone, make it more appealing.

“Nice try. In case you couldn’t tell by the gray, I’ve been around a bit. Don’t struggle and it’ll go easier.” You sigh in resignation and let him guide your wrists together, this time binding them in front of you, watching as he neatly loops the thin corded rope around, making some complicated knots too quickly for you to follow the pattern of. You sit on the edge of the mattress and he kneels down, repeating the process for your ankles.

“What if I have to pee during the night?”

“Hold it.”

“Seriously? What if I have to go number two?” You hiss, sounding scandalized.

“Honestly, how old are you?” He sounds equally as appalled. “I’ll take you to the bathroom, obviously. Don’t look for more trouble,” he reprimands, lifting your lower extremities and placing them on the bed. He flips the sheet and blanket over you. “Comfy?”

“No.”

He huffs but doesn’t reply, moving to retrieve some things from his bag before heading back into the bathroom. You can hear the faucet run, think maybe he’s brushing his teeth. When he emerges he’s wearing an undershirt and boxers, and you look away quickly. He’s long and lean, with perhaps the slightest bit of extra weight sitting around the middle. Attractive face, if you had to admit it, which you thankfully don’t. His voice is pleasant, too; rough and smooth, stern and mellow, a series of contrasts depending on his mood. Certainly preferable overall to the first set of goons that had taken you, that had finally delivered you into his custody.

You realize he’s carrying something. A couple of things, actually. One is his cell phone. The other…

You’d felt that item shoved against your side once already; caught a glimpse of the same weapon as he’d gotten ready to leave to go get dinner, the slight bulge of it nearly concealed at his spine before he’d slipped back into his jacket. You don’t doubt the gun is loaded; you don’t doubt it’s been used before, either. You don’t think he’s going to harm you, no matter how threatening he appears at times, but you’re not absolutely certain. You shiver at the possibility of being wrong.

The lights are extinguished and the television is switched off. The mattress creaks as he sits beside your supine form. You hear the light tap of the phone being set on the nightstand, but not the heavier weight of the gun. Perhaps tucked somewhere closer. Beneath his pillow, maybe. Close in reach. You might even be able to maneuver and get it, if you were daring enough.

You’re not. You feel the sheet and blanket shift as he settles back, drawing them over his body. You’re still trying to find a comfortable position, head digging into the pillow that’s too thin, the stuffing long since worn down. You squirm a bit further, adjusting your shoulders and hips.

“Stop moving.”

You pause. “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Not my problem. And you’re lucky I didn’t keep you tied to the chair all night. Now go to sleep.”

“It’s too hot. The blanket…”

“For fuck’s sake,” he growls. You can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek as he shifts, dragging the covers down to what he estimates might be your waist level.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. G’night.” His voice is half muffled when he sinks back against the pillow. He feels closer than he was initially, his body radiating warmth. You swallow thickly, wishing you’d asked for a little more water. But you don’t dare request anything else. Not now. You force your eyes shut, reciting a silent prayer that your father comes to his senses and supplies the kidnappers with the requested ransom soon. Surely he has the money. Or he’s gathering it together. You don’t know how much they’ve asked for, but still. Help has to come. Sooner or later.

Otherwise, you’re going to have to find your own means of salvation.

***

Steve awakens during the night, still drowsy, his fingers sliding to reassure himself of the placement of the weapon. Secure. He means to check the time on the digital alarm clock beside the bed, but he’s comfortably positioned as he is. He’d done a lot of driving the last couple of days. It was exhausting.

He shuts his eyes, trying to reenter slumber, gradually realizing that part of the reason he’s so comfortable is because his other hand is occupied. Draped over something soft.

You.

He can tell you’re asleep, the rhythm of your breathing slow and even. You’re completely unaware of what’s happened. His body has shifted onto one side, facing you, nudging closer sometime while he and his bed partner had been sound asleep. Earlier, you’d been emitting a faint body odor, your days spent without access to a shower taking their toll. Now you’re pleasantly fragrant, the scent soft and feminine. Like the body he’s so casually hugging. It’s been a long time since he’s shared a bed with a woman.

But you’re not just any woman. You’re his captive. The thought makes him start to release you, dragging his hand back across your form. Unexpectedly you stir, the swelling curve of one breast bumping against his hand, your head tipping closer, off of the border of your pillow and verging onto the cusp of his own.

Heat flares instantly in his groin and he quickly finishes the job he’d started, retracting his arm, being very careful not to fondle your somnolent form any further while easing onto his back. A little sleepy murmur of protest issues from you in response, your face now tucking against his shoulder, and then you’re still again.

Steve’s heart is thudding like mad. He hadn’t anticipated this; not his response to this forced intimacy, nor yours. It’s just that we’re both tired. Don’t know what we’re doing. It’s the middle of the night. Should be sleeping. Probably more long days ahead.

But he’s wide awake now, and that claim of lethargic innocence doesn’t hold up quite so well. Because even though he’s moved, trying to avoid more of that inadvertent inappropriate contact, he’s suddenly craving it. It would be so easy to let his arm fall back over you. You’re right there. Practically cuddling against his side.

His jaw begins to ache from how tightly his teeth are clenched. This is ridiculous. He has better self control than this. He isn’t driven by such carnal needs. He’s always been respectful towards you, in the brief time you’ve been traveling together. No temptation earlier in the bathroom, even with the knowledge of your nude form just behind the curtain. He isn’t a pervert, even though you seem convinced otherwise. He wouldn’t take advantage of someone, especially not someone in your situation.

But now? Well, now was different. Because now he knows how it feels to hold you, and he likes it. Prefers it to the binding and forceful handling he’s been forced to adopt. Maybe he wouldn’t mind more scratches and bites from you, if they were of a different nature.

None of this is helping the state of his arousal. He shuts his eyes and begins planning out the route he’ll take next, a silent itinerary of roads forming one after the other as he tries to distract himself. His shoulder feels wet now. He thinks you might be drooling. He should just wake you up and turn over. He’ll ask if there’s a different room available tomorrow. Maybe another visitor will have moved on by then.

Maybe by then he’ll have come to his senses.

[penvisions]

the melting point {chapter 18}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (exEMT! Reader)

Summary: Time moves and so does your world.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: references to canon typical violence, gun violence, reference to previous injuries, recovery, physical therapy, therapy, anxiety, medical jargon, description of injuries (not detailed), mention of surgical scarring, reader has limited mobility, reader uses a walker, reader uses a wheelchair, reader uses a cane, panic, depression, anxiety, reader is self-conscious in her body, a lot of emotions, body modification, reader gets some, pet names, a lot of emotions! reader has described as having specific color hair and tattoos

A/N: it's not the best, but it's a good step toward the end of this lovely little series. happy frankie friday, y'all!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Frankie was pacing, the envelope opened, and the contents laid out.

Aggravated assault.

Child Services have been contacted.

Will was the first to be called, in order to get an attorney through the VA.

Pope was the second, because he had been witness to the incident in question.

A call interrupted the list of immediate people who needed to be reached out to. Child Services calling to confirm Frankie’s residence and let him know an officer would be conducting a home visit in the following days. Frankie’s mother, Isabella, had said she would stay the night beforehand, to ensure the house was in order and to talk to the officer on her son’s behalf before whatever appointment was set. And that she would be staying that night to help work through anything needing her help.

Benny was called third, because he had been there when Frankie had begun to deal with his anger issues and attended meetings with him where he spoke about it early in his recovery. To vouch that the man had never been violent outside of small outbursts and never in front of his child or in public.

Morgan was fourth, to question of she knew the man Pope had claimed frequented the bar across from Brass Knuckles.

It…it was a lot on top of an already overwhelming situation.

“Frankie?” You called as you tried to inch the feet of your walker as close to the threshold of the back door. The panel of the sliding door had been closed but the man wasn’t in any of the other places you had looked after waking from your slumber. It was the next day, a hectic one to be sure as more paperwork and things needed to be in order. His mother and daughter were upstairs, busy with the child’s few hours’ worth of homework to ensure she stayed on point for school when she returned after the winter break. The first half of the school year being done in the comfort of her own home, to help her handle the aftermath of what had happened.

That had been a conversation you hadn’t been a part of, something Frankie had admitted to you. The decision needing to be made while you had still been unconscious and in the hospital. Between his parents and his friends, trying their best to gauge the outcome of each option and what was best for Lex.

The clatter of glass falling and cracking was loud, spiking your heart in your chest. You called out for him again, worry dripping from you.

“I’m okay, querida! Just trying to fix this sun catcher and I accidently dropped it.”

“Is it okay?”

“…no.” His sheepish admission came from around the corner of the house.

“Fransisco!”

“It was an accident!” He appeared from where he had to have been messing with the charm hanging from a tree in the yard, bare feet hushing across the grass before they met the wooden stairs of the deck. He couldn’t hide the wide smile taking over his lips, delighting in the sight of you trying to hide your laughter.

“So…”

“Alright, alright, lemme get changed.”

“You didn’t even give me the chance to say anything yet.”

“That’s your ‘I have errands’ voice, sweet girl. Heard it enough times when we were trying to plan our first date.”

“Hey, I don’t wanna hear that. You essentially got me with that one date, so-“

“That’s not-“ His mind tried to supply him with other instances but it was the only one that was official.

“We hung out enough for you to fall hopelessly in love with me!”

“But not on official dates!” You giggled, feeling heat creep up your neck from your chest at the words.

“Then lemme take you out to one tomorrow, if you’re feeling up to it.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand splaying across your lower back.

“But…child services is coming tomorrow, we’ve got to focus on that…”

“We’ll both need to relax after that, I promise it’s okay.”

“Frankie…did,” You pulled back a little to gaze into the amber of his eyes lit up by the morning sun. “Did you really attack him?”

His forehead rested against yours, his eyes clenching shut and hiding them from your searching gaze.

“Yes. I did. Pope and I went down to the station to hear his statement and he was…he was saying all kinds of awful things about you and Lex and I just snapped.”

A hand to the back of his neck and your face pressed to his chest helped to calm him down. Shifting together, he helped you back into the house and into a new set of clothes to leave the house.

The shop was bustling, a line out the door and your dedicated employees working hard to fulfill each customer’s needs. Pride swelled up, a large smile pulling at your lips as you moved past everyone and toward the back. It had been easier to come in through the front door than deal with the two steps up into the back of the building. You could hear footsteps up above, signaling that Taylor was moving about.

He must be on break, running the shop for you while you recovered no doubt taking a lot out of him. It wasn’t his profession of choice but he knew enough to help out where it was needed. You really hadn’t wanted to shut down the shop for months on end, especially after the nearly two it had taken you to wake up and get clearance from the hospital to leave.

Business was booming, the city showing an outpouring of love and support for you in the wake of what had happened. You were grateful, even if it felt like you were doing something bad sneaking in to steal some supplies for tonight’s family dinner.

Alexia had wanted to decorate cupcakes, something she mentioned a few days ago as you both fell asleep in the middle of the day with a cartoon movie on the tv, her anti-anxiety medication and your pain management ones getting the better of you two as Frankie was out in the garage tuning up the truck.

Will and Benny had stopped by for lunch, the gym being run by the staff allowed for the two of them to run around town and organize the fight night events that had been delayed a bit because of the shooting. They were debating the pros and cons of hiring a food truck for the event or getting a caterer to set up a spread in the front of the gym.

“I can always just cook for you?” You suggested as you carefully shuffled up from your seat on the couch, wanting a cup of tea to take the next dose of medication. “That was you don’t lose those earning or have to budget for it in the first place.”

The brothers shared a look behind your back, unsure of how to react. You were never one to offer something if you didn’t feel like you could handle it. But cooking for an anticipated crowd of over a hundred people would have you on your feet for quite a while. And while you were moving around with a little more ease, you were still keeping your walker close by. Frankie insisting on a wheelchair for the store and longer trips from the house.

A clatter had them both on their feet in a heartbeat, moving toward the kitchen to see you straining to reach the kettle on the second shelf of a cabinet. You had one hand on the counter and the other was stretched up, causing the fabric of your shirt to ride up. The shining skin of the scars from your surgery caught their eyes and they quickly jumped in to help. Will’s front was warm against your back as he gently swatted your hand away to get the kettle for you. His arms came around as he lowered it to the counter. Gasping at the flare of desire from the feel of a strong body against you, you froze.

“You okay, mante? You didn’t hurt yourself did you?”

“N-no, everything’s fine.”

“Honey, you’re burning up,” Will placed a hand on the back of your neck, gauging your temperature as best he could. Your head hung between your shoulders, both palms flat on the counter’s surface. When he shifted to reach for the med kit, he brushed impossibly closer, and you let out a charged sound that tapered off into breathy sigh.

Everyone froze.

“Mante?”

“Just, drop it.” You were shuffling away, prying yourself from the small space between Will’s body and the counter.

“Honey, you know you can talk to us.”

“No, it’s embarrassing. Frankie would be…mortified if I talked to you.” You tried to fight the heat rising to your face, clothing too tight all of a sudden, the air in the kitchen stifling.

“He’s not touching you, is he?” Will asked softy, voice holding sincerity. He’s seen this type of rift open up between people and couples in recovery. He had multiple pamphlets and brochures for those who approached him asking for help. He was the sole source of information, of course he knew what was going on. But he mentally berated himself for not seeing the signs of it sooner.

“He wouldn’t like me talking about it…with you.”

“That doesn’t matter, do you need to talk about it?”

“I have- a little, with Morgan but…I don’t even know what’s going on.”

“He’s probably just worried about hurting you, Mante.”

“But he is, hurting me. I-I don’t even really care all that stuff right now, I’m too tired and sore all the time but…it would be nice to know he still wanted me like that.”

“Does he help you change?”

“Y-yeah, yes.”

“Does he help you bathe?”

“He asked me not to unless he’s in the house.”

“Sweetheart, he’s probably worried about pushing you. I mean, not to be too crass, but your hips are kinda important for sex.”

You huffed a laugh, panic and anxiety waning at the guy’s well-meaning intentions.

“Isabella and I haven’t either…since it happened.” Will confessed with an open demeaner, not wanting you to think it was just you or just Frankie. That it was a normal response to traumatic events, to reassure you. And of course, you would know but being so weighted down with everything he also knew how hard it was to think rationally about it all. “It’s normal, nothing it wrong with you, okay?”

The officer regarded you curiously. Eyes downturned to the ring on your left hand.

“Now, we have no mention of you on any legal paperwork regarding Mr. Morales. And your official address is listed as the place of your business, is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s correct.”

“You were the recent victim in the shooting that occurred on….” The date of the last summer farmer’s market was rattled off. “Where you were the one to run to the aid of the child in question, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Now, can either of you tell me why Mr. Morales wasn’t within range to do so himself?”

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. Morales, please, let’s all keep calm here. It’s a simple question.”

“Does allowing his daughter to go off with one of his friends during an open market make him a bad father? Because that’s what your question seems to be getting at.”

“Ma’am, please. It’s a routine question.”

“I was yards away from her when the shooter decided to open fire in a public space.”

“And yet, you didn’t run to her aid.”

“I did, the second the first shot went off and the crowd began to panic, I was looking for her.”

“So you didn’t have eyes on her.” The officer made a note on the file open in her lap. You bristled at the uncaring demeanor, unable to hold your tongue as she talked at you and Frankie instead of with you.

“I would like to speak to the child in question.”

“That can wait a minute, excuse me.” You leveled her with a focused look, not willing to roll over and show your stomach to this woman who was supposed to be conducting an interview. But instead she was taking everything and twisting it to the narrative she was trying to depict in her notes. “Frankie had eyes on her. He always knows who she’s with, where they’re going, for how long and ensures he’s the one dropping off and picking up or it’s someone he trusts with his daughter. He is a good father. I don’t think the focus here should be whether or not he reacted fast enough to a shooter scenario but the fact that there was a shooter scenario that you are trying to twist in your favor.”

“I am merely asking routine questions, the shooting response is only one of the areas in which I am concerned. The other would be your sudden presence in this house. How it affects the child in question.”

“You’re not even using her name. Her name is Alexia. She is a very real, very traumatized child who doesn’t need anything else upsetting her. I get that you may not understand the dynamic Frankie has with his friends and how they care for his daughter as if she was their own. Or how I’m “affecting” her presence by being in her home that previously only contained her and her father. But you’re going to sit there and ask us questions and listen to what we have to say.”

“What is your relationship with the child?”

“I’m her-“

“She’s my fiancé, she intends to sign the guardianship papers to share legal responsibility with me.”

“And…is it because you think it’s too much to handle on your own?” The officer looked less tense, at least. Nodding her head along as she looked something over in her file. “It states here you never reached out for resources that are available to you. Can I ask why that is?”

“No, ma’am. It’s because she asked me to. We have a beautiful bond and she wanted to make it a little more tangible and it was a way for Alexia to feel included once the wedding rolls around.”

“And as for the resources, I served and did my time. I make enough money for us to live comfortably, and I have a good support system. I didn’t want to take away from those resources should there be a child in a worse off situation.”

“Okay, thank you.” She closed her file, looking up at the united front you and Frankie made on the couch across from her armchair. “The rest of my questions are for Alexia.”

“She’s upstairs with my mother at the moment, let me go fetch her.”

“That won’t be necessary, I’ll see myself up the stairs if that’s alright with you?”

A curt nod from Frankie was all he could manage, knowing that this wasn’t going well. It wasn’t going well at all.

Nearly an hour later, everyone was gathered around the kitchen table as the officer went over her notes for the visit.

“Based on the conclusion of this interview, I do not deem Mr. Morales a bad guardian nor someone who appears to have present day anger management issues. He had no prior history of assault and if everyone else we reach out to that is a part of this family’s circle corroborates the same narrative, then there will be no further investigation. Thank you for your time, have a lovely rest of your day.”

The snap of the thick folder in the officer’s hand startled you, head ducking and hands coming up to cover it. She at least had the decency to look apologetic for the action, not thinking of what the sound would do to you.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” A nod paired with her words, and she was gone.

The rest of the day was spent talking to the attorney Will had found that was more than willing to take on the case. A court date had been established for the end of the following month.

No sooner than the door closed behind her and you all took a collective breath, was there another knock at the door. Three long strides led Frankie back to it, opening it up with a pinched expression. He was trying to remain calm, but he was shaken beyond belief. One small moment of instinctual protective anger and he had created this whole mess not sitting well with the man. But it wasn’t the officer returning, it was your nurse, picking you up for a scheduled physical therapy appointment.

“Hi, yes, of course. Lemme get her bag and she’s all set here in the living room.”

“Pastel! Can I go with you?”

“Oh, um, Lex, I’m not sure.” You looked to Frankie as she descended down the stairs, Isabella moving to slow her speedy approach as you pulled yourself up from your position on the couch with the walker. “You have to ask your father.”

“But you’re gonna be my Mama Pastel, you can say yes now!”

“…That’s technically true, but your father has final say, mija.”

“Yes, mi amor, you can. Papa needs to take care of some things, but it’ll be good for you to get out of the house.” It was the first time she had asked to leave since the shooting, surely a good step that she wanted to go somewhere, even if it was to the rehabilitation center with you for something so routine.

Three months.

Three months since your entire life was upended for the second time.

Frankie’s court date had last month, postponed to today. Not an official trial, due to the plaintiff being sentenced to a maximum facility. His case had been open and shut, no way of getting out of serving time. He had deliberately carried an automatic weapon into a public space and opened fire. Even if he hadn’t pleaded guilty in the hopes of garnering a deal, no one was siding with him or cutting him any slack. No lawyers had been willing to take him on as a client and he had denied a state-appointed one, knowing full well the consequences of his actions.

He had entered the courthouse a walking mess of anxiety and worry. A man concerned about the future he could provide for his daughter, for you, for his family. If he had been deemed an unsatisfactory guardian with notations of anger management issues, his job would be on the line. Tourism bringing so much to the city and the company wanted to aid Vets in any way they could. But would surely draw the line as such an accusation and paper trail.

He had emerged from the courthouse light on his feet with a grin on his face. Stopping at the shop to check on things for you, purchasing a bouquet for you and Lex on his way home.

Then had been Lex’s birthday, where she wished out loud as she blew her candles out that she wanted to go back to school. Frankie had a long conversation with her therapist, and they agreed she would return to school after the winter break. The first half of the school year done at her own pace but well enough at home to allow for her to seamlessly integrate back in.

Taylor had returned home with a promise to come out three times a year. The guys had one last night out with him along, having bonded with him over the course of his time here. Morgan helping to make sure they didn’t over indulge and that they all got home okay. And another night with everyone involved when Morgan had a night off of her own. Though Taylor wasn’t her focus, having gotten together with Santiago, she was sad to see him go along with everyone else. You missed him, his presence and calming demeanor. The way he had brought home to you in such small ways you hadn’t known you had missed until they were right in front of you. But you had left for a reason and he had a life and a kid to get back to.

Will and Isabella were official and he has asked her to move in with him, prompting Benny to search for a place of his own. He was working on convincing the new assistant he hired to let him take her out, but she admitted to you one day when she came into the shop that she liked how hard he was trying to get her attention. You both laughed, lamenting over the eager attitude he possessed. But ultimately you had turned serious and said he was a good man who would do right by her. That she should give him the chance to show her how much he cared.

You had gone back to working in the shop, though you needed a cane to help you get around. It was a part of who you were now, spells of numbness and healed injuries aching long after recovery. But you were stronger than you had been, able to stand on your feet and do what you loved best. The shop was to be featured in a second article, praising your bravery and return to work, the same writer from before presenting you with a ‘best local bakery’ award from the open poll the magazine holds each year.

But now….now you were running late.

Cursing under your breath, you carefully moved down the stairs of the apartment and down to the ground floor. The cats had been moved to the house forever ago, but there was a stray that came around the back door and you wanted to put a better dish out for them to have food and water. It had run from you, but you hoped it would come back for the fresh food and new bowl.

Locking up, you loaded up into the truck and carefully took off across downtown.

The twinkling lights strewn up were beautiful, reflecting off the large windows and glass bottles of the bar and you leaned over to press your lips to his neck over his collar. Though he didn’t turn to face you, in deep conversation with the people across from you, his arm moved around you and pulled you close, hand caressing your hip over the fabric of your dress.

An engagement party, curtesy of Pope’s determined mind and the help of the magazine editor. She had been delighted and more than happy to help cover the costs for the celebration, she had pulled you into a hug when you arrived arm in arm with Frankie. Everyone posted around the bar, the one where you and Frankie had your first official date, and cheered as you entered. You had been sure it was closed, worried that Frankie had mixed up his days for the reservation, but he had said Santigo had made it for him.

It had been an amazing surprise, tears of affection threatening to spill over your lash line at all of your friends and favorite people in one place. To celebrate your and Frankie’s love.

The food was amazing, the full menu available to order and you made sure to get a serving of crispy brussel sprouts that were too spicy for Frankie. He had smiled fondly at you as you inhaled them, taking delight in how the simplest of things could bring a smile to your face. Just as you popped the last one in your mouth, he was pulling you out of the booth and up on your feet. When you reached for your cane, he gently took both your hands in his and guided you to the middle of the floor, where people were dancing.

“Fransisco, if I recall correctly you said you don’t dance.” You teased, hands going around his neck as his went around your waist to settle on the small of your back.

“I don’t, sweet girl. But for you, I’m willing to try.” He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, eyes taking in the way your long curls framed your face. How the auburn of them was complimented by the dark green almost black of your dress, the ink on your skin crystalline from your glittery lotion Lex had coerced you into buying for the guest bathroom.

“You’re perfect just the way you are, mi amor.” You allowed him to gently sway your bodies back and forth, small words of affection flowing between you as the music lulled into a soft medley of strings and horns.

“I’m so glad Pope pestered you everyday, what I wouldn’t give to have seen him get shot down the first time.” Frankie chuckled, chest vibrating close and warming you up from the inside out.

“He took it in stride, I think. He likes a challenge.”

Off to the side the man in question was seated at a booth, his tie loosening and his attention on his best friend and love. His heart full and his mind working in overtime to try and figure out how to top this for Frankie’s bachelor party. His attention called back to the present as a small figure bounded up to him with a fresh new fizzy drink.

“Tio Santi! They had strawberry syrup!”

“That’s amazing, mi corazon. Muy delicioso!” He reached out to lift her up, settling her in his lap as she caught sight of her dad and soon to be mom dancing together. Completely caught up in each other in the best way. She smiled, happy.

“Are you excited to go back to school, mi corazon?” Santiago bounced her on his leg, the layers of her dress floating in the air with his motions.

“Yes, but I’m also nervous.”

“It’s okay to be nervous.”

“My friends will all have new friends, I’m afraid they won’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“Nonsense, everyone is gonna crowd around you and be so excited to see you again.”

“I hope so.”

“I promise you, it’ll all be okay. You’ve come so far, mi amor.”

“Pastel too! And Papa!”

“Them too.” Santi looked toward where you were still softly swaying with Frankie, slow music playing over the speakers. The backdrop of the flowers and warm string lights strewn over the ceiling lighting up your features enough to see the soft smiles you shared with each other. Frankie’s hands were around your waist, helping to support you while you own were wrapped around his neck. Whispering sweet nothings to each other as the night continued on.

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[cripplecharacters]

Hello. I have a character (a couple, actually) who has an fictional, congenital physical disability. The closest-real world disability I might compare it to is EDS possibly? Her knees when they are "straight" are 15-20 degrees past 180 (what a normal straight leg would be), and her ankles and feet are malformed. Her ankles seem "swollen" and her feet are very small and squished. This of course causes her trouble walking, frequent dislocations and other injuries, balance issues, and chronic pain.

Also caused by the same fictional illness but can be given a name are moderate to severe arthritis from birth, autism (MSN/lv 2), apraxia, and (because of her disability she was treated poorly) PTSD.

So with that backstory, my question is what kind of mobility aides would be helpful for her? I've thought about a 3-base cane for stability and all that good stuff, but would forearm crutches or something else be more beneficial? I've also thought about rubber grips on cups/cutlery. What other things could I look into?

The other character with this disability has a similar build to her legs (though possibly more severe, instead of just her knees being hypermobile the joint is not formed very connectively) and is missing her ring and pinky fingers and 3 small toes on each foot, which causes her chronic pain and of course mobility issues. I figure her situation is pretty similar but in case there is anything that would be specific to her I figured it'd be worth asking.

And one last side note, if there are any real-world disabilities that better fit the description of this condition, I'd definitely be interested in looking into them for further research so please let me know.

Hello!

I definitely agree that Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS) would be the closest real-world match for what you're describing. For that, I'd suggest looking at some of the mobility aids used by people with EDS.

We've made a few posts contrasting the different mobility aids out there (You can take a look through the #mobility aids tag to check some of them out!), which can be helpful for some general information on mobility aids and the advantages/disadvantages of each individual option.

For your character specifically, it sounds like they would need more support than a cane can offer. While a cane can help with balance issues, it likely wouldn't offer much support for the frequent dislocations and chronic pain described.

From the sound of it, forearm crutches would be the best option if you're looking for mobility aids with a similar style to a cane. They're more weight-bearing than a cane is and would provide more support for her in her day-to-day life. That being said, if she frequently has trouble walking long periods of time, a wheelchair or rollator may be better suited to her needs.

Aside from mobility aids, other tools that may be useful for her can include orthotics, braces, compression devices, etc.

Orthotics are shoe inserts that help provide support for parts of the feet that take the brunt of it when walking. They can be especially helpful for your character because of her "malformed" feet and ankles as they can help keep them aligned when walking. This article [Link] talks a bit about the benefits of orthotics and explains them better than I'm currently able to.

Braces can help to prevent dislocations and just generally offer some support for her joints. They can also have a beneficial effect on her swelling but compression socks may be better suited for that specifically.

Compression devices (Specifically compression socks for her) would be able to help reduce the swelling of her ankles as well as decrease the pain from her ankles and feet in general. If she also has poor circulation, these can be beneficial in that way too.

Another aid that could be helpful for her would be grab bars, especially in the shower and by the toilet. Grab bars are generally very helpful for people who have poor balance or general weakness/instability in their legs. I cannot count the amount of times that grab bars have saved me from faceplanting in the shower (Including this morning😅).

If she struggles with her fine motor skills, rubber grips for utensils can definitely be helpful or even just utensils with thicker or rounded handles in general. Because of my own problems with grip strength and fine motor skills, I typically use the Ikea plastic utensils when I'm eating because the slight roundness to them makes them easier to hold. (There's also the added benefit of not making a terrible metal-on-floors sound when I inevitably drop them but that's unrelated)

Though you didn't specify how her autism affects her, noise cancelling headphones or ear protection in general can be helpful for any sensory aspects, along with sunglasses, blackout blinds, and/or a weighted blanket.

For the second character you mentioned, holding a cane may be especially difficult for them due to their missing fingers. When you use a cane with your full hand, most of the pressure is being sent through the wrist and goes up your arm. Using it without the use of the ring finger and pinkie means that the pressure is going straight to the wrist. Though it may be possible for short periods of time, it would likely cause issues with their wrist, shoulder, and arm in general if they use it long-term. Because of this, a rollator may be more effective for them -- especially since it's more weight bearing and supportive than a cane is -- or a wheelchair, depending on their needs.

The other supports mentioned for your first character (Orthotics, braces, grab bars, etc.) may all be beneficial for your second character, potentially more-so if their condition is more severe.

Although I can't think of any other real-world conditions that would parallel what you've described, the community here may be able to suggest some!

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

[fallloverfic]

TGCF donghua Season 2, Episode 5 thoughts

Screaming through my tears. Spoilers under the cut (also book/story spoilers, for folks just coming in from the donghua). CW: Blood.

Poor San Lang, gets knocked over* by his gege T-T Xie Lian feels so bad about all of it. He's really hurting for how he destroyed San Lang's residence.

*Picked up and maybe dropped on the floor

Also the fight scene was really pretty!

I also love how much this episode emphasizes the differences between martial officials and non-martial officials. Shi Qingxuan thinks differently than Xie Lian, a martial official used to combat, does. (Also Xie Lian is so easily and masterfully competent, he just doesn't show off).

The back of Xie Lian's mind is "My cabbages!!!" but it's "San Lang's armory!!!" instead lol

Hua Cheng like "I don't see any heavenly official there. That's my subordinate." T-T Telling Xie Lian not to get involved in this stuff. He doesn't like endangering Xie Lian in the mess with Ming Yi and Jun Wu. I do like the idea that he doesn't mind Xie Lian getting caught in the fight crossfire in this instance because he knows Xie Lian is strong enough to dodge. It's a nice sense of trust in your partner's competence.

Also Xie Lian trying to brush aside his being injured, poor bean T-T Remember when he tells Ling Wen earlier that he's fine, he hasn't lost any limbs yet because I DO T-T This man and his low bars for his personal safety/what he's just fine pushing through because he's gone through so much and knows he can muscle through it and doesn't think he deserves help/anyone would or should want to lower themselves for it.

Feng Xin being so worried about Xie Lian just -screams- And looking over him. It's kind of drawn differently in different shots and I love all of them.

Feng Xin's sad expression. Xie Lian being embarrassed to be fussed over, particularly publicly, particularly by Feng Xin, particularly while Mu Qing is standing there being disapproving... Not wanting to ruin Feng Xin's reputation or be a burden or anything just... Ahhh T-T

(though it is funny how long Feng Xin is standing there, not fixing Xie Lian's arm aldkjalkda I know the idea is that Jun Wu only does a little fix and then Mu Qing brings the medicine later, but it's funny to get multiple angles of Feng Xin standing there, being sad and useless alkdjaldja this poor man so overcome with sadness for his Dianxia that his abilities go poof)

Mu Qing of course saying, "So what?" Ah Mu Qing, if only you knew that Xie Lian hadn't asked for the attention and probably agrees...

I also love seeing Mu Qing healing Ming Yi. Wonder if he'll hate himself later for that. I really loved all the magic in this episode.

Also Xie Lian looking so ashamed of it all. The pain in his eyes, not even from his physical injury... (Not to mention you know... remembering all the stuff with the coffin...).

Also Mu Qing debating that Xie Lian is who Qianqiu says he is and that Qianqiu might be wrong :3 Ah Mu Qing kind of got Xie Lian's back sometimes:

“Mu Qing’s argument sounded like it was in Xie Lian’s favor, but the truth was more complex than that. Mu Qing must’ve determined that Lang Qianqiu was quite convinced of his take on the evidence, and the more he doubted the truth, the more adamant Lang Qianqiu would be to prove himself. This was not the least bit helpful to Xie Lian’s situation.” (Volume 2, Chapter 18).

The flashback sequence was fun.

All in all a wonderful episode. And I think the English subs were better? Or else I'm just starting to not notice the issues as much lol

Other episode thoughts for season 2 (didn't start till episode 3):

S02E03

S02E04

S02E05 (you are here)

S02E06

S02E07

S02E08

S02E09

S02E10

S02E11

S02E12

[skadren]

2, 3, 6, and 8 for Tseeve~

send me a ship and a number and i'll tell you:

2. what their love letters look like

i don't think tseng has ever written a love letter before in his life. that is both way too easily perceived and way too impermanent at the same time. what if someone else finds it? what if it gets lost or thrown away or burned before reeve reads it?? what if reeve reads it??? his love letters are grocery store shopping lists stuck to the fridge and reminders for reeve to take his medications and protein bars and hot coffee "coincidentally" left on reeve's desk

reeve has diary entries. sometimes they are addressed to tseng: small jokes, the highlights and low points of his day, his current projects, proposal plans. wedding plans. reeve is a planning kind of guy, for everything. and before they got together, definitely pining. all the pining. he also has at least five separate entries wondering about tseng's hair care routine. his meetings notes may or may not be found with their initials doodled all around the borders (with ample questioning over what tseng's last name is. is tseng even his real name? is reeve a bad boyfriend for not knowing?? but wouldn't asking be an invasion of boundaries???)

3. which one outlives the other, and how they cope

both of them expect to die before the other. reeve because of how many goddamn medications he has to take and that must be terrible for his liver, and also he's older so that's how it works, right? tseng because of his line of work, and later on after he retires, because of the lingering issues from his past injuries. and the real reason is that neither of them want to think too hard on what it might actually be like to go on alone.

unfortunately tseng dies first. you can blame @takenbynumbers for that one. you know what you did

reeve puts on a pretty good attempt at going on outwardly unaffected, although he finally retires and passes on the seat of commissioner to someone else, like he'd been saying he would do for ages now. but he's never been very good at remembering to take care of himself; tseng is always the one who bossed him into doing it. so he sort of just... gives up on it?

(vincent accuses him of just giving up and waiting to die. reeve doesn't think he's wrong.)

6. how they decorate their bedroom

neither of them are big on excess so i guess it would be a pretty... normal? bedroom? there is a bed. big enough to fit both of them but not too big, because what if one of them gets lonely at night? the bed itself isn't anything fancy; sturdy and comfortable with enough support for reeve's back. plain sheets. they have two sets of blankets that are horribly mismatched because one reminds reeve of the quilts his ma liked to make and the other is a gift from yuffie that tseng will never admit is the exact same pattern of blanket he remembers his mom using when he was a child.

they both have a nightstand but desks are banned from the bedroom. deskwork is also banned from the bedroom. not that it keeps reeve from trying to sneak paperwork once in a while.

cait also has a cat bed in one corner (even though he really does not need a bed on account of the whole robot thing). he gets exiled regularly but it works out because he does not want to see his dads getting it on, thank you very much.

8. what they argue about

reeve always tosses his clothes in the general direction of the laundry hamper and misses. tseng's hair clogs the shower and gets all over the floor all the time. tseng hates taking out the trash and reeve never remembers to do it.

more seriously, even if their dedication to their work is something they have in common, neither of them like how little free time it gives them to spend together. it can lead to arguments over exactly how much the other person prioritizes their relationship at all, especially since the way they express their feelings and validation for one another is very different-- reeve's love language is physical affection and verbal affirmation, while tseng's is acts of service. coupled with how reticent tseng is about talking about feelings at all, it can lead to reeve feel like he's lovebombing tseng to little response, while tseng feels like he's never good enough at reciprocating properly.

but their biggest argument of all time is still the one that takes place directly after the turks drop the plate. there is a lot of broken trust between them regarding whether their relationship was as meaningful as reeve really thought it was, how much tseng has been hiding all this time, whether reeve wanted to be with tseng at all or just an idealized version of him. i fondly refer to the entire time they spend separated until they get back together postcanon as their divorce arc.

[destielomegaversebigbang]

All Cats Are Gray After Dark

Posting 13th October 2023!

Fic by SquirrelOfCelestielIntent Art by PetraAmia

Rating: Explicit

Summary: 1992, NYC. Dean is a Gulf War veteran working in the grimiest ER in the city, and he’s holding his life together. Kind of? Maybe. But he’s got secrets. No one at work knows that he’s not physically mute due to a war injury, but rather selectively mute from way back in the day, because that is almost impossible to explain. Nobody but Sam knows he’s a rare, male Omega, and the discovery of that secret was why he got kicked out of the army. And nobody, absolutely nobody, knows that he occasionally sneaks out to have anonymous sex with men. Until he meets Castiel freaking Novack - anonymous hook up turned new boss - who in less than a month manages to find out all three.

Tags: Explicit sex, alpha cas/omega dean, top cas/bottom Dean, switching, internalized homophobia and all the trimmings, ptsd, mental health issues, period typical homophobia, references to drug use, heat sex

Excerpt: Below the readmore

“You keep looking around like you’re waiting for someone. Did you get stood up?”

The voice is close to him, and Dean spins around to find who spoke to him. The dude is actually right behind him though, and Dean almost knocks himself off the stool when he finds himself nose to nose with the stranger.

The man is gorgeous, he can see that. He has dark, messy hair and eyes that could be any color but look like dark lakes in the bar’s dim light. More importantly, he’s looking at Dean with a single-minded intensity that makes something in his stomach do a flip flop. Whether that’s a good feeling or a bad feeling, he isn’t sure yet.

“Dude, personal space?” He says, trying for gruff but coming off a little breathless. At least the whiskey has loosened his tongue enough that it’s easy to talk to the stranger.

“My apologies.” The stranger takes a very small step back. Still staring. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I thought that perhaps you were looking for some company.”

Dean narrows his eyes, taking in the guy in front of him one more time. A couple inches shorter than him, and well-muscled but not in an obvious way. Dean scents the air and can’t pick up much of anything under the general bar stench.

He must be a beta. That’s good. Betas are safe.

Betas don’t have the nose to sniff out Dean’s omega hiding under all the layers of black market, over-strength blockers. Between his neutralized scent and his size, he can pass for a beta himself, because Lord knows he never wants anyone to find out the truth if they don’t have to.

Yeah, he might fool around with a dude once in a while, and yeah, he might technically, scientifically be a bitch, but that doesn’t mean he has to act like it. No one is ever going to fuck him.

Ever.

But he’s whiskey-warm and the beta is still staring at him like he’s a three-course meal, so there’s no time like the present to blow off some steam.

“Do you bottom?” He asks, cutting to the chase. It’s too loud in here to try and be subtle, and Dean doesn’t give a fuck if a dude rejects him, anyway.

If the man is shocked by his bluntness, it doesn’t show on his face.

“From time to time. I take that to mean you’re interested in my company.”

Dean smirks and gives the guy a smile he knows for a fact is fucking charming.

[iridescent-moo-n]

Revisiting the world of Kalopsia

It’s been quite a few years since I came up with the idea for Kalopsia, and I have grown since then, and naturally, things have changed in the status quo! So let’s dive in!

1. The powers:

In Kalopsia initially, you develop powers based on your first romantic love that you got involved with. When I made this concept I had a base level knowledge of aro-ace, and worked that into the system. However, I know a lot more now, so, what about the aro people?! Aro people’s powers develop based around their first platonic love beyond age 14. But sometimes develop around the location of their birth, their own self love or their family structure instead. Similarly, alloromantic powers develop from the first impactful romantic love of their life, but occasionally will develop from a platonic love, family structure or their own self love.

WHY?

Why do the powers have so many situations they can develop? Because all powers must manifest by age 16, and even for the most Alloromantic people, not everyone experiences meaningful romantic relationships by 16 (in fact I would say realistically most people don’t). Also, the idea of there being random and unpredictable discrepancies in the way these powers are developed is just more true to how human beings work in general. Even the most cut and dry aspects of human existence don’t go as planned always.

2. What the powers look like:

Powers are pretty much what you would expect for a story that includes supernatural powers. The twist with Kalopsia is that powers will have consequences or “issues” that are linked to emotion. Our main character, Jay, has cool fire powers, think fire bending, but the catch is they need to work to be in control of these abilities or the fire turns inward and eats away at them. Another power I’m a big fan of that I came up with making this story is healing abilities that act like a power-up for the healer, but if used too much can alter the body permanently (which isn’t always inherently negative as Jay’s power is). The healer heals someone, and then gains a boost to a physical aspect of themselves, e.g. strength, but if they heal in that way too much, their strength may be permanently boosted. This here is a positive, but can become a negative.

3. World-building:

Jay’s story takes place in a slightly dystopian period for this world. (I think the term dystopian isn’t the best description but it’s what we have). Essentially, the government of this world is democratic, but asks for an ‘aptitude test’ before anyone is allowed to work in association with the government. This ‘aptitude test’ asses job skills, but also an individual’s power stability. If a power is deemed to be damaging to the person or others, they are barred from government for a period of time. All sounds kinda reasonable right? Well, in Jay’s time, the government overreach has lead to this “period” becoming a permanent bar from government, and the ‘aptitude test’ for government applicants is now part of the graduation assessment from high school. There’s some pretty glaringly obvious issues there. This means that corruption to skew tests is pretty common, and that the pool of people eligible for government is quite small, thus, governments “groom” people for future rolls, and to perpetuate corrupt goals. Other important details are: people in this world have slightly more malleable bodies, aka, brittle injuries like broken bones are ever so slightly less common, and height has a slightly wider range.

Additional info: Kalopsia takes place on a continent that is geographically isolated from the rest of the continents in this world. They have similar major developmental history to our world, but have far fewer world wars, often fighting in civil wars more frequently, and developed tools more quickly than our society. Most animals are very similar to animals we have, and the biomes that exist are also akin to our own. There are other races, but race is determined by the super humanity based improvement to themselves - aka Jay’s continent is less likely to break bones/tear skin. Another race is lighter, like their bones are less dense, another race is physically smaller but have more muscle density. Etc. These powers have always been a thing for this world.

4. Characters:

The core cast has changed around quite a lot. I don’t think I ever spoke about the original core cast on here, but I will speak about the core cast now!!

Jay

Jay is still our lead! Jay looks largely the same, and has the same original power. The main changes come to personality and character traits:

Jay is a 5’10 individual with a high undercut and mid-length hair on the top, which is nearly always pulled back. They start the story at 17. They are non-binary and use they/them. They are attracted to women mostly. They have fire abilities that are often self destructive.

Aries

Aries is our main villain (initially) still! Aries has shifted around in a lot of ways, but her core character motivations and traits are the same:

Aries is 5’5, she starts the story at 18. She has long hair, that’s often styled. She is a woman and uses she/her. She is attracted to most genders. She has poisoning abilities, these abilities allow her to poison anyone she makes eye contact with, and the poisons themselves can be tweaked to her desire, slow or fast acting, they can poison to kill or poison to destroy a specific function. These powers were developed out of a very toxic relationship earlier in her life, and the downside of them is that while poisoning someone, any external/physical harm they take is mirrored onto Aries.

OG name Wren, now Kale.

Wren now Kale has gone through some of the biggest change of the cast. I knew this character would be our healer and initial mentor, but their personality, their appearance and general characteristics have changed vastly.

Kale is 21 when the story begins. He’s 6’0 and has the gayest mullet you’ve ever seen(/pos). They’re a masc individual who uses He/They pronouns! Kale is aro-ace and his powers are healing (as mentioned above) they developed after Kale had to take on a caretaker role for his younger siblings. In order to heal, Kale has to draw energy from photosynthesis. He can photosynthesise himself, or steal energy from plants that photosynthesise.

OG name Ryder, now Connor.

Ryder now Connor was our caretaker figure or found family dad, but in my years since creating this story, I don’t feel that’s a role that I want or need in the early stages of the story. Instead, I want to give Jay a healthy friendship, someone that doesn’t have a power dynamic over them.

Connor is 5’11, and 17 when the story begins. Connor is non-binary and uses any pronouns. He is attracted to men, and has a very ordinary hairstyle. Metallurgy where he needs to absorb materials to manipulate them. Connor had a stable first relationship, and family has always been supportive of them, thus her abilities are straightforward, they can manipulate earthen materials and reshape them, but cannot create or destroy material.

OG name Jax, now Yara.

Jax now Yara was originally the background friend character, but instead I think the dynamic needs another older character, and a character that doesn’t pander to Jay specifically.

Yara is 22 when the story begins. She is a woman and uses she/her. Yara is demisexual and bi. Yara is 6’1, and often has part of her hair up and the rest down. Yara’s first relationship was very stable in and of itself, but ended prematurely/was disrupted by the forced removal of her partner at the time. Thus, Yara is able to teleport short distances and her reaction time is enhanced. However, too much teleportation in a short span can cause her body to shut down.

Emery

Emery is Jay’s new love interest. Emery is 17 when the story begins, and stands at 5’10. Emery has a rediculously practical haircut for the situations they find themselves within. Emery is non-binary/Demi girl. And uses they/them but also is ok with she/her (much less preffered).

Emery is a bit of a mystery to me, I never quite know what to do with them as a character, because who knows what kind of love is good for them until it happens right? Anyhow, Emery's first relationship was in all ways rather ordinary. An ordinary date with an ordinary amount of trauma to pass on. Thus, Emery has the ability to dreamwalk when in contact with someone. This extends to a degree of emotions, they can sense someone's emotional experience while touching them.

5. Basic Plot:

Jay gets their powers and has a huge outburst, running into the woods behind their home as they do. They wake up lost in the forest, until they run into a band of kids/young people in the forest. Lost and afraid, the kids offer food and shelter and take Jay in. While jay is at their place, they get talking and find out these kids have all hidden here after outbursts of their powers or being abandoned by the training program for the highly selective police force, and have taken to training together to avoid the grasps of a government trying to force them into prison for their "crimes". The story follows Jay's journey of self discovery and identity formation, as well as their conflict with the person who ignited their abilities, Aries, a new addition to the police academy.

and that's what I have on Kalopsia!

[supermarine-silvally]

Gooooood morning, I'm here to send you numbers 1, 2, 7, 10 and 13 from the Happy Together ask game for Yara and Ace, my beloveds. Hope you're doing well!

tysm for the ask!!! I am obsessed with these two fr (also tagging @oneirataxia-girl to share the brainrot heheh)

(ask game here!)

This got long so I'll put the answers under the cut!

1. What are your OTP’s love languages?

In terms of receiving, I headcanon Ace as a words of affirmation sort of guy-- we all know that between Garp and Dadan and all the adults in his life that Ace didn’t receive a lot of reassurance about his self-worth growing up. The only time he was probably ever praised was when he brought home dinner for the mountain bandits, and he definitely enjoyed that one time when Makino remarked on how well-behaved he was for her, so getting that sort of verbal affirmation helps chase away the doubts he feels about whether or not he deserved to be born in the first place. As for giving, Ace is always surprising Yara with little gifts he finds on his solo missions/adventures or on the islands they visit together. He just loves making her smile.

Though she may come across as a little distant and give off the occasional ‘go near me and I’ll bite you’ vibe, Yara actually loves being touched and held and getting that skin-to-skin contact with the people she trusts and cares about. She basically was never hugged or given much physical affection for the vast majority of her life, and has some pretty severe abandonment issues, so she’s very touch-starved. The first time Ace hugged her, she didn’t quite know how to react, but all she knew was that deep down, she never wanted him to stop. In terms of giving affection, Yara shows her love through acts of service. She might grumble about Ace leaving his stuff lying around, but she always picks it up and puts it back where it needs to be, and makes sure that he has clean clothes and enough food/water to last whenever he’s going to be away for an extended period of time. Whenever Ace falls asleep in the middle of a meal, she’s always patiently waiting with a napkin or a cloth for when he comes to again.

2. Is your OTP a battle couple? How do they work together?

They’re both on one of the strongest crews in the One Piece universe serving under a literal Yonko so they’d definitely fit the battle couple description! (Yara is technically second-in-command on 2nd Division under Ace, so they end up side-by-side in combat a lot). Now the fun thing about them working together in battle is their devil fruit powers. Yara’s Tōka Tōka no Mi (Pass-Pass Fruit) means that she’s basically untouchable to physical attacks, barring seastone or a strong application of haki (or the Yami Yami no Mi), and Ace’s Mera Mera no Mi, being a Logia, means essentially the same thing for him. So Yara doesn’t have to worry about accidentally hitting Ace with her sword (her devil fruit might give her an excellent defense but it has almost no offensive capabilities, so she has to make up for that with swordplay) and Ace can go wild without worrying about burning Yara. Being faced with them in combat is to endure both their terrifying powers and combat prowess as well as their (mostly Ace’s) insufferable flirting. 

7. Do they plan on getting married? Who proposes? What’s their wedding like? 

Oh, Ace was probably thinking about marriage even before he left the Moby Dick to chase after Blackbeard. He aims to live without regrets, and he’s found someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with, so why wait? (Yara probably doesn’t think much about marriage, but if Ace asked, she wouldn’t say no). In alternate universes where Ace manages to avoid his unfortunate canon fate, they get married shortly after Marineford, after they’ve recovered from their injuries. Ace wanted to come up with an elaborate proposal plan and spent weeks crafting something, scrapping it, and annoying the hell out of Marco in the process. In the end, Ace and Yara are probably doing something simple like looking up at the stars and talking late into the night and he finally just blurts it out unprompted. (Yara is a bit surprised at first, but she eventually responds with a smile and a “Yes, of course I’ll marry you, you wonderful idiot.”)

The wedding is kind of chaotic, but in the best possible way. It was one of those things where it was supposed to be a small wedding (at Yara’s insistence, she really did not want to make a big deal out of it), but more and more people kept getting added to the guest list out of concerns it would be rude to not invite someone, so the event turns into a bit of a who’s who of the pirate world. Whitebeard’s entire fleet is invited, as are the Straw Hats because of course Luffy wouldn’t miss his brother’s wedding for the world. Curly Dadan and the mountain bandits also come, and Dadan spends the entire time ugly-sobbing into a handkerchief. At some point, Shanks’ crew stops by and brings a fresh round of booze with them. Yara begrudgingly (after many long discussions) allows Ace to extend an invitation to Mihawk, who surprisingly shows up. They find a nice uninhabited summer island for the venue, probably one under Whitebeard’s protection. If Whitebeard is alive, he officiates. If not, Jinbei does. Ace definitely cries a bit at the altar, which makes Yara tear up as well. (Neither of them probably ever imagined finding someone who would love them this much). The celebrations last for a solid week, but partway through, Ace and Yara sneak away on Ace’s striker to start their honeymoon early. Afterwards, Ace takes every possible opportunity to refer to Yara as his wife. Saying it aloud never fails to make him grin.

10. What’s their sleeping arrangement? Who falls asleep first?

Ace can fall asleep anywhere, at any time, so Yara has had to learn to adapt to that. Whenever it happens, she just shifts around and tries to make them both as comfortable as possible until he wakes up. He pretty much always falls asleep first and will actively seek Yara out whenever he wants to take a nap. Ace’s devil fruit makes him the perfect person to nap with, so Yara almost never turns him down. It’s not an uncommon sight on the Moby Dick to find them curled up somewhere, having a rest. 

13. What do they love most about the other?

For Yara, loving Ace is like loving the sun-- he’s so bright and warm and passionate and all-consuming, but what she loves most about him is his kindness. He can befriend almost anyone and actively helps others even when it doesn’t necessarily benefit him to do so. (This is the man she watched spend days crafting a very large hat for a giant just to give him some protection from the elements, after all). Ace touches the lives of everyone he encounters, commanding such loyalty from his first crew that they were willing to come back and try to rescue him after he was defeated by Whitebeard, risking annihilation from a much stronger crew just to get their beloved captain back. She counts herself lucky to have been drawn into the orbit of such a bright, wonderful, absolute sweetheart of a man who brags about his little brother fifty times a day and manages to maintain his cheerful demeanour despite how much the world might hate him for the blood that runs through his veins. When Ace turned his kindness towards her, how could she not fall in love with him? 

Yara’s beauty might have first turned Ace’s head in her direction, but that wasn’t what held his attention there. He appreciates her steadfast loyalty to her crew and her sharp wit, but what he loves most about her is her honesty. Yara says what she means and means what she says, so he can always count on her to be straightforward with him. He was absolutely terrified of what she might think upon finding out he’s Gol D. Roger’s son, but when she smiled at him and assured him it changed nothing, he knew that she meant it. Whenever he has his self-doubts, he knows he can come to her and that she won’t just coddle his feelings, but will truly and honestly reassure him of the value that he brings to the world and to the lives of everyone around him. He trusts her opinion more than perhaps anyone else’s and feels like he’s found a partner who truly sees him for all that he is. His heart is in her hands, and he’s certain that when she says she’ll protect it with all her might, that she means it.

[the1975attheirverybest]

Hi Hala! So, I know your opinion on matty not speaking up about Palestine but I was here thinking about it, follow my train of thought.

Considering everything he ver spoke, we know where he stands on this issue, right? So It's not that we want to know his opinion on this. We want him to speak because of the "signing towards utopia" thing.

But then we get to something he has already talked about his tweet about George Floyd, that is the dicotomy between long and short term expression (I don't remember the exact words). But he said he thinks It's better to speak through his songs, cause he actually work oh the lyrics, think deeply about the issue and can articulate his thoughts in a better way than in a tweet.

In fact, that was what happend when the whole bomb thing on People mv happend.

That being said, I don't know why but I think It's possible that he addresses this issue on a song for the next album.

Now, I don't agree with you on this matter for reasons that I don't think are important, but I wonder: if he really talks about it in a song, do you think It would be enough or anything he does from now on is already overdue?

Hey anon!

You can hear the gist of my take on the matter over here. It hasn’t changed recently. I suspect it won’t ever change. Barring some like exceptional circumstances.

I’ll address some of the points that you make here and iterate what I say above.

1. There is a difference between speaking out about every bill that is ever proposed to be made into law ever, and speaking out against genocide. Do you understand me?

Let me put it this way: let’s say Utah introduces a bill to ban even more books that show queer love stories. Or Alabama starts a debate about the age of consent. Or a school board in South Dakota has an initiative about critical race theory. I do NOT expect Matty to get onstage every single time that any of this happens and start yelling about it. He said something very poignant in the ION PACK pod. He said that artists used to be bohemian outsiders. Now everyone expects them to be liberal academics. And he’s just not the liberal academic type. I AGREE WITH HIM. TREMENDOUSLY. I don’t want him out there as a political pundit. I think punditry is one of the dumbest most self-absorbed jobs lmao.

HOWEVER genocide and ethnic cleansing is VERY different. It is a humanitarian crisis. One that demands all of us be accountable. Literal bloodlines have been wiped from the earth. The Palestinian ministry of health has had to delete family lineages from their database because Israel has killed them all. Like there is not a single person remotely related to them who’s been left alive. The family name is gone forever. Children are being starved. Tortured. Literal kids.

In my opinion, it’s not a valid argument to say that because he’s pro BLM then he’s obviously pro Palestine. If you talk to liberals, if you watch the news, if you speak to majority white communities, you’ll see a curious phenomenon. The most progressive of folks suddenly turns into a bloodthirsty animal horny for the destruction of Palestinians. This is due to 75+ years of propaganda by Zionists. Even the “good guys” are against Palestine because they genuinely believe we have to destroy Palestinians for the safety of everyone else (especially Jewish folks). Being pro-Palestine has gotten people fired from their jobs, black listed in hollywood, influencers have lost sponsorships, authors have been dropped by their publishers. This wouldn’t happen to anyone who says Black Lives Matter.

Moreover, regular methods of advocacy are not working for the same reasons. Biden and Congress folks are staunchly pro Israel. It’s the same in the UK, France, Germany. you’ve seen what has been happening to student protestors. Suspensions, expulsions, jail, physical injury.

If, at times like these, people who are of immense privilege, who claim to be brought up on punk values, who “make standing up for human rights as part of my schtick” are not only SILENT but say “really? You wanna hear me and Brittany broski on Israel-Palestine?” “I’m just a singer.” Then tell me what’s left?

2. How is saying “he spoke up once about one political issue years ago shouldn’t that be enough.” Any different from saying “Taylor swift spoke up about queer rights once when she was trying to sell an album. Therefore she’s a queer advocate”?

3. I can’t speak about the song hypothetical. In other words, I would have to see the song. My reaction would be different based on if it’s one line or a whole song and what the context and message etc. but I will say that he has already used Gaza in the show. The barrage of news stuff that plays before POTB. Where he has the clip of the lady saying “the woke left are angry with my favorite artist even though he’s on their side let’s talk about it” or whatever the fuck.

4. The right time to speak out was October 8. The second best time is now. Every day that goes by where he’s silent, more and more blood is shed. And it’s on his hands and his consciousness whether he wants to admit it or not.

5. Finally, I’m sorry, but it’s a tad disingenuous and bad faith of you to say you “disagree for reasons that aren’t important.” If you’re going to scrutinizes me for my words you should be willing to lay yours out first.

[catspittle]

Injuries, mental conditions, and other maladies, consolidated - actually I'm just combining this into one big post because guess who forgot stuff last time.

Crane is deaf in both ears due to physical abuse, although not completely. Does not know ASL due to prejudice, but has the capacity to read lips to a degree.

Hemophilia-B.

Walks with a limp [left side] from a past hip injury that ended up almost separating his leg from his body. Said hip has also been partially replaced with titanium. +shot in the left knee 2019 IRP, remnants of kneecap later calcified. Partially wheelchair bound due to walking difficulties.

Severe throat and vocal fold scarring, thanks Eduardo Flamingo for trying to eat him and also various and mostly female rapists at Arkham. Can't speak that clearly, often slurring his words. Prefers to express himself in short sentences or simply grunts, unless you really get him going on a topic.

Speaking of my cyborg man: his lower jaw is pretty much entirely titanium mesh, his spinal cord barring the nerve sheath has been entirely replaced with metal due to a car accident in his 20's, his ribcage is now reinforced, and at least two of his heart valves have been replaced entirely. + stents

In addition his spine is barely covered with skin + muscle and you can see the metal when he twists at certain angles.

Now missing roughly half his brain tissue due to literally dying in childbirth in the 1980's. This causes Crane to suffer from complications including but not limited to: seizures, CSF leakage, narcolepsy, short-term memory issues, and increased mood swings to the point of being extremely volatile. 

Marfanoid, so more often than not will dislocate his joints several times a day. Can’t lift anything heavy, the usual. Not as flexible as he used to be due to the metal in his body.

Now possesses a singular lung due to a run-in with Doomsday during his time on the Suicide Squad, which also demanded the floating rib reinforcement.

Parkinson’s Disease, the early stages.

Severe photophobia, almost always has one eye shut at all times.

Self-harm scarring across shoulders and one wrist. Various scars as a general, both internal and external. His genitalia are recognizable but still somewhat mangled. Overall? Torture victim! Many of his nerve endings have been outright removed because the United States sure as hell doesn't treat its minority prisoners like humans...and neither did Crane's own family.

Truly, it's hard to gauge the full extent of his mental illnesses, as often doctors in Gotham City will revoke/revise diagnoses to fit an agenda [and god knows he lies to himself], but here's what can concretely be determined of his mental state:

Postpartum depression escalating into Complex Bereavement Disorder.

As with canon Scarecrow, unspecified psychosis. But in his case, they're likely a part of the Borderline Personality Disorder.

More than likely DID, emphasis on the Dissociative part of Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Inferiority complex with added anxiety.

Honestly I'd be willing to diagnose him with C-PTSD were it not just a normal thing for Asian-Americans [can confirm, am Asian-American]. Overall? He's almost 70, he's barely functioning. Don't expect a whole lot but witty quips from him.

[acacia-may]

The Fighter

Description: Kotoko Utsugi had once been "The Fighter" of the Warriors of Hope, and now, nearly 20 years later, she supposes the title still suits her. She doesn't know any other way to be. After all, they say we become what we needed most in our darkest moments.

With the help and encouragement of an old friend, however, she'll begin to her realize that maybe even "The Fighter" deserves to be fought for every once in a while.

Fandom: Danganronpa (Specifically Ultra Despair Girls)

Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Healing, Character Study, Future Fic (nearly) 20 Years Post-Canon.

Relationships: Kotoko Utsugi & Nagisa Shingetsu Friendship almost 20 years in the future with a little bit of the Warriors of Hope platonic friendship as well. A/N: I wrote this as a platonic work about their friendship, but as they're both 30 years old here, I guess you could take it in a more romantic-ish(?) way if you just really wanted to see it (maybe?). That was not my intention in writing, however, and in my mind, this is Friendship Hurt/Comfort (Nagisa is just awkward--bless his heart).

Characters: Kotoko Utsugi (POV Character) and Nagisa Shingetsu. Masaru Daimon and Jataro Kemuri are mentioned but do not physically appear in this story.

Rating: T for Thematic Elements and Some Language (Please see "Warnings" below for more details).

Warnings: Vaguely implied/mentioned childhood trauma and abuse. (A/N: This is hurt/comfort, but the past childhood trauma and abuse is only implied as vaguely and subtly as possible while still being treated with the sensitivity and gravity it warrants). Unhealthy coping is mentioned. Healthy coping is also mentioned. A very brief scene involves an adult character being hit on when they do not want to be by another adult (NPC) character who is not respectful when rejected. Another brief scene involves an adult character punching another adult character—followed by non-descriptive depictions of some minor injuries and mentions of blood. Legal/of age drinking is also implied/mentioned. Self-Worth Issues. Insecurities. Kotoko is a jaded and unreliable narrator (A/N: I like to think they characters are in a better place psychologically here (nearly 20 years after Ultra Despair Girls and having begun to get the therapy they so desperately need), but they still have a ways to go and don't always cope in the best/healthiest way. Healing is a journey).

Word Count: 2771

Link to original post on AO3. Please do not repost to another site.

Note: This story was written for @nothing-to-see-here-bye-yall and is my first work in the Danganronpa fandom so I'm a little nervous. I really loved Ultra Despair Girls, even though there were so many elements that were just heartbreakingly sad, and I just hope I've done these complex characters and their friendship justice in this piece.

Story below the cut. Thank you for reading!

Kotoko focused on counting the backsplash tiles behind the bar counter—mismatched and uneven with a tendency for cracking and falling off. The bartender, a friend of hers, had let her take a piece of broken tile home a couple of months ago, when it had fallen off the wall on her thirtieth birthday. The barkeep had insisted it was lucky, but Kotoko hadn’t been too sure. And now that she was trying her best to drown out the unwanted attention of the thug who had just walked up to drunkenly hit on her, no doubt, she was certain that even now she was too cursed to be lucky.

“I’m not interested,” she said again. Between the loud, rowdy noises of the bar and the blasting background music, she could barely make out what he was saying, but he clearly wasn’t getting her message to back off. 

Kotoko caught the watchful eye of the bartender who was refilling the beers of a rowdy group at the opposite end of the bar. She nodded at Kotoko, and then whispered something to a waitress who headed to the kitchen, probably to get the chef, a big, burly man who was rumored to be ex-special ops, to keep this patron in line or throw him out if he got out of hand. 

In the meantime, she added, “Besides, I already have somebody” particularly loudly for good measure in the hopes of getting rid of him. It wasn’t true, of course, but her friends were always game to step in and pretend to be her fake significant other if she needed to deter some drunk dirtwad and his unwelcomed interest in her. Luckily, she had just so happened to run into Nagisa in the bar an hour ago, and he was quick to jump in, leaning back in his barstool to glare at this bar thug who merely scoffed at them.

Kotoko could hear that dirtbag’s next words plainly above the low roar, and they made her feel sick. “I can show you a better time than this scrawny shrimp.”

“She said, ‘no’ so back off.” Nagisa rose from his seat at the bar counter stepping in front of Kotoko. From her high barstool, she was “taller” than him for the first time in nearly two decades, but as tall as Nagisa was—which Kotoko supposed was relatively average for a grown man—that drunk jerk towered over him when he raised himself to his full height. 

“You gonna make me, pipsqueak?”

“Nagisa…” Kotoko reached out her hand, but before she could grab his arm it flew forward, his fist colliding with the man’s nose. Nagisa was slim, lanky—nowhere near brawny enough for a bar fight, and he looked almost ridiculous starting one in his three-piece business suit. He might as well have hit the man with his briefcase, if he had had one. His opponent was visibly surprised but unamused and returned the punch with a right hook that crashed into Nagisa’s cheek when he turned his head in an only partially successful attempt to dodge.

Luckily, Chef quickly broke it up before things got too ugly, but Nagisa was already worse for wear. As the chef kicked that thug out of the bar, the bartender ushered a bruised Nagisa into the backroom so Kotoko could tend to his wounds before they headed out.

With a frown, she shook her head as she tried to clean off his face with some warm soapy water. “You’re probably going to have a black eye now,” she sighed. Nagisa winced as she pressed the cold compress to his cheek. “What were you thinking? You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Kotoko could have almost sworn she saw Nagisa’s mouth twitch in the corners, but he said dryly, “I guess we’ve come a long way if you’re worried about me dying now.”

She couldn’t tell if he was being completely serious or not. Sure, there had been a time in their lives when they couldn’t have cared less what happened to them, but almost twenty years had passed since they had tried to make their “Children’s Paradise.” They were adults now, and after nearly two decades of court-ordered therapy, they had accepted that. As far as Kotoko knew, none of them had a death wish anymore, least of all Nagisa who was probably the most successful of their group with his job coordinating the implementation of air filtration systems with the Future Foundation’s laboratory. Or something like that… Kotoko never could keep up with him when he talked about his work—whatever he was trying to say got muddled in all kinds of technical jargon. Masaru’s job with Fuyuhiko’s independent security contractors and Jataro’s work in the field of prosthetics were much easier to follow and understand. The boys didn’t ask her much about her work with the newly restored child protective services. She had once tried to explain that she mainly worked with orphans or children who had been displaced or had gotten separated from their families in the more dangerous, lawless portions of their slowly rebuilding world, but they knew, had always known, her reasons for choosing that line of work. She was their “Fighter” after all, and she fought for those children now, protected them like no one had protected her friends…like no one had protected her.

It was her life’s purpose or raison d'etre as Nagisa would probably say, and in that, she was happy—or at least, she was learning to be, even if some days were still enough to drive her to the local bar, a real hole in the wall joint in the basement of what used to be a department store. While Towa City had been built back up over the last twenty years, there were parts that still remained rundown and ruined. This was one of them. She was surprised to run into Nagisa there, considering he spent most of his time in the shiny, new city center, but maybe he had had a rough day at work as well. Regardless she was sure he must be having a rough day now considering the bruised and bloodied condition of his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said running his hand through his hair. “I really didn’t mean to start a fight. I just—I saw the look on your face and I just…” He stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t worth it,” she insisted quietly, wiping the blood off his jaw. She shook her head and frowned. His lip was busted too.

“It was to me. I couldn’t just sit there and watch that pr—Ow!” Nagisa winced as she pressed the rag to the bleeding corner of his mouth.

“Sorry.” Kotoko paused, shaking her head again. “You need to hold this here—otherwise you’re going to stain your suit.”

Nagisa nodded, and his hands reached up to take the compress from her. His fingers were long, spindly and surprisingly cold. Kotoko didn’t suppose that the cool night air blowing through the small open window in the storage room was enough to leave his hands so chilled. She flinched and pulled her hand away.

“Kotoko, are you alright?”

Her brow furrowed. “I’m not the one who just got punched in the face.”

“You’re trembling…” His voice trailed, and he held out his free hand to her, recoiling it into a fist in the last second. “I’m sorry. Can I…? That is…do you want me to—hug you? It’s okay if you don’t…just you look shaken so I thought I should ask.”

“I’m fine, Nagisa. Really,” she insisted, but her voice wavered. “Besides, pricks like that don’t harass me nearly as much now that I’ve changed my hair…” With it cut pixie short and dyed dark black, she didn’t attract nearly as much attention nowadays, which she preferred.

“So that’s why you dyed it…?” he half-asked, half-stated. Kotoko nodded.

“Don’t you like it?”

Nagisa shrugged. “It’s nice. I just…kind of miss the pink, I guess…” he admitted, far more honest than he probably would have been if he had been completely sober, Kotoko thought. His face fell and something sorrowful passed over his eyes. “I wish you didn’t have to change yourself to feel safe.”

Something ached in Kotoko’s chest. She wished that too. She wished a lot of things… She pushed the thought away with a shake of her head. “You’ve always got to make everything so deep, Nagisa. I like my dark hair. Sure, it isn’t adorbs, but that’s why…” She stopped. “Look this isn’t even about me. This is about the fact that you’ve gotten yourself beat up ‘defending my honor’ or whatever after I tried to stop you.” Waving her hand, she rolled her eyes at those words.  

Nagisa rubbed the back of his neck. “I said I was sorry. That’s the first time I’ve ever even done something like that...”

“Probably too much vodka.” She crossed her arms with a huff. “I don’t think drinking agrees with you—it makes you impulsive and reckless. It’s weird, and I don’t like it—you’re supposed to be the responsible one. We don’t need another Masaru.” Masaru didn’t drink, ever. He had never really discussed it with her, besides to tell her off for turning to the bottle when life got a little too hard, but she had always assumed he was afraid of the type of person he would become if he did start drinking, the type of person liquor might make him. She was sure Nagisa understood what she meant though. Masaru was impulsive enough without it. “But at least he’s brawny enough to pick a fight. You don’t see a lot of scrawny businessmen going after thugs twice their size like that. You should stick to destroying people with logic and statistics.” Her mouth twitched teasingly, but Nagisa changed the subject with a sigh.

“Have you talked to Masaru lately?”

“He called last week, but only for a couple of minutes. He’s in another relationship apparently...” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Nagisa, however, did not.

“That seems to be his drug of choice these days.” He shook his head bitterly before his face softened, and his voice grew quiet as he apologized, “I’m sorry. I know that must be upsetting to you.”

Kotoko took a deep breath. “I’m not mad at him. I understand he’s just looking for love or acceptance or whatever…” She huffed, but her shoulders slumped. “I just…I just wish we were enough for him—that the love of his friends was…” She stopped and stared at her hands. “But I guess not.”

“I don’t think it’s personal.” Nagisa sighed. “Jataro’s in love now too—or thinks he is. Somebody he works with at the lab—with shiny glasses or something…”

“Do you think people like us can really even fall in love? To bring someone normal into this mess…” Her voice trailed, and Nagisa shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe. I don’t think it’s impossible.”

“Oh? You have the great love of your life stashed away somewhere?” There was a certain unintended bitterness that seeped into her words. She frowned as she watched the tips of Nagisa’s ears turn red.

“I think my work is probably the love of my life.” He chuckled lightly, almost sheepishly. “Married to the job, I guess…”

Kotoko almost snorted a breathy laugh. “I thought out of all of us, you’d want to settle down, have a ‘picket fence’ life.” 

Nagisa paused and stared down at the ground. His voice grew so quiet she could scarcely hear him confess, “I don’t deserve to be so happy.”

Kotoko sighed. Drinking made him honest too. She had forgotten about that. “Don’t say nonsense like that. You were always the best of us. If you want something, you should go out and get it. Don’t just sit around punishing yourself for something that happened 20 years ago.”

“If I get in a relationship, where will that leave you? I think we’d be better off sticking together—let Masaru and Jataro work out all that stuff.”

Kotoko frowned. He had completely ignored and evaded everything she had just said. He certainly had a knack for that. She supposed he had a point though. Her friends knew all too well that a romantic relationship was something she didn’t want, probably could never want, not anymore. If her boys all settled down that meant she’d be alone, and while she didn’t think she would mind it much, it might be nice to have another friend who stayed perpetually single with her. 

“I suppose you do give off that married to the job vibe…” shrugged Kotoko. “Though you also give off that ‘doomed to be in love with someone he’ll never have’ vibe too”—she paused—“Promise me that’s not the case.”

Nagisa’s cheeks flushed, but he said, “It isn’t.”

“Good. I don’t want you hung up on Monaca or something forever.” Kotoko stopped abruptly, realizing only from the look on Nagisa’s face what she had just said. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” he cut her off quickly and abruptly. “I haven’t thought about Monaca in years.”

Truthfully, Kotoko hadn’t either. Even so, the question which followed slipped out before she could stop herself. “Do you ever…imagine what our lives would have been without her?”

“What lives? We’d be dead,” Nagisa replied with a bitter dryness. “As much as I struggle to forgive her for everything that came after, I can admit that we are alive today because of her and Junko. And I think that maybe that’s worth something…” He paused and met her eyes. “I mean just look at you—at everything you’ve done for those children. Without you, they would have had no one to fight for them.”

Kotoko’s face grew warm, but she frowned. “Oh, so I’m a fighter now…? I thought I needed you to defend me?”

Nagisa let out a long, heavy sigh and swallowed hard. “Look, I really am sorry about earlier. I know there is a lot of fight in you, probably more than any of us, so…I really wasn’t trying to step on your toes and fight your battles for you. I’m sorry if it came off that way…I guess, I was just thinking that sometimes if a person spends all of their time and energy fighting for other people, they don’t have enough fight left in them for themselves.” The tips of his ears turned red, and he added hurriedly, “And I don’t mean that in an insulting way…I just…”

“Or,” she quietly interrupted him. He stopped, and she could feel him turning to look at her as she twisted her hands and continued. “Or they don’t think there’s anything left in them worth saving…They’re just too broken…”

“That’s not true,” he said without a moment’s hesitation. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at him, but as she stared down at the ground, she noticed his hand hovering almost sheepishly above hers before he asked, “Can I…hold your hand?”

Kotoko nodded, and he took it. His hand was warm now and clasped hold of hers with a sturdy, reassuring squeeze. When she finally looked up at him again, he said, “There is so much in you that is worth protecting, and I’d do it again, in a second.”

His face softened, and he smiled at her with something so kind, so earnest in his eyes that she wanted to believe him. And maybe she would someday. Maybe someday she’d grow out her hair again, letting in fall in long, pink locks that Jataro would want to braid and play with like he had used to do when they were kids. Maybe someday she’d get out that pink sweater Masaru had gotten her for her birthday and let him take her dancing in that park in the city center where someone, somehow, found the strength to play live music even in their bleak, post-apocalyptic world. Maybe someday she and Nagisa would come back here to this bar and sit and talk for hours and she would put her armor aside for just a moment and allow herself to feel safe, to feel protected, to feel happy with him by her side. But for now, she just smiled and rested her head on his shoulder with a grateful, “Thank you.”

In the comfortable silence that followed, she began to think that maybe Nagisa was right after all. Maybe even the fighter deserved to be fought for every once in a while. 

[art-of-manliness]

My New Favorite Squat

I’ve done the traditional barbell squat my whole life. It’s a great exercise for overall lower-body strength. I’ve also experimented with other squat variations: the front squat, the goblet squat, the belt squat. This year I’ve been doing a squat that’s become my favorite ever: the Hatfield squat. I love this exercise. I originally switched to it because long-standing problems with cranky shoulders and knee pain were making the traditional barbell squat uncomfortable. The Hatfield squat has made squatting fun and productive again after years of frustration trying to make the barbell squat work for me. What’s also great about the Hatfield Squat is that it’s an excellent movement for quad hypertrophy, which lines up nicely with my new fitness goal of getting more ripped. It’s been a game-changer in my training. If you’ve had trouble with barbell squatting or are looking for a different squat variation to mix into your programming, here’s everything you need to know about the Hatfield squat. What Is the Hatfield Squat and What Are Its Benefits? The Hatfield squat, named after powerlifting legend Dr. Fred Hatfield, aka Dr. Squat, is a back squat variation that requires a safety squat bar, which is a type of barbell that looks sort of like an ox yoke. When you do the Hatfield squat, you place the safety squat bar on your back. Then, instead of holding on to the safety squat bar with your hands, you rest your hands on an additional barbell or a set of handles that have been placed at navel level on the barbell rack. As you descend into the squat, you keep your hands on the support in front of you, using it to maintain your balance and an upright torso. This increases the stability of the exercise, allowing the Hatfield squat to offer some unique benefits: Great for quad hypertrophy. If you’re looking to grow legs as big as tree trunks, the Hatfield squat can be a helpful tool. Its increased stability allows you to overload your quads more than a traditional squat. Instead of focusing on keeping your balance during the squat, you can just focus on the movement, which means you can be a bit more aggressive in adding reps or weight. Great for squatting around injuries. The most significant benefit that the Hatfield squat has given me is that it has allowed me to squat heavy again despite the niggling physical issues I’ve had on and off for years. Because I have shoulder tendonitis due to bench pressing and struggle with shoulder flexibility (despite the amount of time I’ve worked on developing this capacity), the bar position on the traditional low-bar squat just exacerbated my shoulder pain. Because you use a safety bar with the Hatfield squat, you don’t have to use your hands to hold the bar on your back. It completely removes the stress on your shoulders. The Hatfield squat has also allowed me to work around some pain I’ve had behind my knee since 2020. The pain only happens during the descent part of a traditional barbell squat. I still don’t know what the source of the pain is despite talking to an orthopedic surgeon and getting an MRI done. I reckon it’s some sort of overuse injury on a tendon back there. But at any rate, the increased stability of the Hatfield squat allows me to squat heavy and below parallel without any pain behind my knee. People with lower back issues have also found the Hatfield squat helpful for squatting without exacerbating their injury. Due to the Hatfield squat’s pain reduction ability, I’ve also been calling them “Midlife Man Squats.” It is a great accessory lift for the barbell squat. You don’t have to replace the traditional barbell squat completely with the Hatfield squat. Instead, you can use the Hatfield squat as an accessory lift in your barbell programming. On deadlift day, you could do the Hatfield squat for 3 sets of 8-12 reps for hypertrophy and increased work capacity. Or you could use the Hatfield squat for overload training to build strength and confidence in hoisting heavier weights, doing 3 sets of 3 reps with weight that is… http://dlvr.it/T9Sf0C

[roshmedia]

How to take care of the elderly?

Taking care of the elderly is a responsibility that requires compassion, patience, and a well-thought-out plan. As they age, people often need assistance with daily activities and medical care. Whether you are a family member, friend, or professional caregiver, understanding the essentials of elder care can help you provide the best support. This guide covers key aspects of caring for the elderly, focusing on physical health, emotional well-being, social engagement, and safety.

Physical Health

Regular Medical Check-ups: Regular visits to healthcare providers are crucial for early detection and management of health issues. Schedule and keep track of appointments for routine check-ups, vaccinations, and screenings.

Medication Management: Many elderly individuals take multiple medications daily. To avoid errors, it’s essential to manage these medications accurately. Use pill organizers and set reminders for medication times. Consult with healthcare providers to understand potential side effects and interactions.

Nutrition: A balanced diet is vital for maintaining health. Ensure they consume a diet rich in fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and lean proteins. Monitor their nutritional intake and make adjustments as needed. Supplements might sometimes be necessary, but always consult a healthcare provider before starting any new supplement regimen.

Physical Activity: Encourage regular physical activity suitable for their age and health condition. Walking, swimming, or gentle yoga can improve mobility, strength, and cardiovascular health. Consult with a physical therapist if there are concerns about specific exercises.

Personal Hygiene: Assist with daily hygiene routines, including bathing, dental care, and grooming. Maintaining cleanliness helps prevent infections and promotes a sense of dignity and well-being.

Emotional Well-being

Mental Health: Monitor for signs of depression, anxiety, or other mental health issues. Engaging in regular conversations and showing empathy can make a significant difference. If necessary, seek help from mental health professionals.

Cognitive Stimulation: Encourage activities stimulating the mind, such as reading, puzzles, or games. Cognitive exercises can help maintain mental acuity and delay the progression of cognitive decline.

Emotional Support: Providing emotional support is crucial. Spend quality time with them, listen to their concerns, and offer reassurance. Building a strong emotional connection can help them feel valued and loved.

Social Engagement

Family and Friends: Regular interaction with family and friends can prevent feelings of isolation and loneliness. Organize family gatherings, visits, and social outings to keep them connected.

Community Involvement: Encourage participation in community activities, clubs, or senior centers. These settings provide opportunities to make new friends and engage in meaningful activities.

Technology: Teach them to use technology to stay in touch with loved ones. Video calls, social media, and messaging apps can help maintain social connections, especially if physical visits are impossible.

Safety

Home Safety: Ensure their living environment is safe and accessible. Remove tripping hazards, install grab bars in the bathroom, ensure good lighting, and consider using medical alert systems.

Mobility Aids: Use appropriate mobility aids, such as walkers, canes, or wheelchairs, to prevent falls and injuries. Regularly check and maintain these aids to ensure they are in good working condition.

Emergency Preparedness: Have a plan in place for emergencies. Ensure they know how to contact emergency services and have a list of emergency contacts readily available. Regularly review and practice emergency procedures.

Legal and Financial Matters

Legal Documents: Ensure all necessary documents are in order, including wills, powers of attorney, and healthcare directives. Consult with legal professionals to ensure everything is properly documented and up to date.

Financial Management: Assist with managing finances, paying bills, and budgeting. Consider involving a trusted family member or financial advisor to help manage their financial affairs securely.

Caring for the elderly requires a holistic approach that addresses their physical, emotional, and social needs while ensuring their safety and well-being. It involves regular medical care, proper nutrition, physical activity, emotional support, social engagement, and safety measures. Additionally, managing legal and financial matters is essential for their peace of mind and security. By providing comprehensive care, you can significantly enhance their quality of life and ensure they feel valued, loved, and supported in their later years.