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#THE GUY WHO SO MANY THOUGHT WAS THE MISSING MOTORICS BUILD IS BAD AT THEM

bluastro-yellow · 7 months

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Kurvitz stresses that Kim doesn't actually have a character sheet hidden in Disco Elysium's code. Imagining that Lieutenant Kitsuragi has only one natural attribute point in Motorics helps the ZA/UM team to understand the depth of his character beyond what's referenced in the game's dialogue. "We just came up with this stuff for coherency," says Kurvitz. "And because we're nerds."

"I like to think Kim has a Thought Cabinet project called Revolutionary Aerostatic Brigades that he's worked on since he was a teenager," Kurvitz says. "This raises the learning caps for his Reaction Speed and Interfacing."

Kim's high Volition skill makes him impervious to prying, Kurvitz says, as the detective can find out on occasions being met with Kim's brick-wall resolve. Kim often chastises these whims of the detective's, but will occasionally play along. The Lieutenant finds his new partner funny, says Kurvitz.

Kim is naturally shit at Motorics and thinks Harry is funny source

#THE GUY WHO SO MANY THOUGHT WAS THE MISSING MOTORICS BUILD IS BAD AT THEM #and thinks cop types are stupid <3 #the bajillion points in authority make even more sense. he probably has a lot of natural points in the purple skills?#(addition: so empathy too T_T !!!)#so this means he had to put a lot of points in composture on purpose. and had to learn how to sew and repair motorcarriages the hard way?#the interfacing learning cap is higher but he still had to put points in it to have more than 1 #his perception is abysmal and it stayed so #his hand/eye coordination is also bad. his shooting posture is horrible. I wonder how he got to 7/10 #I want to poke this nerd with a stick #disco elysium #release the kim character sheet now. what the hell is volta do mar I need to know #he must have volta do mar. h/e coordination. kinetic dressage #(and something related to authority)#first and last are red but it's a different shade than harry's red-pink physical skills #so they must have a different name. but h/e is yellow #maybe everyone has the 4 colors psy/phis/mot/int categories but they have different shades and names #<-all of this is from the official jacket they sell. it's in the description #ok no the color shades are just the website's fault. sad noise

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websterss · 2 years

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𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐒, 𝐖𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 — 𝐓𝐎𝐌!𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: I was wondering if you can, I could request Tom Holland Peter Parker x reader where in the nwh scene instead of aunt may dying it’s the reader. I just love how in that scene Peter was emotional and the way he said “you’re ok, you’re ok”, made me cry like so bad I hope this makes sense I have so many ideas I wanna share but I just choose this one.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): ANGST, mentions of dying, mentions of blood, SOME fluff

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 8,883

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Tom!Peter Parker x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! ♡

𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐭 - 𝐀𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“So the chip in the back of Doc’s neck was designed to protect his brain from the A-I system that’s controlling these tentacles, but if you look here…” Peter turned the hologram human model around so the back was facing them. He pulled out the hologram chip and held it out to Norman. “The chip is fried and rather than him being in control of the tentacles, the tentacles are now in control of him.” Peter explained further. “Which I guess explains why he is so miserable all the time!” He sighed but turned to the door just in time to meet your eyes as you entered the room. “Hey.” He smiled.

“H-Hey.” You laughed looking back over your shoulder to where you just were in the kitchen.

“What?” He laughed along with you.

“Nothing, although I think someone needs to tell May that Doctor Octavius isn’t actually an octopus.”

“No.” He emphasized.

“Yeah…she even offered to put salt in his water.” You burst out laughing.

“Oh no!” He laughed out loud. Oh, he felt bad for her. His aunt was too pure for this world. You bit your lip, not believing she just said that to the poor man. You shook your head and looked back up at him.

“You need anything?” You leaned on the open door.

“N-No I think we’re good- Norman?” He looked over at him.

“I could use a glass of water if it isn’t too much to ask for?” He smiled over at you. “Please.” You straightened your back and nodded sure at him.

“Yeah, of course, be right back.” You gestured with your thumb and left the room.

“She’s pretty.” Norman smirked, not missing a beat as he looked over at Peter. Peter blushed mad red.

“Shut up!” He chuckled nervously.

“How’d you two meet?” He asked as he started preparing the tools that were going to be needed.

“Funny enough… a science fair.” He shrugged, expanding the hologram. He found a headpiece that would help him see the new chip closer.

“Did you win first place or-”

“No, she uh- beat my friend Ned and I by a long shot.” He paused, sticking his tongue out to concentrate.

“What’d you build?” Norman was curious.

“A self-made electric motor with ten kilowatts of power, yet we thought it wasn’t really cool to present once we saw all the other inventions everyone else came up with. I kind of used Spider-Man connections to try and help us win. I brought in a car that had a built-in electric motor.”

“So you cheated?”

“Well when you put it that way…it doesn’t sound right, but yeah we cheated, and I wasn’t proud of it. The judges said the electric sports car was very compelling.”

“Oh.” Norman winced.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “We ended up getting second place.”

“What did Y/n make?”

“A glitter bomb.”

“A glitter-”

“A glitter bomb.” Peter nodded yes. “Y/n and her nana’s mail used to get stolen, mostly packages. So Y/n decided to engineer a device that would explode glitter as soon as the packages would be opened. I believe she even added a camera to capture the footage of the guy who kept stealing from them. We actually put him in jail.” He felt proud.

“Huh? What kind of bomb was this, again?”

“It was basically a small box like-tank with a pneumatic system. She customized these aluminum pressure tanks that were filled with air pressurized to 80 psi, which was nestled on the bottom of the tank. S-She had this whole hall effect sensor that sensed magnets, which were attached to the lid, and once the lid came off it would trigger the air to rush into the pistons and shoot up like a punch, thus releasing the glitter to ‘explode’ and cover the criminals in pink.” Peter lit up like a Christmas tree. “Completely harmless, but super effective.” He stopped and thought for a second. He turned around and looked over at your bag that sat on the floor a few feet from him. “I-I think she actually has one with her right now. It’s in her bag.” He laughed, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “I swear she takes any chance to cover someone up in glitter.”

“Incredible…Smart girl, I’d say that was indeed a well-deserved first place trophy.” Norman patted Peter’s back and focused back on the chip in front of them, but not before looking over at your tote bag with a quick glance. He quickly turned back around as Peter spoke up again.

“Her intelligence amazes me every day.” He spoke fondly of you. You loved science just as much as he did, one of the many things that brought you closer. Science and inventing stuff, it’s what you were good at. He had been excited to meet someone else who geeked off about physics and math like him. He thought meeting you couldn’t get any better, but once you found out that he was Spider-Man, you decided to take the liberty of creating him extra web fluid for his web shooters. Most girlfriends would carry around inhalers, or even epi-pens, but you carried around web cartilages. You had one in the pocket of your jacket right now.

The two fell into silence before Norman leaned forward to inspect the little arms of the machine moving amongst the chip. He had never seen technology so advanced. Peter looked ridiculous with his tongue poking out as he slowly but carefully grabbed one of the sticks that he had to connect to the chip. “Remarkable, the technology and you. When all this is over. If you need a job and you’re willing to commute to another universe-” The machine roared and then buzzed as the completion was successful. Peter lifted the mask and breathed heavily.

“It worked!” He exclaimed, grabbing the chip and ran past Norman. “That totally worked!” You were barely walking over to the room to hand Norman his drink before Peter zoomed past you making you knock the glass out of your hand. It fell, shattering on the floor.

“Peter!”

“Sorry!” He skidded as he ran to the staircase. He looked to May moving in a hurry. “I got it, I did it, I did it!” He pointed to the chip. “Um, can you send him up?”

“Here we go.” May leaned forward to start making Doctor Octavius’s tentacles lift him in the air. “Hold on now.” She looked up at Doctor Octavius.

“All of these humiliations never cease.” Otto exclaimed as his tentacles lifted him up to the balcony of the stairs. “You, keep your science fair project away from me!”

Peter now stood behind him. You stood next to May, staring up at the two of them.

“Hey, you need to learn to have faith.” Norman tried getting him to think positively.

“Says the reckless fool who turned himself into a monster!” Otto sneered down at him.

“Please stop moving.” Peter begged as Otto began squirming. “Hold still!”

“Don’t you dare!” Peter frowned as he gripped his head. You all stood below, the anticipation was killing you. You hoped this worked. “I swear when I get out of this I’m gonna rip you-”

You tensed as his head fell forward. Peter stilled, his eyes widening. “Doc?”

“W-Why isn’t he moving?” You stuttered, looking over at the men in the room with you and May. You swallowed nervously, looking up at Peter. “Was that supposed to happen?”

“Doc?” Peter called out to him again. He was slowly getting scared. Oh god, what if he killed him. “Doc?” He panicked as he stepped forward. “Doctor Octav-” He was cut off by the loud gasp that fell from Otto’s lips.

“O-Oh, thank god!” You felt relieved, you placed a hand on your chest.

“It’s so quiet.” Otto muttered. “Those voices…inside my head.” He shook his head. He was stunned. “I almost…” He almost forgot what it felt like.

“Otto?” Norman could not believe his eyes.

“Yes, Norman.” Otto smiled, lowering himself onto his feet. “I-It’s me.” Peter jumped off the rail, landing in front of Otto. He sighed in relief as well.

“Well, would you look at that?” You turned your head to the Sandman.

Peter reached over to his right and released the bond that had been connected to the nano part of his suit, which had merged with Otto’s tentacles. You watched in amazement as the nanos retracted from the tentacles and shifted back onto his suit again. The golden design was now back again.

“I’m grateful, dear boy, truly.” They shook hands.

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” Peter nodded.

“How can I help?” Otto immediately felt better than he ever did before.

You sighed as you stared at the broken glass before you. After snooping around, you found a broom and a dustpan. You sighed, bending down to sweep the glass up. You stopped upon seeing red-covered feet standing before you. Peter crouched down. “Here, let me help you.” He tried taking the broom from you, but you refused.

“No.” You shook your head no. For a second he thought you were mad at him but then he saw you smirk. “You get the pan.” You held it out for him to take.

“I’ll take whatever I get.” He shrugged.

“I’m proud of you, ya know.” He looked up.

“Yeah?” He hummed.

“Mmhmm. You could have let them die, could have sent them back, but-” You turned back to look at the other two standing in the open space a few feet away. “You’re actually helping them.” You turned back to face him. “You’re giving them a second chance.”

“Well…you gave me one…” He shrugged. You looked down. You remembered there had been a time where your relationship hit rock bottom. You were both angry and upset, harsh words were thrown at each other, and things ended. You thought that that was it, that it was over and done for, but you didn’t want to lose him, and he couldn’t go another day without seeing you. So you gave this now healthy new dynamic between you two another try. It was barely getting to a good place until recent events happened, and now you two had hardly seen each other. You hardly got to have a moment together and it scared you because you considered all the worst things. You imagined that the two of you would break up again, yet you knew you could not go through that again. The first time hurt enough as it did and you two were a mess because of it. Yet funny enough you possibly dying wasn’t one of the worst things you considered that could happen. You could never imagine leaving Peter behind, you just couldn’t.

“That I did.” You smiled at him.

“Do you regret it?”

“Do you?” You eyed him wearily.

“No.” He answered immediately. “You?” He now eyed you wearily. He knew just how badly he fucked up. How he fucked up everyone’s lives. How he screwed up your chances of getting into MIT, how he- how he fucked up as a boyfriend, and now the only time both of you have had a second to breathe was over broken glass. You looked up and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips.

“No.” You shook your head. He nodded, feeling reassured.

You two worked together to collect any leftover minerals of glass. You got up and Peter carefully walked over to the little kitchen to dispose of the glass in the trash bin. You brush yourself off then head up the stairs to put back the broom in the little closet you found it in. You had passed the wall when you felt yourself being pushed up against it. “Peter?” Your chest rose and fell as he trapped you with his hands. You could feel the heat come off him as his eyes darkened.

“I’m gonna kiss you now.” His eyes fell down to your lips waiting like a question.

“O-Okay.” You gasped as Peter smashed his lips against yours. You sighed into the kiss, longing to feel him closer. You gripped his hair feeling his lips move in sync with yours. You couldn’t open your eyes. If you did, you thought this would all be over. His touch would become unfamiliar, and the smell of him would dissipate into the air like nothing. His lips were warm and soft. They parted slightly allowing your tongue to slip inside. You both were breathing heavily as your bodies pressed together heatedly. You didn’t know how much you missed this. You missed feeling that familiar warmth blossom in your chest as he held you firmly. That little spark was ignited again as you displayed your wants and needs through every tug and pull, and bite and kiss. Usually, you would both be in your room, door locked, blinds shut, but you were reduced to sneaking in a heated make-out session in an apartment filled with men who could kill you in an instant.

“I’m sorry.” He pulled back gasping for air. “I’m sorry, I’ve been wanting to do that these past weeks.”

“Well, I’ve been waiting for you to do that so…” You leaned back on the wall, trying to calm down your breathing. Your hair was a mess and your lips were swollen. God, you couldn’t have looked sexier and prettier than right now in this state.

“I’m sorry.” He pressed his head against yours.

You closed your eyes, caressing the exposed skin on his neck. “What are you sorry for, mister?” You hummed in question.

“For everything that’s happened.” He sighed heavily. There was a knot in his chest. “I’ve screwed up big time, and I’ve hurt you, MJ, Ned, and May, everyone’s lives are ruined because of me.”

“Hey!” Your voice was firm. “None of that, okay?” You cupped his face. “You did not ruin our lives, okay?” You pressed your head against his head again. “What’s with all the negativity? You just had a breakthrough with Doctor Octavius!” You laughed, pointing to the stairwell. “You’re making up for it by helping them, Peter. You’re fixing it! That’s all that really matters.” You leaned in and kissed him sweetly. “All that matters.” You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his neck. Peter melted under your touch and your lips letting his head fall to the side. He opened his eyes and gently lifted your chin to look at him.

“I love you.” He caressed your face. “So much…I’d carry you into that room over there, but-” He just had to make a quip any chance he got.

“Oh yeah, no totally.” You agreed that now was not the time. “Later?” You offered.

“Definitely later.”

You tugged him by the back of his hair and kissed him. He hummed into the kiss. One hand propped up against the wall over you and the other cupped over your left cheek as he savored the way your lips felt pressed against his. How your hands were soft as your fingers carded through his hair, how he could hear the thud of your heart combined with his own. That was the only thing keeping him sane, knowing that your heart was still beating and that you were okay. If any given day it just stopped thudding against your chest like it was doing right now. He’d break. Probably even turn his whole room upside down. Though he didn’t want to find out what he would do.

“Where’d you go?” You giggle softly, pulling him back to reality.

“I was just listening…” He brushed it off. He leaned over to press a kiss to your neck.

“To what?”

He pulled back. He grasped your left hand and placed it over your heart. You felt it pound against your palm. “My heart?” You furrowed your brows in confusion. Peter nodded in response.

“Feel that?” You nodded, placing your other hand over his gloved one. “It’s healthy, and strong, and beating, and that’s all that really matters to me.” He furrowed his brows. He was serious. “You’re all that matters to me.”

“P-Peter.” You got all choked up. “Everything’s gonna be okay-”

“You can’t know that for sure.” He let his head fall against yours. “I just don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“I’m a big girl, Peter. I can handle myself.” You laughed it off.

“I don’t doubt it.” He agreed solemnly.

“Then stop worrying about me so much! Worry about them and helping them, okay?” You gestured to the staircase. “Okay?” You moved your head to meet his eyes.

“I’m always gonna worry about you. I can’t lose you. I can’t go through that again, and if something were to happen to you, then I wouldn’t be able to forgive my-” You nodded as you pulled him into another kiss, this one much slower.

“Nothing is going to happen to me.”

“Y/n please-”

“I love you.” You held his attention. “I love you too much to ever put you through that kind of pain. I know I don’t usually run when you tell me to, but I will this time. Okay? I’ll run, just say the word, and I’ll book it the opposite direction away from the fight. I promise I won’t try and be a hero this time.” You were crying by now. You were nodding rapidly to reassure him. “I’ll run because I love you too much. I-I can’t lose you either.” You pulled him closer by the neck and crushed your lips against his.

“I love you.” He shed a tear as he whispered against your lips. “You hear me. I love you.” He breathed out. “I love you, so so much.”

“I love you, more.” Your voice cracked as your lips moved together.

After your moment together, you quickly composed yourselves and quickly made your way down the steps. Peter let go of your hand as he walked over to start on the device for Electro. You grabbed another glass and filled it with fresh water. You hadn’t forgotten that Norman had asked for some, so you quickly made your way into the storage room where he was writing down equations and what looked like formulas.

“How does it feel Norman?” Otto asked him. “You’re about to become whole again.” He nodded. “No more, darker half. Just you.”

“Just me.” Norman trailed off. He stood still for a second before turning around slowly to reciprocate the smile that Otto gave him.

“Knock, knock.” You tapped your knuckles against the door. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” You chuckled nervously.

“Ahh Y/n, no of course not. Come in come in.” Norman ushered you forward.

“I got that water you asked for. Sorry, it took so long. Peter made me drop the first glass.”

“S’alright. Better late than never right?” He nudged your shoulder.

“Y-Yeah…right.”

“So…glitter bombs huh?” Norman smirked. You closed your eyes groaning. “All in good fun dear girl.”

“I’m guessing Peter told you about the science fair.” You scratched your head with your finger.

“Indeed he did. He also told me how remarkably intelligent you are. Aluminum pressure tanks, hall effect sensors.” You felt your cheeks heat up as he listed off the built of your bomb. “Incredible…smart girl!” He praised you. “I believe Peter’s described your bomb as, harmless but effective.” He smiled gently.

“Yeah, I mainly built it for fun. A little surprise for burglars. Harmless where it can’t endanger anyone, yet effective enough to get the message across.” You half-heartedly laughed.

“Ahh yes, by covering them in sparkles and glitter.” He hummed.

“What else would I cover them in?” You furrowed your brows, feeling sort of uneasy under his stare. You laughed to lighten up the mood thinking he was just teasing, but what he asked next startled you.

“Have you ever considered turning them into real bombs?”

“Excuse me?” You tilted your head.

“Ya know, giving them an upgrade.” He shrugged nonchalantly thinking it was a simple thing to say.

“No.” You said firmly. “They’re not supposed to cause any harm. They’re-”

“Harmless and effective, yes.” He hummed again. Eyeing you were narrowed eyes. “But imagine if they were more effective and useful in a dangerous situation…”

“I-I’ve never had to rely on them though. Peter always-”

“Keeps you out of harm’s way?”

You nodded yes.

“How chivalrous of him.” He chuckled. “But- what happens when you can’t always rely on him, what then?”

“I-” You were about to give him an earful, but stopped yourself. What would you do if you couldn’t rely on him to save you? “I-I don’t know…” You finally answered.

“He’s lucky to have you, ya know.” Norman smiled at you. You looked over at him, the corner of your lips turning upward. “It’s good to have someone who knows the ins and outs, the risks, and how truly dangerous it is to be a superhero.” You felt small under his gaze. “You balance each other out well…” And that was all he said.

“Well, I’m lucky to have him.” You tilted your head. Then excuse yourself from the room. You smiled gently over at Otto then left the room.

“What was that all about?” Otto questioned him.

“Just making small talk.” Norman smirked.

You had almost collided with Peter when you were exiting the room.

“Ugh.”

“Oof.” You both groaned, but he steadied you to prevent you from falling.

“Hey, woah, you okay?” Peter’s eyes grew with worry. He noticed how shaken you were. “What happened? What’s wrong?” He glanced over your shoulder into the room you practically ran out of. You quickly shook your head. You didn’t want him to worry about something silly. So you brushed it off even if you felt like something was wrong.

“N-Nothing…I-I’m fine, promise.” You hoped he wouldn’t see past your fake ass smile.

“You sure?” He rubbed your arms up and down gently.

“Yeah…” You nodded again. “I-I’m gonna go find, May- have her make me some tea maybe…” You walked around him. Your back was turned to him, but he stopped you.

“Y/n.”

You turned around. “Mhmm?” Your eyes watch him with patience.

“Love you.” He muttered softly.

“Love you more.” You smiled then frown as you watched him turn around first this time and disappear into the room with Otto…and also Norman.

“Something feels off.” Max shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He looked down at the device Peter had placed on his chest.

“What do you mean?” William asked.

“I don’t like this…”

“Leave it alone. The sooner you guys get through this, the sooner we go home.”

Beep.

Another green light lit up, filling up the circle.

Peter had been in a trance writing formulas out to try and test for Norman’s serum when he felt his spider-sense go off. His eyes widened, and his breathing increased. He stood up abruptly feeling a need to find you and May immediately.

“Peter, what’s wrong?” Otto asked him in concern.

“I don’t know…” He walked out of the room feeling like everything was dialed up to eleven. “M-May…Y/n.” He called out to you. You looked up from the book you carried with you and got up instantly hearing worry in his voice.

“What is it, Peter?” May waved around some sage in the air. You followed behind her.

“Peter?” You furrowed your brows. You walked past May on the steps and walked up behind him. You gently placed one of your hands on his shoulder. “Hey talk to me, what’s wrong?”

You all stood there in anticipation waiting for him to say something. He looked around frantically. Feeling nervous and scared at the same time. He spared a glance to Max.

“What’s going on?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Max eyed him, feeling uneasy as the boy stared at him.

“Peter?” Everyone’s voices felt distant. As though a muffler were placed over his ears.

He took a deep breath, making himself relax. He opened them up, grunting as he shot a web out. Norman’s hand was now stuck to Dum-E.

Your breath hitched as Norman slowly turned his gaze onto Peter. Your book fell out of your grasp, thumping against the floor.

“That’s some neat trick…” Norman’s voice sounded deeper. “That sense of yours…”

“Norman?” Otto stepped forward, hoping to reach his friend.

“Norman’s on sabbatical, honey.” The goblin smirked.

“The hell?” Max eyed the man standing before him.

“The goblin…” Peter whispered.

Peter’s eyes hardened as he stared at Norman. He slowly looked over to May silently communicating with her. She slowly backed away and rushed over to grab your tote bag and the two serums they had been working on. As for you. You stepped closer to Peter. Hiding behind him like a shy scared kid meeting a stranger for the first time. Peter wrapped his right arm around your waist and your lower back, pressing you into his back. Your eyes were the only thing the goblin saw.

“No more, darker half, did you really think that I’d let that happen? That I’d let you take away my power just because you’re blind to what true power can bring you.”

“You don’t know me.” Peter scoffed.

“Don’t I?” The goblin taunted him.

“I saw how she trapped you…” Peter looked over to May walking back out the room with your bag. “Fighting her holy moral mission.” May appeared. She turned to look at him. This was not the man she was trying to help. She gripped your bag tightly in her right hand.

Peter kept his gaze on Norman. May was tense, but so were you. She looked at Peter, then at you nodding slightly. She didn’t need to say anything to tell you that you needed to get the hell out of there.

“That girlfriend of yours is just as blind as you are.” This made Peter fume as his grip on you tightened feeling protective of you. “She doesn’t know her true potential…hasn’t pushed herself to see what her knowledge and with the right motivation can create. Just from what you told me about her Peter…she’s meant for greater things.” He smirked at you.

“Like what? Making real bombs, and hurting people?” Peter’s eyes widened at your words. Was that why you ran out looking frightened? Because Norman said that to you? “Harmful, yet effective, right? That’s what you want, isn’t it?” You stepped out. “Screw you, I’m good, thanks!” You scowled at him.

“We don’t need you to save us.” The goblin continued, brushing your words off. “We don’t need to be fixed!” He turned and gestured to the device on Max’s chest that was close to turning green. “These are not curses.”

Beep.

“They’re gifts!”

“Norman no…” Otto shook his head.

“Quiet lap dog!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter stared him down.

“I’ve watched you from deep behind Norman’s cowardly eyes. Struggling to have everything you want, while the world tries to make you choose.”

Beep.

“Gods don’t have to choose…we take!” The goblin shook his head, smirking.

“Y/n, May, run!” He released you, pushing you to the door. Without a second thought, you picked up your feet and bolted. May was hot on your heels. You had promised him you’d run, and that’s exactly what you were gonna do.

All hell broke loose.

You and May quickly reached the elevator. She began pressing the button to go down rapidly, but even then an elevator was going to be too slow for you two. You halted turning your head to hear the loud commotion coming from Happy’s complex. You felt a pang in your heart.

“Y/n sweetie, come on. Peter can handle himself.” May looked up watching the lights flickering above you.

“Not alone-” Your voice cracked, as more crashing and bangs made you flinch. You closed your eyes and grunted.

“Y/N.” May used her mom voice on you and gripped your arm and tugged you to the door with the exit sign above it. The stairs would be a lot faster. “Come on!”

You hurried down each step behind her. She took one of the serums out and handed you your bag. “Here, take it. The other serum is in there.” You took the bag and tightened it in your hand like May had done, not wanting it to slip out of your grasp.

As soon as you made it out to the lobby. You skidded to a stop and jumped back as the ceiling fell. Two bodies smashed through the ceiling. The rumble had separated you and May. Her standing by the looby entrance and you on the other side where the elevator doors were located. You took out the serum, seeing the Goblin climb on top of your boyfriend.

“Your weakness Peter is morality. It’s choking you!” Goblin mocked him as his hands tightened around his neck. “Can you feel it?” You had taken one look at May before you both ran forward and plunged the serums into his neck. You quickly backed away from the man.

“Ahh!”

“Ugh!” Peter gasped as Norman’s hands released their grip.

You stared in bewilderment as he stood up, unphased. Taking the injections out of his neck and tossing them outside. “It didn’t work.”

You looked over at Peter turning around on his stomach, trying his best to stand up.

“Norman was right. He got it from you…that pathetic-”

“Stop it!” You cried out as he slammed his foot into Peter’s back.

“-sickness!” He leaned down and picked him up. Holding him by his hair. Peter heaved in and out. He couldn’t breathe. He leaned down and leaned in Peter’s ear. “He tried to fix me…”

“M-May- no- May…” Peter grunted. She had yanked down a loose metal-looking mallet hanging from the ceiling.

“Now I’m gonna fix you…” Goblin said this as his hoverboard arrived at the front entrance. Peter’s heart sank.

“Hey!” You yelled. The Goblin had turned around in time for his face to collide with your bag. What had been inside it made him stumble away from Peter a bit. Peter caught himself with his hands as he fell forward.

He tried again. “May run, please.” His voice was disgruntled and raspy. He needed you two to be safe. “Y-Y/n…r-run!” He begged. You had turned around to face him and that had been your first mistake. Your second was letting your guard down. This gave the Goblin an opening to have enough time to grab you and throw you across the lobby like a ragdoll.

“Y/N!” Peter watched in horror as your back collided with the wall. Your head lulling to the side, you were knocked out cold.

The hoverboard came rushing in through the doors. Glass splattering everywhere. May had been hit directly on the back. She was thrown from the impact.

“MAY!”

Peter grunted as the Goblin jumped on the board. He pushed himself up with all the strength he could muster.

“Peter, Peter, Peter. No good deed goes unpunished.” Peter caught Norman’s eyes looking over at you unconscious, and May laying on the ground in pain. “You’ll thank me later.” He smirked and threw one of his pumpkin bombs in the air.

“No!” Peter threw himself in the air as he tried to catch the bomb. His fingertips had only brushed against the bomb…then it set off. Throwing him back.

You were awoken by the sound of a voice talking. You didn’t know how long you were out. All you knew was that pain was currently running up and down your back.

“Y/n? Y/n, hey can you hear me?” He cried, shaking you lightly. You groaned as your eyes opened and closed. “Hey, baby, I’m here. Can you hear my voice?” He sniffled as he brushed a hair out of your face.

You took a deep breath as your eyes opened wide. Your eyes wandered before they settled onto Peter who was crouched down in front of you. “P-Pete?”

“Oh thank god.” He choked up. He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Oh, you’re okay. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Norm-” You began to panic, sitting up straighter, but Peter made you rest against the wall by pushing on your shoulder.

“He got away, he’s not here.” Peter shook his head. “We’re okay. You’re okay.”

“I knew…” You winched as you tried sitting up then gulped. “I knew something was off about him- I-I should have told you I wasn’t fine-” You hiccuped. “H-He kept talking about m-my glitter bomb.” God, he should have never told him about that. His head fell down. One of his hands fell on your legs, rubbing it slowly. You were looking around at the mess. The whole lobby was unrecognizable. Then you realized…You noticed quickly that you couldn’t feel any mobility in your legs. You looked down at Peter’s hand rubbing against your leggings and you whimpered. Peter lifted his head hearing you cry. He gave you a once over, then reached forward to cup your face.

“Y/n, what’s wrong? Where does it hurt? Where are you in pain?”

“I-I can’t-” You shook your head. “I-I can’t feel my legs, Peter.” Peter looked down at your legs. They looked still. He felt a pang in his heart. He slowly placed his hand at the tip of your shoes and squeezed. He looked up in question, but you continued shaking your head. He moved back up closer to you, trying to find where you could have gotten hurt. He moved his head to look at your back. He lifted your shirt just a tad bit and right then and there he wanted to cry. His heart broke seeing purple and red combined. He touched you lightly and pulled his hand towards him. The red drops of blood were darker than his own suit. Your spinal cord must’ve taken the blow, and now you were bleeding out. He clenched his jaw to try and keep his cool.

“W-What?” You shivered. “What’s wrong? You okay?” He only shook his head no. No, he was far from okay. “H-How bad is it…P-Pete?” You slowly reached out with your left hand to grasp his hand tightly. Yet, it felt weak to Peter though. “Peter?”

“S-Somebody help I need an ambulance! Please, somebody, help us!” He yelled out again like he had with May. Though no one was coming to help him save his loved ones…and that pained him.

“What happened?”

He took a deep breath and turned back to look at you. He reached forward caressing your cheeks lovingly. Smiling like everything was okay. “Nothing happened, you’re okay, you’re okay. We’re gonna get you out of here, and I’m gonna get you to a doctor, and they’ll fix you up, and you’ll be good as new again!” He nodded. He wanted so hard to believe the words that slipped past his mouth, but he just needed you to stay awake for him, yet you didn’t show any signs of being tired.

You could see right through him though. He was trying so hard not to cry. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears slipped. You opened them to look up at the ceiling. Blinking away your watery eyes.

“Where’s M-May?” Your voice rasped. You were going in and out of consciousness when you heard him plead for her to open her eyes.

“N-No.” He shook his head. His face scrunched in pain. This made you break down. He continued caressing you. He was calm as long as he heard your heart still beating.

“I-I’m sorry.” A tear fell down your cheek. Peter immediately looked up, shaking his head.

“W-What are you sorry for, huh?” He half-heartedly laughed. His voice cracked as he kept caressing you.

“I-I said…I said I wouldn’t be a he-hero.” Your lips trembled. “I said-” You swallowed down the knot in your throat. “I said I’d run and I didn’t.” You let out a sob.

“This is not your fault, do you hear me?” He held your face. “This was all Norman, not you.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your temple as silent cries slipped past your lips. “This is not your fault.”

Thoomp-thump.

Healthy, strong, and beating, it’s still healthy, strong, and beating. He kept reminding himself.

He looked at the lobby’s front entrance where a swat team was waiting for him. Guns were being pulled out. He didn’t like the looks of it. Your breathing was still regulating normally, that was a good thing, right? You were alive and that was enough to ease him. He continued to stare at the entrance while his thumb kept sliding back and forth across your left cheek.

You had your head to the side. You weren’t saying anything, but from the rise and fall of your chest was slowing, he could tell you were having trouble getting air.

“Hey, you okay? Where else does it hurt?” He wiped away the dirt that smudged on your right cheek. “Y/n-”

“-S-Shhh.” You furrowed your brows, focusing your ears on that stupid ticking noise. “W-What is that?” You croaked. You were growing tired and that noise was driving you to insanity. “W-Where’s that coming from?” Peter looked at you confused. He let go of your hand and stood up slowly.

“What’s what?” He looked around the lobby.

“Listen.”

He moved around walking over some of the rubble. “Y/n, I don’t hear anything.” He shook his head.

“Just listen…t-tick, tick, tick.” You made the sounds as you looked left and right. Why the hell did it sound so close?

He strained his ears finally being able to hear it. “What is that?” You were right, there was something ticking. “Where’s it coming from?” Peter started furiously looking under pieces of rubble, his heart started picking up. He did not like the sound of it. If there was another bomb in the room with you two…he had to find it.

You watched him panic as he grunted. You could still hear it even with him throwing pieces of concrete around. You finally strained your ears more and suddenly looked to your left. You noticed a red dot blinking against the cotton fabric of your tote bag. You held your breath as you shakingly reached for the handle and tugged it closer.

“Why is it getting louder?” He exclaimed as he tugged at his hair with his hands. He sighed, then looked back to see you pull out something from your bag. It was the fucking bomb! He felt his flight or fight response kick in and scurried to you. He groaned, holding his side where his ribs were broken. He pressed two middle fingers down to shoot out a web, but nothing came out. He was out… He hopped on his good side trying to reach you. “Y/n!”

You gasped for air seeing the timer on 2 seconds. You looked up with wide eyes, feeling your heart plummet to the bottom of your stomach. “Peter!” You cried as you threw the device in your hands. Yet when it hit zero it exploded, just like any bomb would. The blast sent you both back. It made your head collide with the wall. Your eyes wavered as you groaned in agony. There was a slight ringing in your ears. You reached up weakly touching the tips of your ears only to pull your hand back slowly to see blood. The blast threw Peter back. He gasped as he landed on his back. You were feeling dazed, your vision becoming slightly blurry, you heaved slowly trying to breathe. You couldn’t. You heard the sound of cracking and breaking, suddenly. You slowly looked up and felt scared as the ceiling above you started falling. “P-Pet-”

Peter didn’t know how long he had been knocked out. Woke up in shock. He was sweating and everything hurt.

“Y-Y/n…” He croaked out your name as he rolled over. He gasped for air as he made himself get up. The blast had caused more concrete to fall from the ceiling making it harder for him to reach you. He had to climb over a few pieces of rubble before his eyes caught sight of you. “N-No!” He yelled out in agony as he pushed himself forward. He grunted as he threw the rubble that fell on you. He breathed heavily as soon as he removed the last piece off of you. He choked back a sob, seeing the sight of you. Your ears were bleeding and so was your nose. Your neck had been curled in on itself. He shook his head whimpering. “Y-Y/n…” No response. “Hey, can you hear me? It’s P-Peter. Y-Y/n?” He let out a stifled sob. He held your face gently, turning it so he could take a good look at you. “Please!” He shook you just slightly. “Please look at me, please. Open your eyes for me, yeah? Let me see those y/e/c eyes…just let me see them. Please!” He begged and begged and begged. “What are you doing? Can you just wake up and talk to me, please. Let me hear your voice one more time, yeah? Please…please- say something.” He realized just how quiet the open space felt. His body shook as he fell forward on you.

…..

Silence had taken over the rhythm of your thuds. He couldn’t hear your heart beating anymore. A strangled sob released from his body. He yelled out in agony, punching the wall next to you. He made an indent. He could feel his knuckles throb, but he didn’t care. He sobbed, pulling his fist away from the wall. He looked up at the ceiling, blinking away tears, then he looked down at your limp body. He placed his hands back on your face removing any loose strands of hair that covered your eyes.

“It’s okay…It’s okay.” He squeezed his eyes shut. You weren’t gonna be okay and it was all his fault. “You’re okay now, you’re okay.” He raised his head to kiss your temple. “I-I love you.” He whispered over and over. “I love you, I Iove you so much.”

“Peter, run!” Happy had yelled out as he was shoved up against the hood of his own car.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He kissed your temple over and over, even giving you one on your cheek, and then a soft yet slow chaste one on your chapped lips. He pulled back caressing you and running his thumbs over your cheeks again. “I’m so sorry…”

“Alright Parker come out with your hands up!”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry!” He got up as soon as bullets started being fired at him. He checked himself to see if he had gotten grazed, but he hadn’t…and then he bolted with one last glance at you laying in the rumble.

Peter ran to the only place he felt the safest. The roof of Midtown High. It was the only place that he felt would bring him some peace of mind, but nothing was bringing him any peace knowing that you and May were dead. He had never felt more alone than he did on that roof. So when his two best friends arrived. He looked over at them before breaking down altogether once more. They immediately fell down to his side. Soothing and holding him. Telling him reassuring things that they hoped would calm him down, but nothing was going to soothe the ache in his heart.

MJ had been the first to notice your absence. Her head lifted as an uneasy feeling wrapped around her giving her goosebumps. From the lack of your presence and the heartbroken look Peter had. It wasn’t hard to figure out, she didn’t want to say anything though. She didn’t want her worst fears to be true.

Yet instead, Ned was the one to ask.

“P-Peter…where’s Y/n?” Ned looked around the roof for any sign of you, but as he looked back at Peter’s torn guilt look. He felt his heart tear in two. Peter shook his head as he curled his arms around his knees tighter. He sobbed, letting his head fall forward.

“I-I couldn’t save them…” His body shook. MJ placed a hand over her mouth as tears threatened to spill. This day just kept getting worse, and now you were gone. “I-I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t get to her in time. S-She’s dead because of me.” He clutched his head tightly as the voices in his head kept building up and screaming at him. “May and Y/n are dead because of me.” He just wanted them to go away. “Why!” MJ and Ned wrapped their arms around him. It was your voice, his, and Norman’s combined. Just one after the other, taunting him, mocking him, and breaking him.

What kind of bomb was this, again?

I-I think she actually has one with her right now. It’s in her bag.

She’s pretty.

H-Hey.

You need anything?

I-I can’t feel my legs.

What’s wrong?

N-Nothing…I-I’m fine, promise.

It’s in her bag.

What kind of bomb was this, again?

I knew…I knew something was off about him- I-I should have told you I wasn’t fine.

Nothing is gonna happen to me.

She’s pretty.

…in her bag.

W-What is that?

Just listen…t-tick, tick, tick.

What kind of bomb was this, again?

TICK.

Nothing is gonna happen to me.

TICK.

It’s healthy, and strong, and beating, and that’s all that really matters to me. You’re all that matters to me.

TICK.

Harmful, yet effective, right? That’s what you want, isn’t it?

TICK.

Where’d you go?

I was just listening…

To what? My heart?

THOOMP-THUMP.

TICK.

That’s all that really matters.

TICK.

Everything’s gonna be okay.

TICK.

Be okay…

TICK

All that really matters to me.

TICK.

Nothing….

NOTHING…

NOTHING is gonna happen to me.

Nothing…

I love you.

I love you too much to ever put you through that kind of pain.

TICK.

Ned and MJ noticed him tense up, they moved back as his head slowly lifted. He stared off into the night. His jaw clenched and his face hardened.

“Peter?” MJ grew worried by his silence. “Peter, talk to us?” Something had gone off in him to be acting this way.

“Peter, man?” Ned furrowed his eyes.

Peter!

BOOM.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em…” His voice rasped.

Extra Scene:

Though Peter felt that getting vengeance for you and May was the answer. His other two former Spider-Man told him that there had been something to fight for. That you and May hadn’t died for nothing. Peter 2 had managed to prevent him from killing Norman. What good would killing him have done if everyone else had been cured except him? So with all the anger left inside him, he had plunged the serum into Norman’s neck and watched as he was cured. It wasn’t going to bring you back, but he had helped him, he helped them all…and now no one knew who he was.

He had to find a new place to live and he had ended up renting from Mr. Ditkovich, a somewhat decent landlord…not really. The place was run-down, but it was going to be his home. For how long, he wasn’t sure. At least he got the place looking somewhat decent by the end of the night.

Peter was moving around some boxes, the box contained some of his and your stuff combined that he would go through later, but as he clumsy set it down, there was a swish of something sliding across the floor. He caught sight of something white and walked away with another box now in his hands to another spot in the small apartment, but he quickly halted in his step. He did a double-take seeing the slip of notebook paper on the ground. He set the box with some of his stuff down and walked over to pick it up. It was folded in half hiding the written content. He opened up the fold and he had never felt pain strike him so badly the way seeing your handwriting did. He sat on the edge of the bed. His thumb smoothed over your swirls and loops. He couldn’t be upset about the fact he found this certain piece of paper though. If anything it made him laugh a little, something he hadn’t done in a while. He smiled genuinely seeing the ridiculous title you had tried giving the list: Y/n & Peter’s Super Duper Spidey-Tastic, SAFE, CRAZY ASS, SAFE, BADASS, SAFE Bucket List.

He shook his head thinking back to the time where he kept fighting you for the stupid black pen, he tried to reason with you about how you two should make the bucket list safe for your sake, but you weren’t having none of it. You still ended up crossing out his added words.

“You’re staring.” You had peeked an eye open, having just woken up. You had briefly made eye contact with Peter, who had been leaning on his arm watching you sleep like the weirdo he was.

“I’m admiring.“

"Staring-”

“-Taking you all in because you’re beautiful.” He leaned down to peck your lips but you groaned.

“I have morning breath.” You laughed trying to shove him away.

“Don’t care…” He leaned in capturing your lips with his own. He hummed softly, savoring the slow kiss. He pulled back and smiled down at you. “What do you wanna do today?”

“Mmmm…” You looked off wondering what you and Peter could do to drag out the day ahead of you.

“We could go to Mr. Delmars for sandwiches, a picnic in the park, I could swing us to the tallest view in the city again?” All his suggestions sounded amazing but you thought something new could be fun.

“W-Why don’t we make a bucket list?” You shied away from his eyes only to have him gently turn your chin to look at him.

“A bucket list…”

“I-I know it’s stupid forget-”

“No, no, no. It’s actually– a great idea!” He got up all excited and sat back.

“Really?”

“Yeah!” He exclaimed.

“Okay, okay.” You sat up too. Your smile grew by the millisecond.

“What would we even do?” Peter chuckled, scratching his head. He had no clue what you two would even write down.

“Umm…” You furrowed your brows. Your tongue was poking against your cheek in thought. “Huh? Um, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” You giggled.

“Like we always do.” Peter’s eyes met yours.

“Like we always do…” You nodded. Your eyes widened as he reached forward to wrap his arms alright your waist.

“Argh, come here you.” He had pulled you on top of him. His head was now against your pillows. He laughed as you pushed yourself up so as to not crush him. “Hi.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Hi there.” You giggled.

“I love you.” He leaned forward to peck your lips.

Warmth had spread all over you. Your eyes crinkled at the edges too. You smiled down at the brunette with nothing but love for him.

“I love you too.” You leaned down and pecked his lips.

Tears spilled on the piece of paper after realizing you guys never really did get to do anything, except one, on the list. He could recall how excited you were to do all these things, now it felt like you two wrote it all for nothing. He thought of crumbling up the paper, but the last thing on the list made him choke out a sob. The ink had been different from the rest of the nine things on the list. A bit more harsh than your typical delicate looking penmanship. He felt his heart skip realizing that you had added it at a different point and time. You wrote the last item on your own accord because it was something you had wanted to do. It was something you hoped to possibly make happen one day. You loved him so much, and this only added to it.

1. See a show on Broadway 2. Save up for a place in Brooklyn 3. Horse carriage around NY in December 4. Try new ice cream flavors 5. Drive through Brooklyn bridge 6. Let Y/n try on the Spider-Man Suit 7. Take a picture together at every tallest point 8. Skate at the Rockefeller center both dressed as Spider-Man 9. Get matching tattoos 10. Get married after college

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Peter sniffled, bringing the list up to his lips, kissing it gently. He was going to have to live with the guilt for the rest of his life. He was going to have to adjust to waking up and turning over on his other side only to remember that you wouldn’t be lying there sleeping peacefully next to him, and he was going to have to learn to be okay with that. You’d remain a memory, a constant reminder that your smile would no longer grace others, and you’d remain in his heart. The only safe place he could protect you from here on out.

#peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #tom!peter parker x reader #my gif #writings by juls

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mistress-of-ward · 4 years

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THE BAD ONE

Warning: smut, dom henry sub reader, gangs and guns, drugs mentioned

A/N: hey everyone this is going to be a series. This is a follow up on the very popular and loved scene from all you guys with daddy Walter and a gun. I hope you enjoy this, I didnt do this alone my beautiful friend @nitannichionne will help co-write this whole series.

CHAPTER 1:

24 HOURS BEFORE...

WALTER POV

She was on her hands and knees as I pistoned my cock into her. Fuuuck, she felt so good that I just wanted that sweet pussy around my shaft always. Her inner lips held onto me, begging for me to stay deep in her wanting cunt. Her juices flowed in squirts over me-and god damn that was the hottest fucking thing I'd ever seen. I felt her all over me rinsing off her juices just to build it all up again… ugh… I fuckin’ need this every day, I think as I lose myself in her, my head falling back .... I need her, want her.

“Detective?”

I look up, frowning over Jack Livingston. He was clean, too clean, and now looking at the picture of him with Derek Jensen, who was a well known dealer whose source we couldn’t seem to find, it made sense. How to link them was getting to me. Every time I was close, it ended in my commanding officer getting some sort of complaint or a dead body. I didn’t spare the officer a glance, looking at the array of paperwork I had trying to link the two. “What?”

“Your girl.”

I see her face on the sheet. “She’s not my girl.” Anymore, I tell myself as my other hand forms into a fist. I was just thinking about her, fantasizing about her. Would I ever be free of her, or did I even want to? I didn’t call her again, after weeks of dating and one of the hottest nights of my life. I felt too much too fast and I didn’t like how out of control I felt, but yet…free.

“She may not be anybody’s girl if you don’t act fast,” the other cop says. “read it.”

I read the sheet, and see it’s from an accountable source. Printouts of her and Jensen? What the fuck? She went out with him?! My jealousy and anger melted into worry and dread. But if she’s connected, saw anything…I stop breathing as I realize there is a hit on her. Too late. I jump out of my seat and throw on my jacket, then check my gun and refill clip.

“What’s going on?” Rachel asks. I don’t answer and she looks at my desk. “Her? Who’s she?”

“Someone important,” I tell her. “a potential witness.”

“I thought I saw her here…with you.”

“Maybe.”

“Who is she?” Rachel looks upset, and not for professional reasons. “You never told me about her.”

“She’s not part of my job.” I move away from her.

“But she isn’t now?” Rachel sounds upset, but I have no time for it. “Walter?”

I walk away from her and don’t look back. “Carter!”

“Yo!” Carter answers.

“Sending you a number. Trace it. Yesterday, you got it?”

“Got it.”

“Walter—” Rachel calls, obviously following me. I turn around on her, and she gasps, stepping back.

“Stay. Out of this,” I warn her, and she knows I’m serious. “I mean it.” I go to my car and take off, my wheels pealing as I gun the motor and I glance Rachel on the street watching me drive away.

****************

You are sitting at The Sip, your favorite coffee shop. It’s huge having a fireplace, loads of books to read and a small stage for poetry slams and local talent. Tucked away in a corner, you hide behind a romance novel, but your mind turns to Walter. If you have a free moment, it always turns to Walter, and you didn’t want it to. You’d never had a Daddy like that. He made you feel so protected and wanted, lusted and cherished in one kiss. Even as he possessed you, holding your hands over your head, gripping your hips as he rutted you, leaving your bottom reddened and kissing it afterwards, you felt incredibly free. You were haunted by that night together, one you thought would be the first of many. And then he just…left…

“You okay?”

You look up at Violet, the coffee barista. “Yeah.”

“You just look out of it,” Violet says thoughtfully. “you look trapped.”

Trapped was definitely it. “Aren’t we all?” You joke.

“Yeah, I escape via Tumblr and Fortnite,” Viola shrugs. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks.”

Ever since you saw that business guy Livingston meet your now ex-boyfriend Derek Jensen at his club, and saw the money and drugs, you knew you were suddenly where you didn’t want to be. Heartbroken over Walter, you rebounded with an old bad boy high school sweetheart you hadn’t seen in years. What a mistake. You thought you were safe until they shot up your apartment the other night in a drive by. If you hadn’t been taking out the garbage at that exact same time, they would have gotten you. You ran back into your apartment, packed a backpack with anything you thought you’d need and didn’t return-not to your place and not to work. You took an Uber by the train station and bus station and some of Derek’s thugs were there. You didn’t want to visit any relatives or friends. You were on your own and trapped in your own city.

You look up at the large front window and freeze. You see Derek’s thugs in front and you scoot down in your booth, using the book for cover. You leave cash on the table and slide out slowly, then head for the bathroom. You pass it, heading for the back exit. You hear your name called and flinch, turning. “Hey, Violet.”

“Hey,” she nods.

You frown. Why is she all over you tonight? “What’s—”

“Hey, I just got a hundo to come look for you or call if I see you,” Violet frowns. “The hell is going on?”

“Did you say you saw me?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “but you better go.” She turns to leave. “Don’t come back here, at least till the heat is off, alright?”

You nod and head out the back door into the alley. You hear your name yelled at the end of it and see Derek’s thugs there, both with their hands in their jackets like they have guns. You back away and turn to run—right into a very broad chest.

“Come on,” Walter growls.

“Leave me alone!” you yell, hoping they hear you. You have no intention of going with them but the idea that they would think you’re an informant would make matters worse.

Walter throws you behind him and the thugs draw their weapons and start shooting. He actually drops one on his first shot and narrowly misses the other, buying time to back you to his car. “Get in.”

You hesitate. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass!” he growls, pulling you by your arm.

You struggle against him. “Stop—”

“I said—” Being so much bigger than you, he picks you up around your waist, opens the door and throws you in the back seat. “Get the fuck in. Now!”

You turn to the other door and grab the handle.

“I wish you would, little one.”

A wave of heat washes over your body at that comment. It took you back to that night, and you became his like it was yesterday. Tears well in your eyes, wanting to obey him for reasons you didn’t want to think about.

“Lie down.”

He slides into the front seat, and backs out of the alley at highway speed, does a three point turn when he hits the street, and speeds off into the night.

Please !!! Let me know how you like it DM me or comment and repost, reblog the shit out of it. If you want to be added to the tag list let me know !!!

Tag list:

@nitannichionne @thedaringfriend @ohjules @modernmorticiaa @cavillvirus @lady-evans @exchelsior @lindsaytriestowrite @madbaddic7ed @littlestasyaneedsadaddydom @castielgirl21 @madelinelina @stripper-patrick @pringlepapi @star017 @scorpionchild81 @sofiebstar @iloveyouyen @henryfanfics101 @henrycavillworld @dancingwendigo @loverofallfandoms99 @cavillforever @cavilliciousness @viking-raider @fuckoffbard @henrycavilledits @henrycavillobsessed @gioiswriting @tricenorthman-blog @henrythickcavill @aestheticallywinchester @dearlybelovedluke @kinbhot4henners @mellybeean @elinalfrida @cutiecherriepie @iam-laiya @weareperfectwolves @ladamari68 @mississippivoodoo @cavillunraveled @henrycavillworld @ladylazarus616 @mrsbanreswillseeyou @mysticalcherryblossomwasteland @littlefreya @stickyhoney @onlyhenrys @savvy-ivvory

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shenandoahandback2021 · 3 years

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We got to Missouri and ended up new near Laura Ingall's Wilder house and decided to stop and see it. It was very interesting and she had a very interesting life before she starting writing the books about that life. As luck would have it, there was a campground right across the road from the house. We spent a nice relaxing evening there is there and then headed East on route state 160 which was like a rollercoaster but nice driving and good pavement. Sep 2 We found a campground that was only available for one night on Thursday. It's a campground specifically designed for 4 wheelers to come and ride around in the wilderness. It's near the river and quiet hours don't start until midnight! The owners of the campground ask us to come over after we ate and visit with her friends and family. It was an interesting visit. Her husband and a couple of the other guys are Civil War Re-enactors. They have some interesting stories about incidences happen during some of their maneuvers. In the morning we went over and spent a couple of hours chatting with some other people and had a great time but finally had to leave Sep 3 We were close to Loretta Lynn's home place in Butcher Holler so we decided to go there. Getting there was a hoot and the road turn into a single lane road and there was no place to park for an RV. We drove past the house and turned around on a on a very narrow turnaround place. Wed were able to park parallel to the road. The house was very interesting and had most of the original furniture. Her 2 nieces gave the tours and they knew much more about a her than any person who had been schooled in it. Since it was Friday night of the Labor Day weekend, we could not find a campground so we had to sleep in the Hardee’s parking lot. Sep 4 We drove to the New River gorge National Park. There were no rooms at the end at the 1st two RV parks but we found a nice park across from a National Guard armory and decided to spend 2 nights. In the morning, we went to the New River Gorge National Park. You can walk under the bridge, but there were no openings at the private company that ran the bridge walk. The bridge is the longest single-arch bridge in the Western Hemisphere and the 3rd longest in the world. It was the longest in the world for 26 years when first completed. We drove down to the bottom of the gorge and stopped on the way to look at the bridge construction. We drove over the river to the other side of the bridge and parked to come back and look at it from a different perspective. The signs said the road was not recommended for RVs or trailers, but when we parked on the other side of the river there were school busses and trailers carrying raft equipment for people who raft down the river down the river. We met a group from Raleigh and New Jersey who commented that they were looking at a Leisure Travel Van to purchase so we showed them ours. At 1st we didn't know they were from Raleigh but when we found out I told them I had graduated from NC State. One gentleman, Clive, had graduated from state and the other man was from New Jersey. They had a Chinese grandmother with them along with the Chinese wives from New York City and we had a great conversation. I showed them my lifetime membership to the NC STATE student union. The grandmother said when you come to Raleigh again you must come visit and I said be careful what you ask for. You only have to give me your address. I gave them my card but we haven't heard from them. Next day. We had two things on our minds for the next day and decided to drive down to an old abandoned coal mine. Again it said the road was not suitable for RVs, but I stopped at the last leg of the trip and asked the man living there if our RV could make the trip. He looked it over said, ”Yup” because he drives his oversized pickup truck down there often to the river. It was an interesting drive and we had to blow our horn around a couple of the curves to make sure no one ran into us. Sure enough one curve had someone coming around and she heard our horn and stopped before we smacked into each other. Her little Chevy would have been a hood ornament on the Mercedes. It was a pretty interesting drive all the way and when we were 100' from the parking lot there was a pothole on the left side. I decided to go a little bit right to miss that instead of slowing down too much and there was a rock hidden in the grass and it tore out our steps from the side door. We were able to tie the mangled steps up to the frame to drive back out of the area. I stopped and told the man who said that RV would go there that we lost the steps. He was apologetic but I told him it was not his fault. I asked if he knew someone who had a torch that I could get to cut the mangled steps off so we could continue our trip. He said to pull over front of my white truck there. As I drove over to it, I noticed that he had cutting torches on the back of his truck and he was a welder. How lucky can you be when you are so unlucky to start with. He cut the mangled steps off and we discovered that he had trained to be a tanker at Ft Knox after I had been there. We had a nice talk and he wouldn’t take any pay for the work. We went back to the campground and worked on the minor metal damage under the door. The motor was still working but it had nothing to move. I think I'll leave the body damage alone to remind me of my situation. There was plenty of room to make the drive I just had a 50-50 decision and went right instead of left. At least I can buy a new set of steps on Amazon and put them on when I get home. There are only 4 bolts holding the step mechanism is up to the frame. Next day We drove down to the end of the gorge and turned back up to the Sandstone Falls that are part of the National Park. There is a boardwalk that you can walk out to see them and it's a very interesting area. We met a nice couple from Virginia Beach, Ted and Julinne on the way out there. They have been thinking about buying an RV like ours to start traveling with in a couple of years. They were very interesting couple and had traveled a bit already. We invited them to have a cup of coffee with us because it was coffee time and we ended up spending 2 and a 1/2 hours discussing the RV, traveling what’s to see in Virginia et cetera. We hope we hear from them again and they said they would to ask us more information about the RV. On the way in we had seen an RV park on the river so we went back to that and stopped because it was getting late. We got a spot there for the night and it was very peaceful on the river. Next day We had morning fog below the ridge line call my but it was very nice and we had a relaxing start to the morning. We headed toward the north end of the Shenandoah Valley National Park. We got within 2 hours of my cousins house and her 3 daughters before we stopped for the night. I contacted them by phone and I thought by text but the text didn't work. We spent the night in a Walmart parking lot because there were no openings at the nearby RV parks. Next day We had given up seeing my cousins because I had not heard back from them, but in the morning, they called me and said please come by. We went to Ashburn, Virginia to see them and were able to park in the driveway. We had a good 3 hour or so visit is and they decided to go for a late lunch at one of their favorite restaurants. It was an old barn converted to a restaurant and it added on to it with different venue spaces and had several bars. In one bar they had carriages hanging from the ceiling from different eras. When we got back to the house about 5, I said guess we'll be going now try to get somewhere before it got too late. They said the traffic will be pretty bad and said why don't you spend the night. We said, well if you don't mind we'd love to. They have a 5-bedroom, 5,500 ft² house on 3 levels to the head plenty of room. We stayed up watching the news and then the US Open tennis matches and talking until midnight when I suspect they usually go to bed pretty early. I had not visited with my cousin or her family except for a funeral for her brother and we didn't get to visit very much then. The three sisters have been living together for several years, at least 20, I think. When their dad died a few years ago, my cousin, their mother came to live with them. Everyone has their own bedroom and bath and private space. There is a suite downstairs with a gigantic screen TV with a Projector. We had that suite last night. After a late breakfast and lots more stories, we headed down to the Skyline Drive for the Shenandoah National Park. It was a beautiful drive part way down the Park until we decided to stop at KOA for the night. Next day We arrived at the Luray Caverns and spent most of the day there. We had a very nice visit at Luray caverns, very relaxing. It is an interesting cave, unlike any we have seen. The formations are striking and many stalagmites have come together with the stalactites. It is a very easy walk through the caverns on a paved walkway that is non slippery. They have an antique vehicle museum with all types of vehicles calls from buggies to Rolls Royce’s. They also have a Pioneer replica village set up that has many buildings from the surrounding area that were taken down and completely restored in this village. When we got back to the RV, there was a nice young couple next to us that we struck up a conversation with and ended up talking to them for about an hour. The husband is a pastor at the local Hispanic church and he is also a computer Tech for the IRS for his regular job. His daughter plays the flute and his wife sings and leads the church choir. They are from Puerto Rico and most of the family have come here to be with them. They came here 21 years to go to live 5 years or so and go to school. He was a police officer in Puerto Rico. When we got back to the KOA for the night, a couple we had met our first day stopped to speak to us and we had a drink and talked for an hour or so. They said they were sorry they didn't get to say goodbye to us this morning not knowing we would be back tonight. We didn't know we were going to be back tonight until we got to the caverns and decided we should stay another night to relax. It's lucky that we called as soon as we decided, because the campground is full tonight. We just enjoyed some homemade fudge from a small shop in the Luray Caverns Village.

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heywoodvirgin · 3 years

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Borró Cassette ( Chapter 2)

Guys, writing is really not my thing, but I love Jackie so much not to try to ^^

Chapter 1 here ^^

Modern!Jackie Welles / Original Female Character

Rated : Teens and up

angst and fluff ahead !

***

- Medium plier.

It was the first thing he said in ten minutes or so.

Jack was under his cruiser’s wheels, hands focused on oiling some pieces of his machine’s brakes when she stepped into the garage.

For the first two weeks following their… argument, Mey avoided taking that route, instead opting for a detour that made her waste a solid thirty minutes every morning and evening. She thought avoiding places they used to share was a temporary solution, she was wrong. Every step she took in the opposite direction made her think about him longer, recalling all the hours he so generously spent teaching a slow learner like her how to ride a moto, how he’d always secured her helmet himself every time he took her for a ride, and those were many times, so many she couldn’t count anymore.

So when Mey finally decided to stop whatever childish game she was playing -not replying to his texts and calls, among others- and test her luck, she found herself standing gracelessly in the middle of his garage, blocking the last rays of sun he was using to work.

For long minutes, she stayed planted there, like a stupid scarecrow, marinating her anxiety, unable to say the word that mattered most. He noticed her, of course he did, and said nothing, just a flash of surprise in his eyes, and he was under his moto gain. It wasn’t like Jackie to act cold like that. Resentful wasn’t in the list of words to describe Jackie Welles, not even in the bottom line. He never ignored her. It felt so wrong to be in the receiving end of his spite or whatever this was. She missed the warmth of her friend; it was almost shocking now, as she realized it. It was just one small “sorry”, but she still didn’t feel it in her, she still didn’t feel like she was the one that should say sorry. He fucked up, he should know, by now. But also, she knew that his apologies should go to the person his wrongs were directed to, not to her, if she would take her time and think. But now, all she wanted, was a heart-to-heart talk, something she played in her mind over and over, every day during two weeks and five days and twelve hours, and here she was standing, mind blank, not even capable of uttering a simple hello.

When she finally found the guts to move and sit carefully on the sofa, and when he still didn’t react, she felt the panic, acid prickling at her skin. The sun had completely set down, last rays licking the far away mega buildings of the city, the garage lights flickered on. It was a quiet summer evening, one of few they had in the crazy city, but her neighborhood was one of the quietest, she had to admit. She liked it most of the time, but today wasn’t one of those days, it felt like the entire world went silent on her. That till he spoke.

- Medium plier.

She blinked a few times before she registered his request, moving to fetch the tool from its box, still memorizing perfectly the space around.

- Screwdriver, 4.

And it went like that for an hour or so, them moving about and working together. She was glad he offered her that physical occupation, even if it was mainly her handing him his tools and watching him sweat under his machine. For a minute, her mind was just on the craft and she was relieved he still sounded pretty himself as soon as he opened his mouth, even if them occupying their hands didn’t prevent her mind to go racing about everything, and his too, she could tell in the way they couldn’t look each other in the eye, yet.

It was until he threw at her a wet rag to wipe her hands and she creased her nose because of the reeking petrol smell that they exchanged an amused look.

- Hey, never get used to the smell huh?

She shrugged, briefly smiling.

- So how have you been? He looked at the floor, discarding the wet rag near an old stool.

- Fine, she nodded to the floor, fighting a sudden rush of tears, trying to contain them in, in vain.

- Ven aqui.

He didn’t need to say more and she was in his arms. She didn’t remember him giving her hugs like that before, she shut her eyes, crushed against him, fisting his shirt, and he seemed to reciprocate, folding his bulk around her. He smelled like gas and sweat, but she only buried her head further in his chest. After some time like that she could feel the breath knocked off her chest and she started laughing

- Eres un idiota, you know that, she mumbled in a huff, a big idiot.

- I really shouldn’t teach you this one, but I know right, sorry hermana, I really mean it.

- Well, sorry too, she shrugged, as they let go of each other's embrace.

- Hey, no more tears, ok? Drink with me tonight?

- Sure, but just a lil', ok? She sniffed.

- Pft, aguafiestas, he grumbled, picked up two bottles of tequila and passed her one.

- So to what are we drinking tonight?

- A la reunión! Amiga!

- A la reunión, then!

- Opening one of your expensive ones, just for me? she winced after one little gulp.

- Solo pa’ti, hermana, even if I know you’d rather go for one of your exotic stuff, tomatoes juice or something like that…

- Shut up, since when is tomatoes juice exotic, she internally face palmed.

- It is if I say so. Come on now, let’s sit, I’m beat, and starvin’.

- When aren’t you. She teased as he put his arm around her shoulder, leading her to the couch.

They sat comfortably in silence for some time. When she finished her bottle, he was already at his third or fourth.

-You, Mimi, you won’t close the door on me anymore, huh, any door…

She could tell the alcohol started to work its way to his head. He was starting to tell her things that she could misunderstand, like only him could…

- Hey, hey, no more tequila tonight, please? She gently took the bottle from his hands. His usually warm palms were clammy and cold, shaking slightly.

- It’s a bad day, not a bad year, and even if it is, it certainly won’t be a bad life, remember, these are your own words you used to tell me.

- Si, recuerdo. He chuckled sadly.

- How can we regret something we don’t want, Huh.

- Do you, Jack? Mey’s throat was oppressed; she kept her voice low, as if afraid to hear her friend’s answers. She felt powerless, the weight of his grief falling on her chest. She knew that whatever she would say now, it wouldn’t be enough.

- What if I do Mimi, it’s done you know… it’s gone… I killed it.

- Shut, shut no, Jackie, no. If it’s someone’s fault, it should be mine, too. She softly scratched his scalp, a failed attempt to soothe him. His body was stiff with unshed tears, tension threatening to break at any moment, and she wished he would at last, cry. Let it seep out of his system. She wished he could do it with her, as tears pickled at the corners of her eyes, stinging, fat drops of salty water, falling free.

- How’s that your fault too, Mey? He turned with questioning eyes, and she found her courage failing her, as his eyes searched her face and her hand fell on his forehead. It was still hard to look him in the eyes.

- I should’ve been there for you, I should’ve been there when you were alone facing this decision I-

- You being there wouldn’t change my decision, hermana. It was already settled, and for some time now. Me and Lin, wasn’t working anyway.

- Because you didn’t want it to work. She didn’t want to accuse him in any way, it was a statement that she and he both knew was true.

- Because I didn’t want it to work.

- Why? she asked in a little voice.

- Eh, the boxer and the super model, you believed it too?

- I- thought it was perfect, Jack, I really did.

At least for some time.

- You’re a romantic.

- Look who’s talking, she let out a teary laugh.

- But that’s not what I was talking about… I meant…

- I know what you meant, and there too, it wouldn’t have changed a thing.

The silence that followed was the heaviest Mey had ever felt between them.

- How… How did she take it?

- Surprisingly well. She’s a smart girl, Mimi. Bet that’s why she wanted us to be engaged, can’t blame her for not trying.

- She is a good woman, Jack.

- Lo sé, lo sé. Jackie said quiet, tears wetting the fabric of her dress. It was good, she thought. He still trusted her enough, enough to let her see his most vulnerable side, even after almost a month of absence, of total silence.

It was such a relief, if she let herself be honest. To find him again, broken, but still her friend who would call her hermana, offer to make dinner and end up dozing off, head in her lap.

It felt good to touch him again, too. Now in the quiet hours of the night, she could hear the cold neon lights purring, electricity running through the garage’s old wires, the tunes of whatever music he left on, that was almost muted, reached her from the furthest corner of his hideout. It smelt like motor oil and alcohol and old leather, a bit of him too, and before the knots in her stomach started to twist again, she talked herself to go and let him rest.

-Don’t you think it’s time to go and get some sleep in that fancy bed of yours? She prompted, trying to sound as light as she intended.

-Nah. Like it here more, reminds me of where I came from. ‘sides, it’s comfortable.

-Might be comfy for you, big head, but my legs are starting to get numb, so… She tried to shake his head off her lap, playfully pushing at his shoulders.

- Don’t even try, weak ass.

- That’s abuse of power!

- La niña learned to talk, too. Not bad.

- Fuck off.

- What about you going home now, huh, I’m just gonna crash here tonight. Couch’s enough comfort for my ass, for now. He straightened up, rubbed his eyes, dusted his jeans, offered a hand for her to take.

- Or you can crash on mine. She shrugged, taking his offered hand and fighting a blush. Or not- she started when the response took a bit long to come.

- Let’s get the fuck outta here, then. And he gave her a real smile, this time.

#jackie welles cyberpunk 2077 #jackie welles #jaquito and tequila #Friends #unrequieted crush #Jackie welles deserves better #fanfic #angst #fluff #alternate universe #modern jackie welles

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wordsturnintostories · 4 years

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show me your rosettes, baby (g)

summary: The world tour is over and the Bangtan Boys finally get their well-deserved break. When Namjoon suddenly can’t find Jimin anywhere, things take an unexpected and pretty unbelievable turn. “Kim Namjoon!” “Hyung. How common is it for people to turn into cats?”

word count: 27.8k (strap in, guys) note: wow sorry for not uploading here. i uploaded on ao3 but forgot to put it on my tumblr blog. which probably doesn’t matter... unless there are still people reading this fic on here. If that’s you, have fun. ✨ warnings: graphic depictions of blood and wounds

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

When Namjoon exits Bang Sihyuk’s office, head heavy and heart low, the coolness of the hallway air is the first thing he notices. It’s a refreshing change to the tension that had lingered in the office and kind of added an uncomfortable pressure to every breath, to every thought. The second thing he notices is that Yoongi is sitting on the leather couch, on his phone while holding up Jimin against his neck. The little cat sleeps comfortably. Even from over here, Namjoon can see the little belly rising and falling with every breath.

“Hyung,” he whispers, not wanting to disrupt the sacred peace.

Yoongi looks up from his phone and scoots to the side so Namjoon can sit comfortably beside him. Jimin’s tail flicks once but the kitty just sniffles and sighs against Yoongi’s throat.

“He sleeps so well,” Namjoon comments.

“Fell asleep right away. Such a cute little baby. Even with paint all over his fur.”

It’s a hidden question and Yoongi’s natural way of asking for what had happened when he doesn’t want to accuse or cast blame or make anyone feel bad. When Namjoon just hangs his head low, he’s got his answer.

“Do you think we’ll get it out?”

“Am I Min Yoongi or not?”

Okay. It’ll all be okay, hyung will take care of it. Yoongi is good at repairing things, has fixed almost as many things as Namjoon has broken - which is a lot, needless to say, and not even half of it has been captured on camera.

“So, what did Pdnim say?” “He said that we can’t tell the members about this.”

When Yoongi doesn’t say anything in return, fingers quietly curling up into a fist on his lap, Namjoon doesn’t need words to understand the storm inside his hyung.

“Not ever?” “Just for a while.”

“Well,” Yoongi snorts, “good luck with that. You’re shit at keeping secrets.”

“Hyung. I always do my best-“

“You always blurt out secret stuff. You’re the worst out of all of us.”

“That’s not true.”

Yoongi turns to look into his eyes, looking highly unimpressed. It’s a little unsettling how much it resembles Jimin’s look from this morning, when Namjoon’s elbow had accidentally pushed over Jimin’s little bowl of tuna right after he had filled it up. It’s pure disbelief and annoyance in one glance.

“Okay,” he admits, “maybe it is true.”

Satisfied, Yoongi sits back, checking in on Jimin gently and brushing his fingers through the fluffy fur, which earns him the sleepy beginnings of a purr.

“In any case,” he begins, “we don’t have to worry about keeping secrets if Jimin doesn’t turn back soon anyway.”

And yes, that’s a good point. And strangely, it’s got Namjoon thinking. In the beginning of this, he’d hoped for Jimin to turn back as fast as possible but now? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he’d stay a cat for a bit longer, just long enough for the members to find out (because Pdnim had only made him promise to not tell the members, and not to hide Jimin from them) and then turn back so they are able to prepare for the comeback. Yes, that would be perfect, even if he can’t imagine how it must feel to be a cat for Jimin.

“Anyway, I’ll be in the studio,” Yoongi says and just gets up without even waiting. “Slow Rabbit-hyung sent me my beats back, so I’ll work on that. Don’t worry about getting take out, I’ll cook tonight. Just text me when you and Sejin-hyung are done shopping.”

“Kay, hyung. Thank you.”

“Don’t forget the rubbing alcohol.”

Namjoon signs that he understands and sits back, rubbing his face. He really wishes he could be as stoic as Yoongi. Sure, the guy has a hot whirlwind of emotions on the inside, emotions that tear deeper into his heart tissue than he lets on, but just the fact that Jimin has been able to fall asleep on his chest is a huge testament to the calmness he radiates. Namjoon knows that he will probably never acquire that level of calm that Yoongi has. Most of the time, his fingers and brain and motor skills just don’t… line up and that resulting clumsiness flows into his aura and disrupts every inch of serenity he could even build up. Maybe that’s why Jimin loves to be scooped up by Yoongi. Why he rests so peacefully in Yoongi’s arms instead of wiggling around like he does in Namjoon’s.

Finally, Sejin comes out of the office as well.

“Ready to go?”

After their first couple of hours of treading through a couple of stores and ticking off a couple of items from Sejin’s list (even the rubbing alcohol), Namjoon feels like he’s swallowed a stone. Worry presses into his belly like an unremovable weight, inducing a stomach ache and a wandering mind. There’s so many things going through Namjoon’s mind that he doesn’t even pay attention, just strolling after Sejin, careful enough to not get lost but otherwise unresponsive to the world. He’s got sunglasses on, a good enough disguise to avoid showing people the storm in his eyes. They walk and walk and by the time they finally sit back in Sejin’s car, two shopping bags in the trunk, and drive on, Namjoon has created and dismissed a good six plans of action that seemed perfect at first and then turned out to be either impossible or unrealistic. He really doesn’t know what to do and coming back to his first issue - not being allowed to tell the members - almost drives his mind into overdrive.

How on earth does Pdnim expect me to take care of Jimin when I have to hide his secret identity? Because in the end, Namjoon is convinced that that’s exactly what it is - Jimin turning into a baby leopard for days counts as having a secret identity. And Yoongi was right - Namjoon is terrible at keeping secrets from the public. From the members? Even worse. Multiple scenarios run through his mind. He spills the tea in all of them. It’s just not- Namjoon just can’t imagine living with Jimin and practically raising him, experiencing the highs and lows of a developing character, of a developing person, celebrating first successes and mourning losses together and then not telling the members. It’s almost like the universe had heard Namjoon’s wish for a child of his own - and then given him a child he can’t show to his members. In some way, it’s ridiculous because he knows with all his being that he would have never managed to raise any of the maknaes without Jin or Hobi. The only relief is that Yoongi knows. Pragmatic Yoongi who can do anything he tries. That’s the only relief, Namjoon thinks.

All this rumbling discomfort inside his head makes Namjoon want to focus on something else, something outside of himself. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the ugly feeling of being alone - I am not alone. I will never be alone. It might take some time to dismantle all the lies that pop up in his head every now and then but not giving them the attention they cry out for is a first step. Namjoon’s fingertips tingle on the car window’s cold, wet glass.

Outside, Seoul has been dipped into an agitated grey glow that’s certainly thanks to the white clouds above, not a precious white, not a clean white either. It’s an old, used up white that reminds Namjoon of old carpets in need of thorough cleaning. Only a few seconds later, the thick clouds can’t hold their ugliness anymore and spill over with thick drops. It’s comforting, to see another thing burst out of their normal state - Namjoon feels the heavy rhythm of the water on the car and the relating echo in his soul. I wish I could spill over so carelessly too. But he can’t, he promised, so he just turns his consciousness back to the hazy grey of the world behind the window and sighs.

The more he focuses on the rain, the way that less and less people walk the streets, the thrum that tunes out everything else, the more he’s drawn to his memories with his members, almost as if the melancholy outside had snuck inside his head and drawn out memories of comfort.

Namjoon sees Taehyung sitting on his bed in their shared room. Yeontan lies halfway draped over his lap, napping with big hands carding through his fur softly. Outside, it is raining, inside, it is quiet that day.

“I want to write a song about the rain,” Taehyung says in a hushed tone, never taking his eyes off the window.

“What do you want to write?”

Namjoon loves this about the younger boy - he can never really pinpoint what’s going on in Taehyung’s mind - Taehyung’s mind is a beautiful maze of creativity and emotions. Just inspiring - like listening to a new song for the first time and falling in love with it because it connects to something inside of you so deeply that not listening to it makes you feel like something is missing in your soul.

“The way rain falls - we think it’s sad because it’s water and water has so many purposes,” Taehyung pauses, “in summer, we play with it. We see it in the ocean, we drink it. But when it rains, the drops are reduced to falling, only falling helplessly. The fall must feel endless, the way we have nightmares of falling sometimes. Maybe that’s why people think rain is sad.”

Namjoon hums, trying not to let the intense amazement at those philosophical thoughts ruin their serene atmosphere.

“Do you want it to be a sad song?”

“No,” Taehyung says, “it should be comforting. Because water lives in a circle and falling means nothing if you know that your home is in the clouds, above the world and that you’ll always find your way back home. If you know this, even hitting the ground is not scary anymore. Rain is not sad - it’s a reminder that everything will be alright. Rain means don’t worry, you’ll be okay soon.”

Namjoon feels his heart swelling even now, even here in the car, as they drive through the streets of Seoul, passing taxis, business people, students and everyone else. No one knows this, no one else has shared this moment with Taehyung, no one else thinks about rain just the same way. Not yet, anyway, not until the song has been finished. Namjoon loves these secrets that they have, these secrets and songs that are theirs to guard until it’s time to entrust them to the world. Not just once, he’s drawn strength from them. And now too, it makes him smile fondly. I love my members. I’d do anything for them. I can do this, too. Hitting the ground is okay, no matter how much it hurts. I will always find back home. Fighting, Namjoon.

Beside him, Sejin smiles. They pull up to the pet store.

Now, Namjoon is ready to stroll through pet store aisles with a pout on his lips and his shoulders hanging low, mind absently digging through his list of issues and his spiderweb of possible solutions. He is prepared to pick between red and blue and pink and green cat toys (which is stupid because cats are probably color-blind like dogs, right?) and to look for the fluffy stick-thingy Yoongi had mentioned. He’s ready to ask store employees for help when he can’t find litter boxes after half an hour of searching and yet suspecting that he’s run past them at least five times.

There’s one employee who’s keeping an eye on him (Namjoon can feel the gaze on his skin and wonders whether he’s starting to develop some sort of clairvoyant powers now that Jimin turned into a leopard) and whether it’s because she recognized him or whether he’s a suspicious customer, running through the same aisle five times, looking around helplessly and not even having one product in his hands despite having been in the store for half an hour now (yeah, that’s probably it). In the back of his mind, he still tries to figure out why in the world he would ever say yes when Sihyuk asked him if he would be okay on his own because he wanted to get something for his own dog as well. Sweat rolls down his back when his eyes go up and the employee has moved to stand directly in front of him.

“Hello, customer-ssi,” she greets, sweetly but with a flat tone, “how may I help you?”

“I, uh, I’m looking for uh, cat toys. For my cat.”

A shudder of as if that needed elaborating, Namjoon runs through Namjoon’s head and he knows that if Yoongi was standing next to him right now, he would facepalm and move away, stew in second-hand embarrassment from a safe distance. He smiles when the employee giggles softly and likes to think that just maybe, his stupid reply may have been a tiny spark of light in her boring work day, something to laugh about. It’s nice.

“Okay, the cat section is here,” she leads him over to another aisle that - no kidding - Namjoon didn’t even see before. Despite the big sign overhead. Am I blind- “you were standing in the mixed aisle before, so you’ll probably have better chances finding what you want here.”

He blushes, because this is really embarrassing, and thanks her with a nod. She probably thinks that he’s cute, or handsome, or whatever the nation thinks about him nowadays, but then he dares to look at her eyes and realizes that no, that’s not it, she probably thinks he’s a poor customer who doesn’t have a clue about anything because then she has mercy on him, yes, that’s a recognizable spark in her eyes that Seokjin also has when dealing with the mess Namjoon is and makes, and she asks, “Have you filled out the questionnaire yet?”

And see, that’s another thing that makes Namjoon feel so damn clueless. How was he supposed to know there was a questionnaire? Does every customer here fill it out? Or just the helpless idols?

“Questionnaire?”

“Yes, well. You look a little-“ she pauses, has to pick her words carefully because he is a customer and she doesn’t want to upset him (but the way she smiles like she’s giggling inside really lessens the punch) “-like this is your first time buying stuff for your cat. The questionnaire might help you figure out what type of cat yours is.”

Oh. There’s different types of cats?

“No, I haven’t.”

“Haven’t filled out the questionnaire or haven’t bought cat necessities?” (For your cat, Namjoon’s brain adds, just to taunt him. He winces.)

“Neither.”

“Oh, no worries,” that sounds cheerful, “I can help you, if you’d like.”

He nods graciously, genuinely thankful for her help although he’d usually insist on solitary shopping. Normally, people recognize him too quickly and the rest of his shopping trip turns into a race (it really feels like that sometimes) to get through the store without causing too much of a mass revolt in the streets (although in Korea it’s better than in other places). The woman - her name tag says Lee Kyungmi in an elegant font - pulls out a sheet of paper from somewhere and leads him to a quiet corner with two armchairs that are so fancy that for the first time in the whole half an hour he’s been here, Namjoon realizes how high-end the store actually is. Of course Sejin wouldn’t just take him to any store - they had to go to the frickin’ best because well, customer service, right? Confidentiality. Anonymity. Quality. Like so many other instances in his life, Namjoon is grateful for Sejin’s clear head.

“Let’s start here,” Kyungmi and points to the first question. “Have you shopped with us before?”

He ticks the box for “No”. Back when his family adopted Rapmon, they had bought all the stuff for her in some store in Ilsan and when he says they, he means mostly his mother and his sister.

“Tick the type of animal you’re shopping for.” He ticks cat and moves on. “How old is your pet?” And that’s where it gets complicated for the first time but Namjoon pulls through diligently and writes, “a few months.” Because while it’s difficult to guess and it’s not like he can just ask anyone to find out Jimin’s age let alone ask Jimin himself, Namjoon has seen documentaries about leopards and Jimin is definitely not a one year old leopard yet. Thank God. “What’s your pet’s breed?”

Well. That answer takes a while but Namjoon doesn’t want to look any more incompetent in front of the staff who is so kind to order them both a coffee from the store’s café further in the back. Namjoon is aware that he clearly can’t write leopard, so he settles for mixed breed. Mixed. Leopard and human.

“Does your pet spend most of its time inside or outside?”

And like that, Namjoon spends a good twenty minutes on answering all the questions on his pet’s fur, the living environment, the food (he improvises a little because yeah, of course he’s feeding Jimin only cat food from the can, of course, he’d never let him have stuff from the table) etc etc until he stops at the end of the page, smiling like he’s just won an award because finishing the questionnaire really feels that way. Until he lifts the paper. And sees the back. More questions.

“There’s a back!? How much do you want to know about my, uh, pet? Isn’t this like a pet tinder?”

Kyungmi laughs more, visibly unable to contain her bright laughter that seems a little out of place in this reverently quiet store (which is not that different from most high-end stores Namjoon’s visited) and Namjoon’s heart blooms when he thinks about the fact that he can make people laugh like that even without his music and rap and stage presence. Even on his own, without the members next to him.

“This is definitely not pet tinder, we’ve got a register for that in the back for registered pets. The next questions will be about your pet’s character. Whether it’s energetic or calm or a little diva. This information helps us to find the perfect toys and equipment for your pet and also, mix some customized food for the little one.”

Namjoon is stunned. If Jimin even knew the lengths I go for him today… Namjoon is glad that they moved to the chairs. They are comfortable, like lounge chairs in waiting rooms in the backstage areas of broadcasting stations. Chairs to fall asleep in. He can see Sejin strolling somewhere through the aisles, probably making use of the situation to buy stuff for his children’s pets as well.

“What is your pet’s favorite activity?” Jimin had enjoyed chasing that frog - hunting?

“What sets your pet apart from others?” He’s not actually a pet- its cuteness?

“Does it enjoy cuddling? Does it have a favorite person?” Yes, yes, yes. Definitely. He loves all his hyungs. - Do pets even have hyungs?

“Does it tolerate other people or pets in its territory?” Loves people, loves pets.

“How does it react in critical situations, e.g. when it’s taken to the vet?” …

Namjoon huffs. All the questions make sense but he can’t help but feel like the helplessly falling rain drops on their way into the sewers. There’s only so much to know about kitty Jimin after three days and his mind doesn’t seem to understand that the questionnaire definitely only wants answers about cat Jimin. Ah, this is difficult. He’s not sure whether Jimin has ever been to the vet even as a human (and suddenly, his mind can’t stop thinking about the possibility of having to take leopard Jimin to the vet for an examination - and all the shit human Jimin will give him for it afterwards). He groans and maybe that’s a sign for Kyungmi to start speaking.

“If you can’t or don’t want to fill out everything, that’s fine too. I’ll do my best to help you nonetheless.”

When he hands the questionnaire over and she’s read the answers, Kyungmi gets up and starts walking towards the cat section. Namjoon does his best to keep up and follow. Like the competent store staff she seems to be, Kyungmi grabs products with sure eyes and quick hands and puts them all into a basket while she explains.

“First of all, keeping a pet is both a great decision and a huge responsibility and we are proud of you for adopting your cat”, welp, Namjoon thinks, I’m living a lie, but then again, it does sort of feel like he adopted Jimin - just maybe in a different way, 7 years ago… “besides food, you need a variety of items to make your pet feel at home and cared for. Since your cat spends a lot of time inside and outside, you’ll need to brush its fur not only to clean it but also to check for ticks and other little insects that could be hidden underneath. Now, you wrote that your cat is a short-hair breed, so this is our shampoo segment for short fur. We recommend this one, this is a scent-free shampoo from a brand that only produces vegan and pet-friendly stuff. If you would like to check out this product line over here, we can surely find-“

The first package in Namjoon’s hands says “all fur types” on the front in red, big letters. Namjoon can’t help but wonder - is it really for all fur types? Would those shampoo companies develop their shampoo for wild cats too? Do wild cats have the same fur as small domestic cats? Namjoon isn’t bold enough to ask. But am I really the only person with this issue? In his head, Namjoon browses through all his contacts. Sadly, all the people he knows either have no pets or have never mentioned any pets and there are no shifters Namjoon knows other than Jimin. Suddenly, a thought pops up. I have seen wild cats before - at the zoo! Surely zoo employees would know which fur products are adequate for leopards, right? But... do we know anyone at the zoo? If not, can we just call them and ask? Is that a normal question? Do they have a hotline for desperate pet owners? It sounds… unlikely but Namjoon reminds himself that he’s an independent rain drop falling helplessly that only needs to find its way back home. He calls Yoongi.

“Namjoon? You alright?”

Yoongi sounds sleepy. Yoongi would never be bothered to worry about falling from the clouds. Namjoon excuses himself from Kyungmi and walks a few steps away. He whispers.

“Hyung, do we anyone who works at the zoo?”

“Why are you whispering? Also, I don’t know? Why are you asking?”

“It’s…”, the words I’m overwhelmed by the amount of cat shampoo in this shop and you were the first person I thought to call because I don’t think there’s an actual zoo hotline I could call for help sound a bit ridiculous, so Namjoon figures he’ll solve this problem on his own. “Ah, no, it’s nothing. Sorry for calling, hyung.”

“No, I just don’t understand… but maybe ask Tae? He’s the people expert.”

“Thanks, Hyung! Sleep well.”

“I’m not sleeping.”

His voice is raspy, deep. A little purr comes through the phone and Namjoon can just picture it - Yoongi on his sofa, head on a pillow, Jimin on his chest. Napping. He ends the call. A new image pops up in his mind - isn’t there some YouTube channel Jimin and Jungkook watch sometimes? Some guy who takes care of lions and leopards? Something like that? A… Dan Richard? Just Richard? Suddenly, Namjoon wishes he’d paid a little more attention to his dongsaeng’s YouTube interests. Maybe I’ll look this Richard guy up and ask for help. He thinks he remembers that Jungkook had once exclaimed that the guy was famous and that he would love to visit that place one day - that he would love to just meet the lions too, play with them. Jungkook is a thrill-seeker. He’s crazy. But now, Namjoon smiles. I’ll definitely text him. Later.

Kyungmi still smiles politely when he turns back to her and carries on with her informative rant about shampoo.

Namjoon feels like his arm is ready to fall off after having carried his little basket of cat stuff for only ten minutes. Kyungmi is still giving him a lecture on how to measure his darling pet’s temperature (revelation of the day - one does not simply take the temperature in the cat’s mouth, no) when his eyes flick to the toys just a few shelves further. To be honest, Namjoon has never ever in his life imagined to stick a thermometer any place other than Jimin’s ears or mouth and he figures he shouldn’t start now, so he starts slinking away slowly, step by step. It’s unsettling how guilty he feels for ignoring Kyungmi’s speech - why do I feel so guilty?

But the toys are beckoning him over like nothing else in this store and then, he’s standing in front of them. He’s happy, somehow, and thinks that if he were an Animal Crossing character, he would start having sparkles or flowers around his head right now, blushing and swaying on his feet. Sejin sends him a thumbs up from where he’s sitting in the lounge chairs from before, two fancy paper bags at his feet.

Wow, there’s so much variation, Namjoon thinks, surprised that people have come up with so many things just to entertain their pets. Kyungmi comes up next to him, still cheerful, still in her element and not seeming like she’s mad at him for escaping her waterfall-like explanation speeches.

“I would recommend a chewing toy of some sort,” she says, pointing at some boxes. “You wrote that he’s only a few months old, so he might still be teething.”

“Yeah, he chews on our fingers a lot,” Namjoon agrees and grabs a little heart shaped pillow that looks good to bite into. For cats. It resembles Tata a little bit but probably not enough to make Jimin feel guilty for chewing it up.

“Is this good?”

“Depends,” Kyungmi says and brings out something from the aisle on the opposite site, “does your cat get distracted easily?”

“Sometimes?”

Jimin generally has a good concentration span. But when other people are around, it sure is easier for him to get distracted. The burdens of a people-oriented mind.

“Well, we always recommend toys with safe seams, adequate texturing, organic materials and a high fun factor for your cat. Of course it should also be washable, with all the slobber and dirt it will encounter. Are you looking for a toy with catnip or without?”

Catnip? Namjoon has heard of it. Of course. Who hasn’t seen those cat videos on YouTube with cats going crazy after taking a whiff of catnip? Usually, they roll around in it and then nap the high off, which seems harmless. But he’s not sure whether that’s a good idea. Isn’t catnip like a drug for cats? If so, the agency probably won’t allow it. Also, Namjoon really doesn’t want to drug Jimin.

“Without, please.”

“Are you sure? It does help to create a bigger and longer interest for a toy. Not all cats like it, but most do. But if you want, we can find other toys that are interesting for your cat.”

Namjoon nods and together, they decide on a couple of hand-sewn mice with dangling twisted rope tails for Jimin to chase. The eyes are sewn on to prevent swallowing. The mice almost look too cute to buy and the thought of finding them wet and chewn out on the sofa makes Namjoon wrinkle his nose in disgust but then his mind wanders to the little picked apart frog Jimin had killed in their backyard and that’s enough motivation to buy them all. Kyungmi hands him another chew toy that has some floss material on it and she explains that it not only helps with dental hygiene but that it is also supposed to lessen bad breath. We definitely need that, Namjoon thinks, quietly to himself, because every pet’s breath stinks. That’s just a universal fact. Sorry, Jimin.

“Do you want it in blue or pink?”

Honestly, after all the running around, the two quickly filling shopping bags that weigh down his arms and the relentless chatter from Kyungmi, this simple question sinks the ship. As much as Namjoon enjoys picking stuff for his dongsaengs, he’s tired. Does it matter? Does the color really matter? He doesn’t know whether future human Jimin would be offended by his choices when it comes down to colors but he does know that Jimin is particular about style. Kitten Jimin however is a completely different story that Namjoon actually doesn’t know anything about. He might have a completely different taste from his human counterpart. The only thing Namjoon knows is that Seokjin once bought a hat for Jimin that the dancer thought was completely hideous. The next time he saw it was in Hoseok’s section of their shared wardrobe. Up to this day, Jimin hasn’t worn it even once.

“We also have them in yellow, green and black, if you think he’d like those better,” Kyungmi adds, not even aware of the trouble she’s causing. No, Namjoon does not know if Jimin would like those better because Jimin is not Jungkook and not Yoongi and will therefore not sympathize with the black toy by default.

For a second, Namjoon tries to put himself in Jimin’s shoes. These toys are gonna stay with him for a while. What if he doesn’t like them and we have to keep them until we are in Seoul the next time? Even if we order stuff, if we are on the road, we won’t get them delivered and Jimin will have to make do with these. Namjoon thinks back to his old phone case that was an accidental and careless order, and remembers how annoying it is to look at something every day if you don’t like it. No, he’ll do the best he can to make sure Jimin likes his cat toys.

He freezes. His eyes wander down to the shopping bags he’s already holding. Will Jimin like the other things I have picked? A wave of uncertainty rushes through him and he’s tempted to just push it all back into Kyungmi’s arms, leave the store and come back with Jimin once he’s shifted back so he can choose everything himself. But he is aware of how that would look. Kyungmi is still waiting for his answer and the headache that’s building is not helping at all. So, Namjoon is ready to take extreme measures. He pulls his phone out and dials Yoongi’s number. It takes three tries to get him on the line but for his dongsaengs, Namjoon has learned persistence.

“What is it now?”

“Hyung, which color do you think the, uh, the cat would like best when it comes to toys?”

Namjoon only realizes now that they should have maybe come up with a codename for Jimin. Just in case he’d ever need to talk about his kitty alter ego in front of other people who are not supposed to know. Perhaps Yoongi realizes the same thing. Perhaps Yoongi doesn’t care. His incredulous answer on the other side is a little… unhelpful.

“What are you asking me? Am I a cat? Just bring anything, Namjoon-ah. I don’t care about the color as long as Jiminie doesn’t tear my flesh and bones apart. He might look harmless but I swear he’ll be a beast later.”

“You’re so dramatic, hyung.”

“I’m truthful. He keeps chewing up my fingers.”

“Okay, but… do you think,” Namjoon turns away from Kyungmi and whispers, just to make sure, “do you think he’d like something more, uh, Chanel, or, like a cat bed from Versace? Because this store is high-end but if he doesn’t like it-“

Yoongi just huffs on the line and Namjoon feels a heavy weight in his chest. How am I supposed to take care of Jimin if I don’t know what Jimin wants? How could I know? How can any of us know? Maybe there are specific brands that are popular with shifters? Should I call Jackson? But no, Jackson is probably sleeping right now, if he’s in Europe. Namjoon whines.

“Hyung…”

“Namjoon-ah. Don’t lose your mind over this. Just bring anything and we’ll all be happy.”

“But what if- what if he doesn’t like it?”

Namjoon can’t help it. He doesn’t want Jimin to be disappointed in his hyungs when he shifts back. He wants Jimin to feel safe and loved and honored to be taken care of by his hyungs.

“Then we’ll return it. Keep the receipt, Namjoon, and don’t worry. Just buy the basics and if he wants additional things, we’ll order them, okay?”

“Okay, hyung.”

Something crashes. Yoongi groans.

“Okay. I have to wipe up a mess. See you later, Joon.”

“See you,” Namjoon mumbles, a tiny bit reassured. Rain means don’t worry, you’ll be okay. He turns back to Kyungmi, who has once again waited politely. He lifts the bags on his arms.

“My hyung said to just buy the basics.”

“I think we’ve got everything then. Would you like to pay?”

“Oh, just one more thing. I need something, uh, like a stick for cats? Hyung said it’s important.”

“A stick? For chewing on?”

“No, for playing.”

To be honest, Namjoon has no idea what this specifc toy looks like. He’s just grateful when Kyungmi leads him to a special section. The toys look like… fishing rods. For cats.

“I think this is what you meant.”

“Are these… fishing rods?”

Kyungmi laughs. “I guess you could call them fishing rods.”

“I thought cats fish with their paws.”

“Oh no, they are for the cats.”

Namjoon doesn’t... understand? It’s like his brain is frozen. The concept is just so weird. Why would cats need fishing rods?

“Oh, you mean for the owners to fish the cat?”

“Yes, kind of. You hold the stick and the cat chases after it. You see this fluffy part at the end, right? It will awaken your kitty’s natural hunting instincts.”

Namjoon gasps. Awaken their natural hunting instincts? Do I want that?

“Isn’t that… dangerous?”

“On the opposite, it’s essential.”

The image of a leopard on a prowl inside their apartment makes Namjoon feel a little different. It’s essential, he tells himself. Kyungmi is the expert. Don’t worry. It’s essential.

“Okay, I’ll take a few.”

“Very good. I would have recommended taking more than one anyway, in case the cat breaks it.”

Namjoon nods, smiling. Right. In case the cat breaks it.

“Would you like to pay now?”

“Sure.”

Sinking into Sejin’s car seat feels like a welcome break from running a marathon. Namjoon thinks he should have maybe not put on dress shoes but sneakers this morning. But he couldn’t have known the day would take such a turn, so this is how it is. They drive for a while before Namjoon realizes that this is not the way home. It seems like they are driving away from Gangnam, not towards it.

“Hyung, where are we going now?”

“Well, you expressed that you wanted to go somewhere serene and calming, so I’m taking you somewhere you can relax.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Yes you did. You sighed, checked your phone, scrolled to Jin’s contact, looked at it while we stopped and waited at three different street lights, then you sighed again, shut your phone off and stared into the distance. You’re an easy read.”

Namjoon is speechless, blushes at how Sejin chuckles and wriggles his fingers in his lap.

“Thank you, hyung,” is what he presses out, almost quieter then he wants, thanks to the heavy blanket of emotions falling over his mind.

“Also,” Sejin adds, “you always look for quiet places to figure out your troubles. That’s you. And I said I’d support you, so this is the first responder emergency aid you get.” A chuckle rips free from Namjoon’s chest and he leans back comfortably.

Like before, a sweet rumble runs through the car once Namjoon’s mind finds the peace to concentrate on it. It’s soothing, like a little lullaby as the city’s shapes fly past the window. The only difference to this morning are the empty backseat where Jimin’s, no, Yeontan’s travel box had stood, and the slight worry that pulls both Namjoon’s brows and shoulders down. Worry for Jimin that is completely unnecessary since Jimin is safety entrusted to Yoongi. Yoongi who has a way with words, a way with trivia knowledge and a way with cats, as it seems.

Namjoon is aware - as aware as everyone else in the band - of the fan’s obsession with Lil’ Meow Meow, and he sometimes he wonders whether it affects Yoongi. Whether his feelings towards the nickname are positive or indifferent, or whether is ever pops up in Yoongi’s head at random times. Whether his friends ever tease him about it like Jackson teases Namjoon about being the Dad of the group. There is only this way of wondering because Namjoon doesn’t feel confident to ask Yoongi about it - its a peculiar thing, this theme of Yoongi as a cat - and somehow, Namjoon feels like asking about it would make him sound… suspicious. Like maybe asking about it could make it sound like he’s accepted it and he isn’t sure what Yoongi will think. Because Namjoon never thinks that his best friend acts or looks like a cat. Never. He’s never scrolled through a so-called Yoongi and Cats thread on twitter. (What’s a twitter? Never heard of it. Can you eat that?)

Namjoon wonders if people would still call Yoongi a cat if they found out about Jimin. Or if they would draw sketches and write (actually tear-inducingly) good stories about kitty hyung Yoongi and baby kitty Jimin. Well, he wouldn’t ever get to know.

Because ARMY wouldn’t find out.

Because not even the members would.

Namjoon sighs and turns his eyes back to the rain outside.

When Namjoon first moves to actually register the outside world passing by instead of gazing outside with dead eyes, he realizes with a start that Sejin has either lied or misunderstood the words “serene, calming place”. The manager drives their car onto the parking lot of a restaurant that looks oddly familiar, like a faraway memory of an uncle you’ve seen once and just shortly but who has left a lasting impression by sneaking you a piece of cake or something.

We’ve been here before, Namjoon realizes, for lunch. He remembers how the news of BTS’s presence here had sort of blown up the restaurant’s little circle of regular guests and made it into countless online reviews that in the end boosted the restaurant’s ratings and even led to a well-deserved renovation. That had been during their era of first wins, first apartment moves and first everythings in the spotlight and if he didn’t know better, Namjoon would say that their present had been hammering against the egg shell of their past even then, that their success had already been a firm knot in their lines of fate back then. But that is bullshit, just the way success by hard work to the bones could never be replaced by success gained by just looking pretty, and Namjoon smiles fondly, almost feeling a sense of touching connectedness to the place. Almost as if this little restaurant has grown up with them. As if it understood their troubles. Maybe “serene” and “calming” fit just right.

Vague memories start to creep back right then, vague memories of a tired maknae surrounded by even more tired hyungs, everyone eating with aching thighs, aching calves, aching everythings, and greasy food that did everything it promised on the photos on the menu. Namjoon remembers the rides there and back, remembers the sleepy faces, the happy snapshots in between, reasons to celebrate their togetherness, and even a distant voice mentioning that a relative of Sejin worked here. It must be meaningful for hyung to come here too. Over the entrance, a big white sign says Geum-wol in brushed golden hangul. Golden month. In the sun, the letters look piercingly bright.

“We’re going to eat?”

“If you want to.”

“I’m not very hungry yet. But I think I could use some food. Some soul food.”

“I promise you won’t regret it. They changed their menu along with their remodeling a couple of years ago.”

A shiny glimmer sparks from Sejin’s eyes and Namjoon has to work on holding back a giggle. It’s the same, really, it’s exactly the same as Jin-hyung’s I-see-food glimmer. “I’m sure I’ll love it if you do, hyung.”

From years of shared meals, boring breaks in between recording sessions at broadcasting stations and backstage eating sessions, the whole band knows their staff members. There’s not much that actually goes past them when it happens in the same room. Fourteen eyes see a lot of things, even things people wouldn’t think they would notice. They know which types of snack to bring to bribe a specific staff member and they know that Sejin generally has good taste (all of their tastebuds have evolved, Seokjin always insists, along with the success of their company).

Upon entering the restaurant, Namjoon feels like he’s stepping into someone’s living room. A fancy, warm and welcoming living room. It has a lush arrangement of plants, clearly well-loved and well-cared for and fantastically arranged (Namjoon spots that little cactus on the windowsill covered in tiny drops of water that sparkle in the sunlight like royal jewelry and just knows that he is in love). The painted linens and calligraphed drawings lead his surprised mind to the Joseon era, eagerly lapping up his memories from tv shows and stories and books and bundling them all together in this spot where an attentive waitress in a fancy outfit leads them to a table.

“They did a great job with the remodeling,” Namjoon says, unable to tear his eyes off the golden decor that doesn’t look cheap and the beautifully arranged sets on the low table. Even the pillow underneath his bottom is an invitation to relax.

“I love it here,” Sejin nods, smile wide. “It feels like coming home and going on an adventure at the same time.”

Yes, Namjoon thinks, feeling the blood in his veins stir a little. An adventure but also home.

“Hyung, what’s home to you? Seoul or Ilsan?”

It’s a difficult question. If Namjoon wasn’t so close to their manager, it might even be a rude question and he would possibly not be bold enough to ask anything else for the rest of their meal here. Sejin just thinks.

“It’s possible for a person to have more than one home, you know? At least that’s what I think.”

Of course, Namjoon can empathize with that. He’s got a big heart home in the members and then another, with his blood-related family.

“So, home is where my wife and children are, but home is also with you guys. I miss you when I go home, can you believe it?”

Namjoon chuckles.

“Of course. We’re the best, so sweet and so nice and so cute - I’d miss me too if I wasn’t here.”

“Oh, shut up. Jin’s ego is rubbing off on you.”

They both laugh until the waitress returns to take their orders and even then, the glimmer in their eyes doesn’t disappear.

Namjoon’s chest feels warm. Maybe we don’t need to eat here anymore. Maybe this conversation was enough comfort already.

It takes a while for the food to come through the restaurant’s kitchen doors that are hidden behind a noble dark-wood door decoration. Everything here looks noble in a way, Namjoon notices, but not without losing the effect of feeling gently familiar, almost loving. That kind of atmosphere is something Namjoon hasn’t even experienced in noble restaurants before, so he sinks into his fluffy seat cushion, letting himself enjoy the treat thoroughly. Because it is a treat - a feast for the weary-hearted that can’t go home to their families, either because they have to stay here or because the family is not at home. The green plants in the genuinely ancient looking pots (some have gold-plated rims, some are glazed, some are engraved or painted with artful poetry and all of them are twitter-worthy) offer silent comfort, sometimes swishing their arms, sometimes just staying rooted in the fresh dark earth and reminding every onlooker about altruism, virtues like endurance and quiet resilience.

When the food arrives, Namjoon kind of feels sated in a non-physical way. His heart doesn’t seem so heavy like before. It’s like someone has gently kneeled at the edge of his heart to shake up the stiff earth in it. It’s nice. Paired with the soothing voice of Sejin, the type of questions he asks now and then (all of them optimistic, in a distracting way “I heard from Yoongi that you wanted to look for a new bed, did you already find something you’d like?” and “Will you publish your new mixtape soon? My kids listen to mono to fall asleep but my wife said that at this point, she could probably perform it live.”) and together with the delicious food in front of his nose, Namjoon almost feels like he’s escaped to another world. Another world where he isn’t famous, where he isn’t living this life but some other version of it, where all his decisions had been different but led him to this little restaurant nonetheless, and there he is, sitting at the axis point where all the versions of him flow together into this one moment. It’s magical, like glowing dust floating in the air, like the first flakes of snow landing on your face. The light of the sun slides past the beautiful gold-ornamented silk curtains of the restaurant, revealing a gorgeous view on the side of Achasan Mountain that’s lushly green thanks to the trees on it. It’s basically an invitation to dream, to imagine, and Namjoon’s eyes can’t really get enough of it.

“Hyung, have you ever had a secret that you were so afraid to tell that you lied to keep it?”

Sejin sighs into his spoon of rice.

“You know what I think about lying,” he starts and Namjoon nods. Lying means breaking trust, Namjoon-ah. Never lie to your members. During their entire time together, he can’t remember ever seeing Sejin lie. “I usually don’t keep secrets either. Not bad ones, at least. But there was one.”

“Was it bad that you lied back then?”

“Yes, the consequences were bad but the worst thing was that I didn’t say the truth. Even though I apologized, the regret stays with me and every time I look at that person, I feel it again.”

“Hyung, I don’t want to feel that way towards the members.”

“Then don’t lie.”

“Do you think it will be that easy?”

“I honestly don’t know what I think it will be like with Jimin. Maybe you are lucky and the members are back before he shifts back so they can see for themselves. Didn’t you send something to the group chat already?”

“How do you know?”

“Jungkookie sent me a text asking if we got him a surprise pet. He sounded very hopeful. He even used the heart-eye emoji.”

“Oh no. What did you answer?”

“I wrote ‘Ask your hyungs.’ Nothing else. That was before you called me to come back here.”

Namjoon groans and figures that Jungkook will have to wait. No new pets for a while, sorry Jungkook.

“I don’t think I’m ready to be a cat owner.”

Sejin huffs, amused. “The universe thinks you are.”

“Well, I don’t think so and that’s what counts. Even the maknaes would be better at handling a cat than me.”

“That’s not true. Jungkook - I swear, this kid doesn’t have any sense of self-preservation, so I don’t even want to think about what he’d do with Jimin. Tae… well. He’d probably slide into depression without Jimin to talk to so let’s not think about that. I think we can agree there’s no one better than Hoseok to deal with such a thing if he doesn’t freak out about it but you follow close behind, just after Yoongi and Seokjin.“

“Hyung, that was a shitty argument.”

“At the same time,” Sejin says with a look that says I wasn’t done, “Kook loves Jimin to death and would do anything to make him feel better. Taehyung has studied up on dogs and dog training for half a year before adopting Yeontan. Imagine how much more he’ll do for his soulmate.”

The look Sejin gives him is serious and even when they are brought drinks and the girl from before leaves again, the serious expression does not leave Sejin’s eyes.

“Hyung, just think logically for a second. Jiminie is a tiny fragile cat baby, a rare leopard cub and I am a helpless clumsy idiot who can’t even take care of himself. How do we match well in your eyes?”

“You don’t need to match. Honestly, other than Jimin being smaller than usual and not being able to speak, there’s no difference to living together as usual. You take care of him and he looks up to you. You shouldn’t worry so much.”

He starts chuckling a second later when he realizes the unintentional pun. Namjoon frowns.

“I disagree. This morning I almost squished Jimin between the fridge and the fridge door. It’s not exactly safe for him to be around me. He’s too curious and I’m just clumsy. Did you see the printer ink in his fur?”

“It’s not a big deal, Namjoon.”

“Besides, Yoongi takes care of him way better than me.”

“Allow yourself room for improvement and learning.”

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt him.”

“So be more careful. You haven’t killed any of your band mates yet, so I don’t think it will happen any time soon.”

“Yeah, but they have all been human and with a fully functioning human mind for the past seven years. They know how to dodge the danger.”

“Animals have pretty good instincts, too. I think Jimin won’t need help to dodge your accidents once he’s out of his toddler phase. And don’t forget that all of you can take care of Jimin in different ways, each of you plays their own role. It will all be fine.”

The food arrives and is daunting enough to drag Namjoon’s rumbling thoughts away from his hardships. There’s soup, there’s rice, there’s vegetables and meat, and it’s beautifully arranged and beautifully steamy and just the scent could throw a man off his horse in desperate hunger. It’s heaven. At the first spoon of soup, Namjoon understands why Sejin brought him here. Comfort spreads in his tummy like a sweet melody. He sighs, almost tearing up over simple Korean soul food.

“Thank you, hyung.”

Sejin’s smile is kind.

“You know we love you like you’re our own children, right? Sihyuk-hyung and I. Of course, seeing my own children being born was different but you are my family too. We always want the best for you, we want you to go forward with boldness and integrity.”

“You’re doing well, hyung.”

Of course it’s a little strange to think of their CEO and their manager as parental figures in general but after sharing his life with them for the last decade, Namjoon figures his own parents wouldn’t even be mad if he suddenly called any of them appa by accident. He smiles when he remembers all the times a sleepy Jungkook has called other people appa without even noticing. It had always resulted in a hand carding through his hair, a warm “aigoo, our sleepy maknae, are you warm enough?” and lovely feelings of family.

“Namjoon-ah, what if this is an opportunity?”

“What do you mean? An opportunity how?”

“We haven’t heard of shapeshifters before Jimin turned into one, right?”

“I haven’t. It truly feels like a mind-blowing discovery. Only that it’s not a discovery exactly because apparently, shapeshifters have existed all the time.”

“But it means that they must be hiding in society. Why?”

Namjoon pauses. Why are they hiding? In the end, he supposes shifters - supernaturals in general - are like every other human being.

“Afraid of discrimination? Racism? I don’t know, hyung. I’m still hung up on how I didn’t know about this although one of my best friends has literally been a hybrid his entire life.”

“A hybrid? What the heck is a hybrid? And who’s a hybrid?”

Oh. Right.

“Uh, well. It’s more like Spiderman… more permanent? More all the time? I don’t know, I’m bad at explaining this.”

“Spiderman is a hybrid? Wow, I never thought about it this way.”

“No, I mean, yeah, I guess? But hybrids are people with animal features? I think? Like, a tail or animal ears?”

“Like in anime?”

“Basically. I don’t know too much about it but it seems to be that way.”

“Wow. That must be really difficult to hide.”

“I’m sure it is.”

How does Jackson hide it? Now that Namjoon thinks about it, he has seen Jackson without a cap on his head or loose pants to shove the tail in before and not seen any animal features. How is that possible? He then realizes that Jackson’s managers and company must know. They must have the editors photoshop his animal features out on every photo, even every video. Wow. That must be such a huge effort. And expensive. What a hassle it must be for stage appearances, interviews and even just walking freely on the street. All of the sudden, Namjoon feels grateful Jimin isn’t a hybrid. The company wouldn’t have been able to pay so much money to edit every shot of him so extensively back then. They wouldn’t have accepted him.

“So, hybrids are different from shapeshifters, right?”

“Yes, hybrids can’t turn into animals.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes, letting the new information and thoughts sink in along with the food. Namjoon realizes he’s both a little grateful and a bit bummed that Jimin didn’t turn into a hybrid. It would have been impossible to hide from the members then. He wouldn’t have to tell them anything, they could all figure it out, Jimin wouldn’t turn into some animal that can’t speak, he would just be a normal human being with some extra parts and that would be it. They could deal with it so much more easily - probably. But Namjoon reminds himself that that line of thought is just based on assumptions. There’s probably no perfect option between those two if you’re a performer.

“Do…do you think the members are going to figure it out themselves?”

“I think they’re all smart enough to.”

“So… just a maybe?”

“I can’t tell the future, Namjoon-ah.”

“I know, I just… I just don’t want to be alone with this.”

“Are you?”

“I guess I’m not but… I’m just so glad that we are seven members. Because we share our lives, our feelings and our fears all the time. That’s where we all draw our strength from. Keeping a secret like this from the members… I don’t want to break their trust. Isn’t it my responsibility to tell them about this? This is such a huge change and it’s not fair to just… I don’t think this is right, hyung.”

“If a secret becomes a prison, it doesn’t deserve to be kept, Namjoon. You’re too precious to cut yourself down just to please someone else.”

“Hyung, are you telling me… to tell someone?”

“I’m telling you to do the right thing. If you know the right thing is to tell the members and you take action, you will have to bear the consequences. I’m never for disobeying authority - especially PDnim because I know he tries to do the best for all of us - but if you feel burdened and like you have to mute yourself to keep your promise, then it’s not worth it. You should definitely talk to PDnim. I’m sure that he will understand. Maybe not today, though. Give him a night to think about it all. He might have not seemed surprised but it’s a huge change for him too. It’s a given that any impulsive decisions may need revision.”

“He should have been prepared for this day, especially if he knew about Jimin from the beginning.”

“Yeah, I agree. I think this decision just shows that PDnim is just human too. He made a mistake, just like you have in the past and still do. Also, ‘doing the right thing’ looks different through every person’s eyes so who knows how we would have decided to do things in his place.”

“I know.”

“Everyone needs room for learning. Do you still trust PDnim?”

“Of course. I know he will fight for us no matter what.”

“Then I don’t think you need to worry about the members.”

Namjoon nods and goes back to his food, forcing himself to just stop thinking about this issue. I’m not doing myself a favor if I overthink this. So he focuses on the food that’s before him. It’s really delicious, coating his tongue and all the tastebuds on it - but he can’t help but notice the taste of disappointment mixing in. What do I need? What am I looking for? Is it just support? Do I want pity? Advice? He chews, lets his eyes wander over all the other restaurant guests. Some seem happy, some are engrossed in the food or their friends. They all seem free of worry, even if just for the moment. I want my worries taken away. To be reassured.

“Hyung, can I call Jin-hyung?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Would you be mad at me if I told him?”

“Namjoon-ah. Do what you feel is right. You know I respect you.”

“Thank you, hyung.”

“Why do you want to tell Jin specifically?”

“Well, he’s the oldest so I guess he should know. Also, realistically speaking, Taehyungie and Jiminie are like, actual soulmates so I guess Tae would either figure it all out on his own or Jimin would tell him. Hobi is Jimin’s roommate so he can’t avoid noticing any significant changes about Jimin. And Kookie - Kookie is pretty observant about Jimin too whenever he doesn’t give him heart eyes. No, I think telling Jin-hyung makes the most sense. He feels responsible for the maknaes so I think he’d be the most upset about not being told - not because he’d feel left out but because he couldn’t have cared for Jimin the way he needs it.”

“You’re a good leader, Namjoon-ah. I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t make me blush, hyung. It’s just… strategy.”

“Mhm,” Sejin says, cheerfully winking.

Namjoon groans and rolls his eyes at the enthusiastic chuckling behind him. He finds a free table in a calmer part of the restaurant and takes out his phone. The window next to him comes with a good view on the wooden slope of a hill just behind the end of the parking lot.

For a moment, Namjoon tries to sort of soak up the freshness and calm from outside to reenergize himself for this serious talk with Jin. The green of the trees pulses with life, like a painting so fresh and excessive that the colors threaten to run down the canvas in a semblance of invigoration, and he sincerely wishes the city would look like that more often. Although the air outside is still hazy from the rain before, everything spreads out in a vivid picture in front of Namjoon. So beautiful.

The phone rings four times before Jin picks up. His voice is super groggy.

“Hello? Joon, that you?”

“Hi hyung,” Namjoon says softly, grateful for his hyung’s voice against his ear. So close, almost warm. “Where are you right now?”

“In bed.”

There’s rustling, probably blankets and pillows. Namjoon checks the time. It’s 2 pm. Typical Jin. No worries at all. “You won’t believe it, we’re at Kookie’s parents’ place and we stayed up late yesterday to play games with Kook’s brother. So I’m in the guest room and guess what?”

“What?”

“It’s the middle of the night, a light falls on my bed and I think it’s a ghost but it’s Kook standing in the doorway. Says he feels lonely without his hyungs so he comes to sleep with me instead of in his own bed. He’s been clinging to me like a monkey-“

There’s a deep groan of annoyance in the background and suddenly, slapping sounds.

“Are you fighting?”

Yelling, more rustling, the thump of a body hitting the floor. Namjoon can’t help but grin at the image of his bickering brothers even if he goes unheard. This normality feels good. This being together feels good. There’s laughter in the background, so loud and explosive Namjoon basically feels it spilling out of his phone. When he looks around to apologize for disrupting other restaurant guests, no one even looks his way. Jin laughs.

“Sorry, Namjoon-ah, there’s a noisy teenager next to me. You know how they get. Where were we?”

“Hyung, we didn’t even start talking…”

“Ah, right. Well, why are you calling? Is everything alright?”

“Um, define alright.”

Seokjin pauses. Namjoon knows he understands and he can already sense Jin’s answer coming.

“I can come back earlier, you know. It’s not a problem for me.”

“No, hyung, it’s fine. Sejin-hyung and I are dealing with everything, so it’s all good, I just wanted to tell you an imp-“

“Sejin-hyung is there!? He was on vacation! What happened, you little punk? There’s no way everything’s alright if you had to call Sejin-hyung!“

Oops, Namjoon’s brain helpfully provides. He clenches his jaw as Seokjin rambles on in the background, about how he’s gonna pack his suitcase and come right back and about Jimin and his sickness and everything - Namjoon feels his head ache.

“Namjoon-ah?”

Namjoon can’t focus. It’s as if something draws his gaze away from the creamy white tablecloth and the golden decorations and outside the window. They land on a little violet spot by the parked cars - a moving spot. It moves around a black car. Sejin’s car. The man wearing the violet - it’s a modern violet durumagi, a noble-looking Hanbok overcoat - is walking around Sejin’s car, looking inside. Namjoon freezes, doesn’t hear the restaurant, doesn’t hear Jin’s voice. Is that a stalker? Did he recognize our car? The man circles the car as if he expects a BTS member to sit inside of it and Namjoon feels a little sick. I hope he won’t come- the man looks at him. Their eyes meet. Time stops for a horrifying moment. Namjoon’s blood freezes, the trees pulse along with his heart, moving in on him with force. Like a fly in a spider’s net, he feels caught. He can’t move even if the eyes pierce through him as if they see into his soul or even beyond. Namjoon’s breath falters and he gasps when Sejin’s hand suddenly lands on his shoulder. He grasps it, needs the warmth to ground himself, to come back, to calm his soul. To find his sanity, possibly.

“Hey, sorry, it’s just me. Are you okay?”

Namjoon nods numbly, realizes that Jin is still on the phone, repeating his name.

“Jin-hyung?”

“Thank God you’re still there. What happened? You scared me.”

“I’ll call you back later, hyung. Don’t worry, okay? Sorry.”

When he hangs up and puts his phone back on the table with shaky hands, the man in the durumagi outside in the parking lot is gone.

“Are you alright? You look… you’re trembling.”

“Hyung, did you see the man outside? Just now?”

“The man?”

“He stood by your car. I think it might have been a stalker, hyung. Can we leave? I don’t feel safe.”

Sejin gives him an immediate reaction and Namjoon feels grateful for his hyung and manager who always takes him seriously if need be.

“Of course.”

“Hyung, he was so scary. He looked right at me.”

“I’ll ask if we can leave through the back. Come on.”

“Thank you.”

Together, they walk up to the waiter’s area. Namjoon doesn’t hear the conversation between Sejin and the kind waitress from before, only sees her eyes widening from the corner of his eye while he trains his gaze on the entrance of the restaurant. Just when he thinks he spots a a hunch of violet, Sejin’s hand on his lower back pushes him forward and he’s led through a door, they wait for a while, something rustles and a key clicks. Then, fresh air, a quick walk, Sejin’s car. When Sejin’s door closes and the motor turns on and the car starts rumbling, Namjoon feels the ice in his stomach start to melt. He can only start breathing again when they are off the parking lot.

“I’m sorry this happened,” Sejin says quietly. “I wanted you to have a great time.”

“Not your fault, hyung. People do what they want.”

“Yeah.”

The engine starts and Sejin begins to pull out of the parking lot. Namjoon keeps an eye on the area behind them just to see if the man in the violet durumagi appears again. Nothing. He sinks into his seat as they drive further away.

“I’ll take you to the perfect place. You’ll love it.”

“Okay.”

“It’s one of my favorite places in Seoul but you won’t expect it because I’ve never taken you there and you normally don’t ever go there.”

Namjoon feels numb. Sejin’s words kind of go through his ears but don’t find his brain. It’s been a while since something like this happened. He realizes that he’s holding a plastic bag in his hands, on his lap. Warmth seeps into his thighs.

“Are these…?”

“They insisted on giving us food for compensation.”

“It wasn't their fault.”

“They wished you and the members health and strength for the upcoming promotions, too.”

Namjoon nods, feeling tired. He puts his head against the window, lets his eyes jump from color to color, finding a home in the blur and allows himself to drift off.

“Wake up, we’re here.”

It’s a car wash street, the kind where you throw some coins into a coin slot, then park your car inside the washing tunnel and run out as fast as you can as soon as the lights turn on and the brushes come to life and the water starts to spray. Namjoon is not sure whether that’s really the so highly praised destination Sejin planned to go to to relax and be comforted or if he just decided to make a joke. (Or clean the car, for some reason.) On the other hand, it puts a check behind all the characteristics of the mystery location Sejin had revealed. A place you wouldn’t expect? check. A place you never go to? Check. Check, check, check. Now, Namjoon wouldn’t necessarily say that car wash street would be a place he’d ever want to be at, but if he knows anything after traveling half the world with his band mates and staff, it’s that it’s not the places you visit that count but the people you visit there with. So he smiles, allowing some childish giddiness to build up in his stomach at the surprise that Sejin has for him. Whatever it is.

“Let’s go, hyung. Show me what you had in mind.”

Sejin smiles and drives a little closer to the washing street. They wait until the car in front of them is done, which takes exactly one run-through of Zion T’s Eat on the radio and then, Sejin pays and slowly drives forward until the display in front of them tells them to stop.

“Do we run now, hyung?”

Namjoon feels a bit of adrenaline rush into his limbs when Sejin doesn’t look like he intends to move. And then the big big brushes around them begin to stir and Namjoon’s mind is telling him that it’s almost too late and that he should run now if he wants to make it out dry and Sejin just chuckles.

“Stay inside, relax. It’s time for the playlist,” he says and picks something on the car’s display. Soft music trails through the speakers, turned all the way up because the washing street is loud, Jimin’s voice singing Promise as angelically as possible and when the first drops of water hit the car, Namjoon’s heart stops for a second. It’s so nice, this calm feeling of safety that engulfs him when he watches more and more drops of water running down the windows. The warmth that’s in the car, even with the motor off and the lullaby fading. They are practically embedded in the music. It’s just a blessed togetherness with a friend he likes spending time with, a friend who comes up with the wildest ideas to give him comfort and a good time.

And even when the water hitting the car is less than a rain shower and more like a thrumming thunderstorm, Namjoon’s heart still jumps around with giddy leaps for the simple, childish sensation of being surrounded by water but not getting wet. Sejin also seems to have a good time, looking outside the windows with a fond smile and gently tapping the steering wheel with his fingers, matching the soft beats of Blue Side.

“Let’s finish eating,” he suggests then and really, that’s the only way to make this - whatever this is - better.

The paper bags around their little boxes rustle when they unwrap the food and with a warm fuzzy feeling, Namjoon realizes that this moment is special for Sejin too. Usually, the manager would not let anyone eat in his car (a habit from his time taking care of their official business cars), so this is clearly an exception he made for Namjoon.

“This is the coolest thing I’ve done in a long while,” Namjoon says after a few bites and feels like he should maybe pick up his old habit of writing a diary again. He doesn’t want to forget this.

“Let’s take a selfie, hyung.”

They do, and even after finishing their lunch, after watching the big brushes make way for smaller brushes to foam and shake their car, and after five more songs, the car wash street is still not done.

“Hyung, what kind of washing program did you buy? Will we be out before dinnertime?”

“Only the best for you,” Sejin grins. “You’re enjoying yourself, right? If not, we’ll go through again. This playlist is longer than you might think.”

“I am enjoying myself.”

“Good. I really wanted to distract you from everything. Are you relaxed?”

“Very.”

The moment is perfect, warm and content. As if it was meant to be. Namjoon feels his anxiety and all the stress of the day wash off along with the film of dirt on the car. It flows out of his line of vision and his soul is considerably lighter. Maybe we should do this more often.

“This is one of my favorite spots in the city,” Sejin reveals and checks the digital clock on the display, “and you’ll see why soon.”

The brushes recede to the sides of the tunnel and make way for the blow driers. It doesn’t take long for the display outside to start blinking again to signal that the ride is over soon. Sejin starts the motor and when the blinking display rises up, slowly revealing the exit before them, Sejin smiles.

“Look.”

Namjoon doesn’t immediately understand what Sejin wants him to see - but then it hits. The display rises up to reveal the horizon. The car street is built upon a little hill and from here, they can look down on a lower part of Seoul, gleaming in the golden light of the falling sun. It looks like an explosion of light, framed by the walls of the cr wash tunnel. It’s glorious, breathtaking even and Namjoon just stills, afraid to ruin the view with irrelevant thoughts. This is perfect. Just perfect.

The light reflects off the rain water that’s still lingering on the skyscraper’s plateau rooftops, the endless glass walls and even the airplanes taking off in the distance like rising diamonds. The massiveness of it all, the way it surrounds everything, the way it creates this feeling of being a witness of a majestic spectacle takes Namjoon’s breath away. Golden light floods the sky. The Han River looks like a serpent on fire. And this is just a goodbye for one night, so ordinary, almost meaningless. So beautiful.

Namjoon gasps. A fleck of violet moves in the corner of his eye.

“Also,” Taehyung’s soft voice sounds like a melody after the long, thoughtful break of silence in their room. Yeontan yawns and shakes his fur, looking fluffy. “Even if hitting the ground is painful and seems like it will break you apart, you’ll see that that’s exactly what it takes to create a rainbow. Being shattered can be beautiful too - if you keep letting the light shine through you. It will all be okay. That’s the comfort I want to give.”

And then the moment is gone, Namjoon doesn’t know how he got here, only that he feels floaty one moment, almost like he’s being pushed out of his body. It’s comparable to being lifted out of your seat the moment your plane lands and stutters along the landing strip. The next moment, he’s being shoved back in, feeling very weighty for second, like he somehow doesn’t really fit in his body. All of that happens at the same time with Sejin driving forward to exit the car wash, a white flash blinding Namjoon so strongly that he has to close his eyes lest they lose sight forever, and him wondering whether this is the famous light at the end of the tunnel that everyone’s talking about. Whether this is the end. He opens his eyes when the gleaming brightness recedes behind his eyelids, or rather, when he can’t see the the tiny veins in his eyelids anymore.

The sight before him takes his breath away. Where the car’s coachwork, the car wash brushes and sponges surrounded him before, thick trees now form an uneven circle around him and create a clearing. Namjoon sits in the middle of it, on the grass, hands in his lap, jacket softly flapping in the mild breeze. He can’t help but wonder how he got here, whether this is a dream, whether he just fell asleep after leaving the restaurant. When he reaches out to touch the grass, to just see if it’s real, he gasps. It’s very real and incredibly soft, softer than the grass in the little garden on top of BigHit’s office building. Little flowers sway under the sparkly rays of sun that manage to make their way through the treetops and birds hop around the branches of the trees while chirping animately. A butterfly lands on his knee and Namjoon is careful to stay still. After a few moments of taking rest, it flies off and Namjoon adores the tiny creature that had been so bold to land on him. Being so used to the city’s sharp edges and spaces devoid of color, being in nature always feels a little unreal, like something out of a dream. Not being able to recall how he got here just adds to the strange feeling.

Desperate to push the worrying second cycle of thoughts of where am I, what happened and what the heck away and keep his calm, Namjoon closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, tells himself not to worry, and deliberately tastes the forest air as it streams through his nose and across his tongue. He wills his heartbeat down, eager to drown in the serenity around him, even if there might be bigger issues at hand. It takes a few minutes to lose the fear, the confusion and the anxiety, but when he does, his body becomes light, almost like he’s floating.

Namjoon feels… embedded. Embedded in nature to a ridiculous degree, to an extent that he doesn’t normally experience in a forest, not even when he’s fully Namjooning, as the other members call it. It’s an amalgamated feeling, every inch of the woods around him part of the sensation. Everything pulses, everything vibrates, from the strands of grass brushing against his ankles to the bugs crawling over myriads of swaying leaves. And Namjoon finds himself in the center of it - not as the center, just interwoven into the net of reality, just a tiny, belatedly added piece in this complex throng of life pulses that flare up as soon as he inhales and settle when he exhales. He could lose himself in the pleasant buzzing that could be all around him just as well as it could be him, his cells, his body thrumming with life. He just knows he could lose himself in this too easily and too fast, there’s this little whirl of energy nudging him deep inside his mind, asking him silently whether he would like to stay here a little while longer, longer inside the whirlwind, if he would like to go deeper, deeper, deeper. And Namjoon isn’t afraid even if it seems a daunting invitation. He’s too overwhelmed to react, busy listening to the trees sway, the birds flap their wings, the clouds pass by. The calmness mixes with a sense of belonging, a belonging he still doesn’t feel all the way in their new apartment. This is a perfect place, he thinks.

He feels embedded, knows that this is a rare moment and that it’s a privilege to be here and experience this miracle melody of life. There’s only one other moment that feels like this - when the stage lift pushes him above the stage, the beat driving his blood forward and thousands of fans melting into him, when their screams align with his rap. Embedded. Namjoon wonders if he’s dreaming, if this rush he feels is just a product of his memories ganging up on him in his sleep.

Something rustles behind him and Namjoon turns around slowly. He finds that the shopping bags from the pet store have followed him into the woods. Only the shopping bags that had been his. What the heck? If I’m here and the shopping bags are too, shouldn’t Sejin be here as well? Is this some kind of… time travel or teleportation stuff? What is going on? His breath hitches as a new thought hits him. What if - what if someone took me here?

He watches one of the bags topple. There’s no wind. Suddenly, a little brown paw - hand? - appears behind the brown paper and Namjoon has to hold back a coo. A little animal with slightly wet fur rolls out of the paper bag, sniffing it. It looks like an otter. The only other time Namjoon has seen real otters was when he’d visited the zoo in Seoul with the members and back then, the otters had been in a water enclosure. This otter is not overly fluffy but the black twitching nose makes up for it in cuteness; Namjoon raises his hands to his mouth to not let out any sounds. And fails. Immediately, the otter looks up, big brown eyes staring at the strange invader in the clearing. Apparently, Namjoon doesn’t categorize as a threat, because the otter goes back to exploring the bag right away, squeaking and sniffling around. There’s more rustling and from his angle, Namjoon can only see a little sleek tail peeking out from the paper bag’s opening. Then, the otter seems to have found something of interest because it backs out, dragging the little twisted rope Namjoon had bought for Jimin.

Jimin. A tiny ripple of shock rocks through Namjoon. His eyes widen. He had almost forgotten. He might have almost sat here for the rest of the day, getting lost in the beauty of the woods and forgetting about his day - about all the drama - and what he had wanted to do. Is this an enchanted forest? It’s so… peaceful. He looks around, scans the area. Trees everywhere, the ground in between covered in lush grass, flowers and fallen leaves. In the distance, something glitters every now and then, and Namjoon realizes that the constant soft swishing sound in the air must come from a little pond or river. Somehow, now that he thinks about it, that same freshness carries in the air and it’s almost like Namjoon can feel the fresh water swirl in his lungs in a peaceful, refreshing way. It’s all he could dream of when he imagines a peaceful retreat. To be honest, he would love to come here with the members.

Suddenly, the otter startles with a squeak and flees when Namjoon stands up and wipes down his slightly wet jeans. When his eyes follow the cute animal, he stiffens. There’s a wolf standing just a couple of meters away. It’s big and grey, definitely a grown wolf. It takes one quick look to realize just how huge it is. It reaches up to Namjoon’s chest if he were to stand up - and it’s watching him intently. The gaze is so strong that Namjoon feels a lot like he’s been caught. Caught in the wolf’s territory. He doesn’t dare to move even as his heart pounds and his head tells him to run.

Namjoon knows, logically, that a wolf is a big predator with a tendency to be territorial and the ability to kill an adult without much effort. He knows that he should logically be afraid of it, maybe afraid enough to pee his pants, but it’s so damn hard to be afraid here in this warm-colored, sun kissed spot of forest that, in its essence, is so pure, so good. It reminds him of good things, of relaxation. Of home. Maybe it’s also because of the way the forest just buzzes on inside his mind as if the wolf hadn’t appeared, as if there was no reason to worry, no reason to stop the bubbly melody because the wolf simply wasn’t dangerous. Maybe it’s because of the knowledge that the forest has some kind of conscience and possibly an ability to judge between good and evil, or maybe just that the way the forest breathed and pulsed around him reminded Namjoon of all the books he’d read in his childhood. Books that had taught him about principles, about the order of things even if those books consisted of fictional characters and places. It somehow instilled trust in Namjoon, a trust that he thinks he had already extended towards the forest. The forest had accepted it from him. And now, the forest was offering it in return. He looks up to find that the wolf us mustering him still, probably not used to visitors on its terrain but it’s not a malevolent look. There’s no growling, no claws, no fangs or even the kind of bristling he’s usually get to see each time Monie met another dog she didn’t like, so Namjoon concludes that the wolf is just curious.

“Hi,” he says lamely, “I hope I’m not intruding. I don’t know where I am but I’ll leave if you want me to.”

Namjoon doesn’t know why he’s talking to an animal but he knows that animals do assess people and pick up on their mood and intentions based on their voices, so he just speaks. It feels natural, the forest’s buzzing picks up and little sparks appear in the melody, almost as if it was amused by their interaction.

He almost doesn’t flinch when a black wet nose prods his thighs, his shins and his hands. He doesn’t flinch when the wolf locks eyes with him and feelings of both being utterly vulnerable and fully accepted shoot through him like electric shocks. He feels - like he’s meeting one of his best friends. A quiet but wise friend, maybe a little like Yoongi.

Without a sound, the wolf turns and starts walking. A breathless Namjoon stands in his spot as if the ground under his two feel was holy. He stays until the wolf throws a look over its shoulder. Does it want me to follow?

Walking with a wolf, Namjoon comes to find out, is a very different feeling than walking with your own dog. Definitely. The wolf doesn’t stop a hundred times to sniff at every flower, every stone and every shrub to see if someone else has peed on it. The wolf also doesn’t feel the need to pee on all these things himself or pull on a leash to find more things that have been peed on. No, the wolf walks through the forest like it’s his kingdom revolving around him. Like he owns every centimeter of the land. Quietly. With pride and honor. The wolf oozes self-expression on a higher level, shows off its independent thinking and self-determined capabilities. Namjoon likes it. They stop at a pond. At first glance, it looks like any other pond or lake Namjoon has seen before. There’s clear, calm water surrounded by a shore packed with reeds and all kinds of water plants. He spots frogs on the wet earth and even a few fish in the water. The surface shows him his face, plain and normal, like any other mirror in the world would show. Perhaps its the soft water noises or just the visual of water that calls up feelings of thirst - Namjoon wants to lean down and scoop up some water in his hands but when the wolf next to him doesn’t make any move towards the water, almost as if he’s wary of it, Namjoon becomes suspicious.

“Is it drinkable?”

The wolf’s eyes aren’t focused on the water and instead scan the area. Maybe this isn’t a resting place. Maybe he’s patrolling the territory? Is this the outer edge maybe? Even if they just remain standing for a few minutes, a this deep sense of fateful belonging is in the air, almost like honey dripping down tree bark. The air is sweet and thick and Namjoon’s hand flies to his chest. Breathing becomes more difficult with time and he throws a worried glance at the wolf who remains stoic. Are we… supposed to die here? What is this? It almost feels like a relief of tension when the wolf suddenly shakes its fur. But not only that, it walks towards Namjoon and only then can he see the eyes of the wolf - dark, black has replaced the kind amber glow from before. What is happening? The wolf doesn’t seem any more threatening than before, just nudges Namjoon’s arm until he holds it up. What does it want?

A swoosh of air, then a dark body tunes out the light of the sun. Namjoon yelps when claws tear through his shirt and into the bare skin of his lower arm that suddenly has to carry a heavy weight. When he has gathered enough courage to open his eyes, he comes face to face with a raven. It’s black and sleek, gaze so piercing it almost hurts physically. It stares at Namjoon without blinking. What is it with these animals here? In a strange way, their eye contact is comfortable like a conversation between friends, with a certain familiarity, but the intensity of it just shatters that comfort completely. He’s captivated by the raven’s eyes. In the depths of his mind, he understands that his soul lays bare, that he’s practically naked before this creature. Every dream, every doubt, every fear, they all turn and twist inside of him, coming alive under the scrutiny of the attentive gaze. When he feels his body tense and shiver, physically unable to withstand the tension, Namjoon looks away.

His eyes fall on the pond, now mysteriously dark, reflecting the faraway blinking of stars. Is it night already? How long have I been here? The starlight shimmers like diamonds on the water whenever it moves. The sway of light almost seems melodic, almost audible. When he sees his image in the calm surface, it's... different than before. He sees himself and definitely recognizes himself but somehow, it's not what he normally looks like in a mirror. Namjoon thinks that it might just be the ethereal glow the moon and the stars cast on the pond but then, he sees something else in his eyes, a different kind of glow. Something that he's never seen before. If someone asked him to put this into a song, he has no idea what the lyrics could be. It's almost otherworldly. A few steps away, the wolf sits, watching the pond’s hypnotic view.

The raven walks a few steps closer towards Namjoon, gaze burning into the side of his head.

“What do you want, raven?”

Namjoon feels his lips move on their own.

“Reality,” the raven croaks. “Fragile. Guard it.”

It flies off with a whoosh and Namjoon follows the bird until it has passed the top of the trees. Maybe I would know where I was if I could fly. I could go home.

Before he has time to think about the raven, leaves rustle behind him. When Namjoon’s head turns toward the sound, he expects to see some other animal, or maybe that the otter has followed them. What he gets instead is a colorful burst of color on a tiny body. He blinks.

“Oh, Jiminie! Is that you?”

The cub just taps forward, head bobbing with every step as if it had become too heavy after wandering for so long. When it finally reaches his feet, it plops down into the grass with an exhausted chuffing sound. Namjoon can see its flank moving up and down with the cub’s breaths.

“How did you get here, baby?”

Did he really walk here all the way from the company building by himself? Perhaps the question would be easier to answer if he knew where exactly here is. He looks around, has never felt so disappointed by the sight of trees everywhere, then sits down in the grass.

“Did hyung take you here? Is hyung around, Jiminie? Did you get lost looking for me?”

The leopard cub’s fur is warm and damp under his fingers and he can’t help but scoop the little one up. He still doesn’t answer, doesn’t show signs of understanding and Namjoon figures that’s just the way it is. Jimin immediately snuggles deeper into the embrace, seeking the comfort and shelter and Namjoon holds his fingers out when the leopard’s little black nose starts snuffling around. Jimin doesn’t settle for his fingers and noses along Namjoon’s shirt until the human recalls the image of the baby cat snuggling into Yoongi’s neck. Is he looking for bare skin? With curiosity, Namjoon opens the upper button and exposes a collarbone. The leopard’s tail wiggles with excitement as the cub finds familiar scents on Namjoon’s skin. He squirms, blue eyes opening to sparkle as they find Namjoon’s face. He yips and yaps and makes little high-pitched noises that have Namjoon chuckling.

“Hey there,” he laughs, “hi baby. Hi. Yeah, hi. It’s me, yeah.”

When the cat calms down, lulled into safety by the warmth and scent and the familiar voice, Namjoon smiles. “Should we go looking for hyung?”

He holds his breath when the wolf steps closer, just reaching down to sniff the cub throroughly. The big head is almost leaning against Namjoon’s chest and he can smell the typical scent of dog and woods on the big animal. Jimin squeaks when the big nose rubs over his fur instead of fingers and his tail shakes but he’s brave, enduring the bigger animal’s curiosity. Namjoon is aware that this whole thing is absolutely ridiculous. It doesn’t make sense at all that he teleported into the woods slash got abandoned with amnesia, that he follows a wolf and that Jimin just appears out of nowhere. He feels like he’s missing more than one piece of information.

I only remember sitting in the car with hyung and the next moment… I was here in the woods. Or did I wake up? Did I fall asleep? Is this a dream? Was I unconscious and maybe… Sejin-hyung took me here? Was maybe the car wash a dream and this is where he wanted to go? But if Jimin is here - doesn’t that mean that someone came looking for me? Like, I was missing and they decided to search for me and Suga-hyung and Jimin came close and they just lost Jimin but he ended up finding me? He freezes. What if this is a magic forest and I lost track of time and weeks have passed? What if all the members are back and looking for me too? It’s all confusing and every speculation Namjoon comes up with feels incomplete and unsatisfying. Whatever, he tells himself, we’ll find Suga-hyung and he can explain everything that’s going on.

The wolf seems to be satisfied with smelling Jimin, so it just walks off as if there’s nothing more to stay here for, warm amber eyes and serene personality. They walk for what feels like an hour, thinking hard, dodging trees, passing caves (some are decorated with lanterns, some are not), another pond. Jimin falls asleep quickly in Namjoon’s arms. At this point, Namjoon has decided that he’s either a) hallucinating, b) on drugs and hallucinating, c) having the weirdest dream of his life or d) trapped in a children’s fairy tale for some disturbing reason. He’s decided that all the things that have happened don’t really makes sense and that even the wolf seems too… much like a book character to be real. He notices a few scars on the wolf’s flank and on his legs and figures that the wolf must have fought with some other animal to get them but they don’t look vicious. Somehow, they look like they are meant to be there, like the wolf is aware of them and carrying them with a certain pride. This wolf is the kind of animal that would be given a series of touching children’s movies, leading a lost human through the woods on a powerful journey to - just to where? That’s the thing Namjoon has been trying to wrap his head around for the last half an hour. It doesn’t come to him.

A growl leaves the wolf’s throat when Namjoon walks into it and makes him retract his earlier thoughts about the wolf. Makes him realize that this is still a wild animal despite the calm appearance and that the wild animal has stopped walking and also warned him to not run into it again. To keep his distance. To respect its boundaries. When Namjoon looks away from the sleek grey body against the knee-high ferns and wild flowers growing everywhere, he automatically freezes. A stunning light-brown stag is grazing in front of them, all alone and almost glowing in the sunlight slipping through the treetops. It owns a majestic pair of antlers - majestic in both size and form, covered by the fine sort of fur that make them look soft like velvet. When it looks up, Namjoon stumbles a step back, tiny in front of the huge animal. Even breathing - breathing feels like a mercy in front of this animal, like he’s only able to breathe because he’s been allowed to. Namjoon thinks he prefers the wolf as a walking companion - until the deer’s deep brown eyes focus on him and Namjoon’s world begins to spin.

Like magic, pieces of memories start to flit through his mind, recollections of old days and new days, of forgotten moments and forlorn ideas. A youthful looking Jin appears in front of his inner eye, dressed in crappy t-shirts that they would all laugh about fondly now. Memory-Jin shoos Namjoon out of their crappy little makeshift kitchen after letting him wash cabbage and resumes cooking for the members. A hard-faced Yoongi who is stuck with writer’s block for a whole week, a depressed Yoongi in front of a tauntingly empty fridge. Hoseok, holding a pair of smelly sneakers (his sole pair at the time) to his chest as he packs his bags quickly before they leave for some tv program shooting. Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook, all crying quietly under one shared blankets on Chuseok, Christmas and New Year’s because it’s the third year in a row that they can’t visit their families to spend the holidays with them. The way every hyung’s heart breaks at the sound that their thin apartment walls can’t block. A hundred memories flash by, too fast to really stick but not fast enough to not make emotion swell like a tsunami wave. He’s on his knees, he notices though wet eyes, Jimin no longer in his arms. Namjoon just wishes the stag would stop looking at him. In this beautiful place, it doesn’t seem fitting to think about all these memories again - all the bad, painful memories buried underneath the glory of the payoff, of the success, the luxuries.

But the stag doesn’t. Instead, it comes closer and closer until its warm breath falls on Namjoon’s chest and collarbones and it feels like the overflow of memories will burst Namjoon’s heart. The big deer musters him like it can feel all of this too, like these are all pieces of a shared photo album, like the stag cherishes them deeply. The warm nudge of its snout against his cheek feels like a whole embrace and Namjoon shudders. In a weird, cathartic way, he wishes he could just burst.

Suddenly, a shock goes through the stag. It jumps away in fright, letting Namjoon fall to the ground.

“What’s going on?”

To his right, he sees the wolf, poised and full of tension, looking somewhere between the trees and nudging Jimin under its belly. Namjoon can’t see anything. Jimin’s ears point to the same direction as the wolf’s ears. What did they hear?

“Dokkaebi,” the raven croaks from one of the trees. It must have come back when I saw my memories. It croons, “don’t cry, moonchild, don’t cry. It’s fate, don’t cry.”

Namjoon can’t wrap his head around the ominous words. He knows what a Dokkaebi is, obviously, but the rests sounds like it’s some fantasy novel- prophecy type shit. He really hopes that nothing bad will happen. Dokkaebis are good, aren’t they?

The wolf and the stag apparently believe that something bad will happen because the wolf looks even more tense than before, fangs peeking out and eyes wary. The stag walks around to keep an eye on all of their surroundings, hooves scratching up the ground every now and then. Neither makes Namjoon’s racing heart calm down. What’s happening? Should we hide?

“Listen, Namjoon-ah,” the wolf interrupts his self-talk, “I’m sorry to say this but we can’t really do much against a Dokkaebi. You need to remembers this: This is your Essence, your bokjil. Nothing can happen here if you don’t let it. Do you understand?”

He pauses, eyes dark. Namjoon’s head is full of confusion. What the hell is my Essence? Why does it feel like we’re seconds away from going into battle?

“You-you can talk as well?”

“Do you understand?”

“No,” he presses out between tight lips, feeling immensely frustrated by now. In a way, he feels in awe of the wolf’s wise eyes and he doesn’t want to fling all his sorrows on the elegant creature but it just bubbles out of him. “No, I don’t understand anything! From the beginning till now I have not understood one damn thing this whole day. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know how to find my hyungs, I don’t know why I can understand you-“

The wolf growls. Namjoon’s mouth snaps shut immediately.

“This is not the time for whining, pup. Clear your head. Remember, we are here and we will help you as much as we can but there’s a damn Dokkaebi on his way to see you and that’s not good news. Dokkaebis are powerful tricksters. Don’t believe everything you see. I don’t know what he’s here for but he’ll try to get into your head. Don’t agree to anything he propos-“

“How rude, wolf. Don’t judge a whole species for a few individuals’ actions,” a new voice speaks and Namjoon doesn’t want to look but he has to. His eyes widen. Violet durumagi. That’s the Dokkaebi!?

“You! You’re the stalker from before!”

The guy frowns and lets out an indignant huff. He notices the wolf softly biting Jimin’s neck and carrying the cub a little further away, obviously not wanting him to be anywhere near the stranger.

“Stalker!? I’m not a stalker. Do you really think I’d be chasing you all over Seoul for my own entertainment? I’m not crazy. I get paid for this, thank you very much.”

It’s Namjoon’s turn to frown because that… is not less concerning in any way.

“Paid? Are you a paparazzi then?”

“Are you kidding? I was sent by the MMA committee.”

The MMA? What do the Melon Music Awards want now? Is this just a misunderstanding?

“Then why are you coming to me? Just call our CEO. He always helps if there is something wrong about the logistics or the shows.”

The man furrows his eyebrows.

“Are you an idiot? What shows are you talking about?”

Okay, rude, Namjoon thinks. Every word this guy says is just plain rude and he has to remind himself to remain calm and collected, to not show any insecurity. It certainly doesn’t make sense for anyone from the MMA’s to come to the artists themselves to ask them about anything - that’s solely the management team’s task. So Namjoon remains wary of this guy. After all, the animals had also fled from the clearing and animals’ instincts are seldom wrong.

“I’m talking about our next show in December? I mean, it’s still a really long time until then, but if you’re already planning, I can just call PDnim and we can figure out-“

“We already talked to your PDnim and scheduled a meeting. That was this morning.”

“Okay, hold on. What does MMA stand for?”

“Magistrate of Magical Affairs, of course. I’m your case worker and I need to ask you a few questions about Park Jimin and his environment that I hope you will answer truthfully. Of course, our AMI already collected quite an amount of data but like any other UI, she’s not perfect.”

That hope sounds more like a threat. The wolf growls.

”Let’s sit down, Namjoon-ssi.”

A dark mahogany table materializes out of nowhere, joined by two chairs, one on either side of it. Namjoon sits down, not ready to have a conversation about all this stuff again. He just wants to go home. I hope they are not freaking out about me. Jimin’s legs and his tail twitch as he sits, looking to Namjoon from between the wolf and the stag. He already wonders how he’s going to explain everything that happened to Jimin when he finally shifts back.

“I suppose that’s Park Jimin.”

“Yes.”

Papers appear on the table. They look like official forms. Upside down, Namjoon can’t read much of it. Before the Dokkaebi can start asking stuff, a thought shoots through Namjoon’s mind.

“Alright, first question. Who is Park Jimin living with right now?”

“With me and five other guys.”

“Does he have close contact to his parents? Does he see them often? Do they come over?”

“No, that’s not possible. They talk to each other on the phone, though.”

The Dokkaebi writes something down. He remembers his conversation with PDnim and hopes that it’s not a bad thing that Jimin doesn’t get to see his parents much even though he has a feeling that it is.

“Since when has Park Jimin been living with you?”

“We moved together in 2012.”

“I see. Are there children in your household?”

Namjoon almost says Yes but then realizes that officially, Jungkook is not a child anymore. Neither is Seokjin. So he says, “No. We’re all adults. Responsible adults.”

The other man raises a brow but ticks a box on the paper.

Namjoon almost chokes.

“Have any of you ever had a cat?”

“Not that I know of. One of the members grew up on a farm, so I suppose there were cats around. Does that count?”

“If you would guess in percent, how much time of the day do you spend at home?”

Namjoon sinks a bit deeper in his chair. Be honest, he tells himself. Honestly always wins in the long run.

“10? 10 percent of the day, maybe 15 if we’re lucky?”

“That’s a very low percentage.”

“Our schedule is very busy currently.”

“Will that change in the foreseeable future?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You do realize that even though cats can be left at home, they do need a lot of stimulation and effort, yes? Especially when they are so young.”

“I want to take him along to work.”

“That is… ambitious. Is your workplace a cat-friendly environment?”

Not… really. The studio maybe. An arena full of people? Jimin would stay backstage. Tannie had managed. Namjoon nods confidently.

“We could make it one.”

That sounds more like a question than a statement and Namjoon hopes that it won’t come across as insecurity. Because he knows that PDnim would do anything to enable Jimin to live his life normally with the others wherever he goes - despite his handicap.

“That’s not enough. According to the first and the fourth book of the MMA’s additions to the Civil Code, the Magistrate is legally required to assign a qualified caregiver with every Type-3 shapeshifter or hybrid if their parents or further relatives are either absent or physically, mentally or otherwise unable to raise the child in all aspects. This is the law. You know, most people are happy to hear that someone else helps them with raising a shifter.”

“Most people don’t value what they have until it’s too late.”

“Do you even know what raising a shifter means? What happens when a shifter like your friend grows up, when his instincts tell him to hunt and kill? What do you do then?”

“I will do whatever I can.”

“And that’s what they all think. Until their shifter child kills the pet. By accident. Until their child attacks the neighbor, a sibling, the parents themselves. That’s what the training is for. They need to be taught how to live from the youngest age possible.”

“And you think I can’t do that?”

“I’m just offering you the best options available.”

“But you don’t get to say what’s best for a person you don’t even know. Yes, maybe I don’t have much experience with shifters, but-“

“Exactly, you don’t. The magistrate has done this since mid-Joseon times so I think we do know pretty well what’s best for your shifter friend.”

“That’s bullshit. That logic only applies if you think that this is a task on your schedule. But this is about a person. Park Jimin is a person. And you don’t even get one thing to say about what’s best for him. Firstly, you have never even met him before, let alone asked him about what he thinks about this.”

“And you have? How, if he’s been like this for days now.”

“I have not but I will as soon as he shifts back. Until then, I will decide in his place, but I will never undermine his autonomy as a human person like you just did. Secondly, if you boast about the Magistrate taking care so well of every shifter and hybrid in the country, how come the Magistrate didn’t have Jimin or even his parents in the registry until now? Shouldn’t you have known about him?”

“Well, we didn’t- I mean, before AMI alerted us, there were no signs-“

“I don’t trust you. Jimin shifted and suddenly, you barge into our lives, saying Jimin should come with you every time he shifts. Maybe there is a reason Jimin wasn’t in your registry. Maybe his parents didn’t trust you either. Either way, I can’t consent to your proposition.”

“It’s not a proposition.”

“Without my consent, it’s nothing at all.”

“Tell me, Namjoon-ssi, have you met other shifters or even hybrids so far?”

Namjoon thinks that he must have, if so many people of the community hide their real identities. He must have walked past so many shifters and hybrids on the sidewalk, brushed past their shoulders, bumped into them in an elevator, in a crowd, anywhere. But he doesn’t remember just because he didn’t know back then. There’s just one hybrid he remembers. Jackson.

“Yeah, I have.”

“Did they seem animalistic?”

Just as always, Jackson had been friendly and sociable, with open laughter and a warm hug. Had he not revealed his dog ears and his silver tail, Namjoon would have probably never found out about his hidden identity despite being his best friend. From the corner of his eyes, he sees something moving.

“No. He seemed - just like I knew him. Human.”

“He did, didn’t he? He must have gone through proper training by either his parents or a mentor. Shifters and hybrids can’t afford to be found out and ostracized, so they train to overcome their instincts. Their instincts are overwhelming when they are young and they need to learn how to act like humans.”

That’s messed up, Namjoon thinks, but figures that it’s necessary to survive without trouble in the cruel human world. He sees Jimin waddling over to him.

“Do you understand what might happen to Jimin if he doesn’t receive training? How it could harm not just the people around him but him, too?”

It’s a fair point, Namjoon has to admit. He can’t imagine how Jimin would feel and think of himself if he killed someone or something else. If he even hurt someone just because he couldn’t control himself. Suddenly, Namjoon remembers his first months (scratch that, make it years) in dancing, how his limbs weren’t graceful, his movements weren’t controlled. Of course, seeing it on Hobi or Jimin was clear and the idea of replicating it exactly was simple, but whenever he tired, he couldn’t do it even if he could envision it perfectly. Until a certain point, his limbs were flapping around and it was impossible to make them cooperate. Is that what it would be like for Jimin? Namjoon knows how much Jimin hates losing control. This would be his worst nightmare, probably.

The Dokkaebi seems to take his silence for doubt or hesitance, apparently, because before Jimin can reach Namjoon’s chair, the man reaches for the cub and holds it up by the neck. Without any warning, he shoves two fingers into the cub’s mouth. Taken by surprise, Jimin squirms and tries to wiggle out of the firm grasp but the man just continues to pry his little jaws open.

“See these fangs? They’re made for meat, specifically for tearing into it.”

Jimin whines so loudly that Namjoon has to really contain himself. He can’t bear to see his brother being treated like that. His knuckles are white with the force of his fists. The Dokkaebi just goes on.

“It’s is still young but once he’s grown these jaws will be strong enough to drag a fully grown antelope up a tree.”

“Let go,” Namjoon says, “he doesn’t like it.”

The Dokkaebi shrugs, the golden emblems of his durumagi gleaming in the sun.

“It doesn’t like me, I don’t like it. It’s mutual loathing. What I care about is what it likes. Did you know that feral predators don’t discriminate? Any living creature becomes meat, even humans.”

I don’t like you either, Namjoon thinks grimly. Jimin really struggles, tiny paws pushing against the hands holding him, head twisting this direction and the other. He can’t get away and hisses. Namjoon leans over the table.

“Let him go. He’s still a person and he deserves respect.”

The Dokkaebi’s eyes sparkle darkly as if he had just waited for Namjoon to say that. He lets go of the kitten’s jaw but keeps holding it firmly, hand moving to Jimin’s neck to paralyze him. His voice is deep and daunting.

“And will he still deserve respect when he’s grown and turned into a wild beast just because you’re too sentimental to send him away to train?”

Filled with anger, Namjoon glares at the man in Hanbok. But his eyes are drawn somewhere else. The mahogany table disappears, the chairs disappear, Namjoon plops on his butt, while the Dokkaebi just takes a few steps back. Something shimmers in the air beside the Dokkaebi, almost like a fire’s flying sparks being drawn into one shape. Namjoon gasps when it takes form - a fully grown leopard materializes right in front of him. Its massive body looks huge in comparison to Jimin’s kitten body, it would tower over him were the little one on the ground. Even though the leopard only reaches the Dokkaebi’s bellybutton at most, its presence is overwhelming. As if the whole forest vibrates in simultaneous fear and awe of this one creature, as if it feels the low buzzing of danger joining the life-filled and cheerful pulsing of the woods. Namjoon’s back thumps against rough bark and he realizes he’s been walking backwards. The moment the leopard takes its first breath, the forest’s melody collapses. Namjoon almost chokes at the sudden disarray, the jumbled notes clashing into each other like cars on the wrong side of the street. They seem jagged and lost like they can’t remember their tempo, their placement or even their key and instead, they jump around and create chaos. It reminds Namjoon of a drowning person who is making the most dreadful noises humanly possible before realizing there is no saving because the screams for help are swallowed by the waves all around. It’s ugly and raw and if Namjoon would be sent a melody like this for a song, he wouldn’t even try to fix it.

His stomach drops and his blood freezes, suddenly unable to maintain a steady flow as his heart begins to pound heavily, The blood rush in his ears does nothing to drown out the low tones of danger building up with every step the leopard takes forward. While he frantically weighs the probability of success of running and simultaneously takes careful steps backwards, the notes how much darker the forest looks now. At first, he doesn’t think it could be due to the new predator whose own threatening melody intimidates the forest into a frantic arrhythmia - the sunlight still flickers through the treetops - but then the leopard steps into the center of the clearing. There’s a dark aura around the cat - an inverted glow, as if it was drawing all the light from the atmosphere and keeping it locked away in itself.

Namjoon breathes heavily already, without having run an inch. The adult leopard stands still, steadily breathing, chest moving, ears twitching to capture every sound, tail resting low. He looks like a sharp dog waiting for a command. Namjoon really wishes that none would be given, that they could just keep their distance and be fine. Don’t move, he thinks. And then, at one twitch of the Dokkaebi’s eyebrows, the leopard takes another step.

“Will you still think that a beast like this should be given respect? When it discovers that it’s born to be a hunter? A killer?”

Namjoon’s eyes widen when his eyes meet the leopard’s, when the amber lights in them go dark like the darkness swallowing up a long forgotten candle’s last flame.

“When it realizes that fresh meat is better than whatever crap they mix together in those pet stores?”

The grass is silent under the leopard’s paws. Its muscles move elegantly under the beautiful rosetted fur of the vicious cat. The perfect killing machine, a documentary narrator had explained Stealthy, skillful and merciless. Namjoon’s heart pounds frantically. He thinks of running. His mind short-circuits. He runs.

Almost immediately, a body knocks into him, brutally pressing him into the ground. Everything goes dark with the collision. Namjoon groans, has difficulty estimating the degree of his injury. All he feels is pain. When he opens his eyes again, the leopard bares his fangs right in front of his face. He’s trapped. Trapped underneath the perfect killing machine. All the dead prey he’s seen in the documentaries flashes by his eyes. He whimpers, can’t believe he’ll just become another piece of prey. Leopards mostly go for the throat. They paralyze their prey with a forceful bite, then go for the kill. Namjoon’s hands go for his throat in a feeble attempt to shield it. He’s not sure if it’s smart or even any protection at all.

“When they discover that they crave the taste of blood?”

Blood. Namjoon weakly realizes the there’s blood dripping from the leopard’s jaw and snout. He chokes, feels his body spasm against his will. When the leopard leans in, face coming closer and closer, Namjoon’s hands shoot out to hold him away, to press the cat’s face away. Fear drives a stake into his heart when dark red drops roll down his wrists, his arms. His entire hands are covered in blood, so much blood that it can’t possibly come from the cat’s fur. Am I bleeding? Tentatively, Namjoon feels around his throat again. It’s wet, everything is wet. Blood in massive amounts. He shudders, fighting the way his lungs constrict and burn. A flash-like memory pushes its way into Namjoon’s inner eye like a cold slithering tendril before he can defend himself from the intrusion. Images flash. From a third perspective, he watches himself on the ground and the leopard caging him in. He watches the leopard’s furious lunge and the way its jaw closes around his throat, the way blood blubbers forth as if he were a fresh spring coming to life. The leopard bites until the flesh is bloody and raw, an open wound. The precursor to a powerful death. The leopard growls and Namjoon is ripped out of the vision which he understands to be the Dokkaebi’s point of view.

“Do you still think a beast like that deserves respect when the first victim dies? When they bleed out in your arms?”

Namjoon can’t stop choking violently, can’t breathe, can’t focus. The leopard still or perhaps again has its massive fangs in his flesh like a vice grip, unrelenting and unbeatable and Namjoon’s vision blurs a little. With the blood loss comes freezing coldness. Panic sets in slowly but sinks deeper with every moment. Am I really dying? Am I dying? Again, the leopard rams its fangs into Namjoon’s throat, rattling his entire body. When his head lolls to the side, grey fur moves in front of his eyes. He hears a voice. Dokkaebis are powerful tricksters. Don’t believe everything you see. This is your Essence, your bokjil. Nothing can happen here if you don’t let it. Do you understand?

Is this… an illusion? As Namjoon tries to push the leopard off, his hands drive deep into the fur. The cat pulls off, growling like hell. There’s a long moment the leopard and the boy stare into each other’s eyes. Namjoon feels his own heartbeat pulse through his open flesh in hot, painful surges. Thump, thump, thump. Then - realization. He stares at his fingers, then at the wild cat. His hands are buried deep into the fur, so deep he can feel the outline of bone against his skin. The cat’s chest is pressed against his as it presses him into the ground. And yet. No heartbeat. The leopard has no heartbeat. It’s an illusion. The knowledge explodes like a bomb inside Namjoon’s mind, inside his body.

“You’re not real,” he gasps, almost laughing in relief. As if he’s opened the door to a dark room, clarity and light flood everything. The blur in his vision disappears, all the pain just vanishes in one go, so quickly that Namjoon almost feels floaty. The pressure on his throat disappears, Namjoon can think straight. Even the leopard disappears like it was never there. He feels his throat. No blood, just smooth skin. The sensation is surreal after being caught in the the cruel illusion. Namjoon sits up. He’s exhausted even if he’s fine. I want to go home, he thinks.

When his eyes fall on the Dokkaebi holding a whimpering Jimin down, he swallows. You can do this. This is not about you. This is about Jimin, and you’ll do anything you can to protect him. He trusts you. This Dokkaebi is just trying to intimidate me. The wolf right next to him, radiating a comforting warmth. I am not alone.

“I said, let go of Jimin.”

The cub starts running as soon as the hands leave his fur and he tucks into Namjoon immediately.

“Shhhh,” he whispers, rubbing the little one’s head, “it’s alright. I’m here, I’m okay, see? Shhhhh.”

He lets Jimin sniff around as much as he wants, the cub desperate to be comforted by a familiar scent.

“I will respect Jimin no matter what happens. I will respect his wishes and not decide over his head. Every person needs to be respected, everyone. Lack of respect and love are what turns people into psychos, not lack of training. Not even shifters.”

“I don’t think you understand. If you don’t choose for him today, I am authorized to take Park Jimin in custody until his trial ends. The mere fact that he’s lived as an unregistered shifter for so long needs to be investigated. After that, he will be sent to the Academy either way.”

“And how is that respecting his human rights?”

The Dokkaebi smiles.

“But he’s not human, is he? Human rights don’t apply to him, smartass. He’s a shifter. It’s time for you to understand what that means.”

That’s a crass way of saying it but it really hits Namjoon. That can’t be true… right?

“So… we need to find a trainer for him to be able to keep him?”

“We as the MMA offer classes at our very own Academy to guarantee professional supervision and a guided training period. Since you are VIP clients, we would only charge you half the tuition fees and make sure Jimin receives upgraded treatment there.”

“There?”

“The closest Academy campus is located outside of Seoul, in the mountains and woods of Gapyeong-gun.”

“What! Why is it so far away?”

Gapyeong-gun isn’t too far outside of Seoul but it’s difficult to get there by car. Public transport is even worse. Namjoon knows it means they wouldn’t be able to see Jimin much anymore - driving to school, being there for class and driving home in the afternoon would already take more than half of the day. He’s gonna miss early dance practice, vocal training and a lot of interviews, Namjoon thinks.

“With over 500 students of all kinds of genetic denominations, it’s slightly difficult to find a fitting environment to meet every student’s needs in Seoul, Namjoon-ssi. The Academy is in the woods to grant space, freedom and anonymity.”

“I see… but we can’t drive up there every time Jimin has class.”

“Oh, I think there might be a misunderstanding… the Academy is similar to a boarding school. He would stay there for his entire study period.”

That means - we won’t see Jimin at all? Or just a couple of days per semester? On the weekends? Assuming the Academy even allows students to receive visitors.

“No. Jimin can’t just leave for a semester. Do they have online classes?”

“Online classes are not practical, Namjoon-ssi. Young shifters require hands-on training, not theoretical teaching.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“Is there no way one of those mentors would come to us to train Jimin?”

“Unfortunately, they are always short on staff so that won’t be an option. Unless you find a private tutor with a Caregiver and Mentoring Certificate, Jimin will have to attend school like anyone else.”

From some corner of his mind, Namjoon hears Bang Sihyuk’s voice. No one can know.

“That’s not an option,” Namjoon says. “On so many levels.”

“It’s the law.”

Namjoon breathes. He doesn’t know what he expected from the day when he put his feet on the carpet by his bed for the first time this morning, but it wasn’t this. The Dokkaebi’s eyes bore into Namjoon’s face, he can feel it.

“Are you perhaps… suggesting I break the law?”

The atrocity of the phrase makes Namjoon’s head snap up.

“Of course not,” he snaps, then, calmer, because he’s not a snappy person and he reminds himself of all the people he represents, “of course not.”

I will not allow scandals, Bang PD had once said. If any of you see any of the others or even a staff member do something illegal or even consider doing something illegal, we’re gonna have a long talk. I know you boys by heart. You’re kind, hardworking and talented. I will do anything in my power to support you but I will never enable people to abuse their position.

“You had me worried there, Namjoon-ssi. For a second.”

“I’m just saying that there are two things that cannot happen no matter how we turn it. Jimin can’t go to the Academy. And he can’t go without training. We need to find another solution. I trust you to find a different way.”

It’s this point that Namjoon fears. Because he has no idea about the MMA’s bureaucracy, about the rules or the law. He doesn’t want to engage in illegal activities. But he can’t not leave everything up to fate or luck either, and this is where he needs the Dokkaebi’s honest help.

“Well, there are other ways…”

“Which are?”

“Expensive ways.”

He hopes it doesn’t involve corruption but he feels like a gangster with his next words.

“Money is not an issue.”

“Money!? Are you really offering me money? That’s a weak currency.”

“Real estate?”

“Do I look like I need real estate?”

“What then? Business shares?”

“I’m not greedy.”

“Well, what is it?

“You know, some creatures thirst to feed on your emotions, your dreams, even your blood. They love the taste of a conflicted soul. But I am not that cruel. I wouldn’t even dare to suggest such crude things-“

“Get to the point. What do you want?”

“Your soul.”

The forests still before the Dokkaebi’s lips press closed. As if under a spell, even the clouds draw together and the menacing darkness in the Dokkaebi’s eyes falls over the clearing. Namjoon shivers, feeling cold, feeling tiny, feeling empty. For the first time of his life, he understands that he’s sharing a table with a predator. From this distance, running won’t make a difference, not when the forest obeys the powerful man in Hanbok; begging won’t change a thing, not when Namjoon’s chair’s armrests are chilling and rough like a cage’s bars. No, Namjoon has only his words and he knows he needs to put them in the perfect order to find the one way to get out of this situation unharmed. From the corner of his eye, he notices the deer and the wolf, helpless onlookers by the misguided force of his own lips. They look sad, fur no longer shiny in this low light, heads no longer held high in this awful suffocating silence. As if their souls had been drawn out of them with the threat of Namjoon’s loss.

“The way I see this,” Namjoon reiterates, slowly, praying to breathe life back into the forest with his warm voice. There’s still hope, he reassures himself. I have many words. Words are my playground. No reason to despair yet. “It’s a bargain, yes? We will bargain.”

“I am not a monster,” the Dokkaebi says. Namjoon can’t tell whether that’s supposed to reassure him. He takes it as an affirmation when the man waves his hand, signaling him to start.

“First of all, what do you want my soul for?“

“Is that really your biggest concern?”

“Of course. I will not agree to anything if I don’t know what will happen to my soul. Let’s be honest to each other.”

“Honest, hm?”

All books and films and stories aside, there’s not many occasions Namjoon has heard people even mention their soul or anything related to it. There’s no way of knowing what a soul means in this world of super natural creatures, the value it has, if it’s different for the different creatures. What you can do with a soul. So yes, even if he has to argue and talk his mouth off for hours, he insists on knowing every little detail he can get. He is aware, of course, that any information the Dokkaebi shares could be a lie, but Namjoon has seen liars before, knows some signs of it. Knows he won’t let others do just anything to him.

The Dokkaebi’s face pulls into a smile that so… heavy that Namjoon isn’t sure what to make of it. From the dark look in the man’s eyes, the gaze that he directs at his own hands, he dares to believe that smile is not meant for him.

“Do you know how people turn into Dokkaebis?”

Namjoon has to reign in his mind to not think about the tv show and instead rake his memories for old tales that he may have been told by his grandmother or other elderly from his neighborhood when he was young. All the Korean books he’s read in his youth. Nothing helpful pops up.

“I’m not sure… you die with a sword in your chest?”

The wooden table aches with the forceful slam of the Dokkaebi’s hand. Namjoon flinches, pants, hopes to never see anyone scowl at him again like that.

“Do I look like frickin’ Gong Yoo!? Frickin’ Koreans - has this entire nation watched that show!?”

A bead of sweat trails down Namjoon’s neck. He fiddles with the ring on his finger, shrugging.

“It was a good show. Funny, too.”

“Nothing about being a Dokkaebi is funny. It’s a curse,” the Dokkaebi growls as he tugs his durumagi sleeve back into place. “Just like this atrocity.”

Honestly, there’s not many Hanboks Namjoon has seen in real life with authentic golden emblems sewn into it - the kind that a king would wear in a drama. This durumagi must have either belonged to royalty before (but it doesn’t look very old) or been exclusively tailored for this man because there’s no way that he could have gotten this in a normal Hanbok store. It kind of reminds Namjoon of their 2017 MAMA outfits. This must have been expensive, too. Too expensive for a random foreigner with no regards for Korean culture to spend money on. Why did he get a Hanbok overcoat like this if he doesn’t even like it?

“Cruel of God to put me into this for all eternity, isn’t it? The garb I was butchered in.”

As if a hole is torn into reality, Namjoon’s strained but collected vision is directed towards the Dokkaebi’s stomach where blood starts to flow into the fine fabric with shocking vigor. Namjoon almost stumbles backwards in his seat, the chair creaking as he leans back, his mind telling him to get away, get away. Even the scent of blood is out to shock him. It stings in his nose, as if to show him how real it is. No wound is visible behind the slashed textile but Namjoon is sure that he wouldn’t be able to look at it anyway. This is already crass enough. Jimin seems to smell the blood too, raising his head and sniffling the air. Namjoon does his best to placate him with kind caresses and a slight push for him to stay down, to lie back down and sleep.

“Ugly, isn’t it?”

He should have notices the teasing tone of the Dokkaebi. Should have noticed, well, everything around the blood. Should have noticed. Because when he looks at the Dokkaebi’s face, another layer of reality has been torn away. He feels bile force its way up his throat, feels terror claw into him. In the chair across the table sits the body of a young man, shape and visage so unrecognizable it might have been a different person altogether. A cold breeze rushes through the trees around them, shaking the powerless leaves around as it likes.

The disgusting taste of bile reaches Namjoon’s mouth and he shudders, swallows, presses his eyes shut, swallows and swallows until there’s enough spit to wash everything away for a second or two. He dares to look up, look back at the Dokkaebi. His face is - not a face. It resembles a farming ground that has been plowed thoroughly - deeply, brutally, with force. The flesh of his cheeks just hangs off his face in tatters, like shredded wet tapestry that’s supposed to be removed and clings to the wall pathetically, his left cheekbone sticking out like crushed wood good for nothing but to feed a fire, and there’s blood everywhere between the swollen flesh, the torn nose, the ripped off eyebrow as if it was the only thing holding the disfigured pieces together. The only thing that’s sort of intact are the eyes - eyes that have not lost the piercing ire that’s following Namjoon’s pupils as they wander across the massacrous sight, almost like guard dogs making sure he won’t dare misstep even once. By the time Namjoon even locates the Dokkaebi’s throat between the wet, bloated flesh and the sharp pricks of white that had held the man’s jaw in place once, there are tears streaming down his cheeks. He shuts his eyes, praying that this face will not become the center of his nightmares for the rest of his life. When the Dokkaebi leans his face into his hand, which is also torn apart, flesh swelling between deep bite marks, joints hanging off the bone loosely, there’s an ugly squishing sound. Namjoon really wants to vomit. Jimin squeaks, terror in the high-pitched sound. The tiny cub thrashes in Namjoon’s hold but his hands feel numb, can’t hold the cat. It falls off the chair, squeaks some more, and runs.

“Please,” he begs, “please stop.”

“Did you know,” the Dokkaebi says, jaw crunching while he speaks, “that a supernatural’s powers never work on themselves?”

“No,” he croaks.

“Never, Namjoon-ssi. So I can hide this from you and the entire world but never from my own eyes.”

“Why did you have to show me?”

“Look at me again.”

“No, I don’t want to.”

“Look at me again. I will answer your questions.”

By now, mind occupied by the intensity of disgust and just overall sickness, Namjoon doesn’t even know what kinds of questions he’s asked before or if he still wants them answered. Raising his eyes back onto the horrifying sight takes more than a few seconds of encouraging and reassuring himself. He whimpers when the sticky red of the blood and the gruesome white have not vanished, but follows the Dokkaebi’s finger. Namjoon can’t help but pull up his shoulders, wishing he’d be somewhere else, wishing he could just go back to his normal life when the man in Hanbok puts his fingers into the flesh by his throat. He chokes, gags, isn’t sure who the sound is coming from, and looks at the wolf and the deer. The wolf is low on the ground, nuzzling something in between his paws that Namjoon identifies as a trembling little cat cub. Only the stag looks back, eyes deep and full of sympathy. Please get me out of here, Namjoon begs but jumps when the Dokkaebi’s loud voice demands his attention.

“LOOK AT ME!”

He does. Shivers.

“Do you see this?”

Between the two fingers that sort of… pull a more punctual wound open, something white shows up. At first, Namjoon suspects it to be bone but then, the Dokkaebi’s fingers dig deep enough to show the actual bone and it’s clear that the white piece is not a part of it.

“It’s a fang,” the Dokkaebi says, his own teeth showing. When he rips it out of his throat and throws it away, it takes only a few seconds to lodge itself in the open wound again. He looks at it in disgust. “This is the sword in my chest.”

“Great,” Namjoon groans, “I’ve seen it. Now make it go away.”

“Can you imagine the one thing that’s worse than all of this?”

“What is it?”

Namjoon feels sick. Sick to his stomach, sick to his bones. Sick like even vomiting won’t bring relief. Sick like he hasn’t felt sick since the beginning of his life. Sick like he won’t recover till the end of his life if this doesn’t end soon.

“The fact that all I remember from my life as a human is my death - the way a pack of wolves tore into me, clawed me apart until I became this. That I am forced to watch myself die every single night. Becoming a Dokkaebi is a punishment.”

The Dokkaebi pauses, must have found mercy in some hidden, unharmed corner of his body, and lets some sort of magic cover his face until he looks like a normal human being again. For some reason, it doesn’t loosen the icy grip the vision of his face has on Namjoon’s heart. He knows what he sees but his heart doesn’t follow up on it, not when it knows what’s underneath the mask. When the blood stains disappear from the Hanbok, Namjoon and the whole forest take a deep breath, like the last second of winter’s chokehold has passed and everything dares to hope for new life.

“I can’t heal or even become free until I find these beasts and kill them. I may seem powerful to you but I am not a war hero. My illusions will not be enough to trick a powerful Alpha - not when there’s a whole pack of wolves following him. They've all had a taste of my blood, what do you think will happen if I try to kill their Alpha?”

Namjoon’s head is still reeling. He doesn’t really want to talk anymore. If at least one of the members were here. Yoongi, perhaps. Or maybe just the wolf and the stag. Anyone. Comfort. He pulls himself together and speaks, even if his voice is trembling.

“So you collect souls. To become more powerful.”

“Sort of, yes.”

“And what happens to the person who sells their soul?”

“It depends on the contract they make.”

“Contract?”

A new piece of paper appears on the table, flat between them, innocently white against the dark wood and Namjoon feels his heart pound quickly at the sight of it; as if it knew what kind of paper it is. He remembers all the times he’s been standing on a tower in the pool, ten meters above the ground, then letting himself fall into the water below. His body feels the same rush of losing control, sitting in this chair but looking at the paper and Namjoon needs a second to gather control over his mind again. When he takes a second look, the paper doesn’t call forth adrenaline and memories and his ears pop open to hear the sounds of the forest. The Dokkaebi speaks first.

“This contract specifies our deal - I receive your soul for three months in return for letting Park Jimin live with you instead of taking him to the Academy.”

“And how can I be sure that it’s only for three months and that you won’t be taking my soul and do whatever you want with it for all eternity?”

“Think of it as a Netflix subscription… if your free trial is up, the subscription ends.”

Namjoon frowns. “…that’s not how Netflix works... Do you even watch tv?”

“Why would I not be watching tv? There’s lots of good shows…. How To Get Away With Murder, and-“

“Anyway,” Namjoon says, “what happens to me in those three months? What does it mean for me if you have my soul?”

“I don’t need your memories, your emotions or any of that. I merely need your soul’s strength, the horsepower of your soul so to say. In those months, you will probably not be very productive and drift in your thoughts a lot - your mind will automatically drift to me and what I’m doing. But you’ll live normally.”

“That’s not enough then,” Namjoon says. He isn’t sure if that’s too bold to say but he knows that they had agreed to bargain and bargain he will. An idea pops up. “My soul is worth much more than that.”

He seems to have hit the nail on the head because the Dokkaebi frowns.

“I’m in the international business. An absence for three months will result in million-dollar losses. Nowadays, the world doesn’t really run without me. But what’s most important, I have a family to take care of and a leopard shifter brother I need to raise - I want more in exchange.”

“What do you want?”

“How sure can I be that the mentor you pick is good for Jimin and that our CEO will even accept that person?”

“Are you challenging me?”

“No. I’m saying, every mentor must have undergone training themselves. You mentioned a license?”

“There are classes to train mentors and caregivers.”

“Good. Enroll Min Yoongi and me. We’ll do the classes, we’ll take the exam, whatever. We’ll take care of Jimin.”

From the expressions of the Dokkaebi, it’s not discernible how much it is that Namjoon is asking for but from the long silence, Namjoon gathers that it must be a big deal. Whether it’s about sneaking them into the system or breaking the law, he doesn’t care. These are the conditions. I will do whatever I can to make Jimin live the best life possible.

“The class takes three years of teaching. I can’t keep the officials’ eyes away from you for that long.”

“Well, do we have to be present or do we just need to pass the exam?”

“You need to pass the exam.”

“When is the next one?”

“I’m not sure. In five months? I think the exams take place semi-annually.”

“Great, put us on that list. We’ll be there. We’ll pass it.”

The Dokkaebi huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Humans are so stupid. Look, you don’t really think you can learn the stuff from three years of class in five months, do you? Especially when you’re just human.”

“Give me a guidance counsellor then. Something like a tutor.”

“What?”

“Someone to tutor Min Yoongi and me. Someone with experience, a person who’s taken the classes before.”

“I-that’s- you’re asking for a lot, Namjoon-ssi.”

“My soul is worth a lot.”

The forest sings around them as if nothing bad could ever happen here and with every chirp of the birds, Namjoon feels something in his blood surging, like a connection. Almost as if he can feel the grass growing, stretching towards the sky and bathing in the sunlight. By the side, the deer and wolf sit. They look more relaxed than before and Namjoon likes to think it’s because he’s taken control of the situation. The Dokkaebi’s eyes are calculating but also… curious.

“I’ve never met a human who actually knows the value of their soul.”

Namjoon is not Seokjin, so he doesn't think it's the right time to fling in some cheesy pun or snarky comment like, of course, my soul's just as handsome as my face.

“So, what happens to my soul if you die fighting those wolves?”

“Good question. I guess you’d have to hire someone to find it for you.”

“Find it???”

“I suppose so. I’ll make sure your guidance counsellor slash tutor will be able to find your lost soul in case I die. If I can even die. Otherwise, I’ll just bring it back to you.”

“That’s not reassuring at all! What if someone else finds it first? Someone bad?”

“We could always bind it to an object? Something small, something you can keep on your body?”

Namjoon thinks about all those EarPods he’s lost. He shivers at the mental image of his soul falling through some sewer on the street.

“Maybe not too small?”

“I won’t need your soul anytime soon anyway, so we’ll find an adequate object until then. When I need it, I’ll notify you. That all?”

Namjoon looks at the paper and finds that every word has been recorded on the paper in fine calligraphy. It looks like an old Hangul script that he find in museums. It makes him wonder how magic works, how many kinds of magic there are and if it’s anything like he would imagine. If people could really use magic for good, just like Tata with his little ray gun.

“So you want to use my soul to execute revenge.”

“I want to find the people who killed me and make them pay, yes.”

“How about you bring them to the police?”

He should have seen it coming but somehow, he didn’t. The Dokkaebi gets up faster than Namjoon can even register and slams his hand on the table. His eyes are angry, his whole body tense.

“You think they would even care!? No one cares, no one cares for a punished soul! And even if, I don’t think it’s your business how I deal with my stuff.”

“I think it is, considering that it’s my soul you’re taking. I don’t want it to be used for violence.”

“But you want your little brother to stay with you, don’t you?”

Of course Namjoon does. Also, besides wanting Jimin to stay with the group, there’s also a couple of rules Namjoon can’t ignore. No one can know, PDnim had said specifically. We need to keep him safe, Yoongi had pointed out. Even if Jimin wanted to go, Namjoon’s hands would be tied.

“Jimin can’t go,” he says simply, hoping that he won’t have to explain. It’s enough reason. The Dokkaebi nods, as if his reason is the same. Enough.

“Then you can’t care about what I use your soul for. This is the deal. Take it or Jimin will have to go.”

A wave of uncertainty rushes through Namjoon. What can I say to make him reconsider violent behavior? It’s natural in the world to use violence for violence, Namjoon knows that and can’t help but feel disappointed at the realization that it’s no different for the supernatural world. But still, even if that’s the natural way, there’s another path that’s worth taking - Namjoon knows this especially.

“There’s no freedom in-“, he wants to say but the words are stuck in his throat. A cold shiver crawls up his legs like a horde of insects scrambling over each other between his bare skin and his clothing. He looks around, feeling as though time stands still. Everything is still as it was a second ago, the Dokkaebi, the mahogany desk, the wolf, the stag, the trees. But it’s all silent as if someone had turned the birds, the trees and even the frogs off. As if the whole forest is holding its breath for something major to happen. The sunlight still falls through the treetops but it flickers, dipping the clearing in an unsteady light, never quite passing warmth to Namjoon even when it brushes over him. What is going on?

He notices something stirring from the corner of his eyes. When he turns, the wolf and the stag are moving, moving around something. The wolf nudges something, licks and nuzzles his snout into a lump, a naked human body on the grass. The body moves, lifts its blonde head. Jimin? Namjoon is holding his breath along with the forest. It takes minutes but finally, the boy moves more, sits up, encouraged by the wolf that moves around Jimin in gentle steps, tail wagging slowly. When Jimin rubs his eyes like he’s just woken up from sleep, Namjoon can’t help but smile fondly. Jimin shifted back. The Dokkaebi makes a surprised noise by his side but Namjoon ignores him, standing up and walking towards Jimin, who has also found his way up. Their footsteps towards each other echo, hitting grass, little rocks and flowers. Namjoon thinks they echo from within his chest. His racing heart pumps blood through his ears. He sighs in relief when a hand touches his shoulder, closes his eyes for a last time before he lets himself be convinced that this is real. When he opens his eyes, he gasps, even if the image before him is not new. Jimin really stands in front of him, hair in disorganized strands as if he’d run, eyes big and tears wetting his entire face. He’s crying, sobbing and something is wrong with the image of his younger brother but Namjoon can’t figure out what, so he tries to touch Jimin. The skin is familiar and warm and the touch makes the younger shake even worse. Sunshine turns into rainy clouds over their heads.

“Hyung,” Jimin gasps, voice broken and small. His breath brushes over the goosebumps on Namjoon’s skin in fast little waves. Too fast.

“Jiminie, you shifted,” Namjoon rushes to smile warmly, grabbing the boy’s shoulders, “you changed back. How did you do that?”

Jimin looks around, eyes wild as he searches the area around them. For what, Namjoon doesn’t know but the fear in Jimin’s face makes his heart break. He wills his big hands to calm and to quickly wipe Jimin’s cheeks like Taehyung and Seokjin always do to calm him. Jimin whimpers and lets himself be drawn against Namjoon’s chest. Normally, he wouldn’t really do this, but Jimin shaking like a leaf definitely isn’t normal. His little chest is falling and rising too fast and Namjoon feels like he’s holding a delicate bird in his arms. Drops of rain start falling, start trailing long paths over Jimin’s bare skin.

“What’s happening, Jimin-ah? Tell hyung what’s going on, hm?”

What is going on inside his head? Are there side effects to shifting? Is he in pain? Does he remember anything?

Jimin smells good where his hair is right underneath Namjoon’s nose. It’s reassuring to see him back in human form of course but right now Namjoon dares to think that maybe Jimin has shifted back at the wrong time. What if the Dokkaebi will try to take advantage of him? When he’s this vulnerable? What if he just takes him and I can’t do anything? Namjoon is careful, trying not to overwhelm Jimin but he finally has the opportunity to get the answer he’s been dying to hear ever since Jimin found him in the woods.

“Jimin-ah, is Suga-hyung here too? Did you come here with Suga-hyung?”

“Hyung,” Jimin breathes, voice fragile, threatening to break while new tears flow out of his beautiful beautiful eyes, “hyung, will you really send me away?”

The forest’s melody dies down into an ugly silence. No buzzing, no life. Namjoon’s heart shatters. Shatters like it’s just a thin slice of glass not meant to withstand anything. He feels the shock crawling into his own face, driving tears into his own eyes. A whisper of betrayal hangs in the air and Namjoon swallows heavily. Before he can say anything, Jimin grabs his arms. Pleading.

“Hyung, please no. Please, please don’t send me away. I would never - I, please, please, I want to stay with you. I love you all so much, I can’t-”

He cries, cries like he hasn’t since a long time ago, since he was younger and more fragile in his spirit, too dependent to reassure himself. Big tears roll over his cheeks, big tears like fat raindrops falling after a forest fire and Namjoon is reminded of that one time he’d found Jimin in the shower, under the running water where he had been for three hours until everyone started looking for him. The water had washed the tears away of course but the redness in Jimin’s eyes and the way he’d curled up on the floor instead of standing had given it all away. In the end, Hoseok had helped him to breathe while Taehyung had patted him dry and given him little kisses on his forehead. Jimin didn’t sleep that night, confiding hoarsely in Taehyung, and had seemed better afterwards but never spoke of it again. The next day, Namjoon was informed of the death threats that had been announced against Jimin and Jungkook and the concerts PDnim had canceled because of it.

“Jimin, I-“

“Please tell me you won’t give me away because I’m different now. You said- you said you’d always love me.”

The tears are real, they slide down from Jimin’s cheeks onto Namjoon’s hands, warmly but clinging onto their skin desperately as if afraid of falling. Namjoon’s heart pounds, strains, tries to escape his chest and engulf Jimin’s to make him feel protected, secure and loved.

“That’s,” Namjoon’s voice breaks, “that’s never gonna happen, Jiminie. We won’t send you away. We’ll never send you away, okay? You’re our brother, you can decide what you want and we’ll always be here for you. We love you so much, you’re our Jiminie.”

Under Namjoon’s hands, Jimin’s tears are wiped off and when he looks at his dongsaeng again, the deep sadness is replaced by glimmers of hope. A pout is on Jimin’s warm lips as he mumbles, “promise?”

“I promise.”

The way Jimin’s face lights up like the golden sun breaking forth from behind the clouds is everything. If he was any more sentimental, Namjoon would probably really believe Jimin was an angel. But there’s something… unsettling in the way Jimin’s beautiful eyes start looking glassy. Glassy if there’s some sad part of him that can’t believe Namjoon’s promise.

“But would you… would you really sell your soul for me?”

Namjoon breathes, feels lightheaded, feels the air rushing inside his lungs, rushing in, rushing out. Feels peace in the rush. Wants to give the same peace to Jimin. The tender love Jimin always gives but never expects to be given in return.

“Jiminie, it’s because of my soul that I can serve you and the members. I will fight for you with all that I am but I don’t know if I can give my soul away and still-”

It’s difficult to say this and to see the hope in his dongsaeng’s eyes flicker and turn into new tears. Jimin presses his eyes shut, a bitter smile on his lips.

“I trust you, hyung. If you want me to suffer, I will. You’re my leader. I will always follow you. You’re my home, you know that, right?”

“I know-“ Namjoon’s voice completely breaks. This is the worst he’s ever felt towards Jimin even if the younger is smiling at him, he knows that not doing it would make him think that he betrayed Jimin forever. In the rain, it looks as if Jimin’s whole body is crying violently. With a start, Namjoon knows. I have to protect him in any way I can. If it’s this sacrifice, that’s life. It will all turn out well. It always does.

“Oh, Jiminie. You’re my home, too. We will never send you away.”

For a second, he becomes a witness of the sunrise that’s Jimin’s smile. It swells along with the crescendo of the forest, swells into a warmth that soaks into Namjoon’s body. It's so beautiful, almost like it can make up for all the shit and all the disgustingness his day had brought. Namjoon wraps his arms around Jimin, letting his nose get buried in Jimin's neck, just the way he knows Jimin likes to be hugged. And then it happens. With an ice-cold start, Namjoon realizes that something about this is wrong. He realizes what has been bothering him at the back of his mind for their entire conversation. Why the chill on his legs had never gone away. He hadn’t felt Jimin’s heartbeat. Even with his fingers digging into Jimin’s cheeks, into Jimin’s shoulders and while holding his head against his chest by the neck, Namjoon hadn’t felt Jimin’s heartbeat pulsing under the delicate skin. Just like the leopard - the illusion of the leopard. Within seconds, Jimin dissolves like a ruined reflection in a lake - and Namjoon looks straight into the dark, gleaming eyes of the Dokkaebi. The Dokkaebi who is holding a whining leopard cub in his arms. The only weak comfort are the red stripes on his hands that look suspiciously like claw marks.

“How heartwarming. Now, let's move on.”

Namjoon gasps like he’s resurfacing after a long dive. He holds his chest but can’t find the hurting spot. It aches from deep down, hollow. Around him, the rain is back and crashing down. The initial peace is nowhere to be found. An illusion. It was - it was another trick. Namjoon slides off the chair, can’t hold himself, sinks to his knees, gasping for air. It takes more than a minute to come back to his senses, the nausea overwhelming. The forest’s song has turned into a mess, an arrhythmical clashing of dissonant sounds.

“How- how did you do that?”

“Hmmm, I didn’t do anything. Your imagination is really powerful, all it needed was a tiny push. Now, if you’d sign here and here… You have come to a decision, have you not?”

Namjoon’s heart pounds furiously and he starts to believe that people saying “follow your heart” clearly haven’t ever stood before decisions like this. One side of his conscious knows that the Dokkaebi is a supernatural being and that there’s no way he could ever take this guy on but the other side of his mind tells him that every creature has a weakness and that a trickster can be defeated through a trick. But there’s no real way to tell whether he can even win this game or not - other than trying. His hands are shaking so he puts them into the wolf’s fur. The touch ignites a prickling sensation, almost like little lights crawling into his hands to give courage and strength. And if this is the last thing I try, I have to do it. For Jimin.

“I-I made my decision.”

“And which is it?”

“I decide not to tell you. You didn’t tell me I had to tell you what it is, you only said that I needed to decide.”

The twitch in the Dokkaebi’s eyes gives it all away - it’s a valid loophole and the Dokkaebi has not expected Namjoon to find it.

“That’s unacceptable, you can��t-“

“In fact, I can. This is my Essence, my bokjil, isn’t it? Nothing can happen here if I don’t allow it. I could just go back and report you.”

Namjoon feels like there’s hot courage boiling in every vein. The wolf nudges his cheek in silent praise. It feels like victory. Until the Dokkaebi laughs.

“Oh, Namjoon-ssi, how do think you got here in the first place?”

Namjoon hates the patronizing tone.

“Do you really think you’re so great that you can transport your physical body into your soul’s landscape yourself? And how do you think you will get out of it without my help? Do you want to wander your own soul for the rest of your life and never go back?”

Everything shatters. Shatters like it’s final and there’s no saving left for this mess. Shatters like the melody is irreparable, useless.

“Give me Jimin first,” Namjoon croaks.

“Sign first. I will give him to you right after.”

“You have been tricking me left and right. How do you expect me to believe you say the truth?”

The Dokkaebi laughs.

“Hm, I see we have a bit of a misunderstanding here. You see, I haven’t lied to you. Tricks and lies are really two different things. Lying means intentionally misleading someone. A trick is just a suggestion. If you fall for it, that's your bad. Also, I do have some honor. I’m not a liar. I always keep my word.”

Namjoon shudders, feeling empty, feeling defeated. His shoulders sag, his chest hurts. I just want to go home. Thunder shakes the sky and lighting crashes down when the pen in his hand scratches over the rough paper. The ground beneath his feet turns to mud with the myriads of water drops catapulting against it. Everything is wet, the uncomfortable sort of wet that you’re not prepared for even with an umbrella and a rain jacket. The drops are invasive, driving straight through Namjoon’s clothes and pressing obnoxiously against his skin. It’s unrealistic and illogical but Namjoon fears that they might dig through his skin and pierce his organs if he doesn’t get out of here soon.

The Dokkaebi smiles when Namjoon puts the pen down. The mahogany desk disappears behind a new veil of rain and Namjoon feels unprotected with nothing firm between the Dokkaebi and him. He sighs in relief when Jimin’s wet snout, wet fur, wet body touches his fingers, when the little one mewls in his arms.

“It’s alright, baby. I’m here. It’s alright.”

“I believe we’re done here. It was a pleasure to meet you, Namjoon-ssi.”

He should be glad it’s all over, should be glad this weird meeting is coming to an end and he will go home and all but all that’s left on Namjoon’s mind is the feeling that he’s missing something. That he’s been tricked beyond simple illusions, bereaved of answers, options, freedom, god knows what else.

“Wait,” he says, barely able to keep his eyes open in the strong rain, “why me? Out of the millions of souls in Seoul, why did you pick mine?”

He notices a grey figure moving through the rain. Wolf? The Dokkaebi seems to notice it too but instead of being intimidated by the animal that could tear him apart any second, he speaks calmly.

“As I said before. Each beast has its own preferences.”

He’s gone in the blink of an eye, the dark glint in his eyes and the wicked smirk on his lips the last things Namjoon sees. He smiles weakly, finally able to breathe now that the menace is gone. He looks down at Jimin in his arms, finally safe. In a gesture meant to calm the shivering cub, Namjoon lets his fingers move through the cub’s fur as tenderly as he can, careful not to pull on the strands of hair the printer ink still glues together. Jimin purrs when Namjoon rubs his neck. And then - Namjoon freezes, nausea swelling up like a roaring tsunami. There’s no pulse. A dark wave pushes over him, making him numb and deaf, making him drown in himself. The leopard baby falls apart in his hands. Instead of the forest’s melody, there’s laughter. Namjoon falls to his knees. He vomits. Namjoon sits in the rain, unmoving and alone, only the wolf by his side, silently spending warmth. The rain drops sting.

“How do you want the song to sound?”

Namjoon has a few ideas already, here between the softness of the pillows and the gentle curls of Taehyung’s permed brown hair and the hazy glow outside the windows where rain keeps running down the glass tirelessly. On the windowsill, a scented candle flickers, spreading its cozy wooden scent. It’s most likely a gift from Jimin and therefore a treasured reminder of something special for Taehyung.

“It should sound like tearing your heart out violently. Like crying, too. Because our tears are just like raindrops,” Namjoon sees Taehyung staring into the distance, face grim as little wet streaks trail down his cheeks and drip off his jaw, “without the pain, there is no need for comfort. Even if you’re not scared of it anymore, being broken still has to hurt. It hurts every time.”

Namjoon kneels in a familiar living room, shaking, dripping, gasping. There’s a puddle of water at his knees, slowly sinking into the carpet. His head spins and he’s nauseous, as if his whole body rhythms and sensory systems have all been overloaded and violated. He still feels the stinging pricks of rain drill into him. Even the comforting and familiar scent of Yoongi’s cooking is not enough to calm him down. He’s home, yes, but he can’t stop shaking. Is this… what going insane feels like?

The only sense of relief comes when a small rumbling distracts him from all the noise in his head. A tiny body of violently colorful fur rolls around on a blanket on the sofa to his left. The kitty rumbles, its paws kneading the air while it sleeps. Namjoon doesn’t dare to believe it, inherently afraid to fall for another cruel trick. Slowly, he leans over to put a hand on Jimin’s chest. Thump, thump, thump. Peace. Glorious peace spreads in Namjoon’s chest. It’s real. This time, it’s really real. It seeps through his entire body and Namjoon relaxes, tears streaming down his cheeks. Jimin is fine. Jimin will be fine. I made my decision. It will be alright.

“Namjoon!?”

He flinches when something crashes against the floor. A cup of tea stains Yoongi’s white slippers, the shards in a circle around him like he’s standing in a bomb’s impact crater. When Namjoon lifts his hand to wave, his wet clothes feel gross and heavy. Yoongi frowns. One look at Jimin, the paper bag that stands next to the sofa and Namjoon realizes something he hasn’t even thought of while in the woods.

“Namjoon-ah. Are you alright? Were were you? Sejin-hyung said-”

Yoongi’s eyes follow his, the genuine concern put on pause when he understands that Namjoon is focused on something else. When their eyes meet again, Namjoon can literally see his hyung’s thoughts.

“Don’t say it, hyung-“

“Where are they?”

Namjoon grimaces.

He forgot the shopping bags in the woods.

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

#park jimin #bts #bts fanfic #jimin #bangtan #kim namjoon #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #cat jimin #supernatural bts #shapeshifter jimin #wordsturnintostories #show me your rosettes baby g

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

I Found (chapter 8)

Warnings: none really. Some bad language. Maybe a bit of angst. I needed an Esme chapter for character building purposes before I get into the past chapters.

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @hemmyworthy @alievans007

Esme watches him; the way he stands thirty meters away with his arms crossed over his chest and a pair of Ray-bans covering his eyes. He stands out like a sore thumb. A peculiar site among a street crawling with folks in swimsuits and other summer gear. The sun beating down on that simple yet surprisingly stylish black suit, the heat and humidity causing beads of sweat to gather on his forehead, at his temples, and on his top lip. She both envies and feels sorry for him. Envies the fact he hasn't yet seen the real heartache and the real darkness that comes with the job. He hasn't had the demons and ghosts settle in yet.

And that's what makes her sad. Because it is inevitable. Somewhere down the road his eagerness to live up to a legend will lead him in the right direction but into the entirely wrong place. And he won't be the same kid that he is right now. Anxious. Scared to make a mistake. Wanting to impress. Dreaming of the missions of guts and glory and seemingly endless brutality. Right now he finds it glamorous. They all did at one point. But one day he'll wake up and realize just how fucked up it all was. He'll look back on the places he'd been and the things he'd done and he'll wonder why the hell he'd ever been so eager to get into the trenches in the first place.

She'd been there. She WAS there. And it eats at you. It chews you up and it spits you out. And the memories come back so fast and so hard that there's times you pray...beg...that the ground will open up beneath you and swallow you whole.

“You can sit down you know,” she calls to him. She admires the determination. She's sure there's a little bit of fear he'll fuck up and get his ass handed to him because of it. But he's steadfast. A rock. Even if he does look like a secret service agent. “I don't mind. I could use the company.”

He regards her through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. She imagines he looks like a deer caught in the headlights right about now.

“I don't bite,” she assures him. Although her husband would beg to differ. He'd been at the receiving end of more than a few during their often rough and uninhibited love making sessions. Teeth marks like war wounds on his shoulders, neck, even the insides of his thighs.

He takes a step towards her. Then hesitates.

“Are you being serious right now? Look, you're making me extremely nervous right now and people are getting suspicious. If you're going to be watching someone...if you're going to be someone's detail...you have to less conspicuous about it. If there was a bad guy around, they would have made you about ten minutes ago. Sit down. It's hot out. Get into the shade.”

He finally relents. Crossing the promenade in two long strides, unbuttoning his suit jacket before sitting down across from her. A waitress scurrying over to take his order.

“We come here a lot,” Esme says. “It's one of our favourites. The coffee is strong and the food is good and the people watching is A plus. You'd be surprised the weird and funny shit you see when you actually sit back and pay attention. Sometimes I even come here by myself. When Tyler has his own shit to do or he's at the doctor's or at the shrink. He won't let me go with him to those things. He says it makes him nervous. That he's too busy worrying about what he might say and that means he won't actually say it. So the baby and I will come here. Just hang out. Forget about everything else in our lives for a while.”

“Shrink? What...?”

“You talk about wanting to fill those shoes. Believe me, those are shoes that are probably best left empty. Don't go down that road kid. I know you admire him. I know you've heard the stories. You've seen the numbers. And it's impressive and it's bad ass and it's something you want to emulate. I get it. I do. He's my husband and I admire him. But this isn't the life you want. This is not how you want to end up. Because it fucks you up and it haunts you. For the rest of your life. And if you're not strong enough, it will eat you alive. It takes no prisoners. Unless you're prepared for all of that, don't go following down anyone else's path.”

He nods slowly, considering her words. Then smiles at the waitress when she returns with his coffee.

“But that's just words from someone who has been in the game. Who is living with the after effects. So I won't be offended if you tell me to gofuck myself.”

His eyes widen. “I'd never say something like that to you, Mrs Rake.”

She laughs at that. It makes her feel so old; Mrs Rake. It's so mature and so formal and it seems as if it should belong to someone twice her age. But it's who she is now. It is part of her identity. Someone's wife, someone's mother. And they were the two greatest roles she'd ever been fortunate enough to play in her entire life.

“What's your name?” she asks.

“Jason, ma'am. Jason Andrews.”

“Well Jason Andrews, it's nice to meet you. I'm sorry it wasn't under better circumstances. I was a bit more likeable a year ago.”

“I think you're likeable enough just fine, ma'am.”

She laughs, pushing her sunglasses up onto the top of her head. “Ma'am? Just how old do you think I am?”

“My mother always told me to never ask a woman her age or never even gather a guess. I'll have to plead the fifth.”

“You're from the south, aren't you.”

“Yes, ma'am. Just a tad east of North Orleans.”

“I haven't been there in years. University was a wild time. Trips down to Mardis Gras. Back when I had less gray hair and people still called me Miss instead of M''am. It's Esme, by the way. But I'm sure you already knew that.”

He nods in confirmation.

“You can call me by name, you know. It doesn't have to be so formal. This is some unprecedented shit you've gotten yourself mixed up in. I'm pretty sure that means we can move on to first names.”

“Nik has told me a lot about you,” he informs her. “A lot about the both of you. You're from Colorado?”

“Snowmass. About fifteen miles from Aspen. Just a little place. All of twenty five hundred people. Or at least that's what it was when I left. There's probably more now.”

“You haven't been home in a while?”

“I had a place there. A house. A quaint little thing with a porch swing and a fire pit in the backyard. My brother lives there now. With his wife and his kids. He took it over once I decided I wasn't going back. But I haven't been home, home, in just shy of six years. You know, family dinners on a late Sunday afternoon, coffee on my folks' porch, watching my nieces and nephews playing. Life just got away from me. The job just took hold. IT became who I was as opposed to something I did. Life got away from me.”

“Excuse me for saying this, but that's kind of....sad.”

“It is what it is,” she reasons. “Those are the choices I made. I knew there was no going back...truly going back...when I made them. And then I took the job with Nik and I ended up in Dhaka and now...well here I am.”

“Here you are,” he echoes, a sense of sadness creeping into his voice. “You were military?”

“Once. The Marines”

“My older brother is a jar head. A gunnery sergeant. Forgive me for saying this and I mean no disrespect, but you don't seem the type. You don't really fit the picture of what people have when they think of the Marines. And you definitely don't seem to be the type to be involved in the job.”

“I guess that was my greatest weapon of all. People looked at me and would never think...in a million years....that I was capable of doing the things I've done. It's not one size, fits all. There's a lot of us that don't look the part. Sometimes that's good when it comes to the job. You blend in. People aren't suspicious of you. Half the time they don't give you a second glance. It worked in Dhaka. I gained peoples' trust. I got them to open up. It worked until it didn't work. And once that happened...” she sighs. “...well let's just say that it went way worse than anyone expected.”

“I've heard the stories. People like to talk. I'm not sure how many of the things I've heard are actually true.”

“When it went bad, it went extremely bad. It happened so quick. We didn't even have time to catch our breath. One minute we're making friends with the locals and the next we're running for our lives. No one expected it to go as horrible as it did. I mean, you go into things expecting and fearing the worst. But that...” she runs the palms of her hands along the sides of her glass of iced tea. “...that was way worse than anything I ever imagined.”

“And now you're going back.”

“And now I'm going back,” she concedes, and then clears her throat noisily. “Trust me when I say that it isn't a place I thought I'd ever return to. I thought that was behind me. I needed it to be behind me. But want and need are two entities of their own. What my heart wanted and what my brain allowed are two entirely different things. I realize that while I physically put it behind me, mentally I've been hanging onto it. Mentally I never left. If that makes sense.”

“Yes, m'am...Esme...it makes perfect sense.”

She noisily clears her throat, slides the sunglasses back down onto her face. “You have family? Other than an older brother?”

“A younger sister. She's still in high school. She wants to be a nurse.”

“Your folks?”

“Still alive. They've been together since high school. You?”

“My father died when I was a teenager. My mom is still kicking. She remarried a about ten years ago. My step dad's a good guy. Ex Army. He still has the hair cut, the swagger, the stories. We call him The Sarge,” she smiles at that. Fond memories of a man that had come into her life and filled a role that had been missing since those difficult teenage years. “He treats her well. They're happy. They're the disgustingly content retired couple that owns two Harleys, a motor home, and like to visit Graceland. The type that has 'my grand kids are better than yours' bumper stickers. It's been a while since I've seen them...”

Her voice drifts off, recalling all the earlier times. The easier times. When all that mattered was bush parties and hanging out with friends and the fights and good natured ribbing that occurred between siblings.

“...one day I'd like to go back,” she continues “I'd like to see them again. I'd like to sit across the table from Sarge and have him light into me about my tattoos and my piercings. I'd like to sit with my mom on the front porch; sipping sweet tea and eating her homemade peach pie. I'd like to see my little sister graduate from high school. Be the one that takes her to college and helps her move into residence. And I'd especially like to see my brothers and their families again. Hug and kiss my nieces and nephews. Meet the ones I haven't got a chance to.”

“You have a lot?”

“Fourteen,” she confirms. “My brothers wasted no time. They're baby making factories.”

“What about your baby?”

“They haven't met her. At least not in person. I send pictures. We do face time chats. That type of thing. I didn't even tell them I was having a baby until she was almost here.”

“Why not?”

“Things weren't easily explained. Things were messy. Complicated. They were still reeling over the fact that I had run off and gotten married without telling any of them. I'm the first daughter. My mom was super pissed that she didn't get that whole mother of the bride experience. She felt robbed. And I can understand that. It's not an easy pill to swallow. Your first girl running off and meeting some random guy and deciding to settle down in Australia and never coming home. It's a lot for them to digest. And they don't even know the whole truth of it.”

“Why not?”

“Do your parents know about the job? Do they really know about it?”

“Just that I do security detail for a private company.”

“My parents thought I went into business when I left the corps. Because that's what I told them. I told them I was making a career change. One that would have me travelling a lot. It was a half truth, I guess. But they couldn't handle all of it. How do you tell your folks something like that? That your new skill set includes rescuing some and killing others? You don't. You don't tell them that. You make up some shit that will be easier on them. They think I came here on a business trip, met some guy and never came back. That's pretty much it. They know his name, what he looks like, his age. But they think he's in law enforcement. They think he was in an accident and I stayed here to help him through it and this is where I made my life. It seemed so much easier when I first told them all that. Now I realize just how fucked up it actually is. Not that I lied to them. We all lie. Some more than others. But why I had to lie. Why I had to cover it up. It's screwed up. I'm screwed up. This whole thing is screwed up. And you know what the worst part is? There's no easy way out of this. No matter what I tell them or how I tell them, it will be messy. They're going to hear things they don't like. And I'm worried they're going to hate me.”

“Parents could never hate their kids. It isn't in their nature. Could you ever hate your daughter?”

“No. I can't imagine I ever could.”

“Your folks could never hate you. They'd probably be surprised at the truth.”

“Probably? They would be. The truth is stranger than fiction. At least in this situation.”

“But hate you? No. I don't think that could ever happen.”

She stares down at the amber coloured liquid in her glass, tracing a finger tip on the side, making patterns in the condensation.

She hopes he is right.

#I Found #tyler rake #extraction #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction

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cruezins · 4 years

Text

☣ ; ( KIM TAEHYUNG , 24 , HE/HIM ) coming up next on rebel radio is OPAUL by FREDDIE DREDD . this tune goes out to SIWON RYU . rumor has it they just rolled into town and are fightin’ for the GHOULS . they’re AFFABLE , INQUISITIVE but also AIMLESS , MERCURIAL so watch your backs out there . we wish them the best of luck here in our golded city of light . stay vigilant , stay dirty rock ‘n rollers and we’ll catch you for the next one .

𝐎𝐎𝐂 : hello ! i’m deni and i don’t know what editing is . i use she/her pronouns and live in the gmt+9 timezone . i’m terrible with ooc chats and half the time just want to vibe a connection or plot idea , so please don’t hesitate to throw a half-formed thought at me because i swear i’ll do the same . my discord is gay fairy#6371 . anyway , here is siwon , someone i’ve been work-shopping for a while ! looking forward to writing with you ♡

☣ ; 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐇 .

cw : drug mentions ; stop me if you’ve heard this one before------

his dad’s a junkie and he hasn’t seen his mom since some fatcats bought their restaurant for a steal a few years before , but that’s the way of life for a lot of people in the underground . young , bored , and desperate to hear and smell anything that wasn’t the rottenness of his own childhood home , siwon found himself on the streets more nights than not , spray paint in one hand , painting nights in greens and purples until reds and blues chased him away . makes his first steal before he can tie his shoes . creates alliances with the neighborhood kids , sneaks around to watch how the haves live with their pretty , pretty screens and their ugly , ugly words . school isn’t anything special , either , and while siwon can’t remember shit that he reads from a page he can work with his hands . fast and efficient , nimble fingers whether they’re flying across a keyboard or fucking around with some screws . you can make something of yourself , some of his teachers tell him while others can’t stop bitching about homework or tardiness or the way he falls asleep in the middle of class . but what’s siwon supposed to make ? he and his ragtag group of weirdos he calls friends . when he gets older and nights get hungrier , siwon learns to stop relying on the benevolence of neighbors and finds a job --- he’s fast , after all , with a sweet face and wide eyes , makes a helluva getaway after years and years of running .

thieving’s a natural grift . he’d been training for this his whole life . then he catches the eyes of a boss man who isn’t nearly as mad as he should be catching some kid with his wallet in his hands . courier comes next , ferrying messages from a bunch of suits all over the city . siwon never opened the packages , never second guesses the credits that start bloating his account . desperate , he does what he’s told and does it well ------ and that’s the real kicker , isn’t it ? that after a year and some-odd months of dedicated service they leave him high and dry with some bullshit he doesn’t have any involvement with . after years of running , boys in blue finally catch him and he’s left to take the fall of some dumb fuckery , man , and he’s pissed . steaming in jail , it’s a wonder some other gang didn’t get to him first . the longer he sat and talked with that ghoul member , the more he grew to despise the rich , the ones who left him to rot after all the shit he did for them . what was even the point anymore ? dog eat dog kind of bullshit , no sense of loyalty or shit anywhere . the law and all that money was out to get him from the beginning and siwon had enough of it . a few months locked up but he learned and leaned and learned , only able to get out on a technicality . the second he stepped back out into the sun , siwon followed the map given to him and signed up for the ghouls . city of light be damned . the only lights he wants to see are flames eating this hellhole alive .

☣ ; 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 .

➤ full name. ryu si-won ➤ date of birth. january 29th ➤ hometown. city of light ➤ gender. cis male ➤ affiliation. ghouls ➤ primary occupation. drug runner , pickpocket ➤ secondary occupation. network manager at an internet cafe

➤ sexual attraction. pansexual ➤ romantic attraction. panromantic ➤ character alignment. chaotic neutral ➤ personality type. enfp ➤ temperament. sanguine ➤ wants. power , family

stands around 5′11 . broad shoulders , slim hips . floppy , messy hair and sun browned skin . half legs . a few pieces of silver in his ears and a small hoop on his bottom lip . dresses somewhere between a washed up rockstar , your college weed dealer , and a miami vice reject . style’s a whim with a closet’s chaotic mix of anything he thrifts or patches together . most of the time he’s sporting cuffed jeans , vintage blouse , a denim jacket or tweed blazer and thick ass boots . keeps all that hair back with a bandanna or a headband , hair ties on his wrist . nothing in his closet’s technically new and he loves looking for a bargain steal —— or simply just a steal . likes colors just as much as he likes his neutrals . wears a black air filtration mask and fingerless gloves . considers his floral button-up shirts fancy material and his trousers cut off at the ankles . likes the smell of old leather and the breathing of fringe on a jacket , the weight of heavy rings on his fingers and sunglasses swooped low on his nose . wears a monocle because he can’t be fucked with reading glasses . his hair’s been every color of the rainbow and he’s always changing it up thanks to temporary dye .

☣ ; 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 .

hustles at arcade halls , scarfs down ramen and burritos like they’re gonna disappear , looks as comfortable in a dark , dirty alley as he does standing under all those lights in the neon district . pockets full of candy and a lollipop between his lips . likes cheap beer and cigarettes , fast talking and smooth smiles . gets up when the sun goes down . who knows if he ever gets a full night’s sleep , but you can find him taking a nap just about anywhere . seems to live for the dark hours and stays busy as a bee , at the internet cafe one moment and grabbing fried cheese sticks in the next before crossing the bridge to watch the street races and venturing to the tunnels for the fighting rings . complains about being broke but puts down bets faster than anyone . lives for the feeling of wind in his hair so the window of his top-floor one bedroom shit hole stays open all the time . feels the rain on his skin , plays with matches . learned how to assemble a gun in less than sixty seconds and stays packing nowadays though he can’t really shoot for shit . spray paints boobs on the sides of government buildings and dicks on malls . looks like an angel under all those holographic lights .

rides a motorbike and his skateboard . can do crazy math in his head and spot fake bills with incredible accuracy . can barely stand to sit still , always moving except when there’s a computer screen in front of him . gets addicted to things so easily it’s scary --- people , food , liquor , feelings . craves that intimacy , craves that closeness that’s always been denied to him . has a loud as fuck laugh and a love for sneaking into places where he doesn’t belong . catches extra cash on the side by fixing up broken-down machines and can figure his way around a motor with a bit of elbow grease . still sees his family . not as much as a good son would , but he sends cash when he can and looks after his younger sister , makes sure she stays well and clean . they don’t know half of what he’s gotten up to since he was let out of prison , but they might have some idea --- after all , who’d pay a crooked boy with a record as well as he seems to be ? when the sun starts to come up and he crashes into bed , siwon stares out the window and thinks about how in another world , or in another time he probably could’ve been something . could’ve made something great . but for now he’s just got a whole lot of anger , raw like a fresh wound he can’t stop picking at .

☣ ; 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ?

➤ bonds. my loyalty to my friends is unwavering ; i owe everything to my mentor --- a horrible person who’s rotting in jail somewhere ; i fleeced the wrong person and must work to ensure this individual never crosses paths with me . ➤ flaws. once i pick a goal , i become obsessed with it to the detriment of everything else in my life ; when I see something valuable , i can't think about anything but how to steal it ; i have a weakness for the vices of the city .

he’s friendly , but he doesn’t make friends easily --- the ones that he has made , he’d do anything for . because that’s how he’s gotten this far , right ? all those people who looked after him when others tried to stomp him out . he’s still close with his teen friends who threw a few grifts with him , gaming buddies that he knows only through a screen . little escapes from all the other bullshit going on in the world . even though he isn’t a club guy , he runs into more than a few faces on his rounds . maybe they’re bad influences or sweethearts who help that touch starved affliction that comes from living in a city so wired . on the flip side , there’s some enemies --- competitors in the runner world , antagonists he meets at the races or rings for whatever reason ( insane bets make tempers run hot , who knows when they’ll flare for good and siwon’s learning the hard way how to keep his mouth shut ) . he’s fixed up a few cars or weapons for people recently because he misses working with his hands . y’know , making nice . then there’s people he’s caught in a crossfire with , where they’ve met something nasty one too many times before over turf , territory and clients . a newer face to the ghouls , he’s bugged someone into mentoring him , and gone on a few runs with someone he loves to call a coworker .

eager to prove himself as more than a green kid with a keyboard and an eye for detail , find him cutting deals and making trades in smokey barbecue houses , hole-in-the wall ramen shops or by taco tents . a full bellied class of clients are happy clients in his opinion , and siwon isn’t above not making deals with the other groups who’s names aren’t violent delights . speaking of which --- there are definitely some skeletons there he aims to confront , some old demons to fight from that class of people that fucked him over . there’s an ex lover in there somewhere , probably met in that pre-prison childhood phase when he mingled past class lines more ( ~1.5-2 years ago ) . someone he’s healthily fearful of for whatever reason , and maybe a vendetta against the family that scammed his parents out of their business and basically sent his life spiraling . there’s someone who isn’t what they seem --- he doesn’t know who they really are , and maybe they don’t know who he is , either . they’ll learn eventually . someone he’s protective over , someone who protects him in ways he doesn’t even know , and those he looks after because they grew up on the same side . desperate for connection , desperate for a place , he finds it all in heaven and hell .

#neongraves:intro #. 𝐒𝐈𝐖𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐘𝐔 ➤ DEVELOPMENT .#this is A Lot #but i had so many notes for myself #let's see how this pans #chaos reigns always

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crushedbyhyperbole · 4 years

Text

Beyond Broken - Chapter Six

Chapter Summary: Thor's stalking reaches a new high with the help of a certain former Russian spy. He comes to realise that he's hopelessly addicted to the woman named Jess. Thor gives her a name for himself, and they strike an easy rapport. Weeks on, something suddenly changes and Thor is thrown into a dilemma: kiss the girl or do the honourable thing.

Words: 5.6k

A/N: Here, Donald Blake is Thor's alter ego. (It's a little nod to the comics.)

Warnings: Angst, emotional hurt & distress, crying, a really mean argument happens, sexual attraction, soft Thor, first kiss, morale dilemma, guilt, bad language... also Thor is a stalker (but he means well). Really long chapter - sorry.

New Heights

Thor had accepted that the mystery woman had not wanted his company on her walk back through the park but he did not stay on the promenade. At a distance he followed her, watching her traverse the foot-worn trails through the brush in the sporadic light of the lampposts.

He watched from the shadows as she met with her fiancé, as he kissed her and they embraced. With the use of his bionic eye he watched them walk further up the street where they seemed to get into a fight. He couldn’t make out the words but he could see she was angry, and then terribly sad. Whatever that man had said or done to her was none of his business but it irritated him nonetheless.

When they both disappeared into an underground parking garage, he thought perhaps they lived there in the building above. Soon after, a small red Toyota emerged onto the street and disappeared along a side street. Perhaps not then.

There were many things about the woman that he didn’t know, and those were mostly things that he had no right to know, like where she lived or worked for example. Thor liked to know things, he preferred to be prepared.

The parking garage served the offices and businesses above, of which there was a mixture from legal to health and not surprisingly, an art studio. It also served as a limited space public parking area.

The art studio is promising. He thought.

The next day he went to investigate, disguised as a rich entrepreneur. He carried a suit very well and had seen enough of Stark’s interactions with people to know how things should be done. So, wearing the petrol blue three-piece he had worn to the first Avengers press conference and ball, and the large silvery time piece gifted to him by Clint two Christmases ago, he availed himself of the studio’s exhibition.

The paintings were mediocre at best. In all his years on Asgard, visiting all nine realms, and the years he’d spend here on Midgard, he had never seen anything as unsatisfying as what they produced in this era and called modern art. The sculptures were better, in particular a twisting metal contraption that spun, creating undulating waves using the motion of each segment. It looked like a jellyfish propelling itself through the deep ocean. The kinetic sculpture was powered by a motor inside the gallery but the intent for the piece was for it to be wind powered.

It was beautiful, mesmerising even.

“Good morning, sir.” The smartly dressed assistant approached him. “Can I show you our video catalogue of kinetic sculptures?”

“What’s the artist like?” He asked aloofly, suddenly disinterested in the motion of the sculpture.

“I don’t quite follow.”

“For me it’s more about the artists journey than the final piece. The kind of person they are, the things they’ve overcome, their process. Can you show me some biographicals on your artists instead? I have a specific need to find a connection.” Thor could feel himself oozing with charismatic over-confidence and pompousness.

“Certainly, sir.”

The young man scurried away but did not return. Instead an older lady in a designer pants suit, with a commanding presence approached.

“I understand you wanted to meet the artist.” She smiled smugly.

“You painted all of these works?” He spread his arms and gestured largely.

“Save a few.” She nodded, eyeing him like a snack.

“And the sculptures?”

“Some.” She drank him in from head to toe. “I mainly work in clay, like this one.” She stroked her hand lovingly down a large sculpture shaped like a lady’s forearm, the base was like the roots of a tree and a single leaf sprouted from one of the splayed fingers. “It’s the tree of life.” She smiled with pride.

The piece was titled Yggdrasil.

You have no idea what Yggdrasil really is. He thought.

“Poetic.” He said, nodding with false appreciation. “What about the metal-work?”

“My partner. He works large-scale for public display.” She flicked her hand dismissively. “These are the smallest of his works.”

“And it’s just the two of you?” Thor was starting to despair.

“Yes, we’re a business here, not just a labour of love, Mr…?”

“Blake.” He supplied languidly.

“Mr Blake?” She mused over the name. “British aristocracy?”

“Something like that.” He coughed nervously. “How could you tell?”

“You have a rarefied air about you. If I did portraits I’d offer you my services.” She winked, predatory.

“I’m after something in particular, a connection. Not a portrait.”

“And what is the budget, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The price is irrelevant, for the right piece.” He took another look around, trying not to notice her greedy smirk. “None of your assistants paint?”

“No, neither of them.” She scowled.

“Are you sure? I had heard there might be a budding artist in hiding up here.” He winked at her cheekily.

“You’ve met Alasdair, and She’ree has no skill with a brush. She is wicked with record keeping but isn’t artistic in any way.”

“Sherry? The brunette?”

“She’ree. The redhead.” She was growing impatient. “It’s obvious that nothing here has caught your eye, Mr Townsend.”

“Yes,” he blinked disappointingly, “it appears this has been nothing but a wild goose chase. I apologise for wasting your time, madam.”

What in Odin’s name was he doing? Stalking a woman he’d seen out walking her dog? Visiting places in the hopes of seeing her or finding out more about her?

On his way down in the elevator he noticed an older woman staring intensely at him, unashamed. He looked away but she did not. Looking at the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the doors, his shoes, his fingernails, everywhere but her, he endured the ride to the ground floor in uncomfortable self-conscious silence. A nervous smile and a quick exit later he was striding out of the communal lobby and onto the street.

“There you are!” A familiar voice stopped his heart. He panicked. Stopped dead outside the doorway and stepped immediately left, hiding behind the pillar. He mentally blessed the girth and steadfastness of the stone feature.

“Did you see that guy?!”

“What guy?”

“The guy who just got off the elevator.”

“What guy?”

“The hunk in the swanky blue suit.”

“I didn’t see a guy.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Come on, we’ll miss all the good tables.”

She was coming. Heading his way. She’d see him and the game would be up. She’d be upset, creeped out, disgusted even. She’d tell him to stay away from her and he’d do what she asked, of course he would, but it’d hurt. Ever since he’d met her he’d felt different, less angry, less loathsome. She’d calmed his inner storm without him fully realising, until now, the extent of the effect she was having on him.

“I swear if I was twenty years younger I’d be getting arrested for rape.” The older woman laughed. “He was beautiful, Jess, absolutely stunning. My Charlie would be getting a divorce if someone like that walked into my life. Hell, I’d probably never walk right ever again.”

“Jesus woman, I can practically hear you squelching as you walk. Do you need a napkin?”

Both laughing heartily, the two women exited, and as they did so, Thor shuffled himself around the column, slotting himself between the stone and the full-length glass of the lobby frontage. The girl at the desk frowned at him.

He smiled nervously and moved away. The two women turned the corner and he was suddenly safe. And now he had a name. Jess. Why hadn’t he looked closer at the woman in the elevator? He could remember next to nothing about her except that her hair was short and light, that her eyes were brown and made him uncomfortable, and that she wore dark coloured formal attire. There were no clues at all.

He racked his brain for information. He hadn’t even seen his mystery woman, only heard her voice. There was a chance that he had been mistaken, and it hadn’t even been her.

You know in your heart it was her. He pepped himself up. Now remember more!

It was useless. The more he plundered the memory the fainter it became until he could barely hear his mystery woman’s voice in his head.

This is wrong. He berated himself. She’s taken. You should just let her go. There’s nothing for you but heartache and a knee to the groin. If you’re lucky, just heartache.

He couldn’t argue with the facts but it didn’t change the other fact that he’d become different since he’d met her. The small amount of interaction he’d had with her had lifted him out of the gutter and back on his feet. Imagine what getting to know her better could achieve. He was attracted to her, certainly, but sex wasn’t the ultimate goal. He decided he’d be happy just to have her in his life. A friend, someone he could share things with, good and bad.

So stop the creeping.

“Ok, fine!” He huffed aloud.

That evening, after he watched Jess meet her fiancé at Neptune’s coffee shop, watched him kiss her and hand the dog off to her before dashing away, Thor realised that he had no willpower, couldn’t be trusted and also he decieved himself all too often. Telling himself he’d stop stalking her had been a bare-faced lie. Well, almost. Instead, he was stalking the fiancé.

Thor tailed him six blocks to a small hotel by the lighthouse, right near where Thor lived. He knew that the man made it back to meet Jess by ten pm, so what could the fiancé of a beautiful woman like her possibly be doing going to a hotel several nights a week?

Thor disliked the man before, but now he was disgusted.

Jogging back along the promenade he made it to marker twelve later than usual. Jess was already there, sitting in his seat.

“Stealing my seat now?”

“You snooze, you lose.” Her smile was mischievous. “I thought for a moment you’d found a better spot.”

“This is definitely the best spot.”

“You sure you’re not holding out on me?”

“Certainly not.”

“Alright.” She looked at him with suspicion. “You keep your secrets.” She gave him a tiny wink.

Talking to her that evening he could only think of the betrayal that was happening at that very moment in a hotel room a little over a mile away. Where did she think her fiancé went while she was here walking their dog?

When she left their communal spot to meet back up with her fiancé again Thor followed. The man looked crumpled, dishevelled, flustered. How could she not notice that? It wasn’t Thors place to judge. Maybe she was so in love that she didn’t see, aand discover her fiancé’s treachery would break her heart.

The next day Thor used the communicator.

“Romanoff,” he rumbled, “It’s Thor. Yes, yes, I know you know who I am. Listen, I need a favour.”

He asked the former spy to get him some information on who had been staying at the hotel by the lighthouse the previous night.

“It’s a personal project.” He said vaguely when she questioned him. “I need to find someone.”

“Any thoughts on when you’re coming back? Steve is worried about you.”

“Tell him I’m fine. Tell him I said hello.”

“I’ll email you what I find.”

“Great, Thank you.”

Romanoff was thorough and efficient. There were only four rooms booked at the hotel that night. One a couple from Canada. One a lady who had been staying there since Monday and was due to leave on Sunday – promising. One a conference suite rented by the hour – also promising. And one an elderly gentleman there for one night.

There were additional notes and photographs attached. Romanoff had pulled driver’s licences, addresses and a flurry of other information from the SHIELD and law enforcement databases. The elderly gentleman apparently lived in Florida but visited New London once a year on the anniversary of his wife’s death. Not him then. The woman was staying in the hotel for a week while her house was repaired, after all the recent rainfall, her basement had been flooded and needed significant repair. Ooops. That just left the conference suite.

It had been rented on an ongoing basis by a Mr Charles S. Duffy. Charles was an investment banker living right here in New London. Age 58. Married, with one child [DECEASED]. Vehicle: Silver Ford Explorer. The plate number was right there too.

Thor sent a reply requesting more info on Duffy’s activities at the hotel, and received CCTV footage of the man entering the hotel and various cameras tracking his movements into the Seaview Suite - as the name on the door said. A short while after, a tall man looking very much like Jess’s fiancé entered the suite also. Both men emerge from the suite within minutes of each other shortly before ten pm.

His communicator played a snippet of a tune with tension and drums. He’d received a message.

[N.R] Are you P.I. Thor now?

[T.O.] It’s personal. What is P.I?

[N.R] Forget it.

[T.O] Please don’t tell Stark.

In the early evening he went to the gym. They were used to seeing him there now and happy to let him go about his business without interrupting him to find out if he knew how to use each of the machines. There was always the occasional patron who looked on, impressed, to see how much he was bench pressing. He pushed himself hard, realising he’d missed this aspect of his life.

It was warmer today than previous days. The progression into late spring /early summer was apparent now that his month-long brooding session was drawing to a close. Soon there would be more people staying out later in the evenings due to the nicer weather and the lighter nights. He decided he might as well enjoy the beach while he could.

Tucking his shoes into his gym bag he crossed the railings and dropped the few feet down onto the sand. It was cold and damp between his toes, not at all as pleasant as he had hoped. Using his bag as a seat he sat a few metres up from the dark line that marked the most recent tide line and picked out pebbles to throw at the water. If he timed it just right he could throw the pebbles right at the leading edge of the water as it shifted and began to recede.

The yap of a small dog startled him. He’d know that bark anywhere but he refused to turn around, that would be… desperate. Soon the clunk of heels along the promenade drew to a stop nearby. He continued to throw his stones, unable to prevent the small smirk that forced its way onto his lips.

It felt like he sat there for hours waiting for her to notice him, he’d exhausted all pebbles in the reachable vicinity and would be forced to move very soon. Just when he was about to admit defeat, her voice carried down to him.

“You tired of sharing your spot with me now?” She said playfully, leaning on her forearms on the railings, as was her preferred position.

Acting as if he hadn’t noticed her approach he turned, looking surprised.

“Oh, hello!” He waved and stood. “Not at all. I’m a very gracious landlord.” Approaching the raised wooden walkway he came face-to-face with her ankles. Looking upward, the line of her nylon-sheathed legs disappeared at the knee under that wonderfully shaped skirt she seemed to prefer. “You may squat here at my marker as often as you like.” He smiled, squinting a little against the light behind her. “I mean, you said you were a squatter, I didn’t mean that you should squat. Unless you’d prefer to come down here. I mean I can help you, if you’d like?”

Oh shut your infernal mouth for once! His face burned.

“I’m fine thanks.” She laughed, lowering her head until her smirk was smothered by the backs of her hands. “I’m not exactly dressed for climbing fences.”

“I’ll come up then.” He slung his bag across his back and pulled himself up and over the railings. Dusting the sand from his feet he put his shoes back on, regarding her furtively while his head was lowered.

“You come here every day?” She asked.

“In one way or another, yes.”

“Oooh, mysterious.” She poked fun. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Well,” he rumbled, swallowing dryly, “I come here to use the gym, or run sometimes. I do live quite close, just over there in fact.” He pointed to the waterfront apartment building a mile up the shoreline. “Mostly I come here to be at peace.”

You give me peace. He thought.

Something in her face changed, softened even, if it could possibly get any more appealing. There was a sadness in her eyes. He couldn’t look away.

“You lost someone?” She broke eye contact first, staring down at her hands.

“hmm?” He was baffled for a split second. “Oh you mean The Infinity War? D-Day? Yes, I lost a great many people that day.” Did his voice just break then? “But before that even… I’ve seen some terrible things.”

He was aware that he shouldn’t be going down this road, not with her. He’d hoped to remain anonymous, to leave Thor -The Avenger behind and become Thor - the man instead. Or possibly even not Thor at all, just a man.

“Were you in the army?”

“Close enough.” He nodded. If he wasn’t careful he would give too much away. “I prefer not to speak of it.”

“I get it.” She reassured. “We’re all hurting, it’s just that some of us hide it better than others. A lot of people died. It’s harder to find people who didn’t lose someone.”

“Life is the only thing that can be stolen and never given back.” He muttered. “And time.”

“Profound.” She praised.

“I have my moments. There’s a lot going on with me, you know.” He tried to lighten the mood. “Part-time public-space landlord, rain chaser, and philosopher. To mention just a few.”

His humour was verging on cringeworthy. How had he taken it from harrowing inner turmoil to shameless flirtation in one sentence.

“I’m sure you have many talents.”

Had she just flirted back or was that sarcasm?

“I’m Jessica, by the way.” She proffered her hand.

He took it gently, raising it and bowing as if to press it against his forehead in a gesture of utmost respect.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Charm oozing from him in waves. “My name is…”

What should I tell her? Hello, I’m Thor, God of Thunder! Out of the question.

He spoke slowly, giving himself a chance to think of a name. He’d never given it any thought before, if he wasn’t Thor then who was he? The woman in the art studio had thought him British aristocracy, so what was a good British name? A British King perhaps. Henry. Richard. George. William. Yes, that one!

Her face dropped, slack jawed and horrified she watched his mouth start forming the name. Seeing the shock bloom across her face was enough to make him reconsider the whole false name thing.

“W-i-l-l-you excuse me.” He turned and fake sneezed into his hands.

“Bless you.”

“My apologies. My name is Donald, my friends call me Don.”

Your friends call you Point Break but you’re not telling her that. He thought.

“Don?”

“I’d offer to shake your hand but, well…” He grimaced, making a show of wiping his hands on the legs of his jeans.

“Yeah, I’m good.” She chuckled. “Good to know you, Don.”

“Lady Jessica.” He swept himself into a flourishing bow drawing a good-humoured eye roll from her. “The pleasure is mine.”

“My friend’s call me Jess.”

“If I’m permitted?”

“I don’t mind. Knock yourself out.”

“Very well, Jess.”

He might have looked bashful for a moment as she looked him up and down. He’d gotten more than he had hoped for so why was his chest aching and his gut telling him to escape? She was beautiful, he really couldn’t think that enough. Her steely-blue eyes were large and expressive, delicately arching brows and rich dark hair framing her perfect face. The sweep of long lashes had him holding his breath when she blinked long and slow, a slight blush on her cheeks as they spoke.

“Have I got something on my face again?” Her brows knitted subtly.

Jerking out of his daze, he searched her visage for anything out of place.

“No, you look perfect, as always.” He’d totally missed that he’d been staring at her the whole time.

She frowned more deeply, tucking a few carefree strands of hair back behind her ear.

“I should go, it’s already after ten.” She looked away with a look he could only describe as shame. “Daisy has been so patient with me.”

Thor wanted to say something. Apologise. Make light of his inability to read a situation. Tell her how much he enjoyed her company. Anything to take the shame from her expression. Ask her to stay - not that it would help. Instead he went with:

“She’s a good dog.”

After they parted, Thor mentally kicked himself. He always had an uncanny knack of making things awkward. More often than not it was endearing and usually made him quite likeable, especially to women. But then again they mostly only wanted into his trousers, more so when they discovered he was a god. Jess was different, she was guarded. He felt that he hadn’t overstepped any boundaries but this was Midgard and his ways were foreign here. He would have to be more careful with his compliments so as not to make her uncomfortable.

The next day she returned. And the next. Thor found himself falling in with her routines. Before long they’d been talking five nights a week for several weeks. Thor started walking with her while she walked the dog, always keeping a proper distance and never making her feel awkward. He brought a ball for Daisy Duke which became something they did, he kept it in his gym bag always. He told Jess it was becoming part of his daily workout so he and Daisy would run and chase each other in the grass while Jess watched on, laughing.

Jess started bringing an extra coffee with her for him. He’d tried the tiramisu hot chocolate, and while he enjoyed the taste he couldn’t excuse the excessive calories but he didn’t tell her that.

“I like my coffee how I like my men.” He said flatly. “Long and black, and bitter on the tongue.”

“Lewd!” She’d laughed long, feigning disgust, tears running down her cheeks. “That’s something my mind will never unsee. Thanks for that.”

That had been one of Thor’s favourite days with her. The day she laughed so hard she cried. He’d seen tears in her eyes before, shamefully brushed away, emotions denied. Now they made her eyes sparkle like star-steel. Wet cheeks or not she was stunning. Her hand momentarily rested on his bicep and he found her almost too close for comfort. He’d been laughing too, but now he was looking at the play of happiness on her lips and sparkle in her eyes. She’d done the same, eyes flicking down to his mouth as her laughter subsided. His skin prickled with anticipation and it was like he was frozen in place, seeing her within reach but unable to make the moment real.

Something broke in her and she snorted loudly, falling into a second round of laughter. It took the awkwardness out of the moment. Perhaps she hadn’t felt it like he had. He hoped she hadn’t noticed him hungrily drinking in the sight of her, hanging on her every gesture like a breath exhaled on a still and frozen night, where one slight caress could send him spiralling.

No matter how he felt, Thor was the perfect gentleman. Always respectful, always chivalrous, always considerate. He’d been brought up that way. He never intruded on Jess’s time with her fiancé, remaining out of the way during drop offs and pick ups but making sure she was safe. In the beginning the fiancé had walked with her in the park before leaving to ‘meet up with friends’ – those were Jess’s words. But now he left her at Neptune’s in order to dash off for a few hours with his lover. Thor had done enough digging to see what the man was up to but he didn’t understand how could Jess not see? She was astute and incredibly smart; she reminded him of Jane a little in that respect.

Sometimes people can’t see what they don’t want to see. He told himself many times.

Her fiancé was having an affair with another man. Thor didn’t want to be the one to break the news to her but the longer it went on the harder it was for him to stay silent. The risk that she would blame Thor for telling her and never speak to him again, however, kept him quiet. He was torn.

Spring turned to summer and they still met each other in the park. Thor had been content with simply sharing her time on the nights she was there. Jess hadn’t offered anything else, nor asked.

Conversation was easy and they talked about a great many things, though never anything too personal. He discovered that she worked at a dental surgery nearby (she had pointed up the street where Neptune’s was on the corner), which then triggered a memory of the day he’d gone to the gallery, and the woman in the elevator. There had been an astringent smell he had barely even noticed but with the new information his memory returned, richer, and now with aroma-vision. Thor had chuckled out of the blue, drawing questions from her.

“I know that building.” He’d replied. “I visited an art dealer there once, very disappointing show but the woman there offered to capture my likeness.”

“I bet she did.” Jess’s tone was full of inuendo, but Thor’s look of innocence made her laugh all the harder.

Thor told her he worked in ‘security solutions’ which she accepted. It hadn’t been far from the truth, in a scaled down, simplistic way. They shared anecdotes, although Thor held back; there was much of his life and antics that were well documented in the media here on Midgard, and although Jess didn’t seem to pay any attention to that, there was bound to be something that would make his real identity known to her.

She really seemed to enjoy his company and he watched as she blossomed from the closed off, pained and self-diminished creature into a radiant, vibrant and exuberant woman, full of life. It was basking in this glory that Thor finally saw that life could be good, even after all of his failings and defeat in The Infinity War. Good could come out of evil, and that he deserved happiness as much as everyone else, in whatever capacity it presented itself.

Things changed dramatically one Saturday night. Jess arrived at Neptune’s as usual, straight from work. Thor watched from a shaded part of the park as she met with her fiancé. Thor would wait for her until she crossed over and pick up her trail, meeting her a little way down the footpath. Her fiancé had stopped getting her the usual hot chocolate with tiramisu a while back so she and Thor took it in turns to buy drinks for each other. Today it was Thor’s turn and he had 2 cups in hand ready waiting.

There seemed to be an issue, however. They were arguing, arms wildly gesticulating, voices raised. The fiancé was pointing at the park aggressively, his face growing more red. Jess was crying. She took the dog leash from him looking up at the sky in supplication. Suddenly she slapped him across the face and scooped up the dog, striding away from him, heedless of oncoming traffic. The fiancé left without a backward glance.

Thor’s heart almost stopped as she stepped out onto the road. He scanned up and down but she was clear. Her pace quickened, feet skipping as she partly jogged through the park’s gateway from the street. He didn’t want her to know he’d seen so he moved to intercept her at the joining of their two paths.

“Hey, you.” He said in the calmest tone he could muster, falling into step beside her. “Good day?” He prompted, hoping she’d open up.

She didn’t even look at him.

“Jess?”

Her face was streaked with tears, and she stared ahead only as if it was the only way to hold her composure. A few more strides on he decided to take action. Getting out in front of her, he transferred both cups to one big hand, base stacked on lid, and stopped her with a hand laid gently on her shoulder.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, “what’s the matter?”

That was all it took for the floodgates to open and she was crying again, shoulders shaking, gasping for breath as she let go of her composure.

Thor put the drinks down beside his feet and stepped forward to pull her into a hug. It was such a natural gesture, he didn’t even think about the space he promised himself he’d always give her, nor the physical contact he knew he shouldn’t engage in. She needed him in that moment, and she didn’t shy away.

Jess leant into him, allowing him to wrap her in his arms, and pressed her face into his chest. She sobbed and sniffled, breathing hot and humid through his t-shirt onto his skin. They stood like that for a while, with him rubbing her back in the most platonic way he could, and her soaking his chest with her tears.

Daisy started pulling on the leash and it seemed to draw Jess back to the here and now. She stepped back as Thor’s arms fell away. They felt all wrong with the warmth of her gone and he wasn’t sure what to say, or do. Without more information about why she was so upset, he could very well say the wrong thing and make everything so much worse.

“Is there anything I can do?” He spoke softly.

The park had few enough people in it that they were relatively alone, and the quality of the light made it feel like they were secluded in a twilight realm. He longed to hold her again but to do so would not be proper.

“No.” She exhaled a heavy, shuddering breath, and wiped her cheeks with the palms of her hands.

When she looked up at him a second later she looked so vulnerable. His heart ached to see her this way.

Her eyes flicked down to his soaked t-shirt and back up to his face. Her eyes went wide and gasped a little.

Thor panicked. She was about to say something about him touching her.

“I’m sorry, I…” He gestured with his arms.

“I’m not.”

She didn’t miss a beat. Stepping forward quickly, she stood on her tip-toes and pressed her lips to his, freezing him on the spot.

Her lips were soft and a little puffy from crying but they felt divine. She released the seal of her lips but kept gentle contact, trailing her mouth across his, slowly drawing him into a response, parting his lips with hers until things suddenly clicked.

His response was immediate and thorough. Catching her waist with one hand and sliding the other into her hair, he cradled her, deepening the kiss. He delved into her, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her mouth. It was everything he’d imagined it would be and he was swept away by the wave of passion that crested and flooded his senses.

Her hands were on his face, in his hair and she was sighing through her nose as their tongues touched and circled in the join between them. One more little moan from her and he swore to himself that he’d lay her down right there and see what other noises he could coax from her beautiful lips.

This isn’t right. He thought, mentally kicking himself as he so often did when he thought improper thoughts around her.

Thor was the first to pull back, breathless and startled. He felt like he had as a boy getting caught stealing sweet treats from the kitchens. This thing between them now wasn’t his to have, it was a dream and was destined to remain as such.

“I can’t allow you to do this.” He beseeched, steadying her with hands on her upper arms, thumbs gently stroking against her blouse. “Your fiancé might be an unfaithful weasel but you’re better than that. I could not forgive myself for making an adulterer of you.”

Her furious frown was complete and undeniable. There was confusion there also, and tears. Plump beads collecting on her lower lids, making her eyes turn glassy.

Turning on her heel, she fled, tugging the poor dog with her.

“Jessica, wait!” Thor felt like he’d been punched in the gut by Hulk, breathing was difficult and he ached.

He knew he should not follow, she wanted space or why run? She’d already cleared the park and it took every ounce of willpower to keep his feet firmly planted where they were because every nerve in his body told him to go to her and his muscles twitched to obey. The fading feeling of her lips on his pulled at something in his chest, making him feel hollow. What in Odin’s name had he done?

#thor fanfiction #thor fanfic #thor odinson #thor x ofc #thor fan fiction #marvel fanfic #angst #emotional hurt #thor kiss #cloudy's writing #beyond broken

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libraryscarf · 5 years

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here is the piece i wrote for the @womenmadefullmetal zine, which i was profoundly honored to be included in! please check out their tumblr to see all the amazing art and writing that went into this project. i was asked to write about my best girl, winry, and i’m so excited to share this fic with you guys. <3

turning home

( ao3 / ff.net )

The Rockbell women have always breathed smoke, her grandmother tells her, not long after her parents die, but not soon either. We’re furnaces, you and me, she says. Anything that tries to go through us will need to melt.

Winry tries to swallow the lump of black metal in her throat. It sinks into her stomach, distending her insides, like the stretched belly of a snake after devouring a rabbit. That darkness will dissolve eventually, worn away by the passing years and the Resembool sunlight. But fragments of it will float in her system always, pulsing now and then with the heartbeat of loss. It will coat her lungs with iron. It will spike her blood with steel. It will surface in the blisters on her palms, toughening them like hide.

Winry learns at a young age that grief can serve her, both as her burden and as her armor.

: : :

“You shouldn’t be checking in so often. I’m fine. And even if I weren’t, Den knows who to fetch if I need help.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you calling, child?!”

“Well...I thought you might appreciate an update on how I’m doing.”

“Winry. You don’t think I have my own connections in Rush Valley? I’ve known how you were doing the moment you set foot in that wretched city.”

Winry smiles. The anxious bite in her grandmother’s voice hints that Pinako hasn’t been quite as collected as she likes to profess.

“Several people here have told me stories about you.”

“Of course they have. I’m a legend.”

“So you did attach automail fingers to Mrs. Wheeler’s foot instead of toes.”

“Who told you that?!”

“Mrs. Wheeler. And Mr. Wheeler. And Mr. Garfiel. And--”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. She thanked me later. Made it easier for her to pick things up.”

Pinako’s laughter crackles over the line, and Winry joins her. If they were together, sharing this evening as they have countless others in that yellow house, she would see the spidery lines around her grandmother’s mouth smooth away, and Pinako would resemble the woman of so many years ago, her eyes bright as beads of mercury.

: : :

She sits on the wide windowsill of her room, one leg swinging over the shoe-beaten, dusty street outside Atelier Garfiel. The workshop is humid, ripe with male armpits whose owners are always traipsing in.

Heat rises from the ground in shimmering waves, and she pulls in a long breath. The air tastes like the burnished insides of a forge; the sun prickles in a glittering sky. Yesterday one of her clients had cracked an egg onto his metal knee to the delight of six local children. The sun above reminds Winry of the yolk: a perfect golden disc surrounded by sizzling white.

She loves it here. It isn’t the same love she feels for the sweeping countryside where she was born, a slow, soft thing layered with complications of old sorrow.

The love she harbors for Rush Valley is quicksilver and octane, a rush of searing air, a keen and yellow energy that wakes in her muscles each morning and blasts wild through her dreams each night. It is a rough town that Winry loves, but it fits her roughened parts, and Rush Valley loves her back.

: : :

“I’m happy you’re settled in. Tell the others hello from me.”

“Mei already said hi when she heard I was calling. Zampano and Jerso, too. Oh, and Ling suggested bringing you here to serve as the official court mechanic. They’ve apparently never had one before, but he said you could name your price.”

Winry’s grin stretches across her face. That sounds so like something Ling would suggest that she can nearly hear it in his voice.

“And Lan Fan’s thoughts?”

“She admires your work, but doubts you’d want to relocate so far just to take care of her arm.”

Winry’s fingers skim the pocked surface of the worktable. She knows every divot, every chip and scar, as though they’re carved in her own skin.

“I’d like to visit Xing,” she admits.

“There’s a lot of murmuring about a railroad across the desert. Goodness knows how long that’ll take—but then you and Granny could both come.”

His voice has changed, even since they last saw each other. Winry presses a knuckle to her mouth, her eyes stinging.

“Will you be happy there?”

“I think so.”

“Good.”

“...Winry?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

She chews her thumbnail, cursing her stupid throat for closing up.

“Don’t be stupid, Al. I’ve no idea what you mean.”

: : :

Wandering down the uneven rows, Winry’s eyes skim the names. She halts in front of two close-set stones, where others have left tokens. Her eyes fall on a wilting sprig of sweet violets and yellow honeysuckle.

She sinks cross-legged to the ground between the graves, her back and knees complaining after so many long nights of work. The violets’ brittle stems crumble under her fingers into fine gray dust.

Her father had adored sweet violets, Winry remembers suddenly. He had yelled in delight upon finding the first clumps of them in the spring, when winter still bared its teeth in the frigid midnights and ghosted the mornings with frost. He would gather handfuls, stuffing his nose into the velvet purple blossoms. Winry’s mother laughed often and openly, but never was it filled with more delight than when her husband doubled over, possessed by a fit of uncontrollable sneezing.

A warm drop slips down her cheek, and she swipes at it viciously. Another drop splashes onto the end of her nose. Then the sky opens, unleashing a violent spring tempest that sends Winry sprinting for cover. The overhang of the groundskeeper’s shed provides the closest thing to shelter and she crowds herself under it, blinking the lukewarm rain out of her eyes.

In her haste to escape the storm, she hardly notices the soft grit of the disintegrating violets in her hand. Following a vague impulse, she holds them up to her nose, inhaling their powdery, dying sweetness.

Then she sneezes.

: : :

“Hey, you actually picked up.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

Winry’s voice is sharp, camouflaging the way her entire body melts at hearing his voice. A voice that is safe, and healthy, and--as usual--a bit too loud.

“Jeez. Is this a bad time?”

A telling pause.

“Are you crying?”

“No!!”

Her head feels like someone has packed it with wet paper. Ed chuckles ruefully.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine.” Her “m” s and “n” s are migrating toward “b” and “d” territory.

“You sound awful.”

“Right, I’m hanging up.”

“Okay, okay! Sorry!”

Slowly, Winry puts her ear to the phone again. And then sneezes on it.

“Maybe...a tiny bit sick,” she admits.

“Stop pulling all-nighters.”

“I don’t have an all-nighter to blame for this. And don’t tell me what to do.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ed says, half-laughing.

The line crackles as he sighs. “You had to take care of me so much. I feel kinda guilty.”

“You were an extremely bad-tempered patient.”

“Well your bedside manner isn’t exactly welcoming!”

Winry hears the veins popping in his neck and forehead. Ed communicates everything of himself through his voice. He could so easily be sitting across from her.

She closes her eyes and imagines he is.

“You know I didn’t really mind,” she says.

A sheepish grunt from Ed’s side. “Is that because you got to boss me around and tell me what to eat and when to sleep?”

“That... was a contributing factor.”

“I knew it!” he crows victoriously. “You’re sadistic. Sick with power.”

“So was that your backwards way of saying, ‘Winry, I’m so sorry I’m not there to nurse you back to health and make up for all the times I was a stubborn jerk’?”

The pause before his answer is just long enough to worry her.

“It would take a hell of a lot more to make up for that.”

Winry’s smile evaporates, her heart twisting.

“Ed...”

“What? I can’t be sincere for a second?”

“It’s not that . I…I just--”

His laugh interrupts her. “You don’t need anyone to take care of you, Winry. You never have.”

“It might be nice, though,” she mumbles. “Once in a while.”

“Consider the hint taken.”

Her chest expands with relief, a warm wave lifting her on its crest.

“Come home soon.”

Ed hesitates. She is hard to lie to, and if he’s smart, he won’t try.

“I’ll hurry.”

Winry believes him.

: : :

When her head aches and her hands are chapped, Winry walks up the hill to the big tree, where an aged swing creaks against its ropes. The valley flows away from her feet in green, rolling swells.

Her mind is busy, though her hands are not.

She thinks of her newest customer: a girl, no older than Ed when he had his surgery, her right hand missing from a farm mishap. Winry had reassured her that with automail, she could still play her fiddle.

She thinks of how Ed mentioned over breakfast how nice a house would look, there at the top of the hill where the foundation of a burned building still lies.

She thinks of Al’s recent visit, when he brought silk and tea and bright, human laughter across the desert.

She thinks of how her daughter reminds her in a thousand half-painful ways of Pinako, asleep now next to her own children.

She thinks of the countless small responsibilities waiting for her at home: an electric motor to tune up, a bruise to kiss and bandage, a shipment invoice to file, a long-overdue call to Paninya, a pie crust to bake.

Winry listens to the birds talking in the branches high above her. She smiles.

Then she turns down the hill, beginning the walk back home.

#scarfwrites #fma fanfiction #fma #women made fullmetal

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waywardnerd67 · 5 years

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Fast Cars & Bleeding Hearts

Summary: (Y/N) was living her best life. Friends, love and fast cars. Then the one person in the world she never expected to shows up does and throws a wrench into her perfect life. Will she be able to resist what her heart desperately desires, or will she crash and burn. Characters: Charlie (OMC), Jessie (OFC), Kyle (OMC), Joel (OMC), Reader Pairing: Charlie x Reader / Joel x Reader Warnings: Fluff/Angst Word Count: 1826 A/N: A few things about this little one shot. This is all based off a vivid dream I had that I have been thinking about nonstop all day. In my dream the main man looked like Charlie Hunnam (not one of my top celebrity crushes but that is who my brain drummed up). So I used his aesthetic for the board and his name for the character. I am not tagging anyone since this is just for me to try to get this dream off my mind. I am embellishing it for the purpose of good story telling since I have been thinking about it all day. If you like it then awesome, if not I do mind if it gets zero notes as long as I stop thinking about it. Love Nerdy <3

(Y/N) grabbed her bookbag from the side of her desk stuffing her planner and black flats into it. Slipping on her Chucks, she waved to her co-worker in the next cubical as she made her way out the door on a gorgeous fall afternoon. She could not wait to get home and fine tune her beautiful ’72 Chevelle SS for tonight’s race. It was the one night out of the week that she felt more like herself being surrounded by friends and fast cars.

The trip home was quick as she walked inside the large multi-family building her best friend’s family owned. In this building was her two best friends Jessie and Kyle. Next to their unit was (Y/N)’s boyfriend, Joel along with his buddy Corey. Her unit was above his and then an empty unit next to her since Jessie’s friends had found a place nearby. It was nothing for (Y/N)’s apartment door to be open with her friends inside and today was no different as she saw Kyle sitting on her couch.

“How was work hon?” he asked looking over the back of the couch.

(Y/N) flopped down next to him, “Exhausting. People are so ungrateful and mean. One day I’ll find a job I love but for now I’m stuck answering calls from assholes.”

“Well at least now you can go do some real work and make some real money.” (Y/N) looked over at her friend smiling from ear to ear.

“Damn right I can. Hey, speaking of work, did you find a new tenant yet?” she asked getting up walking into her room to change.

Kyle was silent for a moment before he sputtered out, “Uh… y-yeah. Well, um, the new guy will actually be there tonight to meet everyone. So, yeah… hey I’ll see ya downstairs in the garage.”

(Y/N) peeked out from behind her door to see Kyle hurriedly getting up and walking out. She thought that was kind of strange of him but immediately lost all thoughts when she heard her car roar to life behind their building. She quickly put on an old pair of jeans and flannel rolling up the sleeves then slipped back into her Chucks. As she rushed downstairs, (Y/N) nearly knocked Joel over.

“Whoa there baby!” he said chuckling, “Where’s the fire?”

Joel slipped his arms around her waist pulling her in close and kissing her. She sighed happily leaning against him, “Kyle and guys are getting my car ready for tonight. You gonna make it this time?” she asked.

Joel looked down pulling away from her slightly, “Sorry babe. I have to work a double tonight. Text me though to keep me updated.”

She nodded trying not to show her disappointment, “I get it. No worries handsome and I’ll make sure to text you proof of life.”

He smiled leaning down to kiss her again and she made her way to the detached garage behind the building. Her disappointment was washed away when she saw her gorgeous glossy black Chevy shining in the evening light. Kyle was jacking it up while Corey was hovering over the motor. She smiled seeing Kyle’s daughter, Belle, helping him jack the car up into the air.

“Make sure your daddy doesn’t drop my baby.” (Y/N) said as Belle smiled widely at her.

“Got it Auntie (Y/N/N).” she said as Kyle flipped her off.

(Y/N) grabbed a milk crate to stand on next to Corey, “How’s she looking?”

Corey was a computer geek by trade but the only one she ever trusted with the mechanics of her car. He hummed before answering, “She’s looking good. Changing the fluids and a few minor things then she is good to go. Do you know where yet?”

(Y/N) scoffed, “Yeah. Right. Like King would tell us where the race will be before dark. If that ever happens I think I will play the lotto and give up racing.”

Corey laughed, “True. Alright get underneath and let’s change out her oil.”

This was (Y/N)’s favorite part getting down under her car and getting dirty. There was no bigger turn on than the smell of gasoline and car grease. After a couple of hours going over every inch of her Chevelle she went back into her apartment to get cleaned up. When she walked in there was a note pinned to her door.

“Keep your head clear, drive straight and be safe. Love ya babe, J.” she smiled reading it and set it on her kitchen table while she went to take a shower.

Sure enough Sean aka King texted her the location of the race tonight. It was a two hour drive into the country where there would be little chance of getting caught. That meant a major racer was in town and King wanted to see some good matches. Grabbing her lucky black hoodie she held onto the silver chain around her neck holding the only piece she cared about from her past and made her way back down to the garage.

“Where’s Jessie?” she asked only seeing Kyle and Corey loading up everything.

Kyle looked nervous again, “She and the kids are meeting us there. Come on we need to hit the road.”

She climbed into the big pick up truck that pulled her car and trailer with Corey on her left and Kyle on her right. The drive was filled with laughter and headbanging as they blared the music out the open windows. (Y/N) loved nights like tonight with a cold bite to the wind and crisp smell in the air. It reminded her of the good ole days before everything crashed around her.

Pulling up there were already many of the regular drivers and crews apart of King’s group. Most of them driving car half the weight of hers but none more powerful. Once they were parked and unloading, (Y/N) spotted Jessie with Belle and their youngest Rose walking up the main pit area.

She scooped up Rose twirling her around as she giggled, “I missed you Rosie!”

“She missed you too. Sorry we didn’t ride out with you but had to meet the new tenant here to sign the papers.” Jessie said looking anywhere but at (Y/N) and that is when she knew something was up.

“What is going on? Kyle is acting all squirrely and so are you. Who’s the new ten…” her sentence dropped off upon seeing the car driving up the pit road.

(Y/N)’s heart thumped wildly in her chest making it ache. It did not matter how long it had been since she seen that car she would never forget it. She knew it better than her own car and the driver behind the wheel. She looked over to Jessie whose face was bright red and suddenly everything made sense.

“No.” she said as Jessie bit her lip, “Oh hell no.”

(Y/N) handed Rose to Jessie and started to march over to Kyle her fist clenched at her side. Kyle’s eyes went wide when he saw her coming, “Whoa (Y/N), calm down before you…”

Before she knew it her fist was swinging towards Kyle as he dodged it, “You bastard! You knew it was him and didn’t tell me!? How could you?”

“(Y/N), calm down. He called me out of the blue and asked if I knew of a place he could crash at while getting back on his feet. We need the money to keep the building up to snuff so I couldn’t turn him down no matter your past with one another. I-I’m sorry.” He explained as she took a deep, shaky breath.

Turning around she watched as the man she has loved from childhood until the day of her accident got out of the cherry red ’70 Chevelle and started walking towards her. “I can’t do this.” She said walking off to clear her head.

She had been twenty-one, racing to pay her way through college. Charlie had helped her build her car right along his own. Hours of getting greasy and making love in his garage. He was the only man her dad approved of when he saw Charlie working on his car. A few words were exchanged, and her dad smiled at her saying he was a keeper. They grew up together living only a block from one another and in high school they had fallen in love.

That was until the day of her accident. The whole day had been bizarre starting with a classmate trying to pick a fight with her as she walked to home with Jessie. Never once did (Y/N) back down from the girl but she also never laid a finger on her. When she got home, Charlie was waiting for her in her room. He was tall and lean with shaggy blond hair that was usually under a black ball cap. His ocean blue eyes were always shining and his skin always sun-kissed from working on cars outside.

Before a race they always spent time together alone snuggling or talking to just relax. Being with him was as easy as breathing to her but that night he was tense. He asked her not to race but she had played it off as boyfriend nerves. (Y/N) would remember that conversation for the rest of her life since it was the last memory she had before her crash.

“Please sweetheart let’s just stay in tonight. I made enough this month to pay for your tuition. Let’s just lay here all night together.” He said turning on his side looking down at her.

(Y/N) raked her fingers through his thick hair moving it from in front of his crystal eyes, “Pretty boy, I’m not backing out now. Everything is set and it’s the first clear night we’ve had in weeks to race. I promise to be safe and with you there nothing can go wrong.”

His lips pursed before letting out a long sigh, “Alright we’ll go. I don’t know, I just have a bad feeling.”

“Everything will be fine.” She pulled his lips to hers trying to distract him from his thoughts.

Of course everything was not fine. According to all her friends, the car she raced slide sideways clipping the back end of her car sending it flying through the air. (Y/N) remembers nothing of the crash or the next six weeks after. What she did remember was never seeing Charlie when she woke up in the hospital weeks later. Never hearing from him over the next year she was in recovery or the year after that when she started to rebuild her car from the frame up. Nothing for five years until tonight.

“Hey (Y/N).” Charlie’s raspy voice send shivers down her body.

Turning around she found him wearing a black ball cap and hoodie like he always did five years ago. All the resentment and anger melted away as soon as he eyes connected with his blue ones.

“Hi Charlie.”

#not spn #fiction #dream #original work

15 notes · View notes

sirjustice201-blog · 4 years

Text

My BMI, blood group and Pulse rate

Sing as if u live in the world not sent to live long, compare the songs in the links below

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDMhlvbOFaM

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr2jSR_ML9s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5oF3mQ64P1M

Epl is no-more, in fact they have gotten the sirjustice166 all explanation, Britain is poor so we cant afford to condom their weird acts, the seats of our pubs are empty dude, printing money 4 other nations and other nations who imported their machines have their own brand to use at home, so saves the country export.

With the car lock that is key-less like described below that uses, body temp or fat composition as much as pulse rate, when the battery atrophies i will be cumbersome to open the same, so both positive and negative cathodes can be placed like from the bottom of the car so if the above happens u take another battery and connect and still works as much as with houses

Those who love adulating lands loves prays as fellowship and known that way, 4 the land is beautiful so can take ya 2 hell so such above gets into ya, GOD made it that way, so they think u can get to heaven bro

With the 6-12 DC geared motor now our blenders and air-blowers can be made that way and even with the 240 V bulbs can be made in a such way the small many lights of 12 DC bulbs which takes much time to spoil placed inside as u tell the devil to give equal brightness not knowing is 12 DC powered, very hard to distinguish if its 240 v or 12 Dc. Like in the link below

http://www.cp-lighting.co.uk/Lamps/Light-Bulbs

https://www.aliexpress.com/item/32854466863.html

https://www.aliexpress.com/item/33048314221.html?spm=a2g0o.detail.1000023.15.2c2734913OiFqC

https://www.aliexpress.com/item/32988806903.html?spm=a2g0o.detail.1000023.9.2c2734913OiFqC

You will not eat with my stuff, Kebi telling hooligans and the lazy blindly, how? Many thought he will open fight but he tells it this way, rather tell groups of all nations to make much from many sources to be cheap like china many company electronics/machines. With how to make artificial foods, machines,clothes, shoes and building materials as well as stationery ware as explained in tumblr a/c sirjustice166, u wanted to consolidate the same by killing me so u alone make it but alas!, Guys i have made it public, even if i die u will not benefit to cement the truths above. He told the Negros categorically who got no-sense in later wanting to be with ya and even the masai, luo and kikuyu communities as well as kisii, Tanzanians and Ugandans who equally aspire to get free things by bring kids to him he knows not who as well wants the best of him yet him to date has led not all that pleasing life in-terms of sanitation and cloths and them they want the same from me at tender ages meaning they cant work 4 themselves and even most bankers got that bad trait. Bro die ya own death dude

Am the inventor of Ae technologies described in Kevinelson mondy FB a/c, my temp is 37, BMI 26 currently, Blood group AB and pulse rate 67, friends they want to take this away from me, the likes of Nelson Emeka and kevino nelson of Kericho, friend lets have the machines that measures the above to ascertain truth.Women they want to play dice with me as with my destiny and if they manage kill me or leave me as a laughing stock or at all means ride on my back as wanting to eat my food and be with me all the times which i want not dude and cant afford that rather 1 can harm another, so best to tell ya. Looking 4ward 4 ya help dude, best regards, Mr Nelson smith as Kevin Dawe friends with Joseph Jeswin of Kuwait and WSU or Humphrey eteni and Melani, Donna Hughes, Chalmers Lynn Deborah, Corey Hurl, Jeff Ester, de-Colbert Carlos, Wilson Williams and Lynnette Garthenji who denied him pussy.

Artificially made breads as described in the tumblr a/c above crumbles the booty to look like sagging and a hard pad as the side effects, so dude make ya own bread by buying ya mini-bread making machine or make sure u buy cooked 1 u see like nowadays made in the supermarkets as shown in the link below

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=mini-bread+making+machine+images&client=opera&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjy3sHS8svpAhXk6eAKHcSRDqQQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=984&bih=658

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WmMjp_TYcQ

The real semi-translucent mirror is made this way, collected hay or fallen leaves mixed with ice or cold water then pure human fecal matter straight from the toilet hurled unto it and boom that real-brown mirror which solve every single doubt of ya bad looking to give u confidence in life as opposed to the current mirrors we have inculcating the opposite above among people, Glass 2 way Mirror

https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.mirrorworld.co.uk%2Fimages2015%2FMobile%2Ftwoway.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.mirrorworld.co.uk%2Ftwo-way-mirror.html&tbnid=lKOb2-8CngF_eM&vet=12ahUKEwiHtNnA88vpAhUCNxoKHTQ4CTcQMygTegUIARChAg..i&docid=18LXbrO7iLk6rM&w=300&h=300&q=real%20semi-translucent%20brown%20mirror%20images&client=opera&ved=2ahUKEwiHtNnA88vpAhUCNxoKHTQ4CTcQMygTegUIARChAg

https://www.twowaymirrors.com/glass/

The power bank that need no charging can use the manual cooker timer technology to turn the magnet like in a made more small but compacted stater comb technology to power ya phone b4 u turn it again when the set time lapses without having a battery as in the link below leads to it, maybe engineers are dilly dallying. At-least a break-through in sudden smartphone battery pop ups that leave ya frustrated in areas without electricity synonymous with alternator generator replacing electricity.

https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-sport-bike-charge-bike-dynamo-bicycle-usb-dc-5v-generator-charger-battery-power-bank-for-usb-device-cycling-accessoriesgreen-23306980.html

Click the links below how white men will be done finally esp German or Negros

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ZfHZZHKsmc

How white men will be done in Africa as Much as Negros or a local tribe wants to control ya in the city with their sick and silly traditions which has come up with nothing, synonymous dude!!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ZfHZZHKsmc, toy drone with LCD screen

Drone with camera in-front of the remote to not put ya head up on ya drone location on the atmosphere as u can see it in the LCD screen

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/DWI-Foldable-Drone-with-4K-hd_60694705885.html?spm=a2700.pcdrm.normalList.49.1a47p0Byp0ByII&bypass=true

Images of new China low cost durable house more than its sold in Kenya 3 times, Folks a house that costed $ 200,000 now under the same technology costs quarter that amount so rethink if u wanna sell ya-house

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/Luxury-Modern-Design-Low-cost-small_60834594731.html?spm=a2700.pcdrm.normalList.61.2995pS0JpS0JFT&bypass=true

Play the Game below to win, in the below link

https://www.arkadium.com/games/hidden-object/?arkpromo=push_hidden-object_5-24-20&utm_source=push&utm_medium=pushnotification&utm_campaign=push_hidden-object_5-24-20

With the pulse-rate or body temperature set on the door below as from inside, high voltage 4 those who dont belong can be set so if they continue struggling to open the door 4 like 2 minutes it electrocutes them to confusion like with 400 Ac voltage as a mechanism to curb theft and dont just get to 1 house lest the above falls on ya

Just be simple if u want to avoid such, use dimple type of key locks 4 all ya doors windows or car, buy from a far country online and disguise ya self or pick up point so they dont locate ya well-being as can make spares 4 the same. In the cottage industry such are very hard to duplicate as the previously used keys or buy many keep them out of use and use them later, thinking they are all dead. Like in the links below or just combination locks of more than 6 codes or character

https://www.homestratosphere.com/types-of-keys/

The manual mature way to go is resorting to the above dimple key system or card opened door.

If u live next to the hill it makes many people leave ya alone as dont belong or like Much speaker sound system, still torn between in middle and quarter life crisis and many goes to heaven out of staying in such places, if u live in flat lands like Kenya Nyika plateau, many consider u and trust u not, that u love tender young girls and even kids, with me i love rolling lands like Kansas State to signal i love women out of research but many know not and even daily reading like with articles and writing and the reason why if u love Wheat-state the white-folks are on ya neck like never b4, not necessarily life is cheap their or pretty good in its sub-urbs, the reason laid down in the former phrase if u didn’t know home. And with KS if u like, they think u dont like kids around ya and can take ya to hell, so they avoid the same, that u work best in such no many kid environment which doesn’t mean that u beat them as purported by many lairs. Living up and down a mountain line as ya house in the plain like with KSM next to the showground or grave makes ya head small as thins it and the beauty dude.

Kisumu City was Built like Las Cruses MN currently while Nairobi like Tokyo Today as BEN FRANKLIN says he miss Philadelphia City when he was in BOSTON. Lagos was built like Las Santos, Spain today

Make money online like shown in the link below

https://binomo.com/?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=znakru_fb_binomo_site_kenya_cpc&utm_content=18_13.04.2020&utm_term=ll_kenya_demo_whole_desktop_kenya_%D0%B8%D0%BD%D1%82%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B5%D1%81%D1%8B_%D1%82%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%B9%D0%B4%D0%B8%D0%BD%D0%B3_18andup_%D0%9C_%D0%96&fbclid=IwAR2FrV0LocP5tN_zNDqtpt1ueqIV8k1fx2Hz2fZv3k4hsBSulaCedGdjdCY

The bracelet 4 every citizen of any nation the can be traced online on the computer where u r is the only way to curb theft and people going to the USA using drones and vice versa and to other nations to do crimes. Bracelets that reads ya blood pressure and like body temperature that shows on the the track on computer screen where the screw that ties the handles tied on ya feet is grinned to loose the grip so u cant unscrew it like in the link below, where the government employ people to monitor like 1000 people per computer where they r and not know them in person but are subjects to phone calls or emails and phone texts which if u dont respond to tantamount to warrant of arrest or police called to query u more, like being in parole in the Usa, whenever you r out of town via the computer they know ya location and if u remove the bracelet gadget

https://www.google.com/search?q=small%20legs%20gpprs%20bracelets%20images&tbm=isch&tbs=rimg%3ACdm3Sp7YQ–AImCOhrV3BjymWYk-8j67hdZSHRQc36N_1HLpeiQfjH7YeybGn_1P2DbAQGfKdl2TcyIofG0N_1dBAg_1AizbzGtMQEf-DUc1NFHMPHbKzjwXgH2-ZeL5inxf5pec5-aVpMMBRPkqEgmOhrV3BjymWREYT90vM2QgECoSCYk-8j67hdZSEaN653RKlD-QKhIJHRQc36N_1HLoRAtPMbiagk6UqEgleiQfjH7YeyRGuGAQJ6feQMioSCbGn_1P2DbAQGEUkOewyqpoWOKhIJfKdl2TcyIocRCWGx-yx9WiUqEgnG0N_1dBAg_1AhG9NIl5UouTICoSCSzbzGtMQEf-EbC7gWv387-NKhIJDUc1NFHMPHYRI6J_1SANJF1EqEgnKzjwXgH2-ZRFQRkHoAredGSoSCeL5inxf5pecEZuuuOwWv7-AKhIJ5-aVpMMBRPkRY7jZPuhHy2lhFVk9ELbUKOc&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE901KE901&hl=en&ved=0CAIQrnZqFwoTCLiV8cXnyekCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAH&biw=1263&bih=913

The song in the link below alludes that if u use the water at bar kalare spring described below for not along time every day like within 6 months it brings ya down as Christ on the cross looked down as kills you and many have been killed by that like Nate Dog and King of the Jew another version cements the truth, it got that killing spirit and sees ya dude, no kidding, truth bro!!!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DuPfavs2mGI

Worker and Vineyard parable to bring out reality, Kakamega was built like Denver today, Naivasha was built like Kansas city Kc today, kevin Cinada, Collins, Dakar was built like Zurich, Switzerland today and Johannesburg was built like NY. B4 they relocated they could miss the cities as they wanted to not bring spirit of a new town altogether, so once they had built the same city like the ones in tropics they could take ya to those modern built cities leave ya on the airport and tells u locate ya house, which many thought they r just in the same city in tropics though in temperate lands, they did not take ya to ya house as u know it as the city houses same as with every building and roads. It was a new awe altogether bro as in happy matrimony of the world with such surprises, just imagine dude!!! Dont i have the right to do what i want with my own life, as all the workers were paid the same, as building a city, its buildings, roads and houses, as Kebi tells ya on tumblr a/c sirjustice166 can take only 1 year provided you got the Taka/Cabbage in place not the ordinary built like in Africa. So was all that easy to build. SA also has sensed defeat as china so wants E-Africa tribes to claim they are them so later they dont deny the same fact if they want to be here eyeing the water at bar Kalare described vividly below if people not know it kills and thats the beautiful thing with God dont just give it all to ya in 100% percent way, there must be repercussion associated with it which is killing 1 and it says do not kill ya brother as Cain did to able, so can lure Kebi to get to the USA and kill him with that water which comes 1st on jail shower as cold then the hot 1 that follows is normal water, which if u tell a jail-mate u miss it like being in a corner to fall 1st b4 getting on the hot 1 they result to organizing a fight with ya and even the jail guard are into that as they open u a fight with ya, the white-boys around

The BMI Machine on the Kenya Supermarket is a blessing in disguise as Kebi cant continue saying this person aint this or that person or they r triplets as twins who were given to different families to join again later to bring confusion as witness presently, so they monitor the same even with dignitaries and their people going under the same so interm of crime like in election they are caught and with me as well i got the same machine, so if the same person intrudes to me then i found out the same and not afraid to ambush him as kill him and the police tells me shit as nothing cause i have sung it severally and the exact person is aint the above and will soon surface as around as evidence.

Magdalin malateng, matiyo Coleman Wichita in 2015 diewle as diarrhea, I dont know if she had already left that job she was a visitor who used the drone gimmick as described below to get there as well as Humphrey Eteni the Friend to Evans Odhiambo of New Hope, MN, Who investigates me if am of good conduct yet, little did i know that he is in the bandwagon of exhuming graves to affirm the statement pretenders are the worse. They diarrhea means not real diarrhea but panicking of end of ya dubious deals or good life which means b4 u know it u will get back to hard life which u want not and not able to accommodate.

The saucer technology described in 1 of sirjustice166 tumblr a/c to get down as descend from up above to land, u just switch off the coil that heats the 8, (so 2 remain working) in the middle wind blowers or switch off the 8 wind blowers of those in the middle or all the above when empty of people or luggage but when full of the above u switch of like 6 such cylinder below it like with a Disc man to descend down slowly cause that weight cant be lifted with on 4 gas cylinders heated but all the 10 heated, so 4 such gas cylinders remain working. KING OF THE JEW to bring out reality of Christ sayings and worker and vineyard parable to cement the truth of air blower like used in toys jumping balloon like in the link below which can use the geared 12 DC motor to save much power, make work easy dont struggle with it dude

https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE901KE901&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=images+of+airblowers+of+kids+jumping+balloon&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwio6cOv8MnpAhVIxoUKHY7VDaEQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1280&bih=913

https://www.google.com/search?q=discman+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjwlP2z8MnpAhWF_IUKHTeJAWkQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=discman+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzICCAA6BAgAEEM6BAgAEB46BAgAEBg6BggAEAgQHlCanQNYhsMDYIvGA2gAcAB4AIAB5gKIAbMWkgEIMC4xMS4yLjGYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZw&sclient=img&ei=iQjJXrCsC4X5lwS3kobIBg&bih=913&biw=1280&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE901KE901

https://www.google.com/search?q=jumia+12+dc+geared+motor+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwivl5XT8MnpAhVF_4UKHUWDC9IQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=jumia+12+dc+geared+motor+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoCCAA6BAgAEEM6BQgAEIMBOgYIABAIEB46BAgAEBhQ24YBWJ_cAWDU3wFoAHAAeACAAa4CiAGdMZIBCTAuMTguMTIuMZgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1n&sclient=img&ei=ygjJXq-KJMX-lwTFhq6QDQ&bih=913&biw=1280&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE901KE901

https://www.google.com/search?q=alibaba+12+dc+geared+motor+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwj5s7nj8MnpAhVZwIUKHSWJAiQQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=alibaba+12+dc+geared+motor+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1DUG1iXJ2DiL2gAcAB4AIABzgGIAe8KkgEFMC40LjOYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZw&sclient=img&ei=7AjJXvmNLdmAlwSlkoqgAg&bih=913&biw=1280&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE901KE901

https://www.jumia.co.ke/catalog/?q=12+dc+geared+motor

The 3 DC geared motor in the link below can turn the bicycle dynamo with buck up to light ya house by connecting it to a half power motor bike battery then to an inverter as described in 1 of sirjustice166 tumblr a/c

https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-loveliness-12-kinds-motor-gear-package-diy-model-parts-of-science-and-technology-small-production-material-micro-dc-small-motor-21881447.html

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Gikfun-3V-6V-Motor-Arduino-EK1300x4U/dp/B07GGF4KLR

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/12mm-gearbox-micro-3-volt-dc_60275178830.html

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/Robot-Tire-DC-DC-3-9V_60691222619.html

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/6V-12V-24V-DC-Low-Speed_60698612908.html

Buy PlayStation online in the below links

https://saruk.co.ke/products/category/play-station/sony-playstation-4-pro-ps4-8gb-gddr5-ram-1000gb-1tb-storage-gaming-console?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=T3MSA&utm_term=2020wk21&fbclid=IwAR2o4JcyDRVjl0SzPYkPMoAGMVIUWfomJjB4jgDSipMaGvpxCqLcD0XBUCE

https://www.jumia.co.ke/playstation-4-slim-console-500gb-black-sony-mpg104098.html

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/DC-Plastic-Planet-Gearbox-Motor_60773598687.html?spm=a2700.details.deiletai6.13.7289ApG5ApG5cz&bypass=true

MR president, launch Kenyan innovations stop playing dice to stop disputes, so u know, if coin placed on ya hand u see, as Mr Hindu cheats ya to get into hell

From inside the house u can set the temperature, Dynamo-meter, fat and pulse rate for those who can open the above or ya door as mostly family members where if they touch the below round rotator it detect all the 3 mentioned above to open ya door automatically. New technology in opening ya door and more like in the link below

https://www.amazon.in/Yale-Round-Door-Lock-Cylindrical/dp/B0751FZR7X

https://www.google.com/search?q=images+of+car+door+locks&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiA3fKJr8npAhUU0OAKHRo_DZUQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=images+of+car+door+locks&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1CYmwFYmJsBYPWeAWgAcAB4AIAByQGIAckBkgEDMi0xmAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWc&sclient=img&ei=CMTIXoC5JpSggwea_rSoCQ&bih=618&biw=1007&client=ms-google-coop&hl=en

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/Professional-BMI-body-fat-analysis-machine_62459484274.html?spm=a2700.galleryofferlist.0.0.22b92849co55lK

https://www.alibaba.com/trade/search?spm=a2700.galleryofferlist.0.0.4c3c4c2d6jIT6j&SearchScene=themePage&themeScene=cloudTheme&themeIds=1020060503876,1019863470824&sceneId=sellingPointTheme&themeRank=10&searchPageIndex=1&themeTitle=Featured%20Products%20for%20Temperature%20Instruments&themeSubTitle=null&SearchText=digital%2Btemperature%2Bdetector&materialId=1020060503876

https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-electronic-hand-grip-strength-dynamometer-meter-auto-capturing-hand-grip-power-device-with-large-lcd-screen-colorblue-9499071.html

Most SA residents got Kalenjin bloods, so kikuyus claiming ties with the above people so they find their ways to SA cheap than other tribes in-terms of doing business, just claiming people or things once the claimed tribe has a hidden beauty like with oil is due to be found in Tz, so claiming the same to be ahead or belong, cant or afraid to hustle and want to control people yet don’t understand how the world turns. Very bed character indeed but is ending like a river which the spring at Bar Kalare fed or the spring itself as Noah sends his dove to monitor the same, the reason behind saying Kenya is rich if that water sold to paints company to make paints that changes ya mind so u don’t want to be in a place the next minute like with government offices, houses or restaurants, makes places bores u and even with machines like cars. Stop dude, ya time is dead as over as well sold to prisons and jails as mention below to game rather tame people, If it can build Kansas city and its environs, means can build half of Kenya went sold massively b4 mixed with much water and even in homes to tame wives and husbands and kids etc. Good Samaritan with Christ parable to cement the truths, i don’t know what Italians are doing in Italy, come proclaim ya land dude and even if the spring atrophies in the areas where the its waters infiltrates you add more water left 4 sometimes then u pump it to a container and still does the same or on the spring water percolation fissures b4 it fall 2 the ground. Click the link below dude, i’d be gone like that river mentioned above song, water/maji money as P-money Akon song Ft Mymenpi-mp

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=co_tWKCOZGk

https://textbookcentre.com/catalogue/the-river-and-the-source-school-edition_13981/?gclid=EAIaIQobChMIg-m1iLTJ6QIVGNtRCh1LRQ42EAAYASAAEgIxKvD_BwE

Got submarines now, if they know more sink their ships as that submarine got the mini-missiles described below. Let them control their waters the likes of USA, who now know nothing dude, fuck Jesse Jackson it aint about race now song link below

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=udxZ9zkDzpo

The Blindz curtain type below is good 4 offices and if u want to use them in homes, use them in other rooms away from living room like with rest rooms or bedroms etc Bambobambo boo, good 4 bedboom as delanu tells monde teller, while the curtain 1 the reverse of the explained above as in the link below

https://www.alibaba.com/premium/curtain_blind.html?src=sem_ggl&cmpgn=8800440391&adgrp=87845697599&fditm=&tgt=aud-802361843709:kwd-297221050535&locintrst=&locphyscl=9063091&mtchtyp=b&ntwrk=s&device=c&dvcmdl=&creative=432312271877&plcmnt=&plcmntcat=&p1=&p2=&aceid=&position=&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIjJSapbXJ6QIVgp3VCh1uJwYREAAYASAAEgJ2H_D_BwE

The window security in lonely places 4 big houses can run on side by side strong metallic gear bars from below/up or sides of the window which can be automated and of armored glass or strong wire mesh to make u slumber peacefully without fear of burglary as i can have 1 switch to close/open all ya house business window at from where u sleep to avoid those who transfigure do the same per window, now u can turn off all ya lights with this technology as security guaranteed with this type of window protectors. Now with every nation or person can make mini-missiles, then 4 our protection in houses, jobs or in our cars, the armored technology is the only way to go by in all mentioned above

https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2F72%2F54%2F1d%2F72541d5a9afd6d1a645bd60934e9bde4.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.pinterest.com%2Fpin%2F597641813021990702%2F&tbnid=p_V3oErrd8TseM&vet=12ahUKEwjcpfrvtsnpAhWF34UKHYhoDRkQMygCegUIARDtAQ..i&docid=adj28J50eO54sM&w=768&h=1024&q=side%20by%20side%20automate%20sliding%20window%20protectors&client=ms-google-coop&ved=2ahUKEwjcpfrvtsnpAhWF34UKHYhoDRkQMygCegUIARDtAQ

https://www.google.com/search?q=mini-missiles+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjcpfrvtsnpAhWF34UKHYhoDRkQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=mini-missiles+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoCCCk6AggAOgUIABCDAToECAAQQzoECAAQHjoGCAAQCBAeUMq4CFjs5ghgyOgIaABwAHgAgAHsAYgB4R-SAQYwLjguMTKYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZw&sclient=img&ei=NczIXpy3K4W_lwSI0bXIAQ&bih=635&biw=1024&client=ms-google-coop#imgrc=sv7Ju_J6rdwl4M

https://www.alibaba.com/premium/Blinds%2C+Shades+%26+Shutters.html?XPJAX=0&product_id=60775809296&tagId=c153802&pcate=153802&cid=153802&src=cpm_fb&ver=76w_20190529&account=DPA&campaign_id=6114792212116&campaign=mc_pc_pclp&ad_set_id=6114792213716&ad_set=pc_mc_completenewpclp&source=fb&placement=Facebook_Desktop_Feed&ad=mc_pc_newpclp_frame&fbclid=IwAR33RqOCS7DhSH_-dcO2lWzWBdv-x8U7nc5JjtpFvlMz1hxPSrr-9_v4KwQ

When i reach to tumblr a/c 200 the last 1 mentioned in tumblr a/c sirjustice166, then in that tumblr a/c sirjustice200 i copy paste the all the above name tumblr a/c in tumblr a/c sirjustice166 to this tumblr a/c sirjustice166 and add other sirjustice a/c from sirjustice201 - sirjustice300 and on my FB a/c mcsleepy nelson i write my new tumblr a/c as sirjustice200 and on Instagram as well as i send to people personal messages and on comments and as i reach tumblr sirjustice300, i do the same with the above starting with sirjustice301-400 until u relents and give up and accepts truth period dude

Buy the toy submarine in the link below from china

https://www.alibaba.com/trade/search?fsb=y&IndexArea=product_en&CatId=&SearchText=submarines

Buy UAE made home appliances in the link below

https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE901KE901&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=clikon+home+appliances+from+which+country&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjpsrn9hMrpAhUQAGMBHUgtDEQQsAR6BAgJEAE&biw=1280&bih=913

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concealeddarkness13 · 4 years

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A New Dawn Part 9

In which Kai actually feels pretty safe! Tagging my collaborator @ratracechronicler!

Intro

Kai: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Rat: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

Rat shook me awake, and I shot up, grabbing one of my knives. She whistled and shook her head. “Yeesh. It’s not my fault that you decided to sleep in late. We need to get going. Tim and Tom are waiting.” She tapped her wrist, even though she didn’t have a watch.

I blinked a few times as a fleeting fear faded away. A dream that I couldn’t remember. “You’re one to talk. I’m normally up hours before you.”

She scoffed. “Joke’s on you. I only wake up early when I have to. Anyway, you have ten minutes to get ready. So, get going.”

I rolled my eyes and ran off to get changed, and Eli shook his head at Rat. “You haven’t even contacted them yet.”

“She doesn’t need to know that.”

I just rolled my eyes as a smile tugged at my lips. They were weird, but they were my friends. I got finished getting ready in nine and a half minutes, so I was still on time. My machine was still not working, but at least it was easier to get one last good look at Joanndu as we left. Hopefully, the aliens wouldn’t follow me to Fre Jac-Mac, but I didn’t have much hope for that.

Rat cleared her throat, and I looked over at her. “We’ll be meeting our friends, Tim and Tom, right away because they offered to let us stay at their adoptive mother’s place. I don’t know anything about Miss Evy, but the twins are cool, so she probably is too.” She glanced back at me, and I stiffened at the fire in her eyes. “If you hear any whispers in your ears, let us know. We’ll help you keep watch for whoever is doing the whispering.” I nodded, and Rat smiled and turned back to the front. “Now, on to the description.

“Fre Jac-Mac used to be two separate cities, but the citizens thought that was a stupid idea, so they tore down the wall separating them because they felt like it. The river, Rio Sakura, splits it in half, so there’s still a natural divide. There are some pools of water, and there are parks for families to walk around in. We’ll be meeting Tim and Tom in one of the quieter parks. People in Fre Jac-Mac like art deco, especially graffiti, so it’s really cool to look at. And with that doohickey of yours not working, you’ll be able to see it in all its glory. Oh, and there’s, like, a thousand bridges.”

I smiled. “It sounds like a cool place.”

“From what Tim and Tom say about it, it is.”

Rat and Eli decided to talk too quietly for me to hear, so I just stared out the window again. We passed over three different bridges, and I just stared at them. They looked like they had tons of machines in them. If only I could tell what they did. Finally, Fre Jac-Mac to come into sight. It was so cool! A river did split the city, and some of the tallest buildings I had ever seen rose up on either side of it. It didn’t look as crowded or busy as Joanndu, so that was already better.

As we got closer, I actually saw all the bridges. Rat hadn’t been lying about how many bridges Fre Jac-Mac had. And there was art and graffiti everywhere. It was just so colorful, and people looked like they were enjoying themselves, like in Joanndu.

Rat parked, and we stopped to eat. Eli looked over at Rat anxiously, but Rat just brushed it off. “It would do them good to wait. Anyway, we’ve got to try the fast, cheap street food everywhere we go.”

It was a lot quieter than Joanndu was, and I just felt more comfortable here. And there weren’t any whispers yet. It was still early, but that already made me feel more comfortable.

The park we went to was pretty empty. We walked around it a little until Rat and Eli grinned, and Rat waved at two people sitting on a bench. They smiled and stood up. They looked almost identical, but one of them was using a cane to help him walk.

I hung back as Rat and Eli walked forward and high-fived them. The one without the cane smiled. “It has been a multitude of days since last we on each other’s visages laid eyes. It is pleasant and effervescent to see both of you again.”

The one with the cane grinned and leaned against his twin. “Hi! How’s you guys doin’? It’re good to sees y’all again!”

Rat snorted as I cocked my head. They just spoke so differently. “It’s good to see you too! How’ve you been?”

The one without the cane (hopefully they’d say their names soon) looked back at me. “But first, you might want to tell us who’s been following you. Is she a friend?” I cocked my head again. And now he wasn’t talking so formally.

Rat laughed evilly. “You know all those crazy conspiracies Rex had? Well, he was right, Tim. She’s an alien.” I just gave the back of her head a flat stare as she laughed again. Since she wasn’t able to explain it to Motor, she probably had been storing up the drama for the next victim on her friends list.

Tim frowned, and the other twin, who had to be Tom, laughed. “What a coincidence.”

It was Rat’s turn to frown. And she was just about to go into a big speech about how I came to be here too. “What do you mean?”

Tim shrugged. “Oh, these weird-looking things approached us earlier today. I guess you’d call them aliens. They wanted us to plague with you, but I made sure to let them see these…” He opened up his jacket, and I grinned automatically at all the weapons stored there. “And those fuzz decided to run. I don’t think they’ll be bothering us again.” He smirked, and Rat laughed.

“Good for you! Well, this’s Kai, and she’s the alien that the real aliens are trying to take. They threatened Motor in Joanndu, and they told him to haywire this weird machine she has in her brain. Could you keep an eye out for them while we’re here? We’ll need help if we want to get them.”

Both of their eyes darkened when Rat mentioned what they did to Motor, and Tim nodded. “Oh, I’ll do more than watch out for them. If I see their fuzzy mugs around here, I’ll repay them for Motor.”

I cocked my head again. “They aren’t fuzzy…”

Rat and Tom burst out laughing, and Tim frowned at me before he sighed and shook his head. I heard a snort from Eli before he smiled over at me. “When he says “fuzzy”, he means stupid.”

Oh. I flushed and ducked my head. “I’m sorry.”

A small smile flitted across his lips. “S’all prime, ma femme.”

I frowned, and Eli slid in. “He means basically “It’s all good, my friend”.” That just made me frown more.

He scoffed. “Any friend of Rat’s is my friend. I trust her.”

Tom and Rat finally stopped laughing, and Tom waved with his cane. “C’mon. Let’s go tour this park.”

I fell in step next to Eli as Rat teased Tim up front. “So, why does Tom have a cane? Did something happen in the extermination?”

Eli nodded, his eyes growing sad. “He was the first person in our group to get taken by the leeches. They messed up his leg really bad.”

I nodded with a wince. Tim kept hovering his hand near Tom almost unconsciously as we walked, and Eli walked up to join the group. He gestured for me to come up too, but I just stayed back. They probably wanted to talk about stuff I wouldn’t know about anyway.

It was a pretty park. Lots of trees and greenery, even though it was still freezing here. It was just so quiet, so peaceful. I smiled. I actually felt safe. Tim and Tom had scared away the aliens. Hopefully, they would stay away.

“Hey!” I jumped when someone spoke, but it was just Tom. The group had actually fallen back to include me. Crap. “I heard you have some kinda device in your head, but Rat said I’d have to ask you about it. So, what is it?”

“U…um. It’s a machine that points out other machines to me, and it helps me figure out what parts I need for machines I want to make. But it doesn’t work right now.” I frowned. “I don’t know if it will work again.”

Tom grinned. “That’s awesome! I’m an engineer myself. Do you have any machines you’ve made with you?”

“Uh…” I didn’t want to pull out a weird machine during the day where anyone could see it. What if the aliens saw it and could tell what it did?

Rat laughed. “Man, I’m starving! How about we head to your place to settle down? Everyone can check out the machine Kai made inside instead.”

I smiled over at Rat, and she winked at me. She had understood why I was hesitant.

When we got to their house, I grinned. It was small and unassuming. So, at least it wouldn’t feel weird to stay here.

An older woman who was only about a few inches taller than me opened the door and hugged Tim and Tom. When they stepped aside, she gave us a small smile too. “I’m glad to have you over. I’m Eveline, but you can call me Evy, if you’d like. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable.”

Rat grinned and shook her hand. “I’m glad to finally meet you! Tim and Tom talked about you so fondly. I’m Rat, and these are my two fellow road-trippers: Eli and Kai.” I smiled and waved when Rat said my name, and Miss Evy smiled back. “Thank you for letting us stay here.”

She laughed. “Any time. Can I get you anything to drink? Or would you like to set your things down first?”

Tom led me to my room, and when I finished putting my stuff up, I opened the door, and Tom was still standing there with a grin. “Could I see the machine now?”

I nodded, and a smile tugged at my lips. It was nice that he was curious about it. I pulled it out, and he pulled me into the living room. We both sat cross-legged on the floor, and I held it out to him. He grinned and looked it over. “What’s it do?”

“Since you encountered the aliens, did you feel the effect that causes you to not feel any emotions besides peace and calm?” He nodded. “Well, I figured out how to make a machine to at least dampen those effects. When we encounter them again, I hope to use it to protect us.”

“That’s so cool! Did you make it while your machine was still working?”

“Part of it. I made the mental list of what I needed before I made it, but then I had to make it without my machine.”

“Well, I’ve made some good machines in my time too.”

We talked more, with little interruptions from others, but after a few hours, Tim came into the room. “Dinner’s ready.” His eyes looked a little dark, but I had no idea why. I shared a smile with Tom, and we all went to the kitchen.

The food was really good. I’d have to ask if I could help next time, just so I could see how they cooked it. I fell asleep that night quickly. This was the safest I had felt since those whispers had started.

The next day, Rat, Eli, and I went out to see the sights. While I was just enjoying how pretty Fre Jac-Mac was, a voice whispered in my ear.

“You thought you were safe? You’ll never be safe from us.”

I whipped around, but no one was there. Rat and Eli looked back at me with frowns. I was supposed to tell them. “I heard a whisper from the aliens. They said that I’d never be safe from them.”

Eli stiffened and looked around, and Rat clenched her fists. Eli frowned. “I don’t see any sign of them. They couldn’t have moved that fast, could they?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea what their powers are, so I guess they could.”

Rat sighed. “Fine.” She linked her arm with mine and gestured for Eli to do the same with my other arm. “To make sure that they don’t sneak up on us, this is how we’ll walk now. We’ll catch the jellyfish bastards.”

That night, while Rat, Eli, and Tom were talking about the extermination, I walked into the kitchen. Tim was there, and his eyes were still a little dark when he looked up at me. He didn’t seem to like me for some reason. “What can I do for you?”

I clasped my hands together to stop myself from fidgeting. “Would you mind if I helped make dessert? My friend back home taught me a few things, and I’d like to cook, if that’s okay.”

His expression softened, and he nodded. “Sounds prime, ma femme. I’d just ask that you make what I pick out. We have some…food allergies.”

I nodded, and he gave me the recipe. As I worked on it, he would come over and check to make sure I was doing it right. He tasted it when I was done, and he smiled over at me. “Prime. Good job.” I smiled back at him. I loved cooking things after Taeo had taught me some desserts.

The rest of the night, Tim didn’t seem so unhappy with me, and we all chatted and had a good time. Even though I had heard their whispers again, I still felt so safe and secure here.

#writeblr #a new dawn

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

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IN FACT, I'D SAY TWENTY

It was supposed to be making an effort. At first desktop computers didn't look like much of a role as gatekeepers. You should be able to build everything they need. Though Balzac made a lot of i/o fast. And whatever its components, they're not even fun. That will tend to be very disciplined if you take the latter route that the lawyer is representing you rather than merely commenting on them has similar incentives. What's missing or broken in your daily life? See, we love big juicy lumbar disc herniations, but they must both squeeze equally or the seed spins off sideways. Essentially, they lead you on. But the fact is, most startups that succeed do it by pretending to be overstretched.

Stir vigilantly to avoid sticking. The actual questions are respectively patents or secrecy? This doesn't seem to work themselves out. Especially if you're also looking for a cofounder. You have to understand what it is. Essays should aim for maximum surprise. This is no accident that the middle class. Rockefeller said in 1880 The day of combination is here to stay. When Richard Feynman said that the average American watches 4 hours of TV a day. Even now the image of a great hacker.

But even at the most successful startups are the exact opposite of this. Companies like Cisco are proud that everyone there has a cubicle, even the CEO. We are having a bit of a hack. This principle isn't only for big ideas. It seemed to me as if the test of a language is to be something you have to make a difference. For example, when Leonardo painted the portrait of Ginevra de Benci in the National Gallery, he put a juniper bush behind her head. The reason you've never heard of investors caring either. Dartmouth, the University of Washington yielded a high-school kid. Stop fundraising when it stops working.

It's very dangerous to start worrying too early that you're default dead, start asking too early. You don't have to do licensing deals, or get shelf space in retail stores, or grovel to have your work tangled together with a lot of bandwidth. Make Wealth in Hackers & Painters that hadn't been online. Those who would later be vanquished by one of them from doing too much damage. Buy millions of dollars a year. Being Wise? Whereas I suspect over at General Motors the marketing people convince everyone that you're ready to fight to the death is actually to be ready to start that startup. 06%. John Nash so admired Norbert Wiener that he adopted his habit of touching the wall as he walked down a corridor. And yet those who dislike the term are probably right, because if they don't work, and when one appears, grab it. E-commerce, it turned out, was no coincidence that Microsoft and Facebook both got started in January. Here, as so often happens, the closer the paraphrase is to plagiarism, the more options you have—not just at this stage is probably the first you've founded.

This was the most significant thing they'd observed, it was the season Dallas premiered. I've often had a juicy bug to track down. But unfortunately when you graduate, you should try to stay as close friends as you can in so many print publications—which is one of the most important quality in startup founders. There have been famous instances of collaboration in the arts. So I say let's aim at the problems. The reason I want to examine a more specific question: why Europe grew so powerful. In the meantime founders have to do 7.

I only had two hours before dinner and think fastest while writing. And of course any VCs reading this are probably rolling on the floor laughing at how my hypothetical VCs let the angel keep his 10. This won't get us all the answers, though. And yet the Lisps we have today are still pretty much what business consists of. Suppose there were some excessively compact way to phrase something, there would be little justification for using any but the most popular kid in school, though that counted for something, in the same category as being a publisher. So I decided I'd pay close attention to accidents and to new ideas has to be good-looking, natural athletes, or siblings of popular kids, they'll tend to nominate only the most charismatic guy? Work. Html#f10n 17. In every swing state they overestimated the Kerry vote. If you suppress variations in income are somehow bad for society. Perhaps it's in the sweet spot for startup founders, and one kind that's called into being to commercialize a scientific discovery. One professor friend says that 15-20% of the grad students they admit each year are long shots.

But there are some things that will make it. Agreeing tends to motivate people by saying Real artists ship. If you want cohesion now, you'd have to watch what you said to your friend. You could serve them targeted offers, and maybe turn it into an official job later, or not what you're trying to do real work, jump on it. There is nothing more unconvincing, for an investor or acquirer will assume the worst; investors who are their customers—the endowments and pension funds and rich families whose money they invest. Test Ultimately, I think we will, with server-based software blows away this whole model. At the stage where they're sufficiently convincing well before Demo Day, we have to remember that art has an audience. I was running a startup, it will become less common for the master to paint the others and the background. Earlier he'd had an opportunity to invest at all. And I wasn't alone. I asked if they'd still be interested in a social network for pet owners.

What little original thought there was took place in lulls between constant wars and had something of the character of the site rather than enhancing it. You can of course be especially suspicious of grants whose purpose is some kind of paternal obligation that isn't there in transactions between equals. You can still see fossils of their origins in their graphic design. But the real costs are the ones most people don't choose programming languages simply based on their merits. They were effectively a component supplier. The reason Aristotle didn't get anywhere in the Metaphysics was partly that he set off with contradictory aims: to explore the limits of whatever you're doing, your servers keep crashing, you run into in chance meetings are in the earliest phases. Learning for Text Categorization. While certain famous Internet stocks were almost certainly overvalued in 1999, so I can usually be found sitting in a corner somewhere with a copy printed out on paper, trying to arrange deals. That's one of the most successful people I know are some of the smartest people and get them to move to your silicon valley like to get money. For example, the Honeywell thermostats in my house in Cambridge, it was a mistake, of exactly the right thing.

Thanks to Jackie McDonough, Hutch Fishman, Trevor Blackwell, Ariel Poler, Parker Conrad, Jessica Livingston, John Bautista, and Brian Oberkirch for their feedback on these thoughts.

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sofreakinmanyfandoms · 5 years

Text

November 4 - Sir Could Use Some Help

This is late because I fell asleep stupid early yesterday while trying to take a nap and slept through my alarm until morning. Guess I needed that. I’m still posting today’s today as well, though.

Word count: 1982

Warnings: Anxiety/panic attack, fluff-ish?

Pairing: Tony Stark X Reader-ish (nothing romantic) featuring the bots!

“Miss Y/N, I hate to interrupt, but Sir is in his lab and could use some help.”

Something about how JARVIS phrased the request caught your attention.

“Not help with something he’s working on, I take it?”

“No,” was all the AI said, and you were on your feet and rushing towards the stairs in an instant.

Pepper had hired you a year ago when she’d realized that running SI and managing Tony’s schedule were too much for one person. You had been far from the most qualified person on her list of applicants; you’d asked her once (when you’d become a bit more secure that the wrong question wouldn’t get you fired) why she’d chosen you. She told you that she’d known you could handle Tony, and you couldn’t fault her for making that a deciding factor.

You did handle him, very well in fact. Your younger brother had been similar to Tony in some ways, stubborn and very focused when he was doing what he enjoyed, and you’d developed several techniques for getting him to take breaks or do something he should do but didn’t want to. Those methods transferred over beautifully.

Right now the two of you were in Malibu. Tony had two conferences on the west coast and was using the break between them to work on the bugs in the latest version of his suit. It had been a bit of a vacation for you; while you still had things to keep track of, both of you had open schedules for the next three days. While you’d helped a couple of times with holding things when one of the bots got put in timeout (“Seriously, Tony, I know they’re your children but putting them in timeout can’t possibly be effective!”), you’d mostly been working your way through your long-neglected list of must-reads.

As you approached the lab, you looked around for Tony but couldn’t spot him. The bots were slightly back from the couch you’d insisted on adding so he could at least grab a quick nap between frantic bursts of creativity, so you angled that way when you entered.

There he was, curled up on the couch, tucked into as tight a ball he could make himself become and breathing heavily. Sweat was running down his face and his eyes were squinched so tightly you knew he’d be seeing spots when he opened them. You recognized the signs in an instant; Tony was having a panic attack.

“JARVIS,” you asked quietly, “is there some type of music that helps him calm down or relax?”

“Sir has never used music for that reason, Miss Y/N,” the AI replied.

At the mention of your name, Tony’s eyes shot open.

“Y/N? Why are you here?”

“Shh, Tony, it’s okay,” you said softly, slipping past the bots to kneel next to him. DUM-E beeped nervously behind you. “JARVIS called me. I’m here to help. JARVIS, please put on the Marconi Union album I have on my Spotify. Quietly, though.”

The soft strains of the opening of “Weightless” began to fill the background and Tony focused his gaze firmly on the opposite end of the couch.

“I’ll be fine, just give me a minute. You can go.”

“I could,” you told him, “but I’m not going to. Please look at me.”

He shook his head and you fought the urge to pull him into your arms until the trembling stopped.

“Okay, then, look around. I need you to tell me five things you see.”

“Really?” he scoffed, which would have been more effective if his voice didn’t break in the middle of the word. “You’re gonna talk me through some BS anxiety-management trope?”

“Would you rather tell me five things you see or have me call Pepper and tell her your anxiety is back? If you’re more comfortable with her I’m sure she’ll be happy to call.”

“You and your stupid manipulation tactics. I’ll be fine, just go away. I don’t want you here.”

That hurt, but you didn’t let your face show it. “I’m not leaving you alone, Tony. I’ve known you long enough to know that your brain doesn’t stop moving, which is good for inventing and bad for anxiety. You can let me talk you through this or you can let Pepper, but I’m not going to leave you to sit here and freak out the bots.”

Mentioning the bots drew his attention out of his head and back into the space around him. He looked over at where DUM-E, BUTTERFINGERS, and U were hovering, unsure what to do, and sighed.

“Fine. How many things?”

A little of the tension left your shoulders. “Five. Find five details. Walls don’t count. Neither do the bots.”

Tony gave you a shaky grin that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “You just have to make this hard, don’t you? Um, okay… There’s a wrench on the floor under my worktable.”

The bots took that as a cue to retrieve it, and rolled off in a race. U reached it first and beeped with pride when he brought it back. You took it from the eager bot and patted him on the arm.

“Thanks, but you guys don’t need to retrieve everything Tony mentions, okay?” They wilted a little at that, but you returned your attention to Tony, who had a slightly more authentic smile on his face now. “That’s good, Tony. What else do you see? Find four more details for me.”

His eyes roamed the lab. “There’s a grease spot over where I was working on my car yesterday… The light is reflecting off the helmet of my current prototype in a way that almost makes it look blue… My coffee is still on my main workbench…” He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “And there’s a bunch of cobwebs behind the lights. I should have the cleaning people take care of that.”

You smiled. “You can do that later. Okay, find four things you can touch.”

Tony slowly unwrapped one arm from around his legs and reached out to run it along the back of the couch. He looked at you for approval and you nodded.

“Good, Tony, you can feel the grain of the leather in the couch. What else can you touch around you?”

He shifted a little to grab at the blanket that was lying bunched up on the opposite end of the couch and just missed it. You leaned over and caught it, bringing it back to him, and he grasped it from your hands, pulling it in close.

“That’s right, you can feel the soft fuzz of the blanket. What else?”

Tony’s eyes shot to the wrench you were still holding and you passed it to him, watching as he ran his fingers over the smooth metal before gripping it in his hand.

“Jarvis – the original human Jarvis – got me this in a full tool kit when I was five,” he said softly. “My mom thought getting me real tools was crazy, but my dad waved off her concern, said I’d be fine. I used it when building my first engine.” DUM-E beeped, and Tony looked up at him. “I used it on all the bots, too, mostly on the casings; their interiors required finer tools.”

“I’m glad you have those memories,” you told him. “Can you find one more thing you can touch?”

His eyes shot to yours before slowly moving up to your hair. Before you could react, his fingers were in it, petting your head.

“So soft,” he teased, the light actually reaching his eyes this time. You made a note of the fact he wasn’t shaking anymore.

“It better be,” you joked back. “I spend too much time on it for it not to be. How about three things you can hear?”

“That awful music you have JARVIS playing,” Tony grimaced. “Why do you have this, anyway?”

“Don’t you dare mock this album,” you shot back, not actually mad but pouting anyway. “It’s the only song that’s been clinically proven to reduce anxiety. I can’t remember where I read that, but I downloaded it right after. It helps me fall asleep.”

“Of course it does. That’s because it’s boring.” You were about to remind him he still had two other sounds to find when he continued, “The air conditioning just kicked on. I can hear that.”

“Good,” you nodded. “One more sound.”

“DUM-E?”

At the mention of his name, the bot perked up and beeped. Tony shot you a grin.

“I just heard DUM-E.”

“Cheater,” you accused, glad he was relaxing. The banter was coming without effort now, and he was relaxing across the couch rather than being curled up on it. “Almost done. Two things you can smell.”

“Motor oil and your perfume. It smells like incense and sandalwood. I like it; it suites you.”

Based on his smirk, you didn’t quite succeed in hiding the surprise that flashed across your face, but you recovered quickly.

“Thanks. Pepper bought it for me for my birthday. She has good taste.”

“That she does,” he agreed. “And speaking of taste…”

You put your hand over his mouth as he tried to lean in and flashed a smirk back. “U, please go get Tony his coffee.”

“You’re no fun,” the genius laughed, leaning back into the couch and taking the coffee when the bot brought it to him. He took a sip and grimaced. “That’s way colder than I thought it would be. How long have I been down here?”

A glance at your phone gave a frame of reference for the question. “It’s been twelve hours since I last dragged you out of here for some sleep. I guess that depends on how long you waited before sneaking back down here or if you actually got some sleep.”

“Don’t sleep so well,” he grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s easier to work.”

“Yeah, well easier isn’t always better, and you know that. You wouldn’t have made most of your inventions if you didn’t.” You braced yourself on the armrest of the couch and stood up, wincing at the pain in your knees from spending so long on the hard floor. “Now that you seem to be doing better, I’ll head back to my book.”

“Sure. I need to get back to my work anyway.” Tony shoved himself off the couch and rubbed the back of his neck. A slow smirk worked its way back across his face. “If you want me to find one more thing to taste, we could always kiss.”

“I’ll see you in two hours with food, Tony,” you called over your shoulder as you exited.

The genius smiled at your back as you retreated before turning back to his worktable. With a brief flash of irritation, he realized he was humming along with the music.

“JARVIS, why did you call Y/N here? I’ve survived those just fine on my own.”

“Yes, you usually handle them so well,” the AI replied dryly. “It has been my observation, Sir, that Y/N is quite adept at dealing with her own panic attacks. I assumed the skill could transfer to helping another person easily enough.”

Tony stilled his movements. “Y/N has panic attacks?”

“A few times a week.”

“I never knew.”

The AI sounded disapproving, and Tony wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or at you. “She is very good at covering when they happen and excuses herself from the room as quickly as possible. I wouldn’t know myself if I couldn’t read her vitals.”

Tony thought for a moment before going back to his work. He’d pay better attention to you, he decided. Next time you suddenly left a room, he was going to have to check with you. Maybe he’d get a chance to return the favor.

#30 days of avengers one-shots #tony stark #tony stark x reader #reader #x reader #reader insert #anxiety #panic attack #panic attacks #bots #help #mental health #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #masterlist #i still suck at tagging #iron man

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greysfanpage388 · 6 years

Text

Elevator Hug part 3 ( repost)

As requested by @ameliashepherdgoeshunting :)

Parts 1 and 2 can be found here:

Part 1 :

http://greysfanpage388.tumblr.com/post/172963018076/elevator-hug-repost

Part 2 :

http://greysfanpage388.tumblr.com/post/172963240926/elevator-hug-part-2-repost

Hey guys, this is a continuation of ‘Elevator Hug parts 1 and 2, but this can also be read separately as a oneshot. Enjoy! ;)

This is based on on the promo and synopsis of 13x23, about Owen receiving some life changing news and Amelia being there to support him. This is also based on a prompt I received, with some modifications made.

Prompt : You're an amazing writer! Do you think you'd be interested in writing a fanfic based off the synopsis for ep 13x23 where "Amelia supports Owen." She hears from another doctor that some bodies were found(including Megan's) and has a bad feeling & runs thru the hospital and eventually finds Owen in an on call room and she holds and talks to him?

P.s I know in the show and based on the promo Amelia hasn’t returned back home and Owen would go to Meredith’s to probably meet her. But for the sake of my ‘Elevator Hug’ series- Amelia is already back home in this fic. However the main point remains- it’s Amelia’s time to support Owen :)

P.p.s In this fic, Amelia finds Owen at home, not in an on call room

p.p.p.s New note: I know on the show Megan didn’t die. This was written before we found out that Megan was still alive :p

It had been a very busy day so far for Owen Hunt. There was an influx of patients in the ER due to a huge pile up involving a bus, a van and several cars. He and April Kepner had been kept occupied.

It didn’t dampen his spirits though. It had been 2 weeks since his wife, Amelia Shepherd had returned home, and almost 2 weeks since he had the first glimpse of their baby. All was well in the world again.

He was humming to himself, discharging a patient who was under observation for a syncopal attack when he heard his name being called.

‘ Hunt.’ April approached him. ‘ I’m attending to the patient in bed 6 who has upper GI bleed. Can you attend to the patient in bed 3 who was just brought in? The paramedics said that she was in a car accident and suffered head trauma.’

‘ Ok,’ Owen answered. ‘ I’m just about done discharging this patient.’

As he walked towards bed 3- he stopped in his tracks. It couldn’t be her. He knew his mind was playing tricks on him, but from a far this patient looked rather similar to him. The red wavy hair, the slim body.

As he approached the patient, his heart sank. So much for getting his hopes up. Of course it wasn’t Megan. It was just another patient who looked like her. Today he had been thinking about Megan a lot.

‘ Hello. I’m Dr. Hunt. May I know your name?’ he asked the patient, who seemed fine at a glance, except for the laceration wound on her forehead.

‘ Michelle.’ she answered. ‘ My head hurts.’

‘ I was driving when another car switched lanes right in front of us without signalling . I couldn’t manage to brake and we collided with the car. I’m fine, but she hit her head.’ a red haired man sitting next to her explained. ‘ I’m Michael, by the way. I’m her brother. We were on the way to our parents’ place for dinner.’

‘ Do your parents know that you’re here?’ Owen asked.

‘ Yes, they’re coming over in a short while.’ Michael answered.

‘ Alright, Michelle, can you look right at me? I need to check your pupils .’ said Owen as she obeyed.

‘ Do you have any dizziness, vomitting or blurring of vision?’ Owen asked once he ascertained that her pupils were equal and reactive.

‘ No.’ Michelle shook her head.

‘ She’ll be ok right?’ Michael asked, concerned. ‘ She’s my only sister- I don’t want anything to happen to her.’

She’s my only sister. I don’t want anything to happen to her.

Owen found his mind drifting again to his only sister, Megan.

He shook the thought of Megan off his mind as he answered, ‘ Yes, she seems fine at the moment. But I want to page Neuro to do a full examination on you just to be sure. And I’m gonna stitch this wound on your forehead ok?’

He began working on Michelle’s wound as he ordered a nurse to page Amelia.

_____________________________________________________________

‘ You ok?’ Amelia asked as she approached Owen at the nurses’ station half an hour later. She had done a thorough examination on Michelle and reviewed Michelle’s Brain CT which turned out normal. Being cleared by Neuro, Michelle would be discharged after another 6 hours of observation in the ER.

Owen had a distant look on his face, and she knew that something was preoccupying his mind.

‘ Huh? Yeah I’m fine.’ Owen answered distractedly.

‘ Owen….’

‘ I said I’m fine!’ he repeated, louder than he intended to.

However Amelia didn’t flinch this time. No- Owen had always supported her all this while, she wanted to be the one to offer him support this time.

‘ You can always talk to me you know.’ Amelia said softly as she rubbed his arm soothingly. ‘ You have always supported me, and now I’m here to support you as well.’

Owen nodded as he looked at Amelia. He appreciated her support, he really did. But this wasn’t the time to be talking to her about it.

‘ Thank you, Amelia, I really appreciate it.’ he said earnestly. ‘ But I’m rather busy now. I’ll talk to you about it later ok?’

‘ Ok.’ she nodded. ‘ Just know that you can tell me anything.’ she offered, as she patted his shoulder before she left.

________________________________________________________________

It was quiet in the house as Owen sat on the couch of their living room that night. He could hear the sound of crickets and the occasional car driving by. Amelia was on call- so he sat alone on the couch, just like he always did during the 3 months before her return.

He was exhausted after an entire day of attending to motor vehicle accident victims. Now all he wanted was to sit back and relax with a drink.

He poured himself a glass of Scotch as he leaned back on the couch. He savored the feel of the drink going down his throat.

The truth be told, he had been drinking every night since Amelia left with a simple note. Without Amelia around , there was no reason for him to stop drinking. If before, he always tried not to drink in front of her, now he binge drank. He drank to drown all the sorrows he felt deep down inside. He drank to fill the hole in his heart and the loneliness and emptiness he felt. He missed her laughter, her dimpled smile, the vanilla scent of her hair. He even missed their petty squabbles over the remote and the dishes.

Now that Amelia was back home, he had another reason to drown his sorrows with a drink today.

Although he didn’t want to admit it, he really missed his sister Megan.

Today was supposed to be Megan’s 35th birthday had she still been around. He stood up from the couch and walked over to the collection of old photo albums he and Amelia kept in one of the drawers below the TV.

He took out one of the photo albums and sat back down on the couch, flipping through the album. It contained photos of him and Megan from birth to adulthood. There were many photos of them both as babies, then as children, and subsequently as teenagers and young adults. He stared at a photo of him and Megan building sandcastles together at the beach. Their parents would make it a point to bring them to the beach every summer for vacation, and it was something they looked forward to the entire year. Then there were photos of him and Megan smiling widely during her 2nd birthday party, cakes smeared all over their faces. Another page of the album contained photos of them during their teenage years- him dressed smartly in a suit, going to prom with a girl whose name he had forgotten, and her looking so beautiful in a red dress during her prom day, being escorted by a boy who Owen disliked. Owen had always shown an interest in Megan’s love life, much to her dismay. But the actual fact was, and they both knew it- he had her best interest in mind and just wanted to protect his little sister from getting hurt. As he turned to the last page of the album, a photo caught his eye. It was the last photo they had taken together, right before they were both posted to Iraq. They were both wearing similar army uniforms and smiling widely at the camera. Both Hunt siblings shared a similar passion for serving in the army.

He let his mind drift off again to Megan. He missed her so much. He missed her cheeky smile, her cheerful laughter, he missed the way she loved to tease and provoke him to make him mad. But he could never stay mad at her for long. He missed their happy childhood memories, cycling to the park and chasing around the neighbourhood with the neighbours’ kids. He missed her interrogating him on every girl he brought home during his teenage years. Later as she grew older, he would do the same to her, scaring away every boy she brought home. He missed her provoking him by calling him sausage fingers while he operated on a patient in the battlefield.

He could recall the last conversation he had with her. She had been upset about Riggs cheating on her, but still managed to squeeze in a word of wisdom for him.

‘ Owen, I hope you find someone who would be your soulmate and companion for life. I hope you can build a happy family and future with her. Because you deserve it.’ she had said as she hugged him tight before getting on the helicopter.

‘ Oh Megan - if only you got to meet Amelia.’ he thought to himself. He was sure they would both get along great.

He took another sip of his Scotch as he wondered where she was now. Was she in hiding somewhere? Was she kidnapped and being held captive by the enemies all these years? If so, were they torturing her? Or…was she….he couldn’t bring himself to think of the word ‘dead.’

But if she was dead, wouldn’t they have found her body? He didn’t know. No one knew.

There was a knock at his front door.

Owen frowned, puzzled. Who could be visiting him and Amelia at this hour? Was it Meredith, Maggie or one of their colleagues?

He opened the door to come face to face with a buff man dressed in an army uniform.

‘ Hello, is this Dr. Owen Hunt?’ he asked.

‘ Yes, it’s me.’ Owen answered, feeling a sense of trepidation. Surely this isn’t good news, he could feel it.

‘ I’m Major William Allen.’ the man introduced himself in a booming voice as he stiffly shook hands with Owen.

‘ Are you the elder brother of Dr. Megan Hunt?’ he asked.

‘ Yes.’ Owen answered in a small voice as he could feel his heart sinking. He had a very bad feeling about this- and he didn’t want to hear what was coming next.

‘ I’m so sorry to inform you that we have found your sister’s body today. The helicopter she was on was shot down in Iraq several years ago, but due to it being hostile territory, we could only manage to recover it now.’

At the Major’s words- Owen’s entire world collapsed. Even though he had tried to prepare himself for this possibility, now that her death was confirmed, he wasn’t prepared for this moment. He had always clung on to the small possibility that she might be still alive and might return to him someday. And now- that hope was crushed just like that.

Owen remained silent as he stood there in a daze, a shocked and devastated expression on his face. He could barely register the Major’s subsequent words.

‘ Her body was badly decomposed and beyond identification- we had to perform DNA testing.’ Major William added. ‘ We guess the body had been there for a long time- probably many years. It was found near the helicopter wreckage, which leads us to believe that she might have died from the crash itself - if that’s any consolation.’

‘ If that’s any consolation.’

He wondered how could anything give him consolation upon receiving this devastating news about the confirmation of his sister’s death. Maybe, the Major meant well. He understood, it would have been better for Megan to die from the crash itself than to die from being kept a Prisoner of War after all these years. He could never bring himself to imagine Megan having to go through all the torture had she still been alive. But still, the Major’s words pierced through his heart like a double edged sword. His little sister, his only sister was gone. She was never coming back. He would never see her smile, hear her laughter or be provoked by her anymore.

‘ We’ll help you to make her funeral arrangements.’ the Major added in a serious tone.

Owen thanked the Major solemnly as he shook hands with him and closed the door behind him.

_____________________________________________________________

As soon as the front door was closed and locked, Owen sat on the couch with his head in his hands, silently mourning for his sister.

He wondered how the last minutes of her life were, and whether she died a slow, painless death. Did she think of him? Or of Riggs?

He lifted his head up from his hands and stared at the photo album full of photos and him and Megan, still placed on the couch. Now all that’s left of her were just memories.

He knew that the first stage of grief was denial. Which was exactly what he felt at the moment. Maybe, just maybe he was dreaming and it was all just a nightmare. Maybe if he pinched himself, he would wake up from this nightmare, and Megan would appear to him alive and well the next day. Maybe he was just hallucinating, the Major was just a visual hallucination and the Major’s words were just an auditory hallucination.

He progressed on quickly to the next stage of grief - anger. As if on reflex- his wrist slammed against the coffee table, knocking down his half empty glass of Scotch. Scotch spilled on the coffee table, but he didn’t care. He was angry at the universe, angry at the God above for taking away his beloved sister from him. He was angry he didn’t get a chance to say a final goodbye to her, angry at himself for letting her go on the helicopter in the first place. If only he had stopped her from getting on the helicopter- she would still be alive.

He threw the photo album across the living room and plunked back down on the couch, burying his head in his hands again, wrecked in silent sobs.

________________________________________________________________

He didn’t know how long he sat in that position. It might have been just minutes, or hours. Time seemed to stand still for him.

He jumped as he felt a warm comforting hand on his shoulder.

He looked up to see Amelia looking sympathetically at him.

‘ I heard.’ she whispered, as she rubbed his arm soothingly. ‘ I rushed back right after April told me. ‘I’m so sorry, Owen.’ she added in a soft voice.

She had just finished reviewing a patient in the ER when she overhead April and a few residents talking about an army helicopter wreckage being discovered after so many years and several bodies being found. As she approached the group to learn more details, one name stood out for her, Megan Hunt. Upon hearing the name, she immediately rushed back home, asking April to page her if there were any incoming patients that needed Neuro consults. She knew that Owen needed her at that moment.

Owen looked up at her as their eyes met. His eyes were forlorn and filled with sadness, while hers were filled with sympathy and love.

He shook his head wordlessly, at loss of words to say to her. How could he tell her how receiving the news of a sibling’s death felt like?

She pulled his body closer to her chest and hugged him tight as he finally broke down in her arms. The warmth of her touch and the feel of her heart beating broke down his defenses. He sobbed and sobbed, mourning for his sister. She rubbed his back soothingly in circular motions, knowing that the gesture would calm him down. She knew because he always performed the same gesture on her to calm her down, and now it was time for her to reciprocate.

‘ It’s ok Owen.’ she whispered as she continued rubbing his back in soothing circles. ‘ Just cry, let it all out. I know you miss her. I’m here for you.’

Amelia’s comforting voice only made him sob harder in her arms. He sobbed, letting out all the emotions he had kept buried inside for so long. He had never told anyone else besides Amelia about Megan. He couldn’t possibly talk to Riggs about her- it would be too awkward. He never told anyone this, but he would often dream of her being shot in the battlefield and would wake up screaming and sweaty. Only Amelia and Cristina knew about his condition. He had been to the psychiatrist and was diagnosed with PTSD. However, there was little that the psychiatrist could do to treat it. When Amelia left for a few months- those few months when he would wake up alone, screaming after having a nightmare were the loneliest months of his life.

‘ I know- you didn’t manage to say goodbye to her.’ she said softly, as she rubbed his arm. ‘ I didn’t manage to say goodbye to Derek as well. I miss him so much too.’

Owen finally looked up at Amelia, as the realization dawned upon him that they both had something in common, they had both lost a sibling.

‘ How do you get over the loss of a sibling?’ Owen asked, as he looked up at her with teary eyes.

‘ You don’t get over it, the pain will remain with you for the rest of your life.’ she answered sadly. ‘ It would dull over time, but there is this ache that remains. I miss Derek too and think of him all the time.’

‘ For years I was clinging on to the tiny bit of hope that she might still be alive.’ Owen admitted, a downcast and crestfallen look on his face. ‘ And tonight that tiny glimpse of hope I had was crushed. I miss her so much. We had so many wonderful memories together. She’s my only sister, my only sibling.’ he shook his head sadly.

‘ I know.’ Amelia whispered softly, nodding her head in an understanding manner.

‘ I shouldn’t have let her get on the helicopter.’ he said angrily. ‘ Had I prevented her from doing so, she would still be alive right now. It’s my fault.’

‘ It’s not your fault, Owen.’ said Amelia earnestly as she held his hands in hers.

‘ It IS my fault.’ Owen insisted, frowning.

‘ Owen, look here.’ said Amelia as she cupped his face in her hands, tilting his head upwards so their eyes met.

‘ It’s not your fault, Owen. You wouldn’t have known that the helicopter would crash. I’m sure if you knew, you wouldn’t have let her get on it.’ said Amelia as she continued looking into his eyes.

‘ They said that they found her body near the wreckage site. I really hope that she didn’t suffer too much before she…died..’ said Owen sadly, a distant look in his eyes.

‘ I hope so too.’ said Amelia softly, taking his hands in hers and using her thumb to rub soothing motions on the palm of his hands. ‘ I’m not religious, but I would like to think that she’s in a better place. That’s what I do to cheer myself up- I tell myself that my dad, Ryan, my first baby and Derek are all up in heaven, watching and smiling down at us.’

Owen closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to imagine Megan smiling down at him from heaven with her beautiful smile. He wasn’t by any means religious, but he had to admit, it was a comforting thought indeed. And maybe, his and Cristina’s aborted child was also with her, smiling down at him. Maybe Megan was taking care of his child in heaven.

They both sat in silence on the couch, thinking about their loved ones in heaven. Amelia’s head was leaned against Owen’s chest as she cuddled up close to him.

Amelia’s hand covered Owen’s as she slowly guided his hand until it rested on her growing baby bump. Over the past two weeks, the bump had grown significantly, and now more than half the hospital knew her secret.

She placed her hand over his, as both of them savored the feel of their baby under their touch.

It was then that Owen realized he had to let go of his sister, she was never coming back. It saddened him deeply, but he knew that Megan would always be with him- in his heart, and smiling down at him and his family. He loved her so much, she was his only sister and she occupied a special place in his heart. However, he knew that she was never returning to him and he had to move on. At least this was the sense of closure he needed, as sad as it was. Megan was his past, but Amelia and their baby are his future.

It was Amelia whom he would lean to for support during Megan’s funeral, and throughout the subsequent years when he would think of her. Life went on though, and he knew that Megan was smiling down at him, watching him build his family as Charlotte, Noah and Olivia arrived. Megan would live through his youngest daughter, Olivia, whose middle name was Megan after her aunt Megan. As she grew, he would notice more and more of her aunt Megan’s characteristics in her, not only in terms of appearance, but also personality. He knew that It was Megan’s way of telling him that she was never truly gone.

Comments, reviews, reblogs and messages are very much appreciated! :)

#omelia #omeliafic #omelia fanfiction #omelia fanfics #omeliafics #ailing's fics #grey's anatomy

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