#ly less about the following polls than they did the first one so maybe not As Big Of A Thing but I do at least want to finish the current | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delimeful · 3 years

Text

breathing cleaner air (1)

winner of fic poll, a new BTHB fic for halloween month! the prompt for this one was "Painful Transformation"!

warnings: body horror, painful transformation, fighting/violence, dehumanizing language, antagonist (but not unsympth) virgil, religious terms borrowed to name original monsters (no actual religious connections), miscommunication/language barrier, mortal peril, thinking youre going to die

extra note: this is a multichapter fic, but this first chapter ends on a very concerning note. there is an eventual happy ending in later chapters, promise!

Roman wasn’t sure exactly when he’d been separated from the rest of his entourage.

One moment, Logan was at his shoulder, his firm hand keeping Roman from stumbling over gnarled tree roots, and the next, he was alone, with only faint echoes of his own voice to keep him company.

Their quarry was certainly powerful, to be able to warp so much of the woods around them with thick fog and unnatural darkness. He should have expected as much.

After all, this was the same monster that had been infiltrating the Dimiour kingdom at night and stealing away children from their families. It would have to be strong in order to pull that off.

His right-hand knight would surely recommend retreating and regrouping in more neutral territory, but this was the first time they’d actually caught the fiend in the act. Seraphs were notoriously agile, with the maneuverability of the three sets of razor-sharp wings that had earned them their moniker. Once one was out of sight, it wasn’t likely to be seen again.

This time, though, the tracer spell on Roman’s compass was still active and locked on to the target.

There was no way he could return to his court empty-handed. He was the crown prince. He couldn’t be a failure. Not when there was so much at stake.

Firming his shoulders, he pushed onwards, his sword drawn.

The forest was eerily quiet around him, making the scuff of his shoes against the ground seem harsh enough to lead any enemy right to him. He shook off the thought; he was the one pursuing here. Let them come and face him.

Roman glanced up from his compass, and paused at the sight of a familiar-looking rotting tree trunk. He’d noticed one just like it about thirty paces back because it had a rare strain of fungus that Remus would have liked. What were the odds that the same rare fungus dotted the same side of a different identical rotting log?

Sure enough, another thirty paces and the log popped up again. Despite following the needle of his compass devotedly, he was being led in circles. A mind-altering ability, along with the manipulation of light and water they’d already seen? Roman shuddered, imagining what the monster could be planning with so much power at its disposal.

Luckily, Roman had more than enough faith in Logan’s spellcasting.

He closed his eyes, letting the clink of the needle guide his steps closer and closer to his target. His mind rebelled, senses muffling as though he was walking through thick honey instead of air, and then, with a pop, he was though.

When he opened his eyes, there was a small house in a clearing in front of him.

It was less ramshackle than he would have expected, the candlelight in the windows looking almost cozy compared to the dark forest surrounding it.

Assured that the kidnapping culprit lay just ahead, he tucked the compass into his pocket, strode forward, and kicked the door down.

Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the figure in the middle of the room, who had spun around at his arrival.

It looked startlingly human, wide eyed and messy haired, but the single set of dark wings taking up half the room were a dead giveaway to the seraph’s true nature. Those fragile core wings could be hidden, protected, even glamored away, but they never vanished entirely. They were the most reliable way to expose a seraph hidden in a human guise.

The seraph swore lowly, flaring the feathery appendages out to make itself look bigger.

Roman could just barely make out the small figures crowded against the back corner of the room, anxious eyes peering out at him. He felt something in him loosen in relief at the sight of the children still alive, if undoubtedly terrified. He’d half-expected the horrific alternative.

“I’ll tell you this once, you feathery fiend,” he said, pointing his sword at the monster directly. “Release the innocents you’ve kidnapped, and I won’t make your end painful.”

Its pupils narrowed to slits, and it spread its wings wider, hiding the children from view. When it spoke, there was a high, grating discordant note under the words. “Not. A. Chance.”

“Then face the consequences!” Roman shouted, and lunged.

The seraph was surprisingly adept at defending, flexing its hands and using long, sharp claws to block his blows and get in some of its own. Even in battle, it always remained between Roman and the children it held hostage, and the poor things were too frightened to respond to his calls for them to run.

Frustrating, but nothing he couldn’t overcome. In the end, Roman had been trained with the sword since he could stand, and no child-abducting angel impersonator could best him in battle.

When the inevitable opening came, he seized it, pushing forward until the seraph’s back was to the wall. Cornered, it hissed lowly at him before catching his next strike on its claws. It strained against his sword, its shaking arms the only thing keeping his blade from reaching its throat. Only a little further, and--

“Stop it!” A small voice shouted, on the edge of tears. “Don’t hurt him!”

Roman’s head jerked up, his attention caught by the distressed call.

The children were still huddled together, but one at the front of the group had stepped forward, fists clenched and gaze angry.

“Leave him alone!” she demanded, glaring directly at Roman.

Something fluttered at her back, and Roman’s eyes widened.

“You’re--,” he started, and then the seraph twisted in his grip, and he only barely caught the motion of its hand toward his head before glass shattered against his skull.

He staggered back as thick liquid spilled over his head, too cool to be blood.

Rather than pursue the opening, the seraph stepped back, wings finally settling back against its back. The lack of aggression was strange, after it had so fiercely responded to his challenge. Seraphim weren’t known for mercy.

Roman stepped forwards, his mouth shaping the first syllable of a question, and then abruptly understood as his body began to burn coldly, like he’d pressed ice directly to every inch of his skin. His sword dropped from numb fingers, clattering to the floor.

He’d been poisoned.

“New plan, we’re moving tonight,” the seraph began to speak, addressing the children, but Roman’s heartbeat was too loud in his ears to make out the rest of its words.

He fell to hands and knees, a line of burning pain along his spine. Some of the children sent him looks, nervous or pitying or angry, but most were busy scurrying around and gathering everything that wasn’t nailed down. He could see now, the small sets of wings on each and every one’s back, marking them as his kingdom’s enemies.

Why had he been told they were human? A leak in the court? Who had lied?

The seraph crouched in front of him, gaze unreadable. Its eyes were mismatched, Roman noticed nonsensically as another wave of pain shuddered through him.

“Well, that didn’t go to plan.” It brushed the remains of a glass vial from its hand, and Roman stared at the dark liquid left on the pieces.

“Wh--at did you do. To me,” he grit out between pants, struggling to keep himself upright.

“Congrats. You get to see how it feels to be us. To be hunted,” the seraph told him with an unfriendly smile. “Maybe it’ll change your perspective a little. Or maybe you’ll just bite it.”

It shrugged and flipped up its hood, rising to its feet, and kicked Roman’s sword up into its grip. Roman protested the theft on principle, but his voice came out strained and feeble like he’d never heard it before.

Before it followed the last kid out the door, it paused, glancing at him one last time.

“Once the bones are done, it gets easier,” it told him. “Good luck.”

Roman didn’t realize just what that meant until he heard the first resounding crack.

He finally lost his battle with gravity, collapsing to the ground with an agonized cry. That noise-- from inside him--?

There was another crack, and a series of pops like dislocating joints, and then his skin was melting and he was fading in and out of consciousness, roused and put under by the same overwhelming, all-consuming agony. Each time he woke, he could hear grinding and shifting inside of him, as though his insides were rebelling against their natural placement.

The seraph hadn’t been lying: the bones were the most painful part, and once the last one had clicked back into place, there was a palpable difference in pain levels. He still hurt, ached beyond measure, but it was no longer so much that he couldn’t even think past the pain. It almost felt like relief.

Roman focused on breathing, slow and deep, until he felt a little less like he was going to shake apart. He didn’t know of any poison that could do something like this. It was magic-- strong, cursed magic, and unlike Logan’s, there was no softness in it.

It took what felt like hours for him to gain the resolve to push himself up, and even longer to maintain the motion even as every nerve ending in his body protested. His vision was blurry, and his balance felt entirely off, even more so than that time Remus had dared him to jump off the roof and he’d gotten a concussion.

When he finally properly looked down at himself, he found feathers and bone lining his hands, transforming them into sharp claws and rigid armor. Familiar, but only because he’d seen them on his enemies time and time again.

The shock of adrenaline at the sight was helpful in pushing his aching muscles to the back of his mind as he rose to his knees and twisted to look at himself, staring at the three sets of bright wings draped down from his back.

Golden and white feathers lined them, lined his ears and throat and chest, framing the white exoskeleton pieces inset in his skin.

He sat back on his haunches, and took a few deep, whistling breaths before trying to speak, to say anything in his own voice. To prove he was still himself.

The sound that emerged from his throat was hollow and resonant, like woodwind instruments in harmony. It sent chills of anticipation down his spine, for he’d only ever heard the uncanny call before battle.

There was no denying it, however much he might want to. His body had been warped, transformed into the worst enemy of his kingdom, the beasts that plagued their people day and night. He was a seraph.

He had to get help.

Surely, there was someone among the court who knew about this curse, who could procure a solution, some kind of cure. He couldn’t be stuck as a monster, he was Dimiour’s crown prince!

He pushed himself up to his feet and found he was taller than before, limbs thin and spindly. All six of the wings lifted and curled around him automatically, creating the shell of bright feathery limbs that marked a seraph on defense. They were lighter than he would have expected, seeing as he knew the true form feathers were as sharp as any knife.

He stumbled through the door into the open forest air, taking a significant chunk out of the door frame as he went. His limbs were unsteady with inexperience, the gait distinctly different, almost hunched over to counterbalance the weight of his-- the wings.

In the distance, Roman heard voices calling his name.

He loped towards the sounds with barely a thought, attempting not to overthink every staggering movement. The underbrush scraped and rattled around him, announcing his presence well before he cleared the treeline and found himself faced with the weapons of his own squadron.

He tried to speak automatically, to show them that he wasn’t what they thought, but all that left him were those discordant, eerie notes, like overlapping birds of prey. He sounded like a nightmare come to life, and he noticed with abrupt horror that some of the newer trainees were faltering, clapping hands over their ears.

A blade flashed in the corner of his vision, and he raised an arm automatically. With a clang, the attacking knight’s glaive rebounded off his arm so sharply that the man wielding it nearly toppled. Another knight quickly moved between them, weapon raised defensively as their fellow recovered.

Roman stared at his arm, now covered in an extra layer, a hardened shell of bone. The armor had appeared-- had ossified into place, quicker than he could think.

“Hold!” A familiar voice called, and Roman turned to it like it was an oasis in a drought. Logan. Logan was here, he was the smartest person he knew, if anyone would have a solution, it would be him.

An odd crooning note bubbled up from his chest, but it cut off sharply at the sight of his right-hand man.

Logan stood sturdy with his scythe staff held up in one hand, and not a glint of recognition in his eyes.

“Move on, continue searching for our liege,” he directed, voice firm. “I will handle this opponent.”

Roman screeched, wings flaring in upset, trying over and over to manage anything recognizable as human speech. Anything at all that would let his closest friend identify him.

Logan didn’t even flinch at the sound, well-practiced in filtering out the skull-splitting calls of seraphim. He’d been in more battles than Roman ever had, out on the field while Roman was stuck learning courtly etiquette.

He’d earned himself the mantle of ‘Executioner’, and the thought had never sent a chill down Roman’s spine the way it did now.

But then, Roman had never been the one on this end of Logan’s casting, had he?

The others continued forward on their commanding officer’s orders, searching for someone who stood right before them, and abandoning him to a fight he couldn’t win.

Logan knew seraphim better than anyone else, how they functioned on every level.

Roman barely knew how to operate this new body, and more than that, he was terrified of it, of the damage he could unknowingly deal his best friend. It could hardly be called an equal match.

Still, it was almost a surprise to feel the impact of Logan’s first cast, a draining spell designed to weaken the enemy. He didn’t want to believe this situation was real, any of it, but the burning pins and needles racing through him were undeniable.

His wings wrapped around him more securely, he intended to turn, to flee the way no prince should. Perhaps it was this cowardice that resulted in the way he only made it two steps before exhaustion made him stumble.

Or maybe it was the way the most painful transformation of his life had turned his body inside-out what felt like mere moments ago.

Either way, he was in no position to dodge the next spell, or resist the darkness blooming in his vision as he tipped over that precarious line into unconsciousness.

His last glimpse of the world around him was Logan, weapon in hand, striding closer with his face set determinedly. Roman’s foolishness had never managed to outlast or outwit that expression before, and he had no doubt that this instance would be much the same.

At least, with any luck, his friend would never know what he’d done.

#sanders sides #ts roman #ts virgil #ts logan #BTHB #bad things happen bingo #writing #my writing #breathing cleaner air #bca #multichapter #EDIT: FORGOT THE BINGO SORRY

236 notes · View notes

troped-fanfic-challenge · 3 years

Text

JATP ROUND TWO FICS!

We received seventeen (17!!!!!) Fics for the Second Round of the JATP TROPED Event! These fics were fluff-filled and super fun, and we loved to see how you all challenged yourselves with the theme, tropes, and pairings!

Please try to read as many fics as you can! Take some notes, leave some kudos/comments for the authors, and help us vote on the winners!

Voting will be open until May 14th at 11:59pm EST! Vote here:

https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/BZ3W5FT

Please rank ALL the fics in each question based on the USE of each trope, the theme, the fics overall, and the two bonus polls (best setting + most unique pairing)! Your #1 spot should be the best answer and your last spot the least likely answer for the question. The Best Overall Poll will determine who will be writing in the Final Round! We ask that you please rank EVERY fic, so we can avoid technical difficulties! A reminder that you must include a Tumblr or AO3 username/URL, and you may only vote once, we will NOT count multiple votes by the same person.

————

Okay, Campers, Rise and Shine! (Rated T) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: When Reggie launches a particularly ill-advised prank war at HGC Ranch, Luke's fully prepared to take it in stride.

When the days start looping, though, he begins to suspect that this might all be a little bit above his head.

In other words, he's at least 78% sure that the time loop isn't a direct result of Reggie's pranks.

Maybe 77%.

Oh, well.

At least he's not in it alone.

(The Groundhog Day meets Gravity Falls meets Summer Camp meets The Author's Own Distaste For Prank Wars AU that no one asked for. Ever. At all.)

Starting To Forget (Just What Summer Ever Meant To You) (Not Rated) [Flynn x Carrie]

Summary: Last summer didn't end on a positive note for Carrie Wilson - she and her girlfriend broke up on the last night of camp, and she's been miserable since. But it seems that the universe is intent on having her fix that this summer. Even if that means she has to live through the same day over and over and over again until she does.

Creative B.S. Was No More, Was No Less (Look Around, You're Gonna Miss What You Found) (Rated T) [Alex x Luke, Flynn x Reggie]

Summary: The midnight men move again

Don't know when

Best friends forever

In trouble again

Here's to you, here's to me

Over the rafters and we're free

--- Over the Rafters, Rick Schiffman

***

Alex and Luke go undercover on a mission to a summer camp in order to find a talisman that could endanger the camp and all the kids. While there, they bond with the kids and make peace with the fact that they broke up.

While Alex and Luke are away, Flynn accidentally fucks with time.

bitch but like romantically (Rated T) [Flynn x Carrie]

Summary: The dining hall’s exactly the same as it has been for two mornings now, and Flynn doesn’t hesitate to poke Willie twice on the nose and whisper “pancake” on her way past their seat.

His eyes widen and he whips his head around to follow them, excitement glimmering in their eyes.

“Really?” they blurt. Flynn rolls her eyes and nods.

or: flynn gets stuck in a time loop. {for troped jatp round 2}

down by the bay (Rated T) [Alex x Willie]

Summary: Over time, Camp Phantom has simply become known as a selective summer camp: one that took only the kids that Caleb saw promise in. And Caleb wasn’t exactly lying. He really did take only the ones he saw promise in, he simply looked for different traits than others might.

For example, say, hypothetically, a boy who could see the future. Or, hypothetically, a girl who could interact with ghosts. Or, hypothetically, a boy who could summon objects to him with a simple thought. Or, and this is completely hypothetical mind you, a boy who could manipulate time.

Those might be some traits that Caleb saw promise in. Just, like, as examples.

Time will tell (But only if you do it right) (Rated T) [Flynn x Carrie]

Summary: Carrie had been acting a little off for a week or so, but Flynn was pretty much known for seeing something in nothing, and that was probably what they were doing then. If something was going on, Carrie would tell her eventually.

Who knew all it took was a little bit of miscommunication to mess up time itself?

and so it begins (Rated T) [Bobby x Reggie]

Summary: It’s the first day of their second week at Camp Carolling (they’re spending an entire month, and they’re getting paid to be there!) when Reggie gets a little lost in the woods. During this misadventure into the woods, he finds an egg shaped rock, an inhabited cabin that may or may not be riddled with signs, and something that might be magic. He probably doesn't get paid enough to discover magic.

or, when they were thirteen years old, four boys met at camp carolling and eventually became a band that almost became something legendary. now, all four boys are coming back as counselors, three boys in one band and one boy in his own solo act.

so begins the reunion, though it doesn't go how any of them imagine.

Porcupine Day (Rated T) [Bobby x Ray x Rose]

Summary: It’s been fifteen years since Trevor broke up with Ray and Rose and they’re... not fine, but managing. But when Trevor to adds insult to injury and buys the camp across the lake from the one they once owned together, the two camps become locked in a bitter rivalry. With neither side willing to set aside their pride and work out their issues, the universe decides to settle their fates itself.

Day After Day (After Day After Day) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie]

Summary: When Alex met Willie just after their senior year of high school, they spent a wonderful three months dating before their relationship ended in a blaze of glory. Now, four years later, they meet again as counselors at a summer camp. The only problem? Alex keeps reliving their first day together. The day that Luke had declared "Prank Day."

This is not how Alex pictured his summer going.

clocks move faster (it's all we're after) (Rated G) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: Julie likes it when her friends are happy, so when she realizes she's stuck in a time loop, she uses her knowledge to make sure everything works out for everyone... except she conveniently forgets to factor herself (and Luke) into the mix.

Touch of Magic (Not Rated) [Alex x Luke]

Summary: When everything stands in Luke and Alex’s way of getting to be with the people they love, they have to repeat the day over and over until they can get the happily ever after that they want.

The play's the thing (that goes wrong) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie]

Summary: Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day for Macbeth, but not so for Alex and the production of Hamlet that he is directing and starring in. And while he's stuck repeating the day of the performance over and over, mishaps of all kinds befall the cast.

anything, anything (for another run with you) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie]

Summary: The moment Alex steps foot in Camp Greenwood, he knows that this summer is a bad idea.

He knows it as soon as he sees tan skin, long hair, and a tie-dyed crop top at the check-in table.

Willie.

the camp counselor/exes/prank war/time loop fic of your dreams (unless you read all of the other troped round 2 fics lmao)

there’s a glorious sunrise, dappled with the flickers of light (Rated T) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: What comes next happens in slow motion. Luke’s foot catches on the last rung of the ladder. Julie watches as he stumbles a step forward, barely catching himself before falling on his face. The ladder clatters to the floor below. The trapdoor, no longer propped open by it, falls closed with a loud thunk, the lock clicking into place. They’re stuck.

“Luke!” she exclaims loudly. “Look what you did!” Julie drops to her knees in front of the trap door, desperately trying to fit her fingers between the wood and the stone to pry it open again. Of course it doesn’t work.

“What?” he snaps back. “I wouldn’t be up here in the first place if it weren’t for you trying to fuck us over.”

or: ex-best friends Luke and Julie, working as camp counselors at rivaling camps, find themselves stuck in a time loop

the daughter of apollo (Rated T) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: (the JATP x Camp Half Blood AU that nobody asked for)

maybe the world isn't ending (maybe it's been postponed) (Rated G) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: Alex runs his fingers through Willie’s hair. “I think it’s best to just leave them to their own prank war at this point. Let’s not forget that time Julie put hot sauce in the coffee pot and my mouth was on fire for an entire hour.”

“You’re exaggerating, Alex-”

“I most certainly am not,” Alex cuts Reggie off.

“Or how about the time Luke tried to put glitter in Julie’s bed,” Carrie joins in, “but got my bed instead? I can appreciate some glitter, but even I know when enough is enough.”

“Suffice it to say,” Willie finishes after they’ve passed around a dozen or so more memories of pranks from the summer, “we’re all done being your collateral damage. Whatever Julie has planned for you tomorrow, Luke, you’re on your own.”

It's the last day of camp and Julie has one more prank planned for Luke. He just doesn't know what it is.

Here We Go Again (Rated T) [Julie x Luke]

Summary: Julie blinked as she stared at the place Euterpe had disappeared. What did that even mean? What journey? Old places and lost faces? What was she talking about? But before she could dwell on the questions swirling around in her mind, the sky full of stars began to move, shifting in place and descending until they were all around her. Julie felt her feet leave the ground as she rose up and up. One star in particular was burning brighter than the others, growing bigger in front of her.

It grew and grew, until the light was blinding and Julie had to throw a hand up against the harsh light. She closed her eyes as the light surrounded her and then she was falling. Falling down, down, down.

#troped: jatp #round 2: fluff #jatp fanfiction #submissions #round 2 submissions #round 2 voting #troped: voting

48 notes · View notes

honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 9.3k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, mentions of explicit sexual content, mentions of blood. the results of the fan favourite vote poll are at the end of this chapter.

banner designer @jamaisjoons | thank you sfhs babies i love you 3000

ELIMINATION

On the seventh Day of every Week in the game, Y/n’s elimination vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the Fan Favourite vote, which has already happened.

Vote closed. Thank you for participating!

DAY FOURTEEN

There’s something exciting and indulgent about sitting apart from Taehyung and Jimin, yet sharing secret glances and muffled smiles.

You’d had to leave Taehyung’s room at different times, you and Jimin sneaking back to your respective rooms to change out of his clothes so it didn’t look odd.

As the eight of you gather in the lounge, sleepily curled up with mugs of coffee or lying back against the couch for a few more moments of peace, the familiar faces of the others send a pang of guilt through you. Like you were lying to them. Omission is a type of lie, you suppose, but you try and smother the feeling. You’re allowed to be selfish.

Especially when it made Taehyung and Jimin look so happy.

Taehyung, who was almost always cheerful much like the puppy you saw last night, now looks like he can’t even contain it, his toes wiggling and eyes gleaming. Jimin, who on the other hand tended to be a little stiff and wary during these meetings, seemed more at ease than he’s ever been in front of everyone.

Could the others really blame you for wanting to see them happy?

You bite down hard on your tongue as Sejin arrives, the final piece in the puzzle. Maybe they could. You count your lucky blessings you don’t have to pick a favourite as well as someone to eliminate. Staying objective and making a decision tomorrow would be hard enough.

“Are we all ready?” Sejin checks, consulting with his watch to ensure it was in fact nine on the dot.

Catching everyone off guard, it’s Jungkook that speaks up, sitting beside you with crossed legs. “Ready, PD!”

The rest of you go still for a moment of surprised silence. When was the last time Jungkook had sounded that chipper? You’d found it strange when, being only the third one downstairs after you and Jin, Jungkook had neglected the last empty couch in favour of sitting beside you. Still half asleep, he’d exchanged pleasantries and basically face-planted into a cup of hot chocolate, inhaling the steam like his life depended on it.

Now, though, he seems more alert than most of you, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he waited for the meeting to start.

As you glance around, everyone seems equally shocked and relieved, except Jin, who just smiles quietly. You send the eldest a questioning gaze, but he just shrugs.

“Alright, today we just need to cover the prompts, Y/n’s Bangasm Bomb, and then we’ll finish off with the audience vote for fan favourite. Sound good?”

At the mention of fan favourite, Jungkook straightens up, knee jiggling. Your heart goes out to him. Not only had he had a rough time lately, but he put so much effort in to his prompt, and you can’t help but hope he gets it. He could use some cheering up, though he seemed cheerful again all on his own. “I’ll cross my fingers for you, Doctor Jeon,” you promise with a soft smile.

He glances back at you, eyes glittering. “You will?”

“Of course.” Out of the corner of your vision, you feel two sets of eyes on you. “You did well.”

He wrings his hands, gaze dropping. “I wasn’t even top three last week.”

You shrug lightly. “Then you’ll be most improved.”

When he grins, teeth poking out cutely, your shoulders drop in relief. “If I win, I’ll take you somewhere really fun, I promise!”

“Alright,” Sejin cuts in, breaking off your conversation, “our theme was dynamics and roleplay. Just like with last week, we’ll go through each of the guys and get Y/n to guess. Should be pretty easy. And we’ll see if anyone will be taking over the bunkrooms. Namjoon and Hoseok, you’ll be returning to your rooms tonight unless you failed your prompt again.”

Namjoon and Hoseok, squished up on either side of Taehyung, lean over him to high-five after the older one cheers.

“I’ll miss it,” Hoseok confesses, “but I missed my own bed even more. Namjoon; you’re welcome for a sleepover anytime.”

“A sleepover sounds fun,” Taehyung answers quietly, but Hoseok trills and cups his cheeks, inviting him too.

Across the other side, to the left of Jin and Yoongi, Jimin stiffens and instinctively sends you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part, but of course you can’t say anything in front of everyone.

Instead, you give a minute shrug and lean back. Taehyung had already spent the past two weeks being relatively free with his affections, and it seems unfair to get upset by it now. Especially when you were still having sex with other people.

Like a bucket of cold water down your back, the decision you made last night comes into clarity. You couldn’t go out on dates. You couldn’t really kiss or hold hands in front of the others lest they find out. And you couldn’t even be faithful to them. What exactly made declaring your feelings and choosing to be together any different from how you were before?

Before you get too deep into your thoughts, you notice the room has gone silent, everyone staring at you. “Hm? Sorry?”

Sejin’s pointing to Jin expectantly. “Could you state your guess for what Seokjin’s prompt was, Y/n?”

Jin’s face is weirdly unreadable, eyes not really focusing on yours. You struggle to process enough to recall the answer. “Um, poolboy.”

Jin remains silent, making Sejin cough awkwardly. “Yes, poolboy and client was his prompt. Congratulations, Seokjin, you didn’t explicitly tell Y/n your prompt and successfully completed it.”

On the other side of the room, Taehyung’s eyes fly wide, before his shoulders slump, blushing as Hoseok quietly teases him.

“Yoongi?”

You clear your throat, feeling weirdly strung-out, like your attention is in a million places at once. Get through the meeting, then you can chat with Min and Tae. Just stay focussed. “Yoongi was, like, an animal?”

“Predator and prey,” Yoongi explains smoothly, finally starting to look a little less zombie-like. “And I made sure we were in view of the cameras outside. The ones by the gazebo.”

Sejin nods, choosing to sit on the coffee table instead of just standing in front of you all. “Right. Congratulations, Yoongi, you also successfully completed your prompt within the rules. Jimin’s one?”

You’re pretty sure every person in this room could guess his without a second thought. “Stripper.”

Jimin blows you a teasing kiss with a wink, and you try not to look too endeared, heart leaping at the soft look that hides behind his flirty act. “I hope you all enjoyed the show.”

Beside you, Jungkook goes oddly stiff, face falling. But before you can ask him about it, he’s taking a deep breath and putting on a smile again, albeit a smaller one. You frown as Sejin congratulates Jimin before turning to your couch and indicating it’s Jungkook’s turn.

“Doctor and patient,” you hear yourself answer easily, but you find yourself still worried about him, remembering what he said about Jimin yesterday. Maybe he wasn’t as cheery as he was making himself seem today.

A similar look of worry flickers across Jimin’s face at Jungkook’s odd response, and you decide that once the meeting is done, you’ll ask Jungkook about it. Maybe get him to talk to you privately, or everyone so you’re all on the same page. Anything so that you can resolve the strange upset Jungkook seems to have.

“...his prompt. Now, Namjoon?”

“Husband and wife,” you offer up reflexively, grateful of the warm albeit shy smile Namjoon sends you in response.

“Now, Namjoon and Y/n, I’m aware you spent a significant amount of time together in the rec room. Of course, you can retain your privacy, but I do need to ask if Namjoon explicitly told Y/n his prompt in there.”

Looking like a teacher’s pet being told off, Namjoon’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t!”

Sejin lets out a quick laugh, holding a calming hand up. “That’s fine, that’s all I needed. Congratulations, Namjoon, you’re out of the bunkrooms.”

Taehyung looks nervous when Sejin’s stare rests on him. His eyes keep darting around to the other men like he’s waiting for their reactions. When Sejin asks you to guess the prompt, you hesitate. Something about how uncomfortable he looks gives you pause. “She doesn’t have to guess,” Taehyung offers up, “and you don’t have to say it. I already know I lost.”

Sejin gives him a look of sympathy. “The editing team did catch you telling Y/n directly which means you’ll have to stay in the bunks for next week, but unfortunately the nature of these meetings does require each prompt to be revealed to the group.”

You can see the puppy behind Taehyung’s eyes as he rounds them, pouting up at Sejin. “Really?”

“We don’t have to give details,” Sejin offers up shortly. “And none of these prompts will ever be things anyone has on their hard limits list, so please don’t think anyone hear will be in any position to judge it.”

This seems to ease Taehyung’s worry significantly. “Pet and owner,” Taehyung offers up shortly. “And I lost because I told Y/n. Time for Hoseok.”

Even as your heart aches to jump up and go to him, Jimin also shifting in his seat restlessly, you see Hoseok quietly wrap a hand around Taehyung’s elbow and Namjoon rest his head tentatively on Tae’s shoulder. You settle back, forcing yourself to remember you and Jimin aren’t the only ones that care for Taehyung.

Sejin clears his throat and gestures to Hoseok. “Lucky last, I suppose. What’s your guess, Y/n?”

You think back to Monday night. Hoseok teasing you throughout the day and then tying you up at night in the prettiest ropes, feeling entirely under his control. You’d called him Master. “Master and sss….sub?”

Hoseok smiles sweetly, his voice honeyed. “Almost. You and Jungkook were my pretty little slaves, princess.”

In perfect synchronisation, the others turn their heads around to you and Jungkook, sharing a couch. “I remember now,” you state weakly as Jungkook shifts on his spot.

Sejin looks distinctly uncomfortable with the sudden turn, wincing at Hoseok. “Well, congratulations because you also successfully completed your prompt. Anyways, that’s that done, time for the Bangasm Bomb. As you all probably recall,” Sejin explains, sliding off his glasses and wiping the lenses with his shirt as he goes, “the requirement was that Y/n had to stay in a different bed every night otherwise she’d be in the bunkroom. Luckily, she managed to do so, so Taehyung is the only one required to stay there.”

Taehyung shrinks, bottom lip sticking out in disappointment and Jimin watches him, stricken. Against your better judgement, you call out to Sejin. “But are we able to voluntarily go there?”

Sejin shrugs. “Sure, you already did so once this week. No rules against it.”

Jimin brightens up, but before he can say anything, Hoseok’s cheering, jostling Tae’s side. “Guess the sleepover will be back in the bunkroom, Tae!” Across the side of the room, Jimin visibly holds back his irritation.

“Can we do the audience favourite now?” Jungkook pipes up in a hopeful voice.

“Oh, of course.” Sejin fumbles to slide his glasses back on, lenses still smudged at the bottom, and clears his throat dramatically. “Alright, so I’ll just say the top three again. Third place this week was Namjoon.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen comically as he croaks out a, “Really?”

“Ah, I’m so proud,” Hoseok croons, reaching across Taehyung to pat Namjoon’s knee enthusiastically. “Young grasshopper learnt well.”

Namjoon still seems in disbelief, letting out a stilted laugh. “Wow, I- Goodness, that’s so nice of them!”

Beside you, Jungkook’s practically vibrating with nervous energy. He wasn’t even in the top three last time, and you can tell he’s feeling the pressure. Yoongi seems unbothered, even as his eyes keenly focus on Sejin; Jin waits patiently, not looking like he’s expecting anything. Jimin’s more focused on Taehyung than the announcement, his eyes locked onto the boy that’s sandwiched between Namjoon and Hoseok as they celebrate. Hoseok looks relatively uncaring about the favourite, lips still spread in a heart-shaped grin at Namjoon’s victory like it’s his own.

“Second place,” Sejin continues, “was Jungkook.”

You hear and feel his reaction rather than see it. Hear the exhale as he sinks, a mix of relief and disappointment making his frame go lax on the couch. Leaning over, you send him a warm smile. “Good job, Kook, you did really well.”

“Who’s number one?” he asks instead, leaning forward with his legs tucked up under him.

Sejin gives a small smile. “The highest number of votes this week went to Yoongi.”

“Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook questions quietly, but it’s drowned out by Hoseok’s excited woop and chirpy laughter as Yoongi’s mouth drops open, doing a double take at the news.

“Are you serious?” Yoongi exclaims, a disbelieving grin spreading across his face as Jin rubs his shoulders and Jimin congratulates him lowly. “Holy shit, who would’ve guessed?” His eyes find you suddenly, brightening with realisation. “I get to take you out tonight,” he declares.

A shock of thrill runs through you at all the possibilities of some private time with the enigmatic doctor, but you can’t help but glance over, wary of Tae and Jimin’s reactions. Though Jimin just looks a little stiff, Taehyung’s eyes are on you, sullen. Rather than jealous, it seems more like he’s disappointed he couldn’t be the one to take you out. It’s a relief he isn’t mad, but it only increases the unsettled feeling in your heart. You, Taehyung and Jimin sorely needed to talk.

“Well, then,” Sejin interrupts, breaking you out of your daze, “that’s your Sunday meeting, I’ll see you all back here tomorrow for elimination.”

Like clockwork, the seven guys turn their heads to look at you, even as Sejin bids you farewell and leaves out the front door.

“Do you know who you’re voting out?” Jin asks with a complete lack of tact, an easy smile hiding the concern in his eyes.

You cough awkwardly. “I have no clue,” you answer honestly. “I’m just… trying not to think about it until I really have to, you know? I still don’t want to vote out any of you.”

“That reminds me,” Jin speaks up, though he states it awkwardly, almost sounding rehearsed, “I think we all need to have a group talk. Set some things straight.”

Jungkook recoils like the comment was directed at him, letting out a light huff. “Can’t this wait?”

Yoongi grimaces. “With all due respect, Jungkookie, I think it would be best to just have a chat now and sort this out. If the therapist thinks we need to talk, he’s probably right.”

“It’s not like it’s urgent,” the youngest rebutts, “let’s just do it some other time.”

Jin sucks in a breath. “We’re all sitting here now, Jungkook, and clearing the air. Unless you want to go back to feeling uncomfortable.”

Jungkook’s eyes cast towards the ceiling like he can’t believe he’s stuck here. “Oh my god! I already spoke to you, just pass it on!”

“You know I can’t do that, Jungkook,” Jin says calmly, even as his eyes flare in ire. “We want you to be happy, and I’m sure you’re not the only one that has been struggling, and if we-”

“If you want me to be happy, fucking let me leave, Jesus,” Jungkook swears, and you flinch when he suddenly stands, rushing away quickly. “I’ll come back when I’m done.”

“Done?” Jin asks, looking completely lost. “Goodness, that kid gets angry at everything these days.”

“A talk does sound really helpful, Jin-hyung,” Namjoon offers up. “If you want, we can hang around and wait for Jungkook.”

Jin lets out a light sigh, smiling gratefully. “I figure it’ll be good for us. Hopefully. I just worry about everyone, you know? Just because this is a reality show doesn’t mean we need to be always fighting and throwing drinks in people’s faces and stuff. We need to communicate like adults.”

Yoongi frowns. “You don’t need to take all that burden on yourself, hyung. I’m sure they didn’t teach you to handle this kind of situation in your training.”

Jin goes to reply, but the moment his mouth opens, words are cut off by a dual ding, two phones going off.

You glance over to where Taehyung and Namjoon both instinctively check their phones, faces falling almost simultaneously.

“Oh,” Taehyung says shortly, face falling. “I should’ve remembered.”

“What is it?” Jin asks with knitted brows.

“It’s his stream,” Namjoon explains guiltily, “he normally begins it earlier than this, so he was probably trying to leave so he could start.”

“Why didn’t he just-?” Jin exhales roughly, Yoongi’s hand falling to his shoulder to anchor him. “Whatever. He’s angry now, I guess, let’s just wait for him to finish and once he goes offline someone can text him and ask him to come down. Is everyone fine with that?”

Although no one protests, the air is significantly stiff with tension; Yoongi makes another round of coffees, Taehyung opens the stream and watches it with the volume turned muted, biting at his fingernail. It feels like such a departure from the same time last week, and being tuned in just feels even more invasive than last time.

“The people in the comments aren’t happy about him being late,” Taehyung notes nervously. “He looks upset.”

“I don’t think you should be watching,” Namjoon admits, shifting in his seat as he tries to avoid looking at the screen. “Doesn’t it feel strange to you?”

“I’m just making sure he’s okay,” Taehyung insists hollowly, eyes locked onto it. “He’s trying to touch himself but he’s not getting ha-”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Yoongi spits harshly, returning with four cups of coffee balanced precariously in his grip. “Watch it if you want, but respect that we’re choosing not to.”

Taehyung frowns, but doesn’t protest, returning silently to the screen. Alone on your couch, you take a cup of coffee from Yoongi’s outstretched hands and cradle the cup, feeling the warmth seep into your bones, your heart still as cold as if it were frozen in ice.

True to Yoongi’s command, Taehyung stays silent as he watches, and the entire room sits in uncomfortable quiet until, what can only be fifteen or twenty minutes later, Taehyung lets out a defeated sigh and locks his phone, setting it on the arm of the couch.

The implication is clear, and Jin sets his jaw, looking determined albeit regretful. “Okay, can someone text Jungkook? Let’s get this over with. Just remember it’s for the best.”

Though it seems like even Jin himself is unsure of that, everyone waiting in dread as Taehyung sends him a text, and he comes down the stairs a few minutes later, cheeks flexed with irritation.

You fight the urge to reach out to him when he collapses onto the couch beside you, hair messy but clean and in the same casual clothes as earlier. He seems restless and volatile, and you can’t help but wish the lot of you weren’t having this talk now, or wish you could just jump forward in time to when everyone was happy and alright again.

“Go on, then,” Jungkook starts, snapping the silence. His arms are crossed tightly and eyes piercing as they glare at Jin. “Start the group therapy.”

Though he’s been silent for a while now, Jimin lets out a tired groan. “Fucking hell, Jungkook, he’s trying to help you! Seeing you be upset makes us feel terrible.”

Jungkook stiffens, and you can just about feel the heat radiating off his body as he fires up. “Oh, I’m sorry, next time I’ll just be miserable in private!”

Jin looks stricken, rubbing at his temple. “Jungkook, you said you were going to try and seek out the things that made you happy.”

“And you said you weren’t going to reveal what I said to you in confidence,” Jungkook replies shortly, but before Jin can protest, he’s continuing, voice strained. “But- I do want to try and make things better. I’m sorry; I’m really stressed out and it’s frustrating not being able to leave this place. I thought if I got fan favourite I’d at least get a break.”

The rest of you fall silent for a moment. Your eyes sting, so you blink to ease the ache. “We understand. We want you to be happy. Can we all agree to try our best to just stay chill and talk this through?”

As the others nod, Jungkook scoots back like he’s trying to bury himself into the corner of the couch. “But talk what through? Do you not realise how shitty it feels having all of you sitting me down for an intervention right now? I don’t know whether to be offended or humiliated.”

Taehyung’s face crumples violently, like he’s about to cry. Hoseok, unusually solemn, clears his throat lightly as he pats Tae’s back. “JK, it’s not all of us gathering to dunk on you. I for one know that there are things I’d like to get off my chest. Things that bother me and stuff. I think if we all just front up to what we’re struggling with then we can work through these issues together. But it’s gotta be all of us. If we want to be happy here.”

Jin sends Hoseok a grateful look, sitting back in his seat when Jungkook begins nodding. “I can do that,” Jungkook agrees in a small voice. “Just… someone else can start.”

The concept of owning up about your feelings is clearly as paralysing to the others as it is to you. Everyone falls silent, looking around at each other’s faces and waiting for someone else to speak up. A thread of worry niggles in the back of your brain that Taehyung or Jimin would confess your closeness, bursting the bubble that was already so fragile.

In the end, it’s Yoongi that chooses to go first, heaving a great sigh to brace himself. “If I’m perfectly honest,” Yoongi admits, “I’m a little concerned that we’re going to be cornered into conflict no matter how much we avoid it. As nice as the producers are-” he pauses to glare at one of the cameras filming the interaction with an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture, “this is a reality show and reality shows are founded on drama. And look how much effort it took to get us to sit down and actually talk to each other? It would’ve been easier in some respects to just get angry and hateful and fight every other day, and I don’t think everyone is as aware of that as hyung and I are.”

Jungkook swallows. “I do worry about that, too,” he reveals. “I mean, not in the same way, but… If we wanted to, we could just all hate each other and only interact when we had to and then never speak again when we all leave. Which is weird because for now, we can’t go anywhere. We’re all gonna be really close and then we’ll just go our separate ways. And I don’t know what to do about it… If that makes sense.”

“But you did that exact same thing to us,” Jimin protests. “If you’re scared of us all acting like strangers then why push us away?”

Jungkook frowns stiffly. “That’s what you did at the start!”

“And it sucked,” Jimin retorts immediately. “It felt awful seeing everyone socialise and feeling like I had to stay out of it to protect myself. That’s why I’m not acting like a dick anymore.”

“Well, that’s up for debate,” Hoseok quips with a scoff.

Jimin sends him a withering glare, but Jungkook pays no mind to Hoseok’s remark, eyes still on the blue-haired man. “Everyone else was ignoring me anyway!” His voice is brittle, powered only by his frustration, and it feels like a pot ready to boil over. “Yoongi and Jin always do their own thing in the kitchen and never like me helping out, Namjoon and Hoseok have their whole teacher-student thing going on, and the only people my age are so up each other’s asses that they don’t even look at me half the time! Y/n has six other guys to sleep with so it’s not like I can even hang out with her that much. Everyone’s paired up and left me out of it but you all act like you haven’t. And then it’s all, ‘oh, why is Jungkook all grouchy?’ like I’m just making your lives difficult or something.”

Jimin winces. “We never tried to-”

“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t try to, you did! You and Tae fucking drool over each other all day long and even when I try and- and- talk to either of you, it’s clear that you’re just thinking about the other person.” Jungkook stands suddenly, whirling around to face Taehyung. “I thought that day in the confessional shed, Tae, when you said it wasn’t just Y/n… I thought you were talking about me. I thought we were having a moment, you know, and then it turns out it was just Jimin. It’s always Jimin.”

“Come on, that’s not fair,” Jimin cuts in, “he can’t help his feelings.”

Taehyung sends Jimin a confused look hastily before turning back to Jungkook. “Kookie, I’m really sorry. I don’t want to exclude you anymore. I’ll do better.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologise, Tae,” Jin pipes up tiredly, and a strangled cry comes from Jungkook’s throat, the boy almost hysterical.

“Why do you want so badly for no one to be on my side, Seokjin?”

“God, it isn’t about that-”

Jungkook seems borderline hysterical, bottom lip trembling violently as he points at the eldest. “Well, what is it about? You act so fucking high and mighty, Jin, yet you’re in the same fucking situation as me.”

Your eyes widen as Jungkook turns to you, knees almost bumping yours with how close he’s standing. Behind him, Jin makes a low noise of warning. “Don’t, Jungkook…”

Jungkook’s eyes are wild, two points of red on his cheeks. “Jin has feelings for you but he won’t say anything because he thinks you just see it as sex. And he has the fucking audacity to try and give me advice on my feelings for-”

“Jeon Jungkook!” Jin bellows, standing too. Beside him, Yoongi tugs at his wrist, but the eldest shakes it off. “You have no right to-”

You’ve had enough of sitting silently, wincing at Jin’s volume, the therapist so far from the pillar of emotional stability he usually was. “Just let him get it out, Jin, he’s frustrated.”

Jungkook scoffs even as Jin shakes his head in disapproval. “Are you serious?” Jungkook asks you incredulously. “I tell you Jin has feelings for you and you’re still trying to suck up to me?”

You reel back, brows knitted. “I’m defending you, Jungkook.”

“I don’t want you to fucking defend me, Y/n, I’ve had enough of you leading everyone on and then not returning anything. You have all the power here and you just toy with us and act all innocent.”

“What are you talking about?” you cry, throat aching with the effort it takes to keep your voice steady.

Jungkook’s eyes gleam, unshed tears reflecting the light. “Jin-hyung tries to be romantic and you tell him it’s just a scene to you, instead of just doing Namjoon’s prompt you take his virginity like it’s a 90s romcom, making it “special” for him. You want every one of us to fall for you so that you can get fawned over by seven hot guys, but you aren’t willing to take any of the responsibility that comes with it. You act like things are so hard for you having to choose, but you’re breaking our fucking hearts doing it!”

You open your mouth to retort, but a crashing wave of guilt overtakes you, and your cheeks are wet before you even realise you’re crying. Intentional or not, you rue all the times you complained about elimination, knowing that the guys must have been feeling so much worse. “I’m so sorry, Kook,” you make out, covering your nose and mouth with a hand to try and contain yourself.

From the other side of the room, it’s Namjoon that speaks up next, voice flat and reserved. It’s a stark contrast to the fire in Jungkook’s voice, but he looks no less affected by everything. “That’s not fair at all,” he says shortly, “Y/n isn’t in charge of our feelings any more than we are, and you don’t have any right to judge her for what I chose. I was the one who wanted my first time to be special, Kook.”

Namjoon’s low volume seems to influence Jungkook, taking his noise level down a notch. The words just hurt more. “Maybe you shouldn’t be here then, Namjoon. This isn’t where you come to have your cherry popped by a nice, young lady you can bring home to your parents.”

“Oh, my god,” Hoseok exclaims with a groan, “are we seriously just complaining about everyone now? Is that what this is? Good going, Jin, really fucking helpful.”

A whirl of dread rushes through you as the anger continues to flit around the room in an ugly cloud, everyone having a bone to pick with each other. Jin makes a noise of outrage, hissing back at Hoseok when he speaks. “I don’t see you coming up with any suggestions. Do any of you have any fucking idea how hard it is to have everyone expecting you to magically solve their problems and shoulder their burdens and not a single one of them gives a shit about you?”

“That isn’t true,” you protest, immediately regretting drawing attention back to yourself.

Jin scoffs. “You haven’t said a fucking thing since finding out I have feelings for you. Wait, no; you haven’t said a fucking thing since I got upset with you on Tuesday. Did you really never think to ask even once how I was doing?”

Your excuse feels flat even before you say it. “I was waiting for you to-”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner!” he sings sarcastically. “Everybody waits for me to solve things and then complains when it’s not helpful enough,” Jin spits, glaring at Hoseok with the last few words.

A shuddering sob cuts into the silence that follow his words, and in unison you all turn to Taehyung, who has his face buried in Hoseok’s shoulder, Namjoon rubbing his back as his shoulders heave.

Jimin sucks in a sharp breath at the sight, body twitching as he fights the urge to rush over, and instead raises his voice to address the room. “Alright; show’s over. This isn’t solving anything.”

“Why should you decide?” Jungkook cuts in immediately. “I’m miserable and you don’t care, Jin’s miserable and you don’t care, but the second it’s Taehyung…!”

Jimin rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “Why are you so bothered by it?”

Jungkook lets out a cry of frustration that sounds closer to a sob. “Because you’re taking him away from me! I can’t compete with you! Everybody’s obsessed with you, everybody wants your approval and you just drink it up, you narcissistic, selfish piece of shit!”

Around the room, everyone sucks in a wary breath, but Jimin’s already standing, features sharpened in anger. “Why are you acting like it’s my fault he has feelings for me? Maybe he doesn’t like you because you’re a whiny fucking brat who takes everything personally.”

“That isn’t true,” Taehyung hiccups out, “Jungkookie’s nice, Min. And you’re not selfish.”

Though the tension in the room just keeps rising and rising, you can see, behind Jimin’s standing figure, Yoongi sitting stiffly on the couch. He keeps glaring at the cameras expectantly, with one hand clutching his phone and the other latched onto Jin’s wrist, keeping him from interfering further. The two exchange words quietly, shaking their heads in disapproval.

On the more emotional side of the room, Hoseok holds Taehyung closely, soothing him as Namjoon looks up hesitantly at the others. “I really think we should stop, guys…”

“Let’s all take a chill pill,” Hoseok quips as Taehyung’s tears stain his shirt.

Jimin lets out a noise of disgust. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Hoseok.”

“Is no one gonna stop this?” Namjoon asks hesitantly, glancing up at the cameras.

“What did I say?” Yoongi retorts rhetorically. “They aren’t going to interfere. They know this drama gives their show more views.”

“Good for Jimin,” Jungkook states petulantly, “the more views he gets, the better he feels.”

“Coming from you,” Jimin says over the sound of Yoongi clicking his tongue in exasperation. “Maybe the reason you hate me so much is because you and I are the exact same, Jungkook, I just do it better.”

“Again with your superiority complex,” Jungkook huffs. “How long until everyone here gets sick of you, Jimin? How long until the novelty wears off and you’re left alone on your high horse again, huh?”

Jimin flinches like he’s been hit, but takes an accusing step closer to Jungkook. Around them, everyone shrinks back in their seats, Hoseok shielding Taehyung’s ears and Yoongi and Jin with a phone sandwiched between their cheeks as they make a call. Namjoon’s begun to cry, too, but he hides his running nose with a sleeve, eyes wide and shining as they watch Jimin and Jungkook square off.

The two of them are a few steps apart, now, not even the coffee table dividing them. Jimin, although physically smaller than Jungkook, appears to tower over the other as his face darkens. “At least I’m good at my job, Jungkook. Why did you come down so soon? Blow your load too quickly like an amateur?” When it doesn’t gain any more reaction than Jungkook’s face twitching in annoyance, Jimin grins wickedly. “Or could baby not even get it up, huh? Take your dick away, you’re not much of anything, are you?”

Jungkook lunges before Jimin is even done speaking.

The thud of impact and grunt of rage from the youngest echoes through the room sickly as Jimin reels back, clutching at his nose. Already you can see the intense scarlet pooling between his fingers, dripping down as his eyes tear up with anger and pain.

The urge to jump in, do something, almost overwhelms you, but you feel yourself paralysed, shocked and barely able to process anything like it’s a bad nightmare.

On one side of Jungkook and Jimin, Taehyung wails, struggling in Hoseok and Namjoon’s hold as the two of them keep him from interfering. On the other side, Yoongi stands up in alarm, keeping his voice calm as he splays his palms. “Woah, woah, that’s enough now-”

Jimin pulls his hands away, spitting out the blood in his mouth even as more streams to fill out. “You little fucker,” he hisses. “If you broke my nose, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Jungkook lets out a bitter laugh. “Take your face away, you’re not much of anything, right?” he mocks.

Sensing things turning for the worst, Yoongi widens his eyes and jumps forward, but his hands just catch on empty air. Jimin’s already launched himself forward, taking Jungkook off-guard as he shoves him with balled fists, using the full weight of his body to send the other tripping backwards.

Jungkook curses when he lands harshly on the coffee table, empty and half-full cups of coffee flung off, some smashing directly under him. He rolls off, instinctively curling his body away from Jimin.

Passing Taehyung over to Namjoon, Hoseok leaps up to tug Jimin back as the man continues to step closer to Jungkook’s prone body. The moment he gets a hand on Jimin, however, he’s met with an elbow to the cheek, stumbling back from the impact.

For a moment, everyone goes silent. Jimin stares wide-eyed at the red mark quickly blooming on Hoseok’s cheekbone, the dom looking shocked as he rubs at it.

That second of inaction is all it takes for Jin and Yoongi to descend on Jimin at the same time, an arm firmly grasped by each man as they drag him backwards. Jimin doesn’t even fight it, though, a strange clarity and sorrow in his eyes, even brighter than the red that’s beginning to drip down to his shirt.

When Sejin bursts in and rushes over to Jungkook, it’s too late to really solve anything. The combative atmosphere has dissolved into the sick, defeated aftermath of Jimin and Jungkook’s physical alteration.

Still, he directs Jin and Yoongi to take Jimin upstairs to ‘cool off’, crouching beside Jungkook and making sure he’s okay before he tugs the boy gently up. As he leads the youngest in the opposite direction, towards the front door, Jungkook twists in his grip, trying to look back towards the group.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he wails, “please don’t hate me, I’m so so sorry!” Jungkook babbles on almost incoherently, feet stumbling as Sejin tries to shush him, pulling him out the door.

The moment the door clicks shut, it’s like the emotions of the past hour or so hit everyone at once. Namjoon has joined Taehyung in crying, Hoseok trying to rub their backs at once with a pained face, his cheek beginning to swell slightly.

With your shoulders and chest heaving violently as you sob - the silent tears finally finding their voice - you blink away your blurry vision and heave yourself off the couch. The three of them accept you with open, albeit shaky arms, and without any care about exposing your relationship, you wind your arms around Taehyung’s waist and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Do you think they’re okay?” Namjoon asks in a small voice, fiddling with the damp sleeve of his shirt.

As if to answer his question, you hear hurried stomps, followed by Jimin bursting briefly into your line of sight, rushing down the stairs and out the front door without even a second glance.

Even the split-second view of him you got sparks worry in your chest. He’d clearly made a minimal attempt to wipe away most of the blood, but there were still dried smears below his nostrils and down his neck, and the shirt he’s wearing looks like something out of a horror movie, likely the material he used to clean himself up.

Jin and Yoongi follow down, but not fast enough, the blue-haired man long gone by then. The two of them seem hollowed, clearly taking this on as their own burden, as their fault - especially Jin, who’s knitting his brows harshly to stop his own tears.

Taehyung’s straightening up immediately, wrapped up in the middle of the three of you on the couch as he calls out to the older men. “What did he say? Is he okay? It’s not broken, is it? His nose?”

“Tae, easy,” Jin soothes, voice thick with emotion. “Yoongi took a look at it, it’s not broken, just tender. Jungkook sure does know how to swing a punch, though. Jimin was lucky.”

“Lucky,” the masseuse repeats weakly. “I don’t know if anything about this was lucky, hyung.”

“Can we even come back from this?” Namjoon asks slowly. “If we couldn’t talk like adults without fighting, then surely we’re doomed to just-”

“Nobody is doomed,” Jin assures. “If I’m perfectly honest, it seems like Jungkook was so wound up that there was nowhere for him to go except this. He probably just needed to totally vent and get it all out. I should’ve seen it coming, I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi grimaces, a hand on Jin’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault, hyung. We’re all complicit and we can all learn from this, but let’s not play the blame game. I just hope Jimin and Jungkook don’t entirely despise each other after this. I actually thought the kid liked- Anyway. Best thing we can do now is give them some time.”

You suck in a deep breath. That whole time, you’d just sat there, too shocked or too cowardly to move, you don’t even know which one. And although it’s too late, at least there’s one thing you can do to help, rather than just waiting passively. You gently detangle yourself from Taehyung, Hoseok and Namjoon and get up off the couch.

When Yoongi - the most composed of the bunch - sees you kneel on the carpet, beginning to pick up chips and fragments of the shattered cup, he lets out a noise of concern. “Y/n, you shouldn’t-”

In your haste to help, and your shakiness from crying, it’s no surprise that your fingers are clumsy, grabbing onto a shard too harshly.

You see the blood welling before you feel it, a hot line of pain that opens up across the base of your palm and spills onto the carpet. Dumbly, you just watch it collect in the fibres. You’re sure when the showrunners rented this house, they hadn’t anticipated blood to be the fluid they’d need to be cleaning up. But in just one day, so much had been shed needlessly.

You’d probably sit there forever, numb to your own injury were it not for Yoongi rushing forward, his fingers gently prying away the sharp shard of ceramic, holding your hand so tenderly as he inspects it.

“You’re coming to my bedroom, now. Can you stand?”

Yoongi’s voice feels far away, inconsequential. You hum just to feel your throat vibrate. Letting out a sigh laden with worry, Yoongi lifts you off the floor slowly, waiting to see if you can get your feet back under you.

It seems you can stand, though it takes all of your focus. The others are talking behind you, voices fretting, but they reach your ears like you’re underwater.

It’s less than a second of eternity before you’re blinking away the cotton fog, slowly coming back to your senses.

The first thing you feel is a freezing solid surface against your legs and back. As it seeps into your bones, it wakes you up, and you fight to focus your vision, watching the colours swim sickly.

“...hear me?” The shapes and shades begin to settle like silt on a lakebed, revealing Yoongi’s round face as it crumples in contained concern. “Y/n, can you hear me?”

“I h-hear you, yes,” you slur out, coughing away the remaining thickness in your throat.

“Good, okay, stay with me,” he instructs, crouched in front of you. “What day is it?”

The more you tune back in to your surroundings, you become aware of a second person behind Yoongi. Hoseok’s long legs sprawl gracefully in front of you as he sits on the toilet seat lid, but his head is dipped back onto the tile. He looks totally devoid of any of the positive energy you’re used to seeing on him.

“Everything’s ruined,” you mumble lowly.

Yoongi sucks in a breath and tilts your face back to him, his fingers cold like ice. “I need you to not worry about that for now and stay alert. What day of the week is it?”

“Sunday,” you give after a beat.

“Good, and what’s my name?”

You frown, shifting in his grasp. “I’m not concussed, you know.”

Yoongi huffs, his hands falling from your jaw. “I’m trying to keep you distracted, you brat. What’s my name?”

“Min Yoongi. Doctor Min Yoongi I gue- Wait, why do I need to be- ow!” You automatically try to jerk your hand close to you when a searing, stinging pain explodes your nerves, but an iron grip around your wrist keeps you steady.

Glancing down, you see Yoongi deftly wrapping a bandage around the base of your palm, winding it around your thumb. Below, the burning ache of antiseptic makes you wince. “It hurts,” you whine.

“Unlike poor Hoseok, you did this to yourself,” Yoongi replies shortly.

You pout. “Do you bully all your patients?”

“Only the ones I like.” Clearing his throat with a tinge of pink in his cheeks, Yoongi finishes bandaging your wound. “You’ll live.”

Despite yourself and the events of the past few hours, your lip twitches. “Reassuring.”

Before the doctor can respond, Hoseok lifts his head and blinks down at the two of you balefully. “He hit me,” he breathes in a sullen voice.

“Jimin?” Yoongi begins to pack up his little first aid kit, slumping back against the vanity you’re propped up on. “You got in the way.”

“He didn’t just push me away, he elbowed me right in the face,” Hoseok explains meaningfully. The thought seems to bother him more than you’d expect. “I didn’t think he actually hated me like that.”

“Isn’t that your whole shtick?” you ask tiredly. All of your annoyance, frustration, anger and even your guilt seems to have been sucked away by the chill of the tile, leaving you feeling strangely hollow and detached. “Two sparring doms trying to outdo each other?”

The truth is, Jimin didn’t like to speak or hear about Hoseok, and you hadn’t actually spent that much time with the professional dom to hear his side. Hoseok shrugs with a sigh. “I know he doesn’t like me. And I think he’s an arrogant prick, but I’d never hit him. I thought it was just a bit of fun to play up the rivalry, you know? I guess not to him.”

Yoongi looks grim. “I don’t think it’s wise for us to make any judgements about each other based on any of the events of the past six hours. We all got caught up in it, and I’m sure we’ll be able to forgive and move on.”

Hoseok nibbles at a thumbnail, unassured. “Do you think they’ll send them home for aggression?”

“Who knows?” Yoongi answers honestly. “But hey; you’ll get to be the winner of your rivalry and outlast Jimin. That’s something, isn’t it? You always wanted to.”

A shiver runs up your spine at the despairing look on Hoseok’s face. “Not like this,” are the only three words he makes out before a sob bubbles up his throat. He claps a hand over his mouth, but the dam has burst.

“Hobi,” you coo, shuffling forward on your knees to avoid putting pressure on your injured hand. He lets out a shuddering breath when you take his hand and link in your fingers, providing some physical comfort. “Let’s go downstairs, maybe make some dinner, and wait for Jimin and Jungkook to come back in. We’ll say our sorries and go to bed on a warmer note, yeah?”

Hoseok pauses, bites his lip to cease his tears, and nods shakily. “Yeah, let’s do that. Even if he hates me, I… I want to apologise if I’ve contributed in taking things too far.”

You hum, standing up. Though you wobble for a bit, you feel far more stable than before, and you use your links hands to tug Hoseok to his feet too. “And I want to apologise for not being fairer with you all. But we can’t do anything until Jungkook and Jimin are ready to come back.”

Yoongi pushes himself off the floor with a grunt. “And Hoseok, I’m getting you an icepack for that cheek of yours.”

Though Hoseok protests, five minutes passing sees you in the kitchen, Hoseok slumped at the breakfast bar with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a paper towel pressed to his face. You busy yourself with putting some rice on to cook and Yoongi and Jin work in their usual companionable silence, preparing a basic beef broth.

Both uninjured and not much help in the kitchen, Taehyung and Namjoon occupy their hands and minds with cleaning, following YouTube tutorials on how to get coffee and blood out of the carpet. They haven’t made all that much progress by the time dinner is served, but nobody comments on the dark patches, huddling on two couches in the lounge instead of the dining table. Though no one admits it, you need the extra physical comfort.

As you eat, you find yourself glancing back and forth between the two full bowls waiting on the kitchen countertop, and the front door. “Should someone go out and check on them?” you ask eventually, snapping the silence.

“I texted Sejin asking if they needed any medical attention,” Yoongi offers. “He just said no.”

“Minnie took his phone,” Taehyung said in a low voice. He’s barely touched his food, staring blankly into space. “But he only sent one text saying he was okay and he won’t reply to any of my other ones.”

“We wait,” Jin decides resolutely. “We’ll just sit here and wait for them to come back, and then hopefully we can all agree to put this past us. It was awful, yes, but I think it needed to happen. And hopefully nobody feels like they have anything weighing on their conscience anymore.”

Nobody protests and so, you wait.

The leftovers - god, when was the last time you’d had leftovers in this house? - are wrapped up and put in the fridge, the pots cleaned. As the sky dims, you turn the lights on inside. Nobody dares leave long enough to have a shower, but Taehyung darts upstairs to grab some blankets so that you can tuck up in two groups - Taehyung stays by your side with Hoseok, and the two eldest sandwich Namjoon.

Time passes stiffly, but it does pass. When the sun goes down, there are still only six of you in the house. Everyone’s so emotionally exhausted from the fight, and strung out from the anxiety of listening out for the door, that when it suddenly opens you all jump, Hoseok even cursing as he gets a fright.

The sudden spike of hope in your chest tanks violently when it’s Sejin that rounds the corner, a grim look on his face.

Taehyung frowns, his frame trembling as it leans into you. “Where are they?”

Sejin gestures back the way he came. “They’re in the production van.” Taehyung stands up immediately, but Sejin steps in front of him, hands splayed. “They just want to have some space, Taehyung,” he explains.

“There’s more space in here than there is in the van,” Taehyung protests weakly, even as he settles back down between you and Hoseok. “When are they gonna come back inside? It’s getting late.”

Sejin’s eyes flit around the six of you as he shifts, uncomfortable. “I’ve told them they’re welcome to stay the night there and use my bed. I came in to tell you that I’m going to go home now. Please don’t go out and disturb them. I’ve talked to them, but now they need some time to chat to each other and think about what they’d like to do.” The older man adjusts his glasses and gives you a pained smile. “Try and get some rest.”

A cold bolt of fear runs down your spine. “What they’d like to do?”

Taehyung swallows hard, hands beginning to tremble. “They aren’t going to leave the show, are they?”

Sejin’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. “Please try and get some rest,” he repeats, rather than answering. Taehyung shivers, and you feel the pressure of his forehead on your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist.

The producer turns to leave, making Yoongi frown. “Hey!” he calls sharply. Sejin turns around to face him. “I was meant to be taking Y/n out as my reward for fan favourite.”

You bite your lip anxiously. Truth be told, the thought had slipped your mind, and you don’t fancy leaving the others now, certainly not Taehyung who was clinging to you like a frightened puppy.

Sejin curses under his breath, rubbing his temple. “I’ll call an Uber.”

Yoongi steps back a little like the response surprises him. “No, I- This isn’t really the time, is it? I want to ask if we can do it tomorrow night instead, or something? I’m staying here with my friends tonight. We’re staying together.”

“That’s fine,” Sejin allows, a weak smile gracing his tired features before he gasps. “Oh! That reminds me…” He turns so that he’s addressing the group. “I don’t think anyone is in the emotional headspace for eliminations, so… I’m pushing the Monday meeting to Tuesday. Nine in the morning like usual. Just rest up tomorrow.”

“Good to hear you care now,” Yoongi mutters bitterly.

Sejin winces. “I think we’ve had enough conflict today, Yoongi-”

“Something you could have solved,” the doctor accuses harshly, “if you’d answered my texts or my calls and come down when we were asking you for help. I won’t forget that.”

“It’s done. There’s nothing more for me to do beyond apologising.”

“Which you haven’t done,” Yoongi fires back immediately.

“I’m sorry.” The producer gives a stiff wave of farewell to the group. “My girlfriend is waiting outside. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.”

When Sejin leaves the villa, the group heave out a unanimous sigh of exhaustion. It’s been a long day, but the thought of splitting apart, of being alone with your thoughts, is more than you can bear.

“Could we…” You swallow down the croakiness in your throat as everyone turns to look at you. “Could we maybe all stay down here tonight? Together?”

Namjoon’s eyes soften. “I’d like that. I could grab some blankets?”

Taehyung looks up. “I’ll get pillows.”

One by one, four of you run upstairs, Yoongi and Hoseok wanting to get into some more comfortable clothes for sleeping. Before you do the same, you turn to Jin.

He’s starting to push the coffee table towards the television, leaving more room in the middle of the couches. Stubbornly keeping himself busy.

“Jin,” you call out hesitantly, making him glance up in the midst of straightening the table against the wall. “I want to apologise. For relying on you for everything and not taking responsibility of the situation.”

His eyes soften, a pained smile. “You don’t have to.”

“I do and I am,” you counter, “I’m sorry. And for what it’s worth… Me calling it a scene, I… It wasn’t a grand statement. It was just a slip of the tongue. You mean more to me than just this game, than just sex, and I feel terrible that you’ve gone the whole week thinking that was the case.”

Behind you, you can hear footsteps descending the stairs. Jin glances up, then back at you quickly with a shake of his head. “To be honest, I’ve gotten over it. I’m fine; you don’t have to worry about me. I think it’s better just to keep it about sex.” He makes a vague gesture, indicating the day’s events. “Less messy.”

You blink, not expecting that. Had he gotten over being upset? Or gotten over his feelings for you? “Oh.” But Hoseok and Taehyung are stumbling down the steps, hesitating in the doorway, and you know you can’t dig deeper. For now, you’ll have to just be happy he doesn’t seem to be still bothered by it. “No worries. I’ll- I should go get into some pyjamas.”

That night, none of you really sleep the night. You lie tucked between Yoongi’s reassuring mass on one side, and Taehyung’s comforting warmth on the other, and try to steal whatever moments of respite you can. But a restless night shared with five guys who mean far more to you than they should is far preferable to a night spent alone, and you count your blessings for it. Although you’re all a little broken, you have each other’s support to stop from shattering completely, and hopefully you can stay together long enough to heal.

ELIMINATION

Vote closed. Thank you for participating.

Below is the screenshot taken after 48 hours of the fan favourite vote being open.

#ficswithluv #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #namjoon x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #jin x re #bts fanfic #bts series #ot7 x reader #bts angst

777 notes · View notes

layniapetrovnaaa · 4 years

Text

Golden Dandelions: Preview

Listen to Golden Dandelions by Barns Courtney on spotify or youtube, while you read!

He wasn't planning on watching any of the girls on stage. In fact, the only reason he was there was because it was the closest place to him with alcohol. The younger version of himself wouldn't hesitate to watch the show, maybe pay for a private one and end up taking that woman to bed with him, but that version of himself had passed away with the rest of the x-men on that god-forsaken day. This version of the wolverine was sick and dying. He was cold and tired, and surviving only on alcohol, coffee, and cigars.

He didn't even want to temp himself by looking over at the almost naked women, figuring that he would become distracted far too easily because of his past year of abstinence. When he was unable to prevent his eyes from wandering, they landed on the dazzler in the middle row of polls. Her hands sliding up and down her body as she danced provocatively around the pole.

His lips wrapped around the cigar as he took a long inhale, the nearly empty glass of whiskey fascinating him more than the colorful lights and sexual music. As he exhaled, the smoke clouded his vision, and he downed the rest of the venom in the glass.

Despite their location being right by the Mexican border, the Texas weather was still fairly cold on march nights, but as the old man recalled, they were not nearly as cold as march in NY, or Canada for that matter. He stumbled out of the flashy building, taking a minute before going to his car to finish his cigar. Despite his gruff and slightly western look, he did not like the south-west. He hated the dry air and hot climate, and he hated how dusty it was. He preferred the cold– or at least cooler temperatures.

Once he is finished, he taps and rubs the fiery end on the side of the building, dropping it on the ground once it was put out. The old him would have been appalled at his execution, but now he was too tired to care.

He would have ignored it, he should have ignored it, but the version of him that he thought had died along with the rest of his friends never truly did. It, being the sounds of a tussle between a man and woman in the alley next to him. He grumbled knowing he was still there where it counted. He still had that thirst for justice and need to help.

Even though all his aching limbs voted against it,he started towards the slender man in the alleyway, the one who had a tight grip on the petite and scantily dressed woman. Logan figured that she worked at the building that he had just exited, given her intoxicating aroma, oiled up body, and...other factors.

She ripped her wrist from out of the weasely man’s grasp. Logan stopped, seeing her reel the same hand back into the air, ready to attack. It was as if time moved in slow-motion as he watched her shiny fingertips melt down to glove the rest of her hand in cool metal. He would have taken more time to admire the femme fatale’s mutation, as it gleamed in the blue moonlight and pink neon sign that hung above their heads, had it not been for the situation at hand.

He wasn't as alone as he thought.

He came back to reality just in time to see the clammy looking guy fall back into the brick wall behind him, quickly scurrying away, but not before spitting “Freak bitch!” at the damsel.

Her hand shifts back into flesh as she dusts them off, letting out a deep breath.

Logan continued to stand in the small and dirty alleyway. He observed the young female mutant as she bent down to pick up her coat and bag from off of the cracked pavement. The knee length black coat she wore disguised her appearance, but the makeup she still had on was quick to make you suspicious. As she slings the bag over her shoulder, her eyes flick up to meet Logan’s, and in that moment he was able to get a good look at her.

His eyes raked down her body. Had her figure been less than greek, the coat would have completely muted her. But with the way that it cinched at the waist, exposed some of her shiny and supple cleavage, and showed off her killer legs, you had no choice but to succumb to her obvious goddess-like aura. Her hair cocooned her in sensuality and etherealness. Logan felt stuck where he stood as he watched her brush past him and out onto the busy street. His feet were quick to follow her, feeling completely encapsulated by her beauty.

“Hey! Um-’ she turns and glares at him slightly, thinking she was going to have another run in with a sleazy man.

“Do y’need a ride?”

***

The wolverine observed her in his peripheral vision every few minutes, and he noted that her gaze never moved from the window in the five minutes that they had been driving for. He had barely even talked with her, only a “yes” and a “thank you” had passed through her sensual lips, but the nearly 200 year old man was already hooked. He never took himself as the type. Maybe he was just desperate, after all it had been a year since he had any physical or romantic contact with anyone. And the insatiable animal that still resided inside of his adamantium bones was begging for her.

She looked young, too young. But then again, he thought to himself, everyone was to young for him. But this girl looked hardly legal, despite her job and tired eyes.

“So,” he clears his throat, looking over at the nymph-like woman

“You're a mutant.”

She couldn't tell if it was supposed to be a statement or a question. She knew that he had been in the alley with them, but she didn’t know when he had appeared and tried intervene, maybe she could play it off. She knew how mutants were treated around here.

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” she mutters, her body tensing, but her stare was unwavering from the lit streets.

“In the alley, your hand turned into metal.”

He watched her body shift to face forward, still not looking at the chauffeur. She reached into her bag and pulled out a cigarette, only looking up at him to ask if he minded.

“No, but you gotta put the window down.”

She obliges and lights up the cancer stick.

Logan was never one for cigarettes, but the way she looked with it hanging out of her mouth, the way her fingers and lips wrapped around it, or how the smoke twisted around her, made him rethink his convictions.

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but I’m no mutant.”

“I can tell when people are lying to me, sweetheart.”

She stays silent and takes another drag.

“Why do you care, anyways?” she finally speaks up.

“Because, there aren’t many of us left.”

She nods, and Logan can feel her stare rake over him, but only when he was focused on the road ahead.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“[Y/N]. What’s yours?” she says, taking in a breath of smoke. Her tone sounds impassive, yet there is a slightly cocky and curious ring to it, and the male mutant wasn't sure as to why. Maybe she knew that the lone wolf was already wrapped around her finger.

“It’s Logan.”

“Well, Logan, this is my stop right up here.” she says in a sultry tone, and at this point he realizes that there must be no on or off switch for her titillating presence.

He pulls up next to a quaint diner, decorated in blue and white paint that was starting to chip off the side. He decides not to ask about why she would be going to a random diner at 1 o’clock in the morning, as his eyes scan her once more.

“Well it was nice meeting you [Y/N], nice to know I’m not as alone as I thought.”

She nods.

“I know what it's like to be alone.” she looks at her feet then back up, the cigarette still clasped between her fingers.

Her eyes squint slightly as she looks at the old man, a small prurient smirk playing on her plump lips, and he gulps.

“Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee, Logan?”

His eyes flicked to the center of the dashboard where the digital clock shined. The left side of his brain telling him not to go, and that he should get a few hours of sleep; the right, saying: Fuck it. When are you ever gunna get a chance to be with a girl like this again?

Let me know what you think! I’m planning on writing a series and this is part of the first chapter.

#old man logan #old man logan x reader #logan howlett #logan 2017 #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine

66 notes · View notes

makeste · 4 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 271: My Hero Tokodemia

Previously on BnHA: Mic was all “goodbye X-Less don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” and just LEFT him with Tomura, like. ???! X-Less was all “I’m gonna sit here and do nothing and wait to die.” Ujiko was all “this has nothing to do with ANYTHING but I just want you to know that I conspired to murder your husband 15 years ago and ended up killing his best friend instead!” Tomura was all “what up bitches I’m in this chapter too” and had trippy dreams about hands and buildings and his family was there and also All for One (the dude)! Because guess what, Tomura has All For One (the quirk) now! Because AFO gave it to him! So yeah! And now he’s waking up, and Deku can apparently feel it happening because he’s a horcrux probably, and so basically everything is FINALLY GOING TO SHIT AND IT’S ABOUT TIME BUT ALSO AHHHHH.

Today on BnHA: SHIGARAKI WHO TOMURA WHAT. Back to Gunga Mountain! So Dabi is all “you do know your beloved mentor just killed a guy right?” and Toko is all “!!” and Dabi is all “SO THAT MAKES HIM THE WORST CRIMINAL OF ALL!” and, WITHOUT THE SLIGHTEST HINT OF IRONY, IMMEDIATELY follows up this bold statement by TRYING TO BURN A CHILD ALIVE. Anyway so this is why Dabi wasn’t the keynote speaker at the “murder is bad” convention though. So most of the chapter is like this, with Dabi (albeit somewhat halfheartedly) trying to set Toko on fire while Toko desperately tries to keep between him and Hawks. Eventually though, Dabi is confusingly thwarted by Otter Pops, making his triumphant return and spraying a bunch of ice just every which way because things weren’t chaotic enough I guess! And then the chapter ends with everyone’s favorite Guy They Hoped Wouldn’t Be Waking Up In This Arc, Gigantomachia, waking up!! :’) :’) :’) etc you get it.

okay so I am please to clarify that the spoilers I received were not actually all that big of a deal, and that pretty much all I know is that we’re cutting back to Dabi and Tokoyami probably, and there’s a good chance we might not even see Tomura at all this chapter in spite of last week’s cliffhanger. so even if I’d have preferred not to know that up front, it’s all good! though I will say Horikoshi has a real knack for cutting away from things right when you’re at your most invested though. reminds me of what it was like reading Lord of the Rings for the first time. “nooo I don’t want to cut back to Frodo -- WAIT WHAT’S GOING ON -- NO I DON’T WANT TO CUT BACK TO MERRY AND PIPPIN DAMMIT -- WAIT WHAT”

anyways! lol guys guess what

so then! those spoilers did indeed have the ring of truth! well this should be interesting

lmao he’s forcibly clawing his way out of Fat’s belly via aggressive use of Dark Shadow oh damn

oh man you guys. time to catalog some feels

Fatgum you do realize you were in the running for #2 hero but have now bled serious points by letting a child run back into danger and doing absolutely nothing to stop him! although to be fair you do have other children to protect, and this one child also should not have been able to do what he just did! and also Child Endangerment is U.A.’s unofficial motto and you didn’t even go to U.A. but you would fit right in though let me tell you. but anyway so the point is this isn’t really anything new, but still

HIS BODY JUST MOVED BEFORE HE COULD THINK ahhhh Toko. THIS IS YOUR MOMENT!! THE MY HERO TOKODEMIA ARC BEGINS NOW

I hope we get a followup panel of Kaminari freaking out and trying to go after his pal (but not actually succeeding though, because I swear to god Fatgum, if you fuck this up again all of my remaining goodwill is just gonna fly right out the window. and it’s a lot of goodwill too! but we don’t screw around when it comes to children’s safety!!). just would be a nice touch! ah well if they don’t show it I’ll just headcanon it

last but not least, it’s also worth noting that while I love how brave and selfless and concerned for his mentor’s wellbeing Tokoyami is here, this was still an incredibly stupid move on his part! least of all because he actually had no idea that Hawks truly was in danger. is it weird to say he lucked out? “you’re so fortunate your teacher actually was being burned alive you reckless little goose!” but like, you know what I mean though right

anyway

-- oh they are showing it!!

YAY HE IS A GOOD BOY. THAT IS ALL. CARRY ON

Toko’s shouting over his shoulder that Hawks is “probably” in trouble. for fuck’s

I mean yeah, it’s probably just some gut instinct which funnily enough happens to be absolutely right. but I’m sorry you guys, there’s just this small part of me that just can’t get over the fact that he briefly saw Hawks flying for all of .2 seconds, and saw some flames, and just IMMEDIATELY leapt to the worst-case-scenario conclusion. you know what this is? it’s the decision-making process of a kid who is actually WAY more powerful than we’ve been giving him credit for. enough so that his self-preservation instincts don’t even kick in at all because it doesn’t even occur to him how dangerous of a move this is. goddammit Tokoyami. you kids think you’re all grown up now and ffff just please be safe

and okay, I’ll give Fatgum some benefit of the doubt for just letting that happen because apparently this is literally the first and only time

seems he didn’t even think it was possible up until now. so that’s fair

OKAY YOU KNOW WHAT FATGUM YOU ARE REDEEMED

THAT’S RIGHT!! YOU DON’T JUST UP AND LEAVE THE FATAXI WHENEVER YOU FUCKING FEEL LIKE IT. FARE DODGERS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW!!

so he’s immediately following after him, but is smart enough not to put the other kids in danger! good split-second decision-making there. certain other people in this chapter could take notes! and of course my one fear now though is that the other three children will not listen to him at all, but you know what, let’s deal with one thing at a time

hmmm

dammit Horikoshi, what...?? you really like to toe the lines of what is and isn’t problematic huh? literally if you wanted to go for a cool barbarian look all you had to do was stick with the same kind of costume scheme you had going in the second and fourth popularity polls. but no, you had to go and give him a fucking war bonnet. was that one guy back in the Hero Killer arc not enough. at least this is only a cover page, sigh

also I see that Tokoyami was asked to name his own feature chapter. I’m just happy that he’s happy

would you fucking look at this

first of all, why is Dabi suddenly twenty feet away from them. and second, would you just look at how ridiculously intact Hawks fucking is. Dabi really was microwaving him on the defrost setting only huh

so now everyone’s just looking at each other. sizin’ each other up and stuff

yeah no shit it’s bad. you rushed in thinking you could somehow handle a situation which had even the second strongest guy on the ropes. and handle it alone, no less. lord help me why are the bravest ones also always the most stupid

EEP

HIS WINGS??? also his fucking BACK jesus christ. meaning he’s completely immobile for now at best, and probably soon to be in critical condition and going into shock if he isn’t already. okay so maybe it wasn’t just the defrost setting, fuck. Hawkssss 8|

oh???????

holy shit. an opportunity to actually find out how much of a bastard Dabi actually is?? we of course know he had no problem whatsoever with kidnapping a kid back in the day. but would he go so far as to seriously fight and/or try to kill one? a kid who’s no older than your little brother?? oh gosh oh golly oh intrigue

I literally have not made up my mind on Dabi redemption one way or the other, just to be clear (he’s just been too mysterious up till now and I feel like I don’t know enough), so I am super curious to see how this plays out so I can finally form an opinion!

OH SNAP

SCORE ONE FOR “HE MAY BE AN A-HOLE, BUT HE’S NOT, AND I QUOTE, 100% A DICK”? MAYBE?? but on the other hand he’s definitely not just gonna let Hawks go either so ahhhh???

(ETA: so it seems we’ve arrived at a solid “mildly bastardish!” idk. it definitely seems to me like he’s trying not to murder this teenager for no good reason. ironically he’s in much the same position here that Hawks was less than a dozen chapters ago; facing against someone who’s just trying to protect his friend, and trying to talk him down at first, but then attacking once it’s clear that he’s not going to back off. ah well. still as morally gray as ever.)

ah I see, we’re gonna start by shattering his naive illusions!

(ETA: fucking christ, the scan is so dark I didn’t even notice Twice’s charred corpse just LYING THERE IN THE BACKGROUND the first time I read this. and now that I have noticed it, I would just like to say, sincerely, what the fuck.)

welp, there it is. finally the kids are getting properly involved in this arc, and AS EXPECTED, they are promptly being traumatized. oh Toko ;_;

Dabi this speech you’re making would feel more original if literal scores of tumblrs hadn’t spent the last two months exhaustively analyzing every single last possible angle of this debate lol. everyone has already made up their minds on the “is Hawks worth saving” controversy one way or the other but okay sure, go ahead and throw your hat into the ring too

lmao whaaaaaaat. “as a last resort, after his attempts to take him peacefully were thwarted, Hawks killed a man so as to prevent that man from killing countless others during our coup to take over the country because our boss wants to destroy everything. clearly, Hawks is the worst out of everyone else involved in this equation!” now that! is a take! lol

OH NO OH GOD

“PEW PEW PEW ENJOY THOSE FEELS” HORIKOSHI WHOOPS WHILE SHOOTING LASER GUN FINGERS AT ME, AND HEY, NOW

HEY, I SAID!!!

WHAT THE FUCK -- WHAT EVEN IS THE FUCKING SCREENPLAY FOR THIS THING?? “A BARELY-CONSCIOUS HAWKS MURMURS HIS STUDENT’S NAME WITH AN ACHINGLY WEARY LOOK OF SHAME AND REGRET! AS DABI LOOKS ON, TOKOYAMI GENTLY LIFTS HIS FALLEN MASTER AND WRAPS HIS CAPE AROUND HIS BACK, LOOKING OVERWHELMED, BUT DETERMINED. TOKOYAMI: I’M JUST... CONCERNED FOR MY TEACHER.” who the fuck wrote this shit and how much pleasure were they taking in ripping my heart out and violently slamming it against the wall

sob, and unfortunately Dabi doesn’t look particularly moved himself by any of this

DAMMIT DABI PLEASE RESPECT THEIR PRIVACY DURING THIS DIFFICULT TIME. GO AWAY AND HAVE YOUR REVENGE SOME OTHER DAY GODDAMMIT

DABI!!

Dabi I swear to god!! if you seriously try and burn my gothbird son I will...

DABI WHAT DID I JUST FUCKING SAY. LEAVE THE KID ALONE

Tokoyami... sweetie...

IF ONLY YOU COULD JUST. fly back out?? the exact same way you came??? if only that was a thing you could do??? or can he not fly while he’s carrying another person, maybe? dammit I forget

wait what?? is he implying that Dabi isn’t seriously trying to kill them yet? is that what this is? I should just read on since this is clearly only the first part of something longer that he’s saying and I have to stop this bad habit of trying to analyze half a sentence before I go on and read the rest of the sentence

well whatever it is, he’s absolutely right; Dabi as it turns out is still standing there 25 feet away like a social distance champ, monologuing from afar

this panel gets more hilarious to me the longer I stare at it you guys. someone please make a comic where Hawks is all “he’s still talking...” and Toko looks to see Dabi RAMBLING ON and slowly inches further and further away while Dabi completely fails to take any notice lmao

so Tokoyami is just staring back, and then suddenly he’s all “orders from Hawks!” which I think is just him asking Hawks what to do now??

and fucking look at this lol

“just slowly inch away while he’s monologuing. I just found out he’s secretly a Todoroki so now I know his weakness: he will literally drop dead before he ever stops being dramatic”

OH MY GOD

ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS ISN’T A JOKE AND THAT’S HIS ACTUAL WEAKNESS LMAO. HAVE WE CROSSED PLANES INTO SOME KIND OF SATIRICAL REALITY. WHAT IS HAPPENING

LMAO OKAY NO HAWKS IS SAYING THAT DABI IS JUST BULLSHITTING THEM BECAUSE HE’S USED UP ALL HIS FLAMES OR SOME SHIT. LOL OKAY THEN. ALL I HEARD WAS “HE WASN’T ABLE TO FUCKING KILL ME BECAUSE HE NEVER SHUTS THE FUCK UP.” WHERE IS THE LIE

OH SNAP THERE HE GOES

he is running away in the background, right?? Dark Shadow is just a distraction? you better not be seriously trying to fight him oh god please be smart about this

okay yes good!!

bringing back some unpleasant memories of the last guy who took a tumble off this balcony, but whatever! I’m sure he’s got some kind of plan in mind here

yep okay so he’s using Dark Shadow as a bungee cord

Hawks is so fucking short he somehow looks the same size as this little bird hobbit who’s carrying him. this is just a battle of tiny, tiny people

OH MY GOD FUCKING OUCH OH GEEZ

I FELT THAT OH MY GOD

AND OF FUCKING COURSE THAT KO’D HAWKS FOR GOOD, BECAUSE HE NO LONGER HAS A FUCKING BACK, AND HE JUST TARZANED OFF A BALCONY AND TOKOYAMI LANDED RIGHT ON TOP OF HIM JESUS CHRIST. R.I.P.

TOKO IS ALL “HE MUST HAVE BLACKED OUT FROM THE IMPACT JUST NOW” AND YEAH, YOU THINK?? WOULDN’T YOU?? FUCK

OH MY GOD HE’S PICKING HIM UP AND HE’S SO FUCKING TINY OH GOD OH JESUS

STOP BEING DRAMATIC AND JUST CARRY HIM OUT OF THERE ALREADY CAN WE GET A MOVE ON PLEASE? YOU’RE DOING SO GOOD BUDDY AND I’M SO PROUD, BUT ALSO THE REST OF THE LEAGUE IS STILL OUT THERE AND NOTHING IS SAFE AND AHHHH

-- AND ALSO THIS GUY STILL!!

no doubt. no doubt whatsoever the blood that runs through those veins. the theatrics are more of a dna marker than the flame quirk could ever be

also!! ARE WE SURE HAWKS IS ACTUALLY TWENTY-THREE?? COULDN’T THE HPSC HAVE FORGED HIS BIRTH CERTIFICATE?? THIS IS A BABY PROVE ME WRONG??

anyway so since Dabi is now saying “joke’s on you, I can still use my flames whenever the fuck I want,” I’m going to take this as confirmation that he really was keeping his distance just so he could utilize forced perspective. I’m going to make a post about this as soon as I’m done reading lol

HORIKOSHI WILL YOU PLEASE STOP WITH THE ENDLESS CLOSE-UPS OF A FRIGHTENED TOKOYAMI CLINGING TO HIS UNCONSCIOUS MENTOR SCARED BUT READY TO PROTECT HIM WITH HIS LIFE I REALLY CAN’T???

DABI’S REALLY OUT HERE TRYING TO BURN THESE LITTLE BABY CHICKS ALIVE. WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR FUCKING CHILL MY DUDE

OH MY GOD

SOME KIND OF CAVALRY HAS ARRIVED AHHHH WHO

AHHH MT. LADY?!

(ETA: ngl, I’m still not sure how I feel about this sequence of panels but I did laugh good and hard though.)

-- holy shit that was ice??! oh lord don’t tell me

yeppp, looks like it’s our old buddy Dairy Queen back at it again

look... Geten?? is it?? nothing against you personally. but I have a deep-seeded and enduring dislike of everyone from the Meta Liberation Army still and that includes you pal

that being said, did you inadvertently save Tokoyami’s life, though? I originally thought those were just ~anime shockwaves~ from some off-screen attack, but if that was all actually ice, it looks like you might have cut Dabi off. which I approve of! but also that’s some serious friendly fire you tomfool

so he’s yelling that he’s disrupted the heroes’ siege, which it looks like he has! very sloppily, but still

and also, way to have both of your fire users currently 80km away, hero team! you knew Geten was here, no?? who even planned this

now this Bleach-looking dude is sneaking up on Gang Orca with what looks to be a hole-punching quirk which is freaking me out a bit ngl

Gang please take him out with your famous yeet as soon as possible, I don’t know if I can handle a prolonged fight against this particular quirk

YES TOKO GET THE FUCK OUT!!!

there is no fucking way this kid is anywhere near his twenties incidentally I might add. none at all. we’ve been had

NO STOP FEELS

HE’S CRYING JESUS CHRIST HE THOUGHT HE WAS GOING TO DIE AND HIS TEACHER IS HURT AND DYING MAYBE AND THE VILLAIN SAID HE KILLED SOMEONE AND HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER, HE STILL WANTS TO PROTECT HIM AND HE’S JUST A BABY TOO?! IT’S TOO MUCH??

AND I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M SURPRISED OR SHOCKED BY ANY OF THIS AT ALL?? LISTEN UP EVERYONE, YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE WHAT I FOUND INSIDE OF THIS BAG IN THE FRIDGE WHICH WAS LABELED “CHILD SOLDIERS LIFE-OR-DEATH BATTLE ARC.” THE CONTENTS OF THIS BAG... MAY SHOCK YOU

lmao yeah but GUESS WHAT! I’M STILL GONNA GET ALL WORKED UP OVER IT AND I’M EVEN GONNA LIKE IT! but also. my babiesss

oh for fuck’s sake this guy still??

okay so I’ve already scrolled down enough to see the very top of the last page after this, and I’m pretty sure that’s Gigantomachia’s hair lol. please don’t tell me the radio is still on and he heard Tomura’s voice oh fiddlefucks

YEP

:’)

welp. strap yourselves in, chums. 19 chapters in, and this arc is only just beginning

#bnha 271 #tokoyami fumikage #dabi #hawks (bnha)#fatgum #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #god this took forever to edit #and it's still a mess #long story short TOKOYAMI AND HAWKS #PROTECT THEM

227 notes · View notes

katyatalks · 4 years

Text

Mob Psycho 100 II - Kameda Yoshimichi’s Character Design Notes

With each blu-ray/DVD volume of MP100 II Character Designer Kameda Yoshimichi gives some notes regarding his process designing each character. Here are all his notes for S2 in the order they are presented, regarding; Shinra Banshoumaru, Emi, Mogami Keiji, Joudou Kirin, Asagiri Minori, The Urban Legends, Shimazaki Ryou, Hatori Nozomu, Minegishi Toshiki, Shibata Hiroshi, Suzuki Touichirou & Serizawa Katsuya.

SHINRA BANSHOUMARU

My highly recommended character from season 2, Shinrin Maruo! … that’s not his name, it’s Shinra Banshoumaru!! I super, super love Shinra to the point where it’s unbearable, and I even put him into season 1!!! Do you know where, though? These lovable, chubby characters - they’re lacking in recent anime, but I figured I’m in the position to change that!! I made him bigger than he is in the manga and upon drawing his rough design, Director Tachikawa told me I was going too far and had me draw a retake. I was like a bulldozer - ‘That’s so stupid!’ - so I managed to save his nice body (laughs).

After episode 2 he doesn’t appear at all, but please be sure to love Shinrin!!! How about a spin-off!? “Shinrin Psycho 100”, how’s that!?!?!? Ah, Shinra, actually. Sorry.

EMI

The amount of people who wanted to see this story animated!!!! Since it usually ranks either first or second place in polls that assess the most popular story in the Mob Psycho 100 manga, we figured we’d have season 2 start with it, and since it’s such a popular part, there was an agreement that I’d be animation director for it! Which I was enthusiastic about, until - huh? Episode 2 has Shinra Banshoumaru? Then, I’ll do episode 2! And with that, I left episode 1 in the hands of Yoshida-san! It’s a story with drama at its heart, and that’s what Yoshida-san specialises in, so I was happy with that!!! I’m pleased with Emi-chan’s hair colour. I made it a caramel-pink. My type 100%.

MOGAMI KEIJI

Truth is, work on Mob Psycho 100 II began from Episode 5. Because of that, the first of the fresh new characters to be drawn was Mogami. Just before getting to work on Mob Psycho 100 II I’d been working on something else where the proportions are quite short, so I kept in mind that I had to make sure that didn’t affect my designs here - as a result, for the first rough draft for Mogami, I had him with full on shoulder pads so he’d look taller, in a Saeba Ryou kinda vibe (laughs). Well, maybe not as far as Saeba Ryou. As expected, following a check with the director I was told the balance of his body isn’t Mob Psycho-ish! And now his design is as it is. And yet… maybe it would’ve been nice to have his shoulders be raised, just a little?? In the manga he’s quite a handsome man, but my Mogami isn’t that handsome… that’s regrettable.

JOUDOU KIRIN

I have Joudou-sensei wear a kesa [Buddhist priest’s robe] in the anime - it’s pretty cute, isn’t it? Something I paid attention to was the lines from where his kesa ends to his tip toes! He appears in episodes 4-7 and more so than Mogami does, but he’s fun to draw. His deformation in episode 4 was super funny, so we included more of those (laughs). However, the wrinkles on his forehead and his hair barcode are a bit of trouble, and he’s got three rosaries on, and vertical stripes on his kesa… a lot of lines, and animating all those lines is a delicate matter. Also, he has huge eyes. They must get dry easily, I’m sure that’s tough for him.

ASAGIRI MINORI

We get three design variations for Minori - the one in the bed, the one that’s possessed by Mogami, and the one wearing Salt Middle School’s sailor uniform. Her chipped nails while she’s lying in the bed are an anime original. I wanted something in her design that’d counter her cute face. Above everything, what stands out in her design is her hair colour!!!! Her final design has her with purple hair, but at first I imagined her with a cute pink, like Minky Momo-chan. However, the pink hair didn’t really match with her skin colour and overall ghastliness when she’s possessed by Mogami, so after a revision, I went for purple. The way she is now… well, she’s cute, but I think pink hair would’ve been reeeeeeally cute! There’s not many illustrations in the manga where the characters are given colour, so it was very fun getting to choose colours for the anime!

URBAN LEGENDS

With the characters that appear in the Urban Legend Arc, it was super fun to envision how they might move around, and what details to add and/or remove!! Regarding Wriggle Wriggle from episode 1, in order to give a sense of scale in comparing its height with Mob’s, on its character sheet I drew it with an extreme use of perspective. An angle similar to that image gets used in the anime.

In episode 2, Red Raincoat is as he is in the manga, but The Dragger dragging her dolls behind her is an original design. I gave the three dolls she drags a sense of individuality & a ghastly feel, then thought about wetting her clothes and skirt with mud and rain, deciding to make her simple. The dragger has very long hair, which appeals to my 80s-anime-loving taste. I guess when it comes to original designs I always drag out something that I’ve been stocking in my own drawers (laughs).

On the other hand, with Dash Granny all we see of her is her running blurry form, so even on her character sheet her references are all smeared - kinda like me declaring, ‘right, I’m the animation director for episode 2, so let me handle drawing the granny.’ (Laughs).

Season 2 is filled with a lot of deep stories, so if we get to continue the Mob Psycho 100 anime, I’d like for us to do more light-hearted stories where cases related to urban legends are solved like this!!

SHIMAZAKI RYOU

The member of the Ultimate Five who gets the most time in the spotlight, Shimazaki - easy to draw, isn’t he?? His eyes are lines, the corners of his mouth are a little lifted - just draw that and there you go! Shimazaki! He fights with Teru-kun twice - episodes 9 and 11 - but I’ve been told that the jersey Teru-kun wears from episode 10 onwards is quite perplexing (laughs). In the manga it’s a black jersey… of course I know that. It’s just… he fights Shimazaki, who has a black colour scheme, and then Mob and Sakurai also have black colour schemes… Suzuki is more or less the same, as is Koyama, so to say. Way too many characters with a black colour scheme. Having all these characters with black colour schemes in one scene? That’s a No, Thanks from me. With all that blackness, you wouldn’t be able to understand who’s who!!!!!! Huh? You’d understand because Teru is blonde? W-well...

HATORI NOZOMU

You noticed, right? Hatori’s very cute pigeon [hato] crest!! A crest I highly recommend! … and yet, Hatori doesn’t appear much, does he… plus, the pigeon really didn’t stand out at all either (laughs). As much as I could, I’d leave the style of clothing that each character wears in the manga more or less the same for their anime design, then apply colour, then add a design that matches the character - designing their clothes was fun! Teru-kun’s jersey has a seagull, and Koyama’s hoodie has a spiral-like design - I think it’d be fun to search for these designs!! Actually, why does Teru-kun’s jersey have a seagull on it, you might ask?? Well, flip the seagull upside down… and you get someone standing… pigeon toed!

MINEGISHI TOSHIKI

I felt like the kinds of plants Minegishi manipulates would be of a carnivorous nature, so I ended up learning a lot of stuff when I was doing research! When thinking of carnivorous plants, what immediately springs to mind is Rafflesia! Even when reading illustrated encyclopaedias as a kid, I thought Rafflesia plants looked pretty scary. I’d read something about ‘man-eating plants’ and thought to myself, man, I want that to be about Rafflesia - I looked it up and it was! It stinks, so it’s as if it eats both humans and insects! I feel sorry for it - it’s just a stinky flower. Also, I made a big discovery!! Seems like you can drink the digestive fluids of pitcher plants!!! *gags*. Apparently you can only drink it before they catch insects, but it’s close to being germ-free, so please, drink without worry! Also, in Malaysia or somewhere like that, it seems they put rice inside the mouth of a pitcher plant, then steam and eat it, like bamboo chimaki [Rice dumpling wrapped in bamboo leaves]. ...In a pitcher plant… really…? *gags* *gags again*. With venus flytraps, too, people put minced meat in their mouths and grill them or something… those of you who own carnivorous plants; please, give it a go!! But the result is your own responsibility!!!

SHIBATA HIROSHI

He brings the pressure in episode 10 - when I read the manga, I felt this incomparable atmosphere when Shibata transforms and roars noisily around. I think the anime was amazing in amping that up! Looking at the manga, when Shibata’s on his rampage, he takes on more of a swarthy tone. So when I came to choose his colours for the anime, I first had his skin tone be pretty dark, but I felt like that didn’t give the same impact as it did in the manga, so I proposed giving him a scarlet tone as if he came from the Asura realm! And I’m glad I had the sense to! Actually, speaking on this now, he’s kinda like The Hulk (laughs). I guess it would’ve been funny if I made his skin green.

SUZUKI TOUICHIROU

Truth is, I’d finalised Suzuki’s design during season 1. Only because he appears for a split second during the final episode, though (laughs). But, while working on the main story, something I noticed with my design that troubled me was that alongside being slender and baby-faced, his height left something to be desired… so he didn’t look like a boss character in the slightest. After I finished work on the final episode, I thought it’d be good to make his face a little longer, ie. more mature. To make him appear more aggressive, I tried to make his eyes smaller, but then his design strayed too far from his manga self. Of all the things that caused me grief, the worst one of them all was his hair - does he have a jagged hairline because he’s brushed his hair back, or is the jaggedness there a very short fringe due to him having short hair? After I finished work on the final episode, I unexpectedly had the chance to see ONE-sensei, live, drawing Suzuki - from there, my problem was solved!!! Jagged hair (laughs). (It’s due to him having short hair, right?) I apologise for never grasping the true form of his hair, right up to the end.

SERIZAWA KATSUYA

Translated previously here.

Twitter crosspost here.

Season 1 notes here.

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #my stuff #shinra banshoumaru #emi #mogami keiji #joudou kirin #asagiri minori #shimazaki ryou #hatori nozomu #minegishi toshiki #shibata hiroshi #suzuki touichirou #serizawa katsuya #booklet #kameda yoshimichi

118 notes · View notes

constantconfusion111 · 4 years

Text

And Suddenly, Green Eyes

Thanks very much @nomoredarksadlonelybatman for the lovely request, I hope you’ll enjoy this. :D

Lenght: 1.7K Pairing: Khai x Third Summary: Khai’s romantic history is longer than the phone book, he’s very familiar with the concept of exes. And yet, he somehow wasn’t prepared to learn that Third had one as well. AO3 link

XXXXX

Khai wasn’t the one, in their group of gangsters, you’d go to if you ever needed advice. He knew it and wasn’t discontent with that knowledge. Khai’s departement was more around comfort and cheering up. If you felt down and just wanted a change of mind or pace, Khai was your man. His personality was exuberant, just on that side of overwhelming that it was impossible to focus on anything but him. Great for distractions.

If you wanted a sympathetic advice, you asked Two, if you wanted a practical one, you went for Third. If you wanted a crazy advice, Bone would be more than happy to oblige.

And yet, Khai would still tell anyone that would listen, and also many that couldn’t care less, that they should all just fall in love with their best friends and start dating already.

He had had his fair share of romantic experiences. Many would say he overindulged for a long time. And yet dating his best friend was an unprecedented experience for him. Things just… made sense. He could be flirty and seductive in the morning, enticing Third into following him in bed, despite all reason and fake excuses, with just the right look or the touch of a finger. And then be an absolute mess in the evening, too drunk and walking straight into a poll or vomiting over his favourite shoes without fear the other would be revulsed. Well, the vomiting part definitely revulsed Third, he still led him home and cleaned him up before holding him in bed all night.

They also knew each other inside and out. How one preferred their coffee in the morning, which snack were the other’s favourite. How one absolutely hated a particular smell while the other couldn’t stand a random noise.

Sometimes, it also meant they knew a little bit too much.

“Hey Khai, didn’t you promise that girl you’d become an idol so you could sing love songs for her in front of the whole world?”

Two Bone and Khai all turned in the direction Third was pointing out with a head nod. Next to a juice stall, in the middle of the busy mall, was standing a stunning young woman. Her hair was white and braided in complex loops at the back of her head, giving a lovely view of her face. ‘Moji’ supplied his brain. Third had a formidable memory.

“I didn’t know you said that,” laughed Bone, sipping on his frozen coffee without trying to hide his mockery.

“How’s the career going for you Khai?” continued Two, bumping their shoulders together.

Not one to take the teasing lying down, Khai turned his nose up and looked at his friends with contempt.

“It’s a work in progress, but my friends are definitely bringing me down.”

The three broke in a concert of good natured protest so sudden that some bystanders turned to look at that.

“Third? Is it really you?”

The unknown voice came from a man, tall, pretty much their age. His features were simple, Khai wouldn’t turn around if their path crossed in the street, but he was built like an athlete: strong shoulders, broad chest, thick thighs. He was accompanied by a shorter male, a foreigner with blond hair, that looked at them with a curiosity Khai imagined must be reflected in his own eyes.

“Ard? I can’t believe this!”

Third had a large smile, the kind Khai knew for a fact was sincere, which only helped to exacerbated his interest. He didn’t remember anyone called Ard, and he certainly didn’t remember that face. But him and Third looked quite comfortable around each other.

“Since when are you back in Thailand?” asked Third, getting closer to the man.

“I arrived last weekend. I’ll just be staying 2 weeks to visit family and then I’ll be going back.”

“Still living in Germany?”

“Yes, you remembered!”

Both men seemed to have forgotten their respective groups and were happily catching up with the usual ‘and what do you do know’ or even ‘you look great!’ or ‘we should have lunch before you leave’. Khai made eye contact with the foreigner who smiled at him and wai-ed back, which seemed to catch Third’s attention at last.

“Ah, Ard. These are my friends, we met at Uni, we all work together now. This is Bone, Two, and Khai.”

“This is Lee, my boyfriend.”

They all greeted each other properly, and Ard put an arm on the blond’s shoulder to bring him closer.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to barge in during your free time, I was just so surprised to see you Third.”

“I’m happy you saw me. Your Line ID is still the same?” wondered the shorter man, grabbing his phone to check his contacts.

“Yes, message me and we can grab some food soon!”

Shortly after checking both still had the other in their contacts, Ard and Lee left to continue their window shopping.

“So, who was this guy Third? I don’t remember him from anywhere,” asked Two, beating Khai to the punch.

“You guys never met Ard. We were in high school together. He left for Europe just before Uni to join a football club. He was already super good back in the days.

“Get us free tickets for a cool match! Use your connections!” pleaded Bone, already checking which games they could hope to snatch tickets to.

“I haven’t spoken to him in 4 years, I’m not going to pester him for free tickets Bone.”

“Come on!” joined Khai, grabbing Third by the arm to make his plea more efficient. “What’s the point of having famous friends if you can’t get some things out of it?”

Third scoffed, but didn’t try to dislodge him.

“First of all, that’s a terrible way of thinking. Second, he’s not exactly my friend.”

“That’s not what it looked like, you guys seemed pretty close,” said Two.

“Well… we were.” conceded Third, shuffling slightly from one foot to the other. He glanced briefly at Khai before refocusing on the other two. “But that’s because we used to… well. We used to date.”

Once again, their shouts made people turn around with worry.

“Third banged a football super star!”

“Way to go Third! I’m so proud of you!” Two actually clapped him in the back for that.

“I don’t know that he’s a super star…”

“He didn’t say no to the banging…” muttered Bone.

Yup, Khai had noted that as well.

So they may know so, so much about each other. But apparently there were still some secrets to unravel.

Xxxxxx

“So… How long were you guys together?”

Third looked up from the spring onions he was slicing, starting to prepare their dinner for the evening. Khai was posted on the other side of the worktop, picking at his nails, elbows propped against the counter. It took Third a second to put the random question in context and remember their meeting with Ard earlier today.

“Mhh… we started dating our last year of high school, so a bit under a year.”

‘Less than us, take that super star’ thought Khai, pursing his lips in an attempt to hide a smirk.

“Why did you break up?” he wondered, trying to maintain a light tone.

“Well, he went to Germany to play football. It was kind of natural to break up,” explained Third, moving from his spring onions to little green pepper, chopping and cleaning the vegetables.

“I see. Is he any good? What position does he play in?”

“I’m not sure, I think it was something like attacker maybe? Is it the right name?”

“You dated a footballer for a year and you don’t even know the name of the positions? Did you not talk when you were together”

At that, Third raised a brow and looked at his boyfriend through his eyelashes.

“We were a bit too busy to talk about football.”

“Why? What were you doing?” asked Khai, frowning.

Third simply stared at him, blinking slowly.

Khai gasped.

“You little pervert!”

“Are you serious right now?! Why do you care anyways? That was half a decade ago,” complained the shorter man, abandoning his knife, crossing his arms on his chest and staring down at his boyfriend with an incredulous look.

“Well, would you go back to him?”

Third felt his eyebrow raise incredulously. He couldn’t make much sense of the conversation overall, but Khai seemed to grow agitated, abandoning all pretense of nonchalance.

“He has a boyfriend.”

The answer only seemed to offend him further.

“That’s not what I asked!” he shouted.

“Of course no. You’re talking nonsense Khai, stop it.”

“And if he didn’t have a boyfriend? Would you go back to him?”

Third had to take a deep breath to avoid shouting himself. Khai soft features were furrowed and tense. Only 3 years of experience of pining allowed Third to recognise that look for what it was: jealousy.

What an idea, Imagining that Khai would ever feel jealousy for him. His cold way with women never left anyone with the slightest shadow of a doubt. Never gave anyone any reason to wonder if, maybe, Third could ever not love Khai.

Third was left flagabaster for an instant before snapping out of it. Going around the counter, he walked to Khai that was staring at him, as if afraid today was the day he’d get stabbed. Instead, he slowly slid his arms around the taller man’s neck and brought him into a firm hug.

“Khai. When Ard left, I was sad because we got along quite well, and he was the first boy I did stuff with. I recovered in a summer. And then I met you and frankly Ard completely slipped my mind. If you left for Germany, I wouldn’t get over it. I’d come with you”

Khai hugged him back, bringing him as close as he could. He buried his nose in the soft mass of hair and smelled Third’s usual brand of shampoo as he left his tense shoulders relax.

“Does it have to be Germany?”

“What?” asked Third, confused. He pulled back to look at his boyfriend’s face.

“I don’t really want to go to Germany. Would you follow me to Korea or Australia maybe.”

Third half laughed, half sighed, and definitely rolled his eyes.

“Germany is a metaphor, I’d follow you anywhere, dumbass.”

Third pulled down until their lips met in a kiss, softly brushing together while they breathed the same air. Khai grabber Third’s hips in an inviting grip, slithering a hand under his shirt to gently rub the delicate skin underneath. As Khai slotted a knee between Third’s legs, he could only spare the ex-boyfriend one last thought.

‘He’s the dumbass, who could give up on these lips just to kick a ball around.’

#theory of love #khai x third #khai #third #khaithird #third x khai

18 notes · View notes

moondustaeil · 5 years

Text

moonflower , Moon Taeil

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ⋅ moonflower

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

⠀ about

⋅ genre : hanahaki disease au : romance , angst , fluff

⋅ characters : musician!Taeil x barista!reader

⋅ word count : 9.3k

⋅ a.n : this is for the person who made a request on the poll, and I just had to create this. thank you for the wonderful idea. It didn’t work like I wished but I decided to finish it.

⠀ ⠀

⠀ summary

⋅ Taeil just graduated from his music education in university, as a newly introduced musician, he still has to work hard each day but how is that possible when each day passing day the Hanahaki disease chokes him a bit more. Still, he sings: “even if it hurts, I’m okay, because I love you”

Taeil walked through the streets of Seoul on his own, the guitar he carried around everywhere was on his back and safely protected by his guitar bag. It was the week after he graduated and here he was, going from audition to audition, in hopes that some agency would see his talent, tell him that he was exactly what they were looking for. It had only been a week but still he felt as if he wasn’t going to get in any company.

But every agency told him the same thing: “we will contact you.” Looking for a job wasn’t as easy-going as he had expected, his professors always told him his voice was unique and everyone would beg to have a voice like that in their company. Yet, here he was: going to auditions every single day in order to become a singer.

He got his phone from his jeans pocket and sighed as he saw it was already late in the afternoon, in less than an hour, all of the open auditions would be over, and the waiting lines were too long for him to still wait at the end of the queue.

His body turned around a few times, checking if there was a coffee shop in the area where he walked and smiled once he finally saw one. At least, something seemed to be going in the way he wanted it to go. Coffee shops could always cheer him up, if they had great coffee and a calm atmosphere that was.

The tired feet carried him inside the coffee shop: his eyes slowly but curiously exploring the color of the walls, the decorations, the people present in the same room as him. He moved to the smallest table he could see. He lifted the guitar bag from his shoulders and put it down on the chair that would be unoccupied, getting his notebook and pencil so that he could write lyrics while he waited for someone to come and take his order.

Writing a song didn’t come easy when things didn’t go well with the audition, it wasn’t an experience he could easily write lyrics about. Instead, he just started to write down words: random words in his head, words that he liked, words of things that he had seen in the surroundings just a minute ago. Eventually, even if it didn’t work, he got caught up in the process.

“Excuse me, did you decide on your order already?” You asked in a gentle voice, not wanting to surprise the man who seemed so focused on writing the words down on an empty notebook paper. His pencil sped up as he finished the word, only when the word was completely written down, he looked up. “Huh?” he asked softly, only taking in your appearance now as he hadn’t noticed you when he first entered.

He watched how your smile began to evolve into a bit of a bigger one, maybe you even kept in a bit of a small laugh. “I asked if you already decided on what you want to order” you repeated and kept your tiny notebook and pen tightly clutched in your hands, ready to write down the order in case he had already decided. “Ah...” He said and took a quick look at the menu card that had been lying on the table, fitting on the tiny space that was left. “Americano please,” He said, just saying the first thing that came to mind

“Alright” You repeated with a smile but didn’t write anything down in your notebook, you could easily remember that order and it was calm enough to just take your time and try to remember things by head instead of writing them down and asking for names. You turned around and walked away to get his order ready and afterward start to clean up a bit, seeing even the coffee shop was closing in an hour or a bit less. Usually, people didn’t drink coffee past a certain time because it would make the caffeine boost last too long.

While your order was getting prepared, you had no idea how the hardworking man was no longer focused on lyrics, but instead only had eyes for you. To him, it was as if the most beautiful flower had started to bloom, and just like the colors of nature, the sight of you seemed to have a calming effect on him. Yet at the same time, his heartbeat was going at it faster than before, faster than the moment he found out when he would graduate.

When you came into an obviously close distance again, he quickly turned his head away, clutching the pencil between his index finger and thumb. Not seeing how he was holding it upside down, his hand motions creating invisible words onto the sheet of paper.

“Oh thank you” Taeil said with a smile and looked up at you only slightly, not looking any further than a quick glance at your face. You put down the drink in front of him together with a small muffin, something that came with every coffee that was being ordered. As you put down the drink, you noticed his pencil didn’t leave any marks on the paper, it took you another second of looking to see how he wasn’t even holding the pencil properly. You didn’t say anything about it though, not wanting to embarrass him or get him out of his focus.

You gave him a quick bow of politeness before you slowly walked away again, towards another customer who came in as soon as you were delivering Taeil’s order to his table. Taeil started to write the word ‘flower’ with his pencil, only noticing he didn’t actually write it as soon as he looked down at his notebook. It made him realize he had been acting to write with his pencil upside down ever since you brought the beverage over to his table.

He flipped the pencil between his fingers, the lead of the pencil slightly pressing against the shin sheet of paper. At first, the words seemed like a small scribble of syllables, an alien language that was written in a beautiful way, the alphabet written by a child who couldn’t write. But he knew the word he had written down, a word that from now on would make him remember you.

The lead of the pencil followed as he wrote the word once again, this time the syllables seeming more careful and neat than the first time he wrote it. He wished he had the same drawing talent as one of his friends did, because if so, then he would have drawn out the word to make its meaning stand out and give him more inspiration maybe.

He finished his coffee within the hour, even quicker than he had hoped he would finish it, and ordering another one would surely disturb the sleep he needed. He got up from the table, grabbed the guitar in its bag and walked towards the counter to pay for his drink and hopefully get another glance at you.

“Thank you for the coffee” Left his lips quickly as soon as you accepted the card he wanted to pay with, when you looked up, he was the one that smiled at you. Though the smile disappeared when he felt a weird feeling on the inside of his body, the feeling took his breath away for a short second. When it disappeared again, he feared the late coffee hadn’t been a good idea, but it had been worth it. Because he met you.

A friendly smile was on your lips as he put his card back in his wallet, both of you wishing each other a nice evening with some short words. Then he disappeared from the coffee shop, the last customer, which meant it was time to clean and go home.

First, you cleaned the back of the coffee shop and that way worked to the part where the costumers could sit and drink, you were surprised when you saw the familiar notebook still on the table that the black-haired man had sat at earlier. He had looked so attached to the notebook and now it was here, forgotten by him. He had been gone for a while so he wouldn’t even be in sight anymore if you went to look for him now.

You picked up the book and closed it, not giving yourself the chance to get tempted and look through the things he wrote, even if it probably were songs since he had been carrying a guitar with him earlier. You carried it with you to the back of the shop again, putting it in your handbag to take it home and take it with you every day until you saw him again.

Your shift ended as soon as you closed the door of the coffee shop behind you, your handbag clutched close to you so that you wouldn’t be able to lose something that seemed so precious to the customer you had helped today. He probably was missing his notebook a lot, you just knew such a precious item was something that belonged to his daily life.

And just like you already suspected, Taeil had arrived at his dorm, telling his friends he was going to bed right away. They tried to keep him in the living room for a little longer, starting to tell them random stories. But now that he was feeling inspired, he really couldn’t let any of the emotions slip. The chance to write a song about it could be the one that could break him through, one that could give him the chance to live his dream in the music world.

He brought his guitar with him to the bedroom but sat himself down in front of the piano he had in his room, his hand reaching into the guitar bag for the lyric notebook, but only felt the strings of his guitar. “Shit” he cursed softly as he realized he probably had lost his notebook or forgotten it in the coffee shop as that was the last time he had taken it out of the guitar bag.

He sighed deeply to himself and looked through the entire bag three more times, in search of what was the most precious to him aside from his voice and the instruments he played. His hand slightly hit the keys on his piano randomly, but remembering the most important word that he had written down made him close his eyes and start to play, gentle and slow at first, using his imagination to make the sounds represent you and the flowers he thought about when he saw you.

The following day there was a contrast between both of your schedules: while you could sleep in thanks to an afternoon to evening shift, Taeil had woken up at 6:30 with the help of his alarm. He didn’t need to wake up that early but he was worried he wouldn’t make things in time if he didn’t prepare beforehand. That and he also wanted to drop by the coffee shop to get his lyric book, without it he felt empty and it was as if he couldn’t function without it. If he got it early then he maybe was still on time for the first auditions of the day. He hated living like this, going to different companies each day in hopes that they had that one special spot for him, he simply couldn’t bring up the patience even though all of them said that they would contact him.

While it was so early in the morning, one of his friends from the dorm, Jungwoo was sat on a seat, having some breakfast on his own. At least it meant that Taeil had five minutes to talk to someone before his day officially started again. “Morning” Taeil said to his younger friend, Jungwoo waved cutely as his cheeks were holding in all of the food he pushed into his mouth.

“Are you going to another audition?” Jungwoo asked once he had finished his big bite of the food. Taeil poured himself his first cup of coffee that day and nodded at Jungwoo’s question. It was a stupid question really, since Taeil didn’t do anything else in the past week so now he wouldn’t either. “I just need to get accepted somewhere,” Taeil said although his voice broke not even midway the sentence but continued speaking until he was finished, and as soon as he was finished, he coughed once.

Jungwoo looked at his older friend with worried eyes, he was caring and knew Taeil wanted to be a musician and singer so bad. “You should let your voice rest,” he said, although he knew Taeil would most likely refuse to give his voice the time to heal. “My voice is fine, it’s from walking without a jacket” Taeil gave as an excuse. He drank the warm coffee in his cup, placed the cup in the sink, said a quick goodbye to Jungwoo. Then he left the dorm: ready to retrieve his lyric book from the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen.

While Taeil thought about you, he made his way into the same direction as yesterday. In his head, he played the piano and sang the song he was writing about you. He knew it was a cheesy thing to do but it was like love at first sight and slowly he was getting lovesick over each thought about you. He wanted to get to know you, talk to you, ask you your name and make you laugh by telling something that was weird but funny at the same time. Though, love wasn’t supposed to be involved in his life. Music and love didn’t always work together, he knew the dating bans would refrain him from being in love with you. But those worries, were worries for later. Right now, he just thought about the other more important things of his life. Which included actually getting accepted into a company, writing music, getting to know you and just live a happy life.

He passed by the same agency that he went to yesterday, although hadn’t noticed it because his mind was so filled with different things that he didn’t even see it. He had lost his focus about his plans, almost so much that he walked past the coffee shop. When he snapped back from his imagination of you, he looked around in the street and noticed he wasn’t where he should be. He turned his body around to check what place he just passed by, and noticed the building not too far away. Luckily he had noticed it on time.

Without hesitation he walked back and straight into the coffee shop, a lot more confident than he was yesterday, or maybe it was just hope that he would get to see you again. You and his lyric notebook, that was all that mattered the moment he walked into the coffee shop.

His eyes darted around the moment he walked inside, unlike the day before where he was checking the decoration, his eyes were now in search for something that would be called a muse by professionals. In every corner and bit of the room, his eyes checked to see if he would see you, he knew he would recognize you within a second. Though his eyes didn’t manage to identify you. Instead, he could see a man who was doing the same work that you were doing yesterday.

Maybe you were still at the back of the shop, getting things from the stock or even cleaning this early in the morning. He stood still for a couple of seconds until the employee looked at him with questioning eyes. “Can I help you?” he asked, giving Taeil the polite smile that he was supposed to give to everyone.

“N-no” Taeil said but actually nodded with contrasted with the words he said. He knew he needed the help or else he wouldn’t get to see you or his notebook today. “I’m searching for a girl that works here, I left my notebook yesterday evening, and she must have found it” he said, unknowingly giving the man a hopeful look.

The man looked at Taeil as he listened, nodding after a few seconds as a sign that she understood. “I will look at the back to check if your notebook is here and to check who worked,” he said before disappearing to the back of the shop. As the man was away, Taeil realized the words meant that you weren’t there today, otherwise he would have mentioned that he would ask his colleague.

But Taeil didn’t lose hope even though he wished you were there, maybe you would start working any moment or at least when he was still in the shop. Once the employee returned, Taeil listened as he really had to find out. “Your notebook is not here” he said first and shrugged his shoulders as a sign he had looked for it but didn’t find it. “The employee that helped you was probably y/n, she must have taken your notebook to return it next time she saw you” he said, giving Taeil a friendly smile.

Taeil didn’t know if he had to start smiling like a fool because he knew your name and heard how caring you were from the words about his notebook, or be annoyed and disappointed because the shop lacked both you and his notebook at the moment he was there.

“Do you know when she will be back?” Taeil asked, not to be annoying and make the worker go and check again, but simply because it was something that he really needed to know. The male employee already moved again to the back of the shop without saying anything. It took a couple of seconds before he came back and looked at Taeil “she’s free now, but will be back this afternoon” he said.

Taeil nodded but knew this time he probably wouldn’t be able to drop by that easily, in the afternoon he had an audition that he was invited to, and he surely didn’t want to miss that opportunity as it meant having more chances there than at the other places.

“I’ll come by later then, thank you,” He said quickly and bowed to the man before he left the coffee shop. Now that he had been at the coffee shop early, a lot of time had passed anyway, simply because it would have gone faster if you were there. But then again, if you were there then he probably hadn’t wanted to leave either. Maybe, if he was lucky, there was a bus that would take him to the place where he had his audition. If he wasn’t lucky, then it would be halfway running and the other half trying to walk at a fast pace. Something that wasn’t practical with the guitar on his back.

As he left the coffee shop as fast as he could, he went towards the bus stop and checked the panels to see if there was a bus that he could take any upcoming moment. He groaned soft when he didn’t manage to figure out which line he was supposed to take at first, but a closer look helped him more than he thought. “Yes” he mumbled under his breath as he noticed how a bus was supposed to come in a bit over two minutes.

While Taeil took the bus on his way to his first audition of the day, you were starting to wake up. Sleeping in actually didn’t last as long as you hoped it would, but once you opened your eyes, they didn’t want to close and give you more rest.

Your eyes adjusted to the light that was shining into the room slightly, and one by one your eyes opened once again. The first thing you looked at was the time on your phone, but then also the notebook that was lying underneath your phone. You hadn’t opened it but had simply put it there so that you wouldn’t forget it when you got up in the morning. You weren’t curious as to what the stranger wrote in the notebook, or at least that’s what you told yourself. You didn’t wonder about the exact words but instead just wondered what he used it for: poetry, studying,... Those kinds of things.

After a few more minutes of relaxing in bed, you decided to get up and start your day, as much as you liked being in bed, you still had other things to do. You got up and first took a shower so that you were already fresh and clean by the time your work started again. After that, you went to the kitchen to get some breakfast for yourself.

Sometimes you thought back about the man in the coffee shop yesterday and the way you had caught him looking at you, it was only once but still enough to make you remember it. He had looked like a musician: one that was gentle and calm, someone who seemed passionate and genuine.

Though, you weren’t supposed to fall in love this fast or at all, especially not only one month after a toxic and unhealthy relationship. It just didn’t seem right and fair for you to be with someone, for someone to love you while you still thought about the way your ex treated you. You lost your trust in love and didn’t want to hurt someone who seemed as genuine as Taeil.

After you spent your free time just doing whatever you liked, it was time for you to work again. You didn’t mind your job but at the same time knew that you wouldn’t forever work here, maybe in a year you would find a better job and a job that actually fit you. At the same time, you didn’t want to leave the coffee shop: the scent of coffee, seeing how your drinks only made people happier. Those were little things that made your day better.

As you arrived at the coffee shop for your shift, your colleague was already taking off his apron so that he could head home. You greeted each other although it didn’t stop there, he was leaned against the counter and looked at you with a small smirk. “So the guy with the guitar? New love interest? Just don’t forget to give him your working schedule next time” he said playfully towards you. Within an instant, you knew who he was talking about even though you didn’t know the name of the guy with his guitar. “Oh shut up! He just forgot his notebook and since he was one of the last costumers, he probably knew I found the notebook while cleaning” you said, standing up for yourself but also the stranger.

Your colleague raised his hands in defense when you seemed a bit angered by the words he said, even though he was completely joking about it. “Calm down, it was a joke,” he said with a shrug, but he was a friend of yours so understood why you reacted like that. Love wasn’t an easy subject for you to talk about.

While you did your shift in the coffee shop, Taeil was on the way to the next audition and once again made sure to blow the people away. He only had two auditions today, mostly because the last one invited him there so he hoped for a good outcome. Even though, his voice had cracked a couple of times during the song, they had been enthusiastic and almost understandable that Taeil’s voice was like this because of the many times he had to sing.

By the time Taeil came home, the breaking in his voice became more like small coughs, making it very clear that he had to take a break from all of the auditions and rest. He didn’t want to damage his voice more than before, singing was his life. Even if he still had time, he decided not to go to the coffee shop, he was too tired and would rather see you on a different moment when he felt better.

Every day for the past 3 days, Taeil had been in the coffee shop, each time hoping he would get to see you but somehow he managed to miss you each time, either way coming in after or before your shift. It bothered him to know he didn’t see you, almost as if fate had the idea that the two of you weren’t supposed to see each other again. But also his notebook was lacking in his life, songwriting wasn’t working without the notebook, the other sheets of paper didn’t bring up inspiration even though it probably was just a thought.

He twirled the cup of coffee around in his hands slowly, the warmth from the coffee keeping his hands heated up. He tried his best not to look disappointed when even today he had been there at the wrong time, the only things he wanted were his notebook and to see you. He heard the familiar little bell of the coffee shop, indicating that someone came in. As he was about to turn his head, a coughing fit started in his throat. This time stronger than the times it happened before, it was as if something was stuck in his throat.

Suddenly there was a cup of water in front of him and a hand on his back, making him look up even though he was still coughing. When he looked up and opened his eyes after another cough, he noticed he was directly looking into your worried eyes. “Are you okay?” you asked soft, but you knew your question was stupid as if he was okay then he wouldn’t have been coughing like that.

Taeil quickly nodded his head but had to stop when another cough stopped him from answering properly. His hand covered his mouth as he felt something soft and yet structured on his tongue. Before he could control it, it fell right into his hand. And when he pulled away his hand from his mouth to look, he frowned at the sight. The white petals in his hand didn’t look or feel like anything else, confirming immediately that it were flower petals. A sense of panic came into his mind, he had never experienced this before, he didn’t even know what it meant.

“You’re sick” You spoke in a muted voice as you saw the petals resting on Taeil’s hand. Your feelings were mixed together: sad because he was experiencing one-sided love for someone, happy because seeing someone in love was always nice. Taeil looked towards you with confused eyes, questioning your words with a small hum as a sign he wanted an explanation. “Coughing up these means that you have a disease called Hanahaki,” you said softer as you motioned towards the flower petals.

His eyes drifted between you and the flower petals in his hand, the name of the disease sounded familiar but at the same time the bell in his mind didn’t ring, he didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. Or why he coughed up something like flower petals. “What does it mean?” he asked you, hoping that he would understand once you explained what the sickness was, were you a doctor or why did you know these things so well? He didn’t know, but he needed more information about it.

“It means that you’re experiencing one-sided love with someone. Your lungs will fill themselves with these flowers and then you will cough them up” You said in a softer voice as you looked down at the petals, not daring to look at the man that was listening to you. You left out the detail how more than half of the people would pass away if their lungs got filled up, neither did you mention how surgeons could remove the flowers but the flowers being gone would remove romantic feelings as well.

Taeil looked up at you once more, his eyes trying to find yours to see if you were being serious, but seeing you looking down was more than enough to give him an answer. It was the truth and it wasn’t something fun to experience. He proceeded how to forget that it was about one-sided love, he only remembered it was how his lungs would fill with flowers that he would cough up. Something that could ruin his throat in his singing career, but the disease sounded like something that couldn’t be cured.

“Could you tell me more about it... once your shift ended maybe?” He asked as he tried not to cough again, keeping it in but only felt how it seemed to take a breath away from his mouth. You seemed to know enough information about it and he trusted you with asking about it. You hesitantly nodded your head at the question “I can only stay for a bit after my shift, but okay” you said, you stayed because you wanted to help him and not because your heart wanted you to stay with him for a little longer.

Once you also remembered who you were talking to, you realized that you still had the notebook in the handbag hanging from your shoulder. “I have your notebook,” you said and got it out of your bag. You saw the way his face lit up when you said those words, he reminded you of the moon the moment he looked like that. You carefully placed the notebook back onto the same table that he sat at the last time you saw him, it already seemed like the table he had claimed when no one else was sitting there. “Thank you so much, thank you for keeping it safe,” he said with a smile, his smile calm and yet you could feel how relieved he was that he had his notebook back with him. The words loosened some stuck emotions inside of you, maybe he trusted you, otherwise, he wouldn’t have said you kept it safe.

Your shift officially started once the conversation between you and Taeil was over, you no longer had the time for long chats, only small chats with customers and those talks were based on how their days had been or what drink they wanted. But each glance you shot towards him, made you want to sit next to him with a drink and just talk for many hours about the most random things.

He was glowing so brightly, especially now that he had his notebook fully occupied again, his pencil writing away at a fast pace, sometimes it seemed like writing, other times it was scribbling or drawing. By now, you were sure that the man was a musician, there was no other vibe aside from that that would completely fit him. Though, how was he going to combine that with the hanahaki disease? It was something you had no business in but it worried you, you knew the hanahaki disease was not something that you could cure by a simple doctor’s visit.

During your entire shift, he stayed there in the coffee shop, not leaving once unless it was to make a quick bathroom break and even then he usually returned as fast as he could. The two of you hadn’t talked during your shift unless it was whenever he wanted to order a new drink or the time he asked you for a pencil because his was broken.

Near the closing time when all of the customers began to leave the coffee shop, Taeil started to get more talkative towards himself and then things he was writing down. Sometimes muttering a sentence that sounded so dreamy that it could be a song lyric, other times it was talking to himself about the lyrics he was writing. It was calming to hear that for some reason, it made you forget about the annoying part of the day when the shop still had to get cleaned up and set ready for the next day.

“Are you a musician?” You asked out of the blue after he had muttered another lyric to himself to check if it actually sounded good if he said it. His eyes drifted towards you, seeing you putting clean cups down for tomorrow just so that work wasn’t as chaotic tomorrow. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders as an answer “I’m trying to be, I audition every day but still no luck” he said, sounding slightly disappointed but at the same time proud. He was proud of his voice and his dreams but disappointed that no one seemed to see the way he thought about it.

“I bet that sucks. Especially since you seem to write your own songs” You pointed out, you were sure he could write songs because he was constantly with his head towards his notebook, using his pencil to fill the sheets of paper. A proud smile appeared on his lips as soon as you said that, nodding without hesitation. “I write my own songs, play guitar and piano and sing. It’s hard work, but also my dream” he said, his dream was something that he would never give up. They taught him not to give up on his dreams, so he wouldn’t. You nodded at the words while you were listening, it was beautiful to hear how he wouldn’t give up on his dreams, even though it seemed like a hard dream to achieve.

Taeil motioned for you to sit next to him as he wanted to speak about your earlier subject again, he had tried to stop thinking about it and focus on music instead, but in the back of his mind, he would still repeat your words. Once you were done with setting down the cups properly, you moved towards his table and sat on the chair that his guitar occupied until a few seconds ago. “I want to know more about the disease you told me about,” He said honestly, closing his lyric notebook so that he wouldn’t get distracted by it.

You nodded quickly and let out a soft sigh as you prepared yourself to speak about the disease you knew so well. “The hanahaki disease is a disease or infection that you get when you experience one-sided love.” You said soft, but your own mind urged you to continue talking so that Taeil knew what was going on inside of his body. “Flowers are growing in your body which causes you to cough them up, and the flowers don’t stop growing or forming. Unless the one that you love returns the feelings,” you said softly. You didn’t look at Taeil but knew he was looking at you and listening.

“What happens if they don’t return the feelings?” He asked, nearly forcing you to speak about the more sensitive parts about the disease, but you knew you had to help him, you didn’t want him to be clueless when he went through this. “Your lungs will completely fill up and choke you,” You said, this time your voice was clear and yet it seemed like a mumble to yourself. “Or you get surgery to remove the flowers. But then your romantic feelings will be gone too” you said. By the tone of your voice, Taeil thought you knew someone who went through with it, and it sounded like that person regretted it deeply.

When you looked up again, you noticed how Taeil seemed surprised by the words. You knew how it felt to feel like this, so you completely understood how conflicted he probably was feeling on the inside. Everyone should be able to get a fair chance in love without worrying about being choked by flowers, or not feeling love at all. But the world wasn’t fair, neither was the Hanahaki disease that took victims while it were the love interests that didn’t return the love of the victims.

The talk continued for a little while until it was really time for you to head home, and for Taeil to get rest as he soon wanted to start singing again, even with the Hanahaki disease taking away his life by planting beautiful flowers in his lungs. You went home, feeling guilty for the man that you discovered was named Taeil, you wished you could help him but you couldn’t. The only thing you had been able to offer him was advice, and even that was only limited.

“Please think before you make a decision.”

The weeks after that Taeil’s visits to the coffee shop became more frequent, but he wouldn’t stay longer than a couple of minutes. Only staying as long as it took for his coffee to get prepared, then he rushed off with each time the excuse that he had to be somewhere else.

The talks that you two shared became smaller and still you felt as if you got to know him a bit better, it was a weird contrast to live with as you had no idea if you liked this more than the times where he would stay for hours but close to no personal info would be shared.

You thought that Taeil had finally found his agency and that was the reason why he was gone most of the time or always in a rush, and you weren’t wrong when you had those thoughts. Taeil had managed to get a contract with an agency the week after he met you, he was over the moon but at the same time knew it would be harder than attending university classes every day. It would be worth it, or that’s what he hoped at least.

Your eyes looked away from the drink that you had just made for yourself, you had only heard a cough but you immediately could recognize who the sound belonged to. There he was, in the coffee shop again to get his early morning coffee before he probably would rush off again. He wasn’t the first customer but at least he was still one of the early five that always came around at this time, other people usually came a bit later than that.

“Good morning” Taeil greeted with a slight smile and looked at you, stepping forward towards the counter so that he could place his order. The order that would never change, except for that now he would take it with him instead of drinking it here. “The usual?” you asked which immediately made Taeil nod his head, it was getting predictable but Taeil enjoyed to see how you got to know bits of his life that were only small details in a big whole.

Just as you were about to have a small talk with him, he started coughing again, this time not ending it with one cough. You had experienced it getting worse over the weeks, and you weren’t sure if you were able to see him suffer like that. After the talk you had about his disease, you had started to think that you were the reason behind his disease. But you weren’t sure, and neither was he or at least he had never mentioned it before.

Taeil quickly reached for a napkin and placed it in front of his mouth, unable to stop the coughs from leaving his mouth. They got worse as you noticed the flower petals slipping past his parted lips: some of them falling into the napkin, others drifting towards the floor of the shop. “Are you okay?” you asked worriedly, you knew he wasn’t okay but it was the least you could ask. You didn’t get a reply until a few minutes later when Taeil looked up at you with tired eyes, nearly tear-stained but you weren’t sure if that was because he was coughing so much. “It’s okay, I’m okay” he said with a small nod.

You got the coffee he ordered and put the cup down in front of him, just so that he could take it with him like he always did. In the meantime he was still calming down from the coughing fit that he just had, trying not to show too much that he was out of breath or that his voice sounded slightly damaged after walking around with the disease for all of those weeks.

“It’s getting worse” You pointed out in a soft voice and gave him a look of sympathy, but that was the least thing he wanted, all he wanted was a chance in his career and for someone to confess the same feelings back to him. Taeil shrugged his shoulders as if it didn’t really matter that it was getting worse “I’m surviving, at least until I made a decision” he said. He didn’t know which one he was willing to give up: his career or his love life. It was probably the most important decision he would have to make, as well as there was a chance that he wouldn’t survive if he let the decision linger at the back of his mind for too long.

You nodded your head at the answer, slightly judging his personality just to imagine what choice he would make in the end. It was wrong of you to do so but it automatically happened anyway. You hadn’t realized that Taeil was looking up at you the entire time until he cleared his throat. The sound made you snap away from your little psychological moment, your eyes focusing on his since you were at the same level at this moment.

“So, what did you decide?”

His question made you choke on the non-existent drink like the way it would normally go. Your eyes no longer looked up to meet his, neither did any advice or observations leave your lips. Taeil put the money for the coffee midway the counter so that you could easily reach it. But the only thing that was going on in your world, was the replay of the question Taeil just asked.

You didn’t even get to answer the question before he was gone, although you wouldn’t have been able to form a correct reply anyway. You had no idea how to reply to the words or maybe just didn’t want to be able to answer the question.

Your colleague came into the shop and looked at you, noticing you didn’t look like you always did: you suddenly seemed tired, worried, sad, every negative emotion at the same time. Eventually, she did send you home, being sweet enough to say that she would take your shift for a couple of days so that you could ‘get better.’ And just like she said, you went home as quick as you could: you were ready to stay inside for some days and reflect on everything that had changed your life in the past weeks.

It was in the evening when you first allowed yourself to think back about Taeil’s question. It was a lonely moment of you sitting alone at your dinner table, drinking from a half-empty glass of wine, but drinking wine alone was far from tasty.

“So, what did you decide?”

The question repeated itself in your head a couple of times, nearly forcing you to answer a silent reply back in your head. You very well remember the decision you had made, and maybe that was because it hadn’t been longer than a few months ago now.

Thinking back now, you realized that it wasn’t real love that you experienced those months ago. But at the same time, you remembered it as real love, because back then you had felt so in love..so in love with someone who didn’t love you back.

The boy that you called your boyfriend back then was toxic, like the wine would have been if you had zero sense of self-control. The relationship was broken before it even properly started, and you could still remember when he said that he would never really love you, that on the day that he asked you to be his.

The relationship had lasted long enough, each day was like an eternity of your life and yet you had stayed with him for all of those days. Even when you knew that during even longer nights, he was sharing the bed with someone who awaited the same fate as you. But that didn’t stop the flowers from taking up the space in your lungs, though it felt like the thorns pierced through the gaps of your heart, creating bigger empty voids.

Somewhere on a random day, you had done impulsive thinking and gone to get the flowers removed. The hospital wouldn’t do it as you needed an appointment and proof of a psychological talk that happened beforehand. So, instead, you had found a person who claimed that he was able to do it just as good as doctors could. You hadn’t thought twice, you had barely even heard his words and still, you nodded. That same day: the flowers were removed, together with the ability to love someone. At least, that’s what they made you believe. You could still fall in love, they just didn’t want you to make the same mistake twice.

No one had known about the flowers you had and the flowers you lost, something you would rather keep to yourself. Maybe it was taboo to get the flowers removed, as society said everyone was supposed to romantically love someone. Your family or friends didn’t know, even though they questioned why you broke it off with your toxic boyfriend, or why you said you didn’t want to start dating for a while. You just said you were trying to find your spot in life.

You closed your eyes as you imagined the way Taeil looked at you, suddenly in the middle of thinking, he had just entered your imagination like he belonged in it. You didn’t even realize the peaceful smile that formed on your lips. As your imagination turned into a dream, it was as if you dared to admit that you felt love for Taeil.

Taeil passed by the coffee shop every single day: he had to admit it wasn’t because he wanted to drink coffee, but simply because he wanted to see you, even if it was only about 5 minutes a day. But each day that he came by, they told him that you were sick.

And one of the colleagues had been kind enough to give him your address, thinking that you and Taeil were close because he always seemed to ask for you when you weren’t there. It was a surprise for Taeil to get your address, but he didn’t hesitate anymore. He had to see you.

He had taken a few days off because he was songwriting but also because the flowers were holding back his ability to breathe properly. And now he was sure, that it was all because of you. You were the one who took his breath away, you were the one that needed to save his heart and kill the flowers.

Considering your feelings towards him was something that he hadn’t done beforehand, in all honesty, he had been in a rush to get to your place. He had no idea what he was supposed to do or say: maybe confess to you, or check up on you as you were sick, or tell you that the flowers were blooming inside of him because of you.

Taeil barely knew you but he was in love with you, and he wanted you to be his first and last love, he wanted to hold you forever. The song he had been written over time, was made up out of lyrics involving thoughts about you and him, the both of you together. Because of you, he had been able to write the song and maybe even break through in the company. Even if he hadn’t seen you much, his heart kept on looking for you.

He suddenly stood at your front door, ringing the bell as he was preparing what to say to you, but the buzzer went before he even had the chance to say something. Being allowed inside was already something: now the rest had to happen, even if he was unprepared and you didn’t know of any of this.

His steps guided him up a staircase and towards the place where you would be living according to your colleague, the guitar resting on his back but it was heavy with the many steps that he had to take just to get to you. His eyes counted the numbers on the door until he realized the next one would be your number, your little home. Before he even properly realized it, he stood in front of your door. His hands brought together in a shy manner.

He didn’t move for a few seconds as his mind was blank, his feelings lived in the moment and they gave no signs of the things that he was supposed to do or say at this moment. He knocked on the door a few times, hoping that after letting you in the building, you would also let him into your home. He was about to knock but the door was opened, his eyes looking up to only reveal a snippet of you. “Come in” you said soft, your voice was close to non-existent but Taeil had managed to hear it.

The door was opened wider and Taeil walked inside, letting you close the door behind him. He politely took off his shoes and left his guitar bag near them in case you didn’t want it inside your home. “Hey,” he said with a slight smile, for the first time looking up to take in all of you, and not just a little snippet. The greeting made you smile slightly at him, though it surprised him that you didn’t say anything in return.

“I heard that you were sick, and I really needed you in the coffee shop,” Taeil said with a smile, seeming excited just because he had finally been around you. Though his excitement appeared when he heard a cough leave your body, sounding rough and harsher than those of his sounded. You grabbed a face mask that was on the table and put it in front of your mouth as if it was hiding what was wrong with you. “Why?” you asked in a quiet voice, even if you tried to talk like you normally did.

Taeil looked at you, the excitement that had disappeared, seemed to make another comeback. “Well I had a few days off and finally was able to finish writing the song I have been working on since we met,” He said. Neither of you realized it now, but it was as if two people with a sore throat were talking to each other, sharing their diseases even more. But in your sights, it was just y/n and Taeil, nothing else. “And I wanted to sing it to you, I brought my guitar and the lyrics and please let me sing it to you,” He said, looking at you with pleading eyes just so that you would say yes. You nodded your head, luckily the mask hid the small smile that you had on your face because of his excitement.

“Let me get my guitar,” He said and went to his guitar, getting it out of its bag. Without asking for permission, he sat himself down on a chair and got closer to you. It wasn’t much playing that he would do, but it would bring some more background to the words he would sing. He cleared his throat to get better access to his voice: it felt as if it was the last spark of his voice left, but he would happily use it on you.

You listened as the song slowly started, starting with a few seconds of the guitar playing. On a moment when you didn’t expect it, you heard his voice accompanying the guitar in the song. The lyrics and voice both stood out, catching your attention to the point where it was hard to decide what you wanted to focus on.

“Even if it hurts, it’s alright, because I love you.”

The words hit right into your heart like no other words could, the lyrics seemed to be directed to the situation you two found yourselves in. The pain from the flowers growing and taking away your breath, but it was okay, because you loved each other... even if it could be easily solved. All that it took, were confessions.

“Even if I cry, it’s okay, because I love you”

The words fell from his lips in his beautiful voice, you could hear the struggle which made you look up and notice the tear-filled eyes. It was okay if he cried, he was crying for you, crying for and because of you. Even if he had to cry every day, he would. A small tear ran down his cheek as he continued his song, determined to tell you how he felt.

“Even if it hurts, I’ll wait for you who is my last love”

You could barely hear the lyric he sang, it was still audible but the voice was getting less powerful with every passing lyric. He hadn’t coughed during the entire song, but you knew the end was nearing and it was overwhelming more than he thought.

“Because it’s you”

The word was mouthed instead of spoken, his lips parted as a tear was desperately trying to go from his upper lip to the bottom one. The breathing was calm and yet filled with struggles. His eyes met yours, two pairs of tear-filled eyes searching for confirmation and love. Desperate for love, but desperate to save each other.

Without realizing it, he put the guitar down which caused a louder thud as he hadn’t intended on putting it down, he hadn’t even known he was holding it. The words that had been sang, were words for both of you, they didn’t require any more explanation or additional sugar to sweeten them. Even if they were sweet, it felt bitter.

“I might not be your first love, but I’d like to be your last”

Taeil’s words sent the tears running down your cheeks, bundled in a nest of raw emotions that were being shared. You removed the mask from your lips, crumpling it together so that Taeil wasn’t able to see the flowers that you only a week ago had started to cough up again.

“I will be your first love, and I will love you forever until the day I die”

You whispered but your voice seemed to sound more alive again, the string of thorns that were connected to what seemed like your heart, had softened up and eventually replaced by the missing pieces of your heart.

Taeil looked towards you just like you looked at him. The pushing feeling in his throat disappeared, even when he parted his lips and felt around with his tongue, all he could feel on his tongue was a piece of candy that was shaped like a flower.

Love took the ropes in his hands and instead of tugging, it pushed you only closer to each other. Leaving you and Taeil to the first time your lips would meet one another. The kiss was careful and yet there was a bit of neediness coming from both of you.

It was like when the moon combined with the flowers: the moon would shine and glow, making the most beautiful flower bloom.

creating,

a moonflower

223 notes · View notes

sprnklersplashes · 4 years

Text

not beyond repair (17/20)

AO3

I can’t decide if it’s a good thing for a bad thing that I updated this in a week, but it is indeed a thing.

He wakes up long before he normally does, even with his alarm set for 7:00 am on the dot. It’s not a slow process either; JD’s body jerks him awake on the wrong side of 6:30, slightly bleary eyed and burying his face in his pillow, but also with no hope of getting back to sleep. He tries, for the love of God he tries, but his eyes open of their own accord, and it gets to the point where keeping them closed requires too much concentration. He lies awake and looks up at the ceiling, running a hand through his hair and tugging on it gently. His heart beats faster than normal beneath his hand and his legs itch to get out of his bed and get a move on. It’s like his body knows what day today is and his refusing to let him miss a moment of it.

April 11th, 1990. He’s officially 18.

He shifts and sits up, resting his elbows on his knees and letting out a long breath. He never really looked forwards to his birthdays with the same anticipation that his peers did. Veronica tried to pass it off as casual and pretend it was no big deal, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. Or if she was, he wasn’t one of them. Everyone looks forward to being 18, don’t they? It comes with all the shiny bells and whistles of adulthood, freedom, independence, later curfews, the ability to vote. Some of that was always coming for him, and he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t looking forward to his first visit to the polling station, but for the past five years, turning 18 had just meant one thing to him: aging out of the foster system. Getting a job straight out high school. Buying his own place, or maybe staying in some private room handed to him by the state if he was lucky. Maybe having to move to a new town, again, and leave behind everything he built here. His other birthdays were their own their own set of fun, fun issues, but in his view, his 18th birthday was a looming countdown clock.

All that’s gone now, he reminds himself. He can breathe for the first time in years. He’s got a home here, in this house, in this town, for the rest of his life. It’s official, with forms and documents and signatures, the whole works. She can’t take it back, and she’s sworn she never would. He believes her wholeheartedly, and it’s a new experience, one he can say for sure that he likes.

But that doesn’t change that his birthday in general remains a whole other wild ride he does not want to go on. So he closes that door, locks it, ties a chain around it, and flicks on his bedside light and opens up his book, letting himself get lost in the time between now and when his alarm goes off.

He takes his time getting ready, more so than usual, and he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know why. His closed door mocks him even when he opens the curtains and lets the light in. He can just about hear Claire downstairs and much as he appreciates her (another word comes to mind but he snatches it back and locks it away where it belongs), he almost doesn’t want to see her. Not because she won’t make a fuss over his birthday, but because she almost certainly will.

Realising he can’t hide in his room forever, he braces himself and steps out onto the landing and jogs down the stairs, doing his best to appear as natural as possible and dealing with the 101 questions that that makes him ask himself. ‘Am I walking too slow? Too fast? Do I normally put my hand in my pocket like that? I make eye contact with people, right?’. By the time he makes it to the kitchen, he feels like he may as well have ‘yes, there is something on my mind, can we please not talk about it’ written across his face. Maybe he should start doing that, he thinks. It would save him a lot of time.

Claire’s standing at the stove as he enters, hair pulled back in a messy bun. An open, half-empty carton of eggs sits on the counter, as does an open bag of flour and a carton of milk. To top it off, there’s blueberries and chocolate chips next to the stove and a recipe book that’s far too close to that open flame. That woman is making him pancakes.

And she’s making them from scratch.

Part of him wants to hug her. Part of him also wants to run back into his room and lock himself in his closet. Thankfully, he’s learned how to locate the happy middle.

“Good morning, kid-”

“Don’t even think about it,” he replies sternly. She blinks, her mouth half open, the spatula poking weakly at the pancake. Okay, that one’s on him.

“Um… okay. Have a terrible morning then,” she replies, her light, joking tone not matching her words in the slightest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says with a shake of his head, heat creeping up in his cheeks. He throws his bag over the back of a chair and finds himself wrapping his hand tightly around it, his arm on the verge of shaking. “It’s just… we’re both very much aware of what today is.”

“Yeah, is that… is that okay?” she asks carefully.

“Umm… kind of?” he admits. The words don’t come easily, to his mind or his mouth, tripping over each other, his grip on the chair getting tighter. He releases it and turns to face her, tugging his sleeves over his hands. “Look, I just don’t want to make a big deal out of my birthday. In fact, I’d like to pretend today is not my birthday, it’s just another random day on the calendar.” He crosses his arms over his chest, mirroring how his stomach crosses over itself. “Can we do that?”

“Anything you want, kid,” she replies softly, and suddenly he can breathe again. “But we’re not letting these pancakes go to waste. So just consider these Un-Birthday pancakes.”

“I can work with that,” he laughs. “Only because you brought the chocolate chips.”

“Mm. Although, before you start denying your birthday’s very existence, you got mail. A lot of it.” She nods to the small mound of envelopes sitting on the windowsill. He lifts up the pile and flips through them, the handwriting committed to memory. One from Aimee, his finger finding a little bulge underneath the paper. An inside joke; she had made a bet with him when she dropped him off in Indiana that if he was still there by his birthday, she’d give him a quarter. Sure enough, he was, and the quarters never stopped coming. Then there’s one from Kerri and George, the original foster parents. And one from his Indiana family. He flips through the pile again, the once more, making certain that that’s all there is. That there’s not one stuck to another or he left on the windowsill that might be from-

“Nothing from him?” Claire interrupts. He shakes his head, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. There’s a tightness in his chest and it hurts, and he curses at himself for being so stupidly hopeful. Claire runs her hand up his arm gently and squeezes his shoulders. “Maybe it got lost in the mail.”

“Why would it?” he asks with far more bitterness than he had realised. “He didn’t write for birthdays thirteen through seventeen. Why should eighteen be any different? Not like he cared before either.” He gives a small shrug, not enough to make Claire’s hand fall off his shoulder. “It’s fine. I don’t care.”

“He’s still your dad,” she reminds him quietly. “It’s okay if it still hurts.” He presses his fist into his palm and lets out a long, shaky breath. It does hurt. Less than last year but far more than he wants it to. Outside of his mom’s anniversary, this is the only time when the old habit of brain freezing becomes attractive to him.

No he tells himself firmly.

“I just want to stop,” he says instead. “I just want to have a birthday and not get upset about him. I don’t want him following me around for the rest of my life.”

“And he won’t,” Claire assures him. “I know you’re making progress, Jason. You’ve got a lot of people here who care about you.” He smiles at that, his fingers curling around her wrist. “And even if you don’t forget about him, he’s not a part of your life any more. And he won’t be for as long as you want.”

“Suppose I don’t need him now anyway,” he admits, his voice small, his shoulders moving in a casual shrug. “I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

Beside him, he hears her breath catching as she tries to compose herself. Her mouth opens wordlessly, but when he turn to look at her, her eyes are shining and he’s not totally convinced those aren’t unshed tears. Her fingertips stroke the back of his head as she manages a strong smile, one that makes him feel more at home than he ever did with his father.

“Yeah, kid, you do.” She squeezes his arm gently and leans her head on his shoulder, the closest she can get to a hug when they’re up against the counter. He still feels it though, even if he is soon distracted by what seems to be puffs of grey smoke rising from the frying pan.

“Uh… Claire?”

“Yeah?”

“Pancakes are burning.”

“Oh f-”

He leans on the counter to stop himself from hitting the ground, laughter wrecking through his body as Claire hurriedly swats at the rising smoke with a towel and scraping the cremated pancake from the pan. There’s an audible noise when it hits the kitchen counter. She recoils away from it like it might jump from the counter and attack her, taking revenge for its brutal murder at the hands of a frying pan.

“Okay,” she says, her voice far higher than usual. She pushes an escaped lock of hair off her face, making a show of being calm. “Let’s try that again.”

“And these are not birthday pancakes, right?” he asks as he gathers up the little pile of cards and goes to put them up in his room.

“Absolutely,” she promises, already whisking more batter. “Some good old Un-Birthday pancakes.”

His good start to the day only gets better when there’s a knock at the door, three in a quick, light succession. Since the weather took a turn for the better, he and Veronica have started walking to school together, making up for the time they miss together during their day. He’s picked her up a few times from her place before, but they seem to both prefer her meeting him at his place. It’s a more direct route to the school and whenever he’s over there, he gets the impression that Veronica doesn’t want them to spend more time in her house than they have to. Most days she’s hurrying JD out with as little conversation with her parents as possible. He’s been there before, with her in fact, but he knows it’s not the same. While he was terrified of his father, she’s just embarrassed. His heart kind of goes out to her folks, and he’s told her as much. It’s definitely better to have a parent who loves you a little too much than too little.

Still, he’s happier to have her come over here as well. For one, it means that today she gets pancakes. And while he’s definitely not afraid of her father, it does mean that he can avoid the stiff, uncomfortable conversations he always ends up having with him while she gets ready. Even if he has a sneaking suspicion that she had enjoyed that part of it.

“Morning,” she sings, leaning up against the doorframe, clad in a jean jacket over a shirt and dark denim skirt, her hair bouncing around her shoulders as she grins widely at him. There’s a ninth wonder of the world, he’s decided, and it’s Veronica Sawyer’s smile.

“Morning,” he greets, pressing a quick kiss to her lips and taking her hand as he lets her in. “You came in at a good time. She’s making pancakes.”

“Oh hell yeah,” she replies as they enter the kitchen. “Hey Claire.”

“Hi sweetie,” she replies, flipping another one over. “Oh, look at that beauty! Anyway, blueberries or chocolate?”

“Blueberry… if you don’t mind,” Veronica replies. Chuckling, Claire slips one onto a plate and hands it to her. “You’re a good influence on him, I can tell. He’s a lot more polite than he was before he met you.”

“I am right here,” he replies, hand on his chest in mock offense. Veronica giggles through a mouthful of pancakes, her eyes glittering.

“So what’s the occasion?” she asks as she perches on the kitchen chair, dropping her bag beside her like it’s her own house.

“Occasion?” he asks suddenly, anxiety gripping his heart just a little. He plays it off, or at least he hopes he does, pouring a glass of juice for her and himself. “What makes you think there’s an occasion?”

“I don’t know how they did things in Indiana,” she begins. “But in Ohio, no one makes pancakes unless there’s an occasion to go with them. Unless there isn’t and Claire’s just everyone’s dream parent.”

“I very much am,” she says, gesturing the spatula in Veronica’s direction. “But she’s right. I only break out the pancake batter on birthdays, graduations and Easter.”

JD coughs loudly, looking at Claire out of the corner of his eyes. She just shrugs helplessly in response. Despite how much he adores Veronica’s brains, he hope that just once they desert her and this can be over quickly and cleanly.

Of course not, because his girlfriend just so happens to be one of the sharpest people he knows.

“Aw, Claire it’s your birthday?” she asks.

Please start lying he silently begs her. No such luck there either. For a day that’s meant to be all about him, it doesn’t seem to be going his way.

“That’s sweet, kid, but no.”

And that’s when his lovely little morning comes to a halt and he wishes the ground could open up and swallow him completely. No chewing required, just let him slip right to the centre of the Earth.

“JD?” Veronica turns and looks at him, her eyebrows shot up, her pancake now abandoned. She crosses her arms over her chest, her gaze not leaving him even as his cheeks flush red. “It’s your birthday?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair and throwing one more sarcastic look at Claire. She either doesn’t understand or pretends she doesn’t, beaming at him instead and excusing herself. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he looks back at Veronica, his fingers threading in her hair. “Look, I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, okay?” She opens her mouth to protest, a few feeble noises escaping her. Of course she’d be against this. His Ronnie, his amazing Ronnie. He takes her hand and roles it into a loose fist, running his fingers over her knuckles. He lowers his voice, half a habit left over from living in group homes and half because most of his energy is spent fighting with himself. “Please?”

“Okay,” she says, even if her face says otherwise. He supposes he should have expected this from her. As if she hasn’t been dropping not-so-subtle hints about his birthday since they started dating or making guess after guess and at one point flopping on top of him, refusing to get up until he told her. “But… I’m going to say it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes I do,” she says playfully, tapping her finger to his lips. Her smile softens, her finger moving to trace his jaw with a delicate touch. “Happy birthday, JD.”

“Thank you,” he replies, sincerely, a smile spreading across his face and warmth unfurling in his chest. Maybe he’s going against everything he stands for right now, but he’ll allow it for right now. He presses a quick, tender kiss to the palm of her hand, nuzzling into her touch for a second. He feels a familiar presence behind him, but he can’t find it in himself to be upset. “Okay, we have to go.”

“Okay, have a good day, kid,” Claire tells him as he’s getting ready. “You too, Veronica.”

“Thanks.”

“See you later,” he says as Veronica slides her hand into his and squeezes it a little.

“So… I’m not allowed to acknowledge your birthday in the slightest?” she asks as they step outside, the breeze keeping them from being too warm in their jackets.

“Okay that makes me sound terrible,” he says. “I would just… prefer it if you didn’t, you know?” She’s looking up at him, squinting a little in the sunlight, her eyes expectant and full of questions she’s too sweet to ask. It’s not that he likes keeping stuff like this from her, but it’s a learning curve for him, even with all the progress his therapist says he’s been making. Every time he finds himself holding something back or locking someone out, it’s just as hard as before to open the door again. Like he’s still kind of recovering from the last time. Even though he knows he’d rather let them in than keep them out. Practice makes perfect, isn’t that the expression.

“Okay,” she says softly, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb.

“And that means I don’t want a present either,” he tells her. She doesn’t bother hiding her frown this time as she strokes the butterfly pendant he got her for Christmas. She takes in a deep breath and slowly nods, although she doesn’t mask the disappointment evident on her face.

“Fine,” she says. “If that’s what you want, I promise I won’t get you a present.”

“Thank you,” he tells her. “I know it’s dumb but thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies, kissing his cheekbone and swinging their hands playfully, making him giggle the way that only Veronica can.

*****

“So I’m getting JD a present.”

Veronica and Martha sit in homeroom, Martha at least pretending to pay attention to Miss Fleming and Veronica less so. She keeps her face forwards at least, even if she’s leaning back in her chair, half turned. The clock is steadily ticking away, and the end of period bell is going to signal any moment now. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Martha’s raised eyebrow at her statement.

“A present… for the birthday that he doesn’t want to acknowledge?” she asks slowly, her voice low enough to fly under Fleming’s radar.

“That’s the one,” she tells her.

“Veronica, are you sure?”

“Miss Sawyer!” Fleming interrupts. Damn, she thinks to herself. Turned too far. Fleming cocks her head, her smile too wide for her face. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, ma’am,” she says. A moment passes and Veronica starts slowly turning herself forwards again, heat prickling at her cheeks. “Sorry.” Fleming nods stiffy at her before continuing the announcements, something about the prom committee, which includes their very own Heather Chandler, and then moving on to something about yearbooks, run by their very own Heather Duke. Veronica wonders briefly if, had she not puked on Chandler and left the party, she would be running part of their senior year. Prom committee maybe? Or would she somehow take charge or organising graduation, ordering balloons and filing everyone into neat rows? Maybe it’s fate that she’s no longer in that strata, because there’s no way she could pull that off.

“So, walk me through this,” Martha says as they stand up and lift their bags onto their shoulders. “You’re getting him a present even though he, according to you, told you specifically he doesn’t want one?”

“Yeah,” she replies. Weirdly, she doesn’t feel all that bad about anything, not about telling Martha that it’s his birthday, or the fact that she’s ignoring his request. “Look, I just… I don’t like the idea of me not getting him a birthday gift. You know, he’s done a lot for me.”

“That’s sweet,” she tells her, nudging her gently with his elbow. “So any ideas on what to get him?”

“Nope,” she sighs, scratching the back of her neck. “Well, I have a direction to go in. And I was hoping… maybe you could come with me? I need someone to bounce ideas off of.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” Martha sighs, even though her sunny grin and light tone don’t match the words at all.

“And…” She slows her steps a little, mindful of Heather just ahead of them. “I kind of miss just us hanging out.” Beside her, Martha bites her lip daintily, cheeks turning just slightly pink.

“Me too,” Martha confesses. Veronica loves JD, loves what she’s built with him, and she couldn’t be happier if she tried that Martha’s with Heather, and judging by the way Martha melts around her, Martha feels the same about her. But with all that, the rollercoaster of their romantic lives taking off in ways they could never have expected way back when, she misses the quiet nights of her and Martha on the couch together or trips into the town, treating themselves to the smallest and silliest things. Even if things are changing for them, not everything has to.

“Oh my God!” Heather sighs when they catch up with her. “I had completely forgotten about prom, it’s so close now.”

“It’s about six weeks away, Heather,” Veronica reminds her gently.

“No, I know,” she replies, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s just… there’s a lot I need to get sorted out. My dress, what I’m going to do with my hair, my nails, my make-up.”

“That’s… a lot,” Martha says quietly, anxiety creasing her face. Heather nods like little Noddy until she spots Martha’s face, and she rubs her shoulder gently, putting on a calm face, or trying to at least.

“It’s not really,” she says. “And you don’t have to do all of it. Or any of it. I’m just… you know me.”

“Yeah,” Martha agrees, covering up her worries with a smile. “I do.”

After school, Veronica and Martha wait on the second bus to take them into town, the first filled to the brim with freshmen who are just beginning to let loose, laughter getting louder, homework getting sloppier, grades falling, but not by much. Some of them still avoid the senior’s eyes in the hallways and run for cover when Kurt and Ram enter. And all of them watch Heather Chandler in revered silence and wide-eyed admiration.

“What do you think it’ll be like when we’re gone?” Veronica asks, bouncing a little to keep her legs from getting too stiff. “Like, for the new freshmen.”

“I mean… they won’t notice,” Martha says. “Unless they took a note of the fat closeted lesbian.” Unlike the Martha of last year, she doesn’t wince at her own words, instead chuckling at her own joke.

“No, I mean, like with Heather Chandler gone,” Veronica says. “Is there going to be a new mythic bitch?”

“Probably,” she sighs, deflated. “There’s some juniors now, I’ve seen them in hallways, and the rest of them are scared of her. She even looks a little like Heather Chandler. Yesterday she had a red shirt and everything.” She shudders. “It was spooky.” Veronica hums in agreement, toying with her necklace as the bus comes into the stop.

She started out this year believing that maybe things would change. Maybe the Heathers would stop being tyrants and start being people, maybe Kurt and Ram would grow brains and hearts. She wasn’t so naïve as to believe that they’d all go back to being best friends the way they were in kindergarten, but maybe she could stop looking at her fellow students and wondering where it went wrong.

But then, she realises with a jolt, hasn’t it, kind of? Isn’t Heather Mac at her lunch table now, not Chandler’s, and proudly walking the halls with them, even if she can’t hold Martha’s hand yet. How long has it been since the Heathers backed her, or anyone, into a corner? Has the demon queen lost her touch, or has something finally changed?

She doesn’t want to be too optimistic, to keep one foot in reality, but that doesn’t stop the small feeling of satisfaction unfurling in her chest.

“So what’s the direction you want to go in?” Martha asks as they walk down the streets they’ve known all their lives, chocolate lollipops in hand. It’s a special occasion, Veronica had reasoned while buying them. Her boyfriend’s birthday. It counts. “Another stuffed kitten?”

“Not that,” she says. “He’s still making use of the first one.” Her Christmas present to JD sits in pride of place on his bed, even if he swears he doesn’t sleep with it. She’s noticed him taking care to place it back on the pillows every time they get up to leave. “I want something unique to him, you know?”

They hit the bookstore first, examining all the poetry books available to them and hitting a roadblock fairly early on.

“I’m pretty sure he has most of these,” she sighs, placing another book back on the shelf. “And I’m not even sure if he likes the other ones.”

“It’s poetry and it’s JD,” Martha reminds her. “Aren’t they a match made in Heaven?”

“Yeah,” she admits slowly. “I just don’t want to get him something half-assed. I want to full-ass this.” Martha snickers behind her hands, and Veronica rolls her eyes, grinning. “Yeah okay that was poorly worded.”

“Very,” Martha agrees. Veronica examines the spines of books before her, arching her neck to see the ones at the top. None of them call out to her or make anything click in her mind, and so she turns away from them with a slightly heavier heart than before.

“You know… you can go home if you want,” she offers, picking at her nails. “Who knows how long I’m going to be here for.”

“I mean, I don’t have a curfew,” Martha says, taking her hand gently. “You think I mind being out with you?” She shakes her head in slight disbelief. “You think I’d prefer sitting in my room working on algebra? When it’s like this outside?”

“Okay,” she says, the corners of her mouth turning up as a smile creeps onto her face. “You made your point.” She squeezes her hand warmly. Beside them, the bookshop gives way to a little mom-and-pop store, and then to another shop that makes her slow her pace, her eyes caught by the leather bound notebooks in the window. The gold thread woven into the spine glimmers in the sunlight and the metal corners wink at her.

She feels an idea spark in her head, and not to be big-headed, but it might be one of her best.

*****

“Heyo, I’m back,” JD announces to the house, to his house. He doesn’t know if he’ll get used to thinking of it like that, but he’s got the rest of his life to do so.

“Hey, kid,” Claire calls from the kitchen. She’s sitting on the table, her feet not even close to touching the floor, flipping through another recipe book with a frown on her face. “You know… maybe we could go out for dinner tonight? Or order in?”

“Maybe not,” he replies.

“Maybe you could stay out of the cookie jar?” she asks, glancing at him over the top of the book.

“Maybe,” he replies through a mouthful of cookie. She closes the book and swings off the counter, bouncing lightly as she lands purposefully, her hands clasped together. There’s a plan sparkling in her eyes and he wants no part of it. “Nope.”

“I haven’t even said anything!” she replies indignantly, creeping backwards a little. “But…”

He didn’t realise how much dread the word ‘but’ could instil in him until now. He hangs around warily, poised and ready to turn and run at the first sight of anything festive or celebratory. Well, half-ready. His mind is, but his body doesn’t seem to be following suit.

“Come on,” he sighs as she presents him with a little box, wrapped in red paper. Rather than sprinting to his room and bolting the door, he just deflates as insecurity wins out over anything else. “Claire… you didn’t have to spent actual money on me.”

“What else was I going to spend?” she jokes. “Monopoly money?” She adjusts her glasses on her nose and huffs out a weak laugh. “Of course I did. You might not want to celebrate, and that’s fine, but I’m not letting you forget it’s your birthday. And I bought this weeks ago before I even knew about this.” He nods, biting the inside of his cheek as something swells inside him. Not familiarity, because this is almost alien to him, but rather like he’s found something he didn’t realise he was missing before. She raises an eyebrow at him, her arm still extended. “Kid my arm’s getting pretty tired here.” With a laugh, he takes the box off her. “And if you hate it, I kept the receipt so that I can return it.”

He peels off the paper, her hopeful eyes trying not to stare at him as she rubs her hands together. He takes a deep breath and prepare himself for the usual ‘thank you’s for the usual generic presents. Maybe he’s not giving her enough credit, no, he’s definitely not, but after years of shirts a size too big and books he already owned, he slowly started getting less excited. It was no-one’s fault, he had reasoned, he’s sure he’d miss the mark sometimes if he was in charge of a house of ten kids. At least effort was made, which is a step up.

“Holy crap,” he whispers as the rest of the paper falls to the floor. In his hands is a dark blue Walkman, the package pristine, not a mark or scratch on it, wrapped in a black cord that connects a pair of black headphones. As he traces the sides, awestruck, he notices a bulge at the back that’s not meant to be there. When he turns it over, he finds an audiobook of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and a Simon and Garfunkel tape.

“Claire this is…” Perfect? Unexpected? How much did this even cost? I want to sleep with it under my pillow? I’m going to use it every day of my life. All the words he’s ever known, a vocabulary he’s carefully built and maintained over the years, desert him in the time it takes to breathe.

“I remember you looking at them a few weeks ago,” she says nonchalantly, picking at a loose thread on her sweater. “You like it?”

“Like it?” he asks, looking up at her. “Claire… I love it, thank you!”

“You’re welcome, Jason,” she says, running her hand up and down his arm. “And if no one else is going to say it to you, happy birthday.”

And it doesn’t hurt the way it did in the past. In fact, it barely hurts at all.

“There’s one other thing,” she says.

“You bought a cake too?” he jokes. Claire pauses, her cheeks puffing out.

“Okay two things,” she admits. She sorts through the pile of envelopes and paperwork tucked next to the radio. “But while you were at school… this came.” She hands him a large brown envelope, the edges crumpled and crinkled and the familiar logo stamped in the corner. The flap is already opened.

“Woah,” he breathes. All at once, everything else ceases to matter. His entire life is in that envelope. He takes it from Claire, shaking even though he knows there’s nothing here that could worry him. Maybe he’s not worried anymore. At least about anything other than crying in front of her.

He pulls out the small stack of paper work, only registering a few words. One being the signatures down at the bottom; his, Claire’s and the Agency’s head. And behind that, there’s a spotless white card, a wine red border around the edges, the word ‘Adoption certificate’ printed above the top.

Oh crap, he better not be crying.

“It’s all finalised,” she tells him softly, stroking his cheekbone. “You’re officially mine.”

Hers.

He gasps a little, needing to lean against the counter. After everything that led up to this, so much pain and ugliness and drowning, he’s here, and he’s breathing.

“You could be Jason Monroe,” she offers. “If you want.”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Think I’m going to stick with Dean.” If he doesn’t keep that name, he thinks, who will? “Besides, I don’t think JM has the same ring to it that JD does.” She laughs, leaning on his shoulder a little. His fingers trace his signature on the bottom of the last form. He never hesitated signing it, and that’s sort of a first for him.

He’s ready for a lot more firsts though.

Including the first birthday he cares about.

*****

“Hey, Mom, can I go out?” Veronica announces. Her gift to JD is sitting in her bag, amongst loose pens and crumpled chip packet wrappers. Her mom puts her newspaper down and frowns slightly at her, even though she looks like the picture of innocence.

“Where are you going?”

“JD’s house,” she replies, toying with the strap of her bag, tapping her fingernails against the leather. “It’s-it’s his birthday.” She bites her tongue as soon as she says it, almost feeling like she’s going behind his back, more so when she sees her mom’s smile growing bigger and wider, stretching across her face.

“Aw, that’s lovely,” she says. “So you got him a present?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what did you get him?” she asks, clasping her hands together like it’s her boyfriend’s birthday.

“Just a little thing,” she says with a shrug, cutting the conversation off before it can go any further. “I got it in town today. So can I go?”

“Of course honey,” she tells her. “Just be back by nine.”

“I know the drill,” she says. “Thanks Mom.”

Not for the first time, she wonders if JD’s neighbours watch her when she reaches his house. Probably not the first time, not when it was 3am and no sane human being was awake by then, much less peeping out at their neighbours, but she’s climbed his wall heaps more times since then. Maybe one neighbour has noticed her, and now there’s a running joke in his neighbourhood about the crazy girl who breaks into JD’s room every now and then. Some of them might be one step away from calling the police.

Still, it’s faster than ringing a doorbell. She sidesteps the door entirely, jogs past Claire’s car, and jumps up to grab onto the trellis. Faster, maybe easier, but no less painful, she thinks as her arms begin to ache when she pulls herself up, her fingertips burning and scratched by the wood and bricks. She’s a little surprised that she’s not better at this by now. If anything, she’s gotten worse, which is even more surprising considering the first time she was one step away from drunk and her legs were numb. She hadn’t expected to be an expert at this, but at the very least she’d thought she’d be better at this point.

Maybe she can convince JD to get a ladder.

Her hand wraps around the ledge and she sighs, at least happy it’s almost over. She pulls herself up, shoulders shaking, her feet dangling precariously in the air. She doesn’t like thinking about what would happen to Claire’s car if she fell now. Or her.

“Hi there.”

If any neighbours weren’t concerned before, they must be now, because her screams can be heard throughout all of Ohio. JD looks out the open window, chin resting on his closed fist, cheeks red as he laughs loud enough for his street to hear.

“Is this my line?” he asks. “Veronica, Veronica, wherefore art thou Veronica?”

“You… Fucking… Dick,” she pants, her heart hammering uncontrollably against her ribs. “Honest to God you… what do you think would have happened if I had fallen?”

“I’d have caught you,” he tells her.

“Oh you would?” she replies. “Oh that’s real sweet.”

“Okay, come here baby.” He takes one hand in his and helps pull her through, even if she’s still doing most of the work. She makes it through to his side with small white scratches on her thighs, courtesy of his window ledge, and her lungs almost completely empty. His laughter has turned to high pitched, soft giggling, his eyes glittering and his cheeks flushed and round.

“Jerk,” she says, slapping his chest weakly. “I’ve half a mind to turn around and go home now.”

“And waste a journey?” he asks, pulling her against him and tangling his hand in her hair. “Besides, you can’t be mad at me today. It’s my birthday.”

“Mm-hm,” she replies, noticing how he’s in a better mindset about his birthday than he was this morning.

“So what brings you here, Romeo?” he teases.

“Wanted to see you,” she says, her hand moving to her bag and slowly undoing the straps. Out of nowhere, she realises how dry her mouth is. “And um… I got you something.”

“Ronnie,” he sighs, holding her hand and pulling her to the bed.

“Look, I know,” she says, settling herself on top of him, her legs on either side of him. “I know you said you didn’t want anything but… I couldn’t help myself.” She presses a swift kiss to his cheek. “That’s what girlfriends do, isn’t it? Buy you nice presents for your birthday?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says, stroking her cheek. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t given you it yet.”

“But I know I’m going to love it.” He pokes at her cheek. “But thank you for… you know… caring.”

“Oh I’m scared now,” she says, half joking. She takes the package out of her bag and moves it off her shoulder, letting it crumple to the ground. The store even wrapped it in black tissue paper for her. She’s suddenly very aware of him beneath her, and of her own heart, beating rapidly not out of shock, but of the nervousness she’s come to know well. Her butterfly pendant sits at the base of her throat, cool metal against her skin.

He moves back and sits up a little, his fingers stroking and tickling her wrist.

“Here,” she says after a deep breath. “Happy birthday.”

He peels of the paper faster than she’d like and expected considering how tightly the man in the shop wrapped it. Funny how quickly what seemed like her best idea can become a doubt.

“Oh, wow,” he whispers. In his hand is an emerald green notebook, gold covering the two corners and a white ribbon hanging out of the bottom, acting as a bookmark. In the top right corner, there’s a small metal wolf, standing guard over his writing, and in the left, a J.D. woven in silver thread. Didn’t cost much to get done, but she’d gladly pay more. She had wanted to give him something that’s uniquely his, no one else’s. He touches the initials before opening it slowly, chuckling as he notices the message written on the first page.

Happy not your birthday. -Ronnie. She put a little doodle of a man in a kid’s party hat for good measure.

“I got you a diary,” she tells him. The words don’t fit right in her mouth, but if there’s another second of silence she’ll probably smack her head, or his, off the wall. She trails her cold hands up and down his arms. “So… what do you think?”

“I think… it’s amazing,” he replies, bursting into a smile that makes her chest lighter. “It’s perfect, oh my God I love you-”

Holy shit.

Holy freaking shit.

His mouth hangs open, eyes bulging wide. His hand reaches up and covers his mouth, cramming anything else he can say way, way down. As for her, she just freezes. Everything freezes; the clock ticking beside his bed, the cars driving through the road, the tree branches tapping against the window. Everything else freezes and one by one, it all ceases to exist until there’s just her and JD.

“I mean,” he begins shakily. “It. I mean I love it. I love this book that you got me; I love it.”

“JD,” she says quietly. “Say it again.”

“I love it,” he tells her, feigning cluelessness. He takes her hand and threads their fingers together, trying to hide behind a charming smile. Not this time. “I love it, thank you.”

“Jason.” For the first time since their first kiss, she pulls her hand out of his. Instead she takes his face and tilts it towards her. She swallows past the lump in her throat, takes a breath and asks again. “Say that again.”

“I love you,” he whispers, so careful and delicate, like he might break the words if he doesn’t handle them with care.

She’s said it to him. Not out loud, but in a million quiet ways. Maybe he heard, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he tried to say it before and she didn’t hear it. It doesn’t matter and she doesn’t care. Because he said it. He. Said. It. Not in her books, or in a fantasy or daydream, not in a movie. He said it, in her real life.

And now it’s her turn.

“I love you too,” she says.

“What?” he breathes, shaking his head lightly. She laughs a little, leaning down so her hair tickles his cheeks.

“I said, I love you too,” she tells him. She presses a kiss to his lips, then his cheek, his neck, giggling against him. She feels like she could spent all day sitting here telling him that she loves him, making up for all the time she lost when she held it back. She was holding back and it sat as a physical presence in her chest, and now it’s out in the world, mixed in with the wind and the sun. The world feels new now, golden and glittering even as a stray cloud blocks out the sun. She feels different somehow, a little stronger, a little freer.

JD grabs her waist and pulls her down to his bed, the two of them lying chest to chest. He takes her hand and kisses her fingers, light at first, and then stronger. She runs her fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face and letting her see him. It’s different from what she had thought it would be. She had expected it to be like she was on fire, that she’d pull him into a desperate kiss, hands wandering, desperate gasps and tears shed. Maybe out in the rain, when she thought she’d never see him again. That’s what it’s like in the books. Instead they’re just lying on his bed, a contented air settling over them, because he said it by accident. He’s tickling the inside of her palm and all she wants to do is lie here and talk to him, rather than melt into a passionate embrace.

There’s no doubt in her mind which one’s better.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Yeah.” He breathes in deeply, his finger slowing on her palm.

“When did you know?” he asks.

“Oh.” She turns onto her side, the question catching her a little off guard. “I… I don’t know.” She shakes her head at herself, even though she’s still smiling. “I don’t really remember. It’s like… you know when you’re growing up. And you don’t realise it, but one day you just look in the mirror and you’re like ‘oh, I’m taller now’. Or like ‘my hair’s longer now’.” He nods and she moves her hand closer to him and covers his heart with it. “That’s-that’s what falling in love with you was like. We were just sitting talking, maybe in study hall or something, and I just looked at you and I went ‘Oh, hey. I’m in love with him’.” She shrugs, as though she hadn’t just dropped a game-changing word into the mix. “And I had been for… I don’t know. But it was like that.” When she looks up at him, his eyes are shining, his mouth half-open in an enchanted smile. She taps his nose with her fingertip. “Okay, fair’s fair. When did you know?” His smile then turns coy and he places hand over hers.

“The day we made brownies in your kitchen,” he says. “I just saw you with your face covered in brownie batter-”

“Courtesy of you.”

“And I thought,” he goes on. “I thought ‘woah, that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Her cheeks turn pink. “And it made me realise, if seeing you covered in flour and cake batter and your hair was a mess was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, then I must be in love with you.”

“J,” she whispers, her voice shaking. A gentle, glowing warmth spreads flows through her like a stream and she shifts up a little and kisses him, his lips sweet against hers, tasting his giddy happiness. He gets up and moves up against the pillows, letting her lie on top of him, him kissing her head and taking her hand. This, right here, right now, is probably the most intimate they’ve ever been on this bed.

“I really do love the notebook though,” he tells her after a moment. She snorts a laugh into his chest as his fingers stroke her hand in a thoughtful rhythm. “I’m sorry about this morning. That I got so messed up about my birthday.”

“It’s okay,” she tells him. “Do you maybe want to talk about it?” He smiles into her hair before rubbing his cheek against it, taking a calm, measured breath.

“It’s just… after my mom died, my birthday became kind of a non-event,” he explains. “And even before… my mom tried to remember, just sometimes she would get so far gone… it was hard for her.” She kisses his chin as he swallows harshly. “But um… after she died, my birthday disappeared. Then in the system it got a little better, but it still didn’t feel right. It felt better to just ignore it entirely. And then… something changed.”

She wonders if that pride she feels budding in her chest is earned. It’s small compared to the overwhelming happiness she feels for him, but it’s there, and she can’t help it.

“Well then,” she says, leaning up on her elbow to look at him. “As your girlfriend, I promise to make every birthday you have from now on the best of your life.”

“You, Veronica Sawyer, are without a doubt, the best girlfriend in the world.”

And if she wasn’t in love already…

“I know,” she says playfully, pulling him up and planting a quick peck on his lips. He sighs serenely against her, rubbing his nose against hers.

“You know,” he begins. “Claire bought a cake today, if you’re hungry.”

“Oh buddy you should have led with cake.”

“Really?” he laughs. “I should have led with ‘cake’ and kept ‘I love you’ for later?”

“Yep,” she agrees. “Cake first, huge relationship developments later.” He laughs as he lets her pull him to his feet, taking a second to stroke her cheekbone and pull her in for another kiss. There’s so much said in the way his lips move against hers, in the way his hand tightens in her waist as she tilts her head to go a little deeper. So much unsaid, and he doesn’t need to say any of it.

“Come on,” he says quietly, tugging on her hand. “Let’s go.”

As she’s sitting at his kitchen table eating cake with and laughing at the smallest things and talking about school and their friends and his birthday, Veronica realises why she prefers love like this to the love stories she reads about or watches on TV. Because those ones always end, the credits always roll and the last page is always turned. Even when they live ‘happily ever after’, those stories finish. But with a little hope, and a lot of hard work, she has a feeling this one won’t.

#jdronica #jdronica ff #heathers the musical #heathers fanfic #veronica sawyer #jason dean #fic: not beyond repair

13 notes · View notes

deviationdivine · 5 years

Text

☼ Connor | Headcanons ☼

A/N: Headcanons for Connor (both deviant & machine) I personally feel, as well as some ones for my writing. Wanted to work on something light while focusing on wips especially for the reader/follower poll. Have this for today’s drabble queue! I will do RK800-60 & Nines as well. But first - can I get an amen?!

TW: Language, Smut (I had to go there!)

Deviant!Connor

Following the revolution Connor most likely will be dealing with his newfound freedom and sense of self worth. While he is free from Cyberlife control it still does not alleviate him of doubts especially when it comes to how other androids view him.

Feels a sense of guilt for hunting so many of his people before deviating despite Markus trusting him after the fall of Jericho. He has a sense of obligation to offer support to the RK200 if it’s needed as a sort of personal repentance.

Attempts to blend into society better but still feels a bit shunned by humans and androids alike. This is a personal hurdle he must conquer.

Afraid of dying in the full sense but keeps these fluctuating emotions inside. Often needs to validate himself otherwise.

Fears being taken control of again even if he used Kamski’s emergency exit. Amanda is an internal nightmare to him now.

Obviously remains working in tandem with Hank at the DPD. He’s a prototype android detective who gets his skills put to use in an official capacity.

Remains close with Hank in a familial capacity. Android son confirmed. Stays with the lieutenant until finding his own place in society. This will take some equal laws being passed first.

Uses more colorful language at times. Hank has rubbed off on him.

“Fuck...shit.”

“What the fuck did you say, Connor?!”

Really wants his own dog....maybe two. Or three.

He’ll wind up stealing Sumo.

Finds various species of fish pleasant to study on down time at work. There hardly is any down time for him though.

Hank makes him have down time. He works too fucking much.

Hones skills in both the programming field he was originally built and his emotional responses.

While deviant he still struggles with what he’s feeling. It’s a learning process but the android gets better at it.

Surprisingly has gained more support from coworkers. This doesn’t include Gavin but as Hank says, “fuck Gavin.” Honestly, Gavin doesn’t work here anymore. Bye bitch.

Picks up the emotions of others with more clarity than his original programming. Deviancy allots him better understanding and heightens his skills in a way.

Still very adept at combat and will take out an entire group of thugs on a case if need be. Is a soft deviant boy who can go John Wick in two seconds flat.

Has a few decorated awards under his belt for breaking open some tough cases including a huge red ice ring.

Hank is fucking proud but won’t admit it. Connor isn’t as naive as he was though, he can tell:

“Why thank you, Lieutenant. I did take them out impeccably as you would say.”

“Since when do I say fucking impeccably?”

Relationships

Understanding all of these new emotions means coming to terms with other things he’s feeling. Friendships are a bit easier if stilted at the start.

Social programs aside, Connor finds a genuine appreciation of the people around him especially those who support him.

Hank is always his biggest supporter now...obviously.

Finding himself in the company of others because they genuinely want him there is awkward initially. Gradually he develops a natural affinity for this.

Connor in love...?

Love is new. It’s strange. It can make his entire brain whir. Honestly doesn’t know how to cope when experiencing the first threads of it in his system.

Is a soft boy ready to discover what it truly means. He witnessed this between Markus and North end of the revolution after all.

Finds himself capable of the same as it hits him all at once.

You make him overheat but in a pleasant way. Oh, is that genuine arousal?

He is highly advanced so of course he was designed with the proper parts. Their origin was for more nefarious means built for Cyberlife missions but now it hardly matters. He has total control over his body.

An awkward badass. I mean he can kill you with a lopsided smile and wink and also kill a whole room full of bad guys. What’s not to like?

Truly wants to experience this whole new side of humanity with you and no one else but you. Connor finds being in love an epiphany. He feels more human with it. He feels more human with you.

Confident when you express affection to him even if he is an android. Makes him feel even more accepted and sure of himself.

Eases into things until he can no longer metaphorically breathe. That’s when everything snaps and he knows.

This android is in love.

Machine!Connor

Completely opposite of his deviant persona, Connor as a machine does not feel emotion for anything let alone anyone who stands in his path. All about accomplishing his mission no matter the casualties. This includes any allies he obtained from the DPD during his deviant investigations.

Will throw Hank off a rooftop if it’ll get him one step closer.

You can’t kill him...androids don’t die.

Deviants should be eradicated because they’re a clear disease with a virus in their program. He sees this as neither mercy nor punishment. He sees it as a mission to obey for the greater good of humanity.

Follows the side of his creators just as he was programmed to do. However, has no qualms taking out any human who stands in his way. Will mercilessly kill an entire squadron of soldiers if need be without batting an eye.

Only the mission matters... He only answers to Cyberlife.

Not adverse to torture or intimidation. Any tactic will do.

Any sort of software instability towards deviancy is readily pushed down until he does something unbearably ruthless to gain back his purpose of programming.

Machine Connor will not allow Cyberlife to deactivate him after completing his mission.

Amanda has no power over him in that regard. He is his own power.

Will slaughter anyone at the tower who tries to apprehend him for destruction.

While not a push to deviancy, Connor feels his time is not finished. Everything Cyberlife programmed to do he accomplished successfully. Discarding him is their greatest mistake.

He will destroy any supposed superior model before taking his place. No. This does NOT make him deviant.

Unstoppable killing machine? Definitely makes him that.

Relationships

Machine Connor uses connections to benefit him. If it will help the mission he will be whatever you want him to be.

This includes gaining favor with other humans around him. The friendlier he seems the better. Will fake emotions if need be. Hank throws this in his face later during this particular route so it’s natural a machine!Connor would do this around anyone he meets.

Love? I don’t think so. Any love you think he can possess is all a fabrication. If you believe a ruthless machine Connor actually cares then you’d be dead wrong. He cares for nothing, nobody but completing his mission and doing what he was designed to do no questions asked.

However, this does not prevent him using it against you. If you want to follow your weak human emotions and fall in love with a cold machine so be it. He will use and discard you like tissue paper breaking your weak humanity in half along the way.

As an RK800 built to accomplish dangerous missions and outfitted with clever negotiator skills, it makes sense he will have some high end upgrades. If seduction is required he will make use out of his advanced protocols and parts.

After using you he will leave you to perish if you try to stop him afterwards. Romance is not part of the equation.

Sex is an instrument he perfectly mimics as he mimics emotions and friendliness.

If you somehow start to spread the virus of deviancy in his system, Connor will correct it by any means. He will snuff you out if it comes down to it.

On the other hand if you do somehow by a miracle stick to him with your human virus he may deviate. It would have to be a big build up even then because most times it will not happen. He will choose the mission over you every time.

You are a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. There is no fairy tale romance here but the foolish one conjured in your head.

Smut!Connor

Deviant

Connor is all about falling into his emotions. Becoming deviant makes the android want to experience everything that drives this humanity in his system. What better way than to finally share this intimacy with you?

Everything is full, passionate and just for the two of you. No one else is in existence while the two of you are together.

While it takes him a bit to understand the full meaning behind this act it stirs his synthetic heart. It’s obvious how much he wants to share a sole space with you. Being apart of your existence only makes his bloom further in the middle of sex.

He gets off on you tugging his hair. Clawing his back is another turn on as it makes him feel dominant.

As a negotiator android this is good for his programming origins but also his newly found ego. He loves that you want to grip onto him and the tighter it is the better.

Can be slow and methodical if you’re looking for a long night.

However, can be quick and rough if you ask him. There’s still that ruthless core he deviated from. He can easily tap into his more aggressive nature. It’s whatever you want him to be that particular time.

Cautious with you during rougher sex. Connor is aware of his strength and hurting you is never something he would do. This sweet boy would never forgive himself.

Likes to be the dominant partner but doesn’t mind lying back while you take over the reins.

Is all about foreplay especially with his tongue. You thought thirium licking was bad? Connor uses his tongue like a pro and will lap up every last drop between your legs to satisfy his own need. To him you taste indescribable and he wants more of that each time.

Scratch his synthetic skin, use your teeth against his epidermis to mark him as yours just as he marks you as his. While his healing component will ultimately take away any abrasions, Connor enjoys seeing them littering his body before they fade.

Same goes with hickies. He’s a master of placing them in secret places so others cannot see. That doesn’t stop him being a sneaky boy at times. Right on your throat? Just one? How about one on each side?

Loves to hear his name slip quietly from your lips while fucking you softly. Really gets going when you start yelling for him to pound you harder. He obliges...obviously.

Connor’s reactions in the moment are quieter. Groans, deep gasps and utterances of your name as he places kisses all over your face.

Let’s get this straight. This boy likes to kiss. No, he loves to kiss while going at it. As much as he loves having sex, he loves the closeness just as much. It changes things for him. They’re all good changes.

And when you ask to see him without his skin? Oh lord. Does this boy melt from your acceptance. He becomes super vulnerable about it but trusts you like no one else.

Timid having sex without the synthetic epidermis but eases into it after a few times. Genuinely surprised you enjoy it so much. Connor assumed it might be uncomfortable for you.

Actually, you personally love this android’s dick no matter what form it’s in. Whispering that in his ear dangles him on the verge of shutdown. It also gets him to throw you down fast and fuck your brains out for a change of pace. He’s that adaptable for your pleasure needs.

Either way sex with this sweet deviant boy is satisfyingly good.

Machine

Tenderness? It isn’t here.

Seduction programming can be utilized if you push him. He isn’t merciful. He will fuck you as hard as you want as long as you want. Don’t expect it to make him love you.

Pushing his buttons is not a good idea. Falling in love with him is even worse. Machine!Connor will take you out of frustration, asserting his dominance against a weakling who thinks they can get away spreading deviancy in his system.

Raw and animalistic.

Expect a palette of bruises/abrasions over your skin from sucking, biting and finger digging.

Nail marks are a thing. There’s no holding back.

Always dominant. Don’t even question it. Control is a kink to him if he could readily have one. But he doesn’t. He’s a straight up machine.

Will toss your body onto whatever surface is available. Comfortable or not he doesn’t care. Why should he when he’s a machine?

Wants to hear you beg. It means he has you where he wants you. Weakness is the best way to manipulate.

Fucking you from behind is a preferred option. It gives him total authority over your feeble human state.

Will bend you over the table in the interrogation room and fuck you without a care to who watches from the observation room.

Likes to impale fingers inside you and work them until tears collect in your eyes. He will sample the salty liquid on the tip of his tongue claiming another piece of you until he consumes all that’s left.

Never watches his strength.

Most times you wind up sore but he sees that as punishment for trying to turn him away from the mission. After all, he only does what you ask and you did ask for this.

Try to cuddle up and kiss him sweetly it won’t go very well.

Likes to bite your lips until they’re a swollen mess.

Machine Connor will purposely edge your orgasm and leave you whimpering for release. If he is not merciful to those he hunts why should he be merciful to you?

If you attempt to make more of this ‘arrangement’ he will end it right then and there. First, he’ll give you one last vengeful fucking to destroy whatever love you conjured for yourself is left.

If you manage to make him deviate well his routine won’t change much.

The only difference is that he will begin kissing you more during.

He might listen to what you want more but don’t expect a complete 180 overnight

Most likely he will not deviate so it’s pretty much futile to think he’ll love you. Just enjoy the rough fuck from him before he completes his mission because guaranteed they’ll be hardly anything of you left...

Tag List: @elydith

356 notes · View notes

vexedtonightmares · 5 years

Text

La Fin Des Temps Chapter 7 (Elu Hogwarts AU)

Vendredi 18:48 - “How did your date go?”

Manon had dragged Lucas along to the inter house unity meeting against his will. Clearly, she had been under the impression that, since he had come to the first one, he would come every week. He’d skipped the one the week before, mostly because he didn’t really want to watch Daphné try to teach everyone how to use a smartphone when she barely knew herself.

Daphné was setting up a way for them to watch a movie, apparently, having run a poll on her Instagram story to see what activity she should plan for the meeting. Lucas supposed this wasn’t the worst way to spend his night, even if he would have rather been lying in bed thinking about Eliott or, even better, having another patronus lesson.

Things had been back to normal between Lucas and Eliott since the weird moment they’d had earlier in the week, but they hadn’t talked about whether or not Eliott would be at this meeting, so Lucas decided to send him a message.

lucallemant: Are you coming to the inter house unity movie night?

He turned his phone over in his hands while he waited for Eliott to reply, startled when someone slipped their hands over his eyes. He grinned slowly. Eliott?

He pulled the hands from his eyes and turned to greet Eliott. “Salu-- oh,” he faltered when he realized it was just Arthur.

“Jeez, don’t be too excited to see me. I only came because Manon sent me pictures of you sitting there looking all lonely,” Arthur said, taking a seat beside Lucas on the floor. Lucas turned to glare at Manon even though he was glad for the company.

“Where are Yann and Basile?” Lucas asked, scanning the room.

Arthur shrugged. “On their way, probably. Yann was finishing up some assignment, I swear to god he’s never not working, and Basile wouldn’t miss a chance to see Daphné somewhere she can’t avoid him. Have you seen Eliott?”

“No, why?” Lucas was glad Arthur had brought up Eliott, he hadn’t wanted to be the one to ask. Eliott hadn’t been at lunch or dinner, but Lucas just assumed he was caught up in his dormitory working on his schoolwork.

“Just haven’t seen him all day, even in our dormitory. I left a note for him to meet us here but… eh, whatever. Maybe he’s off with the person he’s so in love with,” Arthur grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

Lucas coughed, not sure he had hear Arthur correctly. “He has a girlfriend? Why hasn’t he said anything to any of us?”

“Oh, no,” Arthur said dramatically, “He’s not dating anyone but he’s sure as hell obsessed with someone. Talks about them all. The. Time. It would be kind of annoying if it weren’t so endearing.”

Lucas wondered who it could be. Eliott had never said anything about liking anyone when they had hung out. Was he trying to keep it a secret? Clearly not, if Arthur knew so much about it. In fact, Arthur was still talking, doing a terrible impression of Eliott.

“Arthur, I couldn’t pay attention in class today because of them. Arthur, we had the best conversation today but I don’t think they feel the same about me. Arthur, their eyes are so pretty. Supermodel eyes, he calls them. Do you know any girls with supermodel eyes?”

Lucas felt his blood boil. Not that it mattered, but supermodel eyes were their thing, his and Eliott’s. The fact that Eliott couldn’t focus in class because of some girl and her supermodel eyes made him angrier than he wanted to admit. He realized Arthur had asked him a question. “I don’t know anyone with supermodel eyes,” he said coldly.

Arthur shrugged, not catching Lucas’ tone. “I’ll ask Yann and Basile. Actually, maybe I’ll ask Alexia, she might know.”

“Why would Alexia know?”

“Oh, right, this mystery person is most definitely in our potions class,” Arthur clarified. “He freaked out all night after we did the Amortentia potion-- nice one, by the way, Imane told me you had no idea what we were brewing-- because he thought he’d been too obvious and given away who he was talking about and that they didn’t feel the same way. I told him he shouldn’t have shared what his potion smelled like with the whole class, but he said he didn’t want you to be the only one who shared. Maybe it worked though, and he’s with his mystery girl right now.”

Lucas was saved from having to respond by the arrival of Yann and Basile plopping down beside the two of them. “What are we talking about?” Yann asked, and Arthur began to fill him in on their conversation about Eliott and the girl he liked. Lucas tuned them out to the best of his ability.

He couldn’t, however, refrain from checking his phone to see if Eliott had opened his message. He hadn’t. Lucas’ stomach churned at the confirmation that, wherever Eliott was and whoever he was with, Lucas was the last thing on his mind.

“Nox,” Daphné said, turning the lights out and letting the movie broadcast itself on the wall in front of them. Apparently, they were watching Star Wars. Not the most Daphné-like choice, but a movie that made him glance at Yann out of the corner of his eye. Yann grinned back, likely remembering their first year bonding over how they were going to be like Jedi once they learned how to do magic.

He let himself enjoy the movie instead of overthinking where Eliott was and who he was with any longer. It was almost a relief, actually, to know for certain that Eliott wasn’t interested in him like that. Sure, he would have preferred a different outcome, but at least now he could stop wondering if Eliott had sat by him at lunch on his first day because he liked Lucas, or if he had asked Lucas to practice patronuses as a way to spend time alone together. Those things had just been friendly, a way for the new kid to get to know someone.

Basile fell asleep about an hour into the movie, head in Arthur’s lap. Yann and Lucas were very offended that their friend had the audacity to fall asleep during Star Wars, so they got their revenge by posting a few photos on his Instagram account with captions and comments that were sure to be un-Daphné worthy.

When the credits rolled and the lights finally turned back on nearly everyone was stretched out comfortably, some asleep, some with heads on their friends or significant others’ shoulders. Basile woke up blearily and tried to pretend he hadn’t been asleep for nearly the entire movie, which was doubly amusing given the fact that he had no idea what Star Wars was and kept trying to explain parts of the movie that he hadn’t seen.

“Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia have got to be the end couple, right? Especially after that, uh, that one scene, you know what I’m talking about, with the uh, space flowers,” Basile rambled. Yann and Lucas exchanged glances behind his back.

Lucas checked his phone again, proud of himself for having avoided doing so until the movie ended. Nothing. Eliott still hadn’t even opened the message. Where was he?

“Lulu, you coming?” Yann had blanket he had brought slung over one shoulder, following Basile and Arthur as they continued to argue about Star Wars.

“In a minute, I should help Manon clean up,” he responded, wanting a moment alone. Yann flashed a thumbs up before leaving him alone. Soon it was only Lucas and the girls left.

“That went well?” Daphné looked to all of them for confirmation, and everyone nodded their heads vigorously.

“It was awesome,” Manon confirmed.

“So great,” Emma added.

Alexia nodded. “Best movie night ever.”

“By next week this club will have everyone in the entire school joining,” Imane said confidently. The girls looked to Lucas expectantly.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, it was really cool Daphy. The guys were just saying how much fun it was.” He might complain about Daphné sometimes, but he really did admire her. In just a few weeks this club had become one of the most popular clubs in the school.

She beamed at him. “Really? Eliott didn’t show up, so I didn’t know if there was something wrong…”

Daphné blushed when she said his name. It seemed he wasn’t the only one with a hopeless crush on Eliott, though that didn’t come as much of a surprise. It was weird to think that he and Daphné would have similar taste in guys, though…

“Don’t take it personally, Daphy, he’s out on a date.” Sure, he didn’t know this for a fact, but the more he repeated it to himself, the less it hurt. Well, in theory. Lucas caught sight of Imane studying him out of the corner of his eye and he did his best to ignore her. Yeah, she clearly knew what his Amortentia had meant. “I’m sure he’ll be at the next one,” he added quickly, just in case Daphné got upset.

There were footsteps and suddenly Eliott was standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath. He looked around the room, face falling. “Oh… is the movie night over?”

“Yes, we finished about ten minutes ago. It was Star Wars, everyone enjoyed it a lot,” Daphné said stiffly.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I really wanted to come.” Eliott was looking at Lucas as he spoke, but Lucas pretended to be busy folding other blankets students had laid with during the movie.

“It’s fine,” Daphné said, warming considerably. It was the Eliott effect. “There will be more movie nights.”

Eliott broke into a wide grin. “I sure hope so. The inter-house unity club is where all the cool things happen, right?”

“Right,” Daphné smiled, ducking her head to hide her blush.

Eliott shifted from foot to foot. “To say sorry, why don’t I finish cleaning up for you guys?”

“Oh, no don’t worry about it, we’re almost done anyway--” Daphné started, but Eliott cut her off.

“No, no, I insist. You’ve done enough. Lucas can help me finish.”

Lucas raised his eyebrows at Eliott, not wholly pleased to be dragged into clean up duty, especially given the messy state of the room. Eliott merely smiled in return, probably due to the lasting high of his date.

“Ok…” Daphné said hesitantly. “Call any of us if you change your mind.”

“Will do.”

With that, the girls took the few items they had brought and filed out of the room, chatting amongst one another, leaving Lucas and Eliott alone.

“You do realize what you’ve volunteered for, right?” Lucas clarified, gesturing around the messy room.

Eliott laughed. “You do realize we’re wizards, right?”

Oh. Yeah. They were, weren’t they?

Eliott cast a few quick spells, debris and dust disappearing as blankets folded themselves and food crumbs vanished from the floor. “That was easy, wasn’t it?”

Eliott made magic look so effortless, like they weren’t just words he was speaking, but a fundamental part of him. Lucas was never able to connect like that to his magic, to feel like it was a part of him. He wished he was, that he felt it deeply in his soul. He wasn’t even sure if he felt anything deeply in his soul at all. At least, not like Eliott did. Lucas held Eliott’s gaze for a moment before his eyes snagged on something in the corner of the room that he hadn’t noticed before. Eliott followed his eyes.

“Did you know I can play the Star Wars theme on the piano? I would show you but I don’t want to impress you too much.” Eliott was closer to him now, teasing grin on his face. Lucas wasn’t paying attention to Eliott for once, eyes still on the piano in the corner. Maybe there was something that made him feel connected to the deepest parts of his soul. He walked over to the piano without sparing Eliott a glance or response, sitting on the bench and running his fingers over the smooth keys. He pressed down on three of them, just to see if the piano was in tune.

“I must say, my Star Wars cover is better,” Eliott joked, sitting down beside him.

“Mmm,” Lucas mumbled in response, trying to call up the memory of a piece he had played long ago with his mom who was no longer his mom. How simple things had been back then, before his dad left and his mom was committed and he was put into the system, only to be scooped up by a different set of parents who still cared too little.

He tested out the same three keys, this time adding a fourth. Yes, this was right. It was all coming back to him now. Closing his eyes briefly, he let instinct take over, playing the song that reminded him of the life he had lost, but the best parts of that life. Sitting with his head on his mother’s shoulder as she played, memorizing her movements, running around outside with his mother and father, basking in the warm air, singing with his mother in the kitchen as she made dinner, not noticing when his father barely showed up or refused to sing along.

Lucas became swept up in the music, fingers hitting the keys softly, but intentionally, performing with a bliss he hadn’t remembered existed until that moment. It was only when he felt something brush his shoulder that he remembered Eliott was sitting beside him, watching, listening. He also remembered what the song was called. I love you. He hoped Eliott wasn’t too versed in contemporary classical music.

The song was nearing the end, Lucas hadn’t even realized he’d played the whole thing already, so he tapered off, letting his fingers trail the last few notes gently. The silence that filled the room when he finished was charged with energy. He was too scared to look at Eliott, see his reaction to the impromptu concert he had just given.

“C’etait ouf,” Eliott said, voice thick with an emotion Lucas couldn’t place. He couldn’t tell if Eliott was speaking French on purpose or because he was too dumbfounded to find the words in English. Maybe he was impressed, Lucas thought foolishly.

Eliott cleared his throat and spoke again, still in French. “T’es surprenant.”

Lucas couldn’t help it, his head snapped up to meet Eliott’s eyes, stunned by the emotion they held when he looked into them. Eliott’s eyes told him everything he needed to know, and suddenly Lucas didn’t feel so self conscious, didn’t worry about the girl that Eliott was mad for.

Eliott’s eyes flicked down to Lucas’ hands, still resting on the keys. “J’aime bien les gens surprenant.”

Lucas didn’t know what to say to that, so he just held Eliott’s gaze. Something passed between them, something Lucas didn’t have the energy or ability to tell himself meant anything other than what he wanted it to. Before his brain could get too far ahead of itself, Lucas blinked and looked away, breaking contact.

“How did your date go?” he asked, forcing the words out. They tasted bitter on his tongue.

Eliott responded with what sounded like genuine confusion. “My date?”

“Yeah, with your mystery girl. Arthur told me about her, said you won’t shut up about her.” Lucas tried to keep his voice light, teasing. This was how friends talked to each other about who they were dating, right? Eliott didn’t answer right away, so Lucas looked up at him again, trying to gauge what his response would be.

Eliott looked caught between emotions, partially amused, partially confused, and partially afraid. “Arthur told you… and where did Arthur get his information?”

“From you? He said you talk his ear off about some girl in our potions class every night. If you aren’t careful he might try to feed you to Brian.” Was he doing ok at this platonic teasing thing? Or was it coming off weird? Well, they did like weird, he supposed. Lucas was so caught up in his own thoughts that he almost missed Eliott’s response.

“Even if I did have a mystery date… who said it would be a girl?”

All the breath went out of Lucas’ body at once, almost as if Eliott had punched him in the stomach. Had he said what Lucas thought he’d said? That couldn’t be right. There was no way…

But maybe there was. Eliott had sat by him in the Great Hall instead of anyone else. Eliott had told him he had supermodel eyes. Eliott had gone where he’d gone, had followed him to make sure he was ok on multiple occasions, had listed the smells of his Amortentia when Lucas had been embarrassed by listing his. Eliott had followed him on Instagram. Eliott had laid on the floor with him and drawn a hundred variations of his patronus just because he wanted Lucas to know he cared.

No, Lucas told his brain, stop it. Just because Eliott had said his mystery date wasn’t necessarily a girl, it didn’t mean it was Lucas. He was just teasing Lucas, seeing how he would react.

He looked up at Eliott and saw Eliott looking back. Lucas took a deep breath, and opened up the windows to his soul, letting Eliott see what was inside and do with it what he pleased. Neither of them were laughing anymore, all traces of humor gone from their faces. Lucas was serious in how he felt, and he wanted to know if Eliott was serious too. Am I the one you talk about at night?

Then Eliott opened up his eyes, his soul, at least a part of it, to Lucas, and the world was destroyed and rebuilt all within that single glance. Lucas saw himself reflected in Eliott’s eyes, but it wasn’t totally him. It was a version of himself that he didn’t realize existed, someone surprising, someone beautiful, someone worth loving. There was no mystery girl in Eliott’s eyes, only Lucas, and Eliott, and Lucas and Eliott.

I think I might kiss him, Lucas thought to himself, I think I might kiss him right here on this piano bench. They were already close, but not close enough. Lucas inched forward, bit by bit, taking much longer than he probably needed to, but still trying to work up the courage. He noticed Eliott was doing the same. He tilted his head up slightly, realizing he would have to do so to reach Eliott’s mouth. The thought was exhilarating to him for no reason at all. He realized then that maybe his life had been leading up to this moment. He had never met a person like Eliott before and he didn’t think that he ever would again. Everything before Eliott had been fake, had been Lucas wanting to live but being too scared. He didn’t think he was scared anymore.

Their noses brushed and Lucas closed his eyes slowly, savoring every moment. Eliott’s hand came to rest on his on top of the piano keys, their lips were so close, not even a breath of air between them. He felt like he could taste Eliott already. It took all of his willpower to not just grab Eliott by the face right there and join their lips, hungry and desperate. Lucas swallowed, jaw clenching slightly. Not afraid, never afraid with Eliott. Their top lips brushed…

“Oh thank goodness you guys are still here!”

They shot apart in an instant; Lucas nearly fell off the piano bench. Their intruder hardly seemed to notice, or care. Daphné was smiling at them, oblivious to everything she had interrupted.

“I left my prefect badge in here, did either of you see it while you were cleaning? Where did that piano come from?” She bent down to search the floor for her missing badge. Eliott hopped up off the piano bench, holding something small out for Daphné to take.

“I found this when I came in, but I didn’t know whose it was,” he offered. Lucas watched as her face went from worried to relieved, though he himself couldn’t feel anything but angry with her. It wasn’t her fault, but still.

“Thank you Eliott! You’re a lifesaver! I can’t imagine, if I would have lost it for real… I’d never live it down. Anyway, what are you two still doing here? You did a great job on cleaning up!” She smiled at the two of them eagerly. To his credit, Eliott smiled back. Lucas couldn’t make his face muscles do anything other than grimace and try not to show that he was hexing Daphné in his head. “I’ll walk out with you,” she finished.

Lucas waited for Eliott to refuse her offer, to tell her that they still had work to do before they left, but he simply nodded and looked to Lucas for confirmation, eyes duller than they had been a moment before. Had Lucas imagined everything after all?

He finally got up from the piano bench and made his way out of the room, trailing a few steps behind Eliott and Daphné, who were engaged in a conversation about the next inter-house unity club meeting. In the entry hall, at the bottom of the stairs Daphné turned to them both with a sad smile.

“I guess I have to leave you, my common room is by the kitchens, you know. Thank you so much for coming to movie night, Lucas, and thanks for helping clean up and finding my badge Eliott. You give inter-house unity a good name.” She kissed them both on the cheek before parting, nearly skipping her way to the Hufflepuff common room.

Lucas didn’t know what to do now that he and Eliott were alone again. “Walk you back to your common room?” Eliott suggested, gesturing a hand to the stairwell.

Lucas laughed, “Our common rooms are right near each other. You’re walking that way anyway.”

Eliott shrugged. “My mystery potions girl didn’t argue when I walked her home earlier,” he said with mock seriousness. Lucas laughed again and shoved Eliott lightly, making him stumble as they started up the stairs. The responding look Eliott gave Lucas almost made up for the fact that Daphné had interrupted them earlier. Almost.

Eliott was so full of light, brighter than the sun. Every look he gave Lucas was unique only to him, a secret the two of them shared. Lucas hoped that Eliott felt the same way, but he didn’t know if anyone, himself included, was physically capable of the rare beauty Eliott exuded and shared just by existing.

“Wait a minute,” Eliott said as they were halfway up their fifth set of stairs. Neither one of them had been moving particularly fast, but they were both a bit out of breath. Eliott steadied himself by placing a hand on Lucas’ shoulder, laughing through breaths. “Who designed this place?”

“Who decided we can’t apparate inside the castle grounds is a better question,” Lucas countered, “We’d get to classes so much faster. Not that I can apparate yet anyway.”

“No?” Eliott asked bewilderedly.

“Uh, no? You have to be seventeen. I don’t turn seventeen until July. Plus, apparition lessons for sixth years don’t start for a month or so.”

“Oh, right,” Eliott said, picking up his pace. Lucas hurried to try to match him, a difficult task on his much shorter legs.

“Are you going to do the apparition lessons?” Lucas asked once he caught up, then cringed internally. “I mean, of course you are, we can’t take the test unless we take the lessons.”

Eliott didn’t look at Lucas as he spoke. “I already have my apparition license.”

“Oh,” Lucas said in surprise, “That’s cool. Were the rules different at Beauxbatons?”

“No. I’m seventeen.”

Lucas waited for Eliott to elaborate, but it became clear after a moment that he wasn't going to. He tried not to feel disappointed. If Eliott didn’t feel like sharing personal details at the moment, he didn’t have to. Lucas changed the subject, joking about whether Harriet would rather murder Eliott for not paying attention in potions than unfollow him on Instagram. The relief was palpable off of Eliott when Lucas changed the subject, and Lucas tried not to worry about why.

Soon, too soon, they stood in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, the entrance to Lucas’ common room. “Thanks for walking me back, I know it was really out of the way,” Lucas joked.

Eliott smiled, less luminous than before. This smile had a more serious quality to it, almost like Eliott was bracing himself for something. His eyes flicked to the portrait and back to Lucas’ face. “This is where we say goodnight, then.”

“This is where we say goodnight, then,” Lucas repeated.

They stood there for a beat, just looking at one another. Tell me, Lucas urged, tell me now that I’m not making all this up. Tell me that you want this as much as I do. It was Eliott who looked away first. “Goodnight, Lucas.”

“Goodnight, Eliott.”

Eliott walked a few steps before turning back to look at Lucas over his shoulder. Similarly to the other day, Lucas was standing exactly where Eliott had left him. “Thank you,” Eliott said. It wasn’t what Lucas had been expecting, though he didn’t totally know what he had been expecting.

“For what?” He was genuinely curious.

“For showing me your soul. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Eliott answered simply. Lucas blinked in surprise as Eliott turned away once again and didn’t look back. That night Lucas would dream of pianos and Eliott and the universe and everything in between. He would see himself the way Eliott saw him, and he wouldn’t be afraid or ashamed of what he saw.

Then, he would wake up in the morning and forget he had dreamt anything at all.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

AO3

Weekly Instagram Roundup: Week 1 Week 2

#elu hogwarts au #skam france #elu fic #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #la fin des temps #this was a loooong one #sorry but also not #elu #instagram au

97 notes · View notes

theworldofsisi · 4 years

Text

Overdose Scene 3

Kim HimChan stared at the bowl of food sitting on the table in front of him longingly. He was hungry - no, starving was more like it. He wanted to eat, but couldn't bring himself to put his chopsticks in the food and bring it to his lips. He had gained weight, after all of the methods he had tried to keep it off. The visual member of B.A.P had struggled with body image issues his entire life - he had been a heavier kid and it had been hard for him to find cool clothes like other boys could wear while growing up, but despite not always being comfortable in his skin, he had never let it get him down.

That had been until he was about twenty years old and was scouted by TS Entertainment to be in a new boy band that the company was planning to debut the following January. The director, Tae-Sung, had told HimChan that he liked how Him sounded and thought that he had natural good looks, but the only problem was that at his weight he didn't fit in with the “boy band image.” Tae-Sung told Him that there was no way that he would do well on popularity polls on Naver if he didn't lose weight because no female fans would be interested in a heavy-set member.

Hearing that he was too heavy to ever be thought of as attractive destroyed any self-confidence that HimChan had in himself. Being insulted in that way made him feel angry and hurt, and for awhile, he used those emotions to fuel the binge diet that TS put him on so that he could lose enough weight before B.A.P's scheduled debut date. After a few months on the diet, HimChan's weight loss came to a halt and Tae-Sung realized that they were quickly running out of time.

Even though he never stated it directly, HimChan understood loud and clear that the director was implying that he wanted him to starve himself to make him lose weight faster. It started with HimChan eating small meals and doing things like skipping breakfast, eating half of a salad for lunch, and the other half of his salad for dinner. He did this for a few months and saw some results and the director seemed to be satisfied with his level of progress, but to HimChan, it wasn't enough. He wasn't doing enough - he still wasn't good enough.

HimChan purged for the first time after eating a full meal one night. He had over indulged in his favorite food, pasta, which was full of calories and fats. Feeling physically sick after realizing how much he had eaten, HimChan made himself throw up the food. At first, the experience is hard for him, but after doing it for a few more days, HimChan realized that he liked the way that it felt.

He was now able to eat anything he wanted without having to worry about gaining weight. This method of weight loss quickly proved to be far from full proof when after days of either starving himself completely or purging anything he ate, HimChan would become so hungry that the only thing that he could think of would be food. He would cave in and binge eat until he felt sick, then purge everything he had eaten, encasing him in a vicious and unhealthy cycle.

Eventually, HimChan lost enough weight to satisfy Tae-Sung, but even after reaching a weight that he felt at least okay at, he wasn't able to stop starving himself. Every time he began eating regularly, the company cautioned him against eating more than he needed to prevent him from gaining weight again.

With a sigh Him stuck his chopsticks in the noodles in front of him, grabbing some beef and vegetables along with them. He put the food in his mouth and chewed stiffly, not really tasting it. His stomach rumbled hungrily at the little bit of food, but HimChan quickly found himself feeling sick. That happened a lot when he ate - it wasn't that the bulimia made him puke. His body did that for him - it was as if it was used to not getting nutrients and immediately rejected what he ate. Despite mounting nausea, he ate another bite of food then another, continuing until he had eaten half of the bowl.

He dipped his chopsticks back in for another bite, but his stomach gave a lurch and he knew that he wasn't going to be able to keep the food down. It was in him slowly but surely adding to the weight that already wouldn't leave his body. The little bit of food moved uncomfortably in HimChan's stomach and he grimaced, knowing that he was going to give in. He couldn't deal with the nausea - if he just purged, it would be over quicker. Waiting the feeling out was torture that just wasn't worth it.

Him pushed his chair back from the table and stood up quickly, causing his head to swim mercilessly. With legs feeling like jelly, he rushed to the bathroom at the other end of the dorm, locking the door before sliding to his knees in front of the toilet. He laid his head against the closed lid, heart beating fast and desperately trying to calm down his erratic breathing. Without warning his stomach rebelled and he flipped the lid up, barely managing to lean his head over the bowl before his dinner made its reappearance.

He gagged and retched again, but nothing came up. He felt full like there was a ton of bricks in his stomach and not just half of a bowl of food he normally loved. The feeling was too much - he had eaten too much. He was going to get fat again, he wouldn't look good anymore if he didn't stay thin. B.A.P couldn't have a fat visual - it would ruin their reputation. That same damned reputation that was the reason that his entire ordeal had started.

The feeling of fullness didn't go away and Him couldn't take it anymore. With a shaking hand, he closed his eyes, refusing to look at the toilet as he shoved his fingers in his mouth, triggering his gag reflex. He vomited again, this time feeling a pleasant sensation of release as the fullness in his stomach began to evaporate.

He hated himself for thinking that it felt good - how could something like this ever be enjoyable? He was making himself sick to lose weight. That wasn't normal, he wasn't normal anymore. By this point he was a freak, right? Addicted to the feeling of being able to eat and not gain weight.

But that was a double-edged sword, wasn't it? Because in the end, this was always the final result. He couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed a full meal and kept it all down. It always came up one way or another, whether by his fingers or his own body rejecting food because it was so often starved.

The worst part was that even though he felt less full, he wasn't done. He still had too much in his body - it was like poison. Toxic, slowly killing him. He had to get it out, too. That only made it easier as he shoved his fingers deeper into his throat, instantly causing him to let out more.

He went on like this for a few more minutes, until he was dry heaving and his throat felt like sandpaper. The only thing he hated was the aftereffects of the acidic substance burning his throat. He had thrown up more than he usually did - he was sure that the leftover stomach acid coating his throat would leave painful sores that would make singing his lines hard, but he would just ignore the pain - it was his fault anyway.

HimChan didn't dare move from the floor as he still felt sick, but he heard a soft knock on the door and his heart stopped. Dammit, he hadn't thought of the other members in the dorm. He was an idiot - they had probably all heard him. They would know that he did this to himself, that he wasn't normal.

A moment later he heard a low voice on the other side of the door and recognized JongUp instantly. “Hyung, are you alright? I thought I heard someone throwing up.”

Still shaking, HimChan didn't answer but reached up and unlocked the door. He was terrified of being caught, but maybe just maybe he could play it off as the stomach flu or food poisoning. He hated the thought of lying to his naive dongsaeng, but the truth would hurt more than the lie.

The door creaked open and JongUp stood in the doorway, concern clearly in his sharp gaze. He took one look at the shaking HimChan on the floor then into the toilet and understanding dawned on his face. He walked to the sink and filled a cup with water before squatting beside HimChan. He held the cup out to the older member but quickly realized that his hyung wouldn't be able to hold the cup without spilling it all over both of them. He helped him guide the cup to his lips and take a sip before rinsing his mouth out and spitting it into the toilet.

HimChan repeated the process a few times before the taste of vomit was fully out of his mouth. His shaking lessened and he held the cup on his own, swallowing the rest of the water to ease his parched throat. JongUp eyed him quietly, but HimChan knew that he was just giving him a minute to recover before attacking him with questions.

He reached up and flushed the toilet before standing up and sliding past JongUp to stand in front of the sink. He was pale and sweaty - he didn't look well at all. With a slight wince, he washed his hands and then grabbed his toothbrush from the medicine cabinet. JongUp stood as his hyung cleaned up, gaze never leaving him.

Once HimChan was finished, the older maknae of B.A.P gave him a weird look that made Him's heart beat faster. Here it comes - the moment where JongUp would tell him that he knows everything. “Hyung, why were you sick?” was all he asked, his voice casual and unassuming.

HimChan relaxed slightly, realizing that he could easily play it off. “The stir fry made me sick. I think I used too much oil to cook it with.”

JongUp shook his head in disagreement. “Yeah, but all five of the rest of us ate that same stir fry, and none of us are feeling sick. Why was it just you?”

“Everyone's bodies are different, Jonguppie.”

“Maybe, but you eat burgers from the Shake Shack every time we go to the States. They're greasier than the entire pot of stir fry, and you eat more of them than you did your food tonight. I saw your bowl on the table- you barely at half of it. How did that little make you sick, but not all of us who finished our bowls?”

“I don't know why, but it did. What else would have made me sick?”

JongUp bit his lip and looked at the ground as if mentally debating. In the end, he gave HimChan a sharp look, knowing that his next words were for his hyungs own good. “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you make yourself sick? Don't try and use the stir fry as an excuse. When you tried to grab water out of my hand, I smelled puke. I know that we were right beside it, but it smelled closer, hyung. It was on your hand or something.”

HimChan felt his heart rise up into his throat but he took a breath. JongUp seemed to be onto something, but he could still get out of this if he tried. “I was feeling pretty sick, JongUp. I puked in my hand before I got to the bathroom.”

“Why wasn't there a mess anywhere else, then? I don't think you could have done that without at least some getting on yourself or the floor. Plus, our room is right next to the kitchen, and I would have heard you if you had thrown up. I didn't hear you until I came to use the bathroom.”

“You were in a room with five other people. I'm sure you could have been distracted and not heard because everyone else was being noisy.”

“That's the thing, though. YongGuk and Junhong are sleeping, DaeHyun and YoungJae are watching a movie with headphones in, and I was reading posts on twitter. It was completely quiet.” JongUp shook his head in resignation. “Maybe the food did make you sick, but I'm not convinced that you're not lying to me, hyung. You've been nervous since I got in here - you're still sweating even though I cut the air on.”

“Y..you cut the air on?”

JongUp nodded. “Yeah, while you were brushing your teeth - you were too distracted to notice. It made it colder in here, but you're still sweating just as bad. People usually do that when they're hiding something.”

HimChan laughed sarcastically against his will. “Did you learn that in high school psychology?”

JongUp glared, instantly shutting the older member up. “Yeah, I did. But I'm not wrong, am I? You're nervous because you know that I'm onto you.”

“I'm sweaty because I just puked my guts up, JongUp. Are you ever cold after you've just been sick? It heats your entire body up for awhile.”

“Normally when I'm legitimately sick, I have cold chills underneath the heat. Are you cold, hyung?”

“No, I'm not. But not everyone is like you - I get hot after I throw up.”

“Really? Because last time you had the stomach flu, you were complaining that you were freezing and took all of our blankets to warm yourself up, even though you had a high fever too.”

“I..” HimChan tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Your body doesn't always have the same reaction to being sick - this is a different type of sickness, anyway. I got sick from food, not from a virus.”

JongUp sighed as he realized that if he didn't use the bathroom soon, his bladder was going to explode. “Sure you did, hyung..” He moved closer to the toilet before looking at HimChan over his shoulder. “I need to pee. Close the door, will you?

HimChan complied, happy to finally escape his dongsaeng's interrogation. The kid was a lot sharper than he gave him credit for, and it terrified him. Did he actually know or was he just taking an educated guess? More to the point, how had he found out? Had he really been that careless that it was easy for B.A.P's most 4D member to find out so easily?

The visual's head was pounding again, this time not from mounting nausea. With a sigh he walked to the member's shared bedroom and crawled into his bed, ignoring curious looks from DaeHyun and YoungJae who were laying on the floor watching a movie.

Once completely covered by his blankets, HimChan felt tears spring to his eyes and he let them fall against his sheets, choked sobs being swallowed by the pillow.

#himchan #yongguk #zelo #youngjae #jongup #Daehyun #bap #best absolute perfect #daejae #jonglo #banghim #angst #smut #mental health #trigger warning

1 note · View note

theliberaltony · 6 years

Link

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Welcome to Secret Identity, our regular column on identity and its role in politics and policy.

In the last edition of this column we looked at “electability” as a concept, and some of its more problematic undertones. This week, let’s explore the nuts and bolts of electability — what factors make someone more (or less) likely to win an election. I know everyone is thinking about this question in terms of who the Democrats should nominate to take on President Trump in 2020, but I want to explore both presidential races and down-ballot contests, since we have much more data on the latter.

First, two really important caveats. One, there have been only 58 presidential elections in U.S. history. That’s a fairly limited data set — and one of the main reasons why you should be skeptical when someone confidently suggests one potential presidential aspirant is more or less electable than another. Second, the way we think and talk about politics often overemphasizes candidates and campaign strategies and underplays what political scientists refer to as the fundamentals — factors like the state of the economy and which party controls the White House at the time of the election. One view of the 2008 election, for example, is that Barack Obama ran a brilliant campaign that overcame America’s racial divides. Another view is that once Obama won the Democratic nomination he was virtually a lock — the GOP was trying to win a third straight presidential term, which is generally hard to do, and there was a stock market crash a few weeks before the election.

With those caveats in mind, I’m going to start with a Gallup poll from 2015, because I think it’s telling in some important ways. Gallup asked people if they would vote for a presidential candidate from their own party if the person were “well-qualified” and were, say, Muslim, or Jewish or a socialist. (Gallup had 11 categories in all.) More than 90 percent of Americans said they would vote for a woman, a black candidate, a Jewish candidate or a Latino candidate, while fewer than 10 percent said they would not. By this measure, women and nonwhite candidates are pretty electable. (People could be lying to pollsters, but let’s take people at their word for now. And even so, 7 or 8 percent of the electorate isn’t nothing.)

Who would Americans NOT vote for?

Percentage of people in 2015 survey who would not vote for a “generally well-qualified” person nominated from their own party if they had each of the following characteristics

Democrat Republican Overall Socialist 38% 73% 50% Atheist 35 55 40 Muslim 27 54 38 Evangelical Christian 33 14 25 Gay or lesbian 14 38 24 Mormon 21 16 18 Hispanic 6 9 8 Woman 3 9 8 Black 4 9 7 Jewish 6 5 7 Catholic 5 7 6

Source: GALLUP

In contrast, 50 percent of Americans said they would not back a socialist candidate. More than a third were opposed to an atheist or Muslim candidate.1 Similarly, in a Pew Research Center 2016 survey, more than 40 percent of Americans said they would be less likely to vote for a candidate who is Muslim and more than half said they would be wary of someone who did not believe in God.2

So, if you want to have a conversation about whether an atheist or Muslim candidate for national office is “electable,” you at least have some data to support asking the question. (The better way to phrase that question, of course, is probably, “Are Americans too Islamophobic to elect _______.”) In addition, these are categories, not people. How does Americans’ resistance to a “socialist,” for example, relate to the once-and-maybe-future presidential candidate Bernie Sanders, who describes himself as a democratic socialist? We are not totally sure, but it’s worth remembering that many of his views are shared by other leading Democrats — and voters might consider him more of a Democrat than a socialist if he is the party’s 2020 nominee.

Electability concerns are still raised about plenty of candidates who don’t fall into those categories, particularly women, minority candidates and people with views more out of the ideological mainstream of U.S. politics. And just because Americans say they wouldn’t rule out voting for these candidates, that doesn’t mean those identities have no effect on how elections play out. So, let’s look at some of those other factors now, where the electability effects perhaps aren’t as explicit.

Women

This is a tricky question to answer. The best data we have on how gender affects elections is in down-ballot races. An extensive study of U.S. House races from 1982 to 2012 by the University of Georgia’s Jason Anastasopoulos found no “gender penalty” for women candidates. That was true in terms of raising money and in garnering general election votes.3

“Based on a systematic analysis of the 2010 and 2014 midterm House elections, we found not only that women win at equal rates, but also that the content of women’s and men’s campaigns looks the same, the volume and substance of the media coverage they receive is indistinguishable, and voters assess male and female candidates on a variety of issue competencies as equals,” said Jennifer Lawless, a professor at the University of Virginia, referring to research she did with Danny Hayes of George Washington University for the 2016 book “Women on the Run.”

“In short, it all comes down to party,” she added. “Whether there is a D or an R in front of a candidate’s name is far more important — to voters, donors, journalists, and their opponents — than the presence or absence of a Y chromosome in a candidate’s DNA.”

That’s Congress, though. Many observers have asked whether gender plays out differently in the context of a presidential election. Two scholars at the University of Texas at Dallas concluded that attitudes about gender were a much bigger factor in determining how Americans voted in 2016 compared to 2012 (when there were two male candidates), but on balance that helped Clinton because the number of voters with sexist views were outnumbered by those with less sexist views. Clinton did not do as well as Obama electorally, but that probably had more to do with the fundamentals of the race (the fact that she was running for the third term of her party was a disadvantage for example). Other scholarship also shows that attitudes about gender did correlate more closely with how people voted in 2016 than in previous elections — but so did racial attitudes. (So it’s likely that Trump brought gender and race to the forefront in 2016 as much as Clinton.)

But we should be cautious here. Clinton was the first woman to win a major party presidential nomination. If we don’t have a big sample of presidential elections in general, we have far less than even that for women running for president. So I don’t think we can dismiss the idea that Clinton’s gender played some role in the campaign. There were facets of the campaign that are difficult to explain without gender — such as the somewhat odd view of American voters throughout 2016 that Clinton and Trump were basically equally untrustworthy. From a scholarly perspective, however, Clinton followed the pattern — there is not a big penalty in terms of vote share for being a woman in U.S. elections.

“In terms of most of the academic and advocacy research we have, there is no voting or fundraising penalty in the raw data we have about who votes for women as nominees,” said Shauna Shames, a political scientist at Rutgers University and expert on the role of gender in politics.

“But that does not mean there is no gender penalty,” she added. “It just means, to my mind, that only the stronger female candidates run, and those can raise as much money and votes as the mediocre men. We should actually therefore see a penalty against men, in favor of the women who make it through the (tougher for women) gauntlet of becoming candidates, and we should see these women raising more money than men. But we do not. That the levels are equal, therefore, does not prove to my mind that there is no penalty for women — it suggests in fact that there is one, just one we don’t see.”

Race and ethnicity

African-Americans — Generally, there is evidence that black candidates increase turnout among black voters but do worse with white voters, perhaps because black candidates are perceived to be more liberal than white candidates with similar ideological stances.

Obama’s presidential campaigns seem to have conformed to this pattern. University of Massachusetts Amherst professor Brian Schaffner, for example, argued that Obama’s candidacy caused more voters to see the 2008 campaign through a racialized prism and that cost Obama support from people with more racist views. Schaffner estimated that Obama lost about 3 percentage points of the white vote, which comprised about 75 percent of the electorate in 2008. So that’s about 2 points overall. Economist and data scientist Seth Stephens-Davidowitz estimated that Obama lost about 4 percentage points in the national popular vote in 2008 and 2012 because of his race. Other experts, such as Nate Cohn, who’s now with The New York Times, have argued that that overestimates the racial backlash.

The flip side for Obama is that the black turnout rate was more than 65 percent in both of his runs, compared to about 60 percent in 2004 and 2016, when Democrats ran white presidential candidates, according to U.S. Census Bureau data. That matters. Clinton likely would have won Michigan and Wisconsin with 2012-level turnout among blacks.

Latinos — I found less research on Latino candidates. But there is some evidence they too face a penalty. A paper written last year by Neil Visalvanich of Durham University in the United Kingdom estimated that Latino Democratic candidates performed 6 percentage points worse with white voters than white Democratic candidates of similar ideology. The study, based on 2010 and 2012 congressional election results, found the penalty for Latino Democrats to be higher than that of black Democratic candidates (3 percentage points, according to Visalvanich).

There is evidence, based on mayoral and U.S. Senate elections, that Latinos are more likely to vote for Latino candidates. But direct appeals to Latinos, according to scholars, are likely to cause a backlash among some white voters. And Latino Democratic candidates, like black ones, are likely to be perceived as more liberal than white ones with similar ideologies.

Asians — We don’t have as much data here, But in his study, Visalvanich estimated that Asian Democratic candidates did better with white voters than even white candidates.

Ideology

Would it help the Democrats in 2020 if they had a “centrist” at the top of the ticket? All else being equal, it’s probably safe to conclude that candidates more removed from the mainstream of American political thought will do worse at the ballot box. There is some evidence, for example, that Republican presidential nominee Barry Goldwater (1964) and Democratic nominee George McGovern (1972) lost by larger margins than other factors would have predicted in their elections because of the ideological extremism of their voting records.

But ideology is somewhat complicated to measure, particularly for people who haven’t served in legislative bodies (like Montana Gov. Steve Bullock, a potential Democratic candidate in 2020) or in any political office at all (like Trump.) Trump’s Muslim plan was perhaps the most radical idea proposed by any recent presidential candidate, but voters had trouble pinning the candidate down on a left-right spectrum before the election. Trump, according to the Pew Research Center, won the plurality of 2016 voters who described their views as “mixed” and basically was even with Clinton among self-described independents.

Still, unlike race and gender, there is some solid grounding to claim that extreme candidates are less “electable.” Who gets labeled “extreme,” on the other hand, tends to be a less empirical exercise.

There are, of course, other characteristics that could make someone more or less electable. Would it help Democrats win the Midwest if they nominated someone from that region? What about the South? We didn’t get into age in this analysis, but in a 2014 Pew poll, 36 percent of people said they were less likely to vote for a candidate in his or her 70s. (Trump was 70 when he was elected in 2016.)

And that fact about Trump and age speaks to the point I started with: We don’t really know who is electable until the election. In terms of 2020, it’s hard to know how much it matters who Democrats nominate.

Maybe it will matter a lot –– because some of the fundamentals favor Trump (he is an incumbent and the economy is strong), so the Democrats may need a savvy candidate to win a race where Trump will be formidable. Or maybe the Democratic candidate won’t matter much at all — that the biggest fundamental of the election will be Trump’s very high disapproval rating, and Americans will vote for just about anyone to replace him.

If you have ideas for future Secret Identity columns, please reach out to me via email ([email protected]) or Twitter (@perrybaconjr.)

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Perry Bacon Jr.

6 notes · View notes

graciebirdie · 7 years

Text

The Sun, The Moon, And The Stars Part 3

Oh my god you guys this section/chapter/whatever really kicked my ass. It turned into a crime procedural? Just fyi all the legal stuff is from tv so...

Part one here / part two here

Peter had to admit, he was mildly impressed with Derek’s other two betas. They, at least, had the ability to think on their feet and the common sense not to bring up werewolves when dealing with humans.

He had actually laughed out loud when he realized they were carefully painting Gerard as racist.

The best part was that he could hear their heartbeats and they weren’t even lying. Apparently, Gerard had been less than subtle in the way he interacted with them. Good. That meant that there would be witnesses that would be able to corroborate their stories.

Nobody liked a racist. Especially one that was so blatant he would abduct an underage interracial couple. If this went to trial the jury would definitely side with the kids who were charismatic, believable and, so far, smart liars. The perfect combination as far as Peter was concerned.

Peter waited through Stiles being checked by the paramedics and listened to his heartbeat skitter around like a terrified animal. Stiles was lying through his teeth about his injuries.

Peter was quite confused by Stiles’ behavior. Why didn’t he let them check him completely? Was he afraid of being seen as weak by his father?

No, that couldn’t be it because he was whining loudly about his nose hurting.

Maybe he disliked hospitals? That might be it. Peter could definitely understand, he hated hospitals.

Maybe he was just worried about the cost of going to the hospital. Peter could remember the exorbitant fees when his… He pushed that thought away.

There was something wrong while Stiles. Not just physically. There was something mentally wrong, some reason why he needed to put others before himself.

It sounded to Peter like Stiles was the type to put his only family member above himself and refuse medical attention if it meant he wouldn’t stress out his father.

This new insight into Stiles just reinforced how much Peter wanted him on his side and gave him a better idea of how to do that. If Peter could show Stiles that he could both take care of Stiles and the people Stiles cared about then he would start to trust Peter.

But Stiles’ trust was hard won and he would probably only have one real chance to gain it. If he messed up, Stiles would never trust him and might even kill him, if Stiles thought it would be for the benefit of the pack.

Now Peter just had to figure out how to convince someone who didn’t easily trust that Peter was dependable. And it wouldn’t be easy, Peter had already attacked Stiles and two of the people he cared about.

Peter had a lot of work ahead of him…

***

Once Stiles and his father had driven off without incident Peter felt confident that the Kanima problem had been properly taken care of. He just had to find his nephew to confirm it.

Peter mildly regretted crushing his phone but it had been the best move at the time. He decided a howl would work well enough to find them. He made his way into the woods before throwing his head back and calling for his nephew who was not his alpha. Derek might have done the noble thing, killing Peter to stop him, but Peter would never be able to submit to someone who had killed him.

A shaky and weak howl answered his. Definitely not Derek or Scott. It must have been Derek’s vicious twiggy beta.

He followed it out to the old house.

There was he found a very grumpy looking Derek, an incredibly pleased Scott, a bored looking stick, a crying Lydia, and a very naked Jackson.

He eyed Lydia and Jackson in interest. Blood was smeared across Jackson’s back and Lydia was clinging to his front.

“So, I take it everything went well?” he asked, very interested to see if he had been right about how to defeat the Kanima.

Derek ignored him completely while Scott just glared.

It was Derek’s little bean poll that answered. “Derek and I killed him but he got back up and was all wolfed out.” He shrugged. It didn’t seem like he found the situation very interesting.

“Did Lydia say something to him before hand?” Peter asked, intrigued.

The boy shrugged again. “I guess.”

Well, that was good enough for Peter. He supposed all in all it hadn’t been the worst day. Nobody had died, which was a little unfortunate, but Peter decided it was a very good start to his dedication to turn over a new leaf.

“Well, if anyone’s interested Gerard was arrested.” That certainly got everybody’s attention. At lease there was a lot of exclamations of disbelief.

Derek growled and grabbed the front of Peter’s shirt. “What the hell did you do?”

Peter shoved him away and straightened his shirt. “Just my civic duty, nephew.”

Scott was doing a great impression of a flailing Stiles while Isaac, Lydia, and Jackson looked annoyed.

Derek growled some more. “What did. You do?”

Peter sighed and rolled his eyes. “I found Stiles and called the police.”

Scott squawked in indignation. “You called Stiles’ dad? Stiles is going to kill you!”

“No, I called the police. And they found Stiles and Derek’s two other little betas in Gerard’s basement so the police did their job and arrested him.” Peter was surrounded by idiots.

Isaac looked shocked. “Boyd and Erica? Are they alright?”

“Yes, they’re fine.” Unlike Stiles, but nobody had asked about him yet.

Derek was still growling. It was really starting to get old. “Where are they? How did Gerard even get them in the first place?”

“Oh, I don’t know Derek. Gerard’s a hunter, how does he get anyone?” Scott was still seething. “I can’t believe you called Stiles’ dad! Why didn’t you tell us where they were?”

Peter wondered if Stiles would get mad if he killed Scott. Probably best not to risk it. “Because Stiles is human and his father is the sheriff. It was the best possible way to distract Gerard while the Kanima was being taken care of. And it had the added bonus of making Gerard not our probable anymore.”

Scott still wasn’t getting it. “But you involved Stiles’ dad with this stuff! You can’t do that!”

The temptation to kill Scott was getting harder to resist. Peter was going to have to leave soon. “Scott, Gerard is a human who made to the mistake of kidnapping the sheriff’s son. He was practically begging to be arrested. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go before I kill all of you.”

He turned and stomped off, towards the person who would hopefully understand his motives.

Peter couldn’t believe these people.

Derek was supposed to be an alpha. He should have cared, at least a little bit about a pack-adjacent human.

And Scott. Stiles’ best friend. His only concern was Stiles’ father. Of course, the sheriff was Stiles concern, too. It must have rubbed off onto Scott. But that just made Peter even angrier. Scott should have been able to see what Stiles was doing and taken care of him.

Neither one had asked about Stiles and they had seemed incredibly angry that Peter had managed a peaceful solution to one (or two depending how it was counted) of their problems.

As for Lydia, Jackson, and Isaac, they were nonentities as far as Peter was concerned. He could not care less about them.

Lydia had done her part in bring Peter back from the dead so he had no more use of her. And Stiles would more assuredly get mad if Peter bothered her again, anyway.

Jackson was so used to be in charge he was going to make a terribly uncooperative beta werewolf. Peter didn’t even have any sympathy for Derek. The boy deserved it for acting rashly. He should have learned from Peter’s mistakes with Scott.

Jackson and Stiles despised each other while Lydia pretended Stiles didn’t exist. Until she wanted something from him, that is. Peter knew the way Lydia’s mind worked. If she got her hands Stiles she would chew him up and spit back out someone completely different. Someone that wouldn’t even be Stiles anymore.

And Isaac had managed to both helpful and unhelpful at the same time, a juxtaposition Peter would normally find interesting but he’d gotten the sense that Stiles and Isaac were indifferent to each other so until Stiles told Peter to worry about Isaac Peter was going to ignore him.

Peter didn’t care about Derek and his little pack anymore. He was done with them. They weren’t his pack and he didn’t want them to be.

Actually, Peter was done with packs altogether. His first pack, his family, had been afraid of him because he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty, if it meant keeping them safe.

But they hadn’t been able to understand him or his motives and had always been worried he’d snap and kill them all. Or, at least, that’s what Talia had been afraid of.

His second pack had just been a complete disaster. One accidental beta that hated him and wanted to kill him and his nephew who hated him and had actually killed him.

Yes, Peter was done with packs. He needed to find a way to stop himself becoming an omega without them. Stiles on his own might be enough, once Stiles accepted Peter, but the idea didn’t sit quite right. Peter was very weak still and having no pack would just make him weaker. He needed to be strong if he was going to prove to Stiles that he could take care of him.

Peter needed to be an alpha again. But he didn’t want to kill his nephew even if

Peter wanted nothing to do with him. Committing parricide four times was probably excessive. Plus, he was trying to convince Stiles he was trustworthy. Killing Derek to become an alpha would only make Stiles distrust him more.

He needed some way to become an alpha without killing anyone.

He thought of the sharp boy-wolf-earth-magic smell of Stiles. He thought of a ritual he’d once read. If he could find the book with the ritual and convince Stiles it was a good idea maybe, just maybe he’d be able to become an alpha again and bind Stiles to him at the same time. It was at the very least, worth a try.

*** Peter went to the sheriff’s station first. It was late but the sheriff was probably still working and he would almost definitely be keeping Stiles close by.

Peter settled outside the view of the security cameras and listened.

He heard people moving around and talking about paperwork. He heard people crying. And someone excessively coughing.

He heard the sheriff speaking. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. You want me to not arrest Chris and Allison Argent for the assault and abduction of minors? You do realize I have over whelming evidence and very reliable witness statements, right? Why would I just ignore all of that?”

A man’s voice that Peter didn’t recognize spoke next. “Because Sheriff, my client will be willing to plead guilty to all charges. As long as his son and granddaughter are not charged and Mr. Argent is placed in a medical institution. The man has stage four lung cancer. He wouldn’t live long enough to stand trial.”

Well, wasn’t that an interesting development. Gerard was dying. That would probably explain some of his rasher decisions. Like trying to destroy the sheriff’s station and then killing someone right outside of it. Gerard was going off the rails because he was afraid of his own mortality.

Peter snorted. And then he laughed so hard he doubled over and had to hold his stomach when it started to ache from the laughter.

He tried to get himself back under control because the sheriff was talking again and Peter wanted to hear what he had to say. “I don’t need your client to plead guilty. Like I already told you we have a rock-solid case against him.”

The other man, assumedly Gerard’s lawyer huffed. “By witness do you mean your delinquent son? He would hold up on the stand.”

Peter could tell the sheriff was trying to sound calm when he spoke again. “I personally found your client in his basement with my son’s blood on his fists and two sixteen-year-olds tied up to a machine that was electrocuting them. I have more than enough evidence. I’m not taking a deal.”

The lawyer sighed. “Well, we’ll just have to see what the DA has to say about you having such an obvious personal connection to this that’s clouding your judgment.”

The sheriff actually growled at that. It was even a little impress, for a human. “I guess we will.”

Peter heard a chair scrap across the floor and then a door opening and closing.

There were a few minutes of normal late-night office noises before Peter heard the sheriff speaking again.

“Sorry to be the one to tell you this Jason but your boss just cut a deal. He’s got cancer and he’s throwing you under the bus so he can go to a nice cushy hospital and get free treatment.”

“What?! No, Mr. Argent wouldn’t do that! He doesn’t have cancer! You’re lying!” Presumably Jason was one of the seven heartbeats Peter had heard at the Argent’s house.

“It’s true. You haven’t noticed the way he’s been coughing lately?”

“But he’s just…got a cold?” Peter had to assume this man was a complete idiot.

“How long has he this cold, Jason?” And apparently the sheriff agreed with Peter.

“Look man, Mr. Argent’s been good to me. He wouldn’t just sell me out. He’s loyal.” Peter snorted. An Argent was only loyal to themselves.

The sheriff sighed. “You’re right. You caught me Jason. Gerard didn’t cut a deal-”

“Ah-ha! I knew it!” Jason crowed, interrupting the sheriff.

“You didn’t let me finish. He didn’t make a deal for you. He made a deal to save his son and granddaughter. He told me that this was all your idea. The one that decided to abduct Vernon Boyd and Erica Reyes. And my son.” There was a long moment of silence before the sheriff spoke again. “Now why do you think he’d say that, Jason?”

Jason didn’t say anything so the sheriff kept going.

“You do realize that you’re going to jail for abducting three minors, don’t you?”

Jason suddenly started yelling. “Those three pieces of shit?! How can you care about them when they’re not even human?!”

Peter made a mental note to congratulate the two betas on a job well done. The sheriff didn’t suspect werewolves and the hunters were just talking themselves into a hate crime. It was pretty perfect. Peter could very easily picture the sheriff leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and satisfied look on his face. “So he’s telling the truth? It was your idea?”

“NO! I wanted to just kill them but Mr. Argent said that it would be better if we used them as-” Jason cut himself off, no doubt starting to realize he’d made a mistake.

“So, you wanted to kill three teenagers but Gerard Argent wanted to use them for something? What did he want to use them for?”

Jason didn’t reply so the sheriff kept talking.

“Jason you have to help yourself here. If you don’t tell me exactly what happened the Argents’ are going to get away with this and you and your friend Todd are going to be left taking all of the blame. Gerard is dying, Allison is seventeen and just lost her mother, and Chris just lost his wife and sister. A jury would find them very sympathetic.”

“Okay…” Jason said slowly. “I’ll tell you what happened.”

“Now Jason, that’s what I like to hear.” The sheriff sounded pleased as punch.

Peter would have happily listened in to a hunter’s censored version of the events but he found himself distracted by the stations front door opening.

Stiles stepped outside, tripped over the door jam, and flailed for a moment. Peter let himself smile a little bit at the sight. Here was his chance to have a privet conversation with Stiles.

*** Peter knew he was grinning. He couldn’t stop himself. The conversation he’d had with Stiles had gone perfectly.

Sure, Stiles had yelled but he’d been surprised to see Peter and understandably so.

Stiles had almost instantly accepted that Peter was alive again and he had been visibly relieved that the Kanima was no longer a threat.

He’d taken Peter’s reassures about the Kanima without demanding corroboration too. Of course, he was probably going to call Scott to get his side of the story but Peter expected nothing less.

He’d even causally touched Peter, something no one else had done since before… Actually, Peter couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so calm around him. Sure, the touches hadn’t been the friendliest but they hadn’t been the least bit painful. And not just because Stiles was human. Stiles had shoved at Peter in mild frustration but it had felt more like Stiles silently telling Peter to just get on with it rather than trying to hurt him.

And Stiles had punched him but it had been so light Peter was tempted to call it a love tap. He knew Stiles had been trying not to hurt his hand on Peter’s face but the touch hadn’t even stung. It had been more playful than threatening.

Peter decided that their conversation had gone perfectly.

Now Peter just had to continue to prove his trustworthiness to Stiles. And he just happened to have the perfect way to start: the sheriff had only arrested five hunters. There was at least a dozen more running around Beacon Hills. None of them were going to be pleased that their bosses had been arrested and none of them had any respect for authority.

The sheriff had a target on his back and he didn’t even know it. But Peter knew and he was going to do everything he could to keep him safe. Because that would bring Peter one step closer to fulfilling his master plan.

Part Four Here

#so there it is #it took forever and I can't tell if it's any good or not #my shit #my fics #the sun the moon and the stars #Steter

170 notes · View notes