#and the only other volunteer shit around me is church stuff and I will NOT be helping any churches anywhere fucking ever for anyone

[thediktatortot]

.

#I'm literally never going to own a home of my own #I'm going to live and die in the same house as my parents and I'm never going to have my own space to call my own #to make my own or to spread out and have my own space #People wonder why I don't feel like a fucking adult #and I can tell them plain as day that it's because I live at home with no job and all I do all day is draw read and look at fucking #fictional shit all day #sure I work on the property but so fucking what #I'm still just wasting away at home with no life no friends nothing to do #I dont want to volunteer anywhere because it's only hard labor shit and I cant physically do those things #and the only other volunteer shit around me is church stuff and I will NOT be helping any churches anywhere fucking ever for anyone #idk #I try to meet people and I have nothing to talk about #everyone else seems to be having their own lives with shit going on and multiple social circles and here I am unable to even string togethe #more than two sentences because it usually only takes that long to get to “so what do you do?” and I have to figure out a way to explain #that I'm living at home with no job no friends and no life in a way that doesn't look fucking pathetic as fuck #I'm not well educated so I just fall behind in most conversation #I can't contribute so whats the fucking point #The only people I have to talk to are my parents because what else am I gonna do? I can't keep complaining to you guys all the time #not like it's going to change anything #if anything it will just make people avoid me more for always being a fucking downer all the time #my parents vaguely get my frustration but they can't do anything #not like we have money or connections of any kind so there's no 'setting me up' with other people my age #honestly I just wish the fucking internet would go away #maybe then more people would get out of their houses and go outside and meet people #idk i'm just fucking done with everything #I'm so numb and so tired and so lonely and I don't know what it is I want because every time I meet someone knew it's like I can't get clos #I don't feel ready for a relationship but I also feel like I'm fucking wasting away alone by myself and I really crave closeness #but I'm also not a dating person #I'm not here to waste another 5 years to someone just fucking around #i want a life time relationship

[headspace-hotel]

so, in regards to your recent posts on kane-tucky and usa food industry, do you / how do you keep active hope and not slip in into apathy and "looking out for my own" get out of dodge mentality? im having a hard time articulating this, but what makes you not curl up into a shaking mess in anger resentment and a deep desire for change that likely, if ever, wont happen in our lifetime.... any advice is appreciated

The short answer is "getting out and doing stuff in the real world, educating, volunteering, whatever is within your ability"

I will add that "looking out for your own" is not...bad. Like I don't know precisely what you mean by this phrase, but it's actually very important to come to terms with the fact that your impact is strongest where your feet touch the ground, and you have a responsibility and relationship to the people immediately around you, the place immediately around you.

This has not been a popular opinion of mine in the past, but...you can't and shouldn't care about literally everything on the planet. There is of course huge global disparity with access to resources and aid networks, and the largest communities we belong to are: all of Earth and the whole human species.

However: your level of agency is so low with issues that are happening on the other side of the world from you, compared with issues that are happening in your home town. And we're seeing people just get completely burned out from compassion fatigue without ever doing shit because the global responsibility is pushed on us and the local responsibility is not.

I hated my hometown for a decade. In high school I wanted so badly to leave. It's one of those desolate-feeling towns that's developed enough for a shopping center and big chain retailers but not enough to have a sense of community or a single bookstore. I've never been able to place myself precisely along the urban-rural spectrum because I feel isolated from even isolation: there's nowhere to go that doesn't feel razed by human development, where you can't hear the noise of traffic on roads, but it's all cattle pastures, sprawling storage facilities, auto parts stores, big, empty churches. One wrong turn will put you in a dark valley where there are rotting, derelict trailers on cinder blocks hidden back in the woods, and this place has that same feeling of "nowhere to go."

And I felt paralyzed by everything bad happening around the world and the fact that I was just one person, and I had gotten the horrible impression that the only thing I could do about anything was vote and donate money to links I saw online. The worst lie the internet taught me was that in saving the world, nothing matters except Power, Money, and an unclear third category that involves throwing bricks at cops.

But I touched grass. And the weeds taught me something. Do you see the parking lots, the harsh pavement and gravel and brick? I saw. I was surrounded by this landscape of brutal, totalitarian surfaces, impermeable concrete locking the soil away. But in the cracks in the surfaces, dandelions, purslane, and spurge were thriving.

I observed that the spurge stretched out like a shaggy rug and padded the concrete surfaces. The old leaves of the dandelions, as they withered, caught bits of dirt as it flowed into drainage ditches after rains. Soil was forming, and the sprawling structure of the early weeds seemed specially adapted for the task. In older cracks, more plants moved in; I found a wild ruellia blooming in a paved road, an evening primrose. And in some places, seedling trees.

Have you seen what happens when a sidewalk is left unmaintained for years? It disappears. The roots slowly buckle and break it into pieces, and it vanishes beneath lush leaves and moss. A tree growing in a crack in concrete will slowly pry the slab apart.

This is how my IRL rewilding project got started—just pulling plants from the pavement cracks, raising them in pots. I was surprised and awed at the resilience of the plants. I found little trees in concrete with at least two years' growth on them, that had survived being mowed down multiple times.

The weeds changed my viewpoint on the world forever. Up until that point, certain facts about power and politics and money had seemed like law, but I'd suddenly seen that there was a deeper magic.

The dandelions' survival made it possible for others to survive, which in turn made even more life flourish. They could not demolish and remove the concrete and pavement, but they could overcome it by refusing to be destroyed, because the power to take care of each other is in their nature.

People have made fun of me for telling others to go plant a tree. I think culturally we have this ingrained dismissal of things like that due to the twee, cutesy associations of "tree hugging" environmentalists, except in this instance it's because planting a tree is pointless in light of something something systemic issues, not because climate change isn't real, or...whatever reason people have for finding environmentalists cringe. (That is kinda sus now that I think about it.)

And I'm not saying planting a tree will fix climate change. I'm saying that something in my brain had broken and planting a tree unbroke it.

Go outside. Touch grass. Do the work in the immediate community you belong to, in the place you are in, where you have the best and most impact. We have the power to take care of each other, and that power grows stronger the more we are cared for.

The internet is a good place to share information, but that's fucking it. The real stuff, the stuff you can touch with your hands, the stuff that will heal despair, is out there in the real, touchable world. You need to see and feel what you are doing. Don't just give help—accept it. The power to take care of each other is in our nature, and by nature we can give more when we thrive as a result of others' care.

I hope this helps.

#plants #gardening #dandelions #rewilding #plantarchy

[abeautifulblog]

What’s a controversial opinion that you have?

lol, mate that sounds like a trap, but sure, I'll step on that grenade.

I think the proshipping/antishipping discourse lacks nuance on both sides.

The bullying and the targeted harassment that antis have committed against creators they've deemed insufficiently morally-pure is no way to treat another human being, full stop. No matter what you think they're guilty of, that's mob justice, and like, remember how we generally consider mob justice to be a BAD thing...?

It's also a very simplistic mode of thinking, that both misunderstands the link between performativity and actual behavior, and is ultimately futile, because what they want is just not feasible in the real world.

Seriously, people, give me your actionable plan for how you intend to impose the kind of censorship you want on AO3, that wouldn't just turn into a blunt weapon to be leveraged selectively by anyone with a grudge. You can't. There is no place to draw a line in the sand, re: what kind of content is acceptable and what’s not (because everyone is insufficiently morally-pure for SOMEONE), and even if there were, there is no practical way to implement it on a website that is run by volunteers. Attempting to do so would be the beginning of the end for AO3, because once people start banning things, they don’t stop. The list of banned content is only ever going to get longer, its boundaries more nebulously-defined, until AO3 becomes just as stifling as every other social media platform has, in the name of respectability.

It’s oppressive to live under that kind of censorship -- where part of your mind is always keeping track of what’ll get you kicked, or shadowbanned, or quietly delisted. And the upshot of it all is that in the end, they don’t even need to censor us anymore -- we have been conditioned into censoring ourselves.

(Not to mention that all it does is drive problematic content underground. A platform that formally bans, say, rape content isn’t actually going to be free of rape content, it just means that creators aren’t going to properly tag for it anymore, because that would get it insta-deleted/banned. And now users who would like to avoid it can’t.)

Honestly, AO3 is a breath of fresh air in the current internet landscape, and so when I see people say that they "don't like AO3--" that is a red fuckin’ flag to me. How, pray tell, is AO3 insufficiently woke for you?

...

....BUT, on the other hand, the phrase "live and let ship" often gets wielded to demand that problematic content not just be free from harassment and censorship, but also free from criticism, and -- hoo buddy, I think not. 🙃 No, actually, I am not going to shut up about how I think your fav is shitty and toxic. You don't have to come onto my blog and see it -- and I would not dream of going onto someone else’s blog and starting shit, srsly, just stay in your own lane -- but this is my space, to do with as I want, and I am going to stand on my soapbox and nail the list of their sins to the church door.

Because the antis’ position (as I understand it), is 1) the fear that fiction about fucked-up content will either encourage/enable more people to do those fucked-up things IRL, and 2) the belief that anyone who writes about fucked-up content is endorsing that behavior. But the response that gets trotted out to that is "lol what idiots, they think people can't tell the difference between fiction and reality!" and arguing that there's no harm in people writing whatever weird and fucked-up stuff they like, because it's just a story.

My dudes -- I cannot convey to you how disingenuous "it's just a story" is.

We, humans, are so massively influenced by the stories around us. No, fiction isn’t reality -- no actual humans were harmed by the whumping of blorbos -- but we often look to it as if it were, and, consciously or not, often model ourselves after the patterns we see in stories. Fiction tells us what kind of behavior is acceptable or unacceptable; what men/women are “supposed” to be like; what ~those people~ are like. We internalize so much of what we see in media, without necessarily recognizing that these are someone else’s opinions being implanted into our heads, nor recognizing when we reenact those behaviors ourselves. As the kids say: You are not immune to propaganda.

When toxic and abusive relationships are being held up as the height of romance, that has real world consequences.

(That said, Hollywood’s rancid takes on race/sex/relationship dynamics have done infinitely more damage than even the most Problematique fanfic in existence. That is where the influence and impact is, so maybe let's point our guns at the real enemy instead of at each other, yeah?)

And proshippers will say "don't like, don't read," but it's not quite as simple as that. Indeed, I personally do not like [redacted ship], and therefore I don’t read it -- but we also need to be free to talk about the things we don't like, and why. When we see something that makes us go "hey wow that's kinda fucked up,” we need to be able to have that conversation without being told "then just don't read it! you’re being an asshole and a killjoy by spoiling it for the people who DO like it!"

Friends, I am not interested in spoiling anyone’s enjoyment of anything.

You can write and consume problematic content without being a problematic person. Fiction is not reality; you are hurting no one by hurting blorbo, or by enjoying watching blorbo being hurt, or by imagining your blorbos in a relationship that is, strictly speaking, somewhat less than healthy.

But you do need to be aware of what it is you're consuming -- and therefore unconsciously internalizing -- and honestly, AO3 is far better about this than mainstream media.

Part of the beauty of AO3′s tagging system is that it allows the creator to give a meta framing for the story, that may not be visible within the text itself. Take, for instance, how many, many people over the decades have somehow misread Lolita as ~a story of forbidden love~, but if Nabokov had been posting it on AO3, I guarantee you he would have tagged it with rape/noncon elements, pedophilia, child sexual abuse, grooming. He’s on record saying that Lolita is a horror story told from the point of view of the monster.

There is a world of difference between a story that knows it’s fucked up, and a story that doesn’t. The latter is What We Need To Talk About; the former, assuming it’s been properly tagged, is honestly a lot less harmful.

Depiction isn’t necessarily glorification. Oftentimes when people are writing about something fucked up, it’s to shine a light on that and go, HEY WOW, SO THIS IS PRETTY FUCKED UP, HUH? Whenever you see a fic with the tag “Dark [Blorbo]”, for instance, that is an explicit acknowledgment that Blorbo’s actions in this story are not alright. It is, once again, fiction telling us what kind of behavior is socially acceptable, and the message in darkfic is “...and this is NOT!”

So yeah.

I don’t know what the answer is, but I do know that trying to suppress criticism and/or problematic content isn’t it. Nor is turning criticism into personal attacks. If you have an issue with a particular character, or a particular ship, by all means, get on your soapbox and start preaching. That’s what meta is. But take aim at the subject matter, not the individual fan creators who get a kick out of it.

And also just -- don't be a dick. Nothing in fandom is worth harming actual other people for.

Anyway, now that I’ve pissed off everyone on both sides, time to kick back with a nice relaxing glass of 4Loko. Cheers y’all. ✌

#tw: rape #tw: abuse #asks

[motorclit]

Stuff like what i’m about to type is something I can’t properly get off my chest unless I talk to someone about it irl, but the problem is only my muž gives a shit. (And there’s a high likelihood no one’s gonna care on here, either, just like on other social media platforms, but I’m used to it. It’s just a thing stuck in my brain.)

Anyway, this is about a memory unlocked about how I was treated as an unrealized/undiagnosed Autistic child.

I don’t know what all schools did this in the US, but my gradeschool (this was the 90s) had some students help out during lunchtime in the cafeteria. I honestly can’t remember how this was managed around the volunteer’s scheduling of when to eat and stuff, but from what I can REMEMBER, you could be the kid who rolled the cart slowly back and forth through the cafeteria that had the salt, pepper, and condiments and napkins and stuff (the cafeteria was an auditorium as well and the tables and benches folded out of the walls, so the cart-kid just went back and forth nice and easy in case anybody needed anything), the kid that accepts the tickets, the kid that hands out the fruit from over the counter in the kitchen, there were two other positions in the kitchen I can’t remember, and then there’s the dishwasher that washed the trays.

Back when I was a kid, I was weird, awkward, a bit rambunctious, and of course I was seen as such (with “annoying” accompanying any of these words) by both peers as well as teachers (yes, I’ve had teachers that came close to outright calling me annoying or weird; largely the phrase “acting out” was used and was definitely coded language in this context). I was also a social butterfly. The only socializing I’d had before kindergarten were family members (and it was mainly dad’s side, whom we were very close with). No family members gave me shit for being weird. They found my energy and carefree attitude endearing, apparently. So the only kids I saw were largely on TV.

I got a lot of info from TV. This includes the concept of going to school.

So when going to kindergarten, I was excited. ‘Cuz I was going to school. I felt like queen shit. I’m a big kid now; I’m going to school! I’m gonna see other kids my age! (I didn’t have---and still don’t---have any cousins close to my age) This was gonna be awesome! I’m gonna have friends and stuff!

Until I actually went to school...

So kindergarten is when we were figuring everybody else out in testing the social waters. It wasn’t until first grade that I started having a teensy bit of trouble. That’s when I started getting called “weird” because apparently(?) your way of acting should switch with each grade?

I can’t remember what grade I was in (I wanna say maybe third grade or later) when it came to my turn volunteering in the kitchen. I was fucking stoked, too. This was some real community-feeling type shit. And after my dad became disabled at the steel mill and us becoming too impoverished to do anything beyond a bit of church stuff, I felt like I was finally doing just... SOMETHING.. that wasn’t watching more TV.

And I wanted to be the cart-kid so bad.. Much like everybody else did. The cart-kid was this... weird social status of being “the cool kid” for the day. Even the quiet kid who became cart-kid was greeted with smiles and stuff. My back-up position would’ve been the ticket kid because there was a bit of chatting going on and it was all around pleasant.

I didn’t get to be the cart-kid or the ticket kid.

I was a dishwasher.

Now, don’t get me wrong; dishwashing is just as important. I knew this even at a young age. But at this point in my life, my so-called one and only “friend” at the time was already treating me like shit. The bullying was just beginning to ramp up, and I already had some problems with teachers just because of how I acted (I also talked back a lot when something seemed completely illogical to me).

I was tucked away in the corner of the kitchen where everybody, including the cooks, could barely see me. The edge of the deep sink-tub dully pinched into my ribs as I struggled to lean forward to get the hose or to get more soap onto a rag so large that I mistook it as some weird towel. I struggled to wash these trays for the very first time in my life because my parents had never made me do dishes. My dad didn’t want me nor my brother to ever have to do them and my mom would rather busy herself to distract her mind from the stresses of poverty.

So naturally, due to my size and complete lack of experience, I didn’t do a very good job. It also didn’t help that nobody asked how I was doing, nobody was happy that I was doing the thing. And there were quite a few students in the school to be volunteered for to get this sort of experience. I don’t think you could do this twice. And I got tucked away in the back.

This wasn’t exactly the position of shame, either. Because afterwards, each student would be personally thanked by some figure of authority (I can’t quite remember who aside from the teacher), been told they did a great job helping out, etc. I definitely remember a teacher doing this (usually whoever was on duty), I just can’t remember if I was in her class that year or not.

So when we excitedly went to meet up with the teacher after hanging up our aprons, the teacher personally praised each student for a job well done with a big encouraging smile shared by all of them. Until she got to me.

While she kept that smile, the moment she looked at me, she IMMEDIATELY looked away and said nothing to me, maintaining that smile as if she got everyone, as if I wasn’t there.

As I was making my way to get in line so we could return to class, I got approached by one of the cooks. I don’t think she was exactly mad, but the negative feedback I got from her still made me feel like shit. She told me I didn’t do a good job at all with washing those trays. I said I had never done dishes before, that I could hardly reach where the soap was being kept, and the rags were hard to work with (making me still wonder to this day if I have maybe some case of mild dyspraxia or something, because my tiny hands had an awkward time working with a large, heavy rag doing a task I’d never done before).

Now, I wasn’t getting an attitude. I was calmly responding, and my teacher told me to stop talking back. 

I can’t remember if this was one of the few incidents I can barely remember where my teacher would ask another school authority figure if I acted out or not, so I can’t really say if that was the end of that little thing or not. And come to think of it, I’ve noticed the other students doing volunteer work when I did were allowed to talk to one another, but when I tried talking, I was told by one of the cooks that I should be washing and not talking. And none of the students looked at me or talked to me during or after lunch that day.

I really wish I could remember the details of what all was said. All I remember were the facial expressions, the position I was in, feeling overwhelmed doing a task I’ve never been taught how to do, not allowed to feel like I was allowed to exist that day, the tones in the teachers’ and cooks’ voices, a few key words, and how alienated I felt.

This tore me up because my logic as a child was if you’re hated, then it’s because you’re a bad person. I felt hated that day, and I could not figure out how or why I was considered a bad person. I never bothered pursuing answers on that matter either, because I would simply catch shit for “talking back” or “acting out.”

That event wasn’t quite the start of my decline from a happy, energetic kid to a kid who just tried to psychologically survive (I think that was 4th or 5th grade). But it helped build up to that decline, only for it to spiral in middle school, and get even worse throughout my first 3 years of high school.

I wanted to be the cart-kid because I wanted to feel needed, and when I helped someone get a simple thing, I’d be met with kindness and happiness, a way to remind myself, “See? Stuff ain’t so bad. You’re not a hated kid, and you can show the teachers how good of a job you do!” Instead, I got tucked away doing something useful that could also keep me easily isolated from the other kids, doing a task I was never really taught how to do, and caught some shit for not doing a good job as a result, making me feel like I don’t belong there (or even in this world).

Normally, this isolation feeling is something I felt at home a lot, because my brother was the favorite, but with me? No time for bonding with me, because dad’s tired or mom’s too exhausted from being the breadwinner. But as I progressed throughout gradeschool, so did the social isolation I experienced outside of home. And for some reason, the teachers all loved to make it into a massive spectacle whenever they could.

Catching that tone from the cook, and then from the teacher, was all done while the line for our class was still waiting to go back to our classroom; we were the last one as another was beginning to leave. So not only were classmates in my class staring at me like I’m some problem child, but so did the lingering last half of students in the other line in a different class just before they began to leave the cafeteria.

There were asshole teachers in middle and high school, but my gradeschool teachers (except for my first grade teacher who is still my favorite to this day; I hope she’s alright) had this sick enjoyment out of making sure that if I had a flaw, they would exploit it. If I made a mistake, they made sure everybody knew about it. 

And it took until very recently for me to realize that what I experienced is a similar story to other Autistic people’s experiences as kids.

Similar other events at school include being 1 of 2 dragons in our little Medieval Week in 4th grade, where the other girl who was a dragon was wanted to play some cool parts in our improv skits, but they wanted *me* when they needed a dragon to “kill” (and by “kill,” I mean lots of kicking... on a stage... in front of an audience.. can’t remember if it was an audience of parents or students though), being picked last in gym class with the team that ended up with me complaining that they had to have me on their team (or not getting picked at all and then getting bitched at by the gym teacher for not participating), and either never being cheered on or being completely laughed at (depending on the context of how I fucked up) during the olympics our school held every year.

And after pondering for a moment, aside from a couple of Pokemon fans a grade below me when I was in 5th grade, I don’t even recall actually playing with anybody at recess because nobody wanted me to play. I just sort of did my own thing when I didn’t find anyone to play with.

I’m gonna end my little ramble/rant thing here. I just felt like I had to get this off my chest or else not saying anything in any format would eat away at my brain. (Journaling hurts my hand so I don’t do it much.)

#ramble-rant thing #Autism #my parents were the black sheep of their respective families which makes me a void sheep #get it? #because people wanted to a-void me as much as possible #also I discovered last year that voidpunk pride is a thing #I'm gonna go exercise now since it's leg-day for me

[ashintheairlikesnow]

A Little Bit Stabbed

Jake Gets Stabbed Miniseries: First Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth

CW: Discussion of past child abuse/domestic violence, description of stab wound, painkillers/drugged but in a good way, brief IV needle reference, some short references to Jake’s religious trauma, some trauma response stuff

“Took four of us to get you onto the couch, you know,” Kauri says, fingers moving gently to brush Jake’s short hair back off his forehead. There’s a hint of humor to his deep voice, but Jake catches the tremor in it, too. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“Must be… pretty fucking heavy, then,” Jake manages, voice slightly thin. They gave him something - Nat’s EMT friend showed up with IV supplies while refusing to tell anyone where they’d gotten ahold of everything from, except to repeatedly reassure all of them I know someone, it’s taken care of, I probably won’t go to jail for this. Besides, I’ve been in jail before.

Jake might not have found it very reassuring if he wasn’t halfway to unconscious from the pain alone at the time.

Now, though, there’s a needle feeding a steady supply of something wonderful into his bloodstream, holding the worst of the pain at bay. All he can feel now is maybe a little bit of an itch he knows better than to scratch, and a heaviness to his limbs that keeps them limp and relaxed. 

“We had to turn the stupid thing into the pull-out bed just to make sure your feet wouldn’t be higher than your head.” Kauri smiles at him, but there’s worry in those warm blue eyes, and Jake uses every ounce of strength to lift his good hand, the one on the uninjured side, and take Kauri’s, pulling his knuckles to his lips to brush against them. 

“I’m okay,” Jake says softly. “I am, Kaur. It’s not so bad.”

“It’s not-... you got fucking stabbed in your own kitchen, Jake.” Kauri’s lips thin and he looks away, over towards the TV, playing Clue.

Funny, Jake thinks, woozy and untethered to any kind of focus. My mom used to play Clue when we were alone, after. Made her feel better for a while.

“Just a… a flesh wound,” Jake manages in a terrible approximation of a British accent.

Kauri just looks at him, expression serious, and leans over until their foreheads touch. He’s warm, and Jake’s eyes close, basking in the body heat that comes off of him, surrounds them both. “Don’t,” Kauri whispers. “Please don’t make jokes. I thought-”

“It’s okay,” Jake murmurs. 

Eventually, he should probably tell someone he can only sort of feel the hand on the injured side. But not now. 

“It’s okay. It’s not s’bad. I got the good drugs, right?”

“Antibiotics and…” Kauri squints at the label on the bag attached to the IV, then winces and shakes his head. “Sorry. Can’t read today. It, uh. It kind of comes and goes when I’m worried, and today-”

“I get it. But… you don’t have to worry about me, Kaur. It’s over, it happened… I’ll feel better pretty fast. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Kauri says softly, but he relaxes beside Jake, keeping a hold of his hand. His fingers are slightly chilled, but they warm against Jake’s. The two of them settle into silence for a while, a woman in black on the TV with eyes blown wide in comic exaggeration of anger speaking in a blur of sound Jake knows by heart but can’t really pick apart from anything else, not just yet, not right now. 

He knows this movie by heart. He and his mom used to curl up under a blanket while she closed her eyes and prayed for things to get better and Jake prayed for his dad to die in a car accident or some other terrible way, and make it slow, and then pray with terror not to go to hell for thinking like that.

If men like his father go to heaven, Jake would rather burn in hell.

At least my favorite bands would be there, he thinks, and laughs to himself, shoulders shaking a little, sending a ripple of pain down his arm and spiking into his skull. He winces, but the thought still strikes him as too funny to quit circling woozily around his mind, and he keeps laughing a little.

Kauri turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. “What are you laughing at?”

Jake blinks over at him, those wide blue eyes. It had been hell not to be able to hold him for so long, with eyes like that. Real hell, the kind where you spend your days wishing for a connection that seems too hard to make. “Nothing, just… thinking about shit with my dad,” He says, finally. “My mom and I used to watch Clue all the time. It’s her favorite movie.”

“Yeah?” Kauri looks over his shoulder, back at the television, and Jake’s eyes move lazily over the slight bump in his nose where it was broken by someone years ago, the dip of his lips, the roundness of his chin, angling a little with age. The way his neck would feel to trace with just one fingertip, how he smiles when Jake does it, asks him what the fuck he’s looking at when there’s way more to Kauri that needs attention right now than just his face.

There’s a lazy wave of warmth in Jake, a steady thrum of something that goes much deeper than arousal, at the memory.

Adoration.

“Yeah,” He says, softly. “She’d put it on when he left the house, we’d make popcorn and watch it. Saturday night special, popcorn and a movie, Mom and Jake.”

“Where’d your dad go?” Kauri asks, then the answer catches up with him, and he winces. “Wait, sorry. I think I know where he went.”

“Church.”

That is clearly not what Kauri expected to hear. “I-... what?” He turns back to Jake, eyebrows furrowing. “I thought-”

“Nope. He went to church. Fish fry on Saturdays, he volunteered.” Jake is dimly aware that this might be more than he’s ever told Kauri about his father, at least more than he’s ever said that wasn’t laser-focused on the hurts, the bruises, the concussion, the ER visits where Jake learned to lie. “He was a magician with a deep fryer. Best fucking fish I ever ate.” He laughs, then coughs a little against the new round of ache in his shoulder. 

Kauri is quiet for a moment, his eyes searching Jake’s face, maybe looking for an idea of how to respond the right way. Jake knows that look - he’s seen it less and less over the years, but it never fully stops.

Kauri never stops looking for the safe answer, the one that won’t get him hurt. Jake never stops being ready to fight his way out if it happens again. Kauri is still ready to say what the abuser needs to hear, placate and please and keep himself alive.

Jake is still ready to pick up a weapon and use it if his father ever comes near he or his mother again. Not that he ever will. Not that he even wants to, sixteen years after Jake last saw his face. 

But he’s still built, deep within, to fight the threat. And so is Kauri, in his own way. 

“I love you so much,” Jake says softly. “I hope you didn’t pull anything dragging my ass around.”

“Mmmn, guess I’ll find out,” Kauri says softly, snuggling back up to him, then. “Should we change the movie? If it’s, like, a thing for you-”

“Nah.” Jake smiles, slightly. He feels pleasantly drunk, on whatever the painkiller slowly drip-feeding into his arm is. A little woozy, a little bit in love with it. “It’s like a comfort thing, really. I should call my mom-”

“I already did,” Kauri says, gently pushing him back down as Jake tries to make himself sit up. “She’s driving up. She said she’ll get here in the morning, she had to find someone to watch her dog.”

Jake blinks twice. “Mom has a dog?”

“I think it’s new. But, um. You can’t exactly meet her at her hotel, Jake. She’s gonna have to come here.”

Jake feels a rush of old nerves prickling along his arms, the hair of his neck trying to stand up. He closes his eyes, tries to push it back down. “I’ve never given her my address. It’s not safe for us. What if-... I don’t know. I’ve just never… I’ve always worried that if he found her, you know, that he’d… convince her to tell him where I live. He’d turn us all in just to feel like the big righteous moral hero all over again. Probably hard to feel that way when you’re hitting a teenager. Easier when you’re turning in vigilantes with stolen property.” He spits the words, and Kauri flinches a little. “Shit. Sorry, Kaur.”

“No, it’s. It’s okay. I get what you mean. But I don’t think your mom would do that. She loves you.”

“She does.” Jake exhales, closes his eyes. Inside him there is still an angry child that wants to point out that it hasn’t always been enough. But there’s a grown man, and a decade of fucking therapy, telling him there’s a whole lot more to it than that. “And she’s finally come around to understanding why I do this. Yeah… yeah, we’ll tell her where I am. It’ll be fine. Honestly, it’s not so bad. Jameson really did a great job on the stabbing.” Jake tries to laugh again. “Fucking surgeon with a butcher knife. He managed to miss every fucking bit of me that would have killed me.”

“Except for if you bled out,” Kauri points out, voice small. 

“Yeah… but I didn’t.” Jake thinks of Antoni’s face, the focus in his dark eyes, the quick movement of his hands, the blinding agony of the cloth being forced into the wound to soak up the blood, the way Antoni had leaned all his weight forwards to put enough pressure to staunch the bleeding. Jake had never felt pain like that before, and he’s not sure he could handle feeling it again. “Ant was there. It’ll be okay. Where is he?”

“In his room.” Picking at the heavy thick blanket laid over Jake, not quite looking at him now, Kauri asks, “How are you so calm about this?”

“Drugs,” Jake answers right away. “Like ninety percent drugs.” He groans as a throbbing ache travels from the stab wound, up into his skull, all the way down to his toes. “Fuck. The… whatever’s in there helps. But also…” Jake sighs, letting his eyes drift to the ceiling, over the popcorn-texture there. He’d meant to scrape it clean and smooth, when he bought the house, but other stuff kept taking priority, and he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. “This isn’t th’ first time, you know?”

Kauri frowns. “Jake, I have licked just about everything on your body, I’ve never seen a scar from-”

“Not… not stabbed. But… stuck here, on a couch-bed, tryin’... tryin’ to heal from shit. That’s not new.” Jake exhales. Above him, the blades of the ceiling fan circle lazily, and his eyes follow the movement of the shadows. 

“No, I guess not.”

“In any case… I haven’t s-seen… Jameson’s upstairs, right? Can you get him down here?”

Something passes over Kauri’s face, a shadow, a discomfort and darkness that Jake can’t quite read. “Jameson’s not in the house, Jake.”

“What? Why?” Jake starts trying to sit up again, and this time Kauri’s gentle push isn’t enough to get him back down. He grinds his teeth against the pain and forces himself upright, trying to shift his legs over the side of the bed. The room spins around him, dizzy-sick flip in his stomach, but he ignores it. He’s felt worse than this and kept moving before. “Shit, fuck, I should’ve made sure he didn’t leave-”

“He didn’t. I made him go.”

The look Jake turns on Kauri is baffled, but there’s anger, too, welling up inside him. “You what?”

“I told him he can’t stay here if he’s a danger to you and the others,” Kauri says, but he cringes back from Jake’s expression, instinctive fear. Jake hates how he looks like his dad - huge and muscular, a threat inherent in his existence that he might not give off if he were smaller. But his bulk and his strength is also the thing that makes him capable of withstanding the danger he puts himself in for them. It’s the reason he could come home and pick Chris up with a broken rib and carry him after they raided the last safehouse he’d lived in. It’s the reason he could finally fight back with his dad. It’s the reason the kids at his new schools, one after another after another as he and his mom moved constantly to try not to be found, left him alone. 

“Kauri, he can’t-... Jameson���s not. He can’t live on his own.”

“That’s a lie,” Kauri says, lips barely moving. “That’s a lie they tell us-”

“No, that’s not what I-... Jameson’s like Chris,” Jake says, softly. “Like Chris used to be. He was treated like an animal, Kauri. He didn’t get to use fucking utensils to eat in the last two places he was held, he told me himself. He can’t live on his own yet. If you kicked him out… Jesus Christ, Kauri, do you not remember how it felt when you were kicked out?”

Kauri looks like he’s been slapped. “Wait, Jake-... I didn’t mean-”

“We found you half-dead under a goddamn bush, Kauri, you can’t do that to someone else just because I got a little bit stabbed! Shit. Fuck. I gave him a burner phone, if he’s still got it on him, maybe I can call-”

“Jakob fucking Stanton!” Kauri yells so rarely, and Jake goes still, turning to look at him, seeing the anger written across Kauri’s face. Kauri angry is electric, and immensely sexy, and something Jake had gone so long thinking he would never see unless Vincent Shield showed up with a new idea for how to make up for all his failures by forcing himself around someone who hated him. “Will you fucking listen to me?!”

Jake just sits there, staring at him. He can’t even find the words. Eventually, he just nods.

“I didn’t kick him out on the street, I’m not that awful, and fuck you for thinking I am and we’re going to talk about that later when you aren’t half off your head from painkillers. I don’t want him here until you’re feeling better in case it happens again, so I-... so I sent him home with Nat. She doesn’t have anyone living with her right now, and she said okay, so he’s going to stay with her.” Kauri swallows, reaching slowly out to lay his hand on Jake’s leg. “He and I talked. He said it’s always been men, Jake. All of the ones who hurt him were men, one of them was... was really big like you, I guess. So I thought-... if he’s with Nat, maybe it won’t happen again for long enough for him to, to work it through in therapy and Dr. Berger maybe can give him, give him s-something to help. So maybe he won’t, um, hallucinate or… or w-whatever the next time.” Kauri’s eyes well up, glimmer with tears that don’t fall. “I was trying to help. I thought he’d feel safer with only a woman, maybe, and I sent him alone so that he’d know he can’t hurt Allyn, he was really scared of that, and…”

Jake’s mouth hangs open.

Kauri slumps over, his forehead slowly resting against Jake’s back where he sits slightly behind him now that Jake is nearly off the bed. “I had to make sure everyone’s safe. I didn’t know what else to do. I sent Chris to stay with Laken overnight but he’ll be back tomorrow, Antoni’s fucked up but he’s in his room and he’s safe, and all the rescues promised to stay in their rooms and Allyn tried to go with Jameson and I think they hate me now because I said no, but I didn’t-... I tried to think of what you would do, if it had been Chris or me he’d hurt. I was trying to be like you. I’m s-sorry if I fucked it up, I’m sorry, please, I thought you were going to die, please don’t be mad at me-”

“Kauri.” Jake turns, and uses his good hand to lift Kauri’s chin, meeting his eyes. 

Blue on blue, always. 

“I’m not mad,” He says, gently. “Not… not now. You’re right, I shouldn’t have… just been a shit deciding what you did without asking. I’m sorry. So, let me just… you spent the last couple of hours really fucking busy, huh?”

Kauri nods, kissing Jake’s fingertips, one by one. “I’m sorry,” He whispers. “I’m not… I’m not good at this, I’m not... not... I was so scared. I didn’t know what you would do, Jake, and Nat said she thought it was a good idea, so-”

“It is. It is a good idea.” Kauri blinks, surprised, and the tears that have been threatening finally run, clear as crystal, down his flushed cheeks. He looks like a fucking sculpture, Jake thinks to himself, like some artist’s idea of the perfect beautiful person. “Kauri, just. Now that I get what you were trying to do… Shit. That’s really smart.”

Kauri huffs a laugh, a kind of half-sobbing sound, and shakes his head. “It’s just, I was just guessing-”

“That’s all we ever do, too,” Jake says, voice soft. “We guess, at what we can do to help. Nat always says we make the hard choices when nobody else can. Kauri, that’s the smartest fucking idea. I’m… that’s some grace under fire shit. That’s amazing.”

“It… it is?”

“Yeah.” Jake kisses him, and Kauri tastes like mouthwash, like mint, kisses back with desperate intensity. “Yeah, Kaur. That’s even better than what I would have done. You’re so fucking smart. What made you decide to slum it with me?”

“You have a really good d-dick and I don’t w-w-want to lose access,” Kauri says, and he’s crying or laughing or maybe both. “You’re my eye candy.”

“You’re my Einstein.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself,” Jake says softly. 

“Heal a little first.” Kauri sighs, half-smiling, pulling Jake back into the bed to lay down again. “Everyone’s safe, Jake. At least for now. Everyone’s okay. You need to rest, and everyone’s going to be okay.”

Jake lets his head be maneuvered back onto the pillow, feels Kauri settle back down next to him, pulling the blankets back up over them both. He’s silent for a while, lets the soft sound of the end of the movie wash over him, showing the different endings.

“I love you,” He whispers. The way the adrenaline is fading makes him sleepy, drifting in a new drowsy haze, ready to dose off again. “So much.”

“Love you, too,” Kauri murmurs. 

He knows this - the couch-bed pulled out, watching movies and stand-up comedy at a low volume, a throb of pain somewhere that will heal only with time - by heart.

With Kauri’s weight and warmth beside him, it feels entirely, completely new.

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump

#whump #past child abuse tw #past domestic violence tw #erase to control #jake the shelter guy #caretaker and whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker #caretaker as whumpee #injured caretaker #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort but some hurt #h/c #angsty fluff #stab wound #injury aftermath #box boy universe #bbu #box boy #religious trauma tw #it's vague but still #angry whumpee #angry caretaker #both of them are both! #drugged whumpee #sort of #ptsd tw

[ricksroaches]

Y/N part 1 - Dysphoria ch. 5

pairing: Yoongi x Reader, OT7 x Reader (platonic)

summary: Y/N has an accident at a Halloween party that sends her further down the wrong path.

notes: Occasionally I'll make some grammatical errors on purpose for emotional emphasis so that's why. Also sorry this took so long I'm kinda going through some stuff right now.

word count: 16.9k

warnings: language, drugs, self harm, mental hospitalization, shitty parents, near drowning, anxiety attack, overdose, hospitalization, miscarriage, sedation

“Do you know why you’re here, Y/N?”

“Spare me. I’ve done this before.”

“I know you have. I’m simply asking if you understand that you need this.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t understand?”

“No, I mean that I don’t need this.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I’ve already accepted that this is how I feel, and how I’ll keep feeling ‘til I die. No amount of talking it out and coping skills will change that.”

“Well, that’s not a very healthy way to look at it.”

“Yeah, no shit, but it works for me and I’d appreciate it if people didn’t waste their time trying to fix me so they can feel better about themselves.”

“I understand.”

“Obviously, you don’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I do. I’m not here to tell you what you're doing wrong. I’m here to figure out how and why you got to where you are.”

“What, you gonna pick apart my life and tell me where everything went wrong?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

“Well first, I’d like to go back and discuss your experience at St. Joseph’s.”

“I don’t really feel like talking about that.”

“Y/N, these sessions are mandatory. No matter how much you resist, we’re still stuck here, so you might as well take advantage of the time we still have.”

“…”

“Or, we could just here in silen-”

“Fine. Anything but that.”

~~~

8TH GRADE

The cold classroom was silent except for the steady tick of the clock on the wall. It was only third hour and Y/N already wanted to jump out a window. She’d long finished her classwork and homework, so she buried herself in her sketchbook. Drawing was always her safe place. She found it meditative being able to just turn off her brain and let the pencil map out her mind.

Everyone jumped a little when the intercom released its usual loud beep. “I need to see Y/N L/N in the office.” Her stomach fluttered at the chance to get out of class. “And tell her to bring her things.” She halted. What? She didn’t have any appointments that she knew of, and her parents weren’t the type to check her out for minor things. Her head pounded while she stuffed everything in her backpack with everyone, including her teacher, watching her.

Backpack slung over one shoulder, she made her way down the bland cream and blue hallway that she’d spent the last three miserable years in. Jimin was her best friend all through elementary school, but he switched to a private school, leaving her to fend for herself in a new school of unfamiliar faces. He didn’t want to leave her, but the school she was going to didn’t have a dance department, and his mom had convinced him to go. By the time she found out that the school in question had the best arts program in the district, it was too late. There was no way her parents could afford to send her there anyway.

She’d be lying if she said she was happy he was pursuing his dream. Making friends wasn’t an easy task, Jimin was always the one that did the talking. So she settled for whoever cared enough to give her the time of day. There was only one person she was actually close enough with to hang out outside of school, Abigail. To say she was the dominant one in their relationship would be an understatement. Whatever Abi said, went. Whatever Abi wanted, she got. Whatever she wanted to do, Y/N was dragged along whether she liked it or not. She didn’t mind that much. It was better than no one.

The office door came into view, and she ran over every possible circumstance in her head before opening it. Her parents stood by the front desk. Her dad was clutching her mom’s trembling hand. “Mom? Dad? What’s going on? Did somebody die??”

“No, everything’s fine. We’ll explain on the way.” Her dad took it upon himself to answer.

“Uh...o-kay?”

The second her dad pulled the car onto the road, her mom turned around to face her. “I don’t really know how to start this, so I’m just going to say it. I was cleaning your room last week and found something.”

“What?” She pulled an old DVD case from the glove box and set it in Y/N’s lap. Every single defense mechanism in her body went off at once as she gawked at the image of a black bobbed Uma Thurman laying on a bed with racey magazines, puffing on a cigarette. Her favorite movie. But she knew it wasn’t the inappropriate film that her parents were concerned about. She slid the plastic sheath off to reveal-. They weren’t there.

“Looking for these?” Her mom held up her palm stacked with the razor blades she’d tucked behind the cover. Y/N’s face turned a sickly white, her mouth opening and closing to think of something to say. Her mind was moving so fast her words couldn’t keep up. She had nothing.

“Really? You have nothing to say for yourself?” She subconsciously pulled down her sweater sleeves. Her mom snatched her wrist and yanked the knit fabric back. “How could you do this to yourself?” She turned her arm to make her look at the pale pink and red lines that peppered all the way up her arm. “This is going to stay on you forever. What do you expect people to think when summer comes?”

Y/N dropped her head against the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. Of all the scenarios she thought of, this wasn't one of them. This had to be a dream. It had to be. She tried to pull her arm away and her mom let go, letting it fall to her side. She turned to her dad with a look that screamed, Say something! He simply shook his head in disappointment.

The car was silent for a long time before she finally mustered the strength to open her mouth. “W-where are we going...?”

“A Catholic youth center.”

“A youth center?”

“Yes. They offer great adolescent counseling.”

“But I don't want to.” She crossed her arms defensively.

“Y/N, we just want to get you help, but we can’t do this on our own.” Her dad finally spoke up.

“It’s a nice place. Sister Adrianne from church volunteers there.” Her mom added.

They turned into the parking lot of an old fashioned brick building decorated with stained glass and white molding. She could smell the Catholicism from here. A black suit, white collared man was waiting for them at the entrance once they’d found a parking space. His wire rimmed glasses caught the late morning sun, shining it right in Y/N’s eyes. That alone was enough to make her scowl. “Hello, I’m Father McCarthy, you must be the L/Ns.” Her parents exchanged pleasantries with him before he led them into the lobby.

Sitting smack dab in the middle of the room was a marble statue of St. Joseph, patron saint of children. Y/N scoffed to herself. She hated this place already. The priest spun on his heels to face the family. “If you don’t mind, I was hoping to have a word with Miss Y/N before the tour.” They looked at each other, shrugged, and nudged the poor girl out to him. “It won’t take but a minute.” He said before cupping her shoulder and steering her through the lobby to a set of backdoors.

Outside was a meditation garden that spanned farther than she could see. Cobblestone paths twisted and turned around rose bushes and vines of ivy. The steady flow of the fountain at the center gave the air a calming ambience. Y/N was anything but calm. “Why are we here?”

“I thought maybe a look at the garden would suit your nerves.” He caught her confused stare and laughed lightly. “Your mask is thick, strong, but I can see deeper than most.”

“I appreciate the effort, but it takes more than some pretty flowers to make me feel better. Are we done?” He sighed and checked his watch.

“I suppose. Right this way.” He placed a guiding hand on her back and steered them to the path out of the garden and inside. Her stride slowed when she saw her parents standing in the lobby, a suitcase in her dad’s hand. Her suitcase. A man in white scrubs took it from him and carried it in the other direction. Everything clicked.

¨No…” She breathed, her head mindlessly shaking. She stepped back and bumped into something firm and whipped around. Another man in the same white uniform towered over her. His face was gentle but his jacked body told a completely different story. His hand clamped onto her bicep. “No, no, no, nonoNONO!” She frantically looked to her parents, who were standing at the exit with pain stricken faces. Her mom buried her head into him while she heard her daughter being dragged away kicking and screaming by two nurses. She’d never forget the final words she caught before she disappeared behind a set of swinging doors.

“I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!”

~~~

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you ever forgive your parents?”

“I tried, but she ruined it.”

“How?”

~~~

Y/N followed her screaming, cussing mom through the house as she took trips from her room to the porch, tossing her belongings out onto the lawn.

She’d found her stash.

“Mom! Stop it! This is childish!” she stopped in her tracks and whipped around to face her daughter.

“CHILDISH?!” She took an aggressive step forward. “I’LL TELL YOU WHAT”S CHILDISH! STEALING FROM YOUR OWN PARENTS TO BY DRUGS!” Y/N threw her hands into her hair and tugged at her scalp.

“It’s just weed! And I bought it with my own money! It’s not like I’m doing crack!” She looked to her dad sitting in his chair in the corner of the living room, observing the whole debacle. “Dad? Help?” He gave her a look of surrender. Not my call. Her mom disappeared back into her room.

“IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU’RE DOING!” Her mom shouted as she threw another handful of clothes out the door. “AFTER ALL THE MONEY WE SPENT ON YOU AND YOU GO AND BUY DRUGS?! IT’S LIKE YOU CHOOSE TO BE MISERABLE!” Y/N pounded across the floorboards and got nose to nose with her.

“OH, I’M SO SORRY YOU HAD TO PAY TO THROW YOUR OWN DAUGHTER IN A PSYCH WARD BECAUSE NOT HAVING A NORMAL KID WAS TOO HARD FOR YOU! AND I’M SORRY YOUR HUSBAND WAS TOO PUSSY TO STOP YOU! AND YOU KNOW WHAT’S MAKING ME MISERABLE?! YOU!”

“THEN GET THE FUCK OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Her mom shoved her by the shoulders into the wall.

“FINE!” Y/N stomped to her room and grabbed her backpack, stuffing in as many necessities as she could. She threw it over her shoulder and blew past her still fuming (and still cussing) mom. “Good fucking riddance!” she shouted over her shoulder. She swiped her car keys from the bowl and slammed the front door behind her so hard she heard a line of books topple to the floor inside. The lock on the door clicked and the curtains at the front of the house were hastily drawn.

She lividly gathered her clothes and suitcase strewn about the grass and crammed them into her shitty grey Corolla wherever they could fit. She dropped into the driver's seat and ripped the car out of the driveway and down the dimly lit street.

She crashed at Jimin’s for a bit while she looked for a place. Abi was long gone by then. Back when she was at St. Joseph’s, she’d called Abi for comfort, but what she didn’t know was that she happened to be at a sleepover, and that she’d put her on speaker. It didn’t take long for Y/N to hear a muffled giggle from the other end, and it was safe to say their friendship died the second she slammed the hospital phone receiver back onto its hook.

She didn’t need her anymore. Not with Jimin coming back for high school. He begged his mom to let him go to public school so he could be with Y/N again. What managed to convince her was the impressive dance team the school boasted.

Within the first week away from home, a packet of government documents for her emancipation arrived in her parents’ mail. She was surprised to receive a phone call from her attorney the next day, saying he already received the pettily signed forms and that they’d been filed with the district court. That was it. In a few months, she would be legally on her own. Sixteen years old and on her own.

~~~

“Good. That was good. I know that wasn’t the easiest thing to say, just know that it’s a step in the right direction.”

“Whatever. Are we done?”

“I suppose.”

~~~

Y/N sat on Yoongi’s lap while she painted his hairline into a V and thickened his sideburns into a more boxy shape. His hair was slicked back and he sported a suit and bolo tie. It didn’t take much to convince him to dress as Vincent and Mia from Pulp Fiction for Halloween. She bit the inside of her red painted lips while she cleaned up the edges of his widow’s peak with a steady hand.

It was a lot weirder than Yoongi expected to see her in a wig. The silky black bob made it feel like a complete stranger was parked on his thighs. Her unbuttoned white blouse and wide-bottomed slacks the complete opposite of her usual style. The only thing about her that was the same as he always loved were her eyes. He admired the e/c orbs that flicked back and forth in concentration, oblivious of his gaze.

“I think I’m done.” She leaned back and moved his face side to side to make sure his sideburns were even. “Yeah, you're good to go.” She gave his cheek two solid pats and climbed off his lap to get her shoes. He stood from her bed and checked himself out in her full length mirror. His hair had grown out quite a bit. Long enough to brush the back of his neck when he turned his head. He didn’t think he’d like how he looked with this hair, but it was quickly growing on him.

Y/N came up from behind and wrapped her arms around his torso. She peaked her head around his shoulder to admire his look put together. “If I didn’t know a better word, I’d say you look hot right now.” He caught her eye in the mirror with a smirk as he smoothed back his hair once last time.

“I think,” He pulled her in front of him to see her reflection, “I should be the one saying that.” He slid his hands up her shirt and adjusted the black bralette hidden underneath that had been wrinkled from her hunching over him. Her skin tingled under his large, warm hands. That asshole. He did that on purpose. He dipped his head to be even with hers. “Now, we should go before I mess up that lipstick of yours.”

~~~

Jin leaned against the kitchen counter and surveyed the frat house filled with college and high school students alike. Cobwebs stretched over every corner and fog machines gave the air a dark, heavy look. He always loved throwing his annual Halloween party. It was his favorite holiday other than his birthday. Couples cutely matching, friends coordinating costumes, comedians in gag outfits, and almost every girl wearing a sexy version of what we all dressed as kids. He loved any excuse to dress up.

He wore a loose white tunic and black slacks, his defining piece was the pink and blue diamond printed coat hanging from his shoulders. Howl from, only his favorite movie ever, Howl’s Moving Castle. He watched that shit like it was his job.

“Damn, do you need a maid? I’m not an old lady, but I can cook and clean.” He spun and met a smirking Jimin. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned, black tie loosened, hair tousled, and red lipstick marks trailed from his chest all the way to his cheeks. Jin eyed the scene with visible concern. “Relax, this is my costume. I have a little class.”

“Oh, thank God.” Jin laughed.

“Although some of these are courtesy of some lovely ladies here tonight.” He turned to show the words “KISS ME” written on his back in big letters.

“How did you even get them to agree to do that?” Jimin flashed a proud smile.

“It was easy. Girls aren’t threatened by me. Being part gay is great, you get the best of both worlds!” Jins phone buzzed in his pocket.

Thing 1: Me and Yoongi are about to pull up

Jin smiled at his screen and typed a quick response.

“Who’s Thing 2?” He turned to the younger looking over his shoulder.

“You.” Before Jimin could offer a rebuttal, Jungkook squeezed out of the crowd and nested at his side, beer in hand.

“There’s my Ponyboy!” Jimin gave him a slap on the back. Jungkook's hair was greased back with a single curl hanging on his forehead. His white t-shirt and jeans matched well with Yoongi’s leather jacket that he lended for the occasion. “Doesn’t he scream Ponyboy vibes?”

“I’ll admit it,” Jin added, “he does.” Jungkook took a sip of his beer to hide his embarrassment. He never liked being the center of attention.

The front door burst open to reveal Taehyung, clad in a full face of clown makeup, green hair, and a purple and yellow suit. “WHAT’S POPPIN’ ASS WIPES!!!” He marched inside and made a beeline to the three with Jiwoo in tow. Her skunk stripes were in pink and blue pigtails and her black and red corset top and tights hugged her slim figure. “GUESS WHO HAS A FUCKING GIRLFRIEND!” He laced his fingers with hers and lifted her arm triumphantly in the air. She hid her face bashfully with her free hand. Jimin gasped.

“Shut. Up. You're joking!” Tae flashed a boxy grin.

“No, I’m Joker.” Jiwoo slapped him in the arm.

“Yes, he’s for real.” She answered on his behalf. Jimin and Jin exchanged dramatic, wide-eyed looks and threw their arms around the new couple.

“We did it! He’s off the streets!”

“He’s off the streets!”

“I’m off the streets!”

Jiwoo watched the three jump in circles with their arms linked like a bunch of kids who were told they’re going to McDonald’s. Yeah, she made the right choice.

The front door opened again, not flying off the hinges this time, and Y/N stepped in with Yoongi flush against her back. She spotted the group in the kitchen and threw her arms up. “Heyyyyy!!!!” Taehyung turned with an ecstatic smile and bounded over, pulling her off the ground in a big bear hug.

“Y/N GUESS WHAT! GUESS WHAT! GUESS WHAT!”

“What?” she gasped under his grip. He dropped her and gripped her shoulders.

“I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!” Both Yoongi and Y/N’s faces lit up.

“WHAT?! TAE, OH MY GOD YOU'RE OFF THE STREETS!” She clapped her hands together giddily and threw her arms back around his neck.

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHAT EVERYONE ELSE SAID!”

“Okay, okay, break it up.” Yoongi pried the two children apart and steered them to the kitchen. On the way, he leaned into Tae’s ear and whispered, “I trust you, but I’ll say this anyway. You hurt her, I hurt you.” He snapped out of his scary tone when Jimin came and pulled Y/N into a hug and kissed both her cheeks.

“Ahh! You two look so hot together! Best couple costume ever!” Yoongi never minded how close they were. He knew about their brief fling before he came along, but he trusted her when she said it was all in the past.

Y/N’s excited squeal broke through his thoughts. She booked it for Jungkook to gush over his costume. “Kookie! You look so friggin’ cute!!” She played with the piece of hair hanging on his forehead and fixed a few loose strands. He smiled at his feet and fiddled with his jacket zipper. “Come on, gimme a spin!” He sheepishly did a 360 to give her a full look at his outfit.

“I’ll be damned,” Yoongi added, “you almost look better in that jacket than I do.” Jungkook hid his face behind his hands. He couldn’t control the big ass grin plastered on his face.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him all night!” Jimin cut in, fists on his hips. She squeezed past him and Jungkook to say hi to Jiwoo and Jin.

The eldest boy pulled her into a sweet hug, his coat draping partially over her back. He leaned back to catch her eye. “How are you? You doing okay?” Jin, ever the mom.

The truth was, she wasn’t. Her situation with the pills was getting out of hand. What started out as a party topper, became a full blown addiction. She hated the person she had become. If she didn’t get her fix, she’d turn into a monster, snapping at anyone and everyone if they rubbed her the wrong way.

The moment she realized she had a problem was when Jungkook tried to approach her at school on one of her bad days. She ended up punching her locker with enough force to turn heads. The cold, unsympathetic eyes of the complete stranger that took her place bore into him before storming off. Tears welled in his eyes and he was frozen in place. All he asked was if he could help.

She scared him, and she'd never forgive herself for it. Even after he did.

She put on her best convincing smile and patted Jin’s chest. “I’m fine, you shouldn’t be worrying about me.” He searched her eyes for a crack in the facade, but he saw none. A warm smile played on his lips and he gave her a kiss on the head before turning her loose. She immediately pivoted to Jiwoo, trying to change the subject.

“Now I’m no DC expert, but I’m pretty sure you two are from different movies.” She gestured to the couple. “Tae, I know you’re from the Dark Knight, but I've never seen Harley in this hot ass outfit before.” Jiwoo chuckled and shuffled in her knee length boots.

“I’m actually Harley from Arkham Knight, a video game. It’s my favorite look of hers.” Y/N gave her another up and down, nodding her head.

“It’s great ‘cus Harley wasn’t in The Dark Knight, so she could be any version she wanted.” Tae commented.

“Except Suicide Squad.” Jiwoo added.

“Except Suicide Squad.” He echoed. “That movie was a disgrace.”

“Hey,” Y/N slapped Jimin on the arm, “Is Hobi here yet? I need a little...” She tapped the side of her nose. He giggled and pointed to the loft on the second floor.

“He was up there last I saw him. Have at it.” She made her way back to Yoongi and went on her tiptoes to give him a quick peck.

“Go ahead and make yourself a drink. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” She said seductively in her best Mia Wallace voice. Her index and middle fingers walked up his chest and dragged across his shoulder as she walked past him.

The loft was surprisingly hard to get to being that it was clogged with partygoers. She finally managed to squeeze through and fall to the floor, her face inches from a pair of sharp-toed dress shoes. She followed the white suit up to the face peering down at her. “The floor is no place for you, Mrs. Wallace.” A hand gripped her forearm and hoisted her to her feet with ease. At the other end of the arm holding her, was Hoseok’s beaming smile. The pointed collar of his black dress shirt was folded over the lapel of his suit.

“Saturday Night Fever?” He nodded. “Yay, now I have two John Travolta’s.” She took her arm from his hold and fixed her bangs.

“I think I might know why you’re here.” He inquired

“You would be correct, sir.” He chuckled.

“Follow me.”

He led her to a couch at the edge of the loft that overlooked the sea of costumes below. There was so much smoke in the air it was impossible to tell if it came from the fog machines or someone’s lungs. They plopped onto the cushions and he went to work cutting lines on a mirror laid on the coffee table. “So how’s life?”

“Eh, I've been better.” She let herself slip a little. Talking to Hoseok was easy. She liked being able to tell him some heavier things because he never pressed for more information. He accepted what he was given and took it in stride. She leaned forward and grabbed an almost empty bottle of cherry vodka and finished it off.

“I feel ‘ya. Soccer practice is really starting to get to me. Just gotta take it day by day, my friend.” He slid the mirror to her side and handed her a rolled up bill. “Here.”

“Thank you, good sir.” She plucked the makeshift tube from his fingers and dipped her head to sniff up the pristine white line. The feeling hit her instantly. A huge smile spread across her face and her whole body felt like it was floating among the smoke clouds.

“Good?” She couldn’t find the words, so she gave him a simple thumbs up. Their moment was cut short when Taehyung’s booming voice cut through the music and conversation.

“EVERYONE! OUR BELOVED QUARTERBACK, NAMJOON KIM, IS OFFICIALLY OFF THE MARKET!”

“WHAT?!” They shouted in unison. With a quick shared look, they scrambled down the stairs and through the cheering crowd. Taehyung was standing, red cup in hand, on the thick mantle of the fireplace at the head of the room. “Jesus fucking Christ.” She mumbled as they watched Jiwoo weave through the mob to pull him down.

“There he is!” Hoseok pointed to the head of brown hair that poked above everyone else. He pulled her along behind him, using his strength to cut through the congestion. When they broke through the wall of bodies, the entire friend group was gathered on the massive sectional couch at the center of the room. She picked the couple from the cluster and her jaw dropped.

“No fucking way. Cheyenne?!”

“Yes way.” Jimin chimed. The girl in question was perched on the arm of the couch next to Namjoon. Her amber eyes lit up when she recognized Y/N standing there.

“Y/N?!” She jumped up and crashed her body into hers with a crushing embrace. “Oh my God you grew up so much!! You’re not a little shrimp anymore!”

“I haven’t seen you since what? Fifth grade?” Cheyenne’s smile flashed white against her sepia skin. They were rather close in elementary until she moved away before middle school. She was the extrovert that found her and acted almost like a mother to her. Cheyenne was the one that cracked Y/N’s shell.

“I know, girl! We moved back and I’m going to Westview!”

“Westview?! I go to Westview!” Her eyes widened.

“What?! How come I haven’t seen you at school?” Y/N chuckled.

“I make myself very hard to spot.”

“She’s right,” Yoongi added, coming to stand beside her, “took me forever to track her down to talk to her for the first time.” He handed her a solo cup of vodka cranberry and she gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. Cheyenne’s hand flew to her chest.

“I’m gonna cry. My baby’s all glown up and she got herself a man!” She dramatically fanned her eyes. Her long false lashes almost reached her brows when she looked to the ceiling. Her box braids were twisted into space buns on either side of her head and her long, flowing white dress cinched at the waist and had a slit running up to reveal her muscular leg.

Y/N peaked over her shoulder at Namjoon. His long sleeved, tan v-neck and black vest made everything click. “Oh my god! Han Solo and Leia! That’s so fucking cute!”

“Can you guess whose idea it was?” Cheyenne cocked an eyebrow and looked over her shoulder at him, who blushed and gave a little finger wave. What a man baby. She took her seat back by him and Y/N and Yoongi sat on the couch across from them.

“So how did you guys meet?” The couple shared a humored look.

“Remember that bloody nose I said I got in P.E. a couple weeks ago?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah?” Cheyenne proudly raised her hand.

“That was me. It was girls vs boys in dodgeball and I nailed him in the face.” Y/N would expect nothing less from her. Even in elementary, Cheyenne was the best softball player she’d ever seen. That girl had an arm like a cannon.

“She walked with me to get ice and we kinda just got to know each other along the way.”

“Awwww~” Jimin and Taehyung swooned.

“As much as I hate to break up the moment, I'm trying to get fucked up tonight.” Y/N finally said once the conversation died down. “Chey, do you,” She put her thumb and index finger to her lips and puffed on an imaginary joint, “partake?”

Cheyenne raised an eyebrow at her. She wasn’t surprised Y/N had turned to drugs. That girl had issues from the very start. “Of course I do, who the fuck do you think I am?” Smirks cracked the pair’s lips and they shared a mischievous look for the first time in a long time.

~~~

Y/N, Yoongi, Cheyenne, Namjoon and Jimin gathered on the sofa by the swimming pool filled with splashing guys and girls stripped down to their underwear. Which was insane given that it was basically November and the water was 70 degrees at most. Yoongi placed a thick blunt between his lips and flicked his Zippo lighter, casting a brief warm glow on his face. He expertly cupped his hand against the flame and got a good burn going, then snapped the lighter closed against his thigh. The blunt cherried bright orange when he took a colossal hit, letting the smoke roll out of his nose in plumes before passing it to Y/N. She gathered a thick cloud in her mouth and let it float out to inhale through her nose. The milky reverse waterfall flowed into her nostrils like a yellow tinted nebula. The THC hit her already intoxicated brain, sending her further into the couch.

Jimin took his two puffs quickly and passed it on. On her turn, Cheyenne blew a single smoke ring and ran her finger down the middle to make it a heart, sending it floating into Namjoon’s face.

“Cute.” He said sarcastically as he took the blunt from her manicured nails and drew a long hit. “I don’t know any tricks so you’re just gonna have to deal with my boring ass.”

“We’ve been dealing with your boring ass for years.” Y/N deadpanned, earning a series of laughs from the group.

The blunt made its way around the circle back to Yoongi for the third time, and it was starting to reach its end. “Have you two smoked together before?” He questioned the new couple. They looked at each other and shook their heads. “Well then,” he clapped his hands together and plucked the blunt from his lip, “it’s customary that new couples christen the relationship by shotgunning.”

“What?” Namjoon’s brows knit together in confusion.

“Come on Joon, you’ve hung around us this long and you still don’t know what shotgunning is?” Y/N spoke up. He threw his hands up in defense.

“Hey! I’ve only ever heard it mentioned. No one ever told me what it actually was!” Yoongi huffed a chuckle.

“Watch and learn.” He puffed on the blunt and trapped the smoke in his mouth. His hand went to the back of Y/N’s neck and pulled her into a kiss, slowly delivering the cloud to her lungs. They parted, and white fog poured from her lips. “Now you try.” He handed him the blunt. Namjoon pocketed a good bit in his cheeks and cupped Cheyenne’s jaw. He pressed a light kiss on her full lips, transferring the smoke to her.

“Like that?” Yoongi and Y/N gave him an approving nod with a shared smirk.

“Consider us properly christened.” Cheyenne quipped. Before anything else could be said, a guy popped out from the sliding doors leading inside.

“AYE! WE GOT JELLO SHOTS IN HERE!”

“Oh fuck yes!” Y/N lept up, not giving herself time to ride out the head-rush that blacked out her senses and made a beeline inside. Yoongi watched her stumble through the glass doors and disappear in the crowd with visible torment.

“You good?” Cheyenne’s robust voice broke through his inner turmoil.

“Yeah.” He kept his gaze on the spot he lost sight of her in, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

~~~

Six Jello shots, two shotgunned beers with Taehyung, another rip from Hoseok, and a bonus sniff of crushed oxy in the bathroom later, Y/N was completely, totally, and utterly wrecked. She had to hold onto the walls and furniture for dear life to make her way outside. It had been almost an hour since she left Yoongi, so it was about time she found him.

The pool was a little less crowded and she could see her reflection on the surface. It’s hair was wild, clothes wrinkled, lipstick faded. Stars twinkled across the ripples, drawing her gaze up to the sky. She walked along the edge of the pool as she admired the lights that dotted the heavens. Her feet stopped their ambling to match the two sets of pictures in her vision back in place. The luring abyss of the sky gave a sharp contrast to the glimmering lights. Everything in her peripheral melted into the darkness that blanketed her view, and the frigid water rushed up to meet her.

It sounded like any other splash. Yoongi didn’t think anything of it. People had been jumping in and out of the pool all night.

“Hey, wasn’t that your girlfriend?” He turned to see a random girl standing behind his seat. His brows furrowed.

“What?” She pointed behind her to the steady bubbles that rose to the surface of the water.

“She was walking on the edge and just keeled-” He rocketed out of his chair and shoved her out of the way. He stripped off his coat mid sprint and dove head first into the jarring water without a second thought.

The water blurred his vision, but he could make out Y/N’s body steadily sinking to the bottom of the pool. He kicked as hard as he could and propelled himself deeper and deeper until he could reach her. His hand gripped her fuzzy wrist and pulled her up to him. Arm around her waist, he swam towards the light with powerful strokes from his three free limbs.

They broke the surface and he swung his head side to side to rid the hair from his eyes. He hooked an elbow over the edge for support while he lugged her unconscious figure out of the water.

“What the fuck?” Taehyung stood dumbly at the sliding door looking out, joint hanging between his lips.

“Get her, get her!” Yoongi grunted. Taehyung rushed over and hooked his hands under her shoulders. With one big tug, he dragged her onto the cement. Her upper body rested in his lap while Yoongi hauled himself out of the pool and scrambled to her side. He pressed his ear to her chest, listening for a pulse in agonizing suspense. The breath he was holding exploded out of his chest when he heard the familiar beats. Taehyung held his finger under her nose.

“She’s breathing.” The adrenaline left Yoongi’s system, taking every ounce of his energy along with it. He collapsed onto his back next to her, gasping for air. The sliding door opened and closed.

“Tae? Why’d you- holy fuck!” Jiwoo came rushing to his side and looked over Y/N’s soaked frame. The black wig was long gone, leaving her h/c mane splayed on the wet cement. The water turned them into a dark mass of limp waves, dulling their natural brilliance. “What happened?!”

“Fell…” Yoongi huffed, “…didn't hear...splash.” His heaving breaths spaced out his words into incoherent fragments. By now, a few heads turned to watch the scene, but most everyone else was too drunk to notice there was even a problem. Jiwoo jumped up.

“I'll go find some towels.” She disappeared back inside and came out not long after with Jin and Jimin carrying thick, blue towels in their arms. Jin immediately dropped to his knees, wrapping it around her soaked body and hugged her to his chest like an infant.

“Is she okay?” He asked apprehensively.

“Yeah. I think so.” Taehyung answered for Yoongi, who was tweaking and on the verge of an anxiety attack. The first one in nearly two years. His heart clamped in his chest and despite the biting cold, his trembling body was drenched in sweat.

Switching to mom mode, Jin snapped his fingers at Jimin, who was staring at the scene before his wasted eyes. “Jimin, wrap Yoongi up and try to calm him down. You,” he pointed to Taehyung, “go find Jungkook. He’s the only one who’ll know if she’s actually okay.” The three, Jiwoo following Taehyung, jumped to work on their tasks.

Jimin draped the towel over his figure as best he could given he was laying flat on his back and there was no getting him to sit up. Yoongi’s eyes darted back and forth, pinballing against his peripheral in all different directions. “Yoongi? Yoongi, I need you to look at me okay?” He sandwiched his face between his hands and tried to catch his eyes. Yoongi shook his head rapidly, eyes still all over the place. “I need you to listen to me. If you can’t look at me then close your eyes.” He squeezed them shut in hopes the roaring panic in his system wouldn’t be able to find him. “I’m gonna press on your chest, and I need you to push back, okay?” He didn't show any kind of response, so Jimin went ahead. He placed both palms against his hyperventilating chest and applied a gentle pressure that compelled him to take longer breaths. “You can breathe, it's okay. Feel that pressure? That’s air filling up your chest. You’re not suffocating, you have plenty of air. You’re okay.” He repeated the affirmations like a mantra. “Deep breaths. Push against my hands for as long as you can.” His chest pressed against his hands again and again, each breath growing deeper and longer. “There you go.”

The sliding door ripped open and Taehyung had Jungkook by the elbow, all but dragging him across the ground. Jungkook yanked his arm free. “What the hell is happening?!”

“You didn’t tell him?!” Jin shouted. Jungkook’s frustration disintegrated when his eyes landed on Y/N wrapped in Jin’s arms and Jimin bent over Yoongi splayed out on the ground.

“I was in a hurry, okay?! I couldn’t think of the words!” Taehyung retorted. Jungkook pointed a shaky finger at her, flashes of a life without her sent his anxiety through the roof.

“Is...is she?”

“No, she’s not dead.” Jin answered his unasked question. “We need you to check her and see if anything’s wrong that we didn’t catch.” Thank God. He could live again.

“Why me?” A stupid question, honestly.

“Because you’re the closest thing we have to a doctor, now get your ass down there and do your thing!” Taehyung gave him an urgent nudge. Jungkook hesitantly knelt by Jin’s side. It almost felt wrong seeing her in such a vulnerable state.

“U-uh...okay. You found a good pulse, right?”

“Yeah, but you need to be the judge of that.” He swallowed hard and pressed two fingers to her neck. “Well?”

“Her pulse is fine, and from the looks of it, her brain is getting enough oxygen.” He pointed at her lips, which were coming back to a healthy peach. “If she wasn’t, her lips and fingernails would be blue.”

“Is she okay?” Yoongi’s raspy voice was barely audible over the din of the party. Jimin managed to wrap the towel around him and his breath was nearing back to normal. The occasional twitch jolted his muscles from the lingering bad high.

“Yeah, just keep her warm and she’ll be fine.” Yoongi’s head fell back against the ground in relief. “Just make sure she stays on her side all night so she doesn’t aspirate.”

“Aspirate?” Jimin inquired.

“Suffocate on her own vomit.”

“Christ. That doesn’t happen a lot does it?” Taehyung asked.

“Enough to have a word for it.”

The door slid open yet again and out came Namjoon, Cheyenne, and Hoseok. “Jiwoo told us what happened. Are you sure she’s okay?” Hoseok spoke first.

“Jungkook said she should be.” Jin replied. “I’m gonna take her home and watch her for the night. Just in case.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

Namjoon carried Y/N in his arms to Jin’s car and laid her down in the backseat, taking care that she was propped on her side. Yoongi and Jin came to the car soon after, the latter carrying a hastily packed duffle bag.

“Yoongi, sit with her in the back and keep her from rolling over.” Jin ordered. The younger gladly climbed into the backseat and readjusted her head on his lap. Jin dropped into the driver's seat and hooked an elbow over his rolled down window. “Joon, I trust you can handle things while I’m gone. I might not live here, but it’s still my party so make sure everyone gets the fuck out by 6.” Namjoon gave him two thumbs up and headed inside when Jin started the car.

~~~

Jin slid his copy of Y/N’s house key into the lock, and the deadbolt snapped open. He pushed the door in for Yoongi, who was carrying her up the steps. The clock on the microwave read 3:45. Surprisingly early for leaving a frat party. “I’m gonna change her into some dry clothes.” Yoongi said.

“Okay, make sure you guy’s hair is dry so you don’t catch a cold.” Yoongi rolled his eyes and disappeared into her bedroom. Jin helped himself to the closet of sheets and blankets and grabbed a pillow from the bottom shelf. Once he was happy with the nest he made on the couch, he slipped in the tiny guest bathroom to wash his face, change, and take his meds. High blood pressure. His mom always said it ran in the family.

A few minutes later, he emerged in a pair of Totoro pajama pants and a grey t-shirt. He eyed the kitchen cabinet that was always stocked with ramen. Yoongi’s gonna be starving when he’s done with her. He set out a pot on the stove and grabbed three packages from the cabinet. “Hey Yoongs,” he padded to her doorway, “I’m making ramen do you want beef or-” His voice quieted when he peeked inside and saw them both in bed. He’d changed her into one of his hoodies and tied her hair in a bun. He laid behind her, arms seatbelting her to his torso, fast asleep. Without context, it was a heartwarming scene. Jin's lips formed a small smile and he eased the door shut, careful not to wake him. “Goodnight guys~”

He plopped onto the couch and plugged his phone into the charger that ran across the floor to reach the coffee table. The second his head hit the pillow he felt himself being pulled under by the current of sleep. He wondered to himself, what was going on in Y/N’s head that was so bad she nearly died just to get away from. She’d never lost control like that before. At least not bad enough for Yoongi to have a whole anxiety attack over. Whatever it was, he prayed it was nothing too horrible because he knew no matter how much he’d try to help, there was no getting anything out of her. That scared him. Hell, it terrified him not two hours ago. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being, and let his lids droop until sleep overtook him.

~~~

NOVEMBER 9TH

“Haaaaappy Biiiirthdayyyy tooo youu~! Haaappy Birthdaaayy tooooo youuuuu~! Happy Biiirthday dear Yoongiiiiiiii~!” The birthday boy buried his face in his hands out of sheer embarrassment while the group drunkenly sang around the cake in front of him. “Happy Birthdayyy toooooo yooouuuuuuuuuu~!” A birthday party, his worst nightmare. He was never one for birthdays, his family didn’t have the money for that kind of luxury. Every year, his dad would just gift him a pack of cigarettes, grab him by the collar, and give the same drunken speech about how he needs to toughen up if he’s gonna survive in the real world. Y/N carded her fingers through his hair to get it out of his face.

“Make a wish, Yoongi.” Her gentle touch was enough to coax him back to reality. He lifted his face from his hands and studied the three joints stuck into the frosting as candles. He thought for a minute then leaned in and blew the tiny flames out in one breath. Their cheers bounced off the old, bare walls of the abandoned house. Everyone was there, even Cheyenne.

“Finally!” Taehyung and Hoseok pounced on the cake and plucked off the “candles” before ash fell on the frosting. The cake was white with colorful piping on the edges and pink flowers dotting the sides. It was obviously for a kid, which was most likely the reason Y/N and Jiwoo chose it. The room quickly filled with wispy clouds of smoke courtesy of Tae, Hobi, Jimin, and Cheyenne.

“Holy shit!” Cheyenne’s hand flew to her mouth to cover her grin and pointed at Yoongi and Y/N.

“What?” She asked.

“Yoongi’s 18 now! You guys can’t fuck!” Y/N turned bright red and hid her face behind her hands.

“2 months, 17 days and...” Yoongi checked the time on his phone, “10 hours.” He sighed. The time until her 18th birthday. She got held back a year in kindergarten after a nasty case of pneumonia. So, technically, she should’ve been a senior by now. But then she never would’ve met Jimin. Or Cheyenne for that matter.

Y/N leaned her cheek on her fist and observed the spectacle. Her natural smile slowly faded, and corners of her lips grew heavier and heavier. She could feel the curtain of despair lowering over her, suffocating the enjoyment out of the otherwise jubilant moment. The all too familiar mentality settled in her mind that she’d never be happy again, or see life as anything more than some sick joke. Not now. Not now, not now please… She tried to keep it together for everyone’s sake, but the tears were coming any second now.

Under the cover of the noise, she slipped away and into the bathroom on the other side of the house. She eased the door shut with a tiny click. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. The harder she pressed her lips together, the wetter her eyes became. She leaned against the sink, staring into the abyss of the rusty drain. Five hours. Five hours of sobriety and she was already a sobbing mess. She tried. She really did. She wanted to be sober for Yoongi’s birthday so she’d have the memories and not need to rely on pictures and stories the next day. Her and what little self preservation she had left were fighting a war against her demons. And she was losing. Five hours would soon turn to four, then three, then... She stopped from scaring herself any further.

She hurriedly fished out two Zoloft tablets from her black skinny jeans pocket. The bulge of the baggie was covered by her oversized, snow white sweater. Using her phone case to crush them and credit card to scrape the dust into a neat line, she bent down and snorted the powder in one quick sniff. Her head jerked up and she stared at the person in the mirror. Slowly but surely, her face relaxed, her smile returned, and everything felt okay again. She wiped the runny mascara from under her eyes and stepped out to return to the joyful madness.

~~~

DECEMBER

The heated architect’s office provided a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside. Y/N sat behind the receptionist desk, filing the last of a client’s paperwork so she could finally leave. Everyone else had left for the day, leaving her the task of locking everything up. After her emancipation, Jimin’s mom couldn’t have offered her a job at her office fast enough. Hell, she even offered for her to live with them permanently. The work was boring, but it paid better than any other part-time job ever would.

“Y/N!” Jimin quacked from the employee lounge down the hall. He’d tagged along after school to study for midterms with her in the downtime.

“WHAT!”

“ARE YOU DONE YET?!”

“ALMOST!” Were they yelling louder than necessary? Probably, their dynamic accepted nothing less. He popped his head around the corner, his body following suit. There wasn’t anything good to raid from the fridge, so he had nothing else to do but watch her lock up.

The phone on her desk rang, breaking the silence. “Fuck a duck! Do people not pay attention to business hours?!” She huffed aggressively and ripped the receiver off the hook. “Mijeong Park’s office, this is Y/N, how can I help you?” Her voice took a hard right to a bright, singsongy tone, and he had to bite his lip to not laugh. Hearing her speak in such a way he knew she hated brought him pure joy. On busy days it was like watching two personalities fight over their host. “Oh, I’m sorry she just left. Would you like to leave a message?” She grabbed a pen and jotted something down on a sticky note. “Uh-huh. Mhm...Alright, thank you!” She hung up and her face immediately fell back to its usual resting bitch face. She slipped on her coat and threw her messenger bag on her shoulder. “Okay, let’s go.”

~~~

The euphoric ring of the bell signaling that school was over washed over Y/N’s senses. She did it. Midterms were over. Granted, she didn’t study that hard, so she wasn’t expecting the best results. Oh well. C’est la vie. Now all she had was another week before winter break and she was home free.

Yoongi had work, Jimin had dance, Namjoon had football, Jungkook was with his family, and pretty much everyone else seemed to be busy when she texted each one to hang out. Whatever. She’d treat herself to something special.

The clock on her nightstand read 8:50 by the time Y/N stepped out of the steamy bathroom. She did everything; shave, exfoliate, lotion, face mask, hair mask. She scrunched her hair with a t-shirt until the curls were almost dry, leaving the rest of the water to soak into her roots. Yoongi’s Kendrick Lamar hoodie with the word “DAMN.” across the chest in big red letters kept her warm in the chilly apartment. She never used the heat system. It was cheaper and more comfortable to just bundle up. Her black sweatpants had the RIPNDIP cat giving the one finger salute on the side of one of the legs. There was no contest. They were her favorite pair.

The only light that filled her room was from the moon that poured through her open blinds. Long black shadows were projected over the space, giving it a strange yet aesthetically pleasing contrast. She shimmied under her bed to grab the shoe box shoved to the very back against the wall and tossed it on the bed. She climbed onto the mattress and sat legs crossed. The box was full of various paraphernalia she’d collected over the years. Digging to the very bottom, she pulled out a tiny baggie with two white tablets. They were bought a few weeks ago, but had been saved for a special occasion such as this.

She’d always been interested in trying Fentanyl. Just once. To satiate her curiosity. The pills crushed into power nicely. She cut and scraped a small line -- much smaller than the usual line of coke -- on her makeup mirror. This stuff was fifty times stronger than heroin. She wasn’t a complete idiot. Come on.

The line stared back up at her with a silent urgency. Now or never. She put the straw to her nose and snorted up the dust.

She waited.

Nothing.

She waited some more.

Still nothing.

A frustrated huff left her and she reached for her phone to cuss out the plug who had the audacity to sell her fake shit.

She reached for the phone.

The phone.

Get the phone.

Get the fucking phone.

Her mind completed the action time and time again but her body moved at a snail's pace. The last of her strength gave out and she collapsed onto the bed, only to realize, she’d been laying down the whole time. Woah.

A sedated smile spread ear to ear and a string of lazy, incoherent giggles made her diaphragm flutter. At that moment, the entire world shut the fuck up, and she was alone. Truly alone. It was just her inside her head. No depression, no anxiety, no trauma, no mommy issues. Nothing. Just her. It was like walking around in an empty mall. She had the entire world to herself. You know what would be great right now? Music.

She inched for her headphones.

Didn’t move.

She tried to focus on that singular action as hard as she could.

Didn’t move.

Okay...this isn’t really funny anymore.

She tried again.

Her muscles didn’t even flinch.

Tears pricked her eyes and her back broke into a cold sweat. Panic began to make its entrance as her eyes darted around the room for something, anything, that could help her. Her lungs struggled to replenish her oxygen leaving her chest in agony. She regressed back to the terrified, helpless little girl that she ran so far to lose.

She almost didn’t hear the knock at her door over the internal cacophony. She tried to listen for it to happen again. Maybe she was just hearing things. Sure enough, another knock split through the roaring static in her ears. Help! Please Dear God! I'm here! I’M IN HERE!

“Y/N?”

Jungkook.

Oh shit. No. No, no, no, no! Anyone but him!

“Y/N?” Every emotion that she’d freed herself from was dumped over her head like a bucket of ice water when, out of the corner of her eye, the door eased open. Jungkook’s silky head of black hair reflected the moonlight streaming through her window. He almost didn’t spot her from the glare. “Y/N? Are you okay? I felt bad that you were alone today, so I thought I’d stop by and check on you...” She made a barely audible, unintelligible sound. Attempting to raise her voice above a teensy whisper was an exercise in futility. His heart sank at her response. “Oh, you’re in the middle of something. I-I’ll just come back tomorrow.” He turned back around. Wait! No! Please don’t go! Forget what I said earlier! Help me please!

“..d-n’t g-o…” She scraped all the energy left in her body — from the top of her head to the tips of her toes — to say those two words.

Jungkook turned and stared at her stagnant figure. Wow. She must be really high. “Alright, come here.” He sat on the bed next to her and helped her sit up. Her head rested on his shoulder. His arm was the sole thing keeping her upright. He took a deep breath and thought about what he planned on telling her when he got there. He might as well practice now since she wouldn’t remember anyway.

“So uh...about me being with my family… That was a lie.”

“Mmm..?”

“I went on a date. Well, not really, but I really like her and I think she might like me too..” His cheeks blushed a little at the thought. “She’s a great friend, so if it doesn’t work out I hope we still have that.” He grew more confident with his words the more he talked about her. “I think you’d like her. She smokes weed and stuff for pain, but she does it recreationally too.” Her silence finally caught his attention after the mention of weed. He giggled a little. “Did you fall asleep?” When he turned to look down at her, she slipped past his shoulder and slumped onto the bed. The impact of the mattress didn’t stir her in the slightest. “Y/N?”

He shook her shoulder.

Nothing.

He shook harder, the familiar fear germinating in the pit of his stomach.

“Y/N?”

Nothing.

Fear festered into horror as each attempt failed. Tears blinded him while he turned her on her back and roughly patted her cheeks. “Y/N?! Y/N, wake up!” His heart dropped past his stomach and onto the floor. Her lips and fingernails had turned an unhealthy shade of indigo and her breathing was dangerously shallow. No. This wasn’t real. It had to be a nightmare. It had to be. “Please wake up!!” He couldn’t stop saying her name in hopes that it would somehow magically awaken her. Her declining state said otherwise.

“Don’t leave me!” He pulled her onto the floor and straddled her hips, pulling his phone out to dial 911 in the process. His hands lined up with one another over her heart and jumped into action pumping her heart for her.

“Just stay with me! Please!”

“Blood oxygen at 60%!”

Jungkook had to be ripped from Y/N’s body as the team of EMTs swarmed around her. One of them lifted her lid with a gloved finger and flashed a penlight in her eye.

“Pupils are constricted! I need 2mg of Narcan!”

He was shoved out of her room and forced to watch from the doorway while the first responders stuck her with needle after needle. They slipped an oxygen mask over her lifeless face. The world seemed to slow with every jagged breath he took. His eyes unfocused and his hearing grew fuzzy except for the faint sound of his hammering heart. All was quiet in the eye of the storm. Then, the air left. Every atom of oxygen was sucked from the world with no regard for his existence. He fell to his knees gripping his throat and chest, his lungs screaming for air.

“..........d!……..id!……..Hey, kid!” He was snapped back to reality when large hands pressed into his shoulders. He darted his red, watery eyes to the paramedic restraining him to the floor. “You need to calm down!” His kicking, screaming and crying had been silenced by the ringing in his ears. A sharp pinch pricked his side and before long, he stilled as a wave of serenity washed over him. It was like someone flipped his off switch.

“What… what did you give me..?”

“Just some Valium to help you relax.” He felt his body sink into the floor, being pulled further into the abyss of slumber. He fought his lids open despite their growing weight, but it was no use. They drooped closed and all the chaos and fear gave way to darkness.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital pierced Jungkook’s lids pulling him back into consciousness. He was stretched out on a firm sofa with a simple heart monitor clipped to his fingertip in what looked like an ICU room. The soft beeping of an EKG drew his attention to the bed next to him. He got to his feet as fast as he could with the Valium still lingering in his system and raced to Y/N’s bedside. The bittersweet excitement of getting to see her went completely sour when he took in her state. She’d never looked so frail and delicate before. Dark circles sunk in her eyes with rings of yellow on their border giving the illusion of two black eyes. Her lips were chapped and bleeding. Countless tubes and IVs protruded from her body which only stressed the severity of her condition further. Yet, despite her broken appearance, she never looked so peaceful.

“Good. You’re up.” He spun around. The voice came from a doctor standing in the doorway clipboard in hand. “I’m Dr. Lobrano, I’m the one in charge of your friend’s case.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s stable, but the stress overload caused her to slip into a coma so her body can heal itself to its full extent.” Jungkook’s face paled. “Now, I’m not saying it’s 100%, but most opioid coma patients wake up and make a full recovery. Physically, that is.” “How long will that take?” He took in a calculating breath.

“It’s hard to say. It could take three days or three weeks. Every case is different” His heart sank for the nth time that night. He looked over his shoulder at her motionless figure under the sheets. The only thing that told she was even alive was the soft, steady beep of the EKG. He could hardly bear to look at her. It was like seeing Superman fall from the sky. She was his Superman. Whether she believed it or not didn’t matter because it was true. “I hate to bother you during such a stressful time,” he pulled a pen out of his pocket protector, “but I need you to answer a few questions about our friend over there.” He pointed the end of the pen at her.

“U-um, okay.” Dr. Lobrano took a seat in the chair facing the sofa which Jungkook had retaken his seat on. He clicked the pen against his knee and held it at the ready.

“Next of kin?”

“Her parents, but she’s emancipated.” He nodded and silently jotted something on his clipboard.

“Siblings?”

“No.” He looked up.

“Extended family?” Jungkook opened mouth to answer when he realized -- she didn’t. She had no one. From what he’d caught over the years he knew her mom was an only child and her dad’s only brother died when he was in college. No aunts, no uncles, no cousins. No one.

“Not that I can think of. No.”

“Okay...any other significant relationships? We need someone to sign off on her paperwork and consent forms in case anything happens.”

“But it won’t, right?” He clicked his pen.

“As a medical professional, I’m legally obligated to tell my patients and their loved ones the truth. And the truth is, your friend over there took an almost lethal dose of Fentanyl. And with her age and weight? I consider myself a man of science, but that’s a miracle if I ever saw one. However, just because she made it past those first critical hours doesn’t mean there’s zero risk of other complications that may arise later on.” Jungkook nodded, trying to take in the information as stoically as possible. He didn’t want the doctor to see how he really felt on the inside.

“How old are you?”

“I’m sixteen, sir.”

“Do you have anyone you can call who’s at least eighteen that can sign for her?”

“Yeah, her…boyfriend” The weight of his circumstances hit him like a bus. The thought of anyone else hadn’t even crossed his mind until now. How the hell was he supposed to tell Yoongi that the only person keeping his life together was in a coma from almost killing herself?

“Then I suggest you give him a call as soon as possible, and if you don’t have any other questions I should finish making my rounds.” He gave a distant nod and was left alone with Y/N once again. His eyes were drawn back to the subtle rise and fall of her chest. A long sigh of anguish left his lips and he buried his face in his hands.

“What am I gonna do?”

~~~

Jungkook stared at Yoongi’s contact in his phone. His thumb hovered over the call button. He knew he was about to hurt him worse than anyone ever has in his life. It was going to kill him. He forced his thumb down on the screen. The dial tone counted down the seconds before the heartbreak. It stopped after three rings.

“Hello?”

“....”

“Kook?”

“Yoongi…” His voice began to quiver, “Yoongi, something bad happened.”

~~~

Jiwoo laid in bed on her stomach with her feet swishing in the air. She held her phone to her ear with her shoulder while she painted her nails their usual black chrome. “You should listen to Never Know by Bad Omens. I bet you’d like it.”

“You think?” Taehyung’s voice came from the other end. Before she could answer, she heard Yoongi in the living room on the phone.

“Woah, woah, calm down. What happened?” Silence.

“Jiwo-?”

“Sh!” The silence stretched for a good four seconds. She jumped when Yoongi came barreling down the hall to his room like a bat out of Hell and came back out with his jacket slung over his arm. The front door opened and slammed shut. Within seconds, his car peeled out of the driveway. The roar of his engine quickly dissipated in the distance.

~~~

Jungkook bounced his knee in anticipation. It had been almost ten minutes since he called Yoongi and there was still no sign of him. He was beginning to worry something might’ve happened to him on the way when the door swung open sending the doorknob colliding into the wall. Jungkook shot up and immediately broke down in tears when he laid eyes on Yoongi’s familiar face. Yoongi rushed to catch his crumpling body and hugged his head to his chest. Jungkook sobbed like he never sobbed before. Every emotion he’d kept bottled up since the moment he found her in her room spilled out onto Yoongi’s grey hoodie.

His heart — along with every other function in his body — stopped when he saw Y/N. She’d never looked so broken and it tore at his insides to even look at her. It didn’t feel natural. It didn’t feel real. There was no way this was the girl he loved.

When Jungkook’s cries diminished to a sniffle, Yoongi gingerly took him off his chest and approached her bedside. He tentatively placed his hand over her cold one. IV needles were sunken into each of her wrists and one on the back of her hand. He drew a shuddery breath. “What-....what did she take?”

“Fentanyl.” Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut trying not to dwell on it.

“Is she gonna be okay?” He knew it was a stupid question. Of course Jungkook couldn’t answer that.

“I don’t know.” Jungkook muttered.

“Did they say when she’d wake up?” Jungkook winced at his question. He must’ve been in shock to assume she even would.

“Yoongi,” the older turned to face him, “Y/N’s in a coma.”

~~~

Yoongi and Jungkook stayed the night in the spacious ICU room with Jungkook passed out on his little couch and Yoongi pulled up a chair next to Y/N’s bedside. He stayed awake all night watching her. It wasn’t that he thought something would happen if he fell asleep, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave her. Even if he may have still physically been there.

Breaking the news to everyone the next day was hard. Hearing their reactions over the phone was harder. ICU patients were only allowed to have three visitors per day —excluding Yoongi—so he was forced to decide who would get to see her first. He decided to just go by age.

Jimin and Taehyung arrived within five minutes of getting the call. Yoongi was waiting outside her room when the two came flying down the hall. They skidded to a stop and Yoongi had to hold them back with his palms against their chests. “Hold on, hold on. You can’t see her just yet.”

“Fucking why not?!” Taehyung shouted.

“Yeah, what the hell?” Jimin added.

“The doctor said that it helps to talk to coma patients, so we’re taking turns visiting her alone. Jungkook’s in there right now.”

~~~

Jungkook sat in Yoongi’s chair beside the hospital bed. His fists balled against his knees trying to think of something to say.

“Y/N…..I’m…. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took your pills. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I watched this happen and didn’t get you help.” Tears pooled in his eyes. “I’m so sorry...You're my hero Y/N….You probably don’t think so, but if I never met you...” He choked, “I don’t-...I don’t think I’d be alive right now.” His lips quivered trying to form the words. He’d never said anything like that out loud before. “You’re the only person who makes me feel like I’m not alone. I’ve never felt more loved and wanted than when I’m with you. You’re the strongest person I know. You always make sure I get all of my work done and eat right even when you can barely take care of yourself. It sounds useless, but it’s those reminders that reassure me that someone actually cares. If you go I-...I don’t know what I’m gonna do. But it’s not gonna be anything good.” He put his head down on her thigh and cried. “I need you, Y/N. I need you so much it hurts.”

~~~

The three in the hall jumped to their feet when the door finally opened, and Jungkook stepped out. His eyes and nose were puffy and red from hours of stop and start tears. Jimin pulled him into a soft hug which he gratefully accepted. “Okay Tae, you’re next.” Yoongi said. Taehyung thought for a second.

“No. Jimin should go. He’s known her longer than I have.” Yoongi looked from Taehyung to Jimin who looked up in surprise.

“That’s fine.” He said. Jimin gave Taehyung a thankful look and entered the room.

He drew a hard breath when he saw her. Her hospital gown washed away the color of her cheeks that once gave her a youthful glow. “Oh, Y/N…” He put his hand to his heart and sat down. “What happened to you?” The dark circles under her eyes popped against the blank canvas of her face. He slipped his hand under hers and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “You can’t be doing this to yourself. You scared me. You scared us.”

He spent a long time just looking at her in silence. He couldn’t find a way to put his emotions into words. “God, you’re so gorgeous. Even when you're wearing a paper gown with bags that rival a panda’s.” He reached and twirled a piece of her hair in his fingers — something he did a lot when they relaxed together. Her usual bouncy coils laid in dull, limp waves against her shoulders. “You almost left me. You can’t do that, because you’re stuck with me. And there’s nothing you can do to change that. Wherever you go, I’ll follow, whatever you do, I’ll copy. We’re in this together, so your ass better wake up so we can fuck shit up until we’re old and grey, scaring kids on Halloween together.” He giggled, but it slowly turned to whimpers. He wiped tears from his cheeks with his sleeves. “You’re my best friend, N/N. I don’t know if I can handle it if you go.” He took a sniffly breath. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you. Even if it was in different ways, but I always have.” He sniffed and his voice cracked under the emotion. “You deserve the world, you deserve someone who loves you the way I know you should be loved. That’s why I was so happy when you met Yoongi, because I knew he was perfect for you. He worships you, Y/N, kisses the ground you walk on. And I can rest easy knowing you’re in the best possible hands. Don’t worry about me though, I’m happy loving you in any way I can.” Tears patted on the bed sheets when he leaned in to give her a lingering kiss on the cheek. “Please come back to us.”

~~~

An hour passed, and Jimin emerged from the room. “Finally! I was starting to regret giving up my turn.” Taehyung stood. Jimin and Jungkook held hands and Yoongi stripped his leather jacket off. The extra layers were starting to get to him. He looked up and saw Taehyung still standing there.

“What are you lookin’ at me for?”

“C-can I go now?” Yoongi chuckled a little.

“Of course you can.”

~~~

It took a while for Taehyung to eventually gravitate to the chair beside her. He mainly stood near the door and stared at her for the first five minutes. Another twenty went by of him just sitting in the chair with his hands clasped between his knees. “Listen uh...I’m not good at this whole sentimental thing, so if it’s true that coma patients remember what they hear, don’t judge. I know I get on your nerves a lot and tease you, but I do it ‘cus that’s just how I show love.” He looked down. “Truth is, you’re like a sister to me, Y/N. I always wanted an older sister to annoy, and when I met you it felt like I’d found my missing piece. Nobody in my life ever stays long, but you’re the one constant that I could hang on to. No matter which girl left me or friends I lost, I knew I could always count on you to be there, ready to go along with whatever I wanted.” He chuckled at the tears brimming in his eyes. “Look at this shit. You got me cryin’.” He roughly wiped his eyes with the collar of his hoodie. “Well, that’s my spiel. Wake up soon. I need somebody to roll their eyes at my jokes again.” He stood and wiped his palms on his sweats. His fingers twitched at his side as he peered down at her. Hesitantly, he leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. “Get better, sis.”

~~~

The next day was Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jin’s turn. Namjoon, unsurprisingly, got there at the exact time Yoongi texted him to. He came in carrying a to-go cup of coffee with the Starbucks logo on the sleeve. Immediately, he pulled Yoongi into a quick hug before he could protest. “Here, I know you’re not sleeping.”

“Thanks.” Yoongi took it with a small smile. Namjoon wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t slept a wink since he got there, and it was starting to show. His raven hair hung in glossy clumps and he was starting to develop his own set of dark circles. “You can go in whenever you’re ready.”

Namjoon stepped in and closed the door gently behind him. “Hey, N/N.” He sighed and took a seat in the chair that he dwarfed with his long legs. “I know you probably could care less, but I’m gonna take care of your homework for you until you get out of this. That is, if you don’t wake up by Monday. Anyway, uh, Cheyenne couldn’t make it. She’s at a tournament in Las Vegas, but she sends her love. Maybe when you wake up, you can FaceTime her. She’s really worried about you, y’know. Even if you guys haven’t seen each other for years.” He gazed at her almost as if he was waiting for her to respond. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Normally, I always know what to say, but….with you there’s just so much to be said I can’t think straight, so I thought,” he fished a small book out of his coat pocket, “I’d read you some poetry instead. I know the guys have probably talked your ear off, so it should be a nice break from it all.” He cracked open the book to one of the pages he’d marked with a sticky note. “I’ll start with this one, since I know it’s your favorite.”

Life is unpredictable,

It changes with the seasons,

Even your coldest winter,

Happens for the best of reasons,

And though it feels eternal,

Like all you’ll ever do is freeze,

I promise spring is coming,

And with it, brand new leaves.

- Erin Hanson

~~~

Hoseok was already in the hallway when Namjoon finished up. “How’d it go?” He showed him the book in his hand.

“Just some reading. She always likes that.” Hoseok gave him a nod and circled around him to take his place.

He took a seat and rested his elbows on the mattress. “Hey...God, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to do this. I’m not used to one sided conversations.” He gave a tiny chuckle. “I was a mess when I heard about your accident...I mean, Fentanyl, Y/N? Fentanyl?? I know how bad that shit’s reputation is and when I heard you ODed on it, I was certain you were dead. It took five minutes for Yoongi to calm me down and say you were alive.” He eyed all the tubes and machines she was hooked up to. “Although it doesn’t really look like it….Fuck you scared me, Y/N. Don’t you ever do that again.” He grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You hear me? You’re the only one who knows how bad my coke problem really is. In fact, no one else even knows I’m bipolar. Only you. Because you’re the only person I feel comfortable talking about it with. So please, don’t scare me like that again. I don’t expect you to come out of this clean as a whistle. Hell, I don’t even expect you to stop snorting your prescriptions. That’s why we need each other. We can work on ourselves together. I know you’ll wake up. I just know it. And I’ll be waiting with a big ass bag of all your favorite candy and movies when you do. So, you just focus on healing that body of yours and get back to us as soon as you can.” He gave her a kiss on the hand and another on her forehead. “Love ‘ya.”

~~~

Yoongi eyed the book Namjoon had set on one of the chairs lining the hall. He picked it up and leafed through it. “Hey, Joon?”

“Yeah?”

“You think I can borrow this for a bit?” He looked over to see what he was talking about.

“Yeah, of course.” Yoongi continued to flip through the pages when Hoseok stepped out and shut the door behind him. His eyes were misty and his voice was a little nasally.

“That was a lot harder than I thought it was gonna be.” He scanned the hallway. “Is Jin coming?”

“He’s coming around six after he gets off work.” Yoongi said, not looking up from the poem he was in the middle of.

“Oh, okay. Well, I have practice later so I’ll try to come visit again as soon as I can.” Hoseok gave each of them a hug and took his leave.

“I can stick around if you want, Yoongi.” Namjoon offered.

“No, no. I’m okay. There’s really not much you can do here. I’ll call you if anything comes up.” He stood again and Namjoon gave him another parting hug. “Thanks for the book, by the way.”

“No problem. I’ll see you later.”

Yoongi took his spot in the chair by Y/N’s bed and delved back into his book. As he went along, he wrote poems that reminded him of her on the hospital stationary from the bedside table. He didn’t read them aloud. He found it hard to believe that talking would actually help. His life hadn’t been fortunate enough for him to believe in anything more than cold, hard facts. He wasn’t one for talking anyway, and he knew neither was she.

He didn’t realize how much time had passed until Jin came knocking with a duffel bag in his hand. “Who’s that for?” Yoongi asked.

“You.” Jin said as he tossed it at him. He dropped the book and caught it against his chest. “Now go shower while I talk to my baby because I know you haven’t. You don’t want Y/N to wake up and have you smelling like ass.” He had him there. He stood up with a sigh and took the duffel to the connecting bathroom.

Jin turned and felt his heart sink at the sight of her. It hurt to see her like this and not be able to do anything to help. “I hope you’re feeling okay in there.” He sat on the edge of the bed by her thigh. “I can’t stay as long as I’d hoped, so I’ll have to make this quick. I know you probably don’t want me boo-hooing over you, so I’ll try to keep the tears to a minimum.” He rubbed the smooth tape securing the IV in her hand. “I’ll never forget that time I found you curled up on the floor, in the middle of your living room, so depressed you couldn't walk. I had to bathe you and tuck you in bed. I even fed you soup even though you said you could do it yourself.” He smiled softly. “I know I have to take care of you sometimes when you can’t do it yourself. And that’s okay. It’s okay to ask for help every once in a while. That’s my job. We always joke about how I’m your guys’ momma, but it’s true. You’re the reason I realized how much I want to be a dad one day. Believe me, if I could take care of you for the rest of my life I would, but I don’t think you’d care for that too much.” A small tear slipped past his guard and dripped down his cheek. “Sorry,” he wiped it away, “but you can’t blame me. I’m worried about you, Y/N. I don’t know what drove you to do this, but I know you tried your hardest to fight it.” He squeezed her hand. “I want you to know that I’m not mad, I’m not disappointed. You were trying to take your pain away. I just wish you could’ve told me how much you were suffering. Even if you want to spare me the stress and heartbreak of it all, I’d rather know you're in pain so maybe I can help you. Please don’t hide like that again. I need my little gremlin around to give me grey hairs before I hit thirty.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head. “And you’re worth every single one.”

The door to the bathroom opened and Yoongi stepped out rubbing a towel over his hair. “Sorry, I tried to take as long as possible.”

“It’s fine, I need to be going anyway.” Jin stood and gave Y/N one last glance. “I’ll be waiting for you, kiddo.” He turned to Yoongi. “You gonna be okay here by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Have you talked to her yet?” Yoongi paused. “You should. Even if you think it doesn’t do anything, you’d be surprised what comes out.” With that, he took his jacket off the chair and closed the door behind him.

~~~

The clock read 11:50 by the time Yoongi finished his book. He set it on the bedside table with a sigh. Over a dozen notes were taped to the railing in a long line of comforting messages. It was surprising how much it helped him take his mind off the worst. But now, he had nothing to do but wait. He let out another long sigh. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked much. It’s just hard not being able to hear your voice...I figured if I tried to say anything I’d fucking lose it, but it feels like I already am.” He rested his forehead in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. “Jesus...what am I gonna do? If you go, I don’t know what I’m gonna do to myself. It scares me...One of the nurses told me you’d be going to a better place, but I don’t care if you’re going to a better place, I need you here.” He sniffed. “And I know that’s wrong, but I need you in this shitty ass world because I can’t survive without you.” He tried to blink the brimming tears out of his eyes, but it was no use. “There’s no one else in the world I’d rather be with than you. I don’t know how you made me like this, but I don’t ever want to change. I love you. I love you so fucking much I don’t know what to do with myself. I love the little things about you the most. I love that one curl that you hate because it goes the wrong way, how you’re not afraid to eat twice as much as me, how you grab my shirt in your sleep, how you walk in the grass with a flashlight during the summer so you don’t step on any frogs.”

The steady beep of the EKG was the only response he got. “Please don’t leave me. Please? No one’s ever made me feel this good before. And if you leave...if you-...” His head sank as he tried to hold back his tears. “It’s just- It’s easier to smile with you because when I look at you, I can feel it. And I-I look at you and I-....I’m home….Please, I don’t want that to go away.”

~~~

Yoongi didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up with his head resting against Y/N’s hip. He blinked away his sleepiness and tried to read the clock. 6:20. He groaned. Stayed awake two nights in a row and didn’t even get so much as six hours. Despite his suspicions, he did feel a lot better having talked to her. It seemed to bring her a little closer to him in these God awful times.

She was looking better. The dark circles were fading and the color was returning to her lips. It lifted his spirits to see she was visibly healing. He called Namjoon to bring him another poetry book. The stuff was really starting to grow on him. Of all people.

Other than a visit from Jungkook, Jiwoo, and Jimin, the day was pretty uneventful. A few nurses came in to take her vitals and stretch her joints, but he wouldn’t necessarily consider that an event.

“Here’s a good one.” Yoongi leaned forward in his chair for her to hear.

I don’t think you will

Ever fully understand

How you touched my life

And made me who I am.

You are the keeper of my dreams,

The man who holds my heart,

The one I want to spend my life with,

The one with whom I will always stand.

Stand beside through thick and thin

Through all that life throws our way

Knowing that this special love we share

Will guide us each and every day.

I don’t think you could ever feel

All the love I have to give,

And I’m sure you never realize

You’ve been my will to live.

- Stephanie Schiavone

~~~

The light of dawn shone through the thin curtains that billowed in the breeze coming from the open balcony door, casting the spacious bedroom in a golden glow. Yoongi shifted under the white, linen sheets and stretched out his spine like a cat. He cracked an eye open and took in the view of Y/N’s bare back on the other side of the bed. The fabric only came up to her hips and was pulled around to her chest with her sleeping hands. Her hair swept over the entire pillow scattering her curls every which way.

He ghosted his knuckle down her spine and back up again, repeating the action until her slender shoulders stirred. She let out a small, airy groan and dug herself further into the mattress. Birds chirped in the lush trees swaying outside with the coming morning. Yoongi scooted closer until her back was flush against his chest. The heat between their skin was a welcome sensation that seemed to fill his heart with even more love. If that was possible. He slipped his arms around her waist and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She wriggled again when he started peppering her with kisses up and down her neck and cheek. He finally brought his lips to her ear. “Wake up.”

~~~

Y/N’s eyes drifted open and fluttered against the cold lights of the ICU room. She looked down at her IVs and around the room groggily. Yoongi was asleep on the edge of the bed with his head resting on his folded arms. It broke her heart to see how tired he looked. Dark bags marked his red, puffy eyes from hours of vigil. Tears welled in her eyes and her lips drew into a pained frown as the memories of her night flashed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to silence her hiccups. Her head sank back into the pillow and hoped it would just swallow her whole. There was no way she’d be able to face anyone after what she did. Oh God. Jungkook. Instant guilt and shame washed over her when she realized what she put that poor boy through.

When her eyes cleared enough to see, she noticed the dozens of messages littering her bed and side table. She took one off the railing with a shaky hand. It was in Yoongi’s handwriting.

When I first met you

I remembered you

From a hundred different dreams

And there you were

For me to love

All over again

For the very first time

- Atticus

A smile crept onto her lips as she read each one.

Your eyes.

Your eyes hold everything

My soul thirsts for.

- Paul Perry

She read another.

You gave light to my soul

You helped me to be whole

I have felt love for you before

And it will be more and more,

You are mine, my dear

You are the angel from above

Who taught me how to love.

Please, forever keep me near.

- Anonymous

~~~

The feeling of his hair being carded through slowly coaxed Yoongi out of his dream. He peeked an eye open. Y/N was mindlessly playing with his hair while she intently read one of his notes. “Oh my God!” He jumped onto the bed and cupped her head in his hands as he attacked her with kisses wherever he could land them. “You’re awake! Holy shit, you’re awake!” He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I thought I lost you.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Her hoarse voice was like music to his ears. He let himself laugh for the first time in the longest three days of his life. She looked up at him and he finally got to see those e/c eyes that he missed so much. Another wave of kisses washed over her that concluded with a final long, heated kiss on her lips.

“I’ve been waiting to be able to do that again.” She giggled and pushed against his chest.

“Get off, creepo. If the nurses saw you like this you’d get kicked out so fucking fast.”

“Oh shit,” he jumped off, “I need to tell them you’re up!” She watched in amusement as he ran out the door, then frantically popped back in.

“I’ll be right back!”

~~~

Everything that happened next flew by in a blur. She nearly suffocated under the hugs and kisses and gifts she was bombarded with. She was transferred to a standard room where she was allowed to have as many visitors as she wanted. Her entire day consisted of catching up with everyone, watching movies, and lots, and lots of Jello. Most of her IVs were removed which allowed Yoongi to curl up beside her that night.

The next evening, Jungkook was visiting her when Dr. Lobrano stepped in with his usual clipboard and pen. “Hey you two. If you don’t mind, I need to speak with Miss Y/N for a few minutes in private.”

“Oh..okay.” Jungkook reluctantly got up and left the room, stealing a glance on his way out.

“So?” She asked. The doctor folded his hands in front of him and looked down for a bit.

“I’m afraid there’s one thing about your condition that I’ve yet to mention.” She sat up straighter, her stomach churning.

“What is it?”

“When you first arrived at the ER you had major vaginal bleeding, so we did some tests...” Her heart stopped. “You were pregnant, but I’m afraid the shock of your overdose also caused you to miscarry.” It felt like she got punched in the stomach by Mike Tyson. All the air was sucked out of her lungs.

“P-pregnant..?”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to give you some time to catch up with loved ones before I informed you.” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and her eyes darted back and forth trying to make sense of it all.

“H-how far along was I?”

“About three weeks.”

“Does...does Yoongi know?”

“I’m leaving you the choice to decide that. Once again, my deepest condolences.” He left her to process the news in privacy.

She collapsed onto the bed, her sobs coming out in hiccupy squeaks. Her hands gravitated to her stomach and tried to imagine the little being that used to be there. Three soft knocks sounded from the other side of the door. It slowly opened and Jungkook peaked his head in. “Y/N? Are you okay?” She only stared up at the ceiling. He approached her bedside. “....Y/N?” Her eyes eventually found him and filled with more tears.

“Can you hug me?” He immediately sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her up into a hug. Her shoulders quivered and she gripped desperately at his shirt.

“Hey, it's okay. It’s okay…” He stroked her hair and rested his chin on the top of her head. She cried, and cried, and cried until nothing else came out. Jungkook held her until her sobs faded, and her body leaned against his chest. He gently laid her down, taking care not to wake her up. Her peaceful face was a stark contrast to the tears that wet her cheeks and reddened her nose. Whatever the doctor told her must’ve been pretty damn bad to have her asking for a hug, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

Y/N was still asleep when Yoongi stepped out of the shower. Moonlight that came from a small window lit his path to her bed. She stirred when he climbed in. “It’s me. Go back to sleep.” He whispered. The sheets were pulled over their bodies and she rolled onto her side with her back to him. He took the opportunity to pull her closer. His face nestled on her shoulder and he let out a long sigh of contentment. She clenched her muscles to suppress her whimpers, but it was no use. He lifted his head to look down at her. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” Her eyes clamped shut and a choked sob escaped her chest.

“I killed our baby.”

~~~

It took a long time for Yoongi to wrap his head around what she told him the night before. When he finally put two and two together, he immediately turned her around so she was facing his chest and pulled her in as close as he possibly could. He was absolutely distraught, but only a few silent tears of shock came out as she sobbed into his shoulder all over again.

They slept late into the afternoon until they were woken up by a beaming Jimin. “Wake up, sleepyheads! It’s your discharge day!” Yoongi scowled at the unwelcome noise and lazily swatted at him. Jimin grabbed his wrist and pulled him to sit up straight. “Come on! Don’t you wanna get out of here?”

“Gimme a minute before I punch you.” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes. Jimin circled around to Y/N’s side and played with her hair.

“Y/Naaa, wake uuuup~” She cracked an eye and glared at him. “Oh, don’t give me that look too. It’s noon, and you’re supposed to check out at two. Let's get a move on.”

They spent the better half of an hour watching TV while Yoongi packed up the duffel Jin brought him. Y/N brushed her teeth in bed and spat the toothpaste in a cup when she was done. “Here.” She handed it to Jimin who took it and rinsed it out in the sink.

There was a knock at the door and Dr. Lobrano stepped inside. “How’re we feeling today?”

“Fine, I guess.” she shrugged. “I’m just ready to go home.”

“About that. It’s come to my attention that you have a history of suicidal behavior, and while it’s not my position to judge, I also can’t rule your overdose out as a suicide attempt.” “What?” She was dumbfounded. How could that be any of his business? “I wasn’t trying to kill myself!”

“But did you or did you not have any concern for your safety when you took that Fentanyl?” She pressed her lips into an angry thin line. She was angry because she knew he was right. She knew the risk and she did it anyway.

“What are you getting at?” Yoongi stepped in.

“According to California law, overdose victims are required to participate in a mandatory 28 days of rehabilitation. And since you’re also a danger to yourself, your treatment will have to be in a psychiatric facility.”

Y/N, Yoongi, and Jimin’s jaws dropped. There was no way he was serious. Right? Her heart beat faster, and faster, and faster with every memory of St. Joseph’s that flashed in her mind. “No….no, no, no!” She clawed at her IV and yanked it out of her hand. She threw the sheets up and made a mad dash for the door, but two male nurses stood ready to catch her. “NO! NO! NO! I’M NOT GOING BACK!” They hauled her back on the bed and tried to pin her kicking legs down. Her screams brought another team of nurses rushing in with a set of bed restraints.

“What the hell are you doing to her?!” Yoongi shouted. One of the nurses turned and put her hand to the boys’ chests.

“You two need to leave, right now.” They were shoved outside the room and forced to watch the crowd of people struggle to hold Y/N’s thrashing body to the mattress so the restraints could be slipped on. Jimin held his hands to his mouth and stared through wide, teary eyes.

“NO! NO! NO! NO! I CAN’T GO BACK! YOONGI!” It felt like someone stabbed him in the heart when she desperately called out to him. He could hear the terror in her voice.

“YOONGI!”

Pain filled his entire body and he bit the inside of his lip, visibly restraining himself from lunging forward and ripping her from the restraints that she jerked so furiously against. “YOONGI! PLEASE DON’T LET-'' A nurse sank a syringe into her hip and her legs quickly ceased their kicking. Y/N fell silent.

Yoongi stood like a statue and stared at the only half of her that he could see. “Yoongi, I-” he ripped his shoulder away when Jimin placed a hand on it and stormed away. He didn’t stop until he got all the way to his car in the parking lot. The door slammed shut behind him and he was left in silence. His forehead fell against the steering wheel and he let out a long breath.

A single whimper escaped his chest.

Then another.

And another.

Loud, hiccupy sobs wracked his whole body as he white-knuckled the leather wrapped wheel. One especially aggressive wave had him hugging himself in a bawling heap. He hadn’t cried like this since he was little, hiding in the closet from his dad’s drunken rage. It was scary how quickly he lost control, and he knew there was nothing he could do to get it back.

#bts x reader #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #namjoon #bts seokjin #yoongi #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #bts sad

[toxophilitis]

The Preacher’s Hot Family  cont

CHAPTER FIVE

As the minister's wife, one of Valarie's weekly duties was to clean up and straighten out the church every Thursday morning after the Wednesday night services. It was a fairly easy job because the building was thoroughly cleaned by a janitor every Monday, and there was always a volunteer teen to help her with what she had to do.

She had spent three hours over at Blane's house the night before, and when she arrived at the church Thursday morning, Valarie felt rather tired. She was glad that her helper was a big husky teenager named Tommy Elliot who often volunteered to help her.

When Valarie began straightening things out down in the recreation hall, she sent Tommy up to dust the pews in the main part of the church. While he was doing his work, the teen's thoughts were on the preacher's wife. Looking at the beautiful woman's big tits and shapely legs always gave the teen a horrendous hard-on. Because of this, he often volunteered for the job so he could be around her. Dusting the pews, the horny teen kept thinking how much he would like to fuck the sexy-looking woman. The teen had never had a piece of ass in his life, but he always dreamed of fucking the minister's beautiful wife. The teen had a big throbbing hard-on, and knowing that the woman was busy downstairs, he decided to just sit down and jack off.

Unaware of what the teen was doing, Valarie came up to get him to help her move some furniture, and was completely stunned to see Tommy slumped back in a pew, vigorously beating his meat. The horny woman was shocked by the size of the teen's cock. His cock was over six inches long and quite thick.

"Well, Tommy," she grinned, walking up to the startled teen. "You sure seem to have your hands full."

Too embarrassed to say anything, the blushing teen tried to stuff his boner back in his pants.

"Don't put it away," Valarie smiled, thinking how big his prick was for a teen. "I love to play with cocks, and that's a real beauty."

"Are you serious?"

"I sure am," the horny woman assured him. "And I'll show you a real good time if you want to come downstairs with me."

"Okay," he grinned.

She led him directly down to the nursery where the younger children were kept under supervision while their parents were attending church services. Sitting down on one of the cots where the girls took naps, she smiled at Tommy.

"Come here," she whispered.

When Tommy was standing in front of her, she calmly unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. Next she unfastened his belt and lowered his zipper, pushing his pants and shorts down around his ankles. Valarie was more than pleased with the size of the teen's hard prick. It wasn't as large as Blane Moffat's cock, but it was almost as big as the average man's cock.

"That's quite a tool," she was glowing with excitement as the teen stepped out of the tangle of clothes on the floor. "And now you're all hot to play around."

"I sure am," he said nervously.

"How would you like to fuck me?"

"God, yes!" he said, unable to believe the beautiful preacher's wife was really acting this way with im. "Do you really mean it?"

"Sure."

"Then let's start fuckin'," he panted.

"We will, a later," said Valarie. "But we have some other things to do first."

She knew the inexperienced teen would probably shoot his wad the minute his prick was in her hot juicy pussy, so she decided it would be better to bring him off two or three times before they started fucking, so he could fuck her to a climax.

"Lie down on the cot," she whispered.

When the teen was spread out on his back with his hard cock standing straight up in the air, Valarie reached over and gently grasped his throbbing cockshaft and peeled his foreskin back until his pink cockhead slipped out from the folds of skin.

"Oh, jeez!" he gasped.

"Does this feel good?" whispered the horny woman, gently drawing the skin back and forth over his excited prick.

"Wow! It sure does!" he gasped, shivering with anticipation.

Valarie could feel the teen's body trembling with excitement as she fondled his hard prick with slow sensuous strokes.

"Faster, Mrs. Warner, faster!" he excitedly squealed.

"No, honey," she whispered. "It's better when it's sweet and slow."

Anxious to shoot his hot cum-load off, he reached down and grasped her wrist, trying to make her jerk faster on his prick.

"Faster! Faster!" he pleaded.

"No, honey," she giggled, continuing the slow sensuous movement that she knew was driving the inexperienced teen wild.

She loved the feel of his hard prick in her hand. His cock felt so warm, and she could feel the teen's blood pulsing through the veins just beneath his velvet-soft cock skin.

"Does it feel good?" she whispered. "Fuck, yes!" gasped the excited teen. Then a hot stream of jizz suddenly shot out of his wildly jerking prick. His cock continued spurting cum until his chest and belly were drenched with jism.

"Was that fun?" she smiled.

"Wow!"

Lowering her face, Valarie began licking up the thick globs of cum from his body. When her tongue had thoroughly washed his stomach and chest, she picked up his limp fucker and inserted it into her mouth.

"What the hell are you doing?" he gasped. "Just licking up your sweet jizz," she giggled.

"Doesn't that goo taste shitty?" he asked as she sucked on his cum-smeared prick.

"Heavens no," she smiled. "But you're sure a salty-tasting fart."

The teen was soon writhing and moaning in ecstasy as she began sucking and rolling his spent prick around in her mouth.

"Oh, shit, Mrs. Warner!" he panted. "I'm gettin' another hard-on!"

Feeling his prick rapidly swelling, Valarie momentarily released his cock from her mouth and lowered her face down toward his balls. Excitedly thrusting her tongue out, she lightly ran it over the crinkly skin of his pink balls. The curly fuzz around his balls was tickling her nose, adding more excitement to the cocksucking. Tommy was only a teen, but Valarie was thoroughly enjoying his cock and balls.

After sucking and licking on his balls for a while, she once more raised her head and plunged her hot open mouth over his hard prick.

"Oooooooh, shit!" gasped Tommy, digging his fingers into the woman's long red hair.

Arching his tight ass up from the cot, the excited teen tried to fuck even more of his stiff throbbing prick into the beautiful woman's mouth.

Wrapping her soft juicy lips more tightly around the head of his cock, she slowly lowered her hot sucking mouth until his swollen prick-knob was nudging at the back of her throat. Starting to slide her ovaled lips up and down over his boner, she was thrilled with the heavenly texture of his throbbing fuck-tool.

"Suck it! Suck it, Mrs. Warner!" he excitedly shouted. "Suck it! Suck my cock!"

Slamming his ass up from the cot, Tommy was hoping to fuck even more of his boner into her sucking mouth. This was impossible because she already had every inch of his prick in her mouth with her lips pressed into the sparse hair around the base of his cockshaft.

"It's so good!" he hotly whimpered as her slippery lips and tongue glided up and down over his hard fucker.

The pretty redhead was aware of how much the young man was enjoying his first blow-job and she was trying to please him even more. Valarie's tongue was swirling wildly as her mouth flew up and down over the horny teen's spit-drenched prick.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" he moaned as the hot suction of her lips increased. "This is great!"

Tommy's hips were involuntarily rocking up and down as he frantically fucked his cock in and out of the woman's mouth.

"Holy shit!" he gasped, his breath coming in hot ragged gasps as he pressed his hands down on the back of her head. "Keep suckin', Mrs. Warner! I'm almost there... almost there!"

Wanting the teen's first blow-job to be one he would never forget, she sucked deeper and harder.

"Oh, shit!" the teen suddenly squealed, digging his fingers into her long red hair, forcing her mouth down tighter over his cock. "Here it comes! Here comes the jizz."

Thrilled by the taste of his cum gushing into her mouth, Valarie sucked and swallowed rapidly as the deliciously slippery cum ran down the back of her throat. She continued passionately sucking and swallowing until she'd drawn the last drop of cum from his slowly shrinking prick.

"Gee," he gasped, then she finally released his limp cock from between her cum-soaked lips. "That was really something!"

"I'm glad you liked it," she smiled. "Do you like to play with girls' tits?"

"I dunno," he grinned. "I've never touched one."

"Would you like to touch mine?"

"Gosh, yes," he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Standing up, the preacher's wife quickly took her clothes off.

"Jeez!" gulped the teen as he gazed at the soft triangle of red pussy hairs between her shapely thighs.

"Do you like my hot pussy?"

"Shit, yes!"

"That's good," she grinned. "Because you're soon going to be fucking this horny hole."

She spread herself out on the cot with him, and Tommy stared excitedly at her beautiful naked tits.

"Come on, honey," she whispered, taking his hand and drawing it toward her tits. "Play with my tits."

A delicious tingling sensation rippled through her loins when his fingers brushed across her nipples.

"You're a fast learner," she giggled as the teen began boldly rubbing and caressing the luscious tits that were thrusting out in front of him. Glancing down, Valarie could see that his cock was once again standing straight up.

"It looks like you're ready for a nice hot fuck," she giggled.

"Do you want to feel how hot my cunt is?"

When he hesitated, she took his hand and eased his fingers up against her slippery cunt slit.

"Gee, it feels all hot and gooey," he gasped as she slipped his finger up to the first knuckle in her oozing pussy.

"That's because it wants to be fucked."

"Can I do it now?" the teen excitedly asked.

"Help yourself," whispered Valarie, rolling on to her back and spreading her legs.

Shaking with excitement, Tommy crawled up between her open thighs.

Reaching down, the horny redhead grabbed his hard cock and guided it toward her slippery pussy. A delightful tremor flooded through her loins when his hard cockhead probed between her open cuntlips. Not wanting the teen to think he was doing it wrong, she slowly guided his throbbing cockshaft into her juicy fuck-hole. Releasing his prick, she grasped his asscheeks and pulled him up against her as his inexperienced cock slithered all the way into her scalding cunt.

"Shit, it's hot and squishy in there," he panted when his throbbing fuck-rod was completely buried in her cunt.

"Does your cock like my pussy?" she teased.

"Fuck, yes!" gasped Tommy as the woman began rotating her talented tongue around his excited prick.

"Now pump it in and out," she whispered. "That's what fucking is all about."

Raising up on his knees, he withdrew his prick until just the tip of it remained embedded in her pussy, and then she grasped his ass again and pulled him violently back against her crotch.

"Oooooooooh!" she squealed, feeling the top ridge of his steel-hard cockshaft rubbing against her clit.

Quickly catching on, the teen was soon rapidly fucking his cock in and out. And, because he was on his knees, his hard cock was in direct contact with Valarie's tingling clit.

"Oh, shit, that feels so good!" she squealed. "Faster, honey, faster!"

Tommy had never felt anything so fucking good in his life. The feel of his cock fucking in and out of her hotly sucking cunt was the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced.

Because she had jacked him off and sucked him off, Valarie wasn't worried about Tommy shooting his hot cum-load too soon as she lay back to enjoy a nice long fuck.

"Oh, Jesus!" she squealed as his virile cock fucked hotly into her overheated cunt. "Oh, God, honey! Oh, shit, that feels good!"

Never had anything ever stimulated her pussy like this teen's hard-fucking boner.

"Oooooh! Eeeeeghhh!"

"Does it hurt?" panted the inexperienced teen, suddenly stopping.

"God, no! Don't stop, you dummy!" she squealed, screwing her crotch up tighter around the base of his prickshaft. "Keep fuckin'! Just fuck the shit out of me!"

Almost out of her mind from the electrifying rapture of his hard cock fucking back and forth against her clit, Valarie was thrashing and bucking all over the cot. On and on he fucked into her pussy as she squealed and moaned with pleasure.

"Oh, honey, I'm coming!" she suddenly shrieked with uncontrolled passion, "I'm coming, baby!"

Writhing through her intense orgasm, Valarie could feel the teen's hot cum squirting into her pussy.

"Gosh, Mrs. Warner," he whispered a later as she cradled him in her arms. "That was sure neat."

"It was fantastic," she smiled.

"Will you let me fuck you again?"

"You're sure a horny bastard," she giggled. "But if you're ready again, I sure dig you."

"Well," she smiled, lowering her head and rubbing his prick against her mouth. "The first thing we have to do is pump this beauty up again."

"Mmmmmmmmmm, that's good," he said with a shudder, feeling her lips clamping around his limp prick.

She soon felt his body trembling with excitement as his cock began stiffening in her mouth.

"It's hard again!" he suddenly shouted. "Let's fuck!"

"Okay," she giggled, getting on her hands and knees. "This time, fuck me from the rear."

"Why do it that way? It seems dumb."

"Just try it," she said. "You'll love it."

Still thinking it was dumb, Tommy knelt behind her soft creamy ass and placed his cockhead between her hotly dripping cuntlips. Firmly grasping her hips, he lunged forward.

"Oh, God," she gasped, feeling his steelhard cockshaft fucking into her oozing cunt from the rear. Valarie's hot cunt juices began boiling all around his boner as she feverishly pumped her ass back against him.

Tommy could hardly control his excitement as he jubilantly fucked his hard cockmeat in and out of the first cunt he had ever fucked. He couldn't get over how hot and slippery it felt as her experienced cunt muscles squeezed his tingling fucker. Deciding to make it last as long as possible, he began slowly fucking into her heavenly cunt as she rotated her hot ass back against his belly.

"Do you like it, honey?" she whispered over her shoulder.

"Wow! This is really wild!" he said excitedly.

The teen could feel her scalding pussy cream flowing around his tingling boner as her snug cunt squeezed his prick. Fucking into her hot, slick pussy, Tommy was losing all control of himself. He began lustily fucking the woman with all his energy.

"Oooooooh, yes!" she moaned with delight, creaming all over his pounding prick as she shook and wriggled her ass. "That's the way to fuck, honey! Pour it to me, baby! Just bang the piss out of me!"

Kneeling with her ass high in the air and her face resting in her arms, Valarie was being bounced all over the cot. Her full tits were jiggling beneath her as Tommy frenziedly fucked his cock into her hotly drooling pussy.

"Oh, you sweet fucker!" she wailed. "I love it! I love the way you're fuckin' me!"

Wanting to please the beautiful woman as much as possible, he increased the tempo of his feverish fucking. His hard slim belly was slapping noisily against her ass as he poured it to her with all his strength.

"Harder, honey, harder!" she shrieked. "Just fuck my ass off!"

Valarie couldn't get over how good it felt to be fucked by this teen's big hard cock. The rapidity of his fucking was making her cunt tingle with unbelievable ecstasy. The walls of her pussy were burning from the friction of his virile prick. On the verge of climax, Valarie could feel her nipples burning and stiffening with rapture.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" she screamed, feverishly waving her ass around. "I'm coming again! Oh, fuck, how I'm coming!"

Shuddering from head to toe as her pussy contracted and spasmed around his fantastic cock, Valarie was riding the crest of the wildest orgasm she'd ever had. It was suddenly intensified by the feel of his hot jizz shooting into her cunt.

"Yes, honey, yes!" she shrieked as the teen pumped her pussy full of cum. "Squirt, baby, squirt! Cream me good! Squirt! Squirt!"

When her unbelievable orgasm finally ended, Valarie collapsed on her belly beneath the teen with his cock still shooting hot jizz into her pussy.

"Shit," he grinned when he finally pulled his limp prick out of her cum-filled cunt. "That was really neat."

"I know," she whispered. "And you can fuck me every time we clean the church. But you've got to promise to keep it a secret."

"I promise."

[ghost-in-the-hella]

51. “You make me feel alive.” with PriceMarsh.

My apologies for taking so long to finish this! For whatever reason, Kate POV seems to take me extra long to get my head around. Better late than never, I hope!

CW for implied cutting, implied suicidality, referenced canon drugging and sexual assault (the Vortex Club incident), and referenced homophobic and emotionally abusive parenting.

---

“I’m a bad influence on you,” Chloe says, and for a moment she’s so beautiful in the moonlight that Kate doesn’t catch the sadness in her voice. 

“What?” Kate says when it registers. “No, you aren’t.”

Chloe stares at her unblinkingly, cigarette raised so that her face is wreathed with smoke, and gives her a look like she’s somehow proving her point simply by existing.

“You aren’t,” Kate repeats more firmly. “What, you think nobody’s ever smoked in front of me before? I do all kinds of community service. Plenty of people have smoked in front of me.” 

“Okay, but did they smoke in front of you after sneaking you out of the dorms past curfew, and did they commit petty crimes before they lit up?”

Kate rolls her eyes and shakes her head softly. “I still say you’re not a bad influence on me. I didn’t vandalize anything.”

“Mm. You did let a persona non grata delinquent into the dorms and then sneak out with her so she could tag public property, though.”

“True, but…” Kate kicks her feet gently in the air as she thinks. The metal of Chloe’s truck bed is cold and hard beneath her thighs, but right now it’s more comfortable than her own dorm bed. She hasn’t felt safe sleeping there since she woke up on the floor after the Vortex Club party she can’t remember. The gross comments that keep popping up on her whiteboard don’t exactly make it feel like home, either. “I asked you. I don’t think you’re the bad influence there.”

Chloe mock-gasps. “Kate Beverly Marsh! Are you suggesting that you were a bad influence on me??”

“Maybe,” Kate teases, and this feels better. Chloe’s moods tend to turn on a dime, and Kate’s never quite sure how to handle them. They’ve only been hanging out for a couple of weeks, and although Kate’s learned to recognize Chloe’s sorrow she hasn’t learned how to comfort her. Chloe wears that hard, tough, punk persona so proudly; offering her a hug feels like it would be a transgression. But when Chloe’s joking around, Kate feels much less out of her depth. Most people don’t expect Kate to have a sense of humor - “good little church girl” that she is - but Chloe’s proven herself to be an exception. Chloe’s an exception to a lot of things. “I did ask you to help me break the rules.”

“Because you wouldn’t know how to break them on your own, goody-two-shoes,” Chloe teases with a chuckle.

“I’ll have you know I was a rule-breaker before I met you, thank you very much!”

Chloe flicks the ash from the end of her cigarette onto the damp, sandy asphalt of the beach parking lot. “Really,” she deadpans. “Kate Marsh, rule-breaker.”

“Yes.”

“Sure we’re talking about the same Kate Marsh?” She holds a hand over Kate’s head (mercifully, it’s not the one holding her still-smoldering cigarette). “‘Bout this tall? Literal human marshmallow? Goes to church every Sunday and volunteers at the soup kitchen?”

“Yes!” Kate laughs.

“Okay.” Chloe shifts her position abruptly, reclining with her shoulders propped against the wall of the truck bed and dangling one leg off the edge of the tailgate while the toes of her other dirty boot stop just shy of touching Kate’s thigh. Kate wishes she were as comfortable anywhere as Chloe seems to make herself everywhere. “There’s obviously a story here.” She gestures melodramatically with her cigarette, luminous red embers and pale blue smoke - almost the color of her eyes - against the colorless dark of the night sky. “So spill, Katydid. Illuminate me.”

In her head, Kate scrambles frantically to find something suitably rebellious to tell Chloe. She’s sure she must have done something interesting at some point in her life, but with Chloe’s eyes on her and the way that Chloe’s biting her lip as she waits she’s having a very hard time thinking about anything else. “I… Sometimes I stay up really late. All night, even.”

Chloe looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “That’s it? Kate, that’s… That’s not even breaking any rules! You’re eighteen; you can stay up as late as you want!”

“My parents are really strict about bedtimes,” Kate says a little defensively. “Right up until I moved into the dorms, they would do room checks every night to make sure my sisters and I had our lights out and were sound asleep.” A sneaky little smile tugs at her lips and she drops her voice into a conspiratorial tone. “But there was a creaky floorboard between their room and mine, so I would listen for it and then I’d pretend to be sleeping when they’d check on me. And once they were gone, I’d stay up reading or texting my friends or watching movies.” Kate can hear how boring this sounds, so she hurries to add, “Movies my parents wouldn’t let me watch. I would sneak them. Horror movies, violent stuff. Things like that.” Not only horror movies, Kate doesn’t add because she doesn’t want to tip her hand even though she knows - she knows - that Chloe likes girls, too; she hasn’t forgotten how Chloe used to look at Rachel Amber. But she suspects that Chloe never had to sneak around her mother to watch Imagine Me and You or Saving Face or - God forbid - But I’m a Cheerleader, and she’s not sure that Chloe would understand how incredibly criminal it had felt.

“Pfft! I’ve been doing that shit since I was a kid. With my old friend Max, even, and she was almost as much of a goody-two-shoes as you. Man, after we sneak-watched Jaws she wouldn’t so much as stick a toe in the bay for the rest of the summer. Total chicken.” She grins wickedly. “Nice try, though. And I’ll definitely have to remember about the horror movies. I’ve got some that’ll knock your socks off, guaranteed. So what else you got, Cup-Kate?”

Kate chews on her lower lip for a moment before blurting, “I cursed at my mother.”

Chloe actually laughs at that. “I did that this morning. And again this afternoon. I do that literally every day.”

“I called her a…” She balks. She knows that Chloe curses all the time, but somehow she just can’t make herself repeat the word even though it felt so good to say it and watch her mother’s face turn livid. “A bad name. She grounded me for a week.” Grounded is an understatement. But Chloe doesn’t need to know about Kate getting her mouth washed out with soap at the ripe age of seventeen. She doesn’t need to know that Kate’s mother took away her phone and computer as punishment and proceeded to read her most personal texts and emails before grilling her relentlessly about them until her father came home and put a stop to it. She definitely doesn’t need to know how much Kate cried and begged for forgiveness that week.

Something in Chloe’s face makes Kate feel like she knows it all anyway. “Sounds like she probably deserved whatever you called her.” Chloe nudges Kate’s thigh gently with her boot. “And hey, if you ever want someone to go call her names so vile you’ve never even dreamed of them, much less let them soil your lips, just lemme know. I’ll do it for free.”

Kate can’t hold in a giggle at Chloe’s offer. It shouldn’t be funny, she knows. But it is. She shouldn’t think Chloe’s offer is sweet, but she does.

Chloe smiles and stubs out her cigarette, which is by then burned down to the filter. She hauls herself back up into a sitting position, the toe of her boot still pressed lightly against Kate’s thigh. “Okay, so we’ve got cursing at your mother what I’m assuming is a whopping one time in your life despite the fact that she probably deserves it way more than that, and you staying up to watch horror movies past your bedtime. Not exactly sounding like a hardened criminal, there, Kate. Sounding more like a complete and utter cinnamon bun, if I’m honest.”

“I, um. I drink wine every week?” It’s a weak stab and Kate knows it, but it’s all she’s got left unless she wants to delve into much more personal territory that she’s in no way ready to talk about.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t count as breaking the rules if it’s literally part of church.” She wags a scolding finger. “That’s cheating.”

Kate seizes the opportunity with both hands, a victorious grin spreading across her face. “Which is breaking the rules! Ha, got you!”

Chloe scoffs. “Uh-huh. Very clever, Marsh. Still not disproving my cinnamon bun theory, though. You’re going to have to try harder to scandalize me.” There’s a lift to Chloe’s eyebrow that feels like a dare. Or maybe it only feels like a dare because Kate really, really wants it to be one. 

Both of Chloe’s eyebrows shoot much higher when Kate answers her challenge by leaning in and kissing her.

Kate wants to do this forever. She wants to press harder, dig deeper. But she’s never kissed anybody before and she suspects she’d do it terribly if it were much more than a peck, and if this isn’t something Chloe actually wants then pressing would only make it worse. So she holds her lips against Chloe’s for a couple of incredible, terrifying seconds, and then she pulls away.

Chloe blinks slowly, looking dazed. Kate isn’t sure whether that’s a good sign or a bad one. “Okay, wow, that… Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“...Does that mean I can do it again?”

Chloe lets out a laugh, fragile and amazed. “Holy shit, Kate.”

Kate wants to kiss her again, but Chloe hasn’t answered her question. Her stomach twists suddenly. “Oh my God, I’m such an idiot; I’m so sorry.” She puts her palms on her flushed cheeks. They feel impossibly hot; she can’t even imagine how red they must look. “I should have asked first. I’m so sorry.”

“It… yeah, that was definitely breaking the rules. I’ll give you credit for that one.” Chloe laughs a little shakily. “Kate Marsh, rule-breaker.”

“I shouldn’t have done it; not like that. Oh, Lord, I’m no better than those… those creeps who--” Kate can feel the warm feeling kissing Chloe gave her slipping into a cold spiral that seizes her chest and pumps ice water through her veins.

“Don’t even.”

“I didn’t even ask, or warn you, or anything; I just--”

“Dude, chill. It’s fine. I liked it.”

“You’re probably still-- I shouldn’t’ve just--” Kate blinks as Chloe’s words sink in. “You liked it?”

Chloe nods. “Yeah, I mean… It took me off-guard, for sure. Asking first would’ve been better, no doubt, but it’s not like I haven’t been wanting you to kiss me for, like… a week, at least.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It was nice.” Chloe rubs the back of her neck, frowning. Her face slips back into that space Kate hasn’t learned how to navigate, the one that shows she’s thinking too hard and feeling too much. “Uncharacteristic, though.”

Kate's heart sinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means… Hell, I don’t know. It means maybe I really am a bad influence on you. It means maybe my step-dick is right and I’m just a no good delinquent dragging you down with me.”

“Chloe Price, you are not a bad influence on me!” Kate touches her shoulder. Chloe won’t turn and look at her, so Kate touches her chin and turns her head until she has to meet her eyes. The look in Chloe’s eyes makes Kate’s heart hurt. “You’re the best possible influence on me.”

Chloe laughs again, but it’s a broken sound. Kate never wants to hear her laugh like that again. “Not fucking possible,” Chloe tells her. “You’re, like… the best person I’ve ever met. And I’m…” She waves a hand to gesture at the whole of herself.

“You’re a good person,” Kate insists. “You’ve lived through bad things, and they’ve hurt you. But you’re a good person.”

“I’m a high school dropout with no job and no prospects. I smoke, I drink, I do drugs, I swear, I spit on sidewalks, I--”

“You don’t judge me. Why should I judge you?”

“I’ve sold drugs,” Chloe plows on, “I’ve hurt people, I’ve started fights just because I was angry and I wanted to hurt someone…”

“I’m not saying that you’re perfect. I don’t expect you to be perfect. But you are a good person. And you’re a good…” Kate takes a steadying breath. “You’re a good friend. You don’t treat me like I’m some fragile little flower that’s been sheltered from the world, or like someone who needs to be sheltered from it. All my life, people have tried to control me.” Kate clasps her hands in her lap, fingers wrestling with each other anxiously. “My family, my neighbors, my church, my friends… They all expect me to act a certain way, to talk and think and feel and believe exactly the same way that they do, and they don’t care what I want. They don’t care what I think or feel or believe. But when I’m with you…” Kate feels something wet slip down her cheek and wipes at it absently. “Chloe, when I’m with you, I can be who I want to be. I can be me. I can break the rules I want to break and follow the rules I want to follow and you don’t judge me either way. You make me feel alive. You make me want to be alive.”

Kate’s fully crying now, so it takes her a minute to realize that Chloe’s crying, too.

“Shit,” Chloe says, and she’s half-laughing as she cries. “Shit, shit.” She mops at her face. “You, I… Fuck, I can’t even… Shit, Kate! You’re… you’re fucking perfect. Jesus.”

Kate wants to correct her: Chloe is the one who’s perfect. She’s a perfect mess with her tangled blue hair and the dark circles beneath her eyes, her chipped nail polish and chapped lips and bony elbows and scarred forearms. Her stained clothes, her dirty boots, her bra strap slipping down her shoulder, the stink of cigarettes hanging around her in a constant fug. Her mascara running with her tears, the way she’s smiling through them and looking at Kate like she’s some kind of miracle. She’s perfect, and Kate wants to kiss her again. She wants to press the knowledge of how perfect Chloe is into her flesh with her lips so that she believes it.

But they’re both still crying, and the moment just doesn’t feel right. So instead Kate asks a question she’s been wanting to ask since they met: “May I give you a hug?”

Chloe nods rapidly, and her smile brightens. “You’d fucking better.” She opens her arms, and she welcomes Kate home.

#prompt fic #prompt fill #this prompt was not so prompt #fanfic #my writing #ghost writes #prompt ghost #life is strange #pricemarsh #chloe price #kate marsh

[startwithbrooklyn]

THE GREAT ND REWATCH OF 2021 / SEPTEMBER 30, 2019 // larkspur lane/the whisper box

this post is a double whammy cause they have 2 eps happen in the same day if u can believe it (thats how awful judging timelines in this show is!!)

-"hi josh..." LMAOOOOOOO

-BESS just breaking in lmaooo how many god damn times does bess just shit the bed in this show

-LOVE her frowny face at nancys closet ("my expectations are low" lmfaoooo but this would totally be me)

-"bet she meant it metaphorically" okayyy but then why did lucy say that at all? i feel like theres defo more to this story, combined with josh's cagey behavior (part of which is to get nancy to stop looking into shit d/t him and karen but still)

-"they dont accept visitors unless they're family" .....🙂

-ace "youre really good at that" to bess i fuckin love this friendship with all my heart (also love their talk at the claw mirroring nick & nancys talk in the last ep)

-also PINK AND ORANGE BESS ARE U BLIND (also 1) why tf would nancy own this and 2) where would she wear it??)

-okay wtf is vampire dip

-"boss??" see this is what i meant yesterday about nancy ruining everything for nick/george

-god DAMN she sucks at dealing with this news lmaooo that emotional competency babey + love george literally agrees to help bc she feels bad (AND nicks immediate look of "you just reprimanded me for helping her last ep and i know why youre doing this rn" lmaoooo)

-LOVE george noticing nick "shout out to jean valjean" lmaooo once again nancy would never have noticed/commented on something like that

-"get the hell out of here" was this foreshadowing for an epic dad joke for these two eps? "how do you make holy water? you boil the hell out of it" 😂😂😂😂

-so what i dont get about the whole haunting is the ball + kids' laughter but its all the emphasis on "mr roper" the adult? wtf like what kind of entity is this

-"how did you ever have a solo career??" 😂

-okay amaya's hair is gorgeous here (also "you feel like a snack" ....👀) *ahhh so the reason bess feels so off balance is bc its like a top vs a top scenario

-has anyone who's ever been to prison confirmed this is what it looks like?

-love how ace is the only employee there when they all leave so he had to fucking close the place when he goes

-why does she take the whole file? time constraints? it'd be smarter to take pics + replace it (better sleuthing) but this place is clearly not well run anyway 😂

-so this is a pretty decent cover she invents but theres no way she would get away with it so easily for a real guard

-love how ace recognizes ryan's car (+ is able to find it by driving around)

-"my father wouldnt do anything like that" LMFAOOOOOO SIS WHY ARE U DEFENDING HIM ironically, ace is actually the best person suited to engage w ryan here d/t the car accident + connection with laura being ryans SIL. its a unique set up

-i am fascinated by the concept of priests + holy water being so effective here combined with mcginnis' beliefs and basically nondenominational ghosts/seances etc after that. the show is very clearly big on diversity but definitely steers clear from too much WASP stuff yk? wonder if other stuff from christianity works against the ghosts/demons like taking refuge in a church "holy ground" or using silver etc

-"did this start after the night of sept 10?" *this is where you get the time line for the seance if you didnt know

-this is so fucking funny when u realize that patient sal talks to is actually a ghost so sal really is psycho i guess 😂

-bitchsplain/tall jar of mayonnaise 🙏🏻😌 2gether 4ever

-how did ace get this van? also heart attack when he yells at carson (but then grins at him like a goofball lmaooo)

-"for nancys sake and yours" damn she owes ace big time for all this shit

-"what do we do for 7 minutes?" ...ummm play 7 minutes in heaven lmaooo 👀🥵

-was not expecting ace to look this sexy holding an axe but okay (*ah, its his short sleeve shirt showing his arms. usually hes a sleeves guy)

-"desperate for attention" nancy (from gomber) vs "bc she's starved for attention" patrice --> lucy (and candace also...) we know nancys detective work makes her seem like an attention seeker, but what was lucy doing to make them all think that? she was trying to hide her relationship with ryan, not expose it. unless they just mean the rumors about her?

-so is patrice hiding lucy's "truth" talking about lucy being a whore or lucy being a ghost? what is lucy's secret? did patrice guess she was pregnant or did patrice's somehow garbled mind remember tiffany trying to show patrice the video with lucy on it?

-wonder what captain thom thinks of this stand off w ace lmaooo

-"like you do?" top v top shenanigans

-how awko for carson to talk to karen again like this

-"oh no" ACE 😂

-love how amaya says "be a human" like shes kind of admitting people in rich circles typically arent (^this is an interesting focus in s2 when bess's rich family rejects her, thus making her human again, but nancy embraces her rich fam and experiences subsequent moral struggle which is predicted with the wraith)

-wonder what ryan thinks he could get from the marvins (which he cant get now lmaooo)

-this damn whisper box. so many questions. who named it the whisper box? why are the ropers' old possessions still there? who decided to build a mental hospital on top of it? and patrice! she "hid lucy's secrets" hannah gruen thinks tiffany tried to show patrice video w lucy on it, which patrice then specifically says she hid in the thin mans book. so patrice knows of the thin man? can she see him? does she know he was a ghost/supernatural? she must have a supernatural sense to know about him (unless sal told or some shit) so then when tiffany shows up w/ lucy being supernatural in it patrice hides it to protect her? is this why she is "crazy" kinda like victoria? supernatural elements or ability to sense ghosts makes her unstable? this is why lucy being a ghost/nursery rhyme that she repeats makes patrice worse/"stroke"? how did patrice even get into the whisper box to put the key in the bible and get out without getting trapped? also, her dementia --> lucidity is really fucking off, some people mildly switch like that but usually with dementia they cant even register new shit anymore

-...so did bess take the ride? 👀

-interesting how celia says "your father will be disappointed" but nothing of her own opinion. wonder how much celia truly puts up with to keep everett calm and nonhomicidal

-like george asking nick follow up questions that nancy never really would have asked

🥞🥞🥞(ep13)🥞🥞🥞

-is this bitch just eating a plain pancake with her bare hand?

-"extra case load and excessive volunteering" ugh. nancy's family here are like, gross in how "good" of people they are // unrealistic, trying to paint carson in the best light/ no way ryan could ever compare (but the reality is theyre not that good of people for lying about nancy) **and shes arrogant to think shes better than everyone else ie the only one who truly lives virtuously, thinks she can do no wrong sometimes even tho using sex to cope, breaking and entering, etc is not morally "good" stuff she still thinks she is the only one who doesnt lie and plays fair (like in the pilot she lists everyone else as a suspect but herself- obviously we know she isnt guilty but no one else does. (i mean in theory we really dont, what if nancy was an unreliable narrator and was actually guilty, that would be a hella cool show)its reactions like that where she cant understand why others like the chief suspect her

-ooooh ironic that in the Good Place carson readily agrees to pay her for helping with cases as opposed to s2 in reality

-nick's house has "problems" so why does he need a lawyer? as opposed to an interior designer, plumber, or realtor?

-in the Good Place nick and george realize they are not going to work out after one date. does this failure in the Good Place predict failure in reality, or merely an easier way of figuring out the truth? does this mean that the "opposite" of the Good Place is reality, or only an opinion of what is better? (nancy says "you all like me" as her opinion of them liking her is skewed; does this then only reflect nancys version for what is the "perfect life"?)

-why is bess a hippie??? and love how george curls her hair and wears pink lipstick here

-if this dream is so realistic then why is the one thing it cant conjure smoke? like how random

-love the locket being a key realization bc with things like jewelry you dont notice the weight of them until theyre gone

-"you all like me" in her perfect life nancy means they "like" her objectively/regardless of circumstance even though liking her is still an objective choice (like they "like" her because of other reasons instead of her working at the claw? (like how you make friends with coworkers/people at school every day but after you leave the job/graduate you never speak to them again) and her "thanks for showing up!" as if theyre not doing exactly that in reality 😐like where is she getting this shit? she sort of acknowledges in earlier eps she is hard to like/that she puts mysteries before friends, but also pushing them away to avoid danger like the previous ep "why do u show up" etc

-is it just me or does the inside of nicks "house" look like the drews'?

-nick has a dick scar lmaooooo (or more likely was hit in the balls or smth)

-love how nick + george match their anger in confronting sal 100% on the same level

-so when did ace go back to work after having such a busy day earlier?? lmaooo

-damn father shane is a creep (casting defo hired him for his voice) and how tf did he just poof + escape? and what did he request???

-love bess's white hair bow here 😌+ her jacket, whole outfit on point as usual

-like how bess is right that nancy has to find her way out but thats kind of a nonstarter for a room full of panicked people wanting to help

-in the Good Place theres no bad blood between drews + hudsons bc nancy is really theirs

-"the only one who has the key is you" in the Good Place nancy has the key (smaller picture, to finding out what happened to lucy but bigger picture, post-reveal) but ryan has the clues nancy needs- following the Good Place's mirroring, this just means that in reality ryan will either be completely useless or an active hindrance (but you KNOW this is a dream bc in what universe would ryan remember clues like that 😂)

-so in a perfect universe ryan acknowledges his family's "criminal empire" as opposed to reality where he only makes under cover jabs about disengaging with being an "entitled corrupt legacy criminal" ie finding the bonny scot relics but does nothing about them, etc

-"strippers" 😂

-okay what is nancys obsession w her beanie?? bc her mom made it? "wear beanies do crimes?" idk

-making the call: nancy -unable to make up for lost time/both her mothers had to find out/suffer alone / in the Good Place nancy was able to be with kate while she called, and in reality she had carson; somethig about seeing the mother looking to the daughter for strength in the Good Place instead of the reverse (which is what reality sounded like, kate being strong for nancy through the illness despite the struggle)

-concept: nancy & nick "let's wait out the storm"

-"i believe that you believe it" nick in the Good Place + owen in reality both trust nancy when she says she's seen things (owen's is the teeth) but nick in reality (and not really knowing details) doesnt think much of their "moment" bc it wasnt real (so she had to leave the Good Place to save carson- but if she had known then he wasnt her real dad, would she have stayed to be w nick?)

-stranger - suede james 💙👌🏻

-"really anxious as a kid" v telling bc of her desire to know everything to remain in control of situations like she always does now

-"the medicine or the metaphysics?"/"you cannot beat supernatural with science"

-i love nancy playing with her pinky while saying goodbye 🥺

-"always seek out the truth even if it hurts" this is straight irony bc kate never told nancy anything. like does that include the truth about nancys parentage? they taught her to seek out the truth, but who taught her that the truth is the only thing to live by? ie things dont count anymore like carson and kate straight up raising her is tossed out bc she finds out its not "the truth" like all that work/stress to protect carson + she just drops him? with kate maybe shes just upset thst she spent all that time mourning for someone who lied. and would she do the same to ryan if needed? probably

-bess and ace head tilt 💙

-like how for all the time she spent there nancy only has a subconscious memory of blue curtains

-YESSSSS i LOVEthese beautiful overhead shots of hannah's hands. so out of character for the show lmao but so gorgeous

-i feel like future eps/grand future will be nancy going through the lock boxes to help people who asked hannah for help

-the video is officially dated Aug 22, 2019

-soooooo in the first ep nancy breaks into the hudsons house and finds tiffanys secret drawer w the nail polish and finds the amulet with a note that says "for your protection HG" yet on this video tiffany says she talked to a medium who gave her the amulet sooooo am i just confused? HG is hannah gruen obvi so is the address for the medium what hannah gave her? or was the address on the amulet which nancy dissolved in salt water to see? so how would tiffany know where to go? its chicken and the egg which came first hannah or the medium?

and lastly:

i close these two eps with a thought that everything in this show is sealed in death. all the lies, the imagery, the fake constructs people put up to get by all crumple the second someone dies- all the secrets come clean just like these doors have been unsealed.

#brooklyn's ND primer #nancy drew cw #the Great Rewatch of 2021 #you best start believing in ghost stories miss drew - you're in one

[quatschmachen]

Bitchumen

A nice heartwarming sort of xmas fic. Phone call takes place in 2000, the xmas in 1999.

Edward rants to someone about something.

XXX “Right, like you can actually understand what’s going on.” The sarcasm dripped thick like bitumen from Edward’s tongue, the sticky anger clinging to every surface.“You treating me with the polite decency of a stranger doesn’t actually make you a good person, Calvin – it doesn’t even make you a friend.”

Blowing a breath out, Edward rubbed his face, his shoulders stuck between wanting to spike up in stiff defense or simply drop down in defeat.

“Which is why you get the couch,” here his arms crossed, brooking no argument, “I don’t even know why you thought it was going to be fine just showing up, months after being an asshole thinking I would even put you up. I just know Edith would have you out on your ass, and honestly you’re lucky you got me when I was even in town. Hold on… Mr. Big Shot, you have enough money to get a fucking hotel room, why the shit am I even considering you to stay here with me? Why the hell am I not throwing you out on your ass?”

Another breath out, and Edward sighed, “No, this won’t do.”

With a slump, he plopped onto the couch, and glanced around his small living room, wondering why the hell he was even practicing this as a conversation. Calvin hadn’t dropped by in months. It wasn’t like he was going to any time soon. The lines had been clearly drawn, and even an entitled oil cowboy wasn’t going to pretend everything hadn’t changed.Apparently the weeks off were just giving him time to go crazy. Usually this would be the time he would jet off to Montreal, but instead he was stuck in his house losing it. He was worried if he showed up on Étienne’s doorstep he would just start crying. Definitely not a thing to do.

His thoughts were disrupted as the telephone began to ring. With a sigh, he rolled off the couch and grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Eddy!” Étienne’s voice rang out through the phone and wrapped around him like a warm hug.

“’Tienne,” Edward breathed out, automatically relaxing, he flomped down into the seat beside the telephone.

“I’ve been calling for weeks and thought you had died,” he joked, but the edge of worry was still there.

“Sort of had.” Edward murmured, “Actually I sort of moved out, I guess. Mac came down in January and I ended up moving north with him and picked up a hitch. Just got off and am laying around at home too dead to do anything.”

“Hitch?”

“Uhm working in the oil patch. Living at camp, pretty much isolated from the world…”

“Surrounded by big burly men? You could have at least sent me a postcard, Eddy,” Étienne teased, but there was an underlying tone Edward had difficulty deciphering, “I was thinking if it was my turn to come pull you out of the swamp of misery.”

“I guess I could have but… to be honest it all sort of just happened?” Edward sighed, “And once I was up in Fort Mac, and then out working, it’s difficult to really communicate. Just work till you drop, then into the camp to exercise or watch porn.”

“What? They actually supply porn?”

“And sometimes even prostitutes, but that’s apparently not truly allowed…” Edward paused, “but unfortunately no prostitutes were of interest to me.”

“How unfortunate. I was up to my eyeballs with inconvenient work,” Étienne paused, “Christmas was about the same as always, Suzette passes along her best wishes. The food was divine, and I ended up losing an arm-wrestling match to Élyse.”

Edward laughed, “What were the stakes?”

“Hmmm, well she got to eat my slice of cake; it was some terrible cake Samuel had made – yes I know, please believe me when I say he made this cake. Truly no real artisan of food would have produced something as terrible as that cake. I think it ostensibly was supposed to be a fruit cake – with a thick layer of chalky marzipan on top. Somehow he managed to over-alcohol a cake while having it be dry at the same time. I was ready to submit it to the Guinness Book of Records…”

“So why was Élyse battling you for your slice?”

“You see, I may have already had a fight or two with Samuel – he has some new boytoy, and he was being so insipid and sickly about it, I may have been ready to fight over any little thing. Élyse figured if I got rid of the slice via arm wrestling it could possibly save Christmas or something. Yadda yadda. Apparently no one seems to enjoy the Christmases when Samuel breaks down in angry tears and yells for an hour – not sure why when I find that sooooooo entertaining.”

“God I wish I was there for that… seeing Samuel’s face as if he was punched when he tries to cry elegantly is so therapeutic…” Edward murmured, “I feel like my Christmas was just me being the crying one.”

“Crying? What happened, Édouard?”

Squiggling in his seat, Edward wondered how much he should tell. A part of him wanted to spill it all, but another part wondered if that would be too much of an inconvenience. How much of his stupid worries did Étienne really want? Closing his eyes, Edward pretended they were in the same room together, maybe even touching, head on Étienne’s shoulder, not necessarily looking at the man, but bodies snuggled up, his hair getting played with. Those small stolen moments of bliss, where the worries got spilled, and he didn’t worry about the consequences.

“Christmas was so awkward; I don’t even know where to begin. The entire time I desperately wished I had gone to yours… it felt like the last time I try to be a functional person among them… hell, I only went because I thought maybe I could improve relations with people… start the new millennium off with some hope about the future.”

It really had been terrible. They had held it at the ranch – Bert’s ranch. Why the hell did he think hanging out with people at the ranch would be a good idea? Surrounded by people you probably should know better, but in reality only held passing pleasantries with. The one bright spot had been Calvin. Calvin who seemed to be best buddies with everyone who arrived, Calvin who smiled brightly at him and argued with him, distracting him from the knot of anxiety he was harbouring over whether he should come out during Christmas or hold off until New Years?

He was attempting small talk with Jo, who was talking at him about how they should go shopping together (did she not do other stuff?), when he overheard Bert loudly say “I personally don’t think those fags should be given the deal.”

It felt like time had slowed down for Edward. No one seemed to pause or care. Orson in fact nodded along with Bert’s rant, sipping his Sprite. Jo continued on with her plans for her next visit, and somewhere nearby Red laughed at a joke Madeline made. As he observed the room to see if there was any reaction to Bert’s loud rant, everyone was involved in their own conversations. Calvin was in the distance deep in conversation with someone he could not quite make out. 

Right, this was not the place. He still wanted turkey dinner, and as he dimly nodded along to Jo, Edward felt small. He had no allies here. Well, that wasn’t true. He was sure Edith supported him, but one in how many? Edward didn’t want to ‘ruin Christmas’.

“And you know how I’ve been thinking about coming out and stuff, but uh, can I just say no? If you were in the room you would understand – seriously Étienne, these people who claim to be my so called family would just as well lynch me as their Christmas bonfire – I dunno they could just douse me in bitumen and light me up human torch Christian martyr style for bringing the faggotry home for Christmas… Soooo I didn’t want to ruin Christmas and make the event awkward for everyone,” Edward related over the phone.

“And then horror of horrors, Orson managed to corner me in what he thinks is jovial conversation. It felt like everything he had to say to me was condescension masked in care and concern – honestly I am not sure how he even manages that. I think he felt like it was his civic duty to carry on a conversation with me. He even reminisced about the temple open house he dragged me to. Ok honestly I went to the open house out of curiosity, to see what sort of cult he’s in, but I didn’t think he would already be reminiscing about something that had literally JUST happened. Temple? Yeah, a Mormon temple just opened up in my city… so it meant I had the pleassssuuure of Orson coming up for the Open House and dragging me along. Stay with me? God no, please ‘Tienne I’m not that insane, what would I do if he snooped and found my big old dildo? Yeah he was staying with some church people since he was volunteering and such.”

“I think I wanted to die when he sat down at the piano – yeah, I didn’t even think Bert ever tuned that thing, but knowing Orson maybe he came extra early to tune it, and began banging out the Christmas carols. Like he’s talented and all, and I don’t mind a round of Jingle Bells, but he really has this creepy 1950s vibe and I wanted to roll my eyes when his eyes started to shine with unshed tears at Away in a Manger and O Holy Night.” Edward twisted the cord around his finger, as he listened to Étienne chuckle. Apparently the tactic was avoid talking about himself and instead rant about goody-two-shoes Orson? “You should count yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with him on a regular basis… mmm? Yeah he is kind, considerate and is literally the guy to volunteer for the worst tasks but there is something about him where he is a little too perfect? Like somehow can’t let my hair down around him type of deal. Which makes him perfect for Lilith – as she always has her hair up, haha.”

Edward had relaxed into his seat, somehow feeling lighter, as the words slipped out, “And then New Years was somehow worse… no I wasn’t at the ranch. I probably should have taken you up on your fireworks show, because the one here is uh Edmonton grade. You know – trying real hard but still somehow failing to miss the mark,” he chuckled at his own joke, not picking up on the strained tension from Étienne over the phone. “Calvin came up, which surprised me since I assumed he would want to be gallivanting about in Calgary, but apparently he wanted to spend it with his best buddy which is me? Somehow? Don’t worry Teddy, you’re still my best friend…” Edwards voice lowered, as he realized what he was about to say, admit. Pause. “So how was your New Years? Aahh why are you yelling – oh you’re saying I didn’t mention why New Years sucked? It’s because it wasn’t with you, darlin’.”

Somehow Edward couldn’t do it. Couldn’t quite bring himself around to admitting he had come out to Calvin. How he had fallen into a depression when he got outright rejected. “Hmm? Well, how else can I put it… while I could have been kissing you and sucking your cock, I instead got to hold Calvin’s hair back as he literally puked in my poinsettias… yes… mmhmm. The poor plant didn’t make it.”

Tangling his finger in the phone cord, Edward found himself relaxing as Étienne told him about his New Years event, feeling like he had dodged a bullet. The other man’s voice soothing him. Trying to be home for Christmas and the New Years - attempt to enter the new millennium as a man of his own place, had been a major mistake.

He should have kept to his original plans of escaping to Montreal, escaping his own clay dirt to mold himself into his own dream man.Sometimes he wondered if he loved Étienne or simply wanted to be Étienne. A complicated mixture of feelings confusing him ever more when it came to that man.

“Visit? I would love to visit… oh wait, you want to come visit me? When? Hmm let me… check my calendar.” Edward sat up, looking around, and then picked up the phone, carefully picking his way into the kitchen, so he could squint at the calendar. His telephone cord ran out though, so he had to do an awkward strain, trying not to unplug the phone, while seeing his own scribbled-in life.

Well… the only thing really was his work shifts. Everything else a blank. “How does this time work? You’re booked up. Alright…” Edward and Étienne haggled over dates, until somehow, it lined up that Edward was going to Montreal. A subtle shift, but as Edward said with some practicality – that’s just how it lined up. As he hung up the phone, he wrote down the date of his trip, feeling better. Now in between work was a small bright spot, one small thing to look forward to.He was not as friendless as he thought, and, perhaps with enough courage, he could finish his New Years story.        

#quatschfic #pc: edmonton #pc: montreal #pc: calgary #pc: alberta #pc: cardston #bitchumen

[skeletorific]

This Got Out of Hand (and we’re out of paint): Marvus Xoloto ♦♠Reader

yall i swear i’m gonna get on writing stuff that actually got requested but this idea wouldn’t release me until I’d finished it so here we fuckin go

This simply could not stand.

Black flirting and romance, once upon a time, was a concept utterly foreign to you. It had taken roughly three conversations with Tegiri and Polypa on the topic (and a lot of time spent around Galekh and Tagora) before it had registered to you as anything more than consistent hate fucking and passive aggressive remarks. 

That was before you met Marvus. 

The clown was many things: attractive. Creative. Charismatic. Funny. Way more intelligent than he presented himself as. He was also a shit-starter, would probably pail with Zebruh before he would confess to a genuine emotion without fifteen layers of casual slang and innuendo, and seemed to take intense pleasure in riling you the fuck up whenever he got the chance. One way or another he wormed his way into your head, and suddenly you couldn’t stop hearing his voice in your head even when he wasn’t around. Challenging you, teasing you, testing you, doing his utmost to get you a nice, steaming anger before ruffling your hair with a wink and walking away.

It was also possible you were a little bit smitten with him.

Or maybe a lot. 

Regardless, in time you’d come to understand that it was a mutual thing. For as much as he didn’t show it, you were beginning to read between the many, many lines with the clown. He enjoyed the hell out of you, sure, but he also seemed to find you something of a puzzle. Beyond the fact that you still hadn’t kicked Zebruh to the curb (and he never failed to send you an eye-rolling emoji whenever he appeared in one of your Chittr photos), every story about your past that came up seemed to render him a little bewildered about what it was you’d put up with in order to attain those sweet and lofty fruits of FRIENDSHIP. 

“i mean, lil stab-stab here, lil push off a cliff here, ‘sall gucci sunshine. normal n all that shizz.”  He’d said, in one of his rarer moments of honesty. The fact that both of you had slammed a couple liters of faygo in the aftermath of a particularly exhausting show probably had something to do with it. He lounged on the couch, absently combing fingers through his piles of hair. “but keep hangin out wih m-fers what still wish ya harm, or bloo shizzheads what won’t take no for an answer, that’s a whole other thing, uhearme?”

You’d waved dismissively from your position lying on the floor. You were a little drunk yourself at the time. “Its fine. Usually. And when its not its like….phoo, somehow it gets fine anyways!”

“jus sayin” he said, shifting until he was upside down on the couch, face inches from yours. Close enough that you could see the greasepaint starting to flake off. “need sumbody what can keep ya from gettin urself killed, lil buddy.”

“You volunteering?” You’d crooned. Ok, croon is a strong verb, it was more like slurred, but crooning was the intention is what matters.

“u askin me to?” He smirked, pressing a single claw to your forehead. Internally, you’re pretty sure that’s not how volunteering works, but noticing that isn’t at the top of your hierarchy of needs currently. 

“Mmmmaybe.” You rolled onto your back. You can feel your heart pounding just a bit right now, but somehow your voice is floating even and light. Like you don’t have a care in the world, and this is just one more joke in the scheme of your weird mobius double irony reacharound of a relationship. “Maybe I wanna go all gorlekh with you, what do ya think of that.”

“‘scuse?”

“Gorlekh. Gorgor and Lekh-…..lekh….” You made a dismissive noise, gesticulating your hands wildly as you moved to sit up. “The black one!”

“….ur talkin spades?”

“Yeah! The kissmissies….kissmich….” Wow faygo was no joke on your system. “The hate one. Like I don’t hate you, except I think I do a bit? But like in that weird alien way where I think it just makes me like you more and its confusing but I don’t wanna stop and you’re so damn cute and….and…”

Your voice trails off.

Because the man is honest to globes grinning. No smirk, no lazy half-smile, no lowered eyelids, nothing to give that careful impression that he’s only happy in a chill way. Just a huge, toothy smile that split his face.

Bro that shit was radiant.

“m-fer, u have no idea what ur in for….”

—–

You really hadn’t but you hadn’t had a moment of regret since then.

It was a constant game of one upmanship between you, an intense competition to see who could get who to visibly express their emotions first. Maybe that was unusual by kismesis standards: it didn’t seem much like Tagora and Galekh’s dynamic. But you were enjoying every second of it, and if Marvus had complaints he sure as hell wasn’t voicing them.

The only downside, all told, was the lack of time.You didn’t have hours to build on the tension. More often than not you had moments between shows. Actual antagonism had to be planned in to make sure the point got across without actually getting either of you hurt. After a full day of work he was usually too burnt out for more than light teasing and, to borrow his phrase, “sloppy makeouts”.

Those sloppy makeouts were becoming in themselves the point of your focus.

—-

After one such particular petting session, you glanced at the clock out of the corner of your eye. Fuck, it was late (er….early) and you had a long walk home with your car out of commision. You sighed, pulling yourself off of him with no small amount of protest. “I’ve gotta go.”

“u got some1 else u gotta do this to” he muttered, getting to his feet and brushing himself off. You were starting to realize a denied, overtired Marvus was a grumpy Marvus, which was as endearing as it was needy as hell.

“Maybe~.” You say, enjoying the glint he got in his eyes. You straighten out your clothes for a bit. “Tomorrow?”

“day off tomorrow bruh. clown church” He slipped an arm around you from behind, leaning down by your neck. “which means u can stay here-”

“Mm-mm” You slip free, nudging his face back. “Not tonight. Not here.”

“keep tellin ya juggz don’t spread shizz around” He said, lips pouting out a bit, which forces you to look away.

Denial is part of the game, after all. 

“‘Juggz’ aren’t the only people around here. And I’m not looking to get your fanbase up my ass. I’ve got more than enough people looking to cull me” 

“Hehe, tryna make me jealous ;o)”

You roll your eyes and head for the exit to his dressing room.The cool night air beckons outside, but you find your path suddenly obstructed by his arm. With a huff, you look up at him. “I’m heading ou-Mmm!”

The head turn had allowed him to get a grip on your chin and pull you into another deep kiss. Not a kiss, actually, if there was a word for it you’d describe it as some kind of facial wrestling match. He kissed around your mouth, your cheeks, your eyelids, in rapid succession, all the while insistently rubbing his nose and cheeks against your face as you spluttered. 

“Marvus-I—hey!!” 

With a final peck to the tip of your nose, he drew back grinning ear to ear, face paint now a smeary mess. “have a nice nite, b~” 

And you suddenly found yourself outside, hearing the door lock behind you. 

Oh that little- You snatched your phone out of your pocket and turned on your front facing camera. Sure enough, your face was now suddenly covered in white-grey paint, already caking on your cheeks and making you look like you’d fallen face first into glue.

“Marvus, I’m gonna kill you!” You said, pounding at the door. From the other side you swear you hear him laughing, which is only adding kindling to the fire at this point. 

Great. Perfect. You could either face the long walk home or use your sweatshirt to wipe it off and leave a visible stain on the black sleeves. Fuck it, you won’t be able to make it to Tyzias’s to do laundry for a bit, so you’re gonna have to walk of shame your way home. Fanfuckingtastic.

Practically the second you crossed the threshold your phone buzzed.

therealxoloto: send pics before u clean urself up aight ;o)

Oh he wanted a fucking-

You sent him a well backlit photo of your face, largely covered by an Alternian hand gesture Mallek had taught you.

therealxoloto: hell ye that’s that good shizz

Alien_among_you: you think you’re so funny

therealxoloto: clown church baby lmao

therealxoloto: i’m fxxkin hi lar i OUS

therealxoloto: ♠

Alien_among_you: ♠

You go to bed with cheeks red and chapped from being scrubbed, which was DEFINITELY the only reason they were red.

—-

After that, no kiss was safe, not truly. He’d found a button to press, and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna leave it alone while it still worked. Sometimes he’d led you go days, wipes even, without an incident, only to jump you once you were lulled into a false sense of security. Practically everything you owned had been stained with the stuff with the point, and you’d gotten more mouthfuls of it than you’d care to mention. 

And naturally, this meant war.

It took you some time to figure out an appropriate revenge. Just stealing his paints felt over the line somehow. While you were still figuring out the ropes of clown religion, the fact that you had yet to see a clown without the stuff probably meant it was important. Marvus had only just started cleaning it off in front of you, and while he hadn’t made a big deal out of it, you’d gotten the impression that it was kind of a moment for him.

So, taking the stuff wasn’t an option. All that was left was to thwart it.

Can’t mess up a face already covered.

You waited till he’d left to run an early rehearsal, then quickly raided the vanity, tracking down brushes and setting powder and a couple of those little white brushes. You opened the tins and carefully positioned yourself in front of the mirror. Alright. Ok.

You hadn’t exactly done this before, but how hard could it be to figure out? 

Fifteen minutes later you realized that optimism was a bit misplaced. You weren’t exactly aiming for perfect, but you at least didn’t want it to look like a kid had painted you up. That would give him leverage to flip the teasing back on you, which was not the point of the exerices. You kept have to undo your work. The diamonds edges were too round, or too wide. The eyebrows were uneven. It took you far too long to figure out how to even tape down your natural brows. The makeup wipes were starting to pile up and paint was getting much lower. How the hell did he do this every day, it looked practically effortless-

Footsteps in the hallway. 

Panic rose in your throat as you swept the trash into a nearby can and haphazardly tried to make the vanity look like it had when he left. As they grew closer, you realized your eyebrows were still taped down, and ripping those off in a hurry was probably not the best idea. You practically dove into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

“¿Yo, I leave my palmhusk in here?” 

You feel a sudden rush of relief. Not your clown. You recognize the voice: Payasa, one of the newer acts. You open the door a crack, seeing a tall juggalette with close cropped hair and a complex design resembling a moth across the center of your face. Damn, you weren’t even managing basic geometric patterns, how the hell did she paint that on every morning?  “Haven’t seen it, sorry.”

“¿damn, sorry ‘bout the intrusion?” The lanky clown starts to leave, before hesitating. “¿uhh…..you doin alright motherfucker?¿Need me to get the big man?” 

“No! No….” you say quickly. “I’m fine.”

“¿alright…?”

A thought occurs to you just before she leaves. Normally it’d be uncomfortable asking, but…you wanted to get this done.“….actually you know what.” You push open the bathroom door. “Could I get some help with something?”

She turns around quickly, gaze eager. Alien or no alien, she’s new here and eager to please. “¿watcha need?”

“I need you to help me put some face paint on.” You say, gesturing pointedly to your eyebrow situation.

You feel a cold spot of dread as the clown’s cheeks go bright purple. Oh globes, is this one of those troll things you’ve just put your foot in. Did you just spit in the face of the mirthful messiahs or something. 

Payasa rubs the back of her head, eyes darting towards the door. “¿er….does Marvus…know about this?”

“Its a surprise for him,” You say quickly. Hoping against hope, because otherwise its back to the drawing board or figure out how to do it yourself.

“¿I…?” The clown grimaces, nervously tugging on one of her many piercings. She seems to be at war with something inside herself. Finally, she swallows and looks back down at you. “¿sure….?”

A relieved look crosses your face. “Thank you so much, I promise I wouldn’t ask otherwise, but I’m pretty hopeless at this. 

“¿heh…no p?” She said, giving you a shy half-smile. “¿did you uh….have a design in mind?”

“Oh, that’s the easy part. I just need you to copy Marvus’ design.”

Another weighty silence. The purple faded, and its hard to tell under the makeup but you think she might have just gone pale, her eyes bulging out of her head.

“….is that….is that not ok?” You say weakly. 

“¿I-….it’s uh, fine!?” She managed to stammer out. The gazes towards the door returned, but after another look at your pleading face she seemed to gather her courage and slam it closed, making you jump. “¿its fine.?¿ Can do it quick, right?¿ Don’t have to be a big deal or nothin…?”

“Uh….sure?”

Payasa drags up a chair to the vanity bench and gestures for you to sit down. Despite the oddness of her behavior, you’re didn’t get this far looking gift clowns in the mouth. You sit down.

She makes quick work of it, though she still seems nervous. Her face keeps going purpler and purpler the longer she paints, and her ears flatten to the side of her skull as she worries her lip with her fangs.

“Are you sure this is ok?” You finally ask. “There’s not like, a rule against this or anything, right? I don’t want you to….I don’t know, commit heresy or something.”

“¿Nah, nah, not heresy, motherfucker.?” She says quickly, dabbing the poff in the setting powder before carefully dusting you. “¿Jus….little unusual is all.?¿But ain’t my place to judge.?”

“Why is it unusual?” True, Marvus seemed to prefer to do his own makeup, but you’d seen other juggalos do each others faces all the time, especially on the rare wipe end Marvus could drag you out to clown church. It had always seemed kind of peaceful. 

“¿I uh….think I’m gonna let Marvus tell ya about that.?” She mutters, putting on the finishing touches. “¿Ain’t sinful, though, promise.?”

“Well….that’s good, I guess.” You help her put the paints away. “Thanks again. His reaction should be worth it, at least.”

She let out a sharp laugh. “¿Yeah, imagine it will…?” She got to her feet, replacing the chair and giving you a lazy, two-fingered salute. “¿Gotta bounce and get ready for my set.?¿have a nice night, little motherfucker.?”

“You too.” Man, what does it say about your life right now that ‘little mothefucker’ read as affectionate. Before you can contemplate that, Payasa leaves the room, closing the door behind her. 

Marvus doesn’t come back for another twenty minutes or so. You lounge on the couch, scrolling through your messages and dicking around with a couple of games you’d downloaded for Diemen. You got so far down the rabbithole that by the time Marvus opened the door you’d almost forgotten what was on your face.

Almost.

“m-fin sound issues, swear 2 fxxkin glob…” He was muttering, twirling his staff absently in his fingers. “sorry i’m-”

He finally turns his eyes on you, and you’re treated to a rare sight.

Marvus Xoloto, speechless. Mouth still halfway open on its way to whatever he’d been planning to say. Eyes slowly tracing your face. You could practically see the question marks popping up over his head.

Its your turn to smirk, tucking your phone back into your pocket as you sit up, tossing your hair back a bit. “Lookin for your makeup rag? Bad news bitch, I’m already co-”

Marvus heads back outside, slamming the door. 

….Ok. Not the reaction you were expecting.

You waited for a second. Was this a bit?

….

Ok ok not a bit not a bit-

You scrambled to your feet, following him out the door.

Instinctively you move towards the green room, but he’s not there. Just a couple of the others, lounging around and hitting each other with squirts of a substance you deeply hope is whipped cream. One of them catches sight of you and their eyes go wide. “….damN, didnT knoW yoU anD xolotO werE therE.”

“Have you seen-….what do you mean there.”

They chuckle, getting up and clapping you on the shoulder, giving you a big goofy grin. “he’S A luckY maN. prettY surE I saW hiM headiN foR thE costumeS closeT. leT A brotheR knoW iF yoU neeD A buckeT oR somethiN, aY”

Coming down to it you wish Marvus’ friends were a little less helpful sometimes. “I…think we’re good. Thanks” You brush past him on your way to the closet, hearing a couple distant “whoops” as you retreated.

The costumes closet is tucked away in a small corner. He’s not there, and for a moment you nearly considered looping back to his dressing room, before-…

Is that muffled screaming?!

Nervously you tap on the door. “Marvus…”

The sound lapses, and there’s a long pause.

“…..ye?”

“You uh, doin alright in there.”

“heh…def b. gucci.”

“You kinda rushed out.”

“…..”

“I’m coming in.”

“…..cool” he says, sounding resigned.

You open the door. Its stuffed to the brim with an array of truly unspeakable clothes. In the blinding sea of color Marvus is practically camouflaged, but you do eventually spot him. Slumping against the back wall, holding a crumpled shirt in his hand that he seems to have been screaming into. His expression is stony and tired in a way you aren’t used to seeing from him, and his eyes aren’t meeting yours.

One of the hardest things you’ve had to figure out about kismesis is when to break kayfabe. Following every barb or prank with an apology kind of defeats the purpose of a kismesis. They’re supposed to let you dangle a bit. But at the same time there are lines that can’t be crossed. You’re not supposed to genuinely hurt them, or force past boundaries they aren’t comfortable being violated.

The issue, especially in Marvus’ case, is figuring out the difference between the two.

You close the door behind you, pressing your back against the cool metal. “So…..I’m getting the impression that this,” You gesture to your face. “May have been a bit more symbolic than was my intention.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. You can see him struggling against himself, probably considering whether or not he should try to laugh it off. In the end though, he just nods.

“And I may have hurt you somehow?”

“u didnt-”He groaned, tilting his head to lean against the wall and closing his eyes tight. “who even did that 2 ya…”

“I….they’re not gonna get in trouble, right?”

He gave you a Look. 

Right. Not his style. “Payasa”

“n she didn’t think to explain y that might give a clown some m-fin pusher problems?”

“She was acting kinda weird about it, but I think she assumed I knew. Or…was maybe a little too scared”

He sighed, breath coming out in a huff. “fxxkin messiahs…” Slowly, he slid down the wall to sit on the ground.

You hesitated a second, before approaching him. Carefully, you slid to sit down next to him, resting your hands on his knees. “…Can you explain it to me? Please?”

His claws traced out patterns in the shirt he was still holding, as his eyes seemed a million miles away. You found your attention drawn to the slow rise and fall in his chest, the tension in his shoulders. He seemed nervous, a weird look on a man who came alive in front of a crowd of millions of rampaging teens. 

“juggz paint iz personal shizz. start workin on the lewk on yer naming day and it keeps changin while you’re changin. lotta symbolism and liturgical shizz go into it but the main thing iz its….u.” He turns over his hands, staring down at them. Faint purple lines run across the palm, a crisscross of old scars. “ur paint’s ur identity. sum mothafucker steals that, they’re stealin u. hell, even gettin some1 else to paint for ya is a big fxxkin deal. ur puttin ur whole identity in their hands and askin em to put it on ya. lotta clowns don’t even let their quadrants paint em”

Your palms go clammy. In your long proud history of fuck-ups, this one didn’t quite take the cake, but it had definitely cut out a larger slice than would be deemed socially appropriate. “I….holy shit, Marv, I’m sorry.”

“sorry?”

“I didn’t realize, this was like, taking something from you. I can take it off-”

You cut off your sentence when you realize his shoulders are shaking.

If he’s fucking crying you are gonna lose your entire mind-

And then a laugh tears out of his throat. Low and throaty and sweet and uncontrollable, the kind of laugh you heard from him maybe once in a blue moon. You’re taken aback (and more than a little flustered). You can only watch, cheeks growing progressively redder as he slowly subsides, hunching up a bit as he tries to catch his breath.

“I…what….”

“fxxkin saviors, b, sumtimes i forget, ufeelme?” He turned to look at you, grinning wide. “forget how alien u are to allathis. i ain’t mad”

“You aren’t?”

“nah lmao”

“….then what was all of this about?!” You say, shoving his shoulder. “I thought you said-”

He catches your wrist, pulling you to straddle his lap. “hey, hey, don make a m-fer bust out the shoosh paps.” He says, tone completely amused as he soothingly strokes your arms. “jus shuddup for a sec and lemme get raw, kk?”

You decidedly have more to say. But… looking at the soft expression on his face you’re having a hard time remembering what it is. In the end you nod for him to continue, settling back at bit against his legs.

He takes your hand, gently unfurling it and caressing circles in the palm with his thumb. “ur paint is u. and the people all in ya life, the 1s that count….they’re also u.” His thumb presses down solidly, shooting sparks up your arm. “told ya, the design grows like u do. pretty much expected once shizz gets serious with some1 ur gonna change things up a bit to reflect that. like chahut. the heavy paint round the sight specs a reference to that little indigo shit she goes craftin with. doesn’t always happen right away, but, when it does…” He releases your hand and moves up to cup your face. Eyes lidding a bit as he contemplates the design, traces the diamonds with his eyes. “pretty fxxkin big deal”

“I…..so, when I….” Your face goes red with the sudden implications, which makes him chuckle.

“yeah lol. kick in the bulge. not xxxactly what i was thinkin i’d see”

“So….that’s why you left?”

His lips press together a bit, and he gives a shrug at least twice as nonchalant as it should be. “…yeah. woulda been trippy even if ya were another purple but knowin u had no fxxkin clue what u did. like watchin a lil squeaker paint prophecies in stick figures. had to get out just to make sure i didn’t do smthn weird as hell”

“…..like what?”

He hums, gripping your chin and dragging you back down to press a soft kiss on your lips. Warm breath fans across your face as he smirks, exposing just a bit more of his fangs than was technically necessary. “show ya when we got more time ;o)”

You groaned. “This is illegal”

“fxxkin arrest me then bih” He patted your thigh, flicking his brows up.

You mutter something treasonous under your breath.

“n-y ways, u should clean urself up” He kissed your forehead. “camera crew$$$ gunna b up my a*s soon”

You sigh. “Right…” Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you push yourself to your feet. “Heaven forbid we appear to visibly be a couple”

“rite? gross lmao”

You shake your head and smile as you head for the door. “Right. Gross.”

“hey.”

Before you can turn around he’s wrapped his arms around you from behind, fitting you neatly to him. He leans down to bury his face in your shoulder, and despite the circumstances that lead you here, you know the only motivation is a desire for closeness. “let me do u up next time” He mumbles, voice rumbling against the skin of your neck. “not mine, but….somethin a yours. find out who u are, ya feel?”

…..You cover his hands your own, squeezing them tight and biting your lip to hide a grin. “….bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time, bozo”

“c’mon, we both kno u can’t resist the idea of my touchstumps all up in ur nugbone hehe ;o)”

“Sure that sentence would be very sexy to someone who isn’t an alien.” You turn in his grip to face him probably. “….love you.”

“aw, babe, that’s gay lol”

“I taught you what that means and you weaponize it against me? Treason.”

“i’m 1 naughty m-fer.” He kissed your forehead. “love ya 2”

“And…..hope you aren’t attached to this shirt.”

“…wha-”

Acting fast, you yank up his shirt and scrape it across your face, taking as much greasepaint off as you could before breaking free of his grip and bolting out the door. Loud, clowny curse words chase you as you tear through the halls, a smile threatening to break your face in half as you ran.

The road to vengeance is long sometimes, but it sure is sweet.

#hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim #marvus xoloto #marvus x reader #marvus fic #pale black vacillation #hs marvus #fluff

[essaysbyciara]

Thy Neighbor II: Lovin’ The Crew [Chapters 19 + 20]

[Prologue] [Chapters 1 + 2] [Chapters 3 + 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapters 7 + 8] [Chapters 9 + 10] [Chapters 11 + 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapters 14 + 15][Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] 

Warnings: Language, smut thoughts

The madness continues... 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Y'lan's favorite spot inside of this lavish AirBnB just blocks away from Center City is the outdoor patio. Full of lush bushes peppered with flowers of multiple hues and a large table long enough to fit more than twelve disciples, it's job as the bar is doing the trick. The table is way more than a wet bar, stacked with every type of whisky, gin and tequila known to man. It's also the grandest medicine cabinet Y'lan could have in hopes to soothe his raging emotions toward Trevante.

Y'lan always knew Trevante to be a loose cannon when it came to women. He heard some of the stories straight from the horse's mouth, the worst of them coming from both Michael and Yahya, his best friends. But what he's been hearing from -- and about -- Trevante during the early hours of this pre-bachelor party has him on edge.

Trevante just spoke of "sexing down some chick" just weeks ago, describing her as "super thick, nerdy bitch, tight pussy, all that." Y'lan would only know of Ciara's shape, need to wear glasses and disposition toward learning new things. He never got the chance to see if he'd get stuck inside of her love. However, hearing Trevante talked about Ciara -- or who he imagines to be, at least -- this type of way disturbs him beyond belief. The same girl that Trevante spoke of "ending his playboy ways" with is being talked about in a room full of immature frat boys as just another "fuck", as Stephan just called her. A label that Trevante didn't correct but rather laughed at.

Maybe Trevante just wants to impress his friends or he is trying to keep up appearances. Either way, Y'lan wasn't having it. A shot of top shelf whisky is to keep his mind on other things.

"Yo, bro ... we got all night, man." Trevante catches Y'lan just as he pours his next shot. He saw him pour his first two drinks, watching him out on the porch as the rest of his friends cracked jokes and delved in laughter around him. Trevante didn't want to talk about Ciara in this way. She wasn't a "fuck"; she was his girlfriend. While he loves her body, makes her keep her glasses on during sex as a fetish thing and puts her at the top of his "best sex ever" list, he didn't mean to make their love life his boys' business. Trevante reverts to number-eight-on-his-SPR07 line when he's around the fellas. He's grown since then, he thought. But once he saw Y'lan leave the room, he knew he messed up.

Quiet as it's kept, Y'lan is who Trevante wants to be. He admires Y'lan's drive to live life for something greater than himself, volunteering and giving his life to the church. Trevante wasn't a religious person but he would pay attention to how Y'lan would talk about how God helped him get his act together from a life of doing dirt, Ciara catching most of those stains. He felt Y'lan's "stand up" energy and wanted a part. Him checking in on Y'lan is in his way of trying to be better -- and hoping that he didn't turn off the person he hopes can turn into his best friend.

He pours himself a shot as well. "Y'lan, you cool?"

"Yeah. Just a lot going on in there, man. That's all."

"If you're not feeling this, we can always dip out. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything. This really ain't for us anyway. "

Y'lan is taken aback by Trevante's invitation to leave. In one way, he's glad that his friend is aware of what may or may not be a place that he would want to be. On the flipside, he's hurt that his friend is responsible for making him feel uncomfortable in the first place. "Nah, man. I'm good. It's just for today. The wilderness lasted forty days. I'll be solid." Y'lan knocks down another shot. "Let's head out to the day party spot. I'll be cool. I just need to breathe a bit."

---

"I feel like I can breathe up here..." Ciara marvels at the orange, auburn and marigold-hued leaves that fall around her and Winston as they wind around a somewhat busy trailway on a Saturday morning. They make sure to make room for the bicyclists and runners with their strollers as they walk the twisted pathway through trees and rotting cabins. "This reminds me of back home."

"Where's back home for you?"

"Suburban Maryland, toward the mountains. We were like the only Black family there but it was a beautiful place to grow up. What about you, Winston? You've been in New York all of your life?"

"Ehh, it's a long story."

"I got time..."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Raised by a preacher father and a stay-at-home mother who were both full-on fire-and-brimstone, barring secular music and television inside of their house, Winston and his sister, in church six times a week and twice on Sundays, were forbidden to go on class trips or to sleepovers. Feeling trapped, Winston started hanging out with all of the "'Rican and Dominican" kids from the neighborhood. There he met his best friend, Ronald.

Built like a NFL player by tenth grade, Ronald scared everyone except Winston, big and bad just like he was. As much as Winston's parents didn't like his new crew, they knew Ronald's mother from church so they lessened their grip. The two became inseparable, Winston spending weekends at Ronald's house during the summer. He got to watch BET and play XBox for all hours of the day, this little ounce of freedom in a world full of restrictions.

But then one day, he couldn't go over Ronald's house anymore and Winston's dad wouldn't tell him why. Winston would hang outside with Ronald but then his mother would drag him into the house. "I better not catch you hanging out with that boy..." is all his mother could say. Nothing made sense until it did. Ronald's mother found a note written for Winston. Inside were Ronald's feelings for him, feelings that his mother felt "were for girls..."

"So that's why you're writing about the persecution of sexuality in the early Church, then? Makes sense." Ciara exhales from hearing Winston's story. It was a lot to take in but Winston felt comfortable enough to tell her about it.

"Yeah. I'm passionate about why we do what we do, you know? There's a root to everything. But I didn't mean to make this all sad and stuff, I'm sorry..." Winston laughs to break up his somber tone. Ciara finds it nice to break up her life with some God talk. Outside of school, she doesn't get much of it. She definitely doesn't get it with Trevante.

"No, you're good! I appreciate it. It kinda reinvigorated me to get back to working on my paper, actually. I don't get to have these conversations with other students often because of work and like, all my close people aren't in the church like that, so..."

"I'm always down for meeting over coffee whenever you're free, if you need to keep fleshing things out."

"Man, Winston. I would love that so much..." Ciara pauses to take a look at Winston before he gives a response. His smile says enough.

"We should be getting you back though, I know your girls are probably looking for you..."

"They ain't even thinking about me. They in that house knocking down mimosas like it's a job." Winston and Ciara both laugh as they turn around on the trailway. The closer they get to the house, the louder the sounds of Jodeci are coming from their AirBnB.

I've been watchin' you for so very long tryin' to get my nerve built up to be so strong/ I really want to meet you but I'm kinda scared/ 'cuz you're the kind of lady with so much class...

The crowd at this day party is way too young to know anything about Jodeci. Most of them weren't born when K-Ci, JoJo, Dalvin and DeVante were killin' the streets. But Trevante, Y'lan, Stephan, Michael and the boys make the most of it. And the worst...

"Yo, Stephan is a damn savage," Michael says as he watches his friend's married frat brother flirt with another girl that looks just a shade over 21. Y'lan's been waiting and watching Stephan all night, calling him a "fuck nigga" under his tequila-laced breath. The girl's look of discomfort is clear to everybody else but Stephan.

It's even more clear to Trevante. Stephan wasn't just drunkenly flirting with some random. He grabs the girl's hand and takes her to their VIP section.

"Yo, yo... this is Meganne. She's a Lambda. Ain't think they were still out here looking this fine, shit." Meganne gently smiles to hide her embarrassment. She spotted Trevante and his crew some time ago as she and her girls grooved to another Ma$e song that they were too young to know. After Trevante told her to cool it for the sake of his relationship, she didn't walk by his office like she would always do, hoping to catch his attention.

After talking to her prophytes, she realized that Trevante was in the wrong for how he treated her. She felt strung along, feeling as if Trevante had this "girlfriend" for as long as he was taking her home from work and to lunch everyday. He would be her first "fuck nigga". Too bad he had to be so damn fine.

So as she sits down, she tries not to catch eyes with Trevante. Trevante is staring holes into her and Y'lan notices. He then remembers running into a girl that looked just like Meganne trying to hold back tears as she ran out of his office. Y'lan puts what he thinks is two and two together. He had enough. His fingers -- and the liquor -- went to work.

I ain't trying to win you back, Ciara. So that's not my move. You just need to know how trash this dude is. You deserve better, straight up.

Taglist: @doublesidedscoobysnacks @diva-princess-on-fleek @voyagetoadinas9 @walkrightuptothesun @wvsspoppin  @dreamlovealways @rockwit609 @thegayaxeman @joyfulwombatdreamermaker @blackpinup22 @hookedtoherfire @kris-did-it @l-auteuse @styleismyaddiction

#trevante rhodes x fanfiction #trevante rhodes #y'lan noel #winston duke #thy neighbor

[chyrstis]

Hana/Sharky or Hana/John for the Ultimate Ship Meme?

@raisinghellinotherworlds

I’ve got Hana/Sharky here, so let’s give Hana and John some attention, especially since this next fic I’m working out should give them a lot more to work with. :D

--

Hana Vao / John Seed

General:

Rate the Ship -  

Awful | Ew | No pics  pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do  it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all  other OTPs - I’m a bit quieter about this one due to wanting to develop it more, but it snuck up on me and I love it)

How long will they last? - There’s a hell of a lot that the two need to work through and work out, but once they do, they’re in it for the long-term.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - It’s not love at first sight by any means of the word. John eyes her during the initial arrest, but is dismissive. Hana’s only set on looking at Joseph once his attention starts boring into her, and hardly registers that the other siblings are in the room. After that, and once Hana really starts laying into John’s operation, he’s infuriated and intrigued, and Hana’s all too glad for the opportunity to piss him off. But John does fall first, and it’s not too long after she tries to capture him that feelings start entering the mix. Hana’s much further off, but by the time John does start finding ways to ‘help’ her and they seem genuine, any feelings towards him start warming faster than anticipated. There’s a bit of a rift that forms before the two go underground, but over the next few years they’re able to repair it, and start a relationship on much more even footing.

How was their first kiss? - Their first is incredibly ill-advised. It’s during an attempt to capture him, and Hana’s injured and desperate and in the middle of grappling with John when a thought pops into her head. ‘Sharky said he’s into me. Maybe I can use it to weasel out of this? No big deal.’ So, she kisses him. Kisses him and goes, ‘Oh, shit, he’s actually pretty into this’, and then punches him in the dick right after. Their first real kiss is a different kind of desperate later on down the line, and luckily for John, doesn’t require any dick-punching. He does make sure she actually wants this before continuing, however, and once she does confirm that, proceeds to pour every feeling he’s tried burying into it.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Hana! It’s honestly something that they never sat down to discuss officially, but she has no doubt in her mind that she wants to ask John once the idea’s been planted and she has a ring to do so.

Who is the best man/men? - There’s no ceremony for them, and considering John’s previous role (and the amends he’s trying to make), he would find it difficult to fill this position. Sharky would 100% try to volunteer, though and at that point would just be dragged into participating in the actual wedding himself, so....

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Hana would also find her hands a bit tied, and understandably so.

Who did the most planning? - Hana, though by planning it’s more ‘get John alone so she can talk to him’ and luckily for her manages to catch him working in his room. Then when she’s about to get the ring out, fumbles it, and has to dig it out from under his desk while he’s sitting by it. She doesn’t hesitate to propose once she gets her hands on the ring after that, and John’s honestly left speechless for a good minute once he realizes just what she’s doing.

Who stressed the most? - John. Up until that moment he’d drawn a few conclusions he shouldn’t have, and Hana’s glad to prove him wrong.

How fancy was the ceremony? -

Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big. -

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - N/A - Technically no one was invited since there was no official ceremony, but I think it’s safe to say that Joseph’s invite would've been lost in the mail. Or set on fire by Sharky.

Sex:

Who is on top? - They do tend to switch, but there’s been plenty of times where Hana’s put John right on his back, and he’s hardly tried to stop her.

Who is the one to instigate things? - They’re both pretty awful teases. It’s entirely a game of how much extended eye contact they can hold across a room and during conversation before the other cracks or gets the hint. John also enjoys trying to see how much innocent innuendo he can come up with, while Hana goes for small touch after small touch, seeing how close she can get to him before trying to leave the room. If it’s in an isolated area, she usually doesn’t have the chance, but if not, John’s usually not far behind.

How healthy is their sex life? -

Barely  touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple  weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other  on the couch right now - It would be a ten here, but their moments together are a bit more spaced out at the start of their relationship. Once they’re officially living together, though...

How kinky are they? -

Straight  missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff  and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a  horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - At least a couple of rounds depending on how much time they’re able to have together. Ideally there would be no rush at all, but they don’t always have that luxury.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - It’s certainly something they try for, but John would enjoy casually losing count whenever she'd try to tally them up. And would likely be in the process of trying to get an extra one out of her just on principle. The jerk.

How rough are they in bed? -

Softer  than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking  and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so  vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could  collapse the next time they do it. - They really have two speeds here. Some night’s John’s softer, caught up in the fact that she’s actually there with him and wants to be, and he can’t help but want to look at her, touch her gently, and take his time. Others, it’s only a matter of waiting for a second of privacy before they’re trying to tear the other’s clothes off.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? -

No  touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the  couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more  often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory. - John gives her a little space from time to time, but it’s hard for the two not to touch each other in bed, and he won’t hesitate to wrap himself around her. It’s reassuring to have her that close, and more often than not, he’ll actually start drifting off due to the level of contentment setting in. But most affectionate gestures remain behind closed doors for them, so there’s no heavy doses of PDA going on, no matter how badly they’d want to express it otherwise.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - One, which John was nervous about to start, but relaxed as time went on. I’m thinking William (Will? Billy?) for his name, mostly because John didn’t like Theodore (if she can’t honor Ted, she’d honor Bill), both Bruce and Wayne were also shot down, and J-names were right out. (and Hana might’ve shed a tear that night over how many of her action heroes were actually named John)

How many children will they adopt? - N/A

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - At first it’s Hana due to John’s nerves in handling the baby for any period of time, but he’s able to adjust and let go of that fear once they talk their way through it.

Who is the stricter parent? - They’re even at first, but as John gets more comfortable with the idea of parenthood (and makes more peace with the fear that he’ll be just like his parents), he’s able to be more of a disciplinarian. But it really takes very little for him to crumple like a wet paper bag.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - John. He doesn’t have to try too hard with Will, but has a cautious word to share just in case Will thinks of ever being half as much of a daredevil as his mother.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - John’s got a system down, but Hana’s there to sneak in added things to boost their kiddo’s day, like extra fruit, or a cookie.

Who is the more loved parent? - They’re both evenly loved, but Hana’s laid-back nature definitely leads to more partner in crime bonding opportunities (and good-natured pranks on John).

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? N/A – In a No-Cult situation John would be able to     finesse his way through these in a way Hana never could. And she’s all too glad to skip them entirely.

Who cried the most at graduation? - N/A, but Hana would be swiping at her eyes, and trying to badly hide the fact that she’s sniffling.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - John. John 100%.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - John will try to get her out of the kitchen to bear the brunt of the cooking, but never fully succeeds. 

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - John, if only because he’ll actively try to stick to a balanced diet.

Who does the grocery shopping? - John would probably take the reins here if only to get specifics, but Hana would definitely want to tag along and sneak a few extra things into the cart.

How often do they bake desserts? - It’s not a common thing at all, but the minute Hana mentions missing desserts and cakes, John might make it one of his priorities. Even though he’s terrible at it.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - If Hana had her way it’d be mostly meat, but John gently twists her arm into getting a bit more variety into her diet.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - John, and it’s a struggle at first learning to do without a lot of the items he kept in his kitchen, but he slowly learns, and goes as far as thinking of mood lighting, music, and the like. It’s a brand of romance that Hana would call ridiculous at first glance, but secretly swoons a bit over.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Hana would for ease, really. John can stress a little too much about making sure every last part of the meal’s perfect, and no matter how many times she’ll tell him it’s fine, he still tries to go that extra mile.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? - It’s actually about 50/50 for these two. 

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - John, mostly because he seems like the type to stress clean and reorder things as a means of centering himself, and poor Hana has no hope of ever being that neat.

Who is really against chores? - Neither’s against chores, but Hana does draw a line with the extent she’ll deep clean things.

Who cleans up after the pets? - These two don’t have pets at first, but the cats that Hana ends up attracting lead to more than a few guests sticking around, and she tends to keep up with them.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - This is a rare case of neither, unless Hana’s exhausted and wanting to put it off until tomorrow and John’s back is turned.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - John. Things must be in order and staged well, even if the guest in question is a human tornado.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Hana. She’d probably pretend to do a magic trick with it afterwards, being incredibly obvious about where she’s trying to pull the money from (his pocket, behind his ear), but John would play along, using just enough fake awe to get her to crack and start giggling.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - John. With the shower he used to have, it was the ideal environment to relax and think in.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - These two don’t have a dog, but there have been times when Hana’s been out (or John), and a few of the cats will just start following them. That totally counts, right?

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Hana loves decorating, but John turns it into an event, and he’s so over the top elaborate with it she can’t help but laugh and love it all at once.

What are their goals for the relationship? - To build and keep trust and respect between them. To try harder, and be better.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Neither normally, but John’s odd sleep schedule might leave him sleeping until noon if he was up until 3-4 AM getting work done the night before.

Who plays the most pranks? - It’s actually closer to even than Hana expected it would ever be, but she wins this one.

#raisinghellinotherworlds #I feel like on average each one of these takes at least 1-2 days to complete #it just can't be helped #but I do love these two (and had to resist listing some OT3 stuff as well) #thank you so much for asking by the way! #deputy hana #john seed #otp: you're the ghost in my heart

[wolfhuntsmoon]

Sarah Rogers and how Steve inherited ‘stubborn little shit’ from the womb

Okay, so I was noodling on Sarah after reading her Marvel wiki and some extraordinarily good posts about how EG Steve should have gone back to see his mum instead of Peggy etc and the timings of Steve’s early story struck me as... interesting.

Steve is born on 4th July 1918, before the end of WWI, meaning he would have been conceived in September or October of 1917 - that is, if he was born on time or only a few weeks premature. Which, given the tech and prognosis for preemies in the early 20th century, must have been the case because things were grim enough even if you weren’t born prematurely, for both baby and mother. If you were giving birth, you had a 6% chance of dying in Ireland in this period - roughly comparable with the rest of Europe but shockingly high by our standards. The odds were better if you were rich, but not by that much. Childbirth remained the leading cause of death for women worldwide until the late 1940s, remember. And kids fared no better. One in five children born in Dublin in this period died before their 5th birthday. Again, the figures would be better or worse depending on how well off you were, but even the richest still suffered appalling infant mortality rates.

Anyway, depressing history of women’s health aside, this means that Joseph Rogers, American solider, and her, must have been doing the do about then, and probably seeing each other on the regular before that, because believe you me, casual sex in the early 20th century was a big no no. Not to say it didn’t happen, but usually only via prostitution ESPECIALLY in Ireland, because the Catholic Church ruled supreme there even more than the British did and contact between the sexes was very restricted and frowned upon. Sex ed was nonexistent, and women knew that even a whiff of scandal about them was enough to ruin them, their entire family, and the rest of their life. It’s a hackneyed joke because it’s true: Ireland is small and everyone knows everyone. You would get found out and then suffer the consequences - sent to a mother and baby home if you were lucky, and those places were worse than prisons sometimes. That cultural context would carry over even if Sarah wasn’t actually in Ireland at the time.

So, likely they were married by then, because again: social ruin. The Marvel wiki says they were married, but not when. (I know nothing about the comics, I’m sorry) Soldiers and their sweethearts often married very quickly, and there are actually quite a few accounts of nurses falling in love and marrying the soldiers they tended. (More on this later) However, if she was widowed and could have the child respectably, why not return to Ireland? With, presumably, a support network that makes emigrating to America a worse, not better, prospect? This is the crux of my theory: Sarah Rogers was seen as an unmarried mother, and treated as such, because she married Joseph abroad, probably without permission, and when he died, had no social proof of the marriage. And in those days, unmarried mothers either: aborted in secret, had the baby concealed by the church where they were then taken and given up for adoption, or were cast out with nothing and ostracised if they decided to keep the baby. Sarah ending up in America strikes me as her taking the third option, and indeed the only option she could, to keep her baby.

But first: Joseph and Sarah need to meet in order to get down and dirty. How? He’s an American soldier who would never have set foot in Ireland in WWI - the British government kept their troops there, obviously, but the Americans were all put straight onto the continent or mainland Britain once they crossed the Atlantic from 1917 onwards (remember the US only joined in WWI in April 1917). In fact, the US wasn’t able to send significant numbers of troops to Europe until the following spring of 1918, because their army was so small and outmoded for trench warfare they basically had to send a lot of stuff over until they had enough trained bodies, which took about a year to organise. Based on this, if Joseph and Sarah were making baby Steve in September 1917, Joseph must have been in the regular US army before it entered the war, and likely in for quite a long time and experienced, to be sent over so soon. That experience would have been invaluable, meaning he never would have been assigned to stay in Ireland even if the US did send troops there. He would have been deployed straight onto the battlefield.

In which case, if Joseph never sets foot in Ireland, then how does he meet Sarah? Well, we’re told she’s a qualified nurse, and that was a solidly middle class job back then. You needed to have a good education, beyond primary level (which was all that was free for kids back then - you had to pay for secondary or tertiary level) and speak English well. In addition to that, your training to be a nurse took three years, and you weren’t paid or funded at all for those. So I don’t buy the theories that she emigrated to America only speaking Irish and totally penniless. Sarah most likely came from quite a well off family to become a nurse, although it’s not impossible she rose from much humbler circumstances as there were a number of scholarships and the like for the deserving poor set up by rich upper class ladies bored out of their minds drinking endless teas in salons who liked to do things like Help the Poor but only if they’re Pure and Mannerly. Qualified nurses were paid about £40/year in WWI by the British government, when your average domestic maid would have been earning about £20/year - quite a big difference.

Either way, Sarah, as a nurse, was exactly the kind of woman the British government was desperate to recruit by 1915-1916 when the true scale of modern attritional warfare became clear, and no longer pussyfooted around keeping women and their delicate sensibilities away from the battlefield. The Battle of the Somme between July-Nov 1916, for example, claimed the lives of over 20,000 British soldiers ON THE FIRST DAY. The British alone sustained over a million casualties (dead, missing or wounded) across the whole battle. They couldn’t afford to stay prudish. There were just too many casualties to deal with. They even opened up medical degrees to women without restrictions because they were so desperate! Which was a big part of the reason why Britiain introduced conscription for the first time in 1916, including in Ireland (which led to the Easter Rising and Irish War of Independence, hoo boy was that a mistake). Droves and droves of young women were recruited to fill all sorts of jobs while the men were away, but a large number also went overseas to the battlefields of Belgium and France. Sarah must have been one of them. If she was qualified beforehand, she would most likely have been sent to work in a field hospital abroad, because the voluntary members were mostly kept working as assistants on the British mainland. Lots of women joined these Voluntary Aid Detachments (VADs) at the start of the war to nurse wounded soldiers, but the military hated the idea of using them until they couldn’t cope in 1915. Even then, volunteers were only used for the more menial tasks. Professionals like Sarah were what was needed the most.

Now, I’ve said that she likely came from a middle class family, so money probably wasn’t a worry until after she got to America, later on. Why go, given the pay wasn’t significantly more than you’d earn as a nurse at home? Well, the rigid social hierarchy of the time broke down in some pretty major ways out there, and it was likely the only chance an unmarried woman would ever get to travel that wouldn’t immediately ruin her reputation. And if you accept more the idea she became a nurse via scholarship and was poor, the increase in pay working abroad would have been sorely appreciated. And we can also consider patriotism might play a role - not all Irish were rabidly anti-British before 1916. Indeed, many ordinary and middle class Irish only became ardently nationalist in the wake of the brutal repression following the 1916 Easter Rising. And more than that, many Irish, even if they disliked the British, disliked the idea of the Germans and Austrians-Hungarians winning the war even more. Personally, I think Sarah was an adventurer who seized her chance to escape the restrictive social confines of Ireland and didn’t once look back, even if her family disapproved.

I couldn’t find a birthdate for Sarah, or a maiden name to tell me where she might have hailed from (thanks, Marvel. Not.) But let’s say she was part of that first initial wave of volunteers who signed up in 1914 - because it was HUGE. It’s really difficult for us, so jaded now, to get into the mindset of people then, but they did sign up in huge numbers. Partly due to patriotism, partly because they thought the war would be over by Christmas, partly fear of being shamed for not ‘doing their bit’ - there were lots of reasons. But it’s very telling that the British government didn’t feel the need to introduce conscription for men until two years after the war broke out, and they never introduced a civilian equivalent. So Sarah would have been very familiar with the horrors of the battlefield and the war by the time fresh faced Joseph Rogers arrives on the scene in 1917.

How did they meet? Sarah would have most likely been working in a field hospital, overseeing a team of volunteers. Field hospitals were behind the front lines, but only by a few miles, and nurses were killed by enemy shelling and gas attacks. They were the first real point of medical care most soldiers would encounter after having bandages slapped on them at a dressing station in the trenches, before being carted off to the field hospital (if they survived the journey) by stretcher bearers, horses, or increasingly as the war continued, motorised ambulances. So Sarah and her ilk were lasses made of steel, honest to god. They were in the thick of the worst of it, men screaming and dying, and often afraid for their lives while they tried to care for them. A lot of those nurses developed PTSD (then called shell-shock) as a result. Jospeh is most likely to have met her if he was a wounded patient of hers brought in from the battlefield. But only lightly wounded - if he had been badly wounded he would have been shipped straight back to mainland Britain to convalesce as soon as he was stabilised, thwarting any budding romance.

We’re also told that Jospeh dies in a mustard gas attack. So this hospital trip must have been for something different - a broken bone perhaps, or a minor shrapnel wound that would see him off duty for a while but still stationed in the area and therefore able to court Sarah. Young people (Sarah must have been less than 28 because that was the cut off age for nurses to be recruited in 1915-1916) being young people, I imagine they fell in love, fell in to bed, and biology did its magic. The timescale on this is open to interpretation, because the ABSOLUTE earliest they could have met is May 1917 (travel time by ship from America to Europe took weeks during the war), and Steve must have been conceived by October, latest. Which is a pretty whirlwind romance, but not unusual for the time. The Germans first used mustard gas from July of 1917, but Joseph must survive up until September/October.

So, that cause of death as mustard gas? This is strange given how mustard gas was well known at the time to be the ‘best’ gas to have inflicted on you. It produced horrific blisters and burns, particularly on the inside of your throat and airways, but rarely killed. Chlorine and phosgene were MUCH deadlier. So Marvel saying this is more poor research, but let’s go with it - gas affecting you would make it that much more likely you’d be caught by machine gun or shellfire or any of the other myriad ways to die on a WWI battlefield. Here’s where things start to align quite nicely (well, badly for Sarah, but good for fic writers) as mustard gas was deployed by the Germans on a large scale between October 9th-12th to defend the Passchadaele Ridge from a joint British and French assault on the German defences. This was part of the second biggest battle of WWI, the Battle of Passchendaele, notorious for the seas of mud men had to slog through up to their waists, and one of the battles which, like the Somme, gave WWI generals such bad reputations. In three months the British lost 350,000 men and advanced just a few kilometres. They abandoned the battle on November 10th.

So, Joseph Rogers? Must have died between October 9-12th, well before Sarah realised she was pregnant even if Steve was conceived at the start of September. Likely he was caught in a mustard attack, started choking because he couldn’t get his gas mask on/hadn’t got it fitted properly, and then was killed by gun or shellfire after his initial injury. Mustard gas took time to affect the skin and membranes of the body, so if he fell while the gas was still around, it would have looked much worse by the time his body was identified and retrieved from the battlefield. The date, however, means Joseph died never knowing he was going to be a father (sad!), and Sarah, newly widowed, likely didn’t see any reason not to continue working as a distraction until she encountered the first signs of preganancy. The stiff upper lip thing was a real coping mechanism back then. She would have been kicked out as soon as anyone could tell, or she told them and got kicked out, because that was legal and expected then. Pregnant women were fired for being pregnant in any job, and the idea of a pregnant woman working in a theatre of war, as you can imagine, would have outraged everyone.

So, Sarah gets kicked out, has no job. She’s widowed and pregnant. But, the marriage would probably have taken place without her family’s permission (letters were pretty slow and heavily censored on the front lines, the timeframe likely wouldn’t allow for anything except a note telling them she married) and although she would have had a marriage certificate, turning up at home without a husband but with a baby from a military camp? Would have been a deep, deep scandal at the time. Particularly if Sarah came from a middle class family who would have been extremely conscious of their social position and the danger she and her baby posed to it. Catholic mores plus unsanctioned marriage plus Irish social structures equals daughter returning in disgrace to besmirch the family name in a way that is literally unthinkable at the time. Family therefore issues an ultimatum - come back and get rid of the baby and the marriage cert so you can be respectable, or don’t come back at all. I really cannot stress this enough - families would, and did, prefer to say the woman had died and never have any contact with them again, rather than accept an unmarried mother back into their house.

Sarah, being Sarah though, grits her teeth, spits in God’s eye, and packs her bags for the first steamship to New York. She was a lot better equipped than most to make the journey, with some savings from her salary and a profession she could rely on once she arrived. But it was still a recklessly brave thing to do because at this point in time the ENTIRE Atlantic was infested with German U-Boats who were doing their level best to sink any Allied or Allied associated ship they could get in their periscope sights. And they were terrifyingly effective in 1917, although by the end of the year when Sarah would have beeen sailing, countermeasures like the convoy system had greatly reduced this. But still scary as fuck, because by that point the German U-Boats were even sinking hospital ships - until then left alone by both sides.

She probably arrived in the US in January or February of 1918 - it would have taken time to arrange her travel and the journey itself took 3-4 weeks. Little Steven G Rogers came into the world on July 4th, 1918, without a clue as to the sacrifices his mother made to keep him and bring him to America, or the heartache she endured in the previous years. And that, my fellow nerds, is why Sarah Rogers is AWESOME and a sorely underused character and development point for Steve in the MCU. Because to do what she did, and to make it through took more than guts, it took sheer bloody-minded spite and stubbornness, and hey - who does that remind us of? Steve doesn’t grow up and get angry and fighty - no, he’s got that shit in his GENES from Sarah from the beginning.

EDIT: Part 2 is up! Consisting of Sarah’s journey and entry to America, plus how Very Not Good it was to be Irish whilst trying to do so.

#Sarah Rogers #IS AWESOME I WILL HEAR NO DISSENT IN THE RANKS #no seriously #the facts bear it out #fandom meta #captain america #backstory #character development #mcu #she was criminally underused #because you KNOW steve and bucky WORSHIPPED her #steve rogers #bucky barnes #joseph rogers #wwi #ireland #emigration

[tinyanxioushamster]

Intro to a Fallout 76-themed fic that @big-blue-daddy-hades and I are working on together. It’s gonna get real raunchy, fair warning, although this initial bit isn’t yet. What say you? Should we continue it? 🤔

Chapter 1: Reclamation

Kitty overslept and missed the Reclamation Day big exit with the rest of the vault dwellers from Vault 76. Emerging into the bright sun brought into focus a strange new world, so different from the stories she heard growing up in the Vault about the world outside… realizing with a jolt and a few minor laser burns from the Liberators lurking around the Vault door that she is woefully unprepared to take on this new world alone. They didn’t teach her how to use firearms in the Vault. They didn’t teach her a lot of things that would have been helpful. She spent her first few hours of freedom tentatively sneaking around the woods, giving every creature and rogue robot a wide berth, finally finding the Green Country Lodge motel just north of Flatwoods and staying there because it seemed just a tiny bit safe… and it was, for a bit, until it wasn’t. Then he came along.

He didn’t seem quite like anyone else she had seen go by on the road to Flatwoods during her few weeks of hiding out in the motel. He moved confidently, but wary and watchful, unlike the raiders’ bold swagger. He definitely wasn’t a ghoul or one of those horrible creatures with the burned skin and the growths, that moved with the singular purpose of killing anything and anyone they came across. The boots and soft cap he wore spoke of a military background, but the worn backpack and highly modified silenced sniper rifle he carried looked like he had been on his own, reliant on no one else, for some time. She noticed, with sudden interest, a Pip-Boy on his left wrist, covered with stickers. Was he a Vault-dweller like her?

She was wary of anyone unknown, vaultie or not, after a terrifying incident at the motel just the second night she was there. She had picked out a room with the broken glass more or less replaced solidly with plywood, and a bed that was mostly intact, and started trying to settle in somewhat while she tried unsuccessfully to figure out what her next steps were going to be. The next evening she caught a flash of familiar Vault-Tec blue and gold as a fellow Vault 76 dweller passed through the woods, trying to sneak and failing. “Hey! HEY! OVER HERE!” She waved and yelled, heedless of the attention she might be attracting, desperate for the familiar face of a fellow Vault-dweller. When the person turned towards the noise, she recognized Jana, a girl a bit younger than herself, who she had been acquainted with in the Vault but didn’t know well. Jana made her way across the street cautiously, swiveling her head with suspicion as she approached the motel. “K-Kitty? Is that you?”

“Come up and pick out a room, there’s plenty of vacancy!” Kitty laughed, giddy with the thought of having a companion she knew wouldn’t murder her. Jana wasn’t so sure. “Aren’t we supposed to be spreading out, not forming groups?” she asked, nervous that somehow the Overseer or someone even higher would find out they were violating the Vault’s directive to “run as fast and as far as you can away from the Vault”. Kitty sobered up and begged her to stay. “None of us knew what to do when we came out. They didn’t train us for this. They didn’t know what it would be like. And we need each other to survive out here!”

Jana considered. “Look. I don’t know what I’m doing but there is stuff in these woods that scares me. I don’t want to do this alone either but we’re supposed to be spreading out. I’ll pick a room and we can compare notes in the morning and see if we can help each other out some, but we’re not supposed to be teaming up like this.” Kitty nodded. She went back to her own room, played some Red Menace on her Pip-Boy for awhile, and finally dozed off, happy to know that she wasn’t alone in Appalachia after all.

Kitty was awoken suddenly in the dark by the sound of someone kicking the plywood in on one of the rooms nearby. She rolled off the bed in alarm, swept her few meager belongings off the side table, and army-crawled to the darkest corner under the broken bed frame she could reach. She listened in terror as the unknown visitors shouted and laughed, gleeful in their destruction and looting everything they could reach. The raiders swept their lights perfunctorily through her room as she held her breath under the bed and prayed, then moved on to the next room when they didn’t see anything worth snatching. She covered her ears when they found Jana’s room. She couldn’t bear the screams.

The incident had shaken her, deeply. She had stayed under the bed for the entire next day, terrified to come out. The following morning she dragged Jana’s ravaged body to the cemetery behind the Flatwoods church before dawn, dropped it into one of the shallow graves that had already been looted, bought several days’ worth of canned food from the vendor bot, and snuck back to her room in the Green Country Lodge. She slept under the bed every night after that and only ventured out when absolutely necessary. She was running low on food again and had been watching the road for most of the morning, trying to gauge the safety of making a run back into Flatwoods, when she saw him.

She watched the man head with purpose towards the Volunteer vendor bot in Flatwoods’ half-destroyed church-turned-triage-center-turned abandoned ruin, following at a distance, curious at why he was here. Kitty hunkered down behind the edge of a ruined porch at a house across the street and watched him trade with the vendor bot, wondering if it would be wise to ask to travel with him. She leaned against the railing as she pondered and it gave way with a resounding CRACK that echoed through Flatwoods’ silent streets.

“Shit shit shit shit SHIT!” Hissing expletives and scrambling backwards, she blindly turned to run back to the relative safety of the Green Country Lodge. She only made it to the bridge before he was on her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her down to the road.

To be continued...

#fallout #fallout 76 #fallout fanfic #ao3fic #vault dweller

[pureangleda]

You know, it feels like everyone is having a bad day today, so I’m going to share a funny story about my little sis.

Now, my sis and me are Cristian’ s, Baptists to be exact, but we’re much more relaxed about it than most folk. Like, as long as we look nice, we go to church in jeans and T-shirts (thankfully our church is relaxed too), we play video games, and other stuff. Well, my cousin invited her and my sister’s friend over to a church camp out of state, mostly to just get away and experience something new.

Now this church camp... Well, it was as conservative as you can get. Girls couldn’t wear pants, only skirts, and it had to cover their ankles (and it was HOT), Boys always had to cover up for swimming, early morning Bible studies and sermons every day, sitting around doing nothing on Sunday(like, absolutely nothing, you went to the sermon and read your bible, couldn’t play or anything), like, this was as much southern Baptist as it gets...

It makes for the perfect troller’s paradise.

My sis made a reputation for herself. She was the chaos queen. You stuck around her and hilarity always ensues. She bruised her body from winning belly flop completions so she could get slushy's (she did it three times, almost making herself sick), she horrified old lady’s by telling them that no, her legs weren’t tooth picks, they were meat sticks so tell her to put her meat sticks together, and she told all the girls in her class that she was going to marry an old rich dude to get all his money just to see their shocked looks.

She was unstoppable.

But there’s this one story that always stuck out to me.

You see, at one point, during the end of lunch, the cafeteria ladies brought out dessert, chocolate chip cookies, and according to my sis, those cookies were the only food there that tasted good. Well, everyone was going back to their cabins so my sis decided that she was going to grab some cookies to have later. So while my sis was stocking up on them my cousin came over, looking for her.

“[Sister’s name], what are you doing?”

“Grabbing cookies? I was going to eat some later”

“You can’t do that, that’s stealing!” Before you ask, yes my cousin was whispering like this was something scandalous, she was worried my sis was going to get in trouble.

“Oh, I’m not stealing, there’s no rule on it, and nobodies watching anyways”

“Yes there is, look” She pointed over and the preachers that where there were coming in for lunch. There was five in total, all of them had volunteered for the camp.

“You’re going to get in trouble!”

Well, my sis looked at the preachers, then looked back to my cousin, and stared her right in the eyes.

“What are they going to do? Tell God on me?”

Well, the preachers had heard the entire conversion, and they all collectively lost their shit. They thought it was the funniest thing they heard, and my poor cousin turned beat red out of embarrassment. It ended with sis dragging my cousin back to the cabin’s with the biggest grin on her face. Thankfully, she found the humor in it later, but boy she was upset at my sis at the time.

So yeah, that’s my cool chaotic sis :)

#funny story #My sis #You always want to hang around her #You'll get the funniest stories out of it