#tired of having our world rocked by strangers sobs give us a break

[mushtoons]

what better way than to doodle warm up than drawing an experience we had earlier this week

with bonus discovery

it also explains why our art is always drawn at an angle and the rotation tool is our best friend

#'what have i taught u quasimodo? u are ugly' 'i am ugly' 'u are deformed' 'I AM DEFORMED' #tired of having our world rocked by strangers sobs give us a break #now that someone has pointed out our head tilt we literally cant ignore it 😭 #we do it sm we never realized how stupid we looked #wood wide web #mycel doodles #silly stuff

[writingblock101]

Waffles or Pancakes? (Tim Drake x Reader)

Miss me? More explanation at the bottom. Enjoy this vent fic! 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,600

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish @mayahoelland2013

You pick up a stone, fiddling with it in your hand. You don’t have daddy issues. The complicated relationship with your father doesn’t run that deep, and it definitely isn’t some kink… but there are a lot of unresolved problems threatening to boil over the surface. 

Complicated relationship...More like lack thereof. You suppose that’s what happens when you have divorced parents, and you only see your dad every other weekend. Then other shit happens, he marries the wrong woman, you get older and more involved in your own life, and there’s not much effort on either side. You suppose that’s the origin of most of these problems, but you’re not the adult in this situation, dammit! 

You throw the rock in frustration, watching it disappear off the side of the building, then a puddle of dread pools in your stomach. You’re on top of a building, and pedestrians are walking below, minding their own business. Sure, it may be close to 3 a.m. in Gotham, but still! Your actions have consequences. 

You rush to the side of the building to make sure you didn’t bodily injure some random person, only to look down and see empty streets. Your pebble most likely joined another heap of loose asphalt. Plopping down heavily onto the ledge of the apartment building, you stare into the streets below and idly wonder if Batman and Robin are patrolling. When do they ever sleep? Do they sleep? 

You should be asleep, and you know it. You said good night to the friend you were messaging over an hour ago, but instead of rolling over and passing out, your mind wandered to your family, specifically your father. Probably because you’re going to be seeing him in a few days for the holidays. It’s not exactly dread. Your father is a very loving man who loves you very much, but it never felt like he put effort into your relationship. Of course, it wasn’t until you were older that you realized how little effort he genuinely put in. As a child, you strived for his love, his approval, his interest. That’s what you really wanted. You knew he loved you and was so proud of you, but you also knew he was never truly interested in you or your life. And that stung. 

So now, instead of ever bringing up your dad during therapy, you’re sitting on a roof, throwing rocks into the abyss, and getting teary-eyed over arguments that will never happen. 

“Care for some company?” A voice startles you. 

You turn to see Red Robin of all people, standing a few feet away and looking as non-threatening as possible. You shrug and gesture to the ledge. 

“Plenty of ledge here for the both of us. Besides, I’m sure you could teach me a few things about perching on tall buildings.” 

Red Robin chuckles and moves to the edge of the building. He tosses his legs over the side, sitting a foot away from you, and stares out on the city. You wonder what he sees when he looks on the city. He, Batman, Robin, and Red Hood protect Gotham for whatever reason. You’re not sure this cesspool deserves it, but apparently, they see something in it. 

“I wasn’t going to jump,” You tell him. 

“I didn’t think you were,” He responds simply. 

“I’m not suicidal,” You plow ahead. “I don’t want to die, but I kept spiraling the longer I laid in bed.” 

Red Robin nods along, like he gets it, like he understands. And maybe he does. You suppose despite all the rumors about the Bats, they probably are normal humans under those cowls and masks. Humans with a deathwish, but at this point, who isn’t? 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offers quietly. 

“With you?” You raise an eyebrow. 

Red Robin pretends to look around the empty rooftop. 

“Well, unless you’re seeing someone that I’m not, then yeah, with me.” 

He chuckles at his own joke, and silence falls between you two again. 

“I know it’s weird,” Red Robin admits. “To talk about something that’s probably really personal with a total stranger, but I’d figure I’d offer. Talking… It helps. So if you don’t talk to me, you should think about talking to someone.” 

You pause, mulling over his words. You don’t know Red Robin. You’re pretty sure Red Robin doesn’t know you. But why would he want to listen to some pity party at 3 am on some random apartment rooftop? Surely, he has better things to do. 

But he sat down. He offered. He’s making an effort. 

That’s more than some people can say. 

You sigh heavily, your shoulders slumping. 

“It’s my dad,” You finally admit. “We’ve always had a… complicated relationship. It’s not that he doesn’t love me-- he very clearly does. He’s always been a very affectionate man, but… it feels like he was never really interested in my life. Not in a malicious way, but in an oblivious way. And when it was happening before my eyes, I was a kid, so I didn’t see it, but now being older… It’s more obvious. It’s so clear that he doesn’t know me… And it stings.” 

Red Robin listens patiently, nodding along with your words. He says nothing, letting you speak. 

“And in my head, I keep bringing up things that happened years ago that still bother me so much, but it was so many years ago. He probably doesn’t remember because he doesn’t think they’re significant moments, you know? It’s things he said in passing that he doesn’t think of as hurtful that left… Much deeper marks than I’m willing to admit.”

You sigh, scrubbing your face in frustration at the burning in your eyes. You don’t want to cry. You don’t like crying. You don’t care if you need to cry-- you cried earlier, and now, you’re not going to cry in front of Red Robin about your damn daddy issues (okay, maybe they are daddy issues, but you’re sure as hell not going to be calling anyone “daddy” in the bedroom). 

“I just… I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to put effort into a relationship that he doesn’t seem to want to put effort into. And the thing is, I doubt he even realizes that he’s doing it! If I talked to him, I’m sure we could figure something out, but… I’m not sure I want to… I love my dad very much, and I know he loves me… But I don’t think I like him.” 

Right as the words pass your lips, you feel instant regret seize your chest. 

“Oh, God, does that make me a bad person?” You bury your face in your hands, fighting back the watering in your eyes. “He’s such a loving man. He’s a damn bleeding heart, and I know if he heard me say that, it would break his heart!” 

The thought alone sends tears spilling over onto your cheeks. You love your dad, you don’t want to see him heartbroken, but it’s getting harder to ignore your own bruises. 

Red Robin scoots closer to you, rubbing your back soothingly. 

“No, it doesn’t make you a bad person,” He tells you softly. “It sounds like you’re really hurt. While we can love our family, it’s hard to like someone who’s brought you so much pain.” 

“But he… He’s so sweet,” You sob, taking a stuttering breath. “He’s one of the most loving people I’ve ever met.” 

“But that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you,” Red Robin tells you gently. 

The tears well up in your eyes again, and you give up trying to make any sense of your thoughts. Instead, you let the tears fall. Red Robin pulls in arm around your shoulders, rubbing your arm as you lean against him and silently cry. 

You two sit there in silence for what must be an hour before you finally sit up and rub your face. 

“Well, that’s certainly not how I expected this to go,” You admit sheepishly, wiping your face. “Sorry for making you listen to my dumb sob story.” 

“I’ve been there,” Red Robin offers a tissue that he produced from somewhere on his suit. “It’s not dumb. Having someone who will listen makes all the difference.” 

“Thanks,” You say softly, offering a watery smile as you blow your nose and finish wiping your face off. 

“Are you hungry?” He offers. 

“Hungry?” 

Red Robin shrugs. 

“Crying takes it out of you. And it sounds like you’ve had a long night. How about some 4 am breakfast?” 

“But I don’t have my wallet,” You dumbly state as if not having a wallet is the only issue with his proposal. 

Red Robin waves you off. 

“It’s my treat.” 

You look down at your clothes: sneakers, mismatching socks, stained sweatpants, an old sleep shirt, and the first jacket you could find in your room, which was a jean jacket. 

“You look fine,” He assures you. “Besides, it’s 4 am. If anything, you fit the vibe more than I do.” 

You giggle at that, grimacing at how tight your face feels from the crying and the snot dripping from your nose. Wiping your nose with your sleeve, you glance around the rooftop. 

“How are we going to get there? I don’t have a car.” 

Red Robin pulls what looks to be a grappling hook from his side. 

“I have an idea. But I have one important question before we proceed.” 

You look at him warily. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks. 

And considering you just cried on his shoulder for the past hour and info dumped a small piece of your tragic backstory, you suppose you kind of do.

“Yeah,” You tell him. 

“Great,” He smiles. “That wasn’t the important question, but that was needed information. Get on my back.” 

You blink at him. 

“Um. What?” 

“Get on my back,” Red Robin repeats like it’s the most simple thing in the world. “I’m going to swing us to a breakfast place,” He waves his grappling hook.

“Um.” 

“You said you trust me,” Red Robin reminds you. 

And you suppose you did say that, didn’t you? He does this just about every night, he can keep you safe… Hopefully. 

Red Robin bends down so you can hop onto his back. Once he’s sure you’re securely situated with your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, Red Robin climbs up on the ledge of the apartment. Your grip tightens as he stands dangerously close to the edge. 

“Wait,” You say before he jumps. 

Red Robin turns his head in acknowledgment. 

“What was the important question?” 

He grins at you. 

“Waffles or pancakes?” 

“What?” 

“Waffles or pancakes?” Red Robin repeats like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“That was your important question?” You shake your head in disbelief. 

“It is an important question,” He insists. 

You pause for a moment, pondering your answer. 

“Pancakes,” You say decisively. 

“Good answer,” Red Robin grins, then steps off the building. 

For a moment, your breath is stuck in your throat as everything tenses, bracing for impact. Then, there’s a tugging—something dragging you away from the ground in a long arch. You tear your eyes away from the ground to see Red Robin almost effortlessly swinging with his grappling hook. Every shot is perfectly timed and calculated. It looks like second nature at this point, and it makes you wonder how long Red Robin has been doing this. Who is Red Robin under the cowl?

Eventually, you land in front of a mom and pop dinner which advertises 24/7 breakfast. 

“It doesn’t look like much, but this place has the best pancakes,” Red Robin promises as you slide off his back. 

You shrug, looking up at the old sign and well-loved booths inside. 

“Like you said, it fits the vibe.” 

Red Robin grins and opens the door for you. He directs you to a booth in the back. An older waitress comes by your table holding two mugs and a pot of coffee.

“Hey, Red,” She greets, looking tired but friendly. “Who’s your friend?” 

Red Robin glances over at you with a small smile. 

“A fellow pancake lover.” 

The waitress chuckles as she pours him a cup of coffee. 

“Coffee?” She offers you. 

“Uh, sure,” You’re doubtful that you’ll drink it since pulling an all-nighter sounds less than ideal but holding something warm sounds nice. 

“So, a stack of pancakes for both of you then?” The waitress asks, not bothering to write down the simple order. 

“That sounds great, Brooke,” Red Robin smiles. 

“Sure thing,” Brooke heads back to the kitchen to place the order, leaving you at the table with Red Robin. 

You blow on your hot coffee and wrap your fingers around the mug, enjoying the heat. 

“Alright, another important question for you,” Red Robin begins as he adds sugar and cream to his coffee. 

You smile, ready for this all-important question with rapt attention. 

“Acceptable toppings on pancakes?” 

Midway through your heated debate about which fruits are acceptable to top pancakes with (“Oh, so pineapple can go on pizza, but it can’t go on pancakes?!”), Brooke drops off two stacks of fluffy, golden brown pancakes. While Red Robin is wrong about pancake toppings, he wasn’t lying about these pancakes being delicious.

“Okay,” You say through a mouthful of heavenly pancake. “These pancakes are delicious, but I cannot fathom the thought of you ruining them with Miracle Whip.” 

“It sounds weird, I know,” Red Robin admits, opting to dunk his pancakes in syrup only, thank God. “But trust me.” 

“Miracle Whip,” You repeat. “Like the substitute for mayonnaise.” 

“It’s sweeter than mayo!” Red Robin argues. “It’s like a sweet cream on pancakes.” 

“I think you’ve had one too many concussions.” 

“Oh, really?” You’re sure that Red Robin is raising his eyebrows at you under his cowl, judging by the look on his face. “So, what’s your excuse for orange juice and chocolate chip cookies?” 

“Okay listen,” You point your fork at him. “I never said it was my idea. A friend made me try it, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world!” 

“How can you question my judgment about Miracle Whip on pancakes when you eat orange juice with your cookies?!” 

“It’s not that different from drinking a glass of orange juice while eating a chocolate chip pancake!” 

“Yes, it absolutely is!” 

By the time you two have your fill of pancakes, coffee, and arguing, it’s close to five am. Red Robin drops you off on your apartment rooftop. 

“Thanks for the pancakes,” You smile, sliding off his back. “You’re right. I did need that.” 

“Helping is what we do,” He shrugs with a small smile. 

“If only someone could help your taste buds.” 

Red Robin laughs then shakes his head. 

“If you think mine are bad, you should see some of the things my siblings eat.” 

“There’s more of you?” You toss your head back dramatically. “What kind of cursed bloodline do you come from?!” 

Red Robin grins. 

“A diverse one,” He answers vaguely. 

“Seriously,” You tell him, sobering up. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime. If you ever need someone to talk to, go to the roof. I’ll be there,” Red Robin promises. 

“Thanks,” You say softly, then you kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you around, Red.” 

He’s frozen for a moment, then a smile stretches across his face. 

“See you around,” He solutes, then disappears into the night like the bat he is. 

You smile to yourself and walk back to your apartment. Some sleep sounds pretty good now…

So, hey guys! It’s been a minute... 4 months to be exact... Sorry about that. I’m not dead! Just in college. I just finished an 18 credit semester so I’ve been busy and tired. Next semester will not be better. It’s suppose to be my hardest semester of nursing school, so that’s great. I am hoping over break to work through some of my requests. I think to help I’m going to try to make them shorter. I also might delete some, so if yours gets deleted, I’m sorry. Eventually request will open again and you’ll be able to request, but as of now, I’m just trying to get content out and some of the things on the upcoming don’t really do it for me. Anyways, I’ve missed y’all and I’m sorry for the wait. Thank you for being patient, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoyed this vent fic! 

#the cursed discourse we didn't know existed #do not put fucking pineapple or miracle whip on your pancakes #you damn heathens #i have done the orange juice and cookies one #its actually not bad #is it good? #no #but is it bad? #not the worst #tim drake #red robin #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #uh kind of i guess #if you squint #probably wont write a sequel #since this is a vent fic #batman #dc #request #reader insert #dc reader insert

[rogue-barnes-16]

I'M A MONSTER

Summary: Y/n knew for a fact that Wanda was definitely not doing well when it came to dates. After a particular rough night, Y/n finds out the reason for what had been happening.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!Reader

Genre: angst-fluff

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @notexactlythatgirl @thisismysecrethappyplace @sofreakinmanyfandoms @pizzarollpatrol @bubblycypress87 @1a-girl-has-no-name1 @loislp @lovenaturefirst @dyanna-corona @2ptonpt @goodnightmode @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @mannls @cutie1365 @catch22inareddress @mybooradley @sebastianisasnack @butifulsoul125 @unlikelygalaxygiver

Warnings: language, angst, makeout session

A/N: —

"Morning" I greeted the three members of the Avengers who were doing nothing but chill in the leisure room.

"Mornin' doll" Bucky replied without looking up from his laptop.

Clint gave me a quick glance before redirecting his whole attention to the TV show he was watching. "You look terrible."

"Thank you very much." I replied sarcastically, pouring myself a glass of orange juice. "it's Steve's fault, by the way." Bucky asked an intrigued 'how so', to which I responded. "had to train with him because someone didn't show up this morning, right Wan?"

The brunette witch, who hadn't even spared me a brief look, nor a single word, flickered her gaze to my form. "Sorry."

"what happened?" I asked, keeping it cool.

I didn't want her to realize I had heard her cry until she fell asleep the night before, right after she had come back from another date.

I didn't want her to know I was worried sick about something I wasn't supposed to know, so I kept it cool.

"Nothing," she shrugged turning the page of her book without making eye contact with anyone in the room. "I was just not in the mood."

"Wait what the fuck?" my eyes traveled to the archer. "Wanda, this doesn't work like that." Clint scolded her. "You gotta train every day, it's not about being 'in the mood', this is your job."

"Clint, give her a break." I tried to get in the middle and cool things down after seeing the way Wanda started to fidget with her ring, just like she did every time she was anxious or uncomfortable. "it was a one time thing."

"It wasn't." Bucky spoke, giving me a look before turning his gaze to Wanda. "I really hate to lecture you, but Barton's right." Wanda's green eyes looked for aid in mines, but I wasn't sure of how to help her. You've been skipping training on and off for two weeks, kid." she left the book aside and started pulling at her sleeves. "If you feel like you can't keep up with Y/n's rhythm, say it. Tony will change your partner but-"

She grabbed the book and, after abruptly getting up from the bed, Wanda stalked out of the room.

"what's gotten into her now?" Clint asked, rather worried.

"Dunno man." after Bucky’s reply to Clint's rhetorical question, the soldier's blue eyes lingered on my form, longer enough for me to notice. "Hey Y/n" When he called my attention, I knew he was onto something. "why don't you go and check on Maximoff?"

"Why would I?" I quietly asked whilst internally dying to sprint through the hall in order to reach Wanda's room.

Bucky waited an instant before answering me, in which he took the liberty of analyzing my body language. "You're the closest to the door." with a half grin playing in his lips, he turned back to the laptop.

Damn, he knew.

"I mean-" I cleared my throat, considering all my alternatives. "I think she just needs some time alone."

Nor Bucky, nor Clint turned around, but I could feel their confusion.

Despite my shocking reply, I wasn't actually lying.

Wanda was a very introverted girl, very sensitive. She had her own way of dealing with her own problems and, as much as I would love to help, her ways, more often than not, didn't include the girl who had fallen in love with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was Friday night again.

Wanda had gone on a date again.

"you seem happy" I lazily commented, pretending I hadn't been stealing glances at her smile since that morning, when she received a message from a random stranger.

"Oh" she attempted to bit back a smile by chewing her lower lip. "Do I?" I turned around to see her struggling to zip up her dress. "Hey Y/n can you-"

"Hold on" I left the book I was reading aside and stepped towards her. "where ya going?" I questioned, parting her hair from her back.

"Uhm I have a..." I felt her, rather than heard her, sigh when my fingertips intentionally ghosted a line down from her neck to her bare low back before actually zipping her dress. "I have a date."

"Nice." I whispered, accommodating her long hair back in its initial place. "have fun and take care alright?" I struggled to pull my hands away from her.

"I will." she replied, turning around with beaming eyes that seemed to be waiting for something else from me. "don't worry."

I had been taking it out on one of the gym's punching bags for at least a couple of hours, until I was so tired that I couldn't walk, until I had no energy to keep hurting for things I would never say, until every feeling I had for Wanda had been shoved out of my body, at least for a while.

I was making my way to my room when I heard her crying again.

This time I was too tired to hold back, I was too tired to think about giving her space, and before I knew it, I was pushing open Wanda's room's door.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I tiredly asked, taking her completely off guard and, therefore, making her give me her back while she cleaned her tears.

"Nothing, I-I'm fine." she lamely lied.

"Wanda, don't even try, I'm not stupid." I replied, taking a few steps towards her. "almost every night you go out on a date, you come here crying."

She shook her head, slowly turning around, hugging herself. "That's not-"

"I swear on my life" I stared speaking, finally reaching her. "If those assholes are hurting you I'm gonna kill them one by fucking one."

"it's not like that." she muttered with trembling lips.

"what do you mean?"

"it's my fault" she choked up, finally making her green eyes, now glassy and bloodshot, dig into mines. "I'm a monster."

She let herself fall to the floor sat against the wall, straight up sobbing, and I couldn't do anything but stare blankly at her, barely starting to process what had just come out of her plump, rosy lips.

"Wanda" my voice sounded broken, but I couldn't help it. "Wanda, that's not true. What the fuck" I kneeled before her, caressing tenderly and reassuringly every part of her that I reached. "that's not fucking true. Wanda look at me. Wanda." I lifted her chin. "that's not fucking true."

"it is." she replied, sniffing with her eyes shut and her lips pursed in an attempt to stop the tears and the quivering. "you just don't wanna see it. No one--" hiccup. "no one here does b-but I know it's true."

"Wanda for fucks sake it's not true." I pulled her hands to get her to look at me because I was dying to show her how wrong that statement was, even if I wasn't sure yet of how I was going to show her. "Wanda please-- listen to me. Doesn't my opinion count or what the fuck?"

"It's- It's n-not like that it's-- I'm-- Y/n you don't... You see wh- only what you-- you don't see my dark side... I..." words came out of her stumbling as she tried to cover her face once more.

"Look at me!" I tugged her hands harder this time, in a way that she had no option but stare into my eyes, red from holding back the tears. "I don't fucking see your dark side? who the fuck was in Sokovia by your side when you lost it? Whose mind you played with the first time I met you?" the brunette's lip quivered again and I brought her closer. "You're not a monster."

"youjustsaythatbecauseyouloveme" the sentence came out of her so quick and chaotic that I almost didn't understand it.

Almost.

"I'm saying it because I know you." My voice finally shattered, trying to ignore the fact that she knew about my feelings for her —feelings that probably were unrequited— at the same time as I struggled to prove she was wrong. "You're loving, kind-hearted, empathic, amazing, trustful, funny, and I also see your damn flaws alright? But that's- that's not the point."

"then what's the point?" she muttered, tired and hurt.

She was looking for something in particular in my next reply, but I didn't take the cue.

No, no I didn't catch what she was looking for, because my mind was buzzing way too loud, not allowing me to notice that Wanda had just realized I may have feelings for her, feelings that mirrored hers.

"the... The point is that you- I--" I gripped her hands tight, as if the thoughts I couldn't put into words could be sent to her mind by our touch. "the point is that I'm gonna fucking kill whoever said this to you, 'cause-- 'cause I'm-- this-"

I fixed my eyes on hers, and still didn't catch a glimpse of her sudden desire for me to finally put my feelings into those three words.

I didn't catch that, but I didn't come to the conclusion that there was only a way I could somehow show her how wrong she was.

I gave both her hands one last tug and my lips attacked hers, desperate for making the witch feel loved, desperate to prove she wasn't a monster.

Tears kept streaming down my face, instantly being aware of the high chances of her rejecting me, but a thought crossed my mind that gave me strength not to pull away and run.

If someone has to be broken, better be me because of a truth, than her because of an ugly lie.

The chaos in my head stopped me from noticing the sob of relief that came out of Wanda, muffled by my lips, along with her shaky fingers holding onto my shirt as if it was the end of the world.

She pulled away and I prepared myself for the worst, already letting go of her arm and cheek.

To my surprise, in her eyes I saw what I had missed during the kiss, and I also saw love and desire.

She didn't hesitate before closing the gap between us by holding the sides of my neck, letting one of her hands travel to my hair to tug it slightly the moment our mouths reunited.

My hands pulled her hips to mine and sat her down on my lap. "I love you too" she mumbled between hungry kisses, unconsciously rocking her hips to mines. "I... I love you..."

The grip on her hips tightened enough to bruise her while a moan or two left my lips. "Wanda... Wait" I made her stop and, after pecking her lips I pulled away. "I need a shower first."

She nodded but didn't leave her spot.

"Wanda?"

"can I shower with you?" she asked shyly, looking down at her lap.

"of course" I replied kiss her jaw with a half smile. "let's go alright?"

#wanda x you #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff aesthetic #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #bucky x wanda #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x fem!reader #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch fanart #wlw marvel #marvel wlw #wlw advice #Wlw Wanda Maximoff #wanda x reader

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot “Under the Boardwalk” (Rated G)

Summary:

After overhearing some bad news, Kurt leaves his parents in their hotel room and goes for a walk … but he gets lost. Eventually he stumbles upon a stranger who points him in the right direction is a number of ways. (2883 words)

Kid!fic inspired by the beginning of the movie Beaches. Takes place in the late 50s.

Read on AO3.

Kurt doesn’t know where he is.

He didn’t expect to get this far.

Of course, he wasn’t really thinking when he left. He just needed a break. So he thought, once up and down the boardwalk. That’s all. He’d aim for as far as Nathan’s Hot Dog stand, turn around and come back. It was a straight shot. No chance of getting lost. This was the same walk they’d taken yesterday. It was a no-brainer. But after a while, everything started to look the same – every store front, every lifeguard station, every food cart.

He’d walked straight! Perfectly straight!

Or so he thought.

He never made it to Nathan’s. And now, caught in the bustle of people mobbing the beach, playing carnival games, and eating food he normally wouldn’t touch but which smells heavenly to his starving stomach, he has no clue how to get anywhere. He becomes frantic, anxiety welling up within him, filling his chest until there’s no room for anything, even his racing heart. He considers yelling for his mom and dad, but seeing as they didn’t come with him that would be no use. They’ve probably discovered he’s gone by now and are worried sick – another unnecessary load heaped on to their pile of stress. And Kurt … well, Kurt might as well dig himself a cave in the sand because this is where he’s going to live from now on.

Lost and exhausted, his feet aching and the back of his neck burning, he walks over to the stairs leading down to the beach. And even though he’s not a big fan of sitting on anything thousands of human shoe soles have touched, he drops down onto the warped wood and begins to sob.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he mutters. “Whining like a baby! You’re eleven-years-old, Kurt! Grow up!” He sniffs, wiping at his wet cheeks with the back of his hand.

“Hey!”

Kurt’s head shoots up when he hears a voice call out. There are tons of people on the beach today, and lots of people calling hey, but for some reason, Kurt feels like this particular hey is directed at him.

“Hey! You up there!”

The voice is closer now, but the fact that it’s coming from underneath his butt pretty much cinches it. He looks down between his legs, through the space between the steps, and sees a face staring up at him.

“Jesus!” Kurt screams, leaping to his feet. He stumbles down the steps, landing on his butt in the sand.

“Oh, hey! Are you okay?”

Kurt peers into the grey-gold shadows underneath the boardwalk and sees the face with body attached running towards him.

“You lost or somethin’, kid?”

Kid? Kurt stares at the boy wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans – at the beach, of all places! - thinking he can’t be any older than he is. In fact, Kurt’s sure he’s older, if only by a day. Kurt stares at the boy in a daze, unsure what to do when he reaches a hand out to him. His parents warned him never to talk to strangers. But he’s frightened and he’s desperate.

And he could really use a friend.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” Kurt says, taking the boy’s hand, letting him help him to his feet.

“Where’re your folks?” he asks, eyes sweeping the beach and the boardwalk behind them as if he’s going to be able to pinpoint Kurt’s parents even though he’s never seen them before in his life.

“They’re back at our room.”

The boy beckons Kurt under the boardwalk, and whether it’s a smart decision or not, Kurt follows. With the skin on his neck and scalp screaming from the heat, he needs to get out of the sun.

“You shouldn’t be here alone. This place ain’t exactly the safest, even in the daytime.” The boy falls down onto a small blanket covering the sand and crosses his legs. He looks Kurt up and down, his lips curling. “You must be from outta town, cuz you’ve got fresh meat written all over you.”

Kurt glances down at his shirt as if checking to see if something he didn’t notice before is actually written there, and the boy smiles.

“My name’s Blaine. Blaine Anderson,” the boy says. His eyelids narrow as he asks, “You wouldn’t have heard of me before by any chance … would you?”

“I don’t think so. But you’ve probably never heard of me before, either.” Kurt kneels on the blanket and sticks out his hand. “I’m Kurt Hummel.”

“Yeah, you are!” Blaine laughs, slapping Kurt’s hand instead of shaking it, and Kurt rolls his eyes. Blaine is teasing, but he’s not being mean. “Maybe I can help you. I sort of live here.”

“Under the boardwalk?”

“No. In Jersey. Where are you staying?”

“I … I don’t know. It’s not a hotel. It’s more of a bungalow? A group of them, right off the beach. There’s a fountain in the middle with a mermaid playing the flute … and it’s by a restaurant …”

Blaine whistles. “You’re staying at the Shore Cottages. Not too shabby. Your folks have money?”

“No,” Kurt replies, taken back, wondering if giving Blaine this much information was a mistake. His father warned him that criminals often employ kids to pickpocket for them. Could Blaine be one of those? In his leather jacket and jeans, hair slicked back like James Dean, he definitely looks the part, but maybe that’s a big clue that he’s not one. He’s too obvious. “In fact, this is the first vacation we’ve ever taken out of state. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the beach.” Kurt looks down at the blanket beneath his knees. It’s torn and frayed, off-white in places when it should be bright, and faded around the edges, burnt from the sun. Kurt has to wonder if Blaine brought this blanket with him or if he just found it here. “It’s the first time for a lot of things.”

“What’s the big occasion?”

Kurt chews around the words before he says them, trying to make his mouth form them into something different. Something better. But he can’t change reality. He can only live with it.

“My mother’s sick. She’s more than sick. She’s … she’s dying. I just found out today.”

Blaine looks aghast. “You mean to tell me your folks brought you out here for your first ever summer vacation by the shore just to tell you your mom’s sick?” Blaine shakes his head disapprovingly. “That’s cold.”

“No!” Kurt rushes to defend his parents with tears welling in his eyes. “No, that’s not … they didn’t tell me. I overheard my mom and dad talking, and she said a word …”

Blaine is on the brink of asking what word?, but the way Kurt bites his lips together and closes his eyes, as if shutting out the world might shut out the truth, Blaine already knows.

His grandfather died of cancer a few years ago. When they first found out, his mom often made that same face. But his grandfather was in his seventies. He’d lived a long, happy life, watched his children grow into adults, get married, start lives of their own.

Kurt’s mother can’t be older than Blaine’s, and she’s only in her forties.

“The thing is, I think I’ve known for a while,” Kurt admits.

“How?”

Kurt shrugs. “In little ways. My mom started getting colds a lot, and it always takes her forever to get over them. She’s tired all the time, she has these scary coughing fits, she …” He stops, feeling more hopeless now than when he left. “I don’t think they know how to tell me. I think my mom and dad wanted us to have this last summer together before they had to deal with it. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Blaine inches closer – close enough that the fingers of his left hand are only a hair or so away from Kurt’s right. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Kurt nods into the companionable silence, gaze fixed on the ocean – calm to his eyes, but he can hear the waves crashing beneath the slope of the beach in front of him. That’s how his parents have been, he realizes – calm and happy on the outside for his benefit when, on the inside, they’ve probably been screaming.

“How long you guys stayin’ out here for?” Blaine asks.

“Two weeks. And when we get home, we’re buying a house closer to the hospital where my mom’s getting her care. I heard them say they’re going to take me out of school, move me away from the only friends I have to some place two hours away! I’m going to some dumb old school called … Daiton Prep?” Kurt squints at the sunlight streaming through the slats in the wood walkway above them as he tries to remember what his father called it. “Dyson Prep? Di … Dover Prep?”

Blaine leans in questioningly. “Dalton Prep?”

Kurt snaps his fingers. “That’s it! Dalton Prep?” He turns to Blaine, tilting his head suspiciously. “How did you know?”

“I live here, but I’m not from here. I’m a Buckeye, too. From Westerville. My brother and I came out here ‘temporarily’ (*air-quotes applied*) after I won the Kings Island Variety Show.”

“I’ve seen that!” Kurt says in awe. “They air it on TV! That must have been so exciting! You must be really talented!”

“Well …” Blaine blushes, rolling his head away so Kurt won’t see “… you know, for a seasoned performer like myself, it’s just another day at the office.”

“So, what’s your talent?” Kurt asks, but hurrying to guess before Blaine can answer. “I know! You’re a tap dancer! No … a ventriloquist!”

Blaine’s bashful smile crashes like the waves on the shore below them.

“No, I’m a singer. I do a mini-Elvis routine down at the Nickelodeon that brings the house down, if I do say so myself.”

“A singer? Wow! I—I want to be a singer someday. Except, I want to perform in musicals.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s my biggest dream ever!”

Blaine nibbles his lower lip, considering the boy in front of him, thinking so heavily it shows on his face. “You know, Dalton Prep is the starter school for Dalton Academy. And they have a singing group called The Warblers. They’re kind of like rock stars. Scouts go to their performances and everything! Guys who’ve sung with them have gone on to tour, cut records, even sing on Broadway!”

Kurt’s eyes go wide. “Broadway?”

“Uh-huh. It’s a really good school.”

“I guess … that’s not so bad.”

“No, it isn’t. There’re definitely way worse places in the world, you know.”

“I do.” Kurt nods soberly. “At my school, I get bullied a lot.”

“There, you see? That won’t happen at Dalton. They have a policy – no bullying allowed. And they’re very strict about it.”

“That does sound nice,” Kurt admits, but his gaze drops to his hands again. “But I still won’t know anyone there. And … I don’t make friends very easily. People seem to think I’m weird.”

Blaine puts his head on Kurt’s shoulder and blinks up at him ridiculously, making Kurt giggle. “You’ve got me. And I’m weird, too! We’re a matching set!”

“Blaine! Blaine!”

“Ugh!” Blaine moans, dropping his head off Kurt’s shoulder and into his sand-covered hand.

“Who … who’s that?”

“The warden – a.k.a my big brother, Cooper.”

“Blaine! Where the hell are ya, kid?” The boardwalk above them rattles with the weight of running feet, knocking loose sand that rains down on them. Those same feet barrel down the steps and stop not too far from them. A man wearing jeans and a white tank top spins in a full circle. He stops, brilliant blue eyes (odd to Kurt since Blaine’s are hazel) staring straight at them. It must take a moment for his vision to adjust since he doesn’t seem to see them right away. He throws his arms in the air when he does. “Blaine! Jesus Christ, kid, you scared the life outta me! You’ve really gotta stop runnin’ off like that!”

“It’s a good thing I did because this guy here’s hella lost.”

Cooper only seems to notice Kurt when Blaine mentions him. “Really?”

“Yup. And if I wasn’t here, who knows where he’d’uv ended up. He’s not from around here.”

Cooper’s head bounces back and forth, deciding what to do with that information. When it reaches his right shoulder for the third time, he shrugs. “Well, ok. Let’s get him back to his folks and then you and I need to go back to the theater and practice. You’ve got a spotlight comin’ up in three days and, not to be mean or anythin’, but your footwork sucks! Uh …” He shoots a guilty look at Kurt. “I mean, stinks. Sorry, kid.”

“It’s alright,” Kurt says, mildly amused by the banter between these two siblings – one because Kurt is an only child, and two because Cooper has to be close to twice Blaine’s age!

“About that …” Blaine looks down at the sand, that thoughtful look returning to his face. “I was thinking that maybe we could go back home. See mom and dad. And maybe … I could go back to Dalton?”

Cooper’s jaw drops. He stares at Blaine like he suggested finding the closest sharp object and cutting off his own foot.

“I … I don’t think I heard you right there, squirt,” he says, side-stepping closer with a hand cupped to his ear. “Could you give me that again?”

“I said I don’t want to play the Nickelodeon anymore! It’s tired and it’s getting old. I wanna go home.”

Kurt had heard him the first time, but hearing Blaine repeat it makes his jaw drop, too. Blaine didn’t necessarily make it sound like he was living the dream out here, but he gets to perform in front of audiences who pay to see him! Who in the world would give that up? And why?

But it sounds like he hasn’t seen his folks in a while. Missing them might make him throw in the towel.

It would for Kurt.

“So what you’re saying is you wanna leave all this behind, your whole career as a performer, to go back to boring Ohio, let mom and dad shove you in a stiff, itchy uniform, and stick you back in Dalton Prep?”

Blaine nods dramatically. “Yes, Cooper. That’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”

Cooper throws his hands in the air again, but he doesn’t seem exasperated this time. He looks relieved. “Finally! God Almighty! I’m getting’ so sick of Jersey! I can’t wait to leave this place in my rearview! In fact, I’m marchin’ right down to that roach infested shack they call a theater and …”

“Coop?”

“… tell that cauliflower-eared mutant of a manager …”

“Cooper?”

“… that the Anderson boys are done working for peanuts!”

“COOP!”

Kurt deflates into a mass of laughter when Blaine’s voice cracks, which Blaine catches, and he starts laughing, too.

“Yeah, squirt?”

“Let’s leave on good terms. I mean, you never know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Give them two weeks’ notice. Have them cut us out of the schedule slowly,” he says, throwing Kurt a subtle wink. “That way we can pad our pockets a little more and spend some time on the beach. We haven’t really done that since we moved out here. It’d be nice to have somethin’ like a real vacation.”

“Yeah …” Cooper points emphatically at his brother for his great idea. “That’s the ticket, little bro. When did you get so smart?”

“I must have learned it from you, Coop,” Blaine says in a deadpanned tone Kurt suspects comes from repeatedly answering this question that same way, like it’s the only acceptable response.

“You’re darn tootin’. Come on. Let’s get your friend back to his folks and then we can work on that footwork.”

“Sure thing.” Blaine gets up first, taking a step or two downwind before he brushes off his jeans. “You comin’, Kurt?”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, doing the same. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Kurt’s eyes burn something fierce when he steps out into the light, but he doesn’t feel so hopeless or heavy anymore. His mom’s still sick. He can’t get away from that, no matter how far down the beach he walks. But now he has a friend, someone he’s already shared that with, by his side. Someone he’ll know when he goes to school in the fall. Which makes Kurt curious:

“Did you … do that for me?”

“Eh, you know …” Blaine looks over at the ocean since he can’t keep the truth off his face if he tried “… I’m getting kind of tired of playing nickel and dime shows. We get practically no money. And the only way I can get any kind of a break is if I run off. It’ll be nice to go home and see my old friends again …” He bumps Kurt’s shoulder and smiles “… hang around with some new ones. Doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

“No.” Kurt follows Blaine as he speeds ahead of Cooper, leading the way. “Doesn’t sound so bad at all.”

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #frankie writes

[angmarwitch]

The third installment to my Orm One-Shots Series. Also my post-Valentines gift to you all. 

Summary: 5+1 kisses with our beloved King Orm. 

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending

I.

You fidgeted, uncomfortable at being under the scrutiny of the King and Queen of Atlantis. You felt small inside the massive foreign court, your young mind filled with fear and apprehension but you tried to put on your bravest face. There is nothing to fear, your Father had said before he sent you here, you are their guest, they will never do anything to harm you. 

“Welcome to Atlantis, princess,” Queen Atlanna greeted, descending from her throne gracefully, her silver hair forming an elegant halo behind her head.

You stared at her unabashedly, fascinated by her effortless poise and beauty. She was a good Queen, kind, strong and sympathetic to her people. You know of her past, the tragic tale of her adventure in the surface, of the shame she has brought to the royal lineage of Atlantis. Yet, you found yourself nonchalant about the history of this Atlantean Queen. If anything, you just idolized her even more, admiring the courage she displayed when she spurned her husband but saddened that she may never see the other family she had in the surface. 

“I thank you, your majesty.” You bowed, remembering your courtesies.

While you arrived in Atlantis to be fostered, you also represent your kingdom and your sister, who was originally the one planned to be sent here, so needed to show that you were from a good upbringing given that you are of royal descent. You can’t disappoint your parents. 

“Now, your highness, let me introduce you to my son, Orm,” Smiling genially, the Queen ushered the preadolescent boy who had followed her down to meet you.

The Crowned Prince of Atlantis was a little male replica of his mother in appearance, silver hair and blue eyes, but he boasted the same air of confidence and austerity as his Father, who had frightened you a bit. So, this boy was to be your sister’s betrothed and your companion in the duration of your stay here. You were curious as to what kind of person he if he was more his Father or his Mother. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your highness,” you chirped extending your hand to coax a handshake. You were taken aback when he choose to place a quick, courteous kiss on it instead. 

“The pleasure is all mine, my princess." 

  II.

You found him in one of the sunken ships that settled below the city. He sat by the corner, arms hugging his knees, his face hidden by his disheveled blonde locks. You drifted towards him in an instant, wrapping him in an embrace, his head settling on your chest. Your heart broke at the first sobs he made. You wished you could do something to stop the pain and anguish he felt but it was impossible. No child should have been put in the same position as he was. It was one thing to witness his Father and Mother fight every single day but to watch her sacrificed to the Trench was very traumatic and unthinkable that you found yourself loathing his Father even more. What sort of Father would do that? You wondered and thank the gods that King Nereus wasn’t as terrifying and cold as Orvax was.

You worried about his future, about the kind of life he’ll have without Atlanna by his side. His mother had been his shield and rock, his tether to kindness and compassion. With Orvax becoming his only parent, you feared the kind of man Orm will become. But no, you were still here and you won’t allow that. You will do everything in your power to prevent Orm from becoming a monster like his Father. 

"I’m here, Orm,” you cried, pressing kisses on his brow, “I’m here.”

  III. 

“What’s this?” You asked, eyeing the box suspiciously.

You had been busy packing your things when he arrived, preparing for your long journey back to Xebel after all the years you have spent here. Despite the excitement, you felt about going home, you sensed a deep sadness and longing forming deep in your heart. You were going to miss Orm, your best friend in the entire world. The weight of the realization that you are going to be parted with the person you have spent half your life with, hit you, square in the chest, when Orm arrived at your door, a box in hand matched with an indescribable expression written all over his face. In his blue eyes, however, were a plethora of emotions that mirrored the ones you felt inside. 

“Open it,” came his abrupt reply.

Hands shaking a little, you opened the parcel in a sluggish pace and your eyes widened in surprise as you saw what was inside. It was a necklace, a simple pearl necklace. One that you had seen adorned Queen Atlanna's neck so many times. The trinket had been her favorite piece amongst the vast collection of jewelry owned and passed down by generations of Atlantean royals. You stared at Orm in disbelief, clueless and shocked as to why he would present you such a priceless piece. 

 “It’s a gift, something you would remember me by,” he said answering your silent question.

You gasped, he can’t mean that, can he? This necklace was meant to be given to a woman he was supposed to be married. Your sister in this case. You can’t accept it, it’s too much. 

“Orm…I… I don’t think…,” you started, unable to find the right words to say. You don’t want to disappoint him by rejecting it, at the same time, you don’t seem to have the will to accept it either. You weren’t worthy. 

“It’s too much, I know,” he cut you off, as if sensing your hesitation, “but you are very precious to me and I want you to have it.” He continued, his orbs softening into that pretty shade of blue that you have always liked. 

You were important to him. 

You could have sworn that your heart burst with so much warmth and joy at his words. Unable to suppress your emotions and gratitude, you jumped into his arms and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, never noticing the deep blush that formed in his face nor the lop-sided grin that painted on his lips. 

 IV.

“Let me out of here!?!" you screamed, furiously pounding on the door inside the room both he and your Father confined you in. 

Ever since the messy altercation with his half-brother and Mera, Orm had locked you up in one of the guest chambers of the castle, imprisoned like those dirty criminals dwelling in the dungeons below. He even restricted your daily activities and limited your means of communication to the outside world. You know that he was aware that you weren’t a part of the conspiracy to put Arthur on the throne, you were just as clueless to Mera and Vulko’s plans as he and your Father were. There was truly no concrete motive to keep you here. 

Unless, he was keeping you as a hostage, leverage to force your Father to continue fighting with him now that his engagement to Mera was severed. 

You stopped. 

No.

You refused to jump into that conclusion, rejecting any notion that Orm would use you as a pawn to whatever grand scheme he was fabricating.

You were his confidant and friend.

He would never do that to you.

However, the dark, devious part of your mind tells you otherwise and warns you that this man was no longer the same person you have befriended all those years ago. This wasn’t your Orm, this was a stranger, a product of Orvax's machinations. You have grown apart since he was crowned King. He barely even looks at you now. 

You failed him. You weren’t able to sway him from following the path of his Father. You didn’t want to admit it but you were terrified of the person he has become now. 

Your knees gave out, enfeebled by this newfound knowledge. You would have collapsed further down had it not been for the strong arms that caught you out of nowhere. 

You observed your former friend through hazy eyes, tracing the shape of his face with your eyes, as he carried you across the room towards the bed. You can’t see his entire face from your perspective but there was a discernable tightness in his jaw, you desired nothing but to raise your hand and touch the outline of his face and remove all the tension set there. You don’t know why he was here. Was he already tired of hearing you scream? You wanted to ask. 

However, as exhausted as you were by all the efforts you have exerted in trying to break out from this prison, you simply leaned to his warmth, enjoying one of the remnants of the familiarity you once shared. You were already drained and stressed out to start an argument. All you needed was for him to reassure you that everything was otherwise, that there was a silver lining to his plans. Adjusting in his hold, you set your head near his chest, letting the calm beating of his heart lull you to sleep. Everything pales in comparison to the semblance of peace and comfort his present proximity gives you right now. You want to savor it, to bask in it. 

Succumbing to the bone-tiring exhaustion of your predicament and the melody of his heartbeat, your senses neglected to register the lingering kiss he left on your lips when he placed your unconscious form on the bed. 

  V.

The battle had been over by the time you have escaped your confinement. There was no need to ask who the victor was as Arthur’s name resonated throughout the city. Huge crowds, the same crowd that once cheered Orm, had gathered in the streets to celebrate their new King. 

Watching from one of the towers of the palace, you waited for the ships to arrive, your eyes scanning every person that disembarked to see any signs of Orm. The more and more they come without you catching the glint of his blonde hair caused your heart to shatter into tiny little pieces. Arthur would never do anything to harm his brother nor would he decide to kill him, right? You shook your head, you have no knowledge of what kind of person this new King was but he does not depict a picture of a kinslayer. Yes, he may have been a bit uncouth and ignorant of the royal ways but Arthur Curry doesn’t appear to be a cruel or unmerciful man.

A few more ships came but still no Orm, your hope diminishing little by little. The chanting below waned, the crowd now trying their best to enter the palace to get a better glimpse of their new King. The whole city rejoiced, yet you stood there, waiting for what feels like minutes or hours. Your lower lips trembled and your hands tightened on the railings of the balcony when the last ship came, the frontrunner of his fleet, Orm’s own battleship. The thunderous beating of your heart drowned out the noises below and your breathing grew heavier as each of the crew stepped out yet without Orm in sight. You were on the verge of giving up, already prepared to retire to the solitude of your room, defeated and heartbroken, when you finally saw him, restrained by two guards, his trained eyes on the ground as he was escorted to the castle. 

Without having second thoughts, you yelled out his name, all forms of decorum long forgotten, and jumped off of the balcony with a clear destination in mind. Orm. You stopped a few feet away from him, chest heaving from swimming with a lightninglike speed, fearing that they will take him apart from you without a giving you a chance for a proper goodbye. 

"Orm,” you murmured his name meekly, slowly drifting towards him, your body becoming heavier as you inched closer. The former King, stubborn as he was, refused to look at you, his face still focused downwards, you sensed the shame emanating from him. 

“Leave us,” he grunted gruffly to the two guards who hesitated, unsure whether or not to follow the order of their former king-turned-convict. You shot them with a pleading look. The two exchanged glances before reluctantly releasing him.

“You shouldn’t have seen me like this,” he muttered, head still cast downwards. 

“I don’t care,” you answered. Your hands quivered as you reached to grasp his face, compelling him to look at you. You choked back a sob as you saw the shadow of defeat and humiliation projected on red-rimmed eyes. There was naught left of the proud young King, the replica of Orvax, who ruled Atlantis for following his Father’s death. Instead, the man who stood before you was the same boy you have seen and comforted in the sunken ship below the city. 

This was your Orm. 

“I don’t care," you repeated again. He smiled forlornly. 

"Will you wait for me, then?” he asked, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Yes,” you nodded fervently, closing your eyes as the new tears began to fall. “Always." 

The kiss you shared was fuelled by all the emotions you have repressed in all those years you have spent with each other. It was short, sweet, heart-wrenching, but it was definitely not goodbye. 

It was the start of a new future.

A better one. 

 Bonus

He watched you as you sleep, silently observing the steady rise and fall of your chest. He had always thought that you were beautiful but he thinks that nothing can compare to the picture you painted now, dazzling in the afterglow of childbirth. He knows you will contradict him like you normally do when he compliments you, so he opts to keep the thought to himself. 

Two years had already gone since his fateful battle with Arthur, and Orm still can’t believe that he was here right now, experiencing pure happiness and enjoying the marital bliss without a throne and crown, a burden which belonged to his brother now. No matter what their past had been, Orm was thankful that his brother fought him, as if it weren’t for Arthur, Orm wouldn’t get the chance to savor this kind of life. He shuddered, imagining what his life would have been had Arthur failed to dethrone him. He would have destroyed everything in his grasp, submitted to a loveless marriage, and lost the person he cared the most about.

A soft whimper coming from the bundle in his arms caught his attention and Orm looked down to see his newborn son shifting, his blue eyes so alike his fluttering open and his mouth forming into a silent snarl, ready to release a piercing wail anytime. Not wanting to wake his tired wife, the former king hummed a familiar lullaby his Mother had sung to him when he was a child. This immediately quieted the distressed child. 

Smiling proudly and contentedly, he placed a gentle kiss on his sleeping son’s forehead, happy that he was finally home. 

#orm x reader #orm marius x reader #reader insert #i'm lazy to think about oc names #so i write reader fics instead #post valentines #ocean master x reader #king orm x reader #aquaman imagines #orm imagines #orm marius #dc imagine #fluff #angst #my work

[jimlingss]

Head Over Heels to Hell

➜ Words: 27.5k

➜ Genres: 80% Fluff, 20% Angst, Childhood friends To Enemies To Lovers!AU (it’s a roller coaster), Reverse Soulmate!AU, Historical!AU (kind of)

➜ Summary: Some people are destined to never have a soulmate. You are one of the few. Instead, you have something much different - a parasite set out to destroy and ruin your life no matter where you run to.

➜ Warnings: Mention of death and a shit ton of other things - I promise it's not too angsty but still tread carefully. Implied smut & slight historical inaccuracies.

➜ Notes: My god, I wrote this back in April. But honestly, I’m so fucking proud of it. This is probably my most favourite Hoseok story I’ve written up to date. Dare I say, it might even be masterpiece level. Anyways, I’ve been super excited to share this. Enjoy!

Cr.

Each person born is destined for one or perhaps several, fated to fall in love with their other half or a fragment of themselves. Whether it be a whirlwind of romance rendezvous, a heated passion pressed between sheets or a comforting presence by your side that makes a home a true home - each individual has a chance to make their heart feel full, their soul fulfilled and the void feeling that lingered while they travelled through life on their own disappears.

 You, however, are not so fortunate of an individual.

 “A few folks in the world don’t have a soulmate.” The old woman sighs while looking out from her porch. You sip on your juice box, swaying from side to side on your toes next to the rocking chair. “I can see it in your eyes, dear. A bachelorette. You’ll be alone for your entire life and the next to come.”

 You quirk your head to one side. “What’s a bachelorette?”

 You can’t comprehend what your grandmother is saying. She’s using such complicated words that your dad hasn’t taught you yet but you aren’t very concerned with it either. Any second now, your mom will emerge from the kitchen with ants on a log and you’ve made sure you finished your breakfast this morning to be able to eat them. Also, your mom says your grandmother is old and her mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be, whatever that meant.

 Did that mean she was crazy? If she’s crazy then that’s not good. But maybe crazy is fun and exciting. Oh! That little doggy that wanders around the yard is also fun and exciting. Speaking of which, where is it?

 “It means you won’t be able to experience love.”

 Your grandmother snaps your attention momentarily back into focus. You peel your eyes away from the verdant green lawn to the wrinkles surrounding her experience yet tired eyes. “At least, you can experience it but nowhere near the amount that soulmates would feel. Instead of a soulmate, you have something much different, Y/N.”

 “What is it?”

 For once, the sorrow and pity laced in her features has melted off. The old lady smiles at you and pets your head lightly. “You’ll find out someday.”

 Without fully understanding the weight of her words, there will come a day when you look back and regret not taking heed of the warning.

Fate decides to begin smiling down at you at four years old.

 Barely able to walk on your own two feet without wobbling, your mother sends you off to preschool with a bright knapsack and brand-new shoes. You aren’t aghast to be without her but more so, bewildered that there are so many miniature humans like you in the confines of such a small space. “Y/N?”

 Your name being called has you flopping your head to the ceiling where a young lady with an apron tied around her waist is grinning. “You’re Y/N, right? Welcome to our little Buttercup Daycare!” The teacher squats down to meet your height. “We’re just having a little playtime now before all the kids get here and we do some crafts together. Is there something you’d like to play with?”

 It’s then that you confirm you quite like this lady. She’s very nice and pretty.

 Your tiny arm raises, finger moving from your fist to point at the pink princess castle in the corner. She smiles and ushers you over. “Great choice! Do you like princesses?” You nod at her question, and she hums, watching as you open the door and study the plastic building. “You know, Emily really likes to play with princesses too! She would be a great friend. I should go get her.”

 No. No. No. You don’t want a friend. You want to play with the teacher- “Oh…”

 Before you were able to turn around and voice your opinion, the lady has disappeared in the sea of children. You whip your head around, standing on the tips of your toes to catch sight of her but the struggle is fruitless.

 Suddenly, it hits you hard. Your mother is gone. Your father is at work. The teacher is nowhere in sight and all these rambunctious strangers are scaring you. They’re shouting, screaming, running, giggling - it’s sheer madness.

 With the blind courage of a four-year old, you bravely step into the crowd, yelping when a stranger bumps into you, whimpering when a block is thrown at your foot, crying softly as someone steps on your shoes. It’s no wonder that you get pushed aside so easily when even a gust of wind could knock you off your feet. But this time, it isn’t a mere nudge.

 Like a swift current, a stream of children running indoors when they’re not supposed to, accidentally collides into your little body, shoving you aside and you're pushed to the ground. A shock ripples throughout your frame, knees bruised, palms met with the rough carpet. You’re absolutely stunned, unable to grasp what just happened but in the delayed second, as pain shoots up your bones, you break out into horrific and heart wrenching sobs.

 “Owie…”

 “Stop crying.” In the midst of the chaos, you rub your eyes with your little fists, lifting your chin to meet the tall shadow looming over you. The stranger wears no smile, oddly familiar in a way you can’t understand and his cold gaze doesn’t make you waver or scared. Instead, your eyes follow his command, halting the tears that were falling like raindrops. “Only babies cry. You’re not a baby.”

 The boy should be the same age as you. Should because no child should have such a fixated stare and serious expression. There are only a few inklings that show his youth, the pitch black hair that looks more like a ruffled cloud, strands poking out in every direction, the low height and stature that may be smaller than your own body and the navy green overalls splattered with colours that are not supposed to belong there.

 “Stand up.”

 He holds his hand out to you, palm facing upwards. You sniffle for a moment, letting the remaining salt water drip down your cheeks and then your arm reaches out.

 Your hand clasps his and the boy lifts you off your feet.

 “My name is Y/N.” You smile at him happily, giggling when he tries to shake off your grip but fails to do so. You fear if you’ll let him go, your new friend will disappear into the pandemonium. “What’s your name?”

 “Hoseok.” He sighs when he realizes that you’re going to stick around him now. But he decides you both might as well do something together. “You wanna paint?”

 You loll your head, following his finger that’s pointed to the round table with the green stools and brushes laying on the watercolour sets. Hoseok patiently waits for your answer and you give another toothy smile, letting your dress twirl when you look at him again. “Okay!”

 Four-years old is when you meet Jung Hoseok at preschool and you become stuck to his side like gum, declaring him as your best friend while discovering his enjoyment for painting; how he marks up white printer paper until it’s drenched in vivid hues, scribbling with brushes until all the brush hairs has fallen off. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it, you’re his greatest friend!

 “Paint me! Paint me!”

 “No.” He ignores your crestfallen expression. “Don’t wanna.”

 It’s too difficult to hold back the sadness and you can’t help but cry, “Why?”

 The boy huffs out, turning away from you until you face his backside. “Cause I said so.”

 It’s not like he doesn’t want to. Hoseok would paint you if he could. But there’s not really a colour in the watercolour set that could be used to show how brightly your eyes shine.

 Plus, he knows he’s not that good. It would be mean to make you ugly. Especially when you’re far from it in reality.

 //

 Fate’s smile never ceases its smile. Even when years pass and you’re slowly getting a better grip on yourself, it seems like life has always shown you a better side of itself. Well...for the most part at least...

 “Y/N, why are you disrupting class again?” The teacher at the front slaps down her whiteboard marker on the metal ledge, exhaling and giving you a hardened glare. “Do we need to have another chat outside?”

 You wince from the sharp tone, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as the class of thirty students have turned around to stare at you. “I’m sorry.” You sink lower in your desk seat. “I-I can’t find my writing journal. I think someone stole it…”

 The teacher scoffs. “Well does it look like we’re writing, right now? We’re doing social studies, so please, sit up straight and open your textbook to page one hundred seventy-four. Now. Please.”

 Everyone turns back to the notes on the board and you downcast your head, trying your best to pay attention but to no avail. To the side, a friend offers some consolation through a warm smile, though before she can lean over and whisper to you, the teacher gives the both of you the stink eye. The old woman’s voice drones on and on about the geography of the world, explaining a worksheet and what shade to use when colouring the countries in.

 As an eight-year old, third grade was the worst.

 Not only was the teacher mean to you, the classes were boring and you didn’t have that many friends. Most of the girls didn’t like you very much since you didn’t like to play with dolls anymore and you weren’t that interested in discussing crushes or soulmates. You liked to write but they thought that was boring. Friends or no friends, it was fine by you. But it was still kind of lonely.

 “I still can’t find my journal.”

 The teacher, sitting at her desk, looks up at you with her reading spectacles perched on the tip of her nose. “Well that’s what happens when you’re too irresponsible with your belongings, Y/N. You should learn how to be more organized.”

 “But I left it inside my desk in the corner like always!” While defending yourself, your voice moves up a pitch, and she seems to get annoyed from the sound. “It’s not fair! I think someone took it!”

 “Don’t be ridiculous! The door’s always locked.” She sighs, exhausted from having to reason with an illogical child. “Stop blaming other people for your mistakes, Y/N. If it’s lost, then it’s lost because of you. You’ll just have to re-do all the assignments and entries I gave.”

 “But-”

 “I don’t tolerate any back talk. Now go outside like you’re supposed to. The bell doesn’t ring for another twenty minutes.” The woman doesn’t offer any more chances as she turns back to her stack of papers, thirty booklets full of worksheets that were handed in and had to be marked by the end of the week.

 You open your mouth to retort but a staggering breath leaves instead. Your shoulders droop with defeat and you force yourself to drag your feet out of the classroom, frame quivering with sobs threatening to break through your throat. The hallway grows blurry in your vision, clouded with tears but you clench your fist, nails digging into your skin, repressing the urge to cry.

 “Y/N?”

 You slowly turn around at the familiar voice and quickly, you wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Hey, Hoseok. What’s up?”

 “Nothin’. Are you okay?” He steps forward, meeting you halfway and you meekly nod.

 “Ms. Choi is a mean witch so it’s whatever.”

 Hoseok laughs and you find your lips upturning at the sound.

 One of the biggest reasons third grade completely sucks is because Hoseok isn’t your best friend anymore. Actually, he hadn’t really been your friend since two years ago when you entered first grade. It seemed like in your school, girls hung out with girls and the boys would do their own thing. As much as you disliked it, you couldn’t do much when your friends pulled you away to the other side of the playground where the park benches were and Hoseok was off at the field playing soccer with his other classmates.

 You can’t actually remember the last time you talked to Hoseok. Anytime when you did, whether it be during class or outside, your peers would ask you if you liked him or if you’re dating or if he’s your soulmate. You don’t even know what any of that means.

 (Also, there’s the whole rumour that you can catch germs from boys but you don’t think that’s right).

 “Did you find your journal?”

 “No.” You whimper, downcasting your head at the reminder and afraid that you’ll really begin to start crying. It would be so humiliating to do it in front of him - you’d never return to school again. “I think it’s lost.”

 “It isn’t.” He smiles and reveals what’s hidden behind his back, unbending both his arms and thrusting it out in front of you. A gasp spills from your lips and your doe eyes dilate from the recognizable bright green cover. “I found it in the lost and found.”

 You grasp at the notebook, taking it into your hands, feeling the metal coil beneath your fingertips and the wrinkled pages full of erasing, scribbling and doodles. “Thank you.” You choke out words of gratitude, grinning so widely that your cheeks might burst and your eyes well up with happiness. “Thank you. I-I thought it was gone forever. I thought it was stolen.”

 “By Seokjin, right?” He smiles when you nod. “Yeah, I think he stole my pencil too. I lent him a sharper once and it was gone by the end of the day. No one believes us when we tattle on him.”

 “You’re the best, Hobi!” It’s a nickname that you haven’t said in a while, and he’s about to mumble something back but you smother him in a tight hug. Hoseok pretends he’s being choked to death, making hacking sounds and muttering your name but you don’t let up. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

 “Yeah, sure.” He uses all his strength to rip your arms away from his neck, prying it off in a hurried pace before someone else sees. His breath steadies and he glares at you. But you remain smiling at him, and he scratches the back of his neck, sighing. “I hope it’s okay but I read some of it.”

 “What?” Your eyes enlarge. “You did?!”

 “Yeah.” Hoseok shrugs. “It’s actually not bad but you suck at spelling.” You smile sheepishly at him, acknowledging your bad marks in every spelling pop quiz. “I could fix it for you if you want me to.”

 “Nah, it’s okay.” You don’t want to bother him anymore than you already have. It’s already made you happy enough to have your journal back and to hear that your writing is pretty good; technically he said ‘not bad’ but you’re taking it is a compliment. “Thanks though.”

 The boy in his green plain shirt and trousers is beginning to say something but a hall monitor strides down the hall and whips his head over at the sight of you. “Hey! Aren’t you kids supposed to be outside for recess?!”

 You and Hoseok exchange a startled look before you both book it out the doors together.

 //

 At twelve, fate begins to show its ugly side. Technically not as much as your ugly side.

 It’s painful to admit but you look like the ‘before’ shot of those cosmetic surgery advertisements - bad skin, pimpled face, gawky glasses, braces, awkwardly cut hair, limbs too long — the whole nine yards and more.

 It also doesn’t help that you feel like everyone else looks like they came straight out of a magazine, blown out hair, flawless features, a perfect smile and trendy clothing. So, it’s probably not all in your mind that people are staring and talking behind your back when you walk to your locker or to go to class. Why did puberty have to fuck you up so badly?

 “What are you talking about?” Your friend rests against the washroom counter. “You’re so pretty Y/N. You just don’t see it.”

 The reflection in the mirror says otherwise.

 You look over at her with an unimpressed expression. A lump lodges in your throat when you detect pity in her gaze but you ignore it. “Thanks but I feel really horrible. My skin is itchy and I feel bloated and this is probably too TMI, but my bowel movements haven’t been great.”

 “You’re fineeee.” She emphasizes, flicking a piece of dirt from under her nails. “Trust me when I say it’s a lot worse in your head. No one cares, you know. They’re all too concerned about themselves anyways. But it’ll get better, Y/N. Chin up.”

 “...Thanks.”

 It’s not like you wanted all these insecurities. It just happened to knock on your door, barge inside without a warning and now you constantly feel bad about yourself no matter where you go. The world would be a lot better if it were socially acceptable to wear a plastic bag over your head.

 “I better get back to Mr. Jeon’s math class before he freaks out and sends someone to go look for me.” She checks her phone once and then pats you on the back, standing back on both feet. “See you at lunch, Y/N.”

 “Yeah, see ya.”

 The moment your friend walks out the washroom door, you look back at the silver mirror with a long sigh. No matter what you do, how much foundation or concealer you pack onto your face, it doesn’t help anything. You can either look like a peasant girl or a clown - you’re not sure what’s worse.

 You reach deep into your hoodie pocket, a sleek surface meeting your fingertips and you hesitantly pull the small object out. It’s a lipstick that you smuggled from your mother’s makeup bag this morning. The pink bullet is soft and pretty in hue but you’re aware the moment it meets your mouth, it’ll look like a child trying to play dress-up.

 “All or nothing.”

 You murmur to yourself using some encouraging clichés and then, your hand lifts to dab on the colour. With the lightest touch and your pinky smearing the product, you pop your lips, taking a step back to look at yourself. And wow.

 For once, you don’t feel like a roach emerging from the back of a dumpster.

 You throw open the door, strutting down the hall. Despite no one being around, you feel like a glorious supermodel and the paparazzi are hidden in the corner, your idol waiting with a bouquet of red roses at the end of the aisle, an epic soundtrack playing to each of your steps. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is all you needed to be rich and pretty. Maybe he’ll finally look at y-

 “Y/N?”

 You whirl yourself around, heart stuttering inside your chest. “H-hey Hoseok. What are you doing?”

 The teenager is in a green sweatshirt, baggy jeans and breaking school rules by wearing a snapback hat indoors. He puts down his phone, stuffing the device and his earphones into his pocket and shrugs. “Bathroom.”

 You smile, covering your mouth with your hand. “You’re not skipping class, are you?”

 “Nah.” His hands dig around his clothing and he hums. “Do you have some change I can borrow? I need to buy something at the vending machine and I think I forgot my wallet at home.”

 “Oh, no problem.” You reach into your own pocket before taking out the tiny pink pouch that your aunt gave to you for your birthday. It takes a second until you take out a five dollar bill, lifting it up and into his palm. Your fingertips accidentally brush against his skin and you withdraw your limb like the movement burns you. Hoseok gives you a strange look but dismisses it.

 “I-I don’t have change, just this but you can keep it. You don’t have to pay it back to me.”

 The boy appears stunned and he furrows his brows. “Are you sure?”

 “Yeah.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear but realizing that it reveals more of your imperfect complexion, you downcast your head. Hoseok’s stare was becoming too intense anyways. “It’s fine.”

 “Are you going back to class?” he asks and you nod. “We can go together then.”

 “Don’t you need to use the washroom?”

 “It’s fine. I’ll walk you back.”

 “O-okay then.” It’s terribly awkward and you loathe yourself on having such inept social skills. If it were anyone else, they’d probably be able to find another topic of conversation and switch over smoothly, destroying the tense silence but alas, you are only a twelve-year old who has no such natural talent. “How are you? We haven’t talked in a while. What kind of classes do you have?”

 The subject that you do bring up makes you cringe inside.

 Who even wants to talk about school in their free time?!

 Hoseok seems to get an inkling of your inner turmoil since he rips his eyes away from the profile of your face to the end of the corridor, smiling to himself discreetly. “Y/N, we literally have the same classes together. We see each other everyday.”

 “Right.” You recoil, cheeks becoming warm with embarrassment. “Well, we might see each other, but we don’t really talk. You’re always sitting in the back of the classroom.”

 “And you’re sitting in the front.” The adolescent beside you laughs. “Who knew Y/N would one day become the smartest student?”

 “I-I’m not. Plus, I’m sure you get better grades than I do.” It was true, anytime the teacher asked you to hand back tests or quizzes, you snuck a peek at the grade marked in the corner of the page and for every single one, he either got a hundred or close to it. Most of your peers didn’t know but you did. “You’re the smarter one here, I suck at math and science and-.....Hoseok? Is there something wrong?”

 His eyes are fixated on your mouth. “No. You just have a little of pink right there.”

 He points to your cupid’s bow and you reach up, flustered and perplexed that he noticed the makeup you put on. You wonder if it’s bad or if it makes you even uglier than before. “Where?”

 “Almost. To the left a bit.”

 “Here?”

 “To the right. Up. No. Go down a bit. Here, let me do it.” Hoseok pulls you in with a gentle hand on your shoulder and his thumb on his other hand raises to your lips, rubbing away the colour. The touch is feather-light but from the mere proximity, you’re absolutely stunned at what’s happening. Your eyes enlarge, heartbeat pounding in your ears and your mouth fills with cotton.

 Whether he’s actually dense, or he knows the effect you get from him, he doesn’t make any comments. After a moment, Hoseok pulls away. “There. It looks pretty nice, by the way.”

 “T-thanks.” The pair of you walk the rest of the way in silence. It’s only when you’ve reached the classroom door that you notice he’s a few meters behind you, lingering and glancing at the ceiling. “Are you not coming in?”

 He hitches his thumb to the other end. “I have to grab something at my locker so you should go in first.”

 “Okay.” You watch his backside disappear slowly, counting each step the boy takes that increases the distance and leaves you farther away from him. Since when did he become so tall? You’re not sure but all you know is that there’s a feeling inside your chest, depriving from an unknown source and you inhale a breath, taking the leap of courage.

 “Wait. Hoseok.”

 He turns. “Hmm?”

 Perhaps it is destiny that has given you the bravery that you’ve lacked for so many years.

 “I’m sorry for not talking to you more. Sometimes it’s difficult since you’re friends with those guys and I’m-”

 You have no one. You’re not pretty. You can’t socialize well. You’re literally the most boring person on this planet. And you harbour a huge fat crush that inhibits you from making any interaction towards him.

 “We’re both in different circles.” Hoseok finishes your sentence and you laugh stiffly. That too. Yet, despite your self-consciousness and metal self-deprecation, he laughs happily and it alleviates the mood. “No, I get that. Don’t worry about it.”

 “I just think we should talk more. I kind of...miss….you…” You’re mumbling at this point, volume becoming quieter and quieter until it’s a squeak. You don’t even know what the hell you’re saying and your face is on fire. It doesn't help that Hoseok's gazing at you so intently without speaking a single word.

 “...that’s all.” To save yourself from further embarrassment, you quickly turn to the door, hand grabbing the door, ready to twist your wrist and enter inside.

 Except, you never get the chance.

 “Wait. Y/N.” Your old childhood friend has his hand wrapped around your wrist and if steam wasn’t leaving your ears before, now it is. “I lied.”

 “What?”

 “I didn’t forget my wallet. I don’t even need to buy anything in the vending machine.” He diverts his eyes, avoiding your stare and frown of confusion. “The rest of class made a mess, and then they ditched to go to the cafeteria. If you go back, you’ll get in trouble for sure.”

 Even with the delayed response from your end, you can only manage one single syllable. “What?”

 “I’m sorry for lying.” After his stupid classmates had ran wild, throwing paint all over the walls, flipping over tables and desks when the substitute teacher had walked out of the room, they all grabbed their bags and spirited away. The first person Hoseok thought about was you.

 You had left to go to the washroom, unaware of what was unfolding and instead of leaving with his friends, he wandered around till he found you. A sick, twisted part of him was curious to see how stupid and gullible you are - he wasn’t disappointed either. You believed him so easily, he didn’t even need to try. But what Hoseok failed to calculate was his own guilt and his weakness.

 You.

 “You can hate me if you want to, that doesn’t matter.” He reaches to grab the five dollar bill, and he slaps it back into your hands. “And you can snitch to the principal but don’t go back in.”

 “Hoseok.” A smile slips on your lips and you become sheepish. “I don’t hate you. Far from it actually. Just...I could never hate you. You’re still my friend.” Hoseok’s fingers still wrapped around yours, preventing you from entering the horrific classroom and the dollar bill in your other hand proves it so. “So, let’s go?”

 Your friend smiles, releasing his grip and grateful that you don’t want to kick his ass. “Last one to the vending machines has to buy!”

 A gasp sounds from your mouth when he takes off running and you laugh, shouting after him and probably disturbing all the other classes going on. “Hey! That’s so not fair!”

 //

 The class drones on and on. It’s absolutely unbearable. Heads are bobbing up and down, trying to stay awake while some have given up all together, sleeping on their desks with their heads rested in their folded arms. The teacher doesn’t seem to care, continuing with her lesson as it was planned.

 “Soulmates are a very peculiar phenomenon in our modern society today and many scientists have yet to discover the reason as to why since it isn’t very biologically efficient. It doesn’t seem like genetics or family history play a huge part, sometimes soulmates are outright opposites while other times they are very similar to each other. It may just be a psychological occurrence.”

 “All they have been able to conclude thus far is when soulmates meet, both parties experience a euphoria of emotions, each of them enhanced and the effects are very similar to some type of drugs out there. The love and passion are like none other. Typically, there are two types of soulmates that people can have. One, there is literally only one person that is your soulmate. Two, there are several people living in the world that could be your soulmate. It differs with each individual and again, no one knows the answer yet. Perhaps someday we'll know.”

 The only person actually listening is some guy at the front of the class. He raises his hand and the teacher calls upon him. “What about people who don’t have either?”

 “Ah...yes...those folks are...rare and far in between.” The teacher wears a melancholic expression, seemingly a bit uncomfortable with the topic. “People without soulmates can find companionship, but they most likely end up alone, in this life and the next and the next….”

 She concludes with- “it’s unfortunate.”

 Your forehead nearly smacks against the wooden surface of the desk as you’re lulled to sleep but your neck snaps back before you can hurt yourself. Fuck. You rub your eyes, screaming inside your head out of pure boredom. Then, an idea flickers inside your brain and you lean over to your friend sitting beside you in the other row.

 “Hey, I’ll make a bet with you.” At your voice, she perks her head up, eyes sparkling in interest. “Bet Mr. Min won’t visit Ms. Kang today. Five bucks, what do you think?”

 She smirks. “You’re on.”

 Lo and behold, the familiar blonde headed teacher sticks his head through the door, thankfully interrupting class and cracking a few jokes while shocking sleeping students awake with his cheerful voice. As Ms. Kang flirts with the chemistry teacher, your friend giggles while you pull out a crisp bill, handing it to her.

 “Okay, you win this time.” You sulk, looking back into your barren pocket.

 “I’ll bet you one more time.” Your friend grins, starting to have fun since class began. “If Mr. Min doesn’t stay for more than ten minutes, I’ll give you your five dollars back and an additional ten. But if he does stay for over ten minutes, I get ten bucks from you.”

 You contemplate the options, weighing each reward and consequence. It sounded appealing, not only would you get your money back but even more? Plus, Ms. Kang was actually teaching a full lesson today and there was a test tomorrow. Surely, he would leave, so she could continue addressing the class. You smirk at your newfound confidence. “You’re on.”

 In the next twelve minutes, you hand over more money.

 Your friend laughs her head off, clutching onto your stomach and you can only sigh from your multiple defeats. Another classmate turns around and asks what the two of you are up to.

 “We’re making bets.” Your friend wipes away the tears that have welled up. “Y/N keeps losing.”

 “Ooh count me in.”

 Someone else who was eavesdropping swivels around. “Me too.”

 The teacher is still chatting away with Mr. Min at the front of the classroom with a group of students while the rest of you wait in boredom. There’s nothing like an entertaining game with monetary prizes to liven up an atmosphere. “Who wants to bet that she’ll forget to hand out homework?”

 “Let’s bet to see if this paper airplane can go outside the window and into the classroom across from us.”

 “Bet that I can’t sneak out without anyone else noticing.”

 By the end of the hour and by the time the lunch bell has rung, your wallet is completely empty and everyone else has left to go eat. As you collect your belongings, stuffing markers and pens back into the pencil case, grabbing your notebooks and slinging your backpack around one shoulder, you can only hope that time will move quicker.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Oh, hey Hobi.” You smile, watching him grab his water bottle that he accidentally left near his chair at the back. “I’m fucking broke, that’s what.”

 He opens the door and you both walk out together. “You shouldn’t keep making bets with people if you’re always losing. Your gambling skills suck.”

 You exhale, having too many regrets and fearing what your dad will say when you ask him for a second allowance this week. The money from your summer part-time job was gone as well and all you can think of doing is sobbing on your knees, pleading about your penniless lifestyle. “I thought I could win my money back.”

 “Never go to a casino, you idiot.” Hoseok stops by his locker and throws his biology textbook inside. He closes it and walks diagonally down the hall to your own locker where you grab your gym bag for your next class after the bell. “You’d end up wasting your life savings away and you’d be living under a bridge.”

 “Isn’t that where we’re all heading anyway?”

 He laughs and swings his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as you two accompany each other in synchronized steps. It’s a familiar gesture and you’re no longer flustered from being in a close proximity from Hoseok. The infatuation that plagued you during your preteen years has long disappeared.

 High School was a whole nother game, people dating more seriously and futures on the horizon. You couldn’t be very bothered to crush over an old friend when you were more preoccupied with getting into the university you wanted.

 “Why are you glaring at me?”

 “I’m not.”

 At this age, you thought Hoseok would reach his own ugly phase. Puberty tended to affect boys in later years but even at sixteen, the bastard is still decent looking. While you grew more into your skin, learnt to become comfortable in your body and appreciate your flaws for what they are, you expected him to go through a similar thing that you did back then. Yet, never in a day of his life did Hoseok have awkward limbs or bad skin or an awful haircut. Rather, his rounded cheeks were becoming chiseled, his jawline sharper and his hair gelled into a neat fashion.

 And for you, rather than admiring his handsome looks, you’re goddamn jealous of his genetics and beautiful face. Why did fate have to be such an unfair bitch?

 “You spent your lunch money, didn’t you?”

 On cue, your stomach grumbles and you give him a surprised look. “How did you know?”

 “Cause you don’t have any control.” Hoseok reaches over, pinching your cheek and you slap his hand away, cringing at the thought of his dirty fingers clogging your pores and giving you acne. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

 You halt on your toes. He turns around.

 “Wait. Really?!”

 The boy smiles, his grin loosely resembling a heart shape. His eyes crinkle slightly and a bubbling laughter spills from his mouth. “Yeah, but you owe me big time.”

 “When don’t I?” You smile, catching up to him and giving him a good old noogie. “You’re the best.”

 His smile becomes sheepish, and he gazes at you for a long moment, savouring in your touch and presence. “I know.”

 There was something strange about you. From the moment he had met you a decade ago and held out his hand, he always felt a tugging feeling in his chest, as if you were familiar, and he knew you from somewhere else, from somewhere far away. But you weren’t his soulmate.

 Such a thing was impossible for Jung Hoseok.

 //

 The world revolves around the concept of soulmates.

 You didn’t realize it until you became much older and you stepped out from the small schools that you went to, the same classes and circle of friends that shuffled together from one year to the next. College was a time when your world expanded ten folds, where you couldn’t recognize three quarters of your classmates, where campus made you lost every single day.

 It also opened to your eyes to the obsession that people had with soulmates; how some folks were absolute consumed with it, going out to bars to talk to strangers, testing to see if they were a kindred soul, having date after date, entering camps and exclusive clubs to seek out their match, downloading special apps on phones to search for their true love.

 One of the few questions that you were asked quite frequently was: ‘have you found the one yet?’

 Your answer didn’t matter as much as the pitying expressions, the words of consolation of ‘you’ll find one soon’ and how people told their own stories of how they accidentally ran into the person they were meant to be with, and they knew instantly at that second. They always said that no matter where you went, where you’d go off to, your soulmate would end up finding you.

 That’s how fate is supposed to work.

 Except it worked much differently for you- “I’m never going to find my soulmate, am I?”

 “What?” Your dad puts down his spoon, startled and taken back. The dinner table is silenced. “Who told you that?”

 “Some people just take a bit of time.” Your mom smiles to soothe your nonsensical worries. “I know it took me years to run into your dad.”

 You sigh, recalling the memory like it's imprinted to the back of your hand. “Grandma told me I'd be single for my entire life and the next.”

 “Dear…your grandmother was very ill before she died. She just didn't know what she was saying. Don't let it get to you.”

 “She told me that a long time before she passed away.” You look at your parents for an extended moment, holding your breath in your lungs. You're an adult now and you have a right to know the truth. “You guys know it, right? Can you please not lie to me?”

 “Don't give up hope, you hear me?” Your mother lectures, tone becoming stern and unyielding for any retorts or comments. “I don't care what the doctors, nurses and psychologists say or even what your grandma told you. You’ll meet the one.”

 She says it with such certainty, like she's declaring the sun will rise again. “And when you do, you’ll know instantly.”

 You've heard it a million times before, the way your friends have described it, you've even seen it with your own eyes. It's supposed to be a burst of electricity, where the heart stops and the breath gets caught. The universe is supposed to shine in brighter hues, becoming vibrant and louder; happiness will become euphoria and love will become a deepening and familiar companion.

 The gaping hole that individuals never knew existed will be filled. They will no longer walk alone. They'll feel whole. It's everything that Hollywood movies show except it's real. It's perfect. It's a rose-coloured world.

 And all you can do is roll your eyes each and every time you hear it.

 Some people are born without soulmates. There’s no rhyme or reason. It has nothing to do with the way you were brought up, the environment factors or your genetic material. Like some people are innately extroverted or introverted. There’s nothing you can do about it and that thought hurts you even more.

 Your world isn’t rose but a green-coloured world.

 “Wait! Wait for me! Please!”

 Despite your arm waving in the air, heaving breaths shouting through the sky, the bus pulls away from the curb, signalling into the lane. “Fuck!” Your arm tightens around the strap of your bag and you pick up your speed, racing with all your might. “Stop!”

 The heavy rain beats down on top of your head, rattling the inside of your skull. The surroundings have turned into a shade of grey, vision clouded with water droplets clinging onto your lashes, each step splattering puddles onto your pants. But it doesn’t matter that you’re being drenched as if you stepped into the shower. You’re late for class.

 If you miss this bus then you’re done for.

 “I’m here! I’m here!”

 Right where you’re mere meters from the bus’ door, your foot juts out for another leap but you miscalculate your environment and your front toes collide onto the metal pole bus sign.

 “OW! FUCKING SHIT!”

 Pain shoots up your spine and you’re forced to stumble, crouching over and clutching onto your dirtied shoe. The passersby with their umbrellas or under the bus shelter don’t bat a single eyelash and you are alone, under the rain, putting pressure on your wound. It feels like you’ve just broken your foot or a toenail was ripped off, that it’s bleeding in your sock. To top off the agony, like a cherry thrown on top of a sundae, the bus merges and drives off, disappearing in the distant fog.

 “Are you kidding me?!” You sob out to the crying sky, knocking your head back and letting your stubbed toes pulsate and throb inside your shoe.

 You don’t have an umbrella. Your phone is dead. There’s no way you can contact an Uber. Thus, all you can do is limp your way to school in the pouring storm, looking at the roads every so often for a taxi. Fortunately, fate isn’t such a nasty bitch when you catch a yellow vehicle driving down the street. Unfortunately, the taxi doesn’t see you in time and it drives past, too close to the gutter.

 The sewer water splashes like an ocean wave crashing on the shore and if you weren’t drenched before, now you’re soaking wet, drowning in rainwater and sewage.

 “Y/N?”

 A familiar and warm presence appears behind you. Their umbrella drapes over your head, shielding you away from the cold droplets and it patters on the green canopy instead. Instead of bursting into tears like you felt you should, a smile graces your lips. You’ve never been more thankful to have this person around and in your life.

 No matter where you go, he’s always able to find you.

 “Are you alright?”

 “I’ve been having the shittiest day, Hobi. Literally the worst.” You turn around with a massive pout, sulking at your situation and cringing at how your textbooks and laptop in your bag are probably wet as well. “But what are you doing here?”

 He hitches his thumb to the black car parked by the curb. “I was driving past and I thought I saw you. I stopped to make sure. Aren’t you going to be late for class though? Get in my car, I can drive you to school.”

 “A-are you sure? I mean, I’m soaking right now and I can just keep walking-”

 “It’s fine, Y/N.” He grins, patting your head to placate your worries, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder to support you to the toasty vehicle. His other hand is holding the handle of the umbrella, and he tilts it to cover you completely, letting the rain drizzle on his left side. Your old friend doesn’t seem that concerned about getting drenched and momentarily, the pain in your foot has alleviated. “I have class anyways. We’re going to the same place.”

 Before getting into the car, you shift your head to gaze into his softened, brown irises.

 Regardless of what troubles you face, the struggles that present itself, Jung Hoseok is always around the corner. He’s your truest friend, the one who has stood by you for the longest time and the man makes your heart sing soothing lullabies. Maybe you’ll never have a soulmate but at least you have him.

 “Thank you.”

 He grins and you’ve sincerely never felt more gratitude.

 //

 Falling in love with Hoseok is a complete accident.

 Sure, it might’ve been predictable to everyone else since all the cliché romance books and movies always depict childhood friends becoming lovers, unrequited loves and harboured crushes becoming reciprocated, happily ever afters emerging from the horizons. You just never knew it was going to happen to you.

 You might’ve been massively infatuated with Hoseok years ago but you thought you grew out of that phase. At the end of the day, he’s a good friend; someone who watched you pick your nose in preschool, when you shit yourself in kindergarten because you couldn’t control your bowels yet, the time he witnessed when you called your teacher ‘mom’. He’s been through it all, thick and thin, disgusting and all the rancid memories. Your family knows his, mothers that have become friends themselves and fathers buddies. Hoseok was supposed to be a brother to you.

 But lo and behold, you had to catch feelings.

 Fate was a cunning asshole.

 “Sorry for getting your car all wet. I was sitting in class dripping everywhere.” You wring out a bundle of your hair, the damp strands clinging to your neck in an uncomfortable fashion.

 Hoseok, from across the table, wriggles his brows up and down. “Oh, I don’t mind if you’re wet at all.”

 “Shut up.” You roll your eyes, playfully scoffing at the innuendo. Brushing it off, you set aside your laptop to look at your friend. “Thanks though. I think I would’ve been screwed if I had to walk.”

 “Jung Hoseok here to save the day again!” He gives a blazing smile, pretending to be a superhero as he does the superman pose. You laugh, and he lowers his fist, expression melting into a warmer smile. “But is your foot okay? You were limping.”

 You’re surprised that he noticed but you nod. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

 The library is deathly quiet on a Friday at nine o’ clock. There are only a few people sitting around and assistants shelving books. At twenty-one, it isn’t uncommon for your peers to be out at a frat house or crashing a venue around campus, getting wasted and grinding up on each other, maybe meeting ‘the one’ out on the dance floor or at the bar. Hoseok has especially made a name for himself in the years at college, dating around and being the life of the party.

 It’s not necessarily a bad thing but you’ve felt slightly alienated from him since you weren’t big on the whole partying thing. You’d much prefer to curl up on a couch, binging on Netflix and chewing on snacks in the comfort of your own home.

 “Why are you here? Weren’t you invited to any parties?”

 “Nah, I don’t feel like it. Why would I want to go to one when you’re sitting right here.” His greasy remark has you huffing out tiredly, and he giggles. “Plus, who would drive you home?”

 “I can take public transit, you know. It runs until twelve.” You don’t want to be a burden to Hoseok or make him babysit you like a little sister or a pet. If he’s here for the wrong reasons, it would hurt even more than if you were alone. “And aren’t you seeing Yoonji right now? You should probably be out with her instead of me.”

 “No, I’m not seeing her.” He resists the urge to pull on your puffed out cheeks. Hoseok leans his chin in his propped up hand, savouring your sulking expression. “I’m single actually, have been for a long time now. And also, if I hear that you got murdered on your way home or if you slipped on some water and broke a hip, my mom would never be able to forgive me. She’ll burn my entire manga collection and probably run me over with her car.”

 “Of course your mom would.” You stick out your tongue, intentionally ignoring what he said about not dating anyone. “She loves me a lot more than she loves you.”

 “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.” The man lazily flips through his textbook, barely skimming the pages and not reading correctly like how he should be. “Hey, Y/N.”

 “Hmm?”

 “Have you been seeing anyone?”

 Your head perks up from the document on your laptop and you give the most unimpressed expression, arousing laughter from the male. “Do you think I have? No one can love me - I’m unlovable.”

 That and you don’t have a soulmate.

 “That’s not true. I love you.”

 What. No. Wait. He probably means it in a brotherly-friendship kind of way.

 “Righttttt...” You bob your head up and down, narrowing your eyes and forcing yourself to dispel away all your delusional thoughts. “Well, I love you too.”

 “Okay, great.” He looks up from his textbook. “We should go on a date then.”

 “.....” There’s a pause. He waits patiently with a smile. You stare at him. “What?!”

 “It’s really convenient.” He quirks his head to the side, mischief glimmering in his orbs. “I love you, you love me. It works out. So, we should go on a date...unless you don’t want to.”

 “....I-I do but where is this coming from, Hoseok?” You lower your pitch, leaning closer as if someone from the ten tables over could hear. The situation unravelling before you is so sudden that you fail to wrap your brain around it.

 “What do you mean ‘where is this coming from’?” The male gives you a look. “Hasn’t it been obvious? I’ve liked you for years! And wow, I can’t believe you’re making me expose myself to you when you haven’t even bought me dinner yet.”

 He throws his arms over his chest, appearing vandalized but you’re in no mood for jokes.

 “B-but...but…” All those signs that you convinced yourself weren’t signs are actually signs?

 The endeared gazes, the overly affectionate physical contact, the lingering touches, the smiles and late night texts were all indications. Your mind is reeling from memories for the past decade, wondering if this or that was evidence for his hidden feelings. It feels surreal, like a dream.

 You fear if you wake up from it, reality and fate will be much crueler.

 “You don’t need to feel pressured, Y/N.” Hoseok stares down at his textbook, avoiding your eyes and becoming embarrassed about finally declaring his feelings openly to you. His voice is quiet but you can hear each word, carrying a weight that bears sincerity in each syllable.

 “You can say no if you want to, and we can go back to being friends. I just...I never knew if the feelings were mutual and the timing was always off. I tried to date other people but it...didn’t work out.”

 He takes a deep breath, put on the spot and pressured not to mess up. You’re an important person in his life and the last thing he wants is to scare you off forever.

 “What about your soulmate?”

 It’s the first thing that crosses your mind, a concern that is unbearable and one you can’t erase away. What’s the point of creating something more if he’ll meet his soulmate later on. You’ll be left in the dust, alone, forced to face the memories of ‘what happened but could never last’.

 But Jung Hoseok, being the person that he is, always manages to make your anxieties disappear.

 “You don’t have to worry about something like that.”

 It’s too simple of an answer. Yet, like the fool that you are, you trust in him. “Okay. Let’s go on a date then.”

 A grin spreads across his face, one that swells his cheeks and heart. “Right now.”

 You flinch when he suddenly slaps his textbook closed and you follow along, packing away your laptop and pens. Luckily, no one was really around to be angry over the disturbances the pair of you were making. “Right now?”

 Hoseok smiles. “Last one out the library has to pay.”

 Fate is too kind - and you realize so when you become aware that you were never alone.

 “You’re on.”

 //

 Each person born is destined for one or perhaps several. They’re fated to fall in love with their other half, a kindred spirit or soul, or a fragment of themselves. The love could be a whirlwind of romance rendezvous, a heated passion pressed between sheets or a comforting presence that makes home a true home. Each individual has a chance to make their heart feel full, their soul fulfilled and any loneliness is dispelled away.

 You have Jung Hoseok.

 He’s a friend and companion, a partner that you cherish. While one date becomes two and three and five until you’ve lost count, all you know is that soulmate or not, you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your days with him.

 “That movie was really good, like did you see the part where he came out of the space shuttle to confront her on the planet Neptune? Like wow, I thought he was going to die for sure but he risked his life for her. And then-”

 “Hoseok.” You stop in the parking lot of the theaters, twisting on your ankle to look at him.

 A sweet smile is still on his mouth, and he quirks his head to the side. “Yes?”

 “Can I kiss you?”

 The boy’s taken back and he laughs. “Where did that come from?”

 “I was thinking about it the whole day today.” You play with the hem of your sweater, diverting your attention elsewhere while you murmur softly, “We’ve been on so many dates, but we haven’t really done anything aside from holding hands…..”

 Albeit it was strange to date such a good friend, you still longed to get closer to him.

 Hoseok throws back his head like he’s in pain, and he whines. “I was going to kiss you later before you left but you beat me to it.” He pouts in defeat and then steps closer, cupping your cheeks in his palms with a softened smile. “Of course you can kiss me, Y/N. You don’t really need to ask.”

 Your eyes flutter shut and his close. Together, you move closer inch by inch until you can feel his lips on yours. A smile moves across your face, and he presses harder, tilting his head while you throw your arms around his neck. It’s nice but kind of awkward. The movement is foreign to you, though the pleasant tingles melt any tension in your muscles.

 Hoseok deepens the kiss, making a muffled sound leave your throat, and he savours your taste on his tongue. But suddenly, one moment you feel pleasure and the next, your head begins to throb.

 You don’t pull away, too addicted to his kiss. Then, there’s a burst of electricity.

 The flare rushes to your fingertips, heart stuttering, breath choking you. Underneath your eyelids, the universe halts and then begins to revolve again, faster, louder until it’s deafening and shining in such bright hues that it’s blinding. The happiness that rings through your bones becomes euphoria and love slaps you across the cheek.

 Maybe this is what people described when they meet your soulmate. But no. It’s much different from that.

 You are not so fortunate of an individual.

 An onslaught of memories, versions of yourself across centuries, comes barging through the door in screams. They shout and screech, begging to know as to what the hell you’re doing. The thumping of your head becomes white noise. You pull away from Hoseok like he burns you.

 The boy is as startled as you are, eyes wide, staggering back until he collapses on the concrete ground.

 “I-I remember…”

 You stare at him in sheer horror. “Fuck you.”

 Fate has never once smiled at you, it was cackling. Fate was never kind either, it was absolutely vicious. And instead of a soulmate, you have something much different. Jung Hoseok is a parasite that transcends time, destined to run each path that you take. He is an enemy.

 You’ve finally woken up from the dream.

[16th Century]

 A gentle knock on the door wakes you from your slumber.

 You sit up amidst the silk sheets and the hinges of the massive wooden door creaks. A servant maid peeks her head through the gap and the light from the hallway sheds into the darkened room. “Good morning, your royal highness.”

 “Is there a cause for your disturbance?”

 The tone of your voice rings above the high ceilings and the girl noticeably winces. She keeps her head downcasted. “Yo-your highness, the artisan has arrived.”

 “Is that so?” You hum a thoughtful note before snapping back at her, “then what are you waiting for? Help me prepare.”

 Immediately she enters and draws the heavy curtains away from the window. Sunshine meets your eyes and you find a smile emerging on your lips. She guides you off the bed, helping you splash your face with a cloth, combing your hair back and pinning it up with green ribbons and ropes of pearls. The lace corset is tied tightly around your abdomen, restricting your breathing but you endure it as you study the dress in the mirror. It’s a rather simple dress, a natural waistline and floor length, flowy sleeves and skirt, the jade fabric decorated with golden colours.

 “I think this is perfect, don’t you?”

 You twirl in front a few times and the maid smiles. “Yes, your highness. You look marvelous.”

 Upon being satisfied with her response, you address your servant one last time. “Do not utter a word to the king that I am meeting the painter, understood? If he asks of my presence, tell him I am in the study quarters.”

 “Yes, your highness.”

 The gardens are far away, across towers and courtyards, but you make it there in less than five minutes while hitching your clothing up by the fistful, running in the most unsophisticated manner that would surely cause scoldings from your mother. Yet, you continue on your way nevertheless.

 It’s only a strong gust of wind and an accidental misstep causes you to stumble. You are pushed to the ground, colliding onto the verdant grass, a shock rippling through your body. Immediately, you are shamed. Your knees are bruised, your gown soiled and palms stained with dirt. In the delayed second, as pain shoots up your bones, your bottom lip trembles, threatening to break out into sobs.

 “Do not cry, your highness.”

 You lift your chin and a tall shadow looms over you. The man wears no smile, an emerald circular cloak draped over his shoulders and an embroidered shirt underneath. His gaze is not cold but intense, yet, it does not make you waver or scared. Instead, your eyes follow his command, halting the tears that were to fall like raindrops.

 “Only infants shed such heart wrenching tears.” A soft smile appears across his lips, a fixated stare on your flushing visage but the serious man is the same age as you. His pitch black hair is more like a ruffled cloud, strands poking out in every direction and some paint has splattered on the skin of his cheek. “And I fear it would ruin your beauty.”

 He holds his hand out to you, palm facing upwards. You sniffle for a moment and then your arm reaches out, fingers clasping his and the male lifts you off your feet. The touch is soothing and light, causing your heart to soar inside your chest.

 “Don’t be foolish. I’ve never shed tears before you, understood?”

 You dust off your dress and he grins.

 “Yes, your highness.”

 The man tries to loosen his grip on your hand but fails to do so when you grasp at him tighter, lacing your fingers through his and not allowing him to let go. A snort of air leaves his nose, and he accepts the new position, guiding you deeper into the royal gardens with bushes of foreign flowers and tall trees lining the cobblestone paths, the scent of florals wafting through the air.

 Farther into the quaint and private place, a canvas is set around vivid oil paints and brushes. He has begun to recreate the image of the blooming orchards and you study the artwork that has yet to be completed.

 “My father has commissioned you as the royal painter but why have you not painted me?”

 Your dress twirls when you look at him again. Jung Hoseok, the man who creates another world with brilliant hues, passionately brushing strokes along the canvas, has been by your side for months and here he is once more, smiling at you.

“I cannot, your highness.” He lowers his head. “I fear that there is no paint I could use that would show how brightly your eyes shine.”

 You spin around to face the bushes, cheeks flaming with each praise. “Please, you flatter me too much, painter.”

 “Ah, but my words are too true, your highness.” He paces around and you lock your gaze upon his. “My skills would be no match to the reality of your beauty.”

 You sigh, longing to have the man closer. Each second and minute that passes feels too short.

 “Painter, I fear my lonely soul enjoys your companionship too much. It’s a shame that you were not born of a royal lineage. My father would never allow such a partnership. He would rather let this kingdom crumble than to give my hand to a commoner.”

“I understand your woes too clearly, your highness.” He takes three delicate strides to meet you in the middle of the grassy area, chest pressed upon chest and his fingers lightly skimming over your blooming cheeks. If anyone from the court were to catch you in such a position, the painter’s life would be at risk, but he seems to pay no mind to such thing.

 “And although I hunger to clutch your hand to my chest, embrace your being, declare you as mine and taste those lips with my own, we are but star crossed lovers.” He exhales, sorrow dripping from his honeyed eyes. “Fate is not so kind to folk like us.”

 You turn away from him in despair, staring up at the cerulean sky and wondering if the Heavens could ever grant you mercy in the name of love. “Eventually, I will be wedded off to somewhere far. The thought makes my heart ache in agony.”

 Your voice breaks and you plead with him. “Painter, would it be so shameful for me to ask you for a single kiss?”

 “Of course not, your highness.” He caresses your face and you melt within the touch. Your eyes shut and he leans in closer. “It is my duty to fulfill your wishes.”

 The kiss is the gentlest of touches, lips pressed upon lips, a bittersweet taste that cannot be savoured, a salty hint caused by your teardrop, the deepest of yearnings and aches for more.

 Why must fate be so cruel?

 //

 It is of the midnight hour when the maid comes barging into your room unwarranted without even a single knock. It startles you to the point where you spring up from your silk bed sheets, gasping and ready to reprimand her but the maid’s wheezes and the distant shouting stops you from doing so.

 You climb out of your bed, taking a robe and covering up your sleeping attire. “What is the matter with you? Speak!”

 “R-rebels have stormed the castle,” she weeps, grabbing onto your arm and falling to the ground, kneeling on the floor, crying and sobbing with all her might.

 The shock is delayed. “Pardon?!”

 The young girl shakes her head, trying to regain composure amidst the mournful grieving. “T-they have captured your m-mother a-and your father has been executed.” You stagger backwards, and she crawls to you, gripping the hem of your dress. “Run, princess.”

 She screams- “Run before they catch you!”

 There’s not a single thing in your hands but your life as you flee the castle walls. The rebels are shouting together, holding torches and capturing any royal member as they scour each room and rip apart all the walls. The knights have fallen, advisors and servants alike being severed of their heads. Blood pours down the courtyard and a couple of paces away from the forest, a misstep causes you to collide against the cobblestone, a cry befalling of your mouth, skin scraped and blood trickling from the wounds.

 A tall shadow looms over you. You lift your chin. The man wears no smile. His gaze is cold.

 You smile, sighing of relief and thankful that the painter is here with you. Perhaps, you can flee together and finally live the life that you’ve always wanted. Except, he does not lift out his hand to pick you off your feet, he bends his knees, squatting down and quirking his head as he stares at you.

 “H-hoseok, what is going on?” You begin to waver from the sharp intensity of his eyes. Any trace of warmth has disappeared, and he seems more amused that you have fallen than worried. “P-Please tell me. I’m s-so scared.”

 Tears seep down your cheeks like raindrops. He doesn’t tell you to stop crying.

 Hoseok smirks. The corner of his lip tugs in a menacing way and his fingers reach out to hold your chin. He leans in, placing a small kiss on the corner of your mouth, and then he parts, admiring the confused expression marring your visage. “Oh princess, you are too innocent for your own good.”

 Your voice does not come out strong but weak. “E-explain yourself.”

 “All of this couldn’t have succeeded without your efforts.” He gestures behind him to the castle, your precious home, that was now being set on fire. Screams of the maids and dukes ricochets to your ears, and he doesn’t allow you to cover them up or cower away.

 Hoseok forces you to watch the scorching flames.

 “Not only did you advocate me to the king and allowed me into the castle but you fell in love with me as well and offered yourself fully. Such a foolish yet endearing character.” He shoves you away and stands, dusting his hands off and watching you pathetically cry.

 “And you were right. Your father would’ve been so shameful to have a daughter like you who helped overthrow the kingdom. Too bad he’s already dead.”

 You can’t wrap your mind around it. All of this is too absurd. Surely, it must be a dream. Hoseok would never treat you this way. He would never betray your trust. You love him.

 “W-what?”

 “Do you still not understand?” He looks over to the symbol sewn on his clothing, the green mark of the rebels. Your stomach turns and vomit threatens to crawl up your throat. You claw at your skin, teeth gritted and jaw clenched.

 “Y-you...you liar.” You spit at him, each heavy syllable oozing of venom. “You wretched bastard.”

 Hoseok tips his head back and chuckles. “There is no use in sprouting such vulgarities, Y/N. A revolutionary is needed for the people. They are suffering in ways you will never know. Your ignorance is too great. Life isn’t generous outside of your castle of silks.”

 The betrayal is too much for your heart to bear.

 No amount of rage or sadness, fury or anguish could display the turmoil sewn into your soul, the heartbreak that shatters inside your chest. Jung Hoseok hovers above your small frame. He stares down at you. “But because you demonstrated such benevolence to me and made my job so simple, I will give you ten seconds. Run or the rebels will slaughter you without mercy.”

 Your fragile body hauls itself upwards and despite the screams of your bones, the faintness in your head that swirls the world around, you falter down the hill, racing into the forest. You abandon your people, your family and home, the love that you held onto. You will never forget.

 And you will never forgive.

 Jung Hoseok laughs and gazes at your form. It reminds him of a little sheep running away from a pack of wolves. He muses that it was truly a shame; a shame that you weren’t part of the rebels and merely destined to be star-crossed lovers with him.

 For the rest of your life, you live in the dirty alleyways as a peasant, scraping after other’s leftovers, bugs crawling in your hair and biting your skin, teeth rotting and clothes tattered up. You sob until you can no longer afford to expel water from your body and the short days of your life consists of recalling your warm family and the beautiful life you once had.

 When you die, the last thing you think about is Jung Hoseok and your undying wrath.

[17th Century]

 “Where is my notebook?”

 You’re scouring in the tiny room, searching among the stacks of parchment, quills and bottles of blackened ink, tugging up your wrinkled olive dress. You pull up the smooth narrow sleeves, wincing at the troublesome lace cuffs and you tug on the strings of the small bodice for more breathing space. As you scour your belongings, the bun that was tied to the back of your head begins to loosen and clusters of curls framing your face tickles your nose. The sweat at your forehead slicks down your face and your appearance becomes disheveled in your franticness.

 “My notebook….notebook.” You gasp underneath your breath, standing straight again. “Was it stolen?!”

 There’s a knock and a short laugh. “Did you lose something again?”

 A man in a white linen shirt, dark trousers and a navy coat stands at the doorway, hands held behind his back as he watches you fumble about. “Yes, it’s going to be the end of me, Hoseok, if I can’t find it.”

 “Well, lucky for you-” He takes a few steps forward and reveals what’s hidden behind his back, unbending both arms and presenting it out in front of you. Another gasp spills from your lips and your eyes widen from the familiar leather bound notebook. “-I found it.”

 You grasp at the pages, taking it into your hands and feeling the wrinkled pages full of scribbles and doodles made in ink. You choke out the words of gratitude, grinning so widely that your cheeks might burst and your eyes well up with happiness. “Thank you.”

 “Thank you. I-I thought it was lost forever.”

 The man opens his mouth to reply but you smother him in a tight embrace. Hoseok wheezes, making coughing sounds from the pressure of your arms, and he even mutters your name after a minute but you don’t let go of him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

 “You’re very welcome, Y/N.” He gently moves your arms from his back. “But you should let go of me.”

 If someone were to see, surely rumours would spread like wildfire. Folks in the village were already whispering of how he came and went inside your abode for hours on end and until the sun went down; a gesture such as an embrace would certainly be scandalous and soil your name.

 You comply, loosening your grip, and he slides away from you with a rather striking smile. “You ought to be more organized, Y/N. At this rate, you’d lose your head and I’d have to go looking for it.”

 A grin sneaks up your mouth. “That’s why I have you.”

 The man exhales, continuing on the other subject as you move away. “I hope you do not mind but on my way here, I’ve read the latest entries.”

 “And?” You settle yourself down in the wooden chair facing the windows, preparing a new bottle of ink to begin the next story. “What did you think?”

 “As usual, there was nothing amiss, quite good actually. Just, your spelling was horrible, Y/N.”

 “I know I’m rubbish at spelling.” You mutter underneath your breath, preoccupied with scribbling something down. After a moment, you sheepishly smile at him. “But that’s why I’m paying you to be my editor. If I were good at it, I wouldn’t need you.”

 “Oh, don't be ridiculous.” He jests in a playful tone, “you will always need me. What would you do if I was not around to remind you to eat once in a while and bathe? You'd be sitting in your own filth and rotting away in this home.”

 The two of you laugh together, admitting that he is not at all false.

 You were withdrawn, living on the secluded outskirts of the town. Not many folks desired to be acquainted with you since men frequently belittled your skills and women would rather discuss child rearing and gossip about the marriages taking place. You preferred to write and most considered that a bore and not an occupation at all. You like to beg to differ but that didn't mean you were free from loneliness.

 It was Hoseok that provided companionship, filling in the positions of what friends would. With his presence by your side, you no longer cared about the rude folks who would mutter behind your back. He is the reason you keep striving forward.

 “Speaking of which, I haven't seen you in a week’s time. What have you been working on as of late?”

 “It's a new story and a strange one but I cannot find it in me to shake it off.” Your eyes are blazing like sunlight. He considers the passion ignited within you is a very peculiar yet attractive trait of yours. “It's something I call ‘soulmates’.”

 His brows furrow. “What is that?”

 “It’s a kindred spirit in which upon meeting, there is a spark of..uh...lighting.” Your hands whip in grand gestures and you pace around the room in equal strides. “The primary character just knows that they will end up with that person and together, they will lead their lives until the next and next one. A person can have one soulmate or several, each a part of themselves that makes them whole. It is a kind of true love, an authentic companionship, a mate that matches your soul if you will.”

 “Perhaps I shall call the story ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.” You whirl back around to face your editor. “What do you think?”

 The man hums. “I think you don’t have enough sleep and your head is up in the clouds again.”

 You sigh, stomping your foot once. “Must you kid around? I am sincerely ecstatic about the idea.”

 “I am only teasing you.” He smiles in a soft manner. “I think the idea is brilliant. If it is you who comes up with it, it always is.”

 “I know.” Your cheeks heat from his compliments and you inhale a lungful. “It’s a shame that not many people will hear about it. What did they say at the printing press?”

 Hoseok grimaces, hesitating on the subject and hoping that you wouldn’t have asked. But you urge him to go on and tell him that your feelings will be spared.

 “Seokjin won’t allow you. He doesn’t believe a woman has anything worthy to say.”

 “Of course. It’s always the same issue.” You’re defeated and at a loss of what to utter. “I know my writing isn’t horrible, especially with your help, dare I say it’s quite good. But in the world we live in, no one wants to hear what a woman would say, much less what a woman would write.”

 Hoseok gazes upon the profile of your visage. The efforts of your labour are evident in the way darkened circles mark the underside of your eye, the natural flush that kisses upon your nose. You are tired and it hurts him to see you this way. “Do you want people to read your work?”

 “Yes, more than anything.” You look outside the window, lost in a trance of a land that would offer a lady like you more opportunities. It’s a silly thought but a prevalent one. “I never cared for recognition or fame. I just want my work to be out there in the world.”

 There is a silence that hangs heavily in the air.

 “Y/N.”

 “Don’t feel the need to comfort me. I am aware that there is no use in contemplating such ridiculousness. My time is better spent putting my active imagination to better use.” You meekly smile, grabbing a new sheet of parchment. A thought brushes across your mind that perhaps if you wedded to someone of importance, your tales can be spread into different civilizations.

 But you have no interest in letting someone take your hand in marriage. Most men would rather you bear children for them than write all day in a room. You’d be better off remaining on your lonesome. But perhaps Hoseok would want to...no...such a foolish thought.

 You have an inkling that you will remain unmarried for the rest of your days.

 The end of your quill is dipped in black ink, preparing to begin another story and you scowl at Hoseok who remains impassive, staring at you at such an intense fixation. “Get back to work before I shake my spear through you!”

 He jumps like his trousers are on fire. “Yes, madam.”

 And the man laughs at your glare.

 //

 A few weeks have passed since Hoseok has bid you farewell, being excused from his duties to travel to his ill mother in another village. You were awaiting for his return but you’re finally drawn out of your home by the excessive noise at the town square.

 “What is going on?”

 A chubby lady with a rounded womb, ready to burst with a new child, chuckles happily and takes your hand. “Your editor, Y/N. Who knew he would be such a literary scholar?”

 “P-pardon me?”

 A new declaration is posted on the wooden board and everyone swarms, despite most being illiterate. The lady who caught wind of news repeats it to you. “Jung Hoseok has been commissioned by the state as the official writer. His play titled as ‘A Midsummer Night's’ Dream caught the eye of the Minister and now he’s published his work under the name of Shakespeare.”

 “E-....excuse me?!”

 You feel faint.

 “Oh, it’s so wonderful, Y/N.” The woman is ignorant to your bubbling wrath. “You should really give his work a try!”

 “That...bastard!” A handful of village folk turn around in shock at your curse and even the lady is taken back, letting go of you and gasping at your barbaric demeanor. But you pay no mind.

 You are too enraged of the lies, the deception, the deceit. Upon racing back home, you discover copies of your work all stolen, ripped away from your hands and name, forged and ransacked.

 And cursing out his name, damning him to the deepest parts of hell, does nothing to sedate the madness of resentments. You will loathe the name of Jung Hoseok until the day you die.

 //

Years later, when Hoseok returns, he receives news from the villagers. Not long after he had left, you suffered under a violent illness and died. He weeps alone as he reads your last written work, ink bled on old pages, a story of enemies and vengeance.

[18th Century]

 The hot sun beams down and sweat slicks down your forehead, coating your skin in a sticky sheen and mixing with the grime on your cheek, the dust clinging to your hair. You are weak from hunger but it’s a familiar feeling that strangely reminds you that you are alive.

 After working since dawn, you take a moment’s rest, blunt sickle in your hand, eyes bleary from the continuous labour. But what catches your sight is the lady of the house walking on the stone path, viewing all the workers and peasants wading through the endless fields.

 “She’s so beautiful.” You sigh in a dreamy manner, following her graceful figure glide by, her cream coloured silk hat matching with the gorgeous gown. Lady Jungha has always been a beauty since birth, powdered skin and rosy cheeks. She is an exquisite phantom, a fictitious being that’s pulled out straight from books. “If only I could look like her.”

 “Why are you so concerned with nonsense beauty?” Your friend stands straight, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Hurry up and focus plowing the wheat fields or else we’ll have nothing to eat!”

 You downcast your head, griping a few words before exhaustion envelops your frame and you keep quiet, concentrating on your duties of a farmer.

 It’s only until the sun is beginning to dip across the horizon that you’re free from the grueling labour. Every part of your body aches as the day before and you only get a single loaf of bread to chew on, cowering beside your friend with a tiny fire that provides warmth inside the brick shack.

 “Y/N, could you fetch a pail of water?” Your friend rinses her face, shuddering from the coldness of the liquid. “We’re all out.”

 “Must it be me?” You sit up from your straw mat, peeking out the window and watching how the sun has fully disappeared. There is no doubt that in ten minutes time, the sky will be black and the moon will rise.

 “I beg of you.” She falls to the ground, suffering from a fever that’s been persisting for the past days. When you pleaded to the lord of the house to let her rest, he didn’t allow such a thing. Your heart only cries when you watch her in this much agony. “I’m not feeling well.”

 “If you must.” You nod, tucking a tattered blanket over her body. “I’ll be back soon.”

 The metal pail clanks as you rush down the dirt path to the well. You try to make it as fast as you can before it becomes completely dark and the nipping chills might lead you to sickness as well.

 But on your way there, with your head facing the dirt, on pure coincidence and on accident, you bump into the body of another person. “I’m so sorry-”

 “Um, pardon me.” He speaks in a sweet voice and you’re drawn upwards, looking the man in his eyes. His natural dark hair is parted to the side with a dab of hair wax, wearing a moss coloured suit; a silk cravat, coat and waistcoat to match. His breech, stockings and shoes are dignified, crisp clothes that show his wealth. “I apologize to interrupt you on your way but may I ask what household is this?”

 You glance over to the grand home towering high in the sky. “Why, this is the Jeon Household. Jeon Jungkook is the lord of the manor and of the land. Who may you be?”

 The man grins. “My name is Jung Hoseok, a traveller scholar.”

 “A scholar?” You smile, easing into the discourse. “That is rather impressive.”

 “Yes, well, I’ve retired to become a tutor and I’ve just arrived in this part of the country yesterday.” Hoseok takes a moment to admire the endless fields of the countryside and the peacefulness that lasts for acres upon acres. “I am afraid I lost my way.”

 You lift one hand to gesture to the path. “The road to the small village is this way and when you arrive at the riverside, leave to the right. There should be an inn there where you can stay at.”

 “Thank you.” He dips his head and before you can bid farewell, he steps forward. “Would it be unmannerly for me to ask you of your name?”

 There’s a second of hesitation, one where you lower yourself, facing the ground. It is shameful for someone like you to be speaking to someone like him, dashing looks and of higher status. You wish it were different but by your battered attire, you cannot lie. “I am L/N Y/N, a lowly servant and farmer to the Jeon Household.”

 However, the man is undeterred by your status and your soft whispers.

 “You are quite the beauty, Lady Y/N, if you do allow me to say. And...a bit familiar.” He gazes at you with a slight frown and finally rips away his eyes once you’ve blushed. Hoseok clears his throat in several harsh coughs. “Thank you for helping me this fine evening.”

 That night, you are unable to catch a single wink of sleep. Your mind is consumed by one single man.

 //

 The sun is falling once more. The wheat fields are tangling with each other, dancing to the warm breeze of the evening, birds chirping their songs before sundown. The fresh scent of the ground follows with the dirtied clothing on your body and you tear off your apron, neckerchief and white linen cap.

 “Where are you going?” Your friend watches you, chewing on her stale bread and bemused by your franticness. “Are you not going to eat?”

 “I will be back soon enough.” You re-lace your stays to hug your frame tighter, dusting off the deep emerald fabric of your petticoat. It’s a shame that you cannot afford a powdered wig or powder for your skin but you make do with what you have, pinching your cheeks for a rosy complexion, brushing your hair to the back of your head and decorating it with a few flowers you had pulled from the side of the path.

 “Why are you trying so hard to look beautiful? You are aware that no one pays no mind, especially to us peasants? They’re all too concerned about themselves to look at us.”

 You know that your friend does not lie.

 No matter what you do, the reflection in the mirror mocks your efforts. Your skin is itchy and of a sickly colour, burnt from being in the sun, the foul stench of labouring in the fields all day follows even after bathing, fingernails blackened from the dirt, the lack of food make your cheeks hollow and bones frail. A pitying gaze from your friend causes you to look away.

 There’s nothing you can do, no amount of colour, pinching or flowers could make you look anything more than ugly. You can either look like the peasant girl that you were born to be or a pathetic court jester - you’re not sure which is worse.

 Yet, you hold your head up high.

 “You don’t understand. I-I’ve met someone.”

 Your friend lowers her bread and stares. “You met someone?”

 “Last night and I can’t help but feel like,” a hopeless sigh spills from your lips, “like he may be my soulmate.”

 Such a concept as soulmates is something that came from a famous book that you heard about once. The writer was a marvelous one, plays and street performances coming from the story and even to this day, countless philosophers are debating the idea that each person may belong to another or select few, created by the so-called ‘fate’.

 “Oh, Y/N. You are too naive.”

 You smile at her. “Believe in what I say, I have a good feeling about this man.”

 Before she is able to ask more questions, you have already left. As fortune may have it, tracing the steps of yesterday, a familiar man stands near the path, admiring the beauty of the endless fields. He turns around at the sound of your huffs and smiles.

 “Is this a coincidence or done on purpose?” He waits patiently for an answer and recognizing how you are flustered by the question, he grins. “I do hope it is the latter for I was also hoping to see you again.”

 Your cheeks flush and a smile holds itself on your face. “Your desire is mutual.”

 The dusk light fills the sky and you pace alongside him, strolling together aimlessly without a place in mind. Simply, you are enjoying his company. “Have you always worked here?”

 “Yes, my parents were also servants for the Jeon Household. It was in my place to continue their duties.” You study the side of his face, chiseled jaw, sharp nose and all, before realizing the rudeness of your actions. “And you? Were you always a traveling scholar?”

 “Ah no, well, I am a tutor now.” He chooses each word carefully and his utterance of the words are gentle. “I am in search of a suitable job. Do you know if there is anyone in the Jeon Household in need of a tutor?”

 “Well, the lord of the house is very educated already.” You’ve always known that lord Jeon has been kind to you and your parents. There were many stories that surrounded him. “He is old and unfortunately a widow. He does have one daughter, however. The lady of the household, Jungah. She’s only nineteen years of age and very beautiful.”

 “Oh.” Hoseok stops to feel the breeze kiss upon his cheeks. It cards through his locks and you watch while in an enamoured state. “Is the lady of the household betrothed?”

 “Not that I know of. Perhaps the lady will need a tutor. I-...” You lower your head, trying to remember your place in the world as a lowly servant. “I could arrange a meeting for you if you wish.”

 “That would be splendid, Y/N. Thank you.” He beams like the sunshine itself and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. But upon realizing that it reveals more of your imperfect complexion, you downcast your head. Hoseok’s gaze was becoming too intense as well. He muses, “You really would be more suited to a bustling town.”

 “A town?”

 “The world has changed, Y/N!” He throws open his arms as if he welcomes the entire universe inside of them. “It’s developed. Such things as working for a lord of the land and barely having enough to eat, people are no longer living in such ways. More and more are leaving the countryside to work at these factories. You can buy food, a warm house, anything you want.”

 He faces you. “It’s wonderful, really. You wouldn’t believe it. You have to see it with your own eyes, Y/N.”

 You smile at his riveting energy but your expression turns to sorrow. “I can’t just leave. They own me here.”

 “I can help you.” Hoseok declares to the rising moon. “I can help you get away from this farm.”

 You gasp, stepping forward. “R-really?”

 “Yes, I have a friend who sells cattle. All you must do is lay on the barrow and let yourself be taken to the border. It’s never been more possible.” His eyes twinkle, brighter than the stars setting above your heads. “All my friend needs in order to agree is ten golden coins.”

 “T-ten?” You reach for your pocket that is weightless. They don’t give you earnings for your work - the food is already the pay. “All I have is four.”

 The man hums in contemplation. “Well, you can give me the four now and when you come up with the other six, I’ll let him know.” You scour your dress to reach inside the pocket, collecting your entire wealth into your hands. “It’s for a better life, Y/N. I want you to be happy.”

 “Thank you.” Your fingers brush against the skin of his palm, letting the golden coins drop into his hand and a strange emotion tugs inside your chest.

 After bidding farewell with the tutor, you watch his backside disappear slowly, counting each step the man takes that increases the distance and leaves him farther away from you.

 //

 Eventually, in three days time, you catch the gracious lady on her morning walk, and she finds interest in the man you describe. Hoseok expresses his gratitude as another meeting is arranged for him to address the lord of the house and it doesn't take long for him to be hired as the official tutor for Lady Jungha.

 You find that the pair of them, Hoseok and Lady Jungha, have taken a liking to each other, often smiling and glancing while strolling at dawn. But your friend insists that your mind is merely running wild again and such a relationship would be scandalous to the Jeon name. For reasons you are too shy to admit, you hope it is true.

 Each evening, you stroll together with Hoseok, mindlessly speaking and letting time trickle away without a notice. You see him frequently, especially since he now lives on the land as well. And the feelings within your being are only festering day by day.

 Except, one night, you cannot sleep well.

 “Where are you going?”

 Your friend lifts her head as you shuffle on outwear, brushing back your hair and leaving it unkempt. “I’ll be back soon. I need to make sure of something.”

 Today, as you waited on the same path, Hoseok never showed up.

 As improper and rude as it may be, you sneak into the manor like a shadow, slipping through the familiar corridors and hallways, past empty rooms and studies. Surely, if you were to be caught, you would be punished; perhaps days of food taken away from you or you would be forced to work the entire field during the night. But you cannot shake off the worry that plagues your mind.

 It’s not like Jung Hoseok breaks his word. He is a man of dignity and respect-

 “Hhmpph...mmp-h…” A muffled whine causes you to halt and you turn to the lady’s room, the door slightly parted and enough for you to peek inside. “Wait...w-wait.”

 There are two shadows on the bed and you narrow your eyes, barely able to see with the moonlight coming through the glass windows. But you recognize the voice immediately. “What’s the matter?”

 “M-my father,” Lady Jungha pants a breath, laid down beneath the man, “if he finds out about us, I’m scared of what he would do to you.”

 “My lady, are you not aware I would readily endanger my own well-being for you?” He places a kiss on her lips, the sound of smacking skin echoing in the quiet room. Your heart drops. “Your beauty is unadulterated, the most magnificent in the land. You are but a fragile flower and your mind of absolute brilliance. Never have I had such a student. No one compares to you.”

 He strips of his shirt, allowing the fabric to flutter to the ground. His large, coarse hands slink up the lady’s legs, pushing up her silk nightgown until it pools high above her chest. He removes her undergarments and you spin around, back hitting against the wall, teeth sinking into your bottom lip and breaking the skin.

 “Let me reward you. Let me take care of you.” His voice is soft and sweet, dripping of luscious honey and you fear that you will spew the little contents in your stomach out. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

 There are more groans and whines, kisses pressed and skin slapping on skin. The vulgarities and lewd sounds sends a warm wash over your body and you swallow hard, finding it difficult to walk away. “Okay, take me, Hoseok.” The young lady giggles quietly. “I allow you to defile my innocence.”

 Your hand covers your mouth to hide the breaking sob and you run as saltwater clouds the surroundings.

 “Is there something the matter?” Your friend shifts over the straw mat, shaken from her slumber and your sudden appearance.

 “I’m well. Thank you.” You face the dirtied wall, holding your palm to your lips, weeping into your hands until the exhaustion of your labour from the day has taken hold of your mind.

 //

 The sunlight does not seem bright anymore.

 The hard work and plowing of the fields offers a sense of odd fulfillment. The repetitive motions and slick sweat sticking to your face brings you down from the clouds to the ground. You remember who you are: a lowly servant who will never be anything more.

 “I believe I will take the hand of Lady Jungha in the days to come.” Hoseok tells you one evening as you both have stopped to stare out at the endless countryside. You’ve learnt to find sorrow within these walks now.

 “Is that so?” You offer a kind smile, sincerely ecstatic for the man. Despite his mere status, he is a good match for the lady of the house. They are both of beauty and dashing looks.

 “If it were not for you and your efforts, I would not be standing here today.” Hoseok grins, hands behind his back and spine tall. “One day, when I become the lord of the land, I will set you free.”

 You bow your head. “Then it would be my absolute honour, Lord Hoseok.”

 The man grins at the new title and your heart aches as you watch him stride away, increasing the distance and disappearing away from you.

 True to his word, in a month, he has taken Lady Jungha’s hand. It happens too quickly for you to fully understand, the wedding coming and going within a blink, and you simply focus on working the fields, having enough to eat after each day, working hard to obtain six more coins.

 In due time, the strolls with the man diminish until there is nothing left. Yet, what surprises you is the sudden illness of Lord Jungkook and his succumb to the mysterious disease. It is overnight that Jung Hoseok becomes the main land owner and master of the household.

 “Wake up! Wake up, peasants!” Horrific metal is rattled on metal, shocking you out of slumber and you awake, rubbing at bleary eyes. Your friend is in a similar state of confusion, exchanging a glance at you before she gets up, grabbing a cloak to cover her nightgown.

 “How dare you intrude into a lady’s quarters?” You gasp at the men who barge and kick down all the doors of the little huts. The stranger simply laughs at your scoldings and roughly grabs your arm, hauling you outside against your will and throwing you to the dirt. You yelp and your friend comes rushing to your aid, covering you with your own cloak.

 “Take all their belongings!” The men shout and the other servants are torn away from each other, children, women and men alike. “Rip down everything!”

You watch as they scour your tiny room for the little things that you have, a pot of water and straw mat, perhaps a stack of wheat in the corner. You stagger to your feet and a familiar figure stands by the side of the road, gazing out at the wide countryside.

 “Lord Hoseok, I plead with you to tell me what is happening.” Behind him, your friends and their families are screaming, homes torn apart and fires flickering your shadows on the ground. “Why are you treating these poor servants this way?”

 “Oh, Y/N.” There is something strange about the man. His kindness and benevolence has long left his soul and his smile frightens you. “I am selling the land.”

 “Selling the land?! What-?” You are befuddled and baffled. “Does Lady Jungha know about this?!”

 The corner of his mouth lifts, and he locks his eyes with yours. “The lady is bedridden in grief from her father’s death. She cannot sleep or eat and is no longer a wife to me. I have plans to send her to an asylum to get better.”

 “P-pardon me? T-that cannot be true!” You shake your head until it rattles and you can’t see straight. “That must be false! I have to see her for myself-”

 Hoseok clutches your wrist in his hand. “You will do no such thing.”

 A sick, twisted part of him was once curious to see how foolish and easily persuaded you are. He isn’t disappointed. You believe him so easily that he does not need to put forth effort. It nearly spoils the fun and amusement for him to trick you. You almost awaken a sense of guilt within him. Almost.

 It strikes you like a slap and your eyes widen. “You are not a scholar nor a tutor are you?”

 “And you realize so too late.” He lets go, applauding for the little wit you have left. “I lied.”

 Your stomach churns. You feel sick. “Who are you?”

 “A swindler who was once a peasant like you.” His gaze softens a mere tad. “I never once harboured feelings for the lady of the house, I was only trying to gain wealth. You can hate me if you want to, that does not matter.”

 “You are the truest demon that I have met,” you spit out in rage, “and hell has opened its doors for you.”

 He leans his head to one side, chuckling and laughing at the sudden insults. “Are you really so naive, Y/N? Are you not tired of licking the shoes of people who are of higher status? But I must say, if it were not for you, my scheme would have never succeeded. And for that, I thank you.”

 Hoseok reaches into his pocket, taking a single coin, one that you had given him, and he slaps it back into your hands, closing your palm so you can keep it safe.

 You shake with wrath, your entire frame rattling and knees threatening to buckle to the dirt. With the little strength you have left, you throw the coin as far as you can into the fields. Hoseok chuckles again and you prepare to launch over, maul his face with your dirtied fingernails. But his men grab your arms too soon, restraining your limbs and forcing you to kneel.

 “I-I hate you! I spite you! Damn you, Jung Hoseok! Damn you!”

 “What do you want me to do with this girl?”

 “Take her and sell her for the best price.” Hoseok waves his hand, dismissing his men and bidding you a final farewell. “She is rather valuable.”

 You’re thrown into a wooden cage, trapped and hanging onto the bars as the horse drags you elsewhere. You scream and shout but the man does not spare a single glance. You watch his backside disappear slowly, cursing each stride he takes that increases the distance and leaves you farther away from him.

[19th Century]

 “Are you looking for something?” A rounded woman emerges from the back of her market stand, sweeping your frame up and down to guess the wealth you have.

 You’re in a fitted linen shirt and dark green woolen skirt, belt wrapped around the natural waist of the simple ensemble and bonnet decorating your pinned up chignon hair. You look like a well-off peasant, not a customer who could pay for much, but it is a fairly good front since you’re actually penniless.

 “No, I’m just looking for now.” You smile softly and the woman huffs out in annoyance, spinning around to address some other folks who have gathered on the other side. As her back is turned, your fingertips run against the selection of green flower brooches, the gems sparkling in the sunlight.

 You slip one into your sleeve and walk away.

 The women wandering about the market are adorning full, bell-shaped skirt dresses, petticoats with frilled hems, hair in tight curls framing their face and maybe a long time ago, you would be envious of such beautiful clothing but it does not concern you anymore. There’s much more important business to attend to.

 The bustle of the crowded streets and children running at your feet is suffocating and you make a left at the alleyway, sliding the brooch from out your pocket and attaching it on the woolen shawl draped on your shoulders. It looks much better this way. You’re ready.

 Another left, another right, going deeper and deeper into the dirty alleyways that run with rats and of the poor pleading for money - eventually, you make it to the pine painted door, a dingy and discreet place in the corner that already smells of tobacco from the outside.

 You kick down the door. The chaos inside stops.

 “Men!” You smirk at their confused expressions. “Your real competition is here.”

 As a woman, it may be ungenteel to hike up your dress, put your boot on the table and shoot dice while hollering and screaming with the opposite sex but why should you feel ashamed when you are dominating and winning all bets?

 “I’ll bet one more time.” Your opponent, Min Yoongi, slaps down a hefty sack of golden coins. The others cheer, the entire room having all gathered around your table and watching the dark horse snaring victory after victory. “If the dice makes it even, I get my earnings back but if it makes it odd, I will give you the rest of this.”

 You contemplate the choice, weighing the reward and consequences. It sounds appealing, especially when everyone is howling for you to take the deal. In the end, you smirk at the newfound confidence. “You’re on.”

 The dice is thrown. Each person holds their breath.

 In the next twelve minutes, you’ve completely ransacked the place dry of their money. And you laugh your head off, clutching onto your stomach and cackling while the others can only sigh at their humiliating, multiple defeats.

 “Where did a woman like you learn how to gamble?” Yoongi sips from his glass of rum, eyes studying you carefully.

 “Ah.” You smile at him. “But there is your mistake. Woman or man, ‘tis true they are different but not so much. You would be a fool not to look at me as your equal opponent.”

 You’ve seen things that others would faint at; held a gun within your hands, fired shots into the sky, sailed seas with pirates until you found a home here. Yoongi grins. “A fool I am indeed.”

 “Hey!” A piercing interruption at the back causes all heads to turn. The bulky man watching from earlier is holding the dice within his hands, frown decorating his ugly face and rotting teeth. “This dice is fake! It’s not ours!”

 At once, all necks crane towards you.

 They stare. The large men, brawny arms and thighs, bruises lining their skin, red fists and faces becoming scarlet begin to take slow steps forward. Yoongi has his eyes widened, mouth drawing open. You sheepishly smile. And…

 You make a run for it.

 “Get back here!” They dive over wooden tables and stools, tripping and falling, glasses of rum and cigars abandoned, thrown onto the ground. By then, you’ve already yanked open the door, being chased down the alleyway. “She’s a swindler!”

 “A cheat!”

 The horde of men races after you but are no match for your agile legs and speed. You even laugh to further mock them, dashing through the dark alleyways, past the poor and rats, clutters of rubbish and dirtied children. It’s like a peasant parade, a grand crowd following after in shouts and screams and you are their gracious leader.

 “I prefer con artist!”

 You make it to the main street again, knocking over stands and throwing over tables to slow down the angry men. Women scream, men exhale in surprise, children darting away from your form. They trip and stumble, pushing their way through the mass of people. “Give back our money!”

 “Sorry but no thanks!” You hold up a heavy sack of coins above your head with a tinkling laugh, shaking the coins inside to further taunt them. “I need this more than you!”

 The police squadron has noticed the ruckus in the area and has begun running after the ruffians, blowing their whistles and commanding them to stop. You hope they catch the criminals so that you may be spared but if they’re caught, you would be too. People like you are never caught.

 The whistles are blown. “In the name of the royal family, halt immediately criminals!”

 The men continue to run after you. “Kill her!”

 “That’s a bit severe, is it not?!” You’re out of breath, painting and heaving for air.

 You know you won’t last long now. Hence, there’s no other choice but to turn the corner into another street and immediately, in the empty area, you place yourself into another narrow alleyway. “Where did that whore go?!”

 You gasp in offense, muttering quietly, “I am not a whore.”

 The incoherent grumblings quickly turns into a scream when someone suddenly seizes you, their hand yanking your arm but the sound is muffled as a palm is clasped over your mouth and you’re pressed against someone’s firm chest. You pull away from the stranger.

 He smirks. “Caught you.”

 You shove his fingers off of your body, snatching the collar of his fine coat and hauling the man deeper into the shadowed depths of the alleyway. “Jung Hoseok-” You push him to the wall. “-What are you doing here?! How?!”

 The man looks off to the other end that is lit by the sunlight, the unsuspecting thugs rushing past and officers following their tails. “I see you haven’t shaken off your gambling habits.” The son of the loan shark corners you with his larger body. “You still owe my family many loans.”

 “Damn you.” Your teeth grit. “Fine, be as it may, take me to your debtors’ prison.”

 “Good. It would be best if you follow me-”

 In an instant, your shoes have twisted upon the gravel and your heel meets the dirt as you lob your body to the left, ready to take down the alley for yet another chase. But you fail to consider Jung Hoseok’s own agile skills, and he grabs your waist before you’re able to dash.

 “Must you always run?”

 The hot breath tickles against the shell of your ear and you scowl, curses to be spewed on your tongue, but he spins you around and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

 You scream. “Put me down, bastard! I am a lady!”

 “You aren’t.” He rudely smacks your ass, sending a jolt up your spine and you’re silenced in bafflement. The man makes his way on the opposite road of the chaos, into a quieter place with fewer folks wandering about. “And if you do not follow me, I will throw you to those rancid men. Would you like that better?”

 “I despise you.”

 Hoseok smiles, satisfied to see your more compliant behaviour. You decide that you’ll allow him to continue carrying you this way. You’re tired anyhow, legs sore from the race and at the end of the day, he is wasting away his own energy by hauling you there.

 “You shouldn’t keep making bets with people if you choose to con them. One day, you’ll be beaten to death.”

 You scoff loudly. “I am going to win in order to pay all my debts back, foolish man.”

 “Gambling never works, haven’t you learnt? You’d end up wasting your entire life savings away and living by the city’s sewers.”

 “Isn’t that where we’re all heading anyway?” You rest your hand on your cheek, propping your elbow on his broad backside. There are people staring at you, couples cowering away in disdain. You wonder if they’re soulmates.

 Soulmates - the idea that a kindred soul has been fixed for each individual are not only in stories anymore but in real lives. Folks have supposedly begin recognizing an odd burst when they meet their other half. It’s a ridiculous phenomenon. You couldn’t care less about soulmates. What matters is wealth.

 Wealth would help you, free you, give you a better tomorrow. You’ve lived this entire life alone and it is no doubt that for the rest of it, you will continue to be by yourself. There is no one trustworthy - it took you too long of a time to learn that.

 “I’m not naive anymore.”

 “Good.” He laughs, finally setting you down on the property, swinging his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close as he guides you inside the building, down the familiar halls. You shove his limb off with an ugly scowl, and he smiles. You accompany each other in synchronized steps, the surroundings too familiar for your liking.

 Jung Hoseok is a man with short, black, tousled hair. He wears a double-breasted frock coat and long trousers, a luxurious attire considering the family he comes from. You hate it even more that he is a rather dapper young fellow.

 “This is for your own benefit, Y/N. You don’t even have any money for food. At least if you stay at this place, I can bring you some bread to eat and you have warm shelter.”

 You step inside the cell, and he locks the door with a brass key.

 “This place is cold and horrid,” you cry out. “There are rats and fleas everywhere! You think I could stay here?! You’d be leaving me to die!”

 He smiles at you through the gaps of the metal bars. The stone floorings and walls barricade you in. “I will bring you a blanket and you can make do.”

 You spit with all the fury and rage festered in your soul, “Do not act like you care for me!”

 “Don’t mistake my pity for generosity then.”

 “Damn you, Jung Hoseok.” You grip the cold bars that trap you, screaming after his retreating form. “I loathe you with every last breath in my body!”

 He turns from a little way, figure engulfed in the darkness of the hall. “If it helps, I share my own hatred for you. You make my job a lot harder than need be.” A small smile holds on his face and you see it all too well. “Just sit down and begin separating the strands of rope in the basket. Enough of it and in a few years, you might be released.”

 You curse him to hell and back.

 //

 The sunlight coming from the barred window is always hot in the hour of twelve. You’ve noticed this before a ways back but thought nothing much of it. Today, it makes all the difference.

 You’ve collected the leaves and grass from the corners of the cell, cringing and sobbing out when you accidentally brushed your hand in rat feces, a dead rat and maggots eating at the decaying flesh. But alas, after wiping your fingers on your tattered clothing, you continued on your quest.

 It took a while to break the wooden basket and carve out something decent but you managed with the little fork Hoseok gave you to eat. It’s all thanks to him that you can do this.

 “Come on now.” You murmur, rubbing the two wooden sticks against each other on top of the pile of grass, leaves and rope. There’s a puff of smoke and sweat builds at your forehead as you work your arms back and forth. “I beg of you…”

 The sunlight helps to ignite the tiny flame and a smirk spreads into your cheeks.

 You nurse the fire as quietly and quickly as you can, throwing the bundles and bundles of rope that was prepared for you to separate into the light. As the fire crackles, meeting the height of your waist, you take the stool, standing on top of it and you throw yourself over the tiny ledge.

 Using the motion, you kick the bars of the window loose and you throw your legs out. The height of the drop is survivable. But before you can make your escape, pattering footsteps echo through the hall. “Y/N?!”

 Hoseok stands back from your cell in dreaded horror. “Bloody hell, you started a fire?!”

 “A good distraction, eh?” You smirk at his glare. It was always within the con rule book to create distractions and delay the enemy. “I suppose this would be a good time to bid you adieu.”

 He calls your name over and over again, gripping the iron bars that separate the two of you.

 “You know no matter where you go, I will find you?!”

 “Aww, if you were not an enemy, that would almost sound romantic.” You give him a flying kiss, lips smacking against your palm and gestured out to him. He frowns and you give a wink, a cheerful giggle as well. “Goodbye, Jung Hoseok.”

 “Y/N!”

 And you slip out the window, right out of his grasps, running as fast as you can.

[20th Century]

 Even as the threat of war breathes down your neck, threatening to grab hold of your lungs and smother you in all its horror, soulmates still run rampant through the streets, slaughtering each sliver of hope you have left, strangling the happy life that you want so desperately.

 “You haven't found…” Your friend leans close as if sharing a secret. “...‘the one’?”

 The world revolved around the idea of soulmates. It hit civilization like a ship’s cannon, sudden and full of impact. Now, it was all girls could giggle about and boys could fantasize. Folks would be absolutely consumed with it, parents pairing their children and friends’ together and hoping for that burst of electricity that could only be shared between kindred souls.

 One of the questions you were asked insistently was: ‘have you found the one yet?’. Your answer didn’t matter as much as the pitying expressions, the words of consolation of ‘you’ll find one soon’ and how people told you their own story. They always said that no matter where you went, where you’d go off to, your soulmate would end up finding you. That’s how the scientists and teachers, old philosophers and stories, the newspapers said it.

 That’s how fate is.

 “What if I just don’t have a soulmate?”

 You exhale a breath towards the sky and your friend looks at you in astonishment. “Who told you that? Plus, no scientist has said such thing yet. Everyone has a soulmate! Some people just take a bit of time, Y/N. You’ll find someone soon, I just know it.”

 She says it with such certainty, as if declaring the sun will rise again. “And when you do, you’ll know instantly.”

 You’ve heard it a million times before, the way your friends have described it, you’ve seen it with your own eyes. Yet, your own faith and hope are dwindled.

 “Isn’t there more to life than finding your soulmate, getting married and having children?”

 You’re not sure where this is all coming from but perhaps it is the resentments of your universe, how your parents have constantly shoved the ideas of romance and matrimony down your throat since you were a child. When you look around, women are glowing from pregnancies or branded with a ring on their finger.

 “What if I want to go to university instead?”

 “Are you ill?” She nibbles on her bread. “Why are you speaking such nonsense? Y/N, this is the Great Depression and I know your own family is well off but people don’t even have enough to eat.” Your friend shakes her head, scoffing at the ridiculousness of your words. “School...and for women? What kind of place would ever accept that?”

 You don’t respond. She sighs.

 “Y/N, don’t you want happiness and to feel loved? We don’t have many choices other than those things. So, keep your chin up and don’t give up on the idea of soulmates just yet.”

 It’s a rose-coloured world. Everyone sees the universe in blazing shades, laughing and grinning even at such a poor time. They see the glass as half-full, each failure an opportunity to learn, pouring of optimism. They beam with love and happiness, holding hands and sharing kisses.

 Yet, you don’t feel like you are flushing with rose. You are green. A monster of envy.

 //

 The heavy rain beats down on top of your head, rattling the inside of your skull. The surroundings have turned into a shade of grey, vision clouded with water droplets clinging onto your lashes. Each step you take splatters puddles onto your house dress, a kelly-coloured, floral, cotton hand-me-down from your mother.

 You’re drenched from head to toe, squealing before taking shelter under a closed flower shop.

 You don’t notice the person who you’re caught in the rain with, the individual that was already there and lifting their hand out to catch the droplets, staring up at the clouds and considering how much longer the storm will take. “Looks like it won’t stop anytime soon, eh?”

 Your body jumps in shock but soon eases from the warm and familiar presence beside you.

 “Jung H-Hoseok.” You blink at him, managing a slight smile out of politeness. “What a surprise.”

 The man is a notorious playboy, someone you’ve seen sucking face in alleyways with other girls, feeling them up right in public, especially Yoonji from three houses down your parents’. Your own mother has told you to stay away from men like him. They’re nothing but trouble.

 “Are you alright?” He gives a sly grin, taking a step closer to you and his body radiates the heat your own skin craves. If someone were to see now, they’d immediately become suspicious and in this small town with gossip being the main activity, your mother would know about it instantly.

 Luckily, no one’s around and the streets are empty.

 “I’m perfectly fine, just soaked from the rain.”

 Hoseok smirks. He’s a cunning fellow, a known looker too. His white shirt is rolled to his sleeves, veins popping from his forearm and you know that any lady in this town would be swooning to be in this position but you don’t dare look at him. You focus on the street.

 “It’s been awhile since we chatted, Y/N.”

 “Well, I’d rather not.”

 “Why?” He tips his head to the side, staring at you with the utmost concentration that you nearly begin to break a sweat.

 You finally look at him, twisting on your ankle to frown. “Would Min Yoonji like it if she knew you were trying to flirt with me right now?”

 “Darling, no one ever said anything about flirting.” He’s amused and that makes you angrier. “But if you want me to, then I can.”

 “You. Are. Ridiculous.”

 “And you are beautiful.”

 “You!” Your mouth has filled with cotton, cheeks heating up by the second and it would be an understatement to say that you’re flustered. How is it that he can get under your skin so quickly and break down your barriers; you’ll never know the answer. “Ugh!”

 “Have I stolen those words out of your pretty lips? Or should I kiss ‘em to make sure they’re okay?”

 You scoff, crossing your arms as if it’s for extra protection. “Now I know why my mother told me to stay from the likes of you!”

 “Why?” His grin spreads into his cheeks, and he leans down to meet your eyes. “Because I make you excited, because I’m dangerous, and she’d rather have you settle down with someone plain and boring like that idiot down the street, Taehyung? Kid doesn’t even know what sex is.”

 You narrow your eyes, spitting out the syllables like it’s your only arsenal left against his suave attacks, “because you toy with women’s hearts and throw them after you’re done.”

 “I would never throw you away.” He answers without missing a beat, leaning against the glass window and studying your frame carefully. “I’ve always liked you, you know. You’re different from the rest of ‘em.”

 “H-How so?” Your interest is piqued, and he realizes it, cockily smirking yet again.

 “You’re not a simple one. You’re a challenge and I like that.”

 There’s a familiar feeling about the man and it puts you on edge. Though you must admit, it is exhilarating to be speaking to him and simply considering all the scandalous acts you could do together in secret. “So once I become easy, you’ll be done with me?”

 “Never.” He shakes his head. “You might know me as a heartbreaker but Y/N, sweetheart, I’m a changed man.”

 Your brow lifts. “Oh?”

 Hoseok sighs with exhaustion. “The war is coming. Everyone says it ain’t, but we all know it’s coming. Before I’m drafted to go out to the field and die, I’d like to open my heart once and love someone completely.” He stares at you once more. “And if it’s you, I think I can do it.”

 You’re filled with bafflement again. “I...you…”

 “At least give me a chance, Y/N.” The rain pitter patters against the green awning of the florist’s shop, the scent of the fresh earth fills your senses and you feel overwhelmed with a sense of peace. More so, Hoseok’s pleading twitches your fingers and melts the barrier around your vulnerable heart. “Let me take you out on a date. What do you say?”

 It’s the first thing you think of. You whisper it in a gentle voice.

 “What about your soulmate?”

 “That’s not a problem.” He smiles, looking out at the street that still pours. “Don’t have one, never will. I’m a free soul.”

 “Huh.” You giggle, having never heard such a thing aside from it coming out of your own mouth. “Soulmate-less people do exist after all, don’t they?”

 “They sure do. And once people figure it out, there’s gonna be nothing but pity for folks like me.”

 He can already feel your skin on his, a simple brush of the shoulders but it leaves him aching. Hoseok wonders what those lips taste like, sweet or of crisp citrus, how soft your mouth would feel on his, what it would be like to swallow your pants and make you the happiest woman on this damn forsaken planet.

 “You mean folk like us.” You bring him out from his daydream, and he realizes that it’s better to be in reality since you’re here by his side, in the flesh and beautifully smiling. “I don’t have a soulmate either. I can tell. It’s something in me that says so.”

 “Yeah…” He gazes at you, amazed at how true your words are. He really hasn’t met anyone like you, who knew him better than he did, who felt the things that he did, someone to share sadness with. “I’ve never met anyone where I’ve felt a burst of electricity. For all I know, my world has always been bright colours and all that sort.”

 “Hmm…” You look at him, locking your eyes into his fixed stare. “You know, you feel real familiar, Jung Hoseok. Maybe we’ve met before this life.”

 The man grins. “That’s the kind of line I used to use when I was trying to flirt with somebody.”

 You nudge him, brushing your shoulder against his again. “Maybe I am trying to flirt.”

 “Can I kiss you?”

 “Yes, you may.”

 His lips touch yours until he caresses the back of your neck, holding you close until your chest is pressed against his and his frame shelters you. Candy - he grins when he finally figures out the sweet taste, and he chases the flavour of your velvet lips until a gentle whine leaves your throat.

 Although there is no burst of electricity, your heart doesn’t stop and your breath doesn’t get caught, all you know is that you’re happy. And this is enough for you.

 //

 Falling in love with Hoseok is a complete accident.

 You don’t mean to be head over heels for the man, certainly don’t mean for him to take your heart and kiss you senseless until your limbs feel of butter. When your parents scold your ears off, you resolve to break the relationship but somehow, you run back into his arms like a fool. He takes you and comforts you like a man has never done before. You don’t mean to smile so brightly when he calls you beautiful. You don’t mean to be so weak that you feel marrying him wouldn’t be so bad. You don’t mean any of these things but Hoseok was always a cunning one.

 Maybe it is a mistake but the best one you’ve ever made.

“This is my old babe.” Hoseok slaps her trunk lightly. “Someone threw ‘er away and I told my pop I’d fix her up and I did it. I gotta admit, I love her to death.”

 “More than me?’

 “Maybe.” He teases and chuckles when you roll your eyes. There’s nothing special, at least not in your eyes, but when you lay a finger, your boyfriend inhales sharply. “Careful now. This is a Cadillac Sixty Special.”

 You give him an unimpressed expression, hands on your hips and head quirked to one side. “I’m starting to really believe you love a car more than me.”

 “I’m just joking, babe.” Hoseok leans over and plants a soft kiss on your mouth. Before you can pout, he opens the backseat door and ushers you inside. “For m’lady.”

 You get in, and he follows soon after, shutting it and the pair of you stare out the empty road.

 There’s a long pause. “This it?”

 “What do you mean?” He gasps. “This is the best view you could get! This car’s the best!”

 You sigh again and Hoseok laughs, leaning over and draping his arm over you, pulling you close and you rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m just kidding around. I know a view that’s much better than this.”

 “And what’s that?” To answer your question, his other hand begins to skim on your thigh, fingertips tracing your skin, getting higher and higher and shifting your cotton dress up until your underwear peeks out. You grab his wrist, looking around and whispering in hushes, “What are you thinking?! We’re out in broad daylight in your parent’s driveway!”

 “No one’s around, honey. C’mon…” He noses at your hair and it’s not like you don’t want this. You do very much, perhaps more than him but you’re also afraid of what would happen if Mrs. Kim, the next door neighbor, decides to walk her little puppy and faints when she sees what’s going on.

 Finally, after some contemplation, you grab Hoseok’s face, pressing your mouth against his until he smiles into the kiss. “You better make this worth my while, Jung.”

 His pupils are blown out, lips swollen and ready to devour you in the backseat of his used car. “Oh, I will.”

 At the very least, he cares about you enough to be okay with staining the leather.

 Regardless of what troubles you face - your parents’ disapproval, the looming presence of the war, your own worries and anxieties about the relationship - Jung Hoseok is constantly around the corner. No matter where you go, he’s always able to find you. The man makes your heart sing soothing lullabies and maybe you’ll never have a soulmate but at least you have him.

 “Jung Hoseok here to save the beautiful m’lady.”

 There’s a blazing smile written across his features and you laugh, causing him to melt into a warmer smile. He jogs up to you, draping a coat over your shoulders to defend you against the slight nipping breeze. The pair of you are taking a walk around his neighborhood, an odd pastime but one you insisted on.

 “Are you okay?”

 You secure the warm fabric over your exposed skin, savouring his scent that is lingering on each stitch of the wool fabric. “I’m fine. Why?”

 Hoseok wiggles his brows in a suggestive manner. “Because you were limping the other day.”

 You scoff. “And that was because of who?”

 Your boyfriend giggles sweetly, draping his arm over your shoulder and pulling you close into his chest. You ease from the gesture, the nervousness temporarily rolling off your shoulders. As the both of you pass a minty coloured mailbox, you finally break the silence.

 “Hey, have you been getting your mail lately?”

 “Every Sunday as usual. Why?” He is amused at the strange question, turning to look at you but already having an inkling on what the whole gist is about. “Are you worried about the war?”

 You hide your face, diverting your eyes and your voice is soft, barely on the edge of breaking. “You know they already told Namjoon and Jimin? Those two are leaving next week, packing all their bags, saying goodbye to their loved ones and family members and...and-”

 “Hey. Hey now. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.” He gently boinks your head with his, smiling and placing a kiss on the crown. “They’re older than I am and my brother hasn’t even been called yet. There’s no way they’ll call me first. Plus if I did go, I’d have Namjoon and Jimin and my brother to look out for me.”

 “But what if-”

 “No what if’s. Don’t wanna hear it.” He sulks with a pout, letting go of you and instead, catching your hand within his. He holds it tight, lacing your fingers together and you smile at him sadly.

 “Are you scared?”

 “Nope.” He punctuates the syllable and shakes his head. “What’s there to be afraid of? I’m not afraid.”

 You squeeze his hand. “It’s okay if you are. I would be.”

 “Why are you suddenly asking me all these questions?” He stops in front of his house, holding you close and staring at your expression. “What’s going on in that little pretty head of yours that has you worrying so much?”

 Hoseok knows you too well at this point. Your cheeks flush and you stare at the ground. “There is something. And, I’m scared of what you’re gonna say when you know.”

 “Scared of what I'm gonna say?” He laughs and kisses your cheek. “Darling, there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. Don’t you know that I’m fearless?”

 You lift your brow in an incredulous manner. “Really?”

 “Except for spiders, I don’t fight things that’s got more than six legs,” he teases and then becomes serious, “but enough of the jokes, what’s wrong?”

 “I...we’re….” You hesitate, stuttering and an absolute mess. Maybe it’s foolish but you trust this man with all your heart and you love him so. Hence, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself before the storm comes. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

 “What.”

 “I’m pregnant?” You nervously laugh, swinging your held hands and staring at your shoes. “I don’t know how long it’s been but I haven’t been feeling well lately and I haven’t had my...cycle in a while. All the signs, I got them.”

 “Oh wow.” He exhales a lungful, looking off into the distance without an expression. Hoseok is in a state of disbelief, unable to wrap his mind around it, and he repeats you a few times, “We’re gonna have a baby. A baby.”

 “Yep…” You study him carefully, having not expected much but the lack of communication was no less than being put on a tightrope, holding your breath and on the brink of anticipation. “What do you think?”

 “That’s….I’m….I’m going to go...for a bit..”

 “What?!” Out of all the possible reactions, this had to hurt the most - there was no reaction. “You’re leaving?!”

 “I just have to.” He begins to back away, getting to his vehicle that’s parked at the side. “I gotta get some air. See you.”

 “Wait!” You run after him, shouting with all your might as he gets into his little precious car. “Jung Hoseok!” He ignores you completely, putting the keys into the ignition and starting the engine while you bang on the window. “Hoseok! We’re going to talk about this!”

 Despite your fist pounding against the window, heaving breaths shouting through the sky, he pulls away from the curb and goes into reverse. “Hoseok- Fuck! OW FUCKING SHIT!”

 As he was backing up, he mercilessly runs over your foot.

 Pain shoots up your spine and you’re forced to stumble, crouching over and clutching onto your squashed, dirty shoe. You attempt to rip your limb away from under the rubber tire but the force is too much. It feels like you’ve broken your foot or a toenail was ripped off, that it’s bleeding in your tattered nylon sock. It swells and screams. To top off the agony, like a cherry thrown on top of a sundae, he finally drives his car off, freeing your extremity, disappearing in the distant fog and abandoning you on the side of the road.

 “Are you kidding me?!” You sob out to the sky, knocking your head back and letting your broken foot pulsate and throb inside your poor sandal. “HOSEOK!”

 //

 You should’ve known better.

 At the first sign of commitment, he had ran for the hills and was never seen again. You were lied to. You were betrayed. It didn’t matter if you loved him until your heart ached and it didn’t matter if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. You should’ve listened - to others and to your own instinct. The familiar feeling about the man that put you on edge was a warning.

 Jung Hoseok is never there when you truly need him.

 When you knock on his door, his mother tells you he is not there. When you hear that he has been sent a letter, he is not there. When you wait for a final goodbye, he is not there. When you search for him desperately at the train station before he is sent to the war, he is not there.

 When your foot heals, he is not there.

When you lose the baby, he is not there.

When you cry until it hurts, he is not there.

 When you find out that he has died in the midst of the battlefield, he is truly gone forever.

 “I’m sorry.”

 His comrade lowers his head, hat held in his hand, teardrops dripping on your front doorstep. “W-we couldn’t even get his dog tags. He’s gone, Y/N. Hoseok is dead.”

Jung Hoseok never comes back.

 He never gets to face your wrath, your revenge, your anger or heartbreak. He could never marry you if he wanted to, hold you in his arms and apologize a thousand times, try again to raise a child and to kiss your lips on days when you’re tired. He is not there to grow old with you.

 And you have never been angrier.

 “Who said you could leave, Jung Hoseok?!”

 You screech it to the sobbing sky, embracing the cold and harsh rain drilling on your skull. It drenches you, anchoring you to the ground and you ignore the dirt that splashes against your black dress, walking further and further out to the field.

 “You were supposed to go down on your knees and beg for my fucking forgiveness!” You shriek until your throat is raw, crying it out until you’re not sure what is teardrops or raindrops. It aches everywhere and he isn’t here. He isn’t here. Hoseok isn’t here anymore. “You were supposed to cry when you found out the baby’s gone! Bastard. You are a fucking bastard! You know that?!”

 No matter where you go, Hoseok is always able to find you. But why does he never show up when you need him the most?

 “You threw me away! You left me alone like everyone said you would! I resent you!” Your voice gives out, a mere whimper that no one can hear against the thundering sky. “I resent being in love with you. You were supposed to stay with me, goddammit!”

 The rain is ugly. It reminds you of the day you kissed him.

 “When I meet you again, I swear I’ll never forget the things you’ve done to me. All of it.” You’re not done with Hoseok, far from it. You still have to grab him by the collar, curse and scream and swear at him until he apologizes. You never got to kiss him one last time, embrace him, stare at his face until it’s imprinted into your mind. You didn’t get to say goodbye yet.

 Although the rain can’t, the Heavens can hear the oath you vow.

 “I’ll never forget you,” you breathe, “or so help me god!”

[Present Day]

 You live in fear.

 Regardless of where you are, you’re constantly on edge. You look over your shoulder, running from one city to another, frightened when you catch a tall figure with tousled black hair. It’s been years since you’ve been like this but it seems like you’re still suffering without him around.

 “So, we’re just going to trim half an inch of your hair.”

 You smile in the mirror as the hairdresser positions her silver scissors. “Yes, please.”

 But as you catch a person entering the salon, chiseled jaw and sharp nose, dark locks and great height, you flinch and cower. The lady screams, “hold still!”.

 Though, it’s too late.

 Your head ends up with a horrendous bob haircut. And it wasn’t who you thought it was either. The man was a stranger.

 On another particular day, while making it to your work and gripping an umbrella over your head as it drizzles, across the road and past the fog, you catch a familiar person. Of course as any sane individual would, you scream and try to book it the other way. Unfortunately, your heel ends up getting caught in the cracks of the sidewalk and you collide with a random pedestrian, twisting your ankle in the process as you face-plant.

 Once again, the person you saw was a stranger.

 “Have you found your soulmate yet, Y/N?”

 Your colleague quirks her head to the side, fingers laced together with her husband’s. You down your glass of wine, ordering another from the bar and you look her dead in her eyes.

 “Don’t have one.”

 She doesn’t ask anymore questions.

 If you knew what your grandmother had told you all those years ago, if you knew even before this life and all the others, you would’ve stayed the fuck away from any name of Jung Hoseok.

 You don’t have a soulmate. Far from it. But no longer are you dripping in envy, a green monster to the love surrounding the universe. You’re just trying to survive.

 You don’t have a soulmate, though, you’re not completely free either...no...you have something much, much different and much worse. You have a destructive parasite, destined to ruin each path that you take and cause you sadness, pain, anger. You have something that is guaranteed to lie to you, betray your trust, to hurt you in ways where you’re unable to stand back up again.

 Jung Hoseok is your destined enemy.

 //

 “Why couldn’t anyone else go?” You grumble incoherently underneath your breath, eyes shut tight and head leaning against the cold window. “Dammit, dammit.”

 “Welcome aboard on flight W560 and thank you for flying on our airlines today. Please make sure your belt is on when the plane takes off and prepares to land. There will be a light above-”

 The white noise and engine whirling in the back adds to your thumping headache and anxiousness. You try to drown out the noise, ears ringing and motion sickness teasing you as the airplane begins to roll on the taxiway to the runway. At the very least, you were in business class and there were relatively nice seats, a lot of legroom as well. Luckily, you’re also able to miss the long-winded instructions and the entire takeoff when you fall asleep for about an hour.

 It’s only when your shoulder brushes with the stranger beside you that you’re gently coaxed to consciousness. It’s warm. You can’t remember the last time you had such a nice nap. And your lids flutter, slowly opening your eyes. You meet someone beside you and your lips fall. Your heart stops.

 You scream.

 “Shush!” Hoseok reaches over to clamp a hand over your mouth but you flinch. A flash of hurt crosses his features, and he withdraws his hands, pressing his finger to his own mouth to signal you to be quiet instead. “Stop it, Y/N!”

 You continue to scream, startling and scaring all the surrounding passengers. You cower away from Hoseok, drawing your limbs together and nearly falling out of your seat like you’re afraid his touch will burn you. From the close proximity, you feel suffocated. You are smothered.

 For years, you’ve been running. Ever since you knew about the past, you’ve avoided him like the plague. It must be a consequence from fate now that you’re literally boxed in a long rectangle in the sky. But if he’s here...that means something horrible is bound to happen.

 Oh god...you’re going to die, aren’t you?

 “The plane’s gonna fall!”

 You shout in hysterics, crying so hard that you can’t see straight. The flight attendants have gathered in the commotion, trying to understand what’s happened and the reason for the sudden distressed outburst. “We’re going to crash and burn! It’s going to fall!”

 The people around gasp, murmuring and panicking from your proclamation of the aircraft plunging into the ocean below.

 The attendants rush to pacify you. “We need you to remain calm. Take a deep breath.”

 “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” You shake uncontrollably, hugging your own body and weeping to the point where your chest hurts. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die! Please!”

 “The plane won’t fall, Miss L/N.” A flight attendant calls your name once they’ve learnt it and someone kneels in front of you. “There’s just a little bit of turbulence which is caused by strong winds. You’re going to be perfectly fine! We’re going to land in a half an hour! Would you like to walk to the front and take a breather?”

 The comforting voices of the attendant and the others in the background calming the passengers around drown out of your ears. You’re still weeping, for all the centuries, all the lives you lived, for fear and hatred, for pain and sadness. Because Jung Hoseok is here.

 He’s finally here when you don’t want him to be.

 “I-I…”

 You want to switch seats. You want to get away from the man beside you. You want an escape.

 But you also know that as long as he’s on this aircraft, the possibility of it tumbling downwards to crash and burn are all the same. It doesn’t matter how close he is to you or the distance down to the millimeter. As long as he is around, you’re not safe.

 “Y/N.” It’s a soft and sweet voice, an intimate timbre that rattles inside your skull and pulls you away from your blinded fit. The tears in your eyes fall, no longer clouding the surroundings. The pace of your heart thumps to a regular rhythm, breath steadying with each rise and fall of your chest.

 Your eyes have locked with his. Hoseok gazes at you, having lost the details of your features from his memory and restoring all the changes that have happened over the lost years of your lives together. The man seems to hesitate before he lifts his hand, putting it on top of yours.

 This time, you don’t flinch.

 His thumb runs along your skin. “We’re going to be okay. Nothing’s going to happen. I swear to you. So, please, trust in me this one time.”

 There’s a pause.

 The flight attendant takes a sigh of relief when you’re no longer ballistic. They look between you and the man, recognizing that the pair of you must’ve had some kind of prior relationship. And they decide to stand back, somewhere nearby in case you need assistance but enough to give you space to relax.

 “W-Why are you here?”

 “I’m going on a business trip.” He tries to explain himself, looking down at his lap. It’s been too long since you’ve last spoken to one another. “I work at an insurance company now.”

 You snort. He looks up and you provide the explanation before he can ask. “That’s ironic considering you ran over my foot.”

 Hoseok’s eyes widen. “I did?”

 It makes you sick. You don’t want to think about the past.

 Your head leans against the window and you cross your arms, looking out at the white clouds instead of his face. There’s a chance you might punch him in the jaw and you’d certainly be detained if you did such a thing. “You just happened to sit next to me?”

 “It was a coincidence.” His voice moves up a pitch in defense. “I swear, I didn’t plan this out. I don’t even know that you were going to be on this flight. You can check my ticket! I’m supposed to sit here! When I got here, I saw you asleep, so I just sat down.”

 Of course, it was a coincidence. Fate is such a bitch.

 Hoseok inhales a deep breath. “Y/N, I don’t even know what you’ve been doing for the past few years.”

 “Good.” You mirthlessly smile and it doesn’t reach your dead eyes. “If there’s one thing I’m doing right, it’s not letting you know where the hell I am and not knowing where the hell you are. I need you to stay away from me. As far as fucking possible.”

 “I want to talk.”

 “I don’t.”

 The last time you saw Hoseok was at the parking lot of the theaters back in university. The last time was when you kissed him, remembered and left running. In the midst, he was stunned, hand reaching out to your retreating form and pain struck in his chest and on his face.

 You had begun to run since then and it’s been nearly a decade. True to the doctor’s diagnosis and your own grandmother’s words, you didn’t have a soulmate. Everyone around you had gotten married or became engaged to their kindred spirit while you wandered the planet alone.

 But you didn’t care. As long as you were away from him, you didn’t want anything else.

 “I still love y-”

 “Be...be quiet.” It physically pains you to speak to Hoseok. “I beg of you. Before I get another anxiety attack, I need you to stop and pretend that you’re invisible. Don’t move. Don’t talk. Don’t breathe.”

 You shut your eyes tight, unable to see his expression. “But I need you to listen to me.”

 “I don’t want to listen, alright?!” You’ve been traumatized, the grief clinging onto each of your bones and you feel tears well up in your eyes again. Each time you look at Hoseok, the faces of your previous self shows and you recall history; the smother flames engulfing your home, illness plaguing you as the quill trembles in your hand, standing naked on a stage while a man sells you to a crowd, being beaten to a pulp and running….running...running.

 And the most painful of all memories: being abandoned after knowing love.

 “I’m scared of you. You scare me shitless. Every single time I’ve met you, you messed me up somehow so please!”

 Fortunately for you, Hoseok complies with your wishes. For the rest of the flight, you don’t hear a single peep out of his mouth and once the plane has landed, you hurl yourself out as fast as possible.

 You never once look behind.

 //

 “When are you going back to work?”

 Your mother asks as she sets breakfast down at the table and your father discards the newspaper. Maybe it was taking it one step too far but now that you knew Hoseok was living somewhere in the city, you couldn’t risk going back. If you encountered him once, chances were high that he would keep coming back and back into your life.

 You couldn’t return. At least not until you figured where to run off to next.

 “Not sure yet. I saved a lot of vacation days up so maybe I’ll stick around for two weeks.”

 Presently, you were hidden in the secluded outskirts of your grandmother’s old house. Technically, it’s your parents’ since they moved into the quiet and quaint place for their retirement years. It’s a home for you too and it’s been a long time since you’ve visited.

 “Well alright then.” Your mother seems appeased by the answer and you dig into the toast. She hesitates, exchanging a look with your father and you can recall why you haven’t been back in so long. “Have you found your soulmate yet?”

 “Nope.”

 “Y/N, sweetie, are you even trying to look?”

 “No.” By being as clear-cut and simple, you hope they won’t ask anymore. “I’d rather not.”

 “But how will you ever find them?”

 You fill your mouth up before pointing your fork to the pair of them, narrowing your eyes. “Didn’t you say that if they’re my soulmate, I’ll meet them anyway?”

 Your father nods in agreeance. “But it doesn’t help to look for ‘em, y’know. Makes the process faster.”

 Your mother hums and you can already tell the gears inside her head are beginning to turn. She considers everyone that she knows, friends of relatives, children of friends, anyone who you might know. “What about that boy that you were friends with during preschool? He went to the same schools as you all the way to college too, right? What was his name?”

 Before you can stop her, she says it. “Jung Hoseok!”

 You choke on your orange juice, coughing and heaving. Your mother’s eyes are twinkling, and she grins with your father. “That would make sense, huh? Together since you were children?! And I spoke to his mother a month back. He hasn’t met anyone either, right? Maybe you two are soulmates.”

 “That’s impossible.”

 Literally — Hoseok is the opposite of your soulmate. If your parents knew that he was your enemy, destined to cause you suffering and chaos, they’d never mention him again. Maybe they’d voodoo him and throw salt all over their doorstep too. But you can’t break the news and cause them heartache. You can’t bear to say it and let them know that their only child not only will end up alone in this life and the next, but they have someone out in the world that will cause them endless pain.

 “Plus,” you add, “don’t soulmates recognize each other upon meeting?”

 Your mother’s brow furrows, realizing that you’re right but your father taps his chin, not ready to give up on the idea. “I’ve been reading lately and the T.V. says there’s a lot of things that go into soulmates so who knows, maybe it’s just a late blooming relationship.”

 You hold back a laugh. “I seriously doubt it.”

 “Don’t give up hope, L/N Y/N. You hear me?” Your mother lectures, tone becoming stern and unyielding. “You’ll meet the one someday. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. You always do and there’s nothing you can do to run away from it!”

 Christ...you can only hope she’s wrong.

 //

 The field was verdant in hue, the mint walls of your bedroom and soft beryl flowers haunted you. Green was the colour of your envy, of the luck that you didn’t have, of your greed for love and companionship. But it was also the shade of the serene nature that surrounded you, the symbol of healing and of hope. Hope that would certainly hurt you in the end.

 More importantly, the colour reminded you of him. And you couldn’t bring yourself to hate it.

 “Y/N! There’s someone here for you!” Your mother’s call has you stumbling down the stairs in confusion. There wasn’t anyone that you knew around these parts and- “It’s been so long! We were actually talking about you earlier. Oh, speaking of which, you haven’t met your soulmate yet, right, Hoseok?”

 You freeze. Your mother moves aside. The man is standing in front of your doorway with a sheepish smile, one that conveys too many apologies at once.

 He’s a hundred years too late.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “I just thought we should talk.”

 “Now, Y/N.” Your mother butts in. “Be nice to our guest! It’s been so long since I’ve seen him as well. Hoseok, dear, would you like to go in for a drink of coffee or tea? You can stay for as long as you’d like-”

 “No.” You stride past her, grabbing onto his sleeve and dragging him away. “We’re talking outside.”

 It hurts. It pains you beyond belief. You never thought you had to face him again. Yet, here you are. No matter where you go, he’s always able to find you. And it drives you crazy in the worst ways.

 “How did you even find me here?”

 You’re tapping your foot, arms crossed, completely unimpressed with his presence. On the other hand, Hoseok is meekly smiling at you, taking in the quiet surroundings of the field. It reminds him of an era that was long ago where it was more tranquil, and he was by your side, taking aimless strolls to waste the evening away.

 “You took me here in the first grade and then again in ninth and twelve. You might not remember but we grew up together.” He watches you carefully. “In this life. Not the other ones. In this one, we were friends long before anything else happened.”

 “Used to be.” You correct. “We used to be friends.”

 There’s a silence.

 “Why are you even here, Hoseok?” You break the summer birds’ song, interrupting the sun’s fall from the horizon. “Is it to apologize so you can feel better about yourself? Do you want to try to move on? Well guess what, you’re too late. You’re lifetimes and lifetimes too late.”

 He takes a moment to decide his words. “I hate that you’re afraid of me.”

 You laugh without an inch of happiness. “I think it’s for good reason, don’t you?”

 “I still care about you. I love you, Y/N.”

 You spin on your heel, having absolutely none of it. It takes all the strength in your muscles to begin to walk away from him. Hoseok inhales a breath and for once, the roles are reversed.

 He watches your backside disappear slowly, counting each step you take that increases the distance and leaves him farther away from you.

 He takes the leap of courage before you’re gone.

 “In the sixteenth century,” he screams and you stop, “I didn’t betray you because I wanted to. It was the plan from the start. The people were suffering and the kingdom needed to be overthrown. The painter...I...still loved you very much.”

 The bandage around the wound is ripped straight off. It hasn't healed. It stings.

 “When you wrote all those books in the seventeenth, I just wanted to help you and get your work out there in the world. I...I came back and I didn’t know you had d-...d...died.”

 Hoseok almost begins to cry. His nails sink into his clothing. His head drops to the floor. It hits you like a bullet train - you weren’t the only one who was tortured.

 You turn around to face him.

 “In the eighteenth, I was a fucking douchebag, I know. But I had suffered so much as a peasant. I wanted a better life for myself. It...It wasn’t my intention to make you suffer too.”

 You call his name, and he ignores you, continuing onwards.

 “The nineteenth.” Hoseok smiles past saltwater eyes. “It was better for you not to gamble. I would have fed you, given you a warm home, and I was going to release you after a year. And maybe, maybe you would have stayed if I asked you to.”

 You step closer to the boy and you wait for the reasons of the years that hurt you the most.

 “In the twentieth — I’m sorry.”

 Jung Hoseok, like all you had hoped for, collapses onto his knees. He faces the dirt, tears dripping like raindrops. “I was a coward. I was too afraid of everything.”

 Your shadow looms over him. He grabs onto the hem of your sweater, anchoring him down to the ground, and he begs for your forgiveness. It’s pathetic, the way he sobs but you don’t feel a single morsel of satisfaction like you thought you would. It aches. Everywhere.

 “You didn’t say goodbye to me.”

 “I’m so sorry.”

 Your arms stay by your side and you look down at him.

 “I lost the baby.”

 Hoseok cries harder. “I’m sorry.”

 “I waited for you.”

 He continues to apologize, each one full of sincerity and anguish. “I’m sorry.”

 “You were supposed to stay with me.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Your hand lifts. You hold Hoseok close to you, carding your fingers through the familiar black locks. It’s been the same pigment for all the centuries you’ve known each other for.

 “Every single day, I waited for you to come back and you never did.”

 His tears stain the fabric of your clothes. “I’m sorry.”

 “You were never there when I needed you the most.”

 He stands himself back up onto wobbling legs, on a face drenched with tears, with a heart weak and overwhelmed. “B-but I’m here now.” He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and you linger in the close proximity, yearning to be closer yet keeping the distance.

 “I’m scared that the longer I spend with you, the worse the outcome will be in the end.”

 “I’m sorry.” He shouldn’t apologize. This time, it isn’t his fault. “I just...I can’t leave you. I can’t do it. In all the lives we’ve shared together, I’ve loved you in each one. But I never fought hard enough. I never fought hard enough for you.”

 “That doesn’t change the fact that you scare me.” You lock your eyes with him. “I’m scared of what will happen later on, if you’ll end up causing me more grief, if I somehow die in a tragic death and never live peacefully or happily. How many more times do we have to keep living like that before we learn that it’s better to stay apart?”

 “But it’s not up for fate to decide for me!” He shouts it with resentments of the past, of the hand of destiny and his own choices that have led you to become so petrified of him and to be so broken. “I don’t fucking care about destiny or about soulmates or whatever the hell we are! Enemies?! I don’t care!”

 You scream back, “How can you not care?!”

 “Fate doesn’t control me.” He’s out of breath and your eyes widen. “And as long as I’m breathing, I’ll make sure I’ll continue to atone for my mistakes. I’ll make sure you’re the happiest woman alive.”

“How can you be so sure?” You ask him, pleading for an answer, gazing into his eyes. “How can you be so sure of yourself? Of us?” 

“Because I love you. I love you,” Hoseok repeats. “And maybe that’s not enough. Maybe it’s not enough to beat whatever’s been predetermined for us. Maybe it’s not enough to restore your trust in me. But I love you. And I can’t walk away from us. I’ll try as many times as I need to. I will fight for as many centuries as I need to. All I know is that I want to be with you....in this life and the next.”

“You’re stupid.” You shake your head. “You’re stupid for believing that we can beat fate but maybe I’m more stupid...for always fucking believing in you.”

 One moment you’re shouting at each other and the next you’re tearfully laughing.

 Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe you’ll end up suffering again and again, back on the endless loop of hardships and heartbreak. Maybe it’s dumb of you to think that you can beat fate at its own game. You’ve been hurt enough times. How much more can you handle and how many more times will it take for you to learn? Jung Hoseok is your destined enemy after all.

 But maybe he’s right.

 Maybe you have more control of your life than you thought. Maybe it isn’t up to destiny or some unseen source. At the end, your existence wouldn’t be worth anything if you keep on running away. A peaceful life but an unhappy one isn’t what you want.

 You love Hoseok. In this life. In the last ones. You always have.

 All you need is a leap of courage and to fight hard for what you want.

 “Then let’s fight together.” You wrap your arms around him, staring at him until it’s imprinted into your mind, embracing his body and kissing his lips once - fulfilling all your wishes from the previous life. “You can make my life as much of a hell as you want. Just don’t leave.”

 “I won’t.” He pulls you close, arms around your shoulders and holding you tightly. Hoseok breathes in your familiar scent, crying and endlessly grateful for your existence. He does all the things he should’ve done. And he keeps you close.

 You giggle, melting into the hug. “I still love you.”

 Although your love is not a burst of electricity, where the heart stops and the breath gets caught - the universe doesn’t suddenly shine in brighter hues, becoming vibrant and louder - this love is yours.

 “I love you too.”

 It is yours. A constant work in progress, a construction of hard effort and bruised hands, of tired and relentless struggle but it’s one that you fight for. And it’s one that you know, you’ll be proud of in the end.

 “Now stop crying and come inside.” You tease him, stroking his hair and patting his back. “I think my mom and dad are watching from the window.” He nods and sniffles and you laugh.

 This man was once a painter and editor, a swindler and a loan shark, a soldier as well. But now, the boy is your old friend and someone you cherish with every part of your being.

 Instead of looking behind, you focus on the horizon and your fingers lace together with his. “Stay with me for a while?”

 Hoseok grins. “Always.”

 No matter where you go, he’s always able to find you.

 And now he’s here when you need the most.

#bts fanfic #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fluff #bts fluff #bts scenario #hoseok scenario #'insert more tags that the popular kids use these days' #FINALLY I GET TO SHARE THIS STORY #IT'S BEEN SITTING IN MY FILES FOR TOO LONG #/SLAMS DESK/ #im excited

[sabine-leo]

Dreadful Silence - Part 5

Author: @sabine-leo

Rated: M

Genre: Angst, Insecurity, Hurt / Comfort, Humor and Fluff

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston / You

Part: 5/?

Summary: After an illness your brain experienced a trauma which caused it to lose the ability to speak out loud what you want to say. To get back on your feet after months in the hospital and secluding yourself from the world takes a big amount of courage and strength. Gladly there are helping hands… those of your friends…and handsome strangers

Trigger warning: Ilness, speechlessness, Aphasia, Bullying

Note: Thank you for your comments on the last part! I know that hurt a bit, but it needed to happen. 

Barely holding yourself together you cling to the bar in the train, closing your burning eyes. Stumbling out at a stop as you barley noticed the announcement where you were you started to walk mechanically out of the station and into Regents Park. It was getting Dark and only very few People were jogging along the Lake route. You couldn´t break, you wouldn’t break…yet. But tears were streaming nonstop out of your eyes. Walking the Route through the Park just to cross Prince Albert Road to enter Primrose Hill. The walk up the green hill made you breathless.

Everything burned. Your eyes, your lungs.

 It was only as you reached the empty bench on the top of the hill, overlooking London’s Skyline light up, that the first sob left your closed-up throat. You broke down. Finally. Clinging to your legs, keeping them close to your body on the bench you sobbed and cried until your jeans was wet where your head had rested.

Tom was looking franticly for you. He took the tube and ran to your home.

But you weren’t there. He checked his place next. Nothing. Totally out of breath and sort of panicking he called Julia.

 “Julia, is (Y/N) with you?” “Tom? What is wrong you sound frightened. No, she is not here, why?” Julia’s voice became a little unsteady herself. Tom gave her a quick rundown what had happened and he and Julia swore in between. “Have you checked her place?”

“Yes, she is not there…nor at my place. She was in a bad place Julia, I am scared, what have I done?!”

Julia tired to regain herself. “You did nothing wrong Tom…You tried to give her something back she missed dearly…you can´t blame yourself for that.. bitch!”

A tear left Toms eye. “But I…” his voice broke. “No! You. Didn´t. Do. Anything. Wrong! I was in your place once. Believe me, you couldn´t have changed it. She needs to be outside, keeping her save and wrap her in gloves won´t do her any good!” Tom gulped and rubbed his eyes.

 “Calm down first, I´ll help you find her, as will Sam, Paul, Jack and Christine. I´ll call them right after we hang up. I can only think of some places she could be. Try the Rose Gardens in Regents Park or Primrose Hill. I´ll check the other locations near Tower Bridge! We will find her Tom! And we will gather the broken pieces and glue them together even stronger then before!”

Tom nodded and jogged to the next underground station.

“Thank you Julia.. I would be lost without you!”

Julia gathered her things and was on her way too.

“Tom…just hold her when you find her…just hold her…she might not be responsive!”

 This would be the worst-case scenario. Julia didn´t want to frighten Tom more then he was already but he needed to be prepared. Praying to whoever was up there that you wouldn’t have hit rock-bottom again, or worse, she called the other 4 and each of them was on their way in sheer minutes.

Tom got out at Baker street and ran into the park. There was only little light left besides the lightbulbs guiding the way. To his dismay the rose garden was empty. Taking a breath, he closed his eyes to visualise the shortest route to Primrose Hill. He had run through this park often enough that he would find it even in the darkness.

 “Please be there!” He said before he took off whilst typing a message to Julia.

 >Not in rose garden! Checking Primrose Hill now!

 Jack, Paul, Sam and Christine had no luck either. Searching all the spots they knew you liked and sending each other messages. Julia checked the last places that came to her mind. Closing her eyes for a second, she tilted her head skywards. She would personally tear that bitch apart for hurting you so out of spite and because she wanted to get to Tom.

 Tom just crossed the street separating the greens from Regents Park and Primrose Hill. Almost 2 hours had past since he lost you in the tube station. 2 hours that he was frightened and scared and angry on behalf of you. On the base of the hill Tom paused and locked up. He caught his breath for the run up and stopped to scan the area as his eyes saw the bench. Something, someone was moving up there. He could only make out a shade but that didn´t matter, his heart began to beat even faster. He jolted into a run up the hill and as he came nearer and nearer, he heard the hiccupping sobs that came not regularly anymore. His heart broke again as he saw you all bundled up into a ball of tears and sniffles.

 Tom didn´t stop until he was in front of you. Sitting down next to you he closed his arms around you. You flinched slightly but he didn´t let go. “Shh…it´s me.. Tom…it´s me…I got you…” he murmured as soft as possible after what felt like a marathon. Resting his head on yours he closed his eyes in relief that he had found you somewhat safe. Fiddling with one hand he wrote Julia that he was with you. Not awaiting a response, he put his phone away and just kept you close and stroked your back.

 Half an hour passed without you saying anything and Tom just murmuring soft words and holding you. At the base of the hill one friend after another sat down in the grass and just waited, giving each other comfort in silence. They knew Tom had you and he would get to you somehow.

“Darling…” Tom said softly. “Please…give me a sign that you know that you are save with me..”

Another breathless sob. But then. “Tom?” Your voice was hoarse, your throat so sore and raw literally everything hurt! Your body had locked itself into a position it couldn´t get out of fast.

“Yes, love.. it´s me…I am here..” Tom said softly and helped you uncurl your arms from your legs and getting your legs down from the bench.

 “Slowly love, you must hurt quite a lot…” He stroked your arms and your back again.

“Tom?” you said again and lifted your head to look at him. You must be a pretty awful sight now. You had cried until there was nothing left anymore. Tom touched your cheek and sighed softly full of relief. “Yes darling..” he looked into your eyes in the dark that surrounded you.

 “I…I…am..so..so…sorry!” You got out without much voice left and threw your arms around him.

Tom tugged you onto his lap and just held you very close. He kissed your neck, your hair your forehead. “Don´t be.. I am sorry I was not faster to get into the tube with you.” Another 10 minutes passed without any words between the both of you. Tom just holding you, giving silent comfort before he said. “Are you ready to go home? You are shaking and you are freezing even with me keeping you close…Let me take care of you please…” He tilted up your face to look into your eyes before he pointed in another direction. “And look…down there are 4 wonderful people waiting for you to come down.”

You followed his direction and your breath hitched a little. But you nodded, feeling totally exhausted and empty. Gradually getting up on your shaking legs Tom held you close and kept you steady. The walk down the hill was hurtful and slow but as you made it your friends got up and engulfed Tom and you in a ball of hugs and squeezes. “I…I..am.. o..k..” You gasped and Julia looked into your eyes crying. “You scared the hell out of us…Don´t ever let some bitch get to you like that again! I´ll gladly booo her if she gets to keep the part...no offense Tom, but this sodding bastard needs to feel some of her own medicine.” “Non-taken. If she stays, I will not do the play…that simple…I´ll gladly boo with you. First row seats on me!”  

 Leave it to Julia to give it to you straight…and Tom backing her up. You actually let out a snort but your knees almost buckled as the group retracted from the big hug. Tom catching you and lifting you up in his arms. “There is a Taxi waiting, bring our Girl home Tom. We´ll be there in the morning!”

Sam said and kissed your head. Tom nodded and thanked every one of them before he carried you into the waiting Taxi. Giving your address he tugged you close. It didn´t even take 2 minutes before you were asleep in his arms. Only coming to you as Tom sat you down on the bed.

 “S…Sho…shower!” you said slurring. “Are you sure, you can barley stand?” Tom hunkered in front of you. “Yes…ple..please!” You looked at your clothes and took the shirt of. Wincing softly. Shit, you were sore… “I´ll help, wait love!” Tom undressed you but hesitated a second as he got to your underwear. “We´ll just keep that on and change out of it later.” He said softly and undressed himself so far as his boxers. He would not take advantage of this situation. He wanted to help, but just help it was. You had been going forward slowly with your affection and that was Ok for him. He wanted you to decide when you would be ready. When you wanted to share something more with him.

 “Come on love, lets get you under some hot water!” He lifted you up again and carried you into the small shower. “S…stay please..” You said and looked into his eyes.

“I will not leave your side until you say so love!” he vowed and got the water to the right temperature after setting you down but keeping you steady with one arm.

 The water almost hurt but felt good at the same time. Tom washed your hair with a patience and softness that nearly brought tears to your eyes again. You felt awful. What did he think of you now? Would he only stay as long as you needed him and then leave for good? No, he wasn´t that kind of a man. Why would he have searched for you and held you all the way till you could come out of your state if he would just leave tomorrow then?

 “Darling...I can see your thoughts…just be still love…I am not going anywhere!”

He kissed you and rinsed your hair out. After getting you into a fluffy towel he helped you to sit on the bed and looked at you, “I´ll just wash myself real quick…you can change your underwear while I am in the bath…” You just nodded and he went to shower himself quickly. He put all the clothes into the washer and wrapped a towel around himself. He had no change of clothes.

 A little unsure he looked around but his phone signalled up. It was Sam.

 >Got you some new clothes and left them in the kitchen. Thought you could need them. Will not use the spare key for anything else then emergencies. Sam

 Quickly typing a thank you to Sam Tom got the new boxers and the sweatpants with a shirt and dressed. Coming back into the bedroom He saw you sitting in a big shirt on your bed.

“Let´s get you comfortable.” He smiled at you as you just laid down and held out your hand.

Tom took it and you tugged him onto the bed. “Thank you…” That came out quicker than usual but still hoarse.

 Tom bend down and kissed you softly. “No thanks needed…never for helping you. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me help you!” He stroked away a wet strand of hair.

“Do you want me to stay the night?” he asked softly. You just nodded and cuddled up to him. Searching his body heat and his strong arms. Tom gladly engulfed you and got comfortable with you after he got the sheets over the both of you. Killing the light, he held you close until your breathing changed and signalled you were fast asleep. Only then did he let out the breath he was holding since you had run out of the theatre.

 You were save and had let him in enough to take care of you…now he only had to make you believe that this would not change the way he felt about you. Drifting of into a superficial sleep he kept you close till morning came.

Tags for :  @witchbitch-stuff @drakesfiance @confessionsofastrugglingteen @mylovelycrazyworld < hope you don´t mind the tag 

 @inlovewithfreyamikaelson @heart-shaped-hell @theoneanna @marikochi

#dreadful silence #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #imagine tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston hurt #hurt comfort #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston fluff #you x tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #british actor rpf #fanfiction #thomas william hiddleston #damn hiddleston #hiddlestoners

[pernatius]

The Forbidden Blade: Ch 35

Ch 34

“Hermit? Hm, let me think.“ Above us the sky is beginning to fade to black. We’ve spent the whole day, going from person to person, being told the same answer. Along with the night’s chilly winds breathing down my neck is my hope diminishing. 

"Miss?” Reina snaps her finger before the dozing woman in question.

“Huh?” She groggily wakes back up.  

“Oh, never mind. Have a nice rest of yer night ma’am.” Falling back asleep on her rocking chair, we step off her porch. When our feet touch the ground we turn to each other, looking both defeated and exhausted.  

 I yawn again and collapse onto the dirt. In the corner of my eye I watch a man light up a street lamp. Once all the lights are lit it would be a sight to remember, especially with the now quiet city square. If I had a choice I would stay and watch, but I didn’t come all the way to Ignitus just for sightseeing. I’m here on a mission, so I pick myself back up. 

Reina placed her hand on me, which caused me to turn to her. “Look, Arthus. I know we don’t have all the time in the world, but ya pushin’ yerself won’t do ya good,” I raise my eyebrow, “Okay, what if we meet whatever their face is right now? Ya gonna be face first into the dirt before ya can introduce yerself.”

“I know you’re trying to look out for me, but I’m fine. Come on we have to keep moving.”

“Arthus, I’m tired too. Let’s just rest for right now and-”

“No. I can’t afford that!” My words come out more bitter than I intended. 

“If Zelous hasn’t shown himself since ya saw him what make ya think he’ll do it tomorrow? You and I need a rest. Besides I bet ya gettin’ hungry anyway.”

“It’s not like we can do anything about the latter anyways. We don’t have the proper currency here.”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t stop us from gettin’ food.”

“Come again?”

“I saw a stream while ya were off busy askin’ people, and guessin’ by its size we should find enough fish.” 

“We can just ask around.”

“This late at night? I’m pretty sure, no matter how nice they seem, no one is going to give free food to some strangers. Wait. Don’t tell me,” I turn away from her, “You don’t know how to fish.” Suddenly, she takes my arm and leads me elsewhere.  

Its cold temperature splashes onto my face, as it crashes onto the bank. We’re now on the outskirts of the city. Reina and I are knelt down before the running water. “Yer gonna have to be quick. They’re very slippery and are gonna try to squirm outta yer hands, but no matter how weird it feels ya have to keep yer grip. Okay? It’ll be easier if we had a fishing pole, but oh well. We’re just gonna do it the old fashioned way,” she instructed me. 

I nodded, and she quickly jabs her hands into the cold water. When she takes them out a fish is flapping in her bare hands. Just watching her gain the upper hand is already stressing me out. Then, before I knew it, she presses the fish against the ground. I can see it quickly opening and closing its mouth, as its eyes grow wide. Reina yanks out a knife from her coat. Knowing what is to come, I cover my eyes. The sound of their wrestling stops, so I slide my hands off my face. 

After flicking the blood of her knife, she gives me a thumbs up. Her attitude doesn’t stop the stomach acid rising in my throat from eyeing the fish’s head and blood splattered all over Reina’s spot. When I gulp it climbs back down. 

“I’m gonna have ya catch while I clean this guy up and make the fire.”

“What? That sounds way easier than what I have to do.”

“I’m gonna be the one doing the killing and cooking too. If ya know how to do either be my guest, but I’m not gonna risk gettin’ sick after eatin’ ya cookin’. So, get movin’.” Before I can rebuttal, she is already headed to get some firewood. 

Every time I thrust my hands into the water I come out empty handed. By the fifth time frustration filled me, and from it I rapidly threw my hands into the water. Of course, because of that, it causes my clothes to get soaked. Also, the motion causes my sleeves to slide back down as well. So, I let out a grunt. 

“Become the fish,” I look at her, “Yer scarin’ the fish with all that movement. Slow, yet be fast.”

“You’re sounding kind of like Xyetius.”

“I don’t know how to feel about that,” the wood under her lights up, “Now that’s taken care of ya better be finished once this is cooked or yer ain’t eatin’ tonight.”

Everything went by so slowly, as I made another attempt. At first I felt nothing of it, but when I realize my accomplishment my emotions are mixed with both excitement and disgust. The sounds of its scales brushing against my armor causes me to accidentally throw it towards Reina’s face. Effortlessly, with a swipe of her knife she catches it. It then limped in its blade, dead on contact. Again, the gory site makes me feel sick. Once again I force myself to keep together.  

I peeled back the meat from its bone, following what Reina had done at Krala’s dock. “Arthus,” she chuckles, “What did Xyetius even teach ya?”

Thinking of those years makes me stop and stare blankly at the fish in my hands, as I begin to shake. Noticing this, she crouches down to my eye level. “Did Xyetius do somethin’ to ya?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” I can’t think coherently, as I hear the crack of his whip. Though, impossible, I can feel his whip being slashed against my bare back. Not only that, but I can feel hot coal burning my feet and the Rose Garden’s thorns piercing my skin. Hell isn’t new to me thanks to him. 

“Ya don’t have to tell me, but ya can if ya want to.”

I look into her eyes, see genuine concern in them. So, without hesitation, I tell her everything without holding back. I explained to her the pain I endured for years on end, and the scars scattered all over my body. Hearing it come out of my mouth to have it told to someone other than me has me break down. A sob lets itself free, I drop the fish, and without thinking hug her. She, to my relief, hugs back

“It’s going to be okay. I’m here for ya.” We may be strangers, but right now it feels like I’ve known her all my life. Thanks to her I finally understand what it feels like to have someone actually care. 

Behind us is a pitch black landscape and before us is a site to remember. By that hour no one roamed the streets, but because of the flickering lights the city is able to stay alive. 

“Reina,” she looks up at me, “Are you going to see her again?”

“Maybe later,” she yawns, “But right now I’m gettin’ some shut eye. Goodnight Arthus.” She rolls to the other side, away from me. .

“See you in the morning,” my voice faded. The fire began to call for me, and I know it isn’t Reina because she’s right next to me snoring. An urge takes over, I slide off the glove and lead my newly bare hand into the flames. Inches away, and I can feel my skin began to sizzle.  The burning of flesh, fills my nose. 

“Arthus,” someone shouted. 

#111 #the forbidden blade #chapter 35 #creative writing #writers on tumblr #spilled ink

[alippy711]

Falling Away With You-Ch.28

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Wedding- Part Two

I snuggled deeper into the blanket wrapped around me staring through the fire to where Matt and Sam sat together laughing with a group of friends. I smiled running my eyes across the large group of people spread out around the fire drinking and talking as the night grew deeper. Once Addie helped pull me back together I pushed down all the David drama remembering that today was not about me and I successfully pulled off a fabulous speech during the reception.

I could feel eyes on me as I sipped my drink, turning to my right where Evan watched me while he talked with Jace. He shot me a concerned look but when I returned it with a smile I realized he wasn’t looking at me, but throughme. I twisted around trailing my eyes up his body meeting his crooked smile.

“Walk with me?” David’s eyes pleaded with me as I stared at his outstretch hand.

I sighed looking between his hand and back up at his beautiful face debating my next move. I successfully avoided him since our dancing disaster but I knew I couldn’t ignore him all night. I nodded and he let out a sigh of relief as I took his hand in mine allowing him to help me up from my spot in the sand. He laced our fingers together but I pulled away not able to handle the jolt of electricity I felt when he touched me.

“Nice shirt”

I looked down at the leggings and short-sleeved t-shirt I changed into rolling my eyes when I realized I was wearing one of his old Bruins shirts. We walked down the deserted beachfalling into a silence, the only noise coming from the ocean and the fading voices behind us. I looked over at him giving him a look as if to say, ‘im waiting,” he laughed nervously clearing his throat getting ready to speak.

“Im not really sure what to say” He ran a hand through his hair and I stopped walking out of frustration.

“Then why did you ask me to walk with you?” I snapped throwing my arms up in annoyance. David’s eyes went wide and he took a step back watching me with sad eyes, instantly softening me.

“Sorry” I grumbled, plopping down in the sand too tired to keep walking aimlessly.

He eyed the spot next to me and I nodded before he moved to sit down. I pulled my legs to my chest wrapping the blanket around me and laid my head on my knees waiting for him to talk.

“I just...I... wanted… I needed to be near you” He stumbled over his words searching my face for a reaction while all I could do was sigh feeling my resolve begin to fall the longer he looked heartbroken.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might not want that?” He opened his mouth to speak but I held my hand up to stop him. “I thought I was ready to see you. I’ve been prepping myself for weeks but the second you had me in your arms again…” I trailed off, my voice quivering as hot tears began to slide down my cheeks. David reached out swiping his thumb across my cheek wiping away the tears letting his hand linger a little too long. He didn’t speak but let me compose myself before I finished.

“When we started dancing I lost it. Every emotion I’ve been fighting since the last time I saw you came rushing back. If you can’t tell im a bit of a mess these days” I laughed through the tears pulling a small but hesitant smile from him but it was quickly replaced by pain, the pain of watching someone you love cry because of you.

“Im so sorry”

He looked up at the night sky letting out a loud groan and I could tell he was close to his breaking point. We were in this situation because of him, yet here I was feeling sorry for him.

“I get it, D, I really do.I read the letter I understand why you need a break and I respect you so much for going through with this. But until you’ve made up your mind I can’t be around you, it’s too hard.” He stared out at the ocean nodding at my words.

“I was wondering if you read it. I hope it helped, I know im not best at explaining feelings but you deserve to know why I needed this”

“It did help I probably should have opened it sooner but anything dealing with you is a struggle these days. I wasn’t sure how I would handle it.”

“I hope you know I meant every word I said. You mean the world to me and deserve the best version of me or I don’t deserve you at all.” His voice broke and the glassy look in his eyes was too much for me and I hit my breaking point letting a sob wrack over me. David cursed under his breath and I felt his arms wrap around my body pulling me into his lap. I let my last wall crumble as I desperately clung to him needing him to comfort me despite being the source of my breakdown.

“Im so sorry, Ash, im so sorry” He rocked us back and forth repeating the words over and over, his voice thick with emotion trying to calm us both down. We stayed that way a few minutes longer and while it would probably hurt in the long run I wanted nothing more than to be in his arms remembering how safe he makes me feel. Eventually I calmed down enough to untangle myself from his body instantly feeling alone again.

“Your hair is too short” I noted reaching out to run my fingers through his recently cut hair.

The top was long enough, but it was the flip of the curls at the nape of his neck that were missing. During the season I used the helmet test judging the amount of hair that flipped out from under his helmet to determine if his hair was an acceptable length…for me.

“knew you would say that, like it short in summer time” I grinned, having missed his sometimes broken English that went along with his accent.

I looked out at the ocean, reveling in its beauty as the moon reflected bright off the waves. There was no place I loved more or felt more myself than when I was around an ocean, especially the Atlantic. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath before pushing it out slowly.

“You ok?” I opened my eyes turning to see the concerned look flash across David’s face.

“No, but I haven’t been since you left. It’s something im working on.” I could tell my honesty threw him for a loop, but there was no point in sugar coating how I felt. He opened his mouth to speak but I stopped him again, knowing it would be another apology.

“Please, don’t apologize again”

“Then what can I do?” Desperation filled his voice.

“Go back to Prague, finish your summer and figure out what you want. When you come back in September we need to figure us out.” My words were desperate but it’s what he needed to hear.

“I can do that. Just please don’t lose faith in me” He pleaded.

“I won’t.” I can’t. Faith was the only thing keeping me together.

“I should head back, you coming?” He stood up looking down at me waiting for my answer.

“No, im gonna stay here a little longer” He nodded and gave me a small smile before walking off towards the fire.

##

Walking away from Ash when she was still clearly upset sucked, but I knew she didn’t want me with her anymore. I had to give her space, I’ve caused enough damage today.

“So how’d that go?” Torey asked when I walked up to him and Mel.

“Ah, definitely could have gone better” I rubbed a hand on the back of my neck as I groaned.

“She didn’t turn you down when you asked to talk, so that’s good” I shrugged at Torey’s words as he placed a hand on my shoulder.

“She hasn’t given up on you David, don’t forget that.” Mel said sliding up to Torey as he wrapped an arm around her.

“I don’t know how she hasn’t” I added shaking my head.

“Because she loves you” We all turned our heads as Matt’s friend Jace joined our group.

“Im Jace, you must be David?” He asked sticking his hand out for me to shake.

“I am, nice to meet you” I took his hand and gave it a hard shake, which he returned. I took a second to introduce Jace to Torey and Mel before they excused themselves for the night.

“I’ve heard a lot about you” My attention was pulled from Jace as I watched Evan walk off down the beach heading straight towards where I left Ash. I knew she was still there as I had been keeping my eyes peeled for her return.

“As have I” I looked back at Jace as he answered.

“Im sure it hasn’t been all good” He chuckled and shook his head.

“Won’t lie it’s definitely been more bad than good, but I’ve been in the same position as you. Thought I could lend some advice.” I looked at him skeptically knowing the back story of their relationship wondering how he could help.

“I don’t want to be an ass but im not sure how you could help seeing as how you two ended”

“And that’s exactly why I can help you.” I shot him a questioning look and he continued, “not a day goes by that I don’t regret cheating on her. I was a fucking idiot in college, I didn’t deserve her and I know that now.”

“We can both agree on that” There was a bit behind my words and I didn’t feel bad. The guy treated my girl like shit and I couldn’t get past it.

“Look, I watched her around you today and she’s head over heels in love with you, man.”I may not respect him but it was nice to hear that,“But from what I know you’re on the brink of losing her and take it from me, that will be the biggest mistake of your life” I ran a hand over my face shaking my head.

“I don’t want to lose her but I have to figure my shit out so I don’ fuck it all up, like you did.” My dig was probably wrong, but he took it anyway.

“You don’t know me and you don’t have to listen to me. But if you have even the slightest feeling that she could be the one do not let her go.” It was obvious he was talking from experience and I would be stupid if I didn’t listen, just a little.

“She’s incredible and I’ve never been with anyone like her,” I had no idea why I was even talking to this guy but at this point I would talk to a stranger about Ash if they would listen.

 “Well from what she told me you went about this the right way and that’s what is keeping her from kicking you to the curb.” I nodded my head at his words, knowing he was right.

“Thanks, man. I may think you’re an ass for what you did to Ash, but I know you have a point” He offered me a soft smile before responding.

 “Yeah I learned a lot from that fuck up. She deserves the world and Matt seems to think you can give it to her so I figured I would add some of my two cents” My eyes went wide at his words, I figured Matt wanted to kill me, but I was at his wedding so I there’s that.

“Well I appreciate it.”

   Jace’s name was called from across the fire and we said our goodbyes before he walked off. I saw Ash out of the corner of my eye and turned quickly and locked eyes with Evan, who fucking smirked as the two of them walked off together towards the hotel. I felt a hot rage course through me when I noticed her leaning in towards his side as he wrapped his arm around her. My hands balled into fists and it took everything in me to not follow behind them. I broke her heart and pushed her right back into his arms and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do about it right now besides let it happen. Now I understood how she felt every time I hooked up with someone else and this feeling is fucking terrible.

#david pastrnak #david pastrnak imagine #david pastrnak fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl rpf #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey rpf #boston bruins #falling away with you fic

[carryonmywaywardcaptain]

A New Life

Part One

Summary: Your family is killed while you are out celebrating Fall Break with some friends from college. You’re about to take your own life when the Winchester boys come rolling in. They turn your world completely inside out, but along the way you discover a new purpose in hunting and a love you never even dreamed could exist.

Words: 1,978

Warnings: angst; talk of death and attempting suicide

A/N: I’ve never really written anything before, so please be nice if it’s terrible and ridiculous. It was kind of just a therapeutic thing for me to write. I was having a bad day and it made me feel better to think of Dean and Sam coming to the rescue. :) Feedback and reblogging or whatever is welcome! I’m new to Tumblr, so I’m still figuring out what to do.

(P.S. I’m a Dean girl through and through, so eventually this will be a Dean x Reader.)

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You look out over the river and watch the current as you try to calm your anxious mind. The scenery really was beautiful. It was a cloudy autumn day, and you could see over the treetops that a storm was heading your way. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and inhale the fresh autumn air. Being here was almost peaceful and, had you been in a better place, you might have enjoyed the moment. You shake your head as unwelcome memories start creeping into your mind.

You hear tires screeching behind you, but you still don’t open your eyes. You try to ignore the opening of car doors behind you as you try to fix your focus back on the sound of the rushing water below.

“Hey!”

“Excuse me!”

You hear two male voices calling out to you at the same time. You take another deep breath, and try to ignore them before you lose your nerve.

“What the hell are you doing? Get down from there before you fall!” One of the voices said. You could hear them running up behind you, but you didn’t care. You stayed planted where you were on the edge of the bridge.

“Dean, cool it. That’s not going to help.” The other voice said. He turned his attention back to you and spoke softly. “Hey. I’m Sam, and this is my brother, Dean. We just want to talk to you for a sec... Can you tell us your name?”

You take another breath, and slowly open your eyes. You look out at the trees, taking in all the warm colors of the leaves. You glance at the water below. It feels a lot higher up than when you first got here, and you can feel yourself slowly unraveling and losing your nerve.

“Hey.” You hear Sam’s soft voice again.

You glance behind you and notice the one that said his name was Sam is a few feet behind you to the left. He’s holding his hands up, and his face is wary as he tries to reassure you that he’s not a threat to you. You turn and look over your right shoulder to see his brother, Dean, also a few feet away. His jaw is locked, and he’s staring intently at you. His body is tensed, and you get the sense that if you made a move to jump, he would be ready to close the gap between you and try to intervene.

“Can you tell us your name?” Sam repeats again. You take another deep breath, looking away from both of them out at the water again, as you hold on to the railing with one hand. “Y/N.” You reply in a whisper. You’re fighting the urge to cry again as tears begin to prick the corners of your eyes.

“Y/N. That’s a nice name.” Sam says in a soothing voice as he takes another cautious step toward you. “I know you don’t know us, but we just want to help. Can you get down and talk to us?”

You let out a long, shaky breath you hadn’t realized that you’d been holding in. You begin trembling as all of the events of the past few weeks come crashing back down on you. The grief and depression you repressed all morning was starting to suffocate you. Your tears betrayed you and started silently rolling down your face. “I…can’t.” You choke out.

Your mind was racing. You didn’t know why, but you wanted to be able to tell them what happened. How you’d lost everything. How you didn’t really want to die, but you just couldn’t stand living anymore. How you wanted them to save you from what you were considering doing. But the words wouldn’t come.

“Y/N. Talk to us. Please… We just want to help.” Sam spoke again. He was trying to sound calm, but you heard the hitch in his voice. You glanced over one shoulder, then the other to see that both boys had gotten closer. They froze, not wanting to push you too far.

You swallowed hard, as the tears continued to roll down your cheeks. “I…” You trailed off. It felt like your heart and lungs were being crushed. Your knees buckled beneath you, and you swayed as your emotions came rushing back to the surface. In the same instant, you felt Dean’s strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you off the railing of the bridge. You went limp in his arms, and crumpled into a heap on the ground. You felt like you were drowning, and you could no longer hold in the sobs that rocked through you.

“Hey, it’s alright… You’re okay, Y/N.” Dean said as he held you in his arms on the ground. You turned and continued to sob into his chest as he gently rocked you back and forth.

“Is there anyone we can call for you?” Sam asked. You shook your head and began crying harder. Sam furrowed his brow, and you could tell he felt bad for asking the wrong question.

The boys sat with you until you started to calm down; Dean cradling you protectively in his arms as Sam held your hand. When the tears slowed, you tried again to speak. “They’re...gone.” You whispered. “My family. A few weeks ago...they were my whole world. I have nothing left… I don’t want to live in a world where they don’t exist.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry...” Sam trailed off. The three of you sat in silence for several more minutes until you found that you could cry no more. The need was still there, but you had cried so much lately that your eyes felt like they’d dried out.

Dean unraveled his arms and sat back so he could look at you. “How’d you get here, sweetheart? There’s not a car remotely close to here. Did someone just leave you out here alone?”

You shook your head. “Last night, everything was just… too much. I decided I didn’t want to fight anymore.” You drew in another long, shaky breath. “I couldn’t fight anymore. I realized how completely alone I was in my motel room and...something in me just broke. My car wouldn’t start, and I couldn’t sit still anymore, so I just started walking.” You bit your lip as you realized you had no idea just how far you’d walked, or where exactly you were.

“So here’s the thing,” Sam said, pausing to choose his next words carefully. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. Could we give you a ride? Maybe we can go back and get your stuff, and you can stay with us for a couple days. You know, just so you don’t have to be alone. We were just passing through town and our…job finished a couple days early. We don’t have anywhere to be right now.”

You tried to reason with yourself that you should be more worried about the consequences of being whisked away by two strangers you just met, but at this point you didn’t care. You felt numb. You were physically and emotionally exhausted, and you figured that anything would be better than continuing to lie here on the side of the road. 

Besides. They had just saved you from what could have been an impulsive and permanent decision. You felt like you owed it to them to try, and something about them made you think you could trust them. You felt safer already with them here. 

You looked up at Sam and nodded once.

Dean scooped you up and carried you to his sleek, black car. As he helped you into the back seat, they asked what motel you were staying at. You answer, but you can feel the exhaustion from today catching up with you. The last thing you remembered hearing was the engine roar to life as you drifted off to sleep.

You woke up later to the low hum of voices. You were disoriented for a moment and unsure of how you got to be on this unfamiliar motel bed. With a sinking feeling, everything came flooding back to you. But before you could dwell on that, the boys noticed you stirring and came to sit on the other bed across from you.

Dean piped up first. “How’re you feeling, kid?”

You sat up, hugged your knees to your chest, and shrugged. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Sam asked. He hurriedly added, “You don’t have to. But we’re here to listen if you wanted to.”

You hesitated, but felt like they were genuinely concerned for you. Again, you had a nagging feeling that these were people you could trust. Even if they were strangers.

 “I was out of town.” You said quietly. “I...found them when I got back. My family.” They waited patiently for you to continue. “It was horrible. I got home late on a Friday night after hanging out with some friends from undergrad… It was the middle of the night because we had closed down the bars. I was going to spend the rest of the weekend with them before Fall Break was over, and… Walking through the door I could just feel something wasn’t right, you know?” You were whispering now, and you started to cry again as you recalled the scene from just a few weeks ago.

“I found my dad first. In the living room. His rifle was a few feet away… I’m sure he had heard whoever it was and tried to protect my mom and little brother. There was just… blood everywhere. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is that night in my house. I grew up in that house. It was… it was my family. I should have been there, I should have…”

By this point, you were sobbing again. Sam came to sit by you on the bed, and put his arm around you. “Y/N, you couldn’t have known that was going to happen. And if you had been there...you would be gone too.” You knew he was trying to choose his words carefully, but it still knocked the air out of you to hear someone reiterate that your family was gone.

“You know the worst part?” You asked. “They still haven’t caught the person who did it. I mean… they said it had to be some sort of serial killer, but that was the last I heard of it.” Suddenly, your temper flared and you started shouting between sobs. “What kind of sick, cruel bastard would do such a thing?! My family is GONE, all because of some sick Halloween freak that gets off on murdering people!”

“Sick, Halloween freak?” Dean is confused.

“Yeah. It was like something out of a horror movie. Like he’s got some sick cannibal or vampire fetish. Every one of their throats were torn up, like... teeth marks. Can you imagine someone biting… he just…” You couldn’t talk about it anymore. The images that came flooding back made you sick and again you felt the desire to end your life and escape this pain.

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he said, “Like… it was as if someone bit their throats?”

You nodded. “More like…tore their throat apart rather than a bite…but yeah.”

Through your tears, you saw Sam and Dean share a look. “Y/N… I’m so sorry. I hate to ask you to talk about it anymore, but…”

“But, what?” You sniffed. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You wanted to find a way to erase the horrible images etched in your mind.

Dean leaned toward you, resting his elbows on his knees. He glanced at Sam, then back at you. “Y/N… There’s some things you should know about what’s out there in the world.”

Part Two

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #fanfic #dean x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn reader insert #reader x dean #spn fan fic #a new life

[ayamturd]

white petals

a/n: Hello there! As anyone who possibly follows my blog knows, I rarely post original content and instead reblog everything lol. However, I originally wrote this short story on the Japanese folklore, ‘Hanahaki Disease,’ for a school assignment and actually liked what I wrote. Looking up to a lot of writers on this platform, I felt proud enough to share my final piece and would love feedback. thanks and enjoy!

Hanahaki Disease  def. Hanahaki disease is an illness borne of one-sided love, causing flowers to form and grow in the lungs of the unrequited, the petals coughed up with increasing frequency. The infection can be removed through surgery, though the feelings disappear along with the petals. If the love is not returned, the flowers filling the patients chest will eventually prove fatal.

I hear her screams before seeing her wave frantically. She jumps up and down, quite avidly, before screeching my name once more. Bypassers give her strange looks, some even trying to sight out who she is calling to, but the strong desire to hide within the mass in embarrassment leaves me when she smiles. As if a small puppy trying to behave in reward of a treat, she practically shakes in giddiness until I’m physically a few feet in front of her. 

“I missed you!” she yells, shouting it loud enough for the heavens above to hear while leaping into my arms. I almost fall back given the weight of my backpack and the nerves that had yet to settle from thinking of her, the buildup of finally holding her again. I missed this.

“I missed you too!” I tiredly chuckle. The hours of the flight were starting to reach me. She pulls back to pout at the lack of enthusiasm in my voice before giggling, securing me in another hug. It lasts longer this time, as we tighten our hold and burrow our heads against each other. The warmth of her comfort never left me, but being here now to hold it in my arms after too many months encapsulates every memory, every loose thought I could have imagined of her in ten folds. Her smell overwhelms me to the extent that I suffocate in pure bliss, welcoming death if it was to be by her hand.

We slightly rock, embracing each other as long as we can in the given moment. Eventually, no amount of grip can ignore the push and shoves of rushed travelers, strangers that will never truly understand the vulnerability we wear on our backs. I reluctantly step away.

“Hi.”

“Why hello there,” she smirks.

I tower over her and soak in her appearance. Wearing an old hoodie with thick sweatpants, her messy hair encompases her face like a halo, contrasting her beaming grin and hooded eyes. No matter the time of day, she has always had a softness to her that adds to her natural glow. With crossed arms and a tilted posture, she holds her head high in confidence and dangerous boldness; her attitude makes up for her lack of height.

It takes me a second to glance over her twice until I burst out laughing. I struggle to breathe as I choke out my words,

“What the hell are your shoes?”

She gasps and feigns shock, like the true drama queen she’s been since primary school.

“How dare you! I burden myself with waking up at three in the morning, tired as shit, to pick up your ass at the busiest time of the year travel wise to be insulted over my shoe choice? My oldest friend, my supposed best friend, I haven’t seen in months thinks to come up to me and have the audacity to question my beautiful footwear that I decided to bless you with as a welcome home gift?!”

I wheeze so hard that I have to rest a hand on my knee for support, the other coming up to hold my mouth. She continues to rant nonsense while I attempt to gather myself to at least explain their hideousness, though it becomes increasingly difficult as she starts speaking faster, no doubt purposefully trying to make a scene in the middle of the busy airport.

“God, just shut up for one second,” I giggle, quickly pushing my hand against her mouth. I feel the disgusting wetness on my palm, her eyes challenging me as they narrow in defiance, but I know reacting would only play into her satisfaction. I don’t hesitate to wipe my hand on her face as she begins to squeal and turn away. I’m already coughing by the amount of air it takes to laugh and go to squeeze her from behind, hiding myself in her hair and trapping her in my grasp.

“You forgot you were supposed to pick me up, didn’t you?” I whisper in her ear. The rubber trout house-slippers innocently dangle off her feet as the fish basically gap in the harsh, artificial light; a gag gift she must have received from her brother, I assume. She goes still, most likely contemplating her answer given how often she tended to forget things and how often I would immediately torment her for it.

“...No?” she merely meeks.

“That wasn’t a question to be answered with another question” I snicker. Without a beat, she shoves me back to defend herself, arguing sarcastically as we make our way through the crowd. Our banter continues until we reach the van. The damn van. Its ugly, faded mustard paint sticks out like a sore thumb in a sea of cars, like a singular old banana peel squished between piling bags of trash. If my memory serves me right, nothing has changed besides the growing rust and additional stickers on the rear. She stops to look at me once she realizes I paused in my sentence, gently smiling when she recognizes my uneasiness.

“Surely you didn’t forget about Hemlock, did you?” she taunts me, as though she forgot about the numerous times we almost died in the ancient thing. After five years, she’s still clueless to why I chose its name. I roll my eyes, climbing into a crusty seat and slamming the squeaking door shut. She quickly jumps into the driver’s side and plays the current cassette tape in, Marvin Gaye filling the empty air. Tempting me with the beginning lines, those glintful eyes daring me to join her, I willingly give in and sing along.

As if time had rewinded itself, I was back in highschool, sneaking out in the middle of the night in this god awful death machine and trying not to fall for the girl besides me with our terrible singing drowning out the world around us. What I would give for these moments to go beyond our indefinite cordiality; to be able to breathe in her presence without a constricting throat punishing me every time I reminisce in the possibilities. If only I knew then.

I first felt the beginning roots build their way into my lungs when she cried at our Junior class formal, her date leaving her on the dance floor to join his friends outside. The nerve of the bastard. We danced the tears away that night, high on the ecstasy of excruciatingly loud sounds beating from the gym speakers while sweating amongst the bodies enclosing us. Clinging onto each other as we jumped to the music, our cackles were a distant noise to our own ears. As if the hours were within minutes, we escaped the heated space into the cool of the open wind, the moon lighting our path to the nearby playground. I still remember the dazed look in her eyes as she stared at the stars from the ground, amazed at the concept such light could exist by its own force in the emptiness of space. She looked at me that night with wonder that rivaled the stars’ beauty above us, telling me,

“I feel like I don’t deserve you sometimes,” pausing to look back up at the starry night. “I’m so glad I always have you by my side.”

I held my lips tight as I tried to keep my spirits high, a silent promise to prioritize her current feelings above mine despite her innocent words threatening to break open my dams. As if someone physically took my lungs in their hands and squeezed them together, I hitched my breath, bracing myself from the sudden force. Scared of considering the notion, I tried to fill the silence I left unattended.

“Of course,” I chose to say, “always.”

I went home to cry that night, laying myself on the bathroom floor, for I wailed silent cries that echoed my hiccups against the cold tile walls, the pressure in my chest almost pushing out the last of my sobs before I closed my eyes. Not me, not to me surely.

I coughed my first petal at our annual movie marathon a few months after that, the innocent white leaf laid delicately in my palm in spite of forcing its way from a dry hack. I stared at the small thing with such distaste, hating the ache a single petal could cause and felt tears pool in the corners of my eyes at the thought of how such selfish desires could result in something so daunting in the form of a beautiful flower. The everlasting pressure on my lungs was still present after all this time, yet a part of me was hopeful. Hopeful in believing I could lie to myself until those lies became my reality.  The world could be so cruel.

The reality of my possible demise terrified me, scared me to imagine the vulnerability of acting on harboring a simple crush after all these years. She broke me from my train of thought, calling out to me from the kitchen and asking if I wanted anything else besides the popcorn. I opened my mouth to answer, only for sudden dry coughs to rack my body. I could feel a collective bunch grouping itself in my lungs, smothering my airway as each cough kept pressing the petals further and further up to my throat. I was choking on the damn things, individual bits sticking to the roof of my mouth and harboring at the back near my uvula. Before I knew it, I heard her rapid footsteps come towards me on the couch, handing me an open bottle of water as she kneeled in front of me, eyes wide with concern. I greedily chugged the water down, inhaling the water as fast as possible to avoid any hint to my true condition.

“Are you o—”

“I’m fine,” I interrupted. “I’m okay, I swear.” What lies. She obviously didn’t believe me then, but sighed in defeat knowing I wouldn’t hold out further. Just when I thought she would move to stand, she inched closer to my face. A single breath escapes me at the proximity, and before I’m aware, she reaches out to cup my cheeks with her hands, her thumbs moving to wipe my tears I hadn’t realized fallen.

“I won’t push it, I promise. But I’m always here, yeah?” I nodded at her words and slowly raised my hands to grip her wrists, still gently caressing my face. It pained me then, not only because of my recent fit but the burn of her hands on my skin. Her soft touch intoxicated my mind and drew me further into her eyes, honey brown, reflecting the forgotten television screen in the relatively dark room, pouring into my own.

I tugged her hands down. Although desperate for the rare intimate touch we shared in that very moment, I couldn’t handle the shame of craving her touch so badly, for wanting her to sacrifice her own emotions to comfort the ones I felt for her. I left her house abruptly then and there, throwing a fruitless apology and basically running out the front door with a clenched fist on the petal. What a coward.

The following weeks were agonizingly slow. I couldn’t avoid her forever, not only missing important school days but emotionally needing her presence in my life again, her security. Still remaining true to herself, she scolded me from isolating myself when I finally built up the strength to approach her, upset I supposedly was putting her health from my ‘cold’ ahead of our friendship, reassuring me I shouldn’t be afraid to go to her. If only, I wish.

I kept the disease a secret since I understood my worsening condition, mainly not knowing what to do in the first place and illogically ignoring the situation for as long as possible. From excuses such as eating in my room because of ‘late assignments and all nighters’ to dearest demanding mother forcing me to babysit close family-friends’ kids, I only had human interactions when necessary, still keeping my distance so no one was aware of the symptoms I progressively began to show. However, my luck could only take me so far.

I got home late one afternoon, finally allowing myself to spend some time with her at the park on the swings. I called out to greet my mom, and while raw from the rough coughing fit I had during my last class period, I knew she should have heard me and was surprised to be met with silence. I knew of the likelihood that she would have entered my room in search of me since I went out, but I couldn’t help but remain hopeful. I seem to never learn.

Standing in the middle of my doorway was my mother, her back towards me as she seemed to be taking in the sight as a whole, though I couldn’t blame her considering the circumstances. Small, white petals seemed to take up every inch of my room, comparing similarly to snow besides the puddles of blood mixed with certain groups; from my bay window seating area to the trim line on the floor, scattered individual petals all varying in size and color overtook my room and drained the life I once had, each piece a literal representation of me losing myself to this damn disease.

“Mom…” I whispered out. I walked towards her only to stop when I heard her choked sob. She crumpled to the ground, and I did what I could to comfort her from behind, rushing to hold her head to my chest and slowly sway our bodies while on my knees. I tried to keep it in, but eventually I couldn’t physically handle it and rushed to the nearest bathroom to spit out the most recent build up of flowers. It was getting more painful to keep going with the routine, holding in the coughs as much as possible only to throw them up in one single go. There would be moments where I struggled to fully spit them all out, almost suffocating on the petals and forced to sit over the toilet, wondering if this was the place I died.

As I hacked out the last of the petals I had the strength to with the metallic smell invading my nose, I laid my head on my arms, pathetically strewn on top of the toilet seat, I felt her presence and slowly looked up. My mom’s mascara ran from her eyes, most likely smudged when she tried to calm herself before approaching me like a wounded animal. I saw the horror in her eyes, and while I wanted to truly believe it was from learning her own child had the one and only freakin flower disease, I could see the uneasiness in her eyes from truly looking at me and me alone.

“How coul— how could you keep this from me?” Her voice trembles, broken in a form of agony.

“What would I have said, Mom? I fell in love with someone and they took my breath away?” Her demeanor changed into a look of anger, upset at my attempt to defuse the situation with my dry humor. My mistake for not reading the room.

“Don’t! Don’t do that, act like your life is nothing to be of concern or that it doesn’t matter. I’m your mother! I have the right to know when you— when you…” Another sob escapes her, and she quickly swallows it down.

“We need to take the steps now before it’s too late. We need to find a doctor.” I know what these steps entail, and if I’m being honest with myself, I couldn’t imagine a life without the love I hold for her now, a life worth living.

“Mom… I don’t think I could go through with it,” I barely finish my sentence before she cuts me off.

“No, no that’s not an option anymore. I refuse to stand here and watch my child kill themself for someone undeserving of their love.” I can’t bring myself to speak.

“Who is it? Tell me right now.” I loved my mom. I know her emotions are a show of her care, but in the end of the day, her words in a given situation driven by those emotions do nothing but harm. I stay relatively silent until her hard gaze breaks me.

“No one of importance.” More. Lies.

I showed up at her house the next day, leaning against the gross van and waiting in the morning before she heads off to school. She’s surprised to say the least.

“What are you doing here?” she questioned, yet no malice was in her voice, only curiosity.

“You’re never awake before I am.” She laughed at her small poke at me, but this time I couldn’t will myself to fake it for her. The air became thick as she understood how serious it must be then.

“I went to the doctors yesterday,” I began, “finally got that cough checked out.” She only nodded and stayed silent, waiting for the rest to come. I sighed at the anticipation, looking down.

“I— they think it's cancer.” I don’t look up but continue to hear the silence ring.

“My mom is obviously worried, I am too, but I came by to tell you in person because, well, I have to leave for now.” More silence.

“There’s a good doctor up in Chicago my mom was looking up last night, she’s trying to save up for the best she can find. I— I know it’s important to get the treatment and such but it’s gonna be hard and I’m scared right now. You know? I’ve never had to leave town, and bam, suddenly I have this deadly ass di—” she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me out of my rant. I felt the tears against my chest and couldn’t help but pull her in tighter, wanting to protect her from any pain in the world, even the ones I caused.

“Y—you’ll be back soon. You’ll be back before anyone knows it, good as new. And when you’re back, well swing at the park for days, eat the most junk food we can, make up all the time and movie marathons and—” her voice cracked. I held her tighter.

A sudden shake brings me out of my thoughts, a tender call of my name. My eyes shift slightly to notice her concerned gaze, staring at me as the cassette ended possibly moments ago, the static clouding the air.

“Are you okay?” she questions. I give a weak smile.

“Just thoughts, I thought I could ignore it while I’m here with you after all this time, but…” I pathetically shrug and look away.

“No, don’t say that! I’m sorry I didn’t mention it initially, I didn’t know if you were ready or wanted to in general. What you went through, it was a lot. Something people don’t just go through everyday. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for you over there, somewhere necessary but new nonetheless, but you made it and you’re here. You were so strong already, and you’re only stronger now. You’re amazing, my amazing lil’ star.” She shines that beautiful smile again, tears flowing steadily down as her eyes crinkle. I smile through my own tears too, laughing before looking away.

“I have to tell you something else, but before that, could we head to the park?” I ask her while clearing my throat, reaching in my bag for some medication and water.

“Of course, always.”

The van’s engine roars, an unsatisfying screech bringing it to life. We drive the familiar streets in a comfortable silence, and I chose to stop the cassette playing to embrace it as it is. I let out another giggle and turn to her as I wiggle my eyebrows, jumping out of the car before it’s fully parked.

“Someone’s eager,” she laughs out, rushing to catch up with me as I try to stand on the seat rather than sit. We play like this for almost an hour, chasing each other like little girls with no care in the world, no love to damage the beauty of the raw moment. Eventually I pause and sit on the ground, inviting her to join me with baby pats in the empty spot to my left. We lay under the stars once more together, and I finally work up the words to speak.

“White Jasmines,” I say. There’s a pause before she turns her head towards me, another smirk to entertain my new antics.

“What about them?”

“Did you know they symbolize sweet love and amiability?” She tilts her head, visibly confused at what I am trying to convey or why. I reach into my front pocket, and I gradually place the flower on her lap. Her eyes start to widen. She whispers my name.

“I’m sorry I lied again when it mattered, when it went against our friendship, our relationship. I was scared, and couldn’t bring myself to burden you.” She sits up and takes my closets hand into hers, clutching it so tight her knuckles become white.

“You could have said something! You should have said something!” She yells out with a bite in her tone, but her eyes go against her intended rage.

“Could you look me in the eyes right now and say you would have reciprocated how I feel without my life being in jeopardy because of it?” She stares so intently at me, having to look down and blink with the amount of tears gathered. I continue on, stating,

“I love you, okay? I love you for being you, for how you see and treat me, for how you already care so much for me. I love you as you and would never try to accept a love beyond what is true.” I grip her hands with my own covering them as well, trying to hold on as tight as possible. Trying to hold on as long as possible.

“How can you say all that when— when you left to—” It’s my turn to cut her off.

“I left before I went through with it, I left before I would lose everything.” She clings onto my entire arm now, tears heavy as she realizes how weak I’ve become in the past few minutes.

“Y—you…”

“I’m so glad I’ve always had you b—by my side,” I start to choke on the blood rising in my throat but remain determined as I try to wipe her own tear away with my right hand, “I’ll always be here with you, okay?” I honestly can’t see anything at this point, but continue to hold on, looking onwards towards the sky as the stars barely gleam with the rise of the sun.

“My star.”

#short story #hanahaki disease #i've never tagged things before #halp #writing #words #flowers #cringey shit

[apostleshop]

Dear Mama

Great News has been shared on https://apostleshop.com/dear-mama/

Dear Mama

Copyright 2018 Nicole Johnson. All rights reserved.

A few days ago, I was told about an anonymous post to a mother’s group on Facebook from a woman who is eight months pregnant and was just informed the little girl she is carrying has Down Syndrome. I was told because, as the mother of a daughter who has Down Syndrome, I know a thing or two about the fear that is enveloping this young couple, the questions that are flooding their minds and the outlook for their child’s future that is most likely clouded with misinformation, and stereotypical assumptions. Although this woman left no contact information, I couldn’t get her off my mind, so I decided to write her a letter about what it’s like to have your life touched by someone with this extra (special) chromosome.

Dear Mama,

I know you’re not ready to hear it, and I get it, (I really do), but I need to tell you something important, even knowing full well you’re not yet able to understand. “Congratulations. You’ve won the lottery.” It may be the moment you hold her in your arms or it may be on her first birthday or perhaps sometime in between, but this child of yours that is currently defined in fear will wrap herself around your heart in a way you never dreamed possible.

That said, I’m not afraid to provide a realistic, vulnerable and totally transparent account of what it is like to raise a daughter with Down Syndrome. First and foremost, allow yourself and your husband time to cry, be angry and question, “why us?” Let the tears fall and the fists pound the table — it’s not only ok, it’s necessary. You need to mourn the loss of the child you thought you would have before you can fully move on to love the one you were given. And please trust me when I tell you it is possible to move on.

For now, let all the ugly out. Cry about the loss of dreams you had for this child of yours and yell about the unfairness of the diagnosis now attached to this life within you. I still vividly remember every minute of the night my husband and I sobbed on the couch together as we came to terms with the reality that the little girl we would soon be adopting was coming to us with a long list of demands we never wished to meet. I also remember the moment we decided we were not going to let Down Syndrome define our daughter; we were going to let our daughter define how she would live with Down Syndrome. Call it cathartic, call it an epiphany — for us it was the oxygen we needed to take a breath and welcome her home.

I can tell you the cuteness will be hard to take at first and, if you are like me, you may not ever get over it. While you may be fearful of the physical markers that accompany the extra chromosome, I can tell you the extra space between the eyes makes for the perfect kissing spot and the flatter facial features and slight slant to the eyes will one day be a source of pride as you find yourself actually hoping the stranger on the street will notice your child has Down Syndrome and be blown away with how she is rocking her extra chromosome. Trust me — it will happen.

Copyright 2018 Noah Johnson. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

This road will certainly be different than raising a child defined to be “typically developing.” It will be harder in many respects and I wouldn’t try to convince you otherwise. The newborn stage will most likely include more doctor visits and more information about her health than you want to know.  The fact that she is diagnosed with Down Syndrome leads to a laundry list of tests not required for “typical” babies. Take comfort in the fact that today doctors know exactly what to look for and how to treat every medical challenge that may (or may not) arise. She will be in the best of care.

Your daughter’s development will be delayed, but every time she reaches a new stage you will wonder what you were so worried about. It will take patience, patience and more patience. And she will need you to be her biggest cheerleader, pushing her forward when she is frustrated that her world is more complicated to navigate than it is for most. She will walk, but it may be later than her peers. Then, all of a sudden, she will run and it will be hard for you to catch up to her. She will speak, but it may require intensive speech therapy. However, you will be amazed at her ability to communicate and bond without the use of words. Then when the words start to come (and they will) you will celebrate each new sound, vowel, and consonant as if they were a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Fine motor, gross motor, tone, motor planning: these will all be terms that become second nature as your little girl learns how to hold her spoon, skip, climb stairs with alternating steps, and take pen to paper to begin writing her letters. Her flexibility will no doubt astound you and you may find her chewing on her toes with remarkable ease. The beauty in all of it is that your heart will stretch right along with her, loving her more each day as you come to know the child behind the diagnosis.

You will soon learn, as trite as it may sound, that your child truly has more in common with her typically developing peers than not. Your heart will break many times over however, for the extra effort, determination, and perseverance it takes for your child to reach the same goals her peers take for granted. The pride you feel in watching her storm her way through life will glue your mama’s fragile heart together and allow you to keep pushing, keep encouraging and keep hoping.

Copyright 2018 Nicole Johnson. All rights reserved.

You will laugh. A lot. Often it will be a result of the unique way she has found to outsmart you again; sometimes it will be her innocent and funny interpretation of the world; other times it will be in response to her intoxicating giggle that just makes you want to scoop her up and shout from the rooftops how excited you are to call her your own.

You will cry. A lot. Often it will be a result of your patience running out and the feelings of inadequacy taking over. Sometimes it will be catching her in the far-away, open-mouthed gaze that all at once reminds you of her sheer vulnerability and innocence and leaves you wondering if you’re doing enough. Other times it will be simply because You. Are. Tired. More often than not, however, the tears that fall will be tears of joy. She rolled over — she took ten steps without falling — she signed “more” when she wanted a refill on ice cream — she melted the heart of a stranger — she said “ma-ma” — she made it through her first day of preschool — she ran to the bathroom on her own and was dry when she got there — she said, “I love you too.”

You will not be alone. Let me say that again. You will not be alone in raising this little lady. You don’t have to know everything, or anything for that matter. There are experts ready and waiting to provide physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, and specific, family-centered education for mom and dad on how to best care for your daughter. This care is state-mandated for these precious souls, which means you don’t have to be weighed down by the burden of therapy bills and the thought of financial stress. If you are anything like me, however, you may have to dig deep to be ok with the fact that you can’t give her everything she needs on your own. You will have to assume the cloak of humility and welcome the help that is readily available.

Your daughter will be loved and she will be accepted. Things are different now than they were even ten years ago. You will be amazed at the number of people that invest themselves in your daughter’s success. From therapists to teachers to peers and classmates, you daughter will find support in all she does. That said, you will need to learn how to be an advocate for your child, in your own family, in school, in public settings. As far as the human heart has come in accepting those defined as “different” there are still those who won’t believe your child deserves all the “extras” she will need to become her best self. Your daughter will prove them wrong, no doubt, but you’ll need to be her voice before she is able to speak for herself.

It’s likely your world will become scheduled and routine. Our daughter thrives on routine and I’ve learned from other parents who have children with Down Syndrome that what throws their children off more than anything is when their day is unscheduled and therefore uncertain. While you may find the routines suffocating from time to time, you will keep going back to them when you realize they are the very thing that stabilizes the world for your child and provides her the comfort she struggles to find any other way.

Your little girl will ground you in this crazy world and force you to recognize and appreciate the beauty in each moment. It won’t be all roses and fairy tales, but parenting never is, whether you are parenting a typically developing child or a child with special needs. It’s the best kept secret among we parents of children with Down Syndrome — the challenges are real but the joy is bigger.

Advice to parents expecting a baby with #DownSyndrome, from a mama who has been there. Click To Tweet

Trust me. One day, in the not-so-distant future, when time has played its part and the reality has replaced the fear, you will be able to reach out to the parents who just got news of their child being diagnosed with Down Syndrome and congratulate them on winning the lottery.

Copyright 2018 Nicole Johnson

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