#o do I need to draw more pd

[labannori]

Will-o-wisp

#jrwi #jrwi fanart #my art #jrwi show #just roll with it #jrwi prime defenders #jrwi william #william wisp #Can you tell i didn’t know what to caption this? #o do I need to draw more pd #like please remind me too I keep forgetting and getting distracted

[silentwalrus1]

How do you come up with all of the non-fire things Roy does with his alchemy? (eg. pulling air from one place to another for first aid/snake removal, the drawings in the air in 99%, etc.)

It’s pretty much just extrapolation & imagining applications from what canon explicitly tells us is the practical function and techniques of Roy’s alchemy.

He works primarily by manipulating gases - his array shapes & concentrates gases in the air, and then he creates a spark (using cloth or a lighter etc) to ignite the combustible ones. We also see him using the array on his glove to electrolyze water into hydrogen and oxygen, which i interpret as his array gives him control over H and O molecules that are already bound/locked up in other forms, since we don’t see ”alchemical” energy behave like actual electricity anywhere.

so if he specializes in gas manipulation & specifically has an Oxygen-control array, why not have him apply that to things besides thermobaric weapons? He could manipulate other gases, or use the O for other purposes - Arakawa even drew a 4koma extra comic where she shows Roy concentrating oxygen around random women to make them dizzy so he can swoop in and ”help” them and get their number.

On the whole, my process comes down to “problem first” - coming up with creative applications of a toolset require conditions where that creativity becomes necessary. What does the character have? What does the character need? What are the current limits on the character’s situation - e.g. Roy can’t build an uninterrupted gas channel because it’s too windy/raining - what can he do instead?

I’m actually surprised Roy doesn’t use the hypoxia trick more often in canon lol. he definitely has the capability to make people pass out without killing them; then again, it’s a short term solution only, like on PD where they have to leave the soldiers they subdue incapacitated, and they’re not incapacitated if 5 min later they just pop back up behind you good as new

#fma #writing #roy mustang

[a-sip-of-milo]

research to bpd person here!!! hi!!! hello! hope you’re having a good whatever time it is for you when you read this :P

i finally was watching a few videos about bpd yesterday and i was somewhat taking in information and im able to think abt the idea of having bpd w/o getting upset anymore i realized! i didn’t do anything for that to happen i just realized i didn’t get upset thinking about it and for whatever reason it’s got me happy but i’m not arguing! i also realized, upon learning what splitting is, that i’m doing it. with my parents, with my siblings, with my friends in a few cases. today the plan is to try and find a video about splitting to see if there’s anything i can do to try and take care of it myself, since i’m not in therapy yet.

i think in the same video, it was mentioned that teens arent diagnosed with pds because something about their personalities still changing or something, i already forgot even though i just was watching the videos yesterday, and now its got me (mid teens) wondering if i’m blowing the situation out of proportion and if this’ll go away by the time i’m in my 20s, but i think regardless if i can find media that helps with what im experiencing, that’s good, and i’m learning along the way anyway! i need to do more research into other pds too, i think the reason why i havent is because a mix of not often being motivated to and focusing on bpd because i was like “oh shit wait”

i think i’ve mentioned this before? but watching videos makes it a lot easier for me to learn because i’m not often able to sit down and read about stuff, but i can watch videos while i’m drawing, and i’m always looking for stuff to watch while i draw anyway, and often times i’ll stop drawing to focus on whatever i’m watching lmao

sorry for the late response!! it sounds like things are starting to get easeir, which is wonderful 😍 Also, if you'd like to assign yourself an emoji or an anonymous name or something so it's easier to introduce yourself/sign off each time, you're more than welcome to <3

#ask

[muggycuphead]

weird flex but ok i guess pt.8

7

War… Hold up, do we really need a warning for this one? Dunno, but however, watch out for slightly disturbing and kinda…disgusting imagery, trypophobic patterns, as well as ‘necrotic’ designs I made while having funky fever bc o h m y g o d do I get a little crazier every new quarantine day (and at this point it’s coming to be an usual thing for me, big sad). However, most are made no other than for the sole sake of satire, so y’know, no need to get your underwear in a twist

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – Missing Sketchdumps (VII-IX) [written: 02-08-2022]

Oh no forgot to write down about these ones

Oh well, gotta do it now here I guess (I’ll be as condensed as I can…unlike above)

PD: I don’t have any ‘digitalized’ versions of these either (I feel kinda silly for making the other ones, but oh well), so we gonna stick with the trad sketches

EDIT 26/10/2023: Updated the drawings with rescanned, more clean versions

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – AU fanconcept sketches [VII]

1.-Rocky Bal-BF

Funny wrestling man

Not gonna lie, he looks kinda cute in that outfit I made for him

2.-Rocky Bal-BF but his balls dieded

>All males left the server

This be a case of Herodias’(? Law

You die, you get blueballed

You get through the first round, you get your jimmies turned into scrambled eggs

Goodbye

My penis

In

A

Nutshell

3.-Egypcian staff

Haha funny snake stick go zzzzz

4.-Egypcian…mic?

Custom mic designs FTW

5.-Hypnotized!Mummy BF

Free will? Not happening lololol

6.-BF’s bike

Yes please

Did this with references I had in my PC, but most the work was homemade so shush

7.-Rocky Bal-BF icongrid

He’s in a lot of pain right there, but can you really blame him?

No one told him that rocky bitch was gonna go torpedo mode with her fist…on his crotch :/

8.- Hypnotized!Mummy BF’s icon

You’re chicken now

9.- Helmet Pico

I was gonna say this is the part I didn’t want to reach…but time managed to kill off the shame I used to feel over this

Compared to what other people had done to Pico in the fandom, this is just vanilla

His design does look kinda different from this though (talking about the idea, I don’t have a sketch yet)

Still, if V’s somehow seeing this- I’m sorry

10.- The helmet, now

Watch it with those ginger peaks, fella

The zombeeps are already having it tough to keep some of his sanity with the blackout shit going on, you bring in your flame looking ass haircut in here, and you’ll lead us to real pain out there

11.- Helmet Pico

Stfu

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – AU fanconcept sketches [VIII]

1.- BoneOilers Leader

Originally written to be a bad guy – now he’s just as confused as most of the human homies over what’s just happening in the hood

Proud of his design though, he be lookin’ badass

2.-Rockonna’s Coach

I love this fucker, he’s like the bastardization of an elf; plus, he’s pretty chill

3.- Terresa

She looks like a medical Carol Roll wot-

God bless her soul tho, she’s a sweetheart

I ship her platonically with BF, don’t ask why

4.- BF Roadkill icon

Drive with caution, kids, especially if you go on bikes

5.- Terresa icon

Scratch’d faez

6.- Freakystein Idle

Zombeeps go wee-woo, freaky bois go beep-bup-bap

7.- Heart

Probably BF’s, he got the undead sickie soooo…y’know

8.- BF’s phone

Wonder where those cheeky bastards took that photo at

Tip: comfy place where you go zZZZz

9.- Whisky

GF got stolen by who knows, time to go drown the sadness in a cup of alcohol

Friday Night Funkin’ BoyFriend’s Hood – AU fanconcept sketches [IX]

1.- Generator BF

Man, this didn’t age that well considering BF is supposed to not have any sensical fears…besides lighting

…Unless the feeling of getting electrocuted and posteriorly turned into a human energy tower could be somehow associated with it, then maybe

…Wait, BF’sH BF isn’t directly the main FNF canon BF…

Nevermind

2.- Crowbar BF

The way he posin there is like “Yo, when we droppin’ for the next robbery?”

3.- Sick BF

The zombie sickness’ finally kicking in, say your prayers

…or maybe not, who cares

4.- Roadkill BF

RIP

…nah

5.- Sick BF 2

Fuck, it finally got into his bloodstream

6.- Loose GF

Yeah, this was a thing in the main concept

Basically GirlFriend’s outbreak from her captors, the fact she looks like her mother was a sneaky bonus

Sadly it won’t stick fancanonically, so RIP

7.- Loose GF’s icon

Crazy bitch

8.- BF about to snap

Next line: b R  A I N S

Nah just kidding

He just gonna growl-beep for the rest of the song

9.- Differences between Demon and Zombie glitters

Self-explanatory

10.- BF’s crowbar

Wait are the black tones the blo- oh no wait they’re the metal part

My bad

11.- PICO NO

Pico no

Please, no

He had one repair shop lost before by a madman’s fire, he doesn’t wish to go through that again, thank you

12.- Diagonal mechanic arrow holder revamped + Invert and Auto/Action arrow

Invert arrows do be looking disgusting af

Great

13.- Note+Action and Pico!Auto Arrow revamped + Zombie keyholder

Bloodbone and Stitches

…???

The zombie keys are also disgusting

And the effect when they’re pressed doesn’t make them any better

To put it in a single word:

**CHWICK**

14.- Health bar against a zombie

Lineal health bars? Nah, we do the flicky here, baby

9

#friday night funkin' #fnfau #bfsh #au #alternate universe #alternative timeline #alt universe

[whump-town]

November Second

It’s Hotch’s birthday and he’s trying really hard not to let it bother him that everyone seems to have forgotten. (for @therealmadblonde) WARNING: briefly mentions some domestic abuse and child abuse

November 2nd.

They’ve been preparing for a week.

It’s strangely humorous to think that they know one another inside and out and yet, can hardly manage to throw a party for one of their own.

“He’s O negative,” Emily supplies, legs tossed up onto the edge of her desk. She’s twirling a sucker around in her mouth. It’s made her tongue a deep blue and as she speaks Morgan spots it. He points to her tongue-- drawing attention to it with a surprised laugh-- and then points to his own. A silent inquiry if his own has changed color. She nods her head eagerly, “it’s green!”

Morgan nods his head with a proud smile, “cool.”

Dave rolls his eyes at the interaction-- at the idiocy of his coworkers. He loves them, of course, but sometimes he has no idea how he does this every day. “Emily,” Dave says her name with thick disappointment. “You’re the man’s friend. He trusts you and all you can think to add is that his blood is O negative?”

Emily knows more than just that. She knows how he takes his coffee and his Chinese take-out order. That he won’t sleep without a blanket but he doesn’t need a pillow. In fact, he’s more than likely to just sleep without one. He sleeps on his stomach and doesn’t snore. His favorite snack is gummy bears and she’s never once seen him refuse the offer of an oreo. However, she’s failing to see how any of these things amount to “helpful” right now.

So she rolls her eyes and thoughtfully pulls the sucker from her mouth so that she can clearly dictate the amount of sass and snark needed for a rebuttal. “Sorry, Dave.” She shakes her head and motions vaguely with the sucker. “I just thought it would be a little more important to know his blood type than what his favorite color is. Given that he runs into more medical emergencies than battles with evil kindergartens holding him at gunpoint and demanding to know if he likes blue better than green.”

Dave sits back in his chair, shaking his head and leaning his head heavily on his fist. God help them, he thinks. No, God help him.

“It’s good to see you all hard at work,” Hotch comments, dryly as he walks across the cat-walk. He’s walked the path every day for years so it’s nothing for him to keep his eyes glued to the file in his hands rather than where he’s walking. He also knows his agents, his friends, well enough to know that there can’t be any work getting done if they’re all in the bullpen together. Not that he minds. While his tone may divulge a different assumption, they know what he really means-- “please don’t be getting into any trouble”.

Emily turns herself, feet still kicked up, but head now turned so that she can see him. “Hey Hotch,” she greets, lopsided grin pulled to the side by the sucker she’s placed back into her mouth. “What’s your favorite color?”

He comes to a staggering halt on the catwalk. Dark eyebrows knitting together as he turns his attention to the bullpen, his file snapping shut at his side. He’s just come out of a meeting with Strauss-- the only reason the team had gathered in the bullpen to talk so broadly about him. After sitting with that witch of a woman for the last two hours, his brain is a little scrambled-- overworked. So it’s taking him a moment to process the question.

Emily pulls her feet down and smirks, casually caught off guard by the fact that this is so trivial to him. Surely, Jack has laid this question on him. There is nothing children aged 3-6 love more than inquiring about colors. “What is it,” she asks, growing a little more impatient each second he leaves her unanswered. “It’s gotta be green or blue or something.”

He clears his throat, right-- colors. Those are colors. What are his favorite colors?

Purple. It comes to mind first. His eyes dart to Reid the second it does. He associates his resident genius with purple. Lavender, really. Soft. It makes him think of Haley’s funeral, the scarf that Reid had wrapped over his coat. The only real color that day. Hotch’s eyes kept flickering over to it, the only thing that seemed to ground his racing mind.

The answer used to be red. When he was just a boy and naïve and because it was the same color as a fire truck. The color doesn’t associate with firetrucks anymore. He remembers his mother’s busted lip as she urgently shut him into a closet, seven years old and cowering away at the sound of his mother’s choked pleads for his father to just leave. He didn’t need to do this.

“He’ll learn,” she had begged. “He’s just a boy, Mark. Please, please--” He’d flinched when the door was thrown open, his father standing there in the doorway.

And Haley. Red reminds him of the pain. Haley always got cold so easily and he’d just wanted to hold her a little longer. Keep her warmly tucked against him and try to remember the way she used to play with the hair at the back of his head. Pushing her finger against the way it grows.

“Hotch?”

He blinks once-- twice-- “I, uh,” he shakes his head. Trying frantically to remember whatever color he’d told Jack last. Probably like… “Blue or green,” he says with a shrug, trying to play off his reaction. His hands ache with the memory of that day. He’d broken three metacarpals in his left-hand killing Foyet, set himself up for carpal tunnel and arthritis. A price he pays everyday. A handful of medicine to survive the damage of the stab wounds and another to work against the inflammation.

Shaking his head of the thoughts he keeps heading towards his office. That’s not what he needs to be thinking about right now. If he’s not careful he’s going to end up having an anxiety attack on his office floor and that’s just not something he really wants to deal with right now. Especially, here with no medicine insight and where any member of the team could walk in on that.

That’d be just his luck.

Bogged down by work, he doesn’t even think about his birthday. He gets too caught up in Halloween and the party Garcia throws for Day of the Dead and he’s exhausted. Rundown.

He doesn’t even realize how quickly his birthday is rolling in until the morning of.

November 2nd.

He’s fifty-four. Old.

Hitting snooze, he lets himself sink back into the warmth of his bed. He doesn’t want to go to work. He’d much rather stay here. Catch up on sleep and, who knows, eat something crazy for lunch. Chocolate chip pancakes or eggs and too many pieces of bacon.

But he can’t afford that. The office still needs him. There’s still a job to be done.

Birthday or not.

He’s not expecting anything but typically, by now, most of them have sent him a fond message. Nothing crazy.

Garcia bakes him macadamia nut cookies. A dozen, just for him, and takes the team their own. There aren’t any cookies on his desk when he comes in.

Derek and Dave are nowhere to be seen. JJ’s arguing loudly with someone on the phone. Emily’s ducked into her work and Reid’s spinning in his chair. No one says anything to him. He decides it doesn’t matter. Today’s just another day. Every year he tells them how much he hates celebrating his birthday. He does hate celebrating it but… he doesn’t mind it entirely. He does like Garcia’s crushing hug and having to squeeze Reid so he knows Hotch doesn’t mind their hug. He likes Morgan making jokes at his expense and Emily rising to his defense. Dave shaking his head at them all.

Then, when they’ve all left, Dave pulling him in tightly and reminding, “I’m so proud of you, kid. Happy Birthday.”

He guesses they’re not doing that this year.

He’s searching for where Reid’s ran off with the sugar when Emily Prentiss blows through the break room. “What’s the rush,” he asks. Hotch doesn’t talk all that much. He’s prone to silence and a much better listener but he’s starved for a little adult conversation. Something, even a meaningless conversation, is better than the internal monologue he’s had going since he stepped into the office.

Glancing over her shoulder at him, she shakes her head, sighing. “A case,” comes her haste reply. “They’ve got me running front for some case in Louisiana.” An obvious hit at Emily to bother her. Southern states are typically covered by Morgan or Hotch. It’s not to be presumptuous but the more southern the state the less likely they are to want to listen to a woman’s advice on the matters of their murders.

He grimaces in sympathy, “I’m sorry.”

She sighs when she sees the other coffee pot is slowly filling, meaning she’s going to have to wait for a cup.

“Here,” he offers her his own cup. The mug is one Jack had gifted him some time ago. Hand-painted. He and Haley had made it when he was only about a year-old. The colors are horrid but Hotch can’t stand to think about parting from the thing. Ugly as it is, in Haley’s fine print are the words: We Love You Daddy! Sometimes rubbing his finger against those raised letters is the only way he can get through the day.

Emily accepts the mug with a sad smile. She knows he’s partial to the mug but she needs the coffee. She slides him her mug, it suddenly hits her when she does. “Shit!”

He frowns.

“I’m so sorry,” she pours sugar into his mug. She’s clearly overwhelmed, visibly upset. “I can’t go to lunch.”

Every year on his birthday they go to lunch. It’s nothing special. They got to lunch all the time. About once a week. So, it’s not really that big of a deal but he can’t help but feel a little sad. He likes spending time with her but he doesn’t so much as let an ounce of that disappointment show.

Taking Emily’s mug, he shrugs it off. “It’s fine,” he insists, well aware that she’ll know he’s lying if he can’t meet her eyes. He makes a point of forcing his gaze on her, settling a rare smile her way. “We’ll catch up later,” he assures with a nod. “Go on, I’m sure the Louisiana PD are waiting on hand and foot to hear back from you.” She rolls her eyes and he smirks. When she turns to walk away he adds, “and, Emily? If they give you a hard time--”

She shakes her head at him, “I know....” Turning back to hurry out she shouts back to him, “happy birthday, Hotch!”

No one else says anything.

He just… sits in his office. His paperwork is done. There’s no reason for him to be here.

Haley would have remembered. She always remembered.

Every year she’d make him a cake-- something crazy and he’d never know what to expect. For three years in a row, she’d burned the hell out of the cakes and he’d come home to her sobbing on the floor. In her defense, they were both very stressed trying to get her pregnant. Things weren’t going well. Then she got pregnant and forgot about the cake and it burned. Having a toddler around the next year had not helped her case.

He’d never minded. She was also so happy to have him around.

The other side of the bed used to be warm. He’d wake up to her fingers ghosting along his back or her head on his shoulder. Now he wakes up alone and raises their son alone.

He killed her and he’ll never forgive himself for that.

Sighing, rubbing at his tired eyes, and feeling the steadily increasing pain in his back he decides he doesn’t want to celebrate his birthday anyway. What is there to celebrate? What about him is good enough to praise? On his watch, Reid had been kidnapped. JJ scooped up by the “Pentagon” and sent to war where she lost a child. Emily died. Garcia got shot outside of her home. Morgan was forced to face his abuser, again. Jason left. He didn’t help Elle.

He doesn’t even deserve it. It’s not even worth the time.

“Hotch?”

He flinches at the sudden invasion, squirting to see who it is at his door. Reading glasses askew and pen hovering in the same spot it has been for the last hour, at least he looks like he’s been busy. He forces himself to liven up a bit, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Can I help you,” he asks hopefully, a smile tugging at his lips.

JJ nods, checking the watch on her wrist. “Yeah, uh, Garcia needs you down in the lair. I don’t know-- Listen, I don’t know what it is but she’s been bugging me about it all day. Can you just go check it out?” She sighs and pushes her hair back from her face. “I’ve got to get out of here. See you later, Hotch.”

He just nods. Throat tight.

It’s stupid. This whole day.

He’d never even celebrated a birthday until he was eighteen. Haley had gotten him a cupcake, just trying to make something of the day. For the longest time, she was the only person who even cared. Then Dave and Gideon had come. On his first birthday with them, they’d gotten him a tie. It had birds on it. Then Derek had come and JJ and Garcia and Reid and then Emily. He went for almost twenty years without celebrating a freaking birthday.

This one isn’t even that important.

He’s just being stupid.

Sighing, he makes his way out of his office. No one’s in the bullpen. The place is shut down for the night.

Hands in his pockets, he’s sulking down the hall. Head down and eyes on the tiles as he walks. Vaguely, slowly he hears the unmistakable banter of Garcia. It’s hushed, quick. At the top of the hall, he can see her door is cracked open. Just enough to allow him to see Reid moving inside, his hand being swatter because it looks like… he’s got icing on his fingers. He doesn’t even look ashamed to have been caught swiping at the cake.

Too anxious now to be excited, Hotch makes his way down the hall. Thankful the motion sensor lights have been turned off now that the building should have officially closed some two hours ago. They don’t hear him coming.

Sticking his head in the room he sees Garcia’s entire lair is covered in gifts, decorations, and stuffed with the members of his team. He smirks at the sight. Morgan’s trying to light the candles on the cake, Reid observing that they’re probably going to set the fire alarm off. Emily’s sitting on the couch, fiddling with the zipper on her boot, waiting. JJ anxiously wraps her necklace around her finger.

“Sir!”

He feels like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

When Garcia sees him, though, her lower lip starts to tremble. “Oh sir, I’m so sorry!”

He stiffens when she hugs him, completely unprepared. “Sorry,” he repeats, looking over her head to the others for some sort of direction. “What are you sorry for, Garcia?’ It’s clear they hadn’t forgotten. If they had he would easily forgive them. It’s a birthday. It doesn’t matter that much.

She hiccups sadly, pulling away to look up at him. “We made you sad,” she whispers. “It was stupid idea,” she says with a shake of her head. “We just wanted to throw you a surprise party but you don’t even like parties!” With each passing moment, she’s just getting more upset. “So, look--” she goes to the left, to a little table where she produces a plate of cookies. The macadamia nut cookies. “I even brought you cookies--”

She’s flustered enough that when he’s the one to pull her into a hug, she just melts.

“Garcia?” She holds onto him tightly. “Thank you.” He can feel her pulling in a breath to push away the words but he keeps going. “No one, other than Haley, has ever cared enough to even make me a cake. Let alone try and throw me a surprise party.”

She sniffles, “that’s so sad.”

He huffs, smirking, “I guess.”

Shifting from foot to foot, Reid really doesn’t want to break up the sweet moment but the cake has been taunting him all afternoon. “Does that mean we can cut the cake now?”

Morgan rolls his eyes, “you’ve had your fingers in the damn thing all day, pretty boy!”

Hotch nods his head and Reid smirks at Morgan, clearly pleased he’s won this argument regardless of the fact that he has been swiping a finger through the icing. But cake is cake. 

“Alright birthday boy.” Emily’s balancing the cake in her hands, bringing it to him carefully. The candles lighting up her eyes in a way that seems scarily mischievous. “Make a wish!”

He frowns at her but the look softens when Rossi places an encouraging hand on his back. He blows the candles out with a smile. 

“What’d you wish for?” Reid asks hopefully. 

Morgan pushes him, “you can’t say it out loud, doofus! It won’t come true.”

Emily rolls her eyes, obviously mentally scorning them both for their childish natures and for Morgan believing that.

It makes him smile to watch. The three of them hovering over the cake as Emily cuts it and Reid and Morgan try to fight for the first piece she cuts. Reid gets it but that’s not surprising. He smirks at Morgan but the devious look falls quickly when he sees Hotch is watching. 

Dave seems to come out of no where. He leans against the wall beside Hotch, “you good?”

Hotch nods, unsure if he can trust his voice right. Very good. 

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #spencer reid #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #criminal minds fanfiction #derek morgan #tw abuse

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Blighted

For my precious Sunshine, @5-secondsofcolor's birthday!! Which is technically now, because it is 1 AM on the 20th of May and I am a mad woman. Love you and I hope you have an amazing day, when you see this of course.

Here is your fic, FBI/Behavior Analyst!Calum. Female OC.

Ivy says she's cursed after taking the same career path that took her father's life. Calum's new on the team, a liaison and media specialist, but he's looking to get his toes wet.

AKA your regular old jaded pessimist veteran and bright eyed rookie buddy cop story. Please enjoy!

CW: In depth descriptions of death/crime scenes. Depictions of violence, gore, and blood.

Enjoy my masterlist (on a haitus)

Search for more writing in the h writes tag

________________________

The whiteboard never leaves. It glows behind her closed eyelids. When staring down at the neck of a bottle, she sees it floating just as the bottom of her drink. She’s cursed. But she knew that the moment she tried out for the academy. The second the thought floated across her mind, she would be doomed just like her father. Ivy tried her best to reroute herself--she got into the arts, was first chair flute in her highschool’s orchestra. She was president of the Homecoming committees her junior and senior year, and worked during the summers at her church's camp.

And yet when she went into school for her degree, she gravitated towards psychology and criminal justice. She saw her mother’s fear. The closer it came to graduation and the more the two of them talked about what she would do after graduating, the more the thought lingered, I want to get into the Bureau like Dad. But she couldn’t utter that. She couldn’t say those words without tears welling up in her mother’s eyes.

Ivy suspected her mother always knew about the desires. Ivy didn’t remember all the nights clearly, but sometimes she’d peek out her bedroom door and see the glow of the light downstairs. Ivy followed it, side stepping the creaky fourth step from the top and from between the banister’s she’d find her dad sitting at the dining room table. The kitchen light glowed from behind him and his tie would barely hang on around his neck.

“Boo,” he’d say quietly, knowing the slight shuffle of Ivy’s feet.

“How’d you know I was there, Daddy?” she’d ask, carrying herself the rest of the way down the stairs and make her way through the living room to climb into his lap.

“I can hear your feet above me,” he’d respond, pointing above them.

And they’d spend an hour, sitting at the dining room table. Ivy asked about her dad’s latest trip. He only ever told her when she was young that they were helping save people, putting bad people away. Ivy wonders if this is where it started. If this was where her father casted the spell, leaving Ivy somehow starry eyed about what it really was he did. Ivy would always look at this job with a little bit of that hope that her younger self had, and she’d always be fucked to never be able to walk away from this line of work.

It would kill her--much like it had killed her dad. But unlike him, she’d see the bullet spiral out of the barrel. Her dad had her and her mother to get back too. It wasn’t a weakness. Ivy admired her father for sticking with his dreams and also making the hard calls to make sure his family knew he cared too. But the need to decide would always be a slight hindrance, would always be the key to living or dying in this line of work.

All that’s left of her father, besides the memories and a few of his old t-shirts that got remade into pillows, is the whiteboard she keeps at her desk. There’s a whiteboard for the entire team to use of course. But this whiteboard is the one that her father used in his office. The one where he made his notes, scribbles. The one she’d write notes to him in the bottom left corner that never disappeared until she wanted to replace the note with something new.

“Thomas, look alive, and enjoy.” The manilla folder hits her desk with a quiet thwack. Ivy blinks from the whiteboard up to her senior officer. Kennedy carries on, dropping folders on every desk and each one of them stands without needing any further prompting.

Kennedy’s been in the field for years. It was all over his face with the deep frown lines. His brow seemed permanently furrowed, as if he questioned every waking second. Ivy liked to tease he worried even about sleep. But no one could sink a decade and a half into this line of work and not come out on the other side with a healthy amount of suspicion.

“And where’s this new guy?” Kennedy asks, glancing over the office.

Ivy looks up from her copy of the file. She heard rumors of someone else coming by the office, assisting them occasionally on cases. But those rumors floated around weeks ago, long enough that she chalked it up to just that--rumors. It doesn’t shock her though. Things start at rumors often, and sometimes they come to fruition and sometimes they don’t. Ivy follows Kennedy’s eyeline and doesn’t spy any new faces.

“Want me to keep an eye out for any lost souls?” Ivy offers, glancing back up to Kennedy.

“Nah, I need your eyes on this one. Head up to the conference room and I’ll be there once he shows up.”

With a nod, Ivy closes the file. She swipes the whiteboard from her desk with a couple markers and heads up to the conference room. The rest of the team sat flipping through their files too, Jenkins sitting right near the front but moved down one seat. They’re not new, having been around for a couple years. But Ivy can tell their type--getting in chummy with the boss, trying too hard. They’re a good addition, but Ivy’s waiting for the day they take a hunch and it doesn’t lead to the results they want. A loss will show their true colors, how well they can handle being wrong sometimes. No one on the team is perfect, they’re all hedging bets. Ivy’s taken her lumps of hunches being made too late, or the wrong bets placed. They’re not often. No one likes them. But they happen.

Diaz, Russell, and Burke and scattered throughout the rest of the table. The three of them have been there longer than Ivy. But they all accepted her with open arms. Diaz and Burke were more muscular. They had the brains to match, but they came up the pipeline from their local PD departments and aren’t afraid to get into a tussle. More often than not, Ivy winds up pulling Burke from fights than she’d care to admit. Diaz’s much too big for Ivy to attempt physically restraining, so she referee’s those fights that he gets into.

Russell’s their man behind the screen. He was good at getting through the internet loops, figuring out how to sort databases for the information they need without so much red tape and delay. He preferred to stay behind the lines, but could handle a tussle. Ivy doesn’t count herself as the brains. But her gut had some sort of true north needle that, more often than not, was right. She could see patterns faster than most, could sniff the air after someone and assess how much she could and wanted to trust. Kennedy consulted her often. Whenever she felt like she had something, he’d hush the crowd for her to formulate the full thought. Kennedy didn’t always agree with her assessment, but had to listen to it. He needed to listen to it.

“Nope,” Russell huffs, shutting the folder. “Fucking hell. Kennedy told me it was rough, but I didn’t--I didn’t think it was this rough.”

Ivy settles in next to him sliding him a marker. She draws roughly a tic-tac-toe board. “It not getting easier for you is a good sign.”

Russell makes his first move, the marker squeaking just a little. Ivy follows up with hers. She knows if she makes it too obvious, too easy, Russell will forfeit the game. So she tries to play along, like she’s vying to win.

Russell places his second X though his hands shake just a hair. “Yeah, but compared to you guys, I feel like if someone took a gnarly enough shit it would make me queasy.”

“A bad enough shit could do that to anyone,” Diaz pipes in, his own folder still open but his forearms pressed down over the photographs. Russell’s been around the block, definitely seem some rough things, but has always had a softer view of the world. Still wants it to be good despite all the bad he’s seen.

Ivy places down her second O, noticing the pretty obvious wide open spot she left Russell but looks up to Diaz. “I think I heard through the grapevine you were on the losing end of one of those shits yesterday,” she teases.

Diaz reclines into his seat, his chest bouncing with his laughter. “All because of your cooking Thomas.”

“My cooking is not that bad,” she defends, the cap of her black marker pointing him out.

Burke snickers too with a shake of her head and opens her mouth to speak but the room fills with the voice of Kennedy. “Aren’t y’all old enough to be left alone not to talk about shit for five minutes?”

“Never too old to talk shit, sir,” Diaz returns, his smile lifting only half his face up. He’s a charmer, whenever they go out to bars out manage to get a moment’s peace not hounded by work, he never seems to be at a lack of folks coming up to him. He’s already got a girl, but with the hair that cascades always neatly placed and the dazzling bright grin, anyone could fall for it.

Kennedy huffs his laughter quickly and then shuffles deeper into the room. “We’ve got a new friend, so let’s play nice.” As Kennedy makes head way, Ivy notices the man behind him. He’s tall. The black dress pants and black dress shirt don’t hide everything beneath them, but Ivy’s not too shocked to see people who work in the field like that with some sort of muscular physique. There’s something about his face though--something about the way his brown eyes dart around the room and his smile never shows any teeth that something familiar tugs at her.

Kennedy goes around the table introducing Ivy first, then going to Russell, coming down to Jenkins, Diaz, and then Burke. Each one of them lifts a hand or nods at their name. “This here is Hood, Calum Hood. Joining us as a new liaison.”

Ivy’s no good with faces sometimes. But names she hardly ever forgets. Hood, she met him once a few years back at a lecture. Not that she did them often, but Kennedy got more face time. But he made sure to spread the love between the team. He asked her to tag along. Calum must’ve been in the crowd, had to be, and had to have asked a question because Kennedy told her to remember that name. And she had.

Kennedy continues on with something. Ivy suspects he’s warning Diaz to keep any hazy tactics to a minimum considering how much of a mess they’re walking into. Ivy nods once more at him, and then faces back to the whiteboard, the tap on her arm prompting her too. I’m a scaredy cat sure, but not dumb, it reads in Russell’s handwriting. She spies his X in the bottom corner, opposite of where he would’ve won.

“Pull up a seat, Hood. We’ll have more time for pleasantries once we’re up in the air. But I want everyone to at least be familiar with this case.”

“Yes, sir.” His voice is smooth, Ivy notes. A soft volume and accented but smoother than she would’ve pegged.

The team breaks down the file, recapping mostly what they’ve already read but Kennedy’s old fashioned this way, needing to make sure people have done their homework. It’s an extra step than completely necessary, but having the quick meetings has always made this team feel more like a second family. There’s always a common goal in mind for them and they’re always reminded of it. No matter what happens out in the field, they all want the same thing.

“We soar in forty-five minutes. So let’s hope wheels can turn in the air. Hood, I need you to keep in mind the local PD’s been taking a lot of heat for the last couple of months. So we don’t want to take too much star power, we’re only here to assist and whatever we can do to put the local’s good grace back onto that PD we need to.”

Not quite what she expected, though with his demeanor and looks, he’s sure to work a crowd or newsroom well. She’s sure he’ll be on the ground with them too.

“Understood,” he replies and with that, all of them push away from the table. “Agent Thomas,” Hood says, reaching out almost as if to touch her elbow but never actually do it. He continues to speak once she looks over to him. “I-I don’t know if you remember. But we met at a lecture a couple years back that you held with Agent Kennedy. And I just wanted to say that I’m excited to be here, working with you all.”

“Thomas, here, does not respond well to flattery. Trust, we’ve all tried,” Diaz laughs, clamping down on Hood’s shoulders.

“I appreciate it,” Ivy responds. “Glad to have a fresh mind on the team.” There’s no smile, at least, not one she’d give Russell, Burke, Diaz, or even Jenkins. But Calum watches her give another curt nod with a quick quirk of her lips, and then leave, stacking her file on top of the whiteboard.

“Don’t sweat it. She’s in work mode,” Diaz assures. “We get off the clock and she’s a hoot. But on the clock, it’s strictly business. I will warn you, Thomas will burn you.”

Calum’s left, watching Diaz, Burke, and Russell leave. Jenkins turned tail the second Kennedy got done. It’s not that he wants to mix business with pleasure. He’s just been studying Thomas, attending as many lectures that she gives as he can. She didn’t always go directly by the book, there was something about her method that used the evidence, used science, but also had some sort of intuition. Thomas just knew things and when attempting to quantify it, she didn’t always have the words for it. Calum just wants to see that in action, understand what it is about knowing that isn’t always present in the facts.

The plane ride is comfortable. Plenty of seats even though they squeak just a little. Calum watches Thomas sit and everyone seems to sit spread out from there, keeping her at some sort of center. “Mobile. They don’t mind the hustle,” Ivy starts.

“Crossing state lines is risky, especially after the escalation,” Burke interjects.

“But wouldn’t that be a reason for it? If all the crimes look different, enough crossing state lines might make the unsub feel confident, like they’re getting away with something.” The entire plane turns to look at him. Calum freezes for a moment. He knows better. He knows so much better than that. Fuck.

“Valid. But we shouldn’t settle. Travel might be part of their job. We’ve got a good cluster to possibly estimate a home base. Get comfortable, perfect the craft here and then spread out. But why come back? Local PD's hadn't quite connected anything, until the return. More families, found exactly the same. Even when they cross state lines, all points wind back to a specific geographical location,” Burke returns.

“Hood, you got the inside of the media. What does it look like?”

Thirty minutes of his forty five was making sure that he could at least nail down this run through. And it’s easy, even with the squeak of Ivy’s dry erase marker, to run down the media reports, what information has been released and what hasn’t been released. He makes note of what the team doesn’t want to get out and what they do want to keep available to the public.

All the while, Calum watches the way Ivy writes over her board, the squeak over and over on specific strokes. He wonders for a moment what she’s writing, what it is that she needs to keep written track of. But he doesn’t get a chance to fully flesh out that thought before he finishes his spill and Diaz cuts in. They’re fast, not quite settling on any one theory. More like compiling the possibilities, not wanting to eliminate things but ranking how plausible they all could be until the pieces click.

The first thing after the flight lands, they head for the precinct. The lead investigator greets them, and there’s no pause. They’re pulled into the frenzy, looking at boards. Calum tries to keep his head in the game, but he is watching Ivy. The way she settles in her chair, her marker always moving. He’s not even sure it’s words anymore, just a constant circular movement. Sure he’s here to help regulate media outlets, and he can do that in his sleep if local PD and media follow his instructions to a T.

But he needs an in, to show he’s more than just the new meat on the chopping block. He’s worth something. “Is the last crime scene still available?” Calum asks.

The room turns to him, well most of the room does. Ivy keeps circling, but she speaks. “The plan’s to go in ten minutes. Whatever’s got you preoccupied, leave it in your go bag.”

Kennedy chuckles, tapping at her foot. “Give the kid a break. He was buried in news coverage the second we got into the door. But Hood, shake the cobwebs. This isn’t your small town’s rodeo anymore. If you need to be caught up, ask. But if you’re going to be in the room, keep those ears open.”

A task easier said than done, but he nods, resting his elbows on his knees. God, they’re going to think I’m an idiot. The room goes back to its normal buzz, but Calum keeps his head buried in his hands.

“Talk to me. What are your theories?”

Calum lifts his head. Ivy’s closer now. He can see the black marks on her hand from where she’s held it up against the swirls and lettering. “Clearly I’m barely treading water here.”

“First day nerves, but you can shake it. You wanted to see the crime scene. Why?”

“Why there? We have indications that the unsub spent a lot of time there, even with the interruptions they've seemed to caused. They're still meticulous. I want to follow their steps. What did they do first? And why? What do they need from a crime scene before it’s done?”

“Good. But what else?”

“What-what do you mean what else?”

She smiles, much different than the first one. It shows her teeth, a bit of a twinkle in her eyes. “What else?”

He goes quiet, reclines back into the seat and closes his eyes for a second. What else? There’s a lot else. “I mean, the next obvious thing is why these victims? But besides that, how comfortable is this person? Do they feel a need to be rushed, fast, get-in-get-out or can they blend in? I have a hunch they can blend in. Maybe people even trust them. They are perfectly ordinary and in essence, they have to be in order for the fantasy to work. Detection means they have to get sloppy. Being sloppy’s not an option, so blending in it is.”

“Bring that to the crime scene.” Something taps his knee and Calum cracks open his eyes to see her, standing. Her whiteboard still gently rests against his knee. She’s not looking at him though. Her gaze is locked onto the board next to him, displaying the crime scene photos.

“What’s your secret?” Calum asks. He’s almost positive she didn’t hear him due to Ivy’s lack of prompt response. But then she turns to him.

“Secret?”

“Thomas, Hood, you comin’ or what?” Kennedy calls. “I can deal without Diaz, but I need you, Thomas.”

“I’ll remember that,” Diaz laughs as they walk through the glass doors of the precinct.

It’s not Calum’s first time at a crime scene. But the second Calum steps through the door a chill runs through him. The carpet and walls are still bloodstained. Everything about it the scene just feels wrong, makes Calum want to immediately step back out of the house.

“You feel that?” Burke asks. She continues on deeper into the house, slipping into her gloves.

“This is when Thomas says she’s too Black for all this and gets the hell out of dodge,” Diaz barks. He squats down to the blood on the carpet. Ivy’s already deep into the house, seemingly guided by a force unwillingly to let her go. She doesn’t respond verbally, just lifts her hand, the middle finger extended out in the general direction of Diaz.

And Calum is standing near the threshold of the door, trying to pinpoint why it feels so cold in a house in Texas in the middle of the summer. His hands feel sticky even inside the latex gloves. His first step is shaky but he stops next to Diaz. “There are drag marks from the blood,” Calum notes. “This isn’t where they were killed, just staged.”

“The unsub staged all the victims here in the living room. We know that. Pictures show the parents at the ends of the sofa, children in the middle, dog on the floor.”

“But there’s blood on the walls. We know the Dad’s 6’1,” Calum returns.

“And we don’t have forced entry. So, whoever is wreaking havoc isn’t threatening enough for someone not to answer the door.”

Calum turns to the sofa where the family was found. “It’s picturesque, poetic even. You’ve got a whole family right here, at your will. They knock on the door. It’s dusk, sun’s just starting to set.”

“They have a ruse that gets them inside. We already know they have to blend in with the community. So what can you use to get into a house? Who gets into a house without a problem?”

Diaz goes into the kitchen where in the case file it mentions when the family was finally discovered food was still out on the table. “The window doesn’t have to last long. But it has to be just right. All three families were either eating dinner, or just done with dinner. So why dinner time?” Diaz turns from the stove to face Calum.

“It’s when everyone is together. They’re not just going after a family, but very specific family dynamics. Which means both parents need to present, two kids seems to be a minimum.”

“What’s the average dinner time you’d say? With this job, I eat whenever I fucking can. But before this, excluding people like us, when is the average person sitting down to eat?”

“6, 6:30 I’d guess. That’s assuming the average person is working a job that calls it at 5PM. A town like this is either on the verge of collapsing or being bought out. So I assume a lot of people are traveling outside to the city for work, so the commute might be even later. But I wouldn’t hazard any guesses that our unsub’s just haphazardly picking houses.”

“No, no, you’re right, Hood,” Diaz states, walking over to the table. “I guess what I’m saying is the timing. No one hears anything. But our unsub’s using a gun. That’s not quiet. And there’s not a lot of city noise this far out. They’re spending hours in the house and somehow getting out undetected. But striking at dinner time, with the setting sun, means this person’s around outside the house. But no one’s noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

“Hunting seasons,” Calum returns. “No one really flinches at the sound of a gun shot because people are hunting year ‘round here.”

“And it seems like humans are on the menu.”

“An appetizing thought.”

******

Ivy’s not sure when the chill finally left over the course of the day but it returns when she walks into the precinct and sees the entire room in a frenzy. Kennedy spies her and it’s just a look. Not much different than his resting face, but somehow she knows with that slight arch in his eyebrow. Another family--while they were proding over photos the killer was already moving on, already in the midst of their attack.

And it shouldn’t shock her. Well, to be more accurate, it doesn’t shock her and maybe that’s the thing that scares her. “I’ve been doing this too damned long,” she mutters to herself. “Hood, you’re with me. Get the address and let’s see what that gut of yours cooks up.”

“How’d--Is Kennedy going to be okay with that? The call just came in a few minutes ago.”

“Get the address and tell me how you like your coffee,” Ivy says. Kennedy’s going to come to the scene anyway, but she doesn’t tell Calum that.

There’s not another word before Calum passes in front of her. “Cream and two sugars,” he answers as he goes.

“So Black, got it.”

Paused at the desk of a detective, he looks over his shoulder. “Cream and two sugars,” he re-emphasizes with a tiny smile and holding up two fingers. Police station coffee’s never the best, but it’s better than nothing. When on a case, time is also imperative and they take what they can. Ivy fixes Calum’s cup first, slipping a lid on and keeping the stirrer through the hole. She pours her cup with no additions.

“Not even creamer? Not one?” Calum questions.

“Takes too much time,” she returns. “Burke, you staying?”

“Yeah, Russell got those files over just before the call came in. Besides that crime scene’s bound to be crowded as all hell and I swear if I walk into another house and catch a chill after seven years of doing this job, I just might quit.”

The two ladies laugh. Ivy recovering first to respond, “I need you to keep me sane even though you’re just as much trouble as Diaz.”

“Which is why I’m going to say here, work with Russell. We’re going to need Hood back before the 5’oclock news. Whatever you find at the scene will help solidify our profile and we need it soon. We need the hands on this clock, because it’s ticking ahead of us.”

Ivy nods. It’s no fun being behind. “Kennedy, we’re moving or we’re dying.”

“I trust you. There’s something off about that last one that I want to walk through again.”

“Let’s rock and roll,” she says to Calum, handing him his cup of coffee. “Mr. Cream-and-Two-Sugars.”

The drive is relatively short, all thanks to Ivy’s lead foot. But they need to get there fast, while things are still fresh.

“Did you always want to do this?” Calum asks in the silence of their drive. The radio doesn’t even play. Ivy knew he had questions. He wore them on his face, brows furrowing anytime he was the slightest bit hesitant about something.

“I don’t think I had a choice.”

“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice? We’ve all got choices.”

“My dad worked with the FBI until it killed him. And I think about how he used to tell me it was his job to help put bad people in jail. And I believed him.”

“The bug bit you before you even had a fighting chance.”

Ivy nods, taking a quick glance to Calum. “But if I had a prettier face, I’d stick with liaison too.”

Calum huffs out his laughter. “I went the journalism route first, sue me. Besides, that’s you admitting you think I have a pretty face.”

“I forget faces—so don’t think too highly of it. And I’m probably old enough to be your mother. You attended some lectures, I remembered your name. How’d you convert?”

It’s silent for a moment and Calum contemplates her statement, old enough to be his mother. “Given that my mother has shared her fountain of youth with my sister and I, you might be shocked to know I’m nearing 30. And I converted because of you and your work under Kennedy and his old superior Rogers.”

“All the greats,” Ivy teases, but she doesn't sound impressed. More like tired, used to it.

“But you’re different.”

“Yeah, because somehow the Bureau hasn’t realized their mistake.”

“Mistake?” Calum asks around his sip of coffee.

“Kennedy’s going to retire soon. He's done 15 with our unit. Another ten prior to that climbing through the ranks. Then they’re going to have to find a replacement.”

“You say that like it won’t be you.”

“Because it won’t.”

“You’ve been with Kennedy for so long. He’s obviously going to recommend you, Ivy.”

“He can recommend but people higher up get the final word.”

The truck stops just in front of the house, and Calum knows the most logical thing to do is just focus on the case, walk the scene. Do his job. But he reaches across the console and wraps his fingers around hers for a second with a squeeze. “You’ll get it. They’d be dumb not to bring you to the head of this team.”

“There’s an altar or a shrine. It’s small.”

Calum pauses with his hand on the door. Ivy continues beside him. “Go to the eldest child’s bedroom. In a corner you’ll see the small shrine. Our unsub left one at the last house. And the house before, I’d bet. And this house too. That’s what Kennedy missed. What other cops missed too. Make sure you get it photographed. Besides, I’ve been doing this job too long and don’t know if I’d even want the added responsibility if they promoted me.”

“How’d we miss that?”

“We didn’t miss shit. We saw it when we needed to see it. We see things when we need them.” It's the way she says it, like she has to believe that makes Calum believe too.

The sight rocks Calum--he knew it wouldn’t be easy. But he didn’t know it’d hit him like this. The room spins, just a little. And his heart racing. Mostly because he can’t stand the thought that this could be someone he knows. These people weren’t anticipating their would be like this. And what does that even mean for him? What does his end look like?

“Hey, whoa. Whoa.” An arm comes around his waist and he follows the lead of whomever’s grabbed him.

“I’m okay,” he breathes out. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, I’m a fudge brownie. It’s okay to not be alright in there.”

Calum rests against the side of the house and squats down just a little. His elbows hit his knees. His breath is heavy, falls from his open mouth almost like he’s going to vomit. But his stomach’s not churning anymore. Not with the fresh morning air hitting his lungs. “Fuck,” he breathes out again, eyes blurring just a little.

“But you’re okay. Take a breather.” Ivy’s shoes turn up in the dirt. "Get him a water, will ya? Hood, take a minute. It's alright. I'll be inside when you're ready." Calum just watches her go. It takes a moment for him to lift his head. It has to get easier. Or least he hopes it does. It takes him a minute, inhaling deeply before he stands up straight.

The rest of them processing the scene goes by in relative silence. Occasionally, Calum pipes in with an addition to their theory. Ivy hums in agreement. And it’s not until they step out and slip out of their gloves that Ivy says anything. “This is why I drink my coffee black.”

“I’m sorry. I really--I don’t know why this one got me.”

“It’s the kids. Kids are the worst.”

Calum looks up to the sky. There’s a few clouds, but not many. “The photos are bad, but in person is way different.”

Ivy watches Calum, the way it takes him a second to come back to earth it seems. “Don’t ask yourself if it gets easier.” When his gaze lands hers, she can see the furrowed brow again. The question drips off his face. “You’ll only disappoint yourself. And this job’s not for the weak of heart. For the people that can’t take some losses with the wins.”

“You said it yourself. You wanted to put the bad people away.”

“Eight year old me wants to believe it’s as easy as putting the monsters away. Thirty-one year old me knows for a fact what the losses are, who gets caught in the cross-fire. It’s not easy, not in the slightest.”

“Innocent lives do add up.”

“Which is why I try not to do math on the job. They all slip up. They all reach a point where their methods don’t satiate the need. They all make a fatal flaw and counting the unfortunate lives on the way to that will have you walking from the Bureau faster than you can blink.”

“So what makes you stay? If it’s all so fucking bad, what keeps you going?”

Ivy nods to the car, pulling the keys from her pocket. “We need to solidify our profile and you need to run press ASAP. But to answer your question, the thing that keeps me going is that fact that they do get caught eventually.”

******

Eventually seems to come up faster than Calum anticipates. He was sure it would take weeks. After getting back to the precinct more information in Russell’s digging found a connection between all the families, a Venn diagram that overlapped to their X on the map. Another couple of days and it all unravelled. It’s a blur, when he tries to think back to it, on the plane. The only grounding thing is when one of the children, a little girl about 6, pointed out the tattoos on his hands. In all this time, he was sure the tattoos would be a barrier to entry--they’d somehow put him in a place that others would think he was nothing but trouble. But somehow, despite the terror she had done through, that little girl liked his tattoos, found some sort of comfort in them.

When he told her they were for his parents, she smiled at him. She said she wanted one for her parents too and then asked if he had anymore and how old he was when he got them. All of which Calum was more than happy to answer while the medic checked over her. Her older brother came soon after, asking a few questions, but overall he was much quieter than his sister. Understandable for what was endured. In the end, Calum’s just glad he didn’t see them staged on a couch, bleeding out onto the cushions.

There’s a small bit of turbulence and the shakes cause Calum to open his eyes for a moment. Ivy’s seated across from him, whiteboard on her lap, headphones in her ears. A tic-tac-toe grid drawn across it in the middle, but in the corners are some swirls, a crude drawing of the shrine from the case. Calum leans forward and tugs on the board just a little. She lets it go without a fight and hands over the marker.

Calum makes an ‘X’ in the top left. “You said this job doesn’t get easier.” He looks up to see if Ivy can hear him and is relieved when she pops out one her headphones. She raises her brows like she wants him to continue with the thought. And Calum’s not even sure he should. Instead, he hands over the board back to her. If seeing death doesn’t get easier, then maybe it just means he gets better at it. Maybe it means that not being okay with death is a good motivator to keep down this path.

“The job doesn’t get easier. You’re still human. You still want a spouse and a kid. You might want two dogs and a cat. You might want that white picket fence one day. You’ll want to close your eyes and not see death. You’ll want to walk down the street and see humans as humans again. You’ll have nightmares. Don’t hide from it. Nothing’s wrong with you for wanting that. But we’re in a world now where we see the horrors--what’s on the other side of everything you wanted. It’s a liminal space and it’s heavy to wade through.”

“I just want to not freak like I did the other day. It’s not easy. But sometimes I fear that maybe I bit off more than I could chew.”

Their game of tic-tac-toe has been forgotten, placed in the seat next to Ivy as she leans forward in her seat. “You said you were converted because of me. What exactly about me was it?”

“You just know things. When you walk onto a scene, you have an air of knowing. How can you just pick up on it in a snap?”

“Well,” Ivy laughs, “if that’s the only reason you want in, I warn you to get out.”

“I want to help. I want to save people,” Calum adds on. But then it hits him. Maybe this wasn’t the business of saving people as much as it was stopping people. Sure, they prevent future murders, but that didn’t always negate for all the lives lost. But they did save that family today. He saved that little girl that wants tattoos like his. “I want to save people and I want to stop people as well,” he finally adds on.

“There will always be monsters in this world,” Ivy warns.

“And there will always be heroes.”

“Make no mistake, Calum. We don’t have capes. We don’t swoop in all the time at just the right moment. Sometimes we are late. Sometimes we’re reacting more than we are being proactive. Sometimes we fuck up.”

His heart stops for just a moment at the mention of his first name. He’s always Hood, or at least has always been Hood. Just like she’s always Thomas to the team. But she said his first name. Unmistakably so. “Did-did you just use my first name?”

“You used my first name, first.”

When had he done that? He didn’t recall, but he couldn’t combat it either.

“Look,” Ivy continues, “the fact remains. We will fail. We will make the wrong call, or the right call just by the skin of our teeth. We will walk down the wrong direction only to figure out, we know it’s the wrong one. We get it right. A lot more often, we get it right and we minimize the death count. But we’re human--you don’t have to take it on if you don’t want. You don’t have to suffer.”

“If I don’t suffer and win, then that little girl suffers and loses. Then the next person loses. And the next. Their suffering or mine--the choice is clear.”

Ivy studies Calum for a moment. She sees the resolve on his face. Just how much sacrificing himself is a no brainer for him. It was a no brainer for her too. But admittedly, she was cursed. Maybe Calum wasn’t. Maybe she could save him, even if she couldn’t save herself. But she wasn’t in the business of saving people, only stopping them.

“I can’t stop you, can I?” she asks.

“Stop me from what?”

“Stop you from killing yourself with this job.”

“If it’s killing you, then why don’t you leave?” His head cocks to the side, now intrigued by her honesty.

“It’s like you said, I got bit before I could escape. I’m cursed. Are you?”

The little girl flashes through his vision again, and his chest tightens for a second before the relief kicks in. He could chase that feeling, the knowledge that he saved someone, one person. And that he helped put away one more person causing harm. “I am now. Ruined--because even though I can’t save them all. I can save some. I can help keep some people safe. I don’t think there’s a better reward than that.”

With a nod, Ivy looks back to their game on the whiteboard. They would’ve tied, she can see it after where she placed her ‘O’. But she hands it back over to Calum. “Kennedy’s going to shit himself when he realizes he’s got too hard heads on his team.”

“You’ll shit yourself when you realize you’re inheriting the second hard-head on the team after Kennedy leaves.”

Ivy scoffs. Of course, Calum still believes in the shiny idea that hard work yields rewards. “And this is where I can still tell you’re new to this--the dreams are still shiny and ideal.”

“All the work you’ve invested, they’d be--”

Ivy interrupts him. “I know, they’d be dumb not to.”

“Then why do you keep saying it won’t happen?”

“I’d call my pessimism a curse. But at this point, I think it’s a personality trait and the truth.”

“And let me guess, this is why you take your coffee black too.”

Ivy winks at him before her smile takes over her face. “You know it.”

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood imagine #calum hood fic #calum hood 5sos #calum 5sos #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imaagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #fbi!calum #behavior analyst!calum #h writes #calum hood blurb #calum hood x oc

[alexanderstarhero]

Day 04: “Sometimes I can’t Believe We’re Related”

Dear Journal

So... Today was a fun and interesting day.

You see during class today, during DeckBuilding session with Miss Tenjoin, when out of nowhere, his brother just burst in through the door and interrupts the class.

He claims is because her cruel sister didn’t show up when he landed, even though SHE KNEW HE WAS COMING. She then claims that she was very busy and was on a schedule, as well as he.

From then on we are given a 5 minutes treat of watching them bicker back and forth, though it seemed playful enough to me. I guess it was kinda of the same for me when I bickered with the younger children back home.

Fortunately, the director and Professor Aoyama interrupts them and claims that since the last period was over were he was needed was over, he let Mister Fubuki come to our class, afterwards he will take him to the second years.

Apparently, the Director invited him so the third years could ask some question about profesional dueling and then let one of the students to have a duel with him. We didn’t receive the same honor, even though Mister Fubuki seemed eager with the prospect of dueling each of the best student for each year. Professor Aoyama claimed that it might be unfair on the other students and that his visit only extended for the benefit of the third years.

I thought it was unfair but for the sake of not raising the tension Miss Tenjoin agreed with him, and that was that. However she did say that they could give a us an exhibition duel.

We were all excited and the director decided to get both classes for the duel, it was awesome. It was a duel between Angels and Dragons, one more focused on Ritual and the other in Fusion. It was great. Ultimately, our teacher won the duel. My classmates were wondering then why she didn’t join his brother in the pro leagues, but the I knew the answer already. 

She said that she didn’t enjoy the spotlight like his brother, and while she wanted to be acknowledge for her dueling ability she felt that the recognition would be set aside for her looks and being a woman. She also mentioned that she wanted to inspire others to enjoy dueling like she does, and never give up the joy of it.

That was what she said to me when she visited and Mister Andersen told me she was the sister of Mister Fubuki. I saw his duel on television one day and he seemed to enjoy himself a lot, I didn’t understand why not follow his footsteps until then.

I’m still not sure if I’ll become a pro duelist myself, but I think I’ll figure myself out while I’m here, until then, I’ll just worry about my marks and dueling as much as I can.

Wait, I just got a message, let me see...

Oh my god, Chris and one of the second year students are going to duel Mister Fubuki near the Lighthouse, I gotta go Journal

Signing out.

So as always, late. But genuinely didn’t know what to post for this and something happened. Something Personal so I was like stuck in my own head. But i find doing stuff that I decided to do relaxing in some way. So I still decided to do the entry for today... even if it’s LATE

Drawing is for the next one, is more like the last one but look forward to it, cause I already have somewhat of a plan, I think.

PD: I had a little, tiny bit of a crush on Atticus, and who wouldn’t he was flirty such a sweetheart and he got great development during the final season. And i mean look at him, he is tick :O

I also prefer his dub name, but that’s just a personal taste I guess.

Thanks for reading.

#gxmonth2020 #day 04 #Sometimes I can’t Believe We’re Related #yugioh gx #yu gi oh gx #asuka tenjoin #alexis rhodes #atticus rhodes #fubuki tenjoin

[slippinmickeys]

Release Valve (2/10): Fi Follet

When the moon circles the Earth, it pulls with it the ocean. She used to lie in bed and think about it. How the world can be your compass -- moss growing on one side of a tree, the North Star, sunsets on the horizon. Even if you can’t see it, you know the moon is above you when the tide is high. She felt that with him. When he was near, her blood would sing, rising to meet him whenever he passed. Standing in the doorway of their office, she can feel him even now, her skin prickling and flushing on the high tide of love. “You’re here early,” he said as he walked in. He loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, moving over to the cabinets behind his desk. “We’ve got a case?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t caught her mooning over him. She watched his movements with some trepidation. She hadn’t seen him since Friday and the new agents started today. He turned from the cabinets, unveiling his slide projector with fanfare. She made a show of rolling her eyes. “The kids are going to love this,” he said.

“Are they?” “You did.” “Did I?” Mulder gestured around the office. “The X-Files Headquarters: Where Fun Goes To Die.” He said. “If you’re going to make fun of my slideshow, you can wait in the hallway.” “Sorry, Mulder,” she said, grinning. “I’ll try not to ruin it.” “Thank you,” he said, earnestly.

On that, Stone and Isaacs walked in, chatting.

“Morning,” Stone said, his excitement palpable. He had a doofy grin pasted on his face and a cup of coffee in his hand. Isaacs was more subdued. She was tall, taller than Mulder remembered. He had met her last week on a long lunch with Scully where they’d talked about her past cases and what she might expect. There’d been a 15 minute stretch where she’d kept cutting her eyes to Scully, obviously expecting her to tell her they were kidding, an elaborate hazing for rookies at the top of their class. Even now she looked as though she expected people to jump out of the woodwork shouting “Gotcha!” Despite that, there was a quiet confidence about her. She looked at Mulder and nodded to the desk annex. “Anywhere in particular?” she asked. Mulder shook his head. “Anywhere you like.” She put her things down on the desk in the middle and went about unpacking her few belongings. Mulder looked to Stone. “The computer you wanted,” he said, “the requisition got approved. Should be here next week.” Stone pumped a fist in the air and dropped down at the further-most desk, the wheeled chair coasting a few inches before coming to a stop. He looked at Mulder, suddenly pensive. “Can you…” he started to say, then, with more confidence, “have Purchasing bring it down here as soon as it arrives. In the box, sealed. I’ll do the set up myself.” Mulder leaned back against his desk and shot Stone an approving look. “Look at him, Scully,” he said, “not in the basement five minutes and already he’s achieved a level of paranoia it took me 2 years to get to myself.” “You forget he’s read all your files,” she responded. “Our files,” Mulder said, giving her a meaningful look. “Speaking of the files,” Isaacs said from her desk, “I’ve read the Greatest Hits you sent me over the weekend. I wouldn’t mind taking a look at the rest.” “You’ll have some reading time,” Mulder said, turning to the projector and hitting the lights, “you two are flying to Cajun Country this afternoon.” “We’ve got a case?” Stone asked, excitedly. “We’ve got a case,” Mulder said, punching in the first slide. A picture of a small lake took up a wall of the office. It was slightly out of focus and a few degrees off being perfectly horizontal. It was close to either dawn or dusk, the water an inky grey, the trees in the background reaching up toward a new moon. In the far right of the picture a small green glow floated a few feet above the water, its twin reflecting off the lake below it. “This picture was taken about three months ago in Vermilion Parish, Louisiana,” Mulder started. “Anybody know what we’re looking at here?” “Will-o’-the-wisp?” Stone offered. “Two points to the kid,” Mulder said, then turned back to the slide, “Will-o’-the-wisp, also known as a hinkypunk, spook light or ignis fatuus in Latin, meaning ‘foolish fire.’ It’s an atmospheric ghost light, which, according to English folklore is usually seen by travelers at night, especially over bogs, swamps or marshes. It resembles a flickering lamp and is said to recede if approached, drawing travelers from safe paths. “This,” Mulder went on, pointing to the picture, “was published in a local paper around the time it was taken and became quite the sensation. Locals, particularly teens, started going out to the swamp at night, trying to catch a glimpse. It was all fun and games until three weeks ago, when it took its first victim.” Mulder switched the slide and the picture of a teenage girl came up. She was all smiles, looking directly into the camera as if daring it to take the picture. She had sky-high bangs and dangly gold earrings. “Vanessa Glassie, fifteen years old. Disappeared while out with friends on wisp hunt. They’d just seen the ghost light when she told friends she had to pee and that was the last they saw of her. Local authorities have yet to find a trace of her.” He clicked to the next slide. Another young girl, with dark pixie hair and a shy smile. “Then last week, Marcie Vincent, a friend of Vanessa’s, went missing as well, from the same area. Friends said she’d talked about going out and looking for her friend. She told her parents she was going to bed one night, and they found her room empty the next morning. The window open and shoeprints in Marcie’s size heading away from the house. The will-o’-the-wisp was seen in the area the same night. The local PD asked the FBI to investigate.” Mulder cut back to the first picture of the ghost light. “And they think what, the lights took her?” Scully said. “Not exactly,” he said, “there’s a more geographically targeted legend about the lights in that area of the south, called—“ “Fi follet,” Isaacs finished for him. Mulder cut her an impressed look. She shrugged. “My mom was born and bred in Louisiana,” she said. “But the fi follet is said to mostly play harmless pranks.” “And in some cases attacking people for vengeance and sucking the blood of children.” From Mulder, who dramatically flipped to the slide of Vanessa Glassie. The room was silent for a moment but for the hum of the projector. Then Mulder went for the lights. “Your flight leaves in four hours,” he said, dismissing them, “you should pack.” They both stood to leave. “I want updates twice daily,” he said, “even if there’s nothing to report, you call me.” They nodded and left. Scully leveled a look at him, “Will-o’-the-wisp, Mulder?” she asked, incredulous. “You heard Isaacs,” Mulder countered, “it’s called fi follet.” “It’s swamp gas!” “We’ve got two missing kids, Scully,” he said, “and authorities asking for help. Isaacs could do this one in her sleep and Stone needs seasoning.” “So you’re saying you don’t think the lights took those girls,” she asked, looking for clarity. “No,” he said, finally, “I think it’s probably swamp gas.” “I wish I had that on tape,” Scully said to no one in particular. XxXxXxXxX “You should take lead on this,” Stone said, as the wheels touched down on their flight from DC. “You’ve got seniority,” Isaacs replied. “I’ve also got fuck-all for field experience,” he said, “you should take lead.” Isaacs nodded. Same shit, different town. She knew she wasn’t going to get much different as a Fed, but the pay was better, the resources infinitely superior, and this paranormal stuff was the first work-related thing that had piqued her interest in years. You could have knocked her over with a feather when Agent Scully called her into her office her the last week of class and proposed the job. “That’s some crazy intense white people shit,” her boyfriend had said to her when she told him about it.

She’d had a tendency to agree until she’d read the files. For the first time in her adult life, maybe she wouldn’t be bored. XxXxXxXxX It was coming on evening when they followed the sheriff through the woods to the last place Vanessa Glassie had been seen. It was a tiny clearing in the swamp, the damp ground covered with brown pine needles and empty beer bottles. The air was thick with the scent of pitch and the dull whine of insects. The five of them, Stone, Isaacs, the sheriff and two of his deputies barely fit into the open area once they trampled in, and one of the deputies, McLaren, the tall one, nearly toppled into a tree. He kicked a beer bottle into the brush in frustration as he righted himself, his mood dark. “Fucking kids,” he muttered. McLaren hadn’t been very welcoming since their arrival. Whether he was pissed that the Feds had taken over the investigation or the fact that the lead Fed was black, Isaacs wasn’t quite sure. She smacked a mosquito as it landed on her neck and turned toward the sheriff. She really fucking hated the South. The sheriff caught her eye and nodded toward the empty bottles and cans. “The lights are just an excuse,” he said, “the kids mostly just come out here to party.” “Who owns the land?” Isaacs asked. “The State,” he replied. “I don’t really have the resources to stop these kids. They’d just find somewhere else.” He pointed to the brush off to their left. “That’s where she was last seen,” he said. Isaacs took a look, turning on a flashlight and running it over the area. “We swept it good,” the younger deputy, Miller, said, clearly trying to be helpful. Isaacs gave him a small smile. “There’s probably not much to find. I’m sure you guys were thorough.” She turned back to the Sheriff. “You had dogs out?”

He nodded.

“For both girls. They couldn’t find anything here. The dogs at the Vincent girl’s house lost her scent about a quarter of a mile from home. We’ve just come up empty.”

“I’d like to talk to Vanessa Glassie’s parents right away if you don’t mind. Marcie’s too.” “I’ll take you over there in the morning, first thing.” She nodded. Stone spoke up then. “And the lights?” He said, indicating toward the water on their right. “This is where they were seen?” “This is where the picture that ran in the paper was taken,” said the Sheriff in the affirmative. He narrowed his eyes at Stone. “You really think the lights had something to do with this?” Stone shrugged. “You never know.” McLaren huffed out an audible sigh. “And the lights were reportedly seen the night the Vincent girl went missing last week?” Stone went on, ignoring him. “We had a few people call in,” the Sheriff said, pointing East. “Her family’s house is about a mile and a half that way.” “There anything else around here?” Isaacs followed up, “other than the road and the Vincent residence? Any businesses or facilities?” “None,” he said, “this is all State land until it hits the Vincent property and they’ve got about 500 acres.” Isaacs nodded. “Thanks for bringing us out.” XxXxXxXxX The next morning came too soon for Isaacs. After checking in with Agent Mulder, she and Stone had stayed out in the swamp for hours waiting to see lights. They’d bagged out at about 2am, with nothing to show for it but bug bites and pine sap on their ass. “This is my best suit,” Stone said dejectedly as he took another swipe at his backside and unlocked the door to his motel room. He came out of the same door at 7:00am with a pillow crease in his cheek, carrying a small cup of steaming coffee. They were dinky motel rooms, but at least each one had a coffee maker. Isaacs slid into the driver’s seat. “You get any sleep?” she asked him. “A little,” he replied, on a yawn. “And I’ll tell you, my enthusiasm for field work is rapidly waning.” Isaacs smiled at him.

They pulled up to the Glassie residence at the same time as the Sheriff and were quickly ushered inside. Mrs. Glassie was short with frizzy black hair. She was pale and when she asked them to please sit, her smile was hollow. Her clothes hung off her loosely, like she’d lost a lot of weight. Mr. Glassie was of medium height and build, and quiet – he wouldn’t meet their eyes. Isaacs decided to just jump right into the questions. “Had Vanessa been acting strangely before she disappeared? Talking about any new friends or activities?” “We’ve already told the Sheriff everything we can think of,” Mrs. Glassie said. “And tell them too, if you don’t mind, Doris,” the Sheriff said, “they’re here to help.” “Nothing like that,” Mrs. Glassie said to Isaacs. “She’s a good girl.” “Did she have a job?”

“She wanted to, but I told her school was her job now, that she could get one next summer.” “How about a boyfriend?” On that, Mr. and Mrs. Glassie shared a look. “No,” Mr. Glassie said, short. Something about that was off, and Isaacs decided not to reply, to see if they filled in the silence themselves. It only took about ten seconds for Mrs. Glassie to jump in. “She wasn’t supposed to,” she said, “she’s only 15.” “But she did anyway?” “No,” again, from Mr. Glassie. “Bill,” from his wife. “He’s not good enough for her.” Ah. So there was a boyfriend. “What’s his name?” Isaacs asked quietly. “Martin Dubois,” said Mrs. Glassie. “We talked to him,” the Sheriff said then, “he didn’t give us much, but he seems like a good kid.” “He’s a goddamn dropout!” Mr. Glassie practically shouted. Stone cut in then. “Mr. Glassie, did Vanessa have a computer?” The question seemed to shake him out of it. “Yes,” he said, with a touch of pride, “a good one.” “Mind if I take a look?” “We didn’t find anything on it,” the Sheriff said. “Just covering all our bases,” Stone said with a smile. Mr. Glassie led him upstairs. Mrs. Glassie looked to Isaacs. “The neighbors are all saying it was fi follet,” she said, on a sniff, “isn’t that silly?” “Will you show me her room?” Isaacs said, not wanting to answer. Mrs. Glassie led her up the staircase and into a bright green room. It was covered with posters. Boys, soccer, Dave Matthews Band. Stone was sitting at her computer, typing, Mr. Glassie hovering nearby. There was a phone on the bedside table, one of the clear ones that showed the working parts inside. Isaacs pointed to the phone and looked at Mr. Glassie. “Does she have her own line?” “No,” he said, “she kept asking for one though.” Isaacs looked to Stone, then addressed Mrs. Glassie. “Do you mind giving us a few minutes?” Mrs. Glassie turned to leave, then looked to her husband, who didn’t budge. “Bill?” They both slowly shuffled out. Isaacs came up behind Stone. “Anything?” she asked, leaning over his shoulder. “Not yet,” he said, “Nothing on AIM or ICQ. No email or anything like that. But,” he said, continuing to type as he spoke, “her history did get wiped the afternoon before she went missing.” “Think you can recover it?” Stone looked at her. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” he said. She snorted a short laugh. About 90 seconds later, he leaned back and pointed to the screen. “There we go,” he said. “’DuBoy’ to ‘SoccerStar22’ in an unlinked chat room. Check it out.”

Isaacs leaned in. “I’ll be damned.”

#the x-files #fanfic #fanfiction #msr #post FTF #Release Valve #my fic

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #269

“why aren’t you scared of me, why do you care for me, when we all fall asleep, where do we go?”

What’s your sexual orientation? Bisexual. What are you obsessed with right now? lol y'all know my staple stuff I'm always obsessed with, so two recent ones are Skillet (I've been binging soooo hard) and drawing again! What piercings do you want? A lot, jfc. More than any, I want collarbone dermals once I lose enough weight to where they're prominent. I've been on a goddamn weight loss plateau for two years. What’s your favorite show to binge? None. I generally don't enjoy binging too much. Do you watch porn? No, not interested. Do you have a secret sideblog? lol this survey blog. Do you have/would you get your nipples pierced? No. I very briefly considered getting one pierced, but I won't. Are you angry with anyone right now? Not like... actively. But passively it's there. What tattoos do you want? I refuse to die until I'm P A I N T E D  F O R  T H E  G O D S. Do you like paper books or ebooks better? Absolutely paperback books. It feels more "real," something to dive into, and it's easier to see and understand how far you're in. We talked about this in Writing once, was an interesting convo. Plus the smell of books, aaaaaahhhhh. Do you still have feelings for any of your exes? Yes How many followers do you have? On here? *checks* 265. Do you read erotica? No, I'd feel SUPER uncomfortable. That's why 50 Shades has never appealed to me. Have you ever gotten into an accident with you parents’ car? No. Ever thought of just picking up and moving far away? Oh yes. What’s the wallpaper on your computer? My lock screen is the Halo of the Sun from SH, and my actual desktop wallpaper is my favorite closeup of my late pup Teddy. What is the last thing/person you took a picture of? Probably a stupid Facebook meme to show Sara or something lmao. Name a band/artist you like that isn’t that popular. Otep. Can you lift your significant other (your best friend if you’re single)? I'm sure I could. What is the first vehicle you recall your parents/guardians owning? Mom had a blue/greenish van for most of my childhood, while Dad had this old tan thing that he nicknamed "Frida the Cheetah" lmao. He had that damn car forever. Have you ever seen counterfeit money? Not knowingly. Have you ever lost a pet you were attached to? Well of course. I grew up with tons of pets. What was the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done? Probably texting back "fuck you" to Mom when she was being really shitty when I was having a breakdown. Pick one: laundry, dishes, or vacuuming? I'd pick vacuuming over the others any day. Have you ever moved and had to change schools growing up? No. You are forced to move out-of-state. Where do you go? I literally want to move to Canada. The highway and back roads take you to the same place; choose your route. Back roads, probably. You’re going to be a mom/dad; what do you think/do? Have a fucking panic attack. Are you more likely to give up or persist when you’re having trouble? It really depends on the seriousness of the situation, but in most cases I've actually faced, give up. Do you resemble one parent more than the other? I don't think so. Your best friend needs a kidney to survive; do you give them one of yours? If we're compatible, yes. Name a big life event that has taken place for you within the last 2 years. Nothing because my life is incredibly monotonous and stagnant. Name one difficult lesson you’ve learned. Life isn't fair, and life doesn't care. Name one thing you look forward to as you get older. Hey, let's hope I can be a functioning adult before I'm 70. Do you use your hands when you talk to emphasize what you are saying? Yes. Will you usually admit it when you’ve made a mistake? Yeah. Does stress ever affect you physically? If yes, how? Oh, yes. My stomach will absolutely hurt and I sweat more than normal (I say "normal" because I have hyperhidrosis). Did you have a money box as a kid? What shape was it if you did? I don't remember... I know we didn't regularly get an allowance or anything like that, but maybe I'm sure I stored money I was given somewhere? Has kids TV ever frightened you? As a kid, I both watched and feared Courage the Cowardly Dog, lol. Do you have any potted plants in your house? No. If you were born outside of your era, when would you want to be born and why? Early '80s! What a time for music, metal fashion, and fun. If you ran a store, what would you sell/have? IF I was more knowledgeable on more species, probably reptiles and more proper care materials and give advice that's not shit. Places like PetSmart and Petco just... disgust me. What part in a movie would you love to play? If I was confident in acting, probably the maniac lmao. I've experienced enough Crazy for that. What's the oldest article of clothing you own? I don't really know, but I do know Mom has a lot of my and my siblings' shirts as we've grown up to knit together a blanket one day. Fuckin cute as hell. What piece of furniture have you replaced the most? The couch. What instrument do you wish you could be more than great at? Guitar, with that electric twist anyway. What’s the best part of your favorite movie? When Simba roars atop Pride Rock in the storm and all the lionesses join in FUCK I get goosebumps out the WAZOO. What do you think is the most over-rated candy ever? Twizzlers, disgoosting. If you could only debate two topics the rest of your life, what would they be? LGBTQ+ rights is #1, then... hm... probably the pro-choice argument. Or just women rights in general. Out of your friends, who would you say you are most jealous of, artistically? Oh man, my friend Mini. She drew pretty well when we were young, but her skill like... increased exponentially with time. She doesn't draw in a *style* I'm envious of, but that growth tho. Most jealous of….intellectually? Girt. What is broken that you have, that you wish was fixed? My brain lmao. A famous person you have met? Nobody. Who were the last five people to text you? Dad, Sara, Ashley, Mom, and my grandma. What is your favorite book that you had to read for school? The Outsiders. Think of the last two people you kissed. Who was more fun? I've explained the "idk if *I* ever actually kissed Girt" before, but just for the sake of the question, I'll just count him. I tbh hated it only ever because why were your lips always wet, sir???? The latest person was Sara, and she kissed fine. If your house was burning down and you only had sixty seconds to grab one or two things, what would you grab and why? Roman and Venus because they're family and I adore them. Out of all the concerts you have been to, which band/singer was the best performer? Alice was great! When was the last time you went miniature golfing? For Jason's and my second or third anniversary, so a long time ago. What’s a song you like from a genre you hate? I always answer this question with a country answer, so let's go rap. Hm. OH, probably a Post Malone song. I actually don't mind him. If you had twin girls what would you name them? Alessandra indisputably, and then the other... maybe like, Josephine. Especially as twins, I'd want two gorgeous, less-heard names. What kind of condoms do you use? I don't use any because I'm not sexually active. Do you say years young or years old [ex: 16 years young or 16 years old]? Man, I miss the days I could confidently say "years young," lmao. Do you have any personality disorders? Avoidant, yes. I'm pretty convinced I have dependent PD, too. Do you shave your arms? Armpits, yes, but not my entire arms. What do you dip your fries in? Ketchup or honey mustard. Has one of your good friends ever moved away? Damn, yeah. I particularly remember this girl from elementary school in I think the 5th grade that I was very close with, yet I don't remember her name now. What color car are you when you play The Game of Life? Dude idr the colors at all. Which hair color do you find the ugliest? I've seen it be pulled off, but generally, yellow. Would you date a guy that wears more make-up than you do? Hell yeah man you fuckin strut that shit. Did you ever play M.A.S.H. when you were little? Ah, I remember that! Sure did. If you were getting married, who would be your maid of honor? My mom. If you have any pets, were they adopted from the humane society? No, but I would of course. Do you like home design, like picking out paint colors and furniture? Not any more than the average person. Do you chew gum on a regular basis? No. List all of your features that you have ever got compliments on: Do you mean just physical? If that's the case, hair, eyes, smile, uh... I feel like that's it. WAIT I can't remember who but someone once called my nose cute. Have you ever been in a hot air balloon, and if not, would you ever want to go in one? No; yes. What type of computer do you have? It's an Acer Nitro 5. Is anyone else in the room with you right now? My snake. Do you whiten your teeth with crest white strips? Not Crest, but a different brand, yes. I hate my teeth. Do you listen to local bands? Not really. I will sometimes listen to an old friend's band, at least bits of what they post on Facebook. Nova Mortis, check 'em out if you like pretty heavy metal. Do you have a pool in your back yard? No, but damn do I wish. Do your parents fight? Do they even talk at all? That's why they're divorced. They, especially Mom, avoid doing so whenever they can. Do you drink alcohol on New Year’s Eve? Usually. Do you wear rings? Just one, a friendship ring w/ Sara. Are there any restaurants in walking distance to your house? It'd be quite a long walk, at least by my standards. What was the last picture you uploaded to your Facebook? A picture of Mom and me. Have you ever listened to the same song on repeat for hours on end? YES. When I find a song I really like, I become VERY obsessive. Like I will play it and play it and play it for days. I in general have an extremely obsessive personality. Do you like staying in hotels? I don't have much of an opinion. It's a nice change of space, though. Are musicals interesting or boring? They're cheesy to me. What is your favorite scent of incense? (If you burn it) Okay, HEAR ME OUT. There is legit a kind called "monkey farts" that smells SO FUCKIN GOOD. Jason used to burn incense in his room all the time and that was my favorite one, so I use it now. Where do you normally hang out on the weekends? At home. I'm always at home, regardless of the day. Can you tune a guitar by ear or do you need a tuner? I never could. Do you like love songs? Generally, yes. They're sweet. Would you rather drink 7Up or Sprite? Fun fact: Sprite used to be my FAVORITE soda as a kid. I even had a fuckin Sprite shirt. Now, I hate it. I haven't tasted 7UP in forever. What is your favorite song as of right now? I'm seriously digging Halocene lately, esp their cover of "bury a friend." Have you ever sex texted? This is gonna sound so stupid, but I'm actually not *totally* sure what that is? Just like, dirty talking or like, virtually RPing sex? The former I did when I was fuckin 12 like a goddamn idiot, but not the latter. When's the last time you went out of state? A year and a half (I think?) ago to visit Sara. What was your favorite TV show last year? I didn't *really* have one, at least not actively. Like I didn't devoutly watch anything. Would you know who to talk to if you wanted weed? HAHA I sureeeee do. I wouldn't want any, though. What is your favorite Beatles song? "Hey, Jude." If you could kiss anyone right now, who would it be? I don't want to think about this. What is your favorite energy drink? I don't like energy drinks. Way too intense. Have you ever been to Hooters before? No. When's the last time you tripped? (Literally or, you know) HA, funny I take this survey today because my left foot is either broken or I seriously tore a ligament in it because I fell yesterday. I had to go up a dose on my medication that helps my nightmares, but it's notoriously for lowering your blood pressure, and mine is naturally low. I got up to go to the bathroom and grab breakfast and many times nearly passed out from being so dizzy until I finally fell and my foot bent forward. I couldn't even walk by myself yesterday and am still really struggling today. Our family friend brought the boot she wore when she broke her foot over just a while ago, but if this doesn't help, Mom's demanding I go to the ER. Can you touch your toes? I don't know HOW I can, but I can, I guess from when I did yoga daily and I could pretty much go under my feet. What would you say is the best feeling in the world? Being in love and knowing they're in love with you, too. Have you ever “spoken” to any celebrities via Twitter? No. Do you like croissants? YESSSSSSSSSSS. Do you get a lot of traffic outside your house or not? Yes. Mom explained to me why one day because I'd asked, but idr what she said. Do you eat cereal bars? No, I'm a granola bar person. Would you consider yourself healthy? Uh no. Assuming you could speak and understand the language, would you ever study in a foreign, non-English speaking country? Sure, for like a year or so! Doing that in Germany would be amazing. Are you on any prescribed medication? A lot. Do you know any immigrants? I know an illegal one that got deported. I probably know others. Have you ever lived in university or college accommodation before? No. If you haven’t already, are you scared of leaving home? If you have, do you like it? Very scared. I'm just very dependent and ignorant on how to be an adult. If you could only eat one vegetable for a year (not including potatoes) what would it be? Broccoli. Do you have a certain routine in the bath or shower? What is it? Shave, shampoo, facial scrub, this exfoliating brush for your feet, and then body wash. Is there anything that you loved a year ago but just can’t stand now? Hm. I don't really know. What’s the weirdest meat you’ve ever eaten? I took the SMALLEST bite out of it because I couldn't stomach eating it, but after a lot of convincing I tried a microscopic bit out of deer jerky. If you smoke, what brand of cigarettes do you smoke? If you don’t, have you ever tried? Don't smoke and don't want to. Do you like dried fruit at all? what’s your favorite type? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

#survey #questions #quiz

[jiayuki]

Yoonkook daemon!au

Show you Me, Give You Me

13k of fluff and feels, and only warning is of a very brief gory scene. 

Somewhere between the cracks of gummy smiles and quiet nights in a dimly lit studio, Jungkook falls in love with Yoongi and his gentle soul.

But somewhere between the twisting cracks of his mind and the memories of harsh, whispered words slicing through his defenses, Jungkook also learns to hide and conceal, to bury his love deep. So deep that it can't seep out, even when he cracks.

(daemon!au where Jungkook grows up and learns that to love is to trust.)

Read on AO3 or below!

i.

When Yoongi meets Jungkook, the first thing he notices is his daemon.

It’s flickering between forms so rapidly that Yoongi can barely keep up—rabbit, moth, frog, owl, a large dog, ermine, a finch, and on and on. The boy himself stands in the entrance of the Bangtan dorm, half hidden behind the door, wetting his lips nervously when he notices Yoongi staring. He’s so young.

“Hi, I-I’m, um, Jungkook?” He says uncertainly, dark eyes wide as he shifts from foot to foot. “And, I think I’m supposed to, um, move in today? O-or, I mean, I’m supposed to move in today.” He flushes at his own stuttering, looking like he wants to drown himself in his oversized hoodie, and his daemon shifts into a mouse, chittering in agitation and tugging on Jungkook’s loosened shoelace.

The boy’s so painfully shy that Yoongi almost feels bad for him.

“Yeah, kiddo. I’m Yoongi. We heard that another member was joining today.” Yoongi waits for him to respond, but Jungkook only shifts nervously.

For once, Yoongi wishes Taehyung and Jimin were here, or maybe Hoseok. Any one of them could do a better job at melting through Jungkook’s skittishness than he could. But Yoongi’s the only one home right now, so he takes a deep breath and tries again. Hopes he doesn’t accidentally screw this up.

“How old are you? And what’s your daemon’s name? They didn’t tell us anything other than you were coming.” Yoongi strokes the ears of his own daemon, who had settled in the form of a silverish cat when Yoongi turned seventeen. “This is Moonyeon, by the way, but we just call her Moon.”

“Moon,” Jungkook repeats, smiling bashfully when she flicks her tail lazily in acknowledgement. “I’m fifteen,” he adds, “and my daemon’s name is Haru. He’s—he’s not usually this…um, this volatile.” Jungkook seems a little distressed as Haru changes into a chameleon, clinging to Jungkook’s pant leg, and then drops down between his feet and lands as a palm-sized turtle. “Haru, please. You’re making us look spastic,” he whispers, and the turtle morphs into a hedgehog, slumped sulkily over Jungkook’s shoe.

So young, Yoongi thinks again. No wonder his daemon hadn’t settled yet. Most daemons settled around eighteen, some of the earlier ones around seventeen. By the time children began to enter adolescence though, the majority of daemons slow down their shifting, picking several preferred forms to transform between. Yoongi’s never seen a daemon shift so much.

Moon had been one of the lazier ones—she’d found a preference for staying in feline form in Yoongi’s early childhood, and he could only ever remember her shifting between two or three breeds based on her mood or Yoongi’s needs.

“You don’t…you don’t mind that Haru’s a male?” Jungkook whispers, breaking Yoongi out of his thoughts. And now that the older boy observes more closely, he can see that Jungkook holds himself tensely, an edge of fear and apprehensiveness in the set of his mouth. He scoops up Haru protectively, and the hedgehog transforms into a python, wrapping defensively around Jungkook’s small form.

Moon lifts her head at that, blinking open narrow golden eyes. She sniffs and leaps to the floor lightly, nonchalant as she ambles up to Jungkook, tail flicking back and forth. She gives Haru a cursory sniff and sits back on her haunches.

“We could give less of a crap about gender,” she rasps, voice sandy and deep. Yoongi snorts in exasperation. Tactful as usual. Moon hold’s Haru’s gaze unflinchingly, completely unfazed by the other daemon’s threatening form.

Yoongi smiles wryly. It is uncommon for one’s daemon to be the same gender, something that’s stigmatized and treated like a disease in their culture.

He’s witnessed parents, whispering and glaring, pulling children away from same sex human-daemon pairs; he’s seen news sources and even his own traditional-minded family discussing how these people must have some sort of spiritual or personal defect since daemons were manifestations of the soul.

The way that Jungkook holds himself tells Yoongi everything he needs to know.

“I don’t care either,” Yoongi reaffirms, finally standing to approach the younger boy. Yoongi watches as Jungkook’s expression relaxes a fraction, and Haru slowly uncurls from Jungkook’s shoulder, dropping down to the ground as tabby housecat to match Moon.

Purring softly, Moon rubs her face against Haru, who bumps under her chin with his nose. “It’s nice to meet you,” Haru says, and his voice is just as soft as Jungkook’s. His tail twitches in embarrassment now that he’s finally calmed down. “It’s just that—that no one ever accepts us right from the start, other than our family.” He touches his flank to Moon’s.

“You don’t have to worry about that with us,” Yoongi replies, ruffling Jungkook’s hair. The younger boy startles, cheeks blushing pink. “Namjoon and Hoseok might be surprised, but they’re both open-minded, ok? I can’t speak for the other boys that are joining soon, but I trust that Bang PD-nim chose good people. And here, I’ll help you with your bags.” Yoongi brushes past Jungkook to pick up the bags that were abandoned at the doorstep.

“You can call me Yoongi-hyung. And Moon-noona for Haru,” he adds, and Jungkook hurries behind him with another backpack and suitcase as he leads them toward Namjoon’s room. “Get settled, alright? You’re rooming with Joonie and Iseul.”

“Joonie? Iseul?” Jungkook asks, brow crinkling. He looks worried again, the same insecure anxiety that he had arrived with bleeding back into his face.

Moon barks out a husky laugh. “It’s Namjoon-hyung to you, and his daemon’s name is Iseul. Yoongi and I are nineteen, and Joon and Iseul are a year younger. Those two are the least of your worries; we can all guarantee that they’ll welcome you openly.”

“Iseul’s a late settler though,” Yoongi adds. “She likes staying as an owl, but don’t be surprised if you catch her trying something else.” Like a baby elephant. Iseul is one of the gentlest daemons Yoongi has ever met, but she has a thirst for curiosity to match Namjoon’s ever expanding intellect. They had all found Iseul testing strange forms at the most inconvenient of times, never able to pick one shape to settle in.

“Call if you need any help, ok?” Yoongi turns to leave, thinking that Jungkook might need some space, and Moon gives Haru an affectionate lick before leaping onto Yoongi’s shoulder.

“I—okay,” Jungkook says hesitantly.

Yoongi raises a brow but doesn’t push, already a step out the door.

“Wait!” Jungkook calls, and Yoongi pivots back around, expectant. Haru is tucked in the cradle of Jungkook’s arms now, and the boy ducks his face into the fluffy ears of—what is it, a rabbit now?

“I just…um, wanted to say thank you, Yoongi-hyung.” He mumbles into Haru’s thick pelt. “And Moon. Thank you.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to ask what for, warmth blooming in his chest.

“Mhmm, anytime, kiddo.”

ii.

Introductions go fairly smoothly from there, and for the most part, the boys seem more delighted to meet Jungkook and Haru than anything else. Yoongi watches quietly from the sidelines, both Moon and himself passive but attentive.

Seokjin joins soon after Jungkook, followed by Taehyung and Jimin. Yoongi can tell that it sooths Jungkook to have a couple boys closer to his age in his dorm, and Seokjin and his daemon adopt a strange role between a overprotective parent and a playfully antagonistic older brother. It also doesn’t hurt that all of the members find their maknae unbearably adorable, but Jungkook still remains anxious in the early months of living in their new home.

Yoongi is content to let Jungkook come into his skin at his own pace, but he draws the line when he catches Jungkook showering at three in the morning.

He’s returning from another late night at the studio, when he hears the water running in the single bathroom they all share. Furrowing his brows, he toes off his shoes and hangs up his coat by the doorway, checking his watch quickly.

3:22 am.

That’s pretty late for even Yoongi, and no one had dance lessons today either. Which begets the question, who the hell is showering at this time?

The water shuts off, and less than a minute later, the door cracks open, Jungkook stepping out in a towel. Haru ambles behind him in the form of a palm-sized turtle, looking content to be waterlogged.  

Jungkook yelps when he sees Yoongi. “I—I thought everyone was sleeping already—”

Yoongi crosses his arms, unimpressed. “Is that why you’re showering right now?”

Jungkook shuffles his feet self-consciously, drawing his towel tighter around his hunched shoulders. “I—I…” he drops his eyes sheepishly, “yeah…”

Yoongi is about to scold him about regular sleeping patterns, despite the clear hypocrisy, but he finally notices Jungkook shivering, cold droplets of water running from his hair down his neck. Haru has hunched down into his shell, pressed against Jungkook’s leg for warmth.

“Come on, Kook,” Yoongi sighs. He grabs another towel from the rack in the bathroom and drapes it over Jungkook’s wet hair, gently drying him off. “Let’s go to sleep, okay? It’s late. And no more three am showering. We all know to respect each other’s boundaries by now, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Jungkook nods silently.

“If someone’s giving you a problem, just tell hyung, alright? We’re going to be living together for a long time if things go as planned, so we can’t let problems fester.”

Eyes widening, Jungkook shakes his head. “No! It’s not that, I swear. No one’s giving me trouble. It’s just… sometimes my head gets really loud and I don’t know what to do or where to go. Like, like my head and hands and chest and everything is buzzing, and it—it’s too much. And I just want to hide.”

Oh. Yoongi mulls that over. Thinks of Jungkook’s anxious appearance when they had first met, his nervous stuttering around the managers and stylists, and now, his middle of the night showering habits. Yoongi had thought Jungkook was just shy, but maybe it was a little more than that.

“Well,” Yoongi offers, “hyung’s mind is kind of like that too”—except it doesn’t make him anxious, it just makes his thoughts turn dark and melancholy—“so why don’t you come over to my studio the next time that happens? Or send me a message, and I’ll come home, if it’s in the middle of the night.”

“Really?” Jungkook says doubtfully, but a flicker of hope sparks in his eyes. “But…but I don’t want to bother you if you’re working.”

Snorting, Yoongi rubs Jungkook’s hair with the damp towel one last time. “Trust me, I spend half my time there frustrated or watching cat videos anyway. Company would be nice.”

“I…okay then. If you don’t mind.” Jungkook cracks a small smile, the dredges of anxiety in those chocolate eyes finally melting away.

“I really don’t,” Yoongi assures him. Then he snaps the damp towel at Jungkook’s towel-covered rear lightly, grinning when the younger boy squeaks. “Off you go then, maknae. It’s late enough as it is.”

“Says the hyung who never sleeps,” Jungkook shoots back cheekily, and Yoongi blinks in surprise as the younger boy scampers away, Haru scurrying beside him as a little black bunny.

“He’s not wrong, you know,” Moon says, amused.

“He’s not,” Yoongi agrees, and he laughs quietly to himself, smiling softly as he pads toward his own bedroom. Brat.

iii.

Jungkook and Yoongi begin to grow closer over the months, discovering a shared love for lamb skewers, sharing song lyrics, and bonding over late nights in the studio watching Studio Ghibli films when they should be sleeping or working. Jungkook’s birthday passes, and Yoongi is content to see him settle into both the dorm and his own skin a little more, not nearly as skittish and much more mischievous than he was before.

They’ve become a duo within the group, and it doesn’t escape the other members’ notice that Yoongi welcomes physical affection far more when it’s with Jungkook. It also isn’t difficult to see Jungkook’s face light up when he’s with Yoongi, the way he just laughs more.

Sooner or later, Yoongi knows their relationship is bound to draw some commentary from the members, whether it be teasing or fond. Having that vague inkling doesn’t mean Yoongi expects it any more when it’s sprung on him though.

Hoseok wanders into the kitchen one morning, gaze flickering between Yoongi and the open doorway to the living room where Jungkook and Jimin are. Yoongi’s facing the pair from his position at the table, and despite her closed eyes, Moon also has her ears pricked up in their direction.

“You two are pretty protective of Jungkook and Haru, aren’t you,” Hoseok observes, grabbing orange juice out of the fridge. His daemon, only recently settled as a stoat, unfurls from around his neck and bounds sleepily over to Moon, attempting to curl up again on the older daemon’s back.

“Sunhi, get off. You’re heavy,” Moon mutters, cracking an eye open. She rolls over, shaking off the insistent ball of tawny fur trying to cling to her side.

“Aww, but you’re never like this with Haru,” Sunhi whines as she finally gives up and meanders back to her perch around Hoseok’s shoulders.

“Because Haru never tries to suffocate me like you do,” Moon sniffs back. Her tail flicks in irritation, only calming when Yoongi runs a hand through her pelt soothingly.  

Jungkook’s and Jimin’s uncontrollable laughter, as well as some loud, discordant squawking filters through the doorway, and Yoongi’s face melts into something fond.

Then he turns around and sees Hoseok air-sipping directly from the carton.

“Disgusting. Are you a caveman? Go get a glass.” Yoongi’s nose wrinkles, and Hoseok’s mouth drops at the betrayal.

“Are you kidding me?” Hoseok squawks. “Jungkook literally did this two days ago and you didn’t even bat an eyelash. What is with this selective vision?” Selective treatment, more like, Hoseok thinks sulkily, pulling the cupboard open.

Another shriek of giggles erupts from the living room, and Yoongi attention slides away from Hoseok.

Apparently selective hearing too now. Hoseok sighs and pours himself half a glass of orange juice. This is tyranny.

Moon stands up, stretching lazily. “C’mon,” she rumbles at Yoongi, springing to the ground and stalking toward the doorway. “I want to play too.”

Yoongi rises without complaint, and Hoseok stands by the open fridge, frozen with a half-full cup of juice in one hand and the carton in the other. He blinks in disbelief. Hoseok can’t remember the last time Moon willingly did anything other than eat, sleep, and complain, much less play. And Yoongi…Yoongi willingly following along to ‘play’? Not even Taehyung and his daemon’s puppy pouts had been able to achieve that.

What in the actual hell—

Realization hits him like a truck.

“You LIKE—” Hoseok gasps, and Yoongi shoots him a glare that practically dares him to finish.

“I do not,” he spits, but the pink on his cheeks betrays him. “For heaven’s sake, he’s sixteen. And a literal and figurative child.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Whatever, your soft little heart would never do anything but pine anyway. Still, you think he’s cute—”

“Everyone thinks he’s cute,” Yoongi valiantly tries to defend himself, but Hoseok just snorts.

“Hyung, you’re in denial. Accept the fact that you’re in looo—”

Hoseok shrieks as Yoongi tries his damnest to smother him. Jungkook’s head swivels around at the commotion, and Yoongi immediately drops his grabby hands, shooting daggers at a breathless Hoseok.

Oh man, if looks could kill.

“Whipped. So whipped,” Sunhi whispers, cackling, tail thumping in mirth.

Done. Sealed. Absolutely confirmed, Hoseok thinks gleefully. He gives Sunhi’s tiny paw a hi-five.

iv.

Namjoon shares the few recording studios with all the other Bighit artists, but by one in the morning, it’s usually only Yoongi and himself that are still there.

“How do you think it sounds?” Namjoon asks, turning up the speaker volume for Iseul to hear. She’s decided to use Namjoon’s left arm as a tree trunk, dozing quietly as a koala as he works endlessly into the night.

“Mmm. Good,” she mumbles.

Namjoon sighs. “You say everything sounds good, Iseulie, even when it’s not.”

Yawning widely, Iseul blinks blearily at Namjoon. “You’re too hard on yourself sometimes, Joonie. It really does sound good.” The demo track continues to play, and Iseul shifts into her usual pygmy owl form and flutters onto Namjoon’s head, burrowing herself comfortably into his hair. The clock in the corner of the room chimes once to indicate the hour.

“And I think it sounds like it’s time to go home. Why don’t we go find Yoongi and remind him to get some sleep too? Moon-unnie never drags him home like I keep telling her to.”

“Just half an hour more, Is,” Namjoon tries, but Iseul hoots in disapproval. “Really Namjoon, it’s time to go home. Seokjin and Bomi-unnie always wait up for us, you know that. You have to think of others too.”

“Fine, fine,” Namjoon sighs, shutting down the monitor and rubbing his eyes. Now that he looks away form the glowing screen, he realizes just how tired he is. And Seokjin probably fell asleep on the couch waiting again, Namjoon thinks with a flare of guilt.

He closes up his studio and walks across the hallway to knock softly on Yoongi’s studio door. He’s probably working with headphones on and can’t even hear him though. Might as well just enter. Hopefully Moon can give Yoongi a heads up so Namjoon doesn’t accidentally scare the living daylights out of—

Namjoon stares in confusion at the lump of maknae sleeping on the small couch in the corner. What is Jungkook doing here?

Namjoon takes another step into the room, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. Haru is scrunched into a ball of bunny in Jungkook’s arms, and the maknae’s face is slack and peaceful in slumber. And…and Yoongi’s favorite jacket is draped over the boy’s stomach and thighs, a small cushion Yoongi always uses as a chair backrest under Jungkook’s head.

“Yoongi, you have a visitor,” Moon murmurs, tapping at his hand with the tip of her tail. Yoongi peels off his headphones, spinning around in his chair, and Namjoon almost winces when he sees the dark circles under his eyes. They look dark enough to be bruises.

“Hyung, why are Jungkook and—” Namjoon starts, but Yoongi shushes him, gesturing at the couch. “They’re sleeping,” he whispers.

“Sorry,” Namjoon mutters, lowering his volume. “Why are Jungkook and Haru here? I’ve never seen them in the studio outside of recording sessions.” He feels like he already has a faint idea why though, recollecting the maknae’s puppy-like trailing after Yoongi.

Yoongi swivels back around to face his computer, nonchalant. “He’s been coming on and off for months, how have you not noticed? Kid gets stressed sometimes, and I said he could drop in and keep me company if he wants.”

Namjoon squints at Jungkook tiredly again, his brain struggling to catch up. Is that why Jungkook sometimes wasn’t in their shared room at night? He had always wondered, but in an off-hand way, exhaustion dragging him into sleep and dismissing his concerns. Namjoon had just assumed after a while that he was staying late in the dance studios or practice rooms to fix up his choreography.

Yoongi starts clicking again, attention diverted, and Iseul clicks her tongue in disapproval. She flies down from Namjoon’s head, landing squarely on the keyboard with a clack. “It’s late,” she says quietly but firmly, and both Yoongi and Moon have enough experience with being kindly but insistently herded back to the dorm to know what that simple statement means.

“Aish, ok, ok,” Yoongi grouses, and Moon yawns and starts padding toward the couch as Iseul perches between Moon’s ears like a little general.

“Here, I’ll wash that for you,” Namjoon offers, picking up two dirtied mugs. “Come on, Iseul, let’s go.” Yoongi dips his head in thanks, and Namjoon makes his way down the hall to the tiny communal kitchen, rinsing the cups in the sink.

It only takes a couple minutes before he’s traveling back down the hallway, but just as he’s a few steps away from the half-opened door, he hears Jungkook’s sleep-groggy voice.

Something makes Namjoon stop and listen.

“Mm…hyung? What time is it?”

“Time to go home, Kook-ah. Iseul and Joonie found us, unfortunately. Haru might want to change into something smaller if he wants to sleep in your pocket or something on the way back.”

“But I want to sleep on the way back,” Jungkook replies, pout practically audible in his voice. “Can you carry me, hyung?”

“Absolutely not, Jeon Jungkook. You’ll crush me. And besides, Moon likes to ride on my shoulder when we walk.”

“Please? Please, hyung.” Jungkook’s voice is impossibly pleading, and Namjoon peers through the crack of the door to see both the maknae and his daemon staring at Yoongi with large eyes, Haru taking the shape of a baby beagle, ears drooping and all.

“Aish, that’s not fair,” Yoongi complains, but Namjoon can already hear his resolve crack. “Fine, but just this time, ok? Why do I even put up with brats like you.” Yoongi sounds so disgustingly fond and affectionate though that Namjoon almost wants to turn away and forget this ever happened. He feels like he’s intruding.

Yoongi appears in the doorway moments later, one sleepy maknae draped over his back, face in the crook of his neck. Haru has shifted into a Saint Bernard, offering Moon a comfortable position on his back as he trots happily beside Yoongi and Jungkook.

As soon as Namjoon comes into view, Yoongi’s expression shifts from indulgent warmth to threatening pain and eternal hell so fast Namjoon almost gets whiplash.

“Oh, hi, Namjoon-hyung, Iseul,” Jungkook mumbles, propping his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder. Haru’s tail wags in greeting. “Yoongi-hyung is really comfy.” He giggles, sleep-drunk, and Namjoon imagines Yoongi’s stone cold heart melting, melting, melting.

Except he’s still shooting lasers from his eyes.

When they get home, Jungkook is fast asleep, supported only by Yoongi’s grip on his thighs and his awkwardly hunched back to keep the younger boy from falling off.

Yoongi trails Namjoon back to his shared room with Jungkook, where he carefully removes the maknae’s shoes and outerwear, tucking him into bed. Jungkook clings to Yoongi’s warmth when he tries to pull away, and Namjoon doesn’t miss the flash of fondness in his hyung’s gaze.

“Gonna give him a goodnight kiss too?” Namjoon says teasingly, climbing into his own bunk.

There’s no reply, but Namjoon hears the paper-soft brush of lips on skin and sees the light flush on Yoongi’s cheeks as he climbs down the bunk ladder.

He closes his eyes quickly, pretending not to hear Yoongi’s embarrassed huff and threat of decapitation. Seconds later, the door shuts with a click, the lights in the hallway going out.

Namjoon turns over in the dark and smiles into Iseul’s feathers.

v.

Jungkook gets sick during one of their infrequent breaks, and Seokjin doesn’t question it when Yoongi elbows him out of the way to make soup for their maknae.

“He told me his mom makes him chicken broth when he’s sick,” Yoongi says, face turned resolutely away from Seokjin. Moon is up on her hind legs, pulling the refrigerator door open, and Bomi—settled as a sugar glider for a good four years now—peers out of Seokjin’s shirt pocket in curiosity.

“Yoongi, the milk,” Moon gripes, unable to reach.

“What?” Yoongi asks, distracted. He’s typing something on his phone, which keeps buzzing as he recites ingredients under his breath. Moon yowls loudly, and Yoongi finally looks up. “Moon, seriously? Now’s not the time to drink milk. I’m trying to focus on making soup.”

“For Haru, you idiot. Warm milk always makes him feel better.” Moon twitches her ears impatiently, and Yoongi relents, striding over to grab the milk. “Fine, only if it’s for Haru. You better not steal any though.”

Moon scoffs, and Seokjin watches in amazement, Bomi laughing squeakily in his pocket all the while. “Jinnie, Jinnie, you have to get this on film. They’re trying so hard, this is adorable. Who knew Moonie had a side other than grumpy?”

Seokjin ignores Bomi’s antics, trying to look over Yoongi’s shoulder. He’s more concerned about the possibility of the kitchen burning down. “What recipe are you using? And do you even know how to make it?” He tries to steal a glance at the phone, Yoongi keeps blocking his view of the screen with his shoulder.

“Hyung, stop it. I know what I’m doing, alright? This is not the first time I’ve cooked, and I’m not like Joonie who wrecks the kitchen and himself every time he tries to make anything.”

“That is true,” Seokjin concedes, but he’s still somewhat skeptical. “What recipe are you using though? You didn’t answer. If you need one, I can give you the one I use.”

Yoongi mumbles something unintelligible under his breath.

“What was that?” Seokjin cups his ear obnoxiously and leans forward.

“I said, I got the recipe from Jungkook’s mom!” Yoongi’s face flushes as soon as he blurts it out, and the phone buzzes again. Swiping it from Yoongi’s grasp, Seokjin ignores his undignified grabby hands and grumbling, scrolling through the messages. There’s a photo of a hand-written recipe on a page of a book, along with lots of instructions and tips texted directly into the chat.

10:17 am [from: Mrs. Jeon]

Thank you for taking care of our Jungkookie and Haru!

10:18 am [from: Mrs. Jeon]

Kook talks about you so much when he calls back…I trust he’s in good hands! Tell me how the soup turns out, and remind Jungkook to call if he forgets. Also, remember to add more ginger, and go light on the salt!

10:22 am [from: Mrs. Jeon]

Hi Yoongi-ssi, this is Junghyun, Jungkook’s older brother. You better treat him right.

Damn. Seokjin raises a brow at the last message, and Yoongi snatches the phone back, face red. He points at the door mulishly. “Leave. Now.”

“Aww, is that any way to speak to your hyung?” Seokjin grins blithely. “Also, how did you even get her number?”

“Leave now, hyung. And none of your business,” Yoongi grits out, and Seokjin dances away merrily.

“Call if you need help,” he hollers over his shoulder.

“I won’t!” Yoongi returns sourly, and Seokjin rolls his eyes. What a petty dongsaeng.

If only Yoongi treated everyone as well as Jungkook.

---

Seokjin checks back later, partially to make sure that the kitchen hasn’t burned down—and partially to make sure Jungkook is doing alright—but mostly to eavesdrop.

He’s not ashamed (okay, maybe just a little ashamed) that he’s army-crawling on the floor with a blanket over his head, Bomi scouting the way for him to watch discreetly. He feels like the creepy uncle in those movies, but hey, worth it.

Yoongi brings a bowl of soup into the living room, settling on the ground beside the couch where Jungkook and Haru are swaddled in blankets.

“Jungkook-ah, wake up. Hyung made you soup.” Yoongi shakes Jungkook’s shoulder gently, Moon nosing at Haru’s sweat dampened pelt. He’s switching between a black rabbit and a tabby housecat in intervals, two of the forms that he had taken a particular liking to in the past year. None of them have commented on it, but Seokjin thinks it’s obvious why Haru has a preference for these two animals, considering Yoongi’s off-hand comments about Jungkook’s cute bunny smile (which are blatantly adoring and way too obvious in Seokjin’s opinion) and Moon’s affection for her fellow feline daemons.

“Moon brought some milk for Haru too, if he can stay as a cat. I don’t know if it’ll make him even sicker as a bunny.” Yoongi blows on a spoonful of soup as Jungkook rubs at his eyes and props himself up to sit upright. Haru, apparently hearing, squeaks pitifully and shifts into his tabby cat shape, shivering and sneezing.

“Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook asks, throat raspy and eyes bleary. “Hyung, I don’t feel good.”

“I know,” Yoongi says patiently. “That’s why you’re going to drink some soup and take some medicine. Then you can go back to sleep.” He lifts the spoonful of soup to Jungkook’s lips, and the younger boy opens obediently to accept it.

“Hyung…” There’s a strange note in Jungkook’s voice.

“What?” The edge of worry in Yoongi’s face is unmistakable. “Is it bad? I can ask Jin-hyung to make something else—”

“No, it’s good. Really,” Jungkook adds, seeing the sliver of doubt. “It’s nothing, hyung, don’t worry.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Yoongi says hesitantly, lifting another spoonful for Jungkook. On the ground, Moon nudges forward a small bowl of warmed milk, and Jungkook deposits Haru beside the older daemon, giving his ears a comforting rub. “Go on,” Jungkook whispers, “Moonie doesn’t share her milk with everyone.”

Yoongi doesn’t make soup for everyone either, Seokjin wants to scream.

They finish the rest of the bowl in comfortable silence, Yoongi carefully blowing on each spoonful, Jungkook pliant and uncomplaining as the older boy feeds him bites of chicken and broth. Moon lies, head resting on her paws, watching attentively as Haru slowly laps up the milk.  He curls into her side when he finishes, and Moon licks over his flanks and ears, gently grooming him.

Yoongi’s just about to ask Jungkook if he wants another bowl when the younger boy breaks in, that odd note back in his voice again.

“Hyung?”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“Is this…is this my mom’s recipe?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide and expectant, almost hopeful.

Yoongi rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, and Seokjin can see the tips of his ears flush red. Aigoo, how cute. “I…yeah, it is. You could recognize it, huh?”

Jungkook turns his head down, voice thick. “Yeah…I could recognize my mom’s recipe anywhere. I just—I really—” He breaks off suddenly, angling his face away, and Yoongi reaches out to the younger boy in concern.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Yoongi asks. “Are you—are you crying?”

The question seems to break something in Jungkook, and he bursts into tears, throwing himself into Yoongi’s arms.

“Oof.” Yoongi manages to catch the younger boy, rocking back a bit at the impact. Jungkook buries his face into Yoongi sweatshirt, hiccupping. “Whoa, hey, what is it? C’mon Kook-ah, talk to me.” Panic is the only thing clouding Yoongi’s brain right now. He can’t handle tears, oh God, he can’t, his heart is going to break.

“Was the soup really that bad?” Yoongi asks.

That prompts a wet laugh from the maknae.

“N-no, I—I just…I miss my mom. A-and my, my family,” Jungkook chokes out, and Yoongi’s face softens. He runs a hand over the boy’s back soothingly, hugging him close.

“‘M really glad you’re here, Yoongi-hyung. An-and thank you for the soup.” It means a lot, goes unsaid, but they all hear it anyway. Yoongi hums and lets Jungkook cry himself out, brushing a hand through his hair even after he’s fallen back asleep.

After a while, Yoongi stands up, Jungkook still clinging to him loosely, and deposits the lapful of maknae back onto the couch. He pulls the blankets up, and Moon gently picks up a dozing Haru by the scruff like a mother cat would a kitten, laying him beside Jungkook.

“Mmm…no, don’ go, hyung,” Jungkook protests and clings to Yoongi’s sleeve, eyes cracking half-open. Exhaustion hangs heavily about him, both from sickness and from crying.

Yoongi shushes him softly. “C’mon, let go. I’m just gonna clean up the kitchen, and I’ll be right back, okay? Go back to sleep.” Jungkook makes an unsatisfied noise but acquiesces, loosening his grip, and the older boy picks up the emptied bowls and spoon, padding back toward the kitchen.

And very quietly, from the opposite doorway, Seokjin and Bomi give each other a look and start crawling back to the bedrooms.

This will be a story for the grandchildren one day.

vi.

Of course, not everything goes smoothly. As public figures, they’re exposed to criticism every day, from the way they look and act to the forms their daemons choose to take or end up settling in.

The majority of their fans are supportive of both them and their daemons, going the extra step to reassure Jungkook and Haru especially. There are even fans that send letters or come up to speak to them at fanmeets, earnestly thanking them for how their media coverage—especially Jungkook’s—has begun to change the perception of same-sex daemons.

But hate crimes and slurs still happen, and as they gain popularity as a group, the threats become more and more vicious.

They’re at a fan signing event, just a couple days after their newest comeback, and Jungkook is smiling brilliantly at the cheers and atmosphere, riding off the happiness of the crowd.

“Next!” The manager behind him calls, waving the line along. Jungkook is seated at the edge of the leftmost table, first in order to receive the new fans, Yoongi right beside him.

A girl in a dress, her hair dyed a pretty copper color, slides up to the table. “Hi!” She chirps, smiling brightly.

“Hello!” Jungkook greets the girl, smiling cordially. She looks older than him, but not by much. “What’s your name?” He asks, reaching for the small notebook she pushes forward.

“I’m Jiae,” she replies, folding her hands on the table. The light glints off her silver rings, and Jungkook finds his gaze drawn to her fingers. There are…strange brown stains under her fingernails, but Jungkook looks away quickly, knowing how uncomfortable a prying stare can feel. He uncaps his pen, a shivery feeling running up his spine as he touches the notebook, but he pushes it away, trying to focus on signing.

Her daemon, a large falcon nearly double Haru’s size in rabbit form, hops forward onto the table and cocks his head at Haru.

“Jungkook,” Haru whispers, nose twitching uneasily. He flinches back a little as the falcon takes another step closer, feathers puffing up. “Jungkook, something smells weird.”

“Be nice, Haru,” Jungkook hisses back. It’s not like they haven’t had quirky or strange fans before, but upholding a friendly public image is crucial. Neither Haru nor himself can kick up a fuss without a valid reason, and even then, the media still loves going wild with accusations at hairpin trigger, salivating after tabloid headlines for quick profits.

Turning from the fan he’s talking to, Yoongi shoots him a concerned look, but Jungkook smiles back reassuringly. Nothing to worry about.

“No, Jungkook, seriously.” Haru backs up and bumps into Jungkook’s arm, shifting into the tabby cat—just a little bigger than the form he would normally take. His voice is louder this time, almost distressed, and Moon, curled on the table beside him, looks over. She flicks her tail against his. “Haru?”

“Haru, we can’t—” Jungkook tries again, but the apprehension is unescapable now. Daemons and humans are inexorably linked, and Jungkook can feel the fear pulsing through Haru, bouncing between them and amplifying.

“Oh my,” the girl—Jiae—coos, “Is Haru alright? I have something for him if he’s not feeling well.” Her rings glint again as her hand dips into her bag.

“O-oh,” Jungkook stutters. “No, it’s alright, really—”

The girl pulls a limp mass of fur out of her bag and shoves it straight at Haru. It takes a fraction of a second to register, and then Haru shrieks in terror and leaps away, crashing into Moon.

Jungkook gasps, horrified, shooting to his feet and stumbling back so fast his chair topples backward, and Yoongi inhales sharply. Haru leaps into the security of Jungkook’s arms, and he holds him tightly, heart pounding.  

It’s a dead rabbit, throat slit and body half-mangled, soaked in so much dry blood that its snowy white pelt is almost entirely brown.

“Oh my God,” Jungkook whispers. The brownish stains under her fingernails…

The girl laughs, just as brightly and cheerfully as she had smiled before, but Jungkook recognizes the edge of malice to it now. “You will never be accepted. And you think the fans haven’t noticed? The way you look at Yoongi-oppa is disgusting,” she says softly, low enough that no one other than Jungkook can hear her.

“Security!” Yoongi shouts. “Security, get her out!” Everyone is gaping at them, all heads turned in confusion. The carcass is blocked from the crowd by the girl’s body, only visible to the members, and all of their faces are pale with shock.

“He’ll never love you the way you love him,” she whispers, and there’s a flash of hard conviction in her eyes that shakes Jungkook to the core. “Never.”

The guards start moving in, but the girl is fast, darting off the stage and winding her way through the confused crowd, her daemon soaring over the masses. Some people are shouting directions, but no one moves to grab her, clamoring in bemusement as they try to get a glimpse of what happened at the table. The managers and security move immediately to block the view of the table, trying to do damage control.

The dead rabbit is still sprawled across the notebook, and Jungkook stares, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Kook, don’t look at it.” Yoongi stands as well, tucking the younger boy’s head into his shoulder. There’s a tremor of fury that runs through his movements. “Hey, we’re leaving, okay? They’re going to shut down the event and find her. What she did was repulsive.”

“But…but the rest of the fans,” Jungkook says weakly, trying to latch onto any semblance of normalcy he can. His head is still reeling from what the girl had said. A sluice of hurt washes through him, clouding his brain, cottoning his ears. Yoongi had always been a far-off dream, a doting brother figure that he had realized somewhere along the way was more than just that. Of course, he had never expected anything back, but was it truly so obvious? To be called out on it, to be attacked for it? Doubt floods his mind.

“The staff and managers will figure out a way to compensate them, or we can hold another one for them,” Namjoon replies firmly, and Hoseok nods from beside him, face serious. All of the members crowd defensively around Jungkook, acting like a protective circle. “No one expects you to go on like nothing happened, not after that.” Jimin and Taehyung also gather around Jungkook, their daemons pressing against Haru in comfort, and Seokjin hovers behind them, lips pulled tight.

Jungkook tries to protest again—fans, think of the fans, think of anyone, anything else but him—but Yoongi shushes him sternly. “You come first, Jungkook. Your safety and ours, not what the fans or public might think.”

“A-alright.” Jungkook feels a little numb and slightly nauseous, still stunned. Dizzy with the sudden realization that no one else had heard what she said but him.. The managers are shouting, herding them away from the screams of the crowd, and Jungkook clings to Yoongi’s hand blindly.

Swallowing down the bile, he closes his eyes, hoping no one else can see the wetness on his lashes. He tilts his head down.

They’re going home.

---

“Jungkook? I ran a bath for you.” Yoongi knocks lightly on the maknae’s door before pushing it open and stepping in.

Jungkook remains silent, hiding under the covers with Haru curled on his pillow. Still a cat. An awful feeling beats at Jungkook’s heart, the words looping over and over in his head. You will never be accepted. He can’t bear to replay the part about Yoongi though. Is he really so transparent? It sickens him. Jungkook sickens himself. He feels like he can still see the coppery brown, smell the sickening metallic odor.

You will never be accepted…the way you look at Yoongi…

“Jungkook?” The covers lift, and Yoongi’s dark eyes peer at him, worried. Jungkook shuts his eyes against the bright room lights and hides his face, careless of how his cheek smears against the pillowcase. “Aish, you haven’t even taken off your makeup yet. C’mon, bathtime,” he coaxes gently. Moon detaches from Yoongi shoulder, crawling over to Haru. She mews despondently when Haru ignores her nuzzle and scrunches up tighter.

Yoongi sighs and sits down on the bed. “Kookie, please?”

It’s nearing an hour since they’ve gotten back to the dorms, and Jungkook and Haru had practically fled to their room as soon as they arrived.

Yoongi had moved to follow them, but Namjoon had stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Give him a bit of space, hyung. He probably wants to be alone.”

Yoongi had eyed him incredulously. “Why the hell would he want to be alone after that? If anything, he needs someone now more than ever.” His tone is unintentionally snappish.

Namjoon drops his hand as if he’s been burnt, and Iseul chirrups, a bit hurt. “I don’t…” he blows out a frustrated breath, and suddenly, Yoongi sees the uncertainty in the set of his shoulders, the fatigue and frazzled nerves. “I don’t know what to do, hyung. I don’t know what he really needs either, I’m just…trying my best, alright? If that’s what you think he needs, I’m sure you know him better than me.”

Yoongi immediately feels bad. This must weigh heavily on Namjoon as a leader, for despite his inexperience, he’s still responsible for the group. He’s trying his best, like they all are.

“Yeah,” Yoongi mutters. “Sorry. I’ll—I’ll go run him a bath or something.”

Namjoon nods, taking a deep breath. “We’ll be alright. Jungkook will be alright.” Yoongi can’t tell who he’s reassuring. “I’ll go ask Seokjin to make Jungkook something to eat,” Namjoon adds, brushing past Yoongi into the kitchen.

And now Yoongi is here, sitting beside an unresponsive maknae hiding in his blankets.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says suddenly. His voice is scratchy, as if he’s been crying, and when he finally faces Yoongi, the older boy can see that his eyes are a little red. “Hyung,” he whispers again. “She said…she said we would never be accepted.” By whom, he doesn’t say, but they both know what he’s talking about: society, the public, the world.

“Would you guys…would you guys ever replace me? And Haru? With someone normal, I mean. I know I’m a liability…” he rambles, trailing off. And in that instant, Jungkook sounds so scared and alone.

There’s a beat of silence, and Jungkook’s face begins to close off in bitterness. His eyes shutter, and there’s just hurt, hurt, hurt pulsing—

Yoongi smacks him over the head. “You idiot.”

Jungkook’s face crumples, and he whips his head away, not wanting Yoongi or Moon to see the tears that have gathered in his eyes. “Alright, I get it—"

“No, you absolute moron,” Yoongi snarls, and there are suddenly hands on Jungkook’s cheeks, forcing him to look into the older boy’s eyes. He tries to jerk his face away, vision blurry with tears, but Yoongi won’t let him go.

“Aish, where did your common sense go?” Yoongi sighs, softer and more exasperated now. “Kook-ah, what I meant was that we’ll never replace you. Never. It’s not even an option, and you’re an idiot for thinking that we would even consider it. Bangtan isn’t Bangtan without you. Bangtan wouldn’t be the same if any of our members changed.”

Jungkook sniffs, wiping at his eyes. The hesitation is still there when he says, “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Yoongi taps his knuckles gently against the side of Jungkook’s head. “Whatever she said was just to mess with you, okay? There will always be anti-fans, haters, and bigots in this world, and none of what they believe changes the fact that you are valuable and loved. It doesn’t matter what they say, because we accept you, and you have to learn to accept yourself too.”

Jungkook stares at his hands, fingers curling and uncurling. He turns them over and observes the clean white of his nails, unmarred by blood, and shivers. “I…I don’t know how to accept myself sometimes.” The image of the blood and rabbit loops over and over, and Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. “Hyung, I can’t get the—the bunny out of my head. And the blood…” he whispers. It was a statement against Haru, loud and clear, and what if, what if that had actually been Haru? It haunts him.

“Oh, Kook-ah.” Yoongi pulls the boy into a loose hug, and Jungkook finally lets himself take the reassurance he needs, hiding his face in Yoongi’s sweater. “Aish, Kook, you know I’m not the best at this. I have issues too, and sometimes there are just those days. I’m not the best at loving myself, nor am I the best one to give advice, but you have us, you know? I think a child’s mentality”—Jungkook huffs at being called a child, but Yoongi bulldozes on—“of how they view themselves is a reflection of how others have treated and viewed them from a young age. It takes time to change that, and sometimes it never really goes away completely. So if you can’t accept yourself, then we’ll just have to do it for you until you can learn to love yourself.”

“Got it?” Yoongi knocks his chin gently on Jungkook’s head, still buried in his sweater. “Hey, c’mon, Kookie. Look at hyung.” Pulling away, Yoongi tips Jungkook’s chin up, meeting his eyes squarely.

Jungkook stares back, something in his expression strained and sad. “Got it,” he murmurs, but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.

Yoongi’s chest squeezes, prickling painfully. “We’ll get there, alright? It’s okay not to be okay.”

Jungkook nods, but his eyes are averted. “I’ll just…I’ll go take that bath now. Before the water goes cold.” He stands up, scooping up Haru. “Thanks for…thanks for taking care of me, hyung.” There’s a note of finality in his voice that Yoongi can’t understand.

And he vanishes out the door.

Yoongi sighs. He’ll try again later.

vii.

Haru doesn’t take the shape of a rabbit again.

They have talks about what happened, of course they do, but their concern seems unwarranted when Jungkook goes right back to acting normal—happy even—just a handful of days after the fansign. They have their suspicions and worries, especially Namjoon, who has seen the darker side of bottled rage and pain and overwhelming media attacks before.

But Jungkook honestly seems…just fine. And after a couple weeks, none of them tiptoe around Jungkook anymore, not after his frustrated outburst about how they all treat him like glass. He carries on like usual, and things stabilize back to routine, but Haru’s refusal to return to his previously favorite form is a constant reminder of what happened.

Months pass, and they mostly forget about the event, too caught up in promotions and practice and recording and go, go, go. Haru stays in his tabby cat form for the most part, and they get used to it, like they do to everything, but the question still lingers in the back of their minds from time to time, especially Yoongi’s.

For the most part, Jungkook acts normal. He smiles and laughs, works hard and talks to all of them, but some of his habits change, and he begins to pull away from Yoongi slowly. It hurts, just a little, when Yoongi looks back at the past months—nearly half a year even—and realizes that he and Jungkook are no longer as close as they used to be. Realizes that Jungkook now chooses bowling with his friends and playing video games with Taehyung over their sleepy late-night chats and lyric writing. Realizes that it used to be just—just Yoongi and Jungkook, YoongiandJungkook, and now, this. He no longer sleeps on Yoongi’s couch or asks for piggyback rides, and it’s like Jungkook is slipping through the cracks his fingers, like water through the gaps, still there but no longer his.

“Where’s Jungkook?” Namjoon asks one day, popping into Yoongi’s studio, Iseul perched in his rumpled hair. It’s late at night again, and Yoongi has a flash of déjà vu, a brief off-kilter moment when he looks toward the couch and feels like Jungkook should be there, but he’s not.

Yoongi rubs his eyes and shrugs. “I dunno. He’s stopped coming for…” It takes him a moment, and then he realizes he can’t quite recollect. How long has it been since Jungkook last visited? What is he doing now?

“For…” Namjoon echoes curiously. Yoongi wonders what kind of expression is on his face.

Yoongi shrugs again, a frown tugging at his lips. “For…a while. But anyway, I’m almost done with this track, okay? I’m just gonna stay for a bit longer. Tell Jin-hyung not to wait up.”

“Alright, I will,” Namjoon replies, and there’s a faint chiding voice Yoongi identifies as Iseul’s. But moments later, the door sweeps shut quietly, and the two of them leave without pushing for Yoongi to return to the dorms.

Yoongi sighs and spins his chair in a circle.

Moon cracks an eye open from her comfortable sprawl on the couch, eyeing Yoongi’s computer-illuminated visage.

“It’s a bit empty, isn’t it?” She murmurs, but Yoongi doesn’t reply, just jams his headphones over his ears again and keeps working.

And if she abandons her spot on the couch and curls up in his lap instead, Yoongi doesn’t say anything either.

Jungkook is growing up though, Yoongi rationalizes to himself. He’s finally branched out, meeting some friends from other groups, expanding from his shy shell. The anxiety that had driven him to shower at three am and to take refuge in Yoongi’s studio is fading over time. He’s lost much of the baby fat that once clung to his cheeks, preferring to skip meals and exercise constantly over everything else. He throws Taehyung around and bullies the hyungs and is generally the most athletic and fearless member in their group, and Yoongi is…proud. He’s proud of Jungkook’s new confidence and of who Jungkook has become as he’s grown into himself…but he’s sad too.

The realization is like pushing at an ache or prodding at a bruise; Jungkook’s growing up, changing, and Yoongi doesn’t want to let go. He’s proud, but he misses the kid that used to cling to him for cuddles and cry into his shoulder and look to him with stars in his eyes, asking wordlessly for approval and affection. He misses that.

viii.

Jungkook drops into his desk chair, hair still damp from a recent shower. It’s been a long day of practice. Endless, endless practice.

They’re gearing up for yet another comeback, and every day is sweat-stained and strained, a quiet sort of tired monotony that permeates through their bones. Practices are serious, Hoseok’s laughter dwindling as the weeks stretch on, replaced by sharp instructions. It’s wearing on everyone, especially on Yoongi, who shows up to early practices with dark undereye circles and stays in his studio into the late hours of the night.

He’ll never love you the way you love him.

Jungkook still replays that in his head, an unwanted but inescapable mantra that claws at him when he lies in bed, thoughts looping and vulnerable.

The shifting lights of his keyboard shine in the dimness of his room, reflecting off the paleness of his face, the painted colors of Haru’s tabby fur. He’s been working on a cover recently, but it feels just a little too difficult to bring it to the studio, to have someone else listen and instruct him as he records.

The open screen of the monitor blinks before him, and he presses play, soft chords filling the silence.  

Impulsively, Jungkook picks up his phone. Hesitates. Presses record.

And he lets himself sing, gentle syllables and heartache filling the spaces between notes. He closes his eyes and sees Yoongi’s warm eyes, his inscrutable looks and hidden little acts of care and kindness. A hint of thickness creeps into his throat as Jungkook thinks about all the ways he’s been trying to pull away from Yoongi, slowly and inconspicuously. Gradual enough to be natural.

He’ll never love you the way you love him.

And isn’t that what hurts the most? For someone else to be your entire world and life but for none of that to be returned. Jungkook had seen his love for what it was: a burden. A burden upon Yoongi, upon the team, upon their future. A burden not only because it could never happen but because he and Haru were at their core, unnatural.

The music reaches a crescendo, and Jungkook opens his eyes, voice wavering and vision blurry. He cuts off the recording, and wetness traces down his cheeks moments later. The darkness of the room envelopes him with melancholy, the rainbow-lit keyboard a hypnotic rhythm to his thoughts.

“Haru…” Jungkook whispers, and for a moment, he feels the warm mass on his lap morph into a familiar, smaller form. Two long, velvety ears tickle his damp chin, and Jungkook allows himself to gather Haru close for just a moment, breathing deep.

“It hurts,” Haru whispers back, and Jungkook almost laughs. Of course it does. They can both feel the bond stretching between them, saturated with sadness and a sort of desperate pain. Fitting, Jungkook thinks ironically, sniffing. Fitting that his soul manifestation is hurting.

“Change back,” Jungkook murmurs softly into the downy fur, and Haru understands.

That night, Jungkook goes to sleep with a warm, tabby tail wrapped around his wrist, and he tells himself, this is enough.

ix.

They’re only a couple days away from Jungkook’s eighteenth birthday when Yoongi decides. On what, he’s not exactly sure, but he has to do something. Time is trickling by so quickly.

“Jungkook-ah, your birthday’s next week, isn’t it?”

Yoongi looks up from Jungkook’s fumbling hands on the piano. Jungkook had been taking piano lessons with him for a while now, but they had been few and far in between considering Bangtan’s crammed schedule. The lessons themselves have been distant and cordial too, with Jungkook distracted and quiet, and Yoongi too tired to lecture Jungkook about practicing. Not like they had the time to be practicing side hobbies anyway.

Jungkook pauses, the melody trailing off unfinished. His fingers are clumsy on the keys, and it sounds a little hollow in the big practice room, only half-lit and empty save for the two of them. His brow wrinkles. “Oh yeah…it is, isn’t it?”

Yoongi flicks his forehead, chuckling when Jungkook whines and cups his head, affronted. “Yah, you nearly forgot your own birthday. Who’s the old man now?”

“Wait, I’m turning eighteen!” Jungkook gasps, as if he’d just remembered. “Haru…Haru’s gonna settle soon, right?” He strokes a hand through his daemon’s tabby coat apprehensively, and Haru yawns, nodding. “I feel like it’s coming soon.”

“Eighteen,” Yoongi muses, and Moon cracks an eye open from atop the piano. Eighteen. So fast. Too fast. Has it been three years already? “We’re too busy to go next week, so why don’t we go out for lamb skewers today? Hyung’s treat.” Yoongi’s heart beats just a little harder in his chest. He can’t remember the last time they went out for lamb skewers, just the two of them together.

Jungkook’s eyes light up, and he shoots up from the piano bench. “Really? Right now?” Laughing at the younger boy’s open enthusiasm, Yoongi checks his watch.

“Yeah, why not? It’ll be dinner time soon anyway.” He watches fondly as Jungkook practically races to get his hoodie over his head, struggling to fit his limbs through the right holes. It’s like he hasn’t grown up at all, but he has, Yoongi thinks, heart aching.

“Hey, hey, slow down. There’s no rush.”

“Lamb skewers wait for no one!” Jungkook declares, hair disheveled as his head pops out of the fabric. He gives Yoongi a bunny-toothed smile, and Yoongi can’t help but remember. Haru. Something in him feels just a little off-kilter, anticipatory, but Yoongi pushes it away. Not now. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Yoongi pretends to huff, but he lets Jungkook pull him along, warmth unfurling in his chest.

Aish, this kid.

___

When they get to the restaurant, Jungkook predictably starts shoveling his face with abandon, and Yoongi feels a bit sick just watching him.

“Slow down,” Yoongi repeats, and if he could have a shot for every time he said that, he’d probably be piss drunk by now.

“This is slow,” Jungkook mumbles around a mouthful of meat, and Yoongi wrinkles his nose in disgust.

They eat in companionable silence for a while, and everything is normal and wonderful and good until Yoongi stupidly opens his fat mouth and ruins it all.

“Jungkookie,” Yoongi says. He puts down his empty skewer, stomach tight. He can’t tell if it’s from the food or something else. “I just wanted to ask, how are you, really? I feel like I haven’t talked to you properly in a long time.” The words come out stumbled and uncertain, a reflection of how he feels.

Jungkook finally slows down, chewing contemplatively before swallowing. His eyes are deep enough for Yoongi to drown in, his face and jawline sharper than Yoongi remembers, and he wonders when Jungkook turned into an adult without him noticing.

“I—I’m okay. Everything’s good,” he says hesitantly, but there’s that tell-tale stutter and averted gaze that Yoongi recognizes. He’s lying.

A flare of hurt slices through Yoongi, but he keeps his face placid and picks up another lamb skewer. Has it really come to this? They’ve grown so far apart that Jungkook no longer trusts him enough to confide in him?

Yoongi doesn’t push and nods woodenly, but the easy atmosphere between them is broken now. Strained. The mouthful of meat in his mouth tastes charred and ashy.

“Good, good,” he replies mechanically, smiling. “Make sure you eat up, ok? I’m going to run to the bathroom for a bit.” He stands quickly, missing the flash of regret and wistfulness in Jungkook’s gaze.

Later, he faces himself in the bathroom mirror, lights ambient and a jazzy song crooning about love in the background.

“You’re a coward, Min Yoongi,” he whispers at his reflection. He wants to scream, to ask Jungkook point blank what happened, why he pulled away, but he’s scared. Scared of jeopardizing their friendship and the fragile web holding them together now.

His reflection stares back at him, and Yoongi wonders if it was something in him that drove Jungkook away.

x.

Haru doesn’t settle by Jungkook’s eighteenth birthday, but none of them think too much of it. Late settlers were nothing rare, and Iseul had settled a good year late too. The day before his birthday, Jungkook asks for a rare day off, which the company grants him without fuss. He goes out bowling with some of his same-aged friends, and Yoongi sits in his studio and listens to sad songs. Watches cat videos.

Pretty much sums up his life, he thinks gloomily.

Hoseok cracks his door open at around midnight.

“Where’s Jungkook?” He asks, just like Namjoon had, and Yoongi feels like life is just playing a joke on him at this point.

“Clearly not here,” he snaps, and Moon flicks her tail at him in reprimand.

Hoseok lifts a brow, letting Sunhi down from her wrap around his neck. She scurries over to Moon and tucks herself into Moon’s underbelly, chittering sadly when the older daemon doesn’t respond or even move to shoo her away.

“Trouble in paradise?” Hoseok asks, and Yoongi snorts, irritated.

“There is no paradise,” he retorts.

Hoseok lets him stew in silence for a couple minutes, and when he next speaks, his tone is softer and more serious.

“Hyung…you still like him, don’t you?”

Yoongi blows out a frustrated breath, horribly guilty but also unable to deny it. He doesn’t just like Jungkook—he’s horrifyingly, disgustingly, gut-wrenchingly in love with him. Yoongi thinks of the way his breath catches when Jungkook sweats through those damn white shirts he loves to wear, thinks of the way his heart pumps a little harder at those eye-crinkling smiles, thinks of how unbearable it is to hear him laugh because he’s just so in love. So in love it hurts.

“Couldn’t it be any more obvious?” Yoongi asks brokenly. “But what does it matter? He doesn’t see me that way, never will. All I am to him is a hyung.”

Hoseok’s mouth opens and closes incredulously. “Did you just say what I thought you—Yoongi! Are you stupid? Do you not see the way he looks at you?”

“You mean the way he doesn’t look at me?”

“He looks at you like you hung the moon and stars in the sky! Jungkookie’s not exactly subtle, you know.”

Hope wavers in Yoongi’s chest fragilely, but he pinches it out savagely. “How do you explain him pulling away then? He never comes around anymore, and he hardly talks to me unless he has to. How do you explain that then?”

For the first time, Hoseok falters.

Yoongi’s lips twist in a bitter mimicry of a smile. “Exactly.”

“Maybe...” Hoseok tries, “maybe he’s scared too. Have you ever considered that? He’s never been in a relationship, and from what we know, he’s probably received more criticism than anything else in his life. He’s not out either. Maybe—maybe he’s scared of his feelings and where he stands with you.”

“Maybe, maybe, maybe,” Yoongi mutters. Too many postulations, too much false hope. It’ll just make the inevitable disappointment harder to bear in the end. “Enough with the theorizing, Hoseok-ah. It doesn’t change anything.”

He turns back to his computer, a clear dismissal. Sunhi uncurls herself and slinks away, head down, and moments later, the door shuts quietly.

Yoongi empties his brain and goes back to his track. It sounds so empty.

---

Jungkook’s birthday itself is a cozy affair within the company—nothing big, just the way he likes it.

“I got you a notebook for lyric writing,” Yoongi says, handing Jungkook a wrapped parcel after dinner. Jungkook has been getting into songwriting more and more recently, taking an interest in collaborations, songcovers, and the production process of their own tracks.

Jungkook stares at Yoongi’s outstretched hand for a minute before he takes it gingerly. He unwraps it right there, sliding a finger beneath the tape and peeling it back carefully. Taped inside the front cover is a picture Namjoon had sent him a couple years ago, of Moon curled up with Haru at the foot of the couch where Jungkook was dozing. Yoongi is watching a cat video on his computer, caught red-handed not working.

“Do you…do you like it?” Yoongi asks, unable to bury the thread of anxiousness in his throat. “I noticed that you’ve been asking Joonie about songwriting and production lately, and I thought that maybe it would help to have your own place to put down ideas. It’s what I do, and Namjoon and Hoseok have their own journals too…” he keeps rambling, and Jungkook waits patiently until he finishes. Moon draped over his shoulder, flicks her tail up and down restlessly.

“I love it.” Jungkook runs a fingertip over the picture and hugs it to his chest. “Thanks, hyung. I really do like it. And I’ll definitely use it.”

“Ah, well, um, good,” he says, awkward. He doesn’t know what to say. Like why did you ask Namjoon about songwriting and not me? Yoongi mentally slaps himself. Jungkook can ask whoever he wants.

“Good,” he repeats dumbly, and Jungkook’s lips quirk.

“Let’s go back, hyung. I think they’re bringing out the cake soon.”

“Right,” Yoongi fumbles. He lets Jungkook lead the way back, steps widening like the growing chasm between them.

After Jungkook’s birthday passes, Yoongi sees the younger boy toting the lyric journal around with him everywhere. It’s open on his lap in between shooting breaks, thrown into his bag whenever they leave the dorm, held in his hands when he vanishes into Namjoon’s studio to do who knows what. It strikes a strange, off-balance feeling into Yoongi’s chest—is he just overthinking things? Perhaps Jungkook had never felt that he had pulled away, and it was simply Yoongi complicating things in the cacophony of his mind.

Nevertheless, he begins to see Jungkook less and less, if such a thing was even possible with how little he already sees him. Their maknae seems to be working harder now than ever, gearing up for the next comeback. He alternates between late nights with Hoseok in the dance studio and Namjoon in the recording studio, and he wakes up early in the morning to fit in gym time with Jimin and Seokjin. Jungkook’s eating less as well, and while the new definition of his waist definitely looks good, it also worries Yoongi to see him so thin.  

They’re at a dance practice, two weeks before their comeback and grueling through the fourth hour, when Moon points out that something seems strange with Haru and Jungkook.

Hoseok runs through the steps again in slow motion. “Pah, pah, pah! Just like that, leg out a little further, Jungkook.”

The boy obliges, but his face is pale with exhaustion, an inordinate amount of sweat wetting his bangs. Haru is situated in the pocket of his hoodie as a dormouse, front paws hanging limply on the edge of the fabric.

“One more time, okay? Then we’ll try at full tempo.” Hoseok rewinds the music, still at half speed, and waits for the members to get back in position.

Jungkook takes a moment, squeezing his eyes shut. His breathing comes fast and shallow, and Namjoon, ever observant, shoots Hoseok a worried look, jerking his chin at their youngest member.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon asks, “do you need a break?”

Jungkook’s eyes open, and he shakes his head in determination. Shoots them a thumbs up and musters up a smile. “I’m good!” He reassures them, brushing off their concerned glances.

Hoseok scrutinizes the younger boy for another second but accepts his answer. Being tired is nothing new to them, and Jungkook knows how to handle himself. He presses play and takes his position at the front again.

Less than a minute into the run-through, Jungkook stumbles and rights himself immediately.

“Yoongi,” Moon whispers. “Something’s wrong. With Kook and Haru, I mean. They don’t smell right.”

“What do you mean?” He pants, grimacing. God, all he can think about is the burning in his legs right now. He hates dancing.

“I dunno,” Moon growls, frustrated. “It’s just wrong.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, about to ask Hoseok to stop, but Jungkook suddenly crouches down, face twisting. Sweat is pouring off him in earnest now, and he’s gasping for breath, face paler than a sheet of paper.

The music cuts out immediately.

“Jungkook-ah!” Jimin exclaims, panic evident. “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

“H-haru—” he grits out, and now that Yoongi is watching intently, he finally notices how Jungkook’s daemon seems to be fighting himself, curling and uncurling in pain. Taehyung’s daemon tries to lick Haru in comfort, but he flinches away from the contact.

Namjoon stares at the duo, mind whirling, and everyone else too looks to him for direction. Namjoon, out of all of them, has probably done the most research on soulbonds and daemons, not to mention his clear-headedness during emergencies.

“Jimin, go tell the managers to call the medical team,” he orders, and Jimin races from the room immediately, his daemon—a golden retriever—nipping at his heels.

Namjoon tries to steady a hand on Jungkook’s back, but the younger boy yells, jerking away. Haru still seems to be fighting something, writhing and squeaking in pain. Eighteen, Namjoon thinks cloudily, Jungkook and Haru just turned eighteen and that’s important for some reason…Namjoon’s eyes widen in realization.

Haru’s settling.

“Are you—are you fighting the settling? Jungkook! Listen to me, is Haru settling?” He asks urgently. Iseul hoots in distress.

Yoongi’s brow crinkles in confusion, uncomprehending. What does the settling have to do with anything?

Jungkook sobs, and Namjoon’s normally clear eyes are stormy with fear.

Yoongi shifts his weight uneasily, exchanging equally confused and panicked looks with the circle of boys crowding Jungkook and Haru. He feels utterly helpless, hands clenching and unclenching. Yoongi’s never seen the younger boy in so much agony.

“Shit, shit,” Namjoon curses, and he grabs the maknae’s face between his palms, unrelenting even when he tries to jolt away. “Jungkook, you have to listen to hyung. You cannot fight the settling. Whatever form Haru is settling in is the form he’s meant to be. If he fights it—if you fight it—the soulbond will tear. The damage will be irreversible. Jungkook, do not fight it.”

Jungkook’s eyes slip open, blinded by tears. His eyes connect with Yoongi’s stricken ones for a second, and then he hunches over, hands curling into fists. “I—I can’t…” he chokes out.

Yoongi finally steps forward, crouching down. “Please,” he pleads. “If that’s what it is, don’t fight it. It’s ok, no matter what form he decides to take.”

Wetness carves lines down Jungkook’s face, and he shakes his head rapidly, murmuring to himself. “No, no, I’m disgusting…Yoongi-hyung, I’m so sorry…”

A lump grows uncontrollably in Yoongi’s throat. What is he talking about? He reaches out a hand to touch Jungkook, but in that instant, Jimin bursts back into the room with a team of medical staff, just as Jungkook collapses.

And, and Haru.

Haru writhes with a screech and morphs—

—into a black rabbit.

xi.

The medical team sends them home after doing a couple brief tests.

“He’s fine,” one of the paramedics tells Namjoon. “Really lucky with the timing though. If they had resisted any longer, the soulbond might have been damaged. He might be a little tired after waking up, but it’s probably more from overworking himself than from the settling.”

Namjoon listens attentively, and the paramedic continues. “Make sure to keep a close eye on him, just in case anything changes. We still don’t fully understand this stuff, so you never know what can happen.”

“Got it.” Namjoon thanks the medical team, who had brought Jungkook to the company van before taking their leave. Everyone loads in somberly, quiet on the trip back.

When they get back to the dorms, Seokjin hauls Jungkook onto his back, and Jimin’s daemon gently hoists up Haru by the scruff, leading the way up the stairs.

Seokjin lays Jungkook’s prone body on Namjoon’s bottom bunk instead of his usual top bunk, and Haru is deposited in the crook of his arm. Jimin’s daemon gives him a subdued lick and a quiet whine.

“I’ll stay with him for now,” Yoongi volunteers, and there’s a brief interlude when everyone silently communicates with looks that Yoongi would rather not think too much about. Namjoon nods.

“Call if you need anything,” Seokjin adds as everyone files out. “I’ll be in the kitchen, and everyone else will be right outside.” The door clicks shut, and Yoongi sighs, drained.

He pulls up a chair next to the bed, and Moon springs from the ground into his lap and then onto the bed. She noses at the black lump of fur on the bedcovers.

“Haru…” she whispers, an unspoken question in that one word. Why? Had Jungkook and Haru hidden it this entire time? The incident at the fanmeet had passed a long time ago, and while no one had quite forgotten it, the memory had smoothed over like time weathered river stones over the years. That was when Haru had abandoned his bunny form, Yoongi recalls with a burst of clarity.

“How could he ever think he’s disgusting?” Yoongi asks the silence of the room. He traces over Jungkook’s features with his eyes, the bow of his parted lips, the touch of his eyelashes against his cheek.

He’s so beautiful it hurts.

Glancing at the door, Yoongi checks that it’s closed. Jungkook’s breathing is steady and deep. It can’t hurt right? Yoongi thinks with a tiny thrill of guilt. It can’t hurt anyone to love Jungkook if they can’t see, can’t know.

It can’t hurt anyone but himself.

He reaches out slowly, brushing a hair through the younger boy’s silky hair. Cups his soft swell of his cheek, ghosts his fingers ever-so-softly over the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow, the line of his brow. Brushes against the endearing imperfections—a mole under his lip, a scar on his cheek, a smattering of faded acne marks. His chest aches with the force of the emotion trying to tear through it.

His line of sight follows his fingers, tracing up, up, until—his brain short circuits.

Jungkook’s eyes are open.

“Hyung?” He asks, disoriented. A note of vulnerability threads through his voice.

Yoongi pulls back his hand like it’s been burnt.

Jungkook struggles to his elbows, propping himself halfway up, and Moon retreats into Yoongi’s lap, leaving a gaping divide between them.

“I…Jungkook, what was that? What happened back there?” The unsettled feeling of dread returns, heavy and uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach.

Jungkook’s expression shutters.

“Nothing,” he mutters abrasively.

“That was not nothing, Jungkook,” Yoongi growls, patience worn thin. He’s tired, suddenly. Tired of the endlessness of the comeback preparation, tired of Jungkook’s carefully maintained distance, tired of doubting himself, tired of missing Jungkook and the closeness they used to have. He’s tired to his bones.

“What happened?” Yoongi asks again, defeated, Moon limp and still on his thighs. “Was it—was it me? Did I do something? You never come to my studio anymore—” you hardly ever talk to me, “and now you’re fighting your soulbond and Haru’s settling. I wish,” Yoongi’s voice cracks, and he swallows roughly. “I wish you would just talk to me.”

When he looks up at Jungkook, there’s a glossy sheen in the younger boy’s eyes.

“Hyung, no.” His hands shake where they’re buried in Haru’s black pelt. “How could you possibly think that it was your fault? It was…” it was years of convincing myself that I was unnatural for loving you, years of telling myself and Haru that we weren’t normal. “It was me, okay? Nothing was your fault, so you don’t have to feel bad.”

Yoongi snaps. After everything that had happened, Jungkook still refuses to speak.

“What happened?” Yoongi cries. “Why won’t you trust me? Why won’t you trust anyone on this team? Bangtan is family, Jungkook! Let us in, please. All we want to do is help.” He heaves an enormous breath, throat closing up. “You don’t have to bear it all alone,” Yoongi whispers.

Jungkook’s voice breaks, his shoulders heaving with sobs. “Fine! I’m in love with you! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Yoongi freezes, and Jungkook takes one look at his face and weeps, tear-stricken.

“Exactly! That’s why I never said anything,” he spits. “I bet you’re disgusted now, aren’t you?” Haru whimpers, Jungkook clutching him too hard. “Because I’m filthy, I’m unnatural, I’m—”

Yoongi slaps a hand over Jungkook’s mouth, clenched lips trembling at the self-directed vitriol in his voice.

“Stop, please.” He climbs onto the bed, gathering the younger boy into his arms, tender even as Jungkook struggles. “Jungkook, stop. Stop. I—don’t you understand? I’m in love with you too.”

Jungkook stills, and the raw desperation in Yoongi’s chest melts into something more hopeful. A wild laugh rips itself free from his throat.

Lifting his head from Yoongi’s chest, Jungkook settles on Yoongi with a guarded, uncertain look. “Are you…are you serious?” He seems almost too afraid to hope.

“I’ve loved you for a long time now, Jungkook. I never said it, but it hurt so much when you started pulling away.” Yoongi settles his chin on Jungkook’s warm shoulder. “How could you possibly think you’re disgusting or unnatural? We told you—I told you—from our very first day that you and Haru are accepted here. Where are these thoughts coming from?”

“I—” Jungkook sniffs. “That girl, remember? The one that, that, with the bunny. She saw through me so easily, and I was scared. I was scared the whole world would see how I felt, that you would see, and you would hate me. For loving you when Haru and I were like this.”

Yoongi pulls back and cups Jungkook’s cheek, chest aching fiercely with protectiveness. Jungkook shivers at the touch, eyelids falling closed.

“Oh, Kook, I don’t know what she said to you that day, but it’s bullshit. Even if I didn’t return your feelings”—Jungkook makes a breathy, wounded noise at that—“I would never hate you for feeling the way you do. It’s just like any other relationship or person in love, regardless of whatever gender your daemon is. I would never fault someone for feeling the way they do, even if it hurts.”

Jungkook nods and takes a deep breath, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. Suddenly, wonder and a shy joy takes over his face as he begins to process beyond the hurt.

“You…you really love me too?” He breathes, eyes shining.

Yoongi laughs, the realization finally settling in for him too. “Yes, I really do.” His fingers tighten on the younger boy’s chin, and Jungkook’s breath hitches.

“Kiss me, hyung?” Yoongi pulls in a sharp breath at that. Even tear-stained and disheveled, Jungkook is beautiful, staring up at him pleadingly. “Please, hyung, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Wordlessly, Yoongi leans down, tilting Jungkook’s chin up to meet him. Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed, and Yoongi slots their lips together, warm and a little salty from their tears.

Jungkook pulls back first, pink cheeked and beatific.

“Let me in next time, okay?” Yoongi threads his fingers through Jungkook’s. “Promise me you won’t hide everything like this again.”

“I—” Jungkook hesitates, and Yoongi can now see Jungkook’s careful distance for what it was: hidden insecurity and fear. And now, he can see Jungkook struggling to open himself up, to gather enough courage to freefall into trust. Yoongi waits patiently, pride and pain warring as he watches emotions flash over the younger’s face.

“I will, Yoongi-hyung.” Jungkook promises. “I’ll do my best.”

Yoongi hums, finally satisfied with the quiet conviction in Jungkook’s voice. He stretches out beside Jungkook, filling up the cold spaces on the bed. Moon tucks Haru into her belly where they lie between the two larger bodies, and Jungkook feels complete. Complete to bursting.

Jungkook falls asleep like that, head buried in Yoongi’s chest, the lines of his face at peace. Yoongi cards a gentle hand through his hair, listening to the steady rise and fall of his breaths.

“It’s you, Jungkook,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “It’s always been you, and it always will be.”

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[ magic-jie ] → masterlist  anna; writing (▲ 9% and 91% bulletpoint scenarios. I have too many ideas and love for them but too little time and confidence to actually write them) tags: #npn; magic-jie | #npn; writing

[ nine-prcnt ] → masterlist  kee; writing (▲ i’m just trying to write and appreciate our ninety nine boys) tags: #npn; nine-prcnt | #npn; writing

[ ninth-percent ]  elliot; fanart (▲ hi my name’s Elliot I love long walks on the beach and napping so long it technically turns into hibernation. I make moodboards and artwork, usually when I should be sleeping, so expect more of that in the future °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°✧) tags: #npn; ninth-percent | #npn; edit

[ nongsnongs ]  becky; multi (▲ i love linong and yanjun with my whole being. Chengcheng needs to s t o p) tags: #npn; nongsnongs | #npn; writing | #npn; gifs |  #npn; edit

[ nuevepercent ]  gabi; gifs & gfx  (▲ i cry and swerve a little too often) tags: #npn; nuevepercent | #npn; gifs | #npn; edit

[ peachyjie ] → masterlist   nari; writing  (▲ she who loves angst but writes mostly on fluff to soothe your on-going imagination. Have I mention I'm too much of a sucker for Huba?)  tags: #npn; peachyjie | #npn; writing

[ prismatic9 ] → masterlist  lovi & suni; multi (▲ we love writing for everyone. please check out blog and requests a lot~) tags: #npn; prismatic9 | #npn; writing | #npn; gifs |  #npn; edit

[ redhyuck ] → masterlist  summer; writing (▲ a sucker for fluff and babying justin. a constant lurker for 9% content) tags: #npn; redhyuck | #npn; writing

[ seungkwanslowqualityenglish ] → masterlist  justine; writing (▲ after PD101 I said never again, yet I saw Zhengting and here I am again. ) tags: #npn; seungkwanslowqualityenglish | #npn; writing

[ theozhu ]  ari; gifs & gfx  (▲ hello im ari and i emit big loving zhengting energy!!) tags: #npn; theozhu | #npn; gifs | #npn; edit

[ vicccwrites ] → masterlist   vic; writing  (▲ i'm just a smol that likes writing for a bunch of tols ^-^)  tags: #npn; vicccwrites | #npn; writing

[ wangziyisboogie ]  sophia; translations (▲ the boogie of wang ziyi) tags: #npn; wangziyisboogie | #npn; translations

[ whu-zhengting ] → masterlist   fari; writing  (▲ you'll either find me writing about 9% or you'll find me crying (internally) about them. I like to claim that I'm loyal to Zhengting but that's bs anyone can always call me out on.)  tags: #npn; whu-zhengting | #npn; writing

[ xinschun ]  angie; writing & gifs (▲ ip / 9% enthusiast :: idk how people choose an ult in ip) tags: #npn; xinschun | #npn; writing | #npn; gifs

[ xukunstellation ] → masterlist  minnie; writing (▲ just an imaginative writer wanting to share little stories here and there to satisfy your fantasies and dreams for Idol Producer and Nine Percent! c:) tags: #npn; xukunstellation | #npn; writing

[ yanjns ]  miki; gifs & gfx (▲ 9% ♥ yanjun biased, i make edits and /sometimes/ gifs) tags: #npn; yanjns | #npn; gifs | #npn; edit

[ yanjunie ]  nini; gifs  (▲ fool for evan 🍦) tags: #npn; yanjunie | #npn; gifs

[ yanjuniverse ] → masterlist  & [ 9pcnt]   megan; writing  (▲ i write a little too much a little too often.)  tags: #npn; yanjuniverse | #npn; 9pcnt | #npn; writing

[ yanjunniiee ] → masterlist   laurel; writing  (▲ idol producer and nine percent ripped my life away, but I'm writing now. I write a little too much angst oops :))  tags: #npn; yanjunniiee | #npn; writing

[ youchengcheng ]  lara; gifs  (▲ your fAvOrItE 9 percent blog, I make gifs. Enjoy) tags: #npn; youchengcheng | #npn; gifs

[ zhengkuns ]  hara; gifs  (▲ on an endlessly long expedition in my search for something more precious than zhu zhengting; in my free time i make gifs) tags: #npn; zhengkuns | #npn; gifs

[ zhengnongs ]  rita; gifs  (▲ i vowed to never watch survival shows and yet here i am, willing to give my life to nine percent and every ip trainee) tags: #npn; zhengnongs | #npn; gifs

[ zhengtiddy ] → masterlist  tam; writing (▲ idol producer sucked the life out of me but hey! now i write for them) tags: #npn; zhengtiddy | #npn; writing

[ zhengtingfairy ]  sabrina; art (▲ i draw and sometimes i make icons + idol pd/9% enthusiast) tags: #npn; zhengtingfairy | #npn; edit

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[ 96xfm ]  jt; gifs  (▲ would do anything for yanjun's + linong's smile) tags: #npn; 96xfm | #npn; gifs

RULES

we’re pretty chill but we still have to establish some things

no pwp (porn without plot) or mostly smut content

all 17+ content must be placed under a 17+ warning and a read more

no 17+ content can be about minors

no 17+ content tagging the network can be written by minors

respect all members of 9%. no member bashing

respect all admins and member blogs of the network

all planned hiatuses must be given due notice to the network two days in advance. emergencies are exceptions

notify the network of a blog url change so it can be updated in the database

link the network somewhere on your blog and reblog your acceptance post

tag all posts you want reblogged with “#ninepercentnet” in the first five tags

APPLY

#mobile navi

[gunnysacks]

wow i didn't know there was a aoharu x kikanjuu imagine blog :D I couldnt find ur faq so imma just request something so if somethings wrong just ignore this!! could you do a prompt or hc of what midori, fujimoto and Yukimura are like when they're jealous (with neutral s/o pls :D) :0

Yes this is an imagine blog, sweetie pie! And I’m sorry, I’m working on fixing up the mobile profile so there’s a link to the faq

Yukimura:

Tooru is the type to ignore his partner when he’s jealous. He gives everyone in general the silent treatment because he’s seething.

He nags a lot too and in the pettiest of ways (i.e: “You need help lifting that up? Well ask that guy you were staring at for .23 seconds when we went to grab lunch the other day to help you out”).

When Yukki sees someone who is a potential threat he doesn’t let it slide and is super vocal about not liking them (he’ll even say it directly to their face). 

PD x 10,000 around the threat. He’ll literally cling to his partner as if letting go would mean the end of the world!

“So what if he’s buff, and charming, and smooth when it comes to talking I’m…. I can draw men who are buffer and more smooth and charming than him any day!” 

He’s a pouty baby for the next few days and demands a lot of cuddling and kisses to make up for it. 

Midori:

Midori is the silent jealousy type of person. He never lets it show no matter how jealous he is. 

But be prepared for Midori to do everything possible to ruin that person’s life he sees them flirting with his partner. 

He’ll literally humiliate anyone who flirts with his partner but he’ll be so casual about it people ask if it ever even happened. 

“I noticed you’re really talkative with that person? That’s nice that you’re making friends.” and then proceeds to get this person into bad situations because he’s petty like that. 

If he ever speaks to someone he gets jealous of, he’ll constantly refer to his partner in a particularly loving way more than usual (i.e: “My love, My princess, my angel, etc.” All of which sound very possessive even if his tone is casual).

Shameless kisses/hand-holding/etc. in public with a pinch of “Don’t you dare look at someone else because I love you and won’t allow it.”

Fujimoto:

He acts like a kicked puppy, he gets so disheartened and lays around lost for a long time when he gets jealous.

Fujimoto won’t give up though! He’ll do everything to prove that he is worthy of your love! He’ll make sure to clean extra and make only his partner’s favorite foods, buy them lots of gifts, ect.

While Fujimoto is very soft and always friendly, he may come off as more hostile and intimidating to someone who’s flirting with his partner (in general a lot of people think that Fujimon is quite intimidating). This isn’t intentional though.

Fujimon is the type who begins to get a lot of self-doubt and more than likely requires a lot of reassurance from his partner.

“I know you like me… but do you like me like me?” 

He’s probably the sap that writes a whole ten page letter to his partner and leaves it somewhere his partner can find it with details of how much he loves them and how he really hopes nothing will change between them ever. 

Original prompt: “wow i didn’t know there was a aoharu x kikanjuu imagine blog :D I couldnt find ur faq so imma just request something so if somethings wrong just ignore this!! could you do a prompt or hc of what midori, fujimoto and Yukimura are like when they’re jealous (with neutral s/o pls :D) :0″

I hope this is to your liking, honey! Also again I will be editing my blog more so that the faq is accessible on the mobile site

Feel free to drop me any requests as they are currently open! 

#aoharu x machinegun #aoharu x kikanjuu #axk #anime #asks #requests #fujimoto takatora #midori nagamasa #yukimura tooru #thank you bb #funky-mebe

[milo-gin]

soft bias tag

tagged by @sugas-kookies thanks (imissyou)

❦ Who is your bias?

The man in my profile photo and his many sides and endeavours. Min Yoongi/Suga/PD/AGUST D

❦ What made you notice them?

Well, since I like talking I’ll write the entire story. One day (this is a pun and you’ll see why) I was watching art videos and ran into this amazing fanart of a guy with white hair and it said “AGUST D SPEEDPAINT” since I had a thing for white haired characters I gave it a go, without knowing it was KPOP related because as no one knows I despised kpop and their fandoms A LOT, moving on though, I went along and watched the entire thing and I after watching @auriee video more than 10 times I started to accept the fact that I REALLY LIKE THAT SONG AND I HAD TO KNOW THE MAN BEHIND IT. When I saw him maaaaan I fell, and as plus I was trying to get into rap a little more because I was in need of new music so this one fit the glove perfectly, then I procedeed to slowly tap the waters and listened to his other MV, after that I started reading the comments to see where could I download that mixtape, and found it on twitter...This wasnt enough though so I was like I need m o r e  music from him, and later on found out he was in a KPOP band and was like....NOPE...But slowly my curiousity and love for his outstanding talent go the better of me... So I explored this so called “BTS” and tried many songs didnt like any of them they were too hyped to get into them as a first, but then I found love of my life ONE DAY lol As a funny side note I later on discovered that it was almost meant to be I had both photos of him and Taehyung as hot guys I wanted to draw, the selca I’d saved was the following

So yeah....that’s my story LOL ❦ What’s your favorite thing about them?

I love that he speaks his mind, maybe because that’s a quality I lack also I love that he’s shy and aloof. That’s always been kind of the guys that I like physically they always have this coldness to them, but in reality they’re always the kindest people, and this is without a doubt the case with him too. He’s just such a nice and talented human. I admire him a lot, he’s such an inspirational soul.

❦ Who would initiate skinship more?

I think me if the scenario was perfect then we’d probably known each other for quite some time so i think I would be the one to make things happen since Im more of an acting kind than talking irl

❦ Who would hog blankets more?

i feel like because of the way I am I’d let him hog the blanket haha and get another one for myself so that he feels comfortable

❦ Who would be more clingy?

neither? I’m not clingy and yoongi doesn’t seem like he’s too clingy either

❦ Who would say ‘l love you’ first?

Damn...maybe me cuz I get attached super fast, and I am in a sort of “no ragrets” run so if I like, love, feel anything for someone I tell them. I now speak my mind more so than I ever did before cuz I learned the hard way that sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission as we say in spanish

❦ Who would be more easily flustered?

I think he’d pretend not to get flustered lol but he’d definitely get more flustered...depending on the situation also cuz I am very aloof about many things mostly when it comes to detaching myself from others 

❦ What cuddling position would you two have?

Not to be that person, but I’m a scorpio venus and moon...so maybe id be big spoon because i love babying the shit out of people, and I recently found out I love being big spoon, adding up Im a cancer mars so yeah there you go that’s why I like giving more than receiving

❦ Which colours remind you of them and why?

I think of blue idk why but that’s the color I associate with him, teals, and cold colors maybe the shade pigment too...basically dark and cold spectrum colors

❦ Which season would you like to spend with them?

I have no idea, but I think he doesnt function well in warm weather so summer is out of the table lol cuz he kinda doesnt like it. So maybe Winter or something that’s very chill not too cold or hot...balanced weather I guess that would be Spring

❦ Who would bake the cookies and who would steal the batter?

I dont bake lol so he’ll do it. I’ll be stealing

❦ Which one of you would make bad puns and how would the other react?

i’m a libra, end of the story. We make a lot of puns, i like puns if you dont like them we cant be friends

❦ Who would want to adopt 50 dogs and cats?

Hmm seeing how he loves Holly i’ll convince him somehow and we’ll end up doing it haha

❦ Which one of you would nearly burn the down the kitchen to try to microwave a pop tart and who would come to rescue?

me...I always burn stuff while cooking. Im sorry, im a poor excuse of a woman

❦ Who likes to lean over tall railings and who pulls them back?

I fear heights so...maybe none of us. I dont know him lol so I wouldnt know how he’d act on this one

❦ What would watching a horror film with them be like?

I dont think he’d watch a scary film, he’s said he doesnt like them so he avoids them and he seems like the stubborn type when it comes to things he likes to do which is why he always says that he wants to be with someone that is very similar to himself. So i cant imagine it sorry. I just dont think it could work

❦ Who would be the cheesy flirt and who would be the smooth flirt?

I think he’d be the cheesy flirt hahahhaa he’s a softie and he’s sometimes very impulsive from what i’ve picked up so he’d do it and regret it immediately. I know that I am very smooth as a flirter cuz I just ignore people i like o _ o ) but jokes aside in a comfortable situation I am very smooth

❦ Who is more competitive?

hmmm i think none of us haha i dont think things are worth fighting about when they’re not serious like games, sports, all those things I take them as entertainment and I want to take out stress. If I take it seriously and compete ill stress out which is missing the point of the whole thing.  Given the way he’s with music I think he’d end up competing and ill be like “meh” ahaha but on the inside id be like “i dont wanna play anymore cuz i keep losing” 

❦ Who would have to be given constant reminders (remember to eat, don’t forget your keys, etc.)

MEEEE lol I hate that shit. It’s my “pet peeve” it gets under my skin, I hate being told what to do when I know I have to do it.

❦ Who sends memes and who sees cute ‘I miss you’ texts at 3am?

I get cheesy at 3 am and im usually awake very late so I’d send the “I miss you” text and he’d respond with a meme of his face like

I think he’d do that cuz he likes acting all cool and stuff, but inside he’d be dying when told someone missed him (maybe like ive said I wish i knew him but I can only speculate from what I’ve picked up on his lives and stuff they’ve done for us to be a little more “public”) I’ll tag: @jin-sin @billiethebean @chiminichichi @lukello (idk if youll do this cuz i know how you see your boo) @hobislobster @gaypopped @daegutown @its-suga-sweet @jungkookiimonster @sugaa @anaevilbanana

#soft bias tag #tags #this was fun #lol

[droneseco]

Jackery Solar Generator 1000 Review: Complete Off-Grid Solar Kit For Clean Energy Anywhere

Jackery Solar Generator 1000

9.00 / 10

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The Explorer 1000 hits a sweet spot between capacity and convenience. You can still run most higher-powered appliances, like an induction hob or small heater, without struggling to carry it. Combined with the two SolarSaga 100 portable panels, you have a complete off-grid kit to enjoy clean, abundant electrical energy anywhere.

Specifications

Brand: Jackery

Weight: 22lbs (10kg)

Size: 13.1 x 9.2 x 11.1 inches

Capacity: 1002Wh

Maximum Discharge: 1000W continuous / 2000W surge

Maximum Charge: 200W

Solar Controller: MPPT

Ports: 2/3 x AC, 2 x USB-C, 2 x USB-A, 1 x 12V car port

Pros

Powers most household appliances

Great balance between weight and capacity

One-touch output activation

Cons

Flashlight is unimpressive

Solar charging from the included panels is limited to 135W

No Qi-charging or PD

Buy This Product

Jackery Solar Generator 1000 amazon

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Some people lament that modern life relies on electricity so much—they seem to think we should go back to burning wood and gas stoves. But electricity is a wonderfully clean technology: no smoke, no fumes, no nasty chemicals. Which is fine for charging smartphones, but you can't take enough electricity with you to cook breakfast on when you're in the middle of nowhere, can you?

With the Jackery Solar Generator 1000 set, you absolutely can enjoy an abundant supply of safe, clean, free energy anywhere. Use it for lighting, communication, heating, and even cooking. Whether camping or for a tiny off-grid home, the Jackery Solar Generator 1000 might be just the solution you're looking for.

Is This Really a "Solar Generator"?

If you take issue with these large battery systems being called solar generators, on account of them neither having solar capabilities nor actually generating anything, I sympathize. Instead, they're really just massive batteries with different outputs and can be charged from any DC power source or even a wall socket.

But in this case, the Jackery Solar Generator 1000 is a bundle, consisting of two Jackery Solar Saga 100 portable photovoltaic panels, and a Jackery Explorer 1000 battery. So I think the name is actually justified. When purchased in the bundle, you're saving around $100 compared to purchasing them individually.

Strictly speaking though, the included Jackery Explorer 1000 is not a generator; it is a large battery. However, it does the same job as any traditional backup generator, providing both DC and AC 110/220v output. You can either charge it using the bundled solar panels, which takes about a day for a full charge, or you can use the included AC adaptor (though this isn't particularly quicker), or even charge from your vehicle's 12V car socket.

Jackery Explorer 1000 Hardware

Styled in a distinctive dark grey and orange hard ABS plastic with rubber feet on the underside, the Explorer 1000 feels sturdy—but this shouldn't be mistaken for rugged. It's happy to be used outdoors, but with exposed electrical ports, you absolutely shouldn't get it wet, nor should you pierce the casing. It won't survive a fall, but will otherwise handle the rigors of camping and other outdoor activities.

For ease of transport, the carrying handle is integral to the case design, and cannot be folded away or removed for storage. The overall weight of the battery is a mere 22lbs (10kg), and it measures 13.1 x 9.2 x 11.1 inches.

This feels like a Goldilocks battery size: light enough to carry comfortably while storing enough juice to power the most hungry of electrical needs for a sufficient time. More than 1000Wh and carrying it becomes unwieldy; while lower capacity results in the AC output being essentially useless for all but low power laptop adaptors. The Jackery Explorer 1000 balances capacity and portability perfectly.

On one side you'll find a small emergency flashlight. It's not bright enough to light an entire tent, but would do in a pinch. It has one brightness setting, as well as an emergency broadcast, though oddly it repeats "S O" rather than "S O S". In an emergency, I'm sure it would do ("wait", the mountain rescue leader exclaimed, "that guy is actually signaling so so so, not SOS, let's go home!"), but you'll need a camping light as well.

The assorted of input and output ports, as well as the display panel, adorn the front side of the unit. The LCD panel is basic but functional, displaying a five-segment remaining capacity as well as exact power discharge values. However, I should note that this is the previous generation of display on Jackery devices: newer models like the Explorer 1500 that we reviewed last month have a color display that also displays the estimated time remaining.

Jackery Explorer 1000 Lifespan and Capacity

As the name would suggest, the Jackery Explorer 1000 holds approximately 1000 watt-hours of power. A watt-hour (Wh) is the total amount of power needed to run a one-watt device for one hour. In other words, 1000Wh capacity can theoretically run a 1000-watt device for one hour; or a 100W device for 10 hours; or a 1W device for 1000 hours, etc. I say theoretically because there's always a loss due to conversion inefficiency (wasted as heat, or on fans to cool the battery).

To test this capacity, I plugged in an electric heater that uses just under 1000W on the lowest setting. This is a constant power draw, which makes it ideal for testing. Other appliances such as a fridge fluctuate significantly, drawing more or less power as required (to cool the fridge down again after having opened the door), so it's difficult to draw conclusions with those or make claims such as how many hours the fridge will run for using the Explorer 1000. Given the conversion inefficiencies, I was expecting the 1000W heater to last just under an hour, and sure enough, it cut out at the 55-minute mark. The capacity claim would appear to be accurate.

The Jackery Explorer 1000 uses Lithium Nickel Manganese Cobalt Oxide (NMC) cells which are rated to 500 charge cycles. After this, the capacity is reduced to around 80%. While this is less than Lithium Iron Phosphate cells, it's still a reasonable lifespan. Even if you used a full charge and discharge every day, it would still operate at peak capacity for a year and a half. It won't suddenly stop working after that, it simply won't hold as much charge as new.

To extend the lifespan of the Explorer 1000, you should avoid using charging and discharging features simultaneously, even if it is technically possible. This is not an Uninterruptible Power Supply.

Related: The Best UPS You Can Buy Right Now

Thankfully, the SolarSaga 100 has separate ports for charging USB devices, so you needn't rely on the battery for topping up smaller devices throughout the day. More on those later.

Explorer 1000 Outputs

The model we've reviewed is for the UK, which has rather large AC ports, so there are only two on this; the US model features three AC outputs.

In addition, you'll find two USB-C ports, and two USB-A ports, running up to 5V 2.4A (QC3.0) max. The USB-C doesn't support the full Power Delivery (PD) spec, so it might not keep an intensive video editing session on a MacBook Pro running, but should otherwise trickle-charge it.

Lastly, there's a 12V car port output (otherwise known as a "cigarette lighter" to us Brits).

Activating any of the outputs on the Explorer 1000 requires only a single press of the appropriate button. This is a lot quicker than competitors where you have to long-press first a power button, then long-press the AC or DC button (then do it again because you were just a fraction of a second off the required button pressing time!)

Compared to similarly specced batteries, the output capabilities of the Jackery Explorer 1000 are also impressive. The maximum continuous output is 1000W, so even running at full whack, it would take one hour to drain it. This is enough for many household appliances and smaller power tools, but not a large kettle or convection oven.

The surge output is a substantial 2000W. This means anything you have plugged can very briefly draw up to 2000W, but shouldn't exceed 1000W in normal continuous usage. The Jackery Explorer 1000 will protect itself from over-discharge (as well as over-charge), but you shouldn't make a habit of plugging in things that are too powerful. I tested this with the electric heater on full power, which surged to 2200W for a few seconds, at which point the Explorer 1000 shut itself off. Lower surge values would last longer before shutting down the unit. Dropping the heater back to low (1000W) power mode, the Explorer 1000 was undamaged and could be easily turned back on again.

Charging the Explorer 1000 with SolarSaga 100

On the input side you'll find both an 8mm DC jack, and an Anderson port. Anderson ports are another connector suitable for higher currents, and are found mostly on Jackery and GoalZero batteries.

The SolarSaga 100 panels provided in this set use an 8mm DC barrel jack as standard. In order to use them both at the same time, Jackery also provides a Y-splitter cable, terminating in an Anderson plug. This connects them together in parallel.

Two panels are provided in the Solar Generator 1000 set, and this is pretty much the limit of what you can use. Although each Solar Saga 100 panel can theoretically output 100W, combining them in parallel to charge the Explorer 1000 results in a maximum of around 135W. This is due to the operating voltage of the panels (18V) and the maximum input current of the battery (7.5A). You might be thinking "why not wire them in series then?", but that would push them over the maximum input voltage of 30V. My testing confirmed this. Individually, each of the panels was consistently putting out 90-100W, both to the Explorer 1000 and other batteries I tested with. Combined, I achieved in the range of 125-130W. This feels like a bit of a mismatch between the panel rating and the charge controller, but it does at least mean a more consistent experience. It will take 8 hours of sun to charge the Explorer 1000 using the two SolarSaga 100 panels—whether that's dismal British sun, or in the middle of a Californian desert.

If you need to charge faster than a day of sun, you should look elsewhere. You should also check panel ratings if you're going to source your own, to ensure it falls under 30V and no more than 7.5A.

The SolarSaga 100 panels are the best portable panels I've seen yet, for a number of reasons.

Featuring a hard plastic handle, they're just a little more durable than the other fully flexible panels on the market and are less likely to contort during transport.

They're a bi-fold design and roughly the size of a small tabletop. Other portable panels tend to be four-fold, which I find to be a little unwieldy, often resulting in undue strain placed on the joints.

The handle integrates magnetic clasps, while other panels typically use a fabric strap to secure the panel in storage. This makes the SolarSaga 100 effortless to set up.

On the rear of the panels is a rigid pull-out flap to act as a stand, which is attached via a three-point fabric strap. Other panels use only a two-point fixing, which often results in the strap dangling out and stopping the stand from re-attaching to the velcro.

Lastly, in addition to the 8MM DC cable to charge the battery, the SolarSaga 100 panels have a USB-C and USB-A port to charge smaller devices directly, located inside the zipped pocket. While this does reduce the overall charge going into the Explorer 1000, it means you're making much more efficient use of the solar. Each time you convert or store energy, you're losing a little to inefficiencies and heat loss, so cutting out the middleman battery is a great idea. It also means you're putting less strain on the cells from simultaneously charging and discharging them, which extends the life of your battery. While you might need to top up smartphones and tablets throughout the day, you can leave the Explorer 1000 for only infrequent use, such as heating or cooking.

Individually, these are all insignificant design features that taken alone wouldn't justify the premium price of the SolarSaga 100. But combined, these features make the SolarSaga 1000 the best portable panel on the market. They're easier to deploy, easier to tidy away, and better for the lifespan of your battery.

Should You Buy The Jackery Solar Generator 1000?

For me, the Explorer 1000 hits a sweet spot between capacity and convenience. You can still run most higher-powered appliances, like an induction hob or small heater, without struggling to carry it.

That said, the Explorer 1000 is a basic portable battery that does what it says on the box, and not a lot else. It can't be daisy-chained to another battery to expand capacity (though that's pretty rare in this market), nor can the internal cells be replaced at the product's end of life. Swappable battery units are also rare at the moment, but we're starting to see them coming to market now, so I suspect Jackery will have their own model with swappable cells by next year.

Although the Explorer 1000 has a small emergency flashlight, it's not particularly bright, and won't replace your need for a camping light. It also doesn't have a Bluetooth speaker either. This might sound like a silly criticism, but I mention it because some batteries do actually feature a Bluetooth speaker, so if you want a more all-in-one portable power supply with all the bells and whistles, this isn't it.

Having USB charging ports directly on the panels is a superb way to use the free energy more efficiently, and combined with other small design features like the bi-fold design and magnetic clasps, makes the SolarSaga 100 the best portable panels you'll find.

Finally, although I've not had cause to contact support, other reviewers note that Jackery generally has better product support than other brands. They may be made in China, but Jackery has a support center in the US, so you're much more likely to get problems dealt with.

Overall, the Jackery Explorer 1000 performs excellently as either an off-grid or emergency power supply. Combined with the two SolarSaga 100 portable panels, you have a complete off-grid kit to enjoy clean, abundant electrical energy anywhere.

Jackery Solar Generator 1000 Review: Complete Off-Grid Solar Kit For Clean Energy Anywhere published first on http://droneseco.tumblr.com/

[ask-svt-hearteu]

soulmate! Seokmin

a/n: showing some love for our underappreciated seokshine

Summary: in which you can feel your soulmate’s emotions, ex. happiness, sadness, anger

your heart kinda hurts for your soulmate

yes, you know it’s not possible to be happy 24/7

but the normal emotions you feel from your soulmate are generally in the categories of happy or stressed

both which are completely normal and it makes you happy to know your soulmate has been happy the majority of their life

never have you felt this much sadness from him or her, but i mean your pretty sure your attracted to guys so

specially this past month,

and now you feel even worse because as you’re feeling worried, he’ll be able to tell and maybe get even more sad

this cruel world is breaking both of your hearts

so you tried your very best to be as happy as possible

positivity is key

and there’s lots of positive energy around you so hopefully you can project this to your soulmate

your job as a PD-nim at MBC is really fun

part of it is just talking to a bunch of people your age so you’re on a first name bases with lots of celebrities

it’s funny how they’re like “you’re a PD-nim? you’re so young”

it’s so weird to hear honorifics from many of the idols your age so you insist they treat you like a friend 

you like filming the waiting rooms before stages the best 

something about the nervous but vibrant energy, 

people doing what they love to do, making others happy, being with people that made them happy 

you wanted to soak it all up and hope your soulmate would feel happier too 

“y/n the next group is in the waiting room.” your boss tells you, shaking you from your thoughts 

“okay we’re filming for our special right?“ 

“Yep, doing ‘what’s in my bag’ for show champ" 

"okay fighting!" 

"fighting." 

you drag your camera over your shoulder and bring a few other staff with you 

reading the sign on the door, "세븐틴”, you push open the door 

“hey guys!“ 

"y/n!!!" 

the thirteen boys scattered about the crowded room turn to say their greetings to you and the staff 

"SAY THE NAME SEVENTEEN ANNYEONGHASAEYO SEVENTEEN IMNIDA”

you bow in greeting also

“I’ll just quickly check everyone’s stuff before filming just to make sure no one has anything that’s too personal,” you tell the other staff 

“noona you got prettier,” seungkwan says to you 

“ah thanks seungkwan, are you trying to butter me up?” you laugh 

he denies it with the other members teasing him

looking at the group, you notice someone’s missing

“where’s DK, he usually jumping around being wild,” you ask

"hyung isn’t feeling well today he’s over in the corner getting his hair styled.”

if you had to choose one member in seventeen as a bias, it would be DK 

because somehow, you had a crush on the guy

"I know I’m crazy right?” you think

it didn’t seem to make sense with your soulmate being out there and the both of you sharing emotions

but that had been part of the reason you liked Seokmin

without fail, he always managed to bring a smile to everyone’s faces and yours too

if you were to imagine everything you’d want in a soulmate it’d be him

and that made you feel extremely guilty to your own soulmate

“hiiii DK, can you gather with the other members?”

he smiles at you, though not as brightly, “yes of course”

now with the whole group, you ask them to show their bags before filming and to pick an MC

going along the line you look into each of their personal bags 

as you pass each member of Svt, a pattern starts appearing as you ask each of them questions 

“Seungcheol, you carry around a marker?” “Yea, just in case (his soulmate’s name) needs me." 

"Wait so you found your soulmate? Does the company know? Are you telling fans yet?" 

"You’ll see a lot of us have, but the company doesn’t want us talking about it to fans yet." 

and as you walk down the line you realize that almost everyone had found the one for them 

"Joshua how’d you get a scratch on your arm are you ok?” “Oh this is new. That’s weird it wasn’t here five minutes ago. I’m not sure, (his soulmate’s name) must have scratched herself somehow. Excuse me I’m going to call her and check to make sure she’s ok." 

"Soonyoung, hey what’s up! What’s that?” you ask a smiley Soonyoung

“Oh it’s my lucky ear piece. (His soulmate’s name) bought it for me to bring good luck since she hears all the music I do too and she’s my luck." 

this was how you found out that every member had found their soulmate 

they all would tell you a cute little story or show you some cute little keepsake before you moved on to check the next person’s bag

"I still haven’t returned (Jun’s soulmate’s name)’s umbrella back to her. It’s sitting in the dorm and reminds me how amazing she is every time I see it." 

Jun giggles while telling you about that rainy night and by the time you reached Seokmin 

"I don’t suppose you have a cute story to tell me about your soulmate?” you say giggling and poking through his items in his personal bag 

“Dokyeom?” you look up and your heart begins aching 

DK is staring down at his feet, eyes wide as if trying not to blink 

“No, actually, I’m the only one who hasn’t found their soulmate yet in Seventeen." 

it was bad timing 

you felt your positive front you had tried maintaining go down for a bit as you sympathized with Seokmin 

and whoever your soulmate was, you could feel that they were even sadder now, 

and maybe it was because you felt sorry for Seokmin that he tried smiling at you 

"it’s ok though I’ll find them. I will find them." 

those words made you feel hopeful and you could feel some hope in your soulmate too in fact, they seemed to cheer up a little after your talk with Seokmin 

the conversation and timing replays into your head

no way….? 

you decide to attribute the moment of hope as simply your soulmate drawing strength from your emotions 

"Lee Seokmin, I believe in you, our sunshine and happy virus.” you say, giving him a smile as you pat his arm 

you’re surprised when Seokmin gives you a hug, your heart racing as an effect

“Thank you, y/n for making me feel better." 

"No problem” you say, barely breathing, your heart racing

and you think you’ve finally gone insane because you feel some other emotion from your soulmate that you hadn’t felt before 

a kind of happiness and a feeling of lightness, a floaty feeling it’s kind of the feeling you’re getting now after hugging Seokmin 

you shake your head and give Dokyeom one last smile which he returns before you turn back to face the others

after they were finished, they were surprisingly talking quietly among themselves

which was a bit suspicious for multiple reasons

wait…

you felt something in the pit of your stomach and realized

where your soulmate had felt sadness, there was nervous anticipation

a mix of being worried but also curious

not thinking much of it, you collect all the filming materials

suddenly, you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around

your eyes meet the members who have pushed Seungkwan to the front with DK standng a little behind

"hmm?” you say

Seungkwan turns around really nervously too look at the others and you hear a voice say in the back

“yah Seungkwan pali, she tolerates you the most”

‘what the heck???’ you think

you watch as Seungkwan takes a deep breath and

“YAH!! I WAS LYING EARLIER BECAUSE YOU LOOK EXTRA UGLY TODAY!!!”

immediately, Seungkwans knees sink to the ground while he bows furiously in apology

“the heck. did you go crazy??” you say half angry half confused

suddenly you feel an emotion that’s not yours

happiness? it’s the kind of happiness that warms your heart and makes it seem as if the world could just explode from all of the happiness

it’s how your soulmate is feeling

and you look behind Seungkwan to see the most dazzling smile gracing Seokmin’s face

“hyung I think it’s her! the timing is exactly the same!”

“what??” you say shocked

is he serious

suddenly there’s screams everywhere and you somehow figure out a bit of what was going on

not the first priority but the most obvious, Seungkwan who’s still hugging your legs

pulling him up you shake your head and laugh, “you were the sacrificial lamb huh?”

“noona jinja mianhae, you really are pretty”

he engulfs you in a apology hug, surprising you

“YAH! What are you doing Seungkwannie!!!” Dokyeom says pulling him off of you

Seventeen backs away pulling Seungkwan with them,

and somehow, because of the staff and members, the two of you end up in a board room

together, alone, yup

you rock back and forth on your feet while he scratches his head, the both of you laughing nervously

as your nervous self, you blurt out, “you shouldn’t scratch, it’ll mess up your hair”

P R I O R I T I E S

you scream at yourself

“so i’m pretty sure we’re soulmates right?” he says chuckling

giggling you say, “yep, when you think about it, it makes sense”

“you’ve always felt a connection too right?!” he says excitedly

“of course!” you agree with a grin

and you think back to the almost perfect timing of your emotions earlier when talking

and then the hug

and how Seokmin always managed to make you feel happier

now you knew it was quite literally done too

handing each other your phones, you exchange numbers quickly

“I know you have a really busy schedule but let’s meet again soon”

“it’s a promise!” he agrees

the atmosphere gets weird for a moment, the both of you not knowing what to do next

as you feel each other’s emotions, you know exactly what to do

so you guys meet in the middle for a hug

he rests his head on yours

you can feel his chest vibrating from his chuckle

“I’m glad it’s you”

“me too”

as he’s walking out, you remember something and grab his arm

“hold on please!” you tell him and start digging through your purse

as you search messily, he stands there with anticipation

“ah!” you say and pull the item out

as you hand him a keychain, you can clearly feel his happy emotions

shyly explaining you say, “you don’t have anything of mine like the others so, here”

without warning, he pulls you back into a tight hug and then smiles at you like the sunshine you know

“I’ll take good care of it”

you nod

“it’s not that official, so when we meet next, let’s get something matching okay?” you smile, your eyes changing into crescents

“ah! a moon and sun keychain”

“why?”

“because your eyes are like the moon”

immediately you both giggle at his cheesy words

nodding you agree,

“and you’re just like the sun, bright and warm”

The Seventeen Soulmate AU series:

|| Seungcheol / Pt. 2 || Jeonghan / Pt. 2 || Joshua / Pt.2 || Jun / Pt.2 || Hoshi / Pt.2 || Wonwoo || Woozi / Pt.2 || Seokmin / Pt.2 || Mingyu / Pt.2 || Minghao || Seungkwan || Vernon / Pt.2 || Dino ||

MASTERLIST

~ admin jess & seri

#ask seventeen #ask svt #ask svt hearteu #svt #17 #pledis 17 #seventeen #svt 17 #seokmin #lee seokmin #dk #seventeen dk #soulmate #au #imagine #soulmate au #dk soulmate #dk imagine #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #kpop scenarios #kpop #kpop idols #kpop idol #kpop imagines #svt imagines #soulmate dk #soulmate seokmin #seventeen soulmate #svt soulmate au

[ichigobunnybun-fairy]

11 questions

Heyoo I was tagged again by @peraltiagoisland and also by @amy-dancepants omg can you believe this benches making me do STUFF??? Ugh I hate them (jk I love them they are the bestt tags are fun bless them for tagging me)

(this is gonna be long so here’s a cut)

Rules: Answer the questions given to you by the tagger, write 11 questions of your own, and tag 11 people 

Questions by @peraltiagoisland 

1) what are you wearing ;)

Today’s coord consists of Omocat’s NURSEBUNNY sweater (aka fave sweater) combined with Kawaiigoods’ Painfully Hurt Bunny purple & pink tights and pink shorts with also a bunch of jewellery from ZombieUnicorn I’m too lazy to list bc her stuff is amazing and I wear it A LOT. I was going for a “cute sick menhera bunny” look today ♡

2) where do you LIVE

I’m from a small village in Mallorca but I’m studying in Barcelona and living in a Students’ Residence in Sabadell for this year. 

3) is ur muffin buttered

W-what does that mean....?? I have uh no idea ^^;;

4) do u need someone to butter your muffin

?? Sorry I... what?? I’m DUMB u gotta be more direct with me

5) hummus. thoughts?

I have... no thoughts about hummus. 

Literally. Because I’ve never had hummus in my life. Sounds nice tho?

6) so how was school today? :)

It was a little slow since I only had theory classes but they were very boring subjects today. LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT LAST WEEK THO bc I had histology practise at the lab and I got to see some COOL TISSUES and blood cells on the microscope. Also got to do practise with The Crush (Gay Sience™) and spend the day at uni with my classmates it was FUN ♡

7) there’s a thunderstorm outside. you’re tucked safely in bed and you’re slowly falling asleep. you’re in utter bliss because you haven’t slept in days. bread is baking in the oven and that smell combined with the petrichor scent from the rain has you feeling drowsy to no end. you start to hear scratches on your door and soft thuds against the wooden frame. what do you do?

Ignore it!! I’m too tired and comfy to move >~<

8) you now find out there’s a litter of starving puppies outside the door. but your family is begging you not to open it. what do you do?

OPEN THE DOOR OPEN THE DOOR OPEN THE DOOR OPEN TH

9) the starving puppies turn out to be a SCAM and you let in a bunch of MURDERERS who STEAL ALL THE PUPPIES YOU ALREADY HAD IN YOUR HOUSE because you regularly get puppies outside your door and your family is in hysterics. what do you do?

♡ K I L L T H E M ♡

Or, alternatively:

Me & my sister chase them down with my grandpa’s escopeta and get the puppies back ♡

10) the bread fucking burnt to a crisp and inside the bread was a GPS tracker that could’ve tracked the puppies because the pups all have tracking chips on them and now you’ll never find those puppies again and your entire family hates you. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

I DON’T CARE CUZ MY SIS AND I WOULD’VE GOTTEN THE PUPPIES BACK FROM THE MURDERERS AND MOM WOULD’VE MADE MORE BREAD SHE IS AWESOME AT MAKING BREAD HAHA SUCC IT MICHELLE

11) so how old are you? :D

I’m 18!! ♡

Aaand now questions by @amy-dancepants

1) Have you ever broken a bone?

Nope, which is weird given how clumsy I am and how much I love Adventuring in places I shouldn’t get into. Like, srsly I live in the country-side and I go to explore and get into some wierd-ass places lmao.

2) Is there anything you never leave home without?

My small piece of cloth to clean my glasses (idk the name they have in english) which has a Dalí painting printed BCS I’M A NERD. Also my mobile ofc.

3) Do you like pineapple on pizza?

Yes!! ♡ (pls don’t kill me)

4) Weirdest dream you’ve had?

I remember as I child I used to have a repetitive dream where I was with a bunch of other kids and we were watching tv and in the tv there were a man and a woman and they would be saying stuff and telling us “pls don’t yell ‘sheep’ “ and then I suddenly would yell “SHEEP” (bcos I’m a lil shit) and the second after that a whole stampede of sheep would come and destroy everything. So that’s the main thing.

5) Last book you read?

Does @peraltiagoisland ‘s drama club au count??? 

6) Favourite mythical creature?

D R A G O N S & U N I C O R N S 

7) Cats or dogs?

Bunnies!!!

(Okay I love cats and dogs too but cats are my 2nd fave animal)

8) Have you ever had a DIY project gone wrong?

I make a lot of my own jewellery for my coords so I’ve had some turn out pretty messy specially when I was just starting ^^;;

9) Do you like being outside in the rain?

Yes!! I love playing and dancing in the rain!! Also when it rains I often settle on the table at the terrace and draw bc rain inspires me ♡

10) Are you multilingual?

Yes!! ♡ I speak catalan (mother language, specifically mallorquí dialect), spanish (duh!!) and english (also duh!!)

11) Favourite book genre?

Lesbians

♡ My 11 Questions ♡

♡ 1) Do you play any musical instruments?

♡ 2) What do you study/work as?

♡ 3) Why did you choose to study that/ why did you choose that job?

♡ 4) Do you love and appreciate snakes? (pd: you have to say yes otherwise I’ll hate you forever ♡ )

♡ 5) Do you believe in unicorns? (pd: you also have to say yes ♡ )

♡ 6) What do you love the most about yourself?

♡ 7) How much do you love girls? (pd: only answers going form “A lot” or above are accepted)

♡ 8) Who’s your hero/idol/inspiration? 

♡ 9) ROSA DIAZ IS GONNA COME OUT AS BISEXUAL!! HOW EXCITED ARE YOU?

♡ 10) What’s a song that never fails to make you happy?

♡ 11) Do you have a preference over Marvel or DC?

Tagging: I’m way too Anxious™ to really tag anyone but hey if you actually read through all of this garbage and you wanna answer my questions go ahead!! Fairy will be so happy if you do!! ♡

#fairy tagged #LMAO THIS WAS LONG AS HECK #sorry about the recent tag spam I promise art is coming #I'm just a lazy and easily distracted piece of shit #but I'm doing some nice dianettis too #ALSO THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME I LOVE YOU GUYS <3 #peraltiagoisland #amy-dancepants #long post