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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

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HEY I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT YOUR FICLET ABOUT GERALT BEING ILLITERATE IS THE MOST PRECIOUS THING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. I had to put down my phone and whimper when he pulled out the card 🥺 can.. can i humbly request a pt. 2 in the future please? (also,, ive gone through the entirety of your blog too and its. so. good. while ive been chillin’ quarantinin’ reading your fics have been my very favourite thing to do!!) ♥️

Nonnie, you and @ohnomybreadsticks have both given me inspiration for more. It’s gone in a slightly different direction with the whole Wolf School in on the thing now. But, hopefully, you’ll enjoy this addition just as much. Best of luck with the quarantine! I’ll be posting stories fairly regularly for the foreseeable future which will hopefully keep you entertained and out of trouble!

The illiterate Geralt story can be found here.

Jaskier’s School of Self Care for Lost Wolves

It was a known fact that Jaskier loved too much and too freely. Sometimes, he even fell in love with those he hadn’t met but felt they needed love all the same. Which was how he ended up with emotions towards witchers he hadn’t met beyond Geralt occasionally letting a name slip. It wasn’t the same kind of love he held for Geralt, it wasn’t all consuming, he didn’t want to kiss the other witchers silly but it didn’t burn fiercely and involved a lot of throws and warm cuddles. Because, as Jaskier had helped Geralt work on his reading and writing, he realised something. None of the other witchers knew how to do that either. Which was how Jaskier ended up demanding he be allowed to go to Kaer Morhen with Geralt. He had a whole winter to remedy the mistakes their teachers had made. It wouldn’t magically make up for all the neglect but Jaskier would be damned if he didn’t try his best to slowly build scaffolding around and start the process of patching in the holes.

The journey back to the old keep was more hazardous than Jaskier had even dared imagine. It didn’t help that Geralt told him most witchers died on the path, either too naive and new on their way out or too tired or injured on the way back. That was utterly appalling and Jaskier was in half a mind to demand that a new path be devised to make sure all witchers could get home and get the care they needed. Even if Geralt insisted this was for the best, an injured witcher had no prospects after all. Rather than argue, Jaskier kept his mouth shut and began scheming.

There weren’t many witchers left, the school of the wolf was a dying breed but, along with Geralt, three other witchers returned and Jaskier was delighted. It seemed that the whole family was together again. Not that they acted like a family, more like a bunch of pissy cats trying to establish territories because they couldn’t figure out how to share and snuggle. That did disappoint Jaskier, he had a lot more work cut out for him than anticipated. Still, he could put the beginnings of his plan into play.

“What are you doing?” Lambert sounded so utterly offended when he came across Jaskier settled comfortably between Geralt’s legs, both of them stretched out on a fur in front of a fire. Jaskier was holding a book and Geralt was reading aloud in a low, rumbling voice.

“We’re enjoying a good story. Care to join us?”

Snarling, Lambert stalked out of the room and Jaskier shrugged. It was a start, even if it wasn’t an auspicious one. However, it set things into motion because not two days later, Eskel had approached Geralt in the kitchen, softly quizzing him on reading.

“I could teach you,” Jaskier volunteered as soon as he heard, deciding to ignore the wide eyed, almost sheepish look from Eskel.

That was how an hour was set aside each day where Jaskier sat with Eskel, leafing through well loved books that Geralt had used, sounding out words together. After the third time, they ended up with a secretive audience in the form of Lambert lurking just outside the door, listening in. In the end, Jaskier left a book in his usual hiding spot and waited for Lambert to come to him. It took longer than he had anticipated, Jaskier had been shooing Eskel out the room and hanging around to tidy up after their lessons for a good week before the book was thrown by his feet.

“Stop mocking me.” Lambert had his arms crossed defensively over his chest and was glaring in a way that would have sent bolts of fear through most people. Just as well that Jaskier wasn’t like most. He’d seen the posturing, the anger and lashing out in Geralt before, knew all too well what lay below it. With the greatest simplicity, he picked up the book and sat down, opening it and giving Lambert an expectant look. After a beat, the witcher sat down next to him.

That was three witchers on their way to literacy but something still bugged Jaskier. Thankfully, he didn’t have to say anything because Lambert took matters into his own hand. He had a book with him one breakfast, furiously trying to catch up with the other two and master ‘See Spot Run’ at record speed.

“Why did you never teach us to read?” he asked around a mouthful of eggs, greasy fingers leaving marks on the pages.

A silence descended on the table as eyes turned to Vesemir who, for the first time since they knew him, looked uncomfortable.

“It wasn’t needed,” he began. “A witcher can’t read a monster to death.”

Understanding dawned on Jaskier then and there. He put his fork aside and stood with an “oh you poor dear”. It was barely audible over Vesemir’s mumbled “I was just a fencing instructor.”

Walking around the table, he easily settled on Vesemir’s lap, ignoring all social conventions regarding touch. Looking up at the witcher, he smiled.

“It’s never too late to learn.”

Given the possessive nature of witchers, one would have expected Geralt to get jealous. However, he seemed content for Jaskier to do as he pleased, spending time with the other witchers. All too soon, all four of them were piled together on rugs and chairs around a fire and frowning over their respective books while Jaskier flitted between them, helping and encouraging where it was needed. It was obvious Lambert struggled the most, the letters dancing before his eyes and never quite settling which made him growl in frustration and his book often went flying across the room. Only once did it land in the fire.

“I’ve made a decision,” Jaskier announced during a quiet afternoon. “You’re all coming along wonderfully with reading and I have so much more to offer.”

Four witchers looked at him a little fearfully, wondering if they weren’t enough. They didn’t say anything as Jaskier walked out of the room but the sadness was palpable. Until Jaskier returned with his beloved lute.

“If anyone wants to learn any music, I’m happy to teach them.”

While reading was a chore for Lambert, he took to music like a duck to water when shown songs, able to replicate the chord sequences Jaskier showed him quite quickly. He had a special love of raunchy singing songs. The only sad thing was that there was only one lute or any kind of musical instrument in the whole of Kaer Morhen. Though Jaskier was more than happy to sing along to whatever tune Lambert was picking out. Soon, they had a whole repertoire of witcher drinking songs they would happily belt out while the others thumped the table in time with the beat.

By contrast, Eskel seemed content with the softer side of things. In fact, he had taken a real shine to sonnets and would often be found discussing them in depth with Jaskier. Occasionally, Geralt joined in but he didn’t find as much joy in dissecting whether the “sweet smell of faded summer” was in fact a statement about the passing of seasons or whether it was the soft lament of two lovers growing old.

“What are you doing?” Vesemir’s voice pulled Jaskier from his quiet introspection. It was early, the sun was barely poking out from behind the mountains but he was out in the courtyard with Geralt sat on a barrell and frowning into a book.

“Stretching,” Jaskier replied, sunnier than the weather. “I learned a series of movements to keep the body supple and the mind engaged. It helps me keep up with Geralt.”

The wink he sent Geralt’s way was enough to have him raising the book to hide his blush. While everybody knew what was going on between them, Geralt didn’t like to shamelessly advertise it. He was a private soul by nature.

“Come.” Jaskier beckoned Vesemir. “Let me show you.”

They worked through poses, Jaskier explaining a little about each of them. While they looked simple and easy, Vesemir was surprised to find that they gave the gentlest workout he had ever had. By the end, he was pleasantly tired but not in a way a training fight would have worn him out. It was, for want of a better word, rejuvenating. It had him as close to a smile as he usually got.

Over the course of the week, it went from Jaskier stretching in the courtyard while Geralt read to Jaskier and Vesemir. Until, silently, Eskel joined them one morning, standing next to Vesemir, a little nervous but a smile from Jaskier had him easing into the flow. The next morning, soft lute strums accompanied their exercises as Lambert sat opposite Geralt and his book, playing something gentle. The grateful look Jaskier shot him was enough to get him scowling, even if the music never stopped.

Spring was just around the corner. The witchers were all sat around the cleared dining room table with parchments in front of them, quills in hand. Eskel’s tongue was sticking out the corner of his mouth as he focused on his work.

“Just remember, this means you can keep in touch with each other. Enchanted crows can deliver your letters now.” Jaskier was playing soft music as the others perfected their penmanship. Well, all except Lambert who had taken to doodling, letters getting lost in the pictures. But that was okay, he could always draw his sentiments, the others would understand.

By the time it came to leaving Kaer Morhen, Jaskier was content and happy. He had four witchers who looked so much more self confident in their abilities. Because while he had kept their attention on the arts, it was inevitable that they all bonded. It wasn’t all that unusual to find at least two, if not three of them piling on top of each other with a book, getting lost in adventures they didn’t have to live through. Someone else’s struggles were so much more satisfying when the fear of death and failure didn’t hang above their heads.

Three witchers and a bard stood in the courtyard, horses loaded up as they prepared to leave on their respective paths. Only Vesemir stood in his usual attire and a soft smile creasing his face.

“Safe travels to you all,” he said, meeting the others’ eyes in turn.

“What will you do?” Eskel asked. “You usually accompany us at least some of the way.”

The smile turned into an excited grin and Vesemi gestured vaguely towards the keep. “My path for the year is one that is a tight circle. The library here needs some attention.”

Pride made Jaskier beam. He stepped forward and gave Vesemir a hug. “I expect many a wonderful tale from the library when we’re back next year.”

That sealed it. The next winter, they were all going to return with more stories. Eskel even kept a diary to share with Jaskier in case Geralt was stingy on his details for songs. And, when they all reconvened at the start of the next winter, Vesemir had tomes from the library ready to read stories from while Lambert turned up with his own lute on his back.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #illiterate geralt #tldr: jaskier teaches all the witchers how to read and appreciate the arts

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the-busy-ghost · 4 years

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Thoughts on TSP S2E05- The Plague

Well that was An Episode. Actually I thought the writing in this one was a little better than the other episodes (at least until the last three minutes or so, what the fuck), and I did like some of Katherine’s speeches this time. Nonetheless some thoughts:

- Firstly, I would like to see the casting call. Do they cast for ‘Whispering Lady #1′ and ‘Whispering Lady #2′? Seems like you could make a career out that, given how often they appear in period dramas.

- How long has Sir William Compton been ill? I know the plague was a terrifyingly quick disease but you would think someone would have noticed he looked a bit peaky BEFORE he dropped dead in the middle of the hallway. Also they’ve established that he’s the physically closest person to the king and yet nobody is at all focused on checking to see if Henry is well?

- I really feel like they’re setting up Anne and Katherine’s relationship to be Bessie Mark 2. Like Anne is going to be portrayed as a close attendant and confidant and then stab Katherine in the back, thus robbing Anne (and indeed Bessie) of any independent motivation or justification.

- Could they call this episode Bessie Blount and the Fastest Three Year Pregnancy in England

- And while we’re on the subject poor Bessie. I really feel like she’s been robbed a little by the writing (not by the actress, Chloe Harris is great). She doesn’t get to say a word in her defence until halfway through (the silent Other Woman), and then we’re supposed to believe that being the king’s mistress was such a huge dishonour she’d be chucked out, and then the only reason she is restored to favour is probably going to be because of Katherine? That’s a lot to saddle on one woman. I was already a supporter of the Bessie Blount defence squad and I am quietly seething on her behalf. Also I feel like they could have had Katherine help at the birth IN LITERALLY ANY OTHER WAY THAT WAS VERY GROSS AND NOT AT ALL SAFE AND THEN YOU JUST LEFT HER THERE BLEEDING AND FUCKED OFF WITH HER BABY

- Katherine “what did you think I was going to use it for” WELL SURE I DON’T KNOW KATHERINE BUT HOW IS THIS BETTER??? The Myranda absolutely JUMPED out here, I cannot even BEGIN to describe how appalled I am.

- Also again is this supposed to be a sympathetic portrayal? Snatching baby Henry away from his mother before she’d even held it? Even if you hate her it’s a dick move especially since you are known to dislike the pregnancy and you also just pulled a knife on her? And you won’t even hold your own daughter so like double shit?

Anyway moving on...

- They are really playing up the ‘Wolsey lives vicariously through Henry’s mistresses’ vibe this episode. It is A Lot

- Also how does Stafford always manage to say things in literally the grossest way possible. Who gave Olly Rix these lines.

- Lol @Wolsey just dropping his cardinal’s hat casually into the conversation. Classy.

- Nobody “understands” Henry. Except Wolsey of course. Poor misunderstood baby king, AYE RIGHT.

- Mary’s storyline was actually pretty well done. They ARE cute. But I suppose it’s easier to pull off the ‘beautiful princess in arranged marriage and secret wedding’ plot than anything more complex like Margaret’s. I’m still not over the fact that that is very clearly Waddesdon though.

- *Technically* I’m not sure their marriage actually counts as treason, in the terms of the fourteenth century treason acts, but I’m no expert on that so I could be wrong. Just seems that period dramas throw the word treason around a lot when it had quite a specific meaning in England (in Scotland not so much, it’s a very flexible word there).

- Mega Feminist Katherine of Aragon refusing to touch her daughter and continuing to refer to her as a ‘useless girl’. 100% Accurate and Feminist portrayal this (not). But Girl Power right?

- Awkward sex scenes GALORE this episode

- Margaret’s storyline was... somewhat comprehensible this episode but still a bit naff. Not the actors fault, they are doing their best. But I suppose it works? I do have some specific thoughts on details on that though, so more below

- Do I have to keep pointing out that James V WAS the king not the future king? Did you all miss the mourning coronation or something? Also the ‘Stewart clan’ does not “insist” on anything, because that is waaaaay too simplistic and also the wrong terminology.

- Albany’s line about ‘civilised company’- I mean as a Scot OUCH but also it’s quite believable coming from him I suppose, wee John was not a huge fan of Scotland.

- Holyroodhouse was not part of Margaret’s dower so far as I’m aware? At least it wasn’t traditionally part of queens’ dowers in Scotland and it wasn’t in any of the documents I’ve seen made at the time of her marriage. It also had a freaking abbey attached to it (though tbh, that had fallen into decline a bit by the early sixteenth century). So why not pretend you’re using one of Margaret’s actual dower houses, further north? Also if I were Angus and I was trying to hide out from the Duke of Albany while illegally retaining control of James IV’s illegitimate children, I would probably go to the much more secure castle of Tantallon, not Holyrood. But everything has to happen in Edinburgh I suppose.

- Ok it’s a tiny detail but I am still exercised about the Presence of James IV’s illegitimate children. Firstly, how are they all still kids?? The only one who should still be under the age of twelve in 1516 (or 1519? God knows when this is) is Janet Stewart, the future Lady Fleming and daughter of the Countess of Bothwell. There is no evidence that she was ever raised at court and her mother Agnes was still very much alive (she actually spent Christmas with Margaret Tudor at Morpeth after the queen’s flight into England).

The others were either dead (Alexander via Flodden and a few who died in infancy), married adults (Katherine, Countess of Morton, and Margaret, Lady Gordon- the latter *might* have also been in a relationship with Albany’s older brother Alexander Stewart at this time, it’s unclear), or teenagers approaching adulthood who were either on the continent or in Albany’s camp (James, Earl of Moray).

SECONDLY how does it AT ALL fall in Margaret’s purview to raise them, let alone that of the Earl of Angus. Margaret could theoretically have stepped in as a benefactor- that’s not unknown and the royal family was a wide concept so Albany and Margaret sometimes did act on behalf of royal cousins and illegitimate children- but Angus? Even Jane Stewart of Traquair would theoretically have more right to one of the children than him (and NOT because of some stupid ‘Stewart clan’ nonsense) since wee Janet Stewart was probably her first cousin. (Margaret Stewart, Lady Gordon was Angus’ first cousin but once again, she was a married woman with children of her own). Although if they’re implying this was a political move on Angus’ part then that would have been a smart move- having custody of James IV’s illegitimate children could be quite useful politically, as later events involving both Albany and Margaret Tudor showed. But since the show has sort of been implying that they’re useless and that Margaret is stuck with them, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

- Also none of this is how a pre-contract works, and while we know very little about Jane Stewart of Traquair anyway, it’s clear that the show knows even less. But we love to see the Earl of Angus torn to shreds by both Margaret and Jane. One would hope that that was him Telt but sadly we all know this isn’t the case.

- Oh and a woman! In Scotland! Who is Scottish! We’re not cryptids after all! And she was then immediately chucked out.

- Also he just... walks off?? No attendants, no kinsmen, no horses? Do the writers have any idea of the level of power and status the Earl of Angus theoretically held?

- One of the men behind Margaret had A Line. I fear this is how Henry Stewart is being introduced to us.

- Can they shut up about the god damn kilts for TWO. MINUTES.

- BUT the real award for the most truly disappointing thing about this episode goes to the fact that we are now unlikely to get the Margaret and Mary reunion we all deserve. I mean I cannot BELIEVE this show passed up the opportunity to show the Queen of England and the dowager Queens of Scotland and France all acting in consort after the Evil May Day Riots. But then I suppose they would have to deal with that event in a sensitive fashion which like, I do not see them doing. I am genuinely disappointed by this, since the actresses are doing their best and I think it might actually have been a good scene. And it would have been an excuse for some fabulous costuming.

Anyway. That’s about all I’ve got.

#TSP #Margaret Tudor #Mary Tudor #rants #Meg Tudor

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claudia1829things · 4 years

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"TITANIC" (1953) Review

"TITANIC" (1953) Review As many moviegoers know, there have been numerous film and television productions about the maiden voyage and sinking of the R.M.S. Titanic on April 15, 1912. The most famous production happens to be James Cameron's 1997 Oscar winning opus. However, I do wonder if there are any fans who are aware that another Titanic movie managed to strike Oscar gold.

Directed by Jean Negulesco, the 1953 movie "TITANIC" focused on the personal lives of a wealthy American family torn asunder by marital strife, a deep secret and the historic sinking of the Titanic. Family matriarch Mrs. Julia Sturges and her two children, 17 year-old Annette and 10 year-old Norman board the R.M.S. Titanic in Cherbourg, France. Julia hopes to remove her children from the influence of a privileged European lifestyle embraced by her husband Richard and raise them in her hometown of Mackinac, Michigan. Unfortunately, Richard gets wind of their departure and manages to board the Titanic at the last moment by purchasing a steerage ticket from a Basque immigrant and intercept his family. The Sturges family also meet other passengers aboard ship: *20 year-old Purdue University tennis player Gifford Rogers, who falls for Annette *the wealthy middle-aged Maude Young (based upon Molly Brown) *a social-climbing snob named Earl Meeker *a priest named George S. Healey, who has been defrocked for alcoholism *American businessman John Jacob Astor IV and his second wife Madeleine Julia and Richard clash over the future of their children during the voyage. Their conflict is reinforced by Annette's budding romance with college student Gifford Rogers and a dark secret revealed by Julia. But the couple's conflict eventually takes a back seat after the Titanic strikes an iceberg during the last hour of April 14, 1912. There seemed to be a habit among moviegoers lately to judge historical dramas more on their historical accuracy than on the story. As a history buff, I can understand this penchant. But I am also a fan of fiction - especially historical fiction. And I learned a long time ago that when writing a historical drama, one has to consider the story and the character over historical accuracy. If the latter gets in the way of the story . . . toss it aside. It is apparent that screenwriters Charles Brackett (who also served as producer), Richard L. Breen and Walter Reisch did just that when they created the screenplay for "TITANIC". Any history buff about the famous White Star liner's sinking would be appalled at the amount of historical accuracy in this movie. However, I feel that many lovers of period drama would be more than satisfied with "TITANIC", thanks to a well-written personal story and top-notch direction by Jean Negulesco. Superficially, "TITANIC" is a melodrama about the disintegration of a late 19th century/early 20th century marriage. The marital discord between Julia and Richard Sturges is filled with personality clashes, class warfare, disappointment and betrayal. And actors Barbara Stanwyck and Clifton Webb did their very best to make the clash of wills between husband and wife fascinating and in the end . . . poignant. One of the movie's best scenes featured a confession from one spouse about a past discretion. I am not claiming that the scene was particularly original. But I cannot deny that thanks to stellar performances from Stanwyck and Webb, I believe it was one of the best moments of melodrama I have ever seen on screen . . . period. But their final scene together, during the Titanic's sinking, turned out to be one of the most poignant for me. And by the way, fans of the 1997 movie would not be hard pressed to recognize one of Webb's lines in the film . . . a line that also ended up in Cameron's movie. "TITANIC" featured other subplots that allowed the supporting cast to shine. Audrey Dalton portrayed Julia and Richard's oldest offspring, the beautiful 17 year-old Annette, who had become enamored of her father's penchant for European high society. Dalton did an excellent job of slowly transforming Annette from the shallow socialite wannabe to the shy and naturally charming young woman who has become more interested in enjoying her youth. And the character's transformation came about from her budding friendship and romance with the gregarious Gifford Rogers. Robert Wagner seemed a far cry from the sophisticated man that both moviegoers and television viewers have come to know. His Gifford is young, friendly and open-hearted. Wagner made it easier for moviegoers to see why Annette fell for him and Julia found him likeable. However, I was not that enthusiastic about his singing. Harper Carter did an excellent job of holding his own against the likes of Stanwyck, Webb and Dalton as the Sturges' son Norman. In fact, I found him very believable as the 10 year-old boy eager to maintain his father's interest without accepting the snobbery that marked Annette's personality. Perhaps he was simply too young. The movie's screenplay also featured a subplot involving a young priest named George Healey, who dreaded his return to the U.S. and facing his family with the shameful news of his defrocking. Thanks to Richard Basehart's subtle, yet sardonic performance, I found myself feeling sympathetic toward his plight, instead of disgusted by his alcoholism. Thelma Ritter gave her usual top-notch performance as the sarcastic noveau riche Maude Young. Allyn Joslyn was amusing as the social-climbing card shark, Earl Meeker. And Brian Aherne's portrayal of the Titanic's doomed captain, was not only subtle, but he also kept the character from wallowing into some kind of second-rate nobility that usually makes my teeth hurt. For a movie that did not have James Cameron's advantages of creating the technical effects of the 1997 movie, "TITANIC" proved to be an attractive looking movie. Production manager Joseph C. Behm and his team did a solid job of re-creating life aboard an ocean liner, circa 1912. Behm was also assisted by costume designer Dorothy Jeakins, Don B. Greenwood's art department, Maurice Ransford and Oscar winner Lyle R. Wheeler's art directions, and Stuart A. Reiss' set decorations. Although the movie did not feature an accurate re-creation of the Titanic's sinking, I have to admit that visually, the special effects created by a team team led by Ray Kellogg were very impressive, especially for 1953. They were ably assisted Joseph MacDonald's black-and-white photography and Louis R. Loeffler's editing. Earlier in this review, I pointed out that James Cameron's 1997 film was not the only one about the Titanic that struck Oscar gold. Although "TITANIC" did not win eleven Academy Awards, it was nominated for two Oscars and won a single one - namely a Best Original Screenplay award for Brackett, Breen and Reisch. But despite an award winning script, a superb cast led by Barbara Stanwyck and Clifton Webb and a first-rate production team, "TITANIC" still could have ended in disaster. But it had the good luck to have an excellent director like Jean Negulesco at the helm.

#titanic #titanic 1953 #rms titanic #jean negulesco #barbara stanwyck #clifton webb #thelma ritter #brian aherne #robert wagner #allyn joslyn #richard basehart #audrey dalton #harper carter #20th century fox

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basketofverbiage · 5 years

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Hold On Pt 3

Here is part 3 finally! It took forever to edit because its so long. I had never planned to write a part 4, but now I think I might need to. We are finally past the angst mostly, so things are brightening up a bit.

Warnings: mentions of suicide attempt, hospitals, therapy, mentions of rape, mentions of miscarriage, shower with Jin (no funny business, all fluff)

Word count: 10,358

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

When Yoongi had said that the boys were coming back to bring dinner, Y/n did not expect this. She had expected random takeout to suit all their tastes and just a low-key family meal. She did not expect Hoseok and Namjoon to drag a borrowed table in and cover it with a red checked picnic tablecloth and then put flowers in the middle. She did not expect Jimin and Taehyung to come in carrying multiple gift bags and Jungkook to bring soup that Jin’s mother had made. She did not expect that the boys would have brought both she and Seokjin changes of clothes either. She was totally at a loss for words and struggling so hard not to cry when Jungkook ran back out to the car and brought in the biggest bouquet she’d ever seen and his own Cooky plushie for her to snuggle. Y/n was certain that she was undeserving of the kindness and love of these precious men after what she had done. And when she opened the gift bag to see the silk pajamas in her favorite color, she cried for the million-and-first time that day.

“Noona, we just wanted to get some things that you could have to be comfortable in and have some pieces of home here with you since you probably won’t be able to leave yet,” Jungkook murmured as he hugged her tight. “We didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Oh Kookoo, I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m just a little overwhelmed. I don’t deserve any of this after what I did.”

“Yes, Noona, you do. We love you. You are our family. While we don’t know exactly what happened to bring this on, we know that we love you. Let us be your safety net when you are falling and your protectors while you heal,” Jimin piped up as he took his turn to hug her.

“You are so strong, Y/n-noona, but it’s okay not to be sometimes. Isn’t that what you always tell me when I’m overwhelmed?” Taehyung asked. “Let us be strong for both you and Jin-hyung for a while.”

While Y/n was being smothered in love by the maknaes, Yoongi and Seokjin had gathered extra chairs and brought them in. Namjoon had brought in a bucket of ice to go with the drinks that Jungkook and Jimin had brought to go with dinner, and Hoseok had begun dishing out the food. The boys circled their chairs all around Y/n’s hospital bed and they all ate and drank together, chattering and laughing and just being a big goofy family for a while. They had all been so worried and so scared for so long that the relief that Y/n really was okay had made them all slightly giddy.

Seokjin kept an eye on Y/n but let his brothers take the lead in her care and distract her for a little while. As everyone finished with the soup and passed around the pastries for dessert, Namjoon broke the lull that had settled on the room.

“Jin-hyung, Y/n, I just wanted to let you know that you are welcome to stay at the dorms with us for a while if you want. I know that going back to your apartment may be difficult at first, so I wanted you to know that I got Jin-hyung’s room ready for you. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Thank you, Joonie. We haven’t really discussed what will happen when we get the okay to leave. Y/n’s therapist will be coming in tomorrow so that we can have a long talk about everything and make plans. I want to make her transition as easy as I can. But I will have to go back. The bathroom…” Jin’s voice trailed off when he remembered the state they’d left the bathroom in.

“You don’t have to worry about anything. Hobi-hyung and I went today and I cleaned up the bathroom. It’s good as new. And Hobi-hyung tidied up the kitchen,” Taehyung spoke up gently and gave Seokjin’s hand a squeeze.

Y/n sat there in silence for a few moments before taking Seokjin’s hand in hers for some strength before beginning to talk to the boys. She told them everything that had happened, from the rape to her depression, and the culmination the day before. The boys sat in various shades of emotion from cold, blue rage rolling off of Yoongi in waves to the shock clear on Hoseok and Namjoon’s faces. Jungkook’s face was tinged red and had hardened in his attempt to keep the flashpoint of anger under his own skin, while Jimin looked worried and Taehyung looked slightly appalled.

“I just needed to tell you all everything. I didn’t want to have secrets anymore. I told Jinnie everything this afternoon, and so he’s had some time to process it all little. But hopefully my therapist will have some ideas of what to do and better management than just idle chatting from day to day and week to week. It helped some, but obviously not enough,” Y/n quietly finished.

“Y/n, thank you for trusting us with this. I’m glad you told me this. It actually opens the floor for me to tell you both what I spoke with Sejin-hyung about this afternoon. We both agreed that while there is about another month before we have any overseas tour dates or events, it is extremely important that you not be here alone. Sejin-hyung actually suggested this and I fully agree. You will be going with us when we go abroad. It may be a little overwhelming to do all that traveling, but I know you have the option to work from home on most of your assignments. You can continue with your work, just from other countries. We also discussed that instead of staying mostly in hotels, we will try to book houses or chalets in the cities we go to so that we are all nearby whenever you need us and you aren’t having to keep up with 7 different hotel room numbers scattered about a hotel. You can just step out of your bedroom and yell and we can all come running,” Namjoon explained.

Seokjin’s face immediately fell into a state of shock that Namjoon had already taken care of the request he had planned on making without even knowing why he needed it. And then he had taken it an entire step further.

“Namjoon-ah, I don’t know what to say,” Seokjin started.

“Don’t say anything. Y/n may be your girlfriend, but she is our sister. And we want to help. So please, let us.”

As the boys were cleaning up the room, Y/n stepped into the bathroom to freshen up a bit before bed. The nurses had removed her IV line earlier that day and had given her the okay to have a shower. Taehyung had brought in her shower items from home, and that helped. She would no longer smell like a hospital and hopefully she would feel less in shock and overwhelmed. In the blackness of everything she had been struggling with, she had never anticipated the boys to react this way. She honestly had fully convinced herself that Seokjin would leave her and she would lose all seven of them in one fell swoop; to think that they had gone to such efforts to make sure she felt their comfort and their love had her crying into the shower all over again. She tried to keep the sobs quiet so that they wouldn’t hear but was apparently unsuccessful because Seokjin barged in the door a few minutes later.

“Baby, you okay? I heard you crying…”

“I’m just…I didn’t expect any of this. I thought you would leave me and I would lose them too. I just…I don’t deserve any of you.”

“Oh Princess, you do. You did not deserve what happened to you when we were away, but none of us will let anything like that happen to you. In fact, if the police ever find who hurt you, we may have to lock Yoongi-chi and Jungkookie in the practice room to keep them from killing them with their bare hands,” Seokjin said.

She hadn’t noticed, but he had stripped down while she was standing with her eyes closed, forehead pressed to the tile of the small shower, and had climbed in with her. Seokjin pulled her close to him and kissed her forehead. “Let us help you, Love. You are no longer alone in this.”

Seokjin took the time to wash and condition her long hair while she cried a bit more about everything and mourned the tiny lost life she hadn’t realized that she was attached to before it was ripped away from her. After finishing slowly showering both of them, Seokjin helped her step out of the shower and dried her off himself, then rubbed her favorite amber scented lotion on her back, arms, and legs. While he dried himself more, she put on the beautiful new pajamas Jimin and Jungkook had bought her and brushed her teeth. Once they were both dressed and had brushed their teeth they stepped out into the room. Y/n still had her hair wrapped in a towel and her hairbrush in her hand, but before she could think about brushing her hair, Jimin pulled her over to sit in the chair in front of him and slowly and gently detangled her dark curls. He brushed her hair then handed the brush over to Taehyung, who braided her hair in pigtails so that it would be cute, but out of the way for sleeping. When she took it down in the morning, it would have beautiful kinky waves that she wouldn’t have to worry with styling properly.

The boys seemed to be playing a very unusual game of Hot Potato, and Y/n was the potato. As soon as Taehyung had finished with braiding her hair, Y/n got pulled over to Hoseok. Hoseok gently applied her nighttime moisturizer to her face then hugged her tightly for a few minutes. He would never tell, but he had been having flashbacks to the dried blood on the bathroom floor all evening and just needed to hug her to feel that she was really okay. He kissed her gently on top of her head and whispered something in her ear that made her smile softly and say, “I know, Hoseokie. I promise I won’t.”

Next to gather her attention was Yoongi. He had had time to settle his anger while she and Seokjin had been showering, and was much calmer than he was before. When Hoseok had finished with his time with her, Yoongi reached out and pulled her over into his lap. He hugged her tightly. “Love, it’s going to be a horrific battle from here on out. You’ve already been fighting, but by yourself. But the cavalry is here now, and we got you. Okay?” When she softly agreed, he let her up off his lap, only for her to be yanked into a tight hug by Namjoon. Y/n’s back was to the group, so only they could see the tears glistening in his eyes as he stopped being the tough leader and allowed himself to simply feel all the fear, sorrow, and relief of the last 29 or so hours. “I love you, Y/n. You are an amazing friend and sister to me. Please let us help. Please come stay with us when you get to leave,” he begged into her ear.

“I can’t promise that, Joonie-bug, but Jinnie and I will discuss it with Dr. Kang tomorrow and see what she says. If she thinks it’s a good idea, we will go from there.”

Finally, Jungkook got his chance. He had been so antsy while she was out of his sight. Y/n was the big sister he had never had and had been the first one he thought to call when things went well or if he was upset lately. So, when he had his chance he kissed her cheek then hugged her as tightly as he could. He was angry at the bastards who had hurt his Noona and it had triggered his protective streak. Jungkook did not want to leave the hospital but he knew that they all needed to go home and rest. Seokjin would stay and they would meet with Dr. Kang in the morning. She was meant to come round at 9:30 am and Seokjin had promised to call them all to update them then. So he squeezed her one more time and said, “Noona, Jin-hyung is going to be with you tonight. I want to stand guard outside the door, but my hyungs won’t let me. So I’m going home, but if you need anything, even just a hug, just call me or text me and I’ll be here so fast your head will spin.”

“Okay, Kookoo, I promise I will. Go home and sleep for a while, Baby Bunny,” Y/n giggled. The special nickname she had given him relaxed the tension in his heart a little and he felt a bit better about going home.

After another round of hugs, forehead kisses, I-love-yous, and please-sleep-wells, the six boys left Y/n and Seokjin to settle in for the night. The hospital bed was so small compared to their bed at home, but somehow, neither of them minded. The tight space was actually welcomed because Seokjin could feel every breath Y/n took and it quieted the voice that kept asking what if this is a dream and she’s really gone. It was nearly 11 pm when they were finally able to settle in for the night. Even with their nap earlier, Seokjin was so tired from the roller coaster of emotions they’d been on, and as soon as he was sure she was settling safely into dreams, he fell deeply into sleep.

Seokjin startled awake after having a strange dream about falling in a hole to find Y/n no longer in bed. At first, he didn’t think anything about it, but then he panicked a little because he had not left her side the entire time since she’d woken up. Just as he was climbing out of the bed to go look for her, she stepped out of the bathroom.

“Jinnie, it’s okay. I’m coming back to bed now. I just needed to pee.”

His heart didn’t stop pounding until she climbed back into the bed and curled up as close to him as she could get. He had a feeling that he might feel like that more than he’d like to for a while and was so glad that they weren’t leaving for tour for a bit. Even though she was going with them and he had that peace of mind, he felt like he needed her beside him constantly to make sure she had really survived. She drifted off to sleep again fairly quickly, but Seokjin laid awake for a while longer just allowing her deep breathing to comfort him enough that he could sleep again.

Seokjin woke up again when the sun was just beginning to peek in through the window on the other side of the room. Y/n was still sleeping soundly with her head pressed to his chest. She looked so beautiful in the early morning light with her lips slightly pursed in her dream state and some tiny unruly curls bursting out of her braids. She still looked a little more pale than usual, but the doctor had said that the pallor would subside after a few days when her body had had time to begin remaking the blood that had been lost. While she’d had several transfusions, she had lost more blood than they’d reintroduced, so her body would just need to remake it. The doctor had also said that she’d likely feel a little colder than usual until her blood was replenished.

The clock on Seokjin’s phone said 6:37 am. He was usually leaving for practice around now, unless they had a special event. He had just decided to try to go back to sleep when the door squeaked open and Jungkook slipped in with 3 cups of coffee and what seemed to be breakfast.

“Jungkookie, what are you doing here so early?”

“I just wanted to bring you both breakfast, Hyung, and coffee too. I barely slept wondering how Noona was.”

“ ‘m fine, Kookoo. Wha time is it?” Y/n asked as she stirred around and opened her eyes.

“It’s 6:45 am, Baby,” Seokjin told her.

“Ugh, it’s ass o’clock. Why couldn’t you wait another hour or two?” she grumbled.

Jungkook laughed at that. “Oh my precious, sweet, lovely Noona. You never have been a morning person. But that’s okay. I came bearing gifts. I brought you a caramel macchiato and Yoongi-hyung made breakfast and sent you both some.”

Y/n blinked several times trying to decide if she’d heard correctly. “Yoongi-chi made breakfast? At ass o’clock?”

“Yes. He did. He made a breakfast pie, sliced fresh fruit, and sent toast as well. You should feel special,” Jungkook giggled.

“I’m amazed that he’s not pretending to be a rock. Is he sick?” she asked.

“No, Noona. I’m not sure he slept more than I did. We both were a bit worried about you still and had trouble settling down last night.”

Before Y/n had the chance to say anything to that, Jungkook began to unpack the breakfast he had brought in and the lovely smell filled up the entire room. Yoongi could definitely cook when he wanted to, and that showed through. He had to have gotten up super early to put together the pie alone, and Y/n was very thankful for his efforts.

Yoongi had actually not slept at all the night before but hadn’t told anyone that. When he realized at 4 am that it was useless to kept tossing and turning about the bed, he got up and made coffee. As he sat sipping the liquid stamina, he had the idea to make breakfast. His mom had always made a breakfast pie for special occasions and had shown him how. If he made it, then someone could take some over to Seokjin and Y/n. In order to feed all of them, he knew he’d have to bake at least 3 pies so he got to work. The pies were finished, crust from scratch and everything by 4:45 am and in the oven baking away. Yoongi was amazed that he still felt antsy, so he began slicing up strawberries, a pineapple, and a watermelon to go with it. He had hidden away a beautiful loaf of one of Y/n’s lovely sourdough loaves in the freezer for a rainy day, so he pulled it out and sliced the entire loaf for toast. Since it had been frozen, he buttered the slices and toasted them in the oven as the pies rested before being sliced.

Their apartment smelled amazing, and one by one the boys drifted sleepily into the kitchen. The only one who seemed wide awake was Jungkook, and he wandered out towel drying his hair a bit more from a shower. With one look at each other, Yoongi and Jungkook had realized that neither had slept. Yoongi had prepared two containers with servings of breakfast to take over to the hospital but made a third quickly.

“Jungkookie, will you please take these over to the hospital to Jin-hyung and Y/n? I put breakfast for you in there too, and money for you to pick up Starbucks for you three on the way,” he said softly.

“Of course, Hyung. How did you know I wanted to get to the hospital right away?” Jungkook questioned.

“You’re the only one here fully showered and dressed, and I think you slept less than I did last night. So go on, Kookie. Go check on them and report back. And make sure Y/n eats every bite of the fruit on her plate. She needs the vitamins to finish healing.”

After they’d finished having breakfast, Y/n stepped into the bathroom to get ready for her therapist to come by, leaving Jungkook a chance to speak along with Seokjin.

“Jin-hyung, is she really okay?” he asked tentatively. “I mean, I know she’s not okay okay, but she’s alright physically now?”

“According to the doctor, yes. But we have a long way to go for her to be mentally alright. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure I’m okay. When she’s out of my sight, I start to feel panicky again. That’s something I need to get under control quickly so I don’t suffocate her.”

“I think it will be understandable for a little while, but maybe we can help with that too. I want to help Noona as much as I can. I couldn’t really sleep last night because I wanted to be able to protect her,” Jungkook admitted. “I really hope the doctor says she can stay with us for a little while. I think we would all feel better if we know she’s nearby for a bit. Otherwise, we are going to take over your apartment.”

Jin laughed a bit at that thought. “Eight of us crammed in our tiny apartment would be a stretch. It might violate the fire code, Kook.”

The bathroom door opened up and Y/n came out in leggings and Jungkook’s oversized hoodie. Her hair was down from the braids and parted to one side so her bangs laid loosely over her forehead. She still had on her slippers and put the pajamas she had removed into her duffle bag in the closet of the hospital room. She checked her phone while Jungkook and Seokjin chatted quietly, and giggled when she saw a message from Yoongi.

Eat well, Princess! I better hear that you ate every bite of the breakfast I slaved over! -Yoongi-chi

Thank you for making a beautiful breakfast at ass o’clock, Yoongi-chi. It was lovely. The only thing left was watermelon seeds. Y/n sent the message back then sat back down on the bed beside Seokjin.

“Jinnie, you better get ready. The hospital doctor said he’d come by before Dr. Kang, and it’s already almost 8.”

At that, Seokjin got up and headed into the bathroom to change clothes and freshen up before facing the looming medical staff. Once the bathroom door closed, Jungkook began packing up the empty containers he had brought breakfast in and set them aside. Y/n jumped slightly when he then climbed into the bed beside her where Seokjin had slept and pulled her into a hug.

“Noona, I just needed to hug you tight this morning. I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about you and worrying. I mean, I know Jin-hyung was here and would take care of you, but I wanted to be here too. I just feel extra protective of you now that I know what happened. And I’m sorry for that. I might drive you crazy with checking on you for a little while until everything settles down.” Jungkook paused for a second before adding, “Hell, who am I kidding? You are about to have 7 overconcerned guard-dogs for a little while, so I hope you will tell us to give you some space if you need it. I just know that with all of us worried, plus Sejin-hyung too, we might be a bit much to handle. But hopefully, if you can stay with us, we will be close by enough that we won’t be constantly bugging you. Has anyone called your office to let them know what is going on?”

“I’m actually not sure. With today being Saturday, I am usually off today and I had taken yesterday off.”

“Is there anyone I can call for you? I think you will need a bit more time away from work, and I’d be happy to run any errands you need,’ Jungkook offered.

When Seokjin walked out of the bathroom, his heart gave a sweet lurch upon coming out to find his baby brother wrapped around the love of his life. They were talking quietly, almost like they were sharing secrets, but Seokjin could hear their conversation now that he was out of the bathroom.

“I actually called Y/n’s boss the evening I found her. She told me that you can take as much time as you need to get settled and properly ready to work again before coming back. She also forbade you from stepping foot into the office before two weeks are up except to let her see with her own eyes that you are okay,” Seokjin laughed out the last part. “She really acted like she was your mom.”

“We’re a tight little office, you know,” Y/n said with a soft smile. “We have to take care of each other.”

Jungkook squeezed Y/n one more time, then released her and kissed her gently on the forehead. “I should go. I’m in Jin-hyung’s spot. Plus, I have to report back to Yoongi-hyung how much you both ate. If he doesn’t deem it well enough, he may show up to force feed you fruits.”

Jimin sat curled up on the sofa in the boys’ apartment with a blanket thrown across his lap and his laptop propped on the arm of the sofa. He was researching the best way to help people who had lived through traumas, and wasn’t coming up with much luck. He wanted to do something tangible that he could hold in his own hands to help. Somehow, being able to see and touch something that would help would make him feel like he actually was contributing to Y/n’s healing process. She had done so much to help him heal over time and battle off the demons that rose up from time to time to shout that he wasn’t good enough or slim enough, and now he wanted to do something helpful in return. He kept finding things that said to make sure they had professional help. Y/n already had someone taking care of that aspect with her therapist and with Jin-hyung.

After reading several articles about PTSD and similar things, he realized that there may not be anything tangible he might be able to provide outside of hugs and love from time to time and just being there. While he was sure that this was something he could readily offer, he still wanted to do something special, especially if Y/n would be staying with them for a bit. That’s when the idea struck him. Y/n loved to bake. She had told him once that it helped her so much when she felt stressed out or pressured from work. He wasn’t sure what items they had in their kitchen related to baking as none of them ever bothered. If they were craving anything baked, they’d either order it from somewhere or ask Y/n to make it. The only baking items they had were flat cookie sheets that Jin-hyung put other pans on top of to make sure they didn’t overflow in the oven and the pie tins that Yoongi-hyung used to make the breakfast pies in.

Jimin spent another few minutes on Google trying to sort out all the things someone might need for baking and made a long list of things they’d need. He didn’t want to just order them online because they might not be here in time. Who knew that you needed some of these things? Like, what are pie stones? Who puts rocks in their pie? Hopefully, Y/n would know what to do with them, because they were on his list along with a special kind of mixer with a dough hook, several types of pans, mixing bowls, thermometers, and a plethora of other smaller gadgets that just seemed fun.

With his list in hand, Jimin knew he needed a shopping partner who would be as enthusiastic as he was, so he set out to find Hoseok. Hobi-hyung loved to shop and his sister liked to bake too, so if they got stuck picking something, they could always call her for help. Jimin finally found him holed up in the little studio at their apartment with Namjoon and Yoongi. They were working on arranging a rap-line only track.

“Hobi-hyung, can you go shopping with me?”

“What are you shopping for, Jimin-ssi?” he asked.

Since he’d already interrupted them, he told them his idea for something to help Y/n and his reasons. Then he showed them his list. They all seemed to like his idea, and Yoongi added a few things to his list.

“Buy the girl a proper rolling pin. I literally used a steel water bottle to roll my pie crust this morning. You also need to add cooling racks, some trivets, and a baking stone to your list. Find a square baking stone if you can. Most of them are aimed at baking pizza, and are round, but I know that Y/n uses one sometimes for some of her more finicky loaves.”

“Oh yeah! And you should buy that one mixer that comes in pretty colors. I bet they make a purple one! It won’t really match our kitchen, but who cares?” Namjoon added. He really had no idea about things needed for baking, but he’d seen commercials for stand mixers advertising all colors of the rainbow.

After chatting for a few more minutes, Jimin and Hoseok left the studio to go on their shopping trip. Just having a plan for everything made them feel like they were doing something more than all sitting around worrying, and it took the edge off the constant anxiety they’d all walked around since Seokjin had found Y/n in the bathroom two days ago.

When Jungkook got home from the hospital, he washed out the containers that he’d taken breakfast in and loaded them in the dishwasher. After seeing Y/n with his own eyes and hugging her for a bit, he felt a bit more at ease. Seokjin had promised to let them all know what the plan was after discussing everything with Y/n’s doctors. Jungkook actually felt his lack of sleep starting to catch up through the coffee he’d had that morning. While everyone seemed to be doing their own thing, he figured he could nap for a while before Seokjin called. As he started down the hall to his room, he was stopped by Taehyung calling to him from his own room.

“Jungkookie, how was our Y/n? Did she eat well?”

“Yeah, hyung, she did. She seemed okay. A bit antsy to speak with the doctors and move forward with a plan. Noona still seemed a little bit sad, but after everything she’s been through, who wouldn’t be sad, you know? I’m more worried that all of us will suffocate her to death with our own worrying and fussing over her than I am about her. Noona is strong and she’s helped all of us so much. I know she will be able to bounce back eventually. It’s just going to take some time.”

“Yeah. How do you think we can help best? I know hugs and just listening and stuff, but I don’t want to overwhelm her. We are 7 men, and men are the ones that hurt her so badly. I want her to be here with us, but I don’t want it to make her be afraid either,” Taehyung confessed softly. “That’s all I’ve thought about since she told us last night. How often we all made her hug us when we got home, even if she flinched away a little. All the times she looked so exhausted like she hadn’t slept well, and she explained it away with work stress instead of telling us that being near us was ripping open her old wounds. I don’t want to delay her healing.”

Jungkook completely understood what Taehyung meant. He’d laid awake nearly all night thinking the same thing. “I know. I couldn’t sleep at all last night. I was so angry at those assholes that hurt her, and worried about her. I seriously wanted to camp out at the door of her hospital room as a protector, but Namjoon-hyung made me come home. But while she was getting dressed and stuff, Jin-hyung and I talked about it a little. He said that he was planning to speak with her therapist about it. If she gives the go-ahead for Y/n to stay with us, he’s hoping that Dr. Kang will do a sort of crash course with all of us. Maybe meet together with us as a group and give us an idea of what to look for regarding Y/n’s emotional health and also let us know the types of things that will help and will hurt. He also said that he might discuss meeting with her too on his own to help with the trauma of finding her like that.”

“That’s probably a good idea, Kook. I know you’ve been in their master bathroom. The entire white tile floor was covered in dried blood except for the place where she was sitting. I honestly have no idea how Jin-hyung and the paramedics didn’t track it all over their house. It took nearly half a bottle of bleach to get it all up. I ruined the mop I used and a scrub brush I found under the sink trying to get it all out of the grout. Hobi-hyung nearly passed out when he saw it.”

Jungkook paled a little at the thought of his sweet Noona surrounded by her own blood. He cursed under his breath, then said, “I can’t imagine seeing that. It’s horrific in my mind, but was probably worse in person. Jin-hyung said he’d call us all later and give us an update on the plan. I was going to try to have a nap first since I didn’t sleep last night. Wanna go nap with me?”

Taehyung just nodded and grabbed his pillow then followed Jungkook across the hall to his room. He hadn’t changed out of his pajamas that morning, and Jungkook had worn sweats to the hospital that morning. They curled up together in Jungkook’s bed. Even though they all had their own rooms for the most part now, in times of stress and worry, they tended to sleep better together. During the most stressful times of their lives just after debuting, they all slept in one room, and they tended to gravitate back together because there was comfort and safety in numbers.

“Well, do you think Hobi and Jimin have bought out the entire kitchen store yet?” Namjoon asked. They had left 2 hours ago, and had promised to call when they got back to get help carrying everything upstairs.

“I don’t know. But I’ve been thinking. They are buying all the necessaries for baking except actual baking supplies. I used the very last of the little flour we had this morning. Do you think we should go buy ingredients?”

“We could. But I have a lifetime ban from the kitchen, remember? So I have no idea what goes into baking.”

Yoongi smirked a bit at that, then said, “I can make pie crust and that’s it. But we have the whole internet at our disposal. How about we start there?”

They both spent several minutes looking up recipes for things they knew that Y/n had baked before and started a list. By the time they were done, the list had 27 items on it.

“Who knew there were that many different kinds of flour out there?” Namjoon muttered as they did a final glance over the list.

“I didn’t. But there is one thing that we need to get that we can’t buy at the store. Y/n won’t use any leavening except her starter. Jin-hyung will have to get that from their apartment,” Yoongi said thoughtfully.

“We can send him on a special expedition for that later. Should we go ahead and go pick up these things?”

“Yeah, and we should probably let Jimin and Hobi know to call Tae and JK if they beat us back. But you know how Hobi gets when he shops. We will probably beat them back.”

After three hours and meetings with two different doctors and a discharge planner, Seokjin felt drained. They had gotten the okay for Y/n to leave the hospital tomorrow with the agreement that they would both meet with Dr. Kang daily for at least the next two weeks and that she would stay at the dorm with the members; while she had not expressly stated that Y/n should not be left alone, Dr. Kang had heavily implied it, so it made sense for them to go to the dorm. It would also relieve the other members. She also had agreed to meet with the rest of the group to advise of triggers that Y/n may have from the trauma, signs of things to look for, and the best way to help with panic attacks or if she started to spiral downward again. Typically, after a suicide attempt, an individual would be hospitalized for 2 weeks minimum and on strict suicide watch. However, because of who Seokjin was and the amount of attention that the hospital was starting to gain from paparazzi photographing the guys entering and leaving, Dr. Kang made an exception for Y/n. Also, knowing that she was going to be essentially surrounded by 8 mother hens (all seven members and Sejin, who Seokjin had called to arrange the meeting between the guys and Dr. Kang), it had eased the doctor’s mind considerably. Seokjin felt exhausted by the entire morning and could only imagine how Y/n felt. She had fallen asleep almost immediately after the discharge planner had left and the nurse had come in to take her vital signs.

Y/n’s head was resting on Seokjin’s chest in the hospital bed. Her breathing was steady and even, and it was a miracle to him. It was a miracle that she had survived all the things she had. His eyes welled up with tears as he thought of how strong she had tried to be for him and all the things she had suffered through silently over the months. Why had she ever thought he would leave her for something not her fault? He felt so guilty; he still felt like he had been a horrible boyfriend and like he hadn’t loved her well enough. If he had, she would have known that he would have helped shoulder all of that burden.

She was right about one thing though. If she had called him the night it happened, hell yes, he’d have been on the first flight out of LAX he could have caught. Her wellbeing trumped ARMY every time. He loved his fans, he really did, but she was a higher priority. Y/n’s very existence kept the happy, playful Jin that ARMY knew alive and going, so she came first; she took precedence over nearly anything he could think of, with his brothers and family a very close second. His own wellbeing came third on that list, but he also knew that he needed to be careful with that ruling. He needed to take care of himself to take care of her and support her better. That is part of why he agreed to meeting with Dr. Kang on his own. He kept seeing flashes of her in that giant puddle of blood when he closed his eyes, and it made him want to cling to her more than usual. Right now, Y/n was vulnerable and still recovering from her suicide attempt, so she was more willing to accept his affections. But once she was feeling better and more able to do her own thing, his constant presence and need to touch her would drive her crazy.

Seokjin knew he needed to update the members so that they could prepare for her to come home and also to alter their schedules a bit, but for the time being, he was so tired. He decided that while Y/n was using him as her pillow, he might as well nap too. In a few hours, he’d call and update everyone, but for now he let Y/n’s deep breathing lull him to sleep.

When Taehyung woke up a couple hours after curling up with Jungkook to sleep, the first thing he noticed was how quiet it still was around the dorm. It was 2:34 pm according to his phone, and everyone was usually up and doing their own thing by now. It was rarely ever this silent in their home. Just after checking the time on his phone, Jungkook’s phone starting ringing on his bedside table.

“Kook, wake up and answer your phone,” Tae grumbled, shaking him hard to wake him up.

Jungkook moaned then grabbed his phone. “Hello? You’re where? Oh. Yeah, we can come down. Gotta pee first though…Okay. Bye, Hyung.” Jungkook sat up on the side of the bed and stretched before tossing his phone aside.

“Get up, Hyung. We have to go down to help Hobi-hyung and Jimin-ssi carry some stuff up. They’ve apparently been shopping for Noona.”

While Jungkook headed off to the restroom, Taehyung went into his room and slipped shoes on and grabbed his key to get back in. Then, he grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge in the kitchen to sip on before heading down. By the time Jungkook came out of the bathroom, he’d drank half the bottle. Jungkook finished the bottle off in the elevator down to the parking garage. When they got to Hoseok’s parking space and saw both the backseat and the trunk full of bags and packages, they were both a little surprised.

“Did you buy an entire shop, hyungs? We’re going to have to make two trips!” Jungkook exclaimed.

Jimin laughed, then explained, “I wanted to buy everything Y/n would need for baking, then realized our kitchen has no baking utensils. So, I made a list from searching on the internet of things she might need. Yoongi-hyung and Namjoons added a few things to the list, then while Hobi-hyung and I were out, we got some recommendations from a nice grandma at the shops and called both our moms and Hobi-hyung’s sister.”

Even with all 4 of them carrying as much as they possibly could, it still took 3 trips to get everything upstairs. Then, it took a solid hour to unpack the bags and put all the different items out on the counter. Jungkook snapped a picture and sent it to Seokjin, captioned, “Did Jimin-ssi and Hobi-hyung forget anything Y/n needs for baking here at the dorms? They bought out two whole shops.”

Namjoon and Yoongi had thought that going to a regular supermarket would be enough, but some of the items on their list were missing. Was buckwheat flour really something that had to come from a specialty store? And why is powdered milk so expensive? They were shocked at the cost of some of the bread-baking ingredients. They had never really considered how much those ingredients were or that they were even used. Namjoon had figured that the nuts and dried fruits for her granola recipe and some of the extracts might be a bit pricy, but the flour surprised him. She’d been spending loads of money on baking for them. They made so much more money than she did that Yoongi felt a bit like they had been robbing her. If any of the seven of them wanted a specific baked good, they just asked Y/n and the next day she’d show up with it. He felt a bit guilty about it since occasionally he’d ask for something extravagant just to tease her, and she’d make it anyway. Like that special dark bread he’d had when they had been in Berlin. Somehow, Y/n had recreated it perfectly. He had looked up a recipe and the list of ingredients was insane, including unsweetened chocolate, coffee, fennel seeds, molasses and rye flour among the list.

After around 2 hours shopping and 3 different shops later, they finally made it home and called Jungkook and Taehyung to come help carry everything up. Jungkook laughed when he saw what they had, and said, “I don’t know where we are going to put all this. Jimin-ssi and Hobi-hyung bought out 2 shops and they’ve eaten our kitchen.”

Even with that warning, Yoongi was shocked by the sheer volume of kitchen gadgets covering their kitchen island and most of the counter space. Thankfully, he and Namjoon had planned ahead a bit and had rearranged a shelf in their pantry to house nothing but the baking ingredients. They had also bought multiple canisters for storing the different flours and other dry ingredients that all had a chalkboard space for labeling the contents. With the help of the others, Namjoon and Yoongi were able to transfer them all to the pantry on their designated shelf. After they were finished, Jungkook snapped a photo of the shelf as well and texted it to Seokjin too. The caption on this one was, “Namjoon and Yoongi bought out the baking section of the supermarket and at least one specialty store. They decided that Jimin-ssi and Hobi-hyung were not going to outdo their efforts. While they were all out conquering shops, Taehyungie-hyung and I had a fabulous nap.”

When Y/n opened her eyes after crashing, the clock on the hospital room wall said 6:00 pm. She moved carefully so as not to wake Seokjin, who was still sleeping. After climbing out of the bed to use the restroom, she stopped for a second just to appreciate how beautiful he was even in sleep. How did I ever get so damn lucky, she thought to herself. She used the restroom, then washed her hands and brushed her teeth before stepping out into the room. Seokjin’s phone started vibrating on the bedside table as she was closing the bathroom door.

“Jinnie, wake up, love. Your phone is ringing.”

Seokjin startled awake then grabbed his phone. “Hey, Namjoon-ah. Yeah, we just woke up. No, I haven’t seen any messages from JK yet, but I’ll check them. Oh, okay. That works perfectly. We can update you when you get here then…See you soon.”

Upon hanging up the call, Seokjin mentioned that the guys were just parking outside the hospital and that they were bringing dinner. Y/n watched in amusement as his mouth dropped open and his eyes got wide. “Those boys have lost their minds,” he mumbled. “Well, Baby, you sure are in for a surprise tomorrow is all I will say.”

Before Y/n had a chance to question anything, the boys came crashing in the door with a variety of take out containers and beverages. Taehyung was also carrying another bouquet of flowers, which he shyly handed over while kissing her on the cheek. With Seokjin’s help, they wrangled up the table they had used the night before and placed out the chairs that had been stacked in the corner of the room. After spreading out all the different takeout boxes, they all just picked around at the random things spread out; while they had each chosen a specific meal, everyone just ate off of everyone else’s plates anyway, so they needn’t have bothered. After the silly dinner chatter quieted down, Seokjin filled in the group about the meetings with the doctors and the plan for Y/n’s hospital discharge.

“Namjoon-ah, Sejin-hyung will be calling you to let you know about the time for the meeting for everyone with Dr. Kang. I may or may not be in that meeting since I’ll be meeting with her daily. We also all will have her phone number in case we need it. For the first 2 weeks, Dr. Kang has said that she doesn’t want Y/n to be alone for extended periods of time. Now, while that means that we will all be hovering a bit more, Y/n is allowed 30 minutes maximum at a time alone. Y/n is an introvert, so she needs time alone; besides, going from living with one busy man to living with 7 busy men may be system shock for her to an extent and she’ll need time to process that,” Seokjin explained.

They all seemed perfectly okay with that idea. Hoseok and the maknae line were all loudly excited until Yoongi shushed them by reminding them where they were. After a bit, the group cleaned up everything and left to return home to finish their preparations for Y/n and Seokjin to return to the dorms.

Little did they know, they guys had begun preparing a small party to welcome them. In fact, Taehyung and Jungkook took a detour before returning to the apartment to buy party decorations. They didn’t buy a ton of decorations as they wanted to make a banner themselves, but they did buy some brightly colored streamers and some tastefully colored balloons and a few lightly scented candles to place around the kitchen and living room. Y/n had sent the three bouquets of flowers the boys had brought plus the two bouquets sent by her office home with the boys, so Jungkook also bought several vases to split up the larger bouquets. Then there could be flowers scattered throughout the apartment. The final stop they made before returning home was for a few gifts from the two of them. The others had already gone all out, so they wanted to have special gifts as well.

The night passed quickly, but the discharge seemed to take forever. Dr. Kang had come in and met with Y/n and Seokjin before they could leave and did a full couples therapy session as a preparation for the upcoming weeks. After nearly an hour and a half of time with Dr. Kang and then a final hour-long examination from the hospital doctor, they were finally able to leave with discharge papers in hand. Namjoon had arranged for a car to pick them up and bring them to the apartment since Seokjin had ridden in the ambulance to the hospital and his car was at their apartment. Seokjin knew he’d have to go back to the apartment to pick up more clothes for the both of them and some other items, like their laptops, but Namjoon had assured that they should have most of the things they’d need for a day or so. They’d have time to settle in before returning.

Seokjin still had a key to the group’s apartment because he’d stay at the dorm from time to time when they had schedules at odd hours or if they flew home from overseas promotions in the middle of the night, so they didn’t have to knock on the door. Since Namjoon had arranged the car, Seokjin texted him to let him know that they were on their way. When they arrived, Seokjin unlocked the door and carried their bags in. He initially didn’t pay attention to the state of the room until he heard Y/n gasp. Then, he looked up and his mouth dropped open. There were royal purple balloons taped up in several places throughout the living room and a giant banner that said, “Welcome Home, Noona! We Purple You!” strung above the entrance to the kitchen. All 6 of the other members were standing in the entrance way with helium balloons and royal purple roses in their hands.

“Surprise?” Jungkook called out softly.

“Oh gosh, guys. You didn’t have to do this,” Y/n choked out, tears streaming down her face.

“No, but we wanted to, Noona,” Taehyung said, pulling her into a big hug. “Don’t cry unless they are happy tears. We are just getting started. You haven’t even opened presents yet.”

“Presents?”

Seokjin laughed heartily at that. “The boys got a little excited, Baby. I hope you are ready to drown in their affection.”

At that, Yoongi stepped forward and took Y/n by the hand. “We just wanted you to feel at home here with us. So we bought a few things so that you can do some of the things you love while you are here.”

When he led her into the kitchen, Y/n cried harder. Nearly every available surface was covered in bakeware. Just at a glance, Y/n saw a royal purple professional grade stand mixer that was still in the box, a set of glass mixing bowls, stainless steel mixing bowls, a flute pan, a baguette pan, whisks in multiple sizes, liquid measuring cups in three sizes, silicone baking mats, a baking stone, and loaf pans in 4 sizes ranging from individual to large. Y/n was in shock a bit, and was struggling to speak.

“This isn’t everything,” Namjoon said softly with a smile. He took her by the hand and led her into the pantry. “You have your own shelf, Y/nie. Yoongi-hyung and I tried to get as many ingredients as we could, but if we forgot something, let us know and we’ll go get it for you.”

Y/n was sobbing by this point. These beautiful men had spent so much time and money on equipment that they probably didn’t even understand the use for just so she would feel at home with them. She pulled Namjoon into a tight hug and croaked out a thank you, then grabbed Yoongi next.

“I just wanted to get something that could help, Noona. You told me once that you bake away your stress, and none of us bake, so we didn’t have anything you’d need. So, Hobi-hyung and I went shopping,” Jimin said gently when Y/n pulled him into a hug.

“Get over here, Hopie,” Y/n said through her tears, and squeezed him tight. “Thank you so much.”

“There are still more presents, Noona. Come sit down please,” Taehyung called from the living room.

Y/n moved toward his voice still in a state of shock and with tears streaming out of her eyes. Seokjin’s eyes were glassy too at the kindness of his brothers. The photos that Jungkook had sent had not done this justice; seeing it all spread out was overwhelming at best. Once they were sitting down, Taehyung and Jungkook pulled out a big beautifully wrapped box and a smaller box.

“Which do you want first, Noona?” Jungkook asked.

After thinking for a few moments, Y/n said, “The smaller one?”

Taehyung giggled then handed her the smaller box. Y/n took a moment to unwrap the lovely silver wrapping paper. Inside the box, there were 8 rings of varying sizes. She looked up a little bit perplexed.

“So, these rings are special. Do you see the pretty blue one in the middle?”

Y/n looked at him and nodded before looking back down at the rings.

“These rings are special. They are all connected together. The blue one in the middle is yours. When you wear it, it will be connected to all the others by Bluetooth on our phones. There is a ring for each of us as well. There is a small button on the underside of the rings. If we push those buttons, we will be able to feel your heart beating in real time. The same works with yours, except you will have to press your button a certain way for each of us. They have been programmed already, and I have a list of the special codes for each of our rings for you. All we have to do is connect them to our Bluetooth,” Taehyung explained. “Now, as long as we each are wearing our rings, you will be able to feel us with you no matter where you are. You never have to feel alone again.”

Taehyung took a moment to distribute the rings to each member. They were all slightly different and suited each one’s style, which amazed Y/n. How in the world had he made this happen on such short notice?

“Okay, now for my present. It’s much simpler, but I think it will help,” Jungkook said, plopping the box in her lap.

“Kookoo, it’s heavy! What is this?” Y/n pondered out loud.

“Open it and find out!”

After unwrapping the dark purple paper, Y/n opened the box to find a soft purple blanket.

“It’s a weighted blanket. I have a friend in Busan who has panic attacks, and she said that she has one and it helps so much when she is anxious or afraid. I’m hoping it will help you on your bad days. While we will always be there for you too, I know that sometimes you will want to be the strong one and try to deal on your own, and this is for those days.”

Y/n pulled him and Taehyung both into a tight hug. “Thank you both so much. I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

The rest of the evening was spent with Y/n and Seokjin trying to settle in a bit while helping the others to put away the bulk of the kitchen gadgets and running the new bakeware through the dishwasher. Y/n was so incredibly touched by the heart of these 7 men and kept pinching herself because she kept thinking she was going to wake up from a dream.

Y/n was a little bit overwhelmed the first few days. She was not used to being around other people constantly and it was a little bit exhausting. Luckily, she found that when she was starting to feel that way, Yoongi would shoo the others away and take her to his studio. He liked to work in silence, and he was an introvert too, so he understood how loud the other guys’ personalities could be. Y/n savored her time with Yoongi-chi; she would curl up on the couch and nap, read, or play games on her phone for a few hours until she felt better.

The other member that seemed to constantly surprise her was Namjoon. If he noticed she was getting overwhelmed and Yoongi wasn’t around, they would put on hats and face masks and Namjoon would take her on a walk through the park near the apartment. When they were walking, Namjoon wouldn’t say anything. They would just slowly stroll down the path by the river and breath for a bit. When he was sure she was calm, then he’d start to chat with her. Without her knowledge, he actually used the rings that Taehyung had bought to measure her heart rate. He could tell when she was stressed without her ever having to speak up.

Seokjin was her strength. When she had nightmares and woke up screaming, he held her gently and sang to her until she settled down. He cracked jokes when he could to lighten the atmosphere and make her laugh. He went to therapy on his own for a while to learn better how to help her and to help himself, then went with her too when she needed it. On the days that Y/n nearly choked with fear, he guarded her from the other guys and shielded her from their worry and attention. And the day she hit her knees in the practice room from the pain of having lost her baby, he was there to hold her and kiss her and slowly piece her heart back together with his love.

There were days that Y/n was so angry that she needed to get energy out. Jungkook was her go to those days. He’d take her to the gym with him and let her beat the hell out of a punching bag until she felt better. He’d offered to spar with her once and had learned quickly that it was a bad idea. She landed a great left hook to his side and he hadn’t blocked in time; she felt guilty for several days after seeing the bruise she’d left behind and refused to spar with him again after that.

On the days when she had way too much nervous energy, then she baked. While he couldn’t help, Jimin would sit on a stool at the island and fetch ingredients for her out of the pantry. It always amazed him how she’d take a few things and make a dough. Bread was her go to on those days because bread dough loves abuse. She could punch it, slam it down, and smack it around, and the more she did, the better it would turn out. Jimin had to keep an eye on her sometimes though. After she had baked 8 loaves in one day, Jimin had to make her stop baking. He marched her out of the kitchen to the bathroom and handed her a bath bomb. After he heard the hot water start, he cleaned the kitchen and camped out on Seokjin’s bed until she came out. The soak in the tub did wonders for her and she settled down. After that, she’d talk as she baked and be careful not to overdo it.

Taehyung was a softer soul at times and acted as her music therapist. The days when melancholy threatened to swallow her whole, Taehyung would come up to her and say, “Hey Noona, have you heard this song?” He’d distract her with a variety of random music he found, and they’d curl up on his bed and share headphones and talk music for hours. After a while, the sounds would soothe her heart enough that her mood would shift.

Hoseok was the living embodiment of hope. Everyone knows that, but to Y/n he was also joy. Dark days with Hoseok meant going and taking over the practice room and booting anyone else in there out. Hoseok would lock the door and put on the goofiest songs he could find and they’d do the silliest dances they could come up with. Y/n nearly lost it the day he started their “HopeY/n Dance Therapy Session” with Baby Shark. But it always helped. At some point in their silliness, at least one of them would fall in the floor in a pile of laughter. Afterward, there was a bit more light in her world and a little less darkness.

#seokjin #kim seokjin #bts #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts imagination #bts jin angst #bts seokjin angst #bts jin fluff #bts seokjin #BTS jin #bts jin fanfic #bts jin imagine #hold on

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diningpageantry · 5 years

Text

Scales, Fins, and other Fishy Daydreams

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43151156

Chapter 3/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster

Word Count: 1553

Chapter Summary: Baz takes Simon's shitpost text a step further, and the outcome ends up spreading a few rumors.

SIMON

bi-sammy: sammy would still fuck huxley if he looked like the fish from shape of water

I grin smugly at my screen, sitting in a dark room with nothing shining but my mobile. The shutters stay shut, and the light from the bottom of the doorway barely filters into the room. It’s just me, this scratchy blanket, and Baz, somewhere else in England on another screen. I absolutely adore that.

gaystrell: why would you say something so controversial yet so brave.jpg

Sometimes, I catch myself smiling. Other times, I elect to ignore how real it feels. It’s weird, given that it feels like I’m just chatting with someone who I see everyday. The casualness of this reminds me of texting Penny in the afternoon on a Thursday.

Except, given the current time, it could be interpreted as more intimate than that of a friend’s text.

8am on a Saturday is usually a time reserved for comfort. For staying warm with someone you care about. Instead, I’m just messaging Baz.

bi-sammy: because im right

bi-sammy: hear me out here ive got a brilliant idea

gaystrell: whoever taught you the definition of a brilliant idea was clearly misleading you

bi-sammy: dont be an arse until youve heard it

bi-sammy: wanker

gaystrell: you’re truly proving your point

bi-sammy: ANYWAY

bi-sammy: shape of water au

bi-sammy: thats all

gaystrell: i’m appalled.

gaystrell: hold on.

I don’t think much of it. Occasionally, he disappears for an hour to two. I don’t bother asking, assuming it’s none of my business, but I do tend to worry a bit. I hope he’s alright.

After clicking off my phone, my head settles against my pillow as my eyes fall shut.

There’s something about this. There’s something about him. It’s a bit hard to pinpoint what it is, but the overwhelming feeling of comfort I have in the notifications I get from him just answering my bullshit is incredibly welcomed. He’s semisweet. I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier, but he’s a fantastically bitter person.

My head slowly turns over, eyes opening and straining in the darkness.

I hate my empty room.

I hate the absence of comfort--I hate the plainness of these walls.

I want to say I hate my foster dad, but I also feel like I’m not allowed to say that. Not because the system will take me again and throw me back (even though I could have left a year back, if I was still in it). Instead, I feel like I shouldn’t hate him. Theoretically, I should be thankful for what I have. I’m not in a boy’s home, and I haven’t been since I was 11, but the remnants remain. The fights don’t go away, and neither do the weeks of starvation.

Still, I sort of despise living here under Davy.

That’s what he makes me call him. His name. His nickname. Not dad; of course not dad. He’s had me in his care for roughly six years, but he’s still Davy to me.

Shitty fucking Davy, with his strict curfews and practically using me as a housemaid because he’s too cheap to care for himself.

Shitty fucking Davy, not letting me add anything to my room because the day I turn 18, I’m out of here until his next kid (and cheque, apparently) come in. Told me I’d wreck the walls and ruin his furniture if I did put anything on it, too.

So that’s what I’ve got. Blank walls, blank furniture, blank everything. It’s like a jail cell for a bedroom, and everything I’ve got to show for myself is in a backpack and two dresser drawers/

But, at least, I own my mobile.

Every summer job, mixed with odds and ends shit and whatever I can do for my bill. It’s all mine, and Davy can’t fucking touch it.

Maybe that’s why, when I feel it buzz against my chest, it makes me feel more alive. It’s a reminder of all that work just to be able to talk to someone freely.

Arguably, the best feeling in the goddamn world.

I grab it and flip it over. It’s just an email about uni.

Fuck.

I end up scrolling through tumblr for a little while, doing nothing but liking and reblogging a thing here or there. It takes a little while before a little drop down falls from the top of my screen.

gaystrell: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1r7Wkwj7MSFk0--DgquHGhYVBbqneEYq0J01t0uMRmxA/edit?usp=sharing

gaystrell: feel the need to apologize before you click the link, but then again, you asked for this hell

When I click on it, it pulls up a doc titled just “crackfic”, and I’m floored with the first sentence alone.

“Fuck my fish ass harder, daddy.”

My hand flies up, covering my mouth as I practically wheeze as quietly as possible. A few paragraphs in and I’m nearly crying into my palm, muffling my laughter as I read through pages upon pages of the most ridiculous fic I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.

I check the word count out of pure curiosity, and it somehow makes me laugh harder.

bi-sammy: holy fucking shit

bi-sammy: i swear to god if you don’t post that i will

gaystrell: already in the process of making the archive post

gaystrell: i seriously believe you underestimate my sincere ability to be the biggest dick on the street

bi-sammy: i dont know whether or not u meant that as ur literal dick or the big dick energy in making that a post but id probably agree with you in both

bi-sammy: tag me in the post pls i want to be the first to reblog it

gaystrell: you’re a ridiculous, sad, little man

gaystrell: of course i’ll tag you

Within minutes, it’s uploaded with the absolute worst slew of Archive tags attached to it, and as soon as he tags me in his post, I tap the notification.

Scales, Fins, and other Fishy Daydreams

Word Count: 3,192

Summary: Fish!Huxley and Sam get it on Shape of Water style

@bi-sammy this is your fault (you're welcome)

I immediately slam like and pull up reblog, rapidly typing out my response before posting.

absolute madman. cant believe youve done this. i trust you with my entire life.

As usual, he's quick to reblog back.

anything for the absolute pain in my life x

Smiling shamelessly, I ride on the moment's high as our conversation stays out in the world. I quite enjoy this version of his softness. The public, taunting replies to mine. In all this time of following him, I can't really recall him ever being this friendly with anyone but me.

Makes me feel special. Maybe too much so.

BAZ

The jarring shock of the seemingly endless notifications rattles me momentarily speechless.

It isn't even 15 minutes after I'd replied to Snow and there's already a few people reblogging it with comments about him and I. A quick “i ship y'all’ to “powermove of the century”. Each make me flush deeper as the replies flood in.

If I were to be practical, I'm aware that I shouldn't be so flustered over the concept of us being a couple. It's most likely my overactive, sad, lonely imagination, but the idea of being loved just makes me blush. Especially since it's someone who doesn't seem to absolutely loathe me.

gaystrell: are you reading these?

bi-sammy: the what?

bi-sammy: i have. nothing to read. i cant read.

gaystrell: use your two remaining brain cells look at the notes for the crackfic

bi-sammy: holy shit

bi-sammy: im cackling

A notification pops up, making me snort this time. I pull up the post and send it off to him without a second thought.

gaystrell: sent a post

gaystrell: “sounds like something huxley would do for sam”

bi-sammy: stop im gonna piss myself shits too fucking funny

I pull it back up, scrolling down to reblog and adding a quick reply that, in all honesty, I should have thought out more. Secretly, part of me is glad that I sent it.

huxley wishes he was this smooth ;)

Within seconds, replies flood in from everywhere. From jokes about Snow and I possibly dating to the concept of Huxley writing (purposefully) shitty homoerotica about himself as a fishman. I quite like the conversation about the latter, while the former makes my chest knot in ways inexplicable.

Going through the notes makes me smile, even if it's mildly embarrassing. The amount of times I've seen the eyes emoji used is definitely excessive, but still somewhat welcomed.

Even my archive has a few comments already, although more based around the fic itself. More ironically, though, is the one person who probably took it seriously and just commented, “Nice fic!” I love the abundance of shameless appreciation for obscure fanfiction in the depths of this community.

Snow's messages roll down my mobile screen as I'm checking the comments, continuously replacing the previous message for the top slot.

bi-sammy: mate

bi-sammy: i love you

bi-sammy: also every time you reblog something of mine i get like 5 followers

bi-sammy: if you mention me i get 10

bi-sammy: youre???????????? a god????????

bi-sammy: can i marry you????????????

I slowly close my laptop, eyes on my phone with an absolutely gleeful grin.

gaystrell: when and where?

#carry on #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #mine #it's a handheld disaster #snowbaz #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz

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capmerthur · 5 years

Text

THE ONCE AND FUTURE FIC

Yet another resurrection fic (sorry?). ARTHUR RETURNS IN CHAPTER 2. Lots of feeeeels, and overdue conversations (at last!) between our precious King and Warlock. Title might change as this goes along, but this has always been the work title in my head since I started thinking about writing it, so… Starts right when 5.13 ends. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IN CHAPTER ONE.

Excerpt PART V:

"Because you were 'born to serve me'?", Arthur can't help but spit out, knowing now how literally Merlin had meant those words. It is not enough. It could never be enough. "Get up Merlin; this is ridic-"

"Because I wouldn't change a thing, Arthur", Merlin exclames, cutting him mid-sentence. "You are not my King because of a prophecy. You are my King *in spite* of it. I grew up wondering why I was born with the abilities I had. But when I was told... Believe me, I really didn't want it to be true; at least, you bet I didn't want it to be *about you*. But then... I got to see what you were truly made of; who you really were. And everything I've ever done since then has always been for and because of you, Arthur. Not because I was supposed to; but because I wanted to. Because I believed in you. And if my destiny is to be of any use to you then I am proud of it indeed - because I am proud of you."

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER CHAPTER IV)

V. (ARTHUR POV)

Merlin hasn't said the word; but Arthur heard it anyway.

Dead.

He'd been dead.

And for such a long, long time, Merlin had said; even though it feels merely minutes since he closed his eyes?

It makes no sense; it feels unreal - impossible. Merlin hasn't aged a day...

And yet... The grief in Merlin's eyes tells him it's true. Everyone he knows, except Merlin, is gone. Arthur doesn't know what feels worse. To know that he will never see any of them again; or to know that he has failed them all... He feels unfulfilled, hollowed out; utterly lost, even though knowing exactly where he is...

He feels furious, too. What is the point of coming back to life, if it's coming back *too late*?

But he simply knows, somehow, that Merlin - who has literally collapsed upon seeing him emerge from the lake; who has seemed so utterly shattered by his apology; and who looks now so honestly sorry for his loss, gazing up at him from the ground, nothing but stabbing understanding and concern in his eyes - isn't to blame for that lost time.

Which means his presence, here and now, is puzzling indeed.

"What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?"

Merlin seems to hesitate - looking embarrassed?

"I was waiting. Since you- I've been waiting for you."

And this just doesn't make sense.

"Why would you think I would, I could, ever come back, if I was...?"

"There is a prophecy, Arthur. So you were to return, in order to fullfill it."

"A prophecy?"

Arthur is stunned shocked. He had expected some malicious sorcery at work and Merlin having heard of it and come over - it would have made sense; and it would have given him the opportunity to fight, if not to save then at least to honour his lost people. But Fate? How is he supposed to make Fate pay? And what is Its intent to begin with? A prophecy about him? Arthur feels powerless. Is his life not even his own?

Then Arthur remembers the puzzling word has passed Merlin's lips once before.

(I'm sorry. I thought I'd defied the prophecy.)

So. Merlin knew about this? Before...? And never said a word - again? Another secret Merlin has kept from him; but this time, about himself? It feels even worse than Merlin hiding his magic. After all, Merlin's magic concerned Merlin, indeed. But how and why could Merlin keep something that concerned HIM from him? It hurts; and Arthur wants to know why.

Arthur's hands turn into fists at his sides to suppress his urge to snarl.

"You know, it's the second time you mention the word; but I still have no idea about what it exactly means."

Merlin's eyes are apologetic but clear as they hold his blaming gaze while Merlin professes:

"You are the once and future king who will unite Albion and bring magic back to the land; and helping you achieve such a goal is to be my destiny."

Another echo, of another odd word Arthur hadn't realized to be literal at the time.

(It's my destiny. As it has been since the day we met.)

And Arthur suddenly understands what he has never been able to comprehend until now. Merlin's puzzling bone-deep *devotion* to him; that dumbfounding unequivocal absolute *commitment* he has never wanted to doubt nor question. Well; it turns out it has in fact little to do with him... He is simply a mean to an end, right? Arthur can't help but replay their shared years through his head now with this new knowledge; and it all slashes through him like a double betrayal. Arthur can't even tell what feels the worst:

Did I ever know you at all?

Do you even like me at all?

I want you to always be you, he had said - and he had meant it: the magic, all in all, had only been an adaptation. But this? This feels like a definitive, shattering change. And it hurts, losing Merlin; even though he's right in front of him. Does the person he believed Merlin to be even exist? Yet another grief, on top of his fresh mourning for everyone and everything he's lost; and Arthur wants to scream.

But all that comes out is a shocked whisper:

"So that's why you came to Camelot."

Arthur doesn't even know if it's an accusation or a revelation. But it is undeniably, for him, a revolution...

"What? No! My mother thought Gaius could help me. I had questions, about my magic, and she hoped he-"

Merlin seems honestly surprised - and appalled - by his train of thoughts; at once standing and coming closer in his urge to explain. But Arthur moves away, keeping distance between them. He cannot trust anymore in his abilities to see straight through Merlin without further information. He has never seen straight through Merlin, apparently.

"When did you hear about it then?"

"A few days after I had arrived in Camelot", Merlin confesses right away; eyes pleading, definitely understanding the terrible weight of his words yet obviously choosing to come clean - but not moving closer this time, knowing it would only be rejected.

And it's here, again; in those little things. The way Merlin not only respects his boundaries, but respects them *even at his own expense*. The way Merlin has kept so much hidden, and for so long; yet has never been able to and still can't actually tell a lie right to his face whenever asked for the truth, even to save his own skin. It cannot be pretense, right? On the one hand, Merlin's face tells him all he needs to know. But on the other hand, Arthur still needs more answers, and he commands them.

"Who told you?" (Not Gaius, right? Please; not Gaius.)

"Kilgarrah."

"Kilga- who?" Arthur is honestly puzzled. He surely never heard of someone with such a name in Camelot.

"The dragon your father kept prisoner in a cave under the castle."

"What are you speaking about?" Arthur doesn't let Merlin time to answer though, cutting him once more as he opens his mouth - collateral information must wait for later, when faced with such an enormity. "No matter; one treacherous beast just said (can dragons even talk?) *this nonsense*, and you believed it? It's insane!"

"The druids spoke about it too."

"That's even more insane! Why would the druids trust- They hated Camelot. They hated me."

"They didn't. Not all of them, at least. (helpless sigh) Anyway, the prophecy is truth, Arthur. Your return is proof of it. You were to rise again; when Albion's need would be greatest. And you just did, Arthur. You just did."

The words stab through Arthur, making him see red. So Arthur cannot be softened by the evident not only wonder but even joy in Merlin's voice and eyes and everything. It comes out in a roar.

"My people needed me! What need can ever be greater than that responsability!"

Silence falls, all the more shattering after his outburst.

But Merlin has heard his need for an answer, and so he gives him one - even if it's none; shaking his head in helplessness, voice breaking and eyes begging:

"I do not know, Arthur."

Merlin is nothing but obviously caring, and sorry - sorry for him; holding his gaze with only patience and commiseration - hurt about his hurt, regrets about his regrets, and helplessness about his helplessness.

And somehow, having to see Merlin's hurt and regrets and helplessness feels worse. Worse than the sting Arthur can't help but feel because all that time and Merlin has never said a word, again. Worse than his own hurt and regrets and helplessness even, somehow: because the pain on Merlin's features is his own doing, again - even though Arthur has sworn to himself only moments ago never to hurt Merlin that badly anew; and even though he knows that none of the injustice he feels is Merlin's fault to start with. Arthur feels guilty for having lashed out.

Besides, Arthur knows his rage cannot and will not change a thing, sadly. Even Merlin's supposedly unparalleled magic is powerless, obviously. So. His whole purpose, his reason to be, has simply vanished. The desperate rage finally turns into crushing grief, the shout into a devastated whisper.

"The only destiny I ever wished for was to be the King Camelot needed. And now Camelot is gone."

"No."

The fiery professed word brings his attention back to Merlin - Arthur hasn't been expecting an answer; it hasn't been a question. Merlin shakes his head, a clear denial; and then kneels down on one knee, all reverent, head bowed down.

"For as long as I draw breath, Camelot still stands, Arthur. I may have grown up in Ealdor, but you have always been and will always be my King."

The words ring nothing but deeply heartfelt. But to Arthur, they only feel infuriating. Merlin officially bowing to him off formal ceremonial occasions makes him sick. Because surely Merlin is deferent in any way but not that one, especially when it's just the two of them. And most of all, because this is fake and wrong. Arthur wouldn't tolerate even for the most helpless person to bow to him simply because he should to start with; so the greatest warlock to walk the Earth, the most powerful being alive probably? The idea isn't only ludicrous, it's simply nauseating.

"Because a prophecy says that you were 'born to serve me'?", Arthur can't help but spit out, knowing now how literally Merlin had meant those words. It is not enough. It could never be enough. Arthur lets out a deep sigh though at the edge he couldn't keep out from his tone, realising in fact and no matter what, he is more angry at Merlin's Fate than at Merlin himself. How come Merlin isn't enraged too, to start with? He is just as much a puppet of Fate as he is, isn't he? "Get up Merlin; this is ridic-"

"Because I wouldn't change a thing, Arthur", Merlin exclames, cutting him mid-sentence. And it is not often indeed that Merlin actually raises his voice; and it startles Arthur silent. Arthur has crossed a line, apparently.

The most startling though is to realize that Merlin's lines aren't about Merlin (he sure never looked angry over buckets full of cold water over his head or anything): they're about Arthur - once long ago about Arthur creeping around in the woods unprotected; and now, about Arthur misreading him. Merlin's eyes are now boring into his, nothing but fierce and ardent; even though his voice turns again gentle and even adamant:

"You are not my King because of a prophecy. You are my King *in spite* of it. I grew up wondering why I was born with the abilities I had. But when I was told... Believe me, I really didn't want it to be true; at least, you bet I didn't want it to be *about you*. But then... I got to see what you were truly made of; who you really were. And everything I've ever done since then has always been for and because of you, Arthur. Not because I was supposed to; but because I wanted to. Because I believed in you. And if my destiny is to be of any use to you then I am proud of it indeed - because I am proud of you."

As always, Merlin just sounds sincere, radiating unwavering loyalty; and Arthur is baffled. Can it be true, despite it all?

"Just get up already, Merlin," Arthur repeats tiredly. Everything is just... confusing.

"No."

Stubborn - as always, again. It would make Arthur smile if it didn't feel so heartbreaking.

But then, Merlin lowers his gaze once more as his hand moves about his collar, and Merlin is presenting him with Camelot's ruler's ring, holding it out.

"Here. Gwen had what is rightly yours - according to each soul in Camelot - sent to me; so that I could give it back to you on your return."

And Arthur is paralyzed. It means so much. But he cannot take it. It is both too much and not enough. And more importantly: he has no right to - he has let his people down.

"Please, Sire."

And Arthur hears the word exactly for what it is. 'Sire' had used to be his official appellation in Merlin's language in their beginning ('My Lord' being restricted for sarcastic comments since its first use). But its meaning has grown over time - as Arthur had let simply his first name or nothing at all become the norm between them - and Merlin only uses it now on special occasions: whenever Arthur needs an extra boost in confidence and Merlin feels like insisting on his allegiance to him. Some things apparently truly never change.

"It doesn't have to be for me; nor for you."

He's transparent to Merlin, isn't he? Always has been, probably. It doesn't feel worrying though. It is a gift, to have someone who understands him that intrinsically.

"It is the wish of your people. Take back your ring. Wear it with pride. For the love of Camelot."

And how could Arthur deny this? The rallying cry is deep embedded in his soul, indeed - and he would never turn it down. No matter his guilt or inadequacy, Arthur will honor his people's will.

"For the love of Camelot."

Arthur finally takes the ring from Merlin's hand and puts it on.

AN:

I swear, those two will be the end of me. Everything about them is so LOADED, and it hurts :( Their shared history is heavy. Merlin's lonesome centuries are heavy. Arthur losing in a wink his reason for being is heavy. I'll never rest until they get some happiness, they just deserve it :(

Also, please don't be angry at Arthur. He's not at his best in this bit, I agree; but his purpose for being alive is gone for good and he's supposed to be all right 'because it's meant to be'? He has a lot to go through, and it is a lot to take in. So remember two chapters ago. Arthur isn't good with talking about feelings; but he's brave, and when it matters, he speaks - and he actually said A LOT to Merlin then, for someone usually emotionnally constipated who expresses his affection by throwing punches, right...

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

(Warning for this chapter: suicidal thoughts)

I. (MERLIN POV)

Merlin holds Mordred’s sword in his right hand, appraising it. He still can’t believe he has found it; still can’t believe it’s actually in his hands.

Over sixty years now - nothing; yet far too long - Merlin has been waiting for this moment. Since he has begged Freya, and threathened (and apologised - he couldn’t blame Freya for not listening; he wouldn’t have either, if their roles had been reversed), and begged again - in vain, for Excalibur. Since he has finally understood that he was a fool to hold onto hope for something that couldn’t, wouldn’t come to pass. Arthur was *never* coming back: Merlin had simply witnessed enough - he had witnessed too much; and too many times; and definitely one time too much one time too many - to ignore it any longer.

It was not that Merlin had grown too tired of waiting - too tired of the ache, the longing, the loneliness… For Arthur? Merlin would *always* wait; however long it might take.

It was not that Merlin had come to believe mankind didn’t deserve Arthur to rise again to start with - even though it *was* an easy conclusion, when it was at its worst, when it turned its anger against itself - too many horrors, atrocities, bloodshed. But mankind could be beautiful, when loving, in any form; and marvelous, too, when it was at its best; when it turned its anger towards its limits: the medical progress over the ages would have had Gaius exhilarated, and proud; and what about its general neverending thirst for discovery, for explorations, for quests? - of course Arthur would come back: if only he could.

It was just that Merlin had finally understood that he had been played - not even because Albion (the name has since long fallen out of use and its people had been scattered through the globe, so it might mean nowadays something else than it had used to to start with) had got united without Arthur (and even if it still only meant Great Britain, well, it might after all need to be united again); but simply because the list of unending reasons why Arthur should have come back to save the day and yet hadn’t (to mention only the very top of the list: half of humanity wiped out in a finger snap by the Black Death? the whole world collapsing in chaos, bend on destroying itself - World War?) had turned out suspiciously too long, and finally impossibly too long, as mankind had truly reached the lowest point not only ever but even possible without Arthur rising yet again (organised experiments and torture on toddlers, honestly?).

So.

Arthur wasn’t ever coming back from the dead, simply because no one ever came back from the dead (except as a shade - and that would be even worse, wouldn’t it? - or at a cost too great to burden anyway). It had been easy to believe in the prophecy; simply because it had been what Merlin had wanted. A distant promise of Arthur returning was still way better than no Arthur at all, and so Merlin had willingly taken the bait. But the fake prophecy had obviously been made up; as revenge, or entertainment - or both; and Merlin had felt stupid for not having realized this ages ago - The Sidhe were proud indeed; and Merlin had thwarted them. (It had been easy to forget it at first - to tell himself that they hadn’t known Arthur was THE Arthur at the time, whatever…) Merlin wasn’t sure about what Kilgharrah might have exactly known or not (On the one hand, Kilgharrah had forged Excalibur, who had always truly helped them. And Merlin had been warned by the Great Dragon, right from the start, and repeatedly; so wouldn’t it all have worked out just fine if he had listened. On the other hand, if he had listened? Wouldn’t he have been a monster, punishing people for crimes they had not yet committed? So maybe giving him the truth had in fact been the sure way to have him not acting on it. After all, Kilgharrah had hated the Pendragons - at least Uther - enough to have tried to wipe out Camelot. And he hadn’t been exactly pleased either to discover Merlin was a Dragonlord, even if he had seemed to soften when he had realized that Merlin would not control him as a puppet. And last but not least, Kilgharrah hadn’t taken care of Aithusa as Merlin had thought he would; and that’s how Aithusa had ended up with Morgana - and had forged the sword that had killed Arthur), but it didn’t change anything anyway…

Well, you bet Merlin hadn’t been willing to indulge them any longer. Not that anger was what was driving Merlin, of course. There was simply *no point* anymore in waiting. Nor in living, to be honest - especially as it might be what kept him from actually finding Arthur again somehow; next life, paradise, wherever and however and whenever? Merlin was no religious man, but even he had no answer about what happened after death after all. Maybe it was worth a shot? It was a very, very thin chance indeed; but it was still more of a chance than just staying here waiting for *nothing*… So. Merlin had begged Freya for Excalibur. But as she had kept absent, it had dawned on him at some point that Excalibur wasn’t the only blade he could use… Merlin had searched for that other mighty weapon through his magic for years; then had sent his creature to retrieve it when he had successfully localized it.

And here, now, finally, is Mordred’s sword.

And Merlin feels no dread, no fear, while holding it. If anything, he feels calm - calmer than he has ever been, probably. And that’s how Merlin knows that his decision is indeed right: even his magic agrees.

He should do it in the lake though. Magical artifacts just shouldn’t linger around in the open, huh…

Yes.

Let Mordred’s blade rest along Excalibur.

And let Merlin rest along Arthur.

Freya will make sure they all lay undisturbed.

Merlin blindly pulls at the cord around his neck, taking it out from under his tunic and sliding his left hand along it until it closes around Arthur’s mother sigil (AN) and Camelot’s ruler’s ring (Gwen had it brought to him, so he could give it back to its true owner on his return: Camelot in the meantime was to be ruled by a Concil of Knights and a Guardian, until Arthur would come back to sit on his kept empty throne and his kept empty seat at the Round Table).

Merlin closes his eyes; makes a silent promise.

I’m coming, Arthur.

He takes a first step into the lake.

Backstory: +1500 years in short - because it hurts and I just don’t have the heart to fully write the prologue I had intended to write:

Merlin has never left the lake. He kept waiting. He couldn’t, wouldn’t leave, (nor SLEEP even for that matter by the way) no matter for how short - imagine if Arthur came back just when he was NOT there, huh. And of course he wouldn’t trust his magic to warn him somehow - it had failed Arthur when he needed it the most after all. So no. Merlin has never left the lake. But Gaius has mentioned to him (Merlin got visitors, in the beginning (and his mother came to live with him until she died); before he cut himself off the world) how maybe the time he was given without Arthur was to LEARN more about magic; so that he would be prepared when Arthur came back to face whatever ordeal they were supposed to face. Because even if Merlin is hyper *aware* - he feels *everything*, through his magic - practice is necessary too. So Merlin mastered the art of molding sand/clay and animating it with his magic (basically, he walks the Earth as Old Merlin - because people tends to let old grumpy men on their own - whenever he needs anything physically). He can speak, hear, see, learn, through him, following the world as it expands (America, Australia, etc etc, because even if he was aware they existed, he couldn’t physically *go* there before they were ‘found’). And he can touch, and carry (for example you bet he brought back something red for Arthur to wear every time - Merlin sort of owns a ‘male red mode through the ages’ museum by now - and he hates it, of course). The first time Merlin has truly thought Arthur *would* come back has been The Great Plague. The second time has been WWI. The last drop has been the Nazis and Unit 731 experimentations. So Merlin sent its creature to fetch Mordred’s sword after having localized it though his magic - and that’s what Old Merlin is bringing back to him when this all starts (aka that shot at the end of 5.13)…

(AN: Just so you know, Merlin’s magically pierced in the thickness of Ygraine’s sigil to pass a cord - he wouldn ’t make a hole in the front design of course!)

(Also… A resurrection fic!? What am I getting myself into!? I’m still a newbie around here so I definitely haven’t read enough Merlin fics to ever claim making something original (so by the way, please feel free to let me know your all time favourites resurrection fics! So far I’ve read The Change Trilogy and Like the cycle of the year we begin again (and they’re both gorgeous reads so run and read them if you haven’t yet!) but I haven’t seen (yet?) my take, both on the waiting and on the getting along after Arthur’s return, in the fics I’ve read so far, so I thought I might as well write this down ?)

II. (ALTERNATE POV)

Arthur regains consciousness under water.

He’s cold; so cold he’s shaking - helpless, steady spasms he just can’t put an end to (being past half dead apparently has repercussions?). But it’s bright, up over him, and he instinctivally pushes himself up towards the light; towards the air.

The moment he breaks the water, Arthur registers that he’s not only alive but that he feels *just right*. No pain in his side, no weakness, no dizzinesss, no strain: nothing wrong at all - except from the convulsions from the cold, but you bet he’s not going to complain, all considered. The sun is veiled by clouds, but feels nonetheless like a welcomed warmth on his face, and Arthur breathes deep, bringing his arms up and turning his palms towards the warmth too as the tremors start to subdue; he’s alive!; and well! He doesn’t need to pat his absent wound in wonder, nor to look at the water, transparent clear instead of bloodened red, to know that what he feels is true.

Merlin’s done it.

He *has* saved his life.

Again.

It’s both unexpected (Arthur had been so sure he had taken his last breath, when all had finally faded to black, no matter how much he had been trying to stay with him, as Merlin had pleaded; to hold onto Merlin, to his voice, to the way he was holding him) - and yet somehow expected. Magical waters and a sorcerer who knows how to work its power would do wonders, obviously. It has happened before after all, bringing his beloved Guinevere’s spirit back?

A sudden realization; and Arthur can’t help but laugh. And it feels so exhilarating - alive! alive! - the laugh turns into a howl; and Arthur relishes on it, throwing his head back. Honestly? How could he have ever been *so* blind - of course it had been Merlin then too by the water edge, disguised as an old woman!

Somewhere on his right, a buoying laugh erupts.

And Merlin knows that laugh. So hearing the exact right tone of that entirely unexpected laughter at once feels as if a vicious invisible hand is squeezing at his heart.

He had forgotten it; he realizes. But he would recognize that howling laugh amongst any other…

Merlin doesn’t dare to *believe*. Cruel hope nonetheless blooms unbidden in his heart, and his eyes can’t help but zero in on the source of that sound.

And it is exactly as it should be; exactly as it has used to be…

There *is* ARTHUR; standing in the lake, water reaching his hips, chainmail glistening, head thrown back as he laughs. (Has anyone ever looked more simply breathtakingly majestic no matter what they did and even without trying?) Merlin can only see his back, but you bet he would recognize the shape of that back amongst any other too.

Merlin’s breath is knocked out of him; and Mordred’s sword falls from his hand.

Merlin knows what he hears and sees *cannot* be true. He has seen the world in a much, MUCH more desperate state without Arthur coming back then. There is absolutely no reason for Arthur to come back right now. So. He is being granted a vision; that’s all. But of course Merlin wouldn’t, couldn’t, try to take his own life anymore, not after having had even just a glimpse… Besides, he has just handed over the last sword that could end him anyway. Merlin has to acknowledge The Sidhe’s thinking; they know exactly well how to play him. But damn, they are vicious.

But no matter the abysmal pain from such a low blow, Merlin still considers this to be a gift, and is determined to draw it out for as long as he will be allowed to. Those few seconds might sustain him for another fifteen centuries to come, and maybe more…

Arthur quiets down after a while. Thinking about his savior: where is he?

Arthur scans his surroundings; and the warmth he feels when he finally spots Merlin definitely eclipses the sun.

The laughing stops, and Arthur turns, eyes searching; and a bright smile appears on Arthur’s face the moment they find him.

“Merlin!”

Merlin’s knees give out. His name through Arthur’s lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this* too? It shouldn’t have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

And Merlin’s fingers dig; hard, deep into the sand. He cannot reach out. He longs for; he *aches* to - both physically and emotionnally. But he cannot. As long as it’s only his eyes and ears that are deceived, then he can pretend it is true…

Merlin starts to cry. He can’t help it; he cries - as he hasn’t cried since, well, all those years ago: silent tears endlessly streaming down his face, unabached, treacherous; and Merlin hates them - hates the way they blur his vision when he has to - HAS TO - *see*. He is powerless to stop them though.

It is *blinding*.

Merlin has tried, so hard, to keep remembering, to NOT forget. But his memories, even sustained with his magic, have so obviously failed him; haven’t done Arthur any justice at all. Merlin has forgotten so, SO much; and being proven just how much he has actually forgotten slices through him like a knife. The exact darker shade of Arthur’s blond hair when wet. The exact way Arthur stands and moves. The exact sharpness of Arthur’s features - his nose, his cheeckbones, his jawline. The exact shape of that smile - that particular, undeniably fond smile following his name Merlin has used to live for and from. Guilt slashes through him again. How could he have *forgotten* the exact shape of *that* smile; the most precious to him amongst the myriad of each and every of Arthur’s smiles?

But then Merlin collapses, instead of cheering with him - he has thought him gone for good? And Arthur suddenly feels like there is still after all a gaping aching wound on his body; but this one deep in his chest, and of his own making. He owes Merlin *everything*, doesn’t he? Yet he has hurt him - and so very severely. Despite it, though, Merlin obviously still cares for him; and so very much… His own behaviour puts Arthur to shame. So. Arthur hadn’t had the time nor the strength to plainly apologize before. But he has now; and he won’t run away from the words that he needs to say - and even more important, that Merlin needs to hear…

Arthur is now rushing through the water towards him - so fierce!, so strong!; alive and well!? His smile is gone though; replaced by worry - because of Merlin’s tears, no doubt: yet another reason to hate them then…

And then Arthur is plopping down in front of him, out of breath; and Merlin gets proof again of just how much he had forgotten - the exact colours and depths of Arthur’s eyes! There is now a fragile smile back on Arthur’s face - a soothing smile, meant only for Merlin’s sake; and it’s going to break Merlin’s heart, no doubt.

III. (MERLIN POV)

“I’m fine, Merlin. I’m fine.”

And not only the voice is perfect, but the language is the one Merlin hasn’t heard for over a millenium…

“Arthur?” is all Merlin can let out - no more than a somewhat hiccuped whisper as he still has no breath, no voice, to start with; but an obvious plea coming from the depths of his soul. A world of wonder, and longing, and ache, and disbelief, and hope - because no matter what, Merlin can’t help but want; can’t help but hope - in those two syllabs that own his heart. Magic *does* exist, after all; and Merlin would give it all - all the magic he possesses, all his pain, all his hopes, everything - for this vision to turn real.

Arthur’s already fragile smile falters: “Don’t you remember, Merlin. No man is worth your tears.” The reproach is nothing but badly fake though, and Arthur’s voice somehow breaks as it ends: “Especially not me.”

And then suddenly - and so quickly Merlin doesn’t register any of it before it has actually happened, and so it is too late for him to move backwards to prevent it from happening - Arthur brings his hands on Merlin’s face, gloved fingers brushing his tears away under his eyes - and Merlin can *feel* them!?

Merlin is lost; lost in what he sees, lost in what he hears, and lost in what he feels. Can this be true? Can it truly be true?

But then Arthur starts speaking again - rushed out words leaving Merlin stunned.

“I apologize, Merlin. The way I reacted- (sigh) I deserve all the names you’ve ever called me and more. I’m thick, and dumb, and *such* an idiot, and a complete dollophead, and a cabbage head, and a prat, and a royal *ass*, and I still don’t know what a clotpole exactly is but I’m certain I am the definition for one indeed too. I may have seen anyone with magic turning against me; but I should never have doubted *you*, Merlin.”

Merlin just cannot believe what he’s hearing. It’s everything he has ever wanted to hear; everything he has ever hoped to hear - so how can it be real?

“But more than anything, I think, I’m sorry because I should have known, Merlin. I called you a liar; looked at you like you had betrayed me. But you’ve told it. You actually shouted it for everyone to hear; and I believe you nearly told it to me, privately, at least once, and presumably more… But I just didn’t want to hear it, did I? So I’m sorry I was such a coward; a *coward*, Merlin. And I’m so sorry, and so ashamed - and honestly I really can’t blame you for not trusting me to understand: because you were right; and it guts me, Merlin.”

Merlin shakes his head, about to interject - real or not just cannot matter anymore; not when Arthur’s gaze is boring into his very core, pleading and honest and full of a guilt Merlin just can’t bear to witness: “Arthur-”

Arthur silences him though, cutting him off by shaking him once by the shoulders: “But what counts is that I know, now, Merlin. Your magic is not only part of who you are; it also makes you who you are. And I will trust it; because I trust *you*. You must believe- No, let me rephrase this before you obey me again - because you *always* obey me, don’t you Merlin; even when whatever I say in anger or despair isn’t intended nor meant to be an order; and I’ve done it so often, haven’t I… ‘Do not put me into that position again’? ‘Tell me it’s gone’? (AN) So. Can you believe me; Merlin? It’s not an order; I definitely do not deserve to give you any order at all to start with anyway. And you don’t even have to forgive me; you shouldn’t forgive me. But please, at least, can you b-”

“Of course I believe you. And there is nothing to forgive, Arthur. Nothing.” Merlin half shouts, ancient words flowing instinctively, head skaking 'no’ for emphasis, bringing his hands up to Arthur’s wrists and pushing downwards, keeping Arthur’s hands in place on his shoulders. If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. “You’re here. You’re well. That’s all that matters, Arthur; I swear that’s all that has ever mattered to me.”

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin’s clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: “And you’re here, Merlin, and you’re *you*; and I swear that’s all that will matter to me from now on.”

AN: Tiny quote from my Body Swap fic; sorry, I just couldn’t NOT put it there, it just FITS…

(Also, just imagine they speak in old brittonic… but please don’t expect me to write it? sorry?)

IV. (MERLIN POV)

Arthur squeezes his shoulders one last time and then lets go, about to stand.

“Now, let’s go home. We have a feast to prepare in your honor.”

Merlin cannot tell if his heart has just completely healed or totally disintegrated. Let’s go home?

It’s real! Of course it’s real. If Arthur doesn’t know- It’s real! Arthur is truly back! And that’s…

But *Arthur doesn’t know*. And so *Merlin will have to tell*.

Merlin blanches. He feels guilty, anew. Because he has hoped and prayed and begged for Arthur to return; with everything he had. He has been selfish, hasn’t he? And he has been blind; stupidly blind - again. All those years he has prepared for taking care of a still bleeeding wound, for clothes, for food, for any necessities; but it has never crossed his mind that Arthur wouldn’t know… and he is not prepared for Arthur’s emotional pain; and even less for causing it. Some small part of Merlin can’t help but wish now that Arthur had stayed in the lake after all, had never awoken. It’s too cruel. Merlin shouldn’t be the one to break Arthur’s heart.

Arthur is reading his panick wrong, of course:

“Don’t worry- No one else has to know about your magic if you don’t want to. But you DID end the war, Merlin; you did what I couldn’t do - Morgana… All Camelot should know what they owe y-”

And Merlin can’t bear Arthur’s concern on his behalf any longer; making it last feels like a betrayal. And no matter how much Merlin doesn’t want Arthur to get hurt, ever, he cannot and will not lie - not about this. Conjuring ghosts wouldn’t be real and would only make it worse in the end anyway. The only option is a clear cut, right away.

“It’s not- (deep breath) I’m so sorry, Arthur. We cannot go home. You were gone. For such a long time. For such a long, long time, Arthur. I’m so, so, sorry.”

And Merlin watches, feeling his eyes filling up once more, as Arthur’s eyebrows furrow in incomprehension; as Arthur blinks, taken aback as realization hits; as Arthur’s eyes turn desperate and pleading, shaking his head in denial-

“No. I remember just-” His voice falters as he probably notices the house behind them - the house that definitely hadn’t been there before - and who knows what more (trucks on the road farther away? joggers in strange clothes passing by?) “And you look exactly-”

And Merlin has nothing to say, nothing to offer, to soothe the hopelessly growing pain ready to crush his King, hollow him out - nothing but the cruel testimony of his once more, always, useless tears; and Arthur knows, indeed.

It comes out as a whisper, but it sounds as if Arthur’s spirit has gone with it, vacillating.

“They’re all-”

And the only thing Merlin can say still is: “I’m so sorry” - again.

“My people? My Knights? My- Guinevere…”

And it hurts. Oh, it hurts; to have to see Arthur’s broken heart on his face, to hear its crack as his voice breaks on his Queen’s name and his head turns away.

“I’m so sorry.”

A litany; a chant; a prayer. Over, and over, and over. Pointless, worthless, useless, anyway; as his King cries silent tears, all the more shattering by their quietude…

Then Arthur is up and pacing, a fierce but dark spark in his eyes as his hands turns into fists - anger, rage; of course.

“Why did you bring me back then? How could you bring me back if-?”

And Merlin would gladly take a blow; if it could help Arthur to feel better, somehow. But nothing comes. It’s Arthur. Of course nothing comes.

Arthur briefly closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. And when he opens them again, Arthur’s anger hasn’t faded; but isn’t directed towards Merlin anymore.

“But then; you would have brought me back right away, wouldn’t you have - if it had been in your power…”

And Merlin feels crushed, again; by how he *always* fails Arthur, indeed.

“I’m so sorry…”

AN: I realize I do have a thing for Merlin crying - blame it on Colin’s A+ crying performances - so of course it has to appear somewhere… Merlin will not weep though for much longer, if it can reassure you…

@clone-number-1

#merlin #merthur #bbc merlin #merthur fic #bbcmerlin #the once and future fic #my own two spells #fic #fanfic #text

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bluephoenixquill · 7 years

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Samurai jack is over and i have only one question....

Whos gonna be the first to a write a fic where theyre reincarnated in an akuless version of the future as traveling heros? Probably not me as i have other projects, but i will scrible down all my thoughts for anyone to use Because even though Akus gone the future isnt perfect, crimnals, hostile aliens, rutheless empires, orwellian regimes, take your pick people were jerks before and after aku. So yeah future Jack (whos name is actually jack this time around) is either reborn as the heir to a martial arts dojo on the outskirts of one of the major cities on the planet. In true YA novel/rpg fashion some major badguy force rolls into town when jacks in his late teens and wrecks up the town Jack trys to fight them but since hes not a magic sword weilding ultra badass trained the world over this time he get his ass kinda kicked after putting up a hell of a fight. Although he barely manages to fend off the badguys and make them leave Jack is appalled by the fact such lawlessness exists in the world and sets out to roam the world, become stronger and do good where he can. Along the way he saves people makes friends, gains allies *cough*Scotsman*cough* hears tales of a magical anchient sword more powerful than any other, that only a righteous soul can weild. And he dreams, dreams of a world even darker and more corrupted than the one he lives in, a world ruled by evil itself. Of friends and allies twisted or worn down by that evil. And he dreams of a girl, beautiful, deadly and clad all in black the mere sight of her makes his heart clench On one of his adventures jack travels through a dingey city and gets cornered by a group of 7 masked young women, because he has a policy of not killing anyone, he tries to talk them down, only to get into a fight with thier leader, who wears red and black spotted clothing, for his trouble. Eventually the mask comes off and Jack stops, staring at her. "You.... i know you!!" "The hell are you talking about" "Ive seen you before! In my dreams!" She stares at him and the other girls snicker "Oooh... youre crazy." She sneers,"well that killed the mood, see you around nutcase, lets go girls" "Ashi!" Jack says, and the girl stops short, so do the others, stunned, "your name is Ashi." An interrogation at Ashi and her sisters hideout ensues, where jack hears Ashis story about how Aku not being around didnt stop Ashis mother from being an abusive bitch so she and her sisters ran away and have been eeking out a living on the streets ever since. The girls sre eventually convinced to join Jack on his quest for justice, especially after Ashi starts having weird dreams too. They have a ton of awesome adventures eventually find the sword and some other magic weapons to beat up evil more efficiently, Jack and Ashi fall in Love again, this time with Ashis sisters and all thier friends playing matchmaker and teasing them insesently. They become the most badass couple on the planet, topple evil empires the world over, and everythimg is wonderful forever

#samurai jack #ashi #jashi #fanfic ideas #free to a good home #id draw this but im no good at cartoony styles #so yeah feel free to add or build off this

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ma-ng · 7 years

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come back for me (iii)

chapters: i. , ii. , iii. , iv. , v.

ao3 link for those who prefer

this story is getting a lot of love and it's making me super happy!! it's a lot of fun to write even if i just want to get to the point where i can introduce all of gotbang's witchy peculiarities but!! pacing is good to. builds up expectation and giddiness lmao.

so here's chapter three!! and we get to meet everyone's favourite at the end~ yay for managing to worm another child in at the third chapter, haha.

iii. death

jinyoung’s gaze follows coco as the dog trots in, jumping up and placing her paws on his shin, tail wagging furiously until he pets her head. she gives a happy little bark and wanders further into the house, stopping at every single person in the room to say hello. when she arrives at her second owner, she refuses to leave mark alone until the man has scooped her up and held her close to his chest. she strains a little in his arms when she spies taehyung still wrapped up in his cocoon of blankets, and mark shifts close enough for taehyung to reach out a hand to let her sniff.

the thud of boots to jinyoung’s left has his gaze turning back to youngjae. the witch is struggling slightly with the laces and, honestly, the dream weaver doesn’t blame him much. it had started raining only a few minutes ago and already it looked dreary and freezing outside. he wouldn’t be surprised if he found out that his friend’s fingers were numb to the bone. when he drops slippers in front of youngjae’s socked foot, the witch in turn tils his head to give him a small smile.

a loud poof sounds behind him, followed by coughing and an indignant squawk from jaebum that he would later deny to within an inch of his life.

“oh, my god! jinyoung-hyung, you have honestly been so mean.”

jinyoung turns his head, intent on asking kunpimook what, exactly, he had been so mean about when he’s suddenly attacked by the sight of yellow. a bright yellow that smothers kunpimook’s torso and crawls up his neck. the sweater should be hideous — and honestly, if he saw it in a shop on a wrack he would be filled with the urge to burn every single last one of them — but somehow it doesn’t look hideous on kunpimook. only mildly disgusting.

youngjae seems to have managed to get his other boot off and stuff his feet into his slippers, as well as close the door behind him, because he’s walking past jinyoung and shooting kunpimook the most appalled look jinyoung has ever seen on his face. “never mind that, what are you wearing?”

and because it’s kunpimook, the man strikes a ridiculous pose, going so far as to include his legs in it to make him look like an obnoxious model, and sends youngjae a sultry look. “do you like it? it’s my own creation.”

“I think it’d look better if you take it somewhere that can unravel it,” jaebum butts in, arms crossed over his chest in an attempt to make everyone forget the squeal he’d made moments earlier. it doesn’t work, because jinyoung is sure that mark will use it as future blackmail, if the curve to his lips is anything to judge by. and if mark doesn’t, jinyoung might just have to.

“excuse you!” kunpimook gasps, dropping the pose to press a hand to his chest. “this is a masterpiece and I would like you to respect that!”

“guys,” mark says, absentmindedly stroking coco.

“by masterpiece,” jinyoung says, walking into the living room and stopping behind the sofa, leaning his hip against the back. “if you mean an actual disaster, then yes, it is a masterpiece.”

kunpimook’s jaw drops open, forcing his lips to make a perfect ‘o’, and his eyes narrow as he practically glares at the dream weaver. “park jinyoung,” he says slowly, dropping his hand and squaring his shoulders. “you did not just insult my hard work.”

youngjae blinks several times, eyes roaming over the sweater while jaebum points at it questioningly, and says, “that is hard work?”

“I cannot believe I am friends with all of you. none of you deserve me, I should just leave right now. I can see where I’m not wanted.” the thai witch jerks his chin up and spins around on his heels, disappearing round the corner down the hall

“guys,” mark tries once more.

“yugyeom! jackson-hyung! just the people I wanted to see!”

“bammie?”

“what are you wearing?”

“I made it myself! isn’t it pretty? I wanted to show off how good my ideas are but they don’t think I should have wasted time making it.”

“well…”

“guys!”

three heads snap to look at mark sat on the sofa, eyes wide and lips parted, as they take in the frown etched on the tattoo artist’s face. slowly, the three witches from the hallway emerge into the living room, their hands raised in surrender and eyes looking specifically for mark. when the six of them have their attention on the man, he leans back in his seat and tilts his head slightly.

“now,” mark says, raising his eyebrows. “can we get down to what you guys came over for?”

jinyoung’s eyes fall to taehyung. the five-year-old is paying little to no attention to the adults in the room, making him wonder if that’s because of the boy’s illness, too, or if his attention span is just that easily distracted by a soft, fluffy dog that keeps licking his hand whenever he tries to stop petting her and recluse back into his blanket fortress. a sigh leaves his lips and, before he knows it, he’s moved around the sofa to sit beside his foster child, crossing one leg over the other.

the others fall suit, sitting on the sofa where they can manage; which ends up with jackson practically forcing kunpimook to sit on his lap as he squidges in beside yugyeom on the two seater, jaebum dragging a dining chair over and youngjae quite content to just sit on the floor, leaning back on his hands.

mark’s eyes slide over every face in the room before he gives a triumphant nod, shifting back in his own seat and pulling coco away from taehyung so the boy doesn’t get distracted. “now, taehyung-ah.”

the five-year-old drags his hand back underneath his blankets and sits up a little straighter, looking up at mark with wide, watery eyes. “yeah?”

“do you think you can tell everyone what you told me a few minutes ago?” mark asks, not dropping eye contact with the boy. “about the woman?”

“okay,” taehyung says with a nod, he turns his head to look at jinyoung before he starts talking, voice ever so slightly nasal from the blocked nose he’s still sporting. “she says she doesn’t like talking to me. she says she wants to find someone older.” taehyung frowns as he gazes at jinyoung’s bewildered expression. “she’s wet and she won’t let me help her.”

jinyoung can’t look at anyone else for a moment, stunned by the idea that ten minutes ago taehyung had complained to mark about a woman while there was definitely no woman in sight in the whole apartment. there hadn’t been a woman in his flat since his mother visited for new years, giving him a surprise and gushing over the rest of his coven as much as she did over him.

“woman?” he finally manages, spying out of the corner of his eye as jaebum frowns, and yugyeom and jackson share a look between them. “what woman?”

taehyung doesn’t miss a beat, hand darting out to point just over jinyoung’s shoulder. “that woman.”

despite the feeling that he already knows what he’s going to see, jinyoung turns his head to gaze at the empty space behind him, eyes focusing on the sky outside his window and the rain hitting the glass. he turns back to look at the boy, who’s taking his hot chocolate from mark and sipping on it loudly.

“I don’t see a woman,” jinyoung admits tentatively, unsure how the child will take it.

taehyung blinks and pulls his mug away from his mouth. “it’s okay,” he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. and, honestly, between witches, it probably should be. “mark-hyung says he can’t see her either.”

mark and jinyoung lock eyes over taehyung’s head, the tattoo artist shrugging one shoulder at the questioning look. of course, taehyung is a growing boy, a five-year-old witch. and, though it isn’t rare for children this young to start showing hints at what type of witch they might be, what their powers will revolve around, something about the whole situation seems a little more worrying than it should be.

“what does she look like, taehyung?”

the boy turns his head to look at youngjae, opening his mouth to speak. but instead, his jaw just hangs as he stares at the small dots, stars and feathers youngjae has tattooed onto the apples of his cheeks, following the curve of his eyes. although taehyung isn’t anywhere close enough to look upon them in small detail, the ink still manages to capture his attention until jinyoung gives him a nudge that he almost doesn’t feel thanks to his blankets.

“she’s got dark hair!” he blurts quickly, curling in on himself and hugging the mug closer to his chest. his cheeks colour a little in embarrassment. “she’s really wet and she shivers a lot. she keeps saying mean things to me,” he adds on, bottom lip slowly pushing out into a pout. “she doesn’t like me.”

jaebum’s eyebrows raise high before they fall into a frown. “she doesn’t like you.”

taehyung shakes his head. “she keeps saying she doesn’t want to talk to a kid. that I don’t get it.” the boy ducks his head even more, looking more than a little put out when he mumbles, “that I’m useless.”

the frown on jaebum’s face matches those on the other six adults in the room except for one. mark shifts a little in his spot, taking taehyung’s mug when it’s empty, and jinyoung wraps an arm around the five-year-old as well as he can, pulling the boy a little closer to him. the boy’s been here over a month now and jinyoung already feels his heart taking the child in with open arms. he should probably try and put some distance between the two of them, keep his feelings to something less familial, but it’s a struggle he doesn’t think he’ll win.

“you’re not useless, taehyung-ah,” he says as tenderly as he can while keeping his voice stern. he rubs what he thinks is taehyung’s arm, giving the boy a squeeze for reassurance.

taehyung pulls the covers tighter around himself. “she’s saying I am again.”

it honestly looks like everyone’s ready to fight someone they can’t see as they all shift in their spots; jaebum’s jaw is set and eyes narrowed, jackson is digging his fingers into kunpimook’s hips, who looks like he wants to pounce on thin air, and yugyeom is forcing his fists between his thighs, shoulders hunched, the frown set so deep into his face jinyoung thinks it might just become a permanent fixture. the only one who hasn’t reacted so badly — merely suffering from the twitch of an eyebrow — is youngjae.

jinyoung watches his friend and skims his gaze over his face, analysing the pull to his mouth, arch of his brow, the ever so slightly out-of-focus glaze that has been present in the witch ever since the two met. suddenly, youngjae perks up, as if he’d been pricked by a needle, and pushes himself slowly onto his feet until he’s crouching. “what does she look like, taehyung?”

the child blinks and looks over at youngjae, eyes wide and watery. “what?”

youngjae waves a hand at kunpimook, who looks like he’s about to point out that taehyung has already mentioned what she looks like, and persists with, “can you see through her?”

taehyung blinks owlishly at him, eyes leaving youngjae for a simple second to the empty air in front of the window. there’s something that settles in jinyoung when he notices how the five-year-old’s eyes focus on something and follow it as it moves to stop beside youngjae. the child looks back at youngjae and gives two small nods.

“good, good, good,” youngjae says, standing abruptly and patting the back of his trousers. “how long have you been able to see her?”

mark’s fingers reach over and start playing with taehyung’s hair gently, pushing themselves under dark strands and then gently combing their way through knots. it makes the boy relax against jinyoung a little further, eyes moving between the standing witch and thin air.

“um,” he says, uncertain, eyes moving as if he were looking someone up and down. “maybe…. I think she came here tuesday?”

youngjae’s nodding, no longer patting his bottom, and moves past jaebum’s chair and the two-seater housing yugyeom, jackson and kunpimook. he stops at the dining table to dig about in a black messenger-style bag that jinyoung had failed to notice he’d brought with him — probably how he’d kept coco dry on the way over — that was a gift from kunpimook several years ago. “have you seen others like her?”

taehyung nods against jinyoung’s chest, making both him and mark stare at each other with parted lips and blank faces. youngjae sends a look over his shoulder and snaps the five-year-old out of the trance he’d been put into upon seeing the ink that decorated the back of the adult’s neck. “yes!”

youngjae turns back to his bag, elbows deep into it and still looking for all the world as if he can’t find a single thing he’s looking for. “when did you start seeing them?”

“I don’t know,” taehyung mumbles, turning his head into jinyoung’s chest. the way he says it, as if he feels sad and guilty for not being able to answer something, makes jinyoung’s heart beat hard enough to bruise his ribs. he squeezes the five-year-old and mark ruffles his hair.

“okay.” youngjae huffs and seems to have given up on whatever it was he was looking for, leaning against the table and crossing his arms over his chest. he chews on his tongue in thought, squinting down the hallway. “do you remember a time when you couldn’t see people like her?”

taehyung shakes his head, speaking when jinyoung turns him around so he can still be practically cuddled in the dream weaver’s lap but speak without sounding muffled, “no… I don’t remember things good.” he refuses to look at youngjae when the witch turns his attention from the hall to him. “I’m sorry.”

“did you see people like her at home?” youngjae questions, face impassive.

the answer is immediate if quiet, as if taehyung wants to be of as much help as he possibly can to make up for his uncertainty. “yes.”

youngjae nods. jinyoung spies jaebum’s attention turning from youngjae to taehyung, up to jinyoung and then back to youngjae once more, his confusion evident in the pull of his features, the way he splays himself out on the chair, legs spread slightly and heels resting against the floor. jackson doesn’t look much better in understanding, and is much more obvious with his flickering attention. yugyeom seems to be intending to try and find the invisible woman while kunpimook is the only one gesturing wildly.

the heavily tattooed witch catches his eye with a raised eyebrow, and kunpimook thrusts his hands out in front of him, “what? what is it? what have you figured out?”

“I can’t be certain, but I think I might know what type of witch taehyung is,” youngjae says. he pushes away from the dining table and juts his chin out at jinyoung, catching the man’s attention easily. “but first, jinyoung, you won’t happen to have any mullein, wormwood, mugwort, lavender and thyme?”

“you know,” yugyeom says, standing a few feet away from youngjae but unable to keep himself from giving into his curiosity and intrigue at the ritual about to take place, no matter how many times he’s seen it, “when I came here today, I didn’t think I’d get to see you at work.”

the witch kneeling on the floor snorts and continues to flick his lighter until the flame stays steady, moving it along the lavender until it catches fire, quickly extinguishing the lighter and patting the lavender against the plate it’s sat on until the small flames die out and only smoke is left. coco, sitting beside him, twitches her nose at the smell but otherwise doesn’t move. “shouldn’t you be fawning over taehyung like everyone else?”

the two witches lock eyes and then turn their attention to the five-year-old boy on the sofa. jinyoung is no longer sat beside him, instead rummaging around in his kitchen trying to find where he put the thyme that he swears he has. instead, kunpimook has moved to take his spot and jackson mark’s after the tattoo artist stood to allow the ever excited healer a chance to meet the boy face to face for the first time. despite the grogginess that still clings to the sick child, he grins as wide as he can, just the hint of a box-like shape to the stretch of his lips, looking back and forth between jackson and kunpimook.

the three of their voices carry between the thuds of jinyoung’s cupboards opening and closing, creaking hinges only adding to the atmosphere, and mark and jaebum’s murmuring from behind the two seater, eyes stuck on taehyung and company while they speak to nobody but each other. there’s questions about tattoos and magic and pets, neither youngjae nor yugyeom being able to deny the squeal of delight and look of excitement on taehyung’s face when he finds out kunpimook has a pet snake — a banana python called banana.

yugyeom and youngjae turn their heads to look at each other once more, both supporting the same, smitten and soft smile on their faces. yugyeom shakes his head and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “nah. I’ll talk to the kid later. maybe when he doesn’t look like he’s about to pass out any second.”

youngjae snorts before he can stop himself. “nice choice.”

yugyeom continues to cock his head and watch as youngjae turns the bay leaves he’d gotten from his bag as well as the thyme jinyoung finally returns to the living room with into incense. the mixture of smells that slowly strengthens in the living room is enough to give yugyeom a headache and he backs off, fingers itching to open a window. jackson did that once and almost threw himself out of it straight after when youngjae’s screeching scold reached him.

jinyoung moves to stand next to yugyeom, crossing his arms over his chest, and also watching their friend. “you know, I thought you said that you’d cleared this flat the week before taehyung got here.”

youngjae pauses where he is, hands holding the mug of mugwort tea to his lips. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, mug pulled an inch away from his lips to allow him to speak, “yes, because the spirits that stuck around beside you then were ‘exorcised’, as you put it. what, did you think your flat was free from the rest of the spirits that walk the earth from now ‘till forever?”

the dream weaver scowls, and then scowls deeper when he hears yugyeom try to hide his laughter between sealed lips and failing miserably. “just drink your damn tea and get on with it.”

there’s a twitch to youngjae’s lips as he finishes his tea, downing it quick as if it were a shot, complete with grimace once everything had been ingested. jinyoung took the offered mug from his hand and moved to take it out to the kitchen.

“okay,” youngjae says, and it’s louder now because he’s no longer only talking to yugyeom. jaebum and mark look up from where they’re standing, still huddled close with mark’s head dangerously close to lying on jaebum’s shoulder, and the younger man’s hand resting on his boyfriend’s hip. kunpimook and jackson — reluctantly, yugyeom notices with much amusement — turn away from taehyung to give youngjae their full attention. “I’m going to need everyone to be quiet and form a circle around me.”

jinyoung walks out of the kitchen and hesitates slightly. they’d moved things around in the living room, shifting the coffee table out into the hall and pushing the small sideboard with the tv on it as close to the wall as possible. youngjae said he needed to sit as close to the centre of the room as possible and surround himself with his necessities — lavender, thyme, mullein, copal, graveyard mold and god knows what else — in order for the ritual to be most effective. everyone else already moves to sit behind one of the plates.

“does taehyung need to be here for this?” jinyoung asks. he walks closer slowly, stopping a few feet away from his foster kid still wrapped up in blankets.

youngjae stares at him for a moment and jinyoung doesn’t like the feeling that his friend thinks that he’s stupid. “he sees spirits, jinyoung-hyung, and he’s a young witch. do you think he’s not going to become part of rituals in later life?”

pressing his lips together into a thin line, jinyoung asks as politely as he can, “it’s a bit of a heavy ritual to be his first, don’t you think?”

the necromancer’s gaze is unwavering, steady and unblinking, so the dream weaver just sighs, shoulders slumping. “alright, aright. taehyung-ah?”

the boy perks up where he’s sitting, fingers grasping tightly around the first blanket that had been wrapped around him, and looks up at jinyoung with wide, hopeful eyes. “yes?”

jinyoung waves the boy over with his hand, sitting beside yugyeom and leaving space for the five-year-old to plop himself down between the two of them. “I want you to listen carefully to what youngjae has to say and follow his directions if he tells you to do something, okay?”

“okay!” taehyung whispers, practically bouncing where he sits as he stares at the bowls in front of him.

youngjae surveys the two of them, then spares a look at the other four adult’s faces, raising one of his eyebrows. “okay, we good?” when he receives a nod from every single one of them, he nods himself and shifts about on his knees, straightening his back.

shedding the jacket he’d been wearing shows a loose sleeveless v-neck tucked into his jeans, the fabric flowing over the waistband, and allows the multitude of inked designs on his skin to come into view. they seemingly activate with the smoke, rippling, moving, twitching, breathing whenever the thick smoke touches them or brushes against the necromancer’s skin. even the feathers beneath his now closed eyes shift as if they’re being played with. jinyoung looks at taehyung out of the corner of his eye and is unsurprised to find the five-year-old gawking, but feels a small amount of pride bloom in his chest when he notes that he hasn’t moved an inch from his spot, though he looks like he wants nothing more than to touch youngjae.

sometimes, jinyoung forgets what his friends hide beneath their clothes. he lets whatever dead tongue youngjae starts whispering wash over him as his gaze drags over his friend’s body; etchings of some of the herbs they’re using now and some jinyoung can just about recognise through the fog that’s building up in his flat decorating youngjae’s wrist like a bracelet and circling his biceps in two bands an inch apart from each other, the moths and butterflies that live on his throat, the black cat that stretches on the back of his left hand and the crow that continuously flies around and around his collarbones.

somewhere in his mind, jinyoung tells himself that mark has contributed to the art on youngjae’s body before his eyelids feel heavy and fall down until he can see nothing but black. the fog in his home is seeping into his mind — and, he’s sure, the minds of everyone else present — and weighs down on his consciousness until it leaves him thinking of nothing but a woman. a woman with dark hair and dark eyes to match, with small hands and feet, a gangly body. she’s moving in a kitchen that doesn’t become to be jinyoung’s, talking to a little girl that doesn’t look familiar. then she’s sitting at a desk in a suit, phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder, familiar lines on her face that anyone would be able to associate with stress. and then a man comes in, out of focus, winding his arms around her waist and pulling her against him, resting his chin on her shoulder.

there’s something about the images that feel dated, and suddenly jinyoung can’t hear properly any more. it’s like he’s underwater, a film pushed over both the conversations happening in — what he can only assume are memories of a person he’s never met — his mind and youngjae’s chanting that he knows will have grown from whispers and murmurs to normal volume.

he doesn’t have the time or awareness to worry about taehyung because there are more memories flashing through his head that aren’t his; the little girl’s second, fourth, tenth birthdays, the woman laughing in the park, at a movie, content reading a book, joking about with the unfocused man as the two of them wash dishes. there’s trouble in paradise when the woman shouts at the man for something he did or didn’t do, for a misconception, for discomfort. he doesn’t know what it is, just knows that he witnesses several that all end with the two of them clinging to each other tightly and apologising.

everything seems so mundane, from witnessing the woman giving birth to the clean-up of the house, from moving out when she can’t be much older than eighteen to her first date with the unfocused man. it seems like such a normal life that jinyoung loses himself in the tranquility until it slaps him around the face so hard he thinks he’s gotten run over.

the little girl isn’t very little any more, maybe thirteen, when she comes home from school and runs to the bathroom, intent on relieving herself only to find the bath filled to the brim with water and her comfortably clothed mother lying submerged beneath the surface, peaceful.

belatedly, taehyung comes to mind, and jinyoung wants nothing more than to pry his eyes open and reach out for the five-year-old, to make sure he’s okay and not scared out of his goddamn mind. but he can’t, because instead he’s staring into the face of the dead woman as she’s dragged out of the bath by the little girl, only to be found minutes later by the unfocused man as he comes in from who knows where.

the feeling of consciousness and the awareness of air in his lungs hits him almost as hard as the woman’s suicide had. the dream weaver’s eyes snap open. they’re too blurry, almost to the point of spilling over and dripping tears down his cheeks. he thinks they might be puffy, might be red-rimmed, but he says nothing, doesn’t move a muscle except to blink so he can focus, doesn’t even dare to look to his sides.

in front of him is the same woman from before, in her soaking wet clothes with her hair plastered to her scalp and neck, dripping water to his floor that leaves a ghostly puddle. she’s glaring at youngjae, hissing something in the language of the dead before turning on taehyung.

it’s with wide eyes and an urge to let his jaw fall slack that he watches youngjae at work, listens to the sharpness of his tongue and the determination in his words, spies the hands that offer several of the objects and plants laid out on plates, but the woman refuses. she hisses and curses and almost roars, face stretching to accommodate unreal expressions of anger that twist her into something no longer human, into something that portrays only what truly could have been her soul.

the air is tense and it burns jinyoung’s lungs and he worries that he can’t breathe, worries that taehyung might not be able to stay seated and still, worries that jackson will try and do something to stop the shouting and unintentionally just make everything worse— the woman in the middle of their semicircle explodes.

it’s not as cool as it sounds; it’s damn near frightful. there aren’t flames, or fire, there’s just a ghost one second, dangerously close to stepping too close to youngjae and absorbing herself into his body when she freezes, face contorting until she screams and scratches at her face in vain. because nothing happens; there aren’t any scratches left behind, she doesn’t manage to make herself bleed— jinyoung wonders if she can feel anything at all. but then it comes, she lets out the biggest wail and just combusts. air and dust and what jinyoung would like to call ectoplasm rushes past all eight witches in the living room, reaching every corner on offer.

the silence that falls afterwards is deafening.

slowly, jinyoung spies out of the corner of his eye that yugyeom has started to move. it’s shifting his weight about on his legs, but then jinyoung can see him more clearly because he’s shuffling around the bowls youngjae set out and gently places a hand on the necromancer’s forearm. there’s a sharp intake of breath and youngjae snaps rigidly to attention.

“jinyoung-hyung,” he says, and his voice isn’t the nice, soft little thing jinyoung’s used to hearing, instead it’s deep and raspy, dry and sounds like it hurts. the dream weaver gives a sharp nod when youngjae locks eyes with him. he knows from experience that there’s nothing youngjae hates more when he’s in charge of his rituals than people not listening or doing as they’re told. “I want you to get taehyung dressed, pack an overnight bag for him and yourself, and then leave your flat.”

he’d like to say that he understood what he was being told straight away and sprang into action, scooping up his foster child and getting him dressed and out the door in a matter of five minutes. but he doesn’t do any of that. instead, it takes kunpimook gently nudging him and jaebum shifting to rub taehyung’s back to make him even register that he’d been given orders.

“what?”

youngjae doesn’t repeat himself, instead turns to look at yugyeom, who’s still got a hold on his arm. “help jinyoung pack and get out. I need jackson and bambam to stay with me. you two are going to be invaluable.”

jaebum shifts to pick taehyung up bridal style, holding the five-year-old close to his chest, and under mark’s guidance moves down the hall and enters the small boy’s bedroom. the tattoo artist then grasps jinyoung’s arm and pulls the witch to his feet, snapping him out of his daze by snapping his fingers in front of his face until the two of them lock gazes.

“go and help taehyung calm down and get ready, me and yugyeom will worry about packing you an overnight bag for you, okay?” mark says, already walking jinyoung towards the hall.

yugyeom standing up in the background and moving after the two of them seems to be what snaps the dream weaver out of it. he gives a nod and turns of his own will, walking down the hall and entering his foster child’s bedroom. taehyung’s sitting on the edge of his bed, legs dangling and fists pulling his blanket tight around his small form, staring down at his lap as jaebum tries to comfort him with a soft voice and reassuring touches.

jinyoung steps forward and places a hand on jaebum’s shoulder. “can you pack a small overnight bag for him, hyung?”

the florist raises his eyes and searches jinyoung’s face for a moment. he looks close to grinding his teeth together in thought, but stops just before and gets to his feet instead, moving away from the two of them and grabbing the backpack taehyung had brought with him on his first day. jinyoung nods and sits down next to taehyung, wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders gently. immediately, the child turns and grabs a hold of his shirt, burying his face into his side. it’s only now that jinyoung realises he’s trembling.

“it’s okay, you’re alright,” he says softly, moving his other hand so he can rub the boy’s side as reassuringly as possible. “I know it’s a bit of a shock but it’s over now, okay? we don’t have to see any more.”

taehyung doesn’t give him a reaction, just stays with his face pressed against jinyoung’s side. the adult witch wonders if he should pull the other into his lap and hold him close, or if that would only exacerbate things. instead of giving in and coddling the five-year-old, he gives him a squeeze and lowers his head, “we need to get you dressed, okay? we’re going to go out and have some hot chocolate and then we’re going to have a sleepover, okay?”

the child pulls his face away slowly with a sniff after a brief moment of hesitance. he looks up at jinyoung and the man is floored by the look on the little boy’s face. he registers the nod and jumps into action as quickly as he can while still being gentle enough to keep taehyung from freaking any more out. in the end, the five of them are waving goodbye to youngjae, jackson and kunpimook in seven minutes before the door closes behind them.

“what do you think youngjae saw in your flat, hyung?” yugyeom asks, twiddling the straw to his chocolate milkshake between his fingers.

the four of them are currently sitting in a café they frequent enough that they’re on first-name basis with the staff. they’re occupying a booth, with mark and jaebum sat on one side and yugyeom taking the seat next to jinyoung when taehyung made it adamant that he isn’t going to leave his foster dad’s lap any time soon. the five-year-old himself has hot chocolate in a to-go cup with its lid in place so spilling it would be more difficult. his little hands struggle to hold the cup occasionally, either putting it down on the table until he can steady his grip or cuddling the warmth to his chest.

jinyoung has an arm wound round taehyung’s middle, and he stares at his own coffee that glares right back, half gone. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know there was a ghost in my flat to begin with.”

yugyeom gives him an exaggerated one shouldered shrug. “they do get around a lot.”

the dream weaver sighs and rests his chin briefly on the child’s head, tightening his grip. their bags are under the table, by his feet, and although taehyung is no longer trembling and walked alongside jinyoung without protest, holding onto the adult’s hand, he had yet to say a word or show any of the enthusiasm that he had had before the whole ritual ordeal.

“well,” jaebum says, and he’s sloshing his iced americano around on the table with one hand, no doubt grinding his back teeth together in thought if the twitch of his jaw is anything to go by. “it wasn’t really… usual, either. or was that just me?”

jinyoung blinks. “usual?”

“she exploded. at the end. or did you miss that?” jaebum points out, eyebrows disappearing under his fringe and making jinyoung want to quite possibly drop kick him into next week.

mark nudges his boyfriend without even looking into jinyoung’s direction, instead surveying the inside of the shop, and jinyoung both loves and hates how well the tattoo artist knows him. “don’t speak like that to jinyoungie, jaebum-ah.”

they lapse into silence after that, each of them concentrating on their own drink and thinking over the events in their own minds. because now that jinyoung doesn’t need to worry too much about taehyung, about the boy suffering from shock right after the ritual and seeing him more or less functioning, jinyoung now has the chance to reflect back on things he himself missed when he was still trying to return to himself.

mark had been deathly pale when he’d stood up and moved to help jinyoung to his feet. he was sure, now, possibly, that jaebum had felt ice-cold beneath his hand when he’d touched his shoulder back in taehyung’s room not half an hour ago. youngjae had looked exhausted, yugyeom the epitome of panic. jackson and kunpimook hadn’t registered too much in his sight, in his mind, and he can’t help but kick himself at the idea of having missed something. well, normally he wouldn’t care. when taking part in a ritual like this, it’s usual for the participants to suffer from some kind of after effects of the memories they watched. which is why jinyoung had returned to himself with his eyes burning, practically crying where he’d sat.

taehyung shifts in his lap and he lifts his head, loosening his hold just slightly. the five-year-old places his hot chocolate on the table and grabs one of the cookies they’d bought gently. he takes a small bite, the crunching loud despite the murmur that lives inside the cafe. with the cookie apparently being up to par, the child shifts until he’s sat sideways in the dream weaver’s lap, curling up against his chest as much as possible.

“do you think,” mark says, letting his gaze return to his friends once more, “do you think it’s possible that there might have been something else?”

yugyeom swallows his mouthful of milkshake. “like what? another ghost that’s tormenting the ghost that was being mean to taehyung-ah?”

at the mention of his name, the small boy flicks his eyes up to yugyeom and then to mark, locking gazes with the eldest witch. he continues to eat his cookie quietly and does nothing to the relief that washes over mark’s face. sweet treats always helped beginners in rituals come back to themselves safely if they still felt disconnected. and if not, it was still a nice bonus.

“can you rule it out?” mark says, looking content at yugyeom’s lack of an answer. he shifts about on his side of the booth and moves closer to jaebum, a little sigh leaving his lips when an arm wraps around his shoulders. “taehyung-ah, do you remember seeing any other people like that woman in jinyoungie’s flat?”

the five-year-old straightens his back and raises his head enough that he can look at mark properly when he answers. jinyoung wraps both his arms around the small body and relaxes back in his booth, suddenly feeling very tired. “there, um, there was one. he was really mean and scary. he kept shouting at me in the middle of the night and wouldn’t let me sleep, so I went to jinyoung-hyung’s room, and he let me sleep there.”

jinyoung blinks, looking down at the top of taehyung’s head. “that’s why you came into my room? I thought you had a nightmare.”

the only way he could explain the manner in which taehyung looked at him was shyly, even if there was a little bit of guilt underlining his expression. “I… I didn’t know how to explain him. he looked like a nightmare, so… so I just thought…”

“hey, hey, hey,” jinyoung says and gives the boy a gentle squeeze. he waits until he’s got taehyung looking at him again and offers a small smile. “it’s okay. it doesn’t matter why you were scared, you came to me and you felt better, yeah?”

taehyung nods slowly.

“that’s all that matters. we know what it was now, yeah?” jinyoung smiles a little wider at the second nod he gets and he relaxes once more, still keeping his arms around the five-year-old.

“yeah, taehyung-ah,” yugyeom says, ruffling the boy’s hair and smiling at him, lips parting to show teeth and bunch his cheeks up. “you don’t need to worry about being scared when jinyoung-hyung is here to take care of you!”

jaebum snorts, mark kicks him under the table, and jinyoung doesn’t try very hard not to laugh at the dirty look he sends the oldest. shaking his head, the dream weaver nicks a cookie for himself and takes a bite out of it, hiding his full mouth behind his hand when he speaks. “I don’t know where we’re going to stay tonight though. where do you think the nearest hotel is?”

he looks sharply to his left when he hears a snort and resists the urge to smack the younger witch upside the head. “what are you talking about? you’re going to stay the night at my place.”

“at your place,” jinyoung repeats.

“yeah.” yugyeom shoots taehyung a smile and nudges the five-year-old playfully with his elbow, managing to get a tentative smile that only grows when he starts tickling the child’s sighs. “you want to sleepover at mine, don’t you, taehyung-ah? it’ll be so cool!”

“yugyeom,” jinyoung starts, voice presenting a warning.

“oh, come on, hyung,” the witch whines, pouting exaggeratedly and looking like the worst lost puppy in the world. period. “hotels don’t have wiis or games for taehyung to play with. you’ll be bored with nothing to do. but if you come over to my house,” yugyeom says, now turning to speak to taehyung, poking his knee, “you can play all the games you want until bed and you’ll even make a new friend!”

taehyung eyes yugyeom owlishly, jaw slightly slack at the word friend. “new friend?”

the older witch nods. “I have a younger brother who’s about six. he loves meeting people and can always do with more friends.”

mark and jaebum’s faces register nothing more than fond amusement when jinyoung looks over at them, tracing the curve of their smiles and softness in their gazes. it’s honestly a bit of an enigma how a little boy could make the seven of them so weak and ready to fight for him after being in their lives for only just over a month. he wonders if this is what had been missing from their little group; an even littler person.

“jinyoung-hyung,” taehyung says, tapping his hand on the dream weaver’s cheek and looking up at him expectantly. “can we sleep at yugyeom-hyung’s house tonight? I… I want to make a new friend.”

and jinyoung’s weakness towards taehyung and whatever taehyung asks for when he’s like that; a small, shy five-year-old witch who hadn’t known about the possibilities of magic until now, with crumbs around his mouth and a faint hot chocolate outline around his lips, is the only reason why, half an hour later, almost forty minutes, he finds himself sitting on yugyeom’s sofa, having said goodbye to his mother, watching taehyung stare wide-eyed at seokjin’s toys that he insists on bringing into the living room to show the five-year-old and jinyoung.

he blinks and looks over at yugyeom with a blank expression, only to be met by one of the biggest grins he’s seen to date. “if the kid’s going to be in your charge for a long time, he might as well get familiar with those who are going to be family, huh?”

“ah, jinyoung-ssi?”

the dream weaver looks back to the two and spies seokjin standing a few feet away, fingers fidgeting with a stuffed mario plushy in his hands. shaking his head briefly, he smiles and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “yes, seokjin-ah?”

“um, I was wondering if it would be okay if taehyungie could come to my room? I wanna show him all the books I’ve got!”

it might be less that jinyoung is weak for kids when they’re vulnerable and more that he’s just weak for kids in general, because the smile on his face is no longer forced and instead feels like the most subconscious, natural reaction he could ever give. so he just nods.

seokjin grins wide, mouth pushing ever so slightly to the left, and his eyes sparkle as he lets go of mario with one hand, grasping taehyung’s and pulling the younger boy with him to the hall excitedly.

“seokjinnie!” yugyeom calls after them and the six-year-old stumbles to a stop, answering with a “yeah?”. “what do you say?”

“oh!” seokjin steps forward a few steps and bows. “thank you jinyoung-ssi!”

jinyoung just continues to smile when yugyeom says. “how about after you’ve shown taehyung-ah your books, you bring some colouring books down and you can show us why dogs should be allowed to be purple and the grass pink?”

“yeah!”

“okay!”

#mack writes #gotbang fic #got7 fic #bts fic #foster care au #park jinyoung #mark tuan #im jaebum #jackson wang #bambam #kunpimook bhuwakul #kim yugyeom #choi youngjae #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #cbfm #cbfm fic

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 6 years

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What's with people in Netflix original movies wearing shoes IN BED?

I'm sorry to break it to you all, but Netflix has some seriously bad manners.

It's come to light that in more than one Netflix original film, a character is seen straight up hopping on a bed without first removing their dirty shoes, which is SIMPLY UNACCEPTABLE.

WHY THE FUCK DOES EVERY FUCKING NETFLIX MOVIE HAVE THESE FUCKERS GETTING INTO THEIR BEDS WITH SHOES ON!!!! I AM DISGUSTED!!!!!! NO SHOES IN THE BED!! NO OUTSIDE CLOTHES IN THE BED!!!

— virgo virgoing virgone (@hostilequeer) September 8, 2018

SEE ALSO: 'To All The Boys I've Loved Before' inspires Twitter to share adorable love letters and it's too pure

Socks in bed? Fine. Slippers? MAYBE under rare circumstances like if it's freezing, a cozy snow day, or if you're very sick and feel as though your head might explode if you bend down to remove your slippers.

But under no circumstances should you ever let shoes — foot covers that traipse through grass, dirt, water, and all sorts of other outside world horrors — touch the clean and sacred sleeping space that is a bed. It's common sense, people Netflix!

Off the top of my head, there are two known instances I can think of in which Netflix violates this often unspoken but widely known rule. For all we know there could be more, but for now, let's revisit two cringeworthy scenes from To All The Boys I've Loved Before and Sierra Burgess Is A Loser.

Exhibit A: To All The Boys I've Loved Before

Spotted: In the film adaptation of Jenny Han's book To All The Boys I've Loved Before, the supposedly older and wiser sister, Margot, climbs into LARA JEAN'S BED (not even her own bed — the nerve) while wearing both of her shoes.

She just broke up with her boyfriend Josh, so we get that she's upset, but that's no reason to disrespect clean sheets. After coming in from a conversation with Josh OUTSIDE, she proceeds to commit the ultimate shoe/bed sin by hopping on the bed and casually pulling the damn covers over her shoes.

In the words of Peter Kavinsky's mom: "Heathen!"

Exhibit B: Sierra Burgess Is A Loser

Spotted: Post keg-stand, Sierra Burgess is also seen collapsing on her bed WITH BOTH SHOES ON. We get that she's tired, but to add insult to injury, her shoes have LACES! That can't be the least bit comfortable or enjoyable for Sierra, Netflix! Just let her take her shoes off.

As you can probably imagine, observant Netflix viewers picked up on the character's thoughtless actions and were rightfully appalled.

I need Netflix to get its shit together because two movies they have made have had women getting into bed with shoes on and that is a MONSTROSITY

— rachel leishman (@RachelLeishman) September 9, 2018

what is it with netflix movies and people getting into bed with their shoes on????

— starcrossed losers ✨ (@astercyon) September 10, 2018

@netflix why do so many of your original movies have people wearing shoes in bed?

— Zachary Simpson (@CorgLordZach) September 10, 2018

I’ve watched several different Netflix shows/movies & noticing the characters always getting into their bed with their shoes on & my poor Asian heart is cringing!! 🤢

— Jamie Pags (@jamiepags_) September 9, 2018

i’m sick of characters in netflix movies getting in bed with their shoes on

— takeshi kovacs, hbic (@bri_docx) September 8, 2018

Honestly the only flaw in To All The Boys. I’m sorry but Margot is too Type A to get into another persons bed, under the covers, with shoes on https://t.co/LeDnH0Tftg

— Channing Tweetum (@ebrownie) September 10, 2018

So I FINALLY wanted “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before” and I think the most memorable scene was when the older sister laid in the bed, with the covers over her WITH HER SHOES ON!!!! 😷

— Fish Mooney (@Sambrancz) September 7, 2018

In “to all the boys I ever loved” I almost died when she put her shoes not only on the bed but under the covers. 😭🤢🤢🤢 https://t.co/5TFspWd6y6

— Nyjia 💛 (@lilbootynya) September 10, 2018

I almost turned off to all the boys ive loved before when margot got into the bed WITH HER SHOES ON

— brooke (@cat_lover25) September 10, 2018

My mom and I watched Sierra Burgess together and when she got in bed with her shoes we both gasped. My mom said “you don’t do that right?” And I was like “there’s not enough alcohol in the world” https://t.co/KOfZAyr0aT

— Wesley Madison (@AddyMadison) September 10, 2018

#SierraBurgessIsALoser GETS IN BED WITH SHOES ON TOO. WHAT IS UP WITH THESE NETFLIX MOVIE CHARACTER SAVAGES. DID YOUR MOTHER TEACH YOU NOTHING!?

— Alex B (@PalominoPaint2) September 8, 2018

Dear @netflix pls stop with shoes on and/or in beds in your movies. I cannottt #SierraBurgess #ToAllTheBoysIveLovedBefore pic.twitter.com/QYOqwtjKWX

— Abigail Deleon (@_abbydeleon) September 8, 2018

So Netflix, where the heck are your manners? If it had been one original movie we might have let it slide. But two? Who keeps giving you the green light to keep making this absurd shoe-on-the-bed content?

Not to mention, at one point in the To All The Boys I've Loved Before book, Peter walks into Lara Jean's house, takes off his sneakers, and asks, "You guys are a no-shoes house, right?" Lara Jean replies, "yes," which means someone made the conscious decision to ignore that lovely detail of the book and instead have Margot wreak havoc on a bed.

Please, in the future, just try to have a little more respect for clean beds everywhere.

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WATCH: Netflix's 'Dear White People' is back and more relevant than ever

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caredogstips · 7 years

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The Fat JewaEUR( tm) s ‘Money Pizza Respect’ is the worst notebook IaEUR( tm) ve ever spoke

I wish I liked the Fat Jews new notebook. It would make a far more interesting bit if he surpassed our anticipations. No one I talked to expected it to be good. I gambling he didnt even write it, said one sidekick. I bet he had his interns write it.

To contextualize this for people who arent on the Internet all the time, Josh The Fat Jew Ostrovsky became the center of controversy when he was accused of stealing memes and jokes from humorists this summer. Ostrovsky had been doing this for years, and amassed millions of Instagram admirers with his admittedly good meme aggregating skills. But comedians took a stand when he signed with the flair bureau CAA in August.

Upon interpret Money Pizza Respect , there is no doubt in my knowledge that the unfortunately entitled work is written by the Fat Jew himself; I confidently assert that Money Pizza Respect is singlehandedly the most difficult journal I have ever read.

His actual sense of humorand Im talking about humor , not the memes he aggregatesis dreadfully abject. He relies on a Tucker Max-esque style of storytelling, praising cocaine and alcohol abuse and fucking his groupies, who all represent a different type of crazy daughter stereotype.

In a section ironically titled The Eleven Commandments of Not Being the Worst Person Ever, he counsels readers that if you aggressively and frequently talk about your sexuality life, people will think youre gay. When you tell me that you undertook a slam pig and stuffed her axe wind, he writes, I assume that your actual destination is having anal sexuality with soldiers. Ostrovsky shapes sure to note that the only exception to this rule is Dan Bilzerian, who has literally thrown a woman off his roof, smashing her foot, and been accused of kicking another woman in the look.

Money Pizza Respect is fastened with homophobic statements. He writes a greenback to P. Diddy: Sorry for outing you as a homosexual. Im pretty sure you are, but Im sorry. Theres too a health dosage of sexism, describing his female groupies as a bunch of fours and fives who have monstrous maid sides detest their daddies. To accomplish the trifecta, he likewise manages to be transphobic, referring to transgender maidens as trannies in a section recounting two brothers bachelor party.( When two brothers and pals found out the strippers “whos” causing them lap dances were trans, they left the club immediately .)

Before I satisfied Ostrovsky, I was confused about how he was so successful, especially after reading his book, where he brags about his selfish and generally gross behaviour at every possible instant, proudly presentations pictures of him wearing a thong made out of beef jerky, and writes situations like, Cocaine is the greatest talent the world has ever seen.

When I sat down with him at a press junket, located at an arcade in Chinatown, I immediately understood why hes garnered so much success. He is unfortunately alluring and is actually a naturally funny person. Hes like the refrigerate, mean son in 8th point, the different types who inserted cup to all your best friend and attained merriment of girls for being ugly or not having boobs hitherto. The form who definitely bullied me, and hitherto I tirelessly tried to gain his affection.

During our interview, Ostrovsky remained on the defensive, masterful at answering my doubts with non-answers. He is somebody who has never taken life seriously, which is perhaps not too difficult for a straight, white, affluent male. He is basically interested in his conception of fun, and hopes youll connect him for the travel. If not, fuck off.

Its not that I began to like Ostrovsky or his book any more after converging him, but I extended from disliking him to appearing an iota of sorrow for him. His ostentatiou and unapologetic immaturity, his bratty affect: This is what has brought him success, and what I imagine will be his inevitable downfall.

So my approaching for this interview, because I know a lot of beings have been shitting on you, is to not shit on you .

No ones been shitting on me.

I was curious about how that affected you emotionally, and how you appeared about getting blasted by the media .

It was certainly a shitty situation. Im of the Internet, so its like a lot of beings screaming about thoughts. I respect trolling. I respect beings hollering at one another, which is why the Internet is so fucking great. I definitely didnt take it personally. It was also something that it was necessary to get talked about. Parties were not on the same sheet. Like a 38 -year-old comedy writer and a 16 -year-old Filipino millennial were not considering the questions the same way.

I try to look at it like I was the look of the whole stuff. I intend the Internet is a giant, lawless fuckin thing. Sometimes the work requires some rules But not too many. Because this is gonna be odd. No parents. But you know, sometimes beings get pissed. I undoubtedly see it from the 16 -year-old Filipino millennial back. I dont look for recognition on my nonsense and I dont ever watermark or anything like that, but I likewise get the other side extremely. Im old enough to understand both sides. I exactly miss everyone to be happy so were fuckin partying.

Instagram for fucking photos of puppies playing volleyball in sunglasses and iguanas surfing. I precisely want to have everyone get listen, set the problem, and then get back to surfing iguanas. It didnt rock me emotionally because I merely understood it as something that needed to be discussed. It definitely went hazardous and exciting at some points. Beings just get fucking crazy, theres a portion of those individuals who dont even know what theyre calling about. I get chased by TMZ. Some person followed me around a Duane Reade preserving my phone call. That was tight.

You liked that ?

I kinda felt like Leo, for like two seconds. It was also scary. No one wants that life. I was trying to look at it like this is a conversation that needed to be had. I didnt look at it as being shit on. The Internet is more important to me than their own families or anything. I would love to be with the Internet, have sex with the Internet, I affection the Internet. Now its a better place.

Why was it important for you to celebrate medicines, specifically cocaine, in your volume ?

Its a mixed bag. I refer to it as the best and worst event ever. Persona of the ethos of this notebook is that its a how-to guide in that its like I dont know what you should be doing but I know what you shouldnt be doing. Ive determined every horrible act. I basically think you read this book and you dont do coke. Because youre like, its gonna establish me unbearable. Like my breath is gonna smell like a napkin and get into a super intense exchange about trash I dont even care about.

I think it depends on how old-time the reader is. For me, Ive done coke so I understood more where you were coming from in that it can be great and appalling at the same age. From a girls position, it might just appear very cool .

It depends. Im pretty explicit that its been responsible for the greatest happenings that ever happened, but likewise some of the most terrifying happenings, very. I think its more self-reflective than it is encouraging.

Your notebook is provocative is many channels. Parties are going to interpret some of the content as transphobic and homophobic. I was thinking of the assembly whatever it is you refer to trans women as trannies .

I dont know what youre specific referring to.

You wrote about tranny strippers. Thats a contentious statement. Numerous trans parties have spoken out about how injurious they find that term to be. I was curious about how you would respond to those reviewers .

is a factual account of what happened. Youre talking about an actual pejorative statement?

Yeah. Its a insult. There were a bunch of moments in the book where I speak something and immediately thought about how angry it would realize social right activists on the Internet.

Social justice parties are angry at everything.

I was wondering if you included some things specific to be provocative .

No, obviously not. First of all, any social justice being can come at me at any time. I literally have more transgender pals who will vouch for me than anyone else. They self-identify as trannies. Request a transgender who is not a geek from the Internet how they identify, and I bet you will find hundreds who mark as trannies.

I know transgender tribes who determine that lane. Its like the N-word. If they call themselves that, its OK. But having a cis person is a different story .

Any person who would find offense in that kind of minutia is not someone who should be reading this book.

Its not your audience, thats possibly true-life.

That shouldnt be anyones gathering, as far Im concerned.

As I was speaking your volume, I was thinking about your crazy narcotic and sexuality storeys as they are linked to Tucker Max s legends from I Hope They Suffice Beer in Hell . Was he somebody who affected you ?

No, thats like bro culture stuff. This is completely different.

Tonally, there were similarities .

Ive never read it, but I also think that in terms of this notebook, like Ive been living concert prowes long enough to write a book full of debaucherous narrations, but I wanted to go with more pathos, true. From what I understand from Tucker Maxs stuff, he doesnt actually move into too much trash like that. Not all the fibs here are particularly turnt up, as far as Im concerned. There are some that are honest lineage floors , not every narration is about partying.

But a lot of them are .

We can go through it When I was writing it, putting in some ardour and truth, and some real appear on it, like speak about my mummy having sex with Shel Silverstein and being a 9-year-old offspring performer diva. Shit like that, to me, that is not the same as walking around a bar with a breathalyzer. I dont not relate to it, but Ive never read any of his stuff.

Ostrovsky as small children actor Josh Ostrovsky

Do you differentiate between the Fat Jew as your performative character and yourself as Josh ?

No. I dont going to go at night and unscrew the hairection, sit down, and listen to This American Life and be like, Oh, what a hard daylight at work! Being the Fat Jew! No, its all one in the same. To me, this is gonna be disingenuous. I was doing this stuff long before there was anywhere to share it, long before anyone knew about it. Ten years ago, people in New York would be like, Oh thats the Fat Jew, the guy who does crazy stuff. It wasnt something I created and raised in order to share on social media for the masses.

But this is your career, this is your joy, but a lot of artists and performers differentiate between their performative ego, which is still their ego, and who they are when theyre not playing .

Im not an master or relevant actors. Im neither.

How do you link ?

Im the only one whos really just going for it. Im genuinely forming it up as I go along. I could start a ros companionship and that could become a real thing. Im about to do the worlds firstly EDM cologne.

What is that gonna aroma like ?

I dont know. Thats a good inquiry. Like I dont even just knowing that that entails but Im gonna do it. Its 2015. Anything is possible. The world-wide is so ridiculous at this extent. I might open a yoga ashram in Toronto. Who knows? Im one of the only people who doesnt consider anything on or off limits. I dont think that it can be defined. We have this human need to compartmentalize, to be like, What are you? But I dont know.

I guess its my job to mention, as a novelist trying to make sense of what you do.

I dont think theres anything to make sense of. I dont know. What do you think I do?

I think youre a content developer and musician .

Thats vague. But yeah. Im not not. But thats what Im enunciating. I like to keep parties approximating, obstruct people off kilter. If people suppose Im a comedian, I will move in a totally different direction and start seeing cologne. I wanna build people move, What the fuck? Maintaining parties guessing, remaining genuine gossip running about me, whether its, I dont want to say the word negative, but whatever its gonna be, thats what I am. A communication starter? I dont know.

Tastemaker ?

Conversation piece? Idiot? All of the above?

Whats your goal with your work? Why do you do what you do? Aside given the fact that you exactly want to do it .

The end goal with the book is that I remember I can get some turnt-up 18 -year-old to read. Thats the challenge, like, can you get fuckin some kids to read and think its genuinely fuckin cold? Is that doable? Ill literally do it just for that.

Were doing speaking raves to promote the book. IRL is what the programs called. Its just like gigantic DJs and works. Like, can you stimulate them read? I think its doable. I dont thoughts writing knows how to do it. I dont think mothers know how to do it.

So you want to realize say chill ?

Kind of. What if Im somehow the person to do it?

What are your favorite journals ?

I ardour Shel Silverstein, and not only because my mom fucked him. Mostly, Im the type to read 100 listicles. Like, what kind of bagel is Rihanna? You know what I entail? One-hundred times Rihanna ate fruit. Im not speaking enough books.

No ones reading enough journals .

Maybe now? That would fucking funny. To get a fucking 17 -year-old whos over it to sit down and read an entire journal? I symbolize I put in some trash to break up the chapters, like you can color in a picture of Tyrese. I symbolize, I dont want you to have to read too much.

Illustration by Max Fleishman

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