sprinting not long running

drunk bitty is a runner
  • ok hear me out
  • we all know that ONE person
  • the one who, the minute they’re inebriated, just fucking Takes Off
  • (i….i have been that person…….on many occasions…..)
  • i’ve also CHASED that person on many occasions. because, as a good friend, you never actually want your runner to make it very far in their condition. 
  • sober bitty is friendly, chatty, pretty mature
  • drunk bitty is a Fiend and a speed demon
  • literally every resident of the haus has had to sprint after bitty across campus at some point
  • unFORTUNATELY BITTY IS THE FASTEST MEMBER OF THE SMH TEAM, ON AND OFF THE ICE
  • ransom twisted his ankle once, chasing bits. holster straight up ate it on the sidewalk outside of the delta gamma house
  • (it was during Rush and all the pledges were watching and he’s still bitter about it)
  • shitty bought heelies JUST for the purpose of Bitty Chasing, but they actually slowed him down, as he is not ten years old and the samwell sidewalks are cracked and icy
  • chowder’s actually pretty good at Bitty Wrangling, so he’s often exempt from Nursey Patrol because they need him On-Call to stop bitty from running a) to stop n shop b) to the woods on the edge of campus or c) to the nearest Rager he can hear down the street because in all likelihood it’s a lax party and ffffffffuck the lax bros, man
  • eventually, though, lardo points out, very casually, that bitty never seems to run when jack’s around
  • so jack suddenly finds himself heckled into attending far more parties and he’s not really sure why. but bittle’s always there, and always smiling at him and laughing at his jokes, so he’s not too upset about it. 
  • and lardo’s plan works – bitty stops taking off the second no one’s looking.
  • mostly because jack is ALWAYS LOOKING
  • but also because jack gives him every reason to stay. 
  • (the first party of bitty’s junior year – kid runs all the way to an off-campus party and dex and nursey go on an epic adventure to find him. but that’s a different story.)
2

My last day was, like, staring out at the Adriatic Sea with Lena Headey. It was a bit righteous and selfish of me, but I got out of costume and I jumped into the water, and everybody was like, “Fuck you, dude.” They had to keep working and it was really warm. And the water was just begging to be jumped into. It was crystal blue and perfect day. And we were on this, kind of like, pier. So I had this, like, really really long running start where I just got to sprint towards the water and then just like, dive in. And I’m like you know, like a fish. Whee! Whee! And they were all like, “You fucking asshole.” Pedro Pascal.

6

I didnt like how this one looked so I buffed out the kinks and well

Shadow

Summary: Jessica is relieved that you and Sam got back safe, and the brothers’ reunion with their father doesn’t go as you expected
Words: 4.5k 
Dean x Reader, Sam x Jess 
Warnings: episode-related injury

A/N: this is part of my ‘Jess never died’ rewrite, find the masterpost here
Beta: @blacksiren

Your name: submit What is this?

Jess was so relieved to see you when you eventually got back to the motel that she started to cry the second you opened the door.

She rushed over to you, pulling you into a rough hug and burying her face in your neck. You were certain you smelled terrible after your time trapped in a cage, but she didn’t mention it or seem to care when her tears were falling onto your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you soothed, hugging her back and stepping the two of you to the side to let the brothers into the room. “Jessy, I’m here, we’re here, we’re okay.”

Keep reading

Humans Are Weird

So it’s so long…got kinda ramble-y and off point but I think I got my thought in there.

I’ve been thinking about these a lot again and I’ve seen a few saying that Aliens would have to be really tough to make it into space and survive. But I don’t think that’s necessarily true. What if the first Alien species that makes it out of their planets atmosphere or even lack there of, is a fragile, fast learning hive mind? Sure the first few attempts go array, ships explode, crumple in on themselves leaving the atmosphere and it’d be terrifying but they are able to build better, stronger ships, figure out how to grow vegetables or their closest thing to vegetables on board after they lost a crew to starvation because they have an idea of what went wrong and can work on fixing it because they are constantly connected to each other, no radio silence. Soon enough their whole planet is able to travel the stars, every sentient species, because “We all share the same planet why would we not help each other?” and that spreads to every inhabited planet anyone lands on.
Then along come the humans, bumbling, tiny, innocent enough seeming humans. Shooting themselves out of their atmosphere essentially with explosives, trails of fire following them. It barbaric, something that failed to work for the Aliens, simply blowing their ships apart, yet somehow these predatory species that survived, conquered and thrived on a Death World were able to even bend explosive power to their will. They aren’t extremely strong looking, though that can be deceiving, they bare their teeth in greeting, act aggressively towards one another ‘playfully’, they’re unnerving. They didn’t help each other, instead turned it into a race, even to their own moon. So many died trying to figure out how to shoot themselves through their atmosphere and yet…here they are, traveling the stars with childlike wonder, always wanting to explore the unknown.
They aren’t exceptionally strong, big or intelligent but they’re durable. Broken bone? Realign it, brace it and it heals back stronger. Stabbed? Sew that shit up and it heals. Blow to the head? Typically out of commission for a few days but heals up and back to whatever they where doing. Loss of limb, mental illness, weak heart…they push on, living, striving, making fake limbs to replace the lost one(s), takes medication, goes to therapy or even white knuckle grin and bear it to get through day to day, a tiny machine placed in the chest to help keep the heat beating. What they may lack in size they make up for in speed, they’re quick, most are fast working able to almost double the productivity of the larger Aliens, they sprint, they’re built for short distance sprinting some are amazing at running long distance which is terrifying knowing you wouldn’t be able to out run one for long, not to mention their pursuit hunting, they can follow you for days until you die of exhaustion. What they lack in intelligence they make up for in ingenuity. Part of the engine brakes and you don’t have a spare part? More than likely a human can jurry-rig something that’ll let you get to where you need to go to get the part even if they don’t know how the engine works, a general description of what the part does can make it possible for a human to throw something together. Suppiles running low on an expedition? Once more their pursuit hunting comes in handy, figuring out which plants are edible.

It’s easy to forget what they’re capable of, where they came from and the flames that followed them into space when they look so squishy, startle easily, mimic your movements, some even learning your languages, but there’s almost always moments that remind you that you’re sharing space and food with a sentient predator species. Maybe raiders attack, the human()s stone faced, starring them down waiting for a moment to strike, not even having to say a word before launching forward to protect their crew, their friends. Expedition gone wrong, animal attack possibly, you’re human(s) will most likely scare it off or fight it, tend to the wounded and search out help even if they are wounded. You don’t have to be tough to make it into space and survive, you just have to learn and build off the failures. Even the weakest of species could make it to the stars.

Track AU (Positions and Why)

America: A sprinter. No question. Have you ever seen a sprinter? Hard work, all muscle, bursts of effort, but still kinda lazy He probably does the 200 as his main event. And he would love relays.

Russia: A thrower. I highly doubt Russia would ever run. And he’s huge. Probably the best at the hammer throw. And jav.

France: A high jumper. Yes. I am a high jumper. I can tell you, high jumpers are vain and lazy and showboats. We found a specialty and we think we’re better than everyone else and we love to be watched. 

Prussia: A pole vaulter. The more intense version of a high jumper. They never seem to be doing anything else and they are just “too cool.” Pole vaulters somehow stand apart and impress everyone even while being dorks. He could also do hurdles, but only the 100.

Germany: A thrower and sprinter. I don’t know why but I feel like the only thing that Germany would run is the 400. And only the 400. I think his main event would be the discus. 

Canada: Distance. He’s tall and lanky and is probably all zen about it. He probably does the steeple chase. To throw in some excitement. And he’s like, looong distance, like 3k and above.  

Italy: A jumper. He isn’t going to sprint or run. No way. He’s willing to triple jump and long, even try high jump, but he’s not cut out for running.

The Baltics: They’re all distance. They’re that one knot of distance runners that every team has that always does everything together and is always giggling?

England: Mid-distance. Runs the 800 mainly. Volunteered for the steeple chase once. Isn’t that good at harder events but keeps volunteering to do really hard things. 

China: Hurdler. Especially the 400 hurdles. I can imagine him putting that hair up in a bun and having it falling out each race.

Hungary: Sprinter. Yes. Short sprints. 100, 200. 

Denmark: Sprinter. Same reasons as America. They’re always on relays together.  

BTS Reaction to Watching Their Girlfriend Workout

Jin - I can see Jin to be your cheerleader. He would always make sure that you would stay hydrated and eat right. Always making sure to pack extra water bottles and nutrition bars. 

Originally posted by bwiseoks

Yoongi - Since he is a runner, he would want to run with you. Whether if you were sprinting or walking, long distance or short distance, he would workout with you. Running is what makes a guy like him feel free. He wouldn’t watch you workout. 

Originally posted by seokjins-wings

Hoseok - another one to be a cheerleader. He would be more vocal about it, way more vocal. Save yourself. He would be the best and worst cheerleader. He would forget extra water bottles and nutrition bars.  

Originally posted by jjeonguk

*his reaction when you run away from his cheerleading*

Namjoon - I have a vivid picture in my head of Namjoon spitting random facts out to you about working out. “Yah, you know every time you bash your head against a wall, you burn 150 calories?” 

Originally posted by yoonseok

Jimin - he wouldn’t be a cheerleader. He’d be there for moral support, making sure you stretch properly and such. Sometimes, he’d join in on the workout with you. 

Originally posted by happybirthdayjjk

Taehyung - being apart of the beagle line with Hoseok, he’d be a very loud cheerleader. Instead of packing nutrition bars and such, he’d take you to a place like Brooklyn The Burger Joint (very good place in seoul, highly recommend) 

Originally posted by jimiyoong

Jungguk - He’s always trying to push you harder to do your best, so he’d turn every little thing you’re doing, into a contest. He would sometimes cheat so you’d work harder, he goes by the motto of ‘if you’re not cheating, you’re not trying.’

Originally posted by happybirthdayjjk

5

Why Tyrannosaurus was a slow runner

…and why the largest are not always the fastest

No other animal on land is larger than an elephant - but the fastest runner is the medium-sized cheetah.

A research team under the direction of the German Centre for Integrative Biodiversity Research (iDiv) and the Friedrich Schiller University Jena have now described why the largest animals are not the fastest.

They have managed to so thanks to an amazingly simple mathematical model. The only information that the model must ‘be fed’ with is the weight of a particular animal as well as the medium it moves in, so either land, air or water. On this basis alone, it calculates the maximum speed that an animal can reach with almost 90% accuracy.

“The best feature of our model is that it is universally applicable,” says the lead author of the study, Myriam Hirt of the iDiv research centre and the University of Jena. “It can be performed for all body sizes of animals, from mites to blue whales, with all means of locomotion, from running and swimming to flying, and can be applied in all habitats.” Moreover, the model is by no means limited to animal species that currently exist, but can be applied equally well to extinct species.

“To test whether we can use our model to calculate the maximum speed of animals that are already extinct, we have applied it to dinosaur species, whose speed has up to now been simulated using highly complex biomechanical processes,” explains Hirt.

The result is that the simple model delivered results for Triceratops, Tyrannosaurus, Brachiosaurus and others that matched those from complex simulations - and were not exactly record-breaking for Tyrannosaurus, who reached a speed of only 27 km/h (17 mi/h).

“This means that in future, our model will enable us to estimate, in a very simple way, how fast other extinct animals were able to run,” says the scientist.

Two assumptions are the basis of the model. The first assumption is related on the fact that animals reach their maximum speeds during comparatively short sprints, and not while running over long distances. Unlike running over longer distances, where the body constantly resupplies the muscles with energy (aerobic metabolism), sprinting uses energy that is stored in the muscles themselves but which is exhausted relatively quickly (anaerobic metabolism).

It seems logical enough: the larger the animal, the more muscle it has - and thus the faster it can sprint. However, Newton’s laws of motion also apply in the animal kingdom, we know mass has to overcome inertia, and so a five-tonne African elephant simply cannot start moving as quickly as a 2.5-gramme Etruscan shrew.

By the time large animals such as the elephant get up to full speed while sprinting, their rapidly available energy reserves also soon run out. Taken together, these two assumptions result in the previously mentioned curve: A beetle is slower than a mouse, which is slower than a rabbit, which is slower than a cheetah - which is faster than an elephant.

TOP IMAGE….Tyrannosaurus Rex meaning “tyrant lizard king”, is a genus of coelurosaurian theropod dinosaur.

UPPER IMAGE….The African elephant is the largest animal on land, but not the fastest. Credit Bernd Adam

CENTRE IMAGE….There is a parabola-like relationship between the body mass of animals and the maximum speed they are able to reach. For the first time, researchers are able to describe how this comes about, thanks to a simple mathematical model. Credit Myriam Hirt

LOWER IMAGE….The new model also provides results for extinct species which agree with the results produced by highly complex biomechanical simulations. Credit Myriam Hirt

BOTTOM IMAGE….Like other tyrannosaurids, Tyrannosaurus was a bipedal carnivore with a massive skull balanced by a long, heavy tail. Relative to its large and powerful hind limbs, Tyrannosaurus fore limbs were short but unusually powerful for their size and had two clawed digits. The most complete specimen measures up to 12.3 m (40 ft) in length, up to 3.66 meters (12 ft) tall at the hips, and according to most modern estimates 8.4 metric tons (9.3 short tons) to 14 metric tons (15.4 short tons) in weight.

anonymous asked:

omgomg for the one thing 6,15 or 30 for Saeran?? I can't decide 🤔 btw I love your writing so much it's 100/10 👌👌

6: a kiss of relief

A/N: Aww, thank you anon! :) Hope you like this one!

I’ll be doing 15 next because another anon requested it too. :D (15: a hope-we-don’t-get caught kiss)




“Out of the way! Move!”

Crowds of people standing about in the hallway were shoved roughly aside by a man who was currently barreling through them, his face looking like hell. His angry red hair was a big mess, the tips dripping with perspiration. His tank top was drenched in his sweat, droplets of it sliding down the sides of his face and the back of his neck.

There were comments of protest and disgust coming from the people he pushed past, but he could barely hear them over the sound of his throbbing heart hammering painfully against his tight, constricted ribcage. He was panting, gasping for air because he had just sprinted the whole way here. He hadn’t run like that in a long time. Nor had he been so frightened or frantic since back then, when he thought Saeyoung wouldn’t come back for him.

He had gotten the news just a couple minutes ago, over the phone. Because he was your emergency contact and he had been the first person they called.

All that had managed to sink into his head was “car accident” and “hospital” before he felt all the blood drain from his face. Something in him snapped, the worst immediately springing to mind. Thoughts of you lying motionless on the road, a pool of blood underneath your lifeless body. Thoughts of you with blood trailing down the side of your mouth, your limbs twisted in odd, unnatural angles.

Thoughts of you not breathing, covered in a white sheet.

And… thoughts of you leaving him for good. Without even a goodbye.

He had nearly thrown up, his knees giving way as he collapsed to the floor when the world around him darkened for a moment. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening, not when he had just found you, not when he had so many more things he wanted to do with you. He had even made a list of it in his head, and he wasn’t even halfway done. You couldn’t leave him like this.

Crippling fear then turned into desperation, and with a strangled cry in the back of his throat, tears starting to spill over his cheeks, he had sprinted out the door.

He had to get to you.

And now, here he was, finally at the ward where you reportedly were. His hand was on the cool metal handle, but he hesitated just for a second, afraid that he wouldn’t like what he would see. Afraid that once he walked past this door, he would have to face the reality that he was alone again, that you too, had abandoned him for good, and that he would have to live the rest of his miserable life without you in it.

Shaking those thoughts aside, he burst through the door, his noisy entrance startling some of the other patients in the ward, as well as their visitors. He scanned the ward frantically, checking to see where you were.

It was the patient at the end of the room that caught his eye.

His eyes found familiar ones. Wide, blinking, moving.

Alive.

And without another moment to lose, he was striding over to your bed, not even giving you time to say his name before he wrapped his arms around you in a hug, one that stole your breath away, quite literally.

You were about to protest because the numerous scratches along your arms and face hurt with the amount of pressure he was applying with his tight embrace, but then his shoulders began to shake. For a moment you were confused, until you registered the moisture that was building on your sleeve, and heard the sounds of his muffled sobbing.

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. All you could do was hug him back, squeeze him with all your might, assure him that you were alive, that you were safe, and that you were still here, with him. Tears pricked your eyes, the ordeal you had been through earlier, the fear that you would never wake up again when you lost consciousness, and the guilt for giving Saeran such a huge scare hitting you all at once.

You tried to hold them in, only allowing two or three to slide down your cheek as you buried your face in his clothes, fisting your fingers in his hair. His skin was sticky and he smelled of perspiration, but you didn’t care.

Both of you were together now, and that was all that mattered.

And then Saeran pulled away, allowing you full view of his tear-streaked face. You wiped them away with your thumbs, while he cupped your face in his cold hands, his fingers ghosting over the little cuts on your cheek and chin. His gaze came to rest on the bandages that had been wrapped around your head, covering your temples and forehead. You saw fear in his eyes, mind-numbing fear, but slowly something else mixed in with it, replacing it little by little.

Relief.

There wasn’t a need for words. Not now.

With his hand at the nape of your neck, he yanked you forward, crashing your lips roughly against his. It wasn’t the gentle, tender Saeran you normally knew. This was the Saeran you knew when he woke up shaking from a nightmare he had, the Saeran who would punch the wall with his bare fists, crying when he was having another bout of torture by memories of his dark past.

This was the Saeran who was deathly frightened of ever losing you, of ever letting you slip past the crevices of his fingers.

He had lost enough in his lifetime, after all. You knew he couldn’t bear losing you either, in the same way you would never be able to bear losing him.

He was cradling you in his arms now, tears sliding in between your cheeks as he cried, kissing you over and over, fiercely, roughly. You could taste the the salty tang of his tears on his lips. Teeth nipped at your lips, biting, pulling. His tongue slid in between your parted lips, moving against yours sensually, dominating you completely. You tried to pull away, suddenly realising that you needed air, but he didn’t let go. Caging you with his strong arms, he prevented you from moving away and began sucking on your tongue harshly, making you moan into his mouth. Your mind went blank then, allowing him to do as he wished with you, because you knew he needed to be sure of you, to really know that you were real, here, and that this was not a dream.

It was only when the both of you were truly in desperate need for air that you broke apart with a gasp, both panting heavily, but still holding each other in a tight embrace. There were other people in the ward, and you could feel stares on the both of you, likely stares of disgust and disbelief for doing something as brazen as this in a hospital of all places, but you could care less about that.

“You okay?” you asked hoarsely, running your fingers through his hair. You knew he liked it when you did it. It was calming, soothing for him.

“I will be,” he admitted, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “I’m just… When I got the call, I thought that maybe you had– I thought I’d lost you, and I…”

“Shh,” you shushed him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m here,” you murmured in his ear, making sure he could hear you crystal clear. “I’m safe. And we’re together now. Sorry for scaring you like that.”

“What happened?”

“I got knocked down by a car. Drunk driver. But, thankfully someone close to me managed to push me away in time so I avoided the worst of the impact. Could have died– I mean, I’m fine. Got away with just a few scratches,” you rambled on, regretting the use of that word, with Saeran being so sensitive right now.

“That motherfuc–”

“It’s okay, Saeran.”

“How can it be okay? That person nearly killed you! Or could have someone else! I’ll kill that fucker if it’s the last thing I do–”

“Saeran, look at me,” you cut in, pressing your hands on either sides of his face and forcing him to face you. “He’s with the police now. Let them handle it.”

“The police,” he repeated with an eyeroll. “Of course. Count on them to do everything right, like let criminals get off scot-free.” He was speaking from past experience, back when he was a hacker at Mint Eye.

“Saeran, please. I’m right here. Isn’t that what matters? That we’re together? Safe?”

His eyes softened then, and he averted your eyes, hanging his head in shame. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I got carried away.”

“It’s okay. You’re just upset right now.”

He made a dismissive grunt at that, emitting a long sigh. Then he asked the inevitable. “Are you hurting anywhere? In any pain at all?”

“Saeran, I’m really fine,” you insisted with a chuckle. You had been waiting for him to ask this, because obviously he would shoot you a bunch of questions about whether you were feeling alright and doubt your positive answers too. Your lighthearted reply only made him frown, so you added in the most convincing voice you could muster, “The doctor said I can go home after a quick check-up. Just needed to check for a concussion, since I did pass out earlier.”

He still looked unconvinced, and in response you cheekily poked at the creases on his forehead. “You should really stop worrying. I’m fine. I promise.”

“I know. I just can’t help it,” he muttered, balling his hands into fists. You noticed the slight tremor going down his arm, and you placed a hand over his fist, raising it to your lips to plant a kiss on his knuckles.

“It’s okay, Saeran. Everything will be fine. I’ll go home with you once the doctor gives the green light. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah, it does,” he nodded, his shoulders finally sagging, relieved from all the tension from earlier. “I’ll need to do a thorough check up for you when we get home though,” he added under his breath, shooting you a flat glare. He was probably kind of peeved because of the huge scare he had gotten, even if it wasn’t your fault.

Well… you weren’t about to complain though. “Be sure to make it a thorough one,” you said with a smirk, prompting his lips to curl up into one as well, while his pupils dilated ever so slightly.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he promised, and you felt a delightful shiver go down your spine at the look in his eyes.

Oh, what you would give to get home right this instant.

Feeling Unwell

So this is a somewhat follow-up to Semi-conscious Sonder where Yuuri comes down with a cold. (Can also be read as a stand-alone.) Takes place in St. Petersburg post-canon.


~2000 words

Keep reading

taeil - spontaneous combustion

i do not want to have you
to fill the empty parts of me
i want to be full on my own

i want to be so complete
i could light a whole city 
and then
i want to have you
cause the two of
us combined
could set it
on fire

- rupi kaur

The Duality of Man - rupi kaur collab with @haechan-haedamn

masterlist of TDoM

angst - slight mentions of blood, alcohol

Hands clench. Nails bite into sweaty palms. Crescents of blood emerge, only to go by unnoticed. 

(For now.)

Feet ache. Soles are raw. How long have you been running, sprinting through alleyways towards both salvation and damnation? There’s a clock tick-tocking in your ears, the sound tinged with red. It’s been there ever since you found him with her.

It is, actually, probably more of a bomb.

An arm shoots out in front of you out of nowhere and you stumble, not quite able to catch yourself. Luckily, the arm steadies you. 

Tick-tock.

“Looking for me?” A low, teasing voice joins the arm. Seconds later, shadows abandoned, so does a face.

The devil has never looked so handsome before. 

Tick-tock.

“Fuck you.” Is your automated response. Controlled voice. Robotic, monotonous.

Practiced.

(Through tears and gasping sobs, clutching at the cracked porcelain sink, staring at the cracked reflection, realizing the cracked person.)

For a moment he looks confused and you, for a split second, wonder if you’re wrong. His dark eyes are endearing albeit hurt and you feel electricity course through your body. It’s different from the first time you met him, though. 

That electricity powered homes. This one powers nuclear reactors. 

“Cheater.” Sharp, to the point. “Asshole. Dickwad. Complete and utter piece of shit.”

Tick-tock.

Then his face changes, features rearranging. Malice is obvious, so obvious in his sneer. Disgust is in there somewhere too, you can feel it. In a tick you’re up against the grimy wall, his arms caging you in. The air around you is stale. 

“You deserved it, you little-” The taunt doesn’t reach its climax as he’s pulled from you abruptly. You watch him get flung against the dented trash bin leaning against the other wall of the alleyway. You’re awestruck for just a moment. A flash of time, gone as quick as it came. 

Blink, blink. 

You push yourself off of the wall. There are five little marks in each of your palms. They sting. How long have they been there? He’s groaning. The other, and already decidedly much better, he, is looking at you expectantly. 

Tick-tock. 

You won’t call him your savior - given another second you could have fended for yourself just fine. Ungrateful isn’t in your vocabulary, though, and you keep yourself from taking your anger out at him rather than the man it’s meant for. 

“(Y/N).”

“I’m Taeil.”

“Thanks, Taeil.”

“No problem.”

“I suggest you leave, though. For whatever you were planning on doing before you helped me. I don’t need witnesses.” 

He nods, steals one more repulsed glance at your ex. Sticks his hands in his pockets. Does he have crescent scars on his palms too? You wonder why you wonder. Taeil walks away, not bothering to glance back. 

It’s good that he doesn’t. Cheater goes home with blood in his mouth and  his own tear tracks staining his neck.

“Crazy bitch.” He mutters, not bothering to acknowledge that you hadn’t laid a finger on him until he had slapped you the second Taeil disappeared around a corner.

“Come again?”

He starts running at your voice. Ha. You ignore the salt pricking your eyes as best you can, hellbent on glorifying your bruised knuckles instead. 

Not a neuron strays to the stranger who helped you, star passing by at the right moment.

Tick-tock. 


Five nights later, you find him again. Not on purpose - after all, you don’t even remember his name. Taeyong? Taehyung?

He’s on the rooftop of your building, cigarette between two paint stained fingers. The smoke curls up into the night sky. For a fleeting second you find the gray more beautiful than the stars in the sky. 

Shake your head. Maybe the thoughts will fall out. 

He doesn’t look at you more than once. You don’t even know his name. He sees that in your eyes. 

“Taeil. Moon Taeil. (Y/N)?”

“Yeah.”

Tick-tock. 

Taeil never takes a drag of his cigarette. Lets it burn out. Smears the ashes onto the concrete rooftop with the rubber sole of his old sneakers. It’s poetry in motion. 

Neither of you speak. What’s there to talk about? Too many people let their words flow without saying anything worthwhile. You hate that. What you don’t hate is silence - rather, you’re sure that it’s your first love, sometimes. Taeil is happy to supply it. Eventually you stand up, stretch your arms.  

“It’s late, Moon Taeil.”

“Good night, (Y/N).”

Tick-tock.


Two nights later. 

“Hey.”

“Your fingers are blue.”

“It’s paint.”

“Oh. Alright. Your cigarette is burning out.”

“I know. It’s almost done.” 

“Okay.”

Tick-tock.


Next night.

“Why do you always let them burn?”

“Otherwise my dad will smoke them. Feels like a waste to just throw them away. Also, I like crushing them.”

“Ah… the great Taeil does have the ability to say more than two words.”

“As if you’re much of a conversationalist.”

“…Fair.”

Tick-tock.


“Don’t you have school, Taeil? University?”

“No. Dropped out. I paint and sell my work for a living. Maybe someday I’ll make it big.”

“You should show me someday.”

“I will.”

Tick-tock.


“I don’t know how you look like in the sun.”

“I think we’re both people of the night, anyways.”

“You’re absolutely right, (Y/N). It’d be nice, though, to meet outside of here.”

“Yeah, it would. Someday, we should.”

Tick-tock.


“Did he ever leave you alone?”

“Who?”

“Cheater.”

Your chest contracts. Heart aches for just a second. Breath pauses.

“Oh, him. Haven’t heard from him since. Out of sight, out of mind.” 

“Glad to hear it. Can’t really see you two together.”

“We were, though. Anyways, it isn’t like you really know me, Moon Taeil.”

“Should I?”

“That’s up to you.”

Tick-tock. 

“Well, then.”

A beat passes. Your eyes trace his jawline, not out of boredom. You’re not sure what it’s out of. He continues, looking out across the next rooftop over, squinting out at the stars.

“Let’s play question and answer.”

Tick-tock.

“Someday. It’s late, after all.”

The cigarette falls from his hand. He crushes it beneath his foot. 

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Tick-tock.


Weeks pass, nights spent on the roof become more and more constant. Twenty questions forgotten. Your ritual goes on of the two of you sitting in near complete silence, only talking when you felt there’s a need to. The only change is how close you sit by him, now. The quiet is never uncomfortable; in fact, it’s quite the opposite - Taeil, at this point, is the only person on the planet you’re truly free around. 

It comes as a surprise that, when you come back from weekly grocery shopping, arms laden with bags and panting from climbing up seven flights of stairs - you wish you could afford a complex with an elevator - there’s a sticky note on your door. 

bring booze tonight. also remember q&a

Short and sweet and to the point. You haven’t known him long - it’s been maybe two and a half months - but it’s the most Taeil note you’ve ever seen. You wonder why he wants alcohol, tonight of all nights. 

You wonder why you wonder. 

(Feels like deja vu.)

Tick-tock.


You’re buzzed. Only slightly. You make sure to stay away from the edge of the rooftop, though. If you fall, there’s no saving you, nothing underneath to land on. 

Taeil might not catch you in time. 

There’s a flower drawing on the floor by your right foot. Has it always been there? It’s chalk, faded pink and yellow. You pat it appreciatively. It’s pretty.

“Number fourteen.” Taeil announces. He’s closer to you than he ever has been before. You could lay your head on his shoulder if you wanted to, but you’re not quite brave enough for that just yet. He’s your star boy, your night sky. With a slightly tipsy giggle you realize that he’s your moon. You don’t quite want to scare him away.

“What do you work as?”

You turn to look at him. His eyes are trained on you, gaze unwavering. 

Smile. He smiles back. 

Tick-tock.

“I’m a cashier for the convenience store down the street. I only work the early mornings, though. It’s why I leave before you every night. Trying to save up for school, so I can get far, far away from here.” 

Taeil chuckles at this. “Admirable. Relatable. I wish I’d stayed in school, sometimes, but I love painting more than anything… when it isn’t killing me.” You’re not sure if it’s your imagination or if he closes the gap between you two just by a bit. Without your permission a blush makes it up to your cheeks. You look away.

Tick-tock.

“Fifteen,” You pause, trying to think of something interesting. “What’s something about you that I completely wouldn’t expect?” You take a sip of vodka, straight from the bottle. It still seems nearly full, but you’re slowly getting more inebriated.

“I could say absolutely anything, you know that right? Like that I have four nipples, or a twin who’s been posing as me half of these nights.” 

You just stare at him. The alcohol’s starting to fry your ability to snarkily respond to things. 

He smiles, and you’ve never seen someone look so ethereal. You can attribute his glow to the full moon behind him. Every plane of his body, line of his features, is highlighted. Empyrean. You have to will yourself to not reach out and drag your fingers across his face, memorizing all of him with your skin.

Tick-tock. 

“I have a photographic memory.” He eventually relinquishes, and this time he really does get closer to you. Taeil’s breath fans across your jaw and you feel his hand at the small of your back as he whispers the next part of his sentence to you. 

“I was too lazy to use it to my advantage in high school, though. The only time it’s actually helped me is with remembering every curve of your beautiful face.” 

Bang.

That’s all it takes. His words low against your ear and palm splayed across the thin layer of clothing covering your skin. You barely give yourself time to set your bottle down before stradding him, hands running over the sides of his face. He’s drunk and you’re drunk. It doesn’t get better than this. 

“This,” Taeil mumbles out as you attach your lips to his jaw, “is why I said to bring booze, by the way.” One hand is at your waist, high enough and low enough to be safe. The other is propping him up. 

“Liquid courage?” Your words are quiet, muffled by his skin, but he can hear you just as well as he can feel you. You detach your lips from the junction of his neck and jaw, lay your arms out over his shoulders. He moves to sit up completely, letting you sit back in his lap. 

“Fire in my veins.” He grins. Quicker than expected, his lips are ghosting over yours. “I already have every part of you memorized with my eyes. My lips are starting to feel left out.”

“Sixteen.” You say, slightly out of breath and even though you asked a question last. “Do you feel what I feel?”

“Yes.” Short and sweet and to the point.  

You’re complete. He’s complete. 

You close the gap. 


His shirt comes off, and so do your pants. It doesn’t get farther than that, though. Both of you are too clumsy, too drunk. Instead you lay down on the rooftop, his arm underneath your head and your face buried in his chest. 

You stay awake long enough to see the sun come up over the horizon. Taeil had knocked off twenty minutes prior. 

Funny, you think to yourself, how the sunrise makes it seem like the world is on fire.

There’s no time to ponder this, though. You’re out like a light within minutes.


You wake up in your own bed, keys on your nightstand and jeans folded neatly beside them. 

Blink. 

Taeil must’ve carried you back to your apartment. Something about that strikes a chord in you. You’re not sure what you feel. 

Your head pounds. All you see and hear are red.

The clock is gone, though - the constant ticking and ringing in your head. Odd. 

Working against the screaming in your head, you stumble out of bed and pull on old clothes. Your shirt might be backwards, but for the moment being you couldn’t care less. There’s nothing in your living room. 

You’re not sure why there would be. You’re not sure what you’re looking for. 

The kitchen is empty too, and so is the bathroom. You’re a little frantic, you feel it. You wonder why. 

You wonder why you wonder.

Swinging open the front door, you almost trip over yourself in your frenzy. There’s something the size of a paper folder leaning against the faded, cracked wall beside the entrance to your apartment. A sticky note is on your door. Scratch that, two sticky notes, one under the other.

You first pick up the something, aching as you bend down. It’s worth it immediately, however, as you realize what it is. 

A painting. 

Of you. 

No doubt by Taeil - his autograph, scrawled as if in a hurry, in the corner - and no doubt the fruits of his photographic memory, of your nights out together, and of his talent combined. 

You’re looking straight ahead in the painting, one foot slightly out in front of the other as you sit. Your elbow is supported by your knee and your chin is in your hand. It’s from the first night out on the roof, you realize with a start. 

The only difference between the real scenario and the painting is the background - the roof is the same, you are the same, your clothes are the same..

But instead of the moon lighting everything up, it’s the rising sun, just above the horizon. 

It’s beautiful. 

It’s also damning. 

Immediately you know. Without reading the notes you know. You wonder how you know. You wonder why you wonder. You wonder why you don’t feel any sadness. You wonder why you wonder. You wonder why he didn’t tell you face to face, person to person. You wonder why you wonder. You wonder why you don’t know what to feel, outside of a migraine and a huge need of a glass of water. 

Water. That sounds good right now. 

As if robotically, you open the door to go inside, letting it click behind you. Painting in hand. You set it down on the couch. You’ll hang it up later. What you don’t know now is that in the future, it will sell for millions. He doesn’t know either, not yet. 

You leave the notes out on the front door. You’ll read them later. For now, you think you need a drink of water and to lie down.

After all, everything you hear is tinged with red. The ticking is back, too. 


y/n - 
  going to manhattan. 
  i submitted a collection of paintings of you to a committee and got accepted.
  that was the other reason for the alcohol.
  i didn’t know how else to say it.
  turns out i didn’t say it, anyways. 
  it was good while it lasted. 

  we were good while we lasted.
  i don’t know who set the fire and who kept it going.
  i just know that the fire was us. 
  also,
  i promised you you’d see my artwork someday.
  this is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever painted…
  of the most beautiful muse i’ve ever had.
- il

Today, I fucked up...  by probably ruining a girl's life, forever, via Capture the Flag.

Today I fucked up. There’s a girl in my Ecology class. Let’s call her “Madge”. Madge is your go-getting try-hard holier-than-thou know-it-all with an unchanging facial expression I can only describe as “cat trying to shit a peach pit”. One of those constant-frowners, and constant-downers.

I even tried to get along with Madge at the start; I’d sit by her and try to engage her (read: humor her) with conversations in relevant topics about Ecology, such as the thrilling handedness of apes or edge-of-your-seat songbird plumage complexity, but just trying to be civil was a futile endeavour. Expecting Madge to be civil with you because you were civil with her is like expecting the lion not to eat you because you didn’t eat it. Madge was born to be an asshole.

Everything you said to her was met with a “Pffft”, or a dramatic roll of the eyes, and a quick retort such as “Well, if you’d actually read Carter et al. 2007, you would have known that…” She had to be better and smarter than everyone, at everything, all the time. And boy, that shit got real old, real quick. So I stopped sitting by her. And began to loathe her. With a pre-occupied disposition. I thought about her twice today before even writing this, that’s how much I don’t like her.

Fast forward to the first Capture the Flag game of the year. Being a Freshman, I thought I’d attend as a way to get out of my residence room and meet some people. The first game was at about 8:00PM, the campus was already dark, and I showed up just wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Out of 150+ people (who knew Capture the Flag was so popular?) I ended up being possibly the most under-dressed person there. Camouflage, Ghillie suits, face-paint, and black morph costumes were just some of the norm. This was like Capture the Flag Olympics.

Teams were divided into short sleeve vs. long sleeve, and the “flags” were two bicycle lights. I began to mingle with fellow short-sleeves… and that’s when I saw her. Madge. Black boots, black pants, black turtleneck, black scarf, black cap, black gloves. She was going all Call of Duty for this game – of course. Why wouldn’t she be a try-hard at Capture the Flag too? And I just knew I’d have to tag her the fuck out. This was my chance to prove I was better at something.

The first few rounds, us short-sleeves did terribly because no one stayed behind to defend, so we lost 3 rounds promptly. Each time they blew the whistle, I could hear Madge laughing. I could hear it. So I switched to defense. To prevent “camping”, there was a 50 meter buffer around each “flag”. Conveniently for me, there was a group of hedges 50 meters away from my flag. So I hid in the hedges.

Each time anyone from the other team tried to sneak up to our flag, I’d jump out of the hedges, startle the hell out of them, and that would give me the time I needed to run up and tag them out. I’d probably tagged out 8-10 people in about 15 minutes, when the stars aligned, and I saw her. Madge. Walking through the shadows along the side of a building, headed straight for our flag, thinking she was so sneaky with all her matching black gear. This was it. It wasmy time to shine.

But I was too excitable. I bounded from the hedges like Sea Biscuit while she was still a good 40-50 feet away. So I yelled “AAAaarrgh!” to try to emphasize the startling effect. She shrieked in surprise, but without missing a beat, she spun around 180 degrees and headed back for her “side” at a dead sprint. I then realized that if she got to her side before I caught her, she’d be “out of play” and I couldn’t tag her out – that was an impossible embarrassment, I couldn’t allow it. I took off too, at a dead sprint. Like Gimli, I’m not so much for long runs, but dangerous across short distances. I was gaining on her, and now confidently puffed up, with a laugh I shouted “YOU CAN RUN IF YOU WANT, I’LL JUST CATCH YOU WHEN YOU’RE TIRED!”

The chase lasted probably 100-150 feet before she tripped on a tree root and fell pretty hard, but made no attempt to get back up. As I got closer, I realized she had stooped to a whole new low - playing the crying game, surely exaggerating an injury that would thus make my “tagging” of her distasteful. But then as I got closer still, I realized she was really crying, like hysterically crying. I was still mad, so as I got up to her I said “Crying won’t fucking help”, at which point she rolled on to her back and looked up at me and shouted “GET THE FUCK AWAY!”. I leaned down to make eye contact and said “it’s just a fucking game”, to which she cocked an eyebrow and said “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!”

And then it hit me.

I did not recognize this girl.

This was not Madge.

This was some girl walking to the bus station after a night class.

Horrified, mouth hanging open, the rolodex of my mind spun as I suddenly imagined what it must have been like from her perspective: a large, strange, bearded, sweaty, under-dressed man jumped out of the bushes screaming “AAARRRRrrrgh!”, and when she ran, he ran too, screaming “YOU CAN RUN IF YOU WANT, I’LL JUST CATCH YOU WHEN YOU’RE TIRED”, and when he saw her crying, said “Crying won’t fucking help”.

I wanted to apologize, I wanted to introduce myself, I wanted to explain, but all I could get out was “Hey… sorry – it was, it’s just… Hi, I’m… Hey, you know, Capture the Flag?… PLEASE DON’T CALL THE POLICE, THIS WAS ALL A MISUNDERSTANDING” and then I ran away hoping she hadn’t seen enough of my face to create a composite sketch for Campus Security.

I never ended up tagging her, or Madge for that matter, and I never went back to Capture the Flag after that (I hear it may be getting cancelled) but I probably caused some seriously deep-seated anxieties about night classes that will haunt that poor girl forever.

Check out more TIFUs: Internet`s best fuck ups are here.

anonymous asked:

Will there ever be a Stucky wedding on TLOBB?

Hi anon ^^

Yup, eventually, near the end of the story (which is far from being done but I’m working on it and I know more or less where I’m going). Basically:

  • Wedding: yes, with tons of guests
  • Kids: no, never
  • Animal: maybe

Long story short, you’ll have to be patient. This story/account is not a sprint, it’s a long looOooOOOng run. Thank you so much if are still following The LoBB ^^;; As there are only one-two artworks a week, the story advances rather slowly.

I hope I answered your question. Thanks a lot ♥

Originally posted by chingachguk

(I typed “Stucky” in the Tumblr gif seach engine and I got…this. It’s has nothing to do with Steve and Buck in general or even The Life of Bucky Barnes in particular but it’s too good not to post, no?)

ETA: C’est pas en France ce gif? On dirait les escaliers de la Bibliothèque François Mitterrand à Paris?!!

impress you [sam wilson]

you decide to join sam on one of his morning jogs, eager to spend more time with him one-on-one.

tagging: @mattymattymerduck, @avengerofyourheart, @wakandasoldier, @darlingbuchanan, @bemystucky, @idorkish, @iwillbeinmynest, @aubzylynn, @ifmiracleshappened, @isastrobitchpersonal

warnings: fluff, humor, flirting

additional notes: reader (of an ambiguous gender) has electrokinesis. personally, i hate long-distance running, but i know some readers love running, so i kinda just wrote a happy average of the two ends of the jogging spectrum. i owe all of you and sam himself fluff with sam wilson so here it is.

Sam Wilson wasn’t the fastest man around, but he certainly was the most tenacious.

He jogged every morning and had done so for the last ten years. You were usually asleep when he left at the crack of dawn and in the kitchen by the time he returned, his gray jumper soaked through with sweat, with a very cheerful Captain America in tow. Occasionally, Bucky joined them, though after the first few days he had gotten tired of teasing Sam about his slowness and went back to his typical indoor workout routine and solitary night runs. Even Steve would take a jab at Sam once in a while, though you knew it was all in good fun, and you laughed along with him, much to Sam’s halfhearted annoyance.

“Looking good, boys,” you rasped one morning, when the two of them entered the kitchen sweaty as ever. Bucky sat next to you at the kitchen island, reading the newspaper and sipping some coffee. For breakfast, you had made Belgian waffles for the two of you, over half of which had already been eaten by Bucky. You were only on your second. “I know quite a few fans who would kill for pics of you two like this. Care to smile for the camera?” You waggled your eyebrows suggestively. Bucky snorted.

Sam laughed through his panting and patted you on the back as he passed you on his way to the fridge. “I’m sure our star-spangled friend here would burst into flame from blushing so hard.”

Steve tousled your hair, worsening your bedhead and smiling when you swatted at him. “Pay me enough and I just might.”

Keep reading

A Delicate Desiccation

Status: Complete
Word Count: 4.7K 
Category: One-shot; Behind-the-scenes canon compliant; Melancholia; Friendship; Mystery; On-the-case
Rating: Teen & Up
Character(s): Dean, Sam, Cas, Reader/Female O.C.
Pairing(s): N/A
Warnings: None, just an FYI for my regular readers - not the darkest thing I’ve seen around here, but it is the darkest thing *I* have ever written.
Author’s Note: see below!!!! 
Overall Summary: The Winchesters must deal with a creature unlike one they’ve tackled before & accept some things can only be preserved in memories.

*~* ADVISE YOU DO NOT LOOK AT THE COMMENTS PRIOR TO READING - someone accidentally spoiled the ending! Oops! *~*

A DELICATE DESICCATION

I inhaled deeply, letting my eyes close and my head rest atop my folded arms. I’m not sure how long I was like that, thinking too hard, trying to recall the scent. Never even heard the approaching footsteps.

“Stop that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s creepy as hell.”

“It reminds me of something. Not a perfume or a shampoo. Well, maybe shampoo, but—”

“Stop.”

I did, but only briefly.

“Maybe a cake recipe? Except it’s not sweet…" 

I raised my head again, but didn’t open my eyes, just tilted over the side of the bathtub, drawing in an even deeper breath. 

“Stop! Please.”

The ‘please’ made me open my eyes and turn my head towards him but he’d already turned, too, walked off without waiting to see if I’d done as he’d asked.

I was so bad with him lately.

I gasped, snapped my fingers as it hit me. It was citrus and some cedar, sure, and I’d seen the cloves… no, cardamom. It had to have been cardamom that was tripping me up. 

I sprang to my feet and as I bounced through the bathroom doorway, stepping into the frigid motel room, grinning happily, excited to tell him, I heard the Impala’s engine gun. The front left tire still needed air; it screamed as it ground into the asphalt. The setting sun was cutting through the window at just the right angle to hit my eyes, but I didn’t need to blink.

That part, I remembered.  And the eating and the sleeping parts. Could not for the life of me remember the part about breathing.

Anyway. He’d return. They’d return. One of them. Someone. At some point.

So for now, I went back to sit with my body.

.

STEPS ONE THROUGH FOUR: 

BE ON RECEIVING END OF SIX-TO-EIGHT FATAL STAB WOUNDS; 

LURCH NO MORE BUT NO LESS THAN EIGHT STUMBLING STEPS TO THE LEFT, THEN THREE SMALL WOBBLES OR ONE LARGE LURCH BEHIND; 

ALLOW FORM TO FALL ATOP ALTAR, MOMENTUM BRINGING BOTH SELF AND VARIOUS ITEMS TO REST ACROSS ANCIENT ENGRAVINGS IN STONE FLOOR; 

EXSANGUINATE 40-60% TOTAL BLOOD VOLUME AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE

.

Those were not the first steps as detailed in the scrolls - but they were the first steps for me.

In the time it took to get back to the bunker, Sam had come through like he always did, determining what had been awakened and what had to be done. Even so, it was Castiel who would be attending to the details. But first the angel had to attend to Dean.

I’d watched as Dean argued with the both of them for hours, about why I couldn’t be brought back, then why I shouldn’t be pyred and fired immediately. I’d watched for another few hours as they talked the whiskey, then the gun, out of his hand.  

They’d cried. I’d cried, though they couldn’t tell, and I couldn’t tell that anything was hitting my cheeks. Dean tossed and turned so fiercely, his bed linens were damp with perspiration. It smelled of hundred proof.

So I’d laid by Sam that night. I was fascinated at how my presence made the breath coming from his lips look like thick clouds. I’d held my hand over his face, mesmerized at the little crystals forming in the lines of the salty tracks from his eyes, on the tips of his lashes.

I’d stopped when his breathing went shallow, jerking myself away from him so fast I shot myself clean through the wall of his bedroom.

I had no concept of how long I had been there in the hallway, statue-still.

“They can’t hear or see you,” Castiel told me quietly, coming to stand by my side.

I looked down at my dress, my cardigan, the brown leather boots that came to my knees. The boots and the cardigan were old; the dress was brand new. I’d bought it for a special purpose, though I couldn’t call up why right then. Not a crease, not a blemish, like I’d just taken it off the hanger.

I turned to my friend.

“Will they, though? Because I’d like to tell them thank you. For being good friends. Make sure they know I don’t blame them.”

“Perhaps. If they choose to. But I can tell them.”

“That’s not the same.”

“I’ll tell them it came directly from you.”

“Don’t do that, Cas.”

“What?”

“Play dumb about this stuff. About what guilt does to us carbon-basers.”

A fraction of a tilt to the corner of his mouth and I wiggled my eyebrows, forcing the tilt into a small grin.

“I think I may miss you.”

I sighed, turned away, brought my eyes over to stare at the wall I’d come through.

“You don’t need to do that,” he informed me. “Breathing, that is.”

I nodded. I was distracted. But I acknowledged him.

“Oh.”

.

STEPS FIVE THROUGH TEN:

ALL VISCERA EXCEPTING HEART AND LUNGS SHOULD BE REMOVED, SOAKED IN HOLY OIL PRIOR TO BURNING, ALLOWING FIRE TO BURN OUT FOR COMPLETE DISPOSAL;

RINSE BRAIN, SKULL, AND BODY CAVITY WITH PREPARED MIXTURE, COATING LIBERALLY, LEAVING SKULL FILLED;

INFUSE VESSELS WITH SAME, FOLLOWED BY NATRON SOLUTION UNTIL RUNNING CLEAR, LEAVING HEART CHAMBERS FILLED, CLAMPING ENTRY AND EXIT POINTS;

PACK CAVITY WITH LINEN-WRAPPED POULTICES OF NOTED FLOWERS, HERBS, SPICES AND SALTS, BLESSED AND HEXED APPROPRIATELY;

CONTINUE TO PACK ANY REMAINING SPACES AND SURROUND EXTERNALLY WITH SALTED ICE;

REPEAT EVERY 36 HOURS FOR NO MORE BUT NO LESS THAN 70 DAYS

.

Each time the second hand hit twelve or the calendar flipped, signalling the arrival of the next stage, I’d tag along to one of the bunker’s more clinical interrogation rooms, stick around to observe Cas’ doings initially, but then I’d always have to go walk, get distance, get away.

Dean never joined me, but Sam did, wouldn’t hesitate to follow after, though with my irritable, dissipating nature I’d tend to sail through trees and gates, adopting a hellish pace. He’d jog along for awhile. He’d give up long before the corn.

I kept making a beeline for it, I just loved it - rows and rows of thick, swaying curtains. I would wander, swaying with it, breaking into sprints for who knew how long, daydreaming. Maybe I’d turn north, run so far as to come upon Iowan ballplayers and field a few grounders. Maybe even stumble into a cult of misfit children, give them a stern talking-to on my way back to my friends.

I got lost a few times… maybe more than a few. They would call me back to them, and it burned the same way it had when I’d gotten stabbed. Before I woke up feeling hollow. At least the burn let me not be cold for a moment or two, and that felt nice until I saw them.

They would look at me so sadly, be so frustrated, try to bind me to something else. I didn’t fight it, that I know for sure. I’ve always been happy to do anything for them, happy to help where I could, and that was a part of myself I would never let change.

Even so - my exploring days soon met their expiration date.

I had begun to associate the sound of the nighttime talk show hosts’ voices with feeling itchy and heavy and blurry and nauseous… even angry. Then I’d feel something like sleepiness, but not - more like drugged, I supposed, but I’d never been drugged so I couldn’t say. Never taken them, never had cause to need painkillers, never put under for surgery. I’d always been perfectly healthy.

Some sort of spirit sun-downing, the way Castiel talked. He would explain it to me, and while he was kind and patient, I got the impression this was not even close to the first instance he’d had to repeat himself. As time was passing, more and more often it seemed that I needed to stay in the motel. Whichever motel it was; they moved my body constantly, keeping it off some sort of otherworldly radar.

I shouldn’t come to the bunker anymore, I’d be reminded. I would ask why, then Castiel would show me pictures on his phone, of the damage. Once I think he showed me pictures of bruises and cuts. I can’t be certain. I don’t know when exactly it was that they’d started locking me into the room when they left, with their drawn lines and invisible walls that sometimes worked, sometimes not-so-much.

All I know is that when I got the idea, Castiel had looked at me skeptically just for a few moments before nodding his head. He spoke for awhile, processing the pros and the cons aloud, eventually settling on reasons that amounted to practicing so I would be convincing, if need be, to… to the… But that wasn’t my reasoning.

Mine was simpler: the nightly pull might not be preventable, but I wouldn’t be able to reach the bunker and cause any upset if I were back in my body.

.

STEPS ELEVEN THROUGH FOURTEEN:

ETCH RIBS AS OUTLINED;

INTERNAL SUMMONING GLYPHS SHOULD BE PLACED VERTICALLY ON STERNUM ONLY;

EVERY EXPOSED SURFACE SHOULD BE WRAPPED IN PRE-SOAKED LINEN STRIPS AND SECURED WITH LIGHT RESIN;

CONTINUE MANUAL MANIPULATIONS AT MINIMUM EVERY TWELVE HOURS TO ENSURE PLIANCY AND REDUCE STIFFNESS

.

“Why not the eyes?”

Castiel glanced from the covered jar filled with a thick, opaque, honey-like fluid sitting on the bathroom counter and over to where I stood by the bathtub.

“Why not burn them, too?”

“It will be more convincing if they can see once the body—”

He cut himself off immediately.

“It’s okay, Cas.”

“Once they inhabit the body.”

“Makes sense,” I responded, though none of it did.  

I’d been hoping for something more along the Eva Perón spectrum versus Boris and Lon, but my friends’ guardian - my guardian - had truly done beautiful work. More than he’d had to, according to the scrolls. It was odd to look at myself from this perspective, odder still as the months went by and I looked less and less like me.

I finally had the cheekbones I’d wished for as a teen, those of a supermodel, high and sharp. My eye color had darkened. My skin was slowly changing, shrinking, tightening, though honestly not as much as I’d imagined it would’ve. I took it all in slowly, the first time I’d been able to make use of a mirror in months.

I edged out of the bathroom, stepping carefully around the large body bag left beside the door. Various apologies hit the air, someone scurried over to move it away, but I wasn’t paying much mind. I was moving my neck back and forth gently, gingerly stretching my bandaged arms as I walked, concentrating on getting to the edge of the bed and sitting.

“Stiff?” asked Sam.

I opened my mouth to reply, but just a croak came out.

Castiel quickly brought one of the motel’s plastic cups to my lips but it only contained a teaspoon or so of water.

“Don’t drink - just gargle a little, swish and spit.”

I nodded, did as instructed, tried to commit the rule to my mental list:

NO DRINKING
DON’T WANDER
BREATHING NOT REQUIRED
YOU ARE ALREADY GONE

The last one was mine. But it was the one, to me, that was most important, the one I could not forget. The one that tried to slip through the ever-widening gaps in my mind each time I saw my friends.

Even when they looked at me how they were just then - disgust, maybe awe. Hard to say. Functional eyes, yes, though still not working as well as they used to.

But I did see them. Through the window, when I would dare to peek out at my old world, once the sun had gone down. They were taking turns as my bodyguard, seeing as how I’d taken to having one again during the night.

Sam would stay awake the entire time, six-to-six, back against the passenger door, feet crossed and propped over the open-windowed driver’s door, a tablet in his hands. Sometimes his knees would be pulled up and I knew a book must’ve been leaning against them, judging by the flashlight he’d have wedged in between tilted head and shoulder. He flipped pages quickly - that seemed familiar, him being a lightning-fast reader.

I think he may’ve seen me watching him once or twice. The shadows across his face, created by the small amount of light beneath it, definitely didn’t do my waning vision any favors. If he did know, if it did bother him, he didn’t let on. Being studied by a monster would’ve unnerved most anyone else.

Then there was Dean.

I suspected he was the one choosing the motels towards the end because once bodyguard duty became routine, I noticed there was always a bar nearby. He would have his fill of camping in the Impala, the restlessness coming on around eleven. By twelve I’d see him stalk off, striding out of the parking lot. 

Brought a girl back with him once, but their groping and grinding across the trunk never made it to the backseat. Not once he spotted me in the window. He shoved her away abruptly, mouth moving, gesturing apologetically, making some excuse.

I was still standing there, running an ice cube across my parched lips, watching as she made her way back across the street to the bar, when he burst through the door so suddenly that the handle punched into the wall.

“What is wrong with you?!”

He yanked hard on worn paisley curtains, enough to where I heard a seam or two pop, hurrying to cover the windows.

I slipped the dwindling ice cube into my mouth, splintering it into little shards as I shifted to face him.

I normally would’ve shrugged but the upper body wrappings from that morning had apparently been applied with extra grit, and I normally would’ve sighed out of unbroken habit but rigid lungs made that list item close to null during bodily hours.  

So I just looked at him blankly with my new dark eyes, and the dark circles I knew were under them, and the unmovable brows I knew were above them, blinking only as he shut the door quietly when he left, despite the lack of tears.

He was drunk enough not to care when he found me lying in the backseat upon his return from the bar on another night. He never locked that car. Never had, long as I’d known him, though I had no clue how long that had been. 

I’d forgotten not to wander on my futile hunts for memories.

My legs wouldn’t fit onto the seat as I couldn’t bend them at the knees well, so they were dangling crookedly to the side, my feet mostly on the floorboard. I was surprised when he calmly climbed in, lifting my legs and placing them in his lap. A glimpse of familiarity there, then it disappeared. 

I’d been fussing with the bandaging on my hands. The tiny bindings on my fingers were now loose and pooled around my knuckles. He noticed.

“Cas is gonna be pissed.”

I forced a few mouthfuls of air down; he watched and waited.

“Things feel strange.”

“I bet.”

“I mean literally.”

I reached to my side, ran a few fingers across the leather of the front seat.

“Tell me.”

My chest pulled and ached inside with every inhalation of air. But I wanted to talk with him. I wanted to tell. So I took in as much as I could hold.

“Like there’s a piece of plastic wrap between my skin and… and… things. Even water. Even me.”

I brought the fingers to the tip of my nose. That, and the areas around my eyes and mouth, were all that stayed uncovered. Then I brought my fingers to the ends of my hair, just below my shoulder. 

It had grown long enough to keep it in a braid, which I could manage alone, even with my bandaged, barely-bendable fingers. It was silky, due to the oily potion Castiel had to apply to my scalp. It still felt fake to me, like the synthetic hair of a doll.

An audible gulp, followed shortly by a sniffle, hit my ears and I looked up to find tear-filled, bloodshot eyes looking into mine.

“You and Sam are brothers?” I asked.

He nodded.

“I think I had a crush on one of you.”

He nodded again, and a hint of a smile appeared.

“But you were mad at each other the day I died.”

It vanished.

“Why?”

He hesitated for a moment before he answered.

“Because one of us finally got up the guts to ask you out. We were, ah…”

Dean paused, chuckled lightly, ran a hand across his face.

“We were both crushing on you, too. Never told each other.”

“I don’t… is that why I bought a new dress?”

Another nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“Oh.”

I was suddenly uncomfortable, began shifting around, and Dean started to reach out, then stopped.

“I won’t come apart.”

He helped me sit up, my back now against the seat, both of us staring out the front window. It started to sprinkle. But neither of us moved.

“I’m sorry.”

I turned my head to find those eyes were glassier than ever.

“I remember. You’ve said. Both of you,” I pointed out.

He touched my lips with his, don’t know how hard or soft, and he closed his eyes but I didn’t close mine. I couldn’t feel a thing. I hadn’t felt anything before, either, when…  

“Sam did that, too,” I told him once he’d pulled away. “Last… no, not last night…”

My mind drifted.

“When he dropped off more salt for…”

“Must’ve been last week.”

Dean’s voice was cracking. That did trigger a memory. That it was unusual.

I touched a finger to the tip of his nose, ran it down, over his lips, then down again, over and across his chin.

“You both feel like wax,” I whispered.

“No, we don’t,” he whispered back.

.

STEPS FIFTEEN THROUGH TWENTY:

SOAK LINENS IN BLESSED HOLY OIL MIXTURE FOR NO LESS THAN ONE WEEK PRIOR TO PLANNED CEREMONY;

FINAL WRAPPINGS MUST BE TIGHT AROUND ALL EXTREMITIES AND CORE, USING COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF RESIN ON ALL EDGES AND ATOP EXTERNALLY WRITTEN SCRIPT;

INTERNAL CAVITIES AND VESSELS MUST BE FILLED TO CAPACITY WITH MIXTURE;

ANY EXPOSED PART OF BODY UNABLE TO BE WRAPPED MUST BE COATED THOROUGHLY WITH MIXTURE;

CLEANSING FIRE SHOULD ONLY BE CAST DURING LAST QUARTER OF SUMMONING RITUAL;

CAST FIRE WITH CAUTION TO IMMEDIATE SURROUNDINGS

.

“So then we’ll… like a Viking funeral…”

“No, that’s mostly… but there was… ship captain…”

My hearing was all but gone, though I found the two voices drifting over from some place nearby to be soothing. My vision was nothing to speak of, either - a milky film coated my eyes. But I could make out the bright blue ones looming above me.

I liked the voice of this man, too. And he was gently adjusting various parts of me, arranging things around me. He placed something small - a wildflower bouquet, he said - on my belly and folded my hands around it. He spoke the entire time, softly, but firmly.

He kept repeating his speech over and over again, so that what was left of my brain function would concentrate on three simple things:

PLAY DEAD
HOLD TIGHT
LET GO

I still had pieces of what he’d told me on our way to the lake floating in my mind. The parts he said I didn’t need to bother remembering now. How the show we’d been running, the ruse I’d survived and had been convalescing somewhere, was over. 

The preservation had been taken to its limits. What could be done had been done, and now all that was left was to hope these ancient entities would fall for the trap my friends had laid. Surmise I’d finally succumbed to the damage their minions had inflicted upon my body that night over a year ago, and that a hunter’s funeral awaited me.  

They would not be foolish enough to believe that between their stolen scrolls and an angel of the lord, at least some semblance of an effort to thwart them wouldn’t have been undertaken by the resilient, stubborn hunters. They would recognize this funeral of mine to be an odd take on the typical tradition. They would assume measures had been taken to trap them in the fire.

They would have to be fast. And they would have to take the risk. They had no choice but to try.

All because it was my blood that flooded their carvings, my body that had lain across their altar, and my mummified shell was the only one that would do, that could serve as their earthly temple.

I’d kept trying to resurrect the memories of that night, the night I was on a first date with a friend who may’ve become more. This was the only thing the sky-eyed caretaker never had to repeat or remind me of - I had managed to hold on to that one memory above all. I was with the ones who had cared for me, who had fought for me, who fought for me still, even in death.

And now I was to fight with every piece of spirit I had left to keep what would soon possess my body inside when they would most certainly attempt to flee, once… once…

“Once you feel them, hold tight, just for a second,” the deepest voice ordered gruffly, as the three of them guided the small boat into the lake.

“Then you’ll feel warm,” said the voice coming from the largest shadow. “You can leave then - they won’t come with you.”

“I’ll meet you after,” said the caretaker as he leaned over me, one last promise before he closed my eyelids.

A few grunts along with the heaving, then a final shove and out into the water I sailed. I enjoyed the swaying. It was peaceful. As stuffed and bound as I was, there was comfort.

It didn’t hurt. I wish I could’ve called out to them and let them know, though my filled-to-the-brim, sealed-lipped state wouldn’t have allowed it. Even if I’d had the energy to spare. 

Whoever these old troublemakers were, well, maybe they were running low on energy, too. Or maybe I just had more than they’d ever had to begin with. But it didn’t matter either way.

When the hunters on the shore let loose their arrows, we were all toast.

.

I inhaled deeply, letting my eyes close as I thought. I’m not sure how long I was like that, thinking too hard, trying to recall the last time I’d smelled that mix of hops and peanuts and cigarettes. Never even heard the approaching footsteps.

“Stop that.”

“Why?”

“Because it ain’t right, a face like yours not having a smile on it.”

I opened my eyes, took in the cocky grin, then took the small plastic card from the outstretched hand. A glance at what was written there, then I looked up, raised an eyebrow.

“This reminds me of something.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m gonna keep on loving you.”

“Well, wow, that’s a little forward.”

“Is it, Kevin? Oh, sorry, Mr. Cronin.”

The cocky grin faded into a sheepish one.

“Yeah, I get that a lot, see—”  

“Stop.”

He did, but only briefly.

“We’re cousins, and my parents were set on the name, and how were they supposed to know he’d end up—”

“You know, I can tell that you are old enough to ride this ride, so I don’t get why the fake I.D., but your puppy here I’m not so sure about, and I really hope he’s not about to try and screw me over, too.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flirty one’s taller, shaggy-haired companion immediately re-fold his wallet, casually return it to his back pocket.  

“Maybe a just a couple beers, huh? We tip real good, and then we’ll be outta your—”

I frowned, feeling oddly out-of-place, my head and then my eyes drifting down, past the taps, past the edge of bar, watched as the plastic card slipped from my fingers and hit the sticky floor. My hands reflexively balled into fists and I squeezed my eyes shut. 

“Stop! Please.”

The immediate pin-drop quiet and the echo of my 'please’ made my eyes go wide. But an unfamiliar sound, something flapping, rustling, is what made my head snap up and over to my right.

Everyone and everything was frozen, ricocheting pool balls to mid-air darts, all except one trench-coated patron at the far end who was seated on a stool, calmly sipping a pilsner I hadn’t poured.

I walked over, felt the smile stretching across my face as I came to a stop in front of him.

“I meant to meet you sooner, my apologies for the delay,” he said, nothing but sincerity in those bright baby blues.

“I couldn’t tell,” I answered honestly. “It’s good to see you. It’s good to see…”

My thoughts drifted as I glanced to my left, to where they stood.

And just like that, I remembered everything, all in the time it took to turn my head back to him - but he’d already turned, too, walked off without waiting to see if I was going to say anything else.

I was so bad with that - moving too slowly, not reacting quickly enough - and the thought chilled me to my core.

“Cas, are they– are they really here?” I called after him.

Castiel paused, not but a few steps from the door, and I took the opportunity to dash out from behind the bar and rush to his side, standing in front of the door as if I could block his exit.

“Did I mess it up?”

A slight frown came across his face and he tilted his head a bit as he took in what I knew was absolute fear radiating off of me.

“I don’t mean that night, I know I messed up then, not getting out of the way when those people, when those things were—”

“Stop.”

I did. He brought his hands to my shoulders, gave them a reassuring squeeze. He waited til he knew he had my complete attention before he spoke.

“This place is whatever you want it to be. Whatever you choose to do. Anyone you’d like to have with you.”

I nodded slowly, processing his words. Then I looked around. Some paradise I’d created - an afterlife in the bartending job from my early twenties that I’d hated with a passion.    

I gasped, snapped my fingers as it hit me. What it was, that scene I’d stepped away from. It was a re-enactment of the first time I’d laid eyes on the Winchester brothers. The seconds that had snowballed into years.

There’d been adventures and arguments - and laughter, to be sure - and I’d certainly seen the heartaches firsthand… all that sadness. It had to have been the sadness that was tripping me up. Why that part had to come along for the ride.

And maybe Castiel had read my thoughts because he leaned in close, gave me one final reminder:

“You don’t have to remember everything.”

Suddenly I was bounding towards the bar again, crunching fallen peanut shells under my boots as the sounds of conversation, then the music from the jukebox, resumed. I was grinning happily, excited to tell Dean and Sam their drinks were coming right up, but with one condition. They’d owe me a story about those fake I.D.s and what had brought them to the middle-of-nowhere joint that night.

This I wanted to remember, those stories over beers, the phony ones that gradually turned into truth. The eating road food and the sleeping in motels, the hunts and the saved lives, all those parts that were pushing back in, filling up my mind. 

I knew how to hold on and I wasn’t letting a bit of it spill out. Well, mostly. Could not for the life of me hold on to the parts about dying.

Still. I knew it was only real for me, just like I knew that would eventually change. Because they’d turn up again. One of them. Both of them. At some point.

So for now, the angel went back to be with my friends.

*~* See Nash Write : Master  *~*  See Nash Write : Mobile *~*

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8

“I was lying to myself. Whenever there’s been two ways I could go, I always did what the "ideal girl” would. I forgot about the real me… 

The real me likes bulldogs more than German Shepards. I’m better at long-distance running than sprints, I prefer milk over tea, and I like daifuku more than cream puffs.“

-requested by a-necessary-fiction

Wings [Part 10] || Taehyung

DECEITFUL JOY

Pairing - Kim Taehyung x Reader (Ft. Hoseok)

Genre - Fantasy, Fallen Angel! AU, Fluff, Smut, Angst

Summary - A day you began with plans to spend an evening with your classmate for a date he had been bugging you for, soon becomes a reality you had never thought you’d witness, making you think about how strong Hoseok actually was.

You watched him walk into the darkness surrounding the house before driving away. The reality of his life stung your eyes, as his contagious laughter rang in your ears, competing with the harsh bitterness of his world.

Prologue ; Pt 9

You were awake to witness the sun peep through your window blinds. Tossing and turning all night, you found it impossible to go to sleep. Nevertheless, you still loved the feeling it gave you; the debonair fluttering of butterflies in your stomach and the memory of the kiss.

You brushed your chapped lips with your finger tips and felt a smile creep up your face, along with red tints on your cheeks. Although you had barely gotten any sleep at all, you were in an exceptionally good mood which was very much needed for the classes you would have later today.

At the table for breakfast, you were in a very chirpy mood,  something which Jin hadn’t witnessed in a very long time. Either you would usually just ignore him trying to make you laugh with his puns, or get extremely annoyed with him for doing so in the first place. He rubbed his eyes, and he knew he wasn’t mistaken as he saw you with your mouth open, just after he had cracked a joke - a very lame one - eliciting laughter from you.

‘Is the apocalypse approaching?’ He quirked an eyebrow at you. You giggled, before you looked at him with a belied look.

You scoffed, 'What? Why?’

'You never usually laugh at my jokes?’ He stated it more like a question, as he still looked at you, eyeing from top to bottom and shoulder to shoulder. He was genuinely concerned.

'I don’t?’ You asked to which he shook his head and took a bite off his toast, as you sat there with an incomprehensible face, 'Um..last night went good, so-’

'He kissed you, didn’t he?’ You saw Jin’s lips lift into a cunning smile, and you felt the food stop midway down your throat, making you cough rather violently before you had chugged down the glass of water, looking up at him with an accusing look, similar to the day before.

'What? How- how did you?’ You didn’t bother trying to hide the fact he was right, since your face was giving it away anyway, your hand at your chest as you punched it lightly.

'Hmm..I may or may not have spied on you both~’ He mused, an innocent look resting on his face but the mischievous glint in his eyes told you otherwise.

'I can’t believe you actually kept an eye one me- I’m not twelve, Kim Seok Jin.’ You grumbled, gathering your bag, and taking the last toast in your hand glaring at him, while he continued to stare at you.

'I’m just taking care of you, Y/N. I didn’t ask you to stop seeing him, did I?’ You knew he had a point the moment the words came out of his mouth. But it would have been too embarrassing for you to surrender yourself - you had some pride too - and so you turned around with a huff, leaving a chuckling Jin behind.


It didn’t take you long to get over the rendezvous of that morning, and you were already sighing in content from the memory of last night that just simply refused to go away, you blushing as red as a tomato when you walked into your campus.

'Somebody’s happy,’ you heard a familiar voice, and turned towards the direction it came from. You saw Hoseok walking towards you with raised eyebrows, you giving him a smile before walking ahead towards your class, him striding beside you.

'How are you?’ You exclaimed out of the blue, startling him. He stared at you blankly, stopping in his tracks for a second before walking in front of you, blocking your way.

'Did you just ask me how I am?’ He held your shoulders, keeping a distance of an arm’s length between both your bodies as he watched you keenly. You nodded, the smile not leaving your face.

'Y/N…stop smiling like that. You’re creeping me out.’ He lowered his voice, and your smile faltered. You were about to ask him why when he beat you to it, 'It’s just creepy.’

You scoffed, your pride very much hurt, first he complains about how I don’t smile and when I do it’s creepy. You rolled your eyes before shaking his hands off and walking ahead, hearing his chuckle ring in your ears. He walked up beside you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, him telling you some random scenarios of the different people at university.

You barely acknowledged it, your thoughts already wandering off to what was now a harbored memory.


'So, Hoseok, you want to have lunch with me today?’ You began packing your bag as you got ready to leave, your classes over for the day, giving some room to relax. Work was still quite manageable compared to what you had to learn at class.

'Don’t you have work, Y/N?’ he looked at you from his phone. You nodded, 'I do, but you’ve been bugging me about that “date” so I thought why not today,’ You slung the bag over your shoulders and stood in front of him.

'You’ve actually been considering it?’ He asked, confusion and astonishment written all over his face as you both began walking. You hummed in response making him stop dead in his tracks for a second before joining you by your side again. He had been stopping too many times that day. You didn’t bother waiting when he did it over and over again, finally speaking when he got the hint.

'You mean, you’ve actually thought about me?’ He pressed on, a small smirk itching it’s way onto his face. Of course, you had just fed his humongous ego.

You turned to him, and looked dead in his eyes, 'Walk along before I change my mind and break your legs so you won’t be able to dance anymore.’ You threatened making him widen his eyes.

'You- you will WHAT? Y/N! He screeched in English, running after you who had long sprinted away, knowing you had just hit his weak spot. You couldn’t stop giggling as you run down the flight of stairs and onto the path that led to the gate, a wailing Hoseok following you desperately trying to catch you. Although he had the legs to dance, you were much faster than him. Finally stopping in front of your car, you leaned against it, as you tried to even your breath which came out in small huffs. Just as you had regained your strength, Hoseok made it to the other side of your car, his face flushed and sweaty.


'Okay,’ He gulped, his throat dry from running across the campus, 'Where is the ride?’

You raise a curious eyebrow before looking down at your car and looking back at him, an expression on your face that spoke for itself. He followed your line of sight and looked down as well, now it being his turn to raise curious eyebrows at you, 'That-’ He pointed accusingly to your car, 'is your car?’

'I’m not sitting in that thing,’ Hoseok huffed, crossing his arms across his chest as he looked somewhere else, acting like an arrogant kid. When you had nodded to his question, he began laughing like a maniac, and only stopped when he saw you weren’t joining him. It took you another five minutes to actually get him to understand that this was your car. Rich people problems, is what you would have said, but you knew Hoseok was nowhere close to rich. And you didn’t mind.


'That thing, is my baby, so if you could please respect it, you’d probably not lose your legs,’ You said as your leaned your body against your car again, placing a protective hand over the bonnet.

'I can’t believe they still sell these! I mean, I would even ride in a Cooper, but a Beetle? No way, Y/N, you’re not making me sit-’


Hoseok groaned again as his hand rubbed against the bruised spot that had formed after you had kicked him square in the shin, 'What course? Kung Fu?’

'Karate,’ You corrected him, smirking in triumph over your successful dominance. You heard him scoff, your smirk disappearing to throw him a distasteful look. Bickering was the only way you both would ever get through to each other. If anybody would’ve asked you if you enjoyed it, you’d probably give them the same reason to hold their legs in agony.

'Where are we going- Oh, Mom?’ Hoseok squeaked, and with your peripheral vision you saw him answering the call. He kept his voice soft and barely audible, while you tried hard to focus on both what he was saying and driving straight.

You heard him converse over the phone with his mother before he spoke to you, 'Guess you’ll have to report early to work today,’ He said in a heavier voice than before. You quirked an eyebrow.

'What? Why?’ You asked, briefly looking over at him.

'Stop over there, by the bus stop, I’ll take one home,’ He pointed towards the approaching bus stop. You increased the speed and he held on to the door handle as he expected you to stop. You sighed, knowing he was going to be his secretive self again. If that’s what you got for bring a friend, you might as well be a better one and drop him home yourself.

'Y/N-’ He said but you ignored him and sped away from the stop. He looked at you, and opened his mouth to speak but you were quicker, 'I might be rude, but not rude enough to let you go home alone. I’ll drop you there, just give me the directions,’ You turned to him and smiled, letting him know that it was your final decision.

He directed you towards the South side of the town, where it was know for those people who could just afford the rates of houses and rents. Your heart beat quickened as you noticed he wasn’t asking you to stop anywhere nearby, and you went deeper and deeper into the new part of the town. You had never been to this area, and the deeper you drove in, the more worried you got. It seemed like the outskirts of the city since there was nothing but barren land just a few meters ahead.

'Hoseok-’

'There, right there.’ He pointed and you noticed a green letterbox, almost falling out of the ground, barely standing it’s ground. You drove ahead and stopped, looking to your side to see a very shabby house, most of it in ruins; the roof looked like it was to ready to give away and the paint peeling off like it was nobody’s business. You saw Hoseok struggle with the handle and you reached over to help, unlocking the door. You were about to speak again, when you noticed how much of in a hurry he was, you reconsidering the thought.

’T-thanks,’ He stuttered before scurrying out of the car. He closed the door and waved a bye, while you rolled the window down and yelled, 'Take care!’ You had known he could barely afford the tuition fee of college, and how he was lucky enough to get in because of scholarship. But he had never even once mentioned to you about his living conditions, or what he did to support his family. If he ever talked about them, it was just to say that either his mother or his older sister - whom you had met quite a few times, was sick.

You watched him walk into the darkness surrounding the house before driving away. The reality of his life stung your eyes, as his contagious laughter rang in your ears, competing with the harsh bitterness of his world.

And he just smiles all day long, like he has everything he could ask for.


[Part 11 on Thursday]