#count-di-luna

[colleybri]

One of the greatest hugs in any film

Interview question: “Do you think Cassian and Jyn would have managed to connect even more due to their shared life experiences if they had even more time?”

Diego Luna: “Obviously! What a good question. I think that hug represents everything that could have been but was not and everything that was too, because that hug meant they were part of something together and I believe that union lasts forever”.

One of the single best story decisions that was made in Rogue One was this incredible hug between Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, as they await death from the blast of the Death Star.

It’s sad enough just in the context of the film. After Season 1 of Andor, it’s even more moving. I think some of us will be emotional wrecks after Season 2. 

One thing I’m starting to realise only now is how Jyn’s story, as revealed in the film (and the novelisation), reflects Cassian’s so much. She was also a child of war, displaced and effectively orphaned, adopted before being forced to embark on a new life. She had it even worse than him, in many ways. But just like him she had an early zeal to fight, which she similarly went on to lose because of the bitter pain that commitment caused. She becomes disillusioned and cynical about the Rebellion. It takes a combination of hard knocks and a resulting realisation of the desperate NEED to fight the Empire - in order to preserve all that they hold dear - to radicalise both of them to the extent that they are willing to sacrifice their lives for the cause.

Cassian is already in that place - he reached it five years before. But in Season 2 I expect we will see further challenges, see the desperately awful things he might have to do and what else he will need to sacrifice ahead of his actual life. Sacrifices that weasr down his soul, bit by bit. Luthen’s monologue hangs over everything. “ I burn my life for a sunrise I know I’ll never see.” It’s a bitter irony that Cassian is frequently placed in sun-rising imagery, culminating in the ‘sun’ of the explosion.

Jyn, in Rogue One, seems to be the spiritual shot in the arm that Cassian needs. In the same way that being inspired by his love for Clem, Maarva and Bix helps to spur him on in the Season 1 finale (when the chances of successfully rescuing Bix must seem non-existent)  Jyn seems to me to be the crucial reminder for Cassian of why he is doing all this in the first place. Her love for her father stops him from obeying the order to kill him. He just can’t do it. He can’t put someone he is growing to care about through the same agony he went through himself.

In the end, neither can live with themselves if they don’t fight. But both of them are fighting for the right reason: love.

The hug is platonic and therefore perfect because it’s universal, in a way: we can imagine - in their final seconds - that they can both see and feel the warmth and the arms of every single person in their lives who they ever loved in any form: parents, siblings, lovers, friends. And of course they also die feeling the arms of each other - bound together by their fight and sacrifice but also an embrace with someone they might have gone on to know, and to love, if the universe had been a kinder place. 

It’s one of the most perfect and beautiful death scenes in any film I’ve seen. 

But it’s also heart-crushingly sad. 

‘What could have been’. 

…..

Edit:

I think the earlier elevator scene is where they acknowledge the loss of what they could have had together. Cassian stares at Jyn with unblinking focus but he looks like he’s dying already from his injuries, and Jyn - not yet knowing for sure that she’s about to die too - looks completely devastated. By the time they reach the beach and see the blast approaching both of them look accepting of their fate… and I imagine that they can use their final moments to internally say their spiritual goodbyes to everyone they ever loved in their lives - and to each other. They are content to die together. They are at peace as they “become one with the Force”.

….

The sand is coarse on his fingers as he tightens the embrace and closes his eyes. Her face had been that of the last being he will see, and he is at peace with that. After all, she had already started to mend his broken soul and remind him of why he was doing all this in the first place. 

Love.

She is warm against him, her grip intensifying his physical pain, and intensifying whatever is going on now in his soul. They hug as if in the hope of keeping each other whole, the hope of somehow stopping the inevitable coming-apart. Almost as if to stop time and be forever in this state of in-between.

But there is no time at all. 

So he thinks he will imagine that the light is coming from her, her bright spirit - her hot molten core - soldering and melting them into one being. 

‘I don’t know where you end or where it is that I begin.’

Extract above from  ‘Dawn Chorus’ chapter 5:

Diego Luna interview:

’ I don’t know where you end or where it is that I begin’ - from the song ‘Vision’ by Peter Hammill.

[leporellian]

il trovatore backstory

[suugarbabe]

the 'anything but' party | m.r x reader

prompt: it’s a gryffindor (maybe) party but it’s acc a theme party. the theme is dressing up as another house and reader (not a slytherin) borrows some of the boys’ quidditch clothes (like a bomber jacket or a jersey) and theo/mattheo get super jealous even though reader and him aren’t together. but it’s like he’s been after her for the whole year but she likes to play hard bc he normally doesn’t have to make any effort to have whoever girl he wants at his feet, and she doesn’t want to be just another girl, if you get what i mean? so she just shows up wearing another guys’ name and he goes feral.

word count: 2.2k

warning: angst, smut, heavy smut, 18+ MDNI!!

You were okay with parties. You weren’t ever overly obsessed with them, but the party tonight you were particularly excited about. It was a theme party. The theme being any house but your house. Very typical of the Gryffindors to throw something that will likely cause absolute chaos, but you were here for it. 

You threw on the jersey you had borrowed from Enzo Berkshire. You had a few classes with him and was even partnered with him in potions last year. When you heard about the theme he was the first person you went to. You asked if you could borrow his jersey for the party and he was more than willing to loan it out to you. 

As you threw it on it fell to about mid thigh. You thanked Merlin for Enzo’s height because now you could just wear his jersey as a dress. You turned to Luna, who had borrowed a bomber jacket from Blaise, “How do I look Lunes?”

She tilted her head, smiling and clasping her hand together, “You look marvelous! I think it would’ve suited us well to be sorted in to Slytherin.” 

You laughed a little, “Yeah, I do quite like how I look in green.” Your thoughts drifted to another Slytherin that would be able to accommodate your new favorite color. 

“Thinking about Mattheo?” Luna’s voice cut into your internal monologue and your cheeks instantly flamed. 

You did your best not to stutter over your words, “I don’t, erm, I mean why do you ask?” 

In very Luna fashion, she made no comment about you being flustered, her voice fluttering out like a feather with simple observation, “I only ask because it’s obvious that he likes you very much. It’s quite sweet, really. Are you going to finally tell him that you like him as well?”

You couldn’t help but stare at her dumbfounded. You figured your constant rejections to Mattheo’s advances made it appear to everyone that you did not reciprocate his feelings. That wasn’t actually the case, but you wanted to make him work for it. 

Girls came far too easy for Mattheo, basically throwing themselves at him. It was vomit inducing to you at times, how blatantly obvious they would be and how he essentially cherry-picked whatever girl he was feeling that particular moment. 

You weren’t going to be one of those girls, you absolutely refused it. So when you first noticed Mattheo staring at you at the beginning of the year, you just rolled your eyes anytime they connected to his. 

The first time you did this, his eyebrows shot to the ceiling, not used to this type of response from a woman. When he tried to stop you after class, you quickly shot your hand up before he could even get a word out, “Not interested, Riddle.” 

He was met with a chorus of “ohhhh’s” from his friends, which likely died down quickly due to a glare or threat from the scorned man. He tried again after that…and just about every other day from that first moment you rejected him until this morning. 

You weren’t blind, you knew Mattheo was attractive. Hell, you’ve known since the bloody sorting ceremony in first year. But the way that all of the girls swooned over him, and how he so obviously ate it up, you vowed to never be that girl. 

So for the last six years, you never really paid him any mind. You knew he was there, you knew his reputation, but he never really consumed your thoughts. So when he started staring at you, then starting actually pursuing you, you couldn’t quite understand why your heart would beat faster, or get butterflies in your stomach. 

You had boyfriends throughout your school career, even dating the quidditch captain of your house, but something about Mattheo focusing solely on you like he has made your stomach flutter like no other guy you’d been with. You weren’t even with Mattheo, but him pursuing you essentially deterred any other guy from coming up to you. 

Finishing your hair and makeup, you and Luna joined a few other Ravenclaw’s and headed to the Gryffindor common room. Walking through the portrait hole you would think there was nothing going on, but as soon as you passed through the entryway you broke the silencing charm barrier and was assaulted with the sound of bass and smell of weed. 

You looked over at Luna, who took a deep inhale, “Don’t you just love that earthy smell?” You couldn’t help but laugh at her care-free spirit. “I’m gonna go get a drink, do you want one?” Luna nodded, telling you she was going to find Blaise and to look for her in the usual spot. 

Heading to the drink table you spotted Enzo who was adorning a Ravenclaw cardigan. You had a little skip in your step, sidling up next to him and grabbing cups for you and Luna, “Well hey there, looking dashing in blue and bronze.” 

He smirked at you, leaning against the table while you got yourself a drink, “Looks like you were sorted into the wrong house. Green definitely suits you.” You turned to him, a drink in each hand, “Thank you, Enzo.” 

He held an arm out, “Shall we? I’m assuming you're not doublefisting tonight and one of those is for Miss Lovegood?” You let out a laugh, nodding and following him to the back corner where his gang of miscreants resided. You both were simply walking next to each other. Your hands were full with both drinks and while he only had one his other hand was flailing around in the air as he recounted aspects of the last Slytherin quidditch game. 

So when you reached the group, you were surprised that Mattheo’s face was set in a scowl. You quirked an eyebrow when he finally met your eyes, which took a moment as his were apparently taking their sweet time scanning your body, his eyes rolled, scoffing slightly and leaning back on the couch. 

You decided to be bold tonight, Luna’s voice from earlier in the back of your head. You greeted the others, then went and sat down next to Mattheo. As soon as your ass hit the chair, Mattheo scooted a few inches away from you. You told yourself not to be hurt by this, but he had essentially been trying to be all over you for the last month and a half. 

“What’s wrong with you?” you turned to face him, one leg now on the couch, causing the jersey you had on the ride higher on your leg. Mattheo’s eyes cast down briefly, seeing more of your skin exposed before meeting your eyes again.

“What are you wearing?” His eye contact was intense, making you squirm a little. “It’s a theme party, I’m wearing Slytherin clothes.” He let out a huff of air through his nose. You narrowed your eyes at him now, asking him again, “What’s your problem?”

He pinched the number that laid just above your left breast, your breath getting caught in your throat with how close his hands were, “You’re wearing Enzo’s jersey.” You couldn’t quite place his tone but it sounded almost like…jealousy? This made you smirk a little and now the wheels in your mind were turning. 

You shrugged your shoulders, “I thought it looked cute.” Your hands caressing the side of your body to the hem of the jersey. You saw his eyes follow your hands as you roamed your body, now focused on where your hands played with the hem, “And it’s so long on me I didn’t even have to wear any panties.” 

You saw the clench in his jaw, and you’d be lying if you said the action didn’t send a searing heat through your body. You started to pull the jersey higher up your legs, just to tease him a little. His hand shot to your wrist, “Stop.” You smirked at him, “What’s wrong, Matty?”

The nickname was something new you were toying with and it seemed to have the effect you were looking for as the grip he had on your wrist tightened. He placed his other hand on your thigh, using it as leverage to lean closer to you. 

His lips ghosted the shell of your ear, goosebumps rising along your skin, “It’s gonna be really hard for me to fuck you with Berkshire’s jersey on.” Your cheeks immediately turned red. You turned your head, staring into his eyes, faces so close your noses are nearly brushing against one another. Your heart was beating out of your chest, you feared he could hear it over the bass of the music.

Your facade was failing, quickly. The desperation you were feeling was more extreme than you could control. “Kiss me,” you requested, eyes not leaving the brown ones you were gazing at. He laughs softly, smirk adorning his face as his eyes flicker down to your lips. 

Normally that type of cockiness from him would have you leaving Mattheo there hot and bothered but tonight you found yourself leaning towards him with just as much anticipation. His mouth slotted against yours, he tasted like cigarettes and firewhiskey. You latch onto him, fisting a handful of the hufflepuff cardigan he chose for the party. 

When you finally pull away, lungs burning for air you can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face. Mattheo’s lips were red and swollen. You look at him with big eyes, silently telling him you wanted more than was possible in the open common room. 

Mattheo glanced around, searching for a solution. He stood up quickly, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the stairs to the dorms. He led you down a hall, opening the first door he could find and pulling you in behind him. 

Before you could even glance around the room Mattheo had you pressed against the door. His arm circled your waist, sliding down the small of your back before grabbing a handful of your ass, his mouth attaching itself to your neck, sucking at biting at the soft skin there. The action had the most obscene noise leaving your throat.

His grip on your ass tightens, holding you flush against his body as he tucks a knee between your legs. You whine at the contact, the fabric of his trousers grazing against your bare clit. He braces himself with his free hand on the door, resting his forehead to yours, “Merlin, I’ve been wanting to make those noises leave that pretty mouth of yours all year.” 

You open your mouth to respond, fully prepped to give a witty retort when he pressed his leg against you again. A whimper leaves your throat this time and Mattheo looks cockier than you’ve ever seen him.

You gripped his forearm, “Matty…please.” You looked up at him through your lashes as his hand dipped under the jersey, fingertips feather light on your skin. “So needy, love. Had to wear someone else’s jersey just to get me riled up, hmm?” His head dips down, lips grazing the sensitive skin where your neck and collarbone meet. 

He bites you lightly, nipping and sucking at the skin there, surely leaving his mark in a place where it’d be hard for you to hide, claiming you as his. You’re basically grinding yourself on his leg now and Mattheo thinks he can cum from the sight of you using him for your own pleasure. 

“So wet, love, can feel you through my trousers,” Mattheo grabs your hips, stilling you against his leg emitting another whine from you. “You gonna be good f’me, love?” he was teasing you now, but that didn’t stop you from nodding pathetically. 

He dragged the material of the jersey over your hips, a gasp releasing itself from your lips as the air hits your bare center. Your teeth are sinking into your bottom lip and Mattheo drops to his knees. He puts one of your legs over his shoulder, your hand shooting to his shoulder to brace yourself as his tongue licks a stripe up your dripping cunt. 

A mewl spills from your mouth and you swear you can feel him smirk against you. Without warning he plunges two fingers deep inside you, your back arching off the door and into his touch. His free hand grabs your hip, stabilizing you against the door.

He flattens his tongue, dragging it from his fingers inside you back to your sensitive nub. Your other hand flies to his curls, fingers laced and pulling harshly. This only spurs him further, curling his fingers inside you. They rut against your g-spot, pressure building in your lower belly.

You thank Merlin for the loudness of the party because the sounds Mattheo was getting you to make were sinful. His lips are attached to your clit, mercilessly sucking and licking and humming against the bud. 

Your legs are trembling and Mattheo’s grip on your hip tightens, your vision begins to blank, mouth hanging open in a silent scream, you can’t even cry out, your mind dizzy with anything but the bliss that Mattheo is giving you between your legs as your tumbling over the edge.

He continues to eat you through your orgasm, overstimulating your clit as he slowly removes his fingers. “Fuck, Matty,” you breathe, trying to catch your breath as he lowers your leg from his shoulder. 

Mattheo stands, mouth attaching to yours immediately. You moan into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He trails kisses along your jaw, down your neck then up to your ear, “Now let’s get you out of this fucking jersey.”

[xxchumanixx]

Hii, are gonna do a part 2 of “doomed” where they get together?

Doomed pt. 3

Tim Bradford x rookie!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, hurt, angst, unspoken feelings, Grey raging Word count: 2.197 Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! (I'm sorry it's so late!) Not a part 2, but a part 3 for you! Hope you'll like it anyways! Also, this isn't entirely proof read yet!

Enjoy!

Did he even breathe?

Looking at Tim through your peripheral, you knew he thought the same.

Grey was raging on, talking without breathing.

Soon he'd suffocate, you were sure of it. Luna would have a heart attack, when he would die because of you - because you were dumb enough to be caught by him.

It wasn't even your fault, really.

It was Tim's.

At least that's what you told yourself.

"And I will not be the one who will take the brunt when one of you dies, because you were too busy making love eyes to notice a threat!"

Maybe you should have just told him - at least that's what Grey thought to himself, as he yelled at one of his best officers and his rookie.

Who were sleeping with each other.

He mentally flinched, not wanting to think about it too deeply.

"You are responsible for her training!" he continued, pointing at Tim who had his hands at his sides, trying to just get past this.

He had never felt this uncomfortable in his life before - at least there wasn't much that compared to this situation.

"How do you think will others judge when they learn about your relationship? Do you think they will see her ratings fit? Or will they think you rated her better, because you-" he had to stop himself, or else it would have gotten out of hand - though you all knew, what he wanted to say.

Because you are sleeping with her.

Your career would be ruined, if the right people found out. No one would want you to work for them, never fully trusting you.

As the tears welled up in your eyes, you tried your best to suppress them.

Grey was right, and he had every right to be angry.

"This will have consequences!" he continued, finally taking a deep breath, as he tried to calm himself, for the sake of his heart.

His wife would have killed him, if he dared to have a heart attack - especially when she was currently trying to convince him to retire.

Maybe he should have.

"You will be replaced as her TO - that's the least I will have to do. Other than that, this conversation will never, and I mean never, leave this room. If anyone asks why you were replaced as her TO, you tell them that you don't know."

His eyes wandered from Tim to you, his head shaking in disappointment.

Never would he let you forget this day.

"I can't believe that this happened right under my nose and I didn't notice it." he spoke a little quieter, before his voice rose again. "And I would have never expected such behavior from you, of all people, Bradford!"

Tim swallowed, gaze fixed on the table in front of him. He didn't know what to say, guilt making his tongue heavy as lead.

Grey grumbled to himself, sitting down in his chair. He sighed in exhaustion, wiping over his face with his hand.

"I know I'll regret it later." he began, putting his head in his hand with his elbow on the armrest, as he looked up at you.

You two stood straight as sticks, and for a moment Grey had to smirk inwardly.

"Are you in a relationship or do you plan to be in one?" The same moment he voiced his question, he regretted it. His daughter would have probably told him how embarrassing he was.

Did he want to do the talk now, too?

Your eyes widened, looking at Tim in shock. His gaze was fixed somewhere behind Grey, jaw clenched.

It had been a few months now, since you regularly started to sleep with each other. You couldn't deny that you had become attached, having gathered feelings for him.

But did he feel the same?

Biting your cheek, you looked away.

Of course he wouldn't.

"Okay..." Grey mumbled, scratching his chin, as he leaned back in his chair. "I will still tell you what will await you anyway, in case you decide to be in a relationship somewhere in the future."

He shook himself inwardly, one eye twitching, as he tried to stay as professional as possible.

"I hardly advise you to work separate. Like I said, if one of you dies because you aren't focused on the task at hand, the other will pay the consequences. The LAPD doesn't like it, when two of their officers are in a relationship and in the same unit. It's a risk the intern doesn't want to take."

You simply nodded, swallowing against the lump in your throat.

What other choice did you have anyway?

Grey nodded to himself, not happy his evening had been ruined. Luna would be furious if she knew how close he had been to having a heart attack.

"And now go home. Your shift is over, anyways."

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, you nodded, heading out of the office. You had been lucky the blinds had been closed, otherwise the whole LAPD would have witnessed that conversation.

You didn't look at Tim, as you made your way to the locker room, biting back the emotions trying to take over.

The Mexican food you wanted to order at his place, would be cancelled now, your whole evening ruined.

You really should have looked better if anyone was near, before you talked about private things.

Seriously, how could you miss Grey?

He had seen how close you seemed, after parking the shop, Tim's hand almost brushing yours as he leaned closer to talk into your ear.

This one gesture had spoken more than a thousand words to him.

And it was exactly the reason, why Tim avoided to talk about his private life.

Or show it, for that matter.

But he had a moment of weakness, your flirtatious behavior over the day constantly turning him on.

He really should have known better.

His eyes scanned the parking lot for you, trying to make you out in the dark. He spotted your car, seeing that you weren't there yet, as he made his way over to it.

He decided to wait, fingers drumming on the strap of his backpack, as you left the station.

Fumbling for your keys, you didn't notice him at first, only when you almost stood in front of him.

Blinking a few times in confusion, your cheeks heated up. "What do you want?" you asked, inhaling shakily. "We should talk." he gave back, shifting his weight.

Brows furrowed, you looked at him. "If you want to end things, then just say it, Tim." you told him, trying to act nonchalant about it, even if your heart broke at the possibility of him ending whatever it was you two had.

"Wh- No!" he responded a little too fast, taking a step forward with his mouth agape. "I mean- If you want to end this, then I'll stay away from you."

Eyes widening, you felt how they burned from tears again. Of course you didn't want to end this.

Shaking your head, you told him exactly that.

"I don't want to end this." you spoke, taking a step forward as well, all the while feeling Grey's gaze burning holes in your back, even if he wasn't even near.

"But I don't think we should continue on like this. Grey is right, what we're doing is risky." you continued, sighing heavily. "We're jeopardizing our careers, risking to lose our jobs. Or at least risking our credibility and the trust they have in us. I think it's better, that he replaces you as my TO."

Your words struck something deep inside him, making him swallow. On one side he thought you were right - if he continued being your TO, though not able to keep his hands from you, your career would have been over, before it even started.

On the other hand, he feared that he'd lose you.

"If you want to keep this up, what do you mean we shouldn't continue on like this?" he wanted to know, the crease between his brows deepening.

"Are you breaking up?"

The words had left his lips, before he had a chance to properly think about it. His cheeks burned up, and he was thankful that you weren't able to see it in the dim light of the parking lot.

Your mouth opened, but you weren't able to utter a single word, only staring at him. Chuckling uneasily, you shook your head.

"Breaking up postulates there's something to break up." you told him, voice small. You didn't want him to see the heartbreak in your eyes, so you averted them.

"We're not together - there is nothing to break up."

He swallowed heavily, his throat suddenly way too dry. His heart seemed to be in an iron grip, pumping ice crystals through his veins.

He hated the way you said it, the way you sounded so broken.

"Grey is right." he muttered bitterly, nodding to himself, as he took a step backwards. Your eyes snapped back to his, following his movement.

"We shouldn't do this. The LAPD doesn't approve of it and we only risk our jobs. You're right, we shouldn't continue this."

He turned around and started to walk away, your heart breaking as he did. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you felt as if you couldn't breathe.

"Tim!" you called out, voice shaking, as you practically jumped after him, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking further away from you.

He stiffened, but didn't turn around. He only stopped, with your hand still on his arm. Inhaling shakily, you braced yourself for your next words.

"I don't want to break up." you softly spoke, one of the tears managing to free itself. Biting your lip, you shook your head. "I don't want to let you go - I can't."

He slowly turned around to you, giving you the chance to take your words back.

But you didn't.

Staring straight back at him, you stood your ground. That you were still at the almost empty parking lot, wasn't important anymore.

Neither were the people that could walk out of the station at any moment.

"If I have to do more tests, have another TO, then so be it. But I don't want to lose you, Tim."

More tears rolled down your cheeks, betraying your aching heart. Your emotions were on display for him to see, and you weren't planning on backing down.

He took a shaky breath, mouth slightly open. He didn't know what to say - hell, he wasn't even sure what you were trying to say. Had you fallen for him? As much as he had fallen for you?

"Hate me, abandon me, whatever you want." you told him, wet lips pressing together, head shaking. "But I can't act like I don't have feelings for you, any longer. Yes, it can cost us our jobs, or just mine, since you're one of the best officers here, but I'm willing to take that risk. Let Grey be angry, shout at us or transfer me when im a p2 - I don't care."

He was speechless, a rare sight.

Swallowing, he took a step closer. "What are you trying to say?" He had to know, had to hear it one more time, in case he had misunderstood you.

"I'm saying that I have feelings for you, that I have fallen in love with you, Tim." you brought over your shaking lips, heart racing as you were nervous how he would respond to your confession.

He huffed, amusement and relief hugging him like a warm blanket. Honestly, he hadn't known how he'd reacted, if you'd pushed him away for real.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, bringing you into his embrace, as he exhaled slowly. Hugging him back, your cheek rested on his chest, hearing his heart race.

"I have feelings for you, too." he confessed, smiling into your hair. "Fuck the LAPD and their opinion. I have the sergeant exam in my pocket, if they want to punish us, I'll find another station, maybe I'll even go to the metro."

You couldn't help but laugh quietly at him, knowing he'd do it.

"Go out with me." he spoke, looking down at you, after you separated, his hands on your upper arms.

Smiling, you sniffed, face still tear stained. "I'd love to." you agreed, nodding to underline your words. He smiled back, before his hand wrapped around your shoulder, walking you towards your car.

"Are we still getting Mexican tonight?" he asked, a smirk playing at his lips. Rolling your eyes, you nodded with a grin.

"I'll get us a table." he told you, sending you a wink, as you gaped at him, stopping at your car. "I know the owner."

Shaking your head, you couldn't help but smile. "Okay." He nodded, smiling right back.

As Tim told you he'd pick you up in an hour, Grey smiled to himself.

He'd been watching your interaction through a window, secretly happy about your smiling faces, as his wife caught him stalking you two, hitting his arm in warning.

"Wade!"

<- Part two

Tag List

@laheysfilm

@newobsessionweekly

[cloudybarnes]

Pretty Boy

Pairing: Harry Potter x reader

Summary: everyone knew you had a thing for the boy who lived, everyone, that is, except for Harry himself.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Harry is so soft in this it's insane so take this as your warning

Masterlist

✰  ✰  ✰

It wasn't like you were hiding anything.

You prided yourself in being very direct, and very much a go-getter. After transferring from Beauxbatons, you made quick friends at Hogwarts, even with Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

With Harry, you very quickly became fond of the quirky things he would say, and how flustered he would get when you were around.

Some people called you a flirt, but you liked to think you were just really clear about what you wanted.

Him.

You just weren't sure if he felt the same way about you.

"So, (Y/N)." Hermione said as you, her, Harry and Ron walked out of potions class. "Did you want to study for the exam with us? I figure I could use as much help to make sure these two know what they're doing."

"Hey!" Ron complained, "I happen to be smart sometimes too, Hermione. You're not the only one with a brain."

"You're right, Ron." Hermione said. "(Y/N) has a brain as well, that's why I've asked her to come study with us."

Ron rolled his eyes with a grumble.

"I think that'd be nice," Harry softly said.

You grinned. "Well if Harry wants me there, of course I'm down."

His cheeks turned pink as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Ron snickered and playfully elbowed Harry a couple of times. Harry swatted him away; the pink on his cheeks growing a darker shade.

Harry sheepishly smiled at you. "O-of course I want you there!" He stuttered.

You smirked at him. "Don't worry, pretty boy, I promise I'll be there."

Harry's mouth fell open slightly, as Ron started laughing. "Harry, close your mouth for Merlin's sake!" Ron teased Harry by pointing at his parted lips.

Harry swatted Ron's hands away from his face with a scowl. "Shut up, Ron," he muttered.

You laughed. "I'm just gonna catch up to you guys later. Bye, Harry." You sent a wink in his direction as you walked away. Ron's cackling laugh boomed through the hallway as you left.

✰  ✰  ✰

"Hey, (Y/N)!"

You had started walking down the hallways to get to the Gryffindor study hall where you were supposed to meet up with the golden trio when Luna stopped you.

"Hey, Luna!" You smiled as she walked towards you. "Where were you today? I didn't see you in herbology today."

Luna had been one of your closest friends outside of Hermione, Ron, and Harry. She was fun to talk to, and pretty much knew everything about you already and vice versa.

"Yeah," she smiled, "I was off in the woods taking a walk. It's very nice out there this time of year, you know that?"

You nodded, "oh yeah, it really is."

"So where are you heading off to?"

"Hermione invited me to help them study for the potions exam we've got coming up."

"Oh!" She grinned, "will Harry be there?"

You giggled, "he will be there. Did I tell you he specifically said he wanted me to come with them! I just about died, Luna, like my heart was fluttering like crazy."

Luna chuckled, "You guys need to get together already! Unless you're keeping it a secret from me," Luna squinted her eyes at you playfully.

You laughed. "No, we're not dating. Not yet at least." You winked at her.

"Ahem," a throat cleared behind you.

Turning around, you saw Harry standing there, a bewildered look on his face, and a red burning in his cheeks.

"Um," he stuttered, "I didn't mean to interrupt, I just wanted to make sure you were still coming to the study hall."

Slowly, you turned back to Luna who gave you a sorry smile.

"Well," she said, "I'm going to leave you two alone. I'll see you later, (Y/N/N)." With that, she walked away, leaving you alone with the boy who basically just heard you telling Luna you wanted to date him.

You looked back to Harry with a soft smile. Even though you laid your flirting on so thick with Harry, that wasn't as scary as this. Flirting was innocent. If he didn't reciprocate your feelings, you could always act like you were just messing around.

Now, though, it was the real deal. Even if you looked composed on the outside, you were freaking out quite a bit on the inside.

"Yeah, I'll be there." You smiled, "I'd never ditch my favorite boy."

Harry choked on a gasp.

"You okay?" You asked, stepping a little closer to him.

Harry gazed up at you with confusion, but also intrigue.

"What are you doing?" He asked softly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean like-like with me? Why do you say things like that to me?"

Instinctively, you took a step back. "I'm sorry? I didn't know you felt some type of way about how I acted." You felt horrible. Maybe you had done a little too much. Maybe you had flirted too hard and too blatantly that it scared him off.

"No!" He practically shouted. "No, I mean, ahem, I mean I don't feel any type of way about it. I mean, yeah I feel some type of way, but not like- not like a bad way, if that makes sense. I mean more like in a good way, you know? But also, like in a confused way. I'm not sure, I mean, I like when you say things like that to me, but it's also confusing because why would you say things like that to me?" Harry rambled on.

You couldn't help but chuckle a little.

He looked up at you when you laughed, and gave you a sheepish smile. "Too much?" He asked.

You shook your head with a smile. "No, just enough. So you don't think I come off too strong when I flirt with you?"

Harry grinned. "So you are flirting with me!"

You chuckled, "I would hope you consider that flirting. I'm not sure if you know this, but I don't go around calling too many people 'pretty boy' or 'my favorite boy'."

He blushed. "Yeah, that's what Ron said, but I didn't believe him. I just can't believe out of all the guys that like you, you like me instead."

You smiled, "So Ron told you I liked you?"

"Well, he may have mentioned it a time or two or twenty," he chuckled, "I just didn't believe him."

"How could I not like you? You're Harry, you're incredibly sweet, and selfless, and so much more. Anyone with eyes would like you, Harry."

His face turned ten shades of red. "That's how I feel about you, too, (Y/N). But with you, it's just obvious everyone loves you. You walk in a room and every single head turns. You laugh, and the birds start singing. You smile, and the sun quivers from how bright you light the place up."

With every word coming from Harry's lips, you found yourself more and more drawn to him. Your heart beat erratically.

"I didn't realize you thought so highly of me." It was your turn to blush now. You could feel your face getting incredibly hot by the sweet words he spoke. You never thought Harry would like you back, especially not as intensely as he's describing. Frankly, you didn't know he had such a way with words.

"I think you're incredible, (Y/N), and if you would let me, I'd like to take on a-a date sometime?" He suggested.

You grinned at him and grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'd love to, Harry."

He grinned, and held on tight to your hand.

For a minute there, the two of you just stared at each other, smiling. You started to giggle. "As much as I would love to stay here like this, we promised Hermione we would study with her and Ron."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that." Harry admitted, sheepishly.

You chuckled, "come on, let's not keep them waiting, pretty boy."

Harry grinned. "I like that nickname."

"I like you."

[lunasfics]

Ghost of You - Jason Todd

summary: In which Jason Todd does what he thinks is best, and you’re left to pick up the pieces he left behind.

pairings: Jason Todd x f!reader

warnings: mention of canon typical violence, angst, cursing

word count: 1k

a/n: i would like to apologize in advance for this one 😭😭 i was in an angst type of mood, i hope you like it!! - luna <3

reblogs are appreciated!!

You didn’t sleep most nights. 

Sometimes you felt the ghost of his fingers trailing lazy patterns on your arm the way he used to love to do. Sometimes you’d dream that you were in bed and he was there sleeping next to you. In those dreams you took the opportunity to watch him, memorizing every detail of his face. Every scar. The small movements of his nostrils as he breathed peacefully. You’d remember the feeling of his rough hands holding you so gently. Like he was terrified of breaking you. 

But then you’d wake up to the cold empty space beside you, nothing but unwashed linen sheets filling the space because you didn’t want to wash away the scent that remained. The scent of him. 

Sometimes, when you’d first wake up, still groggy from your slumber, you’d think Jason was in the kitchen fixing up your favorite breakfast. Like he always did on lazy mornings. Only he was never there. Not anymore.

It was stupid. It was so stupid. The way you still thought about him. The way he just gave up. The way he thought he had control over what was best for you. 

And you were heartbroken. But you were also angry. 

So, so angry. 

You’d told him. You’d told him over and over that being with him was your decision, that risking your safety was never even a question for you when it came to being with him. You knew you’d always turn out okay, as long as you had him by your side. 

Yet he never seemed to listen. 

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks of replaying that night over and over in your head. It was torture. 

“Jason-” 

“No. Do not even try to justify anything that just happened Y/n.” 

You paused. He never called you by your first name. Never.  You tried not to focus on it. “I’m not. But you need to know that it wasn’t your fault-” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Of course it was my fault, do you honestly think Black Mask would just kidnap you for fun? Are you that naive to think that you were not put at risk today because your boyfriend is the fucking Red Hood?” He dragged a hand over his face, he was pacing. His hands were shaky. You could have died. It would have been his fault had he not arrived when he did. 

“I am not naive, Jason. I am a grown woman and I knew damn well what I signed up for when I fell in love with you. I’m not afraid of this. I’m not afraid of anything as long as I’m with you.” 

He laughed dryly, “Bravery and the power of love won't keep you alive, Y/n. I can’t lose you. I can’t be the reason you get hurt.” 

“You never have been and you never will be. Just– Please. I need you to understand that.” Your voice cracked, your eyes welling with tears, what he didn’t understand is it hurt you so, so much to see him in pain. You couldn’t lose him either. And he was constantly risking his life, you’d almost lost him far too many times. 

He turned away from you. He couldn’t see you cry right now. He needed the shred of strength he had left to protect you. For good. 

He turned to you, “I’ve been a selfish piece of shit my whole life. And I can’t– Fuck. I can’t keep putting how I feel first at the expense of your safety. You deserve a normal life. Not whatever the fuck I dragged you into.” 

“Jason. What the fuck are you saying right now.” You didn’t want to believe it. 

He didn’t look at you. He knew the moment he looked into your tear-filled eyes he’d take it back instantly. He’d apologize, bring you you to bed and hold you, peppering your face with sweet, gentle kisses. He’d drag you right back into the cycle he’d trapped you in.

You wished he would. 

“Jason.” 

“I’m leaving, Y/n. You need someone who can take care of you. Who can give you what you deserve. I have to let you go.” 

“Are you shitting me? I want you. No one else. This is not your decision to make.” 

He started walking towards the door. “I’m sorry.”  He refused to turn around, his eyes filling up with tears as he walked further towards the door, his hand on the doorknob. 

“I want you to know that right now, you, Jason Todd, are hurting me more than anyone else ever could.” 

There was a pause before he turned the doorknob, opening it and stepping out. “You’ll survive.” 

That was the last time you spoke to him. 

Over and over. The memory replayed in your mind. Every night you dreamed of him, you dreamed he never left, that he had put aside his own pride and just listened to you. That he had just let you be there for him. 

You had no idea where he was. You were constantly looking at your phone. Constantly. Waiting, hoping that you’d get a call from him, telling you he was sorry. That he wanted to come back to you. That you’d make it work.

But it never came. And deep down, you knew it wouldn’t. 

So every day you tormented yourself with dreams of him. Thoughts of him. Remembering the feeling of his arms snaking around your waist as you made your morning coffee. The feeling of him plopping his tired body onto yours after a long day, running your fingers through his hair as he laid his head on your chest. 

No thermal or weighted blanket provided the warmth and the security that he did. No pillow you hugged felt as comforting as hugging him did. No comedy you watched was as funny as when you watched it with him. No jacket you owned was as warm as the one he would drape over your shoulders while you were out together and it started to get cold. 

You lived with constant reminders that he was gone. Constant echoes of his previous presence. 

You could only hold on to the ghost of him that remained in your cold apartment. 

[lcdrarry]

LCDrarry 2025 Master List Part 2: Fic

Dear lovely Participants, Creators, Alpha and Beta Readers, Cheerleaders, Readers and Fans of this fest,

The 7th installment of LCDrarry has come to an end. 7! That's a whole school life at Hogwarts!

We'd like to thank you all for taking part in this fest, for creating so many amazing new Drarry works for us all to enjoy, for commenting on your favourite creations, for sharing and recommending the LCDrarry gems with your friends and blog followers, and for making this fest another amazing experience for everybody.

Fests would not exist without their participants or readers. You're all amazing! And we're so happy that you chose this fest in the vast and wonderful offerings of HP and Drarry events.

And now, you can find out under the cut who created what ;D

~Your LCDrarry Mods Tami (@celilasart) and Suzi (@erin-riwen)

PS: Please have a look at the creator notes and tags on AO3 for additional information and more detailed content warnings. Thank you! PPS: You can find a link to the "Master List - Part 1: Podfic & Art" under the cut.

Enjoy!

Part 1 of this Master List with all the lovely podfics and art can be found here.

~~~

Fic

~~~

Things I Almost Remember

Prompt: "Anastasia", 1997, Don Bluth Prompted by: cailynwrites Author: slyth_princess Word Count: 2,056 words Rating: General Warnings: No archive warnings apply.

Summary: Harry grew up in the dark with no memory of who he was, only to stumble across a mystery, a rumour spread throughout all that remains of Wizarding London. Could this mysterious Lost Prince really be him? He honestly doesn't know. Nor does he know what to make of the man who discovered him. Draco just wants freedom. A way out of the hell his world has become. So when a stranger stumbles upon the hideaway he'd made in the ruins of the Ministry for Magic, that looks shockingly like Harry Potter, who is he to turn down his best shot at getting what he wants? If only the man wasn't so hard to keep his distance from.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

what could this thing possibly do?

Prompt: "Zombieland", 2009, Ruben Fleischer Prompted by: Gnarf Authors: winchesterss & arcasra Word Count: 2,519 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply.

Summary: Draco works with muggle artifacts, Harry is bored, and they end up inside of a zombie film.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

The Little Merman

Prompt: "The Little Mermaid", 1989, Ron Clements, John Musker Prompted by: Anonymous Author: Meowfoy Word Count: 5,286 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply.

Summary: Draco Malfoy as Ariel in this Little Mermaid inspired HP AU! Harry as a Prince, Voldemort as Ursula and some interesting twists to the Little Mermaid story as well. Also Draco just doesn't want to be a merman, he doesn't feel like it is who he is. So he doesn't just change for love. Though a hot prince definitely helps.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

A Boy, A Mouse, a Library Card, and a Stupid, Stupid Diary

Prompt: "The Owl House", 2020 Prompted by: Thel1ght6 Author: Thel1ght6 Word Count: 6,006 words Rating: General Warnings: No archive warnings apply.

Summary: Harry Potter is a human boy, whose parents unfortunately died in a crash. He was left to his horrid aunt and uncle, and lived in the remnants of what his parents left behind. One day, A strange bird makes off with Harry’s stuff. It runs into a house, and Harry is teleported to a strange world called the Magic Isles. He is taken in by a wizard named Dumbledore and his demon buddy, Hagrid. He has gotten in a lot of situations; one of which got him trapped on the isles. He’s met a lot of other people on the Isle. Hermione, Neville, Luna- his favorite being Draco. Today, and for the millionth time this week, he’s going to visit Draco at his job. However, he has a favor to ask. He needs to find something, and only Draco could know where it is.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Knockturn Hill

Prompt: "Notting Hill", 1999, Roger Michell Prompted by: Elizah321 Author: SpireaSalix Word Count: 9,148 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary: Fifteen years after the war, Knockturn Alley — where Draco and his friends sought refuge from their tarnished reputations — has transformed into a surprisingly charming neighborhood and rebranded itself as Knockturn Hill. Draco has settled for a boring, pathetic and lonely life between his shop and an apartment with an emerald green door. Meanwhile, Harry Potter, the wizarding world’s most famous and adored figure, has grown accustomed to a life of luxury, constant attention, and admirers eager to please him in every way they can. When a group of reporters ambushes Harry in Knockturn Hill he is left desperate for a place to hide.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Something Fucking Sinister

Prompt: "Jennifer's Body", 2009, Karyn Kusama Prompted by: Trishjames Author: Trishjames Word Count: 9,581 words Rating: Mature Warnings: Minor Horror Elements, Creepy vibes

Summary: Something is seriously off at The Three Broomsticks. Harry knows it. The walls know it. The washed-up band playing definitely knows it. But his roommate-kinda-frenemy Malfoy? Well. Malfoy is too busy flirting with danger and looking like trouble in human form to care. This was not the stress-free eighth year Harry’d been looking forward to.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

The Legend of Tower 7

Prompt: "Tower 4", 2020 Prompted by: DrWhoIsGinnyHolmes Author: DrWhoIsGinnyHolmes Word Count: 9,927 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Minor Character Death, Creepy, Mystery

Summary: Losing his adoptive parents was the last straw. Harry needed to get away, so he packed up his things and left for America. He travelled out to Glencour Park and Camp Grounds, a magical forest that housed all sorts of creatures, including a Horned Serpent Sanctuary. He heard this place had a problem with missing campers and occasional fiendfyre, not to mention the Muggle forest fires that threatened the land.

He hadn't even been there one day when odd things started happening: classical music coming from the radio that no one else could hear, creepy sounds near his tower that he couldn't explain, random cold spots in the woods, and the feeling of being watched all the time. This was going to be a long Fire Season.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Close Encounters

Prompt: “The X-Files”, 1993-2018 Prompted by: pocket_lin (ao3) Author: LadyShipwreck Word Count: 12,107 words Rating: Mature Warnings: aliens, alien abductions, missing time, Draco's racing anxiety thoughts

Summary: When Draco is transferred to the Ministry's X-Files, it seems like Potter is there to ruin his life yet again. But soon he finds himself immersed in the biggest mystery the universe can hand him: how to survive falling in love with the Savior of the Wizarding World. Featuring a UFO convention, some dramatic and unhelpful friends, and a possible alien abduction. Can Draco keep a cool and rational head when everything around him is getting...spooky?

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

The Grim Barbarity of the Department of Mysteries

Prompt: "Severance", 2022 Prompted by: phoenixortheflame Author: holygnocchi Word Count: 12,828 words Rating: Mature Warnings: Themes of spousal loss and grief

Summary: Harry sits and listens to the minutes tick by, and tries not to think about all the sounds that are missing: the clatter of cabinet doors and whistle of the kettle; the whoosh of an accio’d briefcase and the rustle of papers haphazardly stuffed inside it; an intermittent off-key hum along with the wireless. He’s not sure how long he sits there trying-and-failing, but without Draco there to cast a warming charm, the coffee goes cold before Harry thinks to drink it.

OR: Harry doesn't want to grieve. So instead, he forgets.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

The Drarry Trap

Prompt: "The Parent Trap", 1998, Nancy Meyers Prompted by: meandminniemcg Author: meandminniemcg Word Count: 15,075 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No archive warnings apply; past unplanned pregnancy of a trans man, referenced PTSD

Summary: You send your son to an international Little League Quidditch camp, and he comes back being like a different person. Maybe he is. At least that happened to Harry and Draco.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Undiscovered Country

Prompt: “Station Eleven”, 2021 Prompted by: pocket_lin (AO3) Author: DodgerKedavra Word Count: 15,715 words Rating: Mature Warnings: Post-Apocalypse, Pandemics, Blood and Injury, Parent Death, Panic Attacks

Summary: “Everyone’s dead,” Harry sobs, his voice mostly gone. “Hey.” Uncle Pads strokes Harry’s hair. “Not everyone.”

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

here, in my arms

Prompt: "Rebecca", 1940, Alfred Hitchcock; 2020, Ben Wheatley Prompted by: MoonSmurf Author: newskyillusion Word Count: 18,337 words Rating: Mature Warnings: Morally Grey Harry Potter, Morally Grey Draco Malfoy, First Person POV, Fire, Murder, Gothic vibes

Summary: Last night I dreamed I went to the Malfoy Manor again. or, Drarry meets Rebecca

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Only Three Rules

Prompt: "The Holiday", 2006, Nancy Meyers Prompted by: alexandra6727 Author: JessicaLuci Word Count: 20,064 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply.

Summary: The son of the Duke of Wiltshire returned to dreaded England for a much needed holiday. Planning on spending the Christmas period alone in a serene cottage with nothing but books, thoughts, and an odd dog called Crookshanks. Draco did not expect those plans to be utterly destroyed by a singular (but extremely handsome) man. Harry Potter: veteran, divorcee, and single father, returned to his sister's house for the night after getting thoroughly pissed. However, as he pounded on the door to be let in, he wasn't greeted by his sister's exasperated expression, he was greeted by a man who instantly took his breath away. Three rules were all they had. Three rules they quickly broke.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Seven First Dates

Prompt: "50 First Dates", 2004, Peter Segalo Prompted by: Anonymous Author: qqquack Word Count: 20,898 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, References to Depression

Summary: When Harry ran into Draco Malfoy in a Muggle bookshop, he certainly found it odd. When he spotted him there for a second time, Harry convinced himself that Malfoy was plotting something awful. By the third encounter, he’d realized what was actually up: Malfoy had short term memory loss. He was stuck reliving the same day over and over again. Well wasn’t it just his luck that Harry was starting to fall in love.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

each fallen robin

Prompt: "The Hunger Games" (2012) Prompted by: veradubhghoill Author: veradubhghoill Word Count: 21,050 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Canon-typical deaths, canon-typical child abuse, psychological manipulation, psychological torture, cruelty, implied sex work

Summary: In the distance a cannon boomed; Harry looked down at himself, then at his opponent, who was entirely still, waves lapping at his face. Quirinus, Harry remembered. That was his name. A Career tribute. They had nodded at each other during training, maintaining some semblance of decorum—but here in the arena all Harry could think about was the way Quirinus had lunged for him, spittle flying from his mouth, spear in hand, knowing that all that stood between him and victory was a malnourished fourteen year-old.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Twenty’s Plenty

Prompt: "What's Your Number?", 2011, Mark Mylod Prompted by: veradubhghoill (ao3) Author: orolin Word Count: 21,811 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply; Infidelity but not between Harry and Draco

Summary: After a string of failed relationships and a Witch Weekly article that proclaims anyone who has dated over twenty people is more likely to end up alone, Draco decides enough is enough. There must’ve been someone in his past who he missed a connection with, so there’s only one thing for it. Hunt down all of his exes and find The One. What he didn't account for was Harry Potter coming along for the ride.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Love is All Around

Prompt: "Four Weddings and a Funeral", 1994, Mike Newell Prompted by: Anonymous Author: ToBoldlyGeek Word Count: 24,266 words Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply.

Summary: Everyone is getting married, except for Harry. Over the course of five social occasions he figures out how to change that.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Nothing can keep me away

Prompt: "Sister Act", 1992, Emile Ardolino Prompted by: apricitydays (AO3) Author: skotini Word Count: 24,330 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Kissing under the influence of alcohol (sacramental wine), Breaking of religious vows, Negative portrayals of religious figures

Summary: After being witness to a terrible crime, Harry Potter must go into hiding at Netley Abbey, a magical monastery. But that’s where Draco Malfoy has already taken vows, and he’s definitely off limits…

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Life As We Know It

Prompt: "Life as We Know It", 2010, Greg Berlanti Prompted by: Anonymous Author: use_it_well Word Count: 25,803 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Minor character death, death from terminal illness

Summary: When Andromeda suddenly passed away, leaving Teddy in the care of both Harry and Draco, neither of them knew how they’d manage to live together without killing each other, let along survive as parenthood was thrust upon them. Raising a ten-year-old boy would be hard at the best of times, but raising one who had just lost the only parental figure he’d ever known was another thing entirely. Would it be possible for Harry and Draco to put aside their (very many) differences in order to provide a stable family for Teddy? And what would they learn about each other – and themselves – along the way?

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Treat me like a dog, Take me out back, Tell me that my hunting days are done

Prompt: "Crazy Rich Asians", 2018, Jon M Chu Prompted by: Anonymous Author: morningliliesmourningglories Word Count: 29,271 words Rating: General Audience Warnings: Canon compliant racism, One (1) dead fish

Summary: What is lineage, if not a gold thread of pride and guilt. The Hurting Kind, Ada Limon.

A.K.A The Drarry Crazy Rich Asians retelling in which everyone learns that to get what you need does not mean that you get what you want.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Will Do So Gently

Prompt: "The Last Of Us", 2023 Prompted by: shewhxmustnxtbenamed Author: shewhxmustnxtbenamed Word Count: 138,444 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Depictions of war, bombing, heavy angst

Summary: Following a coup organised by Voldemort, England's society collapses. Initial attempts by the government to regain power are thwarted by Death Eaters, and a rebellion group called ‘The Order’ forms to fight against them. The country divides, people flee, and those left are trying their best to survive. Draco Malfoy, raised since birth to believe in Voldemort, grows wiser with age and abandons his home after he realises the terror Voldemort intends to inflict on the world. Afraid of what The Order might do to a marked Death Eater, he goes into hiding where he remains for years until Harry Potter finds him and sparks his long-lost will to fight. Their paths separate, and Draco goes out to join The Order or die trying, not realising that his Death Eater status will be the least of his concerns when he arrives.

Read it now on AO3.

~~~

Part 1 of this Master List with all the lovely podfics and art can be found here.

As always, reblogs here on tumblr are very much appreciated to share all the wonderful works of LCDrarry 2025 with more people. But of course, please also shower our creators with comments and kudos on AO3 ;D Thank you! Read you next year ;)

[llamaisllama777]

THE WEEKLY*/DAILY* TSAMS, FEMNAF, EAPS SHOW!!!!

Let's get on with the show!

Sun and Moon are FINALLY in the new dimension! This place seems chill (so far). Sun and Moon have their own diner now, and I shall call dub it....

The SunShiner Diner

-Sun is the mascot of the joint

-Jack has his own cove. I shall dub "Jack's pumpkin cove"

-Molten runs the prize counter

-Solar does whatever

-Monty cooks

-and Moon is manager

This could go super well... or super bad.

They aren't even open yet, and they are already BLEEDING money. They need to start making money YESTERDAY! They may get their own animatronics, which would be interesting to see.

Let's hope they can keep the business open, not do anything illegal and avoid money problems.

Onto the Fem's

Okay, if you aren't caught up let's just say the Fem universe's Fazbear is FAR MORE POWERFUL AND FAR MORE EVIL THAN TSAMS' FAZBEAR!

They literally stripped Roxas naked. (They scrapped off the paint on his legs for some reason? Pretty sure that counts as assault)

Fazbear has kidnapped Roxas and is trying to find the 'flaw' in his code or programming a.k.a. cause he's trans... that feels a little too real.

Like TSBS has dealt with real issues before, but this, right now, in this time, that's crazy.

Roxas ends up getting rescued by CHICO! My bird boy! This dude had like 5 minutes of screen time, clocked (/possibly killed all the guards), and rescued his friend.

That's a good friend right there, mate!

But now Fazbear wants ALL their heads. So, if Fazbear wants to play dirty, the animatronics are gonna play dirty.

They plan to leak all of Fazbear's illegal doings to destroy them or at least distract them. If they do end up bankruptcy, Fazbear, I suggest they all go work for Luna and Earth/Teran

(The Lunar and Earth of this world.)

I would like to suggest that Eleanor should leak the footage of Fazbear taking Roxas cause he "Is affecting their brand" and let the LGBTQ+ community tear them apart.

Please, Eleanor, please do this! BURN THAT COMPANY TO THE ASHES!

And lastly...

Oh, this is gonna be an issue, ain't it.

Okay, Ruin is safe, but his Monty (Rusty) got away, and him and Solar Flare got into little argument about what to do with Rusty. Ruin obviously wants to save him, but Solar Flare's prime directive is to protect everyone and eliminate targets... which includes Rusty.

So, I have a feeling this may turn into something. Eclipse would definitely be on the side of "I don't care if he lives or dies as long as he's not a threat"

I'm very curious and concerned what Afton/Stitchtrap/Stitchton is up to? What is his endgame with the portal and the ruin virus?

I'm so excited to see what Tsams will do next, and what will happen in Femme nights at Freddy's?

These episodes are amazing! Keep it up guys!

12/10 MAN, WERE THESE SOME AWESOME EPISODES!

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 16 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: fluff (if you squint really really hard), ANGST, strong language, explicit descriptions of violence & the process of cleaning wounds, mentions of loss of consciousness, SLOW BURN

words: 12.2k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 16 ► i’m still your favourite regret, you’re still my weapon of choosing

The performance in Cologne the next day passed by in a blur. Jungkook refused to speak to anyone and only opened his mouth when it was absolutely necessary during the sound check—and even then, most of his vocabulary consisted of grunts or monosyllables.

He wouldn’t have called it sulking—he would have called it existential sorrow—but from the perspective of those around him, that was what this was.

He had dreamed of a happy ending with you. Now, he feared there would be no ending at all. He feared you’d leave and your goodbye would come in a letter. Or maybe just a farewell email.

“I had a wonderful time working with you and I wish you all the best for the future,” would be the last thing you’d write. The last thing you’d say.

You’d leave and he would never see you again.

Although he didn’t talk to you, Jungkook watched you a lot. The band had to do some interviews backstage before the Cologne show, and you were in the room with them, behind the camera. He counted, you only looked at him once.

After the concert, Jungkook took a long shower, but it could not drown his fears. When he returned to the hallway outside the dressing rooms, he saw that the post-show drinks were already finished and everyone had returned to the bus. He’d hoped that would happen. He needed a few more minutes alone.

He entered the changing room with a towel draped over his shoulders and quickly changed his shorts into sweatpants. Just as he pulled his hoodie over his head—somewhat laboriously, as his arms were still damp from the shower—he heard something vibrating against the leather couch in the room.

Confused, he pulled the hoodie on and walked over to the couch. He didn’t recognise the phone, but Taehyung was calling it, so chances were good that the device belonged to Luna. He made a mental note to bring it to her and placed it back on the couch while he packed the rest of his things.

He had just unzipped his bag when he heard the door open and turned his head. His expectant heart immediately jumped over several beats at the possibility that this was you.

But it was the furthest thing from you.

It was Sid.

Sid had many useless, irritating talents, but always finding Jungkook when he was alone, was his most impressive one.

Jungkook started to roll his eyes even before Sid spoke up, but that didn’t deter the older boy from entering the room.

“You’ve been ignoring us the whole day,” Sid said, closing the door behind him. “Well, I don’t care if you ignore everyone else. But you’ve been ignoring me, and I can’t allow that.”

Jungkook threw his jeans and shorts into the bag.

“That is so kind,” he said without looking up. “Did you miss me that much?”

“I did,” Sid said, and even without looking at him, Jungkook knew he had his usual psychotic grin on. Leaning against the dressing table, Sid added, “the clock’s tick-tick-ticking.”

“If you don’t leave me alone right now,” Jungkook retorted, unplugging his charger and packing it, too, “my foot is going to be kick-kick-kicking your ass.”

Sid merely snorted at the threat. “You’re very hostile, you know? It’s just a bet.”

Jungkook scoffed.

He remembered hoping that Sid would eventually forget about the bet if no one mentioned it. How very naive he had been. Sid would never forget. He was like a hateful elephant in this case—he had a flawless memory for anything that benefited him and was constantly at the centre of attention in any room he was in, making it impossible to escape his presence.

Jungkook couldn’t believe that he had once clung to the Katana so tightly that he didn’t even consider the possibility of losing the bet as soon as he made it. It seemed absurd now. What did he want to prove? Nothing made sense to him anymore.

“Is it? Really? Just a bet?” he rebutted, moving closer to Sid with each question. “Because when I told you I wanted to end it, you acted like we signed a fucking contract.”

Sid shrugged, his indifference as irritating as it was insincere.

“A bet’s still a bet,” he replied. “You’ve got to keep your word.”

Rolling his eyes, Jungkook turned around and grabbed his hairdryer from the table. They had already argued about this before. He didn’t have the energy to keep doing it, and he still had things to pack.

“Get fucked, Sid.”

“Come on,” Sid said, clearly expecting a more grandiose response from him. “You keep saying that. But I’m willing to talk to you here. Tell me what happened.”

Jungkook glared at him through his peripherals. “What the fuck do you mean, what happened?”

“Well, you were acting so bold and confident before,” Sid said in a breathy voice, presumably to imitate Jungkook’s manner of speaking. “You were sure you’d get back together, no problem.”

“No,” Jungkook countered, straightening up. “I was sure we could go on a date, no problem. That was the extent of the bet for me.”

It was bad enough, he knew. But he couldn’t move forward if he didn’t own up to it.

“Aww.” Sid tilted his head sideways and pursed his lips to feign sympathy. “But you couldn’t even do that...”

“I fucking—okay,” Jungkook stopped when he felt his agitation grow. There was a voice in his head—very similar to yours—reminding him that Sid wasn’t worth it. “Get out. I’m serious.”

“Was that all talk?” Sid continued as if the younger boy hadn’t spoken. “Admit it, and maybe we’ll come to a different agreement about the bet.”

“Get,” Jungkook said, gritting his teeth, “out.”

Sid clicked his tongue, but the pleasure that this interaction brought him was prominent in his eyes. Antagonising Jungkook was his favourite part of the day.

“Predictable,” he said. “It seems I overestimated you, after all.”

“What the fuck are you on about now?”

“Well, you know,” Sid continued to spin his webs around Jungkook. “You and your manager. I thought you’d win the bet for sure.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jungkook asked, “yet you still agreed to it?”

Sid’s eye twitched slightly—Jungkook felt a great sense of satisfaction at the sight; it wasn’t often that Sid was forced to question his own logic, however momentarily—but he recovered too quickly.

“I like to gamble.” He shrugged. “What can I say?”

“You can shut up,” Jungkook suggested.

“However, you didn’t manage to do it,” Sid went on. “And I have to say, I am genuinely surprised. Not about you, no. I always knew you were pathetically in love with her, that’s just who you are. No offence, just the truth, really. But she’s just—I mean, come on.” He paused to laugh, one hand on his stomach as if he found himself so amusing that he needed to keep his guts from spilling out. “You fluttered your eyelashes at her once, and she went to Paris with you. She’s that fucking easy.”

Jungkook felt the room still as he lifted his gaze from Sid’s stomach to his eyes.

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Sid’s grin was about as wide as the distance from this venue to the nearest hospital, where Jungkook thought he was about to send him.

Sid pushed himself off the table he’d been leaning against and walked over to the rack of clothes next to the couch. Jungkook watched him, stiff and belligerent.

“I thought she was keeping you on a short leash. And don’t blame me. I mean, you always ran after her as soon as she called,” the older boy continued, laughing with a little shake of his head—as if in disbelief. He turned and leisurely strolled back towards Jungkook. “But she—I mean, I get the feeling she doesn’t like me very much, but even I could have taken her out if I wanted to. Honestly, man, I’m surprised you couldn’t do it. She’s that specific type—you know the one—where she’ll say yes to anyone if they just put in enough effort—”

Jungkook’s punch landed right on the side of Sid’s mouth, cutting him off.

Something in Sid’s neck cracked as the blunt force twisted his head to the side. The corner of his mouth was bleeding, but he still had an almost defiant look in his eyes when he turned back to Jungkook. The tips of his fingers were painted scarlet when he pulled them back from his lips.

“I fucking warned you,” Jungkook growled while Sid continued to stare at his hand. “Get your ass out of here right fucking now or I swear they’ll have to carry you out of here in a fucking box.”

Sid spat the blood from his mouth on the floor and glared at Jungkook.

“That the best you can do?” he challenged. “Huh? Maybe that’s why you couldn’t even get someone like her to—”

Jungkook raised his fist again, but Sid had already been anticipating it. He pushed Jungkook’s hand back with his forearm, knocking the younger boy off balance for a moment—it was then that he landed a punch on Jungkook’s left cheekbone.

A sharp pain surged through the side of his face, but Jungkook was wide awake and furious.

In less than a second, he noticed Sid swinging back again—Sid had always been strong but slow—and Jungkook blocked his blow with his left wrist and rammed his shoulder into Sid’s chest, pushing him into the wall and wrapping an arm around him. The older boy thrashed and squirmed with raging strength until he freed one of his hands.

Jungkook tried to pin Sid’s left arm against the wall—he was left-handed if barely even that—but, being the massive pile of unbelievably lucky crap that he was, Sid managed to use his right fist to reach the boy restraining him.

Sid’s unexpected southpaw caught Jungkook just as he was lowering his head to avoid the blow from the older boy’s dominant hand—and his right fist connected with the side of Jungkook’s head, between his eye and temple.

“You’re f-fucking embarrassing,” Sid snarled, bloodied and breathless, as Jungkook staggered backwards, dazed from the blow. “Weak fucking piece of sh-shit. Birds of fucking feather, you two—both fucking worthless and—”

Sid inhaled quickly before finishing his sentence—but then he ended up not even finishing his breath.

Aggravated and filled with raw adrenaline, Jungkook delivered a furious uppercut, his fist colliding solidly with Sid’s chin. The older boy was propelled backwards by the force—Jungkook heard the thud as his head hit the wall.

Already groaning, Sid was determined to fight back—never mind that the room was spinning—but Jungkook took advantage of the moment while Sid’s vision was still cloudy and pinned him against the wall with his full weight.

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up,” he hissed, pressing his forearm against Sid’s neck.

Choking, Sid immediately grabbed Jungkook’s arm to push him off, but Jungkook had a clear strength and fury advantage. He did not budge as the older boy resisted him.

Sid knew this wasn’t a good look for him—he could feel that if Jungkook pushed his forearm into his neck any harder, he’d lift him off the ground. Unable to breathe, the older boy paled, but his eyes were black with rage.

“Face the fff-fuh-fucking facts. You’re weak,” Sid wheezed, livid. There was blood in his mouth and something else that rolled around his tongue when he spoke. “And she’s a f-fucking—”

“One more fucking word,” Jungkook warned, pressing his arm harder into Sid’s throat—the other boy couldn’t even look at him anymore, his head was pushed too far back, “and you’ll have to be fucking dissected to find out what the fuck happened to you.”

Sid gasped for breath but refused to stop speaking. “I—unf—f-fucking—”

“What the fuck—” a shrill, startled voice demanded from behind the two boys, “—is going on?!”

Jungkook jumped—Sid felt his arm shove deeper into his throat and let out a half-stifled cry—and turned to see Luna standing wide-eyed in the doorway of the changing room.

He tore himself away from Sid, who dropped his hands to his knees, panting and clutching his throat before straightening again as though nothing was wrong. But his attempt to inhale properly resulted in another violent coughing fit. He bent over to spit out some blood and something else.

The two boys watched as a tooth rolled into the revolting mixture of spit and blood on the floor. Sid looked appalled as he reached for his mouth again, almost prepared to count all his teeth to check if he’d really lost one or if spare teeth were just something he carried around in his mouth without realising.

“Do I have to ask again?!” Luna cried, too shocked to make sense of what she had the unfortunate luck of interrupting.

“It’s okay, Luna,” Jungkook said, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “Sid was just leaving.”

Sid glared at him, coughed again, and leaned in closer.

“All bark,” he hissed hoarsely. Jungkook could see the small gap next to Sid’s lower canine when he opened his mouth. “No bite.”

“Get fucked,” Jungkook said. “And pack your shit. Don’t come anywhere near me again or you’ll be eating through a fucking straw.”

He watched as Sid narrowed his eyes, fighting a battle within himself. Jungkook’s jaw was clenched, his fists ready to strike if he made another comment or exhibited any signs of even thinking about you.

Finally, Sid turned around and stormed out of the room. As soon as he walked down the corridor without so much as a glance at Luna, she went inside.

Still completely bewildered, she stopped abruptly in the middle of the room. The pool of blood was between her and Jungkook, and they both looked at it for a moment.

“What—” she began, then paused to suppress her disgust as she lifted her gaze from the floor to Jungkook. “What the hell happened here?”

He walked over to one of the cupboards by the window, searching for towels. He needed to clean this up or the venue would report the damages to you.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“You’re bleeding,” Luna said, stepping closer. Jungkook froze as she took one of the towels from him and reached up to his temple. “You’re bleeding so much, in fact, that you might need stitches.”

He shook his head—and then received a punch in the ribs from her. He yelped in surprise and learnt to stand still while she wiped the blood off.

“It’s fine,” he insisted. His temple throbbed with pain, but it still couldn’t compare to the sharp-edged emptiness that he’d felt all day.

“It’s not fine,” Luna said, pulling away. The towel was soaked with blood. Jungkook had to admit that he was surprised he was bleeding so much. Despite the sharpness of Sid’s fists, he had assumed that he’d been merely scratched. “Let me find—”

“No!” His eyes were wide in sudden panic. “Don’t—don’t bring her here. Actually, don’t tell her about the mess here at all. Please?”

Luna watched him for a moment, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion (was he serious?) and eyes bright with pity (what a shame to be so stupid).

“Jungkook,” she said patiently. “You’re going to have bruises all over your face. Probably even a black eye.”

He exhaled and looked down.

He knew he couldn’t keep this from you, but involving you now was the worst possible thing he could do. He was supposed to make things right.

“I know,” he said slowly, “but—I’m… I don’t want this to be another one of my messes that she has to clean up. That would definitely make her give up and go to Reconnaissance.”

Luna lowered her gaze, taking a moment to process the fact that Jungkook knew about the other band, but instead of the hysterics that everyone would have expected from him, he’d been rather composed all day today. Until he got into a fight with Sid, of course.

She tossed the towel onto the puddle of blood on the floor. She had no intention of cleaning it up herself, but she couldn’t stand to look at it.

“Well, have you considered not getting into this mess in the first place?” she asked then.

“Believe it or not, he started it,” Jungkook mumbled as he gathered more towels from the cupboard.

“Does that even matter now?”

Luna had to step back as he bent down to mop the floor. Some blood had already seeped into the wooden floorboards, but Jungkook scrubbed over the stain with the towel anyway.

“No,” he said, concentrating his irritation on the repetitive motions as he wiped the floor. “I guess not.”

“At least let me get some band-aids for you.” She looked around the room. There didn’t seem to be any first-aid kits here, but she had a few band-aids in her bag that she’d left in the waiting area outside. “Although I don’t know if that’s even enough.”

“It is enough,” Jungkook said. “I’m fine. He barely—barely touched me.”

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Luna turned to the door, muttering under her breath, “fucking boys.”

Jungkook couldn’t help a small smile.

“I heard that!” he shouted.

“I wanted you to!” she shouted back without turning around.

He chuckled, then winced at the sharp twinge in his temple. The adrenaline must have worn off, or the pain was getting stronger. He stopped scrubbing the floors, hoping to leave a message for the organisers and personally apologise for the mess later.

Then he crossed his legs on the ground and leaned his head against the wall. For just one second, he closed his eyes and rested.

He made a decision while he did.

He resolved to make sure that Sid wouldn’t come anywhere near him, Rated Riot, or you.

He finally realised that he had friends here—real friends. They had been here all along, the people who loved him. Hoseok, who took care of him when he was hungover. Yoongi, who tried to find help when he thought Jungkook was feeling a little too much. Taehyung, who didn’t leave even after Jungkook admitted how much he’d fucked up. And Luna, who looked about ready to physically beat some sense into him, but still stayed to help him with his wounds. Namjoon, Jimin, Seokjin, and Maggie, too—honestly, the entire team who laughed at his jokes, teased him and always supported him.

Although he was still worried about being alone with his thoughts, Jungkook knew he didn’t need Sid to fill the void. Now he wondered if Sid had always been the void he was trying to escape.

He was determined to prevent history from repeating itself. These people that he’d desperately wanted to call friends had already contributed significantly to your break-up once before, without him realising it.

Well, now he realised it. And he was going to fix it—all of it.

He could start by eliminating the reason why he kept making the same mistakes.

A minute later, Luna returned to the room. The sight of Jungkook sitting on the floor with his eyes closed made her look twice as she felt her heart drop in sudden anxiety.

She thought about turning around and looking for you, because you had a lot more patience to deal with this than she thought she did. But then, she knew that another argument was the last thing you or Jungkook needed right now.

She took a deep breath and approached him.

“Here,” she said as she grabbed another towel and squatted down next to him with the few band-aids that, frankly, seemed meagre when she saw the cuts and bruises on his face up close. “Let me help you.”

Jungkook had only briefly opened his eyes to look at her and then closed them again.

“Thank you,” he said as she wiped more blood from the side of his face before applying the band-aid. She didn’t mean to be gentle. She wanted him to understand how much he’d messed up. But her movements ended up being tentative and careful anyway.

“Don’t thank me,” she said, biting her lip as the blood immediately seeped through the band-aids. They would not hold; they both knew that. She sighed and pulled away from him. “She will see this. You will have to argue with her again. I can’t help you with that.”

He nodded his head once. “I know.”

Luna rose and walked over to the back of the room, considering this. She leaned her hip against the table and looked back at him.

“I don’t, um—okay. For what it’s worth,” she said, resting her hands on the table on either side of her. “I don’t think she’ll quit. Not even over this.”

“You really believe that?” Jungkook asked, opening his eyes. The hope in them was so bright that it was almost blinding.

Luna nodded. “She loves the band too much. Not even you can change that.”

He looked down. That would have to be good enough, he decided—just the fact that you would stay, even if it wasn’t for him. Even if it was despite him.

“I-I hope you’re right,” he said quietly.

“Okay, so now—” Luna jumped onto the table to take a seat, “—tell me what happened with Sid.”

Ordinarily, this would have been a long story. But Jungkook knew Taehyung might have made telling it a bit easier for him.

“Taehyung said you know about the bet?” he asked to be sure.

“Yeah. He told me back in Tilburg after he saw you leave with her to talk. Or, well, he assumed you would talk,” Luna explained. “In any case, you should be grateful that I know my strengths. Otherwise, I’d be punching you, too.”

Considering how much smaller than him Luna was, Jungkook smiled reflexively.

“I appreciate you not doing that,” he said with genuine respect.

“I’ve mentally kicked your ass, though.”

“Well, I deserve that, I guess.”

“So, this was about the bet, then?”

Jungkook sighed. He hadn’t technically allowed Sid to say any additional adjectives after he’d called you “easy,” but even this was too much. Jungkook wasn’t sure if he could talk about it without wanting to rip Sid’s eyes out and feed them to him.

“He was… just riling me up. He said some—some things,” he said, choosing a gentler word, even though several more appropriate expletives came to mind. “And he took it too far. Trust me, he deserved to get hit.”

“Oh, I trust you,” Luna said. “I just don’t think you should have been the one to hit him.”

Jungkook swallowed, feeling a metallic taste in his mouth. It didn’t bother him much. He’d tasted worse in the past few days.

“If I didn’t do it,” he said, “no one else would have.”

“Why are you so sure about that?” Luna asked, her voice less confident.

Most of what she knew about Jungkook and Sid came from questionable fan accounts she’d seen online—the stories she read were almost always outrageous, but now that she’d gotten to know Sid on this tour, she found those accounts much more plausible. Surely then, if Sid was this loathsome to everyone, someone was bound to deck him sooner or later.

“Everyone else is afraid of him,” Jungkook replied.

“And you’re not?” she asked.

The question felt mocking—even though it didn’t sound like that was Luna’s intention.

He thumped his head against the wall. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

The room was silent for a few minutes as Jungkook sat motionless, and Luna’s gaze kept wandering to the pile of towels on the bloodstained floor and then back to his resigned figure against the wall.

“Can I ask you something?” she said then.

His voice was tired. “Yeah.”

“Why did you make this bet in the first place?”

He inhaled, and a sharp, stabbing pain shot up from his lungs to his throat. It probably wasn’t a good sign, but he did not have the energy to worry about it at the moment.

He scratched the uninjured side of his face with his hand—his knuckles bruised and torn—and let his fingers linger there. It was a reflexive reaction, Luna observed, as he tried to hide from her. Or, rather, from her question.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “Sid and Jude were getting in my head about how I was like some—I don’t know, pathetic. They made me feel like I was less of a person because I still had feelings for her.”

“Less of a person,” Luna said, “or less of an asshole that they seem to be trying—and succeeding—to be?”

Jungkook sighed, allowing the pins and needles to settle in his oesophagus. He wanted to say something but swallowed the answer with the bitter taste in his mouth.

“So, you made the bet to prove them wrong?” she asked in response to his silence.

“I—I don’t know,” he said again. He sometimes felt like he was a different person when he was with his friends. And now that he was determined to never see Sid again—but the repercussions of their friendship were still evident—Jungkook didn’t know who he really was anymore. “I think, at first, I agreed to the bet to prove a point.”

Luna raised her eyebrows. “But there was another reason?”

“Yeah, I think that… there was something else,” he said with a slow nod. “I realised later that I might have agreed to the bet because I wanted to win it. Not—not for the money, and not just to prove that I wasn’t pathetic. I just really—I wanted to go on that date with her. I wanted her. And the bet was—it was a kick in my ass to finally act on my feelings.”

Luna’s eyebrows suddenly dropped in disappointment and she turned away to hide her expression, even though Jungkook was too weary to lift his head and look up.

“There were better ways to act on them, you know,” she said. “Less painful ways, too.”

“Oh, I know,” he said with a wry smile. “Unfortunately, I’m fucked up.”

“You… you’re not fucked up,” she said, although to be honest, after learning about the bet, she thought he might be. But now that she saw how much his choices tormented him, she realised that he wasn’t all black and white. He was very, very grey. “You just did a fucked-up thing.”

Jungkook snickered weakly. “That’s nice of you to say. But I was always… I’d always been a problem.”

“Because of your friends?”

“Yeah—well, mostly, yeah. B-but she—” he paused here as another jolt of pain shot through his chest at the mention of you. He filled his lungs completely with another sharp intake of breath, then tried again. “She still—she still loved me. You know? I used to look at my friends and think I had nothing compared to them. But then I met her, and I—I had everything. I didn’t deserve her, but I—she was with me. She wanted to be with me. And she was the one good thing in my life. And I took that for granted. And now that I—now that we… anyway. I blew it. Now I really have nothing. Serves me right, I know. I just wish she wasn’t—I wish I hadn’t hurt her.”

Luna closed her eyes and sighed in response to the endless additions that Jungkook could not seem to control as he spoke.

She felt a little upset, she couldn’t help it. But she also felt a little giddy. She’d never heard Jungkook say these things about you, but she’d suspected that was how he felt all along.

However, she wasn’t one to make empty promises, especially when those promises were not within her control, so she could not say things like ‘you two will be fine’ or ‘you didn’t blow it.’

Honestly, she couldn’t find an appropriate response no matter how much she tried, so for a good minute, the two of them sat in silence.

Then, Jungkook finally raised his eyes from the ground. “Why’d you come here, by the way? I thought everyone was on the bus.”

Luna blinked, remembering suddenly.

“I left my phone here after the show,” she said, instinctively checking her pockets to make sure she really did not have it.

“Oh.” He pointed to the opposite side of the room. “I think I heard it vibrate. On the couch.”

“Ah.” She pushed herself off the table. “Thanks.”

He watched through his eyelashes as she picked up her phone. One of his eyelids was dropping and he was afraid to blink.

When Luna glanced at the screen—and probably saw the missed call from Taehyung—Jungkook said, “you should go.”

She turned around and took in the scene in the room once more.

It was miserable here. Jungkook looked miserable.

“I’m sorry I can’t say anything encouraging,” she said, biting her lip. “She’s my friend. And you’ve done a—well, this isn’t good.”

Jungkook nodded and swallowed, but it didn’t soothe his dry throat. “I know.”

“I’d like to help, but I—I’m always going to be on her side.”

“Of course. I understand.”

Luna sighed, because he had claimed he understood, but still looked as if happiness was a concept he’d never experienced in his life.

“I just—I don’t know what to tell you before I go,” she admitted. She knew she didn’t owe him anything, but leaving him here in this state didn’t feel right, either. She had always been compassionate, but the intensity of it surprised her this time. “I don’t know what she’ll do. A-about you, I mean. Not about Reconnaissance.”

Jungkook considered this. The side of his head felt torn and cracked. The poor band-aids were already dark red.

“What would you do?” he asked.

Luna raised her eyebrows at the abrupt question. “Me?”

“If you were her,” Jungkook explained. “Or if I were Taehyung.”

She licked her lips, taking a moment to choose her next words.

“Jungkook,” she said. “No offence, but Taehyung would never do something so stupid.”

A defeated, humourless smile appeared on his lips. “Yeah. You’re right. He wouldn’t.”

As soon as the tiniest glimmer of hope in his eyes dimmed, his voice sounded as if it was coming from somewhere underground.

God, Luna thought. Now the room was even more dreary.

Even though she was going to support whatever decision you would make about this, she couldn’t just leave without saying anything to him. Having no one on his side while he tried to redeem himself was unfair.

Advice, she figured, had to be the best thing she could offer him right now.

“Listen,” she said with a determined inhale. “I can’t judge what I would do if I were her because I don’t share her memories. I don’t know what happened between you all those years ago. Or even what’s happening now. But… if I were you, I’d give her some time.”

Jungkook nodded, looking at her with what he hoped was a grateful smile.

“Interestingly enough, that’s what your boyfriend told me,” he said.

“Yeah? Well, he gives great advice.”

The corners of his lips stretched further. “Matching set, you two.”

Luna slid her phone into her pocket and grabbed her bag, zipping up the pocket where she had kept the band-aids.

“Just be careful, okay?” she said. “We’re leaving for the airport soon, so don’t stay here too long. Don’t make her look for you. I’ll, um—I’ll try to do damage control.”

“Okay. Thank—”

Before Jungkook could finish, the door of the changing room opened wider, diverting their attention.

They both turned to look with very different expressions on their faces—Luna was already scowling, thinking that Sid had come back. Jungkook, on the other hand, appeared absolutely terrified, thinking that it was you, about to witness him sitting on the bloody floor—literally—with band-aids on his face.

“Oh,” a gasp left Minjun’s lips as he stopped in the doorway. “Sorry, I was—”

“It’s fine,” Jungkook said, immensely relieved. “You can come in.”

“Hold on,” Luna warned. Minjun remained frozen under her gaze. “Will I have to intervene? Because I think we’ve spilt enough blood already.”

Minjun raised his eyebrows. “Whose blood?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jungkook said to the girl. “Thank you, Luna.”

She watched the two of them for another minute until Jungkook nodded reassuringly again. Hesitantly, she nodded back and gave Minjun a pointed look.

“Okay. But you watch your hands,” she warned. “He has to be on stage tomorrow.”

“I—I mean no harm.” Minjun raised both hands, taken aback by her hostility. “I don’t know what happened here, but I’m—I come in peace.”

“Good,” Luna said with a firm nod. She glanced back over her shoulder at Jungkook. “I’ll see you later. Put some ice on your eye when you get back on the bus. It won’t do much for the colour, but it might help with the swelling.”

“Will do,” he said and called out as she exited the room, “thank you again!”

After Luna had left, Minjun entered the room and closed the door behind him. Only then he noticed the bloody towels and the dirty floor. Squinting, he leant forward a little and detected something else between the towels.

“So,” he said, straightening. “What the fuck happened and whose tooth is that on the floor?”

Jungkook snorted. “Sid’s.”

Minjun’s face lit up with childlike glee. “No fucking way! Did you do it?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said with a grin that made him look vaguely menacing, considering how bruised and battered his face was.

“Awesome, man,” Minjun said, coming closer to pat him on the back before squatting next to him.

“He deserved it.”

“I don’t even care, to be honest. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah. Well.” Jungkook lifted a hand to gesture at his own face. “He’s landed some good ones, too.”

Minjun observed his bruises and the bloody band-aids that seemed quite small for a normal cut, but remained remarkably resilient on his fresh wounds.

“You’ll live,” he concluded.

Jungkook turned to him. A little awkwardly, he asked, “why, um… why are you here?”

“Ah.” Minjun reached into his pocket for something. “Here.”

Jungkook immediately recognised the keys to his Katana in his friend’s palm.

Speechless for a minute, he just stared at Minjun’s hand without moving. He had a feeling—against his better judgement—that this was a trap. That by taking the keys, he’d sign something else to the devil.

“What—?” he tried to ask.

“Take it,” Minjun urged, wishing to relieve himself of the unwanted weight of the keys in his hand.

“But the bet—”

“Fuck the bet,” he said, waving his palm up and down when Jungkook still didn’t reach for it. “It went too far.”

“Sid,” Jungkook began, hesitation and doubt evident in every centimetre of his face, “didn’t agree to this.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure Sid’s mother didn’t agree to give birth to a fucking clown, but shit happens,” Minjun countered. “Take the damn keys.”

Jungkook finally extended his shaking hand and felt the familiar cold metal under his fingertips. He paused before pulling back with the keys.

The Katana was his. But instead of relief, he felt a new weight in his chest.

“Why?” he asked, looking down at the key ring, adorned with a gaudy, jewelled pendant with the initials “JK.” It was a trinket you had bought him during a drunken escapade at a local fair. He still remembered your delighted squeal when you spotted the two letters in one of the jewellery stands.

“Because this is stupid and pointless,” Minjun said. His legs had gone numb, so he mirrored Jungkook’s position and sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. “Some fucking bet is not worth ruining your relationship over.”

With a small smile on his face—because they were two miserable losers, hanging out on the floor of his band’s changing room—Jungkook clutched the keys and pushed them into his own pocket.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it earlier,” Minjun said. “I was afraid, I guess. Of what Sid would do if I went against his wishes. But then I… came to pick you up from that hotel bar in Tilburg—”

“That was you?” Jungkook cut him off. He had been wondering how he ended up back on the tour bus.

“Yeah,” Minjun replied. “You called me and asked to take the bike back to the rental shop because you couldn’t do it anymore. Man, I swear, I thought you were on some bridge, the way you phrased it.”

Jungkook looked away. He was not in a good place when he called his friend, and alcohol must have exaggerated it. “Sorry.”

“You still looked worse than I expected when I got there,” Minjun continued. “I thought I might have to take you to a hospital to have your stomach pumped, and I don’t fucking speak Dutch. Nor did I know where a fucking hospital was in Tilburg.”

Jungkook laughed at his rising tone, and Minjun smiled, too.

The smile turned ironic, however, when he added, “you threw up on my shoes.”

Jungkook, who never got drunk enough to experience a hangover the next day, let alone throw up, raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I don’t remember that,” he said, meaning that it didn’t happen.

Minjun ignored the dismissive tone in his voice—he had a ruined pair of Converse to prove his accusation.

“Lucky you then,” he retorted. “You regained some colour after that, though. But you wouldn’t stop talking about her. It was like—like you couldn’t understand anything of what was happening, but you could still remember her. It hit me then, how little the bet really mattered. I mean, I always thought it was stupid, but that night, I—I saw what you were feeling. You regretted everything. I wanted to give you the keys right then, but you looked like you couldn’t recognise yourself in the mirror, so I just dropped you off on the bus. One of your—Hoseok was awake. He thanked me.”

Jungkook needed a minute to reflect on the conversation he’d had with Hoseok later that same morning.

“He didn’t tell me,” he said.

Minjun shrugged. “He had nothing to thank me for, anyway. I’m your friend. Sorry I didn’t act like it before.”

This was the first time that one of his friends had apologised to him, and Jungkook recognised the significance of the moment. He realised with blinding clarity that out of the three people he had invited as his personal guests on this tour, there was only one he truly wanted to stay here.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, a little overwhelmed. “I’m—thanks for doing this now.”

Minjun nodded and the two of them shared a moment of comfortable silence. But Jungkook couldn’t quiet his thoughts—Sid wasn’t here, but he still couldn’t shake his presence.

“There was something that Sid said to me today,” he spoke up. “I-I think he likes her.”

“What?” Minjun was surprised. He glanced back at the tooth on the floor in front of him. “What’d he say?”

“He—just some shit.” Jungkook looked down and pulled on a loose thread on his sweatpants. “About how he could have convinced her to date him.”

Minjun blinked in another wave of surprise. He had a very different understanding of what Sid felt for you and Jungkook, but now he was confused.

“He’s just trying to get under your skin,” he tried to rationalise.

“No, but think about it,” Jungkook said. “Why else would he go to such great lengths to persuade me to participate in this bet? To force me to continue it after I’d clearly won?”

Again, Minjun needed a minute to find a response.

Jungkook clicked his tongue and looked away. “See, you can’t disagree.”

“I mean…” Minjun bit the corner of his lower lip. “I guess it makes sense, but—”

“I know that she wouldn’t consider him in a million years,” Jungkook added. “I’m not even thinking about that, I’m just… wow. How fucking stupid. He ruined this for himself and for me.”

His friend sighed. He didn’t want to keep talking about this. “Yeah.”

“And I let him,” Jungkook finished.

“Yeah,” Minjun repeated. “He deserved getting his tooth knocked out. And you deserve the swollen eye.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows and puckered his lips. He wasn’t going to disagree, and Minjun smiled in relief when he saw the humour in his friend’s eyes.

This had to happen, Minjun thought. Jungkook wouldn’t have been able to move on if he had not found another way to prove that his own self—and his relationship with you—was the one thing he would never lose, no matter how hard Sid tried.

“What, um,” Jungkook asked after a minute, “what are you going to do when Sid asks about the keys after the bet is over?”

Minjun, feeling much more relaxed, merely shrugged. “Knock another one of his teeth out?”

Jungkook laughed and smacked his friend on the shoulder, despite the pain in his head when he moved.

“Oh, come on,” Minjun said, grinning. “He still has, like, fifteen left.”

“I’m sure he has more left. Implants or not.”

“Now, see, implants are harder to knock out. We’d have to meet and discuss the logistics of that. Perhaps attack in secret.”

Jungkook laughed again, and Minjun joined in, too.

They both felt significantly better.

However, Jungkook still had a lot of things to take care of as soon as he got up from the floor.

He should have told you about the bet earlier, but he hadn’t. All he could do now was make amends for a lapse in judgement with terrible consequences.

No.

There would be no consequences. He would make sure to never hurt you again.

And he’d begin by following through with his plan.

Jungkook asked Minjun to give him some time alone and found his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants. He dialled Seokjin’s number, and Seokjin referred him to the Head of Security on tour, Mick.

Mick was lovely. He fostered pets and looked after injured animals in his cabin on the edge of the forest, where he lived with his three dogs. Jungkook had visited him once and felt very much like he imagined Harry Potter to feel when he saw Hagrid’s hut for the first time.

Mick was also three times larger than Jungkook. His primary responsibility on tour was preventing intoxicated individuals from climbing onto the stage and ensuring trespassers did not decide to have an excursion on the band’s tour bus.

Now, Jungkook decided as he spelled Sid’s name to Mick over the phone, Mick was going to make sure that Isidore Hamlet Mercer-Hastings—a name that likely had Shakespeare himself rolling in his grave—could not enter any venue where Rated Riot was scheduled to perform.

It wasn’t quite as dramatic as a restraining order, Jungkook supposed. But blacklisting Sid from his gigs seemed like a good start.

Half an hour later, Jungkook had barricaded himself behind the curtains in his bunk. He was fully awake but he didn’t want you to see what he looked like.

Naturally, you had assumed he was sleeping and had no reason to talk to him anyway, so you kept yourself busy with an e-book in your bunk as the bus made its way to the airport.

Then, most unfortunately, your relative peace was disturbed when you received a text message from Nick Zhou. It was as if he could sense the terrible turmoil in your mind and your heart, and he wanted to add more fuel to the fire.

Things like that happened sometimes, you thought. Coincidences—unless you decided to treat them as signs.

Nick had sent you a picture of the perfectly green palm trees visible through a window. You zoomed in and assumed that he had taken the picture somewhere in Australia, where Reconnaissance were currently on tour.

In the text below, Nick said, “new album in progress. Would be nice to have you with us when we put it out!”

Anxious suddenly, you considered putting your phone away and just carrying on with your e-book. But your uncertainty was relentless—maybe if you replied to him, you’d gain a clearer understanding of what you should do.

You typed back, “hope you’re having fun! I’m still thinking about it.”

Then you exhaled and tossed your phone to the farthest corner of your bunk so as not to be bothered in case it vibrated again. Texting him back didn’t work. You felt just as tense as before.

You exhaled and attempted to keep reading, but silence was simply not meant for you today.

With the flight to Manchester only five hours away, Luna decided it was a good time to discuss with you what had happened in the changing room.

“Hey,” she whispered as she crept up to your bunk, moving stealthily and quietly as if she were a secret agent on a mission.

You looked up at her from your screen. “Hi.”

She wanted to talk to you, but now that she was doing it—or getting to it—she didn’t quite know how to proceed; or even where to begin, actually.

“So, um,” she said, sitting down on your bunk and taking her time to find a comfortable position. You put your tablet away and watched her. “I wanted to check up on you a little.”

You smirked. “Yeah? But not a lot?”

“Not yet.” She smiled at your teasing question. “You’re not critical, but I do think I have some cause for concern.”

You pulled yourself up and pushed a pillow behind your back to sit straighter. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you and Jungkook seem to be avoiding each other.”

You regarded her for a minute until you reached the inevitable conclusion—you suspected it yesterday, and now Luna’s knowing gaze fully convinced you that it was true.

“You know about the bet,” you said.

Luna looked around. No one on the bus appeared to be listening. Nearly everyone that she could see either had headphones on, or had their curtains drawn.

She glanced back at you and settled her gaze on the corner of your dark brown blanket.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I found out about it at the same time as you, more or less. Jungkook had, um—he’d talked to Taehyung before he told you.”

“Ah,” you said. “Well, that’s—I’m glad we all know, then.”

Luna noted the imperceptible look in your eyes. She wasn’t sure if you’d meant what you said.

Really, you weren’t sure, either. On the one hand, you were relieved that you wouldn’t have to retell what had happened to your friend. You weren’t sure you’d manage.

But on the other hand, the fact that other people knew about the bet did not feel particularly comforting—because this was one of the situations that you’d been desperate to avoid: your relationship with Jungkook getting so out of hand that the people around you began to talk about it.

However, you had been thinking a lot in the last few days and you realised that learning about the bet had helped you find some relief, too.

There was something bothering you for weeks now, something that was off in your surroundings, and now you finally knew what it was. It felt like a crooked picture frame on the wall. Like a non-alphabetical arrangement of books on a shelf. Like a bet about your relationship.

And now that you knew, the world had realigned again. You would have been able to breathe easier if you weren’t so embarrassed that other members of your team also knew about it.

“Well, aside from that,” Luna went on, keeping a careful eye on any changes in your expression. “I talked to Jungkook today. And I’m not defending him—”

“If you say ‘but’ next,” you interrupted, “that will negate your point, you know.”

“However,” Luna said instead and you rolled your eyes. “I think the bet is only half the picture. I mean, it’s shit. He fucked up. But I think that he’s been with you because he really wanted to be. Not because of the bet.”

If you had shaken your head any more vigorously, it might have flown off. Luna was slightly annoyed by your adamant rejection of everything she was saying—which made it easier for her to tell you the news.

“He fought Sid,” she said.

You frowned. “So?”

“Knocked his tooth out, I think.”

Your frown turned into shock as your eyebrows shot up nearly all the way to your hairline. When Luna said that they fought, you obviously did not expect it to be a physical altercation.

“They fought?”  you repeated.

“Yeah. Because Sid can’t keep his mouth shut,” she said. “Jungkook loathes the guy. I don’t know what sort of friendship they had before, but there’s none of that left. If I hadn’t walked in, I don’t know—I mean, he—he hates him.” Luna swallowed here, figuring that additional details might make it harder for her to make her point. “But more than that, it looked to me like Jungkook just hates himself. Now, what you want to do next, that’s up to you. I just wanted to tell you what I thought. I talked to him. He was miserable.”

“Well.” You swallowed. “He lost the bet.”

“Not about the bet. He has feelings for you. Real feelings.”

“How—”

“Don’t ask me how I know that,” she cut you off before you could ask exactly that. “These things you can just see. And it’s especially obvious in him. Because, look… Here are the facts. He had the option to keep the bet a secret from you. Or he could have gotten back together with you and won the bet. If not, he could have waited for this to pass, or until his friends told you. But he was the one who told you that he fucked up. That’s got to count for something. It’s okay if it’s not enough. But it—well, it sort of feels like a start. Because he finally got it through his thick head that this is what matters. You. He loves you.”

Your skin shivered—an automatic reaction to these words—but you scoffed. “And knocking out Sid’s tooth is a way to show it.”

Luna groaned and was about to protest, but you stopped her by shaking your head again.

“Luna—I mean—thank you, but… this is the same shit again,” you said. “The exact same shit that made us break up the first time. Except now, there’s so much more at stake. It’s no longer just about us.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Is it, really? I mean, I understand why you would think that, considering your—uh, your job. But it’s… Really, it’s just you. The two of you. As it’s always been.”

You sighed and pulled the sleeves of your turtleneck down until you could hide your fists in them. You kept your gaze on the blanket beneath you—undoubtedly disagreeing with her again—and Luna let out a soft, tired breath.

“I’m—whatever you do next, I’ll be on your side,” she said. “If you walk away, I walk away. It’s simple. I just think it’d do you two good to talk this out. When you’re ready. So that you would know what you’re walking away from.”

You were starting to shake your head again, but stopped abruptly, realising the futility of it. You weren’t actually disagreeing with Luna’s point, after all.

“It would be good,” you said. “But I don’t want to talk to him about this. This was a mistake from the very beginning.”

“So… what, then?” she asked, worried about the burden of even more unresolved feelings that you would have to carry around every day if you allowed this to linger. If this became another thing that you never talked to anyone about. “You think you can just go back to the way things were?”

“No,” you said. “Because I’m still very annoyed. But after that, then yeah. Ideally.”

Luna tried to conceal her skepticism, but it was evident in the way she sucked in her lips and nodded her head. “Okay.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Thanks for the optimism?”

She sighed and turned to face you again.

“I get it,” she said. “I understand why you don’t want to see him right now. But I also… kind of understand why he did what he did.”

Your eyebrows rose again. “Why he made the bet?”

“No,” she said, raising her index finger and closing her eyes to emphasise her point. “Not that. That I don’t understand. I meant the fight with Sid. Sid is a big reason why you’re in this situation and Jungkook had no other choice left. He got into that fight because he’s shit at choosing friends, but he loves you.”

You ran your tongue over your lips and looked back down at your blanket. “I don’t know which one of those things outweighs the other one.”

“Yeah, well, think about that,” she said. “Then talk to him.”

You were both aware that giving this advice was much easier than actually following it, and a silent minute passed without either of you looking at each other as you pondered the future.

“Nick texted me,” you said suddenly. You hadn’t realised how much his message weighed on you until you told her. “Just to check in. And, uh, to remind me of his—his offer.”

Luna did not like this, and she was glad you weren’t looking at her and didn’t see the expression on her face.

“What did you tell him?” she asked.

“I told him I’m still thinking about it.”

You felt Luna shifting her weight and fidgeting on the bunk next to you. She was uncomfortable, you could tell.

“You’re, uh… you’re really thinking about this, then?” she asked.

You threw your head back and rested it on the pillow. “I’m thinking about a lot these days.”

“Well, that’s—that’s good. Right?” she said, quietly hoping that your contemplations would eventually lead you to a decision that would cause you less suffering. She didn’t think leaving Rated Riot was that decision. You had made a family here. “Take your time with these things. Really think them through. Avoid everyone for a short while if that’s what you need.”

“Hmm. How can I avoid everyone, though?” you asked dryly. “If Jungkook got into a fight, I need to see him.”

“Ah.” Luna finally looked at you, feeling guilty somehow, as if she was the one who had punched him. “Yeah, that’s probably true. He, um—it’s not a disaster, but he did miss a couple of, uh—”

“Is he bleeding?” you asked, appreciating her effort to convey the situation without causing you alarm, but also without downplaying it.

“Well, not anymore,” she said. “At least, he wasn’t the last time I saw him. There is a, um—a black eye situation, though.”

You groaned and dropped your hands on the mattress in irritation.

“Fuck—you see? He’s doing it again. Leaving me no choice but to—oh, fuck it.” You slapped your hands on your knees and sat up straight. “He’ll have to wait until we arrive at the airport. I’m done jumping at the slightest sound he makes, manager or not.”

“I agree with that,” Luna said. “But I see that you don’t really mean it.”

You closed your eyes. “I have to mean it. I know it’s my job, and I know Jungkook never forced me into anything I didn’t consent to, but he just—this whole time, he acted like he was genuine when he was just doing what he always does. Playing along with Sid’s sick little games. Maybe he deserves to bleed a little for that.”

Luna was about to argue, but only nodded. She was very glad you were talking about this, even though you had dismissed everything she’d told you about Jungkook’s feelings.

She knew that you needed more time. You’d heard her. You just had to be in the right frame of mind to believe her.

She knew you’d get there, just as she knew Jungkook was not going to give up on you.

“Yeah,” Luna finally said. “He can wait. Do you... want to talk about it? About what he did?”

You looked murderous. “Absolutely not.”

She expected as much.

“Well, in that case,” she pulled her phone out, “you want to see something that Crowley did to my mum’s curtains? She took a video to show me.”

Your tension seemed to fade straight away. Luna’s troublemaker cat—named aptly after a Supernatural character with a redemption arc that Crowley, the cat, could only dream about—had never failed to ease your mind.

You needed some time alone. And you were very happy to be alone with her as she stretched out on the mattress next to you and played the video on her phone.

You caught glimpses of Jungkook and his heavy sunglasses on the way to your gate at the airport, but you didn’t have the time to check how bad he looked. The other Rated Riot members had already smacked him on the back of his head after they saw his band-aids, so you decided to wait until you could talk to him in private.

About an hour later, you spotted him going to the men’s room. You waited a few minutes and stood up, too.

The restroom was empty except for the two of you, and you quietly placed your carry-on bag on the ground next to the door. Jungkook hadn’t even noticed you enter.

“There you are,” you announced from the doorway.

Jungkook flinched and splashed himself as he washed his hands in front of the wall-sized mirror.

“You were—were you looking for me?” he asked. The automatic sink stopped and he moved his hands back under the faucet to get the water running again.

“I’ve been informed you have a black eye,” you said, coming closer. “I wanted to check the damage myself.”

The side of his face that was visible to you showed no signs of injury, but when you looked at his reflection in the mirror, you saw the red and purple bruises on the side of his face, concealed by a few persistent band-aids.

Jungkook swallowed and shook his hands several times to dry them. Then, he stepped back, allowing you to examine him. “Well, here I am.”

“Here you are,” you repeated. His gaze remained fixed on yours as you scanned his features. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“Not really,” he said. “Want to tell me if you’re leaving to work with Reconnaissance?”

“Not really.”

He pursed his lips. “Well, then. Can I ask—”

“No,” you said immediately. He stopped speaking and clenched his jaw.

You were contemplating if you should have taken him to the hospital before the flight. You were also thinking about what to do with his bruises tomorrow since he had a performance, and appearing on stage with a black eye did not seem particularly professional.

“Does it hurt?” you asked. “These band-aids—did you change them?”

“No,” he said. It wasn’t clear which question he was responding to, but his answer seemed to fit both.

“You need to change them,” you said. “And clean the wounds properly.”

“I’m not going to a hospital.”

You sighed. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not that bad,” he said.

You looked back at the band-aids on the side of his face. They remained on his skin through the sheer force of will. Cuts and bruises peeked from underneath the dried blood.

“It looks bad with band-aids on,” you said. “I can only imagine what it looks like without.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Luna said so.”

You knew right away that this was impossible; Luna would have known better.

“She said no such thing,” you replied.

“Okay, maybe she didn’t,” he conceded with a quiet groan. “But I’m still not going to the hospital.”

The irony of the moment—and how you’d insisted that you were okay a few days ago, just like he was doing now—was completely lost on you. You felt exhausted.

“Why…” you started to say, then sighed as you brought your fingers over your closed eyes. “Why are you making me do this?”

“Do what?”

“Clean your self-destructive wounds.”

“They’re not self-destructive—”

“Really?” Your eyes shot open, ablaze with agitation. “So, getting punched by Sid was, what? A fight for dominance that you’d planned in advance?”

He cleared his throat with indignation and continued his previous statement, “and I’m not making you clean my wounds. I’m fine.”

“Sit down,” you said, turning to grab your carry-on bag. “You’re not fine.”

Awkwardly swaying in the same spot, Jungkook looked around. “Where do you want me to sit? We’re in a public bathroom.”

“Jesus, Jungkook!” you groaned irritably. You were too tired to think of every little detail, every action, and reaction. You just wanted to take a nap on the plane. “I don’t care. Sit on the floor. Or on the toilet.”

“Neither seems sterile…”

“Good thing you didn’t get punched in the ass, then.”

He huffed but still went into one of the cubicles, lowered the toilet lid with a scrunched nose and sat down on it.

He leaned over to hold the door open with his hand until you entered a few minutes later. Before either of you could grasp how small the space was now that you were in the closed cubicle, you took out the antiseptic spray from your amateur medical kit and grabbed a cotton pad. By that point, Jungkook was too worried about what you’d do to think about how close you were.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked.

Concerned, he watched you pull a blue latex glove on one of your hands and spray the antiseptic into the air, aiming it at the floor to test it.

“No,” you admitted, taking a step towards him and stopping between his legs. With your gloved hand, you carefully peeled off the heavy band-aids from his face and tossed them into an empty plastic bag you’d brought for this specific purpose. “But neither did you when you picked a fight with Sid, so I think we’re even.”

He grimaced as the exposed lacerations on his skin immediately began to sting. “W-what makes you think I was the one who started that fight?”

“The fact that you won’t tell me what it was about,” you replied, bending your knees slightly to inspect his face. You were willing to help him look after his wounds, but changing the bandages was as far as you’d go—if he needed stitches, you’d drag him to the nearest emergency room.

“You know what it was about,” he mumbled, staring at the floor.

“I don’t.”

He didn’t want to say it. You knew he didn’t want to say it—that was why you were making him do it.

“It started about the bet,” he admitted finally. “But then he… said some things I didn’t like. Not that I liked what he said about the bet, either. But I got myself into that mess, so I—”

“What did he say?” you asked, interrupting his diversion.

You covered his left eye with a cotton pad to protect it, shook the bottle of antiseptic a few times, and sprayed it on the exposed wounds.

Jungkook winced as he felt the stinging pain grow sharper. He clutched the lid of the toilet seat, forgetting all about how he’d avoided touching it before.

“Just… some bullshit about you,” he said through clenched teeth.

Surprised, you pulled back to look at him. “He said something about me?”

“Yeah. So I socked him in the cheek.”

You watched him for a quiet minute.

Honestly, if Sid had said something about you, you probably would have punched him yourself if Jungkook hadn’t. But the way Jungkook phrased this—and this whole situation, in general—was so ridiculous that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to maintain a straight face.

“In the mouth,” you corrected. “Or so I hear.”

Jungkook couldn’t subdue the smile on his lips at the amusement that you tried very hard to hide. So, you knew about Sid’s tooth then.

“That was after he wouldn’t stop talking,” he said.

“Ah. Well,” you returned to work and gently patted his cheek with the cotton pad to remove the excess antiseptic, “I appreciate you defending my honour.”

“You don’t sound like it.”

You scoffed. “What do you want me to do? Jump on your white horse and ride off into the sunset with you?”

The light-hearted tone of your voice suddenly amplified your close proximity—he felt his legs tremble slightly as you stood between them to reach his face better. He wanted to reach out and wrap himself around you, to thank you, and to apologise again.

Instead, he cleared his throat and lowered his gaze.

“Well, that’d be nice,” he muttered. Then, added louder, “or, at the very least, you could stop burning me.”

“I’m disinfecting,” you said as you leaned in again, checking if the spray had absorbed into his bruises yet. His breath caught in his throat. You added, “I think.”

Jungkook didn’t think he’d ever felt a longing so intense that it could overshadow all physical pain.

“You think,” he repeated breathlessly. “Th—that’s reassuring.”

“It’s what my mum used to use when my brother and I would get cuts or scratches, and things like that,” you explained defensively. “Of course, this is hardly a scratch in your case, but I have nothing better to offer.”

He didn’t mean to come across as accusatory. He didn’t know what he was saying at all. You still smelled like apples. He was afraid he would pass out.

“This is fine,” he said.

He knew that you were already doing more than your job description entailed and your personal relationship permitted, and he was grateful for it. He hadn’t meant to cause you any additional problems, and he wanted to inform you of the steps he’d taken to fix the ones he’d already caused.

He waited until you had finished searching through your medical kit before speaking again.

“I, um—I banned Sid from Rated Riot shows,” he said.

You turned to look at him so quickly that a tired muscle in your neck spasmed in protest. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Mick will take care of it if he shows up.”

“Mick—you banned Sid?”

“I banned Sid,” he repeated slowly, giving you a minute to process the news. “It’s done. I don’t—I never should have brought him to Europe with me.”

You straightened and attempted to compose yourself, but your mind was suddenly bombarding you with question marks and software errors every time you tried to form a coherent thought.

“Well, that’s—that’s right,” you finally said, clearing your throat. “And it’s about time you realised that.”

You didn’t know what else to say. Congratulating him right now, considering the repercussions of his last confrontation with Sid, seemed in poor taste.

Not to mention, you were a little confounded. After your last argument outside the bus, you’d expected a lot of drunk nights and a lot of new mayhem that you would have to put back in order. You weren’t expecting mature decisions.

Jungkook didn’t notice the utter shock in your voice, however, because his pulse tried to deafen him with a dreadful paranoia, telling him that this was too little and too late.

Notenough-notenough-notenough, the beat of his heart echoed in his ears.

“I know,” Jungkook said, louder than he’d intended. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You pulled out a new cotton pad and mumbled something under your breath.

Jungkook gazed up at you as you hovered over him with your medical kit. “Can I—can I ask you something, though?”

You gently wiped the side of his temple where the antiseptic had dripped, all while trying to calm down the chaos in your mind. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Reconnaissance?”

There was a long pause as you returned to your kit—more for the purpose of giving yourself some time to think rather than out of necessity.

“I don’t know,” you finally said. “I wasn’t seriously considering it, and it never came up in a casual conversation.”

“We spent three days in Amsterdam, just the two of us,” he said. “How could it not come up?”

You gave him a look. “Really? You think you can ask me that when you knew—and participated—in the bet for weeks before telling me about it?”

Jungkook looked down. “It wasn’t weeks...”

“Well, fantastic.”

Unsettled by your sarcasm, he added, “and I told you, eventually.”

“No, I actually guessed it before you told me,” you said with one hand on your hip as you gazed at the restroom wall behind him, deep in thought. “I told you that you were only acting like that because of some external force. And you really were doing it to win a—”

“No.” He shook his head so fiercely that you almost worried he’d injure himself more. “The bet gave me a push. But I wanted you all along, and—”

“No,” you disagreed, turning away to throw the used cotton pads into the plastic bag. “You—just—just don’t.”

He already knew that this would be the wrong thing to say before he even said it. He simply couldn’t control himself—but he tried to now.

“I’m just—I’m trying to say that this hurt me, too,” he said slowly. “You’re—you might leave to work with a different band. A-and I was the only one who didn’t know about that.”

“I—”

“I know,” he continued louder, “that this is not the same as what I did. It’s not even close. But I still—I feel like this should have been something you talked to me about.”

You sighed and grabbed a glass bottle of iodine-based ointment from your bag. “It probably was.”

“Are you really considering it?” he asked. “Leaving, I mean.”

So much had changed since you told Maggie and Luna that you’d stay, and repeated the same to Yoongi and Namjoon.

All you could say to Jungkook now was a dejected, “I don’t know.”

The tight grip of pain around his chest did not ease, but he didn’t expect it to. Not yet, at least.

“I’m truly sorry,” he said, lifting his gaze. Both of you quickly averted your eyes as if the eye contact burnt. “For this and… for everything.”

You nodded in acknowledgement of the apology but did not reply to it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Reconnaissance,” you said instead. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

He nodded back and you continued to work in silence. You were glad that your current task required your full attention, so you did not have to linger on how wounded he looked—not just physically, but somehow intrinsically, too. If you glanced at him, all the tears and cuts and bruises on his heart would have been as visible as they were on his face.

You applied the ointment to his temple now that the antiseptic had dried—and Jungkook clenched his teeth again, keeping the painful hiss contained. The ointment was probably excessive, and it might dye his skin an odd shade of purple, but you didn’t know what else to do.

When you looked closer, his cuts didn’t appear deep enough to require stitches, so all you could do at the moment was ensure they didn’t become infected – and this questionable procedure should have accomplished that.

You pressed some gauze to the more severe wounds and bandaged them—as much as you could. You used smaller band-aids for the less serious cuts. Then, you stepped back to look.

This would need work. He looked like he slammed the side of his head into a wall and a toddler had attempted to provide first aid.

“This should hold for now before I come up with something else,” you said. “I have to go. I’ll need to find a way to incorporate this,” you gestured around his face, “into your look for tomorrow’s show.”

You turned to push the cubicle door open, then stopped short when you felt his cold, tentative fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Wait,” he said, releasing your hand as soon as he noticed you looking down at his grip. “Just… just tell me what’s going to happen.”

“With your face?” you asked with a confused frown. “It’s going to hurt for a while probably, but it—”

“With us,” he cut you off.

You looked away, maintaining your posture even as your heart refused to listen to your mind and proceeded to pound furiously in your chest.

“There’s no ‘us’,” you said.

“You can’t say that.” He stood up and suddenly reduced the empty space between you in the cubicle. “Not after everything that happened.”

‘Everything that happened’ seemed to have a bitter flavour—he could see the distaste on your face as your tongue prodded your cheek.

“It was obviously a mistake,” you said.

You remembered it all, you knew what it meant. But you didn’t want to trust any of the moments in your memory.

Jungkook could taste your bitterness in his own mouth.

You added ruthlessly, “and it’s over.”

“What’s over?” he asked. He tried to place a hand on his hip, but his trembling fingers slid down his hoodie and his hand dropped to his side.

“Whatever this is,” you said, and each of your following words felt like a new scratch deep inside of him. “Whatever you were doing to win your bet, and whatever I was stupidly playing along with.”

There was nothing but a few breaths separating the two of you in this cubicle, yet you may as well have been in a different orbit entirely. Desperate, Jungkook raised his hands to the back of his head and intertwined his fingers.

“I wasn’t—it wasn’t because of the bet,” he protested—not for the first time. With one more shake of your head, you turned around and pushed the door of the cubicle open. “Look, wait! I’m sorr—”

“It’s over, Jungkook,” you said, pausing halfway. “Stop.”

“How can it—I don’t—just—just tell me this one thing, okay? Before you go,” he pleaded, following you out of the cubicle and watching you toss your medical kit into your carry-on.

There was a hint of sadness in your eyes when you looked up. “What?”

“If there was no bet, wou—would you have agreed to be with me again?”

Your pulse reverberated in your mind, shrieking and piercing, as you shook your head and turned away.

“If there was no bet,” you said, “you wouldn’t have even wanted to be with me again.”

For a minute, you both watched the floor in thick, pain-coated silence. It consumed you, this otherworldly quietness—your thoughts stilled, even your bodies seemed to pause and wait.

That wasn’t true, Jungkook wanted to say—and should have said. But he was so tired of saying things and having to defend them, to prove he meant them.

He wondered if there was anything he could say to you from this point on that you would believe. He loved you so much—he’s never loved anyone else, the very idea of it did not seem possible—yet he made you think he wasn’t serious.

He watched you leave—again—and felt his chest shrink to accommodate the slowing of his heartbeat—again, again—as he struggled to inhale, let alone open his mouth—again, again, again—realising, slowly, that there might not be enough words in existence to fix this.

“I love you,” he still tried, but the restroom door had already closed and he wasn’t sure if you’d heard him. Or if it made a difference if you did.

There was something very ironic about the plans you had for the rest of the day once the plane landed in Manchester.

The concert was originally scheduled for tomorrow, but the venue had suffered a flood from a broken pipe a few nights ago, causing everything that the organisers had promised you to be ruined. They tried to fix it, but they needed some more time. You found out on the plane that the concert would have to be postponed until the day after tomorrow.

To make matters worse, Ren, the bassist of Poison Tongue—Rated Riot’s opening act—had broken his foot at the airport (you were afraid to ask how) and was hospitalised, rendering the band incapable of performing. You needed to find a replacement on extremely short notice.

This was a crisis, but only another one of many. You hadn’t slept at all on the plane, but despite your pounding headache, you were grateful for a chance to keep busy, and you had a precise plan of action.

You would find the venue staff and direct them to Seokjin—after checking if Seokjin was even here.

Next, you would make sure the equipment arrived safely and unpacking it at the damaged venue did not pose any risk to your team.

After that, you would seek Maggie’s help with an online ad for a new opening act.

Then, you would call the label and sweet-talk them before the inevitable black-eye pictures.

You would also devise a plan to handle the aforementioned black eye, which, hopefully, will have improved by the time of the concert.

And, most importantly, you would avoid Jungkook.

Really, the plan was almost foolproof. You figured your to-do list would continue to expand, even after you completed certain tasks, so you essentially had no chance of being left alone with your thoughts or accidentally running into him.

But then, on your way out of the band’s dressing room, you noticed that your surroundings were spinning more than usual. It happened occasionally, this abrupt lightheadedness after you stood up too quickly. But this time, it persisted even after you crossed the corridor.

You tried to tell yourself that this wasn’t anything new, you were just overwhelmed. This had to be the stress—you hadn’t slept and you had so much to do that it was normal to feel dizzy.

You kept walking. Until you had to trace your hand along the patterns of the wallpaper on the wall to stay steady. Until the edges of your vision blurred. Until the wet floorboards beneath your feet wobbled. Until the room grew dark.

You thought you could feel yourself leaning against the wall and slowly lowering your body to the floor. You thought you could feel the damp floor under your fingertips. You thought you could hear someone’s voice in the distance.

For a split moment before you collapsed, it occurred to you that you were really very tired. And that Jungkook had warned you about having another fainting spell if you weren’t careful.

But then your heart rate restricted the flow of blood to your brain, and there was not a single conscious thought left in your vacant mind.

As it happened sometimes—coincidences, unless you treated them as signs—Jungkook was the one who found you.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “blood sport”

prev ○ next

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

My personal rating on how much I like “canon” protag WoF ships with short or little explanation for them (within the Arc’s they’re in).

Arc 1:

Tsunami x Riptide - I kinda like it. A bit over-hated tbh. Maybe “boring” to some people, but Riptide sweet, caring and “bland” personality really contrasts with Tsunami’s vibrant, feisty and stubborn personality, which is quite neat to me tbh.

Starflight x Fatespeaker - Not really into it. It’s alright though I guess. I feel like Starflight needed to move on from his feelings for Sunny (without her advising him to move on with Fatespeaker RIGHT AFTER rejecting him) and Fatespeaker gaining healthier bonds with other dragons that care and respect her (other than Starflight (and Sunny)) before they ever get together.

Peril x Clay - No thanks. I don’t like it They’re better as friends and I think that Peril needs to move on from for obsessive and co-dependent feelings towards Clay more. Also Clay doesn’t seem like the type of dragon to have a lover- only family and friends.

Glory x Deathbringer - not sure how to throughly explain in a short way but I dislike it for a couple bunch of reasons. Not that good of a ship tbh.

Sunny x Starflight - Nope. Sunny views Starflight as a brother, and they’re been raised together for the entirety of their lives, so they can count as adopted siblings.

Arc 2:

Moon x Qibli - I really like them. Poorly executed in canon unfortunately, but the potential of them being an interesting and good ship compels me to them.

Winter x Qibli - I’m not that into them tbh. I feel like Winter needs to work on himself before getting in a committing relationship with someone. Also I dislike how the fandom writes their ship, it waters down their character dynamics with each other that can be potentially be interesting and quite neat.

Turtle x Kinkajou - I don’t really like it. The love spell is just…yeah. Not into that. Also Kinkajou’s feelings for Turtle are MUCH different compared to Turtle’s feelings for her so that’s an additional plus for making the ship feeling off-putting. They’re better off as friends (or possibly maybe even in a Queerplatonic relationship together).

Peril x Clay - already explained it.

Moon x Winter - Not a fan tbh. I don’t remember much of Moon and Winter interactions after Moon Rising, but a couple bunch of them weren’t that great tbh. Also what I mentioned about Winter in the Qinter section.

Arc 3 (ships are much better here):

Blue x Cricket - I like them! They’re cute together :). I liked that they both are shown to have romantic feelings for each other within both of their PoVs, instead of one character liking the other and not know if the other character likes them back or not for an extended period of time. That just felt…refreshing and new to me for some reason.

Sundew x Willow - Cute ship. They’re nice. They obviously contrast with each other neatly and are good canon lesbian rep. especially with Sundew being the main protag. I also like that when Belladonna maybe noticed Sundew liking Willow, instead of worrying she was like: “Fuck you mom, this is who I am and this is who I love, whether you like it or not. Deal with it.” I don’t 100% really know why, I just do lol.

Swordtail x Luna - Cute ship, they’re nice. I like that Luna informs Swordtail about the injustice and how racist the society they lived in is and that Swordtail fiercely defends her. Chaotic couple working against the oppression of the world they’re in.

Snowfall x Lynx (Tui. said she would be a better partner for Snowfall than Sky) - Cute ship, I can see it :). just personally would like it better of they’re both AroAce and in a Queerplatonic relationship with each other instead.

Snowfall x Sky (Tui said that Snowfall has some chemistry with Sky) - No thanks. I don’t see it :/

Legends:

Indigo x Fathom - One of the more well-written ships tbh. I’m chill with it. The only problem I have with it is that Indigo’s PoV of liking Fathom isn’t seen that much with Parts 2 or 3, so I didn’t get attached to the ship for that reason.

Darkstalker x Clearsight - I don’t like them. Abusive relationship. BUT they’re interesting in an unhealthy and toxic way that feels tragic, which is what makes them neat and interesting. NOT in a good wholesome “I want them to be together!” way.

Leaf x Ivy - I’m not into it. One of the most rushed PoV ships in my opinion tbh. They’re better off as friends.

Wren x Undauntable - No. NOOOOOO!!! I’m sorry, but out of all of the ships out there (except Sunny x Starflight), this one makes my stomach twist in pure utter cringe and ✨eugh✨. If they ever did got together, Undauntable would have to go through IMMENSE amount of character development. Also I don’t see Wren getting with him. Ever.

Winglets:

Six-Claws x Kindle - We only see them when they meet, nothing else really. I like them compared to other ships in the Winglets though for reasons I’ll never know.

2. Snowflake x Snowfox - I like it and I’m -chill- with it. When lesbianism makes them worser (affectionate) and the best duo ever. Two unhappy dragons teaming up together for what they want while ruining another’s relationship in the process.

3. Fierceteeth x Strongwings - They’re alright. I’m not into them though. I don’t have strong opinions on them.

4. Foeslayer x Arctic - I don’t like it, but I’ll admit it does really SLAP, (and like it in) an unhealthy way. Two young dragons with awful toxic parents finding the only happy bond with other another and then IMMEDIATELY deciding to run away and be in a fully committing relationship together. However, they learned that their life is and themselves aren’t compatible together, yet still stay together because they love each other and are enforced to (have children) by the NightWing kingdom. They’re toxic and downright bad for together yet are gravely connected to each other. Their toxic relationship is shown in a more realistic light - and not completely black and white.

Anyways, these are my personal opinions on WoF ships. Sorry they aren’t the greatest opinions.

You disagree with me, then I do understand that tbh. I’ll do my to respect your ship opinions, and I hope you’ll do my best to respect mine.

Thank you reading this and I hope y’all have a good day/night!!!

.

[neversetyoufree]

I've been thinking lately about Vanitas and Noé's first "what is salvation" fight at the bal masqué and what it means about their individual definitions of the concept, and I've realized something about Vanitas.

Noé's definition of salvation is the obvious one. It feels natural. To save someone is to keep them from dying. But in a way, his understanding of salvation is also almost selfish. Noé's foundational trauma is the constant loss of his loved ones. He is the eternal sole survivor. So of course he wants to keep people alive—he wants to "save" the people he cares about in the way that keeps them by his side this time.

It's not wrong to want that, of course. I don't mean "selfish" as a condemnation. It's just that the definition of salvation that Noé starts the series with is inarguably the one that best serves his own happiness.

And it's the same with Vanitas.

When Vanitas kills the little girl Catherine by restoring her true name, he tells Noé he doesn't know what salvation is. He might be lying there, or he might be telling the truth in that he's never put his definition of salvation into words or acknowledged it on a conscious level. Either way, though, I do think he has a definition of salvation somewhere in his mind, and it's a very personal one.

Vanitas sees salvation as the preservation or restoration of one's true self. You're saved so long as you can preserve your essential self, uncorrupted by outside forces. Even if the price of that selfness is death.

While Noé's foundational trauma that informs his worldview is the loss of his loved ones, one of Vanitas's foundational traumas is the loss of his bodily autonomy. Through Moreau's experiments and Luna's mark/bite, he has been transformed into something no longer fully human, and he hates it. From the moment Luna told him he was dying, he said he wanted to die as himself rather than live as their kin, and he has been denied that opportunity.

Nothing is more important for Vanitas than being able to dictate the destiny of his own body, and malnomen are the ultimate corruption of bodily autonomy and selfness. Altering one's true name warps not only their physical body, but their very being on a metaphysical level. The curse takes everything a vampire is and changes it, and doing that to an unwilling victim is the ultimate horror for Vanitas.

Given that context, of course Vanitas thinks that killing a child to restore her true name counts as saving her. He's restoring her essential self and un-corrupting her body and being, and even if her self is only returned for an instant before she dies, it's preferable to living on as something warped by an outside force.

Vanitas absolutely starts the series with a definition of salvation, and like Noé, it's the one that best serves his own happiness. He wants to be saved. He wants to be returned to his human self, and failing that (since he knows it's impossible), he wants to wipe out all traces of the force that changed him and then die without going any further down the path of inhumanity.

Vanitas might not be able to admit that definition out loud (or even to himself directly), but it's there, and it guides him early in the series as much as Noé's own definition of salvation guides him in turn.

[leporellian]

the il trovatore brothers are the funniest thing in the world to me. i don’t think this is a slight against the opera (no tragedy works without good comedy) but please i need you to take my hand and see my vision here

IMAGINE you are a commoner in aragon and you hear that the old count di luna, who for the sake of the argument i imagine as being roughly the human equivalent of a german shepherd, has died and his son frederic is now the new count di luna. Your first thought is “his son’s not dead?” because you were SURE that strange weirdly tall sickly boy you remember having a foot in the grave when he was like 12 was Gone by this point but apparently not. “No the other son died this one is alright” Sure. Yeah. Before you realize that everything is a sham operation in Aragon you’re willing to believe this one.

As a child frederic was like a sickly victorian boy who’s response to any unusual stimuli was to cover his head with his hands and shake violently, and who could Only tolerate a supper of mushy carrots and warm broth lest he lose his appetite and faint the next day, and who Always referred to everyone else by their full titles and would put on a strangely adultlike air lest his father take him around the back of the castle for physical punishment. you go to meet the new count, now that he’s an adult and in charge of the property, and you’re greeted with a man who is 1) Exactly the same height he was as a boy (he was 5’2” in the second grade, which was freakishly tall then, but then he just stopped growing when he was 7 apparently) and 2) Entirely decked out in sparkly clothing. “It’s a statement,” he explains. you don’t know what angle the statement is coming from. he cannot properly sit in chairs and has a variety of jointed wood toy animals on his desk he plays with when he gets listless. he’s suddenly full of energy, the sort that would have killed him as a young boy, but he still will respond to unusual situations by covering his eyes with his hands or just turning around to face the wall (or, alternately, hissing at people). he has an attempt at a mustache like his old man’s but it’s just sort of sad and because he’s extremely blonde it just looks like a variety of mold growth. unfortunately this man was born too early to throw all his riches into an eccentric but ill-fated theme park so you have to deal with this Thing until then.

MEANWHILE one day you take a wander around and see the largest fucking man you’ve ever seen in your life carrying a good chunk of a whole ass tree. it’s not even that he’s Tall, although he is, he’s just the sort of man the phrase “built like a brick shithouse” was invented for. he’s hairy and gruff and weirdly youthful and you have No idea what this discount paul bunyan fuck is doing so you go to approach him. “Oh, Ma needed kindling”, he says in the manner of a well meaning farmhand. then you see him pluck an acorn off the part of the tree he’s carrying and eat it raw. he offers it to you and reasons they’re “quite good actually”. you’re too stupefied to actually respond either way. How old is he? Oh he’s only seventeen. Okay. Sure. later in the night you hear some beautiful but INCREDIBLY leather-lunged singing and come to find the giant from earlier has a wee lute that he plucks incredibly gently. you tell him he’s doing a nice job playing it but he needs to quiet down because you’re trying to sleep. “the lute is a she, not an it, you need to respect women,” he says. it sounds like the corny sort of thing you’d see on 2018 tumblr but somehow he’s completely serious. (does he respect women? what the fuck is he talking about? you don’t actually know the answer to either question.)

You are only going to realize the fictional nature of your life when you hear the news that one killed the other (despite the killed one probably being capable of crushing the killer’s spine on accident) and then it turned out they were secretly BROTHERS somehow,

[hoseoksluna]

THE BALL OF LIGHT, iv. | myg, jjk

pairing: brother!yoongi x fem!reader (feat. friend!jeongguk)

genre: angst, fluff

rating: 15+

summary: your heart dies and your life changes course.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: fever dream, smoking, sickness — oc has a fever and holly throws up (only mentioned), oc spirals and has bad thoughts, the paranormal, family issues.

luna's note: chapter four is finally here. it's the last one for this year... it's absolutely crazy to think about. this chapter is kind of all over the place only because oc is. her feelings aren't cohesive and her mental issues prevent her from sticking to one good thing in her life. her mind always turns it into a bad thing. keep this in mind as you read. i hope you guys like this chapter. i love you all so much and i missed you. let me know what you think in comments or asks. <3 mwah.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

The house is quiet, as if its mouth has been sewn shut. The snowflake-laced wind speaks for it, seeping through the walls with aching groans that you feel nibbling its way beneath your skin. The lights are out—there are only Yoongi’s Jordans perched by the front door, the only pair of shoes he owns. Not your mother’s kitten heels. Not your father’s loafers. Only those black and white sneakers that are the only remnant of them, for they gifted them to him for the last birthday they were present for. 

You had watched Jeongguk drive away with a speed he didn’t dare to trigger with you. For one brief moment of bliss he was there, and for another he wasn’t. You stood like a stone-cold statue upon the place where he embraced you, where he hid you from your brother, cradling his body heat in your hands like it was the potion that contained your humanity. Stood there frozen in time, unwilling to let go of it, of the kindness he gave you, of the life you fleetingly lived with him that didn’t mirror the normalcy you were accustomed to. Unwilling to go back to the curdled milk-like emptiness, to your mind’s imagination, to the tepidness you know from your books that once meant everything to you.

Once… just yesterday. 

The heat you cradled from his heart dissipated on its own too soon, however. Above your head, the ivory flurries thickened, twirling in a dance that you sensed to be too sinister to be in the middle of, and so with a heavy soul that began to tear up and yearn for more of his time, you turned around and walked up the hill towards the castle of doom that you didn’t wish to enter, not so ignorant to the bad feeling that sank in its translucent, dusky flesh. 

And maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t have entered at all. You should have come up with a reason to stay longer or to stay with him within that bundle of affection he created for you during your brief visit, and not retrace your steps back into the place you no longer belonged to, to the place called ‘home’ that no longer felt like home. But as you turn the key in the lock and step inside the dimness of the hall and no one greets you, you perceive that it had never been your home in the first place. 

Not with your mother’s disliking of you, not with her curses over your life. 

Like a fractured statue now, you wait for Holly to come padding upon the parquet floors like she does every single day, but the frost settled upon your bones and the snowflakes nestled upon your hair strands and the planes of your face melt first before she ever comes. 

Alarm flickers in your chest, mockingly slapping the ends of the velvet ribbon around the tree of life in you. 

Your feet automatically slip out of your winter shoes, but you leave your jacket on—leave it on and drip all over the floors as you frantically go in search of your brother, your fright enkindled not by your worst sin, but by being seemingly all alone. All the doors are shut—to the downstairs bathroom, to the kitchen and the bead curtain that separates the dining room from the living room is unmoving, dust-filled as if no soul ever lived in this house. Your head aches, a dull pain darting back and forth behind your eyes, and you feel your body grow feverishly hot beneath all the layers of your clothes. He’s not in the kitchen and Holly isn’t there either, and in the living room the glassy, crystalline ghosts of your parents sit there. Your father in his armchair with a thick novel in his blue, pellucid hands, and the Bible on his lap for comfort and for his last read of the night as was invariably customary to his nightly routine. Your mother sleeping, half-laid on the couch, snoring softly. The cobalt shape of her long hair, the length that was the symbol of beauty for her, but a symbol of barbarism for you. The TV is on, but the sound is muted.

Her chest doesn’t lift, and your father’s hand doesn’t lift to turn the page. Both of their translucent, lucid and almost wet-like forms have one colorful thing in common. 

A heart. 

You blink, and the delusion drops dead. 

Just like them. 

Your breath shivers, a paralyzing shock coursing through your body. You can’t move, but somehow your jacket hits the floor, the black material soaking the drops of melted snow you left all over it, ostensibly cleaning it up for you in order not to get you in trouble. You can’t move, but your feet seem to know where Yoongi is and they take you to him. Up the stairs that creak under your weight, through the hall lined with rooms, whose doors are shut, profound with their stories, screaming silently if you put your ear close enough to the wood. You can’t move, but your hand tries the antique knob of your parents’ bedroom and it opens wide. 

A familiar, evil energy pulses there in its darkness. 

Yoongi forgot to lock it up. Your feet pull you away. You close the door. 

Within the realm of your shock and panic, a hope blooms in its midst—a hope that you find Holly curled somewhere on your brother’s bed, drowsily secluded in her doggy dreams that are perhaps too effervescent to steal away from for the purpose of greeting you. But as you flounder to his room and turn the knob, your eyes, searching madly through the fog of your fever, detect no light brown, curly canine family member resting on your brother’s bedsheets. 

Yoongi stands at the window, hunched over the windowsill. A white smoke curls over his head. 

Your stomach drops. 

He’s smoking? He smokes? 

It must be your fever, playing tricks on you just like it messed with your brain when you were in the living room. The pounding behind your forehead and eyes intensifies and as you take a step inside the basis of the castle’s doom, the floor creaks under your disintegrating weight, announcing your presence. 

Yoongi turns around. The white fume of the smoke mingles with the falling flurries, but doesn’t drop dead, doesn’t disappear. Beats into your discombobulated state. And once he sees that you’ve come home on two unbroken legs, he discreetly lets the slender body of the snowflake-kissed cigarette plummet to the softness of the snow down below. 

Pretends you didn’t see him smoking. Clothes himself in the role of the put-together, responsible older brother. Sinless, squeaky-clean, pristine. 

You’re reminded of the betrayal all over again. It’s as if he pulled on the already taut strings of it wrapped around your flesh by discarding the cigarette like that upon seeing you. And while your body takes in the pain once more, you’re indifferent to it. It doesn’t hurt anymore; your mind begins to fight against it, against him, in the form of a monologue. Emotion-charged sentences of how it can’t affect you anymore spread down your neurons like forest fire. And maybe this circle of orange-red will keep you safe from all his secrets. Shut him out. So you can remain placid, alive, and well. 

So you can remain molded by Jeongguk’s hands. 

Yoongi closes the window, enveloping the room in a deeper shade of twilight than it was shrouded in before. The last remnant of the breeze brushes past the film of sweat on your hairline before you’re untouched again. You fight on, unmarred by the reappearing lack, lifting your frail, fire-ringed limb to turn on the light, but your vision is subdued, nonetheless. Your bones decay, and you truly think you’re on the cusp of death. 

Jeongguk’s worry uncoiled in reality. You’ve gotten sick, although your affliction points more to homesickness, you suppose. 

“What took you so long?” Yoongi speaks first, and you blink to make your vision clearer. Yoongi is a moonlessly opaque, unfocused figure in front of you, so terribly reminiscent of the helmet-wearing boy who drove away… with your scrunchie on his wrist as you now, at this moment, realize whilst your fingers, self-consciously, envelop around your wrist, the one that is protected by the bracelet Yoongi entwined you. 

Jeongguk had kept it around his wrist after he pulled it away from your bun. The brief memory of the way he slid the satiny material down his limb floods your brain, the beige being the only color adorning him. Soft brown amidst all that black. 

The pressure of your brother’s question washes the recollection away, seemingly ricocheting across the walls, drumming against your ears over and over again as if he asked it a thousand times. Your chest swells with twice as many, with a rising tide more violent than any power he ever disported. 

Why haven’t you told me you visit mom and dad’s bedroom?

Why do you insist we keep the door shut and locked still? 

Why are you so strict to me?

Why don’t you let me live? 

Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy?

You choose the question that stands behind the reason why your feet carried you to his room, however. You swallow them down, hang them over the twigs of your tree. Let them breathe the air of life before you spew them out at him. 

“Where’s Holly?” 

Because that, too, is the reciprocated shooting of an arrow in the middle of this battlefield—a question for a question. It is another step forward because if Jeongguk never laid his hands on you, and had you never drank his cinnamon tea, you would have stooped in your dutifulness and broke your spine bending forward multiple times in apology. 

You have nothing to apologize for. 

Yoongi does—for the incision of his hypocrisy. 

And brother dearest sighs in response to your counterattack. Hangs his head low. The long, thinning strands of his ebony, snowflake-powdered hair covers his sight, concealing the rawness of his emotions from you. You will never see, will you? The jagged, warped surface of his feelings; the reasonings strung to them. You’ll never see and you’ll never know—and that is the fate of the younger sibling. 

Because if he showed you just a little bit of his humanity, you’d be a much happier person, no longer reliant on the emotions described by memorable authors of the past age. Not so fixated, not so needy; a hollow body with hollow organs due to the lack of a caress and a tender word. 

You wouldn’t be forming an attachment to the first male that didn’t break your heart. 

And the one who knows too well of the sensitivity that your delicate flesh is overlaid with sits down at the edge of his bed. The lower angle allows you to see the largening bald spot upon the left side of his head, right above his ear, especially when he looks to the side, seeking his words along the ashen walls of his room. You’ve never seen him so languid. To such an extent that he nibbles his bottom lip, unblinking, static, unsure. 

For the first time in a long while, you wish he would speak. Utter the words in the unfavorable way of his that he’s gotten used to. Your anxiety rises, ingesting you whole, and your throat is so parched, so scratchy that you can’t even swallow. 

Your limb, flaccidly, falls off the light switch, slapping against your side. It is the only sound in the room, one that tugs him away from his desperate pursuit of words, and there he blinks. Up at you with round, puny eyes, like Holly does ever so often.

 There he speaks. 

“I had to take her to the vet,” he begins, a rasp of crumbling words that come to dust between you and him, a fine yet heavy powder that settles over your heart like the snow flurries outside. Winter grows, your fever thumps, and you can’t breathe. “She was shivering and throwing up when I got home. The vet said she ate something bad… probably from the trash.” His eyes narrow as he delivers the information—as if it were your fault that she made this mistake because you weren’t at home. Your anxiety transforms into an overpowering amount of guilt that you tense up against, your mouth parting in dismay, shivering like her, shivering like poor little Holly. “They kept her at the clinic when they heard that none of us were at home. To monitor her.” 

You shrivel up—now smaller than him, no longer the one bigger on this battlefield. Smaller and smaller you become until he rakes his hand through his hair and props his knuckles on his knee. To your absolute surprise, Yoongi changes the narrative. 

“I shouldn’t have left,” he breathes out, skimming his eyes everywhere but you, and something flickers inside you; something tells you that the verb ‘left’ is one of great importance, one that you remember for a reason unknown to you. Your ears stretch, and so does your heart—towards him in outright urgent anguish, wrapped up in the cloth of grief over what happened to your lives. Love is what you detect in the beginning of that sentence. Clear as day; clear as winter. Something you irrationally and unashamedly would die to receive from him, from anyone. “I picked up another shift… only because Christmas is coming around, but I shouldn’t have. If I hadn’t, Holly would still be here with us.”

The arrow that has changed direction and now points at him feels as though a burden has been lifted off your shoulders. By his boyish hands, by those slender fingers of his, smeared with blood by that constant habit of cuticle biting of his. The burden is red, darkly red, sacrificed, and tears prick behind your eyes. 

It isn’t your fault—and Yoongi isn’t blaming you. He’s blaming himself. Smoking out the guilt behind your back. If you had your vape in your hand, you’d squeeze it. Squeeze his shoulder with your other and tell him—it’s okay. 

But you can’t say much. You can’t do much either. With your empty fist, you rub your eyes like a small, sleepy baby, your exhaustion preventing you from entering this strange twist of events even deeper. The moment twists tauter, nonetheless. 

Yoongi sees you. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone a lot softer, but the question still aches—only because it contains the word you wished to say to him. Your brother stands up to his feet and crosses the distance to you, all while you still create subduedly colorful stars before your eyes. 

He places a hand on your shoulder—essentially does what you yearned to do to him. The same hand lifts briefly, wraps around your wrist and draws your fist away. Brushes away a damp strand of hair that has messily been sloped across the side of your face. A light touch that nearly brings down your fever. You blink up at him and as you do, he returns the warmth of his hand back down to your bony shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Pinpricks scatter down your limbs. Love. This is love. The love you have lost somewhere along the highs and lows of his adulthood threaded with responsibilities, tactfulness and accountability. The love that had strayed and now has found its way back—because he presses his knuckles against the side column of your neck. 

“You’re burning up.” 

As his love saturates your bones little by little, you nod. Weightless you are, no longer bound by shackles, by negativity, by lacks that were too consuming, gnawing at your flesh until there was nothing left of you. His love refreshes you, a fountain kissed by the snow flurries that have softly blanketed his hair from his lonesome window smoking therapy session. 

You missed him. You love him and you missed him, and there’s nothing you long for more than to embrace him. Finish the ouroboros of today’s unique events by hugging the only two prominent people in your life. Jeongguk first—and now Yoongi. 

And you do. Oh, you do. 

Entwine your arms around his torso, hide your face in his sturdy chest. It takes only but a moment for your brother to do the same, taken aback by the sudden shift of your relationship with him. And it is under the palm of his hand that your hair, at last, dries fully, but it is under the palm of his hand, too, that you begin to uncontrollably tremble.

But those are not the trembles, which are so characteristic to your being. 

They are the shivers of illness that seep over you in waves, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. More violent, more restraining. Your state of weightlessness lessens, and in his embrace you are metamorphosed into a little girl in need to be taken care of. 

Yoongi sees that, too. 

Somehow you’re nestled in your bed, and somehow the scent of cinnamon percolates into the disorderliness of your senses, tickling your nostrils with such tenderness that the ‘no’ that begins to sound down your body is but a faint echo. Yoongi made you the tea that you never wanted to drink, that you instead wanted to keep on your nightstand, fall asleep with it tucked by the planes of your face, breathing it in until Jeongguk meets you in your dreams. But you didn’t have to go the extra mile—because as soon as your brother places two painkillers into your hand and holds your neck upright so you can swallow them with the tea without sputtering all over your sheets, Jeongguk already stands, waiting, at the far edge of your dream, which waits for you, too. Waits for you to fall asleep.

Yoongi pets you one last time before his weight lifts off the mattress. Your mind descends into a state of rest, flicking through your memories as if it were a photobook. The intricate frost pattern on the bus stop. Jeonnguk’s unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. The gust of white smoke of his vape rushing out of his mouth as he looked back at you. The way you almost held his hands by swathing them with yours around the vulgar cup. His arm, quick to reassure you at your abrupt outburst of emotion, but not brave enough—not yet. His eyes never lowering down to your naked body in the shower; those same eyes watching you intently in the mirror as you managed to deceive your brother so well. The joy that came after, the touches, the bravery. 

There Jeongguk stands—at the recollection of your joy. He takes your hand, with the limb that has been extended in the air for too long. How tired it must be, you think to yourself, as you grab a hold of his forearm with your other hand, how real he feels. His blood flow thumps under your palm and he guides you through this vast, treacly darkness to a place only he knows. 

To a meadow in the middle of spring, upon which you’re spread wide. To a meadow of golds, greens and granite blue, where he pins your hands down and hovers above you. To a meadow of fresh dew that soaks your hair damp, where he wants to play a game with you. 

Your hair is long—and it is a protective layer for your back so the blades of grass don't engrave dents into the porcelain skin of your back. Your cream-colored, flower-patterned sundress covers the backs of your thighs, but one of them is suddenly lifted. Not by your own will, but by the masculine yearning of the antihero above you, who folds his fingers into the crook of your knee just to sow a seed of kiss on its top. The clouds draw in, a chilly wind curves along the shine of your sweat upon your décolletage, and everything about his actions feels as though you’ve done it a thousand times before. 

And maybe you have. Who knows but the God of your father above since you must have slept too soundly to remember it the following morning. 

Here, in this flowering, vernal atmosphere, all is possible. There aren’t any lacks of yours that make your life difficult in the other world called reality. Here, you are yourself—and you are brave, beautiful and brimful of affection and touches without any outside forces disrupting this tender moment. 

No Yoongi, no issues. 

Jeongguk leans back, letting go of your hands that he held in his singular grip. Props an elbow on your knee and lopsidedly grins at you. There is the sun in the pearly white of his teeth, in the glimmer of his eyes, in the length of his pretty eyelashes—and there is the Spirit of God within the lines of his outstretched palms that he now shows to you. 

And a piercing on his lip.

“I’m sure you remember this,” he says, and for a split second you envision that he isn’t speaking of a game but of your secret, sleep-tinged memory of living a life with him beyond this parallel wildflower bubble. “We slap hands front-to-front, criss-cross, then front again. We go quicker and quicker each time until one of us fails to catch up and loses.” His grin blossoms like the petals of the primroses as he explains the rules, feeding your starved childhood memory of the game your primary school classmates played with each other but never with you. Of the game you always longed to play with your brother when you sadly went home, but he was never around—not until late at night when you were in bed and your pillow was cold with the way it was moistened with your forlorn tears. You shake that thought away; remind yourself that Yoongi isn’t here. He’s left. You’re alone in this parallel universe, alone with Jeongguk, but you just can’t shake him off. Not until the antihero continues to speak. “You don’t remember?” He chuckles, mimicking your little shakes of head. “I’ll help you remember. Let’s do a try level.” 

The wispy strands of his hair flutter against his eyelashes, the soft huffs of his laughter enveloping you in a cocoon that sinks you deeper into this dream with the comfort it evokes. It is a song, the poems of birds, and it inspirits you through and through. Enough that your mouth cracks into a drowsy smile, your palms lifting and brushing against his. 

The wonderful noises from his throat grow in volume. “No, not like this, bun.” 

Bun. It is a slow-motion movie, the way you blink as you take in that pet name, the way Jeongguk begins to focus on showing you how to play the game right, clothing you into the person of your little you as the smile withers from your mouth. It is a slow-motion movie, the way he splutters into giggles, gives up at the sight of your useless unmoving hands, and falls on top of you, his face in your neck, his mouth peppering kisses, made icy and vibrant with his piercing, at the spot beneath your ear—and the way you notice that the linen fabric of his white shirt has torn claw marks on his back that billow in the wind, the tattered endings flapping vigorously out in the open. 

You trace them, the bare skin, with your fingertip and Jeongguk shivers in the intimate embrace. 

You wake up with a dry, painful throat. To a full blue light beyond your windows and not the dragging dawn’s darkness extending across the sky. To a first that would get you scolded by your mother and looked down upon by your brother. 

You missed school. 

Your hair is matted to your head. Your clothes carry the stench of your sweat owing to your fever and when you glance down, you realize that your brother, at some point during your delirium, had taken off your denim jeans and slipped on your warm pajama pants. It is a small flame against the open fire that is burning quietly behind it, called to creation by your fever dream. The more you summon it up in your memories, the more it burns. Bun, those soft little kisses, the lip ring and how its coldness had a little bit of the winter you lived through with him, the largeness of Jeongguk’s palms and God inside them. God, you have touched. God, you have come to know in another person who might not even know him. Your father colors your mind as you recollect his devotion to him. 

But those lashes on Jeongguk’s back... you wonder what those meant. What the whole dream meant. How you’ll feel once you see him tomorrow on your lunch break. 

You dwell within that warmth until you plentifully come to your senses. Think you must have come a long way, crossed paths you could’ve never crossed before if it weren’t for the events that occurred—if it weren’t for the snow, for the weakness of your mental state, for Yoongi calling you at the wrong place and at the wrong time that was eventually right in all senses. Yoongi. How kind he was to you, how loving after a century of coldness and orders. How quick he was to take care of you and put you to bed, make you Jeongguk’s tea and hold your head upright while you swallowed your pills. 

The small flame flickers because you perceive that you have to get to your worst in order to receive love, and that is a sad revelation that settles like a burden over your shoulders, heaving them down. Another load, another reason to grieve being alive. 

You look over to your bedside table and like one reaches for a loved one, you reach for your copy of Dostoyevsky’s White Nights. Your papery comfort, a non-verbal being of trees that was shredded to construct a story for you to find your solace in. You open it to a random page, careful still to not break the spine, and you bring it to your nose and inhale. 

Grassy tones, melancholy, vanilla and meadows. 

Oh. Meadows. 

The Jeongguk that now lives in your memories faintly kisses that spot on your neck as your eyes skim the pages and they root at a passage that irrevocably impacts you, despite the fact you’ve read it countless times before. You now consume the Russian man’s words as a brand new person, altered by the dream you had and the life you lived with Jeongguk. It is as though you do so for the first time ever. 

A whole minute of silence passed. She did not look at me. I saw that she was in great agitation, that she was waiting for something. She was unable to stand it any longer: she suddenly burst into tears, hid her face in her hands, and ran away. I stood motionless, gazing after her.

The storyteller is a boy dreamily in love with a girl named Nastenka, who stomached a great deal of anguish in her life. She lived in a snare with her grandmother, whose blindness forced her to depend on the girl too violently. Like you are bound to your brother, Nastenka was physically bound by a thread to her grandmother—connected to her hip-to-hip, a thread sewn between their dresses so they could never part. It’s the reason why you adore this book so much. It makes you feel seen, known, understood in the sense that another person went through the same things as you did.

It makes you feel less alone.

In this passage, the storyteller is voicing out his feelings for her, but Nastenka loves someone else—someone who has offered her freedom from the stifling relationship with her grandmother. And because she has tasted this freedom, she does what she deems natural. Unable to stand it any longer … she ran away. 

All throughout the years you kept this book in the crevices of your soul, you found comfort only in the fact you felt understood, but now as you read the paragraph over and over again, you comprehend that it offers you something, too. 

A solution. 

The verb that lodged itself into your mind from Yoongi’s explanation of what happened to Holly comes darting through you at full speed: left. That something flickers in you once again as it did when it fled past your brother’s lips, and your eyes remain glued on the last words that complete the paragraph. 

She ran away. 

You wish you could. You can no longer tolerate bearing these burdens, the going behind backs, the stifling sensations, the act of earning love by being sick, by being in a bad condition, by doing well in school. You wish you could grab this book, Jeongguk’s vape, figs and cinnamon tea and run away to a place where no one knows you—where people are kinder and give you love, even though you did nothing to earn it. Who give you love like they give you food—the last of what they have, good for health, pleasurable for senses. 

Your legs swing over the edge of the bed and, like Nastenka, you hide your face in your hands. And for the last time in the longest while, you weep. Swear to yourself that you shall not again. The tears trickle down your cheeks in thick rivulets, the ones on the left side representing a self-hatred for yearning something so unattainable while the other ones cascade down with the venomous fuel that you simply ask for too much.

That you should get over yourself. 

That life isn’t about love. 

It’s a lie that carves out your heart and that gruesome flesh topples out of your chest and onto the cold floors. Your instincts nearly throw out the book with the same detestation, but your hands gently place it down beside it. Your feet take you out of that room before your heart starts to rot. 

As you walk down the hall, your hand skates across the double doors of your parents’ bedroom. Absorb the ghosts that cling to the wood, the silent echoes of your mother’s arguments thrown at your father. Your fingers wrap around the knob and they would try it to see if Yoongi locked it while you slept, but a strange sound averts you from doing so. 

A sound that the castle of doom hasn’t heard in years. 

A laughter. 

One that doesn’t belong to Yoongi. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[dihydromorphinone]

I CAN'T WAIT TO TASTE YOU.

after watching her for over a year, tanner can't control his urges anymore and he goes to claim what, he thinks, is rightfully his.

— tanner x reader, reader/character is implied to be female and in luna's place, not really smut but very suggestive it was supposed to be a smut though, kinda dark themed(!!) but it is consensual somehow TT, stalking references, i'll definitely write a part two with smut 👅, been writing this for four months;; kinda feel like i could've done better

if you like it pls reblog!! ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

an: i wanted to try something new hehehe tell me if you like how it's written!! also dude... tanner voicelines are so cannibalistic and sexy,,, and i feel sooo bad i drank too much and i was sitting outside drinking beer with some random ahh guy at 3am and I'm pretty sure that something i took today got laced >_< this is my comfort fic yall.

tonight was oddly peaceful. the state of Montana, especially that one – someone would say cursed – town was the complete opposite of peace. with the sudden increase in crime; murder, kidnappings, disappearances mostly the city was covered with terror. the blueblood killer was definitely a real threat, a threat that is wandering free on the sickly covered in fog streets, while the poor citizens are left in the dark – and though he enjoys the exposition he has, for tanner it wasn't enough. it's never going to be enough.

he's cruel. psychotic, even. what sane person would happily murder so many of its own kind? none. and yet, there he was. enthusiastically setting feet rhythmically on the pavement, the heels of his elegant shoes making a barely audible 'click-clacks'. so much passion in each step; the same passion which drives him to inject toxins to humans and toying them with much visible sadism. tanner – the blueblood killer, had a very distinctive way of looking at the society. for him, it was nothing else than scum. trash, refuse; all the same. no human mattered to him. he treated mankind like a child would treat its toys; fun, but only for a moment. then the toy, or in tanner's case, a human can be tossed away into some corner, because it won't serve his purpose this well again. his definition of fun, however, was as cruel as he was. stalking, trespassing, closely observing his prey's emotional reactions and how the body and mind react separately depending on the circumstances and substances. his fun ends when the victim dies or acts repetitively – so he cherishes every moment of preying upon a human.

he found one exception, though – a young woman living not-so-far-away from his hideout; the captivating lady was a detective, with her home set close to the giant, maze-like forest, where the equally handsome doctor was spending his days, and if he wasn't out satiating his disgusting urges, nights. tanner has been watching her for over a year, falling prey to the female's plush lips, seemingly sweet demeanor and her abominable desires. in their own home, each human feels safe. the only place they can be themselves, do whatever they want to do. tanner pitied them - he always did. but for some reason, he still laughed at people who acted different indoors. he defied the whole purpose of safety, stripping the victim of it.

he’s stood in the shadows – where he preferred to be, for now. the thrill of being found was growing fonder and fonder on him, but now's not the right time, tanner would always repeatedly tell himself this like a mantra. like a plea to the sober-thinking part of him to let the other, more careless and darker part have some more fun. his thirst, though, for blood and flesh was just expanding more and more... insatiable, one would think. no matter how many victims would be reported, no matter how the blueblood killer's body count would go up, the urge was almost... attached to him.

through the tinted, mostly curtain-hidden windows, he could see her moving around. left and right she swayed, not getting enough sleep and forgetting basic self care because of her almost sick, he thought, altruistic urges. such a good, upstanding individual she was - someone to look up to, to worship... the woman deserved good, proper treatment only. especially from him - all the neglect is happening because his identity, still a secret, was wanted. tanner almost convinced himself that he feels pity and cries for her, being the source of her opposite of well-being, but in the end it's hard to judge and distinguish emotions while being hazed with mad, almost lusting feelings.

there was, however, no time to reflect the past actions, even if they're undoubtedly mingling with the present. he always did whatever his body and mind wanted, more or less heart. but he would be the last one to judge - there was no place for him and his 'sick' assessment. that being said, tanner finally realised he is in fact done waiting. their time together was pleasant and wholesome, but the urge will drive him to further madness if he won't do anyting about it soon. and since this isn't a mind matter, then it would be suitable to satisfy the flesh, disregarding the heart's wishes and indulge in the woman visible through the small gap in the curtains.

but his heart cannot be silenced this fast.

after searching for his trusted syringe and the mix of liquid midazolam and some other drug he put there previously, he cracked a small smile and sighed, being able to free himself after such a long time. his playtime with victims never lasted this long - this was but a miracle, something unexpected and ready to turn his peaceful, murderous life into something even more vile, dangerous and ruined. but the thought of disposing her like a loose trash didn't sit right with him; tanner was almost disgusted by the bare thought of causing her heart to stop permantly. he was having so much fun now, it'd be almost criminal... but, what is going to happen will eventually happen, so reveal himself to her, he shall.

the woman inside the cozy home was unaware of the terror right next her door, but even if she was - it didn't really matter. for her, the most important thing to do now was to catch that damned blueblood killer, to put end to the town's suffering... and her own grief. she's lost many of her friends and few family members to his wicked fantasies, and it only felt right to do something for the rapidly decreasing community. focused on her promethean task, she couldn't hear the light creak of her door and even lighter footsteps right behind her. only after tanner stood behind her, she could sense someone's presence. shiver ran down her spine, as she vividly remembered closing the door and definitely not inviting anyone, especially this late at night. fear paralyzed her, but then came the realisation.

it could be the blueblood killer. either she will get violently gutted, or she will make a life-changing discovery. and so, the captivating lady sighed, and prepared herself for the worst moments of her life. she turned around, surprising tanner. bold. she was definitely bold, unsure of the danger's scale, yet facing it bravely. his heart barely, but still, softened. endearing, so endearing... but it was too much for her. she closed her eyes right before facing him, squinting her eyes. his little plaything was even more captivating, he thought, smiling softly. though, she could never see it.

"who are you?" she asked, knowing well the answer is going to be fake or she will get no answer at all. or maybe some pistol on her forehead would be all she needed to know before her apparent, incoming demise? but she heard a small chuckle. "i'm the one you've been searching for. pardon me, miss, for keeping you up for so many nights. figured i'd better show myself in person."

his voice was oddly attractive. so pleasant to her ears, so pleasant she almost didn't get what he was saying - clearly, the murderer who got rid of solid few percents of the town's residents was before her, and he was aware of the search. well, it was obvious he will figure it out eventually, but the fact that he exactly knew that it was her... next thing she knew, his fingers were caressing her cheekbones, which made her open her eyes in a second. the sight made her lose her breath for a second.

the blueblood killer was undeniably handsome. sharp jaw, ideally shaped brows, perfect face ratio... not a single thing was wrong. he'd definitely pass as a model, or an angel, though the circumstances made her think of him as the devil. his appearance made it easy to sin. tempting. he was clearly her type, and deep inside of herself she was having a moral battle. she couldn't help the train of thoughts, all vile and lusting, all due to the bare sight of him. that didn't go unnoticed - tanner, as the aspiring master of knowing human reactions, realized she was captivated with him as much as she was with her. the syringe in his other hand, placed behind his back, almost fell to the floor. sweet, so sweet; it seems the paradise's gates won't be opened for him only.

"i've planned some fun activities for the two of us. don't worry, honey, you won't die. yet," the murderer smiled at the woman, terrified and enamored, still gazing at him. oh, how absurdly sweet she was... a perfect mix. with his large, gentle movements he still was caressing her cheek, but slowly moved down to her neck, tracing circles and various shapes. the lady was stunned - and tanner will also be as stunned as the detective, if he regains his mind clarity. but that did not matter; not for now, at least. she's here, next to him, looking at him with lust behind the pretty, sweet facade...

suddenly, the lady felt a sting on her neck. she hissed, and tanner shushed her, continuing to inject the tranquilizer liquid through the syringe. "this will only hurt for a while, i assure you. i wouldn't let you suffer for more, that is - unless you want me to," his poor, horrid jokes made her think about the event briefly, before losing consciousness. this is awful - she is awful, for even considering this monster as a human being, someone that could even potentially become her crush. but the shame can wait, she thought, as the man dressed in white lab coat and red tie came closer to her face and hovered above her, waving his hand as her eyes became droopy and eventually closed.

"good girl," tanner told her, though she couldn't hear those affectionate words. the effects were visible shortly - as if it were not for her perpetrator and his strong, muscular hands she would surely fall down, hitting herself and creating a possible injury. not today, tanner thought, not happening ever. why should she injure herself if the feared master of terror was always for her disposal? but even he wouldn't cut her too deep. the precious flesh of hers shall not be tainted with foolish, mortal-only limited bruises.

having his prized lady in his arms, he spared a few seconds more to admire her unconscious body. not like this was the first time he's seen it - this time was different, though, as he never actually held her like this. tanner closed his eyes swiftly, took a small, but deep breath and contemplated what to do next. it would be a shame to waste the precious liquid he just injected, though it was as precious as she was.

tanner knew her home well, sneaking inside when she wasn't home, and he was about to exploit this knowledge, just as he was about to exploit the sweet, sweet detective he oh-so-adored. holding her as softly as he could, but firm, he moved in the direction of her bedroom, clearly having some sort of a more detailed plan now. after entering, he put her still unconscious body on the big, fluffy bed and then went back to the living room to turn off the lights. should add some more vibes, tanner thought, grinning from ear to ear, as if it was his first time feeling happiness.

awakening from her slumber, she felt as if her wrists were restrained. and soon, she would learn her assumption was correct - although, it wasn't rope or anything extreme as she feared, no.. it was a fine, soft material, silk probably. sitting nice and tight on her skin. in her circumstances, getting tied up was the least she could worry about, and soon, she would find out; as the man's figure hovered over her body, multiple terrifying scenarios flashed her poor mind yet again. but was it surprising? no, it was expected even. her eyes became glassy, as if she'd cry in a second, at which tanner just... cooed. "oh, what's this now? i told you already, i won't let you suffer by my hand unless you want it," tanner replied, bringing his hand to her cheek and gently caressing her already tear-stained flawless skin.

the word gentle did not sit right with him, obviously. his actions were confusing to the extreme; but she wouldn't refuse anything the man would offer. not like she'd even be able to - but he made her think she has a choice and whatever happens next is up to her. what a cruel illusion - one of freedom and safety, that he won't take anything she doesn't want him to. in his mind, she was already his. equal to him, even, though he wouldn't like to see her running around with some sedatives, tranquilizing random people on the street like he does on some nights.

tanner did not retreat his hand, seeing his darling still conflicted but not showing any signs of reluctance. if anything, she was very compliant, and so he shall make sure she's rewarded for her obedience. "could you.. um.. untie me?" she asked, earning yet another one of tanner's smiles. what a silly girl, he thought, asking questions like this. but do whatever she wants him to do, he shall.

"no thrashing and squirming, okay? and i'll give you a piece of freedom," the man said, to which she nodded. she wouldn't want to cross him, never. bringing her arms closer, he slowly undid the bindings on her wrists, brushing his lips softly on the soft flesh of hers. it was somehow... intimate. the way he presented himself to her; she knew he's dangerous. one wrong move or word could probably get her killed, and yet - the way he is now with her speaks a whole different story. one couldn't just see him as a psychotic, sadistic murderer; not when his actions were those of a lover, not a killer. thinking about him in this way was surely a sin. the woman's train of thought, however, was rudely interrupted.

"stop thinking so much," he murmured against her ear. "no point in being so worried. i came here to do what i wanted for a long, long time, you know?" tanner started delicately biting the skin on her ear, chuckling a bit at his own words. "tonight, you shall become rightfully mine. i was thinking of claiming you in a different scenario but i just can't keep myself away from you, sweet girl." her breath hitched, in fear or excitement - she did not know. the anticipation, his face being so close to her own; she was surely about to go insane after tonight. and as tanner buried his face in her neck, she started trying to regain at least part of her mind's long gone clarity.

he's a murderer. a terrible person. he's creating hell on earth. she knows he is awful and she should scream in terror, but her fleshy, earthly desires are clouding her judgement a tad too much. up to this moment, she knew who he is - a killer. his sly antics tonight made her forget about his cruelty, but she shall see him as a criminal, a murderer yet again - he's going to kill her all the same, the difference will be the weapon of choice. he will stab her relentlessly all the same, but not with any blade or syringe. cursing her coveting mind, she brushed all concerns aside and let him have his way with her.

she's going to let him ruin her, deprave her - and she will enjoy every second of it.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Destiny

Summary: You desperately try to know if Gods exist. Chaplain Erebus wants to enlighten you.

Erebus/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, possessive behavior, manipulation, noncon

Author's note: so it's finally happened... God-Emperor, forgive me (no)

Word count: 2666 (lol)

Song: Enigma - Sadeness (Part I)

Sade, dis-moi Qu'est-ce que tu vas chercher? Le bien par le mal? La vertu par le vice? Sade, dis-moi Pourquoi l'évangile du mal? Quelle est ta religion? Où sont tes fidèles? Si tu es contre Dieu, tu es contre l'homme Sade, es-tu diabolique ou divin?

The Imperial Truth is the only truth in the galaxy. All must adhere to it and bring its light to all corners of the universe. If anyone dares to resist or dispute it, then they are not worthy of living. Billions lived with this truth. You lived with this truth.

But for you, these were just words, a tyrannical law that all worlds were forced to follow. Perhaps there was something wrong with you, otherwise how could an ordinary citizen of the Imperium have such... heretical thoughts.

But what happened was. You did not say them out loud, did not try to change people's minds. You simply lived in your vacuum, a safe environment. Even when the Emperor announced the creation of the Order of Remembrancers, you felt nothing. Your talents could have been revealed with new strength, you could have become famous, glorified the Legion, but you did not want this. Why, when you do not believe in the truth.

If it was the truth at all.

And yet your Master Librarian gave you no choice and deliberately obtained permission for you. As if you were a slave without will. But your Master assured you that it was for your own good. It was your destiny to be part of the Crusade.

But you were not upset for long. When you realized that you had a chance to choose a Legion, you took it. Many remembrancers wanted to join the Luna Wolves or the Emperor's Children. Quite a few wanted to join the Ultramarines. But you had another goal. Although it was difficult to get to them, as the Legion refused to accept remembrancers for two years after the triumph at Ullanor. But in the end, even the Word Bearers opened their doors for them.

You were not the best historian or iterator in the general sense. The thing is, you only studied what interested you. And if something stirred your feelings, you dove into it headlong. Your master once joked that if you had your way, you would conquer the world. Part of you wanted to say that you would.

But you weren't interested in material power, wealth, or the Imperial Truth. You were far more drawn to other things. Especially religion. Faith is an unshakable feeling, and the Emperor's desire to rid himself of it seemed almost comical. No, mankind will always seek to find God. The question is which Gods are true and which are false.

You knew that Lorgar's praise of the God-Emperor was not a rumor. This legend was not invented by evil tongues to spite the primarch. No, you knew that the Word Bearers were indeed bringing a new religion to the worlds. One that had long been ignored by the Emperor before he burned Monarchia. After that, Lorgar renounced the faith.

But even though you were not a believer, you knew that faith cannot be renounced so easily. You can't get rid of this feeling that torments your heart. Makes your soul sing and glow, fills with blessed light. You can renounce religion, but not faith. And if the God-Emperor was false, then there are other true gods.

Have the Word Bearers found them? Perhaps. You immediately thought of this when you learned about Cyrene Velantion. The Blessed Lady, whose eyes lost the ability to see after the burning of Monarchia. Some chroniclers had already met her. But it was just simple curiosity or simple politeness.

You wanted something else. To know the truth. You remember you were overcome with fear before meeting the Blessed Lady. Mercy and cruelty go hand in hand. As well as love and hate. Whatever the true deity was, it was not fed only by bright emotions. There is no order, only pure chaos. You were afraid to know the truth, for you were only a mortal girl. But you could not remain in sweet ignorance. Sooner or later the truth would come and it was impossible to prepare for it.

However, Cyrene Valantion did not preach, but listened. She could not tell the Truth, since she did not know it. And yet she listened to your fears, anxieties and doubts. She did not judge you and yet asked if you really wanted to meet the Gods.

And looking straight into the portholes you understood that no, you don't want to. But the divinity won't go away from this, it won't disappear. The Immaterium that opened before your eyes captivates your mind and you regret that you only decided to look at it now.

The battle with the traitors is approaching. Horus has rebelled against the Emperor and Lorgar, along with his brothers, must give the first and last battle. To bring down the Warmaster himself. Perhaps you should have been horrified by such events or proud that you ended up on board one of the saviors of humanity.

But you felt nothing. Perhaps Horus did the right thing by rejecting the Emperor. Or maybe you were completely lost in your doubts, justifying the traitor. You didn't know. You only knew that the troubles of the material world are nothing compared to what is happening in the warp.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" - a deep languid male voice cuts through the silence and you squeak in surprise and turn around.

You had never met him face to face, but you had seen him from afar. You had heard of his influence on the Primarch. Fortunately, it was not the old and burning with hidden malice and envy Kor Phaeron. But chaplain Erebus. There was something about the man that made you want to approach him like a lamb to a shepherd… but something about his predatory eyes and gentle smile repulsed you.

“Y-yes, beautiful.” Feeling uncomfortable, you turned away from the space marine, turning your gaze back to the Warp. You did not know why, but the space behind the ship seemed safer to you than the Chaplain’s proximity.

“In truth, I was disappointed when I returned from the Warmaster. And the remembrancers have arrived here. They scurry like rats through the corridors, reveling in their uselessness. Their only role in this story is to become bloody meat,” the man said the terrible words gently, as if lulling you.

You listened to him in confusion. Of course, you guessed that the Space Marines did not like the Remembrancers much, but you did not think that one of them would say it outright. Even if he was close to Lorgar. As if he did not care. Words and actions are unimportant, and you are meat.

“But I had to admit,” his voice echoes over your spirit and you turn sharply to meet his gaze. The man leaned in, almost breathing on your shoulder. “That your zeal to touch the Gods has excited me.”

“I-I,” you gasped like a fish, while Erebus enjoyed the spectacle. “It is not what you think, I, um-”

“No wonder the Emperor exalted men. You women are so weak.” - Erebus smiled at your indignant expression and you felt fear envelop you again. - “But it is the emotionality of your gender that most strongly pushes you to worship. Beautiful servants of the Dark Gods.”

Your heart was pounding like crazy and you swallowed, trying to step back from the chaplain. Not looking him in the eyes. While the words about the Gods screamed in your head, not allowing you to think rationally.

You wanted to know the Truth. And now it is revealed right in front of you. Did you really think that everything would be so easy? Alas, but it is the chaplain who will reveal the secrets of the universe to you. The one whose face is shrouded in such impenetrable darkness that it is surprising how it has not yet swallowed the whole world.

“P-please, please, I”

“Hmm? Asking to continue? Your desire is the law.” - Erebus mocks your request, circling around you like a beast preparing to attack. - “You don’t believe in the Imperial Truths, do you?”

“I-I do,” you trembled like a leaf in the wind, looking at the floor. - “B-beloved Emperor-”

“Don’t lie to me,” a whistle pierced the air and you watched in horror as a neat cut appeared on your palms. How? Where from? - “I am your confessor and I want you to speak frankly.”

You looked at Erebus with tears in your eyes. The man was not in armor, but in a robe. His face was gentle, while his eyes looked at you with a hidden heat. You didn’t even understand how he cut you. But you knew that he enjoyed your confusion.

“N-no, I don’t believe it,” you sobbed and the man smiled even more.

“Do you believe in the God-Emperor?”

“N-no”

“And in others that you know?”

“No”

“What if I told you,” the man almost whispers, but his words sound clear in your head like the sound of a drum. “That the Gods exist? That they watch over us, are a part of us, because we created them ourselves. Where do you think they are?”

The answer did not have time to form in your head, but your body already knew where the path lies. Your eyes flew up to the porthole, looking at the shimmering purple colors of the Immaterium. Only in such a place could the Gods live. The warp itself was a sea of ​​souls for you.

“Clever girl,” a silent cry leaves your chest as you feel heavy, massive hands on your shoulders. The man's weight pressed you to the floor, turning you to the immaterial world. - “They are right there. In the Immaterium. Waiting for us to destroy the false Emperor. When we bring the Galaxy to the true faith, to”

“To Chaos,” you either ask or state. The man behind you falls silent, before a light laugh creeps through him. The grip on your shoulders tightens. You feel the Chaplain’s fingers drop to your collarbone.

“Yes. To Chaos. But serving the Gods is not at all scary, no. I can show you the truth. You can become one of many servants.” - Erebus leans down and breathes so hotly that your ears burn. - “The Skull God will grant you the desire to taste another’s blood. The Architect of Fate will show you a great future. Grandfather will grant you health, he will take care of you. And the Dark Prince will grant you sensuality, make you his concubine.”

Silence fills the hall. Short in the material world, but it seems like an eternity to you. Before your cheek began to shine with someone else's drool and a seductive promise. A tattooed hand cupped your right breast, stroking a nipple hidden under layers of clothing.

"But I would rather make you my concubine."

You break free from someone else's grasp, overwhelmed by emotion. You look into his golden eyes again. Now you know what heat was hidden there. Lust. And Erebus wanted you to see it. He let you escape because he wanted to.

"What?" - you don't even know how to weave the words together. Doubts, fears and misunderstandings wash over you from head to toe. You felt cheated. You were played with like an insect.

"I was given the power of the Astartes, but a pathetic attempt to correct my mind failed. I have never been loyal to the Emperor and never will be. I desired blood even before the ascension. Never will I be a simple soldier, but only a servant of the Dark Forces." - a deep voice fills the silence, not giving you time to come to your senses. - “And I will never stop desiring feminine beauty, as I do now.”

“You will be my concubine. My lover. My whore.” - the man almost purrs, squeezing his hands like an ancient monk. But his words are not full of holiness. - “The world will soon change, the Imperium will fall. The Chroniclers do not have long left, but you. You have always been an outsider. I will lead you to a new era. It is enough just to throw off the shackles of the old order… you will like your destiny.”

Destiny. Your destiny is to become part of the Great Crusade. So your master told you, so the Emperor called you, announcing a new decree. You did not believe that you could bring something significant to this world by becoming a remembrancer. You did not believe in such a path, you realized the lie and falsity of what was happening.

But listening to Erebus, to your horror, you realized that you believed him. You believe that this is your destiny. To accept the will of the Dark Gods, to become their slave. And to give in to the dark temptation, to let a man tempt you. For you will not be able to hide from the Ruinous Powers, and the Emperor will not take you back into his arms. You were always a heretic, you were born to satisfy your master, who deserved a small reward from the Dark Gods.

You blink, smearing tears on your face, trying with all your might to wipe away the uninvited water. No, these are not your thoughts, these are someone else's desires. You are confused, you are scared. You have no one to ask for help. And even though Erebus is a child of Chaos, he is the only one who cares about you, he will take care of you.

What? How do you know? You are talking to him for the first time in your life.

"These are not my thoughts. This is not me. I, I" - you choke, almost falling over the pressure in your chest. - "I can't think about this, n-no, this is not my fate, not my purpose."

"Are you sure? If so, tell me this straight to my face." - a velvety voice sounded very close and raising your head, you see golden eyes with horror. A deceptively gentle smile is snow-white, but you can't stop seeing blood in the corners of his lips. - "If this is true, you will easily reject me. Tell me that you don't want this."

Pain squeezed your vice. Your heart fluttered, and your legs gave way. You desperately wanted to run away, to hide in the bowels of the ship. You reproached yourself for wanting to touch the unknown. You learned about the existence of Gods. Did it make you feel better? Did you find salvation in the truth?

Unable to bear it, you fall to your knees. If before these tears were running down your face in small streams, now you were choking on sobs. Your hands desperately wanted to grab something, just to not fall into the abyss of despair. You clung to Erebus' clothes like a drowning woman, denying that he is your doom.

"See? It's not so hard to admit your place." - the man gently strokes your head, as if you were a funny little animal, before kneeling. Rough teardrop-shaped fingers softly outline your cheekbones and curve your lips. - "I have been watching you for a long time. I could have taken you for myself a long time ago. But I had to prepare my pet. All the pieces are in place, the second betrayal is approaching."

Rough hands gently undress you, gently stroking the exposed areas of skin. And you listen to what Erebus says, wondering how quickly you fell into despair. How easy was it for you to break and turn human knowledge and arts into a slave? Were the boundaries allowed, or were they always blurred, and you were just waiting for them to finally be erased? Whatever the answer, you knew that in any case, Erebus like a boy played with you.

"We must praise all the Gods." - a tongue full of poison licks your ear before Erebus's eyes are fixed on your lips. - "But for now all the worship will go to the youngest of them."

Your kiss is sensual and tender like the sting of a scorpion.

[meaningofaeons]

Hello! Have you played the latest part of the xianzhou quest? If not ignore this ask lmao.

If yes, holy shi the potential for hurt comfort in the scenes of the final battle against phentylia??

I wanted to ask if you could write a hurt/comfort fic jing yuan x reader, where reader is in the battle and sees all the shit go down and is quite shaken.

Thanks!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ at the end of immortality

⊹ character(s) - jing yuan ⊹ word count - 829 ⊹ notes - SPOILERS FOR 1.2 TRAILBLAZE MISSION !!!, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, reader is like jing yuan's right-hand in battle and in the seat of divine foresight/implied to be a guard of some sort to him, reader and jing yuan are not together but they're both pining hard, a bit angsty but still comfort, not edited sorry

hi anon omg. this ask got me giggling kicking my feet like YES... thank you for requesting!! (＾º◡º＾❁) (also im so sorry I made this a little more angsty than I expected to wtf!!!!)

You were mad. Furious, even.

Jing Yuan could tell without even beholding your expression that you were positively seething with rage.

Towards him.

He dare not say a word about your current state to your face, though. Not when you silently draped new bandages over his wounds, and not when your hands lingered just a bit longer than they should've.

Not when he could feel the near-imperceptible tremble of your fingertips as you carefully nursed him back to health, treating him like a precious ornament that may break at the slightest touch.

"...How bad is it?"

The General's hoarse voice cut the silence like Dan Heng's spear had cut right through his torso.

Your mind flashed back to the scene, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

"General!"

Jing Yuan fell through the air as Phantylia's grip faltered at last. He wasn't a Void Ranger, but...

Seeing the spear of the Vidyadhara High Elder pierce him had just about sent the same level of fear shooting through you. As though the weapon had pierced your chest, instead.

"Y/N, wait!"

"Imbibitor Lunae, what did you—?!"

Your fury came off in waves, your distress even more palpable. The aforementioned Vidyadhara—no, Dan Heng—approached you with the General in his arms, handing him off with little resistance as you helped the man to a stand.

He was still alive. You could've wept. He was still alive.

But he wasn't okay.

"I told you to stay back," you whispered, forcing your hands to still as you finished patching up his wound. They brushed over the space where Dan Heng's spear hit, and you winced at Jing Yuan's flinch.

At his slight chuckle, you worried he might come up with some witty quip that would undoubtedly enrage you into pounding your fist against his wounded back.

Instead, he only turned to gaze at you, golden eyes smoldering.

"You know I couldn't do that."

As angry as you were, you did know.

But still...

What use is a guard if their charge is always the one at the front lines?

As the General of the Xianzhou Luofu... what could you even do for such a brilliant man?

"If it had been you up there, I may have died in my worry. I'm not getting any younger, my dear."

"And neither am I. Do you have no care for the pain you put my heart through?"

Your words were far from proper, your actions even less so as you rested your weary head on the General's shoulder. He seemed to lack any concern for his own propriety, his hand reaching up to grasp your own, his rough thumb brushing your fingertips with a delicate tenderness you didn't want to think too much into.

"...I'm sorry."

Jing Yuan's relenting words were bittersweet to your wanting ears, roughened by his strain. You clutched his hand just a bit tighter.

"Is that an apology for your actions, or an apology for the fact that you'll continue to be reckless until the day you die?"

He chuckled more. The sound sent a warm, tingling feeling through your chest, a feeling that you desperately clutched to in your distress.

"Would you hit me if I said both?"

"I'll be merciful enough to save it for when you're in better shape."

The rumbling laughter continued, and you silently scolded the man for the chance of exacerbating his wounds. He only deflected the blame unto you for your quip, and you sighed out.

Ease. Your anger dissipated, fading into a comfortable silence that the General did not dare break again.

He also did not dare, however, to turn and face you. You were grateful for that.

Because in spite of your assuaged rage, your abated worries, you still fear many things.

You fear seeing new scars on Jing Yuan that you did not have to see before. You fear seeing the exhaustion grow in his youthful features, yet aged all the same. You fear the possibility that he is only a phantasm, that the mara has stricken your mind at last and all you have left of him is a pathetic delusion created by your own longing.

More than any of that, somehow, you fear that if he were to turn around in this very moment, you would cross that one line you had sworn never to touch.

The line that, when crossed, would allow you to abandon all restraint. The line that, when crossed, would mean you grasp your General in the way you've longed to, kissing him slowly to make sure he's really still here with you. To make him promise he would be here with you, forever, until the end of your immortality.

Judging from the way Jing Yuan placed his rough lips upon the back of your hand, you knew he was thinking the same.

Not yet. Not now, not even now.

But perhaps one day, it wouldn't be such a daunting wall to scale.