#separate paths same hue au

[shatter-song]

(@themightyhumanbroom you may regret asking, thanks for the encouragement)

so when I decided on who to have Lanolin with in terms of relationship, I wanted to have a sort of theme with her. someone who understands where she's coming from as a civilian thrust into a crazy world of supernatural heroes and madman scientists.

who better than another civilian like her?

all of them represent Lanolin in different ways in the lanocule (shoutouts to @bowserbowser29)

Clove the Pronghorn

anyone who follows me knows that this is my coined pair. I've already written three different fics of these two and almost went insane because of it

I just love Clove

also, they're essentially two different sides of the same coin. both fight for the protection of others but on two different sides of the spectrum

that was when I only had decided on one person. but then I figured "why not?" i mean, there's literally an au with 15 people in a polycule, i can certainly try my hand at something somewhat similar

Barry the Quokka

someone who hasn't experienced what it's like to be surrounded by people like Sonic and co. yet

who still maintains the illusion of grandeur from heroes. but someone still optimistic if anxious and doubtful of themself

but still similar in pouring themselves into work, just trying to get by and live. tiring

Sonar the Fennec

if you've read the archie reboot, you'd know Sonar as one of the Desert Raiders (Shamar Freedom Fighters), a trio trying to do good while also helping Nephthys the Vulture maintain a neutral balance with Eggman and the heroes (he doesn't get an advantage while also not having to send in more badniks and risk innocents being hurt/killed)

however, with the way I'll write her and maybe taking in context clues from her screentime (panel time?), she is disillusioned and holds no high regard for her heroes. at least, not looking up to them anyway

when Lanolin and her meet, she'll actually be envious and kinda jealous of Sonar and the Desert Raiders for how well they work together and trust each other in comparison to how weak the Diamond Cutters were in comparison

but that's enough about her for now, let's move on

Gala the Hound

one of the only named idw background characters. she has nothing going on for her. so why did I add her?

well,

I saw this and my mind ran with it. so. I mean, she fits with the theme so,,

ahem. anyway, a nobody caught in the crossfire too many times to the point where she got a wispon? it tracks

also she's adorable

and lastly,

Jian the Tiger

she doesn't have much in terms of backstory either but she's cool as hell and I get to come up with one for her so it's fine

probably the third least tragic of this bunch (1st being Barry, 2nd being Gala), which isn't saying much, but still

after the war (forces, this au), she dedicated herself to learning martial arts, hoping to never be caught off guard again. after the metal virus, she laments that she failed to do anything—protect anyone or even herself.

after the whole fiasco, Conquering Storm offers her to join her clan with the claim of helping her become stronger. she accepts, out of false hope, not knowing just what was in store for her

anyways. that's it! it's gonna be a hella long while for them to get together but it'll happen. somehow

[aziraphales-library]

Hello lovely mods!!! Thank you for all the work you do for the fandom!!

Im looking for longfics where crowley has self esteem issues. Something where its not the main plot, just there. Like how TV!crowley is in The Trouble With Being A Demon. Im good with any rating, au, or general plot.

Thank you so much!! 💛

Hi! I don't know the fic you mention, so I can't necessarily find you Crowleys exactly like that without a little more information. We do have an #insecure crowley tag as well as a #self esteem issues tag with lots of fics you can check out. Here are more to add...

The Invisible Gorilla by AppleSeeds (T)

Environmental science professor Crowley turns into a flustered mess when the object of his secret infatuation, magician Aziraphale Fell, is hired to help coach a group of research students to creatively engage the public with their work. Torn between his desire to interact with Aziraphale and his fear of embarrassing himself, Crowley gradually gains the confidence to spend more time with him, ultimately bringing them together to share one of the most memorable experiences of Crowley's life.

I'll Let You Set the Pace by zerodaryls (E)

“Everything’s changing now, isn’t it?” “Well, not everything.” Aziraphale had smiled, bringing a thumb up to run over Crowley’s bottom lip. “Some things, certainly. Finally. Thank goodness.” He’d tilted his head to bring their lips together again, and, when Crowley’d gasped, took the opportunity to slip a curious tongue between his lips. Crowley had grinned against Aziraphale’s mouth before sliding his tongue over the angel’s, savoring the taste of him.   Yes, things had been going quite well. And then Crowley had started panicking. (Or, "What if Crowley isn't as ready as he thought he'd be once he's finally free to love and be loved by his angel? What if Aziraphale got a taste of what 'you go too fast for me' felt like?")

The Hardest Hue to Hold by oceantears (T)

Crowley doesn't exactly like killing everything he touches.

Let Me In Your Heart Again by AshCommaMan, EmAndFandems (M)

"Could be anything," Crowley explained. Anything at all, say the word, nothing off limits from my end. Stupid. "And the way it works, you'd have the chance to say no. It's not that I force anyone into doing things. Just make it more appealing s'all. So. What do you want, Aziraphale?" "I want—" The apple, the whole damn Garden. He flapped his hands uselessly in the air. "I want..." You. I want to be free. "Well. Perhaps a nap." His voice was nothing more than a whisper.

Long Haul by snae_b (E)

First time he sees him he’s barreling down 40 like a bat out of hell. Thirty miles outside of Flagstaff and six hours behind schedule. The desert looming large on all sides. Red sand and sage stretching out for miles and miles in front of him. Juniper and pine and gray crag behind him. The flora might be changing but that's about it. Same bone-dry air that gives him nosebleeds. Same cute little cottontails and scrawny jackrabbits darting under his tires. Same two lanes separated by white lines... He checks his speedometer. He hasn't downshifted since the city limits. Sheer luck, that. He's coming up fast on another rig. Flatbed with Vermont plates. Bright white cab with gold wings painted on the side. Anthony Crowley might have gotten out of Missouri, but he hasn't escaped his past. He wears it like a cloak. When he crosses paths with a guardian angel, he starts to learn how to shed it.

Play for Me the Music of Your Heart by Leviosally468 (E)

Anthony J. Crowley, a talented virtuoso violinist finally makes the move west to Nightingale Bay, Oregon after escaping a simultaneously promising yet toxic life at Elysian Conservatory of Music in New York City. Aziraphale Z. Fell is Eastern Gate University’s friendly and talented piano professor and symphony conductor. Let's see how that goes, shall we?

- Mod D

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

kufunua (furahi, furahi)

cw. f!reader, soulmate au (timer), yandere themes, obsessive behaviors, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance

pairing. yan!tartaglia x reader

synopsis. when you make a promise, you have to keep it. for the 11th fatui harbinger, this one is the most precious promise of all.

notes. apparently it wasn't enough for me to write one fic for @mieiri's reach mine. collab, i have to write two pieces. my behemoth of a WIP for my other fic is very much a healthier, fluffier spin for a soulmate au. but there's a joy in exploring the depths of depravity of an unwanted connection. divider by @/cafekitsune

"If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you."

If you recall correctly, it was a philosopher from Mondstadt who spoke those famous words. In all your years of living, you believe you are only now beginning to understand the depth of them. You can feel it, the heat of madness at the edges of your mind as you stare at the bond in front of you.

Mists of pale lilac enveloped in a starry dark purple, much akin to the monsters of the Abyss that you are no stranger to. It's more like a mast; a parasite eating away at its host it is barely keeping alive. Cloying tight tendrils wrapped around its weaker counterpart possessively. Tighter and tighter it squeezes the harder you try to pull it apart. For every centimeter you are barely able to separate them, the stronger the mast holds with a vengeance.

Dread swirls around you, cold and unforgiving and you shudder.

You've seen many soulmate connections since you've become a spiritspeaker and they seldom look like your own. What kind of person must you be for this to be our bond, you wonder uneasily.

In the entangled mess, an indigo eye stares you.

Mine, it speaks coarsely. Mine.

You stare back.

What kind of person are you?

A typical connection manifests harmoniously, the tendrils of the spirit moving in equal balance and motion. It's much like a waltz, if anything else. It's a beautiful thing to see, vibrant and unique for every bonded coupling. The hues of the partnered spirits are as beautiful as the Sacred Flame itself, flickering much like it as well. Your connection is anything but, the manifestation of your spirit weak, frail and completely overwhelmed by that of its partner.

Much like the person you become once ensnared in your soulmate's grasp. You refuse to become that person.

Whoever your soulmate is, you want nothing to do with them.

The feeling of contempt and anxiety are a stark contrast to your younger years. Back when you were a young girl, wide-eyed and untrained in the spells and rituals of your tribe. You can hardly be blamed for your initial excitement.

The sacred timer on ones wrist counting down to the final second when they'd meet their special person. The people of Natlan revere the blessing of soulmates as much as they do the night and fire. This reverence is doubly so for your tribe. For the Masters of the Night-Wind who are able to see the manifestation of soulmates outside the realm of the physical, there is no greater honor.

The forced symbiosis of your connection is anything but honorable.

Nor is there any beauty.

Henceforth, you'd tried dauntlessly to sever the connection between yourself and your soulmate. A forbidden act in your tribe; how could one be so presumptuous as to dictate the loom of fate itself? It's too easy to separate the dancing of souls, too easy to play deity. If one acts in such a manner, it is more akin to sparks turning to a raging fire burning everything in its path. That's what the elders preached when you had begun your training as a Spiritspeaker. Apparently, the mast of your fated other believed much the same.

It's suppose to be easy, too easy.

It should have been easy.

Yet the parasitic spirit fights back with equal vigor.

Mine, it whispers echo throughout this shard of the Night Kingdom where you lie. It clutches your spirit tighter. Mania. Mine. Mine, it whispers as if reciting prayers. Reverent yet unrepentant. Delirious yet all too lucid. Its grip tightens once more, the near Abyssal eye meeting yours unflinchingly. Mine.

Groggily, your eyes open in the physical realm and the smell of incense fills your nostrils. It takes a moment for you to gather your bearings, your spirit returning to your body testily. You raise your arm, looking at your wrist blearily.

01 d 22 h 1346 m 32 s.

The sight wakes you proper, anxiety humming across your skin. You hide your wrist from your sight, covering it with your hand before exhaling quietly. Once again, your attempt at severing your bond has ended in vain and you barely have two days left.

Two days.

In just under two days, you will come face to face with person who will change your life. That's how little time you have to change your fate. Your grip tightens as if that alone could tear away the timer engraved on your flesh. If only it were all so easy.

Raising to your feet, you approach your spiritloom on feet barely steady. You aren't quite ready to move yet, but you refuse to accept your fate while lying on your back. "I can do this," you murmur, warping your loom with deft fingers as more of yourself returns to waking day. Even with what little time you have, that is more than enough to make a final attempt to preserve your being. You are a priestess of the Night-Winds, one of the best.

What are you if not resourceful?

Expertly, as you have done many times before, you weave the images your mind's eye conjures. Tugging your weft threads expertly into the pattern of the person you'd seen in a ritual you'd done long before. Hours go by until the sun begins to rise and paint the clouds shades of coral and vermillion.

"Abeni," you call for your saurian companion after completing your task. Your legs were sore from standing in place so long and the air of the outside was fresh, the scent of embercores on the breeze.

One of the iktomisaurus' bat-like ears twitch at the sound of her name, looking at you sweetly. Around her neck is a cryo-blue ribbon tied comfortable around her neck with her name stitched dutifully to let others know that she had a human companion.

In spite of the disquiet buzzing in you heart, she has been a comfort. The one who has heard all your concerns regarding your soulmate and the future you are wary to avoid. Compared to most, your ages are in a similar range. Whatever comes your way, Abeni will by your side. You run your hands through the feathers crowning the dragon's head. "I need a favor from you," you manage to turn the corners of your lips up into a smile.

Cautiously, you show Abeni the results of your weaving. The face of the man your fate is tied to.

He's handsome, at least from the details you were able to gather. Fair-skinned, blue eyed and with vibrant ginger hair. An outlander, more than likely. It's only your bad luck that something is bringing him to Natlan, whether it be work or pleasure. Shakily, your fingers dig into the tapestry and you inhale deeply to calm yourself. It's an image that instills fear rather than joy. This is a face you can only hope to never see for the rest of your long life.

Icy blue eyes gaze at the image for a moment before shifting to you. Is this him, the saurian seems to be asking.

Steeling yourself, you nod. "I need you to find where this person is so I can avoid him." Abeni hoots, clicking her beak thoughtfully. "I know I'm asking a lot of you," you murmur. "But this is the only idea I have. If I can avoid this meeting, that should settle everything." When the hour has gone and passed, you could finally be free.

It crosses your mind briefly that Kinich would be perfect for a job like this. Your safety and peace of mind would be more than worth whatever price he deemed acceptable. You ultimately decide against it. You do not know your soulmate personally but you are more than aware of the content of his character. Another person cannot be pulled into your mess.

A person is conspicuous no matter how skilled. The dragons of Natlan are as natural to the scenery as breathing is for the lungs.

Dutifully, Abeni agrees to your request and you're so relieved you could cry. Your eyes remain dry, however. You'll cry tears of relief when you no longer have to deal with this pesky bond.

"Be careful," you call when Abeni finally leaves your home, dark feathers blending into the mists of your tribe's territory. Abeni will find him and everything will be okay, you hug yourself. Everything will be okay.

01 d 14 h 0866 m 13 s.

01 d 12 h 0746 m 09 s.

01 d 09 h 0566 m 03 s.

Sleep doesn't come easily for you, coming and going in anxious waves as you wait for Abeni to return. You dream of a memory long since passed, a time when your mother was still alive and you'd yet begin your training.

"Mama, is my timer broken?" You asked your mother many years ago, looking at the ungodly amount of time ticking away on your skin.

A melancholic smile spread across her lips as she grabbed your hands tenderly. "No, my love," she told you kindly. "It just means that… they're far, far away."

"But why?"

"Only the Lord of the Night knows," she told you dreamily, giving your nose a kiss. "The timer is a promise. One day at the promised time, you're going to meet that person. You simply have to wait until then."

You hummed thoughtfully, unimpressed when your mother squeezed your arm unexpectedly. "Mama?"

Your mother's brow was furrowed, deeply and her smile was gone."Sweetie, sometimes it's okay to break a promise."

That was the last time you talked to your mother about your soulmate, never understanding until it was far too late what she meant. What would she do if she were here now? Why hadn't she lived long enough to tell you what she'd seen upon her scrying into your connection? Maybe she'd failed herself at trying to disconnect it, hoping that one day you would succeed where she couldn't.

A knock pulls you from your thoughts and you pinch your nose. "Coming!" You brush away the wrinkles forming in your clothes.

"Hurry up!" You can't help a smile, shaking your head in exasperation at Citlali's hissing. "That girl is around here somewhere, I can sense it!" Your fellow elder has a person to avoid of her own. You ought to take your time, but after quickly brushing away the wrinkles of your clothes, you rise to let your fellow elder in.

Once upon a time you were both beings fitting of looking in your early 20s.

200 years have since passed; 200 years and soon the hour of your fate rears its ugly head. You shake the thoughts away as you open your door, nearly toppled over as Citlali rushes inside. "The number one guide in Natlan in the Tezcatepetonco Range again," you ask unnecessarily.

"She comes again and again like clockwork!" The purple-haired woman glares at your door as if the energetic guide will come barging in without warning. "She's only taking a handful of tourists on a trip around the country, not on quests with perils beyond mortal imagination! And yet there she'll come again and again asking for fortune after fortune like she is." Citlali sighs, tired, before giving you an accusatory look. "That girl never pesters you like this."

That may be because the last time she encountered you, you had simply insisted that Granny Itztli would be a much better priestess for such insights. "Unlike you, I know how to pretend I'm not actually home," you say instead as Citlali sits at your dinner table with a heavy thud. "But be my guest. We can pretend we're apprentices again, searching through forbidden scrolls."

I wish I hadn't.

Perhaps then your current dilemma could have been avoided. Yet here you were, 200 and some odd years later after touching arts you likely should have avoided.

"That was years ago," Citlali yawns. "I'd rather-" she pauses, noticing the tapestry on your table and your heart lurches. You had meant to tuck the thing away into the darkest depths of your belongings. "Who is this," Citlali grabs the result of your clairvoyance before you can say anything else. "I don't recognize him."

"You wouldn't," it's your turn to sigh, sitting across the table from your oldest friend. "He's an outlander."

Your friend hums thoughtfully, "is this about that outlander everyone's been talking about? He's apparently been going around completing Warrior Challenges with high remarks. He's certainly ambitious."

You hadn't heard of this outlander at all. All the same, the mystery outlander is an excellent topic to divert to, nodding with expert deceit. "I was curious about what he looked like."

Citlali sets the tapestry aside, disinterest filling her gaze. "Mualani would come around right when I was planning on going to Stadium." You chuckle lightly knowing Citlali's bark is worse than her bite. "I wanted to get ingredients to make Ororon's birthday cake, it's right around the corner you know."

You barely are able to hide your surprise. You nearly forgot your own grandson's birthday. With everything going on it slipped my mind, you pinch yourself under the table. Even with your personal crisis going on, you wouldn't allow yourself to forego the found family you forged for yourself in recent years.

You glance at your timer while Citlali rambles on ー only ten minutes have passed. You're weary but even you know it is impossible for you to take that long to get to the Chuwen Fair and back. There will be more than enough time to continue your stakeout once you've returned. "I'll get them for you," you say at last, back on your feet again. You might as well distract yourself with a bit of shopping. "It shouldn't take me too long and unlike you, I'm good at shooing away persistent clients." The Stadium is practically a hop, skip and a jump away from your territory.

Citlali sticks her tongue at you in response to your teasing. You ignore it expertly with a grin of your own. "If I'm not back before Abeni gets home tell her where I've gone."

Grabbing a basket, you leave your home quickly. The faster you arrive at the Stadium, the faster you can return home. Your wrist tingles, but you ignore the feeling. You'll start panicking when it's the day of your meeting. At that thought, you remind yourself quickly that that meeting wouldn't be happening. Abeni will return home swiftly and you'll be able to coordinate your plan to avoid the man in the tapestry for good.

Perhaps you'll even try another separating ritual when you return and Citlali's left your space.

The start of your outing is smooth and familiar. Even the short quest to the Stadium is filled with qucusaurs and halberd-crest birds in flight, meditating iktomisaurs and the sight of phlogiston painted mountains. A calming sight even at your most unsettled. You've never once left the country of your birth but somehow you never tire of it.

Chuwen Fair is mixed with locals and outlanders alike, but even so you soothe your heart. That person isn't here, you remind yourself. It's not the time for it.

"Granny Sarabi, how are you!?"

"We've got discounts on some fresh sunsettias!"

All is well until you feel the distinct sensation of the tingle your wrist turning into a burn. Shifting your basket from one hand to the other, you look at it wearily.

00 d 00 h 023 m 02 s.

Your basket drops from your hand, contents collapsing onto the ground. Disregarding the vendor's concerned calls, you turn to run back to your home in the Masters' territory. Nightsoul's Blessing burning through your veins, watching in wide-eyed horror as the timer ticked away and faster. What's happening?! Abeni!

23 minutes.

15 minutes.

10 minutes.

5 minutes.

The seconds pass faster than you're able to count them. Where was Abeni? None of the saurians you passed resembled your blue-feathered companion on your hurried journey home. Was she hurt? Was it him?

Your mind searches through every possible scenario as to what could have happened to your friend. Saurian traffickers? Were the whispered rumors of Fatui agents stealing saurians to harvest their phlogiston true? Neither of those explanations accounted for your timer's sudden decrease in the hours between the promised meeting you wish to break. Your heart feels ready to fall out your chest, lungs burning with every breath you take as Nightsoul exhausts and you stumble into a walk.

Laughter rings through the air, masculine and feminine voices intertwined.

No.

No.

In front of your door, Mualani is talking fervently with someone you don't shouldn't recognize with a wide smile and hands moving passionately. You shouldn't. Yet you do, the shade of his hair the exact as the thread used in your spiritloom. The someone you never wanted to meet. Despite his back facing you, the stranger turns first hearing your footsteps.

Ocean-blue looks at you; your blood freezes.

The timer strikes zero.

"Granny Sarabi!" Mualani waves excitedly after catching your eye. "This is one of the cool elders I was telling you about," she tells the stranger quickly. "You're going to love her, she's so funny! Oh, but 'Sarabi' isn't her real name, it's just a nick…" The Meztli guide trails off, looking back and forth between matching expressions of shock. It isn't until the redheaded stranger raises a hand that Mualani covers her mouth in surprised glee. "Oh my gods!"

The hyperactive young woman is quick to react before anyone else, turning to bang on your door in her excitement. "Granny Citlali, come on I know you're in there! We need to go! Gran met her soulmate!"

Citlali doesn't even attempt to make any excuse justifying why she'd been hiding away in your home. "What?!" Sure enough, she found the guide's words to be the truth. Recognition shines on her face, it hadn't been too long ago when she'd seen it for the first time herself.

Not this, anything but this, you're unsure who you are praying to. Was your tribe's Wayob listening? Where is she? Where's Abeni? Your eyes dart around for any sign of the iktomisaurus but there are none.

Pushing Citlali towards your tribe's settlement, Mualani winks at you as they scurry off. Your blood is roaring, heart drumming loudly in your ears.

The man before you is the first to break the silence.

"You're certainly the youngest looking grandmother I've ever seen," at your stupefied expression, he adds a quick apology in between chuckles. "Sorry, my mother always told me not to bring up a lady's age. I wasn't expecting us to meet like this," the man steps forward and you suddenly feel awake again, taking a step back.

Finally you find your voice. "Where's Abeni," you shoulders tense, waiting for the stranger's answer.

He blinks, surprised, before a smile spreads across his face. "Is that that bat-like dragon from before? So it's yours! Sorry, I haven't really memorized all the names of the different saurians ye-"

Your brow furrows and your eyes narrow. "Where is she," you snap.

"She's fine, she's fine," the man raises his arms, blinking in surprise at your outburst. "I saw your Abeni creeping around my camp not too long ago and decided to follow her. She noticed me at some point and changed directions." And in spite of that, the stranger still continued on her previous trail until finally he found your home deep in the heart of Natlan. "It changed," he raises his wrist, proudly displaying a timer that matches your own.

You hear a familiar hoot and a light thud behind you. Abeni is fine, unscathed, yet her eyes shine wide with guilt. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I thought he would follow elsewhere!

"See," the stranger prompts as if to prove his point. "Perfectly fine!"

He's smiling, dead-eyed expression as warm as one such as himself can make it. Mania. It's the same as the mast attached to your spirit. You can hear its whispers, the tendrils wrapping over your very being. Mine, it clutches you covetously. "I'm not normally one for believing in fate but… I took it as a sign that apparently it wanted us to meet sooner than later. Let's start again."

The outlander holds your hands in his own. "I'm Ajax," the bright-haired man introduces himself. His expression is soft as if gazing at a dream. "And I'm yours. I hope you weren't waiting for me long. Can you tell me your name?"

Extra

The title is Swahili for 'Unraveling (Rejoice, Rejoice)

'Abeni' is a Yoruba name that means 'a girl prayed for', I thought it would be fitting for a iktomisaurus companion

'Sarabi' is a Swahili name that means 'mirage'. You might have heard it in The Lion King. I've always been fond of the name so similar to how Citlali is 'Granny Obsidian', the reader here is 'Granny Mirage'

I honestly might make a sequel this was really fun to write

[hyperactively-me]

regency era!ghost x reader au (part 2)

oops my fingers slipped again. now all of a sudden i gotta see this little au through.

The early morning sun cast a golden hue across the park, the rays dancing on the surface of the nearby lake. The park was unusually  empty this morning, a tranquil atmosphere sweeping over the rolling green hills. 

Multiple days have passed since your rather unfortunate encounter with the Duke Simon Riley, the tension lingering like a storm cloud over the horizon. It left you seething, yet most of all, you still felt hurt over his attack on your character, even though he knows nothing about you. That’s what bothered you the most. 

But, today, you were determined not to let his condescension overshadow your day, and so you sought solace in the park. As you wandered, you allowed yourself to relax, breathing in the fresh scent of dewy grass and listening to the cheerful chirping of birds. The empty park allowed you to sink further into relaxation, trying your best to let go of the lingering tension. 

You had nearly succeeded in calming yourself down when, rounding a bend in the path, you came face to face with the very last person you wanted to. 

Duke Simon Riley was sitting high atop of a giant horse, his imposing figure cutting a striking silhouette against the misty park. His expression was inscrutable as his gaze met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved, locked in a silent standoff. 

You felt a surge of frustration and anger rise within in you at the mere sight of him, the memory of your initial meeting flooding back with startling clarity. Just as you were trying to forget the whole thing. But, beneath the anger, there was something else simmering; a nagging curiosity, perhaps, or a stubborn refusal to let him dictate your emotions. 

The Duke’s expression remained unreadable, his eyes betraying nothing of his thoughts or feelings. He sat atop his horse with the ease of a man accustomed to command, his posture rigid and imposing. 

The silence stretched on between you, tension crackling in the air like lightning about to strike. His gaze upon you was heavy and unyielding, and for a moment, you felt as though you were drowning in it. 

But then, with a defiant tilt of your chin, you square your shoulders and met his gaze head-on. If he thought to intimidate you with his stoic demeanor, he had another thing coming.

“Your Grace,” you say coolly, your voice carrying across the distance that separates you. “What a surprise to see you here.” 

Simon’s lips twitched ever so slightly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “I could say the same for you, my lady,” he replies, his voice low and measured. “What brings you to the park in these early hours?”

You wanted to laugh in his face right then and there. You barely were able to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes in front of him, choosing instead to maintain your steady composure. 

“I find solace in nature,” you say simply, folding your hands together in front of you. “Unlike some, I rather enjoy the company of birds and trees to that of ‘idle chatter and trivial pursuits.’”

The jab was not lost on Simon, and you could see a flicker of annoyance cross his gestures. But to his credit, he remains outwardly composed, his expression still a mask of impassivity. 

No longer wanting to be the object of his hard gaze, you pivot on your heel. The moment you do, and of course, this could only happen to you, your foot catches on a hidden root, causing you to stumble forward with a gasp of surprise. 

With a strangled cry, you tumble to the ground less than graceful, the skirts of your dress now mangled by the dirt. Pain shot through your ankle as you hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from your lungs by the impact. For a moment, you lay there, dazed and disoriented, the world spinning around you. 

To your surprise, a shadow fell over you, blocking out the sun. You turn, looking up to see the Duke reigning in his horse, his expression unreadable.

Without a word, he dismounts the steed in one fluid motion, landing beside you with a grace that belied his imposing stature. Strong arms wrapped around you, lifting you effortlessly to your feet as if you weighed nothing at all.

“Are you hurt, my lady?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly with the smallest hint of concern. 

You shook your head mutely, too stunned by his sudden appearance to form coherent words. His proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and the way his large arms feel around you sends heat straight to your face.

You meekly look up into his brown eyes, and any hint of anger and frustration now evaporates with every passing moment. You find yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze, his eyes holding you captive. There was something magnetic about them, something that drew you in despite your best efforts to resist. His hand lingers on yours, his thick fingers pressing into the palm of your gloved hand. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Simon’s expression softens ever so slightly, the shift barely perceptible. You could’ve sworn his eyes flicker down to your partly open lips. All he does is nod in return. 

Finally, you quickly step back, straightening your dress and trying to regain your composure. “Well, I- I must go home and change,” you say stiffly, mortified by your clumsiness and the fact that he had been the one to help you. 

Simon does a once over of the skirts of your dress, now covered in dirt. “It appears so,” he states gruffly. 

“Try to watch where you're going next time, my lady,” he states plainly. 

You freeze in your tracks, his words like a slap in the face. How dare he speak to you in such a manner after just helping you up?

Swallowing your pride, you turn back to face him, your jaw clenched with barely contained frustration. “Thank you for your concern, Your Grace,” you reply through gritted teeth, your voice laced with icy politeness.

With that, you pivot on your heel and march away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words had affected you. As you walk, your ankle throbbing with each step, you can't help but seethe with anger at the Duke's insufferable attitude.

But amidst the anger, there's a small flicker of something else. A stubborn determination, perhaps, or a newfound resolve to show the Duke that you were not someone to be trifled with. Whatever it was, you were determined to prove him wrong, no matter the cost.

part 1 < > part 3

[edensrose]

babyyy I'm so happy the vamp AU is out, it's so exciting!

I'd like to request a little something:

❀ character(s): Eönwë ❀ prompt(s): either (authority) or (capture), whatever you prefer~

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ eönwë ⠀〳 hunter!reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. after being separated from your once colleague and closest friend, you went the way of the hunter as it was your birthright. the last thing you expected was to face off the man who once held your heart — now turned vampire. and serving the very ones you fought against ( violence ៸៸ blood ៸៸ biting ៸៸ 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅-𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 ៸៸ choking ៸៸ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌! 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆 )

· ⊰ note. anything for you darling <3 I really hope you enjoy! had so much fun with this hehe

˙ ˖ lore post ៸៸ character sheet ៸៸ masterlist

“Move aside, Eönwë.’’

Hilt in hands and drawn back with the end flushed against your shoulder, your blade glistens in the shimmering silver light. You bite back a curse, to have the moon shine down on your hallowed sword was a mockery to not only you but your people. Or perhaps it was the face reflected in it that angers you more. Those once azure hues that grew dark. Those elegant features — stunning as usual, but hardened by the frost of his turn.

“I cannot.’’ 

His refusal tightens your jaw and rage spreads throughout your chest, released by a bark of laughter to the moon that he served. “And why is that? Because it is your duty to serve those demons?” You care not for the way that his grip tightened on his sword. If anything, it lit the fire in your eyes brighter. Emotions ablaze and ready to burn down anything in your path. Including an old friend. 

“I will not warn you again.’’ Taking a breath, Eönwë keeps his sword sheathed and stares you dead in the eye. Peeking from the spruce trees behind him were the towers of the palace. Dark, mighty, and proud. As though they too sought to taunt you. “If it is blood that you wish to shed I will not humour you. Turn back to the way of which you came.’’ 

He offers you barely another glance as he turns on heel. Even with his cold demeanour that felt so foreign to you, his beauty prevailed in the moonlight. His white hair perfect in every strand, his blue eyes blessed by the illuminating night. Yet it is that same icy countenance that has your lungs looping around your heart. Tightening and strangling the last sliver of hope you dared to have. 

You knew in your soul that the old Eönwë, the one who stayed up night after night alongside you to partake in stories of old — the one who smiled at you with the radiance of the sun — and the one who swore to protect you that fateful moment of daybreak. . . was long gone. He now turns from you. Walking away as though you were nothing. Abandoning you as he did on that frightful night. Beneath the same moon. 

Suddenly, the gold scars beneath your clothing felt like a mockery too. Their worth that urged you to move on diminished with his fleeting figure. A painful reminder that it mattered not what you went through, and how much you tried to make him see the light. Eönwë was long gone. What stood before you is not your old friend, nor your would-be-lover. 

What strayed before your very eyes is a demon. 

A vampire. 

And you,

Are a hunter. 

Metal cuts through the air and in your blind rage you disregard everything that was of honour within you. Attacking him whilst his back was turned; truly going back on the way of the knight that you had sworn yourself to the entirety of your life. Then again, had he not as well?

However, Eönwë was not one to trifle with. He caught your movements from the corner of his eye and in a split second his blade abandoned his sheath. The clash of two sister swords, forged under the same master and with the same material, sends a powerful gust of wind sweeping through the forest. Yet neither of your budge. Locking eyes and gripping handles. A silent reminder, and promise, that neither would back down. 

“You,’’ he breathes, brows narrowing. “Have lost all honour.’’ 

If the fire had not been lit long ago, now it raged within you. Eager to consume everything in your path — this entire damn forest if you had to. 

“Do you think I give a damn about honour!?”

The stalemate is shattered by the sheer power of your stances and beneath the twilight sky — a war of hearts commences. Gold and silver flashes spill throughout the trees. Followed by the clashing of metal. The slicing of air. Dirt sweeps from the forest floor yet neither of you pays mind. 

For every hit, he dealt two back. Swift. Unfaltering. But you could keep up. Always. For every slice, you deflect. Metal sings a song through the air. Blood paints the leaves. Still, you both dance. Swords clashing. Hearts roaring. You dash forward after a shove that left you skidding. Left, right, right, left. Your sword whistles through the air in a rhythm. And he gladly provides the accompaniment. Blocking each and every one of your deadly, rageful array of attacks. Dishing his own. Slicing your skin. As you do his. 

A symphony of silver. A cacophony of clamours. He circles and throws his feet onto a rock. Elevating his body before kicking off and bringing his blade down upon you. Unfailing, you counter. Dodge, dart, swing, strike. Crimson splatters your clothes. His as well. Yet neither of you seize. Once more your swords clash. Both of you holding stance.

“Is it worth it?” You spit. Eyes ablaze — contrasting his icy ones. “Is it worth fighting me over those demons?” 

“I could ask you the same.’’ He sneers. 

“Do not dare turn this on me.’’ You seethe. “You promised me loyalty. I vowed it to you. Yet you turned your back on me! After everything we’ve been through! You joyfully took on their fangs!’’

The whites of his widen as they gape at you. You barely managed a look of effort on his face for the entire duration of the battle. Now, he stared at you with a newfound ferocity. Despite the howling of the wind and the pounding of your heart, you still hear his fleeting whisper loud and clear. Trembling, baneful. 

“Do you think this was by choice?”

Even the breeze halted in sound. You barely heard breaths, barely decipher the slice of light until you’re fighting for your life and desperately dodging his slew of attacks. Brutal in every way. Lacking any mercy he once had for you. Still, you do not regret your words, because in your eyes it was true. Eönwë had abandoned you for the sake of vampirism. It is what you told yourself all those nights that you wept into your pillow. Reminiscing on the good old days with your fellow knight and former friend. 

Perhaps it was that swell of emotions that threw you off of your game. Your excellency in skill had depleted drastically, as did your stamina as you narrowly dodges his strikes. Slices to your skin. Heart in your hand. You double back and are sent to the ground with one last attack. Eating dirt and seeping your blood into it as you gasp for the sweetness of air. Your sword clammers to the side and you scramble to your knees. Your hand shoots out to grab the hilt — only for it to be forced into the ground by a hard boot. Wrist joints releasing a faint, yet ugly cracking sound, you suck in a breath and glance up just in time to feel the chill of his blade against your throat. The tip threatens your pulse. Taunting it with its sharpness. 

Peering down at you like the ravenous eyes of a hawk, cerulean is consumed by amber. Pupils constrict into slits and suddenly — you felt as though you would rather his cold, indifferent stare than the one of malice shining down upon you. 

“You think. . .’’ that hungry gaze trails the streaks of blood not only upon your clothes but trickling down your exposed skin. Metal is aimlessly discarded on the floor and a tight grip circles the underneath your jaw as he abruptly cranes down. “That I wanted this?”

The tremble in his voice tells you all that you needed to know. Your other hand shoots up to attack but it is ultimately weighed down by a shimmer of gold. A bangle of his magic which soon encases your second wrist as well and pulls both of them behind your back. Rendering you helpless. 

“To become one of these sickening creatures — incapable of the humanity I once cherished?”

Your voice is reduced to a series of pathetic chokes and grunts when his hand tightens around the soft flesh of your throat. Thumb bruising your jaw along with his index finger, he forces your head back to witness not only the quickening of your pulse but also the blood that drips from a wound on your temple down onto your neck.

“I would almost applaud you for your ignorance. Yet it seems that through it, you have forgotten one detail.’’ Leaning in, his cold aura brings goosebumps onto your skin. Or perhaps it was the evident loss of control in his eyes. Either way, the last thing you prepared for was the hard ground against your back. His hand sends you down, clamping on your throat to suppress any cries while his knees cage either side of you. 

“That I was your Knight Captain and General. Even now. . . did you truly think you could get away with drawing your sword on me?” 

In response to his taunt, you draw your tongue back and spit in his eye. Eönwë so much as grunts in response before his weight forces you further into the ground and his hand coerces your neck to arch. “Even now you still defy me. But not to worry,’’ Wiping his face, he cranes down until his lips meet a streak of your essence and he groans at the sweet, metallic taste of blood on his tongue after so long. 

“I will be sure to remind you of your place.’’ 

Before you can even think of protesting, pain sends your nerves into a frozen state. Your muscles feel as though they are contracting, flaring — yet the scream ripped from your throat is restricted by the choking that you suffer. His cold lips and fangs contrast the warmth of your blood rushing from the bite wound he has dealt you. With your hands still bound and crushed under the weight of your back, you can do nothing but attempt to kick your legs and wriggle your body. 

Eönwë’s free hand slips to your side. Caressing one of your ribs through your clothing with his fingers before abruptly applying pressure. A silent warning which leaves you both horrified and sends your limbs motionless. With your head limping to the side, you attempt to mask the pain. To curl your expression into one of disgust at the loud gulping ringing through your ears. Alas, the pain contorts your muscles into one of agony, and with every bite, a sharper cry forces its way past your lips. 

“Eö-Eönwë,’’ gasping, you arch your back and flush your body against his. A strange feeling swirls in your abdomen. As though his coldness brought a sense of serenity and comfort over your form. “Eönwë p-. . .please, it hurts.’’ 

Even still. He parts, admires his work with the backlight of the moon casting a shadow over his face, before finding a new spot and indulging once more. Against your skin he rumbles an order, one that you could only decipher the second time around. “Not until you admit my authority.”

Despite the absolute misery that left your vision blurry and your body convulsing in response — you bite your tongue just a bit longer. Refusing to back down. Stubborn as ever. And oh, he knew that. Which is why his next onslaught was targeted directly at your collarbone. Smearing your neck and shoulders crimson until, at last, you concede. 

“F-Forgive this foolish —’’ swallowing your pride was like downing a stone. Nevertheless, you push through. “ — one. . . it’s you, Eönwë. You are. . . superior.’’ Flicking your head to the side, you can only hope to save some semblance of face. “Please have mercy, General!”

It took a second. Maybe two. He delighted in the sweetness of your blood and wished to savour it for a moment longer. Soon he parts. With hellish stains dripping down his chin and glinting on his fangs. The tremble of his hands clutching onto your body was enough of an indicator that it took everything within him to keep from simply diving down and draining you dry. Make you bleed for him as his heart has for you. Since the day you were forced to part. Perhaps then you would be satisfied.

An angel is what you looked like. One tainted by his own instincts. Painted with that fatal crimson. Even now, you are still the most gorgeous being he has ever set his eyes on. A wounded angel, yes, but an angel no less. 

‘You have gone too far,’ a voice echoes through his internal thoughts. ‘But she will finally be yours. As she seems to want so badly.’ 

Ice encases your form, yet to you his arms were warm. Heavenly. The same hands that dealt you such agony now brought you comfort. If whiplash did not make you dizzy, then blood loss certainly would. 

And as your vision hazes out with the only thing but the glimmer of the moon being recognisable, still you hear his deep, melodious voice against your ear. “I will not let you slip from my grasp again, my dawn.’’ The tear that you shed is kissed away as you are hoisted up into his hold. He steps towards the castle, fighting back every better judgement that screamed at him to leave you be. 

“You will be mine once more.’’ 

·⊰ masterlist.

·⊰ tip jar.

·⊰ get tagged for my writing. @kiatheinsomniac @m-shade @flowerchildishere @bugnug @algae-rave @qwerty-19923 @momoewn @tinkywinky27 @weird-addiction @hidden-lord-of-arda @yonjisu @doodle-pops @noldorinpainter @singleteapot @the-phantom-of-arda @floraroselaughter @wandererindreams @miriel-estelwen @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ please consider liking, reblogging and / or commenting if you enjoy my work! all feedback is greatly appreciated ♡

[otomes-world]

Your fault

Here's promised 14th day! Also I decided to change posts a little, so you would know which character it belongs. And.. i think about unite some prompts, hope you don't mind |･ω･)

14th - coffee shop AU with Person A changing the menu for a Halloweeny menu, much to Person B's distaste

Ashengrotto was born into a family of wealthy entrepreneurs. From childhood, watching how parents strengthen their business, acquire useful contacts, the young man could not help but think about his own future. The road that he himself will follow. Of course, the authority of the family played a role, but at the same time set the bar for the future manager.

Instead of the well-trodden path of his parents, Azul chose to leave in a completely different direction. Now he was only honing his skills in a mid-sized cafe, but in his dreams he was already planning a restaurant design that would not fade over time. Nevertheless, childhood friends now and then returned him from the land of dreams to a sinful land.

He was introduced to the Leech twins by his parents with whom he will face in the future on the world stage for domination over market segments. What could not be said about Yuu, whom Ashengrotto met by chance. However, life is full of surprises, and a young man cannot argue with her quirks.

"What is it?" Azul asks, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

It was an unusually busy morning, because of which he barely had time to come before opening. Having crossed the threshold, the young man was slightly taken aback, deciding that he went into wrong one. The likelihood was small, but Ashengrotto was used to considering all factors. However, noticing the familiar heterochromatic eyes, the young man looked around again and was finally convinced that yes, this was his cafe.

At least that was exactly until yesterday evening, because at the present moment the walls of a pleasant blue hue were painted orange, there was a pumpkin-shaped lamp on each table and, in general, every millimeter of the room was decorated for Halloween. It was now clear why Yuu had been lingering after closing lately, and the Leech twins were throwing meaningful glances at the manager.

"Decorations!" The girl exclaimed with fake happiness. She didn't like the idea of ​​doing something behind Azul's back from the start, but Jade and Floyd convinced her that it was 'definitely worth it' and 'Azul will appreciate it' "Please, look at menu, Jade and Floyd personally made it up!"

Still glancing in disbelief at another orange and yellow trifle, Ashengrotto held out his hand to accept the booklet. Intuition, especially after claiming that the twins had a hand in its creation, told him that he would not like the content. It turns as he expexted, but something caught his eye the most.

"A separate section for octopuses and a separate one for mushrooms?" Both Jade and Floyd never missed the chance to compare him to a sea creature. So, it is only natural that they also could not help but take another chance to tease a friend.

"I tried to stop them-..!" Yuu tried to defend herself, but two shadows suddenly appeared behind her.

"Well, well, Yuu-san, is that people they do to their accomplices?"

"The shrimp is as much to blame as we are~"

Sighing, Azul rubbed the bridge of his nose. There was no point in arguing further as they have a few minutes left before the opening. They would not have enough time to return everything to its previous state. Taking an unscheduled day off was out of the question.

"If we suffer losses, I will deduct everything from your salaries."

Prompt belongs to @youneedsomeprompts

[dudeandduchess]

Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Tokyo Love Hotel (Fluff, Modern AU, SFW Scenario)

Summary: Kyōjurō and (Y/n) have been dating for a while, but all they’ve been doing is checking into love hotels. And with both of them being so afraid to ruin whatever was between them— not wanting to lose the other— they keep up the pretense that what they have is something purely physical. That is, until (Y/n) gets the courage to finally cross the invisible rift between them.

Note: This was a commission for @anpanbe​. Thank you so, so much, Bean!!! I loved writing this so much, and I’m hooked to the song you sent as reference for this. 

***

The night air was cold and biting on the exposed parts of (Y/n)’s body, with her skin blushing red from the harshness of it; yet, oddly enough, she could barely feel the sting of it with Kyōjurō’s hand snugly entwined with hers. Their fingers stayed laced together, tightening every so often when the crowd thickened— if only to keep from losing each other in the thicket of people.

In truth, neither one of them wanted to let go of the other; literally and figuratively speaking.

And if not for both of them being afraid of crossing the boundaries of their prior arrangement, they would have already confessed their feelings for each other. But, as it was, neither of them even brought up anything about their true feelings outside of their open-hearted talks, sweet kisses, and lingering touches.

They knew everything that there was to know about each other; more than even their friends and family knew about them, but there was still that unspoken label between them that differentiated them from lovers and— to put it bluntly— fuck buddies.

“Do you want something to eat, (Y/n)?” Kyōjurō asked the young woman, looking back at her with his free hand pulling down his scarf slightly. His breath puffed out a couple of clouds, what with how cold it was, and his cheeks— as well as his nose— took on a much redder hue; but it only served to make him look even more handsome than usual.

Especially with that breathtaking grin that he was giving her.

It took everything inside (Y/n) not to cross the space between them and cup his cheeks in her palms; before pressing a sound kiss to his lips. She had to hold it in; firstly, because they were in public and, secondly because they had never even breached any talks about their boundaries with public displays of affection.

The most they had ever done in public was hold hands, but behind closed doors was another thing entirely. They always gravitated towards each other like magnets; hard to separate every time they came too close to each other.

“I’m alright, maybe later though,” (Y/n) admitted with a smile, all while trying not to trip over her words as she watched Kyōjurō pull his scarf up and back into place; covering the lower half of his face and hiding it from the world.

It was such a shame, since she wanted to keep admiring his handsome features. And with the lights from all the signboards illuminating his skin, he looked even more alluring… or maybe it was all because that it was him that her heart was thumping so hard in her chest, as butterflies fluttered around in her stomach.

Judging by the way that the blond’s eyes crinkled at the corners, he was smiling back at her; and it only served to make her poor heart skip a couple of beats— especially when he tightened his fingers laced with hers, before pulling her almost flush to his side. “Okay, I’ll get us something to eat later, then. What do you feel like eating? Curry? Ramen? A warm custard bun? Maybe some sweet potatoes?”

The last food item had her giggling, since she knew just how much he loved sweet potatoes. He wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to get them, especially when they were much easier to find since it was winter.

“Anything that you want, Kyō,” (Y/n) answered softly, which had the young man’s gaze softening as he looked back at her. Beneath the cover of his scarf, his lips had tapered down into a much softer smile; one that expressed how fond he was of her— not just in the lustful sense, but her as someone whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

I want you. The words almost spilled free from his lips, but he— thankfully— bit down on his tongue just in time to keep it to himself. He didn’t want to scare her away with how strong his feelings were, after all.

Little did he know that (Y/n)’s thoughts were on the same wavelength.

And so, in the mask of a comfortable silence, both of them continued the walk to the love hotel that they always frequented; their steps concise, with how well they had the path memorized. But the closer that they got, the heavier that (Y/n)’s body felt, and the more frazzled her thoughts became.

Everything in her wanted to pull Kyōjurō back and tell him then and there that she didn’t want to check in to the love hotel anymore; not until she had made her feelings clear— that she didn’t want just his body, but all of him. His mind, body, soul and— most of all— his heart.

She wanted to be the only one that there was for him, and it weighed on her feelings that she couldn’t stake a claim on him; that she couldn’t tell everyone that she was his, just as he was hers.

All because she was too afraid to come clean about her feelings.

But the more familiar that she got with the stores— and the sight of all the neon lights that advertised the name of all the hotels on the street— the heavier that her feet became.

Until she had stopped completely in the middle of the mildly busy street— tugging on Kyōjurō’s hand as she simultaneously swallowed past the lump that had lodged itself in her throat. Her breaths came out in short puffs, as she tried to recall what she wanted to tell him. However, even though she wanted to say her piece, no words came out.

And it wasn’t until Kyōjurō had taken hold of her other hand and closed the gap between them— to the point where she could feel the warmth of his body a mere few inches away from her own— that she gathered all of the courage inside her and spoke her truth.

“I don’t want to check in to love hotels anymore.” The first burst of her confession felt like a breath of fresh air, and before Kyōjurō could cut in with that heartbroken look in his eyes, she continued, “I just want you all to myself. I’m in love with you, Kyōjurō; so goddamn in love with you.”

At that, the blond’s eyes widened in surprise, as his heart stuttered inside his chest. It felt as if his entire world had stopped at that very moment, yet his lips twitched up into a flabbergasted smile. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint what he felt; as so many feelings bombarded him all at once: relief, love, elation… everything.

He felt so alive.

And before he could comprehend it, he had already wrapped his arms tightly around (Y/n); pressing his face against the side of her own, as he whispered, “Oh, thank the gods. I thought I was crazy for falling head over heels in love with you so long ago. Thank you, (Y/n). I’ve loved you for so long. I love you more than I could ever say.”

[themurphyzone]

BatB AU: A Provincial Life

Summary: It’s an ordinary day in ACME Village for Pinky. Until it isn’t. 

AN: This oneshot adapts the opening number ‘Belle’ and village scenes, up until Pinky sets off for the castle in search of his father, which leads into the entry Imprisoned. 

AO3 Link

Pinky scooped a ladleful of oatmeal into a small, earthen bowl, humming dreamily as he added a dash of cinnamon and several apple slices into the mixture. 

Today was a very special day for Papa, and Pinky wanted him to eat a healthy and nutritious meal before he went off to the fair with his invention. It would be a few days of travel, and Papa would need his strength for traveling there and back. 

“Papa, I’m going out!” Pinky called as he carefully pushed a large woven basket of acorns outside. “Your breakfast is on the table, so make sure you eat it all!” 

There was a sputter and cough of machinery and a trail of smoke from the small room that served as a makeshift workshop next to the kitchen, followed by a loud bang. 

“Just getting ‘er warmed up for the final test!” Papa shouted. “C’mon, Madeleine! You may’ve fallen apart for the 264th time, but you can do it!” 

Oh, Pinky had no doubt people were gonna love the woodcutting, ax-wielding, only occasionally threatening to take fingers off machine known as Madeleine. She was definitely gonna win that gorgeous blue ribbon at the fair! And even if she didn’t, they’d love her all the same anyway. 

He opened the door and stepped into the beautiful autumn morning, taking in the cool, fresh air as he carefully maneuvered the basket of acorns into a red wagon. The leaves were varying hues of crimson and gold, dancing along a gentle breeze that ruffled Pinky’s fur. The sun was peeking over the horizon, slowly bathing the world in light as it rose.

Two songbirds flew merrily above him, their sweet morning song filling the air with beautiful music. Pinky reached up, and one of the songbirds briefly landed on his outstretched hand before flying after his partner, leaving a red feather behind. 

“Thanks for the feather!” Pinky shouted to the sky as he tucked the feather behind his ear, where it fit perfectly. 

He picked up the wagon handle and pulled it along, the wheels squeaking along behind him.  

In the meadow beside their quaint little cottage, Pharfignewton chewed placidly on dew-covered grass. She neighed a greeting to Pinky, and Pinky cheerfully waved back. As much as he loved taking the beloved family horse into town for company, she needed her strength to lug Papa, Madeleine, and all their supplies later. So he had to let her rest. 

Reeds and wildflowers of all sorts grew along the banks of the pond that separated the little cottage from the rest of ACME Village. A pair of ducks paddled along in the water, trailed by four adorable, fluffy yellow ducklings. Several tiny turtles sunbathed on an old log, while a large green frog sat on its lily pad and caught insects unlucky enough to stray in the path of a long, sticky tongue. 

Pinky took his time crossing the cobblestone bridge over the pond, watching the wild animals go about their day without hustling, bustling, or rushing from place to place. Their lives were very different from their neighbors, despite living so close together. 

Little animals, little pond, and little humans in their little town. 

Or was everything just bigger than him? He was a mouse after all. It wasn’t hard to be bigger than a mouse, unless one happened to be an insect. 

As Pinky crossed onto the other side, he spotted a smooth, pretty gray stone poking out of the reeds. He plucked it out of the damp soil, cleaning the dirt off with the inside of his apron. 

It would be a perfect stone for his collection. And he didn’t have any that were this smooth. Most of the rocks he picked up were half-crushed or broken from city streets or well-worn paths. He tucked it into a pocket that he’d sewn on himself, because for some odd reason dresses never came with pockets. 

Then he faced the little town, with all its timber and stone buildings lining a narrow cobbled street that quickly filled with half-asleep, half-awake people trying to get an early start on their sales and trades. 

To think he and Papa had lived here for three years. While not the most exciting town in the world, Pinky was just happy they didn’t have to move again. He’d spent too much of his life being bustled from place to place since Mama died. The cottage was the loveliest place they’d ever owned. 

And while the townsfolk had the same ol’ familiar routine every day, Pinky tried to vary his activities. From baking to horseback riding to volunteering for odd jobs around town, or just taking a day off to nap under a tree and roll down the hilly meadows while grass stains formed on his back.  

Just a normal provincial life, yet Pinky often wondered what laid in the big blue yonder. Did the stars and sky look different elsewhere? Do the clouds form big, fluffy, and silly shapes in South America? 

“Bonjour!” a man called out as he threw open his shutters. 

“Good morning, Emile!” Pinky replied as he skipped past his window.  

“Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!” The echoing chant swept across rooftops and streets alike as a new day dawned upon ACME Village. 

Everyone from chimney sweepers to merchants to coachmen responded with vigor and cheer, all of them satisfied with their occupations in life. 

Pinky greeted everyone he passed, though not all returned the gesture. Everyone was staring at the feather tucked behind his ear, the bulge of the stone in his pocket, or the red wagon with the basket he pulled along. He didn’t think he was that strange-looking. 

Unless he had a bit of cabbage stuck in his teeth again. But he flossed really well last night, so he didn’t think that was the case. 

“Marie, hurry up with the baguettes!” the baker shouted as he carried several loaves of bread outside. 

Pinky inhaled deeply. There was nothing quite like the scent and sound of fresh bread. 

“Narrrrrrf! Smells just like heaven, Mr. Baker!” Pinky exclaimed.  

The baker set his tray of bread on a windowsill, tapping his foot as he impatiently waited for Marie. “Morning, Pinky. You off somewhere this morning?” he asked, though he didn’t turn around. 

“Yup! I’m delivering this basket of acorns to Slappy!” Pinky said, pointing to his basket of acorns. “She really likes the acorns near our cottage but doesn’t wanna make the trip herself. She says it’s too far for her aching joints and she can’t take Skippy along because she’s still trying to convince him that we’re not gonna be shot like Bumbie’s mom if we venture into the meadow, and-” 

“Yes, yes, that’s all very nice,” the baker said, half-leaning into the open window. “Marie, I said hurry up with the baguettes! The morning rush is coming soon!”  

“Well, if you’d bought the ingredients from Francois instead of Vincent like I suggested then maybe we wouldn’t be running behind, Pierre! But no, you always act like you know best!” Marie snapped. 

Not wanting to get embroiled in yet another argument between the baker and his wife, Pinky followed the cobblestone path further into town, where the usual market sprung up, full of local farmers, tradesmen, and merchants. 

Villagers bartered and argued and traded like always, and as Pinky stopped to admire a small yellow daisy poking out from the cracks of the street, he could feel eyes follow him closely in that looking-at-you-but-pretending-we’re-not sort of way. 

“There goes the funny mouse again.” 

“Gets distracted by the littlest things, I swear.” 

“Does he even have a useful skill?” 

“Besides being the village idiot? Doubtful.” 

They’d made those comments ever since he and Papa had moved in. Everywhere they went, people asked Pinky for his trade, and Pinky always told them he took care of Papa and worked various odd jobs around the area for money. 

But that wasn’t considered a useful role in society.

He didn’t mind helping Papa though. 

Oh well though. He couldn’t delay getting these acorns to Slappy, so he hauled his wagon alongside a horse-drawn carriage that steadily cut through the crowded streets, clearing Pinky’s path.  

“Bonjour!” the coachman called to a young woman walking down the street. His eyes were trained on the girl rather than the road, and his horse plowed straight into a farmer’s cart, knocking his produce into the road.  

“MY CABBAGES!” the farmer screamed, tearing out his hair as several pigs devoured his vegetables. 

The coachman let out a nervous laugh and flicked the reins, spurring his horse forward and blithely ignoring the despairing farmer’s demands for compensation. 

“I need six eggs!” a woman cried as she tried to hold several fussing babies at once. 

“That’s too expensive!” a man complained to someone selling pottery. “Twenty coins for a pile of cheap clay? Bah!” 

Pinky and the carriage parted ways as the cobblestone street changed to an unpaved dirt path. The gossip and chatter of ACME Village faded to background noise. 

Slappy had made her home in a hollow tree on the outskirts of town, close enough to get supplies but far enough to deter most from knocking on her door. 

Pinky passed by many warning and danger signs that kept most people from bothering the old squirrel. There was a new post up today, right next to Slappy’s front door. 

LAST WARNING 

NO SELLING, NO PREACHING, NO TAX COLLECTING 

KNOCK AT YOUR OWN RISK 

Well, what was life without a little risk? Pinky knocked on the door anyway. 

He was trying to decide if one of the clouds overhead was shaped more like a monkey or a strawberry when a small brown squirrel in a blue nightgown and cap opened the door. Despite the early morning, he was wide awake and hopping in place, his excitement only growing as he spotted the basket of acorns behind Pinky.  

“Morning, Skippy! Got the basket of acorns your aunt wanted!” Pinky exclaimed.

Skippy grinned as he took the basket from the wagon. “Thanks, Pinky! Aunt Slappy will love these!” 

He popped a few acorns into his mouth and loudly crunched the shells. 

“Skippy, what’d I say about answering the door at this godforsaken hour in the morning?” a cranky voice yelled from upstairs.

“It’s just Pinky with the acorns, Aunt Slappy! No door to door salespeople, preachers, or tax collectors in sight!” Skippy shouted. Then he turned back to Pinky and pointed to his ear. “I like your feather, by the way.” 

“Thanks! I like your nightcap!” Pinky said, returning the compliment with his own. 

A few moments later, Slappy joined Pinky and Skippy downstairs. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, her long gray tail dragging behind her. 

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Slappy asked. She tossed several acorns into her mouth and nodded her approval. “Crunchy with a pinch of salt. This is gonna be a good topping for my world-renowned creamed spinach later.” 

“SPEEWWWWWWWWW!” Skippy cried, sticking his tongue out in disgust. 

Pinky just smiled politely. Slappy took a lot of pride in her creamed spinach recipe, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by saying it tasted like soggy socks. 

“Hey, when I was your age, I ate lots of creamed spinach for dinner. And now I have enough muscles to wield a hundred ton mallet,” Slappy retorted. 

“Wow! Was that when dinosaurs roamed the earth?” Skippy asked. 

Slappy gave him a light smack on the back of his head. “Little brat. Go grab a few coins from the bureau in my room. Gotta pay the mouse for lugging this stuff across town.” 

Skippy blew a raspberry at her and ran up the stairs. 

“Your tongue is never gonna go back in your mouth if you keep doing that!” Slappy yelled. 

Funny how the Squirrels were his best neighbors, even though they lived on the opposite side of town. They’d helped out so much when Pinky and Papa first moved into the countryside cottage, from showing them all the best places to buy from and all the best trees to climb. Everyone else usually stared at them strangely for not knowing how to find a shop and moved on with their day. 

Still, Pinky didn’t want to impose on them or anything. Collecting the acorns was no trouble at all. And he knew money could be a little tight in the village at times. 

“You don’t have to pay me,” Pinky said. “Poit. I don’t mind the morning exercise.” 

“You’re walkin’ outta here with those coins whether you like it or not,” Slappy said in a tone that invited no room for argument. “Don’t be one of ‘em honor before reason types. That sorta mindset is nothing but trouble.” 

Slappy’s long tail flicked in irritation, accidentally knocking a framed painting askew on the wall next to her. She sighed and fixed the crooked painting so that it hung straight. “Can never keep this darn thing straight,’ she muttered. 

Pinky had been inside the hollow tree many times, but he’d never seen this painting before. It contained a colorful cast of characters, from a carrot-munching gray rabbit to a crazy black duck to a short gunslinger with an enormous bright red mustache. 

In the painting, a youthful Slappy with a manic grin on her face and giant firecracker in her hand was chasing a bald hunter. Her smile was brighter, and her eyes didn’t seem so world-weary there.

“Like it? Old pals sent it to me two weeks ago,” Slappy asked, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “The Looney Tunes Troupe were a rascally bunch, that’s for sure. All the money for a detailed painting, and they can’t afford a better frame. Our shows were legendary back in the day, you know.” 

“Never heard of them,” Pinky admitted. 

“Course ya haven’t,” Slappy sighed. “Your generation doesn’t know good comedy when it hits them in the bum with a mallet. Troupe’s faded into obscurity now, but they’ve never stopped traveling and being annoying yet lovable nuisances to everyone from Albuquerque to Kalamazoo to Timbuktu.” 

Pinky tilted his head. “But you don’t travel anymore.” 

If the Squirrels needed something they couldn’t get in ACME Village, they usually asked Pinky to run the errand for them. 

“Yeah, well, that’s life,” Slappy said. “Sometimes you’re a nomad with total freedom and other times you gotta flee with your nephew to a different country.” 

Before Pinky could ask more questions, Skippy barreled downstairs with as many coins as he could carry. “I didn’t know how much to grab so I just took a handful,” Skippy said, dumping the currency onto a small side table. 

Slappy picked up six coins from the pile and dropped them into a small drawstring bag, then tightened the strings and tossed the bag into Pinky’s wagon. “You can have these. I’ve got plenty more lying around,” she said. 

“If you're sure then,” Pinky said, picking up his wagon handle and turning it around. “Love to stay, but Papa’s leaving for the fair soon and I gotta see him off!” 

“Tell him we said hi!” Skippy shouted, and Pinky saluted back. 

Slappy yawned, stretching her arms above her head. “And I’m hitting the hay again. It’s too damn early, and I’m too tired to censor my swearing in front of kids.” 

o-o-o-o-o  

After his visit to Slappy’s tree, Pinky decided to kill some time at ACME Village’s fountain, where he could enjoy the fine spray of water and run in circles along the stone rim. It was always fun seeing how fast he could go without tipping into the water.

“Sorry!” he shouted as he accidentally trod over freshly washed sheets that a woman had been folding next to the fountain. She made an indignant noise and carried her basket of laundry away, nose high in the air. 

And the whispers started up again. 

“That mouse may be a beauty, but he is way too peculiar for his own good.” 

“You have to wonder if he’s feeling well.” 

“Always a dreamy, far-off look on his face.” 

On his tenth lap around the fountain, a flock of sheep strolled by, guided by a young shepherd from behind. Two fluffy ewes jumped onto the fountain rim next to Pinky and drank the water. Pinky smiled and stroked their soft wool, and the ewes bleated in contentment.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Pinky whispered into their ears. “Don’t go blabbing this to anyone now...but I believe Papa’s a shoo-in for that blue ribbon!” 

One of the ewes turned and nibbled on his ear, and Pinky laughed as her blocky teeth tugged and tickled his fur. He gently pried her jaw open and his ear popped out of her mouth, dripping wet with sheep saliva.

As Pinky prepared to slide off the fountain rim and onto the small bag of money he’d gotten from Slappy, a regal fanfare went off in the distance, thundering hoofbeats growing ever closer. 

A messenger in a white powdered wig blew his coronet and cleared his throat. 

“HEAR YE! HEAR YE! MAKE WAY FOR HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, PRINCE SNOWBALL AND HIS HUNTING PARTY!” 

The messenger’s declaration sent every man, woman, and child running towards the plaza, gathering in front of the entrance of the local tavern, the centerpoint of all social activities in ACME Village. 

The hunting party rode in on their enormous horses, spearheaded by the ruler of the province, Prince Snowball. Though only a small hamster, he was famed by all for his keen mind and ability to get results on whatever he set out to accomplish. 

Though dressed in only a simple red shirt and breeches for hunting, the only signs of his higher status being the golden crown upon his head and the expensive black horse he rode, his presence commanded respect and awe. 

Behind him, a hunting party consisting of the best huntsmen and archers in the land dragged an enormous buck, two wild boars, and several pheasants into view. 

“People of ACME Village, tonight we shall dine on these fine specimens of the animal kingdom!” Snowball announced as everyone bowed in fear of a noble’s anger. “Everyone’s presence is required, for I have a further declaration that shall lift this derelict province out of the ashes and into a glorious future!” 

His pink eyes were sharp, but beneath that layer of intelligence, there was an undertone of something that didn’t feel right. Pinky couldn’t explain it, but he always just had this odd, icky feeling that crawled up his spine whenever he saw Snowball.

The crowd straightened up, cheering and clapping and praising Prince Snowball’s name for bringing them such good fortune with the promise of more to come. 

Pinky’s ear twitched. There was a soft, desperate sound mixed in with the roars of the captivated audience.

And to the left side of the crowd, there was a tiny lamb whose back leg was tangled in a large fishing net. The mother ewe was both nuzzling the lamb in comfort and trying to pull the net off with her teeth, but to no avail. 

The shepherd never noticed his sheep were in trouble, too caught up in hailing Prince Snowball to notice one of his charges was stuck. 

Pinky hopped off the fountain and slowly walked over to the thrashing lamb and his mother, putting his hands up to show them he wasn’t a threat. The lamb bleated in panic, and the mother eyed Pinky warily. 

“May I help? I’m good at untangling stuff,” Pinky asked. He’d gotten a lot of practice when Papa occasionally tangled himself up in threads and wires. 

The ewe regarded him for a long moment, then nuzzled the back of her lamb’s head, letting him bury his head into her wool. The lamb’s trembling stopped, his back leg still. 

It was a sweet gesture, one that seemed so familiar to him, even though his own mother had long passed. He remembered that feeling of warmth and safety from so long ago, the last time he felt like he was truly home. 

Wiping a stray tear from his eye, Pinky untangled the mesh from the lamb’s leg, starting from the top and slowly moving down to the hoof. 

“There you go, baby,” Pinky said once the leg was completely free. The lamb pulled his hoof out of the netting, gave it a good shake, then joyfully pranced and bleated around his mother and Pinky. 

The mother gave Pinky a tiny nod, bleated to her little one, and together they rejoined their flock. The shepherd was still ignoring his flock in favor of Prince Snowball. Pinky couldn’t see him anymore from the ground. 

Pinky picked up his wagon handle, ready to go home and help Papa hitch everything up to Pharfignewton.

Then he felt a pair of fingers pluck the feather he’d lovingly tucked behind his ear. Pinky turned to get his feather back, and jumped when Snowball was just inches from his face. 

“Hello, Pinky,” Snowball said. He smiled, but it was more out of smugness than a real smile. 

Pinky’s ears lowered, but then he remembered his manners. “Bonjour, Prince Snowball. May I have my feather please? A really nice bird gave that to me.” 

Snowball frowned, holding the feather out of Pinky’s reach. The feather crinkled in his tight grip. “How could you possibly need this? It’s hardly good quality for even the cheapest quills.” 

“Poit. It doesn’t need to be a quill to make me happy,” Pinky replied. 

Snowball rolled his eyes, tossing the feather behind him. Pinky tried to grab it, but it was caught on a gust of wind and drifted to the ground. It landed in a mud puddle, soaking the barbs of the feather and staining it brown. 

“Pinky, get your head out of the clouds and pay attention to important matters,” Snowball’s lip curled as he blocked Pinky from retrieving his feather. “Such as showing royals courtesy when they address a peasant like you.”  

“Excuse me, Snowball,” Pinky said politely, going around the hamster to pick up his feather. The damage didn’t look too bad. Still, he tried to be careful when he cleaned it with his apron. 

Snowball crossed his arms, and the town’s whispers started up again. 

How dare he not show proper respect to Snowball, does he fancy himself higher than a prince, why would Snowball pay him any individual attention and not someone more deserving. 

“That’s Prince Snowball to you.” Snowball’s fur bristled for a moment, but he took a deep breath and put his arms around Pinky’s shoulders instead. “The whole town's talking about you and your lack of...purpose. And we can’t have that, you realize. After all, a machine requires all of its cogs and gears to run smoothly, otherwise it won’t work.” 

“Bet his crackpot father would know something about that!” one of Snowball’s men chortled. 

Everyone laughed, even Snowball, who rarely did so. An unfamiliar feeling boiled in Pinky’s stomach. 

“Don’t talk about my father that way!” Pinky snapped. His inventions were amazing and he was going to do well at the fair! They didn’t know how hard Papa worked on his inventions! 

Snowball glared at his men. “Yes, don’t talk about his father that way, you fools!” he hissed like Pinky hadn’t heard him laughing just seconds ago. 

“He’s not a crackpot! His invention’s gonna win the blue ribbon cause it was made with smarts and love, you’ll see!” Pinky declared, just as an explosion went off in the distance. 

And he knew exactly where that explosion had come from. 

“I have to go. Goodbye!” Pinky dragged his wagon behind him, setting off for the cottage he and Papa called home. 

“It’s a pity and a sin, 

He doesn’t quite fit in. 

He really is a funny mouse, 

A beauty but a funny mouse, 

He really is a funny mouse, 

THAT PIN-” 

The sharp, high-pitched crack of a rifle interrupted the village’s song, and everyone ran for cover. 

“WILL YA SHUT UP? SOME OF US ARE TRYIN’ TA SLEEP!” Slappy shouted from her tree, her screech blowing tiles and lumber from the roofs of buildings. 

Just a provincial life in this little town. Pinky ran across the cobblestone bridge, wondering if he truly had the right to ask for something more than that.

o-o-o-o-o

He hurried over to the cellar, where smoke trailed from the gaps of the heavy wooden doors. Pinky opened the entrance, and a smoky cloud blew right in his face. He coughed and waved it away, hiding his nose in his dress as he hurried over to Papa, who’d been thrown onto his back. A pile of broken wooden planks covered him. 

In the corner, Madeleine sputtered, her gears and dials spinning wildly before she finally quieted down, one loose spring sending a gear crashing into a wall. 

“Dagnabbit, Madeleine!” Papa cursed, stumbling as he extracted himself from the pile of wooden planks. Pinky grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet, checking him over for any injuries. Luckily, there were no bruises or splinters to be found. “Don’t you stall out on me now!” 

Pinky smiled. Papa’s string of random gibberish and mutterings of smart inventor words he couldn’t understand was something he’d been familiar with from a young age. No matter where they lived, it was just one of those things that came with home. 

Papa huffed, untying his apron with all his tools and tossing it to the ground. “She’ll never work in time for the fair! What was I thinking?” he lamented. “It’s not too late. Maybe I can cobble something else together quickly! Yes, I’ll just take the doowhatzit out of Madeleine, combine it with the kaleidomajiggy from the old washer, and-” 

“You always say that, Papa,” Pinky said, hugging his father around the shoulders. Papa rested his hands over Pinky’s with a sigh. “Don’t worry. I believe Madeleine will work, and she’ll win you that blue ribbon and help you become an inventor for the history books! Narf! Just like Benjamin Franklin, ‘cept without all the kite-flying.” 

“You really think so?” Papa asked, his frown turning to a hopeful smile. 

“Course I do,” Pinky grinned. 

A determined look crossed Papa’s face, and he tied his apron around his waist, nearly tripping over it in the process.

“What are we waiting for then? Let’s fix ‘er up!” Papa said, laying down on a flat, low cart and pushing himself under the broken stove that made up Madeleine’s main body. “So how was your morning in town?” 

“A little birdie gave me a feather. I found a pretty stone by the pond. And I delivered the acorns to the Squirrels. Did you know Slappy used to be a part of a traveling troupe? I didn’t.” Pinky recanted his morning to Papa as tools clinked and scratched against metal. “Oh, and I guess you’ll be missing Prince Snowball’s feast tonight. They’ll have venison and wild boar there.” 

“A feast? That sounds nice. Much better than inn food,” Papa mused. As usual, only part of what Pinky said ever registered with him. “Are you going?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Pinky admitted. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good party...but Prince Snowball is-um, what’s a good word for him?” 

“Rich? Smart? Confident?” Papa suggested. “He’s been talkin’ to you a lot lately.” 

So everyone’s noticed, even Papa who spent much of his time in the cellar that doubled as a workshop. 

“He has,” Pinky agreed. “And he says he can give me a purpose. But...I don’t know. I don’t think he’s right for me. Maybe I’m just as odd as they say I am.” 

It was the same everywhere they settled. No matter what Pinky tried to do, the whispers always followed him. He noticed strange things, he wore strange clothes, he and Papa were always strangers in towns where everyone knew each other from birth. 

Papa slid out from under Madeleine, wearing a silly helmet on his head that gave him huge, bug-like eyes. 

“My son is odd?” Papa asked in disbelief, and Pinky laughed. The helmet always made Papa look silly. “Don’t know where these folks get their ideas from…anyway, I think Madeleine’s all ready to go. Care to give her a whirl?”

“Zort! Am I!” Pinky clapped his hands together. Papa pointed to a lever, which Pinky pulled with all his might. 

Madeleine’s bells and whistles sounded, water steadily pumping through her system while steam filled her stove. Pulleys and gears turned along her sides, reaching the front. Her dials quivered until they reached the red zone, and the ax at her front swung down, scoring a deep cut in a block of firewood. The ax swung faster and faster, until one final split the firewood in half and sent one chunk flying. 

Pinky and Papa ducked, and the chunk flew over their heads and landed perfectly on a pile of firewood against the wall. 

“She works!” Pinky shouted in joy, kissing one of Madeleine’s wooden wheels. “You did it, Papa!” 

“I did?” Papa murmured. “I did! 265th time’s the charm, Pinky! Look out fair, I’m on my way!” 

o-o-o-o-o

Within the hour, Madeleine was wheeled out from the workshop, covered and tied up with a tarp, and hitched to Pharfignewton. 

“Bye, Fig,” Pinky said, hugging his beloved horse’s muzzle. “Keep Papa on track to the fair, okay? You know how he likes taking shortcuts.” 

Pharfignewton whinnied gently, planting a sloppy kiss on top of Pinky’s head.

Then Pinky embraced Papa, who returned the hug with the same enthusiasm. And he was reminded of how the mouse and horse he considered his home would be leaving for some time. He wished he could go with them, but someone had to keep house and he was the best one for the job. It wouldn’t be for long, but he’d miss them all the same. 

A stray tear dropped. Just another reason he was considered odd. He cried so easily. 

“Chin up, Pinky,” Papa murmured, rubbing a soothing circle into Pinky’s back. “I’ll win that blue ribbon along with the prize money, and we’ll begin our lives anew within the week.”  

Through his tears, Pinky gave him a wobbly smile. Then he helped Papa onto Pharfignewton’s back. 

“Take care!” Pinky called as Papa flicked the reins, and Pharfignewton trotted off at a steady pace, dragging Madeleine behind her. He watched them from atop the highest hill in the meadow, as they went further down the well-worn trail that merchants used for their travels. 

Then they were nothing but specks in the distance, swallowed by the thick, twisted branches of the forest. It was an unusual forest, one where the trees lost their leaves in early autumn, making the trees look scarier than they actually were for half the year. 

With nothing else to do outside, Pinky went back into the empty cottage. He’d had three years to become familiar with this house, full of odds and ends from Papa’s inventions alongside their meager belongings. 

Mama’s cloak hung from a place of honor on a coat rack by the door, one of the few belongings Pinky could take along no matter where they lived. 

Hours passed, and Pinky already missed the banging and exploding and sputtering of Papa’s inventions. It was just too quiet without them. 

He cleaned the red feather and pretty stone, then added them to his collection. Feathers and rocks didn’t take up a lot of room, and like Mama’s cloak, they could easily be taken to new places as well. He was just very careful not to lose them. 

The wagon was tucked away by the door, and the small bag of money was tucked inside a flower pot. It was how Papa always stored money, and Pinky had picked up the habit. 

There wasn’t much to do. He’d cleaned the cottage several days ago, cellar notwithstanding. That was Papa’s territory, and he always had trouble finding tools when Pinky put them away.

Suppertime approached. 

He could either cook dinner or go to the feast. 

Didn’t matter what he chose. He would be lonely either way. 

A sharp rap on the door startled him out of his thoughts. How strange. People only knocked at this time when there was an emergency. 

“Sorry for taking so long. I wasn’t expecting-” Pinky opened the door, and he immediately stood face-to-face with Prince Snowball. They were so close that their noses nearly touched. “-to see you here, Snowball. Um, this is a surprise. Poit.” 

Snowball’s pink eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Pinky remembered that Snowball preferred to be addressed with his full title. “Yes, it’s not often that someone of my standing chooses to grace a peasant’s home with their presence.”   

Behind Snowball, there was an entourage of townsfolk. Many wore their Sunday best, which was still quite cheap compared to the royal finery that Snowball bore. A fine red coat, a decorative golden cape slung over one shoulder, and white dress pants. A shiny crown embedded with rubies and emeralds sat atop his head. 

“I thought you were all at the tavern for the feast,” Pinky admitted. 

Snowball laughed, but it was a joyless laugh. He stepped across the threshold without being invited in. 

“Why, Pinky. Your hovel is positively primeval,” Snowball said, wrinkling his nose in disdain. He tugged Mama’s cloak off its hook, stared at it for a moment, then carelessly tossed it behind him. “If this is how you live, then it’s a truly auspicious time for me to come and offer you an opportunity out of this squalor.” 

Before Pinky could ask what auspicious was, though he figured it had something to do with Austria, Snowball harshly dug his fingers into Pinky’s shoulders. Pinky tried to pry them off, but the fingers just burrowed further into the fabric of his dress. 

“Not to worry, dear Pinky,” Snowball said. “Today is the day all your dreams come true.” 

“You mean my dream to find a home and a porpoise? Because I don’t know if we have enough money to live by the ocean. Beachside properties get very pricey, you know,” Pinky asked. 

Snowball waved off that concern. “You forget that finances are of no consequence for me. But I digress. For now, allow me to plant the image of a wonderful future in your vacant mind.” 

“Okay, but I don’t know how you’re gonna water it,” Pinky said. 

“Picture this,” Snowball demanded, leading Pinky around the cottage. “A magnificent castle. Two golden thrones, mine higher than the queen’s of course. A few summer homes to expand my sphere of influence. A court of other royals, lesser nobles, while the servants do all the menial work around the fires and kitchen. We’ll have...oh, six or seven.”     

“Servants?” Pinky grinned nervously as Snowball leaned in with a chuckle. 

“Castles, Pinky. How else would I showcase my power?” Snowball corrected. “And the townsfolk shall become our servants. It will save me the trouble of setting up a hiring process anyway. Besides, you’d appreciate having familiar faces around. Less of an adjustment period.” 

Pinky freed himself from Snowball’s grip. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” Snowball shrugged. “But in simplest terms, I require a queen. One who is good at smiling, waving, and entertainment.” 

Wouldn’t that person become a princess rather than a queen though? 

Snowball must’ve seen the question coming. He paused in front of the mirror to adjust his crown. 

“There is but one title higher than a prince, Pinky,” Snowball said once he was finished. “In order to qualify for the kingship, it’s required of me to marry first. And do you know who that queen will be?” 

“Elizabeth? Victoria?” Pinky wilted under Snowball’s intense stare. “Um...Cleopatra, final answer?” 

Snowball shook his head. “It will be you, Pinky.” 

A queen? He’d always just been the inventor’s son. An outcast no matter where he lived. How could he possibly be a queen? 

“That’s a very generous offer, Snowball,” Pinky said, once he finally found his words again. 

“Isn’t it, though?” Snowball said smugly. “You and your father will live in an extravagant new home as you perform your queenly duties, and I will be forever hailed as King Snowball. Both of us shall benefit.”

Maybe he and Papa could live in better conditions. Maybe they didn’t have to move around anymore. Maybe they could afford shoes for Pharfignewton. But at the same time…it wouldn’t be right. 

It wouldn’t be home. 

Smiling, waving, entertaining. Was that all he was good for? Was that all Snowball thought he could do? 

“I thought...marriage was for love,” Pinky said softly. “That’s what Papa always said.” 

Snowball rolled his eyes. “It’s a political marriage. It doesn’t have to be built on love.” 

Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

It was one of the earliest morals Pinky had learned. 

Wish for a home, only for it to be a castle. Wish for a purpose, and it’s to be married without love as a foundation. 

“Snowball...I’m speechless,” Pinky said, backing out the front door. He nearly tripped over the welcome mat, but regained his footing. “I...I really don’t know what to say.” 

Not even a narf would help him out of this situation. 

“Say that you’ll marry me, Pinky,” Snowball replied, and he stalked toward Pinky like a cunning predator, backing him against the edge of the porch. “And after you say yes, I will announce our engagement to the rest of ACME Village at the feast. Attendance is mandatory for a reason.” 

“I’m really, really sorry, Snowball,” Pinky said. He’d backed up too far, and the heels of his feet dangled precariously over the edge. Instincts kicking in, Pinky grabbed Snowball’s shoulder to pull himself to safety, though he underestimated his strength. Snowball yelped as he was pulled over the edge, falling into the mud puddle by the staircase. 

Oops.  

“Sorry, Snowball! But I just don’t deserve you,” Pinky admitted. 

The mud-covered crown slipped around Snowball’s head, covering his eyes until he took it off with an annoyed grunt. 

Pinky slipped back into the house, grabbed a small towel, and handed it to one of Snowball’s men. 

Claude, if he remembered right. 

“He can have that one,” Pinky told Claude, who gingerly took the towel like it was a fragile item. 

Snowball crawled out of the mud, his royal clothing covered in gunk and sticks. He stomped out of the mud, hands clenching against his sides. 

Snowball’s brow lowered, his pink eyes hidden in humiliation and a quiet, seething fury. 

Slowly, Pinky retreated into the cottage and hid behind the door. There was something about that look that terrified him. And it wasn’t the fun kind of fear, either. 

“You will consider my offer, Pinky. Make no mistake about that,” Snowball spat, his scrutinizing gaze directly on Pinky, despite the door between them. “Claude, quit being daft and hand me that towel already!” 

Pinky waited in the cottage until he could no longer hear their voices or footsteps. They must’ve gone back to the tavern for the feast. 

He didn’t feel hungry though. Snowball’s proposal left a sour taste in his mouth, like he’d just sucked on a lemon.

“He asked me to marry him,” Pinky said to his mother’s cloak, which was still crumpled on the floor. He gently picked it up, brushed off the wrinkles, and put it on. The fabric was warm against his back, like being wrapped in a ginormous embrace. “But he doesn’t love me. Narf! You can’t have a marriage without love!” 

He thought of all the married couples he knew in ACME Village. The baker couple, who were constantly at each other’s throats. Gerard the butcher was always making googly eyes at any woman who bought cuts of meat, much to his wife’s frustration. There was the stressed lady who had to drag her six kids around town while her husband played cards and darts at the tavern.

And Pinky thought of his parents. His mother had fallen in love with his father’s inventive streak when she was the daughter of a town official and Papa was just the crazy mouse whose inventions blew up a lot. 

He tied the cloak tighter around himself. Unable to take the silence of the cottage and the stifling influence of the village much longer, he allowed his feet to carry him out of the cottage and to wherever they wanted to go. 

He sprinted into the unknown. He wouldn’t be afraid of whatever he found there. The autumn wind blew golden, red, and brown leaves in whichever direction it wished as Pinky climbed the highest hill in the gorgeous flower-filled meadow. 

The peak of the hill was his favorite spot, and he was surprised that nobody else came out here to enjoy the view with him. Trees lost their colorful leaves so they could sleep for the winter, the river splashed and babbled along its banks, and proud mountains with mysterious cloud-covered peaks rose high above the landscape.

What laid beyond villages and towns, he didn’t know. 

There was something in that great wide somewhere for him. Just a feeling, an inkling, a hunch. 

But could he truly go exploring it when his home was here? 

Maybe he could convince Papa. Somehow. When Papa came back with the prize money, they could fit Pharfignewton with her shoes and they could all explore together! 

Staring into the autumn landscape, Pinky sank to his knees, careful not to squish the daisies and dandelions around him. 

Maybe that was home, but…

He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. Would he ever figure that out? 

He loved Papa, but he couldn’t really talk to him. And Slappy had her hands full with such an energetic nephew. Pinky didn’t want to impose. Everyone in the village gossiped about him, like he couldn’t understand. 

But he did. 

And it hurt. 

“Would be nice to talk to someone. Anyone, really,” he whispered, and he blew on a cluster of dandelion puffs. His wish scattered along the wind.

Pinky picked up more dandelion puffs. If he blew more around, maybe his wish would come true. And dandelion flowers were very pretty. 

Maybe they were considered weeds, but how could anyone call such a sunshine-y yellow flower a pest? He didn’t get it.

Then a distant, familiar neigh caught him off-guard. 

Pinky thumped his hand against his ear. Maybe he was missing Pharfignewton so much that he heard her voice? 

But he’d recognize her magnificent white coat and spirited blue eyes anywhere. 

“Easy, Pharfignewton! It’s okay!” Pinky cried. He scrambled up Pharfignewton’s leg, avoided her flailing hoof, and held onto her muzzle as she bucked and reared in sheer panic. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay…” 

Pharfignewton quieted down, her frantic neighs melting into soft, worried nickers as Pinky stroked her nose. She stopped kicking, though she was wide-eyed with fear. 

Madeleine wasn’t hitched to Pharfignewton. Nor was she wasn’t the only one missing…

And Pinky suddenly understood his horse’s panic. 

“Pharfignewton, where’s Papa?” Pinky asked. “Is he okay? How did you get separated? Did he try another shortcut when I told him not to do it?”  

Pharfignewton’s hooves shuffled, and Pinky forced himself to take a deep breath. He was scaring her with all these questions, so he nuzzled her between the eyes in apology. Still, his heart raced with panic. 

From the top of the hill, he saw thick, gray clouds rolling in from the mountains. The temperature was dropping fast. 

An early winter would be upon them. They had to find Papa quickly. 

“Please, Pharfignewton. We’ve gotta find him,” Pinky pleaded. 

She whinnied in agreement, and galloped into the strange forest with all its dangerous, twisted branches before Pinky had a chance to settle in his usual spot at the base of her neck. 

Don’t worry, Papa. I’m on my way. 

End AN: Well, this is beast is complete (no pun intended). 

Yeah, poor Pinky’s usual charm doesn’t really work here. Poor mouse. 

Slappy is fun to write, not gonna lie. Love her cartoony antics. She’s also led quite the interesting life in this AU. 

The reason Snowball didn’t show up sooner was because I wasn’t sure how to tweak the proposal scene to fit. Cause for one thing, Snowball is way smarter than Gaston, but just as arrogant to boot. So I changed Snowball’s motivation into marrying Pinky because it will help him gain a higher title than a prince. He doesn’t actually love Pinky in this AU, but he’s very annoyed at him for that stunt with the mud puddle (though it’s accidental on Pinky’s part rather than intentional like Belle’s). 

The reason Snowball doesn’t go seeking a princess’s hand to gain the kingship is cause he tried that already. It was Billie of a nearby kingdom. It didn’t go well. 

Also yes the village is named ACME Village because I’m lazy and can’t come up with anything better. 

[ziezie13]

So I watched The Mummy for the first time last night and I am appalled that there is only one Drarry Mummy AU. The thing practically writes itself. Rick O'Connell = Harry Potter, Evelyn Carnahan = Draco Malfoy.

After the war, Draco was exiled either officially or socially and has taken up residence in Alexandria, Egypt where he works as a librarian, restocking the ancient library that had been lost. Over the years he has also become the foremost experts in dead languages. But he never wins any grants for his research because of the bias around his ex-death eater status. One day an artifact comes across his desk, a strange puzzle box. Draco solves the thing over evening tea, of course (also he has reading glasses now because that is hot). Inside is a map to Hamunaptra, the ancient Egyptian city of the dead that has become no more than legend and most people believe never existed. Draco is ecstatic because the last recorded location of the Book of Amun-Ra and most myth is founded in reality as he knows. He takes the map to his boss who laughs in his face and accidentally burns off a piece of the map with a badly placed candle. Draco asks where the puzzle box came from and someone tells him it was confiscated from some treasure hunter at the local prison. Draco goes to the prison only to find Harry bloody Potter in chains and looking very disheveled.

Potter's hair is long and greasy, he had a matted beard, covered in dirt and grim, and wearing rags. But Draco would recognize those bright green eyes anywhere. Potter does not seem to be as surprised to see Draco as Draco is to see him which frustrates him to no end. Turns out Potter dropped out of the Auror program years ago and has been working as a freelance curse breaker in the Egyptian desert ever since. He landed his ass in prison after a drunken bar fight where he was arrested with multiple legal magical artifacts. After composing himself, Draco asks Potter about the puzzle box.

"You want to know about Hamunaptra." A statement not a question.

"How did you know the box was connected to Hamunaptra?"

"Because that is where I found it."

"You've been to Hamunaptra."

"Yes."

"Why should I believe you?"

Potter's smile fades immediately at those words. "I don't lie, Malfoy. Besides, you have the proof in your hands."

Draco weighs Potter’s words and shows him the damaged map. "Could you complete this?"

Harry studies the map for a few seconds. "No."

Draco wilts.

"But I could take you there. If you can get me out."

The next day after a few well placed bribes Draco picks Potter up from the prison. "So what first?"

"First I need a shower and a shave."

They go to Draco’s flat where Potter cleans himself up. He emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and fuck Potter has absolutely no right to look like that. His skin has a bronze hue, golden from the sun, and there are just so many muscles. His facial hair has been trimmed to a sexy scruff and his long hair is now clean and dripping wet. Draco follows the path of a drop as it drips down Potter’s chest and disappears into the towel.

"I don't suppose you have any clothes that might fit?"

Draco gives Potter a shirt and trousers. Potter pulls his hair into a messy bun. The trousers are too long, so Potter rolls them up a bit. Both the trousers and shirt fit snugly in more that a few places. Draco knows a charm that would fix that but decides to keep it to himself.

"Why are you so set on getting to Hamunaptra? Need some more dark artifacts to round out your collection?"

Draco frowned. "If you must know I am searching for the Book of Amun-Ra so that I can return it to the Library."

"And this has nothing to do with the fact that the book is made of solid gold."

"You know your history, Potter?"

"I know my treasure."

They then go into town to get supplies and transport. Turns out there is a group of Americans also headed for Hamunaptra and they have a guide who also claims to have been there before. And so the race is on. The city is magicaly protected so they can't apperate or use a portkey. They will get as close as they can using the river then ride camels the rest of the way. What they don't know is that there is a secret society that has protected Hamunaptra from outsiders for centuries. On their first night on the boat they are attacked. A masked figure tries to steal the map and the puzzle box. Draco and Potter jump overboard and escape but they lose the map. Doesn't matter though, because Potter assures Draco he knows the way. Their clothes and supplies are still on the ship though and Draco is in pajamas. They find a local market and Potter pays for some new clothes for Draco and a couple of camels. They set off for Hamunaptra and arrive at the exact same time as the Americans. They wait for the sunrise to reveal the ancient city and ride in. They set up separate camps and dig sites. Draco uses his expert knowledge to find them a prime location. That night the masked riders return and attack both camps. They warn both parties that they have one day to leave or they will die. Draco gets drunk and has a heart to heart with Potter.

"Can I kiss you Potter?"

"Only if you call me Harry."

Draco moves in close but passes out on Potter’s chest before they can kiss.

The next day it is back to business because they are on a clock now. The American's find the Book of the Dead and an ancient magic settles over them as they pull it out. They read from the book and accidentally activate an ancient curse that awakes the Mummy.

The mummy sucks the life/magic from one of the Americans becoming more alive looking.

Some other people die. Harry and Draco manage to escape but not before Draco is marked by the mummy.

They regroup at a hotel in a nearby town and devise a plan. One of the Americans decides to peace out and tells the others to have a nice life. The leader of the masked men shows up and chastises them for activating the curse. He tells them about the mummy, Neferkarê. Neferkarê was an ancient priest, i.e. wizard, sentenced to death along with his lover after breaking his vows. He placed a curse as he died that would ensure that one day he would awaken and resurrect his lover. The mark that he placed on Draco signifies that Draco will be the sacrifice to bring Neferkarê's lover back. Draco reads from the Book of the Dead and they learn that Neferkarê is weakened still and will need to suck the life/magic out of the Americans who unearthed the book before he can do the ritual to resurrect his love. Draco also figures that there must be a spell that can stop Neferkarê written in the Book of Amun-Ra. He goes over the layout of the city in his head as well as everything he has read about it and deduces where the book must be. Potter then locks Draco in the bedroom.

"This is for your own safety. The Mummy marked you, not me. I will rescue the American, get the book, bring it back, and then you can fix it."

Potter and the masked man go after the American who left, to warn him. Meanwhile Draco dies of boredom. He paces in the room trying to find a way out. Neferkarê shows up and drains the two Americans that Harry left behind to guard Draco. He then becomes sand and enters Draco’s room reforming. Draco fights him but Neferkarê has drained all four Americans at this point and kidnaps Draco.

Potter arrives just as Neferkarê grabs Draco and dissolves into a dust storm.

Potter chases after them across the desert on a broom.

Seeing Potter following them he stops and sends a sandstorm right for Potter. Draco attacks Neferkarê again and breaks his concentration so that Potter can get away. Potter crashes his broom but Draco is hopeful that he is still alive after all Potter has survived much worse.

Neferkarê finishes taking Draco back to Hamunaptra and ties him down to the ritual alter. He begins to prep the ritual and Draco can only hope that Potter shows up with the Book of Amun-Ra. Things look pretty grim for a moment but Potter shows up at the last minute and severs Draco’s bonds. Neferkarê resurrects other mummies that begin fighting Potter and turns his attention back to Draco. Draco meanwhile is trying to get the book open but it requires a key i.e. the puzzle box which is now in the possession of Neferkarê. Draco and Neferkarê battle a third time. Draco knows he is no match for Neferkarê, Harry might be - maybe, but he is otherwise occupied at the moment. So Draco outwits Neferkarê and gets the key. He reads from the book but before he can finish the spell Neferkarê recovers and turns on Draco again knocking the book away. Harry finished up with the undead army but he doesn't know if he should go for Draco or the book. Draco makes the decision for him.

"The book, Harry! Get the book."

Harry obeys and flips the book open to the right spot.

"I can't read this Draco."

"Just describe the last symbol to me."

At this point Neferkarê has begun to choke Draco to death.

"It’s some kind of bird. A stork!"

"Ahmenophus." Draco chokes out.

Draco manages to say the entire incantation and Neferkarê drops him and staggers back. But after a beat he seems fine and goes after Draco again.

Harry steps in and fires off a spell. "I thought that was supposed to kill him."

Draco shakes his head. "It made him mortal."

The structure begins to shake and threatens to collapse in on itself. Draco and Harry share a look and head towards the exit. Neferkarê refuses to leave his lover and ends up buried alive.

Draco and Harry emerge from the sand unscathed and share a passionate kiss before riding off into the sunset.

[chocosvt]

connect!universe extra

⚬ pairing: cyborg!hansol x reader | future!au ⚬ word count: 6482 ⚬ warnings: alcohol consumption ⚬ genres: angst, heavy fluff, mutual pining, elements of a futuristic/dystopian society 

✧✎ synopsis: hansol is the first cyborg you’ve ever met. he seems human enough, but clearly a little damaged on the inside, and you wonder if he’s ever known what it’s like to be loved. 

✧✎ a/n: can you BELIEVE that this is only my second vern fic? he’s one of those members where i can think of multiple plotlines for him, but struggle in writing all. i’ve wanted to try a cyborg/futurey au since like three yrs ago lol, so i hope this came out well ,,,, 

You poked the plastic spoon further into the cold cup, trying to search for a small chunk of strawberry buried under the soft, vanilla peaks. In actuality, you already purged all the strawberries out from the ice cream; you were only pretending to look occupied so that you could escape the awkward aura of being next to this cyborg you met an hour ago, the two of you sat on a ridiculously uncomfortable curb outside a dessert parlor, beneath the midnight sky. It was an unorthodox situation. You wondered where your friends went.

From the tentative corner of your eye, you glanced at Hansol’s half-emptied cup of cookie dough ice cream. The parlor behind you had closed down, though the night street still flooded with a twinkling, neon spectacle, the additional hovercraft humming high above as they travelled along the aerial space-paths. You continued staring at Hansol’s cookie dough. If it had been Changkyun or Yoojung sitting next to you, then you would have already dipped in your spoon and tasted each other’s ice cream as tradition. It would be too weird to ask Hansol.

Scraping some vanilla ice cream onto your tongue, you swallowed thickly and decided to initiate conversation again, even if it was just prevaricated nonsense to beat the time.

“Is cookie dough your favourite flavour?” You questioned Hansol, though stared at the loose laces on your sneakers rather than him.  

Hansol started shaking his leg as he shrugged. “I like chocolate too. And cheesecake.”

“So you have a sweet tooth?”

“I guess, yeah.”

Okay – well that was officially the dying spark of another conversation. You were uncertain if he was anxious, shy, perhaps socially awkward, or maybe he was attempting to signal that he just didn’t like you. It was quite rare to encounter a cyborg. Ever since you could remember, they had an uncordial notion of being dangerous, sinister. They were meant to be contained in laboratories as a government order, so technologists could perform their invasive studies. You didn’t know if Hansol was an escapee or a discarded project, nor was it your place to ask.

The strawberry ice cream was beginning to melt into pink and white puddles the more you stirred. One last time, you attempted to maintain some sort of conversation with the cyborg.

“So where do you live? I’ve never seen you around before.”

That time, you made the effort to stare at him, a hazy and violet light bathing the sharp side of the boy’s face and igniting features you hadn’t noticed beforehand. His eyelashes were long, resembling gentle fern leaves, and he had a very strictly cut line defining his jaw. Through the coarse layers of his dark brown hair, you noted small, inked numbers were tattooed just in front of his ear, though you pretended you hadn’t been looking there when he faced you.

“I don’t have a place.” Hansol said nonchalantly, poking the spoon into his cookie dough. “I’m kind of a floater.”

Your eyes widened, though you couldn’t help it.

“Really? But you do have a job. You’ve never tried renting a motel room or something?”

He shook his head and shoved a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. From what Yoojung had told you, Hansol worked with her at her dad’s auto-repair business, prompting you to wonder if she knew the boy was homeless. Knowing he wasn’t surrounded by the comfort of a family had already caused a pulsing ache in your heart, and you felt somewhat obliged to help.

“Does Yoojung know?”

Hansol hesitated slightly, licking the sweet taste of the ice cream from his lips.

“No.” He finally answered in a torpid manner.

There was a stiff bit of silence, and then the boy was looking directly at you, his knee and elbow so close to yours that they kept bumping together. His eyes, which were usually as brown as a square of dark chocolate, were suddenly beaming in a shade of ice blue. You had never seen such a thing before, and yet you could sense the anxiety rippling from him in invisible waves.

“You aren’t going to tell her, right?”

Your throat felt incredibly dry as you shook your head, heightening your desire to stick a large spoonful of softening strawberry swirl in your mouth for some form of moisture.

“If you haven’t told her then I won’t either.” You replied, making sure to maintain eye contact.

Immediately, Hansol relaxed, the ice blue that glowed from his gaze slowly fading away until the familiar brown replaced it. Even though you assured Hansol his secret was safe, it didn’t thwart your disquieting feelings from echoing throughout your chest, though you attempted to swallow them with the pink dessert that just liquidized onto your tongue. You two continued eating in silence underneath the white stars, Changkyun and Yoojung still nowhere in sight.

“Y’know,” you began quietly, “we just met and all that… but I definitely wouldn’t mind if you stayed at my place for a few days. And I wouldn’t let Yoojung know a thing.”

For the first time that night, you saw the faint beginnings of a smile pull at the boy’s lips, and despite him staring straight at his sneakers you managed to catch a glimpse of rose light emanating from his eyes. He didn’t look at you until the pretty hue completely died away.

“I don’t want to bother you.” Hansol admitted, his gaze tracing your warm expression.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t. It’s just me and a powder puff cactus I bought last month.”

It took a couple of seconds or so, but the boy eventually nodded, and an immense relief toiled away the discomfort that earlier plagued your chest. The air no longer felt so awkward, in which you had been pointlessly scavenging for strawberry slices in your ice cream just to feign some degree of distraction. In fact, you made an offer you would have never anticipated when your night with the cyborg first began: you asked Hansol if he wanted to try your strawberry swirl.

“Okay,” he obliged, “wanna taste some cookie explosion?”

You switched cups and scooped some of his cookie dough ice cream. There weren’t any cookie chunks left amongst the chocolate-vanilla mixture, and you wanted to laugh upon thinking that he must have been doing the same as you.

“You’re walking home with him? Are you sure…? Are you sure that’s like, a good idea?”

Your face quickly warped into an expression of bewilderment as you stood across from Changkyun, who was clearly apprehensive to have Hansol walk you home. That was the fake story you told your friends, and you had expected it to pass with flying colours, though you came to a roadblock due to your ex-boyfriend seeming petulant. Yoojung was close with Hansol therefore she depicted no air of disagreement. She gave Changkyun a steely side-eye and partly stepped on his foot.

Folding your arms over your chest, you cocked your head. “What are you implying, Changkyun?”

The young man dug his hands into the deep pockets of his coat and gave a casual shrug, his gaze following a distant hovercraft that whirred quietly in the skies above.

“I’m just saying that—”

“He’s saying I’m not safe.” Hansol cut in, though not with any contempt or bitterness. “I understand. Not the first time I’ve heard it.”

The rebut locked onto your tongue was instantly forgotten, to which you glanced at Hansol with a soft sympathy. He was awfully calm, not upset, not angry, just calm.

Yoojung groaned loudly, throwing her head back. “Oh, for crying out loud. Changkyun, he’s not some lump of artificial intelligence that got thrown together by a mad scientist and now he’s out to obliterate mankind. He’s a good kid with some bionics in his arm. Get over it, would you?”

A scarlet colour mottled in the apples of Changkyun’s cheeks and he dragged a hand through his slick black hair, disrupting its style. You looked to Yoojung appreciatively, who was already beginning to wind her arm around Changkyun’s elbow so that you could be on your separate ways. It was an hour past midnight, a thick drowsiness resting just behind your eyelids, blurring the purple-blue neon lights. A part of you still loved Changkyun, yet the other often festered in uncertainty.

“Goodnight guys.” Yoojung said with a tired smile.

“Night.” You and Hansol murmured in unison.

When Changkyun remained silent, Yoojung stepped on his foot again with her red sneaker.

“G-Goodnight.” He was forced to mumble. Changkyun then looked at you, nodding at the slim cellphone tucked in your hand. “Text me when you get home.”

“Okay.” You replied in a small, plain voice, chewing on your bottom lip while watching them walk away down the street together.

The guilt was bubbling like a disastrous magma beneath your skin, continuously growing hotter as you introduced Hansol to the couch in your living room. Changkyun certainly didn’t represent your own morality, and you were still a little overwhelmed that he would make such a piteous remark, especially to Hansol’s face. Maybe it came from a place of care, affection, perhaps even jealousy. The person who made that comment wasn’t the Changkyun you knew, the Changkyun you loved, and you felt obliged to apologize on his behalf, despite knowing it should come him rather than you.

Hansol sat down on the couch while observing curiously around the room. You couldn’t help but think he was adorable, and you wondered if Yoojung was telling the truth about the bionics in his arm. For his eyes to adapt sensory colours, you knew he must have a chip implant too.

“Sorry, no extra clothes.” You told Hansol after handing him a fleece blanket and a pillow.

As he fluffed the pillow out against the arm of the couch, you sat down on the coffee table.

“I just want to apologize… For what Changkyun said. He’s not that type of person, I think he made a comment like that because it’s still a bit weird between us, and he wasn’t using his head.”

Hansol’s indifferent countenance made it difficult for you to read if he was truly offended. He seemed like the easygoing type, one who doesn’t ruminate or tend toward conflict.

“Yoojung kind of filled me in about you guys,” he admitted, shaking his knee, “Changkyun still worries about you. I get it.”

You stared into the clasped hands on your lap, noting that you’d been unconsciously playing with the gems on your bracelet. It seemed like you both had your nervous ticks.

“Breakups are weird,” you sighed, “I don’t know if we should have stayed friends.”

Out of the blue your body grew rigid, and you wished to retract the words back into your mouth. Your relationship dilemmas weren’t something that should be pushed onto Hansol, a boy you just met, especially a matter so individualistic and personal. Rubbing the bleariness from your eyes, you let out a sleepy laugh, shaking your head in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that – It’s getting too late for my brain I guess.”

Hansol shrugged. “It’s fine. I should tell you I have to get up early tomorrow, for work.”

Conveniently, the auto-repair shop was within walking distance. You were happy that Hansol had been able to find employment, that Yoojung’s dad was kind enough to hire a cyborg, even when they were ultimately spurned for being metal projects and safety hazards.

You stopped tugging on your bracelet and looked at Hansol fondly. “Mr. Choi is so nice, right? He fixed my electro-board when I was little.”

Hansol sprouted in a timid smile. “He’s great. He’s the one who always fixes the circuit panel in my arm when it bugs. I couldn’t control it if it weren’t for him.”

Undeniably you were curious about what sort of bionics had been installed in Hansol’s body. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence to meet a cyborg, though you frequently heard tales about the different technology the laboratories were practicing. Androids were also in maintenance; however, they were a very clandestine operation, and people were known to disappear completely if they leaked information from inside the core. Still, it only fuelled your intrigue.

“Let me guess,” Hansol said, “you want to see my arm, don’t you?”

“Um…” Heat pricked into your cheeks and you failed to meet the boy’s knowing glance. “Only if you want to show me.” You responded bashfully.

“I don’t care,” Hansol huffed while he pulled his hoodie above his head, letting the fabric drop into a ball beside him on the couch, “you’re nice about it.”

Hansol placed the underside of his arm atop his leg, revealing that underneath the thin, synthetic layer of skin, there were bright circuit pathways glowing in different colours. You could see small signals blipping through them, passing onto other networks which travelled up his muscle until they disappeared under his shirt sleeve. Never had you witnessed anything so mesmerizing, so unparalleled, and you stared at Hansol’s arm in a childlike wonder.

Leaning forward slightly, you murmured, “how hard it is? Can I touch?”

“Yeah.” Hansol replied, regarding you with a gentle smile as your fingers pressed down cautiously on his forearm.

His skin was soft, warm, just like ordinary flesh, but then you immediately felt the metal bionic installed beneath and you became somewhat frightened of pressing too hard. There was one particular circuit that started at his wrist, which glowed in a pale lavender hue. You saw a tiny current fire from its sensory orb, and gently, with your fingertip, you traced the signal overtop Hansol’s skin until it faded away at the crease of his elbow. You sat back in awe and smiled.

“That’s amazing. They’re like veins.”

“Yeah, I thought that too.” He agreed.

The boy’s eyes were ignited in a sweet, bubblegum pink. You could only assume that pink had something to do with being flustered, or maybe a fast heartbeat. When you giggled, his cheeks flushed rosy like a cherub’s and Hansol stared straight down into his lap.

“I love how your eyes change colour,” you reassured him delicately, “you shouldn’t hide it.”

Hansol thanked you in a quiet voice, to which you could sense that he was nonetheless embarrassed.

“How does Yoojung’s dad get access to the panel?” You asked, changing the subject.

“I have to open it for him, like this.”

You jolted backward on the coffee table when a translucent, blue screen suddenly projected from the boy’s eyes. It was lined with unintelligible runes and peculiar symbols you had never seen before, some of which flickered by so quickly you didn’t get the opportunity to differentiate them. Somehow, Hansol was navigating his way through the code by controlling a box that highlighted certain text. Upon selecting the correct sequence, there was a tiny beep.

A rectangular section of Hansol’s forearm was outlined in red. Like a safe door, it automatically swung open, uncovering a dense and intricate network of wiring, panels, and metallic instruments that made you feel anxious just looking at them. You couldn’t fathom something so complex was resting beneath Hansol’s synthetic flesh, even as you stared into the thick of it. He didn’t keep the panel exposed for long, and in the next minute Hansol’s arm was restored.

It felt like someone had just crushed your brain between their hands.

“What do people say when you show them that?” You chuckled.

Hansol grabbed the fleece blanket and started pulling it over his lap. He paused for a second, biting his bottom lip.

“I’ve never shown anyone else, apart from you and Mr. Choi.”

However, he didn’t seem interested in delving further on what just happened. Instead, Hansol thanked you for letting him stay for a few days, then wished you goodnight as he got comfortable on the couch. Once you were tucked into bed, you grabbed your phone off its doc station and started texting Changkyun to announce that you made it home safely. Afterward, you slowly dozed off with a strange feeling in your chest and tummy, sort of like butterflies.  

Except they weren’t because of Changkyun.

With Yoojung’s arm wound firmly around your lower back, she helped walk you to the front porch, ensuring that your ankle wouldn’t suddenly capsize as she prevented you from haphazardly stumbling in your drunken haze. It was Changkyun’s birthday, and to celebrate, a large congregation had swarmed the downtown club, marking a night that was already beginning to fizzle from your memory. Yoojung never drank alcohol. She had always been the one at your side to nurture any incoming hangovers, though she wouldn’t be available for the weekend.

Instead, she had a Maglev train to catch bright and early the next morning. Her parents lived apart, and for the whole month she’d be away at her mother’s house.

Yoojung grabbed the spare key you kept under a flowerpot to unlock the door.

“Text me tomorrow.” She advised. “Tell me if you’ve puked your guts out or not.”

“G’night, sexy.” Your words spilt out in a jumble. You still felt like you were floating.

Pressing your hand against the wall, you fumbled to remove your shoes. You deserted your jacket in a clump that sat on the foyer floor and proceeded to stagger into the living room. Hansol occupied the couch, scribbling in his notebook. In the beginning, the boy was only supposed to stay for a few days. Two weeks had passed and he was still with you. For some reason, you didn’t possess the heart to see him go, and while you knew he felt guilty extending his welcome, you believed his presence was becoming an integral part of your life.

Changkyun had invited him to the club, though Hansol politely declined, instead wishing him a happy birthday over the phone. Whenever the boy wasn’t working at the auto-repair garage, he was extremely attached to a black, faux leather notebook with sallow-stained pages. You never asked what he wrote about, thinking it might be something like a personal journal. Upon seeing you at the threshold to the room, Hansol bloomed into his usual faint grin. There was still a thorough concoction of liquor in your blood and a black raspberry flavour burned your throat.

You wobbled toward the couch, mumbling in your garbled vernacular about how elated you were to see him after such a tiresome and long night.

Collapsing next to him, you rubbed tightly into your eyes and started humming.

“Need me to get you anything?” Hansol offered kindly.

Cracking one eye open, you glanced at the boy before bursting into intoxicated giggling.

“Oh, nonono, dn’worry about it. M’fine, Hansol. So, so, so fine.”

“You’re smashed. You should get some rest.” He suggested the most logical option, staring at you slumped deep into the cushions from over his shoulder.

But then you sat up, stretching your arms high into the air until you felt the muscles shake. Your hand fell on the boy’s shoulder, and you looked through your clouded gaze into the beautiful, rich earth of Hansol’s eyes. He tensed ever so slightly at being in such a new proximity to you, probably smelling the tangy alcohol straight from your clothing.

Placing your forehead on his shoulder, you slurred, “y’know, you’re r-right. I need to sleep.”

“I can help walk you to your ro—”

Hansol’s suggestion was merely cut in half as you raised your head from his shoulder, pressing your mouth to his in a soft, short kiss. He blinked like a clueless fawn, eyes rounded and glistering, unable to formulate a single thought let alone a sentence. If your veins weren’t engorged with fiery alcohol, then you certainly wouldn’t have kissed him, but in that heart-fluttering and completely sense-devoid moment, you didn’t have your rationality to guide you. His eyes quickly warmed to their adorable rose tint as you rested your head on his lap.

“Dn’wanna go to my room. M’gonna sleep here.” You purred, nuzzling into his thigh.

The boy completely froze. He didn’t know what course of action to take. Settling his notepad and pen on the arm of the couch, he saw you were already falling asleep.

“You’re so comfy…” you sighed, sensing the blackness pull you deeper. 

Hansol gulped tensely, “y-you really don’t want your bed?”

“No.” Your brow slanted, and you glanced up at the boy with a misty, intoxicated film in your eyes, your cheek smudged rather cutely against his firm thigh. “Just want to lay here, w’you. Please, Sollie? Do you not want me?”

Hansol’s gaze had never shone such a vivid shade of pink. 

“N-No, I do— I mean! I-I don’t mind,” he tripped over his words and ran a nervous hand through his hair, “you can stay there. It’s fine.”

You chuckled in a tipsy, bubbly adoration upon watching Hansol falter. “Y’re soso cute.”

“Do you want the blanket?” He quickly worked to change the subject. “So you don’t get too cold.”

“Yes please.” You hummed, your eyes fluttering shut while the boy grabbed the fleece blanket from the back of the couch.

The material was light yet warm as it was draped gently over your body, prompting you to curl into a ball with Hansol’s thigh pretending to be your pillow. You slurred a polite goodnight, feeling the boy’s gaze roam freely across your face. One of the last things you recalled hearing was a goodnight whispered back to you, though it was very quiet, sincere, alongside the scribbling of Hansol’s pen in his black notebook.

You dreamt that he was writing about you.

“Are you really sure? I feel like I can’t… It’s been a month already.”

Hansol wouldn’t stop fretting about his stay at your house, how he felt undeserving to be living with you, that it was eating him up inside knowing he was taking away a degree of your privacy. He was so inclined to confess his concerns that he hardly touched his warm cinnamon toast or slices of bacon, and you could hear the rapid motion of his leg shaking underneath the table. It hurt to see him like this. Neither Yoojung or Changkyun knew he was living with you, but if you truly wanted the boy to stay, then you would need to be completely candor and voice the reality.

Scaping the last bits of oatmeal from your bowl, you shook your head.

“This is working out, isn’t it? You’re so much safer with me. And I love your company.”

The boy leaned back in his chair, shoulders slumped with uncertainty and his eyes seeming distracted by antagonizing thoughts. You couldn’t help but think that Hansol wasn’t used to someone caring about him in the manner that you did.

“It would be awesome if you stayed.” You made another attempt to mitigate his worries. “The only thing is we would have to tell Yoojung and Changkyun.”

Hansol looked at you, the morning light that pierced through the cloth curtains igniting a golden flare in his eyes, and powdering his long lashes. Your cheeks started prickling just from staring at him. You always wanted to tell Hansol how beautiful he was, but you were too shy.

“I know.” He sighed, reaching for his glass of apple juice.

“Yoojung probably won’t care,” you knew that was a fact, “I’m not sure about Changkyun, though.”

Hansol would leave for work at the auto-repair within the next fifteen minutes, while you made plans the night before to help Changkyun shop for his new apartment. You weren’t exactly sure where you stood with Changkyun, or the direction your heart leaned toward. Whenever you were alone with him, he became the most endearing, sweetest version of himself – a complete charmer, engendering you to laugh so ridiculously hard that you’d choke on your own saliva or playing such a smooth move you’d feel your pulse quicken. He utterly confused your emotions.

To make the matter more conflicting, you still hadn’t forgotten your drunk kiss with Hansol.

He played the incident off casually, in a frivolous nature that helped erode the viscid layers of poignancy you were swathed in the next morning. Almost every night you thought about the kiss, addicted to the butterflies and the cottony feeling that would overwhelm your stomach.

“I should get going now.” You announced, slipping your jacket off the back of the chair.

A small, fainthearted grin appeared on Hansol’s mouth.

Underneath the table, you set your hand on the boy’s jumping knee. He instantly cemented, looking to you with still-water eyes.

“I just want you to know that I’m really glad you’re here. Seriously. You make my life better.”

Your heart was rippling like a kite caught between a harsh wind. After giving the boy’s knee a gentle squeeze, you rose from the table, left your bowl and utensils in the sink, and texted Changkyun to meet you at the hovercraft port next to Grand Station. Small, pearled tears were slipping down your cheeks as you kept a brisk pace along the sidewalk, though you hastily wiped them away with the sleeve of your jacket, pretending they had never fallen.

You were starting to think you were in love with Hansol.

A menacing and wrathful thunderstorm had developed overtop the city throughout the day, the cinder clouds completely swallowing any sunlight as they thickened and grew rotund with water vapour. The bullet rain didn’t start falling until the evening, and the booming reverberations of the thunder made it seem as though the sky was splitting itself apart. Your mother used to say it was the angels bowling, and it thundered each time they hit a strike.

Around ten-thirty at night, you grabbed a quick glass of water from the kitchen and wandered into the living room, wanting to see Hansol before you went to bed. However, he didn’t pay any attention to you. He was looking out the rain-splattered windows and into the darkness, where the thunder still roared barbarously. When you sat next to him on the couch, he sensed how the cushions slightly dipped, the boy jerking in surprise upon noting your presence.

Taking a drink of water, you mumbled a muffled “are you okay?” while eyeing him skeptically over the rim.

He shivered, brushing his own arm. “I dunno, I hate thunderstorms.”

Suddenly, there was a harsh, almost deafening crack that echoed from the sky. The lights flickered for a transient moment until the aftershock faded away.

“S-See what I mean?” Hansol stuttered, his eyes glowing in a lambent, soft-tinged blue.

Your heart immediately pined for him, and you experienced an urge to tuck him away in your pocket so he couldn’t be harmed. After setting your water glass on the coffee table, you offered a tenacious solace that made your palms dot with moisture.

“If you want, you can sleep with me in my bed—I mean! not like, sleep with me, but just—we’re both sleeping and nothing else, is what I’m trying to say…”

You internally wilted and admonished yourself for making the request so painfully awkward. To your relief, Hansol chuckled innocuously at you.

“I didn’t think you meant it like that,” he admitted, his eyes flitting from blue to an orchid pink, “If it’s okay, then I’ll do it.”

“It’s okay.” You reassured him. “It’s completely okay.”

At first, neither of you could fall asleep, instead staring blankly at the shadows of the popcorn ceiling while raindrops pelted against the glass. You two attempted keeping as much space as possible between you, for even the slightest brush of your leg or arm rendered you both to instantly recoil and spew apologies. At a little past eleven o’clock, your eyes were fluttering open in response to a particular sound. It was Hansol’s leg again, shaking beneath the covers.

Turning your cheek into the pillow, you faced him with aid from your alarm clock light.

“Your leg is going like crazy. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Hansol looked at you, gulping tautly.

“My leg does this all the time. I-I can’t help it. It’s harder to control the bionics there.”

“You have bionics in your leg too?”

“Yeah, mostly in my knee, some in my shin.” His expression was apologetic. “I’m sorry, you can’t sleep because of it, right?”

Hansol held his breath when you grabbed his hand beneath the covers.

“I don’t care.” You promised him, calmly stroking the ridges of his knuckles.

A few moments passed where you simply observed the dark slopes and outlines belonging to each other’s faces, your breaths slowly beginning to synchronize as the raindrops softened against the window. Tentatively, you touched the side of Hansol’s cheek, your thumb running just below the warm, silk skin of his eye, treating him akin to a fragile art piece. You could sense the rigidity within him dissipate like mist, especially as he moved closer to you, pushing his head into your chest. An intense fluttering sensation immediately consumed your lower-tummy.

“Will you please hold me?” He mumbled in his husky, tired voice, his ear settled right over your thumping heart. “I always sleep better when I think about you holding me.”

“O-Of course.” You stuttered, rather taken aback.

That was the first time he had ever been so forward with you.

You fleshed your fingers deep through the boy’s brown locks, feeling the thick, velvet-like strands wrap around each digit and tickle your skin. Continuing to softly coax down his scalp, you brushed against a hard, plastic slit near the back of his nape, and realized it must be the area where Hansol’s sensory chip had originally been inserted. His leg was no longer shaking, and you felt the rhythmic pattern of his breaths against your chest. In the darkness, you could properly see the small circuits that dimly glowed beneath his eye and ran across his cheek.

Under your breath you murmured, “you’re so pretty.”

Almost immediately, the circuits lit up in a deep shade of fuchsia, and you could just see the boy’s mouth twitch coyly. Your entire body, head to toe, flushed with warmth as Hansol only turned his face further into your chest, attempting to hide the sappy blush staining his cheeks. He was inexplicably more than just pretty, Hansol was precious, and you wished to keep him pressed against your side so that the cruel world may never wrap its hands around him.

About a week later, you met with Yoojung at the internet coffeeshop. She had recently returned from her stay at the opposite side of the city with her mother. You two picked a window seat at the front house, using the translucent screen in front of you to select your orders. As soon as you were finished, the screen blipped off, revealing the bustling city street.

“Changkyun wanted to come too,” Yoojung said, fiddling with a sugar packet, “but his aerospace class is going on a tour of the Sky Hub… He won’t stop talking about you, y’know?”

You cringed slightly, which didn’t go unnoticed by Yoojung.

She couldn’t repress her laughter. “What’s that about? You hate him now?”

“I don’t hate him.” You also grabbed a sugar packet and started pushing around the granules inside, using it as an excuse not to face her directly. “It’s weird being only friends.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Yoojung frowned.

“I thought that was what I wanted. I feel like… I kept him as a friend because I was too afraid to lose him completely. But now…” You heaved a sigh and chewed pensively into your bottom lip.

“You’ve moved on.” Yoojung acknowledged. “But with who?”

Taking in a breath to relax your pulse, you looked at Yoojung seriously and admitted: “Hansol.”

“Hansol?” Her jaw almost fell off the bone. “What the hell! How come you never told me you were in love with the hot cyborg? When did this happen?”

There was a silver disc on the far side of the table that automatically slid open, and a tray pushed up that contained Yoojung’s coffee and your honey tea. Once you took the tray, the silver disc closed.

“Like two months ago,” you confessed, handing Yoojung her coffee mug and the small pitcher of cream, “he’s living with me.”

“I had no idea.” She sounded in complete awe. “But now that I think of it, you two always seemed to connect really well.”

You felt an unbridled smile pull at the corners of your mouth, but tried not to make your giddiness too obvious.   

“Can you please not tell Changkyun? If he finds out, I want it to be through me.”

“I won’t say anything.” Yoojung promised, drawing a cross over her chest with her finger.

After you spent a few minutes blowing at your tea, you swallowed coarsely and asked Yoojung about a matter that had always allured your curiosity.

“What are those numbers by Hansol’s ear? I’ve never asked him.”

“I don’t know really,” Yoojung replied, shrugging, “my dad said it’s like a barcode that they use in laboratories.”

“Do you think Hansol was an experiment of some sort?”

Yoojung poured a dash of cream into her coffee and stirred it. “Most likely. I think that’s why he writes in that notebook all the time. My dad told me that the laboratories are evil. They do cruel experiments, and a lot of the cyborgs need a mental escape. Apparently, they’re allowed to write or paint. Ever since my dad found Hansol, he’s had that notebook.”

Her expression turned sorrowful and the contours of her face filled with gloom. “I don’t think Hansol is used to being treated like a human. Just because he has bionic parts, that doesn’t mean he’s emotionless, like some android. He can walk and breathe and laugh, like any of us.”

You stared into the golden, swirling colours of your tea and nodded solemnly.

“He can love too,” Yoojung hummed, “he just needs to be shown it first.”

Ivory rays of moonlight followed you home, until you slipped through the door and quietly clicked it shut. You hadn’t expected to stay out so long with Yoojung, though you weren’t entirely surprised considering her month-long absence.

Hansol was sitting on the couch, the lamp aglow on the side table as he scribbled into that faux, black leather notebook, a few stray locks of hair tickling his eyes. Your expression couldn’t help but split into one of firm ardour and love, a contented smile decorating your mouth while you opened the fridge to look for a quick snack. 

You pulled out a container of sliced strawberries, washed your hands, and ate nearly half the sweet summer fruit. After wiping off your fingers with a paper towel, you sat next to Hansol on the couch and rested your chin on his shoulder. His writing was crooked, rather messy, and you couldn’t quite read anything from the paper, though you held a moment of silence, continuing to watch him make his scribbles. Eventually you set a hand on his bicep, squeezing gently and feeling the hard, metal component beneath.

“Did you have a nice day, Sollie?” You asked him, mindlessly stroking his arm.

He turned his head slightly and caught your curious eye. Never had you yearned to kiss someone else so badly, and you were forced to squash the notion that moving your head just an inch forward would have your lips to his.

“It was fine.” Hansol replied, his gaze tenderly studying your face. “You?”

“I saw Yoojung today, so we caught up on some things...” tracing circles against his strong arm, you added shyly, “I thought about you a lot too.”

The edges of Hansol’s lips fluttered into a smile. “Yeah? Nice.”

“What are you writing about?” You hummed, simultaneously reaching into a pocket on your jacket, pulling out a lip balm.

Hansol chuckled, “you can’t read it?”

You pressed the smooth end of the stick against your lips and shook your head.

“No,” you scoffed lightheartedly in response, staring into the boy’s brown eyes, “not saying you have bad hand writing. It’s just… a little indiscernible.”

He examined the paper again, and his countenance became timid, even a mixture of anxious.

“Good.” Hansol huffed, his leg starting to shake.

“Why good? C’mon, I want to know at least the topic.” You shoved away your fruity lip balm with a large pout.

“If you don’t have a clue now then you’ll never have one.” Hansol teased.

Scratching your arm, you said the first thing that came to mind. “Is it about me?”

Hansol didn’t say anything, he just pressed his lips together in a small, sheepish smile while that familiar rose tint flickered in his eyes. He nodded, then set his book and pen on the side table.

“Do you think that’s weird?”

“What?” You questioned him. “That you write about me? I don’t think it’s weird.”

You expected him to appear more relieved, but Hansol’s face only filled with new shadows of uncertainty and doubt. He peered into his lap again, and you could see a very prominent circuit on his neck fire a multitude of luminous, twinkling signals. Something clearly wasn’t right with him; something was still causing him pain. Carefully, your fingers grazed Hansol’s sharp jaw, turning his head so that he could look at you forwardly. You swept away the tresses that were touching his long lashes, a deep concern shifting the once chipper nature to your face.

“What’s wrong, Hansol?” Your brow furrowed, knuckles stroking softly along his jawline. “You can tell me anything.”

“W-Would—,” he stumbled, and you saw how his irises faded into a beautiful aurora of ice blue, “would you love me more if I weren’t who I am?”

Immediately you tensed, and your eyes widened. Your hand fell from the boy’s jaw while a thorough shock bottomed out in your gut. Hansol looked at you so purely, so intimately.

“Because I’m in love with you,” his gritty voice trembled slightly, becoming as thin as the paper attached to his notebook, “and I can’t stop thinking about you, or writing about you. When you touch me, I feel the sensors in my body light up like crazy, and when you say my name, I replay it over and over again in my head. I’ve never felt this way before. But… I’m not like Changkyun, or Yoojung, or you. I can never be human in the way that you all are. ”

You shook your head, the inside of your mouth feeling horrendously parched and your heart aching tight against your ribs. Pulling the boy’s hand into your lap, you interlaced your fingers.

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded, a surge of hot, liquid salt lining your eyes, “those bionics in your body don’t take away from the fact you can feel real emotion. I don’t care if you had circuits in every part of you, or none of you. You still have a heart that feels pain, and love, a brain that helps you rationalize your emotions and thoughts. That alone makes you human enough, Hansol. I’ll love you no matter what.”

His cheeks were rubescent, eyes developing a thin film of teary gloss.

“Do you promise?” He croaked between a small sniffle.

You cupped his face in your enveloping palms and pressed a deep, calming kiss to his mouth.

“I promise.” You assured him, resting your forehead against his. “I love you, Hansol.”

The boy was unmarred by hesitance. Delicately, he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck to gently push your lips against his, slightly angling his head so that he could better coordinate with your movement. The kiss was slow, but blooming with passion, and you felt the heat pool in the pit of your lower tummy as Hansol started guiding you to lay on your back. Your lips never separated, and the contact only grew more fervent upon tasting the mild fruit of your own chapstick from Hansol’s pink mouth. While your fingers tangled through his dark brown hair, pulling softly at the strong roots, his hands crept underneath your t-shirt.

He squeezed tenderly along your waist, the rough callouses gorged into his large palms turning your insides to a warm puddle. As the boy pressed open-mouth kisses beneath your jaw, one hand reached for his bicep, feeling the hard metal underneath upon digging in your fingertips. By the time Hansol reached the crook of your shoulder, he was panting faintly, to which you let the boy adjust his weight as he wriggled himself against your side, sleepy and overwhelmed with how the night unfolded. 

He nuzzled into your neck and tucked an arm around your stomach, attempting to keep you as close as possible, like you could disappear into thin air.

“Goodnight, Sol.” You murmured, gently scratching the top of his head.

His breath tickled the sensitive flesh of your neck, his rough voice already heavy with remnants of his incoming slumber as he repeated the phrase back to you. Just before you shut your eyes, your lips kissed the barcode tattooed to the sweet spot just in front of his ear.

I’ll love you no matter what.

✧✎ a/n: :-) hope u liked it! hearing ur thoughts is always appreciated!! i was actually supposed to post seokmin’s prince!au next, but that one is like 12k and since my mingyu purge fic was also really long, i just wanted to write smth short and sweet in between. maybe some of u would not consider 6k “short” lol but to me who physically CANNOT shorten my writing this is actually an improvement! anywho, i like writing hansol as a BIG SOFTIE!!!!

[shatter-song]

They talk and communicate after so long of not doing so. And yet... Lanolin has the be one to make the hard choice as per usual. At least, it's the choice she wants to go through with.

merry Christmas

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ eleven

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.3k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act two ➻ part one

​​

You find yourself, yet again, perched on the bridge of The Horizon, arms crossed over your chest as you look out into the black space before you. Typically it would be void of any occupants; however, that is not the case now. A planet looms before you, vast and emerald green all over. From the distance you’re at, it looks almost uninhabitable but you know that can’t be true seeing as that’s where Hongjoong is steering the ship.

You let your arms fall by your side, and a small sigh escapes your lips. A bit of time has passed since San gave you the papers back, but you can’t tell the exact amount of time thanks to being in space all the time. You sleep when everyone else sleeps, wake up when everyone else wakes up, and generally follow the same routine that they do. You do exercise much more caution than they do as you’re still trying to figure things out. San has made things easier for you, as well as Jongho, those two being the crew members you talk to the most on the ship. Yeosang makes his presence known from time to time – a little too known for your liking considering your last interaction with him involved his hand around your throat – but the blonde sticks to Wooyoung’s side like glue ninety percent of the time so you don’t have to be blessed by his presence often.

Yunho comes in and out of your daily routine in that every time he shows up in your path, you make a sharp turn and head in the opposite direction. It is mostly due to the fact that you can’t fucking apologize to save your own damn life, but also just a lingering awkwardness on your end from all but accusing him of stealing the papers that San delivered to you minutes later. Awkward. Awkward. And that’s what is keeping you from approaching him and even attempting an apology. You keep telling yourself that you will apologize eventually, and you’ll try to make things right, but the timing just doesn’t feel right yet. That’s the reason. Absolutely. It’s not because your ego is getting in the way.

You purse your lips as you think about that situation yet again. It’s a frequent thought for you, especially considering that there is next to nothing to do on this damn ship besides wander around or look out into space like you’re doing now. You don’t understand how they can do this so often. A small part of you is starting to feel that fabled “spaceman’s anxiety” – the sensation of being cooped up with nowhere to go except out into space. It’s very aptly named in the very least, but you wish Hongjoong would just get to Aegos already so you can put your feet on solid ground again.

“Y/N.” Speaking of the devil, Hongjoong calls out to you from his place in the pilot’s chair. You turn away from the broad window into space to look at the captain. He doesn’t look back at you; instead, he’s focused on keeping the ship on its steady path to the planet ahead. You walk closer to his slightly elevated chair, taking the empty place beside Seonghwa. You mimic his pose and fold your hands behind your back before answering Hongjoong.

“You called?”

“We’ll be landing on Aegos before nightfall. You’ll be coming with us to the capital Echidna. I have a few business inquiries to make with some partners there. You, Seonghwa, and San will all be accompanying me to Echidna; however, you and San will be conducting a separate mission from Seonghwa and myself.” Hongjoong nods in Seonghwa’s direction.

“Yes, Captain.” The lieutenant bows slightly at the waist before turning to you. “Have you ever been to Aegos, Y/N?”

“No, I don’t think I have.”

“Prepare for intense storms. Echidna has a storm guard dome over the city, but Hongjoong will be landing the ship at the docking station. It’s a ways away from the city so we’ll need to ride the train to get to the city. Once we’re there, I’ll arrange some reservations for a hotel for the night, then we will head for a bar called the Jaded Hornet. I’ll tell you and San more once we’re closer to landing, and Hongjoong will conduct a debrief as well. You should go change if you need to and get your gun just in case. We shouldn’t need to kill anyone, but drunk pirates and mercenaries never mix well.”

“Yea, okay.” You nod along to Seonghwa’s explanation. He offers a small smile in conclusion, and you step away from the captain and lieutenant. You start the short walk to your room without any trouble, but you move slower than usual.

The med bay isn’t far from your room, and you could stop to apologize to Yunho before going to your room. Or after. Either one would work. Still, hesitation fills your body. You have the opportunity to fix things and make them right, but you cannot bring yourself to do it. You know that you’re stubborn to a fault. That’s certainly a large reason for your hesitation because your pride is getting in the way, but something else is holding you back.

You’ve been thinking over things for a while, in all honesty, waiting for an opportunity to get away from the ship and crew. You have what you wanted, you have the papers, you could just leave without any trouble. Now, Hongjoong has presented an opportunity to do just that. If you stop on Aegos for a whole day or more, you would have a chance to escape. You could take the papers and run then. No need to apologize or get attached to anyone. If you just disappeared, you wouldn’t have to worry about Yunho or anyone else. It’s a temptation that entices you for certain.

All of a sudden, you run face-first into what you think is a wall. Just from the sheer size of the thing you hit, it feels like a wall. As you stumble back and fall on your ass though, you realize that it’s not a wall and in fact a person instead. A searing pain spreads across your ass when you hit the floor. In your bewilderment, you look up at the person you ran into and find that you’ve never seen this man in your life.

He’s impossibly tall with broad shoulders spread wide and bears dirty blonde hair that is shaved close on the sides. His hair is long on the top though, a floppy mop over his head, and you almost imagine how soft it would be to the touch. There is heat in his eyes though, a red hue to his irises that betrays what he is. You glance over the Berserker in attempts to figure out who the hell he is and why you haven’t seen him sooner. He returns the gaze with one of his own, but his expression is blank and empty as he looks down at you. You don’t move. The floor isn’t comfortable in the slightest yet this Berserker has you glued to the spot with the empty stare he’s sending your way. You wait, expecting him to reach down and extend a hand to help you up. Still, that stare persists, and he doesn’t move.

You pull yourself together and stand up, unable to look into the Berserker’s eyes as you drag a hand over your now sore tailbone.

“I-I, uh, I’m sorry for ru-unning into you,” you stutter out.

“It’s fine.” His tone is icy almost, icy in a way that tells you it’s not actually fine. “Watch where you’re going.”

You dare to glance up at his face, finding that same blank expression across his features. It remains steady and even, and that causes your stomach to twist and turn as you look over it. There is something strange about the way he remains so emotionless. You can’t figure it out or read him in the slightest, which you are used to doing normally. Having that ability taken away from you is disconcerting, to say the least. In your haze of confusion, you do recall that there are eight members of the crew, and you’ve met all except for one. It’s strange that you haven’t even seen him during your time on the ship, but you’ve heard Seonghwa and Yeosang mentioning his name in passing from time to time – Mingi.

“A-Are you Mingi?” You ask with a hesitant tone.

“Yes,” he answers within an instant. “Why?”

You aren’t expecting to be questioned in return for your inquiry. It catches you off-guard, and you stand across from him with a stuttering jaw for a few moments.

“I-I, uh, well I’m – I’m the newest member of the crew? If you’ve heard?”

“Of course I’ve heard.”

“Oh,” you exhale. You can’t tell whether he’s intending to be flat and rude with you or if that’s just the way he is as a person.

“I know who you are. And I don’t need you to explain it.”

It’s most likely the latter, now that you think about it. There is an underlying harshness to his tone that bridges the flatness. You open your mouth to respond, but Mingi pushes his way past you. His shoulder knocks against yours as he moves, and he hits you with such force that you take a few steps back.

“Don’t get in my way again,” he says as he passes you. You glance up at his face as he speaks, but he isn’t looking at you in return. “You’ll regret it if you do.”

You turn to look over your shoulder and watch him move, the threat in his words causing your blood to run cold. Once he disappears from sight, you look forward again, eyes trained on the spot where he was just standing. In all honesty, part of you isn’t shocked by his behavior. He’s a Berserker, and he certainly behaves like all the Berserkers you’ve encountered in the past with their harshness and underlying aggression. Nonetheless, something is different about Mingi. Almost as though he’s reining something in and keeping it from slipping out. You don’t ever want to see what that is, however, and it’s that resolve that causes you to quicken your steps and hurry to get to your room. The sooner you get your papers and leave this hellhole of a ship, the better.

Your room is dark when you step in, and you don’t bother hitting the light switch as you grab your long and sweeping jacket off the foot of the bed. Before you shrug it over your shoulders, you dig into the small table beside your bed and collect the yellowing papers that hide within the drawer. Your fingers dance over the lettering on the front for a moment. It’s your ticket out, your ticket to freedom and release from the guilt that eats away at your insides.

You tuck the papers into your chest band with haste. The temptation of freedom outweighs any guilt you could have about leaving this ship and crew in the dust. Just as you’re thinking that, your earpiece crackles to life and Hongjoong’s voice carries over the speaker.

“Everyone to the bridge for debriefing.”

You tug your jacket over your shoulders, making sure that the papers are securely in place before you fasten the buttons of the jacket across your chest. The last thing you want is to lose the papers again, especially because there is no guarantee that San will be the one to find them again. You duck out of your room, sliding the door shut behind you, and when you turn around, you run face-first into yet another person.

“Woah!” The person says as you collide. His hands fly to your shoulders and hold you in place as he struggles to maintain his balance. “Damn, I nearly knocked you down. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes find Yunho’s, and he smiles back at you without a care in the world. This is certainly not how you wanted this to go, in fact, you had somewhat resolved to leave with apologizing at all. Yet here you are, inches away from him and suddenly thrust into an awkward situation with no escape.

“I-I, uh, I’m sorry,” you say as you push away from him. Yunho laughs in response and releases your shoulders. He brings a hand to his hair, combing through the locks that are now peach-colored. In your avoidance of him, you must’ve missed the change entirely. It looks almost too good against the light tan of his skin, and you blink furiously to block that thought from intruding too much on your mind.

“No, no! You’re fine. I should’ve been more careful of where I was walking. I got lost in thought and didn’t see you leave your room.”

You respond with a weak and shaky smile, chest constricting almost painfully as he continues to grin down at you without hesitation.

“Are you heading to the bridge too?”

“Yea, I am,” you mutter.

“I’ll walk up with you!” Yunho’s voice is bright and cheery, warm to a fault, and you can’t understand how he’s so gentle with you given your last interaction. You don’t respond as Yunho begins to lead the way to the bridge. Instead, you fall into step with him silently, glancing over at him out the corner of your eye. He’s quiet but not in a concerning way; rather, he hums to himself as the two of you walk. It isn’t until you reach the end of the corridor that you open your mouth to say something.

“I, uh, I’m sorry for snapping at you about my papers,” you say under your breath. It’s still loud enough for Yunho to hear though. He turns to you, smile remaining on his lips, and a light laugh escapes him.

“Are you still caught up on that?” He asks. A few strands of peachy orange hair fall over his forehead as he tilts his chin. “I’ve heard worse honestly. Had worse fights with other members of the crew too, to be honest. But that doesn’t really matter. Did you find the papers?”

“I did,” you mutter with a small nod.

“That’s really good! I’m glad to hear it. From the way you were talking about it, it sounded as though it was something important to you. Did finding it put you more at ease?”

The question is a bit confusing to you, and you can’t understand why Yunho is asking it or why he wants to know that of all things. If you were in his position, you would be asking about the contents of the papers or trying to pry further into the reasons for needing them so badly. Yet, Yunho doesn’t seem to care about that at all.

“It did, yes.”

“Again, I’m glad.” Yunho’s smile persists, and confusion continues to swirl in your gut. You don’t understand him one bit. He shouldn’t be happy for you, and it’s pointless for him to be anyways because those papers are what is going to make you leave. But then again, he may not care about that either.

“I… thank you,” you manage to say through the confusion.

“Of course. If you’re going to be here a long time, I want to at least make you feel welcome and happy to be here.” Yunho’s words cause guilt to twinge in your gut. This is why you were trying to avoid an apology, because now that he’s being warm and kind to you, you feel even worse about planning to disappear soon. You can only offer a smile and a nod in reply, but that doesn’t seem to bother Yunho one bit. “It will probably be hard for you to be on a ship full of men and testosterone. Not to mention we’re all criminals of the government. But if you do need anything, my door is always open. Not just as a doctor. Although as a doctor, I can provide some relief for other… frustrations you might have.”

You choke on your saliva as Yunho speaks, his boldness causing your eyes to bulge and your heart rate to spike in an instant. You can feel the heat of his stare on your face as you reach up to cover your gaping mouth.

“Don’t look so embarrassed,” Yunho chuckles. “It’ll make me act up.” He manages to slide another remark in that has you nearly sputtering. Yunho laughs it off though, the sound warm against your ears, and despite your embarrassment, you find yourself smiling as well.

“T-Thank you,” you say under your breath. Part of you does feel guilty for looping Yunho in with the rest of the crew, labeling him as an awful criminal who can’t be trusted, when Yunho’s only crime seems to be his audacity. You want to believe that Yunho is trustworthy and genuine, but the feel of the papers against your skin reminds you that you can’t afford that luxury.

The two of you step onto the bridge to find everyone there already. You notice that Mingi is there as well, standing beside the pilot’s chair with his back so rigid and straight that it hurts to look at. You move to where San is standing, and Yunho follows you without further comment. It’s the first time you’ve seen every crew member present, since Mingi is there. Yeosang stands across from you, his dark eyes meeting yours, and you exchange small nods. Your gaze slips down to the man at his side, dark-haired Wooyoung with the metal collar bound around his neck. A bandage stretches over his nose, evidence of where you hit him and how hard. You hadn’t meant to break his nose completely, but apparently that’s what you managed to do regardless. Yet another thing to feel guilty about.

“We’ve landed on Aegos,” Hongjoong announces, bringing your attention off Wooyoung and onto the captain. “Seonghwa and I will be conducting business in Echidna. San and Y/N will be coming along as well to collect supplies and information. We have a lead and it’s pretty strong this time, so I’ll need the two of you to come along for that.”

San nods, obviously understanding what Hongjoong is talking about, but you’re slower to do the same. You have no clue what Hongjoong is talking about or what kind of information he’s wanting you to collect, but everyone else seems to know. It feels awkward to ask for clarification when everyone else doesn’t need it, so you keep your mouth shut and mimic San’s nod.

“I’ll provide further information for the two of you when we’re in Echidna,” Hongjoong says, glancing over at where you and San are standing. His piercing gaze shifts to the opposite side of the room and lands on Wooyoung. “I want Wooyoung to come along too.”

Yeosang’s lips part, brows furrowing together in an instant. It’s a sudden rage that coats his features, and he steps towards Hongjoong’s chair. Mingi responds immediately. He moves with haste towards Yeosang, and the shorter blonde’s rage dissipates when the Berserker gets closer. The captain redirects his glare to Yeosang. It shuts the man up before he even says anything, and Yeosang hangs his head rather than speaking up. You feel the tension spike. No one says anything for a moment.

Then, Wooyoung steps forward with a small nod.  If you had blinked, you would’ve missed it, but Wooyoung catches Yeosang by the wrist and closes his fingers around the place where the brand is. The touch seems to placate Yeosang, and he steps back into his original place when Wooyoung moves.

Your eyes meet Wooyoung’s for half a second. The two of you look away at the same time, both facing Hongjoong instead of each other. You can’t keep your eyes from shifting back to look at the bandage over his nose, the faint bruises across his skin, and your knuckles tingle as you remember hitting him. You felt bad about punching him when you thought he was a slave aboard the ship, but since Yeosang dispelled that thought, you imagine the guilt would dwindle away. Still, it hasn’t, and it lingers every time you look at the collared man.

“He hasn’t been a slave for a very long time. That doesn’t mean those scars have fully healed though.”

That statement from Yeosang is was causes the guilt to remain. You’ve really started off on the wrong foot with quite a few members of the crew though. You attempted to kill Seonghwa when first boarding the ship, tried to shoot Hongjoong in the med bay, broke Wooyoung’s nose, fought with Yeosang during your first mission, and snapped at Yunho when you couldn’t find your papers. You’ve managed to cross five of eight crew members, perhaps six if you count running into Mingi in the hallway. In a short amount of time, that’s a hefty feat, and you do feel guilty about being so troublesome.

You’ll be leaving in no time though. Don’t worry about it. You won’t ever see these people again. It’s useless to worry about nothing.

Those thoughts are enough to remind yourself that it won’t matter in the long run if you get away in Echidna like you plan to.

“You’re all dismissed,” Hongjoong says, cutting through the silence with his domineering tone.

“Of course I get left with damn Berserkers,” Yeosang grumbles as he pulls away from Wooyoung. Jongho falls into step with him, walking off the bridge with the blonde, and Mingi follows behind in silence. You glance over at Yunho. He sends a reassuring smile your way before leaving as well, and all of a sudden, you’re left with the other crew members who are going down to Aegos.

Hongjoong rises from his chair and turns to where Seonghwa is standing on his right.

“Stay here a moment. The rest of you can go to the airlock and wait there for us. Tune to the fifth channel on your headsets. We’ll be right there.”

You follow San off the bridge, rushing to catch up with him as he walks, and fiddle with your wristband in search of the fifth channel. You can hear Wooyoung’s shoes scuffing against the floor behind you as you walk in step with San. It feels awkward to walk in front of him like this without saying anything at all, but you have no idea how to start a conversation with the man after snapping his nose.

“Are things always so quiet?” You mutter to San. The man glances over at you.

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“It’s awkward to be in so much silence like this,” you say as though it’s obvious. San shrugs then a laugh overtakes him.

“I didn’t pin you as someone who can’t stand silence. You’re pretty quiet yourself.”

“It’s just because I don’t know you all well. I can’t be outgoing and friendly with you all if I can’t trust you.”

“Well, it seems like you have issues trusting people’s intentions in general. You acted as though I was going to kill you when I tried taking you to Yunho. I mean, I understand it and think it’s fair. I’m the same as you, so I can recognize it in you since I see it in myself. Still, you ought to have a bit more trust and faith in us. Just because we have the label of being a criminal doesn’t mean that we are bad people.”

You purse your lips at San’s words. You know he’s right, and he knows it too based upon that cocky little grin on his lips as he looks over at you. He nudges you in the side with his elbow.

“Is that chatty enough for you?”

“That’ll do just fine for now, I guess,” you laugh in response. The airlock looms before you, and you stop beside it. San does as well, turning to look back at Wooyoung.

“You’re awfully quiet for once,” he says to the other man. Wooyoung’s eyes go wide as you look over at him as well. “Is something on your mind?”

Wooyoung shakes his head fervently. His gaze keeps shifting over to you, eyes flitting around in a way that exposes his nervousness. It causes guilt to eat at your stomach even more.

“I’m sorry for – uh, you know, breaking your nose,” you apologize. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that.” It’s awkward, and San only makes it worse by laughing. Wooyoung shakes his head a few times.

“No, I-I deserved it honestly.” Even though Wooyoung says that, you still feel guilty, especially seeing the bruising on his skin up close. “I shouldn’t have hit you with a tranquilizer shot either, so we can call it even. One punch for one tranquilizer shot?” His tone turns light and cheery as he speaks to you. It helps ease some of your guilty and worry, but the way he winces when he tries to smile almost erases all of that.

“Um, can I ask something?” You say, looking over to San as you speak. “What kind of intel are we supposed to be gathering? Hongjoong didn’t really explain much so I’m assuming that means everyone else knows.”

“Of course we do,” Wooyoung cuts in. His prior nervousness seems to disappear, replaced by a dimpled smile and bright eyes. “It’s all Hongjoong has been looking for. It’s been years of searching, but he’s never stopped since becoming the Captain of The Horizon.”

“And that is…?”

Before Wooyoung has the chance to answer your question, someone else does. It’s the platinum-haired captain himself, walking up behind Wooyoung and placing a firm hand on the man’s shoulder as he steps forward.

“I’m hunting down the last five sirens in the universe. And you’re going to help me do it.”

✧✧✧

a/n: here we are!! part one of act two!! i’m so excited to delve into the arc for this act and reveal more, but let me know what you think about this part 👀 it’s not super duper eventful but i hope it’s not too much of an info dump

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins​ @atinyinwonderland​ @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin​ @jeong-uwu​ @jeonartemis​ @anothershorthuman​ @xxbluestrifexx​ @saturatedsan​ @haotheheckk​

rather than sending me a ko-fi, i ask that you consider donating to the BLM movement!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[elmidol]

The Shackles of Fate - Eight

Dark Faerie Tale AU

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben/Reader

Warning: none this chapter; chapters after this will have more explicit elements and include proper trigger warnings

The Shackles of Fate

Eight

A terrifying truth regarding the sadistic side of the Demon King Snoke became apparent to you as you ducked from another attack that a red armored demon aimed your way--they wanted you alive, though they cared not if you were maimed. What would bring Snoke great joy would be to see you miserable as you were dragged to him. There were tales that said misery bred a new flavor for the soul. It could twist or corrupt it; it gave it a different spice. You wrinkled your nose at that thought, corrected your grip on the weapon that was in your possession, and looked for an opening in your assailant’s defense. Finding a potential break, you thumbed the switch that activated the blade. The blue glow pervaded the darkness, and the sudden appearance of the blade caught the demon by surprise. It stuttered in its step, leaving it vulnerable to the swing you directed at its midsection.

 Its reaction time was inhuman--no surprise--and so it thrust itself backwards, limiting the damage done. Despite this, you managed to cut away a portion of its red armor. The demon was not hollow beneath; you glimpsed the flesh and felt your lips curl upwards. There was little pleasure in attacking another, however you could not say that you weren’t feeling a sense of contentment with the knowledge that your enemy was made of flesh rather than some spirit or shade you could not touch. The Demon King had far too many variations of servants under his command, and some legends spoke of shades that only faeries could face. That was another reason that the faeries had separated from humans. It was what you had suspected the demons armored in red would be. This was one situation in which you were pleased to be wrong.

 As though you were connected in some way that you could not explain, you felt Kylo’s frustration over the fact that he was not the one facing the demons. He did not like sitting on the sidelines. This reminded you of Rey, your childhood friend who had helped you learn how to defend yourself at all.

 Remembering an attack that she had taught you, you feigned a strike then aimed for a different part of the demon’s body. The armored being remained swift, though not enough to dodge away from the very tip of the blue blade, which bit into another portion of its armor. Then it was your turn to dodge. Another demon sprung up from behind, its aim at your shoulders. Had the attack been successful, the two halves of the faerie prince would have been knocked off of your body, and your grip on the Skywalker weapon would have faltered. Instead you lost your footing, tumbled forward, and were more than a little grateful that the weapon deactivated on the way down. You did not want to think about how many times you would have been impaled or cut by it.

 That was the least of your worries--what may have been did not hold a candle to what might become in terms of your fate. The hilt rolled out of your hand and towards the foot of a third red armored demon. You sprang forward in an attempt to seize it before the demon could do anything, however pressure around your ankle preceded the sensation of something piercing your flesh. You cried out in pain, hissing the next moment. Continuing to struggle forward, you spared a glance over your shoulder at the pronged whip that had found purchase on your leg. Red seeped out of the wounds that had been created. They were shallow, thankfully, although if the demon applied more pressure then the prongs would bury themselves more deeply. That could maim more than your flesh; it would tear at your muscles. As you turned back, your fingers closed around the weapon’s hilt at the same time that the demon’s hand did.

 Kylo slid down the length of your arm, his own weapon activated so that the red blade stabbed through the red armor and whatever flesh lay beneath. He then executed a backflip to keep from being swatted as his victim jerked its limb away in pain. You, armed once more, twisted and swung downwards at the whip with the reactivated blade, severing the section that held you captive from the main body. You yanked your leg towards your torso, brushed the remnant of the whip off of yourself. Having it catch on anything, or risking the chance of one of the other demons grabbing hold of it, would not be good.

 As Kylo returned to your shoulder, you felt Ben shifting on the other side. You whispered under your breath, questioning the small faerie, asking what he was doing. The response received was a whisper too soft for hearing. You scowled at the inaudible words only to be grateful for the hushed tone, as you were able to hear the attack that had been directed at your feet. You leapt, landed nearly a foot away from your starting point, and resumed running as you hit the ground.

 Your mind began to race with thoughts that these demons might not disappear once the sun rose. Teeth clattering as more adrenaline rushed into your veins, you worked to decide on an end location. To lead these demons on a path that resulted in the deaths of innocents would break your spirit. “What are the chances you’ll answer a question without a riddle?” This inquiry you directed at Kylo, who flitted nearer to your ear, his small hands tickling its shell. You shuddered without breaking stride. “Will I continue to be in danger from these demons when it’s day?”

 “Some are not bound by the clock in the same way as the others.” A riddle, but one that you were not displeased with. It was answer enough. Even a reduction in the number of demons pursuing you would offer some sort of reprieve. “You needn’t worry.”

 That might have been a phrase spoken to comfort you if it had come from another. With Kylo, you understood it to be a statement of fact--a revelation that something would occur that would lessen your burden. All you needed to do was survive a little while longer. Not completely on your own; you replayed how Kylo had stabbed the one demon’s hand. You were not alone, and it was this that gave you the energy to increase your speed and dart in another new direction. Anything that would keep these demons from capturing you or harming other beings in the realm that you had been raised.

 The only other question that you wanted to ask, albeit after you were not preoccupied with red armored demons, was why the imp had seemed to help you by thrusting you out of the portal as he had. You doubted that this had been out of the goodness of his heart. No, he had ulterior motives, and you were already dealing with strings being attached to deeds committed by those around you. Sparing a glance at said strings, you noticed a knot had formed in one of the threads.

 Will it cause more trouble if I untangle it or if I leave it alone? Another question that would have to be left for a later time; a new red armored demon appeared from a portal that opened mere feet from where you were, this one ahead of you. It was as though they had your location pinpointed and could summon reinforcements to cut you off.

 You pushed backwards with your feet, propelling yourself away from the new assailant. This action was interrupted by a sudden weight that knocked you off balance. A weight, you noticed, that had been on your shoulder. Where the light side of the faerie prince had been, there was a hand clasping you. You turned your head, your eyes widening. Ben shifted his hand away from your shoulder in favor of seizing hold of his family weapon. He removed it from your grasp, and you did not struggle against him despite the fact that you would have preferred to remain armed. Instead you lowered your attention to the knot that previously caught your eye. The braided thread was loosened, no longer threatened by whatever had caused it to tangle in the first place.

 Another increase in weight preceded Kylo’s hand clasping your shoulder. He used it to push himself up onto his feet, shoving you further into the ground. You scowled at him though you said nothing. He had already activated the red blade that so many feared. The two halves of the faerie prince fell into fighting stances, each different yet similar to the other. You blinked thrice, clearing away the threat of blurred or double-vision from having glanced at one then the other of the halves in rapid repetition. Their blades cast different shades of light that merged to emit a combined hue of purple on the armor of the demons that approached.

 How it was that they were both normal size, you did not know. What you did know, or what occurred to you, was that the revelation that Ben continued to exist was not going to end well. The Demon King Snoke would know for a fact that Kylo had tricked him regarding your fate, and that Leia had deceived him in regards to Ben’s. There would be more that would pursue you. Or Ben. Or both, you noted while observing the threads connecting you to the two halves elongating as the pair thrust themselves forwards to meet the red armored demons in battle.

 You observed the battle as best you could, ever vigilant in case a weapon was dropped that you could retrieve. It would give better odds for success if you fought alongside them. That was another thing that Rey and you had learned together during your childhood. Finn, too, had seemed to encourage the three of you to work together. To what extent, that remained a mystery. As did your own past, which was vexing.

 Kylo and Ben moved almost as one, their attacks suddenly mirroring one another. It was then that it hit you in full that this was one person--faerie--that one day, one would disappear forever. You placed a hand to your heart, took a deep breath, and willed away those thoughts, which at this point would only be a distraction and likely get you killed or captured. Kylo caught the demon’s weapon on the tip of his blade. Ben, meanwhile, aimed a kick at the small of the being’s back, which knocked it forwards. The weapon slid further along the red blade. Eyes widening, you rushed forward with the intention of grabbing that weapon for yourself; the red blade was eating through the demon’s fingers, which meant that soon you would be armed once again.

 Ben had not removed his wings from his clothing throughout the battle. On top of that, running had the battle had dirtied what bits of material were not shielded by the dark wings. These facts struck you suddenly, and allowed a sense of relief to flood through you. The red armored demons might not realize just who Ben was other than that he belonged to the fae. The fight needed to be wrapped up before that could change.

 With the demon’s weapon in your grasp, you readjusted your grip and fell into a different fighting stance. Shimmers of gold flickered in and out of view. You blinked once to clear your vision. The flickers did not cease. Instead they grew in frequency, the tiny strands woven together into a familiar kind of thread. It was not unlike what linked you to Kylo or Ben. A surge of delight ran through your body. At long last something was going your way, luck was on your side. You sprang into action, taking a swipe at the thread. The demon leapt backwards. You narrowly missed your target.

 Kylo shifted, his shoulder brushing against yours as he drew up to your side, and you straightened. Ben had come to your other side. It was jarring how in sync the two halves could be one moment only to act almost as separate beings entirely the next. “Don’t.” The single syllable was whispered; had it not been, the demons armored in red would have fully witnessed the fact that both halves spoke in unison. You clenched your jaw as frustration began to grow inside of you. Why had he stopped you?

 The question was answered in the proceeding seconds as the demons all around fell out of their fighting stances. You glanced at the sky, which was beginning to brighten with the first signs of morning. Various hues were eating through the darkness, and the stars were fading from sight. There was a crackle of energy that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You held your breath. Whatever was happening, Ben’s hand had curled into a fist while Kylo’s had not. The lighter half of the faerie prince began to tremble as though in pain. You itched to grab hold of his hand, to comfort him, however a small voice told you to stay put. Kylo was regaining control.

 “To lure more souls for the king,” Kylo said. HIs voice was level, so like it had been when he had first appeared in your room. In your peripheral, you saw that Ben was gritting his teeth, keeping his jaw from moving while his other half spoke. “And to train another whose allegiance I have claimed.”

 “Yet you hid.” One of them spoke though all stepped forward. They remained on edge, mistrusting. Their focus was trained on Kylo, not a one of them looking at Ben from what you could see.

 Kylo pointed his reactivated red blade at them, causing each of the demons to come to a sudden halt. “A demon can never understand the mind of a faerie.” The arrogance in his voice was something that you would have taken offense to if the words had been directed your way. As such you were not surprised when the demons grumbled, when they bristled. They looked at one another in turn, trying to communicate without speaking.

 Can they speak telepathically? There was too much you did not yet know.

 The golden threads that belonged to each of the demons became more solid with each passing second as silence stretched amongst the gathered group of which you were a part. Kylo tilted his head back, staring down at the red armored beings. A challenge, tempting them to report to the demon king at their own peril. It occurred to you why it was that he had changed tactics. Your scent along with your marked soul may have caused the demons to grow suspicious, however they would not know for certain what you were--unless you revealed yourself by cutting through a golden thread. There were enough demons present for one to escape the moment they witnessed that feat.

 On top of potentially revealing your origins, though they remained unknown to you, Ben would also have been exposed in full to the demons who were now doubting what they believed. It would not stall them forever, yet this would buy the three--two?--of you time to prepare for the next nightfall. You shrunk, pretending to cower in fear in a manner that might make you appear subservient to the faerie prince.

 Kylo grabbed hold of the weapon you had obtained during the fight, tossing it back to its owner. The demon caught it without offering any form of gratitude.

 “Do not mistake that you are without suspicion.” The words floated in the air that hung between your group and theirs. Neither Kylo nor Ben reacted to the threat. With a grunt, the red armored demons turned and headed for the portal through which they had arrived. The sky above was growing ever brighter; you suspected this had much to do with the reason that they were more docile in the wake of Kylo’s words. Even if they could remain in the world of humans during the day, their powers would weaken.

 Beside you, Ben’s trembling did not cease but instead grew in intensity. You stiffened. Not all of Snoke’s guards had traveled enough to be out of sight. If any happened to turn around, their suspicions would only increase. You lifted your hand, reached out for him only to pause. After a heartbeat, you resumed movement and placed your palm against his arm. Ben’s knees gave out, the prince collapsing. You held in the cry that would have drawn more attention your way, dropping down to one knee and bringing both of your hands together to form a cup that caught him as he reverted to sprite form. Your eyes widened in wonder. The small sprite was once more slumbering, his breathing even.

 When will he wake again? This question erased all thoughts of the demons you had encountered mere minutes ago. You slipped the small sprite into your pocket just as you had before then turned around to face Kylo. He had one hand raised, stifling a yawn with the back of it. You felt your eyebrows raise in response to this. Such an action was so normal, so mundane, that it caught you off guard when executed by the being in front of you.

 “Are you going to shrink again as well?” His mouth twisted into a frown at your question.

 “That was likely a result of your meddling.” You must have grown accustomed to such behavior and responses from him, as you did not react to his words at all. Being a nursemaid helped as well, you supposed. His accusation was childlike--your naivete when it came to matters of your powers was no fault of your own. Furthermore, Kylo had done nothing to remedy this. He could not deny responsibility if he wanted to be honest.

 Suspecting that to voice these facts would serve nothing other than to irritate the dark being, you hummed in thought and ran a hand down the length of one arm. The silence drew Kylo’s attention onto you. His jaw worked in a manner that revealed his desire to speak though ultimately he said nothing until another minute had passed. Then, when he did speak, it was not of whatever had been on his mind regarding you.

 “I will gather the Knights of Ren. Their loyalty is to me, not the Demon King.”

[dtvibezauarchive]

Lost Hope AU

This AU is formed around a very vengeful George. 

He seeks revenge for those who had killed off his best friends; Dream and Sapnap. Donning Sapnap’s bandana and shirt, as well as Dream’s hoodie and mask, these items are the last he has of his deceased friends. 

The man behind the death of his friends is nonother than Schlatt, who was resurrected by Quackity, in hopes of trying to puppet the man. After failing to do so, Schlatt once again took over L’Manberg, dubbing it ‘Manberg 2.0′. 

He threatened anyone who get’s in his way. He has claimed that the Dream Team is dead, for they all died that day. George isn’t the same, and may never be the same again. 

..

During these events, when a festival goes down in the new Manberg, George decides to strike, though fails horribly and is in the end, at Schlatt’s feet, on the verge of death. 

Quackity regrets everything. He has regretted bringing Schlatt back due to the fact things didn’t go his way. So, he tries to help George, but is in the end, hurt as well. 

Once everyone saw what was happening, they are forced to watch helplessly as things go down. Though, just before Schlatt kills off George... Technoblade swoops in to stop things. 

..

There is a gap during this time, where Techno takes George in. Seeing the broken man, he offers a bit of support, despite their differences. He knows George want’s revenge, so he will support whatever anarchy George has to offer. So, he helps George back to health, with the help of Philza, Tommy and Wilbur (after they escaped Manberg 2.0). 

George becomes close with the bunch, each week of training, they all become stronger and bond more together. It’s a weird family dynamic, but it works for them all. More so, a teacher-student bond forms between Technoblade and George. Techno teaches what he can to George, while George learns it all. He finds a higher level of appreciation towards Techno during these days, and on some occasions, calls him sensei or teacher. 

..

After what seems like years of training, there comes a point in time where they fight Schlatt at the End Portal, the Portal now activated. George discovered that Schlatt has a book of resurrections and wishes to take it, in hopes of getting his friends back. Yet, he would need to betray Technoblade in order to get it. Meaning, he would need to throw Techno into the end with little to nothing. 

There is a huge standoff, and for a moment, Techno believes George accepts the deal. But he doesn’t. Techno is stunned by the actions performed by George, going as far as to even quote his saying. George ends up throwing Schlatt into the void of the portal, as well as releasing the book with him. 

..

The war for them has won. The evil was now banished to the realms of the End and everyone in the Dream SMP and Manberg 2.0 were free. 

Techno wakes up home, with Philza shaking him awake, and Tommy and Tubbo by his side. He has no recollection on what happened and how he got here... all that he knows is that George isn’t with him. And that worries him.

..

So far, up to this point, everyone has no clue as to what happened to George, and have no clues as to where he is. George is missing. 

---------- some fics/drabbles around this au below the line ----------

“George. Please.”

Bad spoke, hurrying along side his friend now as he tried to stop the other. But as he grabbed George’s arm...

“I don’t care, Bad. I don’t care what you say to me here and now. You cannot stop me.”

He yanked his arm right from Bad, glaring harshly towards him before fully placing the mask over his face. Turning around once more, he began to walk, making his way down the wooden path. Skeppy and Ant couldn’t do much... they had no say between their relationship. Seeing Bad in despair... begging George... it was hard to watch. Especially if George had a set goal in mind.

“George-” Bad tried once more, reaching his hand out...

“They brought him back, Bad. They brought that monster back from the dead and now he’s taking charge of L’Manberg AGAIN. He KILLED Sapnap and Dream, right in front of my eyes. So don’t you fucking dare try and stop me from going after him and those who brought him back from the hellscape he was in. Don’t even try to or else I will have to kill you as well.”

There was a tense pause, Skeppy himself now stepping forward slowly, his hand gripping his axe. Seeing that George just threatened Bad...

“...” What could Bad say? He was.. hurt... they all were hurt after what had happened. They were in utter shock when they got word that Schlatt was back...

“... If it were Skeppy, would you do it? Would you go after Schlatt, if you watched him kill Skeppy right in front of you?”

He gripped his hand, balling it into a fist. Bad... his gaze dropped down slightly, thinking on George’s words for a moment before he noticed George lifting the Mask up, revealing half of his face.

“If it were Skeppy, you wouldn’t hesitate with that answer.. because you’d be already fighting that bastard. Especially in the heat of the moment.”

...

Pulling his mask back down, he turned away, taking a moment to just breathe.

“... the day Sapnap and Dream died... was the day I too died. The Dream Team is no more. I am but a shell of who I once was... because I will never be the same without them here.”

and with that, George pushed forward, leaving Bad, Skeppy and Ant in his shadow.

--

Quackity winced as he watched George slump forward, the sword sticking right out of his chest causing his stomach to churn. The amount of blood spilling from George... he was shocked with how George still managed to keep awake.

He then turned to look towards Schlatt, who’s sickly form wobbled forward slowly, the glare in his dull eyes sending shivers down his spine. The liquid that oozed from his lips... his nose... that fucking devilish grin. The smug bastard. He thought this was the way... he thought this would fix everything... but...

“George.. oh George... Stupid, pathetic, George. Look at you... did anyone ever tell you... Red really is your color. Such a shame that you cannot see the crimson hues that mark your skin” Schlatt sneered, now pulling the arrow from his neck roughly, the darkened hue of red leaking from the wound on his neck. Throwing the item harshly towards the side with a little care.. Schlatt laughed, letting the liquid drip from his lips and teeth.

“You can’t get rid of me baby! No matter how hard you try, I’ll always BE HERE!”

George looked up slowly, his eyes glossed over as his hand gently gripped the sword in his chest...

“...”

That’s when Schlatt pulled the axe right out from his back, letting the sickening crunch emit from the wound, letting bits and gushes of blood to splatter from him.

“... I should’ve ended you right then and there. All this time, I thought my real threat was Wilbur and Dream.. but you... you’re just like them... I loath you all immensely. Your words filling the ears of those here on this stupid SMP... “

Letting the axe go to his side, his hand firm on the handle...

“... You abomination... I know you miss them both...”

Schlatt then gripped the axe tightly, raising it over his shoulder now..

“How’s about we fix that?”

And like that.. Schlatt charged at George, his eyes wide with intense hatred, the ooze flying from his form. George could only watch in horror as Schlatt darted for him.

This was it.

Quackity gripped his stomach, tears cascading down his cheeks now as he screamed, his other hand reaching out towards George.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

Sam banged on the glass separating them, Bad and Punz trying their best to shatter the see through barrier. He was screaming... Sam was screaming as he watched Schlatt grew near towards George. Sam’s crown fell off, his mask slipping .. his voice echoing throughout the room they were in, the tone of despair growing.

“GEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORGE!!!”

Schlatt grinned dangerously as he stomped harshly on the ground, standing right in front of George.

“BYE BYE GEORGE!!”

With that... he swung the axe...

...

..

.

clank!

...

..

!

Schlatt’s eyes widened...

Quackity felt as if his heart stopped.

Sam let out a sharp gasp.

...

Silver eyes peered right up towards Schlatt, a glowing enchanted netherite sword being held up against the axe he held. A red cape slowly fell towards the shoulders of the man that stood there... man? or Pig.

“...”

Schlatt jumped back, stumbling somewhat over his footing, his eye twitching at the sight before him.

...

They stood tall, the look of utter anger lingering throughout their gaze. A shining glowing crown dawned upon their head... the armor they wore glistening from the enchantments given to it.

George just.. let out a shaken breath... his vision growing blurry with every passing moment...

“... T.. Technoblade...”

--

He couldn’t focus.

George watched as Schlatt made his way towards the end portal, letting out a shaken laugh as he glanced right back towards him.

“THIS IS IT GEORGE! YOUR DECISION DAY!”

Techno flinched as he dangled off the edge of the cobblestone he was left on, the potion of weakness given to him really taking its toll. He could barely keep himself together, his eyes slightly casting off towards the side. Each passing moment, he grew weaker, as well as his grip on the stone.

“Take your pick…”

Raising his sword high, Schlatt let out a heavy, sick laugh.

“Save your friends and bring them back while letting this disgusting pig fall into the end below, never to be seen again… or save this pig.. And never get the choice of ever bringing your friends back to life.”

…

George hesitated…

He stared towards the book Schlatt held in his other hand… then he stared towards Techno.

…

Sweat lightly rolled down his forehead, his eyes gazing back and forth between the two…

…

“Tick.. tock.. George…”

--

…

..

“oh, I just got some gold. It’s quite epic.”

.

“why are you talking like that?… quite epic, I’m Sapnap.”

.

“It’s quite epic indeed.”

.

Warm laughter filled the air.

..

“Let’s go!”

.

“Alright, let’s chill-”

.

Shocked yells and screams filled the air before … laughter, seeing that they were saved.

..

…

George stared up towards Schlatt… his eyes cold.

…

he made his decision.

--

Schlatt watched as George approached him.

A sly grin was on his face.

George had made his choice… and Techno watched as George went right up to Schlatt.

“…”

--

George held his hands out… waiting for Schlatt to hand him the book.

“.. you made the right choice George..”

Placing the book in George’s hand slightly, he still kept a firm grip on it’s edge. Schlatt turned to look at Techno, a wild grin on his face now as he chuckled.

“… you see Techno? This is all you’ll ever be… alone for all eternity. The king who finally falls… it’s about time you’re put to rest…”

--

Just as Schlatt turned to look at George...

Crack.

Techno watched as George full on slammed his fist against Schlatt’s face, breaking his nose right on contact. George then gripped the other’s shirt collar, glaring darkly towards those shocked eyes.

“... a wise Pig once told me of a wise mans words.”

Techno.. Techno leaned his head against the cobblestone, watching as George held Schlatt dangerously close towards the portal entrance...

“... Anger may in time, change to gladness.. vexation may be succeeded by content... but a Kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being... nor can the dead ever be brought back to life.”

Schlatt’s eyes widened as blood trickled down his nose...

George leaned in, his voice near a growl...

“... Fuck you, Jschlatt.”

and with that... George shoved Schlatt right into the end portal.. with the book he held.

The echo’s of Schlatt’s scream filled the void before.. silence.

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Eros

Pairings: Kyungsoo x You

Genre: Fluff | Jane Austen AU

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.4k

Description: Ancient Greeks insist that there are eight different kinds of love, each given a name that holds special meaning…Eros: passionate love.

A/N: Requested by someone whose name is lost to the ether (I’m sorry I hope you find this. I remember it was “Kyungsoo x Reader by a lake plus neck kisses”), and inspired by a post @monicaexol​ made here. Also because you seemed excited, @j-pping​.

| Storge | Eros | ?

There is strict protocol for how a lady's morning is carried out. There is fairly strict--but not as strongly enforced--protocol for her schedule the rest of the day on most occasions afterward. And there are supremely stringent rules to educate them with proper manners and etiquette, usually through classes. At last there are the most dangerous and exhilarating rules cultivated and given by society to every girl as she rises into a woman to prepare them for the rigors and wiles of men. One learns most of these by proxy. If one is blessed with a doting mother, or in fact perhaps sisters were the best teachers second only to the honest and civil conversation with a gentleman, one could be moderately informed of the absolute blunder that fondness breeds on first approach.

So was the path of all affairs before engagement. Gossip and whispers and rumors flew faster than a lark, and the bird that flew it there held the biggest sway in reputation. Promoting each attendant of a party at least a week before the occasion, with each household choosing their favorites. Particularly of the young men and women who were eligible for their matchmaker gambling. Encouraging men to dance with particular women to line their pockets with pride.

That was how most couples met. It was how you met your sweetheart. Your family tittered about the gentleman that had come to visit the hosts of the future soiree for the summer. Japing about his reputation for being curt and austere. In truth you had been intrigued by the tales of his character for it seemed that you should not wholly trust the word of the birds alone.

It was most wise to hold back judgment for when you arrived at the gathering, for you were afflicted in the heart the moment of introduction. Mesmerized by his dark, severe eyes; striking you immobile with but a moments gaze. The memory was as clear as glass in your mind. The shape of his eyes, the intelligence and intensity in his irises, the way your breath tightened as your bosom inflamed. Longing, lusting, light-headed. You'd never seen such eyes.

So were the eyes you sought out a month after the party. The morning had been much the same as any other; your handmaiden helped you dress. First was your shift; a plain cotton garment you often slept in. Then the simple clocked stockings, secured with ribbon garter at the knee. A petticoat was necessary for warmth and modesty. Then the stay was laced around your torso with a wooden busk center front for posture support and to keep the figure once the dress went on. Next were pockets which you enjoyed stashing trinkets in to take to your secret affairs. After a hip pad was added, the outer layers could go on. A petticoat, a white neckerchief that was tucked into the front of the stay to protect your neck and chest from the sun, and the actual gown. As the off-white material was laced at the front you gazed down at the pattern on your long sleeves. Little blue flowers were speckled everywhere, and you lamented the season of falling, an autumn's blush in the trees and on your cheeks. Lastly was the silk apron to separate you from the workers of the household, and shoes with little silver buckles. All together the outfit was quite hardy, and you were able to slink away after lunch past the garden and through a narrow wood to a lake.

It was often as a child your siblings would swim during the sweltering summers there. It was well secluded from prying eyes and ears, but the waters were far too chilled that time of year. The stillness reflected the trees encompassing the grounds, and in the center, the purest blue called out for your heart to shine with it; luminescent and alluring. Letting your mind wander. It was in those moments that the voice that had been torturing your thoughts smiled behind you.

"Would I offend you, if I were to admit how long a time I've watched you?"

A grin stretched your lips, turning to see him approach. A hand was lowering the hat from his head, allowing the short, silken ebony locks to shine under the brightness of noon. The black and white suit he wore was proper, however devoid of accessories it was. And he had dained to switch the regular coat for something of thicker cloth and longer gait, the hem brushing his calves. It was a navy hue, highlighting the horrifically vivid and ethereal glow to his tawny complexion. Your heart could not be tamed at his approach just as the ocean would never cease to reach for the shore.

"Instead I would offer a warning," you replied. "For you shouldn't stare at the sun too long."

The hat was discarded, forgotten on the grass as saltwater embraced the sand and tarried. A wry smirk twisted his lips as his eyes focused on yours. Always intense and enchanting, and the light reflecting enhanced the color within, the sun swimming among his whiskey irises. Intent on getting you drunk.

"Then let beauty blind me and allow my last sight to be of everything that is precious. You are the sun and stars. You are the mountains, and the fields, and rivers and lakes. Always to be cherished. Never to be violated. Only to be loved...vigorously."

Words which you had never thought would ever leave a mouth as pretty as his, let alone become a bastion for fondness; his lips tender on your neck after his stark proclamation. Air became a rare commodity, catching in your throat. The bawdy action sent ripples of excitement through your body, and you clutched him closer. The indecentness would serve as a warning but for the sentiment in his heart.

Their families had made different matches for one another before the night you met; smarter matches they would tell. It only revealed their ignorance on the subject of affection. For if there was never a coupling such as yours for the next century, then not another couple would suffer as greatly in a century if you were parted.

The pressures of high society had been choking him and you. The birds, and the parties, and loquacious old women so sapped of their own vitality in their dull lives as to make interfering with others' their sole hobby. There never seemed to be a caring hand; someone who didn't only seek the ends. Get married; nevermind the adventure in courtship. Nevermind reveling in the company of a kind intellect. Nevermind celebrating the magnificence of life steeped in wonder while laying entwined in soul, spirit and body. Nevermind love.

He was of a mind to yearn for conversation and contented silence with a partner. To stroll away and earn peace and happiness without a crowd or extraneous clothes and property. You wished the same, and in the space between, your passions collided; coalescing into something greater. Being wanted solely and completely as yourselves, you may be able to break through that foul and ugly mist that had strangled you both.

"Shall I never tire of your winsome character," you elated.

A gust of wind dusted your cheeks with chill and fluttered your skirts. His mouth stole another taste of your skin before pulling back to greet your gaze once more, inadvertently shielding you from the cold. You were acquainted with a mien he intimated was rendered by you unwittingly; warm and soft with a smile that could raze even the strongest of wills.

"The days after our meeting," he said. "I spent walking through gardens hoping they would drive away the heavy thought of care, and perhaps it worked as such for I am here, with you now...without a care in my heart but for you." Your mouth opened, but his words carried on before you could reply. "Despite what our respective relatives might assume, this hasn't been some summer dalliance for me, and as I know I must return home before we are beset upon by winter, I know I would be leaving my heart here with it. Therefore, with all my soul and self bared vulnerable, I would disclose one more thought...nothing would make me happier than to escort you home alongside me as my betrothed."

"Is...this a proposal?"

"With an answer that is yours to give as you please."

The lake's reflection rippled under the wind. He lifted a hand to your face and it betrayed his calm; trembling as fingers fondled stray locks of hair and moved them aside. Tumultuous tenderness as his drunken eyes studied every heartbeat.

To leave all you knew to venture with all you wanted to know. Rational thoughts absconded from your mind. To pretend you required to rationalize this at all was folly. You knew the answer, and when your love collided with his in a kiss, he did too.

[jamaisjoons]

intro: her IV ⤑ knj | m

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 you enter namjoon’s life in the most unexpected of ways, but will you be able to stay, especially when he comes with three adorable but chaotic children, even more chaotic best friends and a bitch of an ex-wife? not to mention your own emotional baggage. 〞singe dad au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: single dad!namjoon x marine vet!reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: fluff

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: some clichés, tooth rotting fluff, like no serious, this shit is so cute and wholesome I want to write 20k of angst, perhaps second hand embarrassment? but no, this chapter is hella tame

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: hello children, the much awaited intro: her chapter four is here!!! sorry it took me a while, I kind of hit writers block elfnkfk but anyway, here it is! hope you enjoy it.

⏤ Rewritten as of 25/02/2020

⇥ Previous || Masterlist || Next

Chapter 4: The Picnic

It’s 10am on a Saturday when you’re woken up by your phone ringing on the bedside beside you. You let out a tired groan before blindly feeling around for said mobile device. When your hands finally hit the cold metal of your phone, you grab it and open your eyes slightly. A groan of protest escapes your mouth at the bright light, and squinting you check the caller; ‘Kim Namjoon’ the ID reads. With a slight frown, you swipe the green answer button, pressing your phone to your ear.

“Hello?” you ask, voice heavily laden with sleep and slightly croaky. You can hear the boys faintly in the background, and a squeaky voice you recognise as Jungkook’s pestering his father to ‘ask her! Ask her!’.

“Hey ____? Did I just wake you up? I’m so sorry,” Namjoon begins, deep voice apologizingly profusely. You shake your head, before realising he can’t see you, making you clear your throat instead.

“No, it’s okay. Did you need something?” you ask, sitting up in bed as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. In the corner of the room you hear a small whine before your adorable, white fluff of a Samoyed jumps onto the bed, nuzzling into your neck. You scratch his ears, bidding him awake before focusing on your conversation again.

“Oh no! It’s just, we’re having a picnic today at Yoongi’s and the boys were wondering if you wanted to join us? I’m sorry for waking you up, but if you want to go back to sleep it’s fine too,” Namjoon continues, voice carrying over the phone. You can hear Jungkook whine, Taehyung’s ‘no! she has to come!’ faintly ringing through the background.

“Ah, no! I’m free today. I’d love to join you. What’s the address and what time do I need to be there?” you ask, throwing the covers off of you as you make your way into the bathroom, to get ready for the day.

“We’re going to meet around 11 maybe 12 at Seokjin’s and don’t worry about the address. Jin-hyung said he’ll send a driver to come to collect you,” Namjoon replies.

“Oh no! You really don’t need to do that,” you try rebuffing the offer, not wanting to take advantage of your friends.

“He said he won’t take no for an answer. How soon can you be ready?” Namjoon asks and you quickly check the time.

“Umm, I think I could be ready by 10:30, 10:45 at the latest,” you reply after calculating however much time you’d need to shower and get dressed.

“Okay perfect. The driver will pick you up at 10:45. See you soon!” Namjoon says but you quickly call out to him before he can cut off the call.

“Wait! Can I bring my dog? I’m supposed to walk him today and I don’t think I’ll be able to find someone to watch him this late,” you ask.

“Yeah that’s fine! The more the merrier,” Namjoon responds before cutting the call. You quickly put your phone down on the sink before stripping and getting in the shower.

Half an hour later, you’re almost ready. Swiftly, you throw on some clothes, checking over yourself in the mirror with a final glance. You make sure your make up is blended, and hair as smooth as can be. Finally, deeming yourself ready, you throw on your shoes before grabbing your dog’s harness and strapping it around him. His tail wags ecstatically and you giggle as you pet his head, scratching his cheeks while you wait the driver to call you. You don’t have to wait for long, because at exactly 10:45 you get a message from an unknown number letting you know that it’s the driver and he’s waiting for you downstairs.

You quickly get into the car, making sure your puppy is inside before strapping yourself in. You sit quietly for most of the journey, only speaking every now and then to calm your Samoyed down, stopping him from barking at the people outside of the window. It’s been six months since you met Namjoon and his children, and now you’re more at ease with them; although every now and then it dawns on you that your friends aren’t exactly run of the mill people but are in fact the best artists in Korea.

You contemplate your new friends for a little while longer, and an hour later, the car stops outside a park that looks more like a forest than anything. You scrunch your eyebrows, wondering why you hadn’t stopped at the huge apartment complex that you knew to be Seokjin’s building. The driver sends you a small smile before beckoning you out. You want to ask what the hell is going on, but a familiar figure stops you. Spotting Seokjin’s broad frame walking out from a small clearing in the forestry area of the park, you thank the driver and grab your pup’s leash before stepping out.

“____! Nice of you to join us this fine day,” Seokjin says, greeting you with an overexaggerated bow. You let out a little laugh, curtseying back as your pup stands to the side, wagging his tail and practically begging Seokjin for attention.

“Oh! Look at this handsome man. He’s almost as handsome as me!” Seokjin says, squeaky windshield wiper laughter following. His words make you roll your eyes in fond exasperation, watching as Seokjin plays with your dog.

“Okay, let’s head off before they come looking for us. The boys are super excited about meeting you today. Jungkook almost drove Namjoon up the wall asking where you were,” Seokjin says with a small smile and you giggle, following Seokjin as you imagine Jungkook repetitively questioning his father about your whereabouts.

Seokjin leads you down the same path he emerged from; the two of you wander down the small winding trail; erect trees standing tall on either side. It’s a pretty place, vivid hues of vibrant green surrounding you. A few minutes later, the two of you emerge from a little opening into a wide-open field. You have to stop for a minute, taking in the entire site. The area is surrounded by woodland, giving a truly secluded feel to the area. Various shrubs and flowering bushes grow in sporadic places but the majority of the area is covered in soft green grass. In the middle of the field is the small gaggle of boys and men. Taehyung and Jimin are running around as Hoseok chases them, the two boys squealing and giggling; Yoongi is laying down, undoubtedly attempting to take a nap and Jungkook is practically pressed against Namjoon.

Your pup starts barking, the mildly heavy ball of fluff tugging on your grip on his lead as he tries to join in with the two running boys. Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung’s head whip toward you at the sound of the dog. You spot Jungkook quickly separating himself from his father, Jimin and Taehyung now running towards you and Seokjin. Namjoon and Yoongi both get up, Jungkook grabbing his father’s hand and dragging him towards you. You all meet somewhat in a middle and you keep a firm grip on your excited pup’s lead, not wanting him to jump and tackle the boys who were only slightly bigger than your dog.

“A puppy!” Jimin squeals, immediately throwing himself into your pup’s side, burying his face into the long white hair and nuzzling into it.

“Fluffy doggy!” Taehyung calls out, equally excitable as he attempts to grab as much of the long white hair as he can with his tiny palms.

“What’s his name?” Jungkook asks, large doe-like eyes looking up at you, one hand holding onto his father’s as the other is being licked by your dog, causing Jungkook to let out a tinkling laugh. The minute Jungkook asks his name you freeze, panic consuming you. You had completely forgotten exactly what you’d named your puppy.

In a moment of blind panic, “Reginald!” you blurt out, not wanting to admit the almost embarrassing name of the pup.

“Reginald? Did you really name your dog Reginald?” Namjoon asks, his eyebrow raising, a small teasing smile on his face. You can tell he doesn’t believe you for a single second, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“Reginald! Hey look at me,” Hoseok calls, attempting to call out to your dog. However, your pup simply ignores him causing Hoseok to frown.

“He’s not responding. Why isn’t he responding?” Hoseok asks and you bite your lip, looking away. You know exactly why he’s not responding. And it’s because his name is definitely not Reginald. Yoongi, being the ever-observant man, notices your shiftiness and immediately calls you out.

“His name isn’t Reginald is it?” Yoongi asks and you blanch, your stomach dropping as butterflies bloom in your stomach. Are you really about to embarrass yourself in front of them? Yup. You definitely are. You’re sure of it.

With a quiet, barely audible voice, “um… no,” you reply. You really, really do not want to tell them your pup’s name.

“You’re embarrassed!” Seokjin suddenly calls out, his entire face twisting with excitement as he takes in your nervous disposition, “why are you embarrassed? How bad can it be?” Seokjin asks, although there’s a slight twinkle in his eyes that you know means that as soon as you reveal the mildly embarrassing name, he’ll tease you for the next few weeks.

Realising you have no option but to come clean, “Ra… mo…” you mumble out. The guys squint at you and you let out a little sigh.

“Ugh! Fine! Rap Mon. His name is Rap Mon, are you happy?” you finally say, face heated and small pout on your face.

“Sorry what? I didn’t hear that” Hoseok says dumbly, although his lips are tightly pressed together, pulled into a smile and his cheeks puffed out. All signs that he definitely heard you and is struggling not to laugh. Seokjin’s face mimics Hoseok’s and as soon as you let out a defeated sigh, both of them burst out into laughter, unable to contain themselves anymore.

“Rap Mon! Oh my god, his name is Rap Mon! Rap Monster!” Hoseok finally bursts out, struggling to speak from how hard he’s laughing. You let out a small groan, wishing the ground would swallow you up - but simultaneously knowing that you’re never about to live this down.

“Do you remember- do you… oh my god, I can’t… do you remember when Namjoon was Rap Monster?” Seokjin asks, trying to catch his breath between his laughter. Internally, you berate yourself. Honestly, of all things you had to name your dog, you just had to name it after the artists you somehow befriended. Even more so than before, you really hope the earth would somehow split open and swallow you whole. Nervously, you chance a glance at the man your pup is named after and notice that despite his heated cheeks, he’s got the slightest smile etched onto his pillowy lips.

“Okay, okay. That’s enough. She’s allowed to name her dog whatever she wants,” Namjoon finally says, trying to control his friends despite the beaming smile on his face.

“Oh my- Stop,” Hoseok gasps, clutching his stomach as he tries his hardest to breathe, “I can’t. Jin-hyung, look how happy Namjoonie is,” Hoseok points out, both the men falling into giggles once again. Namjoon lets out a little sigh before directing a pleading look towards Yoongi. For the most of it, Yoongi’s got a big smile on his face, gums prominent as he watches his friends. The boys don’t care as much, unbothered by the laughing adults as they continue playing with Rap Mon.

“For what it’s worth, I only call him that when he’s being bad or doing something he isn’t supposed to. I mainly call him Monie,” you try to explain as a way to placate the situation, but your words only set the two older men off again.

“Rap Mon… WHEN HE’S BEING BAD! Oh my god, this is gold. ____, thank you. This is the best present you could have given us,” Hoseok finally says, attempting to collect himself as he pats your back.

“I think whenever Namjoon does something he isn’t supposed to, I’m going to call him Rap Mon too,” Seokjin teases, Namjoon grumbling under his breath. You send Namjoon an apologetic look, but he simply shakes you off.

“It’s fine, they’ll get tired of it eventually,” Namjoon whispers lowly into your ear. Immediately, you stand straight, his presence directly behind your back and low voice in your ear sending shivers down your spine. For a moment, you wonder if he knows whathe’s doing, but before you can reply he’s back to his usual self, herding his children back to the picnic blanket.

You follow the rest of them, placing your bag down on the blanket before reaching over and removing the leash from Rap Mon’s harness so he can run around with the boys. Getting comfortable on the ground, Yoongi offers you some bibimbap which you accept graciously, watching as, this time, your pup chases a laughing and giggling Taehyung and Jimin. Jungkook is sitting beside you, happily munching on his snacks as he watches YouTube videos on his father’s phone.

“Sorry about waking you up this morning by the way,” Namjoon apologises once again.

“Honestly, it was no issue. If you hadn’t I’d probably have slept in till about midday. Where are we by the way? When you said picnic at Seokjin’s, I thought we’d be somewhere around his building,” you ask, wondering about the long car ride and lack of buildings or people around.

“We are. Seokjin owns this area,” Hoseok says casually as he munches on some crackers. You stare at him, blinking dumbfoundedly.

“Seokjin owns… land?” you ask and the boys nod - as if it were the most casual thing in the world. Instantly, you deadpan, wondering why you even bother being surprised by how rich they are anymore. Of course, Seokjin just owns land. He was a chaebol after all.

“Technically my father owns it. He was planning on building new company headquarters here, but the boys loved it so much as I asked if I could have it and it just sort of turned into a private park,” Seokjin explains and you nod, wondering if they realisedthat having a private park wasn’t a normal, everyday thing.

Namjoon eventually calls Jimin and Taehyung back, enticing them with food and the lot of you sit, munching happily. Jimin and Taehyung are once again talking about their week in school, this time regaling their tales to Hoseok, Seokjin and Yoongi. They mention an upcoming play in which Jimin wanted to be the princess but got stuck being the prince while Taehyung got to be a dragon even though he really wanted to be the prince, the two of them complaining about the unfairness of it all. Jungkook for the most of it is laying down quietly, using Monie’s body as a pillow; watching Pokémon as your pup keeps him company, Jungkook sneaking Rap Mon his snacks every now and then.

At some point, Hoseok and Seokjin disappear into the forest with a small bag; your eyes follow them with curiosity, wondering what they are up to. However, once they’re out of your line of sight, you turn back to your conversation with the boys, listening and nodding as they continue talking about school, aliens, fairy tales and anything else their six-year-old brains can come up with it. Half an hour later, however, Hoseok and Seokjin return with big grins, throwing the bag down. You look at them curiously, eyes slightly narrowed as you wonder what trouble they’re about to start brewing.

“Okay so, Hoseokie and I decided a normal picnic was going to be too boring. Therefore, we devised a little game,” Seokjin begins and Namjoon immediately groans, most likely knowing the chaos that the two older men were going to bring about.

“What are you two up to? What game?” Yoongi asks, frowning at the two.

“Well, you see. We hid various ribbons around the forest. All ribbons have little prizes on them, anything from snacks to little toys,” Hoseok says and immediately Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook are interested, listening to the older guys curiously.

“But there is one special ribbon, and whoever gets that, gets one toy. Anything you could want, within reason, Seokjinnie-hyung will buy it for you,” Seokjin says and suddenly the boys are starstruck, bouncing up and down. Taehyung and Jimin quickly turn around, ready to run off into the forest but Hoseok and Seokjin quickly grab them before they can wander off alone.

“Hold up there. You can’t go alone, pick an adult to go with,” Hoseok says and all three quickly turn and latch themselves onto their father.

“I pick daddy!” the boys all call out at once and you have to resist the urge to laugh out loud. It was always endearing how attached the boys were to their father. Namjoon for the most of it looks panicked, unsure what to do about the situation.

“That’s not possible. You can’t all pick Namjoonie. You’re making hyungie sad. Do you not wanna go with me?” Hoseok asks with a pout and Jimin let’s go of his father, approaching Hoseok and patting his knee.

“It’s okay Hobi-hyung, I’ll go with you! Don’t be sad,” Jimin says, smiling brightly, eyes pulled into little half crescents and bright grin on his face. Reflexively, your heart lurches in your chest, your face crumpling at how adorably comforting Jimin is.

“I’ll go with Jinnie hyung!” Taehyung calls out, skipping over to the oldest and quickly grabbing the larger hand with his smaller, sticky one. Jungkook looks slightly unsure and you can practically see the gears in his head shifting - choose his father, or someone else.

“Come on Jungkookie, don’t make Yoonie-hyung sad. Otherwise he’ll have no one with him,” Seokjin pouts but your eyes narrow at the mischievous glint mirrored in both his and Hoseok’s eyes. Oh, they’re definitely up to something - you just can’t figure out what. Jungkook looks conflicted but eventually nods, moving over to Yoongi. Yoongi’s eyes narrow at the boys too, cocking his head to the side.

“Who is daddy gonna go with?” Jungkook asks and Hoseok and Seokjin immediately grin. Your stomach drops, dread filling you as you wonder just what they’re planning.

“Daddy’s just going to have to go with ____, isn’t he?” Seokjin says, eyes glistening with mirth. And there it is. They’re planning to get you and Namjoon alone because within the six months of knowing them, you had somehow developed a tiny teensy crush on Namjoon and somehow Hoseok had picked up on it – really with how nervous you could get around him, it was pretty obvious – and loved teasing you for it. You glare at Hoseok, trying to convey that the next time the two of you are alone, he’s dead but he simply laughs you off.

“Hey, no fair! I wanna go with noona,” Jungkook pouts and Namjoon only looks slightly offended that his son chose you over him.

“Ah remember the days when Namjoonie used to be Jungkookie’s favourite, but now its ____,” Seokjin says with a dramatic sigh, causing you to resist the urge to kick him in the shin because really you all know he’s purposely trying to push your buttons.

“It’s okay Kookie, you can take Rap Mon if you want,” you suggest and immediately Jungkook nods enthusiastically, watching as you hand Yoongi Rap Mon’s lead.

Finally, with the groups decided, everyone begins trekking into the forest. Taehyung grabs Hoseok and pulls him into the forest, the two of them rushing as they try to collect the ribbons. Part of you wonders if it’s fair considering Hoseok and Seokjin were the ones to hang them up and thus would know exactly where the ribbons are. Not one to be bested, though, Jungkook grabs Yoongi, pulling him and Rap Mon along because ‘we have to win hyung!’ Jungkook reasons. Although, with what you know about Yoongi, you know it’s most likely that he’ll somehow cheat and steal someone else’s ribbons.

You and Namjoon lazily stroll through the woods, unbothered about actually finding the ribbons because really, what would two grown adults need with children’s toys? It’s quiet enough that you can hear the rustling of the other boys through the forest, Jungkook and Taehyung yelling every now and then when they find a ribbon, although with Jimin and Hoseok’s team, it’s more Hoseok that you can hear than Jimin. You let out a little giggle as you hear a small argument coming from near you.

“That ribbon was ours, you stole it!” Seokjin yells in indignation.

“We found it first, so it’s ours,” Yoongi replies causing you to laugh again as your suspicions were confirmed. Yoongi had somehow figured a way to cheat, and apparently, that way was to follow Seokjin around and steal the ribbons before they could get to it.

“You followed us, that’s the only reason you found it!” Seokjin replies and you can almost imagine the way Yoongi shrugs with a completely faux innocent face.

“You never said following you was against the rules! Come on Jungkookie,” Yoongi calls out and the last thing you hear is Seokjin yelling for Yoongi to come back.

“Sorry about this,” Namjoon apologises and you laugh it off, shaking your head.

“For what reason? I’m having fun!” you say and Namjoon shrugs, rubbing the back of his head guiltily.

“I don’t know. I just feel bad because we woke you up and the boys kinda force you into joining us and now you’re stuck here wandering through the woods with me when I’m sure you had better things to do today,” Namjoon says as he pushes a bush out of the way for you to walk through.

“Okay firstly, stop apologising about waking me up. I said it was alright. And they don’t force me into doing anything, I really love hanging out with them, they’re fun to be around. But also trust me, I’d rather be here spending time with you than anything. I was just gonna sit in and watch Netflix with Monie, so inviting me out definitely made my day more interesting,” you reassure Namjoon with a bright smile

“If you’re sure. I just…” Namjoon sighs, rubbing the back of his head “sometimes feel bad because you didn’t ask to suddenly have three children thrust into your life and I know it can be a lot,” he continues responds, but you only shrug in response.

“Maybe- but honestly? I really am glad they were thrust into my life. They’re lovely children, you’d be completely heartless to not fall in love with them,” you say without thinking. Abruptly, Namjoon stops, looking at you with an unreadable expression. You’ve realised he does that a lot. Sometimes he just stops and stares at you, but his eyes are guarded so you have no idea what he’s thinking.

“You love them?” Namjoon asks and you blink owlishly, not even realising you had said that out loud. You ponder his question for a couple minutes, wondering if you did love them. But no matter how you think about it, you can’t help but know that yes, you do. It may have only been six months, but for some reason, you can no longer remember what your life was like before meeting them. Not only that, but you don’t even want to imagine a life without them, their father and their father’s best friends; because, somewhere along those short six months, they had become a big part of your life. One you wouldn’t give up for the world.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you laugh cheerily, breaking the short silence between you two. Before Namjoon can reply however, you cut him off, “hey! That’s a ribbon isn’t it?” you call out, pointing to a ribbon tied around a branch.

“Yeah, I guess it is. It says one Kakao Friends Ryan mega body pillow,” Namjoon reads out and you freeze, looking at him in awe and wonder.

“What? Are you sure? Are you sure that’s what it says?” you ask abruptly, your eyes practically sparkling as you look at the ribbon.

“Yeah, I’m sure, why?” Namjoon asks, but you basically ignore him, as you begin climbing the tree

“I thought you didn’t care about the prizes?” Namjoon laughs, watching your efforts to scale the tree.

“Are you kidding me? Do you know how much that pillow is worth? Almost a hundred thousand won! I’ve wanted one forever but it seemed like a waste of money. There’s no way I’m passing this opportunity to get a free one,” you call out, silently thanking yourself for wearing jeans as you strain to reach for the ribbon. Namjoon approaches the tree, watching you from underneath.

“Just be careful! We don’t need you falling down,” Namjoon calls out but you shrug.

“It’d totally be worth it, trust me,” comes your immediate reply - Namjoon’s only response to chuckle at you. You shuffle further along the branch, tongue stuck out as you do your best to reach the ribbon. It’s almost in your hands: you just need to stretch a little further.

A couple of moments later, you finally grasp the ribbon. Victoriously, you squeal, pumping your hand in the air. However, in your victory cheer, you had somehow forgotten that you were precariously positioned on a tree branch. You let out a small yelp when you slip, Namjoon’s eyes widening as he runs under to make sure he could catch you, but you manage to catch yourself.

“Be careful,” Namjoon calls from under you and you nod, before turning around. Now comes the part you hadn’t thought through. How the hell are you supposed to get down?

“Um Namjoon, slight problem. I don’t think I can get down,” you say, looking at him in slight nervousness.

“What? How did you manage to climb up but aren’t able to climb down?” Namjoon asks and you let out a little huff.

“It just happened okay! It’s higher up here than I thought it would be,” you reply and Namjoon shakes his head in exasperation.

“You could jump and I could try to catch you,” Namjoon suggests and you look at him as if he’s grown three heads.

“Not a single chance in hell that’s happening buddy,” you immediately refuse. Namjoon laughs at your obvious distaste for his plan, but you ignore him, “okay I think I can do this” you say, analysing the situation. You try to crawl backwards, but your hands are shaky and it doesn’t help that you can’t see where you’re going.

Finally giving in, “Okay no I can’t do this, please help,” you plead, looking down at Namjoon.

“Jump! I’ll catch you,” Namjoon suggests once again and you let out a little groan, shaking you’re head. “____! Just jump. Trust me,” Namjoon calls out once more and you look down at his earnest eyes, biting your lip. Shakily, you nod, and then, sucking a deep breath while closing your eyes, you jump.

Eyes clenched shut, you feel the wind rush past your ears and then suddenly you’re in Namjoon’s strong embrace; his arms firmly wrapped around your waist. It would have all been well if it were as simple as Namjoon catching you. However, you’d both forgotten to factor one variable into your calculations and that variable was that Namjoon, for as sweet and dorky as he was, was inherently clumsy. The moment you land in his arms, Namjoon’s foot slips on the mud, and suddenly, the both of you are falling backwards. Namjoon’s grip on your waist tightens as the two of you land, his back taking the brunt of the fall.

Namjoon lets out a small groan and you still at the position you find yourselves in. Namjoon’s large palm is splayed out on your back, his hips between your legs as you straddle him. You stare, wide-eyed at him, Namjoon also freezing once he realises your positioning. Gazing deep into his molten dark chocolate eyes, you get lost in the dark depths of his chocolate orbs. An invisible pull calls towards the two of you, and you slowly near - your faces enclosing - lips almost touching. Then you hear rustling and suddenly everyone congregates around you. Both yours and Namjoon’s heads whip to the side, eyes wide as if you were deer caught in headlights.

Yoongi quickly turns away but you notice the small tugging of his lips as he stares at the trees. Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook stare at you in confusion, Rap Mon wagging his tail excitedly as he spots you. Seokjin and Hoseok however, look entirely too pleased with themselves. They’re both grinning widely: as if they’d found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Internally, you scream, knowing that you were never, ever going to live this down. Hoseok and Seokjin were going to tease you for the foreseeable future.

“Daddy? What’s going on?” Jimin asks innocently and you feel your face burn from his seemingly childlike question. Jimin’s words kick both your gears in and you and Namjoon quickly scramble to get into a safer position. Namjoon clears his throat, putting on his passive ‘father’ face but you can still see how red his ears are.

“____ found a ribbon but got stuck in the tree and daddy had to get her out,” Namjoon stammers out, trying to explain the situation.

“Oh yes, that’s definitely what was happening here,” Hoseok teases, both his and Seokjin’s eyes twinkling with mirth. You glare at them both, trying to stop their teasing but they only smile at you with faux innocence. Namjoon quickly stands up, dusting himself off before extending his hand out towards yours. You grab it, allowing him to pull you up as you too begin dusting yourself off.

“Are we all done? Did we get all the ribbons?” you ask in an attempt to change the conversation, and Jungkook lets out a bright grin, sticking out his hand that looks like it contains at least fifteen ribbons.

“We won!” Jungkook calls, swinging his fist around happily.

“Only because you cheated,” Seokjin suddenly calls out and you look taken aback at his sudden outburst. For most of it, Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook don’t care. Instead, they’re sitting between themselves sharing their ribbons. However, Hoseok, Seokjin and Yoongi all stand in a circle, both Hoseok and Seokjin accusing of tailing them and stealing their ribbons. You let out a small giggle, at the two little groups, Namjoon shaking his head at them all.

“Oh?” you suddenly say, looking at the sky with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” Namjoon asks, Seokjin, Yoongi and Hoseok turning to you both, their heated argument immediately dying.

“I thought I felt a raindrop,” you reply, your lips downturned and eyebrows scrunched up.

“The weather forecast didn’t say it was supposed to rain. We checked,” Yoongi says and you nod before turning back.

“Maybe it’s just me feeling things aha,” you shrug nonchalantly, however, a couple of moments later, you hear the tell-tale pitter-patter of raindrops against the tree canopy as it begins raining.

“Oh sh-“ Yoongi says, catching himself before he swears in front of the children. You watch as Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok quickly shrug off their hoodies, holding them above the boys to protect them.

“Jin-hyung, call the driver. Boys come on, let’s go find somewhere to stand under,” Namjoon calls, ushering the boys towards him.

“____ go with Namjoon and the boys, Hobi, Yoongi and I will grab the stuff,” Seokjin says and you nod, grabbing Rap Mon’s lead from Yoongi as you and Namjoon usher the boys out of the forest and towards where the driver dropped you off.

“It’ll be a while before the car gets here won’t it?” you ask, one hand holding your own jacket over your head as well as Rap Mon’s lead, the other hand holding Jungkook’s hand.

“I don’t think so. The driver said he’d be in the area,” Namjoon replies. By the time the five of you find shelter under a large tree, all of you are completely soaked from the heavy rain. Five minutes later, Yoongi, Hoseok and Seokjin join you, somehow even wetter than you are.

“The driver said he should be here soon, so hopefully we don’t have to wait too long,” Seokjin says and you all nod.

Ten minutes pass and you begin worrying about standing out in the cold and rain; not for yourself but more for Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook who are still young and more vulnerable to any illnesses from the exposure. Just as you start getting antsy however, the large 7-seater car pulls up. You let out a small sigh of relief before quickly grabbing Jungkook’s hand, Namjoon doing the same for Jimin and Taehyung before ushering them into the car. Yoongi, Seokjin and Hoseok quickly follow you until you’re all crammed into the car, the kids sitting on whichever laps would take them while Rap Mon sits in the back with Yoongi.

Jungkook sits on your lap, his back pressed against your chest, and with as close as he is, you feel the way his little body shivers. Swiftly, and with a small tut, you pull him closer into your body, despite the fact that you’re as soaked as he is. Quickly, you began rubbing your hands up and down his arms, pressing him closer to your chest as you tried to create the much-needed friction to warm him up. Jungkook lets out a small whine, followed by a sniffle, as he cuddles closer into your warmth, his teeth continuing to chatter.

“Seokjin can you turn the heating on please,” you ask and he nods, flicking the button. Instantly, the car is filled with warm air and you let out a little sigh at the feel of the warmth against your chilled skin.

“I’d get comfortable if I were you, it’s a long ride back,” Seokjin calls out and you nod, letting out a small yawn.

You snuggle further into the seat, Jungkook snuggling into you. A sigh on contentment escapes your lips, despite how cold it is. Your clothes are completely saturated, sticking to your skin and your hair is dripping along your flesh, and yet despite that, the warmth from the heating as well as the feel of Namjoon and Hoseok on either side of you has you feeling much more comfortable. Before long, you begin dozing off, your forehead leaning against Namjoon’s shoulder. Feeling the weight on his shoulder, Namjoon turns to look at you, his eyes softening at the way both you and Jungkook look as you nap.

“You alright there Joonie?” Hoseok asks with a teasing smile and Namjoon narrows his eyes.

“Don’t think I don’t know what both you and Seokjin-hyung tried to do today,” Namjoon says, causing them both to snicker.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. We noticed the way you were staring at her,” Seokjin says and Namjoon grumbles.

“I wasn’t staring at her in any particular way,” Namjoon grumbles under his breath, Seokjin rolling his eyes in response.

“Please, you stare at her as if she hung the moon in the sky. And don’t even get us started on how you look at her whenever she’s with your sons,” Seokjin says and at that Namjoon immediately shuts up, pink dusting his cheeks as his ears turn a bright shade of fire truck red.

For the rest of the journey towards your house, Namjoon contemplates the words of his friends. He knows he has some sort of feelings for you, but between raising his children and his prominent music career, he doesn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it. All he knows is that he enjoys any and all time spent with you. There are times when his boys do something and all he wants to do is share it with you, such as when Jimin got his award for being the best at dance and all he wanted was to call you and gush over how proud he was. He loves the way you care for his children and how you’re always available for them. Not to mention, the level of patience you have for children that aren’t even biologically yours is incomprehensible.

Namjoon had long since given up on dating or finding another wife, disillusioned by his first love and consequently first wife. Besides, any dating attempts were already stomped by his career; not to mention, what girl his age would want to be saddled with a twenty-four-year-old who had already had three children. However, his hope had been reignited today by your admission that you loved his children and the more you interact with his children, the more and more he falls for you.

But despite how much he wants it, and how much Seokjin and Hoseok are pushing you onto him, Namjoon knows he cannot make this decision lightly. It’s one thing to introduce you to the boys as a friend, but introducing you as a potential love interest is different. What if it doesn’t work out? What if you break up? He couldn’t take the chance of giving the boys a potential mother figure who would just walk out again. He cannot let that happen. The boys are already so in love and attached with you, especially shy little Jungkook, that Namjoon cannot bear to somehow mess up your relationship in any way that would lead to you walking out on him and consequently them. It would be entirely too devastating.

Namjoon is pulled out of his thought when the car comes to a screeching halt. He jerks slightly, instincts automatically holding Jimin tighter to protect him. He looks around before realising they’re at your apartment complex. Ignoring the little disheartened lurch of his heart as he realised you’d be going home; he instead turns around and adjusts a sleeping Jimin in his hold, before placing his hand on your thigh and slowly shaking you awake. You let out a little whine, Namjoon’s eyes softening at the small action.

“____, it’s time to wake up. We’re at your apartment,” Namjoon says and you slowly blink awake, looking at him blearily. The first thing you spot is Namjoon’s face and immediately convince yourself you’re dreaming and thus letting out a sleepy smile you snuggle closer into him. You breathe in his scent deeply, letting out a little sigh of content as his signature scent of sandalwood and vanilla fills your senses. Namjoon freezes, unsure of how to react. Well, he knows how to react, he wants to wrap his arms around you and let you continue sleeping as he holds you closer. However, he knows he can’t do that.

He doesn’t have to contemplate for longer because soon Seokjin and Hoseok are giggling between themselves at the two of you. As soon as the sound breaks through your sleep fogged mind, you immediately stiffen before breaking away from Namjoon, back rigid as you take in your surroundings. Despair and embarrassment fill you, your heart hammering in your chest and entire face burning as you finally recognise that you’re not dreaming. You quickly stammer, unsure of what to say, and as Hoseok and Seokjin’s giggles fill your ears, you find yourself praying to any god out there to just smite you with lightning.

“We’re at your apartment,” Namjoon says, smiling reassuringly at you and you simply nod, unable to form words. You quickly, but gently, place a still snoozing Jungkook down on the seat before climbing over Hoseok and exiting. The driver opens the back door, Rap Mon jumping out as you grab his lead and your bag.

“Um thank you for inviting me today, I had fun,” you stutter out, face still heated from your actions.

“It was definitely fun having you ____!” Hoseok replies and you choose to ignore the teasing lilt to his voice.

“Text me when you get home safe,” Namjoon calls and you nod curtly, still trying to get over your own embarrassment. Namjoon smiles at you one final time before the driver drives away. You watch the car as it disappears, waving the entire time. Finally, when it’s out of sight, you use the hand you were waving with to smack yourself on the forehead.

“I cannot believe I did that. I should not have done that,” you say to Rap Mon, however, your pup simply cocks his head to the side, “and now here I am speaking to my dog in public like a crazy person” you groan out, realising that people are looking at you weirdly. You grab Rap Mon’s leash and lead him into your building, the scene from the car replaying in your head over and over, Hoseok and Seokjin’s giggles and Hoseok’s teasing voice filling your head.

They really aren’t going to let you forget.

A/N: Hiya! Just few points, real Rap Mon is an american eskimo dog i believe, but I just wanted to make intro her rap mon a samoyed. also can i just say i LOVE seokjin and hoseok’s characterisation in this story fkw

⇥ Masterlist | Chapter 5