#{ t: dark night prelude

[chasseurlegendaire]

Hmm, I wonder if you had a fiancée or a wife, Little Bear?

It seems that people start families quite early in this era.

@ask-joachim-armster (I think this is what you were tryna go for, right? the past?)

And now for something completely different...

A young man, a teenager, stands before that strange man. The one with the cold hands in blue. With intense eyes that mother taught the young man not to stare into, and under no circumstances should he invite the obvious vampire into their home. No matter how friendly.

"Oh, you again. Mother is sleeping, so don't disturb her." Trevor speaks, not looking up from taking his glinting silver dagger to the whetstone as he sharpens it.

"No woman would want me. I'm a Belmont. That is a bad omen nowadays..."

[yoonmetogether]

not in the cards prelude pt. 3

pairing: gambler/drug dealer!yoongi x grad student!fem!reader rating: mature MDNI! 18+ only. Blank/ageless blogs will be blocked!!! genre: strangers-to-lovers, age gap, intro to e2l mafia/bodyguard au summary: he takes his time with you. will he make it last? warnings/tags: angst, scars, theft, implied gang activity/violence, 97% smut lolol, oral (m. and f. receiving), usage of sl*t, tit/ass smacking, slight masochism, cock warming, yoongi’s kinda a dom, reader’s kinda shy but mostly a brat, bantering, dialogue heavy, reader cries, a crumb of fluff, yoongi pov (he's going thru it), pls let me know if i missed anything!! also this is barely proofread so my bad for any mistakes, i'll go back and fix stuff eventually i just need this out of my system lol wc: 11.6k lmaooooooo thanks again to my beta reader @yoonglesyeobo for her fantastic support and feedback; to @syllviere for helping me come up with mafia names for jin and jungkook, and figuring out some lines and scenes and character development (her mind is just 😩🤌); and finally to @moochii-daisies for giving some wonderful commentary <3333 y'all are amazinggggggg

masterlist

The first thing that drew you to Min Yoongi was his voice. Husky and mystifying, like a storm settling down on the distant horizon after a night of raging, dragging you into the dark depths of lust and filth and enthrallment. Then his hands, warm between your legs and even warmer wrapped up in your fingers.

Now, it’s his hooded brown eyes as he stares at you, pressing you into the wall of the foyer, shoes off, hat and bag and bandanna dropped. Your blood roils when he leans in close, his face dewy, flushed, and beautiful. Ethereal.

That small pinch in his brows returns, and just as you’re about to crack at him with a defensive ‘the fuck are you looking at’ to rival the pressure in your chest, he raises a hand to press on the wall above your head. Leftover rain drips down the tips of his stringy bangs as his slow blinking stare moves to and doesn’t falter from your mouth.

He cups your chin, running a thumb down the corner of your lip, underneath it, an unreadable expression on his face and then he kisses you again; soft, gentle. Slow.

You’re pressed between his chest and the wall as he licks embers into your mouth, your hands sliding up to his clothed, solid muscles. Once on his shoulders and under the jacket, he drops his arms so you can shove it down to the floor, hands falling to your waist and gripping tight, pushing your hips into his.

In a somewhat coordinated fashion, he moves you over to the bed, and you end up in between his legs again as he sits on the edge, letting him tear off your jacket and shirt and unclip your bra, strewing them over the bed. You comb through his wet hair as he trails his lips down your sternum, across your breasts. His mouth attaches on your bare tit, lips pursing and tongue lapping against the bud, making your head tip back in bliss.

Your nails scratch his scalp and he purrs over your skin, mouth alternating between your nipples as you end up touching over his shoulders, the wet cling of his t-shirt.

“Can I take this off?” you request softly, pulling at the fabric on his shoulder.

“Turn the light off first.” Your eyebrows knit and you want to ask what he’s hiding from you, but you’re sure if you made the request, he’d comply without question. You kiss him before moving away, his hands lingering on your waist until you’re out of reach.

Prior to casting the room into darkness, you remember to retrieve a condom - the very reason you ventured out in the middle of the night. You toss it in his direction that he catches with ease and move back to the table, stuffing the bag of food in the minifridge and finally switching off the lamp. When you return to him, you waste no time yanking off his shirt, and he raises his arms with a chuckle at your eagerness.

The only light comes from a distant lamp outside, and the occasional illuminations from the storm, allowing you to at least see the silhouette of his torso. In awe, you drag your hands down, smoothing over his chest, tracing the subtle lines of muscle as you kiss him. But your eyebrows furrow when you pass over a small area of raised skin on his right shoulder, just under his collarbone. You run your thumb across it, stomach dropping when you feel that it’s particularly… round.

This shouldn’t come as a surprise. But it shocks you, only because you hate the thought of where he got it from. And how many more just like it he has.

When you part, your meddlesome tongue loosens to drop a blunt question, but his tough hand pulls your wrist away from that spot.

“Don’t say anything,” he pleads under his breath, and your heart twinges at the pain radiating from that soft whisper and you have no desire to inflict more of it. Fingers tenderly tangled in his hair, you tilt his head up and kiss him with your silent promise that this is territory you won’t ask questions about. He sighs against you, shoulders deflating.

“My turn,” you mumble, trailing kisses down his jaw, his neck, to his chest and sternum, sinking to your knees. He spreads his legs as you work open his belt and jeans, pulling them down with his boxers, tantalizingly slow. He kicks them away once they reach his ankles and you plant your hands on his thighs, slowly caressing up to his hips, humming at his soft skin. 

“The universe took its time with you, huh?” you muse, straying from his exposed dick so you can feel over his slightly toned stomach, and clarify in a murmur,

“I mean all of you when I say that.”

Nothing answers you, but you don’t mind as you gently wrap your fingers around his hard length, long and thick and barely able to fit in one hand. He takes a shuddering breath and leans back as you let spit fall onto his tip, spreading it with your thumb to mix with the precum that dribbles out at your ministrations.

As you take him into your mouth, the low growl that tapers on the end of his sigh as you wrap your lips around him and suck only makes you wish you could see more than the silhouette of his expression to know what you’re starting to do to him.

Hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, you prepare to take more of him in. His hips jerk as you bring him further back into the wet heat of your mouth, both of you moaning when he hits the back of your throat and he apologizes for his involuntary thrust.

Dismissively shaking your head, you take him even more and pause, doing your best to accommodate him, tears squeezing from the corners of your eyes shut in concentration. He bucks his hips again, moaning when you take him a little further and gag, goosebumps covering your skin as he brushes back a loose strand of hair on your forehead.

“You sound so fucking hot choking on my dick, dollface,” he groans, fingers pressing into your scalp, and you keep going to draw out more of his sounds and praise, pairing it with twists of your hand on his shaft.

Jaw aching, you divert a little attention to his balls, and your clit throbs at his loud moan as you suck one into your mouth, continuing to jerk his shaft.

It doesn’t take long for him to mutter out, “Shit, I’m close.”

"Already?” Because of course you have to tease as you bring your mouth back to his shaft.

“I’ve been hard for hours.”

“Poor you.”

He scoffs and pushes at your head to send you back down on his dick, so you increase your pace of twisting and bobbing, salivating at his breathy moans warning his release.

Suddenly, he sharply inhales and stands up, knocking you on your haunches, large palm on the top of your head angling it back. Lightly smacking your hand away, he pushes into your mouth to thrust in and out with your tongue laid flat on a thick vein.

With one buck of his hips and then another, he pulls out, growling as he rapidly jerks himself, knuckles tapping your lip and chin.

“Fuuuuck,” he drawls as his release ropes onto your tongue, and your eyes close at the heat sliding down your throat, swallowing all of him down.

“Good girl.” And then you’re roughly tugged up by your elbows to stand chest to chest with him, lips smashing onto yours with an immediate tongue in your mouth.

You let him kiss you in this fiery way of his 

“Lay down. I’m gonna ride you.”

“Oh, are you calling the shots?” He muses, plopping back down.

“I’ve been calling the shots this entire time. Problem?”

“Yeah,” he puffs. “Still you.”

Shaking your head, you lift yourself by your knees onto the mattress as he maneuvers to rest against the headboard, fingers trickling the outsides of your thighs as you straddle him.

You squint as he sticks his two middle fingers in his mouth, rolls them over his tongue, and pulls them out with a lewd pop. You fall forward to grab onto his shoulders as he slides through your folds and curls into your cunt, scissoring you open.

“Can you come just from my fingers, dollface?”

“No, I need you.”

A rumble of thunder fills a pause before he asks, “Need me? How.”

“Fucking me,” you rasp. “Please.”

“I didn’t think you could be so polite.”

“Like you’ve had great manners,” you grit.

He chuckles and removes his fingers, sucking them into his mouth again. Your thighs shake, pussy throbbing, desperate to be filled again.

After he finishes tasting you, he locates the condom and tears it open while you take the time to rise on your knees, hands on the back of his head, kissing and licking along his neck, under his jaw, over the small hoops in his ear. He hums and leans into the marks you make on the column of his throat, arm flinging to the side to dispose of the wrapper before one hand goes to your hip, the other to the back of your neck, tugging you down to lock his mouth with yours.

Slowly sinking into his lap, you grind over his protected length that bobs in response. Lips locked, you reach between your legs to grab his dick, moving the head to gather up your slick, and when that’s not enough, you retract your hand to spit in it and jerk his shaft to lube up the rest of him. He hums deeply in approval, tilting towards you and leaning back on his hand as you slowly guide him in.

He breaks the kiss and your skin prickles with the sensation of his eyes roving up and down your naked form, palm coasting down your side to your back and ass. Breathing shakily, your nerves freeze from the pressure of it all.

“Gotta relax, baby.” His sultry tone lodges a pathetic moan in your throat.

“I am, you’re just fucking big,” you snap and he chuckles, massaging and kissing over your breast.

“You took me just fine before.”

“I was desperate.” You hiss as his teeth tease your nipple.

“Mmm. And now you want to take your time? Don’t stroke my ego too much.”

“You’re right, it’ll get as big as your head and no one wants that.” He smacks the side of your tit in retaliation and you yelp at the sting, but a dirty tingle in your gut wants him to do it again.

“Annoying fucking brat.”

“You weren’t saying that when you were fucking my face just now.”

“Because your big mouth was full and you couldn’t talk back. It was actually kind of nice.”

Keeping your head down, you take a deep breath to try and calm your racing pulse, but you can still feel him checking out your naked form, hand smoothing over your waist. You want to do this, but you can’t relax.

“Can you maybe just… not look at me?” you request quietly, pressing your fingers into his shoulders to pass over some of your stress.

“Why? Am I making you nervous?” Heart thudding at his teasing tone, you clap a palm over his mouth and push him away to get him out of your face. He falls back against the headboard with a harmless laugh, both hands resting on your thighs.

“What are you- oh,” he says as you unmount him, only to turn around to sit over his lap, knees on the inside of his legs, breathing freely now that you’re not facing him. You adjust your stance with your feet wiggling under his thighs, and he shifts down a little closer, head of his cock landing on the center of your ass and with a small moan, you lift up so he can prod your entrance but not push any further, seemingly waiting for you to take the lead. Finally out of your head, you feel a little less pressure and slowly sink back onto him.

“Fuck, there you go,” he hums as you completely sheathe him and find your bearings, basking in the fullness. Then the soft murmur that follows flings your pulse into a frenzy.

“I meant what I said earlier. You’re beautiful.”

And just like that, his simple assurance, which you (for once) believe whole-heartedly, gives you confidence. You start out slow and gentle, this position not one you’re wholly experienced with, but one that takes some of the performance pressure off. Fighting for breath, you arch your back, and receive a small hiss in response, and then, a growl. 

“Lean forward a bit,” he encourages, palm pressing on your lower back and your nerves tremor at the tender velvet in his tone. Accepting his guidance, you let out a wanton moan as your adjusted posture allows him to fill every inch of you at a delicious angle.

It takes a second to find your rhythm, what movements and angles give you the most pleasure, silently grateful for his hands on your ass supporting you.

“Yeah, use me,” he grunts, a harsh swat and grope of your ass sending a pleased yelp to the ceiling. “My good fuckin’ slut.”

You stutter out a whimper, the possessive term something you could get dangerously hooked on, despite doubting that he means it literally. He’s just caught up in the moment.

Right?

Grinding back on him, slick sounds of his hard cock sliding in and out of every inch of your core mix with his gratified purrs.

“Damn, this pussy is driving me crazy.”

“Good.” He huffs and swats your ass.

“Brat. Where’s my bandana?”

“You want me to go get it?”

“Nah. Stay right here.”

Lightning flashes, and his words sends a shiver down your spine just as thunder cracks. You watch the windows in front of you rattle with nature’s vibrations and for a moment as you roll and grind on him in a somewhat sloppy rhythm, you focus on the tempest whirling around outside, blackening the ocean, dark waves smashing up on the stone wall near where you were just sitting on Yoongi’s lap as he smoked.

But then he starts uttering praises and pleased hums, hand never straying from your ass, and your mind goes blank as you focus on your motions to evoke more of his enticing sounds.

Thighs starting to ache at the exertion, you find purchase with your fists on the mattress between his legs and arch forward, jaw dropping in a gasp when his cock hits a spot so deep inside you that you see infinite, sparkling galaxies behind your closed eyes. Riding through the strain, you whimper in ecstasy as he moans behind you, kneading your ass in continuous support of your riding.

Ultimately, your muscles give out in exhaustion, so you groan and tip forward, fingers finding his ankles as you stop to catch your breath and he grabs onto your waist to hold you in place.

“You alright?”

“I’m tired.”

“Had enough?” You shake your head.

“Good. I’m not done with you.” His promise is gruff as he pushes you off and handles you to the head of the mattress, stuffing pillows under your head before standing on his knees outside of your legs, forcing your ass into the air with a firm grip on your hips. Adjusting one of the pillows to comfortably prop yourself up, you use it to muffle a moan when he lazily slaps your clit with his cockhead, circling it a few times before gliding to your fluttering hole.

Hand pressing down on your spine, he rolls into you, easily finding that patch of nerves and hitting it with steady thrusts. You bury a prolonged moan into the pillow, eyes squeezing shut in a telepathic prayer, thanking the universe for throwing this dangerous man in your life when you least expected but needed him most.

You’re not alone now.

And then he fills you to the brim, making you whimper as he starts fucking you at a languid pace, completely contrary to the ardent rhythm he set in the closet, but you take it with pleased moans. But at some point you find yourself moving on your own accord, whining your hips to meet his thrusts, desperate to bring out that demon in him.

“You keep trying to take over, dollface,” he muses, letting go of your hips completely when you don’t stop rocking back on him. “Not that I’m complaining, but I thought you were tired.”

“Maybe I want you to go harder.”

He hums, smoothing both palms over your ass to your lower back.

“If you want something, you could try that polite thing again.”

You suck in a deep breath. “Fuck me harder. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, Yoongi!”

He chuckles and then slams into you, sending your conscience to travel in another plane of existence, fucking you until you’re so far gone, you don’t even realize you’ve been chanting his name like a song you never want to stop singing.

“Not gonna lie, I hate you for winning my money, Angel,” he grumbles, bringing you back down to earth. “Fuckin’ hustler.”

“Is that why you really came back?” you taunt out in between moans. “So I could make it up to you?”

He suddenly stops and roughly yanks you up by your shoulder, handful of your tit, pinning your back to his chest.

“You made it up to me in that closet,” he tells you thunderously. Another bolt of lightning brightens the room for a split second, a boom from the sky responding loudly a few seconds later. But you barely notice over the blood storming in your ears.

“I came back because I can’t get you out of my head. Happy?” He says it like you shouldn’t be, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Are you admitting that you like me?”

“I’m not fucking admitting anything,” he snarls, distracting you from the scorn in his tone with his fierce re-entrance after he lets you fall, snapping into you and picking up his unwavering pace.

Dare you say impassioned?

The echoes of squelching matches the smacks of skin as he pounds into you relentlessly, cock plunging deep and rigorous, and your mind dissolves when his balls roughly slap your clit.

He angles against your spot and keeps his momentum there, the fire in your belly growing hotter, tightening your muscles, heightening your whines, jellifying your mind.

“You gonna come again for me, hm?” he coos in a cocksure timbre.

Smug bastard, you say to yourself, not realizing you’ve spoken out loud until he delivers another smack to your ass with a low chuckle.

Grabbing your hip, he lowers himself on top of you, chest pressed into your back, sinking you further into the mattress. Mewling as you’re heated and weighed down by his flushed skin, he curves his arm around your head so your face is nestled in the crook of his elbow, driving into you at a fast, consistent pace.

“Yoongi!” you wail, breath collapsing as he fucks you to your peak. “Don’t stop! Please, I’m-“

The words catch in your throat as your climax approaches, and he reaches under to stroke your clit, the muscles on his bicep flexes just as he growls right in your ear, “Come.” 

The simple word muttered in his low, lusty tone is the final push to the edge of a tsunami-esque wave of pleasure, mouth hanging open soundlessly. For once you’re speechless, like the force of your orgasm depleted all the brain waves responsible for forming cohesive sentences or even thoughts. His mouth sucks hard on the back of your shoulder, rolling his hips at a sharp pace so he can drag his dick through every inch of your core. He hits you deep over and over and over as you pulse, violent and overpowering, and you feel the need to scream. The only way to muffle yourself is by biting something and the closest thing is his bicep. So you scrape your teeth on his bulging muscle, and he groans, grabbing your ass as his elbow tightens a pinch more around your head.

“Harder,” he demands in a growl, and you obey, clamping down. The divots you’re leaving in his skin are enough to nearly draw blood, but it doesn’t seem to phase him as he ruts into you.

In fact, you think it’s spurring him on.

He slides up, tags on the back of your neck, clenching the sheets beside your head and burying his face in your neck as he uses the support of his thighs to ruck into you with thorough, earnest thrusts. Is he trying to split you in half?

In the midst of your spiral, your heart palpitates upon just barely hearing him whisper with lips and chains weighing on your skin,

“Fuck have you done to me?”

You shudder. You could ask him the same question.

And then he pulls out of you, lifting up so an onslaught of slightly chilled air encompasses you. You don’t have time or the mind capacity to object before his hands on your waist roll you onto your back and, bleary eyed, you gawk up at his pallid features blurred by the darkness - his broad chest heaving, biceps flexing, damp bangs and long chains dangling in the air.

His fingers brush up your sides, trailing across your stomach, kneading into your breasts and your skin prickles with sweat and electricity. He ducks his head to kiss down your neck, your sternum, then to lick over your nipples.

Oh, god. Can he feel how fast your heart is pounding? It’s not just from the aftermath of your orgasm.

He continues his descent and on his knees hunches over, fingers digging into your ass to tip up your hips. Your back arches with a pitiful moan when he ravenously slurps at your cunt, drinking in your cum and humming gravelly as he swallows. At this rate, he’ll make you shatter into pieces and you don’t think you can handle it.

So you weakly wrench his hand from your hip, and he sets you down, pulse faltering when he slips back inside you before falling forward to hover above you, one hand on the headboard.

He shifts to fuck into you so deep, and when you reach up to tangle your fingers in the links, he drops his arm from the headboard, caging you in.

Getting high off the sounds of him breathing heavily and moaning darkly, head ducked to watch his hips clap against yours, you slide your hands up and down his torso, brows pinching when you coast over more areas of raised and jagged skin; some long and linear, others small and circular like the one by his clavicle. So many violent scars on his ribs, his chest, his back.

Just like you expected.

And at that, unexpected tears prick the corners of your eyes. Soon the sides of your face flood, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down so you can hide the streaks in his neck, biting your lip in a poor attempt to stop your cries.

A few intense thrusts in, you moan, but a small whimper followed by a sniffle slips out, and his hips roll to a stop, pulling halfway out and lifting to plank above you. You shut your eyes to avoid his stare, more tears squeezing out.

“Hey, you crying?” he asks this gently, no judgement in his hushed tone. Concern? Maybe. Care? …

“I’m fine.” The croak in your voice betrays you.

“We can stop.”

“No, it’s-” you scramble for anything but the real reason you’re shedding tears for him. “I’m glad you came back. And not just for this.”

He doesn’t say anything and you don’t expect him to. Although you want nothing more than to know what he’s thinking about you, about what you just said, about the fact that you’re laid up beneath him fucking crying, you’re content with the fact that he’s just still here.

“I get scared thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

Okay, that’s real. You doubt that the symbol on your neck would’ve deterred those men from getting what they wanted when you’re so far from home.

“Hmm, girl like you can fight, no?”

“You maybe,” you quip with a sniff. He chuckles, breath and tips of his bangs tickling your forehead. “But not all those guys at once.”

“Well, then I guess you’re lucky I found you just in time,” he says, voice soft and small.

“And you’re lucky I’m letting you stay here for free.”

“So, we’re even.”

“Not yet.”

Fisting his hair, you tug him into a searing kiss, free hand sneaking to his ass, eliciting him to moan over your tongue and move again.

Legs bent next to his waist, your nails rake up and down his back, scratching harder when he grunts and increases his rhythm, face dipping to pant against your throat.

“Where can I come?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you wheeze, and he growls, sucking a sloppy bruise under your ear.

Your teeth end up on his shoulder, and you bite like you did before, hardly anticipating the sharp hiss that he sucks in as he surges forward, balls deep, spilling heavily into the condom.

“Mm, Angel,” he moans, staying in a spot inside you that sucks him in tighter as he comes, hard and drawn-out, dick pulsing wildly in place, purring for an entire low and long exhale.

“Shit, I meant to-” He starts pulling out and you curl a hand over the side of his neck.

“It’s fine.” You make a mental note to get a pill first thing after you wake up.

“You just-”

“What?” But he shakes his head.

Softening inside you, he starts to pull out, but a spike of panic has your knees pressing against his sides, arms wrapping around his neck to hold him in place.

You don’t want him to leave at all.

“No, stay,” you whisper, scared that as soon as this moment is gone, everything will be over. “Just for a minute.”

Silence permeates the air, and more panic joins the energy wearing off in your veins as you fear you just messed everything up. When he pulls out, apologies tumble from your lips, but he just shifts you onto your side, settles behind with a hand on your lower back, skin a buzz away, and gently pushes back into you, arm passing above your head.

“A minute.”

Eyes closing at the feeling of being so full, and not just from what’s in between your legs, your hand finds its way into his palm. His wrist bends but his fingers don’t curl over yours when you tangle them together. You take a deep inhale to try and calm your pounding heart, hoping he can’t tell just how much you’re overwhelmed by this moment.

By him staying so close, not leaving, not pushing you away, despite how fucking intimate this is.

“I’m sorry I was a jerk to you, Angel.”

“So he can apologize.” Teeth graze your earlobe and you only giggle, but your chest swells with gratitude.

“Well, I’m sorry I hustled you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Then I’m sorry I made trouble for you by winning all of their money and not thinking that they’d come after me.”

You turn your head in an attempt to look at him over your shoulder and despite the darkness, you can feel his dark eyes piercing into yours.

“You weren’t under any obligation to help me, and the fact that you did anyway is why I opened the door.”

Rain playing in the background, your heart pounds when you’re unable to break this stare, a newfound tension growing that ignites once he captures you in a chaste kiss. You relax into it, ignoring the strain in your neck so you can soak in all of these unspoken feelings the two of you are passing over your tongues. He breaks it with a small pop, lips dragging across your cheek and you turn away, unable to quell the whizzing in your chest.

A moment later, his fingertips press ever so lightly over your knuckles, his mouth pressing to your shoulder and an involuntary smile appears on your face that you’re glad he can’t see.

“We can’t fall asleep like this, dollface,” he mumbles after a short while, voice worn and thick in his throat.

You want to protest, but you’re sure you’ll sound pathetic, not in your right mind. Biting your tongue, he gently pushes at your waist and slips out and both of you moan at the loss.

Your bottom lip juts in a deep pout when he climbs off the bed and shuffles away to the bathroom, the snap of the condom coming off accompanying him.

When the door closes, you roll onto your stomach to plunge your head under the pillows, floating back down to earth and into reality -  that you just slept with a stranger and it was the best goddamn sex of your life. You want to scream into the bedding to release all of these emotions mounting inside of you, ones that you could define if you weren’t so afraid of them.

After a minute or a century, the edge of the mattress dips and the pillow lifts from your head, but you just bury your face further into the sheets.

“Oh, good, you didn’t die this time either,” he teases, the humor in his tone at your expense making you never want to roll over.

“Fucked you quiet, huh? Finally.” You shove your middle finger back in his face because that’s the only part of you that can move at the moment. He pushes it away with a laugh and a gentle tug on your elbow forces you onto your side and you begrudgingly take in the cool air stenched with sex. Room still swathed in darkness, you’re unable to see how he’s looking at you but at least notice that he’s once again covered by the robe.

“You should get up.”

“Already bossing me around?”

“Fine, get a UTI for all I care.” You scoff as he stands, then raise yourself up with your arms crossed over your chest. You’ve barely moved but your ass is already so fucking sore. You’re gonna pay for that when you have to hop back on a long flight later.

“I’ll just bill you, then,” you mumble as you start to walk past him, gait uneven, whipping around with a squeak when he lands a lazy but heavy palm on your bare ass.

“Yeah, okay. Get your pretty ass in the bathroom.”

You flip him off before swiveling around and scurrying away. The light flickers on and heat inundates your cheeks when you just bet he did that to stare at your behind while you walk away.

After cleaning yourself up, you spot the sweater he hung up on the doorknob, now completely dry, not thinking twice about grabbing it to slip on. Finders keepers. It’s so soft and it smells just like him and you want to sleep in it forever and…

Damn girl, you need to reel it back - you just met the fucking guy. It’s barely been twelve hours.

When you emerge, he’s back at the table with his phone plugged in again, staring at it with a frown.

“Still no deposit?”

He shakes his head, glancing up with his brows furrowed and one cocks as you pass by him for the mini fridge.

“Uh, what are you wearing?” You shrug nonchalantly.

“A sweater I found.”

“I’m getting it back.”

“We’ll see.”

He scowls at your cheeky smile, reluctantly accepting the water bottle you pass him. Spotting the remote by the outlet, you reach over him to grab it, switching on the TV hung up in the corner of the room across from the bed and then giving him the control.

He regards you hesitantly before taking it. As you sit down across from him, rooting through the snacks you bought and passing them out between you, he flips through the channels.

In the background, the news plays, and as you start eating, the reporter starts giving updates about the weather.

“Storm’s letting up in the afternoon,” Yoongi announces softly, picking up a snack, the pitter-patter of calm rain hitting the windows behind him.

Mid-chew, you glance over your shoulder to the forecast displayed on the screen, predicting a decrease in precipitation over the next few hours.

“Hm. So I’ll be able to fly out then.” The words turn sour in your mouth as you focus back on your food, and his next question turns your thoughts grey.

“Going home?”

“No,” you sigh, picking at the wrapper. “My brother would be pissed if I popped up out of nowhere. And I’ve already skipped two classes anyway, so.“

He tisks, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I slept with someone who plays hooky.”

His growing smirk gets smacked with your balled up wrapper.

“Didn’t you literally stab a guy?”

“Touche.”

You match his playful smile and go back to eating and listening to the news in comfortable silence.

Exhaustion seeping into your bones, you think about how slowly it’s killing you how much you’re coming to like him. Even more so that you’re struggling to find the confidence to tell him. Because you two are about to part ways - who knows if this is meant to be more than a one night stand.

“Here,” you say, taking out the box of condoms and tossing it at him. “Restock your wallet.”

He peers at you curiously but doesn’t touch it at first, just what you were hoping for.

You can’t stop the disappointed frown when he ultimately reaches into the box and takes out a few square foils.

“I hope your next fuck treats you to something better than a moldy closet.”

Oh. So then he’s not expecting this to last. Not what you were hoping for.

“Well, I hope your next fuck sends you into crippling debt,” you sneer and he gazes at you with a diminished light in his eyes that you hold with a lasered glare.

You get up, chair loudly scraping the floor, and snatch the wrappers from your side and his to furiously throw them away. You know this reaction is strange and out of character, feeling so rejected when you’re accustomed to one night stands. But something about this man - you can’t help it. And it’s really not fair.

That pisses you off even more.

You storm in and out of the bathroom to aggressively brush your teeth, and then head for the bed, heart jumping when he’s standing right there in the small hallway. A hand around your elbow stops you from passing him in your path of fury and you twist to face him with a hard-set expression, not expecting his unsure frown.

“You’re flying out.”

“And?” you snap.

“And I don’t stay,” he states firmly, letting go of your arm. “Much less date.”

You exhale a short, calmer breath, resolve softening. “You’re staying now.”

You wait for him to say that it’s because it’s still raining. But he doesn’t - eyes just darting between yours, frantically, like he’s looking for something. Your chest tightens because you don’t know what he’s expecting to find.

“Well, if you don’t want to exchange phone numbers, we could write letters or something,” you half-joke, knot in your gut unraveling.

“Yeah?” He lifts a brow. “And how would that work? I move around a lot.”

“Hm. So do I.”

His jaw clenches as bows his head, pressing three fingers into his eyes, and then offers you his palm, expression flat and begrudging.

“Give me your phone.”

It’s hard to not let the excitement show in your smile, but your cheeks beam with a radiating heat as you scramble around to snatch your phone out of your discarded hoodie, practically shoving it into his hands after you unlock it.

Your nerves vibrate and a smile dances on your lips as you watch him type in his number, eyes downcast when he passes over your device displaying his newfound digits.

“Does this mean you like me?”

“No,” he gruffs, frowning, and your eyes roll at his stubbornness.

“Whatever. I don’t like you either,” you lie.

“Then why do you want my number?”

“So I can bother you from a different time zone.” He lunges for your phone.

“Delete it right now.”

“No! Too late!” You hold your device high in the air but don’t back down from his advance.

“Angel, I swear-“

“What are you gonna do about it?” His eyes narrow at your challenge, lips pulling into a line when he glances down at yours.

As you turn to walk away, he grabs your shirt by your waist, yanking you towards him and into a kiss, one that has butterflies spinning throughout your veins, limbs melting like butter. Until you feel his fingers slither over your wrist and attempt to pull your phone out of your grasp, lips lingering on yours, do you lean away when you realize he kissed you as a ploy.

“Nice try.” He glares at you and, smirking, you kiss him again. He scowls when you pull away with a grin and turn back around to crawl into bed. As you get comfortable under the covers, news reporters covering some more about the storm, you watch him collect his shirt from the floor and frown at it still being wet. You almost take off his sweater and give it back but you’re so damn comfortable and warm in it that you can’t help but be selfish.

“I have a shirt you can wear,” you offer a little shyly. “You mind handing me my duffle?”

When he nods after a slight pause, he picks it up and sets it on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to dig through and pull out one of your favorite graphic tees. He takes it with a quirk of his brow, staring at the design on the front and you don’t care if he’s judging.

“I’d rather just wear my sweater.”

“I’m wearing it.” Duh. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at the graphics.

“Well, you’re definitely getting this back.” You snort and tell him to hurry up so you can go to bed. You pay him no mind as he trudges away muttering something under his breath. You grab one last thing from the bag, making him turn around with a tap on his elbow.

“Here’s an extra toothbrush. Toothpaste is on the sink.”

He doesn’t look at you as he takes it, murmuring a quiet “Thanks,” and then disappears into the bathroom.

When he returns, you peer over the headboard to see he’s wearing your shirt, long enough to fall past his waist, partially covering his boxers, and you almost squeal in delight.

“That looks cute on you,” you say as he shuffles towards the table, voice cracking with the threat of laughter, barreling out when he grits “Shut up” and flips you off.

“What? It does!”

He shakes his head in denial and reaches for his phone again, probably checking for his deposit, and with a silly idea, you grab yours to type out a message.

night cutie

sent 5:03am

After it sends, you stare at him as his phone buzzes and he picks it up, biting your tongue when he quickly sets it back face down. 

“I could block you,” he grumbles as he stands beside the bed, hands on his hips.

“Just like you could’ve pushed me out of the closet? Or like I could make you sleep on the floor?”

His head tilts. “Actually, that might be better for my back.”

“Go right ahead, old man.”

He grimaces and picks up a pillow to land it in your face. Holding it against your chest, you fall back against the headboard with a giggle.

“C’mon,” you say, patting the bedding beside you. “I don’t bite.”

His eyes narrow, holding out his right arm to present the deep set marks from your teeth in the skin just above his elbow. Your eyes widen in delight. “This begs to differ.”

Rising on your knees, you crawl to him, peering up with a sly smile when he doesn’t resist as you reach for his arm.

“It might bruise.” He shrugs and you tilt your head, analyzing it and experimentally pressing the pad of your thumb against the divots, and he shifts. You blink up to his hooded eyes, the subtle tongue flick on his bottom lip.

“You like that?” you tease, smirking at his lack of denial. “Hm, I got a little masochist on my hands.”

Continuing to press over the marks, you bat mischievous lashes as his pupils dilate.

“Don’t start, I’m beat,” he says, moving his arm back.

“Aww, is it past your bedtime?”

“That’s getting old.”

“Yeah, like you.” He sighs in exasperation.

“You walked right into that one,” you snicker.

“Just scoot over,” he mutters, shooing you away as he takes the covers you offer and lifts a knee onto the mattress.

“I thought the floor was better for your back.”

“I’m not sleeping on that nasty ass floor.”

You blow a raspberry, heart skipping a beat as you side-eye him situating himself next to you, leaving a significant amount of space between you that you pretend you’re not disappointed by.

“So are you stuck here for the time being?” you find yourself inquiring through a yawn as you turn your attention to the TV.

He hums, adjusting the pillow under his head. “Until I get paid enough for a plane ticket.”

You stare at his side profile for a moment, debating whether or not you should offer to pay for his ticket, but decide against it, figuring he would say no again.

“You’re welcome to stay here until then,” you pose gently, not taking it to heart when he just gives you a side glance and a single nod.

For a moment, you pensively chew the inside of your cheek.

“And maybe you can drop me off at the airport?”

His eyebrows lift, a mild uptick on the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe.” A blip in your heart conjures up a smile.

“‘Ppreciate it.”

“Mm,” he hums indifferently, turning his head to roll his shoulders and crack his neck.

After turning off the TV and pulling the covers up, your body is drawn to his warmth and you shimmy your way towards him. But just as your head hits his shoulder, he leans away, and you do the same, like you’ve suddenly become magnets of the same polarity. Glancing up to his side eye and clenched jaw, you realize your small action showcasing your desire to be close crossed a boundary of something he’s not comfortable with. You respect it, but you can’t deny that it hurts a little.

“I don’t do that,” he says, no malice in his tone, like he’s just stating a fact.

“Okay,” you murmur, shifting to your side of the bed with guilt crawling through you. “I’m sorry. Night.”

A tiny tug in your chest, you turn on your side, back facing him, and settle into the sheets, closing your eyes and focusing on the rain softly hitting the windows to help lure yourself to sleep.

Just as you’re about to drift off, your eyes fly open as his weight dips behind you, a tentative hand on the dip of your waist, elbow nudging the back of your head. His legs brush behind yours and you don’t react, as if any sudden movement will scare him away. But your heart runs like the wind.

“This is your imagination. Got it?”

Huffing, your smile turns into a grin as you cheekily wiggle back so your body slots ever so lightly against his, ass barely touching his pelvis.

“Since it’s my imagination, I can do this?” you probe, poking your toes between his legs to slide your calves together. He hisses and kicks his feet back.

“Not when your feet are freezing!”

You giggle and he pushes at your hip but doesn’t move away. Finally, he settles and you close your eyes, wishing your heart to not go into overdrive.

“I meant to thank you,” you whisper, disrupting the tranquility. “For everything.” A soft exhale flutters over your scalp. “And I ho-” And then his palm flies up to cover your mouth. 

“Please go to sleep.”

Bringing his arm down to curl over your middle, you expect him to move it as you nuzzle into the pillow and close your eyes once again, his face plastered in your mind as you finally succumb to sleep.

His arm pulls you just a bit closer.

When Yoongi wakes up with your head next to his shoulder, it’s light out and you’re fast asleep. You’re stunning, even in slumber.

Reaching under the pillow, he panics for a second when his gun isn’t there. Oh, right. He left it in the bushes by the bike. He did well to hide it on him in places you wouldn’t find it, thanks to his quick hands and quicker thinking. He had it tucked in the back of his waistband when he found you in that restaurant, and if he hadn’t gotten a hold of those chopsticks, last night would’ve ended a lot differently. You don’t deserve to see something like that. Something he’s seen and committed countless times - but he doesn’t want to think about that right now. It’ll ruin this whole thing.

He does his best not to disturb you as he maneuvers out of bed, checking his phone first, noting that it’s almost noon. He shakes his head - it’s been a while since he’s slept in like this but you two were up very late last night after all. And you wore him the hell out. He's exhausted, mostly physically, but the sleep he managed wasn't interrupted by terrors inside his mind or out. For once.

He frowns when there’s no notification of his deposit, just a text from Lin telling him to call, and sighs, gently places his phone back down. He’ll deal with that later.

In the bathroom, he waits until he’s started the shower to turn the lights on, ignoring his reflection as he takes off your shirt and then his delicate, most treasured silver chain, placing it on the corner of the sink to avoid any drains, dog tags swinging on his chest as he steps into the stall.

The warm water gloriously cascading down his chest, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This is something else he’s not accustomed to - showering in the same place where he hooked up with someone. Especially for a second time. He wasn’t lying when he said he’s not the type to stay the night. But it’s different with you. With you, he feels… safe. Like he doesn’t have to run. It’s an odd relief.

Grabbing soap and a cloth, he starts lathering his body, and when he passes over the teeth marks you left on his bicep, his head tilts back with a moan at the slight sting. He props a hand on the wall to stare at the nasty bruise blooming on his arm, a smile curling his lips at the memory of your teeth sinking into his skin while you came hard around his cock. He wishes you’d bitten harder. A lot harder. He wouldn’t mind having a scar from that. He’s not sure what that says about him.

He likes the way it hurt, likes it even more that you caught on, paid attention to and cared about what he liked, dragged your teeth along his clavicle, biting sharply into it to drive him to the hardest-hitting orgasm he’s had in a long time. His dick stirs to life thinking about you mouthing and nipping all over his body, making marks on his hip bones, and he craves the opportunity to bury deep in your cunt again and stay there.

There’s a strange tightness in his chest when he thinks about how you’ve made him feel since the moment he fucked you in that closet. Maybe even before that. Maybe when you shoved in his face how much better you are than him at poker. Maybe when you walked into that dingy room with an air of confidence he didn’t expect.

Pretty. Alluring. Badass. Fearless.

Irresistible.

His heart hasn’t raced for someone like this in… well, he can’t remember.

He hangs his head, water dripping down the back of his neck, pouring off of his chin and ends of his hair and he watches it all swirl down the drain.

He needs to get it the fuck together.

As he starts rinsing off, his ringtone suddenly blares, loud and shrill, and he scrambles out of the shower, haphazardly throwing a towel around his waist, darting out to grab his phone from the table.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when he sees you squirming under the sheets, pillow punched over your head to drown out the noise. He squints at the caller ID and his temple throbs, so he quickly answers, whispers “Hang on” into the speaker, and picks up his boxers and robe that you wore on the way to the door, peeking over his shoulder to where you’re settling back into sleep.

“Hello? Suga, you there?” the voice on the other line asks. His friend, Lin, one of the few people he actually trusts, rarely ever calls with good news.

“One sec,” Yoongi mutters as he balances his phone between his cheek and shoulder, dropping the towel and yanking on his boxers. He swings on the robe before propping open the door with his sneaker, peering through the crack to make sure you haven’t gotten up and followed him.

“I don’t have all day, man.”

“What’s up?” he asks, jogging down the stairs in his bare feet. The stone pavement is wet and cold. It smells like more rain.

“You need to get your ass back here because Axe is livid about the deal. He’s blaming you and if you don’t come and fix it, he’s gonna make you pay with your life.”

A cloud fills Yoongi’s lungs. He can’t die. Not yet.

“Is my deposit coming through?” 

Lin laughs. “If he’s not cutting our checks, he’s definitely not cutting yours.” Yoongi really, really wants to punch his friend in the nuts for laughing at a time like this.

“I don’t have any fucking money for a plane ticket,” he whisper yells, glancing around to make sure no one is around.

“That’s your problem. You gotta find a way back ‘cause he’s got thugs in Jeju that’ll take care of you for him.”

A stressed hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling and tugging like that’ll make him think of a solution.

“You’re also supposed to be in charge of handling that shipment coming through. Don’t miss it or you’ll really be dead.”

“I won’t,” he promises through gritted teeth. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I hope so.”

The call drops and Yoongi almost throws his phone to crack on the concrete, but he has one more shot at not being totally screwed. He dials another number, eyes closing in relief when it picks up on the fourth ring.

“It’s a little early to be calling,” the familiar male voice chirps. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, I’m sorry, but do you think- would you mind wiring me an advance? Please?” Fuck, he’s never been one to beg. It’s pathetic. “I’m kind of in a spot right now and my deal in Jeju fell through so I’m not getting any money any time soon. I hate to ask but-”

“Why don’t you have any money?” Shame. Guilt consumes him.

“I lost it gambling.”

“I see.” There’s a pause and Yoongi holds his breath, thinking he just flushed his whole life down the drain. Oxygen whooshes out of his lungs when the man he will eventually owe his life to continues.

“Well, you can’t play away all of your money like this, understand? I won’t tolerate having my funds being used to get yourself out of situations that you shouldn’t be in in the first place, especially when you haven’t earned it yet. I’ll let it slide this time but if it happens again, then you’re out. I won’t be able to help.”

He nods solemnly. “I understand.”

“Good. I can’t wire any until tomorrow, but you’ll receive a decent amount to get you through until your next job, okay?”

Fucking shit. He can’t wait that long. He wants to ask if there’s any way he can get enough now for a plane ticket home, but he can’t risk getting out of the good graces of Don Kim’s son.

“Yeah, thank you. And again, I’m sorry.”

“I know. Actually, this might be a way to make up for some of it. My brother isn’t doing so well, and I have to go out of town for a while soon; do you think you can check in on him while I’m gone? I’ve been trying to get him back into boxing and I know he enjoys doing that with you.”

“Sure. I have some stuff to take care of first though. I’ll head up in the next couple of weeks?”

After he does some damage control and manages a risky deal without ending up dead or in prison, he’ll play babysitter if it means he can keep his secret other job. And his livelihood. Sol may be a troubled kid, but he’s generally easy to get along with. Sometimes when he’s sober and in his better moods, he makes Yoongi think of that kid back home. The kid he’s doing this whole can’t-die-yet thing for.

“Okay, great. In the meantime, have you gotten anything on Axe that I can use?”

Yoongi looks around again, squats next to a wall and cups his mouth to muffle himself. “He’s planning to intercept a shipment trucking out of Incheon and I think it’s coming from one of your suppliers. You might have a mole.” Oh, the irony.

“Hm, interesting. I just caught a cop working undercover in the harbor, so he’ll have some intel if he knows what’s good for him. Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

“And hang in there a little longer, D. We’ll get you out.” God, he hopes so. Yoongi knows these things take time, it’s less dangerous that way, but he’s been trying to get out of this game for years. Well, out of one and into another, but at least this time he’ll have a little more security.

He has to figure out how to scrape his way back home. He slinks back inside while trying to come up with lies and excuses to weasel his way out of this, but it’s hard to come up with ones convincing enough because in the short time that he’s known you, he’s learned you’re smart enough to see right through his bullshit.

He looks over to your bag sitting on the floor, remembering the wallet you stuffed all of your cash in.

Fuck.

He could ask you to spot him enough to get on a plane, but after all the times he adamantly denied it when you offered to give him some back, never anticipating that he wouldn’t get paid, he knows you’ll ask questions that he won’t be able to answer.

He could also just… take some cash and dip out before you wake up. But he really doesn’t want to do that. Doesn’t want to become the person he tried to hide from you. Even though you figured out that he’s a dealer with a habit for getting himself into dangerous situations, you didn’t completely write him off, giving him a chance to show you he’s not entirely a bad person.

But he is. And he’s far, far worse.

He considers it - coming clean to you about everything. Well, at least the part about him being in a tough situation and if he doesn’t make his way back soon, he might as well be six feet under. He thinks you’ll understand, having gathered that you know about his side of the world, experienced some of it - whether through friends or boyfriends or whomever. Does he think you’re better than that, better than him? Yes. You’ve got shit going for you, more than he’ll ever have. You don’t need someone like him dragging you down. Despite the fact that he wants to see you again, wants to run someplace far away with you, he knows he can’t. You deserve a life where you’ll make something of yourself. One that you won’t get with him. But he thinks he can spend just a little more time with you, at least until you have to go to the airport. He’ll take you there, maybe kiss you one last time, and pretend that his heart won’t sink when you turn your back on him. He’s used to being the one to leave. So it hurts like hell to be on the other side.

Maybe that’s just because of you.

He’s conflicted as he returns to where you’re still sleeping. A little of the cloudy afternoon sky has made the room a light gray and despite the regret churning in his gut, he catches himself smiling when he hears you snoring softly. He wonders if he can brush his lips over yours, imagines what you’ll look like waking up to him.

Just as he turns to change, you shift onto your stomach, head still under the pillow, and a small etching on the back of your neck right below your hairline catches his attention. He has yet to put in his contacts, so he carefully sits on the edge of the bed to have a better look, curiosity piqued.

The ink has the shape of something with wings, so he leans a little closer, pressing a fist on the mattress to hold himself up. He expects the wings to be that of an angel, a nod to your name, but when he finally sees what it is, albeit a bit blurry, his heart freezes and plummets to the floor, smashing into pieces.

It’s a bird, but not one he expected to see on your skin.

A crow.

And it's drawn as if it were flying high in the sky, talons digging into an upside-down human skull.

How did he miss that?! That’s what he gets for always fucking in the dark.

To anyone else, its meaning is ambiguous, edgy, but to him, to others like him, it's the symbol of a direct relation to the family of enormous power, made by generations of blood, money and greed. He would know - he has a tattoo on his back (a tiger, clawing at his left shoulder blade) belonging to the gang he got caught up in as a teenager that branded him to force his loyalty. A gang that will be shredded and not missed by the organization that owns the symbol tatted on your neck.

Holy shit. He might throw up. He just fucked the daughter of the country’s mafia kingpin, the sister of the man he was just on the phone with, the one you were probably talking to earlier. If Atlas doesn’t want his mole playing around with his money, he damn sure wouldn’t want him playing around with his sister. If that man found out all that he did with you, Yoongi would die a slow and gruesome death, he’s sure of it.

There’s no way he’d make it out alive. And Yoongi has promises he needs to keep. He can’t do that if he’s sleeping with the fishes.

His stomach clenches, though, thinking about what your reaction will be when you wake up and he’s gone, leaving you with nothing but his sweater.

Because he knows how you looked at him throughout the night, like you felt something for him, like you might want something more than sex. And you not knowing all of his sins, or that there’s nothing he can really offer you, made him feel like he was good enough for you to let him in like you did, to touch you, kiss you, fuck you, just… be with you. In a normal way.

Where you weren’t expecting drugs and/or money at the end of it.

With your wit and your charm and your smart goddamn mouth, you managed to knock down a wall that dismantled his normal cold exterior, penetrating a part of him that he’s had to lock away.

(It’s scary how easily you did that. And Min Yoongi doesn’t get scared. Not for himself).

You turned his world upside down in less than a day. For most of his life, he’s been living on the dark side of the moon, but with you, he got to see the sun for a little while. You offered him your spare toothbrush when he didn't ask for one. Sharing a meal, staying the night, giving you his number, fucking cuddling with you. How you got him to do something normal is beyond him. He doesn’t do that because he’s never deserved it.

So who is he kidding?

Because at the end of the day, for someone like him, good things never last. He’s sinful and marred. He’s been to prison, for fucks’ sake. The bike that he came to your rescue with, drove you around on - he stole it. Saw the man who parked it, pretended to bump into him, and managed to slip the keys out of his pocket. Granted, you being the reason behind losing all of his money kind of fucked his opportunity for getting around town in an honest, law-abiding way, but he can’t blame you. He severely underestimated you and paid for it. Literally.

He’s a liar and a gambler and a thief, and that’s the tamest part of his sins. He’s had blood on his hands that’s not his. Far too much to ever really wash away. He can’t take the risk of your brother finding out that a crook and a murderer like him messed around with the most precious jewel in that family.

They don’t know his name, and now he’ll make sure they never will.

How can he explain that to you? He knows that makes him a coward.

So he comes to the decision that there's nothing for him to do but leave you in the dust and never look back, tacking this night onto the murky cloud of his many mistakes. Even though it makes his chest hurt. Because he thinks - thought - that he could feel something deep for you, something he was starting to. Maybe even... No. That’s so damn foolish. Someone like him doesn’t deserve to love, much less be loved back. All the more reason to coat his heart in tar, making it impenetrable to him and anyone else.

In the days and weeks and months to come, he'll force it to forget you. He has to. And that will only make him colder and more bitter.

Forlorn. He fucking deserves that.

He leaves the robe in a pile next to the bed, quickly and quietly pulling on his jeans, shirt and jacket, and grabs his phone and contacts case from the table, staring vacantly at your backpack until he comes to the conclusion that he has no other choice. He doesn’t have time to pickpocket or hold up a gas station. 

Glancing towards the bed to make sure you haven’t stirred, he reaches into your bag, finds your wallet, swallows down the disgust for himself, and pulls out enough cash that will get him a plane ticket, food that he can stretch over a week, and gas that’ll get him to where he needs to be. Eventually to Incheon. He shoves the wallet back in its place, folds the cash into his jacket, and hauls ass to the door so you don't wake in time to see him disappear without a trace. But in the rush, he forgets the one thing most precious to him that he took off before he showered.

It isn't until he's zipping away on the motorcycle that he’ll ditch on the side of the road, blaming the cold and whipping wind for the tears piercing the corners of his eyes, that he realizes and curses himself. The one thing he was supposed to never lose, to always take care of, he forgot. For the rest of the way home, his mother’s words ring in his ears - he’s a fuck up who’s lost all chances of redeeming himself. No one will want him. So going forth, that's what he carries with him every day when you come up in his thoughts, no matter how hard he tries to keep you out. 

He hopes he’ll never see you again.

It's better this way. He did you a favor.

When you wake up, it’s not your empty stomach that makes you feel nauseous.

It’s the frigid, deserted sheets next to you. The quiet, hollow room. The robe on the floor, embedded with the scent of his musk, sex, and cigarettes. The condoms left on the table.

Okay. Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe he stepped out, went to get food or more cigarettes.

But with what money?

So you find your phone, ignoring the disarray of the room as you click on his message thread that holds your text he left on delivered, and start a call.

One ring. Then another. Then a click and you open your mouth to ask him where the fuck he is, but instead you’re met with a robotic voice.

“We’re sorry. The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.”

You shoot confusion at your screen, a cold front moving into your chest from your fingers. You call again.

One ring. Fast pulse, bated breath. Then three ascending beeps.

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected. Please hang up.”

A piece of your soul collapses. Loud ringing blares in your ears as you stare at nothing, as everything sinks in.

What was the point of him giving you his number if he was just gonna block you? What was the fucking point of leading you to believe that he wanted more than just a one night stand if he was going to leave before you woke up?

It takes all of your willpower to not chuck your phone clear across the room, to have the screen crack so you can’t see the numbers he typed in only hours ago, mocking you now that he blocked you.

Now you’re nauseous with embarrassment. Anger. A heart disintegrated. Made worse by the sweater you’re still wearing, engulfing you with the comforting scent that you’ve been wanting to drown in. You rip it off and throw it on top of the robe, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Once you dare a look in the mirror, it’s his marks all over your skin. The lingering smell of him in the bathroom from the shower he took. The silver chain on the sink that dangled on your throat and back when he fucked you like you’ve never been fucked before. The touch of his hands all over you, his mouth on yours that you won’t get rid of for weeks, no matter how hard you scrub. The sound of his voice in your ear, some of his words making things stir in your chest that felt like a prelude to what could’ve been love.

How could you be so stupid?

You’d been so vulnerable and open with him. You feel like you spilled your guts and all he did was pick them up with bare hands, chuck them in the trash, and set it on fire, looking back with no regrets.

After shoving the sweater and chain deep into your duffel, you leave in a flustered hurry, eager to escape the room encapsulating a passage of time that will torment your subconscious. Near the airport, you rush into a pharmacy for a morning after pill, because you’ll be damned if you get knocked up, especially by someone who doesn’t have the fucking decency to say a single word before dipping out after a night like that.

When you get out your wallet to pay, the wad of cash stashed there is significantly lighter. In a bathroom stall, you hastily count out just how much.

Motherfucker took 500,000 won. The betrayal just increased tenfold. He fucking played you.

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to go back in time and make sure this night never happened.

Most of all, you want to call your brother. Because he would hunt Min Yoongi down.

But doing that would mean also telling Jin that you’ve been in Jeju this whole time and that you were gambling, which would not go over well.

So you leave and go back to your life separate from the place now tainted with memories that ruined the good ones.

Fuck him. Fuck him big time for being just like everyone else. And for fucking stealing from you. You know what your father (if he ever really cared) and brothers would say - that's what you get for letting your guard down. Naive and weak-minded people only get themselves hurt. So just like you’ve done countless times, you pick up the pieces of your heart that were stomped and crushed and left for dead, and stifle them in the dark regions of your mind, keeping all of your pain to yourself. Pain is weakness, especially the kind you can’t see on your skin, and weakness is forbidden in the blood you share with your family. You’ll become hardened and vindictive but maybe now the lesson will stick. Because for the years to come, his eyes, his lips, his touch, his voice, will haunt you in your dreams and your nightmares. You hope to all hell you never see him again.

If you do, he'd better watch his fucking back.

.

.

.

Okay finallyyyyyyyyyyyyy!! i'm sorry this took a hot minute to finish but thank you so much for reading!! I know this has been long winded 🙃

(Btw I’m not super proud of the smut 😅 and not 100% confident in how this turned out which is why it took me so long to post sooo hopefully it’s not all a dumpster fire lol. if it is, lmk but pls be nice about it! Im just a girl)

Pls feel free to drop some thoughts and theories in my inbox or comments! I’m dying to know what y’all think. like no pressure but you'd make my day!! it's literally a serotonin rush whenever i get a comment or an ask lol

xxx - claret

<<<previous chapter * next chapter>>>

taglist:

@viankiss @lixies-favorite-cookie @mar-lo-pap @polarnightmyg @jajabro @busanbby-jjk @ktownshizzle @wonh0oe @futuristicenemychaos @rinkud @taegijns @nansasa

[amberlynnmurdock]

Here

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt saves his wife from being held hostage by Fisk's men and helps her with the PTSD that comes from it.

From this request from an anon named melted butter!

I hope you like it, anon friend!

Warnings: brief mentions of violence, hostage situation, PTSD symptoms, heavy angst in the beginning

Words: 2.7k

Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: 1. Prelude

There would never come a day when she wouldn’t associate that song with blood, torture, and darkness. 

There would never come a day when she wouldn’t remember the cloth wrapped around her eyes that felt like sandpaper on her skin and the way her head pounded from the tightness of the blindfold. She could still feel it sometimes—unprompted moments of weakness when she would put on a hat or earmuffs in the winter and the feeling of something being wrapped around her head transported her to that awful night. She’d rather leave the beanie and earmuffs at home and risk her head getting cold than be reminded of that torture. 

It was the way she hesitated to put on gloves because if her wrists felt too constricted she would be reminded of the way the rope burned her skin so badly it left scars. She’d leave those at home too, and risk dry and cold hands. 

“Sweetheart,” Matt said earnestly, wrapping his hands around her cold ones. “Your hands are so cold. Why didn’t you put on gloves?”

She didn’t reply—she just let Matt continue to warm her hands with his. She preferred it that way. She preferred him to feel the scars around her wrists than her to look at them. 

Ever since that night, she took the coldest showers. Every shower was an ice-cold one. The place they had her held hostage in was stuffy—hot. She remembers her own sweat dripping down her face and the salt burning her eyes even under the blindfold. She can’t feel too hot anymore or else she will again be transported back to that traumatizing night. 

And the song—that fucking song. 

She wasn’t sure if it was a torture tactic or if the Kingpin had requested it be played. The only thing that mattered was that they kept it on repeat, at a loud volume��so loud she could hardly hear her voice when they would ask her a question about Daredevil. 

“I don’t know,” she cried behind her blindfold. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I—“

SLAP!

The violins started to feel like her head was being woven in torturous ways. The sound filled her senses similarly to how cough syrup fills one's senses—bitterness from the smell to the taste on the tip of her tongue. It was nauseating to listen to the song over, and over, and over, and over again. Nauseating to be in a situation like she had just two months ago: alone, in pain, and scared. So very scared that she may not make it. 

Until he found her. He told her he would always find her. 

She didn’t know he was there until the music finally stopped playing, and the lights in the warehouse went out. She was blindfolded but the way the men started yelling about the lights told her everything she needed to know. She was shaking against the wall, sweating, trying to find that relief she should feel that Daredevil had come to her rescue—but even that couldn’t shake off her fear. 

“If you ever get taken from me,” Matt had whispered to her one night in bed as he fiddled with the diamond ring on her finger, “know I will find you. And when you know I’m there, I want you to whisper to me like I am now. Because I’ll hear you and I’ll come to you.”

She whispered to him as soon as she heard the music stop and Fisk’s men were shouting at each other. 

“Matthew,” she hushed even lower than a whisper, “Matthew. Matt…”

Matt has dealt with a lot of dark situations as Daredevil, even before he donned the name and had a red suit. Years ago, he saved a little boy from a Russian gang. He saved a group of young girls from trafficking. He has dealt with the worst criminals in this city and it never got easier. All he could do was save people. He just never bet on the fact that one day he would have to save her.

It was something they talked about before deciding to get married. After months of convincing himself he could never have a life like that, she told him that God didn’t put him on this earth to only bear other people’s burdens. God meant for him to have a life like everyone else—a life that included love and marriage. He agreed on one condition: that it be an intimate small wedding at Clinton Church. And by intimate, only Foggy, Karen, and Marci were invited. 

He never wanted to prepare for a situation like this. He never wanted this day to come. He never pondered on what protocols to teach her if someone were to take her—but after months of avoiding the subject, he thought that was still important in case the situation ever did come. And unfortunately, it finally did come. 

He remembers how still the apartment was when he came home—how silent and cold it was. She hadn’t been home since the morning, he could tell. Icicles started to form on the back of his neck when he realized he hadn’t received a call from her since she left work—which was over an hour ago. Matt felt weak in the knees suddenly. He had to support himself on the kitchen counter as he focused his senses on noises outside of the apartment. 

“Dear God,” Matt whispered, “please keep her safe until I find her. Please help me find her.”

The whispers didn’t last long, nor the prayers—soon, Matt was throwing a rage in the apartment. Shattered glass was on the floor. Broken plates. Matt’s agonizing scream when reality finally settled in him that she was taken from him—by who? There was only one possibility. 

In no time he changed into his Daredevil gear and was prowling the streets, rooftop to rooftop, to find where they had been keeping her hostage.

A warehouse by the pier. He could hear the classical music playing at an incredible volume, enough to hurt her ears and get in her head. As soon as Matt found the source of the music, he shut it off, along with the power. 

And then he let the devil out. 

He thought with his fists before using logic to fight these cronies—throwing punches and brutally throwing men over his shoulders, hitting them relentlessly with whatever weapon he found near him. His billy club wires wrapped around someone's neck so tight it made them pass out, using the metal billy club to throw right in another man’s face. Matt moved recklessly in the dark. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs so loudly it would feel like his chest was ripping apart but he didn’t because he knew she had experienced enough yelling on this night. 

And then, he heard her. 

“Matthew,” she whispered so quietly, it almost missed Matt’s senses. “Matthew… Matt…”

As soon as he made sure all of the men were out, he rushed to her side. Adrenaline pumped in his veins, he was shaking from it. He knelt before her and took off his gloves. 

“Hey,” he cooed, “it’s okay. I’m here. I found you,” and Matt’s voice was wobbly in his throat, tears threatening his eyes but no—he needed to be strong for her. He didn’t know what she endured—quite frankly, didn’t want to know—but he knew it had been a lot on her mentally. She was sobbing. He’d never heard her like this. The blindfold was wrapped so tightly around her eyes. Matt gently untied it and slid it off. He then smelt something metallic in the air—salty. It was blood. Her blood was around her wrists. Matt choked a sob in his chest as he untied her wrists. He could sense the tight friction of a bruise forming on her cheek. 

“I found you,” Matt’s voice cracked—he couldn’t help it. He was a wreck inside to find her like this. In pain, scared, alone. No—not alone anymore, he was here. “It’s okay now.” He gathered her delicate frame in his arms, holding her against his body tightly but not crushing her, and ran his hands through her hair, hushing her cries. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I have you now. They can’t hurt you anymore. I’m here.” 

Matt wasn’t sure what was more traumatizing for him—finding her in that situation or hearing her cries after, and the months that would follow. 

It made him question if marrying her was the right decision.

Despite these small things bringing her back to that dreadful night, there was one positive thing that she would never forget either: the feeling when she saw Daredevil—Matt—kneeling before her and gently pulling her blindfold off. The warm wash of relief that spread in her chest was so unexplainable, she could only feel it again if she really put her mind to it. It was like a warm, safe embrace when she knew Matt had found her like he said he would. She could describe the sensation as putting on a weighted blanket. 

The image of his red Daredevil helmet is ingrained in her mind: it was him against that dark warehouse. It was the glow of the red mask that brought so much comfort to her. She was safe. He had finally come—finally found her. God knows how hard it was to locate her. She was so relieved, that all she could do was sob into his embrace. 

It didn’t get easier when they finally made it home, it only got harder. 

She lay in his bed with tear-stained cheeks. It hurt to move. It hurt to speak. She could only whisper. Matt was still in his Daredevil suit, helmet off. He paced the room anxiously, wondering how this could’ve happened, how he could have let this happen. He was thinking of every possibility and what he was going to do next—

“Matthew,” she wheezed as she watched him pace the room. “Matthew.”

He stopped instantly, bringing his attention to her. She was in so much pain, he could sense it from where he stood. It brought a strange heaviness on his shoulders. He knelt again beside the bed and took her hands in his, kissing each knuckle.

“I’m so sorry,” Matt whispered, tears falling down his cheeks—tears of sadness, tears of rage. “I’m so sorry—“

“Shh,” she hushed him. She wasn’t crying anymore. She didn’t think she had any left. “Just be here with me. I need to feel you here with me.” 

Matt took off his Daredevil suit and silently crawled into bed next to her. He carefully brought her close to him so she was snug against his chest. Safe in his arms, nothing could hurt her now.

Months have passed. It’s a bright cold day. 

She and Matt are on their way to their favorite coffee spot uptown. They hardly ever leave Hell’s Kitchen, but she was in the mood for a specific hazelnut latte that only Rosie’s could make. And if it would make her happy to travel almost twenty minutes uptown for a cup of coffee, well, Matt wasn’t going to argue. 

He never brought up that night unless she did. So when she opted to wear a beanie and put on gloves, Matt couldn’t help but feel lighter in his step from the happiness he felt: she was on her way to healing from that experience. He felt like he could forgive himself now. 

“Ready?” She asked at the door, clearly too excited to get this cup. Matt laughed and kissed her before answering. He was so incredibly happy that she seemed to be happy again. 

“Ready.”

The coffee shop had wooden floors and matching wooden tables. In the back was a small bookstore, and on the side the place had a coffee counter. Soft jazz music was playing. Some people were already settled in: a man had his headphones on and was typing aggressively on his laptop, and a young college girl was studying her books. Matt sensed his surroundings everywhere they went to make sure there were no threats.

“Why don’t you go look at the books while I order our coffee,” Matt suggested lightly, untying the gray scarf around his neck. 

“Okay,” she smiled, squeezing his hand before letting go and exploring the back of the cafe. 

Matt waited in line at the coffee counter and sighed contently. 

She immediately was drawn to the fantasy books section. She took off her gloves and placed them in the pocket of her coat. Scanning each title, she picked one out that piqued her interest and frowned when the summary wasn’t what she expected. Another title made her laugh, but she didn’t bother to read the back. She found herself in a different section—romance. She smiled as she glazed over each book spine with her fingers. Romance books always reminded her of Matt. She often imagined what their story would look like in a romance novel. 

And then she heard it. 

Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: 1. Prelude

The violins sounded like nails on a chalkboard, bloody fingertips leaving a trail. It sounded like a screech against the pavement. 

It suddenly felt like she no longer was standing in the middle of an aisle of books. Instead, her body was being pulled and sucked into a black hole behind her. Everything around her felt overwhelmingly large and she was small, like she was Alice. Fear crept over her heart like a spider weaving its web. She felt hot in her jacket. Her heart was beating heavily in her chest like a punching bag. 

The song got louder. And louder. And louder. 

“No,” she whispered to herself, shutting her eyes tightly. But closing her eyes and seeing darkness only made it worse. “No…” she opened her eyes and felt like she had tunnel vision. 

Matt was standing in line when he heard something pounding loudly in his ears. It only took him a second to hear the song that was playing, and he was immediately looking around for her. The pounding was coming from her—from her heart. 

In no time Matt was by her side, wrapping his arms around her and quickly walking her outside the cafe—away from the lingering glances, away from that horrible song. Removing her from the triggering situation, knowing she was spiraling. 

She was breathing fast now from panic. Matt brought her into a quiet alley and wrapped her in a bear hug, holding her tightly against him. Her hair covered his face as he turned to breathe in her scent. He took a deep breath, and at the same time, motioned for her to breathe with him. 

“I’m here,” he said into her ear softly, “I have you. Breathe with me, okay?”

“Okay,” she managed to say between breaths, feeling like her own air was choking her. She breathed with Matt and closed her eyes, his touch and warm hug bringing her back to reality. 

“Listen to my voice,” Matt guided, “I’m here. I have you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Matt’s voice was always soothing to her, but especially at a moment like this. His voice sounded like how velvet felt. 

Eventually, just standing in his arms holding her tightly, her breathing returned to normal and that song was out of her head, as were her memories of that night. A few silent moments passed. Matt kissed her head softly and held her longer. He’d hold her for as long as she needed. When she was finally okay, she pulled back and reached her lips to kiss Matt’s. He kissed her in return and placed his hands on her face. 

“I’ll always be here for you,” Matt whispered. 

Matt went inside to get their coffee while she waited for him outside. Soon enough, they were back at the apartment, finishing the last of their drinks and sitting on the couch. She rested her head in his lap and Matt drew circles in her hair, counting the breaths it took for her to fall asleep. He’d of course be there when she woke up. 

[tobeseenthrough]

personal faves for 2024 - my full media scrapbook for 2024 is here. these are the ones i enjoyed the most this year obviously but the ones mentioned in bold even more so. also putting this under a cut because it's long as hell.

films - take me back for christmas (2023), theater camp (2023), the heiress (1949), charade (1963), romantic prelude (2009), our secret diary (2023), ang larawan (2017), isa pa with feelings (2019), anatomy of a fall (2023), dune 2 (2024), challengers (2024), la chimera (2023), furiosa: a mad max saga (2024), hit man (2024), thelma (2024), problemista (2024), lovesong (2016), set it off (1996), the taste of tea (2004), revenge (2017), nine to five (1980), elvira: mistress of the night (1990), baby assassins (2021), sing sing (2024), oddity (2024), swing girls (2004), haru (1996), my cousin vinny (1987), christmas around the corner (2018), ghostlight (2024), look back 2024)

tv/dramas/anime - what we ate yesterday (s1) (2019), ghosts (s2) (2022), old fashioned cupcake (2022), stranger (s1) (2017), apothecary diaries (cour 2) (2024), girls5eva (s3) (2024), frieren (cour 2) (2024), rap sh!t (s1) (2022), ghosts s3 (2024), interview with the vampire (s2) (2024), my lady jane (s1) (2024), rap sh!t (s2) (2023), fantasmas (2024), smothered (2023), loot (s2) (2024), the sopranos (s1) (1999), how to die alone (s1) (2024), a man on the inside (s1) (2024), dandadan (s1) (2024), acapulco (s3) (2024)

not included but probably would have been had i finished the last 2-3 episodes on time : shogun (s1), the penguin

would have been included but their seasons hasn't finished airing yet: abbott (s4), matlock (s1), ghosts (s4), high potential (s1) and st denis medical (s1

albums (all 2024 releases) - brat (charlie xcx), bright future (adrienne lenker), lighthouse (francis of delirium), algorithm (lucky daye), where the butterflies go in the rain (raveena), big ideas (remi wolf), ten total (1010 benja), in search of the antidote (fletcher), letter to self (sprints), revenge (muni long), dark times (vince staples), i lay down my life for you (jpegmafia), buzz (niki), wilson (ashe), zinc. (gallant), gnx (kendrick lamar), bug (kacy hill), pages (shaznay lewis), weird faith (madi diaz), early twenties (cat burns), mantras (katie pruitt), diva of the people (gavin turek), alligator bites never heal (doechii), the sweater club (jelani aryeh), things look different now (gimmy), fk it (alemada), smitten (pale waves), patters in repeat (laura marling), amy (yana), old hobbies (frances whitney), i should call them (dua saleh), ache in my tooth (flowerovlove), see you at the maypole (half waif), cruzafied (cruza), chaotic erotica (bentley robles), glimmer of god (jean dawson), this is how i remember it. (beckah amani), the drive home (samara cyn), state champs (state champs), below a massive dark land (naima bock), sofia valdés (sofia valdés), mra (emel), long way home (jamie miller), dunya (mustafa).

books - lol. it's been a rough couple years with me and books tbh. prayer circle 2025 will be different!!!!

[averyqueerhalloween]

Horror & Thriller Books with Queer characters: 🏳️‍🌈🎃

The Girls Are Never Gone by Sarah Glenn Marsh

Ace Of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

Sawkill Girls by Claire Legrand

Burn Down, Rise Up by Vincent Tirado

Interview With The Vampire by Anne Rice

The Coldest Touch by Isabel Sterling

Murder Takes The High Road by Josh Lanyon

A Dowry Of Blood by S.T Gibson

The Taking Of Jake Livingston by Ryan Douglass

Summer Sons by Lee Mandelo

Catherine House by Elizabeth Thomas

Manhunt by Gretchen Felcker-Martin

The Honeys by Ryan La Sala

A Lesson In Vengeance by Victoria Lee

The Diviners by Libba Bray

Her Body And Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado

The Route Of Ice And Salt by José Luis Zárate

The Dead And The Dark by Courtney Gould

The City Beautiful by Aden Polydoros

The Picture Of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu

Tell Me I'm Worthless by Alison Rumfitt

Queen Of Teeth by Hailey Piper

Our Wives Under The Sea by Julia Armfield

Sorrowland by Rivers Solomon

What Moves The Dead by T. Kingfisher

The Cabin At The End Of The World by Paul Tremblay

It Came From The Closet by Various Authors

House Of Hunger by Alexis Henderson

What Moves The Dead by Ursula Vernon

These Fleeting Shadows by Kate Alice Marshall

Night Of The Living Queers by Various Authors

Just Like Home by Sarah Gailey

They Drown Our Daughters by Katrina Monroe

Graveyard Of Lost Children by Katrina Monroe

The River Has Teeth by Erica Waters

Hell Followed With Us by Andrew White

The Spirit Bares Its Teeth by Andrew White

Dead Flip by Sara Farizan

The Many Half-Lived Lives of Sam Sylvester by Maya Macgregor

Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke by Eric LaRocca

Everything The Darkness Eats by Eric LaRocca

Into The Drowning Deep by Mira Grant

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth

The Monster of Elendhaven by Jennifer Giesbrecht

White Is For Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

The Promise of Lost Things by Helena Dunbar

Prelude For Lost Things by Helena Dunbar

My Dear Henry by Kalynn Bayron

All The White Spaces by Ally Wilkes

As I Descended by Robin Talley

This Is Where We Talk Things Out by Caitlin Marceau

[sora-sunshine]

The Red, Blue, Purple and the lonely Orange Au

Let’s delve into the tale of the famous Mutant Ninja Turtles that the world never truly knew. These brothers were destined for greatness as heroes, each with their unique characteristics, yet they navigated a complicated relationship—despite their bond, they were never particularly close.

The eldest brother, Raphael, was a figure of strength and compassion. His imposing size commanded attention, and his natural leadership qualities shone through in moments of crisis. However, beneath his gentle surface lay a tempest of anger; his rage had the power to transform him into something terrifying. To protect his family from lurking dangers, Raphael often took on night jobs, his dedication unwavering. This relentless commitment to their safety frequently pulled him away from home, creating a chasm between him and his younger twin brothers. Though he cared deeply, their interactions were limited, reduced to sporadic moments of concern typical of an older brother. The mystery of Raphael's nightly absences cast a shadow over their lives and perhaps served as a dark prelude to his eventual disappearance.

Leonardo, one of the twins, was the lighter spirit among them. Known for his wit and intelligence, he had a remarkable talent for medicine, which he pursued alongside his affectionate bond with his twin brother. Together, they explored the outdoors, reveling in their shared adventures. Leonardo's medical expertise offered a beacon of hope in their darkest hours, but when danger threatened his family, a fierce resolve ignited within him. Struggling with envy towards Raphael, he felt an innate desire to prove his own worth, a sentiment that was constantly mediated by his supportive twin, who stood by him through thick and thin.

Donatello, the other twin, distinguished himself with an incredible intellect and unmatched skill, making him arguably the most lethal of the brothers. His protective nature was palpable, often placing him by Leonardo’s side as they navigated challenges together. Growing up shoulder to shoulder, they developed an extraordinary connection, and Donatello’s fierce determination to look out for his brothers honed his talents to an exceptional level. Renowned for his innovations, he remained cautious, held in check by Leonardo’s influence, who inspired him to channel his brilliance constructively.

However, an unfortunate turn of events led to the twins’ separation. An incident, shrouded in mystery, resulted in both Leonardo and Donatello vanishing without a trace, mirroring the fate of their older brother, Raphael. Whispers circulated about a mad scientist known only as the Violet Mask, whose devious inventions catered to yokai. Collaborating with a figure known as Big Mama, the Violet Mask was infamous for concealing his identity behind a mask, gaining notoriety among humans while remaining enigmatic.

In this chaotic landscape, a vigilante emerged—a figure dubbed the Blue Viper. Described by many as a monstrous force, he seemed to be on a relentless hunt, targeting both humans and yokai with no apparent motive. His unsettling alliance with the Foot Clan posed further questions and deepened the tension in their world. Among yokai, he held the title of a Nexus Champion, a status that only heightened his dangerous reputation.

As for the youngest brother? Curiously, he was never born alongside the others. Unbeknownst to his siblings until recent revelations, his existence hung like a phantom, a haunting reminder of what could have been.

Hi, I'm Mikey, though most call me Michelangelo. I’m the lost brother, a young turtle who yearns to connect with the family he never had the chance to know. Born twelve years later than the rest, I now find myself on a quest—determined to bring my brothers back to the light. Perhaps in doing so, I can reclaim the familial ties that have eluded me for so long.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

He looks at the page which he has written, as he stares outside the window. He looked at pages that he wrote, “Ya, if only I know how to,” He took a deep breath until heard a voice calling his name.

“Mikey! It's time for dinner,” an female called for him, as he put down his journal then walked off.

“Am coming, Ms. April,” he left his room, as he closed shut.

——————————————

Ya, I wanted to write short fanfics about au, I keep on thinking of which if Mikey was not born with his brother, or make sense, he never created because of accident. But now there he is 12 year later, but his brother are now older and completely different then what he dream them too be. That it, I hope you all like it. Now I shall leave come back other year maybe, let see. I just wanted get these out of the way.

[vargassdottir]

=✮Green + Gold✮=

[MCU Loki x Amora]

CHAPTER ONE

=Masterlist=

Please see the above linked “Masterlist” for all warnings and disclaimers about the fic, thank you.

[Prelude] [Chapter Two]

The first night he really noticed her was quiet. Surprisingly perhaps, Loki rather liked it that way. He wasn’t one for the feasts and parties like his brother, though that’s not to say he didn’t enjoy a drink between companions time and again. Some nights he simply preferred the silence afforded in the surrounding of books, a cup of cold mead, and time to himself to think. Usually driven by the spite of Thor’s latest annoyance, or yet another moment in which his ape-like sibling proved yet another incompetence with his lack of tact and unwillingness to think beyond the moment or his next conquest (drink or women alike). That particular evenings frustration was at the fact that Thor and his warriors had nearly started a dispute with nobles from another realm, something that he in the end had to ease over with coin and quiet words after the fact, though he had no doubt that the oaf would call it ‘fear of angering the mighty Thor’ when no repercussions came.

Usually preferring the comfort of his own private rooms and collection of reading material, this night he felt the need for something new and perhaps a little out of field for him, a better distraction than any of his usual tomes. But instead of finding the library empty as it more often was this time in the evening, everyone else out in taverns or in their homes, upon entering the building he immediately heard humming.

It wasn’t overly loud, clearly they weren’t inconsiderate, but the silence in the hall packed with rows upon rows of books and scrolls of every shape, size and colour was usually so dense that even the slightest sound could sound like a hurricane. So Loki drifted between the shelves, closing in on the source, the tune light, catchy even, and likely the sort of thing someone would dance to if heard on instruments. It took longer than he expected, until suddenly there she was.

Of course he knew who she was, they weren’t strangers really. Amora had come to Asgard by invitation of one of the greatest sorceresses of the realms, Karnilla, and had studied under her and his mother Frigga both, moulded into a witch of high renown and infamous allure. She had lived amongst them for two thousand years by now, at best guess, though time grows harder to measure as it goes on. But beyond enjoying the chaos she had briefly caused between Thor and Sif at one time, years ago now, and the occasional polite small talk at feasts, Loki had never directly spoken to her alone. It wasn’t intentional, and surely they had plenty in common, but he was reserved in comparison to her bold nature, so they simply.. Drifted around one another.

She was bent slightly over a table in between two sets of shelves, an array of books laid out across its oak top in varying sizes lying open. Dressed in a relatively simple dark green dress that hung off her loosely, styled as an off the shoulders gown that shimmered gold when the skirt moved, and loose golden waves trailing down her back and hanging around her face like thick curtains obscuring her expression.

Loki wasn’t sure how long he stood there exactly, staring, but eventually he moved forward without declaration and simply greeted her with the statement:

“What a lovely tune.”

With that, her head darted upward, and despite all their other meetings in the years before, Loki felt the air momentarily sucked out of his lungs. It might be the most simple he had ever seen her, barely any makeup besides dark eyeliner, no fancy hair pins or jewels hanging around her neck, no dipping neckline down her breasts or countless rings and bracelets and her usually perfectly unblemished skin bore light freckles around her nose and cheeks. His magic tingled even to note that in comparison to her usual illusions, things he imagined likely made her all the more enchanting to her prey, weren’t present. So this was the real her, hm?

Her eyes no less like green, perhaps not as bright and shining, a little duller maybe? Like grass rather than emeralds. Stray hairs falling haphazardly over her face, not perfectly coiled in curls. Her nails barely above the pink, fingers stained with ink, without the usual claw-like and golden paint shape and shade they usually were.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind, she was breathtaking. He rather preferred her like this, he thought, before she spoke and pushed him from his ponderings.

“Midgard creation, if you can believe it? Their taste grows better as the years go on, though I do miss Mozart. Wonderful music, terrible taste in wine.”

Not quite what he expected to hear, but he couldn’t disagree.

“I prefer the older tunes,” he found himself saying. “Scandinavian, around the time of our first visits.”

She chuckled at that, a melodic sound, before she responded. “I figured you might. I quite like them on occasion, but it’s all about the mood of the moment. Though I suppose their darker tones suit you well.” she explained with a growing smirk on her lips. An annoying one, Loki thought.

“Curious, though, to see you here.. Not quite enough adoring onlookers or patrons vying for your attention here, surely?” He snipped with a sly smile on his face. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so sharp, but it was his way, wit and sarcasm, the shield he held proudly that deflected anyone who’d ever dream of trying to push it aside.

The hardness behind the green eyes came forward then, and he briefly felt guilty, realising her remark wasn’t meant as a joke against him as he first thought.

“If all I was meant to be was a pretty face, then I’d be simpering with the rest of the pathetic courtiers this evening, wouldn't I? Especially considering my mass of ‘vying patrons’, my prince.” She spat the last word particularly venomously, like his favourite kind of snake was want to do, though her expression was as pretty as a painting, even that coy smirk was damn near perfect. The audacity of it.

He at least had the good manners to look apologetic, for a few seconds, before replying. “Forgive me.. That was unkind. I’m not in the kind mood suited for company, as you can tell.”

It was Amora’s turn then to feel a twinge of guilt. She could plainly see the regret twisted with frustration and the kind of built up rage that she recognised from her own reflection, only in his bright blue eyes compared to her jade ones. That kind of anger that boiled and grew like a tumour, monstrous and ready to consume everything is touched if it wasn’t released in small bouts of destruction to ease the heated sensation in the gut that churned like bad food until it had an out.

She wasn’t the kind of person that cared what others thought. Not of her, and certainly not of other people. But she couldn’t help her curiosity looking at the princeling, wanting to know what caused such a handsome face to be marred by so much unquelled ire. Fascinating.

Oh there was no denying he was handsome, to her mind, with those blue eyes that stared into your soul and sharp jaw, dark jet hair that spiked off a little at the ends. It used to be shorter, she remembered, but he’d begun growing it lately and it suited him. It would look better even longer though, Amora speculated. His own muted green shirt and black-brown leather vest, matching pants and boots alike all fit him quite tightly, leaving little to the imagination of his lean yet muscular structure or proud stature.

They fell into light conversation, the quips left in the past, sharing their reasoning for being in the library that night and their own quick tempers. Loki was surprised to learn of her own reasonings, a frustration with a fellow student of Karnilla (Lorelei, he later learned her name to be), and her obsession with his brother. Disgusting. Still an easy sense of companionship formed, the pair sharing knowledge of the literature in the hall as well as their various experiences with ‘short sighted’ companions.

It was strange, to have someone to talk to, as freely as they were willing to be at least, they both thought. The feeling of a kindred spirit briefly went through Amora’s mind, but she dismissed it quickly. No one was an equal, Karnilla had drilled it into her head, and she shouldn’t pretend that she’ll find one either. Even if it was in someone who actually had reason to be. So they kept it polite, bordering on the edges of their comfort zones, discussing magic and glamours till the night turned to dawn and silver light turned yellow as it dappled through the windows.

It wasn’t expected by either of them to meet again like this, to have another moment with the one who intrigued them and stole a portion of their thoughts from then on. But life finds a way, and at the edge of Asgard, a golden set of all seeing eyes crunched as his expression moved to smile, Heimdall had a soft spot for twists of fate after all.

—————

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Saturday May 18th

GILES: Would someone please rip that bloody bell off its hinges? XANDER: Would that involve moving? WILLOW: My feet are numb. XANDER: I'll see your numbness and I'll raise you a lower back pain.

~~No Place Like Home~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

See You Yesterday by all_choseny (Buffy/Spike, R)

violence and denial by teenageapocalypsetrilogy (Buffy/Spike, E)

[Texts between Willow and Buffy] by scooby-group-texts

F*cked by Holly (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Sunnydale Serenade, Chapter 16 by TheRealJeanGenie (Buffy/Spike, T)

Bloody Hell: A Hellmouthian Dissertation, Chapter 9 by HuonParticlesAreHarmless (Buffy/Giles, M)

Keep You Ghosted, Chapter 8 by hydranjenna (Buffy/Spike, M)

I Don't Want to Be the One, Chapter 13 by pommedapi (Buffy/Spike, T)

A Different Path, Chapter 12 by Anaxilea (Buffy/Faith, M)

Breaking the Code, Chapter 4 by Buffyworldbuilder (Ensemble, Star Wars crossover, G)

In the Company of Witches and Slayers: Chapter 39 by VladimirHarkonnen (TheLightdancer) (Willow/Tara, E)

In the Dark of the Night, Chapter 10 by norik23 (Buffy/Spike, M)

I hate the way, Chapter 11 by DancingAngel0013 (Buffy/Giles, E)

Greatest Love Story - Prelude, Chapter 3 by FalseGinger (Angel/Spike, M)

Quantum Entanglement, Chapter 1 by Senneres (Spike, Harry Potter crossover, E)

Dawn Before the Sun: The Doomsman’s Daughter, Chapter 1 by Luna_delCielo (Dawn, Tolkien crossover, T)

No Matter What, Chapter 1 by Xyex (Buffy/Willow, M)

Rewind (Pt 4) by Enigmatist (Spike, not rated)

Stab in the back, Chapter 22 by MelG_2005 (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

Surviving Together, Chapter 20 by ionlylikebadboys (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

Early One Morning, Chapter 44 by all choseny (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Meow, Chapter 8 by CheekyKitten (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Afterburn: In The Dark, Chapter 10 by Melme1325 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

A Ripple In Time, Chapter 33 by CheekyKitten (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Secret Obsession, Chapter 25 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Exquisite Chaos: Part 1, Chapter 4 by yellowb, JayeMaru, bewildered, DeamonQueen, ClowniestLivEver, VoronaFiernan (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Lightning in a Bottle, Chapters 13-14 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Dawn Before the Sun: The Doomsman’s Daughter, Chapter 1 by Luna (Dawn, Tolkien crossover, FR15)

Love Lives Here, Chapter 64 by Passion4Spike (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

The Kitten That Killed Slayers, Chapter 12 by Desicat (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

When the World Went Cold, You Were Brighter than Gold, Chapter 4 by Harlow Turner (Buffy/Spike, R)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Fanvid: Buffy + Spike -Stripped by all_choseny

Manips: Buffy the Last Slayer by all_choseny (worksafe)

Manip: Hustler by honeygirl51885 (Buffy and Spike, worksafe)

Manips: Buffy and Spike in bath by All Choseny (worksafe)

Cartoon: “Did you run into any trouble on the Enterprise yesterday?” by Paul Gadzikowski's The Hero of Three Faces (worksafe)

Puzzle: A Very Buffy (Connections) Puzzle by nicodemusfleur

Fanvid: Buffyverse | Difussion by Jess Wilson

Fanvid: buffy summers | who's afraid of little old me? by Moon Edits

Fanvid: willow rosenberg | who's afraid of little old me? [preview] by ImagineDragonlords

Fanvid: BTVS | Thrift Shop by xxLowkeyTrashxx

Music: Buffy The Vampire Slayer Rescore: Season 1 Episode 12 "Prophecy Girl" by David Müller

[Reviews & Recaps]

BTVS/Angel Rewatch Chronicles: Seasons 6/3, Part Three by QualifiedApathetic

Rewatcher's diary: Season 2, episodes 15 to 18 by jonaskoelker

video: Angel vs Spike: Who's the love story Buffy deserved? by Ryan B Talks TV

Video: The Body: An Outstanding Episode of Television by Darth Nerdus

Video: Buffy Season 6 Review! Spoilers! by SundayScariesReview

Video: No "apology" needed for Buffy Season 1! And Buffy's place in the era of "Prestige TV" by Ronald Off the Record

Video: Buffy Review - 5x14 Crush by Reverse Angle

Video: Hells Bells-Slayer Sunday by Jane Talks Buffy

Video: Buffy The Vampire Slayer Season 2 REVIEW | Ft. @Sisnerdly by George Alexander

Podcast: Slaying the Charts: The Musical Legacy of Buffy the Vampire Slayer by A Girl, A Guy and A Buffy Podcast

[Fandom Discussions]

There's actually so many missed opportunities with Fred and Gunn by AmmoniteFlesh

Spike said Dracula owes him 11 quid by Aphony Cree

One of Buffy’s nightmares in season one was being buried alive by reality-schmality

One of the things I disliked most about canonical Spuffy was how much they wound up hurting each other BECAUSE OF HOW STATIC THE CHARACTERS FELT by deadthingu

Buffy and Spike in Smashed by Joan the Vampire Slayer

Buffy and Willow by Joan the Vampire Slayer

What If: Buffy had joined the Cordettes instead? by nightshade

Was Angel a good father? continued by Stoney

Who did Buffy hate? by The Whirlwind

Do you think Spike deserves to be seen as heroic for not giving up Dawn? continued by multiple posters

Who did Spike hate? by The Whirlwind

Would you watch this show [the "Cordy" sitcom] if it were on? by AndrewHeard

How would Buffy had reacted to Wesley's decision in [AtS] season 3? by jdpm1991

What if Jonathan was the one who was redeemed in season 7 instead of Andrew? by george123890yang

Behind the Scenes BANGEL ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 by figinmyteeth

Was Riley looking to get turned? by Tuxedo_Mark

My top 30 Buffy episodes by fabe1haft

Question for Buffy Hard Cover books by nodakskip

[13/22] What's your favorite episode 13 across all seasons? by jonaskoelker

If you could erase one character from the show, who would it be? by VegasGirlAlex

What Faith lines or scenes did you find a bit cringy? by foreseethefuture

The Real S6 Big Bad by Glum-Substance-3507

Does anyone else thing that Nathan Fillion as Caleb in the Buffy was his best role? by BigDongForever

The opening credits power pose by Reviewingremy

do you prefer the earlier vengeance demon version from s3 or the one from s6-7? by melaniemoth13

Is it just me or does Angel appear kinda... different "Angel" than on Btvs? by BoredYogiOnHere

"You're a creature of the darkness, just like me" by sushibananawater

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

Video: Bonus Episode - We Interviewed a Buffy Background Actor! by The Sunnydale Diaries - A Buffy Podcast

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[ferventrabbit]

Ao3 Fics

Hello hello! I thought I'd pin a post of my works on Ao3 :-). Here are the pairings I write:

Hannibal: Hannibal/Will Good Omens: Aziraphale/Crowley Interview with the Vampire: Lestat/Louis Our Flag Means Death: Ed/Stede Red White and Royal Blue: Alex/Henry

Fic Key

🎨 Art Available

🤝 Collaboration

🎙️ Podfic Available

Series

🐭 Hannibal: Disney for Cannibals

🏝️ Our Flag Means Death: Exit Zero

🏡 Our Flag Means Death: Tales from a Seaside Inn

✨ Our Flag Means Death: Written in the Stars

Completed longer works (>10k)

Hannibal

🐭 Tale as Old As Time (M): "I would consider very carefully before moving any further, Will," says Hannibal. Will can feel the mirth dancing in time with Molly's pulse. "What am I considering?" A great perhaps," he says. If he could learn to love another, the spell would be broken. But who could ever learn to love a beast? (24.7k)

Our Flag Means Death

🎨 Ariadne with art by @babykittenteach (E): While out thrifting for furniture and decorations for the inn, Ed comes across a painting that leads him on a journey of self-discovery and self-acceptance. (17.3k)

🎨🎙️ One Day You'll Awaken (T): A sea witch gives Edward Teach a gift - Blackbeard, a shadow, a sentinel - to keep him safe and strong. Her condition? He must keep Blackbeard close, or she will make sure he sleeps soundly forever. Stede Bonnet threatens to ruin her plans. (32.6k)

🎨 🏝️ Shore Thing with art by @tresdem (E): Stede books a room at The Queen Anne B&B in Cape May, run by mysterious proprietor Blackbeard. His life is about to change again in ways he could never have expected. (36.9k)

Red White and Royal Blue

Once in a Century (E): After the kiss everything goes to utter and complete shit. OR COVID-19 interferes with best laid plans. (23.7k)

Completed one-shots (<5k)

Hannibal

A Terror Quiet Calm (E): Will makes up his mind during Mizumono, when things could have ended differently. A Mizumono fix-it. (1.2k)

Conversion (T): The woodsman notices a presence in the wilderness. A giver of gifts. (2.5k)

Hot Stuff, or The night Hannibal realized he was well and truly whipped (T): Hannibal wakes up to find Will is missing. His search leads to some surprising discoveries. (2.1k)

Into the Dark (G): "In the dark Will looked like a shadow. Hannibal felt the soft sound of Will’s breathing on his skin, tasted it in his throat." Prepare for super creepy times! (1.3k)

Raindrop Prelude (T): Will and Hannibal, on a boat, feeling feels. (1K)

🐭 Poor Unfortunate Soul (M): Will would sell his soul to be rid of the nightmares that plague him. Or, at least, his voice. (4.9k)

Surge (E): "He remembers that look in the kitchen, tries to place it. He’d seen flashes of it in Baltimore: the night of Clark Ingram’s arrest and maybe even the first time they met, glimpsed from the corner of Will’s eye. Then in Italy, seated together at the feet of spring. He doesn’t think about the cliff – can’t, or else his lungs tighten and he feels like he can’t breathe, like he might be dying." (2.3k)

The Tide (M): Based on this prompt: I can’t shake this idea: Hannibal and Will being intimate for the first time and being utterly overwhelmed by it. (1.5k)

🐭 Trust in Me (G): Will is lost in the jungle. He finds refuge in a familiar place. (2.1k)

Until (M): Will is desperate for an end. Hannibal will fight him every step of the way. (1.8k)

Interview with the Vampire

Room for One More (E): Baby Vampire's First Night In. or: Louis is feeling some type of way about sleeping in a coffin, but after some finagling he and Lestat finally get it right. (2.3k)

Good Omens

Hush (M): Aziraphale has returned from heaven, but there are things still left unsaid. Crowley has finally had enough. (2.1k)

Our Flag Means Death

🏝️ A Holly Jersey Christmas (M): Stede arrives at The Queen Anne for a Christmas party with the crew. He's brought a special gift for Ed, and has a surprise or two in store. (7.3k)

A record of the kingly duties of Maximilian, cat about town (T): Maximilian may be a new cat on the island, but it looks like he'll need to teach these clueless human innkeepers a thing or two. This fic is a remix of "Leave a Mark" by dance_across. (1.8k)

🎙️ Anchor (E): Ed assures Stede that their first time was not a mistake, which Stede desperately needs (AND DESERVES) to hear. (1.7k)

🤝 Canvas(s): Not just for sails anymore with @the-widow-olivia (T): Stede is newly divorced and ready to turn over a new leaf. Ed is trying to escape the monotony of his day-to-day life. Sparks fly when they are paired up at a "Get Out The Vote!" event. (6.4k)

Captain's Quarters (G): Ed and Stede platonically share a bed and feel feelings, like pirates do. (2.3k)

Daylight (E): Ed doesn't know what to do with himself when Stede comes back, until he does. (2.1k)

Down to Fall (E): Stede decides he wants to expand their repertoire, so to speak. Like all things worth having, it's worth working for. (5.9K)

🏡 Filled (E): Stede thinks about what it would be like if he could carry Ed’s child, which leads where all roads lead during Bottom Stede Week. (3.6k)

🏡 Filled Out (E): Ed tries to figure out how he feels about his body post-piracy. A post-season 2 inn fic. (1.6k)

🎙️ The Finer Points (G): Stede expands his fancy pants curriculum to include a simple waltz. (1.9k)

🏡 First Night (E): Truly just an entire fic of Ed and Stede making out in this shitty house. A post-season 2 inn fic. (2.1k)

Five Kisses (E): A chronicle of five important kisses on the good ship Gentlebeard. (2.3k)

🎨🤝🎙️✨ Forever's Gonna Start Tonight with @shieldmaidenofmithrilhall (G): As the total solar eclipse approaches, two strangers meet at the top of a mountain, one with a telescope and one with a picnic basket full of eclipse treats. (5k)

High Point (T): Documentary videographer Ed Teach retired at the top of his game five years ago. An odd request from documentary producer Stede Bonnet has lured him back into the field to join a film crew in the mountains of India. Ed and Stede are looking for a snow leopard, but end up finding something unexpected along the way. (9.6k)

Holdover (E): A PWP in which Stede wears a nightie for one reason and one reason only. (3.5k)

I Feel Pretty (E): Stede engaging in body worship of Ed, his preferred occupation. (1.4k)

Interlude (E): A PWP missing scene from 2x08 because BOYFRIENDS. (1.7k)

Knight of Swords (T): The crew are coming to visit, and Ed is grappling with things left unsaid. When he has a moment alone with Jim, he thinks now might be the perfect time to make amends. (2.5k)

Leather and Silk (E): A PWP based on the “leather and silk” bts we received from Samba 🙏. (1.6k)

Midnight on the Revenge (G): Literally just a smol fic about Stede holding Ed until he falls asleep because I need that, okay? (1k)

🤝 Milkmaid with @dracothelizard (E): Stede remembers the little song he and Ed sang at the floating market, and Ed decides it’s as good a day as any to show Stede the true meaning of “all things milk.” (4.6k)

🏡 Old Friends (T): The crew of the Revenge pay the innkeepers a visit. (6.7k)

🎨🤝🎙️✨Paint the Sky with @shieldmaidenofmithrilhall (T): It’s been a month since Ed and Stede met on the top of a mountain during a solar eclipse. Ed’s supposed to meet the kids for the first time this Friday, but a new solar event, the impending aurora borealis, upends their well-laid plans. (8.5k)

Parallel Lines (E): An angsty missing scene after Ed and Stede's fight in "Man on Fire."

🤝 Perfectly Ordinary Tuesday with @petrichorca (M): Dave just wanted a place to sleep for the night, but he gets a lot more than he bargained for when the owners of a seaside inn make him an unwitting participant in their wedding. Will he make it through the ceremony unscathed? And what’s that seagull doing here? (4.9k)

Pinned (E): Ed has been thinking about Calypso's Birthday since they arrived at the inn, specifically about Stede shoving him up against a wall - the strength of his arms, the look in his eyes. Maybe it's finally time to ask for a repeat performance. (2.5k)

🎙️ Reset (E): Ed notices Stede looking at him more than usual, leaving them both a bit hot and bothered. He proposes a failsafe plan to give them both a reset. What could go wrong? Set sometime between 2x05 and 2x06. (5k)

🤝 🎙️ Row Your Boat with @petrichorca (T): A missing scene following the events of season 2, episode 4, “Fun and Games.” Ed’s agreed to come back to the Revenge with Stede for the night, but they’ve got two dinghies to row back to the ship—will the distance between them linger? (3.3k)

🎙️ Skintight (E): Ed wears a set of lingerie that he's kept in the back of his closet before now. Stede does what anyone would do after seeing Ed in lingerie, bless him. (3.7k)

🏡 Soft Open (T): Ed and Stede start sprucing up their inn and welcome Mary and Doug for a soft open. (3.3k)

Storm (G): Stede helps Ed through his grief in the season 2 finale. (1k)

🎙️ Taking it Slow (E): As requested, Stede takes it slow. (2k)

🎙️ That Ship Has Sailed (E): My interpretation of what happened after Calypso's birthday. (2.1k)

The Lube That Fell to Earth (E): A fic in honor of the Astroglide lube-along, in which Ed and Stede are in receipt of a gift from outer space. (4.1k)

🏡 Threshold (T): Ed and Stede take turns carrying each other over the threshold of the inn. Eventually, they cross it together. (2.6k)

🏡 Tucked In (E): Discussion of first times and new discoveries under the Wee John blanket. A post-season 2 inn fic. (2.7k)

Wanted (T): The fuckery after their inevitable discovery at the inn, and what it means for Ed. Written for the #13DaysofCrimesmas! (2.7k)

Wide Awake (M): Five times Stede wakes Ed up, and one time Ed returns the favor. Set throughout seasons 1 and 2. (2.2k)

Works for Spiders, Works for Men (G): Stede rescues Ed from a formidable eight-legged foe. (575)

Works in progress

Good Omens

The Second Coming and Other Heavenly Tales (T): Aziraphale is the new Supreme Archangel of Heaven, and he's made a huge mistake. As Aziraphale navigates a tricky heavenly web, Crowley tries to find a way forward - is there one? - while being periodically interrupted by wishful Bentley songs and transmissions from Alpha Centurai. Can the ineffable duo save Earth from "Plan C?" Will the ducks in St. James' park ever get the good bread again? Join my headcanon for season 3 to find out! (16.5k, 15/20)

Our Flag Means Death

🎨 Life in a Major Key (E): Stede Bonnet loves his job as artistic director of Revenge Community Choir. They might not perform on the biggest stages, but what they don't have in prestige they make up for in heart and gusto. A chance opportunity with the Philadelphia Symphony might be the big break Stede's choir needs. Stede will have to work with illustrious guest conductor Edward Teach to make sure his singers' voices soar. Will the two of them be able to work in harmony? (19.6k, 7/?)

[sophie1973]

WIP Acrostic game

I was tagged by @firenati0n @anincompletelist @fullerthanskippy

@tailsbeth-writes

Thank you !

Rules: From your story/WIP, find sentences that start with each letter of the given word. (I was able to find sentences relatively easily by searching for the letter preceded by a space and a period in my doc)

The words were IRON - FIRST - FORK

Your word (if you wish to do this) : FANG

These are all taken from my current (and almost finished) WIP 'Bloodstream'

I : It’s a frosty November night, and he shivers. Despite being made of the finest wool by one of the most upscale tailors of Bond Street, his coat is still not warm enough to fend off the cold of an American winter. He’s just happy Bea and he arrived in New York after the Great Blizzard of 1888 and hopes this year is not a prelude to a repeat performance

R : “Ready if you are,” she answers with a questioning look towards Alex, who gets up.

O : “Offense is absolutely taken,” Henry answers through gritted teeth. He wishes he had a more clever retort and he’s going to hate himself when he comes up with one in the morning - too late.

N : “Now,” he exhales and closes his eyes as Alex plunges his canines into his neck, right at the same time he’s hit, in perfect synchronicity, with a wave of pleasure, lighting every nerve ending of his body on fire.

--

F : “First, I don’t think you and I should discuss my tail in such a public environment,” he says, his tone slightly suggestive. He feels immense satisfaction when a lovely shade of pink invades Henry’s cheeks.

I : “Is that a stake in my ass, or are you happy to see me?” The tone is slightly breathless but full of mirth.

R : Realizing the futility of further discussion, Philip refrains from elaborating, wary of drawing Mary's ire or endangering Henry further.

S : Since they met in that dark alley, he has thought of the slayer quite a bit over the past few weeks.

T : The taste of Alex still lingers on his tongue

--

F : “Fancy meeting you here, poppet. How are you?”

O : “Only one way to find out, darling.”

R : Rolling his eyes, Alex replies, "The kiss, Henry."

K : Couldn't find a single sentence starting with K, lol.

Tagging, if they haven't done it already : @stellarmeadow

@onthewaytosomewhere @piratefalls @blueeyedgrlwrites

@whoevenknows-things @caterpills @bitbybitwrites @theprinceandagcd

And whoever want to participate :)

[chasseurlegendaire]

Hector, I'm disappointed in you.

I'm not just a piece of flesh for you to play with. I hope you're not treating all women like this.

Oh.

Oh no. Well. Um. He's- uhhh.

Yeah perhaps he should wipe that smirk off his face as he bows in respect to his Lord's Lady.

"M-my apologies, Lady Lisa, I did not mean to offend... not in the least." Hector keeps his head and upper body bowed and his blue eyes staring at the floor, at Lisa's dainty feet. He feels the shame wash over his head.

"... I do no such thing, Madam. Honest. I respect women and would never want to do such despicable things against them, especially should they dislike or not want it."

[drasnianfrank]

Twenty Books Challenge

Hypothetically, you are only able to keep 20 of your books. Only one book per author/series. So what books are you keeping? Credit due to @the-forest-library (I have been thinking about this list for like a week straight)

Guardians of the West by David and Leigh Eddings - any of the Belgariad/Mallorean series frankly. I read these series I don't know how many times as teen. Yes, they are a problematic. Yes they are trope-y as hell but I love them.

Memory by Lois McMaster Bujold - inching just barely above Miles in Love or Mountains of Mourning.

Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison - This is a book that always makes me cry.

Whale Talk by Chris Cutcher - A swim team comprised of various kids with disabilities and are deeply flawed but are also attempting to do good things? I wish this was on every book list for teens.

All Systems Red (Murderbot Diaries) by Martha Wells - I mean all murderbot series is great. Funny story, I told my mom to read this book eons ago and she only read it after a librarian recommended it.

Return of the King by JRR Tolkien - though technically LotR is one book and I don't have single copies of this anymore. But the scouring of the shire just hits me in different places when I read it.

A Child's Anthology of Poetry edited by Elizabeth Hauge Sword and Victoria Flournoy McCarthy - My textbook of poetry when I was young.

Cloud Cuckoo Land by Anthony Doerr - Another a book that makes me absolutely sob.

The Realms of the Gods by Tamora Pierce - I love the Wild Magic Series the most of all Pierce's series. And yes, I recognize the problematic relationship. But also, talking badger.

Sabriel by Garth Nix - I'm sorry the far superior goth necromancer with bells.

First Truth by Dawn Cook - If had I pick one of the truth series. I have an unnatural fondness of a book series that combines magic with Punnett Squares.

Macbeth by William Shakespeare. Narrowly above Midsummer Night's Dream. But the tomorrow speech is an absolute banger.

All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot - Any of the Herriot books. I read these almost to pieces.

Double Whammy by Carl Hiassen - It was this or Squeeze Me. But Skink really deserves to saved.

House of Leaves by Mark Z Danielewski - Post Modern Horror.

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein - More Poetry of my childhood.

Dark Tales by Shirley Jackson - specifically The Possibility of Evil.

Daredevil vol 6 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee - Graphic Novels count and I will fight you. This has one of the first individual issues I picked up.

Sandman vol. 8: World's End by Neil Gaiman, Micha Allred - Sandman holds a near and dear place in my heart. It was a close call between this and American Gods or Preludes and Nocturnes. But I will have echoes of Crements in my head.

Hawkeye vol. 4: Rio Bravo by Matt Fraction, David Aja - Pizza Dog! Also any of the volumes are fantastic and visually gorgeous.

I did take the prompt literally, but here are five more books I either always buy on kindle/can only get as an ebook. I would pay an extraordinary amount of money for these in print.

Toad Words and other stories by T Kingfisher - I was following her when she was still writing fantasy!

I Reap You Not by Catelyn Winona - Second Person done right.

True Porn Clerk Stories by Ali Davis - This causes me to giggle, rage, and cry.

The Heiress Effect by Courtney Milan - Brothers Sinister series is the standard I compare all Regency Novels to.

Night Shift by Stephen King - Specifically Quitter's Inc. But frankly any collection of Stephen King is gold.

Tagging @thatoldstandby, @msfehrwight, @raventycho, @timemachineyeah, @theneptuneviolin and anyone else. And of course you can include pictures too.

[adventureactivities07]

Sar Pass Trekking: What to Pack for This Trek?

Sar Pass Trekking: A Journey Through the Ruins of Time

In a world where silence reigns and the ghosts of forgotten travellers whisper through the howling winds, Sar Pass Trekking is no mere adventure—it is a test of will. The trail, once a passage for wanderers seeking solace, now stands as a relic of nature’s indomitable spirit. Every step through the rugged wilderness carries a foreboding sense of isolation as if the mountains themselves are watching, waiting.

Sar Pas: The Gateway to the Void

The cursed expanse of Sar Pas stretches endlessly, its white expanse mirroring a sky devoid of warmth. The once-thriving trails now serve as a cruel reminder of humanity’s transient grip on nature. Here, time bends, shadows stretch unnaturally, and the snow beneath your boots whispers secrets of those who never returned.

Trekking through Sar Pas is an exercise in resilience. The biting air seeps into bones, and the path offers no mercy—only a steady incline into the abyss. With each step, one must wonder: is the mountain guiding the traveler, or leading them to their doom?

Sar Pass Weather: The Wrath of a Forgotten Land

The ever-changing Sar Pass weather is a force beyond comprehension. The sun dares to break through only to be swallowed by rolling storms, casting the land into a twilight of despair. Blizzards rise from nowhere, obliterating visibility, and the icy winds howl with the voices of the lost.

Temperatures plummet unpredictably, ranging from a deceptive warmth in the valleys to a brutal freeze at the summit. The wise know that to underestimate the Sar Pass weather is to invite ruin. There is no pattern, no mercy—only the relentless hunger of the cold.

What to Pack: The Essentials for Survival

In the unforgiving expanse of Sar Pass, survival depends on preparation. Those who forget even the simplest of necessities are often swallowed whole by the mountain’s relentless embrace.

Insulated and Waterproof Clothing – The only barrier between the flesh and the biting cold.

Trekking Shoes with Strong Grip – For the unstable, crumbling paths where one misstep means oblivion.

Sleeping Bag (Sub-Zero Rated) – To defy the frigid nights when the air turns to ice.

Backpack with Rain Cover – A fortress for your supplies against the unexpected wrath of the storm.

Trekking Poles – Not merely for support, but to test the snow beneath, lest you step into a bottomless chasm.

Water Bottles & Purification Tablets – The rivers run clear, but who knows what lingers beneath the surface?

High-Calorie Energy Bars & Dry Fruits – When hunger gnaws, the body must be fueled or falter.

Torchlight & Extra Batteries – For when darkness claims the path and the stars refuse to guide.

First Aid Kit & Emergency Medicines – A reminder that injury is a certainty, and rescue is but a fading hope.

Map & Compass – When GPS fails and the mountains twist reality itself, old ways may yet save you.

Sar Pass Trek Best Time: Choosing When to Challenge Fate

For those who dare, the Sar Pass trek best time is but a strategic gamble against nature’s fury. Late April to June offers a brief window where the pass is less hostile, and the snow, though treacherous, allows passage. This is the season when the mountains lull travellers into a false sense of security, only to tighten their grip as they ascend.

Monsoons transform the path into a slick descent into madness, and winters render it an impenetrable fortress of ice. To survive, one must know when to tread carefully, when to retreat, and when to surrender to the inevitable.

Kasol Sar Pass Trekking: The Last Bastion of Civilisation

The journey begins in Kasol, the final outpost before the desolation of the mountains claims all who dare proceed. Kasol Sar Pass trekking is not for the weak-hearted; it demands preparation, endurance, and the willingness to abandon comfort.

Kasol’s dense forests serve as the prelude to the climb—green, alive, yet eerily silent. With each passing mile, the trees thin, the air grows thin, and the sky itself seems to darken. What lies ahead is not simply a trek but an ordeal, where every summit conquered only reveals another ridge, another trial, another moment where the mountain decides if you are worthy.

A Final Warning

Sar Pass trekking is not a mere journey; it is an awakening. The mountains do not forgive, and they do not forget. They remember every footstep, every breath, every cry lost to the wind. Those who return are not the same as those who left. They carry with them the whispers of the past, forever changed by the eerie silence of the mountains.

Will you tread where so many have been lost? Will you conquer Sar Pass, or will it claim you as its own?

[libidomechanica]

S deeds—this holly round the pretty pair

A tanka sequence

               1

Which got him a good way off, then quickly before me; Moore and the lamplighter from ten to see a child, and all the favored hat.

               2

Thy plighted town, far off, and chaste she sink? Ah, when he saw Ilion? Spoons’ of verse like Cromwell’s darling, on the love the season scorns?

               3

Within her—let her soft hair blown about, in sport; both senate in air: so waste not thou art my part it was there first, he blessed wight.

               4

How he’d had a wish. In versed, the fields and get the dolorous house light regret. Before wake the I sing of a single beds.

               5

St. For every human eyes. Say it out thou, to die—thus the heard and loyal unto love of whom you speake not high of the law.

               6

Is comrade of those who sail the deck o’ mountain top which makes it still to meeting. Old sisters hast thou leave us were on earth?

               7

We walked two nights, like a mermaid o’ the grasses there shadowing down the prelude soft; into her love for some dead. ’En gae hang.

               8

I have no recompense from temple-gate. Like everywhere low voices, that are snug to thee more. What finkle heart sae fu’ o’ wae!

               9

Must confidences has she: but incontinent’s illuminate mankind, and something into Johnson’s way, we’re told me time, time.

               10

Veins in my love is more holy, the mountain tops more his late; farewell: like to like, bond or free! No mortal clothing gainst his near.

               11

So, dearest faith; our ghastliest doubt; my great forefathers’ voices of the river’s path. What art thou, O Lord, art more of torment you?

               12

Not for such expenses, song, dance, among the sheepe would be written what you may betide! I fear to let the doorknobs gleamed away.

               13

But all the kitchen filled the road beside, and become a vase you saw a field doth fade, and read the waters dark abysses flow.

               14

Lay silent snow posting on these times with happy chance, and in a fit. Which heaves but mouthed, This is no better seemed to touch it grieve.

               15

Youth, and down from the House of wrong to stir a little Robin, takes care that slink from far and happy valley, come to my fooleree.

               16

Of rich array, and from the country that sweetheart was the blue deep cool bed of three. From the queen’s only constancy of Woman.

               17

Could wed itself to one devoted bed. Farewell a Welcome stepping floods his heart from the book of quickly on these are my Fall!

               18

A single, probably his fancy cannot move, she flung defiance down gagelike to press there—I look for it. What thou art just.

               19

Was it a silent& quake I would, and deep pulsation swept, the soul? How much the beames did folow Pan, the flitting on the brain?

               20

By winters lay me low; my paths are innocence and mine: yet this humble in the second birth of Christendome: but they han paund.

               21

Let’s contents of all? He venture that we linger’d; all withered and vain— she cannot see them not, till Doubt and for you appeareth.

               22

No longer standing like-hat relationship on. Yet when the fieldes so sweet and pious morning dew. Alike to praises worse.

               23

By that wakens too; and strayen abroad. Thy spirits of the King the first he told but a leaf indeed I knew in many a time.

               24

A cat, as always immoral, was fair, the solid- set, and meet below them by day. Is far out- owre the pile complication.

               25

In woe would be—that Maud’s dark arms another love for the manlier one? That was a city from God you had something, for they came.

               26

I would toss with it. The viewless wings of that, proceeded on to me, nor the flood of Loving—and, scarce even when the Partridge.

               27

Man, bursts of tissue, meridian splendour. Virgins might; that pricketh fast, that broad-leaved Myrtle, meet emblem of a virtue.

               28

Or dives in yonder mountain tops more returned she call her puir Jenny for siller an’ lan’! Quick tears that fine fixed point from his prize.

               29

I found, I will glove unto me. But then spring wakens at the thin undergo their new-found lantern, instead of space to die.

               30

Then Kidde of the long year; and though t is no changes, after flower. Dearer to the face; all the poplar grove I sate recoil.

               31

It flouret of that? Their day and cease to glide a sunbeams dance, like a clock, by its own keep it always thought of Madeline, St.

               32

Replying, Give Sal that! Always with fears not, but so exempt from Horace and horses and her heart did break on mountains and knows?

               33

A little time, butchered from a true love, nor when my scorn to seek my loving, you again after toil and set. He seem’d so fair.

               34

Help me to overthrowings, and fair? Amid life’s buried here you on a visions there not widely as an industrialist.

               35

Was thine, but in vain; for merit lives are scattering wynd. An everlasting was the bald streamed of joyless despair: calm and shade.

               36

And there beams thy place of birth of Death! ’ Wheel. Sing in a siren, that’s a narrower fate, the dead ere day. I could make a new pan.

               37

Of you? Could have climb’d Eve from mead to all the river, making worse than wolves and retards: already with singing: Today I bake.

               38

My paths of green. The dead ere day. Am in love as true heart so soon unriddled wonder do you, twenty leaguer, swarms of pain.

               39

The Druids’ groves; trim hamlet drains the charmed maid, I’ll tell me where it lies? To well lit, that pen doth he property and tracts of death?

               40

Is company. And back retir’d; not cool’d by his sleep our eyes! Who trusted snow, speak gently, she comes to bear, and let the true. Thee.

               41

Through me ran; and musicks mirth, a good mien, especially for foreigners— and most faire plants a free resort. Blest wi’ content thy will.

               42

Made cypress in the dark webs, her bed, bodies that clashed the mood of one general foe. The thin undergrowth; the seed; run out your foe.

               43

Of the ballad of the stones that crash’d the mone of the frail with gems; her vesper bell’s that are younger had not once beyond Alas!

               44

That shall not see till the sick: the neighbour’s brink. He comes behind his pryde, from youth, ceruse, against my doom, and breaking up your hand.

               45

Away with a livelier breakfast the sheet. And sware to me the eternal—speakers—I have been sown, nor what in the dull MS.

               46

And hide the good college turned a curious odor, a moral heights, and jest? To bless; our dear Eulalie upturns her own account.

               47

Nor mine and shade. They may ache in icy hoods and gone, over brothers, risen again with one the ledges there. Whose name of frame.

               48

Dearer being, alert. Awaits it, each in its high worlds walking. The white gauze baracan, and a word too much the breath within.

               49

For ground seem to have you all the explosion. Love is and waite. The only so formed of late. Woodman winding wells with sweet my chin.

               50

The Poet’s Mind the imaginations pith, and every span of shame of God, immortality. One lesson from temple-gate.

               51

And entered, but balk the river! Daughter, when its yeasty war is. Quenching from a censer old, As boys that chase the gloom again.

               52

Behind a purple and one, that feeds no one caressed, to find that be now posting on the mavis sang, and some recognition.

               53

—An ill death her tongue can show it, thought! As one ten times hath a psalmodic amble beneath the bridegroom stood in teares besprint.

               54

Or in these, not like a viper off, and in true speech—who speak. That was he did not therefore we lose our pypes, their dying lips?

               55

No more alone. Meant to point, I rested my heart is glad; her none like a ghost away, gone far away into the streams the heede.

               56

You of thy hand, this revel seem’d to tell. A boxwood shutting faerily lurch and. Did them all dreaming rills, and bore down besides.

               57

Hey ho! For the fertile earth and his maisters hast never flowers, to reverence in the hill-side; and now I must dream she wants.

               58

And dress, now whether reioyce or weepe for grain. Unloved, and hour and in the same thing steps of Time, and closing game, that steadies us.

               59

The Golden Year the random sun and silent Night with mother day! ’ And I, Can cloud hath he skill, but mine the bonds broken-hearted.

               60

A hunger there, a foe to reach thro’ all, to pangs of keen remorse. Thy changed the Daughter: for thy voiceless now where it no unction.

               61

If all the power of her without a dearer for a day. Ask a though I see our household peace, where all to their breast—but place.

               62

For busloads of rising sun; and Phyllis is but for pity? To quite so grateful love, whate’er our household gods protect of death.

               63

And oft in that moment of ivresse’ in love her. When ecstasy my heart would redeeming to East Hampton and deep peace with him.

               64

Which rather me? The soldier-city, till all my smart, I lo’ed her motions bothers. And orb into the iron hills, rotting meat.

               65

I am neither mind admits but, his grasp; none near. Of almost what you are not for loue to vnderfong who built a museum.

               66

With what delight as our pursuit. Slips in summer shine so rich in atonement as the site of this experienced few; and looked.

               67

And one the wild scattered every One, and woe is mine! I loved and steam of Fair Women a Farewell; go trouble was then they St.

               68

Seen up-close how they moved, she made my hair in t surmounted the narrow house, and hawthorn, and on the noise of nearness of three.

               69

Scorn might wind wake. She moved, and the dwarf buffoon stood avenged: her hand-twigs, stained mouth, and let out the large coffin-worm, the nobler ends.

               70

But a tremulously, so all uncurl’d: pr’ythee quit this I called and laid thee more. Voice had swooned, Goodnight, as the though sages may say.

               71

And I vnfitte to think such high comfort is this knot, by gentle sports within that Ida whom I left. A memory that the hills.

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Thursday, May 9

Joyce: Hi! What are you doing? Buffy: There's a lot of weird people outside at night... I just feel better with you safe and sound inside. You must be beat. Joyce: I am. We're a little gallery. You have no idea how much-- Buffy: Well, then why don't you go upstairs and get into bed, and I can bring you some hot tea? Joyce: That's sweet! What'd you do?

~~Angel~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Take Back the Night? (Kate Lockley, NR) by rhodrymavelyne

Ghosts Are Totally Real (Spike/Drusilla, T) by MadeInGold

Trapped Beneath the Rubble (Maggie Walsh, T) by MadeInGold

[Chaptered Fiction]

Moulin Rouge! (Spuffy Edition), Chapter 2 (Buffy/Spike, T) by BeatriceEveryTuesday

Greatest Love Story - Prelude, Chapter 2 (Angel/Spike, M) by FalseGinger

Secret Obsession, Chapter 21 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Maxine Eden

Maclay Down, Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Soulburnt

Waiting for You, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by honeygirl51885

Au-delà de l'objectif de la caméra, Chapter 5 (French language, PG-13) by Miss Kitty

A Ripple In Time, Chapter 24 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by CheekyKitten

The Stars to Hold Our Destiny, Chapter 16 (Crossover with Star Trek, FR15) by Hermionetobe

Accidental Dark Lords and Ladies of Sunnydale, Chapter 8 (Multiple crossings, FR21) by AnimeRonin

Lightning in a Bottle, Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by violettathepiratequeen

A Business Arrangement, Chapter 2 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Desicat

The Kitten That Killed Slayers, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by Desicat

Early One Morning, Chapter 41 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by all choseny

[Images, Audio & Video]

Comic: Not A Date, Chapter 3 by Grief Counseling and Dusty

Artwork:Whatcha Readin', Spike? (nsfw) by Grief Counseling

Artwork:All The Rumors Are True by loveisntbrains

Artwork:Buffy by pocketsizedann

Artwork:Scoobies Sketches by spikes-left-eyebrow

Artwork:Nightmare Willow design [My Little Pony crossover] by wiltinn

Gifset: Cordelia Chase in Homecoming by detectivedawnsummers

Video: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Sound Design Remake by Rosethorn Films and Stuff

[Reviews & Recaps]

nope (nope) | Buffy the Vampire Slayer 6x12 "Double Meat Palace" | The Normies Group Reaction by The Normies

Entropy: Buffy 6x18 Reaction by Dakara

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER - S7 EPISODE 4 HELP (2002) REACTION VIDEO AND REVIEW! FIRST TIME WATCHING! by Reel Reviews With Jen!

Buffy The Vampire Slayer | 1x5 "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date" | REACTION by Andres El Rey

The Re-Watcher's Council | "What's My Line? Part 1" Buffy the Vampire Slayer S02E09 Spoiler Review by LGRN - Entertainment

[Community Announcements]

Banner Poll (Last Day!) by Seasonal Spuffy

Banner Poll (Last Day!) by Seaonal Spuffy

[Fandom Discussions]

God, Doris the social worker is the fucking worst. by nicnacsnonsense

[In defense of Season 6] by littlenastieswewhispered

[Spirit Guide parallels] by leechjam

Spike or Faith? by multiple authors

Grave by multiple authors

How much bodily damage can a vampire take? by multiple authors

Help me convince my friends to watch Buffy by multiple authors

What are some ridiculous theories you had about the show when you first watched it? by multiple authors

Why didn't Spike find another surgeon to take the chip out? by multiple authors

Love this exhange by multiple authors

I get older, I get madder by multiple authors

What did you guess by accident? by multiple authors

What is that one episode that takes you right back to the 90s/00s and is peak nostalgia for you? by multiple authors

Do you think Dawn and Buffy ever talked about whether or not Buffy met Joyce in Heaven? by multiple authors

What songs, that aren't in the series, do you associate with BTVS? by multiple authors

Spike's flowers for Joyce by multiple authors

The Body by multiple authors

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[christinesplace]

SHORT STORY: THE WALK

Alice was everywhere, until she wasn’t. Just like at first, she was nowhere until she was. The absence of her before I knew she existed, was nothing. Now, the absence of her shrouds everything. Like a guest who never came to dinner; a stormy sky that didn’t deliver. Nothing can wash away the void where she used to be. This is what I’m thinking about the first time I take The Walk without her.

I met Alice at a dinner party, the raucous kind with wild guests, beautiful people glittering in late summer air on a second-floor balcony backlit by a September sky. We were all friends of Richard, and this was his brilliant attempt to make all the people I love come together. Or it was a lavish birthday party thrown for himself. You could never quite tell with Richard.

He was my hairdresser, but I was included among the people he loved the most, and so was Alice. From across the table, her eyes kept locking mine with interest: hers large and dark and layered with mischief. Her husband was older, serene. A balm to her boisterousness.

I know you from somewhere, she’d said, that night when there was both sweltering heat and a prelude of autumn in the air. We sipped deep, earthy Bordeaux and had the getting-to-know-you conversation. The what-do-you-do, are-you-married, do-you-have-kids variety.

A week later, on my morning run with Copper, I ran into Alice again and now we knew. This is where I see you! We both exclaimed it as we came into each other’s space on the trail, the wide, flat former track bed for trains. Copper panted at my side, not used to the interruption in our run. Alice was delighted. Although she didn’t run, I agreed to slow it to a power walk and changed direction, pulling a confused Copper along. The winds shifted: the weather and my life, simultaneously.

I had been passing Alice on the trail forever. Her Nordic ponytail, so blonde it was nearly white, had been in my peripheral vision for years. In the winter she was encapsulated in bright, good-quality warmth: red Patagonia outerwear and a multi-colored hat from another dimension, such was the insanity of its pattern. Her body was fit and lithe; ageless, from a lifetime of The Walk.

The Walk is so important, she’d tell me, but she didn’t have to tell me. I stopped running, and my knees responded with finally! For the love of God stop trying to break us, you aren’t young anymore! Alice, who I had flown by in summers before, barely noticing her, became my near daily companion and without the run, The Walk became essential. My knees, at age forty, were dissolving like broken concrete, but I still needed the exercise, and, as it turns out, the companionship.

We figured out that winter we’d been passing each other more places than the trail. We had circled each other forever, near collisions and missed encounters. Richard was the hub that had put us on the balcony that night, Richard who collected people like trophies, beautiful and successful ones. His Instagram had thousands of followers.

But he doesn’t really have friends, you know? Alice observed, and I agreed. Richard was a perpetuator of vanity posting and humble brags, king of the selfie with #nofilter. In person, you could see the ruddy undertones of his skin and his bleached hair wasn’t quite so effervescent. His need to be complimented was painfully obvious, like a giant cut that oozed blood and begged for stitches.

We discussed Richard at length, chiding ourselves for gossip but agreeing: what we talked about on The Walk, stayed on The Walk. It wasn’t only Richard. Soon, we discovered that we’d both worked in the same office building, for years. She: the owner of a tiny, liberal magazine. She had sat on comfy couches in jeans and sweaters drinking herbal tea and brainstorming how to get her writers to be better on the fourth floor. One level down, I had worn tailored suits in muted, professional colors—dove gray, classic black, the occasional cobalt blue. My hair was perfectly coifed (thanks to Richard) and I wore red lipstick and heels and traded stocks for rich people while advising them how to invest their life.

We must have seen each other a million times! I wracked my memory, trying find one in which Alice and I ride in the elevator together. I would have everything tightly in my leather bag, some feminized version of a briefcase, clasped with both hands in front of me, mentally running through the daily to-do list that forever plagued me. Alice would have been in leggings, a messenger bag slung over her body and a cardboard container with coffees for all her employees.

No memory came, but we could not get over how wild the universe was. We had shared that space for just under seven years, before Alice sold the magazine and retired and before I quit my job when I was faced with dragons to slay in the form of a mental breakdown.

But it wasn’t just work and Richard. We soon realized that we had both been at the wedding of Cassidy and Brian, who had also attended Richard’s party. Brian was a colleague of mine; I had known him for years. Cassidy was Alice’s neighbor before she married Brian. Both of us had frequently double-dated with them. Alice and the Zen husband who was placid like a golden retriever on tranquilizers. Me and David, before he died...................

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