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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

#whump #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #blood tw #recovering whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #immortal whumpee #vampire #vampirism #vampire fiction #horror fiction #original fiction #whump writing #chris the strawberry blond romantic #vampire chris au #past torture

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nat-20s · 3 years

Text

Wonderful! Au Part 7! (also on ao3 here) another episode only installment, and obnoxiously fluffy! Have fun!

~*~

Martin, tired: Hello everybody! Welcome, or welcome back, to a very low energy episode. We have had, as the kids say, A Week Tm.

Jon, equally tired, but fond: Is that as the kids say?

Martin: I don't know, and perhaps worse, I don't really care. I guess I could ask Jeremiah next time he's over, but I'm not sure if that would actually help.

Jon: Shockingly, I don't think two year olds have their finger on the beating pulse of youth culture.

Martin: Hmm, maybe not. Speaking of Jeremiah, he's part of why the format of this episode is gonna be a bit different than our regular. On top of me dealing with a frankly obscene amount of inventory management, and Jon being swamped with grant writing-

Jon: I never want to look at proposal guidelines again-

Martin: we were on babysitting duty for our favourite neighborhood hellion-

Jon: Hey, Jeremiah is a very sweet kid! I know he's a toddler, but we shouldn't be slandering him anyway.

Martin: One, we're not even using his real name, I don't think that counts as slander, and two, exactly, he's a toddler, he's by default a hellion.

Jon, teasing: This coming from the person that actually wants one?

Martin: I..look, if anything, the last few days have shown we should not be permanent parents.

Jon: But?

Martin:...There's no but.

Jon: I don't believe you! Are you lying for my benefit or the audience's? Because someone spent the last five days wearing one of the largest grins I've ever seen, exhausted as it may have been.

Martin: Okay! Fine, I admit, I liked having a kid around. I still think it would be a bad idea to do it full time, but I dunno. I wish we weren't both only children or something. We would make such good uncles.

Jon: Should I should have taken that teaching job after all?

Martin: Perhaps. After all,

Martin, singsong: An English teacher, is really someone!

Jon and Martin, singing together: If only you, had be-come one!

Jon: Honestly, though, I was considerably underqualified. I'm much more suited to my current job, even if it doesn't have quite the same impact on the "shaping of the next generation" or whatnot.

Martin: Wait, you actually care about qualifications now? When did that change?

Jon: This coming from Mister "master's degree in parapsychology"? And it was probably around the time that the world ended from taking on a workload I was ill-suited for.

Jon:...

Jon: Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Martin: Oh, of course. Definitely nothing literally apocalyptic in our pasts, no siree, nothing to see or speculate about or make weirdly involved forums for here. Uh, anyway, long introduction not so short: Both of us have been averaging about 4 hours of sleep, so any sort of actual research was not on the table.

Jon: If any of you are wondering why we didn't just say that we're both very much worn out and thus we'll be taking a week off, it's because we're both deeply, deeply stubborn.

Martin: It's one of our best shared qualities that has never caused any conflict between us, ever.

Jon: In fairness, sheer stubbornness does account for, what, 75% of the reason that either of us are still alive? And it hasn't caused a major conflict between us in a good three years.

Martin: That's true. We've become a deeply boring, relatively conflict free couple. Which fucking rules, by the way. To all the couples out there: I highly recommend being boring. It is so nice. We've gotten to go to the farmer's market so many times.

Jon: You do love the farmer's market. I would say that it's the access to fresh produce, but I think you just like the attention that one yarn seller gives you. Can't believe you would take advantage of a crush to get discounts on wool. How did I marry such an opportunist?

Martin: Ollie does not have a crush on me. They're just friendly to everyone.

Jon: Bullshit. I certainly never get an extra skein or stitch markers or delicate fabric cleaner tossed in my bag. Actually, I think I've been charged more for committing the crime of having married you before they could.

Martin: I'm..70% sure that's not true, but every sentence we speak, we stray further from even pretending to be on topic. So, to everybody listening, this is the itty bitty episode! Basically, we're only doing small wonders and user submissions. If you want details or backstory for things we like, too bad, come back next week. Jon, I believe you're first this week?

Jon: Oh, right. My first small wonder is cat names.

Martin: Delightful, but unsurprising. Though, I would've expected either more or less specificity. Why cat names as opposed to pet's names in general, or, like, military title names?

Jon: Well that's simple enough. I've simply never met a misnamed cat, even if the name itself wasn't to my personal tastes, and I think that speaks to the wonderful universality of cats.

Martin: This, of course, implies that you have met animals that were misnamed.

Jon: Oh, I have. I once met a papillion dog named Meatball.

Martin: Now I know you don't like food names in general for pets, but are you sure that Meatball didn't suit the dogs personality? I've known some "Meatballs" in my lifetime.

Jon, only half-mock offended: Of course it didn't fit, Martin. She was a lady. A nervous, jittery lady, but a lady nonetheless.

Martin, laughing: And what, you've never met a dignified cat with an undignified name, or vice versa? Would you be okay with our cat being named Meatball?

Jon: I would be upset if our cat was named Meatball, because we named her and we're above that sort of thing, but, technically speaking, she could have been Meatball in another lifetime and it wouldn't have been wrong. You see, all cats are a mix of both extremely austere and little baby idiot.

Martin: Oh, is that the scientific terminology?

Jon: It is. Now, while there's probably some amount of, er, normative determinism or confirmation bias or something that results in a cat with a more dignified name seeming to possess more of that austerity, as all cats have both, any name can, potentially, fit. Hence why it's wonderful.

Martin: I..accept your proposal for now, but I think more research needs to be done. Maybe we should visit the shelter this weekend and test your hypothesis.

Jon: Hmm. I think we may need to visit multiple shelters, actually. A large sample size is necessary for any sort of veracity, obviously.

Martin, imitating Jon tone: Obviously.

Jon: Glad you agree. What's your first small wonder?

Martin: Tofu!

Jon: I..didn't realize you liked that much?

Martin: Well, I don't get it very often since I know you can't stand the texture, even though it is not like 'worse scrambled eggs', and you're a horrible food thief-

Jon: Lies and slander. We readily share. If I'm a horrible food thief, you have committed the exact same, if not worse, crime as myself.

Martin: Well, we are thick as thieves.

Jon, groaning: You're thick as something alright

Martin: Rude! My beloved husband-

Jon: -uh huh-

Martin: whom I love and trust with my most tender of hearts-

Jon: -an oddly cannibalistic turn of phrase-

Martin, badly suppressing laughter: Oh, my god. I want a divorce, then I can put tofu in as many dishes as I like. I'll triple my protein intake.

Jon: It'd never go through. I'll burn the papers. No, wait, I'll burn down the legal offices where the papers are kept.

Martin: Hmm. While my experiences with it have been, uh, varied to say the least, I do have to admit that arson is one of the more attractive crimes of passion. I suppose I'll take you back.

Jon, flat: I'm so very grateful.

Jon, genuine: You do have yet to actually tell me why you think tofu is wonderful, love.

Martin: It's just a good food! It's neutral enough that you can toss it in pretty much anything with a sauce, you can bake it, you can fry it, whatever. Plus it's what? two? Three quid? I spent many years of my life living off the cheapest, saltiest approximation of noodles you could imagine, and half a pack of tofu, a little bit of sesame oil, and some green onions went a long way to both making it more filling and less sad.

Martin: Plus, I feel like it often gets decried for being something it's not? It's so often viewed as a meat substitute or the vegan alternative option, and so when people try it, they often go in with a false preconceived notion of what it's going to be like, and then end up disappointed. They're all like, 'ugh, this doesn't taste like turkey!' and yeah, of course it doesn't. It's the oatmeal raisin cookie of the protein world, a perfectly good and tasty treat on its own, but if you want chocolate chip, it's not gonna work.

Jon: Martin you don't even like oatmeal raisin. I'm the only one that ever eats them out of the multipacks.

Martin: Well, yeah, but I don't like oatmeal raisin because of its flavor, not because I think it should be chocolate chip and fails. It illustrates my point. Also, just for balance, is your next small wonder oatmeal raisin cookies?

Jon: No, though, maybe one of these weeks. They are good. But no, um, my next small wonder is being married.

Martin, let out a high bark of a laugh: Being married is a small wonder?!

Jon: Small wonders doesn't mean a lack of importance! Or even significance in our lives. Half the time we even end up spending just as much time chattering on about them as the things we actually research. But, yes, I didn't feel like researching the concept of being married. For one, a lot of the history of it is depressing and patriarchal, and for two, it's not something I really feel any need to elaborate on. Being married. I very much enjoy it. I recommend it for anybody that's found someone that they want to marry, and who wants to marry them. I really recommend being married to Martin Blackwood, I think I would enjoy it significantly less if it was to anybody else, but one: we typically try to make the wonderful things in this show applicable to more than just ourselves, and two: I got there first, so I believe the appropriate thing to say here would be; neener neener and/or everyone else can go suck it, Ollie.

Martin: Well...

Jon: Well, what?

Martin: Saying you got there first is technically not true-

Jon: What?!

Martin, laughing like a bastard: Sorry, sorry! Couldn't resist! Jon, you already know that you're my first real realationship, how would be married before fit that?

Jon: Hence my surprise at the notion! I cannot believe you! I give you my trust, my earnestness, and belief-

Martin [only laughs harder]

Jon: and you throw it in my face for a bit. I take back everything, being married is a nightmare, because sometimes your partner thinks he a fucking comedian and you just have to put up with him because you love him and want to live the rest of your life with him or some such nonsense. Not worth it, if you ask me. My turn to ask for the divorce.

Martin: Babe, hate to break it to you, but both of us are guilty of doing bits that the other doesn't like, it's an integral part of a healthy marriage, and secondly, you knew who I was long before I proposed. You should've said no when you had the chance.

Jon: Hang on, you proposed?

Martin: Yeah? This isn't part of a bit, of course I proposed. I'm even pretty sure you were there. The whole visit back to Scotland trip? I finally made you a sweater and said it was because we would now be immune to the boyfriend curse?

Jon: No, no, I remember all that, but it wasn't the proposal. It was a reaffirmation of the proposal. We had already decided to get married.

Martin: Well, yeah,, I wasn't just gonna spring that on you, we had had conversations beforehand-

Jon: No, I mean, I had already proposed. I asked you to marry me a good three years earlier, and you said yes, which is a proposal by any definition that I know.

Martin: Jon, love, darling, apple of my eye, fire of my soul, I mean this in the nicest way possible, what the everloving fuck are you talking about?

Jon: In the ambulance ride when we, uh, moved here. It was the thing I said to you the second I saw your eyes were open.

[An audible pause is left in the recording.]

Martin: That does not count.

Jon: How does it not count?! I asked you to marry me, you very emphatically said yes, that's the de facto definition of an accepted marriage proposal!

Martin: It doesn't count because you were half-delirious with blood-loss, and I had a traumatic brain injury that the hospital was very surprised I made a full recovery from. No court in the world would consider anything we said then more than pain driven ramblings, let alone, I dunno, contractually binding.

Jon: Well, I knew what I was saying well and clear. Just because it was desperate doesn't mean it wasn't sincere. I didn't realize that you weren't as cognizant when you accepted.

Martin, snorting: Yeah, didn't really need to be cognizant to say yes. I've wanted to marry you since the train ride to Scotland.

Jon: Wait, really? Martin, we hadn't even been on a date.

Martin: And yet we were on the lamb together, which I honestly think is more romantic than sitting in some restaurant somewhere trying to get through icebreakers. Also, back up, from your perspective we've been engaged since 2019? What did you think we were doing in the interim?

Jon: Uhh..

Martin: Yes?

Jon: There are people that have long engagement periods, and it's not exactly like we were in any sort of position to get married for awhile. Especially not that first year.

Martin: Okay? And?

Jon: And..I sort of thought you had changed your mind. For awhile. Was rather surprised that you kept living with me, considering that, on the worst nights, I was convinced you were going to storm off and leave me forever any minute now. Hence why your proposal was rather relieving.

Martin: Oh, Jon, love. That is so very ridiculous, and so very you, and so very close to many of my own fears and doubts. Do you have any idea how terrified I was to float the idea of marriage to you? Half the time I was convinced I was just meant to keep you company until you found someone better. And, Christ, we'd, from your perspective, been engaged the whole damn time. Fuck.

[Jon, after a beat, starts laughing. It has a slightly hysterical edge to it. Martin joins in. It takes a minute for the laughter to subside enough for them to speak again.]

Jon: I'm rapidly realizing that our entire romantic relationship would've been, if not more successful, a hell of a lot faster if we weren't both complete fools.

Martin: You're realizing that now? I think I've known that since the CV incident. I've definitely known it since the Lonely.

Jon, with a slightly tired chuckle:Yes, yes, something probably should've tipped me off earlier. Shockingly, observation of our own personal romantic trends is not always a strong suit of mine.

Jon: Anyway, please tell me you have another small wonder, this has gotten wildly of track.

Martin: Since we're talking about marriage anyway, I think my next small wonder is having a shared reference in your wedding vows. Our friends had "I have been, and always shall be, your friend" in theirs, and I made Jon cry with a slightly altered Lord of the Rings quote in ours.

Jon: First off, we were both openly weeping long before that point, secondly, I defy anybody to have been through half of what we have and then have the love of their life look them in the eyes and tell them "Leave you? I never intend to. I am going with you, if you climb to the moon" without at least tearing up.

Martin: There wasn't a dry eye in the audience, either. Granted, the audience was only 20 people, but that was also literally the only time I've seen Eloise show a strong emotion, so I'm pretty smug about it.

Martin, soft: I still feel exactly the same, you know. If you're climbing to the moon, I'll make sure the rope is strong enough for two.

Jon, soft: I know, love.

Jon: Though, to be fair, the moon is also significantly more pleasant than many places we've been.

Martin: God, I hate how much that's true. Look at this barren, oxygenless rock, at least it's not actively trying to kill us. Practically a honeymoon location.

[Martin sighs]

Martin: I am so tired. Let's do the user submissions then take a very long nap.

Jon: Please.

Martin: So, first submission is from Josie; They find it wonderful getting cards from their friends. They say they're lucky to have so much love in their life and have friends that care enough to send them things. That is wonderful Josie! We have a drawer in our house dedicated to every loving card we've ever received since the move, and they're always such a nice reminder of the people in our lives.

Jon: We should really organize that drawer, but, yes, agree with the sentiment. Even the cards from people that are no longer in our lives are lovely, I think. Those connections are very much meaningful for both of us, whether they're active or not.

Martin: That's very true. Next submission is from Lys, who submits the sound of leaves crunching under your feet in the fall. Ah, that's a classic.

Jon: I just felt myself relax imagining it. I wish it was autumn.

Martin: Don't we all? Alright, for the last submissions, I'm grouping them together as they follow a similar theme. Jadwiga submits the feeling of waking up well into the morning with the sun shining through the window and your cat laying next to you, and Oran submits when a dog falls asleep with its head in your lap.

Jon: I can heartily recommend at least one of those, considering that's how we try to wake up most mornings. The Duchess is a dutiful darling girl who spends every night with us, and she's usually still there when us humans rise.

Martin: I bet you'll agree with the other when I finally convince you to get me a dog for my birthday.

Jon: It hasn't happened yet, so I wouldn't hold your breath.

Martin: But you don't even dislike dogs! You're just as happy to pet them when they pass by as I am.

Jon: Being fine with an animal isn't the same thing as wanting to adopt one for yourself! We don't even know if The Duchess would put up with a dog.

Martin: I bet she would. I bet we could get a big senior dog who's the calmest animal you've ever met with those soft eyes and a little grey on the muzzle and she would cuddle up in an instant. And we did say we should visit a shelter or three this weekend..

Jon: I think you're rather callously taking advantage of my exhausted state, but I suppose we can look.

Martin: Hell fuckin yeah. So, I think that'll close out the episode, and as we always say at the end, uh, go take a nap and get a dog. Not necessarily in that order.

#wonderful! au #jonmartin #tma #jon sims #martin blackwood #my fic #thank you to everyone that submitted!!!#also; i am offically out of ideas for installments #more may come later but i make no promises!

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smolsidesandco · 3 years

Note

Can have cg sides hcs? Even th dark ones plz an thanks u

Ackkkkkk i forgot to post this but,

Yeah! I would love to share some headcannons! I already have a lot for Janus just because I have written them as a cg, so I hope these are good!

Janus:

• Janus is wonderful at helping smalls when they need to be distracted from icky thoughts.

• They have many textured baby and kid toys for the smol to choose from.

• They aren't a very strict cg but they do use the techniques of gentle parenting with the smol they're looking after.

• They're the go to side when it comes to a smol having a meltdown or tantrum. They're reassure them that what they feeling is valid and calmly talk to them about whats wrong and options they could choose to feel better or could use to get their emotions out.

• They tend to be able to find loops holes in the rules depending on specific scenarios that they would happily use to be able to sneak the smol a secret cookie or candy.

• When its time for a smol to go to bed they either team up with Roman to tell a nice bedtime story, full of voices and soft things. Or teaming up with Patton to gently rock and hum smols to bed.

• Normally they don't like having their scales touched, but if its for a smol, they tend to let that slide and let any smols use the textures to stim.

• They don't change their sarcastic sassy attitude when they're helping a smol. They don't do the whole baby talking either. They don't enjoy treating a smol like they don't know how to do anything.

• They'll keep an eye on the smol and ask them if they need help or if they would like some help. Reassuringly them that if they do, they would be happy to help and that its okay.

• If the smol their watching does something on their own, you can bet Janus is proud of them.

• "Oh my, you did all this yourself? Well you did a wonderful job on it!"

• They enjoy being a cg in the same way someone would regress to get a break from the big world.

• They can also make sure a smol is taking care of themself

Patton:

• Patton is without a doubt a very snuggly and excited cg.

• They love baking for and with their smol!

• They absolutely let whatever smolntheir watching that they can link the batter off the spoon (much to logans dismay)

• They hold the smols hands and help them mix batter or cutting out cookie shapes!

• If its a bigger smol, they'll let you crack an egg and throw it away all by yourself!

• Patton falls into baby talking a lot whenever their watching a smol.

• Baby talking, plus helping the smol with most things.

• They tend to assume that the smol will need help with most things, and its almost second nature for them to help with everything.

• Patton is pretty good at watching younger smols. Older smalls tend to be harder for them to help, since they tend to want to do a lot of things theirself, but they tries their best.

• They love taking their smol kiddo outside to play.

• Having picnics and going to the park is one of their favorite activities! And they'll pack the smols favorite picnic safe food!

• Loves trying out cute pintrest food trends. And packing the smols lunch in cute themed lunch boxes.

Logan:

• Surprisingly Logan helps Patton a lot with making food, and making it look really nice.

• Their logic states that a smol will be more inclined to eat their food, including veggies and the sorts, if it looks nice.

• Maybe a unicorn themed lunch will get a smol to eat their carrots. Or a sky themed one will get thoes mash potatoes off their plate.

• Logan has done quite a lot of research on this topic, especially if it due to helping the smol.

• For every smol they know, they plan/analyze/ and write down atleast five different lunch options and themes that would work the best based on the smols pallet and what they like.

• Of course this all also means they expect the smol to eat all their veggies and if you don't eat them you don't get dessert.

• Using the excuse of not liking the veggies seems impossible as well since each meal is catered to the person.

• They create schedules for the smol to follow, filled with times to eat, sleep, play, and even watch cartoons.

• They tend to be rather stuck on what they shedual is and won't take a straight up no when they say its bed time.

• Of course communicating and making sure there isn't any other reason or deeper meaning to the smol not wanting to do something they should is something they try to figure out first.

• They love watching documentaries with the smol!

• Especially ones about space, the ocean, or how something is made.

• They have many worksheets, learning games, and puzzles for the smol to work through with them if they would like.

Remus:

• Another carer/baby sitter that loves puzzles is our favorite wacky ratboi.

• Surprisingly, seeing a smol is almost an instantaneous flip to them.

• While they're basically the same wacky fun uncle as normal, they know how unpleasant icky phrases or words can be when a safe space like this is involved.

• Its also nice for them because their brain sort of does it automatically, so its a well wanted break from all their intrusive thoughts.

• They will actively find every way they can to break the rules with a smol.

• Whether that be skipping bedtime, eating icecream for breakfast, eating so much candy.

• In their mind 'chaos needs to be chaos, and I rather the smol chaos happen around me so I can make sure the chaos doesn't hurt anyone'

• They don't mind letting the smol put glitter or whatever in their mustache.

• They work well with older smols who can jump around and do a lot of things with supervision.

• Watching horror movies or scary ghost shows is something they're happy to watch with the smol! (As long as the smol wants)

• They'll sneak any veggies you don't want off your plate and eat them for you.

• Mixing everytype of icecream sounds like a good idea right?

• 10000 percent make 'magical potions' with you with all the shampoo and soaps.

• Pranks galore

Roman:

• When the smol isn't causing chaos or watching cartoons, Roman will make sure the smol feels like a royal.

• That includes dressing up, makeup, hair, and going on adventures!

• They love setting up little quest for the smol to go on and solve.

• Helping them defeat dragons, monsters, and all kinds of things!

• They work better with older smols but can watch a younger smol and be their princely knight to protect the baby royal!

• They like going outside and letting the smol explore with them.

• Sometimes in the woods looking for cool sticks and rocks to bring home and let Logan look over.

• Other times going on the nature trail at the park and saying its a serious quest.

• They don't activatively try to break the rules with the smol like Remus. They more so simply forget that they're are rules and things like bedtime for the smol.

• Arts and crafts are another fun thing they're good at with the smol. They have so many coloring books and craft supplies.

• Pretty much prepared for simple coloring, all the way to paper mache.

• Whenever a smol is afraid of something, they try to 'defeat it' whether its needing to spar and imaginary monster in the closet and sending them back home, or vanquishing the horrible spider by taking it away to a safe place.

• They sing songs and lullabies to help the smol calm down or sleep.

• Disney move marathons galore.

• So many spinny hugs.

Virgil

• Virgil is the best with younger smols.

• They're less likely to wander away when they're not looking.

• Easier to help them when they need help

• They don't tend to want to do things by themselves. Which is good for them because just sitting there isn't good for their nerves.

• They tend to stay close by.

• Virgil is better with younger smols because they find them easier to watch in general.

• Its also a good time to wind down and focus on someone that isn't themself.

• They always have baby wipes and bandaids on hand.

• Isn't really the one for baby talking with a smol.

• They're really good with sounds and making sure the smol isn't overwhelmed by loudness or things being too quiet.

• Lives for creepy crawlies and Halloween things with their smol.

• Binge watching Tim Burton movies while eating rice crispies.

• Let's the smol cuddle up into their arms and sleep whenever they want.

• On occasion will let the smol wear their jacket.

• Is extremely careful when it comes to food and making sure the smol doesn't get hurt.

• Whenever the smol is scared they either call Roman to come be the knight or helps them feel safe by promising their fear is valid but they're safe. Virgil knows a lot about danger and scary things so they gotta know something about the scary thing

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blxckbutterfli · 4 years

Text

Victor Grantz: Dearest Bunny

Image Credit

Summary: The truth is always hidden between the lines of a letter, but after Victor has been fooled once, how can he trust another letter?

Wordcount: 2.1k

Note: Female reader

Unedited

Hi! Hello!

So… you’re a postman, right Victor? You must walk or bike a lot, you even have a dog! Do you take him to exercise with you? What’s your dog’s name? It’s honestly so cute.

Anyway, I just wanted to write this letter because oooooh mystery person, and I heard that you don’t like social interactions much? I really want to be friends with you so I wanted to start out with something you’re comfortable with.

Good luck with your first match! Don’t get fooled by Michiko’s cute looks.

Victor gripped the letter in his hands until it turned white. Feelings of confusion stirred inside him--should he be happy he received a letter or suspicious of it? It sounded so genuine but he didn’t know if he could believe it anymore. The first letter he received also sounded just as friendly, however, that friendliness and sincerity were just a facade that he fell for. A facade that trapped him inside this horrible cat & mouse game.

He threw the letter in the fireplace with his dog whimpering beside him

Greetings,

You’re amazing! I heard it’s only your second match and you already won! I guess you could call it a... VictorY… Yeah, I know, I’m such a comedian.

You have natural talent I tell you, many of us here didn’t get wins until our 5th of 7th match. Also, I found out your dog’s name is Wick, that’s so adorable, it almost sounds like ‘Vick’ which is quite similar to your name.

I used to have a dog when I was little, it was a stupid little pomeranian that’d never stop running in circles, but either way, it was my stupid so I still love him with all my heart.

I look forward to playing matches with you in the future!

I look forward to playing matches with you in the future? That means he hasn’t played with them yet. Victor searched through his memory of who he played with in his first two matches. Andrew… Luca… He sighed in defeat, he didn’t think knowing who his teammates were was this important.

A soft texture rubbing against his arm brought Victor out of his small misery, Wick rested his tiny body beside Victor’s leg. ‘Wick sounds similar to me, huh’ Victor thought as he gave his dog a small pat.

Victor placed the letter on the fireplace, deciding to burn it away later.

Why hello there,

You seem to be in a happier mood these days, I’m glad :D. When you first came to this mansion, I noticed that you looked really excited for some reason, like who would be excited to participate in a dangerous game? But then I found out that you were tricked and now I feel so bad for judging you so quickly. After you found out it was a trick, you were so gloomy all of the sudden so I wanted to cheer you up with these letters.

Is it working?

A big grin dared itself to stretch on Victor’s face but he tried his best to stay calm. This was the third letter sent to him by this person and so far nothing bad has happened. Once in awhile, he’d wake up and would see a letter laying near the door (it was most likely slipped under the door). It was always something positive, never bringing his mood down. Is this person really as bad as he thought they were?

Memories of the ‘sincere’ invitation letter flashed through his mind. No, he couldn’t get fooled again, he won't be an easy and weak-minded person. Victor used to think that conversations were pretentious and filled with lies and that letters were the hidden truth. Now, he doesn’t even know what is true or false anymore

Victor threw the letter, along with the previous one, into the fireplace.

Rise and shine because I’m here again!

You know I find it funny how right after I said you looked happier, you go right back to being gloomy. Am I that atrocious to you? Honestly, I can’t really tell if you’re acting gloomy just to spite me or if you’re actually sad. If you are actually sad… What’s wrong? Is there anything I can help with?

You can always send a letter back to me if you want to. Just get another paper, write whatever you want on it, and tape it under the piano. I’ll check there every day at noon to see if you sent something.

How can someone cruel write something as amiable as this? There were so much care and personality written into this one letter that Victor wanted to cry from guilt because of the previous burnt letters.

The invitation letter he received was carefully crafted but it was also so… formal, no emotions, no feelings. Maybe he was blinded because it was his first-ever letter. The letter that Victor is now holding in his hands, the person behind it can’t be cruel and deceitful, not at all. If they were, they would’ve just continued spreading pretentious positivity and ‘happiness’ and just ignored his feelings.

One chance. Victor will give them just one chance, the moment he senses something bad about the letters is the moment he’ll burn all of them. No point in keeping bad memories alive.

Hello,

Thank you for being concerned about my well-being, I never really meant to bother you with my moods. It’s just that I’ve been… suspicious of these letters. Are they actually genuine or are they trying to trick me? After the invitation letter fooled me, I began having doubts about the truth written inside letters so when you sent those letters, I felt hesitant about them.

But I believe you now, you wanted to be friends? Then we’ll be friends! However, we can’t be friends unless I know stuff about YOU! I don’t know your name, age, or even gender, maybe you can give me some small hints as to who you are?

Was that good? Did he come off as too nosy? Despite delivering so many letters, he had never written one himself. Wick, as if the dog knew Victor’s feelings, barked and jumped like he was cheering on his owner. Victor smiled and made his way to the old piano.

Even after almost three months of repeatedly sending letters to each other, Victor only had one clue to what his mysterious friend’s identity was. They were female. Of course, when he read that letter, he started observing every single female inside the manor--he even went as far as observing the hunters much to his fear. No matter how much he observed and talked to them, none of the girls gave any hint of the identity of his sender.

This observation time helped Victor get closer to his fellow teammates. His original goal was to find out who his friend was, this involved talking to people and comparing their personalities to the one in the letter. While at first, he had no attachment to the irrelevant teammates, he warmed up to them over time. Of course, he still wasn’t as social as someone like William but it was a start.

Though Victor didn’t know their identity, he at least got to call them a name--Bunny. Bunny actually came up with the idea, it felt weird to be so close to a person yet not know what to call them so she made a list of nicknames and reasons to call her that:

Clown 🤡 because I’m much funnier than you

Buttercup because I just like that flower

Princess because no one can be the queen except for Mary

And Bunny because I’m cute as a bunny haha.

Of course, Victor laughed at all those choices and was even tempted to circle Clown, but Bunny stood out to him. It was cute, simple, and an animal. Victor loved animals!

Bunny… Victor can’t help but want to meet her.

Oh god, he’s so thirsty, and he forgot to fill up his water jug last night. Victor reached to his bedside table to feel for his watch. 6:17 the watch showed Victor’s tired eyes. The postman closed his eyes and sighed, why must his thirstiness wake him up so early?

Victor sluggishly got out of bed and weakly grabbed his water jug. At the door, he frowned when he realized Bunny’s letter didn’t arrive yet--Victor’s gotten used to waking up to Bunny’s funny letters every morning the past months.

Opening the door, Victor walked out and made a beeline to the kitchen

Finally, he got some water to quench his undying thirst. With his water jug filled to the brim with liquid, he walked back to his room--slightly more awake than before. His footsteps paused, however, when he turned a corner and noticed a figure standing in front of his door, Victor quickly stepped back and hid behind the corner.

Y/N? What is she doing here?

A grin was plastered on your face as you hummed a joyful tune, your mood always goes up whenever it was time to deliver your letter to the cute postman. You opened your letter one more time and re-read it to check for any silly mistakes. Victor watched in curiosity, from his angle, he couldn’t see what you were holding. Goosebumps rose all over Victor when he finally saw a letter within your hands.

Bunny… is Y/N?

You crouched down and quietly slipped the letter under his door, Victor should be asleep for another hour so it’s no worry if he’ll see you or not. That thought quickly went to vain when you stood up and was out of the blue grabbed by your wrist. Gasping, you instinctively thrashed about until you saw the cute yellow eyes that you’ve stared at every day.

“Oh, Victor! What are you doing here? Isn’t it too early to be awake-”

“Bunny?” Victor cut you off, you quickly shut up. Damn it, I thought I could slowly escape if I rambled enough. His innocent eyes bored deep into you which made you guiltily look away--how could you lie straight to his face? “Bunny? Is that… you?”

You slowly nodded and looked back up to his face which had gone from a small frowned to one of… joy and excitement? You let out a tiny squeak when you were suddenly slammed into Victor’s chest and was encased in a hug. “It’s really you, Bunny” Victor’s whispered into your hair--you smelled so nice, you felt so nice between his arms.

After a small pause, you finally returned his embrace, your arms wrapped around his body, “Yep, it’s me.” You pushed your way out of Victor’s hug--much to his disappointment--and twirled, “so, do I look as cute as a bunny?” You joked.

No, he thought, you were so much cuter than a mere bunny, so much more beautiful than a lonesome rabbit. Not only your appearance but your personality, the way you cared for him these past few months, you were an angel.

“Y/N,” he spoke your real name, “I love you.” He immediately covered his mouth when he let that phrase out. ‘What that heck? Why did I say that? I just met her!’ he scolded himself.

“What?” You gaped at him as he awkwardly distanced from you while scratching his neck. He stammered for words, not sure how to redeem himself after suddenly blurting the phrase out like a madman, one just doesn’t simply confess their love on the first meeting. “Victor, what did you say earlier?”

The cute postman barely responded to your question, you could see his lips barely move as he responded--or rather barely whispered--to your question. Victor’s face was flushed with red, he could barely look at you in the eye--actually, he couldn’t look at you at all. “I… loveyou.” It was quick, but what’s important is that you understood it.

A few seconds of awkward silence passed--which is also a few seconds of Victory dying inside--and you let out a small chortle. “I’m sorry… you just looked so cute when you were saying that,” you explained to him when you saw his perplexed expressions. You placed a hand on his cheek, brought his face down to your level, and kissed his forehead, “Of course, I love you too.”

Victor cried.

He didn’t mean to, but the emotions filling inside him wanted to spill so bad. He’d never felt such joy before, the man didn’t know how to deal with it so he just let it all out.

And so when you were fussing over his tears, Victor embraced you once again and thought of the many firsts he had with you.

His first genuine letter; his first friend; his first crush; and now… his first lover.

#identity v #idv #identity v x reader #idv x reader #victor grantz #victor grantz x reader #idv postman #rina works

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gaillol-13 · 3 years

Text

ITTHIGSS AU

Cartoon encounter.

Part 3 of this (part 2) Swear warning!

*sigh* "it just doesn't make any sense!"

I've been trying to figure out who that guy is for a while now, ever since I got home from the interview today. It just seemed like something out of a horror film, I don't understand. And they sounded so much like...no. I sat down for a moment to look at the pictures I took, and tried to recall what happened in the room with the tv (and the closet).

"Ok, so blood was coming out of the Tv," I spoke "I heard the killer walking towards me, with their arms out to grab me. They're voice sounded static-like, they were humming the Captoon's theme song. And then one of the police officers went in the room, the humming stopped, I looked in the closet but they were gone...they..."

I sighed.

"They sounded so much like Benjamin, like, identical, the only difference is the static. But, he's been dead for almost a year now, it just doesn't make any sense..."

"Beb-beeep, beb-beeeeep!!! Movement detected!!!"

What?! Theres someone trying to get in the house? I immediately check the security cameras but find no one there. The only evidence is the broken steel doors and a note, I zoomed in on it to get a closer look at what it said, I turned pale.

"Bonjournie~ Mr.Melvin :)"

That's what the note said, and the paper had the same static texture as the hammer piece I had.

The same person who killed those criminals is here, and I'm next.

"MOTHER FUCKER!!!" I screamed, "Why? Why me?! Why is this guy targeting me?! Of course, its because I know too much, I should have just kept quiet, I should have just said they committed suicide, that would have made more sense than a cannibalistic cartoon-loving prick by slaughtering them with nooses and a fucking rubber hammer!!! But noooo! I have to open my big mouth and now this fucker's gonna kill me!!! GOD DAMN IT!!!!"

I tried my best to calm down, it's not easy to think if I'm going into my dinosaur brain. Okay, everything is going to be fine, he must have a weakness, everybody has one. I have lots of inventions that could be good in the situation I'm in, I just gotta think of a plan. Think Melvin think, if I were a cannibal who loves captoon, what would be my weakness?

Hmm... I looked around my room, I spotted one a bottle of paint thinner, huh. I saw this in a game once, thinner can dissolve paint, which is what cartoon characters are made out of. I thought for a moment.

He likes the Captoon cartoon, and George and Harold made that cartoon. So if I'm gonna get this guy, (I cant believe I'm about to say this) I gotta think like George and harold.

Aww hell with it!

I grabbed the thinner bottle and loaded it in a spray gun, its ridiculous, but it's my best shot. And who knows, maybe some of the robot guards took care of him already.

*THUD!!*

"OW! @%#$!!!!"

What was that?! I mean, it was obviously a cry out in pain coming from downstairs (the living room to be exact), but AFTER it sounded like a beeping sound butchered by radio static. But that didn't matter now, the fact is that this guy is in my house, I have a plan (sort of), and I'm ready for whatever is down there.

I grabbed my flashlight and slowly made my way downstairs, he could be anywhere. I turned the lights in the hallway on, no one was there though. I looked in the kitchen, as expected, the fridge was open and most of the food in there was gone, and all of the leftover guac had vanished (THAT really caused a shiver to go down my spine). When I got close to the living room, I heard a noise, or more specifically, music.

I went in the living room to find the TV playing the Captoon theme song, huh. Guess I was right about him liking that, I grabbed the remote and turned the TV off.

T h e m u s i c d i d n ' t s t o p .

Almost paralyzed with fear, I pressed the off button again, still playing, pressed it again, still going. No matter how many times I pressed it, the music kept playing. It only took me one second to realize the music was coming from behind me...along with that same feeling I had back at the abandoned school...

Oh no...

Before I could turn around, I felt something wrap around me, I looked down, I saw an arm.

Yeah, that's right, an arm was wrapping around my torso. How did I know it was an arm, at the end of it there was a gloved hand, gloved...it sorta gave me rubberhose cartoon vibes. Come to think of it, the arm was fully white like a rubberhose, I would have thought about it more I wasn't in peril.

"AAA-MMF!!!" I tried to scream, but the hand covered my mouth in an instant. The arm was fully wrapped around me now, only leaving my head uncovered.

I kicked and squirmed around trying to escape, no dice. The arm slowly turned me around, I soon realized that the arm was waaayyy longer than I previously thought. It stretched all the way to the far side of the hallway where there was nothing but darkness, nothing except...two...eyes...staring at me.

These weren't normal dot eyes, hohooohh nooo! These had the pupils and the sclera!!! And they were huge!! Who was this guy? No, scratch that. WHAT was this guy?! Forgive me for being Captain Obvious here, but there no fucking way this...thing is human!!

He was walking towards me, I squeezed my eyes shut, shit, I'm fucked. I'm going to be food, I could already see the headlines. "Class S Melvin sneedly (aka the smartest and sexiest man alive) becomes human Foie Gras to rubberhose monster". This is my end!!!

Then he (or it, I don't even know anymore) spoke.

"Shhhh, calm down."

What? Calm down?! I opened my eyes, he was still walking towards me, his eyes still the only things I could see. They looked...guilty.

"I know your scared right now." He continued

"Mmff mfm mff!!" I muffled sarcastically, it roughly translated to "NO SHIT SHERLOCK!!!", and he knew it. As he became more and more visible, I froze.

The clothes...

The body figure...

The toupee...

He was a spitting image of Benjamin, except the eyes I mentioned earlier (which now revealed that he had pie-slice pupils). And there was no color, only shades of white (his skin), grey, and black...I was filled with shock...which then shifted to seething anger.

What right does this asshole have to impersonate MY boss?! NONE!! WHAT THE FUCK!!! I kicked at him furiously while delivering muffled screeching. Who the hell does he think he is?!

"Melvin please calm down-OW!"

I bit his gloved hand, he's NOT gonna tell me what to do.

"DONT "MELVIN" ME!!" I screamed "YOU CANT JUST WALTZ IN HERE THINKING I'LL LISTEN TO YOU, ESPECIALLY AFTER WHAT HAPPENED TO THE CRIMINALS YOU VILE POMPOUS CANNIBALISTIC PRICK!!! WHO ARE YOU?! WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE?! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO EVEN BE?! WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE BENJAMIN?! AND WHATS YOU LAST MEAL REQUEST CUZ OOOOOHHH DEAR SWEET DAV PILKEY AM I GONNA REPORT YOUR ASS!!!"

He gave gave me a look that was a combination of surprise, pity, scared, and impressed.

"Gosh," I heard him mutter under his static breath "that last bit kinda rhymed..".

How is this happening, when did I become prisoner of a cartoon monstrosity. Why, how. This doesn't-...then it clicked.

"This is a dream."

"Wha?"

It's the only reasonable explanation.

"This isnt real, of course. What was I thinking."

I breathe the sigh of relief, phew.

"Why else would you look like Benjamin, it's obvious my subconscious is missing him, and the reason why your a cartoon is because I've been watching captoon too much. And why are you after me? Because it's just my subconscious being guilty of Benjamin's death, like I felt responsible, like I was supposed to be there with him when it happened. It all makes sense!!"

The behemoth rolled his eyes, but that didn't matter. What matters is that this isnt real, it's just a horrible nightmare. I dont know when I fell asleep (probably when I passed out stress-eating all those croissants at the interview), but either way I'm glad that it will be over---

"OW!!!"

I felt something sharp jab me in the arm, I looked to see his gloved hand, only a little different. The pointer finger was longer and the tip was pointy, sorta like and overgrown fingernail. Either way, it hurt, and he was still there, this wasn't a dream, it was real life.

"Real enough for ya?" All I could do was nod as I watched the finger retract and return to its proper form and shape, then I heard him sigh.

"Look, they're going to search the abandoned school so I need a place to stay-" I cut him off. "Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn't call the authorities."

"Cuz they would never believe you."

I opened my mouth to protest, but then i thought for a moment. He was right, they wouldn't. There was a saying in the book Our Lord Dav, where he quoted "people can be too smart for their own good" which ment if someone was too smart, they would become insane. The police might think just that if I tell them theres a living cartoon in my house.

"Please," I looked back up at him. Seeing his sad, pleading face. "I just need to hide hear for a bit, just a lil bit. I know I'm the last guy you wanna trust right now, especially after last night. But...*sigh*... I REALLY need your help...just let me stay."

I was speechless, I was starting to doubt that this was the same person that killed those criminals. His expression seemed so...bonafide. Pupils dilated to a sorrow filled manner, lips trembling, it felt like the equivalent of looking at a sad puppy. But...how do I know I should trust him.

"Your not gonna kill me?"

"Of course not!!!" He protested, by now the arm he had wrapped around me was retracted back to him, but I really wasn't paying attention. "I'm not a monster!!!"

Not a monster? My eyes narrowed.

He then rubbed the back of his head, chuckling nervously, "I guess I am if you define a monster as a creature that defies the laws of physics and nature, heh. But I'm talking about one that's heartless, ruthless, and selfish."

His eyes then darted away and his face suddenly became sour. His tone changed completely.

"Like the @*#%$, Theodore..."

Theres only one person I know who could sound and act like that when the subject was Ted murdsly...

I threw myself at him in an embrace, eyes filled with tears...

"You are Benjamin..."

I was both in shock and joy. I couldn't believe my boss was alive...I started sobbing.

"I miss you so much..."

I felt him hug me back.

"Heh, miss ya too Mel. It's been very lonely, even with him around, it's nice to see an old friend again..."

I started crying into his shoulder, I was so relieved. For one, I now know that I'm not gonna be dinner. Two, the others will be thrilled to hear that their favorite grumpy boss is back (especially her. If you catch my drift). But I thought for a moment...

"What do you mean by "even with him around"?"

He then lead me to a chair, "sit down, and let me tell you how I'm alive."

So he told me...and dear dav is it a doozy.

So after Benjamin died, George and harold were starting the Captoon cartoons, they had the help of dressy. But in the making of the first tape reel of season 1, dressy sprinkled some dust on it, making Captoon sentient. Then the boys took it to Benjamin's gravestone, and placed it there. Then lightning struck the tape and it started to melt, along with the world in it.

In major pain, Captoon got out of the tape and into Benjamin's corpse, sort of merging with it. Another lightning struck the same spot again. And since dead people come back to life when they get zapped with electricity in cartoons, thats exactly what happened to Benjamin.

He wakes up, they meet, he tells him how he died (turns out it wasn't an accident), and Captoon gets an idea. Since he needs a physical body to stay in (cuz otherwise he would melt and die), and Benjamin needs Captoon's cartoon physiques to stay alive, they become one. Becoming Krupptoon.

It finally made sense now.

"So now you know." Krupptoon said, then grabbed a nearby glass and drunk from it. Then he noticed my mind-blown expression.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just...alot to take in. Does that mean your dead body is still in you?"

"Uh-huh, wanna see?"

Intrigued, I nodded, after what I saw last night, this wont really effect me. Then his head began to shift, the white static-like skin seemed to dissolve. Revealing a pale, bloody, and very very dead head.

The left side (his left side) of the head had the skull smashed open showing that parts of the brain were missing, and pretty much almost all of the left side (again, his left) of the head looked like it was demolished from impact.

His eye (on his right) looked lifeless, yet it had a distinct green glow, don't know why. Oh yeah, and it smelled, it smelled repulsive.

I felt the urge to puke which he immediately took notice of and grabbed a nearby bucket, then he gave it to me.

5 minutes and 43 seconds of vomiting later... I looked at him for a closer inspection.

"Hmm, it seems only the left side is affected."

He then reached into his pocket, pulled out a magnifying glass and handed it to me. I then used it.

"Your frontal lobe is severely injured, that would explain why you only move in rubberhose, your Broca's Area seems fine. Same with the Sensory area and Parietal lobe. Your Temporal lobe looks pretty damaged..."

I went quiet...

"Whats wrong?" He said that with his decayed mouth barely moving.

It took me a while to try to get the words out.

"T-thats the lobe that contains memories. Benjamin...do you remember anything?"

His face fell, "Oh,". He then put his hand on his chin, "Well, I remember you, and George and harold. Ted (though I wish I didn't), my identity, how I died...". He then plopped down on the ground, his face returning to its cartoony appearance. Trying to recall, then his eyes lit up. "I...remember Edith..."

And boy what happened next was quite a site. His hand dropped to the side, a shade of gray crept up his face, hearts started floating around him, and I swear I could hear a romantic saxophone playing. I covered my mouth to stop myself from laughing.

"What?" He turned his attention to me, I simply pointed upwards at the hearts floating around. His eyes went wide and he made a noise that can only be defined as a startled dog and immediately started shooing them away with his arms, his face now flashing dark grey and white in embarrassment.

"I-ITS NOT LIKE THAT!!" He yelped in a panicked tone, but I knew otherwise.

"Oh suuuuure~!" I said playfully, "Its not like you visit her in the lunchroom every day,or that you give her extra credit, or that you try to make her food everyday!"

With every example I said, he got grayer and grayer. So I kept going.

"Or that you hide a bunch of gifts around her office, or that you're always happy when she's around 24/7, or that you secretly write about how much you want to be with her forever in your journal!"

"HOW DID YOU GET MY JOURNAL?!?!" He started shrieking and becoming a charcoal grey, sweating, and flustered mess. And it was hilarious! And it lasted a good 5 minutes.

"Joking aside, you REALLY don't remember anything else, like your job?"

"I have a job?" He cocked his head and gave me a confused look.

"Nevermind." I decided it was nothing to worry about now, so I quickly dismissed that subject. Then I heard him sigh again.

"The main reason I came here is for your help, your help to kill crime."

I was confused, "why would you need my help, you have the ability to do it on your own."

He gave me a classic Captoon smile, "Because it's like I said in the cartoons" he stood up and did the pose, "it's more fun to bring justice with friends!". He then pulled me up off the chair and put his gloved hands on my shoulders.

"You, me, George and harold, and the others can stop evil in its tracks! Sure, I could do it alone. But what the heck is living if you don't do it with your chums! Buds! Home slices! Homies! Pals! Bros! ETC!!!"

Honestly, I was very moved. I usually dont get touched, but...I haven't felt like I had friends, at all (I always felt so alone). And the fact that my boss (who's also Captoon himself) considers me as a good friend is enough to make me emotional.

"So Melvin Sneedly!!! Are you gonna join this crazy but exciting ride of adventure and mystery with me?!"

"Y-YES!!!" My voice cracked a bit, but that didn't matter now.

"ALRIGHTY!!! THEN WE'LL START TOMORROW!!! BECAUSE IM TIRED!!"

Man, he said that Captoon only moved their body, but THAT moment had to disagree. I sas honestly thrilled to start working with a superhero...but then the moment took a different direction when he gave me a smug look.

"Now what did you mean by you watching that Captoon cartoon too much?"

"Now wait just a minute-"

He then laughed and patted me on the back "ight, see ya tomorrow."

I headed towards upstairs to my room "goodnight."

I didn't know what I was getting into, but whatever it was, for once I'm ready for anything!!!

End of fic

Whooooo! That took a while, but it was worth it. Now with the introductions out of the way, I can finally make some memes!

#captain underpants #krupp #melvin #ITTHIGSS AU #writing #krupptoon #captoon

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readyforit · 5 years

Note

hiii abby!! can you post a tutorial for how you make edits like your latest one? the url edit fro taylorswifh? it’s so prettyyy

♡ edit tutorial for this edit, requested by anon ♡

hiii so! this is quite long, but that’s because I wanted to capture my whole entire process to hopefully help you! I used photoshop (2018) for this tutorial, and all the resources I used are listed here (everything except for photoshop is free)! I’ve sort of split this tutorial up into sections, by the different steps. thank you and have a lovely day!! ♡

so before I begin, I always think about the edit, like what I want the final outcome to look like (or if I don’t know what that’ll look like yet, what direction I want it to go in, the main themes/ideas/colour schemes that I have). I personally love using a minimalist range of colours, all of them being light and pastel (that’s just my personal liking though). I also consider the main themes or ideas that I want to translate through my edit. you also need to have the passion and desire to edit, I’ve learned that there’s nothing more draining than editing when you really don’t want to. so I think that you should think about all these things before starting!!

tip; put on some music, it gets your creativity and thinking flowing if you’re in a good mood ldkjkl

so! when creating the edit; first of all, I created a new document in photoshop - 540 x 300 pixels for this specific edit (just because that shows up as high quality on tumblr, but it doesn’t really matter!) when you click ‘create’, a white canvas should open up.

— creating the book

next! I used a book psd for my edit, which you can find and download here!! so I just opened that psd up (a psd is just a photoshop file that has like all the layers in place so it’s not just one photo);

when you open the file up, this is how it should look (well not really, because I’d edited it to look like this, but it should have this general layout);

now what you have to do is sort of literally drag the file out and then, drag all the layers from that file into your white canvas, like this;

— giffing

I just wanted to quickly mention that giffing is definitely an optional step. I do it in pretty much all of my edits, but I wouldn’t recommend it if you’re just beginning to edit, because giffing takes the most time and it can be really draining and messy if not done right ldkjd.

to create my gifs, I use youtube videos, which I download through 4k video downloader (it’s really simple with 4k, you just have to copy the youtube link and paste it into the app!). so to open up a video, go to ‘file’ then ‘import’ and finally ‘video frames to layers’;

once you’ve chosen the video you want to use, open that up (don’t know why that’s so blurry dlkjdlj but you get the idea);

now this should pop up! make sure it’s on ‘selected range only’ and then use the toggles at the bottom to select the specific part of the video that you want to use (I usually gif about 20 frames because it’s sooo much work for me to do more than that lkdjldj)

when you’re in the file, go to ‘window’ then ‘timeline’ for the gif to show up frame by frame;

now highlight the specific frames that you want by literally dragging across them with the timeline bar at the bottom. then click the three bars on the top right of the bar, and click ‘copy frames’;

now go back to your book psd file, and at the timeline bar at the bottom, click ‘create frame animation’;

click on the three bars on the top right of the timeline bar and paste the frames over the selection;

your file should now look something like this! to resize the gif, just press command + t and adjust it from there!

now to give it the effect that it’s a part of the book, you have to create a clipping mask (so it sort of clips onto the book layer like a paper clip). to do this, select all the layers of the gif, drag it right above the layer that you want to clip it onto (the page constraint layer in this case). then right click the gif layers and click ‘create clipping mask’;

as a result, your layers should now look like this. you can use command + t again to adjust the gif size;

tip; press command + g to group the layers together so they take up less space!

now, with your gif, this step is pretty tiring and takes forever dlkdjl, but for the layer to show up in every frame of the gif, you have to click on the box button on the left of each layer so that an eye shows up. you can also press the eye button at the top of the settings, in the unify bar, so that it stays visible throughout the entire gif. I don’t know if I’m explaining it properly dlkdjl but just go through every layer and press the box so an eye shows up.

sometimes the unify button doesn’t work for some reason, and you’ll have to manually go through every single frame just to click on the eye button. it’s excruciating, but it’s worth it in the end lkdjdl

this is how your edit should look now!

now what I do is apply a psd (sort of like a filter) so it looks softer and prettier! these days, all of the psds that I apply come from this lovely pack!

in the same way that you dragged your book psd in, drag the psd *folder* into your edit;

your edit should now look like this!

— adding the photo

now’s the fun part! you can add whatever you want to, but what I did in my edit was I cut out a photo of taylor. now what you can do if you’re running short of time is find a transparent photo of taylor on google or on deviantart, but if you want to take the time to actually crop the photo out like me (even though I’m horrible at it), here’s how I do it! first find the photo you’d like to crop out. I usually use taylorpictures, they have the most high quality photos of taylor!

so find the photo you want to use, copy it;

then just paste it into your edit;

use command + t again to adjust the size;

and now to crop it out, what I do is use the quick selection tool, which is this button right here;

in this mode, you can easily just select the part of taylor that you want to cut out (that sounds weird lkjd);

at the top, there should be a bar with a number of buttons, one of them being ‘select and mask’;

if you click on that, you should be taken to another page, similar to this;

now you can play with the settings on the right, then press ‘ok’ when you’re happy with it (the numbers change for each photo and your style, it entirely depends on how you want it to look);

now you should be back to your edit, click on the ‘add layer mask’ button on the bottom left of your page;

and taylor should now be cropped out from her background!

make sure all the layers are below the psd pack, including the photo of taylor that you just cropped out;

now for the colouring!! ‘selective colour’ is your best friend, and you can find that button here, in your adjustments (if you can’t find your adjustments, go to window > adjustments);

add a clipping mask (by right clicking the layer and clicking ‘create clipping mask’) of the selective colour onto the layer you want to colour, so that it only affects that one layer;

then on the selective colour panel, you can adjust the specific colours in that layer to your liking;

in addition, you can press command + u to change the whole colour scheme, saturation and lightness of the layer. make sure to press ‘ok’ when you’re done;

basically just play around with the colouring until you’re happy with it!

if you want it to look more realistic, you can also play around with the effects (I use layer effects all the time, they’re the best) on the layers bar, so the layer blends into the layers below it, like this;

— adding decoration

now you can decorate your little piece of work with whatever you’d like to, such as a background colour (layer > new fill layer > solid colour) ;

a texture (textures are honestly so amazing and you can find them all over tumblr and google; like you can search the word ‘texture’ up and then paste it into your edit);

I usually place my texture at the top of the edit, then use one of the effects to blend it into all the layers;

final embellishments!! this step is optional you can add anything else that you’d like to, such as pngs (you can search these up on google and paste them into your edit, or find psd packs on tumblr and drag them in). again, you can add selective colour and a layer effect to these layers;

tip; finding already transparent images saves sooo much time, so try doing that instead of cropping the image out.

text;

tip; use a new layer for each line!

and so on. the flowers that I used come from this pack and the wax seal stamp comes from this pack from the beautiful @newrcmantlcs!! my main advice is to just play around with everything till you’re happy with it. don’t be afraid of deleting something or starting over completely if you’re not.

— giffing again

now to control the speed of the gif, highlight all of the frames, then click on the tiny dropdown button and change the speed to however fast or slow you want each frame to be. I usually make mine 0.1 seconds, but it’s completely up to you (and worth testing it out to see what speed you prefer!)

when you’re happy with everything, it’s time to sharpen it! first, you have to convert the frames to a video timeline, and do this by clicking on the button on the bottom left of the timeline bar.

your timeline should now look like this. everyone’s process is different, like some people like to start off their whole edit with a video timeline, but I find it a lot easier to start with a frame animation then convert it when I’m done with everything.

now to sharpen (in this case at least, sometimes I add a grainy effect instead) it, highlight the layers that you want to sharpen;

then click filter > convert for smart filters. this will turn your layers into one layer.

tip; if you do something you don’t like, command + z!!

now go to filter > sharpen > sharpen;

and your gif should now be sharpened! you can simply go to filter > sharpen if you want to sharpen a layer that isn’t a gif. play around with your edit a bit more until you’re happy, and finally, add a watermark if you’re going to post it online!

finallyyyyy! to save, go to file > export > save for web, if it’s a gif. if it’s a static photo, just click ‘save as’!

and yayyyy, you just finished an edit!!!!!

ahhh so this was my tutorial on how I created this specific edit, I hope it helped! If you create something similar or follow this tutorial, I’d loveee to see it; so if you post it on tumblr, you can tag me with #tuserabigail, or you can just dm me!

my process usually isn’t this rigid or precise, I usually edit on a tangent and in cluttered daydreams, it’s never like “oh, I have to make a gif now” or “ahh it’s time to add a texture!” so really, it’s just about playing around with your edit until you like it! it’s definitely okay to skip some steps or do things in a different order, because like I said, everyone has a different process, and this was just mine for this one specific edit (my process changes all the time too ldkdljk)

anyway, I hope this helped, and thank you!! ♡

#anon #tutorial #letter left on my doorstep #<3 #tutorial*

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myxfitz-blog · 5 years

Text

hi guys i fell asleep before my acceptance was posted but i’m awake and ready now!! i’ll get to the welcome messages i have soon too!!

so let me introduce to you, FITZ! twenty years old, son of tod (the titular fox from the fox and the hound), in his second year at mythos university, undetermined, studying history of tall tales! anyone else in juniper hall? that’s where he’s staying. he’s also a member of the art club, but he’s sorta chaotic and is really only there for the social aspect of it....

anyways, i’m pretty excited to get him involved, so i’ll put some trivia and plotting points about him under the cut so hopefully we can get right down to plotting!

btw if anyone calls me a furry i will quit immediately.

okay so first of all... he can’t read. or write. he’s a fox, grew up on a game preserve, where would he have ever learned either of those skills?? this is sorta a problem when it comes to attending university.. luckily, he’s a pretty clever guy and has thought of a way around this! he gets friends or classmates to read to him for assignments, etc., and will compose essays and papers orally, again getting a friend to help him write it down. it probably gets a little frustrating for other students who have their own work to do, but fitz can be quite cute and charming when he needs to be... come on... won’t you please help?

PLOT POINT your muse helps fitz with reading/writing as described above.

PLOT POINT your muse is sick of helping fitz with reading/writing and is trying to teach him how to do it himself. he’d like to learn, but he also knows he’ll never use these skills again after he graduates, so it’s hard to keep him focused and motivated...

PLOT POINT your muse makes fun of fitz for not being able to read/write... fitz grew up in the woods, survival of the fittest baby. he has no issue with physically attacking someone for disrespecting him.

he’s currently a member of the art club, but he’s really not much of an artist nor does he take it very seriously. he just likes it because it feels like a judgement-free space and there’s something very cathartic about wildly finger-painting an abstract masterpiece. in his first year, however, fitz had joined the wrestling team. he loved it, it was a good place to let his wild instincts out somewhat safely, a great way to burn energy. however... he was a little bit too enthusiastic... he’d get way too into the match and lose his cool. long story short, he was asked to leave the team after biting his opponents a few too many times. what can he say? old habits die hard.

PLOT POINT other art club members: what’s your opinion on fitz? do you think he’s fun, perhaps an artistic genius who doesn’t know his own skill yet? do you absolutely detest him for ruining the sanctity of the art club facilities? either way, could be fun! fitz joined to make friends, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make a few enemies along the way...

PLOT POINT i’d like to imagine that fitz joined a lot of clubs and sports only to quit or asked to leave for one reason or another... maybe your muse takes personal offense to whatever the situation was, or maybe they keep trying to convince him to come back to the club/team. he was fun, or good, or you just liked him being around!

being a fox living on a game preserve, fitz is absolutely horrible with so many basic human conventions. he’s gotten a lot better since his first year on campus, but there’s still some things he struggles with. he probably doesn’t like wearing shoes, but also doesn’t like how soft his human feet are. he might feel the cold a little more easily without a thick coat of fur keeping him warm and doesn’t always know how to dress for the weather or how to dress fashionably for that matter. and don’t even get me started on technology.. he doesn’t get it at all.

PLOT POINT your muse helped fitz a lot during his first year learning to behave like a human. they’re basically friends for life now. it just happens after you have to explain to a young adult why underwear is a necessity, or how to use a toilet, or the importance of brushing ones teeth. closed for now

PLOT POINT during breaks and summer vacation, fitz is entirely unreachable to other students. he lives in the woods, he’s a fox; how’s he supposed to work a cell phone or answer an email? maybe your muse thought he was ignoring them on purpose during a break, or was afraid he died, or some other ridiculous misunderstanding.

PLOT POINT personal stylist. you just simply cannot tolerate someone walking around in such a horrible combination of patterns, textures, silhouettes, whatever crime fitz committed against fashion that day. you’ve taken the fox under your wing to try to teach him how to style this human body. he’s quite good looking once he’s cleaned up! (past or present).

oh, yeah, hopefully no one brought any large pets to campus. because fitz is terrified of dogs. an early experience with hunters had thoroughly traumatized him.. there is one exception to his fear, but it’s different. he’s also super afraid of fire, but that’s less likely to be an issue... we hope.

PLOT POINT control your damn dog! if anyone has a dog on campus, catch fitz doing everything in his power to avoid it. or maybe some stray wanders around the island and fitz is hauling himself up a tree to avoid it, needs a little help now that he’s in this position and the dog isn’t going away.

i have more but this is already looking a bit long so i’ll add more later!!

#.ooc

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lovemesomesurveys · 5 years

Text

What is the wallpaper on your computer screen? Why did you choose it? A gorgeous b&w photo from a photoshoot Alexander Skarsgard did. I chose it because it’s him and he’s gorgeous, duh. Is there a pattern on the pants you’re currently wearing? Which one? Nope, they’re just plain black leggings. Do you like going to baby showers? Do you go only for the cake? I didn’t mind the few I’ve been to. I liked playing the games. Who is the person you text the most in your life? What relation are you? My mom or brother. Mexican food, Chinese food, Italian food, French food or American food? I like some foods from each of those.

Has there ever been a time in your life, you felt sexually undecided? No. Does your mother annoy you when the holidays come along in the year? No. What is the color scheme of your absolute favorite fast-food restaurant? I don’t have a favorite fast food anymore, honestly. I’m not big on it like I used to be. Do you think tattoos and piercings are sexy on the opposite sex? I don’t mind some tattoos or a couple piercings, but I’m not super into them. Do people ever ask you to do things they’re too short to accomplish? No, I’m the short one who needs to ask others for help. Do your siblings bring people around that your parents don’t approve of? No. Is there carpet or hardwood floor in your bedroom? Carpet. Do you check the texture of things first or the smell of them? Depends on what it is. Certain things I might do both. Have you ever broken the arm or head off of a trophy? How did you do this? No. Do you believe in superstitious things such as breaking a mirror? Nah. Do you get sick of people who call themselves bi polar all the time? I don’t like when people just throw that and OCD around. Ever have an ultra-sound performed on you? What was it for? I’ve had several done in my life. I used to get my kidneys checked once a year. Do you like those ‘end of the world,’ ‘Armageddon’ movies? No. What color are the headphones you have at this moment in time? Black. Ever been choked severely on something during lunch at your school? This is worded weird, but yes actually. It happened in elementary school, but I still remember it quite vividly. I got a chip stuck in my throat. Do you remember who you sat next to in Kindergarten? Who was it? No. Has anyone ever compared you to an animal? Which one(s)? A monkey because of my long arms. Has anyone, including yourself, forgot it was your own birthday? Not anyone close to me, no. Chocolate or strawberry birthday cake? Choose one. Strawberry, hands down. Do you eat more vegetables or fruits? What’s your favorite fruit/veggie? Out of the two, veggies because I do eat spinach oftenish. And potatoes. I haven’t had any fruit in quite a long time. :X Do you abbreviate things way too often? Do you get called out on it? No. I only do “lol”, “lmao”, “wtf”, and “wth.” Ever been in one of those church Christmas plays before? Why/why not? No. What is the funniest conjunction you use throughout your day? I don’t think any of them are funny. Have you ever thrown a roll of toilet paper at someone before? No. Does the dentist calm you or does it tend to stress you out? I have never found the dentist to be calming. I get very bad anxiety when it comes to the dentist. It’s a real fear. If you had to choose, which is the worst movie you’ve ever seen? Hmm. I’ve seen a few shitty movies, hard to choose the worst one. Have you ever found yourself talking to an inanimate object? When they’re not working properly haha. Do you like movies that are originally based on children’s books? Sure. Is your hair more thick or thin? Is it more curly or straight? Thin and wavy. I really wish I could get extensions. Something on the human body that grosses you out the most: Feet. Do you like meeting new people? What’s your most common greeting? I’m not very outgoing or social. Ever think of what it would be like to be a mermaid or merman? Nah. If you had to choose, which celebrity would you date out of all of them? Alexander Skarsgard. ;) Do people feel sorry for you for no reason? Have they ever? I’m sure I look quite pitiful. What is something that bothers you about most surveys in general? The repetition of questions. Especially ones about marriage and children. Who would you take with you on a stranded/deserted island? Someone who could help get me off. Do you have your own personal boom box in your bedroom? A boom box, wow. No, I don’t. Haven’t had or used one in several years. Would you survive if zombies were to take over the world? Why or why not? Nope. What would you say is the worst part of high school period? The teenage years are a rough, pivotal time. What is your favorite color of apple? Red, green or yellow? I don’t care for apples. Ever want to be a doctor? Is it because of all the hospital shows? Noooo. What do you think of all these reality shows that try to alter personality? I’m not sure what kind you’re talking about. Where are your favorite pair of shoes in the whole world right now? My black Adidas with the white stripes. Do you live anywhere near a mall? Yeah, pretty close. Do you like drawing smiley faces or do you think they’re overrated? If I’m randomly doodling, that’s one of the few things I’ll draw. If you were dying who would you say goodbye to first out of everyone? I’d have my loved near me and talk to them. Are you someone who actually likes to babysit children? No. Do you ever have those ‘ah ha!’ moments? Do those annoy you? Yeah. I don’t think they’re annoying. It’s usually a good thing. Do you hardly ever remember where you put things at? No, I’m good about that. What’s your favorite lunch meat, if you even like any in the first place? Turkey, salami, and bologna. When is the next time you’ll eat a cupcake, if you know when? I have no idea. Where did you last buy socks from? What do those socks look like? I forget what the last pair I bought myself was, but I just received a few pairs for Christmas. Do you ever lay in the grass and look up at the sky, just because? Nope. I don’t want to lay or sit on the grass at all. It makes me itchy and there’s bugs. When do you normally go to sleep on the weekends? My sleep schedule is the same regardless of the day. I tend to go to bed around 5AM and wake up around noon. Have you ever met someone with the same ‘biggest fear’ as you? Yes, a few. Do you ever have movie nights with your significant other? I’m single. Would you rather write with a pen or a pencil? Why is this? Pen. Do you like candy bars? Are you trying to slack off of them? Yeah. I haven’t had candy in quite awhile, though. I’m not trying to “slack off of them”, I just haven’t had any. What is your favorite number? Is it significant with your life? 8. It’s been my favorite since I was a kid. Are you afraid of being kidnapped if you go outside at nighttime? I’d be afraid of being attacked or killed. Has your mother ever called your school because of your grades? No. I always got good grades. In the next twenty minutes, what will you be doing and where will you be? I need to go to bed. It’s after 5AM now. Do you like showers or baths better? Why did you choose your choice? I only take showers. I haven’t taken a bath since I was a kid. Are you a controversial person? Do your views oppose others? No. I keep a lot of my opinions to myself. I mean, yeah I have opposing views. We’re not all going to agree on everything. Have you ever thrown a surprise party for someone? Who for? Nope. What would you say your average word per minute time is on the keyboard? I have no idea. I’m a very fast typer, though. What is your least favorite class in school? Why is this? It was always math. I was horrible. Do you bite your fingernails or tap them on desks? I always picked at my nails in class. Have you ever wanted to be in a band? What position exactly? No. Who is your role model or hero in life if you have one? My mom. Do you ever call your cousins just to talk to them randomly? No. I used to text with them or Snapchat or something, but not anymore except for here and there. I’m not close with any of my cousins anymore like I used to be. :( Do you find any of your friends’ parents creepy or really mean? I never found any of my friends’ parents creepy or mean. Do you ever have to wash your clothes at someone else’s house? No. When is the next time you’ll go to the library? Why is this? I have no idea. I have no reason to. Do you like fiction or non-fiction books more? What’s your favorite? Non-fiction. Do you constantly have to be told to shut up? By who? No. I’m not a chatty person, generally. I do have my chatty moods sometimes where I want to tell myself to shut up, though. ha. Do you know how to play pool? Are you any good at it? Nope. Do you treat others as you’d like to be treated? Have you always? I try to. These past few years I haven’t been the most pleasant to around. I get moody, irritable, snippy, pissy, and short with my family and that’s not at all how I want to be. They don’t deserve it. I know I don’t like when people are that way to me. Were you a really mean kid or a sweet and quiet kid? Sweet and quiet. I was the “pleasure to have in class”! Are you someone who likes to get in arguments or fights a lot? Nooo. I avoid it like the plague. How do you make sure people know you don’t like them at all? I don’t have to make a big spectacle about it if I don’t like someone for whatever reason. I can still be polite and civil if I have to interact with them. Would you say you’re someone who likes to cuss a lot? Nope. Do you keep secrets from your parents that you don’t keep from your friends? I mean, my parents don’t know everything. I tell them a lot, especially my mom, but I also keep a lot to myself. Not just from them, but from everyone. What is your father’s best friend’s name? Do you know them personally? Donny. Yes, I know him personally. They’ve been friends all my life. If you had to, where would you get a tattoo at? Why? I’ve always thought my inner wrist, but I don’t know now. How much was the cell phone you have at this moment in time? However much the iPhone XR is. Would you say you hang out with people the majority of your life? I spend quite a lot of my time alone, but I spend a lot of time with my family as well. What would you do if you woke up randomly with purple hair? Uhh that would be quite shocking. I also dye my hair red, so if I woke up and it was purple one day I’d be pretty concerned. Do you ever look in the mirror and name all of your flaws for no reason? I avoid looking in the mirror as much as possible, and when I do I keep it short. If I spend too long that’s exactly what would happen. All my flaws become magnified and intensified and they’re all I see. Are you getting sick of the reality show Survivor? Why? I never watched it, but I’m surprised it’s still on. Do you usually explain to people why you do the things you do? Not usually, no, but with some things I guess. Or at least try to. I don’t even understand why I do what I do. Ever submit a video to America’s Funniest Home Videos? No. I wanted to as a kid. What color is the closest desk to your body? What all is on it? I don’t have a desk in my room. The most painful medical procedure you’ve ever had? Any of the surgeries I’ve had. Are you someone who likes to eat Poptarts? What’s your favorite flavor? The strawberry frosted and the brown sugar frosted ones. Ever have a dream you’re being abducted by aliens? Was it scary? No. What would you say is the color of your favorite bra? I only like to wear black ones. Do you like people who are loud or people who are quiet? Quiet, generally. I mean, if they get animated and excited about something and get a little loud that’s fine, but not loud in general. That would give me a headache haha. It’s like, “why are you shouting???” Does personality weigh out the sense of ‘good looks?’ What. When is the next time you’ll see someone who is pregnant? I have no idea. Do you hate it when people copy the things you do? No one copies anything I do, nor should they. Where is your favorite piece of electronic equipment? I’m using it right now while sitting on my bed. Where is the person who ‘owns your heart’ at this moment in time? I’m right here. Has anyone ever told you that you’re good at cooking? Ha, no. I’m not a cook. Would you say you’re a fast texter, or are you pretty slow? I’m a very fast typer on a computer, but not as fast on my phone. What is your favorite flavor of Doritos? What do you drink with them? Nacho or Cool Ranch. I’d drink whatever I had at the time, which would likely be a Starbucks Doubleshot and/or water. I haven’t had Doritos or any kind of chip in a long time, though. Do you have any enemies who you think are dangerous? I don’t have any enemies. Do you ever try to squeeze information out of people? Uhh I might from my mom or brother about certain things cause I can be nosey with them lol, but no not generally. Does it freak you out when the police drive by your house? No. Are you someone who tends to take a whole lot of naps? I don’t take a lot of naps even though I’m always tired. Naps make me groggy and more tired, but sometimes sleep just wins and I give in to a nap. What is your favorite nickname you like to be called? Why do you like it? Sis. Do you already have your outfit for tomorrow planned out? No. I don’t plan my outfits unless I’m going certain places or packing for a vacation. What is the color of your favorite pair of pants? What brand are they? I like my numerous pairs of black leggings, ha. Has your favorite song ever been featured on a commercial? Yeah, a few have. Do you ever promise pc4pc on Myspace then never return the favor? Wow, I remember those days. I was good about keeping my end of the deal. What is one song right now that really gets on your nerves? Hmm. I can’t think of one in particular at the moment. What would you say was the best year of your life? Why? My childhood. Do those annoying infomercials ever draw you in to buy things? I’ve seen things that were of interest, but nah I’ve never ordered anything from an informercial. I’m always skeptical about anything they try to sell. Have you ever been pulled over by the cops for speeding? I don’t drive. I can’t tell you how many speeding jokes I’ve received as someone in a wheelchair throughout my life, though. -____- Is anyone in your family a firefighter? Who is it anyway? Nope.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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firekissedpiper · 5 years

Photo

— ✗ SHOTGUN

— ✗ Time Period: EARLY FEBRUARY, 2020.

— ✗ TW: Hospital, pregnancy loss/miscarriage, depression, suicidal thoughts, armed robbery.

Honestly, Piper wasn’t sure what she was doing. The settled numbness had slowly begun to fade into limited awareness. Even that small adaptation had exposed her to the crippling melancholy. It felt like she was being buried alive. Somehow she had the weight of something crushing her body at the same time her lungs seemed to fight for air. And as much as she searched and clawed for a way out, she couldn’t find one. Despair just continued to pile on, crushing her.

She knew she was unravelling. The numbness was not about to protect her forever, she knew that. She almost didn’t want it to. The nothingness was a crutch. That empty feeling was a comfort. And she did not deserve comfort. Not after all the drugs, not after the way she had failed her family, not after the way she’d just let her mother snatch away Kaia, not after the way she’d let Ella be penalized for being a daughter of a monster before she was even old enough to know who she was. Not after she’d murdered Tomas. She had done so many horrible things. She knew this was exactly the cosmic punishment she deserved for her wickedness.

When she felt capable of walking without stumbling and having her legs give out from underneath her she checked herself out. It’d been recommended by the medical staff that she call a family member for support and assistance. She told them that the family she had was nowhere near old enough to be holding her up at this time.

She pondered calling Mateo, but she couldn’t bring herself to. He had been the only one outside of Raphael and Ashton who knew about the baby. She didn’t want to tell him that she’d lost it. She wasn’t ready yet. So she left their medical advice at the service window, taking her discharge papers, followup instructions and prescription paper with her. The brunette looked at the yellow envelope they’d handed her. She had no doubt it was thick with pamphlets of handling grief.

After a long, mechanical walk down the long hospital hallway, she pushed through the double doors and onto the main floor. She wasn’t entirely sure of her exact location. She’d been pushed there in a wheelchair when she’d been flown in on the jet. Honestly, it seemed kind of pointless, landing a plane in a nearby city only for her to be brought from one place to another in a jet. But she expected such things when she’d admitted her status as the Princess of Greece.

The brunette absently rested one hand on the wall. Her fingers brushing along the oddly pocked textured wall as she walked. The sound of her boots echoed along the hallway. Other sounds mixed in with the bittersweet symphony. The sound of a squeaky wheel on a stretcher, the buzzing of the fluorescent light bars above her, and in the very faint distance - beeping monitors.

The hallway seemed endless. She didn’t know if she was walking for minutes or hours. Not that she cared. A small, logical part of her brain told her it was only a couple of minutes. The emotion bound part of her brain had already begun to win the fight against her logic center though. Finally, there was a branch that boasted a couple of elevator doors. She headed for the first one, letting her palm hit absently against the opaque white button. A click registered in her ears, along with a dinging sound.

It was easy enough to pick up the sound of the pulley’s and thick metal cords at work in the inner structure. They were loud. If she didn’t know better - or cared - she would have thought it was time for maintenance to have a look. Another ding, and the metal doors opened. Another person stood in the space. She walked in, not bothered to look at the person. A brief look told her they were already heading to the ground floor.

The other patient didn’t bother striking up conversation, a fact for which Piper was grateful. She was scared that as soon as she was forced to speak that the crying would start again. She didn’t know if she could handle any more crying. The elevator docked after a moment or two, the doors opening once more. Piper walked out the door, paying little regard to if she’d run into the other patient.

On her way down the main hallway she spotted the garbage can and quickly tossed the yellow envelope into the bin. She didn’t want the flyers on how to deal with grief. She didn’t want the prescription for antibiotics. She just wanted to go home - well, as close to home as she could get in the estate - and find comfort in her bed. At the moment, her bed might as well have been a beach vacation.

Piper finally knew where she was in regards to the hospital building. She walked through the double doors and out into the cold wintery day. The scrub pants they’d given her in replacement of her bloodied shorts did not filter the temperature very well. She might as well have left in the shorts if it was a conversation of protection of the cold.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Piper finally looked around. It wasn’t as if she cared much for her surroundings, or sought comfort in the familiarity. She just wanted to find a way out. Whether that came in the form of a cab or perhaps a familiar walkway. What she saw instead was a man smoking a cigarette near the entrance. Definitely further away than what was recommended.

Remembering the days where the little white and yellow sticks had managed to make her feel better, she headed for him. It was easy enough to ignore the pain from the burns Tomas had once inflicted upon her when he’d discovered she hadn’t quit smoking like she once said she had. “Do you have one to spare?” She asked, tone as empty and morose as she felt.

“‘Spose I do for a pretty lady,” the man had a faint southern accent. Holding his cigarette between his teeth, he reached for the pack and withdrew another clean and unlit cancer stick. She took it from him when he’d held it out. “Need a light?” He asked her.

Piper looked down at the stick in her hand, the pain felt good. She deserved that much. She looked back at him and nodded. With one hand he guarded a flame sparked on his lighter and with the other he set the end of the cigarette alight. “Thanks,” she said blankly, bringing the cigarette to her mouth.

Pressing her lips on either side of the rounded end, she breathed in a drag. It was harsh on the lungs, given how long it had been since she’d indulged. With a satisfied little sigh, she released the smoke and started walking off to the side of the building. Of all the horrible things she’d done at least she could manage the rule of smoking away from the main entrances of the building.

Every now and then she’d take a drag, her steps taking her to the deep alleyway between the two towering buildings of the hospital. If she remembered correctly the end would lead her to a path that would lead her to the main drag of town if she walked long enough. Maybe she’d walk a little before she called a cab.

Stopping about midway down the alleyway, she turned and let her back lean against the wall. The bricks were uncomfortable through the thin material of her shirt. She didn’t care. She just kept pulling in on the cigarette. Inhaling and then exhaling until she had reached the yellow bit. Every now and then she’d stop to couch, the smoke that she took in disagreeing with her lungs.

Letting it drop to the ground, she stepped out the remainder of the cigarette with her shoe. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the wall that her back was supported by. Despite the cold discomfort, she was content for the moment. The strife within her mind was enough that the bitter cold and the rigidity of the brick wall didn’t bother her. Back and forth her logic center and emotional center seemed to battle, her body caught in the battle, commands of action coming from both sides.

Something caught her attention, breaking her focus from the bombardment of memories and chaotic thoughts. Footsteps. “Well hello there pretty lady,” a man’s voice chimed, the malice dipped in a sweet facade of charm and flirtation. “And what’s a girl like you doing all alone back here?” Usually such attention would have reeling. This time, for whatever reason, her feet remained glued in place as her hazel eyes took in those approaching.

“What is any person doing in a hospital?” She asked, mild sarcasm dripping from her words. Nervousness wasn’t a luxury her body could seem to afford at the moment.

“Getting there bank account reamed, especially at an upscale joint like this,” his voice chided in, some of that disguised malice showing. Piper could guess from his clothes that he was at the lower end of the scale. She’d met lots like him in Greece, especially in her partying days. She could imagine most of his income had been made by selling dime bags.

“Well, it would take a lot to dent my account, even with the cost of dying these days,” a sardonic tone dripped like venom, accompanied by a lazy smile. She wasn’t bragging, more so noting the sad state of affairs she associated with her life as a royal.

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to share the wealth,” the guy in the back finally piped in, dull brown eyes starting to glisten. Any other version of herself would have run as soon as she’d seen the two enter the alley. But maybe she could simply manage to fight off the unwanted attention. “Maybe you want to buy a bud or two?” He offered. She had the slightest idea that maybe those words were loaded by more than an innocent purchase of marijuana.

“No thanks boys, I’ll find some whenever I get home,” she noted absently. “You two have a good day,” fake courtesies left her lips as she turned on her heel. Piper’s sense of adrenaline and panic finally seemed to be setting in. Not to it’s usual extent, but she had the evident and sinking feeling that this definitely wasn’t a great situation to find herself in.

“Not so fast,” she heard a click. It felt like someone had dropped a rock into her gut. “We were just getting to know each other.” A faint memory of Tomas played in her mind.

“Turn around, slowly. Or you won’t like what happens,” the man commented. Slowly but surely, she turned on her heel, holding her hands up. It was easy enough to see the gun in the man’s hand. It was pointed right at her forehead. Fear gripped her, adrenaline slowly working its way through her veins. Honestly it was a miracle there was any left after the constant panic that’d been taking her all week.

“What do you want?” She asked stiffly, her voice still somewhat sluggish and fatigued.

“Just real simple, your wallet and your cellphone. Hand it over and we’ll just be on our way.” It seemed simple enough. It wasn’t something that would exhaust her. It wasn’t something that would really affect her. After all she could just power down her phone remotely, cut off the source to all her cards before they could use them. But she didn’t want to. Of all that’d been taken from her she’d didn’t want to give it up. The idea of cancelling and having to have all sorts of new cards mailed to her just seemed exhausting. “If you’d just cooperate, we’ll all walk-.”

“No.”

The man who held the gun looked half shocked. “What did you just say?”

“No,” she said definitively, stubborn as ever. She should have done the smart thing and just surrendered her wallet and phone, but she didn’t want to. Everything had been taken from her and she felt if she let go of the two simplest things it would be like releasing a lifeline somehow. It was stupid, she knew that. But in the moment she didn’t care.

“I’ll give you one last chance to change your mind,” the man warned her.

“If I was you I’d listen to him,” the other one told her. Staring at that gun, it should have been an easy enough decision. She should have just relinquished her wallet and phone with ease. But with her half trauma addled brain she just couldn’t. She couldn’t take off the duffle bag and toss it to them. It was like surrendering a part of herself.

“No, you won’t shoot me. I doubt you’ve ever had to actually use that little gun of yours before. People probably just toss over their goods at you the moment you point it at them. But not me, not today, you cannot take what is mine,” she told him simply, conviction in her words.

For a minute, he looked like he was considering giving up the goose. He was distracted or shocked. Maybe both - with one causing the other. She took that moment to reach up and grab for the barrel of the gun. Everything happened so quickly. Her hands grabbed it. She felt the pull on the opposing side, and yet she still fought, trying to turn it away from her.

All of her strength went behind the back and forth. The pumping adrenaline fueling her will to keep up the fight, to hopefully win the battle for the weapon. She thought she was winning. It felt that way. Then she heard a click. A simple little click, followed by a faint popping noise. Everything seemed rather distant all of sudden. She looked up at the shock face of the man in front of her. Her own hands still rested on the gun.

A soft pain in her chest made itself known. She looked down, seeing the seeping red spreading throughout the material of her shirt. She slowly looked up once more. As she realized what happened, the pain and weakness hit her body. Her legs buckled and she went down. Her back landed harshly on the ground. Two sets of legs bustled around her. She felt a tugging on her arm, and heard the sound of a zipper. Everything was vague and echoey.

Thoughts of Ella and Kaia traipsed through her mind. She could almost see their faces as she closed her eyes. At least they were safe, tucked away with Mateo at the estate. “Let’s go!” A male’s voice whispered.

“Not yet,” another voice said. She felt something being forced into her stiff hand. “Alright, let’s get out of here.” Footsteps thumped down over the rough concrete ground. It was one of the last things she heard before things went black.

“Princess Mykonos,” the voice was whispy and soft, calling her back from a heavy darkness. A groan left her lips. She felt like she was underwater. Everything was muffled and weighted. The simplest actions took so much effort. It took a great deal of effort to even open her eyelids. After what felt like eons of trying, her eyes opened to that voice. She tried to sit up. Something held her down.

“No no no,” the voice chided her rather gently. In a film of blurriness, she could pick out a small feminine figure. Despite the size she knew it was a woman and not a child. Where was she? Her groggy brain couldn’t put it together. Every blink was a fight, trying to get her eyes to open back up after they were closed.

“Where am I?” Her tongue fumbled with the words. It felt fuzzy and thick. She couldn’t seem to get it to speak the way it was so accustomed to.

“You’re at the Montana Psychiatric Facility,” the woman’s voice was gentle and soft, as if not to startle her.

Once again, Piper tried to sit up. Slowly her vision was coming back and she saw what was keeping her from being upright. White padded restraints. Alarm was starting to take her over. “Just relax,” the woman instructed her. That was easy for her to say. “Someone found you outside the hospital, you’re okay, but you’ve been restrained for your own safety. Don’t fight too hard, you may pull your stitches.”

That didn’t explain why she was in a mental hospital. The brunette gave another effort at freeing her wrists. Indeed, she did feel a slight pull in her chest. No real pain though. “Was there not any room left in the hospital,” she managed to form the words rather vaguely. She was pretty sure it was an incoherent mumble.

A look that Piper recognized as pity washed over the face of the nurse. “You poor thing, you must not remember,” the nurse reached for one of her hands that were bound at the wrist, an action she was sure was meant to comfort her.

“Remember what?” Piper said, her voice half aggressive as she spoke. She felt a fear and confusion she had not felt in a very long time.

“You tried to kill yourself, Piper.”

#royalpainsrp #rpg #rp #solos

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darkobsidianquill · 5 years

Text

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness..

Chapter 25

"You know, I'm really impressed with how well you're handling this, Ginny," Hermione said later that evening as the two sat alone in Hermione's dorm room. Hermione had offered earlier to help Ginny with her Arithmancy essay, and the two had opted to do their work upstairs, since the twins, Lee Jordan, and Seamus Finnigan were busy teaching several of the pure-blooded students how to play muggle poker. They were being quite loud about it too.

"What do you mean?" Ginny responded, trying to look as if she really didn't know what Hermione was talking about.

"We both know how you used to feel about Harry," Hermione said, raising a single eyebrow, as if daring the other girl to deny it.

Ginny rolled her eyes and grimaced. "Yeah... well, not only was there the whole 'Boy-Who-Lived' legacy and my girl-hood crush, but he also saved my life, first year. I think it's understandable for me to have been a bit infatuated," Ginny said defensively.

Hermione smiled knowingly. "Still, like I said, I'm impressed with how well you're dealing."

Ginny sighed and set down her quill. "When the news first came out in the paper that Harry was gay, I was in total denial. I was absolutely sure that that rag of a paper was just spouting more idiotic lies. But then Harry himself confirmed it. I guess it made me realize that there really was no chance of any sort of romantic thing ever happening between us. Sure, a part of me was still in denial, but it was a pretty small part.

"I suppose I figured that if there really was no chance of him being my happily-ever-after, I could at least be his friend. Once the fear of screwing up my future chances with my 'prince charming' were blown out the window, my shyness was a lot easier to get over. It's a lot easier to act like menow, you know?"

"Yes. And that's really great, Ginny," Hermione said, smiling.

Ginny shrugged. "I guess. But like I said, part of me was still in denial. It really does seem so much more real now. It's still hard to wrap my head around the fact that Harry was snogging some boy and got marked up like that!"

Hermione blushed but grinned and nodded her head enthusiastically. "I know! I never would have thought he'd have it in him. But then again, I never would have imagined him dancing with Fleur the way he did back at the Yule Ball."

Ginny groaned. "Don't remind me of that night. I almost melted into a puddle, just watching him."

They both giggled for a moment before the two settled into a quiet moment as their eyes went unfocused and they were each lost in their own memories of that night.

"I wonder who it was," Ginny mused quietly after a long moment.

"Hmm?"

"Who Harry was snogging. I wonder who the guy is."

"I don't know. I'll admit I'm incredibly curious, but Harry does have a valid reason to keep it quiet. The tabloids refuse to leave him alone. Just imagine what they would do with the news that he was seeing someone."

Ginny nodded her head and looked solemn. "He just can't get a break, can he?"

Hermione sighed. "No he can't. I hope that whoever this boy is that he's seeing, he's good for him. Harry deserves whatever happiness he can get. Merlin knows he's seen more than enough misery over the years," she finished bitterly, thinking about Harry's horrible muggle relatives.

"Yeah," Ginny added with a sigh.

– –

Harry felt the sudden dramatic increase in the powerful swirling parselmagic around Tom and set his book down. He looked up and watched with stunned awe as the man sitting cross-legged on the floor several feet from him suddenly began to morph and transform, right before his eyes.

Tom's skin went pale gray and transformed into a diverse patterning of different sized scales. His nose flattened against his face, shifting into two thin slits. His lips thinned until they disappeared, his neck lengthened minutely, and a small, cobra-like hood stretched from the sides of his neck down to his shoulders.

His hair and eyebrows thinned and then vanished, leaving a perfectly smooth, bald whitish-gray head. His ears shrunk down to just two small nubs and holes, and his already slitted, red eyes, went even more serpentine than before, so that there were no longer any whites left to them now.

"Wow..." Harry whispered in awe as Tom suddenly heaved forward and panted from the magical draw the first successful transformation had wracked on his body.

Tom... well, maybe it was easier to think of him as Voldemort when he was like this. Now he looked like Voldemort... he sat there resting for a moment, gathering up his strength before he slowly stood to his feet. Harry scrambled to his feet and stood there, still awestruck by the person he saw before him.

"Will... will it be that hard to transform every time?" Harry asked, honestly a bit concerned.

Voldemort chuckled and it came out with some hisses. "No, Harry. It will get much easssier now. The first successssful transformation is the one that is the hardest. Each subsequent time I do it, it will be come easier and eassssier until it is second nature."

Harry nodded his head, thinking back to his own serpentine transformation that he learned for the second task. It had been the same way.

"So... wow..." Harry's voice trailed off as his eyes trailed up and down the other man's changed body. He could feel his own parselmagic reacting to Voldemort's. It was pouring off him in glorious, powerful, waves and it made Harry feel heady and hot. "Bloody hell... there has got to be something off about me that I still find you incredibly hot," Harry said in a surprisingly husky voice.

Voldemort smirked and rose a single hairless brow at him in amusement. He took a few casual strides to Harry and wrapped one of his gray, long-fingered hands around the back of Harry's neck, pulling him close and pressing his non-lips against Harry's. Harry moaned out in ecstasy as the magic shot through him and he felt his knees grow weak from the intensity. Harry's hands came up and fisted in Voldemort's loose open robes, pulling insistently for a moment before the older wizard pulled away, leaving them both panting with desire.

"You are... unbelievable," Voldemort said, with a wicked grin spreading across his lipless face.

"Wha... why?" Harry said, trying to pull himself back together.

"That you could still find such a creature as me desirable," Voldemort said, smirking. But Harry could see the slightest hint of that deeper emotion in the man's serpentine eyes.

"Harry smiled back up at him and slowly rose his hand up, brushing his fingertips delicately over the scaled skin of Voldemort's neck. The Dark Lord actually turned his head, exposing more of his neck to Harry's gentle caresses and the action filled Harry with surprised exhilaration. Harry's hand rested against the whitish-gray skin and brushed gently up and down, memorizing the strange, smooth texture, before he leaned in and placed his lips against Voldemort's long neck.

He sucked and licked hesitantly at first, still unsure what he was doing, but he slowly grew confidence. He pulled back and looked up to find two red, glowing eyes boring down into him hungrily. Suddenly, the snake-like face looking down at him morphed and shifted back into the handsome features of Tom Riddle.

Harry smiled up at the beautiful man and pulled himself up while Tom bent down and their lips met again. It started simple but grew in intensity as the two began to grope and claw at each other.

It was an occasion for celebration, after all. Tom had completed his transformation at last, and things could finally begin.

– –

"Harry, you have to see this!" Hermione said in an urgent hushed voice as she came to stand behind him in the Great Hall. It had been two days since Tom achieved his full transformation and Harry was supposed to be at the manor house that night for a rather special event. All he could do was hope that whatever it was that Hermione had to talk about, wouldn't make him late.

"What's up?" He asked turning around and giving her a concerned look.

She looked from side to side as if she were checking for eavesdroppers. Harry realized that Ginny was standing beside her looking just as anxious.

"It's about the book, Harry. We need to go somewhere private."

Harry nodded his head and stood from the bench seat he was sitting at. "Sure. I can always grab something from the kitchens later. Lets go."

Harry glanced over at Ron, who was deep into a rather enthusiastic conversation with Seamus and one of the 5th years that Harry didn't know very well. Ron didn't even seem to notice them going, so Harry pushed it out of his mind.

He led Ginny and Hermione to an empty classroom, and at Hermione's insistence, he put up one of his usual privacy wards.

"I really need to learn how to do those," Ginny said as she watched him silently casting the ward around the room.

"It's not that hard. So what's this about?"

Hermione dug into her bag and pulled out the bound parchment book that she had been translating the book into and opened it to a marked page before handing it to him. He looked at her questioningly, but she just nodded at the book. He glanced at Ginny and she rolled her eyes. "Just readit!"

G.s 14252

In the year of Gildred the Second, 14,200, the circle of Sight and Time gathered once again and foretold the end of this world. Just as our great race had to abandon our last home when it befell its fated destruction, we have seen that we will need to abandon this one as well. This saddens us greatly, however it is for this very reason that we convene the circle of Sight every hundred years. We have much time to prepare, this end will not come for many millennium. The High Council sees no risk that we will not find a suitable home and be gone long before this world's fate falls upon it, but it is with a heavy heart that we leave behind so many great and diverse beings. We can only save ourselves. The magical creatures of this world will be left to fend for themselves, and it was the non-magical Men of this world that our Seers have foretold will bring about this worlds destruction. We cannot save any of them. We have no choice but to leave.

G.t 14252

The Higher have managed to commune with the Magic of this world, and has told it of our Sight of this world's fate. The Magic watches over those of this world with the magical connection and would not want to see it's Children come to an end at the hands of the non-magical Men who are slowly spreading across the lands like vermin.

The Magic, however, was already aware of the eminent End of days, and did not need our warning. The Higher has documented that which the Magic has said of it's great intentions to save its Children.

The Magic cannot personally save those of the world, for its ability does not lie within direct interference. It can only provide its Children with the tools to save themselves, and point them in the right direction.

We have seen that there are those among the magical creatures who have chosen to breed with the non-magical Men. Their half-breed offspring have gained access to the magic, and have begun to learn to master their powers. But Magic has deemed that Man is not to possess this power, for it is their lust for the magic that will bring the End.

The Magic has decided to chose those among the magical half-breeds who are worthy to keep the powers secret and safe from those not worthy. It will be the day that those Men of non-magical blood, learn to steal it from those who have been deemed worthy, that the End will come.

G.t 14309

A half-breed Man of Magic has come to power. He is a cambion – the child of an incubus daemon father, and a non-magical daughter of Man – and he goes by the name Merlin Ambrosius. Magic has deemed him the first Lord of the Dark Magics. He has allied himself with one a non-magical Men, a king of Men by the name of Arthur Pendragon. Arthur's half-sister, by a different mother is also of the Magic. Her mother was of Fay decent and possesses great skill. Her name is Morgan LeFay and she has been deemed the first Lord of the Light Magics. Magic has chosen these two great powers to help guide those of both Magic and Men, to keep the power of magic from the non-magical Men. The two Lords must fight to maintain balance, but also to keep the power of Magic within those who Magic has deemed worthy. Each generation will spawn a new Lord – one of the Light, and one of the Dark, to take on the task.

The Lords have to keep the magic from the non-magical Men. If those of Magic's choosing can succeed in this task, they can save themselves, and the other magical creatures of this world from the coming End. If they fall to the non-magical Men, then all will perish.

Will these actions be enough to save this world? We do not know. We can only pray for those of this world as we make our final preparations to leave. We have found our new homeland and many are ready to depart. What will befall this world that we have called home for so many millennia? Will Magic's great plan save it's magical Children? Is their fate sealed? We will likely never know, for once we have left, we can never return.

Harry reached the end and paused. "Is this the end of the book?" He asked, looking up at Ginny and Hermione.

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head, "but it's as far as we've translated. It's almost at the end, there's only a little left."

"We need to finish it," Harry said, looking back down at the collection of bound parchment in his hands.

They were silent for a moment before Hermione spoke, "Do you... do you think it's true?"

"I don't know. I think it's possible. I know that those who speak parselmagic are descendants of a human and naga union."

"Naga!" Ginny gasped.

"Where did you hear that!" Hermione asked.

Harry looked up slowly contemplating his next words. "I... managed to find a book on the history of parselmagic. I special ordered it earlier in the year. Cost a small fortune," he lied easily. "Probably got it sometime around November. It was back when I was preparing for the first task and the dragons. It talked about how the magical lines that retained the ability to practice parselmagic were all descended from the Naga. Parselmagic is their type of magic.

"That's why I can perform it wandlessly. It's like how house elves and goblins can do magic without a wand. Naga don't need wands either, they have their own kind of magic. That's parselmagic. Thats also why parseltongue has a written language. Its the script that the Naga use."

Ginny and Hermione looked stunned.

"But how would that explain muggle-borns?" Ginny asked suddenly, glancing over at Hermione.

"Descendants of squibs who got exiled by their magical families, I reckon," Harry said, shrugging.

"You think I'm descended from a squib!" Hermione gasped and then looked thoughtful. "I wonder if it's true... I wonder if there's a way to find out."

"I'm pretty sure Gringotts can do it," Harry said, shrugging.

"Oh! I bet they can!" Ginny gasped.

"What? The goblins? How?" Hermione asked.

"They can do blood tests that determine lineage. Its one of the ways that the figure out if a claim to an inactive vault account is valid."

"Isn't that a dark art? Blood magic is banned!" Hermione gasped.

"Pfft," Harry rolled his eyes. "Like the Goblins give a damn about the Ministry's laws about those sorts of things. The Goblin Nation is sovereign with a mutually beneficial treaty in place with the Ministry. The Goblins are under no requirements to follow all of the Ministry's laws. Especially when the laws are banning something as useful as blood magic. Those bans are just made out of ignorance and fear, blood magic is only barely a dark art."

"You like blood magic?" Ginny asked, looking a bit unsettled by the idea.

"If it weren't for blood magic, I wouldn't be here. My mum used a life-for-life sacrificial blood ritual to save me from the killing curse."

Both girls were rendered speechless by this proclamation. It was Hermione that seemed to pull herself out of it first. "Wha... how... how do you figure that?"

"I've been doing some digging. Asking some people and searching through different things that might explain what happened that night. Everyone is convinced that it was something that I did that stopped Voldemort that night, but I'm convinced it was my mum. Not me. I was a perfectly normal baby up until that point. Dumbledore told me that he thinks the night Voldemort tried to kill me, some of his magic ended up seeping into me, and that explains the parseltongue, but I think it really only activated what was already there."

"What do you mean!" Hermione asked.

"I wouldn't be surprised if there was some naga blood somewhere in my ancestry. Chances are it was way back, and got diluted so much over the generations that any access to the parselmagic was lost. But when Voldemort attacked me and the blood ritual my mum did screwed everything up, some of his magic did go in me. But I don't think that would really have been enough to give me the ability to use parselmagic like I do. I'm convinced I had to have had some actual naga blood in me. Voldemort's power just gave it enough strength to make it active."

The group was quiet for another minute as they all took it all in.

"Are you sure you didn't get Morgan and Merlin mixed up?" Ginny asked Hermione, suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Well, the translation said that Merlin was a Dark Lord! That's crazy! And it said that Morgan LeFay was a Light Lord! That can't be right."

"I don't know..." Hermione said slowly, "From what I've read, Morgan LeFay was supposed to be really renowned for her magical healing abilities. That's a very Light branch of magic.

"And just because Merlin is known as one of the 'greatest wizards in history', doesn't mean he didn't use Dark magic," Harry said.

"But Dark Lords don't help people!" Ginny hissed.

"Says who?" Harry asked, defensively.

"But... but they're Dark!"

"Dark doesn't equal evil, you know," Harry said, folding his arms over his chest and arching his brows daringly. "Dark and Light are branches of magic that they have a natural affinity for, not a direct indication of of their moral convictions."

Both Hermione and Ginny were frowning, and giving him hesitant, concerned, looks now and he knew it was time to backtrack.

"Hey, I'm just being the devil's advocate. It seemed relative to what we've just read here, that's all."

"Harry's right," Hermione said, eventually. "And he does have a point. Even if Merlin was technically a 'Dark Lord' he was the first one, and it had a much different meaning back then, then it does now. Anyway, do you really think that this could be true? What about the stuff about the... about the end of the world?"

"It made it sound like their prophecy, or whatever you want to call it, said that muggles would be responsible for it," Harry said slowly.

"I think it said that if the muggles found a way to steal magic from those with magic, that it would somehow be responsible for bringing about the end," Ginny said.

"And that it's the task of the Lords to keep that from happening," Harry said in a whispery voice with dawning realization. "That's why Voldemort originally went after the muggles. He figured that if he destroyed them all first, they couldn't destroy us."

"What?" Ginny asked.

"No! You don't think!" Hermione gasped. "You think he knows about this?" she asked, indicating the translated copy of the book.

Harry slowly nodded his head, his mind still whirling with this latest discovery.

Tom was actually trying to save the world, and no one even knew it!

"The thing is, it would never work. There're just too many muggles. And their technology is advancing too fast. Genocide would never actually work. In fact, it would alert them to our existence faster, and give them a reason to fight against us. A reason to try and steal our magic," Harry continued. "There has to be another way to prevent this... this End of days."

That's what Tom is doing now. Trying to find another way...

"Who do you suppose the Light Lord is?" Ginny asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" Harry said, pulling out of his musings and looking down at her.

"It says that every generation there's a light and a dark lord, and they have to fight to maintain the balance and they both have to work towards saving the world or whatever – right? So if Voldemort was the Dark Lord, then –"

"Dumbledore," Harry said with a very sure nod of his head. "It's definitely Dumbledore."

"That makes sense," Hermione said, agreeing. "It probably is him."

"So do you think Dumbledore knows about this then?" Ginny asked, pointing at the translated book.

Harry looked thoughtful for a long moment before shaking his head. "I don't think he does. Or if he knows any of it, I think he's mistranslated it. I don't think he really understands. Or maybe he thinks it's possible to save everyone. He thinks he can save the muggles and wizards. Voldemort was willing to sacrifice the muggles if it meant saving everyone else."

Ginny gasped and Hermione looked dumbstruck.

"You're suggesting that Voldemort was trying to save the world?" Ginny asked in a voice that suggested she thought he was absolutely mental. "That's ridiculous!"

"I'm not suggesting anything!" Harry backtracked defensively. "I'm just making some hypothesis off of what we've just read and what I know. That's all."

"That sounds like suggesting to me," Ginny said.

"Well, he had to have a motive, didn't he?" Harry barked back, defensively. "I personally, would like to know why he did the things he did. Why he came after me and why he killed my parents. If this is the reason why, then I'd like to know!"

"He didn't need a reason why, he was a psychopath!" Ginny yelled.

"And you think that all the dark wizards in Britain would follow him if he were just a psychopath? Besides – honestly? I would much rather my parents died at the hands of someone fighting for something they believed in, than being killed my some lunatic who just enjoyed killing for sport."

"I don't see how it makes a difference," Ginny retorted, but with less enthusiasm now. "Why would you want to humanize that monster anyway? He killed your parents. He's tried to kill you several times! He – he made that d-diary and nearly killed me!"

"I'm not trying to humanize him! I'm just trying to understand, alright? I mean, why the hell did he come after me of all people? Because he was coming after me; not my parents. My parents knew he was coming after me too. That's why my mum had that blood ritual prepared. She knew that Voldemort would be coming to kill me. Why? Dumbledore knows, but he refused to tell me."

"What do you mean, he knows?" Hermione asked.

"I asked him first year after the whole mess with the stone and killing Quirrell and he told me I was too young for him to tell me the truth. Meanwhile, I have to face Voldemort every year, blindly. Ignorant of what is really going on, and totally unprepared. All of the advanced training I've done, I've had to do on my own because he refuses to openly train me. Why? What does he really want with me? I think these are pretty important questions and I have every right to be asking them."

"Did you know that this book would talk about this?" Hermione asked out of nowhere and Harry came up short. "Where did you get this book?"

Harry's mouth floundered for a moment, wondering how to respond. His mind was working fast and he quickly settled on a plan.

"I was told that I would find something in this book that was important. That it would help me to understand what was really going on. But that was it. It was just... really vague and entirely unhelpful, but I was told how to find the book and that it was important. That's it."

"Told by who?" Hermione asked cautiously.

Harry swallowed. He knew that the next thing he was about to say would probably make Hermione paranoid, but it was the best thing he could come up with, and he felt like he could spin it to work for him.

"Would you believe me if I told you I think it was Magic?" Harry asked, cringing slightly.

"Magic?" Hermione deadpanned.

"Yeah, as in the er... entity Magic. You know, like if Magic was a sentient being or something? I think maybe it was a vision?" Harry continued, but it came out more as a question.

"A vision, Harry? Oh Merlin!" Ginny groaned and Hermione looked both worried and skeptical.

"Harry, what if it wasn't some magical entity. What if it was Voldemort or something? You said that you had some strange nightmares at the start of the year. What if it was that? What if it was a trick?"

"It's just a book, Hermione! And I'm positive the idea was not sent to me from Voldemort. Honestly!" Just a detached piece of his soul...

"How can you be sure?"

"My visions of Voldemort always made my scar hurt. This one didn't," Harry finished definitively and crossed his arms over his chest.

Hermione frowned and pursed her lips but didn't retort.

"Anyway, I think this stuff is important. I think that this is the part that I was meant to find. We need to get the rest of it translated so we can see if there's anything more."

The group agreed and finally disbanded. Harry checked his watch and grumbled at how much time that had taken. He barely had enough time to make it across the grounds and port-key to the manor.

He slipped into a bathroom, put on his cloak and a silencing charm and began to race out of the castle and across the grounds. His mind was still whirling with what he'd read, and wondering how he would bring it up with Tom. He hadn't told Tom about the book or what he was doing with Hermione and Ginny in translating it. He wasn't sure why, but he just hadn't.

He supposed it was just one of those things that he had wanted to find on his own. Would Tom think he'd been hiding things though? He hated the thought that the other man might suspect him of any form of secrets or betrayal. Especially so early on in their 'relationship'. He was afraid of doing anything wrong that would screw up what was happening.

He huffed in frustration. He needed to tell Tom. He wouldn't keep this hidden from the other man, no matter how scared he was of what would happen. He just had to be honest. The truth of the matter was that he'd long ago given up on the idea of the book providing him with anything other than an interesting glimpse into the history of a dead race. Or, what he had thought to be a dead race. He supposed this latest revelation meant that they weren't dead – they had just left.

Harry finally crossed the wards and pulled his sleeve up, muttering the activation into the port-key and disappearing with a soft pop.

– –

Harry was about half way up the stairs when he heard another pop in the entrance hall behind him. He turned around and saw the grizzled form of his Defense teacher, 'Moody'. He smirked. It had been a while since he'd been in the manor at the same time was when Barty made one of his infrequent visits.

"Hey Barty," Harry said, pausing on the stairs and waiting for the other man to join him. 'Moody' smirked and began to hobble up the stairs.

"Potter," he said with a nod of his head.

"Our Lord has regained his old appearance. Just giving you a heads up," Harry said as they began to climb the stairs together.

"He has? Have you seen it?" 'Moody' asked with an eager fire glowing in his eyes.

Harry smiled and ducked his head again before nodding. "I have. He's glorious."

They came to the door of the study and Harry knocked lightly on the door.

"Come," the voice called out in a commanding tone and Harry pushed the door open a bit and peered through. Voldemort was sitting in his office chair behind his desk. Opposite him in one of three chairs was Severus Snape. Harry smirked.

Snape twisted slightly in his chair and scowled at the sight of Harry standing there.

"We're both here. Is... he supposed to be aware of our other friend?" Harry asked, jerking his chin towards Snape, and then nodding his head back over his shoulder.

Voldemort smirked slightly and inclined his head. "Yes Harry. You are both to enter."

Snape's face betrayed his confusion and curiosity for a moment before he masked the emotions away.

Harry pushed the door all the way open and strode confidently inside and sat down in the open chair to Snape's right. Snape watched him with hatred in his eyes, but his gaze was instantly drawn back to the door. Harry watched as Snape's eyes went wide in absolute disbelief as Mad-Eye Moody walked in through the open doorway, glaring and sneering down at the Potions master.

"You!" Snape gasped. There was no masking the absolute shock on the man's face now and Harry snickered. Snape turned and glared again at Harry, who just kept on grinning as the supposed ex-auror limped his way across the room and sat down in the last remaining chair.

Voldemort didn't waste much time in explaining to Snape who 'Moody' actually was, but Harry had still greatly enjoyed the potion master's reaction to the revelation. Snape had apparently been there for about thirty minutes when Harry and 'Moody' had arrived, so his debriefing was already done. Voldemort spent the next fifteen minutes describing the tasks he had for the two professors at the school, which mostly just involved keeping their eyes open, and reporting on any conversations they had with Dumbledore or the other staff members that appeared to be of any value.

It was already expected that 'Moody' would not be returning as the Defense teacher again the next year. Not only would it look suspicious if a teacher was suddenly able to get around the jinx on the position, it would also be difficult keeping the real Alastor Moody alive inside his own trunk for that long. As it was, the ex-auror's health was already seriously failing and Barty wasn't sure the man would actually survive to the end of term, 6 weeks away.

The two professors were especially instructed to pay close attention and immediately report on, anyone voicing suspicions on Harry's Potter's behavior or loyalties.

The meeting was concluded and Voldemort instructed Harry to remain behind. Snape sneered at Harry as he passed and left the room. Barty smirked and jerked his chin in a departing gesture.

As soon as the magical energy of the two wizards had disappeared from the manor, Voldemort sat down, heavily in his chair, sighed, and morphed back into Tom Riddle. Harry smiled at the sight, pulled out his wand and banished the three chairs to the back of the room and sat down on the floor beside Tom's chair.

Tom's long fingers ran into Harry's hair and the younger wizard sighed happily. The two remained quiet for a moment before Harry gave a much more resigned sounding sigh and cleared his throat.

"I need to tell you something."

Tom's fingers stopped and he slowly removed them. Harry was about to begin when Tom stood up and motioned for Harry to follow. The younger was confused, but did as instructed. The two made their way down the hall and ended up in the library. Tom went straight to the chaise lounge and sat down on the end that had two backs, forming a corner and then patted the space beside him.

Harry eyed the spot with wide eyes for a moment before grinning and sitting down beside Tom. Tom wasted no time in guiding Harry's head down into his lap and Harry could only grin wider as he sighed happily in what he had just now decided was his absolute favorite position to be in.

"Now, Harry, what is it you need to tell me?" Tom said letting his hand come up and thread into Harry's hair again.

"Back, just a short while before I came to you, but after I had had several visions from in your head, I began to wonder about something I'd heard you think on several occasions," Harry began.

"You had thought about your 'task', but I couldn't quite figure out what you were referring to, even from the context. But I was curious. I asked the portion of your soul in me if he knew or if he could tell me anything about it. He said he couldn't, but he directed me to something that he said would help me figure it out. He told me to look underneath Slytherin's desk inside his study in the Chamber."

At this, Tom's hand stopped moving.

"I found the book. Obviously, it was in some language I couldn't read so I asked him if there was anything that would help me translate it. So he directed me to the book on the Old Aldric language. I slowly started working on translating it in my free time. I couldn't see anything in the book that answered my question about your task, and after I while I practically forgot that was the reason I started translating it.

"It ended up being the thing I used to get Hermione to think I'd started trusting her again. She needed to be included in something I was doing, and the bit of your soul told me that this would be a good project to do that. He told me that it would be 'enlightening' for her if she helped translate the book. So I got her a copy of the original text and she's been working on translating it in her free time ever since.

"All the stories, up until now, just seemed like historical journal entries from the ancient elves. It was fascinating in a historical sense, but none of it seemed relevant to anything important. That's the reason I never mentioned it. Like I said, I basically forgot that this whole thing started out with the intention of figuring out your 'task'. I don't want you to think I was hiding something. I would never hide something from you if I thought it was important, and I really didn't at the time. I feel stupid now, looking back, and I'm really sorry..."

"You got to the end," Tom's voice cut in.

Harry nodded his head. "Just about. Hermione and Ginny have been doing all the translating lately. I've helped a bit, but mostly I've just let them work on it while I hung around. It's given them the sense that we're still close and everyone else in Gryffindor always sees us hanging out together, which has helped convince people that I've made up with them."

"Ginny? Ginny Weasley? Isn't she the girl –"

"That had your diary in my second year, yeah."

"Hmm..."

"Yeah," Harry said and sighed heavily. "Anyway, Hermione and Ginny got to these three entries – one about the old elves' seers making some prediction about the end of the world. Then an entry about some group contacting Magic to warn it? But it already knew. That the prophecy basically said that muggles would bring about the end of the world by trying to steal magic that wasn't theirs. And that two lords would be selected from the magical-human half-breeds – from wizards – a Dark Lord and a Light Lord, and that it would be their task to stop the muggles from taking magic, and save the wizards and the magical creatures from the muggle's apocalypse..." Harry's voice trailed off and he sighed. "Is it true?"

"Yes, Harry," Tom's voice said softly. "There is a bit more to it than that, but that is the gist of it."

"I'm sorry if it seems like I was hiding something from you," Harry apologized in a strained, quiet voice. Part of him was terrified that Tom would be angry with him. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this. I swear I'll tell you of anything like this I'm doing in the future. It just seemed like a side pet-project to keep Hermione and Ginny busy. I didn't –"

"Shhh... it's okay Harry. I'm not angry," Tom said, reassuringly as he began to run his hand through Harry's hair again.

Harry heaved a great, relieved breath. "Really?" he gasped hopefully.

"Yes, Harry, really."

Harry sighed and nuzzled his face into Tom's thigh and smiled. The two were quiet for a moment before Harry spoke again.

"I'm glad it's you," he said in a near-whisper.

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad that you're the Dark Lord. If anyone can do it, you can."

Tom barked a small laugh and then sighed. "I hope you're right."

#Harry Potter #Dark!Harry #Tom Riddle #Tomarry #Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness..

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rainbows-fanfics · 6 years

Note

Can you do a Louistine/Clouis fanfiction where Clem is hurt/ haven’t slept in a while and is sleep deprived and doesn’t tell anyone and Louis finds out and help her? Please I love Louistine and there are barely any Oneshots about them :,)

I wrote this along with an idea I’ve always wanted to do(even though it’s been done before). Sorry for how long it took to get to your request, anon! But thank you so much for the prompt! I’m having difficulties getting enough Clouis inspiration right now…

Louis’ P.O.V.

I like to think of code names for situations I don’t know what to do in. It gives me a sense of validation with the impression that if I name something, I clearly know what I’m doing. Even though I really don’t. Like when we were expecting that raider attack - I didn’t tell anyone, but that was secretly operation ’Impending Deaths’. I named that one last-minute when we were all fearing for our lives that night.

Right now, I had another code name, as I was faced with another situation I had absolutely no idea what to do in. It may not be as life-threatening as Operation Impending Deaths was, but it was keeping me on edge and, for moments at a time, I just couldn’t think straight. I hated coming off as too desperate at times, but right now I was missing something. Well, not someTHING, but someONE.

It was operation ‘Finding Clementine’.

It feels like I’ve been searching for hours when, really, I know it’s only been 10 minutes. What originally was a quick trip to ask whether she’d want carrots or potatoes in her stew tonight turned into a mission. I couldn’t find her in her room, in the dorms, in the courtyard, and in a rushed attempt, not even the greenhouse. I was tempted to search in the roads or the forest but after asking everyone, they reported Clem hasn’t left the school. To their knowledge, at least.

It was a good sign when I found A.J. with Tenn on lookout. He told me she left to take care of something. Where? He didn’t know. So here I am now - pathetically searching every inch inside of these walls calling out her name trying to find her. The mission was growing more serious the longer I went on.

I finally came to the basement and shut my eyes for a moment, remembering the mess that happened in here. I opened them again and pulled on the doors slowly, finding the darkness past the steps a little intimidating as I called out her name for the 200th time.

“Clementine? Are…you in here?”

…

Snap!

I jumped back in surprise when I heard what sounded like a rubber band snapping come from inside. I began to climb down the steps and took a weary look around. There was light down here, but it was past the boiler and the shelves. I gripped my weapon behind me as I slowly followed the trail, shivering when I saw the pool of blood I passed. I didn’t like coming down to the basement for this exact reason. This shit was always scary.

“Ugh…fuck…”

I felt literal music come to my ears when I heard Clem’s voice. Even if it sounded agitated, it did wonders to my heart as I discarded Chairles and rushed to find her. I found she was leaning against the wall messing with her arm, her eyebrows drawn together and her lips curled into a snarl of disgust. When she saw me come, she hid her arms behind her back and changed her expression into a surprise one.

“Oh, Louis. I didn’t see you there.”

“I’ve been looking for you. Why are you down here?”

She fluttered her eyelashes as she looked around, moving her other arm to a random box and tapping it. I noticed she didn’t have an immediate response, as if she hadn’t been expecting the question. She drew her eyes back to me and shrugged lightly, tapping her fingers against it and watching as the dust came off.

“I was just…looking for something. I, uh, found it.”

“Well, what’d you find?”

“…”

“A ruler.”

“…What’d you need a ruler for?”

“A.J.” I gave her a dumbfounded look. “For his drawing. He needed to make a straight line.”

“Okay, 1. You’re a terrible liar, 2. I’ve seen the kid draw, he doesn’t worry about those types of things, and 3. There’s no ruler around you in sight.”

“Look, I- agh! Shit…”

I hunched down by reflex when she took a sharp intake of breath, baring her teeth and swearing with a hiss. She slowly removed her arm from her back and clutched the spot I found her messing with earlier. I got closer to her until she held up her hand when I was only a few inches away. I turned my head to the side and found a nasty wound she had on the inside of her arm. I could see the blood and forming infection of the scrape.

“Damn! That shit looks horrible.”

“Thanks, Louis, I didn’t know.” She retorted sarcastically.

I brushed past her hand and grabbed her arm for myself, feeling her try to draw back as I tightened my grip. Just looking at her laceration caused me to breathe through my teeth. I wondered when the hell this happened - when she was out last time or if this came from the struggle of the raiders. It looked fresh, but that was all I noticed before she pulled it away.

“I was trying to patch it up. Using some supplies I got from inside.” She looked at it and frowned. “Using one hand without a table is a lot more difficult than I thought…”

“Why didn’t you ask for help? Ruby and Tenn are great at this.”

“It’s just a little cut. I didn’t want to worry or burden anyone.” She attempted to treat it again. “Besides, I’ve had worse.”

“Uh, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get help when you need it. Willy scraped his arm on the concrete one time and Ruby helped him with no problem.” I took her arm again and grabbed the bandages she was attempting to use. “At least let me wrap it for you.”

“That’s fine, I guess. I already put some stuff on it.”

Without fighting me again, Clementine allowed me to bandage it for her. While I did this, I couldn’t help but think. If she didn’t want to bother ‘anyone’ with this, then that meant she didn’t want to bother me, either. But it could really matter less to me what injury she has - she could have a paper cut and I’d still find something for it. It bothered me that she didn’t know this.

“Look, I get that you’re a badass and you can handle things, and a minor cut is not the end of the world-” I cut the end of the bandage. “-but just know that I’m here for you for anything. Not just to listen, but if there’s something you ever need, I can deliver. I’m not as good with medical stuff, but I’ll still try.”

She sighed with relief and returned her arm. “Thanks, Louis. It’s not a big deal. If it was, believe me, you’d have known.”

“Even the slightest thing such as a mud puddle in my Princess’ way is a serious situation.” I quipped. “I’d sacrifice my coat for you, you know.”

“Like you haven’t already.” She rolled up her sleeve and shook her head. A troubled look overcame her features. “Actually…there’s something else you can help me with. And don’t laugh when I tell you what it is.”

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” I leaned back and crossed my arms in amusement.

“Can you cut my hair?”

“…”

“What?”

“Say that again?”

“Can you cut my hair?” Her tone turned stern. “I have to keep it short and it’s long again. I’d do it myself, but then it’d be lopsided. And I don’t want to hear the millions of questions A.J.’s going to ask me about my cut if he does it.”

“Well, yeah. I can do that. There should be a pair somewhere in the dorms - I think Ruby owns a pair. I’m sure she’ll let you borrow it.”

“Really? That’s great. I was going to use my knife, but that works a lot better.”

“…Just like she would’ve helped you with your abrasion there…”

“I don’t want to hear it, Prince Charming.”

———————————————

A pair of scissors in my hand and a couple minutes later, we’re now in Clem’s room. She grabbed the chair from the desk and slid it over to the middle of the room. When she takes a seat, my eyes widen when her hands come to her hair. I’ve seen her without her hat before, but I haven’t witnessed her without pigtails. My jaw naturally drops when she pulls them out and her hair falls down to her shoulders.

It was amazing, to say at the least. I grabbed it in my hands and felt its texture between my fingers. I separated a few strands of her brown hair. It reminded me of mine, but hers is a lot softer. The longer I take trailing my hands over it, the more I become mesmerized with Clementine’s hair. I forget all about the scissors in my hand and what she’s asked me to do. I take a step back and admire how it looks on her again. Then I went to feeling it again.

“Are you done with…whatever you’re doing?” She snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, right. Right.” I started clipping away. “Your hair looks…cute.”

She turned to glare daggers at me. I corrected myself weakly. “I meant it looks pretty. On you.”

She rollee her eyes before returning her head back to its former position. As I cut the ends of her hair, I noticed how tense and silent it is between us. I’ve only went to get my hair trimmed a few times before. Whenever I went, the stylists talked to me about random things. Should I do that now? Or bask in this rich, awkward silence?

“Gotta’ admit, I’m a little attached to your long hair now.” I pause. “…Why do you cut it?”

“Lee told me to keep my hair short. So walkers can’t grab onto it and get me.” She moves her head down to stare at her lap. “I had it long when I was a kid, and people have grabbed me by it before.”

“That makes sense. The pigtails make it harder to grab.” I snip at her sides. “Who, uh, gave you those bands?”

“…”

“..?”

“Lily.”

“Oh.”

The awkwardness resumes as things grow quiet again, no noises besides my cutting. It’s taking a lot longer than I presumed it would. These small scissors let me cut only a little bit at best. Was this really all we had? I could swear I’ve seen a bigger pair around before…

“So, uh, what do you do with…your hair?”

“Me?” I’m surprised at the question. “I grow it out. Keep it in dreads for the same reason. My hair does what it wants, really.”

“Ah.”

“…Is there any way specific you want me to cut it? I get you want it short, but didn’t people used to, uh, style their hair?”

“You can do whatever. I keep my bangs to the side, anyway. No one really notices since I’m wearing my hat all the time.”

“-Or to hide the horrible haircut your boyfriend is about to give you?”

“You can’t be any worse than Javier was.” She tittered. “I never saw it, but I could feel my hair was uneven and cut too short and too long at parts.”

I focus and look at my job so far. It’s exactly as she described. I begin to fix it, chuckling nervously as I do so. I think she notices because I hear her giggle again. I trim her hair until it reaches just at the start of the back of her neck. I take a step back and move her head straight so I can tell if it looks okay. Okay being mediocre, that is.

“Well, alright. I think we’re done here. And, um, don’t kill me if you don’t like it, okay?”

I watch with anticipation as she runs her hand through her hair and grab at certain parts. She feels around her neck where it once was before standing up from the chair. She brushes her bangs to the side and turns around to me slowly. I end up gawking at what I see - a Clementine with freshly-cut short hair surrounded by complimenting rays of sunshine behind her back. Her golden eyes glow as she looks up at me and smiles, making my heart thud against my chest as we both stand there.

“How does it look?” She asked.

I revel in the uncertainty of her voice. She appears very timid with this, as if my opinion would make or break the way she feels about her hair. When I realize I’m taking too long to answer and her smile starts to drop, I take a step forward and look at her with half lidded eyes.

“You look beautiful.” I tell her.

“R-Really?” Her eyes widen. I swear I see a blush on the ends of her cheeks.

“Would I really lie about my girlfriend’s appearance?” I ask her. “Well, yes, if you were covered in walker guts and you asked me how you smell. I’d reply, ’you smell just like lavender and dandelions, darlin’. And then I think you’d punch me.”

She laughs and nudges my arm. “Come on! I’m serious! You…really think I’m beautiful?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my girlfriend. And…you look amazing.” My breath is hot as I say this. “As for my job on your hair? Well, I’m naturally gifted. So that was a given.”

She smiles and pokes around her head. “Well, everything’s about even and I’m not bald anywhere. So I’d say you did a good job, too.” She stops and the frown drops, but when she gazes up at me, it grows back and her eyebrows raise slightly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Clem, I…you shouldn’t be afraid to ask me for help with this…stuff. Not just for cutting your hair and letting know how beautiful you are, but I’m here to support you. You know. Like you do with me.”

“Are you telling me you want a haircut, too?” She puts a hand on her hip coyly.

“We’ll see how much I trust you before I let you lift a hand on my precious dreadlocks.”

I brush my hands along them and close my eyes for effect. When I hear Clementine laughing in the background, both my chest and heart swells. She takes the bands and puts her hair in pigtails again, returning her hat in its place right over it. But even after all of that’s done, I still can’t get the image of her with her hair down out of my head.

She really is beautiful.

#ask #request #clouis #clementine #louistine #louisentine #the walking dead #the walking dead game #twdg #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #long post #louis x clementine #the walking dead game final season

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evangelene · 6 years

Text

The Boy Who Lied Wolf

Summary: Hoseok was good at a lot of things, one of them was lying. You, however, were a terrible lie detector.

Based off the request here: “hey there :) I would love to see some not so sappy jhope angstfluff, where the girl is an artist and unsatisfied with her life and art and always sad when she sees her friends (artists too) who always do 'better' than her “

I’d tag you girl, but I know you ain’t comfortable with having your username out and about so :P

"Minji not with you?"

You turned over your shoulder to shoot a pointed glare at your childhood best friend. Despite his kindness in feeding a starving artist with a job, his lack of tact (and utter lack of assistance when it came to you struggling with your painting cart in the doorway) made him a target for your annoyance. You flipped your hair out of your face, hip-checking your cart over the damn metal ridge on the floor only to nearly face-plant when the thing finally rolled forward.

You contemplated letting the cart crash and spill paint all over Namjoon's coffee shop as bitter retribution--but paint was expensive and momentary revenge wasn't worth the cash you already didn’t have.

"Does it really surprise you? Do you see any good looking guys here for her to make eyes at?” You scoffed. “Besides, would she really have been of any use?"

"Remind me why you’re still friends with her?" Namjoon snorted, bending down to clean out the ice tank and further let you deal with all of your shit on your own.

"Because she's an amazing artist; her work is literally just a small mixture of masterpieces. One day, I will prove that brains and practice make better art than blind talent wasted on someone who couldn't give a fuck." You huffed, lifting your chin to the wall in an unspoken question that Namjoon only answered with a nod. "That and," You pulled tables away from said wall—of which you were hired to design a mural for-- "you told me I needed to try making some friends that weren't you and my half-dead begonia. She fits the bill just fine; she enjoys hanging out with me and having me around."

"Then why isn't she here?" Namjoon raised an eyebrow at you.

"Because. My existence isn't one of pure friendship. I am simply by her side to make her look prettier." You mimicked your friend by dramatically flipping your hair over your shoulder and suggestively wiggling your brows at your best friend. "I mean look at me. What guy wouldn't look at me and go ew?"

"Every guy ever? Minji's just a bitch."

"Hey now," you chuckled, "that's an affectionate term now, didn't you hear?" Stepping back from the blank canvas before you, you frowned at the sheer amount of wall space that you were to cover. "You didn't mention that it was that big." You narrowed your eyes on him, trying to catch your breath; damn, you really needed to work out more. "I'll have to rethink my design a bit. But for now, there's more shit in the car I'm leaving to you—since you were no help at all like you promised you’d be. If you break any of it, you're dead."

"You know I will. God of destruction, remember?"

"I will add it to my fees, so make your body work like a normal human’s and we will be fine." You turned to the wall, staring at the hefty weight of a blank canvas. If there was one thing about Namjoon, it was that he was terrible at taking orders. Really good at listening, but just not following through—it was an infuriating combination. As such, he never left your side; instead, he wrapped one arm over your shoulders.

“Don’t overthink things; whatever you do will be beautiful. I wouldn’t have offered you this if you did shit work.” Another infuriating trait of his was knowing what you needed before you even realized there was something wrong.

“Lying will get you nowhere. I know you’re just here to feed your starving artist friend for a few months.”

Namjoon groaned to the ceiling. “And self-hate will only take you backwards, you brat. Realize your worth already.” He squeezed you once more before walking out towards your car, leaving you to stew alone.

Rather than wallowing in your bout of self-pity, you sat yourself down and stared at the texture of the brick, hiking yourself up onto a table to better get a feel for the space your mural would occupy. For whatever reason, your mind was instantly thrown back to when the both of you were in different universities and your idiot best friend invited you to the chaos that was his friend group. For some, stupid reason, someone as destructive as Kim Namjoon decided to join a singing and dancing club. They were great though; they utilized his rapping skills effectively and made him seem cooler than he really was. That didn’t mean the whole dancing thing worked in his favor—the guy was a human wrecking ball after all.

“Jungkook put a shirt on! She’s going to be here any second!” Namjoon was shouting, trying to take control of a situation that looked like it was about ten seconds from burning to the ground completely. Sweaty friends leaned half clothed against any surface imaginable—laughing at each other and reveling in your childhood friend’s pain. “Guys! Please!”

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling to yourself as you waited to see how long it would take for your normally level-headed friend to notice that you were already there.

“Hyung—“ One of the younger looking ones—one with cute baby fat cheeks that you knew would slim out in the future--nodded your way.

Namjoon’s face was bright red, his eyes widening on you. “I shouldn’t have invited you here, omigod. No one look—she’s off limits!”

“But she’s cute—“

“Hey, we’re not that bad—“

But you were already folded over laughing, grinning up at him.

That was the atmosphere you wanted--well, maybe with fully clothed people. But you wanted the dancers in the background, the music in the air, the lightheartedness that came from feeling surrounded by friends and kindness. You wanted that feeling of happiness, of being in a space that was more family than stranger. It was Namjoon’s coffee shop after all; he had a knack for making people feel like they belonged.

Your pencil scratched across the paper, your mind lost to the point that the world dropped around you. For all you were aware, you might have been in a black hole with just you, paper, a pencil and a brick wall. At some point, though you didn’t remember when, you grabbed the priming paint and started to slather white across the wall in thick strokes. And then, when you came to reality with the brush in your hand, that familiar, overwhelming sense of dread settled back in your stomach.

This was awful. This was an awful design, it was going to be horrible—you were going to hate it in the exact same way that you hated all of your other works. It was going to pale in comparison.

Comparison.

Namjoon had once said that was your first problem. You always compared yourself to other people, never seeing yourself as yourself. However, existing in an art space made it difficult to live without comparing yourself to others. There was a reason your colleagues were more successful, there was a reason they did things you could not—you weren’t good enough, you weren’t—

You spun around, the brush still held out in your hand at the exact right angle to slap a streak of white across a very attractive and otherwise confused man. You froze instantly, hearing Namjoon in the background as a mumble rather than a voice, speaking to some customer about what you were doing. It was hard to focus when all you could see and hear was this poor person you had just unknowingly marred with paint that most definitely did not come out of clothing.

“Shit.” You slapped a hand over your mouth, nearly flinging the paintbrush onto the tarp stretched across the floor. “Omigod. I’m so sorry—I’m so, so, so sorry. I honestly didn’t know you were there—ah, omigod.” You didn’t know what to do; you were never good with confrontation and even less good with testosterone. Did you mention that you had only ever had two boyfriends? One of which lasted a week in middle school because he called you pretty and wanted to kiss you. The other was maybe a month and ended with you finding out that you were a side-chick. Needless to say, your experiences with men were scarring and strange—and then there was Namjoon.

The stranger just chuckled, wiping the paint speckling his face with the hem of his shirt. “It’s fine, really—this is just my workout shirt anyways. It could use a little sprucing up.” He was grinning, and you found it infectious enough to sooth the tension in your muscles.

“Ah.” It was the most intelligent thing you could manage. Though that wasn’t saying much; you usually had only two brain-cells and, whenever an attractive man was involved, they always seemed too busy fighting each other to focus.

“Namjoon told me he got an artist friend to paint something for him—I thought I’d check it out.”

Your ears lit aflame and you ducked your head to avoid his direct stare. He had a nice smile—like a really nice smile. Your heart was doing this thing where it was squeezing so tight that there was a 90% possibility you might throw up on his shoes. “Y-yeah? We’re actually childhood friends, so I’m sure it’s not as grand as you were expecting—well, I only started but yeah. Yeah.” Good one, Y/N. Real smooth.

The man’s eyes seemed to light up, his eyes flitting across your face until something visibly clicked and he let out a small noise of surprise. “Yah! Y/N, right? You’re Y/N?”

You were stiff once more, your feet nailed to the tile beneath you. He was excited, you were confused, and he was cute when he was excited which made for an awful bumbling mess in your stomach.

“I was hoping it was you—I’m Hoseok, Namjoon’s friend from university. I know you only came in once to our studio, I remember I was late and just missed you.”

“Oh.” You tried to fish for memories of Namjoon talking about the man but the only thought pulling free from the strangled thoughts in your head was ‘dancing.’ “You’re…the dancer, right?” You winced at the unsureness in your voice.

He grinned even wider and even more infectious in all the ways that made your feeble heart slam into your ribs. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I have a friend who dances in her spare time.” You said stupidly, fishing for anything in front of you that would help you relate to a person as impossibly handsome as Hoseok. Minji was probably not the best choice, but she was the only other human you could maybe slap the label of “friend” to.

“Yeah?” He grinned at you.

“Yeah, she’s pretty amazing at painting too. It’s hard to be her friend sometimes with talent like her; I’m not particularly good in comparison—but I try. I’m thankful for this opportunity.”

Hoseok raised on eyebrow at you. “Is she now? I’ll have to get Namjoon’s opinion of this friend of yours; I trust him fully. He always knows the people around him best—after all, he talks endlessly about you.”

You cocked your head at him, face transforming into an even deeper shade of red.

“Ever since university, he never shut up about you. I mean, it was always ‘my cute sister—ah, she’s not actually blood but she might as well be’ and ‘Y/N is so talented, isn’t she?’ Actually, standing here, I see why he was so talkative.” He nodded towards your open and abandoned sketchbook, eyes glued to the page. “It’s hard to believe there’s someone in this world that can do something better than that.”

“I—“

“Hoseok?” Namjoon’s voice cut through your words, allowing you to pull back within yourself as Hoseok turned to watch his friend come towards him with an emotion that you were not yet ready to understand. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I wanted to see Y/N.”

“I’m sure.” Namjoon’s eyes were unusually dark, his jaw tight. Were you perceptive enough, maybe you would have saved yourself some tears—but you weren’t. ”How about you go let her get back to work.” Namjoon put a hand on his shoulder, spinning him away from you with a quick, worried glance towards you. “We’re meeting up over there.”

Hoseok only laughed, and, for a minute, you thought it sounded nice.

~.~

When you arrived at Beyond the Scene—Namjoon’s name for his coffee shop; it was better than previous drafts—you were surprised to find a person already sitting by your things with a set in stone expression that said he’d wait there until you arrived, no matter how long that would take. The second you stepped through the door, Hoseok’s eyes lit up with an emotion akin to recognition and mischief.

It was the latter that scared you.

He was still too new to you for you to feel like it was possible to act the same as you would around Namjoon. What you wanted to do was raise an eyebrow with your hands on your hips and throw a bickering comment to him. Besides the fact that his mere presence made your heart race, this intruder in your workspace seemed to have a force-field around him that dispelled all of your sarcasm and the meager scraps of yourself that you labeled as confident. Actually, it was probably because your chest squeezed too tight when he was near that you couldn’t be normal around him.

You opened your mouth with stupid words on your tongue. Instead, you swallowed them and said something even stupider: “You’re here.”

Hoseok laughed in a way that you should have found annoying. It was all high and loud and absolutely boisterous. But, it was infectious in all the right ways and you found yourself drawn to him because of it. Somehow, he was a duality of a man—one that screamed fuckboy and safety all at once.

You awkwardly shuffled towards your stuff, dumping your bag into a nearby chair so you could free up your hands to pull the tarp free from your box of miscellaneous paints and brushes.

To make your stiff and wooden movements worse, Hoseok was unfazed by your presence. He was comfortable as can be, leaning forward in his seat to be close enough to see but not close enough to invade your very large bubble of privacy. “I wanted to see an artist at work.”

You raised an eyebrow at him over your shoulder, but even that felt forced and ugly. “You can’t see that in the dance studio?”

“But you’re not there.” He cocked his head, as if the words that just passed through his lips had no effect on the heat of your skin. “Namjoon told you about the studio?”

“That you own one? Of course he told me—Namjoon tells me a lot. While I may not understand every word that comes out of the moron’s mouth, I know that he’s talented. Talent attracts talent; there’s obviously a reason he speaks about you.” You snorted, shaking your head. “I’m just the idiot he grew up with, that’s all. You came to the wrong place if you wanted to see true artistry.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees so he could rest his chin on his hands. There was this shit-eating smirk on his face that seemed to incinerate a hole through you, all of your defenses failing to maintain your normal, not lobster-red skin tone. “So, Y/N, what do you know about me?”

You busied yourself with setting the tarp up across the floor below the mural space. Occasionally, your gaze would flicker towards him, but it was easier to focus on other things and maintain your sanity rather than get lost in his pheromones. “All I really know is that you dance. Namjoon doesn’t like talking much about his male friends with me—what he does tell me is that they are all assholes and they play girls like musical chairs; I think that’s the older brother in him showing through.” You chuckled, your gaze drifting to the memory of a worked up Namjoon smothering you with blankets when you told him you had a crush on one of your classmates in high school. “That’s really all I know; to me, you are a one-dimensional character.”

“One without good traits.” He winced, his face effortlessly transforming into a pout that would put a baby to shame. “That’s not fair. Namjoon talks about you like crazy; I feel like I know you personally—like you’re my best friend too. Do I need to start a petition to change those dimensions? Or will you let me if I say please?”

You frowned at the wall with a shake of your head, but it did nothing to stop the heat pooling up to your ears. “Maybe if you say please I will.”

You could see him grin out of the corner of your eye, warmth immediately spreading across your back. Hoseok was like the sun—but not the sun during the day, the one everyone always compared people to. No, Hoseok was the kind of bright like that you could actually look at head-on; he was the warmth of a sunrise, lots of color and promises that may or may not be kept. “Please?”

You felt electricity run up your spine. There was something chemical about this boy; radioactively toxic in a way that no other male could compare to. “You have a lot of ground to make up, you know. Namjoon must tell me to stay away from you for a reason.”

Hoseok stood up and you turned to face him, watching as he stepped towards you and rolled up his sleeves. “Alright then miss, let me start by working while I cover some of that ground, hm? Let me help you.”

You grabbed a brush similar to yours, holding it out to him in a strategic way—one that wouldn’t allow his skin to touch yours.

Hoseok, however, had other plans and grabbed way too far up the paintbrush, his fingers meeting yours.

“Ah--" The heat was back in your chest. No matter how much you thought you could get over his presence, it seemed he purposefully did things that made you take one step forward and three back. “The wall will need a second coat of gesso.” You said, hoping to cover up the obvious fact that you were reacting to his touch.

His smile told you that you were unsuccessful.

~.~

“I should have mentioned that I’m really only good at dancing.” Hoseok chuckled a half hour later as you, begrudgingly, set yourself to going over the ‘work’ he had attempted to help with. He got more paint on himself than on the damn wall—no doubt proving the validity of his statement.

You sighed at him, shaking your head at the floor. “You really need to get cleaned up or your clothing is going to stiffen when the paint dries.”

Hoseok laughed, his hands immediately going to the hemline of his shirt so he could lift it over his head. However, you let out a noise more demon than human and alerted every customer in the shop to your red faced, flustered grasp on his wrists.

“I didn’t say to take off your shirt!” You sputtered, flames igniting under the skin of your face.

Hoseok only laughed at your chagrin, grinning at you in a way that you were positive would make any girl before him melt. You knew it had probably been used to manipulate a cult following, and it was, for that reason, why you wished you could be the exception. “What? Are you embarrassed? You’ve never seen a guy shirtless before?”

You pressed your lips into a line—an expression that half resembled a cartoon frog and half a frown. “This is a family establishment.”

He only shrugged. “It’s fine anyways. Namjoon’s not here-- he’s got the weekend off. I think I’m allowed to play while the giant is gone.”

You cocked your head and furrowed your brows in confusion. Hoseok’s eyes darkened on you with an emotion you had no previous experience with.

“Cute.”

You, realizing you had yet to let go of him, dropped his wrists and shoved him backwards—away from you. Unfortunately, you were a painter, not a weightlifter and you only wound up pushing him back enough for his weight to shift onto his back foot.

“Minji is cute—not me. I’m just average. If you’re going to compliment me, at least bring it down to my level.”

Hoseok cocked his head, eyes shifting somewhere further than the café. “That’s the name of your friend, right? The dancer and artist?”

You nodded. “She’s my only friend besides Namjoon; I can say for sure that she’s definitely something.”

If something was talented, self-centered, oblivious to other people and rude as hell.

“So, this girl, if you’re comparing her to yourself, she must be something of an absolute goddess.”

“Mm.” You confirmed his question with a nod. “She is.”

It wasn’t that you were clueless to the game Hoseok was playing; it was just that you were purposefully dodging every trap that he was setting up for you. You didn’t meet any of his glances; you didn’t let him gain any headway into your heart. If there was one thing you weren’t going to do, it was succumb to him—you were not going to walk right into his grasp like a fool.

Sure, you and people—men specifically—mixed more like oil and water than human interaction, but you weren’t stupid. Your good grades didn’t result in a lack of common sense.

“So?” Another chess piece moved on the board game. “Should I ask her out?”

You shrugged, swallowing the small knot of jealousy and disappointment in your throat. “I don’t see why not? You guys would be a perfect match.” You grinned at him.

“Okay, then could you give me her number so I can contact her?”

Namjoon was right about him. Namjoon was usually right; it shouldn’t have surprised you that this game wasn’t going to end in your favor. However, the blatant womanizing thrown in your face wasn’t an easy pill to swallow.

“Take anything my friends say with a grain of salt, okay? They’re all assholes. None of them know how to treat a member of the opposite sex—I don’t want to see you get hurt, Y/N.”

You pulled your phone out of your back pocket, scrolling through your contacts until you found Minji’s number. Handing it to him, you gave him a short nod before turning around to face the wall.

You had work to do if you wanted that paycheck at the end of the month.

~.~

Namjoon leaned over your shoulder as you sat at a tarp covered table, furiously scribbling out your original plans for the mural in your sketchbook. “You didn’t like your idea?”

You grunted, grabbing a fistful of your hair at the root. “I need a new direction—this one isn’t good enough for this place. It will close in the already small space—I need to open it up, not make it smaller and staler.”

“Oh geeze, thanks. The compliment on my shop makes me feel real good.” Your best friend said in a sarcastic monotone that had you wheeling around to smack his chest. Unfortunately, neither of you were gifted with grace so you wound up head-butting him and smacking him at the same time.

“Yah!”

“How was I supposed to know you were standing so close?” You snapped back. With a guilty sigh, you let your head drop onto the table as you let out a low whine/groan. “I don’t know what to do, Joon. I’m fresh out of inspiration.”

“I’ll say this as I always do: I think you’re being too hard on yourself. What you had was amazing.”

“Not good enough.” You grumbled. “Not good enough to be permanently attached to your café.”

He patted your back lightly, shaking his head. “You are good enough. Whatever comes from your hand will only add to my shop, not detract from it.” He lifted his head up to the blank, now white, wall. “Man, you painted this whole thing this weekend? That must have taken you a while.”

Without thinking, you answered stupidly. “Hoseok stopped by to help me. Said something about wanting to see my work or whatever.”

You felt Namjoon immediately tense, his jaw flexing to the point that you half expected to hear the crunch of his teeth breaking each other. “He knew I wasn’t here. There was no reason for him to be here.”

You blinked slowly up at him. “Correct. I think he just wanted Minji’s number.”

“I know you’re not that stupid, Y/N.”

“No, but I’m amazing at denial.”

He let out a scoff through his teeth, though it wasn’t directed at you. “I’m going to kill him.”

You sighed, folding your arm up under your head as a semi-decent pillow. “He seems decent enough compared to what you’ve told me. I mean, he’s nice, definitely overly flirty, but nice.”

“No—it always starts like that. You don’t get it, Y/N—Hoseok…He—He’s the one I’m the most afraid of when it involves you. He’s relentless. Before he had ever even met you, he had shown interest. Even when he was well aware I had placed you as off limits, he still pushed it. I can’t—I’m going to kill him.”

“Joon, I don’t want to date him. I just said he’s kind of nice.”

“Y/N, I love you, but you have no experience with guys. You’re going to get sucked in and get yourself hurt. The best thing for me to do is murder him so that is not a problem.”

You rolled your eyes, Namjoon folding over you to snuggle into your hair. “I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt because of one of my friends.”

You let out a small sigh of contentment, closing your eyes. “It won’t happen. He’s not as interested as you seem to think he is—neither am I.”

“Who’s interested in what?”

The sudden voice of the devil himself startled both you and Namjoon—however, the male was the one to stand ramrod straight while you remained paralyzed in a quasi-relaxed pose. Namjoon spun, his anger a palpable presence in the air.

“Hoseok.” It was vicious enough to have the other male putting his hands up in surrender without even knowing why.

“What did I do?” He cocked his head in fraudulent innocence, only intensifying Namjoon’s anger.

“I told you she’s off limits to your bullshit—I told you-“

Sitting up fully, you reached out and snapped Namjoon back by his shirt, if only to save yourself some embarrassment. “Idiot! Shut up! It’s not like that and you know it, so stop.”

Hoseok’s eyes flickered between you two, decoding the small touches, the cuddling, the smiles, the way you two interacted all in a few seconds. Whatever conclusion he came to, it wasn’t one that he liked. “I just wanted to see her artwork, that’s all. You always told me she was so talented.”

“See?” You smacked Namjoon for effect. “That’s it.” There was a heavy weight on your chest, the hoof of a horse slamming into your sternum with the force of a car crash. “That’s all.”

Hoseok’s gaze fluttered down to the blacked out paper before you. “What happened to your idea?” He tried to address the question to you, but there was a roadblock of a human being between you.

“She didn’t like it—it didn’t fit the space well, she said.” Namjoon spoke for you, his stare still piercing holes through his friend.

There was some testosterone filled staring contest, some mano eh mano moment that you couldn’t even begin to understand between the two of them.

“She’s waiting for the right inspiration to strike.” Namjoon said, his gaze never leaving Hoseok’s.

“I’m sure she’ll find it.”

With a sigh that was part scoff, part exasperation, you gathered your sketchpad and pencils. Shooting a glare at both males, you pushed up to your feet. “There’s too much maleness happening here—I’m going to go sketch outside for a bit while you guys…I don’t know, cool it in the freezer for a second.” Shoving Namjoon out of your way, you headed out the front door.

~.~

Minji slapped the table with both open palms before actually sitting herself down across from you. It was her way of instantly alerting your attention to the fact that she was overly excited and about to start one of her whirlwind one-sided conversations.

“How come you never told me that you knew Jung Hoseok?” She nearly shouted even though you were maybe a foot away at max.

You ran your eraser along a misplaced mark, the pencil you had been using to sketch held between your teeth. “Probably,” You murmured through the wood base, “Probably because, up until a week ago, I didn’t.”

“Are you serious?” She sputtered. “Are you seriously not recognizing his name?”

You shrugged. “I mean, sure—he’s Joon’s friend, so of course I’ve heard the name.”

“No! You—ugh—you idiot!” She snatched the pencil from your teeth, much to your own outburst of annoyance. She waved you off, preventing any progress on your work with the hostage held in her hand. “He’s the top dancer in Seoul! He literally graduated at the peak of his dance class at the top dance school in the whole country. He owns and teaches a whole studio by himself! How in the ever-living fuck do you not know how much of a big deal he is?”

“Probably because I don’t dance.”

“You don’t have to dance to be educated.”

“And you don’t have to be uneducated to be stupid.” You hissed, waving your open palm in her face to signal your demand for your lost pencil.

She stuck her tongue out at you in one of the ugliest faces you had yet to see from her. “Well, whatever. I should at least thank you, because of your dumb ass I have a date scheduled with him.”

“I just wanted to see her artwork. That’s all.”

“Mm.” You grunted, fingers now waggling as your glare intensified.

With a scoff, Minji dropped the pencil into your palm, nose scrunching at the way you curled back into your sketch—like a snail retreating into its shell. “God, Y/N. You act like this whole painting thing is so difficult.”

If murder were legal, Minji would be your first victim.

You didn’t answer, only shot her a glare through your hair and continued your work.

“You know, what you need is a focal point.”

This time, you actually threw your sketchbook at her.

~.~

“And another thing that pisses me off, she’s actually right!” You shouted to the ceiling, placing your hands on your hips as you watched cars whiz by through the night on the street outside the shop. Beyond the Scene was long since closed, but, since you were hired guns as an artist and also Namjoon’s friend, you had special access.

“You’re really letting Minji get under your skin?” Namjoon raised an eyebrow at you over his stack of books. He was a good friend to keep you company during your ranting, rampaging work at night. Granted, he was doing it more for your safety than your peace of mind. But still, the gesture was sweet. “You know what she’s like—nothing has changed.”

“You know what?” You spat to the wall, trying to merge your sketch and the wall together with nothing but your mind. When that, obviously, didn’t work, you refocused your attention on the passing cars. “She and Hoseok are perfect for each other.”

“No no. No no no no. None of that—take that back. Nope. No.”

“Why?” You stared at his reflection through the glass of the window pane outside, one eyebrow raised.

“Because, when you’re getting angry and that means you’re developing feelings for him. That’s not allowed. Not here, not now, not ever. Not for Jung Hoseok.”

You sighed, groaning to the poor ceiling once more. “I am not getting feelings for him, Joon. How many times do I have to repeat this?”

“Why would you even bring him up in this situation then? This is about Minji, not Hoseok!”

“Because they’re going on a date!” You hissed to his reflection. “This is the situation that caused her little tantrum!”

Namjoon dug his nails into the counter top, his shoulders tightening. “That’s bullshit. He was gunning for you and now he’s doing this to her and you—“

“Of course he’d go for Minji, I didn’t want any part of this—“

“No, Y/N. Not Minji.” He sighed, running one hand through his hair. “Hoseok isn’t the type of man to have just one girl on a string. You know what I’m saying?”

You shook your head, turning around to face him. “No. I really don’t.”

“Hoseok already has a girlfriend. Not Minji, not you, not even the girl he went on a date with last week—someone else entirely.”

Your mouth hung open in a small “O” as your gaze found solace in the pattern of the tiles on the floor.

Silence hung thick in the air, a sort of mulled tension that wasn’t directed at the other person. Rather, you both had things you had to work out in your mind before you could find the right words to say.

“They really are perfect for each other, then. Minji will think that she can fix him and he won’t ever be fixed.” You snorted, staring at the stain on your shoe instead of him.

Namjoon sighed, his head dropping low as he laced his fingers together in a gesture akin to praying. “Please tell me that you don’t have feelings for him; please tell me that my gut instinct isn’t right. Please tell me that you won’t fall for Jung Hoseok.”

“Namjoon, I promise you that I have no feelings for him.”

At the time, that might have been true. Because, at the time, you still didn’t know him.

But Namjoon was always smarter than you, and his gut instinct was always right.

~.~

Curled over your book on the bench outside the coffee shop, you tried to sketch in the desperate hope that the change of scenery was enough to strike a chord of inspiration within you. It wasn’t.

In fact, the only thing you had managed to sketch was the street itself—which you didn’t entirely hate; it was just missing that factor that made it fun. As Minji would tell you “you need a focal point.” So, the street it was, you decided. At least if you started painting the buildings along the side, it would produce more time for you to think about the center.

You hoped by then you would have something you could be proud of.

As you were detailing out the surrounding buildings in your sketch, a body set itself down next to you, spreading its arms across the top of the bench to reach towards you as if he was actually welcome there.

He wasn’t.

You unfurled yourself from your sketchbook long enough to shoot a glare at the man beside you. Unfortunately for you, it was a person you weren’t expecting. You had thought Namjoon, since he was the only one comfortable enough around your aura of “leave me the fuck alone” to dare push the boundaries. However, it seemed that Hoseok was oblivious to such intricate body language.

“That’s beautiful.” He nodded towards your sketch.

You stared at him as if he just called a trashcan stunning. “It’s literally just a shot of the street.”

“So?” He chuckled. “I can’t even draw a straight line-that looks like a masterpiece to me.”

“There’s not even a focal point!”

He only grinned, lightly patting your shoulder in a way that ignited a chemical reaction in your skin—he was warm, and gentle. It was undeniable that you were physically attracted to him, even though you shouldn’t be. “You’ll make one, I have faith in you. You’re not Namjoon’s favorite artist for no good reason. The guy has tastes like fine wine and cheese.”

The sudden idiotic statement had you sputtering out into laughter, snorting to your feet. “That makes no sense.” You chuckled, looking up at him mid smile only to find that his eyes were unable to pull away from you.

Danger. Warning. Run.

Your brain screamed signals that told you to get the hell out of dodge. However, your heart controlled your body better and you stayed there, smiling.

“Hey, I never was the smart one—as I said, my one talent in life is dancing.”

“I’m sure you have more positive points other than dancing.”

He tilted his head with a comedic grimace, his gaze on you so sincere, so pure, that for a moment you couldn’t believe that he was a player. You couldn’t believe a word that Namjoon said about him. No fuckboy smiled like sunsets, smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and listened to every word you had to say with their full attention.

“Idiot! Shut up! It’s not like that and you know it, so stop.”

There was a moment where Hoseok was awkward, around you, with you—a moment where the fuckboy in him disappeared and he almost didn’t know what to say. Then, it was back with a vengeance.

“You should come to my studio—you need…you need to get out of the headspace that this place offers. Maybe you’ll find some inspiration in an entirely different setting, yeah?” He cocked his head to the side, his eyes reminiscent of a puppy that had never been denied anything in his life.

“No.”

He furrowed his brows on you, confusion settling in between them. “Why not?”

Your eyes flit across his face as you felt a weight peel off your shoulders, a chess game where you flipped over his last piece. You had his last secret, and now he knew you knew his game. Though, it was stupid of you to think that a boy who was great at lying wouldn’t still claim to see wolves. “It’s not appropriate.” You started. “I can’t dance anyways. I also wouldn’t want to hurt Minji in any way, not like that. What would she think?” You paused, seeing the fear in his eyes ignite before sputtering entirely. “What would your girlfriend think?”

You had never seen a look more ‘caught-red-handed’ than the one Hoseok gave you. He winced at his shoes. “Namjoon told you about Soonmi, huh?”

“He never told me a name.” You adjusted your focus back to the sketchbook, the sound of lead on paper the only noise aside from tires crunching on asphalt. “He just told me that you have a girlfriend and you’re pulling this. In a nutshell, he said you’re an awful human being.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it when there were no words to say.

You shrugged. “I don’t know if I believe that you are truly awful. I think that maybe you’re fucked up, but not a horrible person. A horrible person doesn’t help someone that slathered them in paint do said painting—even if they suck at it.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck to alleviate some of his awkwardness. “I don’t suppose you’d let me explain?”

You smiled at your sketch. “I’m willing to listen; however, what I choose believe may or may not be another story.”

His eyes searched your face, even when you refused to look back up at him, you could feel him trying to find the lie in your words—trying to find some part of you that was going to look at him differently. He tried to find the weakness in the guard to your heart, but you thought yourself sturdy—armed to the tens.

“We started off as friends with benefits, you know? Both of us had our own flings on the side. It wasn’t serious. We just enjoyed each other’s company every now and again.”

He looked at you as if you were supposed to understand the sentiment; instead you met him with a deadpan stare. “Can’t relate.”

He let out a bark of laughter that you should have found offensive and annoying, but to you, it was only pleasant. Hoseok was pleasant. Even as a fuckboy, you felt that he had a warm personality—perhaps it was why people with weak souls such as yours were drawn to him like moths to a flame. “It makes sense, honestly. You’re pure—don’t give me that look—you aren’t a woman scorned, just someone who has never had their heart broken.”

“Excuse me, I have dated people.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not seriously. Namjoon said none of them even lasted a year.”

“Because men are stupid and, unfortunately, my sexuality only sways towards them.”

He laughed again, heat swarming your cheeks. “You must be warming up to me to be throwing such insults.” He ducked his head as your immediate glare. “I’m sorry; I’m not good at this whole explaining thing.”

“No.” You pretended to itch your nose in an attempt to pat out the redness to your face. “You’re not.”

“I—I’ve never been good at stating my true feelings, or you know, my actual opinions. I like to make people happy and, sometimes, I think I’ll say anything just to see someone smile. Its one trait that probably handed me the shovel I dig my grave with now. On top of that, I…I was never what you would call handsome. In fact, out of my friend group, females dubbed me as ‘the ugly one’.” His eyes darkened as he scratched the back of his neck, working out the kinks in his mind before he spoke aloud. “I guess I was just charming in a way that was only ever good for a ‘friends with benefits’ relationship at max. I mean, I still don’t think I’m charming, or handsome, or ‘boyfriend material’ but my mindset about how females see me has definitely changed thanks to Soonmi.”

“How kind of you to cheat on her as a thank you.”

“Hey,” He scoffed. “She’s not a saint.”

“She can’t be if she’s with you.”

Hoseok rolled his tongue across his teeth, letting out a deep, repressed sigh. “She told me that she had feelings for me—she was the first girl to see something in me that she wanted to keep by her side. Somehow, she made me believe that I actually wasn’t as ugly as I was made out to be. So I said fuck it and we started dating.”

You cocked your head to the side, lazily running your pencil along your sketchpad. “Maybe Namjoon is right; maybe you are an awful person.”

“I—It’s—Soonmi, you don’t get it, she’s a cunning manipulative bitch—which is, I guess, my type. She’s a horrible person who once put a laxative in someone’s drink just so they would miss out on a test and she would be the student with the highest marks. But she claimed to love me, and that was enough for me.”

You nodded along with his words, soaking in all of the facts laid out before you. Once your words settled into place, you set your pencil down and leaned back into the bench to better meet Hoseok’s gaze. “I was never bullied, never called ugly—but never called attractive either. I was just invisible my whole life—and I continue to be. As such, it is difficult for me to get to know people and become friends. Once I’ve warmed up to a person, however, there are no holds barred. Until the moment you make me comfortable, you are lucky to make me utter a proper sentence.” There was something knotting in your stomach, some pressure from the intensity of his stare as he listened to each and every word with his full attention. If nothing else, in this moment, you could believe that your words mattered to him. “So, Hoseok, I’m going to be completely honest with you. With everything you have told me, your explanation is a shit reason to excuse what you are doing.”

Despite the severity of your words, despite the fact that you saw something in his gaze shatter, his attention never wavered from you. It was intense enough to bring a stutter back into your speech.

Damn, how the hell could girls think he was ugly?

“What do you honestly feel towards Soonmi? What is the truth? Remember that my friend is on the line here and, though she fits the bill for your heartless bitch type, I still won’t hesitate to jam a pencil into your eye.”

Most stupid threats made guys look at you like you had a third eye, Hoseok, however, spoke without a second thought—his gaze so glued to you that you had to use every bit of energy to stop any sort of heat in and outside of you.

“I have no interest in Soonmi.”

Your eyes flit across his face, ready to detect any lie at a moment’s notice; you were shit at such intricate work, but damned if you weren’t going to try. “Then break it off with her—entirely. Don’t go back, don’t keep her number, don’t keep her things. Save her some pain and stop wasting her time.”

It was at that moment, that you caught a glint in Hoseok’s eye that scared you; some light that started as a small spark before bursting to flames. The first fire to the end of a war. A checkmate. “I will—but only if you promise to come to my studio.”

You felt caught in a web; some intricately spun situation that you were entirely unaware was being constructed around you until the final thread was tied around your neck. “Minji—“

“She’ll be there—she won’t mind. If it’s you, she’ll be okay. So just…just come to one practice and I swear on my life that I will end things once and for all.”

The trap snared around you, the fuckboy teeth sinking into your flesh. You were caught.

Because his eyes were so warm and he was so soft and this person before you wasn’t supposed to be a womanizer but totally was.

He was a duality.

One that caught you on the edge, half on either side.

“Okay.”

~.~

Apparently, as you found out when she came bursting into Beyond the Scene a week before you were to ‘attend’ Hoseok’s class, the studio time would be considered Minji and Hoseok’s ‘second date.’

You didn’t think one could count it as a date if it was in front of a group of people the entire time, but it was easier to just let her imagination wander instead of fight her stupidity.

“Y/N!” She shouted, taking a wrong turn the moment she entered the coffee shop. The poor group of people huddled at a table in the corner startled at the sudden outburst before Minji finally got her shit together and noticed that you could be found by the giant, white wall.

The one that she would have been aware of had she paid attention to you like normal friends did.

“Y/N!” You clung to the ladder as she approached, her footsteps more reminiscent of earthquakes than human gait. “You really outdid yourself with this one—he’s so much cuter in person than in his pictures; and he’s hella fine in his pictures.”

You, at first, weren’t sure who the ‘he’ in her reference was; it was only when your focused mindset drifted and reality settled into the cracks that the missing piece clicked. “Hoseok?”

“Who else? Seriously, you can be such an idiot—do you really think I just go on dates with random people all the time?”

You opened your mouth, but her threatening finger stopped you from starting your words.

“Don’t answer that.” As if finally realizing that you had been working on something high up on your ladder perch, Minji’s eyes flit to the blank wall. “You haven’t finished the mural yet?”

“Of course I haven’t!” You snapped. “I’m only just starting to transfer the buildings to the wall in the hopes that it’ll give me time to formulate an idea for the centerpiece.”

She made a face at the meager amount of color you had placed on the wall. “You really should have studied English or something else.”

It would have hit hard, were the words not coming from Minji’s vapid mouth. Instead, you rolled your eyes. “If I throw a glitter lipstick into the street, will you chase after it and get hit by a bus?”

Her expression could’ve fooled a younger version of yourself into believing that she was actually offended. “You’re such a bitch sometimes, you know that?”

You swiped a layer of thinned out acrylic paint across the wall, making the sketchy beginnings of the buildings you had yet to form. “I’m glad that we think the same of each other, Minji.”

“Oh don’t be salty. You know I mean it affectionately.”

“Mmm.” You snorted. “That’s one of us.”

She crossed her arms, letting the conversation go in place of another one you were not willing to have. “I’m going to see if I can get you a date to the studio, okay? You’re going to need a dance partner.” She smiled up at you as if she truly believed she was cupid herself. “Maybe that’ll put a chill pill down your throat.”

“Minji, I am not as dumb as you make me out to be--I’m well aware that you just want me distracted with someone other than the guy you’re eyeing. Just because I’ve talked to him and know him through Namjoon does not mean I have any intention of interacting. I am solely there to make you look better and work on my sketches.”

She tilted her head to the side, studying you. “You sell yourself short sometimes. You could be cute if you actually tried.”

“I really don’t want to. Me and the whole relationship thing don’t get along too well.”

“Well, I’m going to find you a date.”

You shot a glare over your shoulder, one that she only waved away with a laugh. There was nothing more you could say to her that would change her mind—once Minji’s decided on a path, she will run down it even if it means she’s going to burn straight into the ground.

Her headstrong nature was the sole reason you never told her about Hoseok’s girlfriend. She’d get a big head and would believe that she could change him for the better.

“Once you have Minji you never go back to basic.”

It’s precisely that ego that has caused her to be cheated on repeatedly without her knowledge. After all, there was a reason the only fist fight you’d ever gotten into was on her behalf. Contrary to popular belief, Minji was not as much of a shit person as she made herself out to be. Loyalty counts for a lot, especially in the face of absolute shitstorms of arguments. Despite it all, she stayed.

That counted for something.

“Good luck with that.” You murmured to the space where she had been standing, returning back to your work.

You didn’t know how long you sat perched up on that ladder, painting away the basic outlines to match your sketchbook. Maybe an hour? Three? All that you knew was, when your stomach started rumbling, you decided to climb down.

One thing about being so into art that time utterly disappears is that you wind up having a lot of limbs that fall asleep without your knowledge. With the sudden shock of pain at your needle-stabbed foot, your weight shifted and you nearly buckled backwards and sideways off the ladder. It didn’t help that you were about as graceful as a whale on land. If it weren’t for the sudden hands that hurriedly clasped around your hips, you were positive you would have fallen and injured yourself beyond perfect repair.

Steadying yourself with shaky hands on the ladder and noodle knees, you heard the pants of heaving breath from your savior, his hands on your hips remaining as a tether of balance. Despite the kindness intended behind the gesture, it felt all too intimate for your liking.

You turned over your shoulder to finalize your decision to either smack or thank the person who helped you, only to find all of your vocal chords frozen and useless at the mere sight of Jung Hoseok. There was just something about the man that had speech leaving you every time his face popped up unexpectedly. At least when you knew he was going to be there, you could prepare.

Were you blinded by his handsomeness? His charm? The fucking sun? You weren’t positive; all you knew was that, right then and there, he was too damn bright.

Though you were obviously irritated by his touch, he was all smiles the moment your eyes met his; happiness seemed to ooze from his pores and buzz through his skin and into yours. You wanted to be mad at him, you wanted to hate him—but all you hated was the way your heart inflated at the sight and feel of his presence.

“What are you doing here?” You stammered, your hands fisting the ladder with enough of a death grip that, if you were to fall a second time, the thing would come clamoring with you.

He was still out of breath—which was normal considering he probably had to run to save your dumb ass. “I had to tell you the news and then…well then I saw you almost crack open your skull and I just—I—“

You cast a glance down to his hands in the middle of his speech. Though he saw the look, he made no effort to remove his grip from you.

You supposed he would have, had you used words instead of glares.

“Anyways,” He started, trying to tug you down from the safety the ladder promised you. However, you didn’t budge; in fact, you tried to climb higher out of his reach. It was a useless act considering you were an artist and he was a dancer—he was, naturally, physically stronger and you were unable to escape the black hole of emotion that was Jung Hoseok. “I wanted to tell you that I broke up with Soonmi.”

You couldn’t help the way your jaw hung open as you stared down at him, at a loss for words—which wasn’t uncommon when he was involved; this time, though, it was for an entirely different reason. “Seriously?” You whispered. “I—I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it. Like, I know we made a deal but the way Namjoon made you out to be—I just—I—“

He chuckled, removing only one of his hands to grab his phone from the depths of his back pocket. With a nimble thumb, he scrolled to the texts of a furious woman scorned.

You supposed she couldn’t be too happy to hear about her cheating, son-of-a-bitch boyfriend breaking up with her. However—damn.

“She’s got quite the sailor’s mouth, doesn’t she?” You said on the tail end of a low whistle, eyes glued to the proof on the screen.

He actually did it.

Maybe—just maybe--you could believe some of what Hoseok said.

Then again, he had Minji.

Why did he need you to believe him?

Hoseok laughed, causing a knee-jerk reaction in your body that had your cheeks flushing and your palms dampening around the metal of the ladder. “I deserve it, though. However, there’s more at stake for me if I chose to break our deal—wounded pride is just a Saturday for me.” His eyes sparkled with something you weren’t willing to address; especially not when said boy was stringing you along a necklace of pretty girls.

He said these things to every girl he met.

“He’s going to break your heart, Y/N.”

“Was Soonmi a dancer as well?” You lifted your gaze from the continuous strings of slurs and cursing on the phone to Hoseok, signaling that you were done reading. You’d seen enough of his personal life and dick pics of Soonmi’s ex ex to know that he was telling the truth. However, you would not get those images burned from retinas—despite how desperately you wished to forget how ‘well hung’ some asshat was.

He shook his head. “No, she actually went for psychology. Since we were on opposite sides of campus, it made it a hell of a lot easier for me to…well…be an asshole.”

You snorted, letting out a small noise of fear as you finally wobbled your clumsy ass the rest of the way down the ladder. It was only when you were in front of him, both feet flat on the ground, that Hoseok decided it was finally okay to let go of you. The ghosts of his fingers lingered. “Well, at least your date with Minji seemed to go good—or so I was told.”

“It was interesting, I’ll give it that.”

His expression had a mischievous smirk manifesting on your face. It was always fun to hear a guy’s reaction after the first date with Minji. It either went along the lines of “she’s hot” or “she’s batshit.”

Hoseok ran his tongue along his teeth, his chuckle delving into nervous laughter territory as his eyes fixated almost anywhere but you. “I—um—hm…how do I put this nicely? Let’s just…let’s just say I’m glad our next date is in a public setting.”

You frowned at him, arms crossing over your chest. “Keep it in your pants, leading without consulting your brain is what got you into that mess with Soonmi.” You turned your back to him, instead refocusing your attention back towards your open sketchbook. All this talk and no work did not equal food on your table.

“That’s not—“

You laughed, throwing him one quick pity grin over your shoulder. “Its fine, Hoseok—it’s a joke. I know she’s a bit handsy—hopefully my presence will prevent some of that.” Your fingers ran across the page of your sketch. “I am looking forward to this, I guess. You know? With all these dancers suddenly surrounding me, I think I’ve decided that I’d like to put one of them at the center of my mural.”

You couldn’t see Hoseok’s expression with your back turned, but you were sure you didn’t want to see it anyways.

“Yeah? I’m looking forward to it too.”

~.~

Because you hadn’t planned on actually dancing, you didn’t wear the proper footwear—which, actually didn’t matter anyways because everyone switched shoes before entering the studios. However, your unpreparedness didn’t end with shoes; you also weren’t dressed for the occasion. You had just gotten back from your day-job as a secretary for an upstart company, nearly running into the room dolled up in a satin blouse and black trousers.

For your own credit, at least you had your sketchbook in hand.

Minji, who was already there, looked up at you from the floor as she tightened the laces on her dancing shoes. Well, ‘looking’ was the nice way of putting it—rather, she was staring at you like you were flipping her off with a hand that you sprouted from your forehead.

“What the hell are you wearing?” She hissed through her teeth so as not to make a scene. It didn’t really work because you, yourself, were a walking scene and already had the eyes of the other dancers in the room. Apparently, full on business casual coupled with a running asthmatic wheeze wasn’t common in a professional studio space.

“I just got off of work, sue me. You didn’t actually expect me to dance? Did you?”

She waggled her finger at you, her manicured nail within just enough reach that you contemplated ripping the acrylic tip off of it. “You’re just lucky my blind date for you cancelled last minute.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing full well Minji forgot about her half-assed idea and was now making stupid excuses for her memory. Instead, you walked yourself towards the mirror, dusted off a spot you knew wouldn’t be clean regardless, and sat down with your sketchbook and pencil in hand. Pants were washable, as long as the dust wasn’t made of permanent marker or sealant, you were good.

Just as you were getting settled in, Hoseok burst in the door looking every bit the type of person that would make your palms sweat and your throat close. If you had forgotten that he was handsome, you were definitely reminded of it now. His tank was clinging to his thin frame, showing that it was a size too-small based on the skin you saw between its hem and the band of the sweatpants he was wearing low on his hips. Effortlessly, he brushed his hair off his forehead, the strands staying slicked back with sweat.

Hoseok’s eyes found yours before they found Minji’s.

His head cocked to you in an unspoken question that had you raising your sketchbook to him and giving him a small nod. With an “O” of understanding, he then turned his attention to the glaring Minji. Squatting before her, his demeanor changed much like hers did—riding a line between kindness and flirtation. Minji was much less subtle however, her lashes batting excessively as she leaned forward to offer him her towel.

Your hand started moving despite itself, wanting to capture the way the droplets of sweat ran over Hoseok’s Adam’s apple. But, when you finally realized what you were doing, your lines became a smattering of scribbles to blot out the voyeuristic image.

Pushing up to his feet, he made his way towards you to repeat his squat and talk method he seemed to be a fan of. Apparently, unlike you, Hoseok wasn’t the type to get his ass dusty.

“I can get you a chair, you know.”

You shrugged. “It’s too late—these are old pants anyways.”

He grinned at you, that warmth creating an ache in your heart that had your hand itching to draw him again. Maybe it was something about seeing him in his place of passion rather than in the wild outdoors of city life, but he was stunning. Captivating.

Intoxicating.

Even though the room smelled like sweat and he reeked of fading cologne and cheese, you didn’t mind it.

“You sure you don’t want to dance?”

You gave him a look that had him laughing in a way that cracked your forced seriousness into bubbles of laughter.

His eyes flit across your face, his smile a permanent fixture on his features. “I have to go start the class now.”

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you pulled a pencil from your bag. “That would probably be a good idea.”

He was still frozen before you, as if there was something else he wanted to say—some other words eating their way through his brain with the intent to force them into his vocal chords. However, he said nothing more and, with a shake of his head, he was back up to his feet.

Minji was by his side instantly, her arm slinging around his waist in a way that would have been cute were you not aware that it was actually a possessive move on her end. Hoseok started to address the other dancers in the room, but your mind was floating elsewhere, watching the pair before you.

They really did fit nicely. Two attractive, talented people. Maybe Minji would be able to make him see that he was handsome; though she wouldn’t be able to fix him, it didn’t seem like he was as bad as Namjoon made him out to be—at least anymore.

He did break up with Soonmi after all. Not to say that there couldn’t be others, but you doubted it. Despite his airs of confidence, you knew he wasn’t lying when he said he believed he was ugly.

Only people with similar insecurities would be able to see that he was telling the truth.

Except for, you knew you thought worse of yourself than he did—after all, he had enough confidence to cheat in the first place.

And then, they started dancing.

Normally, you watched Minji with a strange sense of awe, a silent follower as she traipsed across the floor with effortless moves. However, Minji, who never once stumbled, looked like a novice compared to her partner. Hoseok was on another level entirely--off the deep end of your capability of understanding. When he moved, you could see every ounce of sweat, exhaustion, fear and happiness that went into his passion. He loved to dance; awful people didn’t hold things as close to their heart as dancing was to Hoseok’s. It made sense why Namjoon would always talk about him so fondly—aside from the whole relationship end—he never made him out to be a horrible human being.

Just a human being sharp enough to hurt you.

And, as Minji’s hand lingered on his chest and their faces got too close for comfort, you realized that maybe you should have listened to Namjoon. Maybe you should have run the other direction the moment you met him.

Somewhere along the way, your hand started sketching his movements, erasing Minji entirely from the scene; you fooled yourself into believing that it was because her form was not nearly as impressive as his. And then, it hit you—Hoseok would make a perfect focal point; after all, the sun is the focal point of the sky.

You ducked your head, losing track of where you were, how long the class was going on for, how long Hoseok was dancing with his date. None of that mattered, because you were staring at your drawing with lead on your fingertips from blending and fingerprints along the edges of your paper. It had been a long time since you truly lost yourself to your artwork, but, in that studio, you tapped into an energy that had eluded you for so long.

“That looks like a masterpiece to me.”

You hadn’t even realized the music had stopped until Hoseok and startled you from your mindless pondering. Throwing your head up, your gaze met Minji’s and she was so starstruck by Hoseok that she actually gave you a pretty cute smile.

It was suddenly very hard to breath in the heavy, sweat-laden air.

“Hit the showers!” Hoseok murmured as the ending to his mini speech to his class, clapping once more to finalize the statement.

You must have looked utterly confused when Minji walked past you towards her bag because she shrugged and let out a snort more pig than human. “The showers were installed after some dancers complained about having to work after practice. Now it’s just a regular thing, you know?”

“Are you going?”

She nodded, grabbing a bottle of shampoo and conditioner along with a change of clothes from her bag. “I’ll be back and then we can go, okay?”

You gave her a thumbs-up as she left the room, shifting enough to be able to start packing up your own things.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice echoed in the room, and when the door gently closed behind the last dancer you—all too late—realized that the two of you were now alone.

“So what?” It was pathetic how meek you were around him again, as if the sight of him dancing suddenly made him a different person that you had to acquaint yourself to.

“What did you think?” He leaned against a wall across the room from you, his eyes boring into your shoulders as your hands deftly tried to find a fallen eraser.

You felt like a rabbit in an open, grassy plain with a hawk staring at you from a tree.

“It was…” You tried not to think of your sketches, of the way Hoseok’s eyes seemed to darken on you across the room, at the way you couldn’t breathe. Instead, you tried to think that Minji wasn’t going to take forever in the shower (she was) and that she was going to be back shortly (she wasn’t). “You’re a really good dancer.”

“Just good?” He cocked his at you, peeling his back from the wall.

“Amazing.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “That better?”

He laughed, sending goosebumps down your spine—you wanted it to be out of fear, but you knew your body better than that. “Much.” His eyes shifted to your sketchbook as he walked towards you, his eyes inquisitive. “Can I see?”

You pressed your lips into a line, pulling the book closer to you. “Nope.”

It was the bullet that broke the tension in the air, and suddenly you were both laughing as he dove for you. With a bout of childish defiance, you slid the sketchbook underneath you, sitting atop it to prevent him from seeing your drawings. However, it had not occurred to you that Hoseok, while in the process of recovering from his adultery, was not in the process of overcoming his fuckboy tendencies.

His arms were around you, his voice high and whiny as he struggled to reach underneath you to rip your sketchbook and all your secrets from your grasp. You held on white-knuckled, putting as much of your weight as you could on top of the sketchbook whilst trying not to get lost in the expanse of chest in your face. He should smell awful; but for some reason, he didn’t.

He was a sweaty, tired mess and yet he still managed to smell like vanilla. He was so warm, his skin practically scalding you every time it brushed across yours. This was dangerous--something so utterly perilous if only because you had never wanted to kiss a disgusting boy and now, suddenly, you wanted to be in Minji’s place. You wanted to go on a date with Hoseok, dance with Hoseok; you wanted your arm to be around Hoseok’s waist, your face to be close to Hoseok’s.

He pulled away from you; the part of you that you had locked away in denial tore away with him. “Fine.” He pouted, unbeknownst to your sudden revelations. “If you won’t show me, then at least have a dance with me.”

“You’re exhausted.” You whispered, the humidity and the sudden, physical struggle breaking a sweat across your forehead.

“So? I invited you here so I could dance with you; at least fulfill that wish for me.”

“I can’t dance.”

“Excuses.” He chuckled, throwing your own words in your face. “Let me teach you.”

“Hoseok--" But he was already up on his feet--already brushing the dust off his sweatpants. You didn’t have any more fight in you, if only because your body was betraying you in his presence. You wanted to dance with him if only to be close to him. There was no rhyme or reason why you fell hard for Jung Hoseok. In fact, everything that you ever knew told you that you shouldn’t even tolerate him. But somehow—a chemical connection maybe?—you found yourself starting to.

You found yourself wanting to take Soonmi’s recently vacated place.

He grabbed both of your hands in his, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest so he could adjust his grip and intertwine his fingers with yours. “I want to see how bad of a dancer you really are.” You rag-dolled in his grasp, letting him do all the work because your sudden gelatinous knees wouldn’t let you do anything but stand there.

You laughed, head falling forward into his chest if only because you tried to duck away but found that he was too close for such an escape. “I’m awful; you’ll see.”

“Mm.” He spun you around, turning so that you got a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You wanted to retract inside yourself at the sight. There you were, an absolute mess, standing with this handsome yet crazy man who somehow inspired you in ways that you couldn’t even begin to explain. It was a contradicting sight.

You looked so wrong next to him.

“You know, Y/N.” He murmured as he twisted you into the first movement that you had seen him pull with Minji. “I realized something about you today—I’ve always known, but it finally clicked.”

“Hm?” You licked your dry lips, trying to imagine that maybe you were good enough to stand next to him. Maybe you weren’t as flawed as you thought.

But the mirror haunted the backs of your eyelids as Hoseok lightly moved you through a dance without music.

“You honestly think that Minji is better than you.”

Your eyes flew open, landing on his face in an expression that said “duh.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he pulled you into a pose that looked utterly stupid until he corrected your form with gentle hands and a smile that made your extremities feel fuzzy. “You shouldn’t.”

“You have your insecurities—let me have mine.” You murmured. “Minji is superior to me in every way—she’s pretty she’s a great dancer, and she can do anything she sets her mind to. We took an art class together and her raw talent made anything I’ve ever done pale in comparison. Even our prestigious professors stared at her work in awe.” You met his gaze for only a moment before shifting your eyes to stare at your own reflection. “Compared to Minji, I am a worm. All I can do is draw and paint—not even well.”

His movements got slower, more languid in a way that was meant to make you more comfortable in the foreign setting. But, there was no such thing as ‘comfortable’ when it came to Hoseok—when he was around you, your nerves were on fire and your mind couldn’t comprehend reality. Hoseok was a black hole for common sense, one that spit everything you ever knew right out the fucking window.

“All I can do is dance and you once told me that I was more than that; what makes you think that I shouldn’t be able to tell you that you are more than your opinion of yourself.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet, letting out a frustrated huff as you made eye contact with the floor instead of him. “Because you don’t get to tell me what to think of myself.”

“I want you to see yourself the way others see you.”

“Y/N! Hurry up you slow bitch!” Despite the brutal words from her mouth, you knew that there was little to no venom to it. Instead, you were gawking at the people gawking at Minji—she was all dolled up in her absolutely breathtaking dress that her mother had bought solely for this gala. For all of your effort, you might as well have been the carpet under her heeled feet as both genders gave heart eyes to the woman you called a friend.

“I’m coming.”

“I’m invisible to others; usually, I’m just a fly on the wall. People don’t notice me, Hoseok.” You chuckled darkly. “Just look at my sorry excuse for a love life.”

He frowned at you, his hand tightening in yours. “Fine—then don’t see yourself how others see you; see yourself the way I do.”

Your expression cracked in time with the rift forming in your chest—a Pandora’s Box to words that you weren’t ready to release. It all came out in a rush, in furrowed brows, glassy eyes, and a mountain of regrets. “Yeah? So I should just see myself as a million girls? A number in a little black book?”

You couldn’t pull away fast enough; you couldn’t gather yourself enough to escape his grasp and his stare. Instead, his hands were on either side of your face and, as tears ran down your cheeks, Hoseok was kissing you.

They say that when you kiss someone that you like, fireworks should go off and sparks should fly. Maybe that wasn’t true unless there was a chemical reaction between the two of you—some elements that, when they click together, explode. Every fiber of your being was on fire, bursting to flame at his touch, at something as simple as the pressure of his lips on yours.

Hoseok kissed you with the same passion he showed for dancing, and, if it weren’t for the buzzing alarms in the back of your head, you probably would have allowed him to swallow you whole.

You shoved him off of you, scrubbing at your face with the back of your hand. “I—“

The door opened and in walked Minji, her body freezing at the sight of both of you.

You could only imagine the two of you, covered in sweat, mouths bruised and swollen. Some of your lipstick was on Hoseok’s chin and there were streaks of mascara on your cheeks.

Minji’s eyes flit between the two of you, and, for a moment, you believed she was going to turn on you. She was going to blame you, she should blame you. You just kissed her date—she had every right to call you every name in her repertoire.

Instead, wordlessly, she grabbed your hand, her bag and yours, and let the door slam behind the two of you.

~.~

For a long while, and for a rare moment between the two of you, it was silent. Normally, Minji would be talking your ear off--her high, raspy voice filling the small space of her car as she sped her way to your place.

However, this tension wasn’t normal. There was nothing normal about this behavior—yours, hers, or Hoseok’s.

The silence was only broken when Minji’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, her gaze burning holes into the road before her. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Hoseok?” You whispered, hands folded neatly in your lap.

“Who else would I be talking about, you moron?” She curled her lip at her dash instead of you, letting out a sigh that seemed to have been building up for the last century. “He likes you too, you know.”

“That doesn’t happen.” You said quickly, turning to her as if that could make her understand that you didn’t want to hurt her—you didn’t want to take from her, you honestly didn’t mean for any of this to happen. “No one chooses me over you.”

“Y/N, Hoseok just did.”

“He—he did no—“

She let out a shout that had you slamming your head against the roof of the car, your eyes wide on her. “You are absolutely infuriating!” Her volume was much lower than her shout; it must have released some pent up energy within her chest because her shoulders were finally starting to relax. “And yes, yes I am pissed—not at you, at him. For now. I’m awful at holding grudges, you know that.”

“But he—“

“He did. Do you really think I’m as dumb as I look?” She frowned at you through the rearview mirror. “Don’t answer that.” With another ancient sigh bursting from the confines of her chest, she shook her head. “He chose you, Y/N. Give me five minutes and I’ll be over him—I go through guys like candy, you know that.”

You ducked your head, frowning at the seat. “No one chooses me over you. No one chooses me—hell, I know he didn’t choose me out of every other girl on this planet.” You whispered, trying to keep it all locked in. But, the ghost of Hoseok’s kiss lingered and it broke your heart to imagine that same passion given to another girl.

“There have been plenty that have chosen you—plenty that have looked at you instead of me. You just don’t notice. You know, despite all the shit I give you, you are not by my side only to make me look better; Y/N, you’re not horrible to look at. Actually, you’re quite cute--that was why I liked you when I first saw you.”

“You hated me.” You snorted, unable to hide your laughter.

Minji shrugged. “Same thing.”

“Who are you and what did you do with Minji?”

She smacked your arm, her eyes never leaving the road. “Look, I’m not going to say that I’m not hot shit and better than 99.9% of the people on this planet—I know I am. But, the one thing I fail at is making friends. For some reason, people think I’m conceded.” She laughed, her nails tapping on the wheel. “But you stayed my friend. Even if this friendship is built on a house of cards and is so fake it would make my mom’s boobs look natural, this means something to me. Don’t let my kindness go to waste. Say something nice to me too.” She lightly hit your thigh with the back of her hand, causing you to wipe your snot nose on your sleeve and give her a good, genuine smile.

“This friendship isn’t fake. Like, 13% of the time I actually consider you my friend.”

“Aww.” She held her chest in mock emotion. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Same.”

You were both laughing now, in a moment that was so rare you were sure it would take three unicorns, two wishes on a shooting star and a whole field of four leaf clovers to bring another around. But that was fine, because you had this moment.

“You like him, don’t you?” She repeated.

“I—there are so many reasons—“

“That’s not what I asked you. I asked if you like Hoseok.”

You ducked your head, but your hair was pinned back so there was nothing to curtain your expression from Minji. “I do.”

“I’m not going to break a nail for you.”

You stared at the side of her face in confusion.

“I will use my mom’s money to hire a hitman however, and those are expensive. So please, let this shit work out.”

Reaching over the center console, you gave Minji the most awkward, yet genuine hug that either of you had.

“We need to go to the club tomorrow,” she growled, patting your arm in an attempt to reciprocate your hug and drive at the same time. “I need a man and I need a man pronto—I’m not going to lose to you.”

“But you didn’t—“

She let out another howl that echoed in the car. Only this one wasn’t out of frustration, more the sort of light annoyance that siblings had for each other. “Stop being so damn cute! Go back to being broody and depressing so people will feel bad for me and I can get laid tomorrow.”

You grinned at her. “So does this mean that you actually liked my sketches?”

“No.” She rolled her eyes. “I still don’t like them. But remember, I majored in dance, not art—since when have you ever taken my artistic criticisms seriously? Remember when I thought that Van Goat dude was actually just a brand of fancy cheese?”

“Van Gogh?”

She snorted. “Yeah, Y/N. You look stupid taking my words to heart—I flunked art history three times.”

“Four.”

“I slept with that professor to get me a D so I wouldn’t have to take it again.” She winked at you, your face frozen in a horror-stricken expression that did nothing to erase the unbidden mental images.

“Can I change that ‘not fake’ percentage to 12?”

“Nope.” She smiled. “Get ready to have your depressing ass worked hard tomorrow—I need a good man on my arm.”

~.~

Namjoon brushed your hair off your forehead and out of your eyes, groaning at the puffiness. “Please tell me that you were not crying over him.”

You glared at him, shoving your bag into his stomach and nearly through him just to put it behind the counter. It was too far of a walk towards the mural and you currently wanted to be anywhere but in the public eye—even if it was only the public of a small, busy coffee shop.

He watched you brush past him, watch you hide your things as if they were you—as if you wished to crawl underneath the space between the register and the storage bin for paper cups.

“Y/N.” His voice had you curling your lip at the ground, body struggling to stand.

“Fine.” You snapped at your backpack instead of at him, it wasn’t Namjoon’s fault after all. You were your own demise, always had been. “I was. And then I realized I did even stupider shit than cried over him—I cried over my fucking sketchbook which I kindly forgot in the hurry to get the hell out of his studio.” You burst up to your feet, the fight or flight instinct in you broken to the point that you felt like running into a wall. “So your mural is screwed too, and then I cried more over that because I’m…I’m—I—I’m a big cry baby I guess!” You threw your hands up into the air, incoherent words stumbling together on your tongue as you tried to reign in the tears once more; your tear ducts burned and you didn’t think you could take another bout of self-pity crying. “I don’t have anything to put in that giant hole on the wall and you were right, you were totally right, Joon. That’s what you want to hear, right? That I should have listened, should have stayed away?”

His arms were around you, pulling your face into his chest so his sweatshirt could snuff out the dampness of your face. “I didn’t want to be right; it’s not what I want to hear. I--" he sighed, “I wanted you to let me know what’s going on in that head of yours. You keep yourself so tightly locked up that sometimes I’m afraid that you’re keeping me out with the rest of the world.”

“Never. You know too much about me and the destruction cavity most doctors call my brain.” You grumbled through a mouthful of fabric.

He laughed, the vibrations warming the cold in your chest.

“Even if it was all a lie—even if he told a thousand other girls the same things—it meant something to me, Namjoon. I liked the version I saw, the one that seemed so honest. But it’s not true, right? None of it was true? I can’t…I went in knowing I can’t believe anything he says and I still—“

“It’s not your fault.”

You slowly peeled yourself from his grasp, wiping your snot nose on his sweatshirt as a parting gift. “I—I’m going to go clean up my face and come up with a plan b.”

“I’ll get your sketchbook back, Y/N.”

You started towards the “employees only” swinging door, frowning at the porthole window. “I don’t want it; I couldn’t focus on the other dancers anyways. It’s all him; it’s all Hoseok. He really is amazing, you know.”

“But so are you.”

The swinging doors fluttered shut behind you before he could finish his words.

~.~

As you approached the hallway that led out towards the counter and, consequently, into the main hub of the café, a certain voice stopped you from bursting through the employee doors. The part of you that had just put itself back together with cold water and glares into the bathroom mirror shattered to the ground. As if he could see you through solid matter, you pressed yourself flat against the wall and snuck closer—but not too close. No, childish fear had you keeping enough distance that there was no chance in hell he would see you, even if he got close enough to the porthole window.

Through the crack between the rubberized edge of the door and the wall, you watched Hoseok thumbing through something atop the counter. Namjoon partly obscured him and the object from your vision, his shoulders square and angry.

“I’m glad you had the decency to return it; I’ll give you at least that much.” Namjoon said like an overprotective father with a shotgun.

Hoseok seemed unfazed by this persona. “I’m not a thief.” He murmured. “She’s gotten even better. These sketches…they’re amazing.”

“I’m aware.” Namjoon’s knuckles tightened on the countertop as he tilted his clenched jaw into view. “Now what are you actually here for, Hoseok?”

Hoseok’s eyes never lifted from the pages of your sketchbook. “I really like her, hyung.”

“You like a lot of things, Hoseok. You like pretty things, shiny new people and girls who look in your general direction. You latch onto anyone who thinks you’re handsome because you don’t see it in yourself. And then, you leech them dry—you spin your web and play them like a fucking piano before leaving them strung up for the crows to pick at. You have currently ruined any chance of a real relationship—I highly doubt you know how to truly love something for what it is and not what it says, Hoseok.”

Hoseok listened to every word, screwing his eyes shut as he dipped his face into his hands, elbows on the countertop. “Ouch.”

“I’m not going to sugarcoat things for you when you pulled this shit with my little sister—blood or no blood, she’s as important to me as my family.”

“She’s the exception to every rule, every standard, everything.” Hoseok mumbled through his hands.

“No, she is the one rule, the one exception, the one line I told you not to cross and you crossed it.”

“No.” Hoseok growled. “You don’t—you don’t understand. She was the catalyst, the—agh.” His shoulders shook with his frustration, his voice cracking on a desperate plea. “Remember when I first visited your dorm room? Back when we were just starting to be friends—remember? You had that work on your wall, that thing that looked like a sketch but wasn’t?”

“The first lithograph Y/N made? Of course I remember, you tried to buy and trade for it with me the entire year until I finally took it home and out of your sight.”

Hoseok lifted his head, pointing to the wall—though his gaze was lost somewhere else in a distant memory. “Yes, that’s the one. I wanted it because I had seen it before—back when it was on display in the library. You know, Seokjin and I were friends since high school, and he’s always been more into art shit than I ever had. I only gave a rat’s ass about dancing, but when he dragged me and Yoongi with him to that conglomeration showing I—okay, so first off, most of them sucked; don’t believe a word Seokjin tells you.”

Namjoon sighed. “Are you going somewhere with this story? I do have things to do, a business to run, a dog to feed and walk before going to bed.”

“It’s noon, calm yourself.” Hoseok grunted. “I saw that work there—it was the only thing that I thought was worth something. The more I looked around, the more I kept circling back to it. I must have stared at that work for an hour, because Seokjin and Yoongi both left me there to go to dinner by themselves. I memorized every detail about that piece—the name, the title, the medium—fuck if I still even know what a lithograph is. It was just this small thing inside a tiny seedpod, darkness all around it. It couldn’t break the shell even if it wanted to—and I—I--“

“Again, where is this leading?”

“I’d always thought art like that could be done by anyone. All that crap in the show was all the same, could have been done by a million people or by one—but her piece made me believe that only some people can create true art; only some people can make things that actually mean something. You always said I’d shown interest in her without knowing her—that’s why. I wanted to meet her; I needed to meet her. So I went to the art building to find her.”

“I’m glad I’m just finding out about this now.” Namjoon sighed. “It doesn’t change my stance, but it’s somewhat comforting to know that there’s a shred of human kindness towards females in your heart.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And you found Soonmi instead, and it wasn’t until you saw the piece in my room that you realized—“

“Exactly.” Hoseok whispered.

“So you’re an asshole because you’re stupid.”

“Yes—no, but yes.” Hoseok laughed, but there was no humor to it. “If I had found her instead, if I hadn’t believed that—if—god why was I so stupid? If I had just let Soonmi go right then and there--“

“A lot could have changed, yes. And I will admit, as much as I think you don’t deserve her--" Namjoon’s glare silenced any hope in Hoseok’s eyes. “—you two do have some weird chemical connection that I can’t explain. However, you’ve made your choices and I’m not letting you be one of hers. I can’t trust you with her, Hoseok. How do I know you’re not lying to me now? How do I know that, when I turn around, you won’t be making eyes with the next girl that walks in here? Those tendencies, once formed, aren’t easy to break. I can’t let her give you her heart; it’s too precious for your hands.”

“What if I—“

“Hoseok.” The finality and anger in Namjoon’s voice sent a small shock of fear down your spine. “Enough. I am not going to watch her go through this with you. If you come near her—if you dare hurt her again—I swear that years and years of friendship won’t save you from my wrath.”

Hoseok nodded, pushing himself off the counter. “Just…just give this to her the next time you see her, okay?”

Namjoon grabbed the sketchbook, staring at Hoseok’s back as he left the coffee shop.

You, however, remained curled against the wall, your squat turning into more of a sit the longer your thighs burned. But, the physical pain wasn’t what you were focused on. Instead, your mind was still reeling, trying to comprehend the words you weren’t meant to hear.

What parts were lies? What parts were the truth? How did one believe someone who lies as easily as breathing? Did he truly mean those things he said?

How did one trust the boy who lied about there being wolves?

~.~

You leaned back from your work, nearly up to your elbows in paint as you chugged what was left in your beaten and almost flattened water bottle. It was done.

It was finally done.

The paint was still glistening, tacky but fresh, clinging to the wall with all its might so as not to smear and dribble down your depiction of Hoseok’s movements.

As stupid and strange as it was, the process of painting Hoseok oversized on a mural wall was incredibly therapeutic. Maybe because, when there was a brush in your hand, you could believe that you were painting the version of the boy you wanted to believe in. Maybe, when you were painting him on a wall before you, you could believe that this was the boy who didn’t lie and flirt with anything with two x chromosomes—the boy who was handsome and talented, the boy who only saw you. It was enough for you to be able to ease the sickness in your gut and disassociate the Hoseok in your reality to the one that you fell for in your head.

The real one, the one that lied and told a million girls a million things to get in their pants, you could believe that you had not fallen for that one.

Until you turned and smacked directly into a familiar, wired chest with your paint sodden hands. Once again, Hoseok found himself the victim of a cruel and unsuspected attack by paint.

You stared up at him, fingers splayed, eyes wide and body shell-shocked.

And just like that, all the things you made yourself believe—the bullshit self therapy washed down the tubes. The lump was back in your throat tenfold, threatening to choke you as his warm gaze met with yours.

How many?

How many others were looked at like this? How many women were on his cell? How many were waiting for texts? A ring? A call? A message? How many had pictures of him as their backgrounds, his stare warm and loving and lying?

“Is that supposed to be me?” He murmured, his gaze never leaving you.

You, however, looked anywhere but him—only rewarding his words with a short nod.

“He looks better than me. Do I really look like that? Do you really think I look like that?” He felt along his jaw, his lips and his brows as if the feeling from his fingers could translate to the image before him.

“I think so. At least…at least when you dance you do. But don’t flatter yourself too much; you look best when you’re dancing.”

“Part of me wished you would use that half-assed sketch of Minji with her finger up her nose.”

You snorted, muffling your laughter through your fingers; you could feel paint cling to your face. Once you gathered your composure, you straightened your shoulders as if that could do the same to your resolve. “Why’re you here, Hoseok?”

“I—“

“I heard your talk with Namjoon. I was—I was here. If you think that I’m going to believe what you said just because you said them then you—“

“I didn’t expect you to. I figured you were in the building, but I didn’t know you would hear what I said.” The sincerity in his voice shut you up, the way his eyes softened and darkened in emotions that you could feel but couldn’t name tore your vocal chords from your throat. “I didn’t say them with the hope that you would believe them—I am a person who does a lot of things untruthfully; I am a person that you probably will never trust. But I thought I should give it a chance despite it.” His gaze flit back towards you. “I am willing to throw everything I have on the railroad tracks for the artist that made ‘the one that didn’t bloom.’ A long time ago, I thought that, if I met the person who made that work, maybe I would understand why I felt like I couldn’t blossom. But I screwed that up, and so now, I’ll do anything to give that belief a second chance.”

“Well, better hope those tracks are out of service, because guess what, Hoseok? That artist would have and is going to tell you that you can’t blossom because you are already a full-fledged flower.” You brushed past him, stuffing your nearest supplies into your backpack in the hopes that you could escape quickly and come back later when he was gone.

If he was gone.

“So,” you murmured, angrily tugging at your zipper, “mystery solved.”

Before you could start towards the door, Hoseok’s hand was on your wrist, keeping you bolted to your spot.

“Why do you keep running from me? Do you think that I’m not going to chase you? Do you think that, after all this time, after everything I’ve told you and shown you, I’m just going to stand here and watch you leave?”

It was the five stages of grief in a fucked up order when it came to Jung Hoseok. Somehow, anger came after depression, after bargaining and denial.

“Yes!” You whirled around to face him properly. “That is exactly what you are going to do. I can’t stay here, I can’t stay like this—I can’t stand here and pretend like whatever the hell this--" You gestured angrily between the two of you, but you were sure it looked less threatening and more like a chicken. “—isn’t something more. I can’t sit here and know that there are lines of people in your texts just waiting for you to call them up and invite them into your bed. Hoseok, this may come as a surprise to you—why, I don’t know, maybe you’re blind or something—but, guys don’t like me. I’m not too fond of them either; probably, because of this—probably because there’s always better options out there in the world. A million fish in the sea, or some bullshit analogy like it. And you, the man with gold in his bones and a smile like the fucking sun, yeah, you’ll find the best of the best. And it’s not me. It is never me!”

However, Hoseok’s grip on your wrist tightened at the sight of the gloss forming through your lashes. He was fishing his phone out of his back pocket like a man possessed, his gaze rooted to yours. “This phone is what you’re worried about? The people on here? What if I text them? What if I call every girl on this phone with you standing right here? What if I send them pictures of you, tell them to fuck off? What if I block their numbers, delete their contacts? What if I—“

“You’re not listening!”

Hoseok growled, his hand shaking on yours. You were thankful it was 6pm and no one fucking got coffee at 6pm except for college students and tired business men—none of which were in the building. Because damn, the two of you were causing a scene.

“And you’re not listening to me! There is no one better, Y/N! There is not a single person out there that is better than you.”

You pressed your lips into a line, trying once more to feebly pull your grip from his. “You don’t get it! You just don’t understand it at all! I don’t know what to believe in anymore, Hoseok. I don’t know which guy you are—are you the one that’ll cheat on his girlfriend and sleep with an entire campus? Are you the guy that’ll tell this to every girl he sees? Or is it the one that says he likes my artwork—is it the one that says he likes me and only me?”

“That one.” He croaked out. “What can I do to prove to you that I am the second guy? What can I possibly do to show you that I am the guy that would do anything just to see you smile? What can I do to show you that I’ve been stupidly in love with a girl I hadn’t met until the beginning of this year? What can I do to show you that it’s you, Y/N, it’s always been you and it will always be you? I’ll put my neck on a guillotine if it means you’ll let me fight to make this something. I’ve never wanted anything between anyone to be something as much as I’ve wanted this. I’ve never wanted someone as much as I’ve wanted to see you—it scares me to think that if you’re not here you’re gone and I’ll never see you again.”

You scoffed at the drama of it all, finally pulling your grasp from his. “There is nothing, Hoseok. There’s nothing you can do. Short of destroying your phone there’s absolutely nothing you can—“

You were cut off by the glint of light as the fragile touch screen of Hoseok’s phone flashed once in the lights on its deathly plummet to the ground, whipped from his hand. The second the plastic resounded against the tile with an awful thud, Hoseok’s heel was slamming down on top of it hard enough to pop off the back, to shatter the glass of the screen and destroy the camera. The S.I.M card went flying, crunching under his boot.

“Hoseok!” You screeched, shrill and piercing. “What the fuck are you doing?! I wasn’t serious—omigod!” Now it was you holding onto him, shoving and pulling him back away from the bits of his destroyed phone as if you still had hopes of saving him from taking a huge hit to his wallet. You dropped to the ground, flicking the pieces around as if that would make them come back together. “Did you save anything?” You stared up at him from the floor. “Your pictures? Contacts? What if your mom’s phone number was on there? Do you know her number by heart? Omigod, Hoseok! Are you crazy?”

He watched you with amusement glittering in his eyes until laughter finally fizzled down and burst from his chest. “Probably.”

You however, were still absolutely lost. “This…I didn’t…I wasn’t serious. How are you so nonchalant about this?”

Hoseok shrugged, dropping down to squat next to you and meet your gaze eye to eye. “If it gives me a fighting chance, then nothing else matters.”

You brushed your hair back off your face, slicking back your wild baby hairs. “Namjoon is so going to kill you.”

“Well… I don’t have a phone now, so it’ll be difficult for him to contact me and hunt my ass down.” But he was laughing despite the impending death threats looming in the distance.

“So really?” It was a question that made no sense to anyone, but Hoseok seemed to understand because he nodded.

“Really.”

“I like you, Hoseok. I really, really like you.”

He grinned, one eyebrow raised. “But…?”

“You’re batshit insane.” You held up the broken bits to his line of sight with a snort, shaking your head. “I…I can’t trust you, I hope you know that. But I guess I’m into insane too, since I’m falling for it—for you. “

His grin only seemed to grow, somehow bringing in more sunlight into the shop even though it was getting late and dark. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust. Maybe not today or tomorrow or a year from now. But someday. And, hey, that’s what I like most about you.” He murmured, helping you pick up the pieces to his phone--if he was going to try and make it up to Namjoon for breaking his only rule, then he was going to have to start with a clean coffee shop. “You have an insanity kink.”

“Ah, I’ve decided I’m going to download tinder and go on a date with someone else instead. After all, one of us still has a phone.” You pushed up to your feet quickly, throwing away the bits of his destroyed cell while evading his flailing grasp.

“Hey!”

Before you could reach the door, he caught you, spinning you so you were facing him, your back pressed against the wall; butterflies ignited into fireworks in your chest. When you looked up at him and smiled, Hoseok’s lips were on yours instantaneously. This time, you let him.

This time, your smile grew into his.

You reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer and, when you closed your eyes, you saw his wolves.

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