#I feel like I receive so much by sheer coincidence. maybe I should be someone else’s serendipitous encounter

[hawnks]

My neighbor makes tamales. She brings over a bunch of them all at once. I’ve never had a tamale before (I know, I know), so I look a up a tutorial video. I imagine Sara in her downstairs apartment, soaking corn husks, kneading dough. I’m not much of a cook myself, I can’t offer her anything in return. It doesn’t matter. Every once in a while she stops by with another big bag of them, tells me about their fillings, the day she’s had, how her mothers doing.

She doesn’t know that some days I forget to buy groceries, or forget to eat altogether. She doesn’t know that food has always been a sacred, scary thing to me, that every time I open up one of those husk wrappers, steaming and full, it saves me a little.

The woman running the soap stand at the farmers market doesn’t have any customers, so I ask her a million questions about her process. She tells me she learned the old fashioned way, from the farmer down the road. No one would ever talk to her because she was so mean, except the soap maker. So the farmer taught her everything she knew, how to patch a roof, how to raise a goat, how to make soap and stew and blankets. She rubs lotion into my hands. It smells like lavender and warm earth. Yesterday my knuckles were so dry, they cracked.

In the downpour, three different cars pull over, ask me if I need a ride. I’m just a block away, I’ll be fine, I assure them. They still linger before driving off.

At the bus stop, I talk to a woman who tells me her woes. She’s smiling, but near tears. I pull out the tiny, rose quartz heart that’s in my pocket. I carry things like that with me, nicknacks, stickers. Trinkets I can hand out like trick-or-treat candies. She asks me, inevitably, like they all do, “Why do you have this.”

Because my neighbor makes tamales — but I can’t say that. “Just in case,” I tell her.

[hockeywhy]

lights out (1); t. konecny

PART 2 WARNINGS: language, smut. WORD COUNT: 5.7k

You [attachment: photo taken in what appears to be a dimly lit room. The image is taken from the nose down, mouth slightly open and evidently smiling, two fingers pushed down against your tongue. A white shirt hangs off your shoulders around your elbows, revealing a cage bra, the straps and lining black and the orange lace of the cup sheer.]

You bet you wish you were here now

You released a small sigh, sliding down the headboard of your bed until you felt the plush pillows behind your head again. For a while, you stared blankly upwards at your ceiling, your phone held loosely in one hand while the other rested against your stomach, fingers tapping idly against the exposed skin. 

It had only been around a month since you allowed your friendship with Troy to develop into something a little more than that, but less than a relationship should be. You have known him almost for as long as you could remember, going way back to the days when the two of you would be made to stand side-by-side for photographs while your families cooed over how adorable you looked. Had anyone told you that years down the line you and Troy would be exchanging messages meant for each other’s eyes only, you would’ve laughed at them, spun on your heel and walked away. He never once struck you as someone you would even consider dating, much less send semi-naked photos of yourself to for the simple fact that Troy was a friend and nothing else. Not once did you even bother sparing a thought to the possibility of liking him beyond that but, well, coming to think of it, you still didn’t. And you were pretty sure he thought the same but occasionally, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Measures which just simply happened to coincide with word floating about Travis possibly keeping a relationship away from public eyes. 

Your brother being traded to the Philadelphia Flyers coincided with your own college admission in the city roughly three years ago and you’d guess it was almost just as long since you started carrying a torch for Travis. If spectators got to see him as a dynamic, feisty, valuable for the team yet annoying for others sort of player, you got to know him as a laidback, funny, endearing and…well, occasionally annoying guy though apparently, only towards you. As if drawn to him by some invisible force, you found yourself in his vicinity often enough and it seemed that Travis welcomed it as an opportunity to tease you one way or another. You gave as good as you got though, and admittedly, that also helped you keep your feelings in check a little. Or at least, enough to never give even the smallest of hints to those around you that you might have a thing for Travis. Tolerate him, sure. Hold a genuine conversation by resisting the temptation to push each other’s buttons, no way. If, behind closed doors in the privacy of your own room, you wondered what it’d be like to have him next to you and occasionally, allowed that idea to take on an entirely different meaning while sliding a hand between your legs, then that was for you to know only. 

When you caught wind of the rumor that Travis may have finally, finally found someone at last, it was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water, cubes and all, on you. Of course, there wasn’t anything more to whatever weird back-and-forth the two of you had going. After all, the two of you were fully grown adults not five-year olds who pushed each other around in the playground by way of saying hey dummy, I like you. Part of you expected that to come at some point. Travis was handsome, young and successful, and you were witness to numerous instances in which he was approached by girls who wouldn’t hesitate to press their numbers scribbled on napkins or small pieces of paper in his hand. It was only a matter of time until one of them caught his eye and it was painfully obvious that person wouldn’t be you. There wouldn’t be a chance, anyway. Too weird with your older brother on the team, probably. And besides, you couldn’t see yourself as being his type. Regardless of how often you tried making a conscious effort of not comparing yourself to others, nagging thoughts starting with I wish I had or I wish I was or Maybe I should too still crept up on you now and then. Sure, you were plenty confident in yourself: personality, looks, individuality, but you could see little of yourself in the girls who Travis let his eyes linger on a moment longer than maybe necessary before pocketing their number. 

Troy was, for the lack of better word, convenient and not that awful of a distraction from Travis. Initially, you wanted to feel bad for thinking of him as such, but it quickly became clear to you that what Troy wanted was nothing more than someone he could count on for some release every now and then. So, really, you carried your fair share of convenience also. 

You casually dated since starting college, but you couldn’t bring yourself to trust anyone as much as you trusted Troy to get to the level where you’d exchange nudes. Perhaps it had something to do with the two of you being friends for so long, but you also knew that if you ever wanted to call it quits with Troy, you’d be able to go back to how you were before. Simple as that. No way would he ever reveal anything you sent him to anyone. Troy proved his honesty and ability to keep to his word on several occasions, and that was more than enough for you.

Your phone vibrated and you blinked rapidly several times, pulling yourself away from your thoughts. Lifting the device above your face, you unlocked it and pressed the message notification, focus zeroing in on the response.

Travis is this your way of getting me to agree with you and say that this party really is boring?

A quiet giggle left your mouth but in the next second, you would swear you actually heard your breathing being cut short. You scrambled up on the bed and in your haste, almost dropped the device on the floor. As if someone had suddenly intruded, you pulled the shirt up on your shoulders and gripped the material tightly around you, bunching it up in your free hand to hide your torso. The seconds during which that happened, you could swear you read wrong or were imagining things. Surely…surely you just didn’t click into the wrong messaging thread, right? Right. That’d have to be it. You breathed in, then out. In, then out once more and looked at your phone again. As you did, it vibrated again, indicating a new message.

Travis if that’s the case, it’s working

It couldn’t be. You weren’t that careless. You always made an even greater effort of double checking the contact you clicked into whenever you messaged Troy, except… Except you were a little distracted this time around. Distracted and somewhat excited, truth be told. It’d been a while since the two of you have had the opportunity to get together and during this time, your conversations were of the ordinary sort: general comments about campus gossip, heated agreements about surely written exams were an outdated method of testing. 

Your hands visibly trembled and you tried to steady yourself by inhaling deeply before daring to scroll just a little further up on the screen. There wasn’t any real need for that though: your photo was in clear view, not in the message thread you had with Troy but the message thread you had with Travis. Because he was the last person you messaged. Because he was the one who asked if you’d also be joining them for a get-together your brother organised at a venue often frequented by the team. Because maybe all you saw were the first two letters of the name and decided that was about as far as your concentration could manage before sending the photo. In hopes of getting a different type of attention from Troy at the time, you messaged Travis back to say that unfortunately, they ‘won’t benefit from my wonderful presence tonight, much as I know that’ll make things boring but try to find a silver lining if you can’. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily as if that’d help erase what you’d done. 

What you saw behind your eyes, however, wasn’t stars but Travis’ own messages relayed back to you over and over like blinding Times Square ads. You had to blink several times to clear your vision when you opened your eyes again, looking down at your phone to re-read them. As if, again, in your haste you’d done something wrong like misread what he responded with. It was there, though, on your screen – clear as day. You frowned.

You could think of a hundred different ways in which Travis could have responded to that – or even, not bothered with a response and save all the awkwardness for the next time you’d both be under the same roof. You read that back to yourself and it sounded less like what the fuck are you doing and more like now you have my attention. But that couldn’t be it… Had he not paid attention to the display name, hooked in simply by the photo alone? You wouldn’t put it past him. Or anyone else who’d be on the receiving end of photos like that, really. The selfie was suggestive in a way that invited action to try and get a better sneak peek. Maybe Travis hadn’t even checked to see who it was coming from. And besides, what about the rumors of him seeing someone? There couldn’t be smoke without fire, and you lived by that. 

You shit, sorry! wrong person

You do me a favor and forget this happened

Not your smoothest moment, you had to admit but it’s as if your brain had short-circuited. You had to direct most of your attention and effort in trying to not read too deeply into Travis’ response. As if you reeled him in. As if he were willing to allow it to happen and wanted more. It couldn’t be because at no point did he leave anything to the imagination that he might have a thing for you. All the teasing, all the back-and-forth, there was never anything more to it than what was on the surface. Besides, something told you that if there was even the smallest chance of Travis having a thing for you, he would’ve made it fairly clear. He was anything but shy. Definitely not the sort of person to beat around the bush, regardless of whether you were the younger sibling of a teammate or not. Maybe he was just surprised. Yeah, that had to be it. 

When your phone vibrated again, it wasn’t just a short notification for a new message. It vibrated and vibrated until you registered that actually, it was a call.

“Hey,” you answered, voice a little raspy. Your mouth felt dry, throat scratchy.

“You’re asking a lot from me,” came Travis’ response. On his end, you could just barely make out the muffled sound of thudding bass-heavy music. “Who were you going to send that to if not me, doll?” 

The pet name sent a rush of heat all the way down to your belly. Much as you didn’t want to, you knew you’d end up playing that back to yourself for days to come. Regardless of how much you tried to direct your feelings elsewhere, Travis always found a way to weasel back to being at the center of your attention. Or better said, you found a way to put him back there, but it was easier to deal with the idea if you blamed it on him. It was equal parts pitiful and desperate to carry a torch for him for so long, knowing damn well nothing good would come out of it. 

“Just a friend,” you responded, fingers tightening around the material of your shirt. “Travis, please—”

“I’m just a friend, aren’t I?” he interrupted, emphasizing his words in such way that he sounded almost…spiteful. “You still wearing that?” he added, a little lighter this time around.

“Travis.” His name fell from your mouth the way a plea would: whispered, urgent, tight. 

“Only a simple question, Y/N, all you’ve gotta do is answer it.” You were ready to respond, but Travis added, “and then I’ll forget about it.”

You glared at the wall across from you. “Sounds a hell of a lot like blackmail to me,” you said without heat because suddenly, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Saying yes, you were still wearing that. Yes, you still looked exactly as your photo indicated you did, all delicate lace and glossy lips. Minimal effort from your part that always seemed to do the trick for boys like Troy. For boys in general because most were easy to hook in like that. “Yes,” you finally admitted, and you were surprised by how confident your voice sounded. 

In your ear, Travis hummed thoughtfully. “Is it a matching set?”

You can’t help the small, breathless laugh that slipped from your mouth. It doesn’t take away from the fact that your hands were shaking, but it releases some tension from your shoulders. It was all it took for you to realize you wanted to cling to this, if even for just a few more minutes. “The second photo would’ve been the one to answer that.” 

A small pause followed during which you could hear the bounce of what sounded to be wood against wood and then, the unmistakable fiddling of a metal latch catching. “Tell me about it instead. If you want.” 

You wanted. You wanted so much that for a moment, his request made your breath hitch. Pressing your lips together into a tight line, you cast a glance towards your reflection caught in a tall mirror resting just opposite your bed. Unconsciously, you loosened your grip on the shirt and you shrugged the material off your shoulders again, tentatively as if you were being watched while doing so. The dim yellow lamp at the side cast a warm glow across the entire room which seemed to amplify the entire picture: you in the middle of your bed, legs bent at the knees and slightly spread to reveal a little of the thin lace material of your panties that left little to the imagination. You swallowed quietly, falling back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut. There’d be no going back from this, you knew that, and you knew Travis was well aware of it also. But you could see his face behind your eyes, could easily recall the intensity of your feelings towards him and you heard the pet name he used just moments ago bouncing around in your mind incessantly. It didn’t just make heat crawl along the expanse of your skin. It made you actually throb for him.

“It’s not the usual red lace or black silk, but I could help myself when I saw it,” you admitted quietly, no lie in your words whatsoever. “It’s more memorable. More unique. Kind of reminded me of your alternative jersey, coming to think of it.” 

On the other end, Travis sighed a long, low sigh. “You thought about it when you saw it?” 

I thought of you, you think, but what you said instead was, “orange and black is a surprisingly good combination. That, and it was also one of the simpler sets. Made for taking off quickly, no hassle.” You could swear you could hear the pounding of your heart in your own ears. “Doesn’t need to all come off, though. I’m a panty pulled to the side sort of person if we’re short on time.” You swallow quietly, pulling in your lips a little to run your tongue across them. “Are we?” you asked quietly.

“A little,” Travis responded after a short moment of silence. His voice sounded a little weak; worn. “Panty pulled to the side sort of person, huh? Wouldn’t have pinned that on you.” 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, Travis. Don’t tell me you didn’t at least think about that before,” you encouraged, thighs pressing together. “Wanting someone so much, so desperately that there’s no time to take all clothes off. Push them down on the bed, against a door…wherever it is you are just to get a little taste. I did. I do,” you admitted, turning a little to the side, eyes falling shut, all and any form of shame flying out the window. Might as well enjoy it. “I think about someone seeing me like this, wanting me so badly that that they can’t even bring themselves to take it all off. All it’d take with a little number like this is a pull to the side. It’s fucking sexy. Did you ever think about it?”

You heard him draw in a shaky breath and a moment later, the sound of metal and clothes being fumbled with joined as background noise. You closed your eyes and imagined him in a cubicle, tugging on the buckle of his belt, pulling on the zipper of his jeans, pressing a palm against his length to add that extra bit of much needed pressure. The idea of him growing hard for you, because of you, in a public place was nothing short of arousing. 

“Often,” came his response, voice gravelly in your ear. “That time you came along for the party at the end of our summer training camp, I thought about taking you away from all those people to a place where it’d be only us two. Thought about it again a couple of weeks ago when we went out to celebrate that win, remember? I thought, what would it look like if I took you in the nearest restroom, locked it and fucked you in front of one of these mirrors? What would you look like with my hand between your legs? How would you feel like?” he questioned and, when you didn’t respond to him immediately, too caught up in the fantasy he was helping build in your mind, demanded, “tell me”. 

Your hand was caught between your thighs, fingers brushing against your panties and there was no denying how wet you were becoming. “’m wet,” you whispered, turning your head slightly more into your pillow while pressing the heel of your hand against your clothed clit, circling it over your panties. “Travis, just… Just thinking about it makes me so wet.” 

Travis hummed a small, satisfied hum and you heard him release a low exhale. “Do me a favor, doll. Bring your hand up to your mouth and wet your fingers. Make them nice and slick, okay? It’s what you were doing in your photo, no? Do it properly this time,” he instructed. 

You withdrew your hand from between your legs with difficulty and once you did, you whined at the loss of contact. But you were weak for the guidance Travis was giving you and you did as you were told. You brought your hand up to your mouth, taking your index and middle fingers in the heat of your mouth and without hesitation, your tongue swirled around them, ensuring they were as wet as you were told they should be. 

All the while, Travis continued speaking in your ear. “Think of my mouth when you touch yourself with them, doll. Think about how willing I’d be to get on my knees for you to get a taste of you. Come on, touch yourself for me,” he encouraged gently. When you removed your fingers from your mouth, you released them with a ‘pop’ sound that had Travis groaning into the phone, the noise sending another rush of heat across your body, goosebumps forming over it. “Panties to the side, doll. Just like you like it, okay?” 

You hummed in agreement and did as you were told. You lifted your top leg just enough for you to be able to push the lace aside and when you dragged your wet fingers between your folds, you shuddered, moan muffled into the pillow. With your eyes closed, it was easy to picture Travis kneeling between your spread legs, tongue flat against your core, dragging upwards and downwards in slow languid strokes. You knew your fingers couldn’t compare but the sound of his heavy breathing into the phone meshing with your own breathless, almost restrained groans helped push your fantasy further. 

“Bet you’d taste so good on my tongue, doll,” Travis whispered just as the tips of your fingers pressed against your clit, causing you to curl forward a little as a small whimper slips from your mouth. He chuckled, although it sounded strained to your ears. “Right there. That’s the spot I’ll circle back to time and time again just to hear you cry out for it. Quietly though. Remember there’s a bunch of people just outside the room. Can’t let ‘em know what we’re doing behind closed doors, okay? Seeing you so worked up, so wet… We’ll need to keep that for my eyes only, yeah?” 

You nodded, belatedly remembering he couldn’t see it so you whispered a “yes” as you circled your clit, adding pressure and removing it the moment stars began dotting your vision. “God, Travis, I wish I could…just want to feel you inside.”

“And you will,” he promised. “I’d want to be inside you too, so of course you will. I’d want to use my tongue first though. Get as much of you in my mouth as possible so that I’ll remember how you taste. You know what to do, doll. Tell me how it feels.”  

You did. Slowly, you guided your hand down to the center of your heat, pushing a finger inside you. You did so with ease yet you still sighed in relief at the warmth surrounding you. “It feels so good, Travis,” you sighed, curling your finger upward tentatively and your breath caught in your throat. “Oh god, it feels so fucking good. All because of you.”

You pushed part of your face into the pillow as you added a second finger, slipping it in with ease as a result of how wet you’d become and with every upward push, you rubbed the heel of your hand against your clit. The sensation, coupled with Travis’ heavy breathing in your ear, was heady. Knowing he was on the other end touching himself to a fantasy the two of you shared, knowing you were in his mind as much as he was in yours while doing that pushed you just that much closer to the edge. 

“Travis, I’m gonna…ah, I’m gonna come,” you muttered, words leaving your mouth in a muffled slur. “Fuck, I’m so close…”

“You’re doing so well, doll. I want to hear you when you do, okay? Don’t hold back. I need to hear you,” he emphasized.

You were nothing if not obedient at the best of times and this, well this was one of the best times you’d ever gone through. All it took was just a few more thrusts of your hand, fingers finding that right spot and pressing against it continuously while your thighs closed around your wrist for extra tightness and finally, finally you called out Travis’ name followed promptly by an unrestrained cry. Your hips bucked unconsciously against your palm, trying to ride out your orgasm as much as you could and when you slowly withdrew from your core, you brought your glistening fingers up to your mouth. You didn’t lick them clean, opting instead to suck on them so that Travis knew exactly what you were doing. He did. You could tell by the way he let a curse slip from his mouth and when you took your hand away from your mouth, you did so with a satisfied hum. 

“Good girl,” he praised, evidently straining. 

Whether it was your heightened sensitivity, his words or a mix of both, the same dull white-hot heat crawled across your already warm skin. You allowed yourself an extra moment to compose yourself before the idea struck you as soon as your limbs ceased feeling like jelly. 

“I want to ride you, Travis,” you declared pushing yourself on your knees. You shrugged out of the shirt entirely, discarding it somewhere on the side of your bed and pulled one of your pillows lower down the mattress. “Imagine that. I’d be so warm for you, still so wet and loose. Bet I could take all of you at once,” you said, pitching your voice to a more playful though undoubtedly teasing tone. You pulled your panties to the side again before lowering yourself down on the side of the pillow, straddling it. “There’d really be no better time than now for you to be inside me properly, baby.”

“Fuck,” he bit out sharply and you heard the unmistakable sound of him spitting into his hand. And well, wasn’t that a thought? 

You chuckled in response. “You’d let me fuck myself on you however I want to, right? I’ll start off slow. You already made me come once, so gotta take it nice and easy,” you told him, rolling your hips gently against the pillow between your legs. Still pretty sensitive, the friction of the cotton made you tremble when you rolled your hips against it, almost losing your balance but you managed to support yourself just in time by pressing your free palm against the headboard. “Ha… I’d feel so good around you, Travis. You know I would. And it’s all thanks to you,” you praised softly, moving your hips back and forth against the pillow. “I swear, I’ll end up thinking of how good you made me feel for days to come. I’ll think of you for nights to come.”

On the other end of the line, Travis groaned. “Only me,” he demanded and there was so much clarity in his tone that for a moment, you thought that was something he meant even outside of the heat of the moment. 

“Only you,” you confirmed and knew there would be no lie in that whatsoever. “Who else do you think would get me to fuck against a fucking pillow, Travis?” A breathless, exhausted laugh left his mouth and you leaned forward, resting your forehead against the cushioned headboard. You could feel yourself approaching that very same edge again with every roll of your hip, every brush of the soft material against your sensitive clit and you had to bite down on your lip to hold back a shaky whimper. “Wish you were here though… I’d prefer you underneath me rather than a pillow. Doubt it appreciates the roll of my hips as much as you would, don’t you think?”

“Fuck, I’d be there in an instant if I could,” he agreed, voice tight. You’d bet anything his jaw was clenched, biting back on the back of his teeth. 

One thing was for certain: occasionally, Travis made his emotions clear so easily, you could even read him over the phone. A part of you was focused on the way you ground your hips down against the pillow though you paid as close attention to the noises Travis was making; he didn’t deprive you of them. It was only as he hissed into the phone that it dawned on you just how unfair it was you couldn’t also see him. Couldn’t even think of the sort of expressions he was making solely because you knew the reality would just be so much better than what your mind could conjure through the haze of the moment. Frustrated, you rocked your hips against the pillow quicker, eyebrows furrowing a little as you whimpered at the friction. It wasn’t enough. It simply wasn’t enough. If anything, it was only adding fuel to a fire you hadn’t even managed to come close to at least dimming, if even a little bit.

“Travis, I’m close—fuck, I’m so—”

“I know, doll. Fuck, I know,” he said shakily and your name fell from his mouth gruffly, accompanied by a rough, drawn out moan that you knew would haunt you for as long as possible. 

You fell forward against the headboard, blinking slowly as you stared down at the disheveled sheets. Vaguely, you could make out a small voice at the back of your head chastising you for needing to replace them even if you’d just changed them earlier in the day. And then, clearly, a louder, more rational voice suddenly snapped you to attention as the magnitude of your actions came at you like a bullet speed train with no breaks to hold it back. You swallowed quietly, heart hammering against the cage of your ribs. The feeling of frustration cleared the heavy post-orgasm fog fairly quickly and you wanted to yell. To scream and wish there was a way to turn back time. 

This wasn’t how your evening was supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be straddling a pillow, half naked with Travis’ heavy breathing in your ear after he guided you through two orgasms. Whatever it was you felt for him should’ve remained locked off in a box at the back of your mind, guarded by the loudest warnings possible so you knew never to touch. And yet here you were, past the blaring sirens, flashing neon lights and spray painted ‘STAND BACK!’ warnings and into a corner of your mind that now had Travis’ moans and the way he spoke your name recorded second by second. 

“Fuck,” you whispered quietly, lips pressed against your forearm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Y/N, listen to me—”

“No. What the fuck? Travis, what the fuck did we—did I do?” In a flash, you scrambled off the bed but found you didn’t even know what to get started on. Ripping off the bedsheets? Reaching for the discarded shirt to cover yourself with as if that’d undone what was said and done? “Travis, you promised,” you said suddenly, vaguely recalling his words from earlier. “You said you’ll forget about it.”

On the other end of the line, you could just barely make out the sound of a roll of tissues being spun and then, a few seconds later, water being flushed. “You’re freaking out on me and you need to take a deep breath, okay?” Travis instructed.

You shook your head, to hell with whether he could see that or not. “No, no, you don’t understand—Travis, this shouldn’t have—It shouldn’t have happened.”

“Listen. Listen, Y/N,” he insisted more loudly when you were about to interrupt him. “And I will, okay? If it makes you feel better I can just… I’ll forget about it, okay? It didn’t happen if that’s what you want from me.” 

“Okay,” you said, tone neutral. You ceased your pacing but didn’t stop from casting a glare towards your bed as if it was the very thing that pushed you to do what you’d done. “Okay. That’s—yeah. Yeah, let’s forget about it,” you concluded tightly, vehemently trying to deny to yourself that the head you felt behind your eyes wasn’t the telltale sign of approaching tears and rather it was…shame. “Thanks. Uh. Look, Travis, I have to go. I have to… I have something to do.” He didn’t respond for so long that you thought the call had ended. You had to take the phone away from your ear to check the seconds were still ticking upwards and when you noticed they were, you frowned. “Travis?”

“What are your plans?” he questioned, tone neutral. 

Nothing aside from stripping my bed bare again and then taking a long, cold shower in hopes of not thinking about how you sounded like moaning in my ear, you thought. What you said instead was, “just”.

More silence. Again, you had to double check the call didn’t cut. “You meeting that friend of yours?” 

“Which one?” you asked, genuinely confused and then it dawned on you: Troy. The guy who should’ve been in Travis’ position instead. “Oh. Uh. Maybe…maybe not. It’s pretty late, so…”

“Okay. Good. Yeah, good thinking. Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe don’t send photos like that next time. To anyone. Just in case the wrong person gets them again,” he suggested and there was a certain sharpness to his tone you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It wasn’t a demand, but it sure sounded like it cocooned in a half-hearted excuse. “Can’t be too careful these days.” 

You swallowed, teeth clenching. Without thinking of it, you blinked rapidly several times and yeah, there they were. Those tears that’d threatened you only moments ago. You wished you could pour a bucket of ice over your feelings for Travis and wipe your hands clean of them instead of trying to distract yourself from them instead of searching for a convenient fuck and in turn, becoming a convenient fuck.

“I’ll pay closer attention next time, then,” you said by way of goodbye and ended the call before he could get another word in. 

Across from you, a framed photo of just you and Travis taken during the previous summer vacation was staring up at you. His arm was thrown around your shoulders, trying to reel you in just a little closer despite the look of disgust on your face while he held up a fish by its hook in his other hand, head thrown back with laughter at your reaction. In two short strides, you lowered it face down on the dresser before rushing into the adjoining bathroom. 

Regardless of how well you scrubbed your skin clean of all evidence to what you’d done, there was no soap and water that could wash away Travis’ praise and pet names. Certainly nothing that could remove the memory of how your name rolled off his tongue while at the height of his pleasure.

[jimlingss]

Moirai [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

➜ Words: 7k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

“Not bad.”   The old woman twirls her the point of her quill all over your parchment, giving check marks with the flick of her wrist while you hold in your sigh. Of course, it’s not bad. You’re probably as old as she is if you count your other life. You might be in the body of a seventeen year old, but you’re smarter than one. Probably.   “Fix your posture,” she barks a beat later without sparing a glance and your spine straightens on instinct. “It seems like you can move onto the next volume of philosophy social theory.”   “What? Uh, I mean, pardon? I thought I was finished, Lady Devon.”   “Learning is never finished. The faster you learn that, the better Queen you will make for the empire someday.” The Viscountess, the one assigned to oversee your princess training, shuts the textbook. “But we will move on next time. It’s time for your dance lessons.”   You hold in your groan.   On your sixteenth birthday, instead of being gifted diamonds or laced dresses from the best seamstress like any child of a duke would receive, you were shipped off to the royal palace.   It was the worst present ever. And you once got soap in your other life.   Ever since, you’ve been officially considered the Prince’s fiancée. Not much different from how the game was set up when the main character enters the stage. So you’ve long given up on trying to avoid this, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t happy about it.   You might be free from your parents. But unlike the Devereux estate, proving your worth only gives you more to do. None of your tutors or mentors are ever satisfied with your performance. If you show your capability, then they push you further and further to see your limits. You can’t run away or swing your sword either — the tolerance in the castle is at zero.    “Excuse me.” Lady Devon gets up from her chair and walks to the door with a grace that only fifty years in high society can bring you. “The dance tutor should be down the hall and coming shortly.”   You hum and cordially smile. “Please, take your time.”   Her wrinkled eyes pin on you until the door shuts. Only then do you breathe a big sigh, tension released in your body and your back slouching into the chair again. But you don’t waste much time getting comfortable.   Instead, you jump to your feet and rush underneath your bed.    In a spooled pile in the dusty back is a make-shift rope you tied from spare clothes. It took three nights to rip and weave together, but it was a surprisingly fun activity when you envisioned this moment — knotting the end around your balcony railing and throwing it overboard.    As strict as the castle is, that doesn’t mean you’ll give in so easily.    Even you deserve a break once in a while.   An older man in a frilly jacket enters the room. His eyes dart around before they land on you out the balcony doors, standing at the other side of the marble railing.    His jaw drops. Brows raise. “My lady—!”   Oh shit. It’s now or never. With your eyes shut tight, you jump.   Your dance instructor’s shout echoes through the palace and you peel your lids open when the impact of the landing doesn’t come. When your feet don't touch the ground. It’s then and there that you realize that you’re dangling midair, the clothing rope in your grasps.   You didn’t make it long enough!   Oh fuck! Fuck!   The cloth rope starts to slip from your grip, between your fingertips and you brace yourself. It’s just the second floor of the castle. You’ll survive if you fall, right? Right?!   Your teeth grit and your scream is soundless as you let go.   But instead of slamming into the ground, you tumble on top of something much softer yet still firm. Something that lets out a pained groan, that’s quite warm.   You bolt upwards and your eyes double as you realize that something is someone. By sheer coincidence and coincidence only, you’ve fallen on top of a dark-haired man and pinned him onto the ground.    “S-Sorry! I’m so sorry! My deepest apologies.”   You bow your head and slide off of him as he sits up while gripping the back of his head.   The two of you look at one another, eyes meeting—   The moment is interrupted by a shout. “Lady Anastasia!” The sprinting stomps crescendos in volume, coming closer and closer and you start to panic, not sure where to go, where to hide.   But then the person in front of you reaches out, grabbing a hold of your forearm.   You frown in confusion, about to shake him off until you find your fingertips becoming translucent. The palace guards slow down right where you’re sitting on the ground, yet their pupils move past you as if you were part of the stone wall.    “The Crown Princess must be this way!”   The parade of guards sprint past.   The man lets go, undoing his invisibility spell.   “You…” You fall back. “....ended up learning magic?”   The corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls. “So you do remember me.”   “O-Of course, I do.” How could you not? There’s been only two encounters with him in the past seventeen years, but even before your first meeting, you’ve already had his name imprinted in your mind. For reasons that are perhaps not positive ones. But he looks different now — different from how he was at ten.    You suppose seven years would do that to a person.    Taehyung is dressed in a white blouse, darkened trousers and a navy cape embedded with gold around his broad shoulders. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was the prince. A height that towers your own. Cheeks that are no longer plump but chiselled with his sharper jawline. Eyes that aren’t impoverished. He is less like the pitiful boy than you remember him.   You try not to stare for too long, but by the smirk on his face, you know it’s too late.   You get up and dust your blue gown off.   “Do you need a place to hide?” he asks with a small smile, catching on quick as the guards’ shouts fade. “If you are, I know just the place.”   You cross your arms and look up at him. “Lead the way then.”   Taehyung grins, brown irises lighting up and his lips tugging into a boxy smile that catches you off guard. But he swiftly turns on his heels and you’re left trailing behind him.   The castle grounds stretch across the horizon. If someone didn’t know their way, they could get lost forever and potentially starve to death. You know Taehyung’s been largely confined to the Western towers while you’ve been managed closely in the Eastern wing. It was pure coincidence that he happened to go this way and you happened to try to escape at the exact same time.   A coincidence that you left your paths and crossed, a coincidence that you landed right on top of him.   It’s definitely not a part of the original story.   You wonder if you should deviate from the storyline so much. The first time Anastasia and Taehyung are supposed to meet is weeks from now after he lures her in and tries to convince her that she needs his help to keep Prince Jungkook around.   Taehyung most certainly did not bring Anastasia to a quiet corner of the garden, far from the stone walls, a private place that’s shrouded in trees with a welcoming white bench.    “I come here often to read,” he murmurs as he gazes up at the canopy of the tree providing shade, listening to the leaves rustle. “It reminds me of someone special.”   You know that person is his mother.   Taehyung gestures to the bench and the two of you sit next to one another, looking out at the beds of pansies, orchids and marigolds.   “How have you been?” you pipe up, curiosity nibbling at your skin.   You haven’t seen him in so long. You can’t help but wonder if he’s in the same mindset as the Taehyung you know from the game — pained, lonely, blood thirsty.    But you aren’t scared of him or what he might do. You feel hurt for him.   Taehyung smiles to himself as if he knows what you’re thinking. “I’m fine. Frankly, I’m much more interested in your situation and why you would jump out a window and have the whole castle looking for you.”   You sigh, not sure where to start. Maybe the beginning.   “Actually...I’m the Crown Prince’s fiancée.” The words are muttered out of your lungs, uncomfortable on your tongue. But when you peek at Taehyung, he simply smiles, seemingly not surprised. So you inhale a breath and allow yourself to slouch. “I’m going under what they call ‘rigorous princess training’. But it’s really awful.”   He grins. “Is it?”   “They never give me a break,” you whine. “I’m supposed to go to dance class, but I know I’m going to step on their feet so what’s the point?”   As you turn your head to look at him, you realize the game animation and drawings really didn’t do him any justice. Taehyung’s shaped up to be a handsome man.   You clear your throat. “Since when did you learn magic?”   “A long time ago. It’s nothing special.” He glances at you. “Although, I never had it blown up in my face yet.”   His words tickle a memory in the back of your mind — the night at the Solar Festival.   He smiles as your eyes connect. Taehyung gazes tenderly at you as if your irises are the most interesting kaleidoscopes, like he’s searching for something deep within your soul. Your breath hitches, heart pounding within your ears and you quickly turn away, wondering what this weird tension is.   Or shit — maybe this is the beginning of the co-conspiracy that will lead you to your doom.   Instantly, you stand on your feet and grab the skirt of your gown. “It was nice seeing you again, Prince Taehyung.” You bow your head and muster a polite smile. “I should get back before I get into any more trouble. I appreciate the help you have offered me today.”   You spin around, prepared to strut off. But then your arm is held back.   Gently. By Taehyung’s grip.   You turn to look at him.    “When’s the next time I’ll be able to see you?”   You frown in bewilderment. It takes a delayed moment for an answer to come out of your throat. “Will you be going to the debutante ball?”   The corner of his mouth turns and he bows. “I will be now.”   He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles before you slip away and weave out of the gardens. For some reason you’re left with a strange feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach.   //   There’s a scolding of your lifetime waiting for you when you return and you muse that you finally found someone worse than Edith and your own mother. The tutors are even more brutal with their discipline and you know there’s only one person who can help you, one person you can escape to readily.   “My lady,” a young girl speaks up and you stop right in front of the door. “Lady Devon said you were supposed to be studying embroidery for the rest of the da—”   “Am I not allowed to visit my own fiancé?” Your timbre holds firm and you look down at the flinching girl. God, it’s just too easy to play into the villainous role that was set up for you sometimes. “And who are you to tell me what to do? I think you’ve forgotten your place!”   “My apologies!”   You scoff and your knuckles rap against the surface. There’s a muffled ‘come in’ and you throw open both doors.   Jungkook is sitting on the sofa in front of his desk with papers in hand. He looks up expressionlessly as you strut inside. “Anastasia. What brings you here?”   “I have matters to discuss, Prince Jungkook.”   “Very well.” He looks to the attendants at the doorway. “Please bring in refreshments.”   They bow their heads and within the next minute, a pot of tea with two cups and several tiered cake stands full of pastries and tarts are set down. The doors shut shortly after and you count.   One. Two. Three.    The coast is clear and you immediately flop on to the sofa across from Jungkook’s, kicking off your shoes and slumping with horrible posture into the soft furniture. Jungkook, likewise, throws down the papers in hand with a grin.   “You should’ve come sooner,” he complains. “I was getting tired of reading reports and letters from advisors.”   “Yeah, well, I was busy.”    You lurch forward to grab a sweet fruit tart and stuff your face. Jungkook might laugh while watching you, but no one gives desserts to you in this place. Not like they did in the Devereux estate either, but at least they didn’t watch closely at every single thing you chewed.   You don’t care if you can’t fit into those tight dresses.   Jungkook pierces a strawberry on top of the cake and chews in his cheek. “I heard you ran out on princess training again.”   “Hey. The last time I did that was months ago. Plus, you’re not the one to speak. You’re the lucky one here. Why do you get to do whatever you want and I can’t?! It’s so unfair!”   “That’s because two days after you came, you dueled me and won. What kind of Crown Princess wins in a sword fight over the Crown Prince?”   You burst out laughing. No one really expected you would win. They were already horrified when you held the sword. You suppose they’re just trying to get rid of those rumours and make you into a dignified, soft-spoken, honourable lady that will win over the public with her gentleness.   Yeah right. Like that’s gonna ever happen.    “You should’ve just been better. You’re the Crown Prince.”   “Yeah, yeah, yeah, and it’s because of you that I had to go under more training with the royal knights until it felt like my bones were going to fall off,” he mutters and you snort.    The two of you devour the table like children starved on sweets and once you’re full, you lay down on the sofa as if you’re a stuffed pig ready to be roasted in an oven. Jungkook smacks his lips together and eats the last strawberry.   “Are you at least ready for the debutante ball?”   “It’s just dancing.” You turn to look at him. “What’s there to prepare for?”   The ball happens every other year for the girls in the empire as a coming of age ceremony. It’s a celebration that everyone looks forward to. But for you, this year, it signifies the beginning.   “You better not step on my toes,” Jungkook warns.   You scoff. “You better not step on mine or else I’ll throw a ladybug at you.”   “That was one time!” he yells and you laugh.   You gaze at the ornate, painted ceiling of the study.    Jungkook doesn’t know that the debutante ball is the start of everything. It marks you turning eighteen. It’s where the game begins and where he’ll meet the heroine. It’s where the gears will set in motion.   You’ve long given up on trying to run away from the storyline. Perhaps it was when you came to regret being unable to prevent Taehyung’s mother’s death. Maybe it was when you turned around at the Solar Festival and decided to sit by him. But whatever the case, you decided to stay and fight, to find a way to survive instead of escaping. It still startles you when changes are made that are so different from the original game, when it deviates far out of your reach and control.   But one of the biggest changes and probably the best is your relationship with Jungkook.   Unlike Anastasia’s, you and him are not just polite on the surface. There isn’t a wide distance. You don’t yearn for him. He doesn’t disregard you. Rather, you’re friends.   And you hope that fact doesn’t change. That he never becomes an enemy.   From here on out, all the efforts you’ve put forth for the past seventeen years will finally come to fruition and show its effects.   You hope you tried hard enough.

The dress is a deep wine red.   The layered tulle skirt poofs out in the shape of a bell, spilling from your waist. You turn around in front of the mirror while picking at your translucent sleeves, noticing that the fabric sways with each of your movements. Your hair is in a half-updo with flowers, pinned up as curls drop over your left shoulder. It’s better than what Joan could’ve ever done back at the estate. But altogether, it’s a magnificent yet imposing look.   You gotta admit, in this get up, you feel like you could cackle and step on the main character’s hand with your pointed heel as she cowers in front of you. Being the villainess is the easy way.   “My lady…” the younger servant steps back with the tape measure.   You nod at her. “It’s acceptable. There’s no time to dwell either way. The Prince’s fiancée shouldn’t show up late.”   “Of course!”   The entourage of servants follow as you stride down the castle halls. The muffled violins become clearer the closer you get to the main ballroom and there at the doors, Jungkook’s already standing there with a cordial smile. He wears a navy jacket with golden buttons, trousers to pair and white gloves that matches the sash over his body with the royal emblem.   The maids bow their heads, taking their place at the sidelines and Jungkook offers you his arm which you take. The pair of you stand in front of the doors.   “You actually look decent for once,” he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth.   You scoff quietly. “I’ve always been this beautiful.”   “You always look like you’ve just rolled in mud or hay.”   “And you’re beginning to sound like Lady Devon.”   Jungkook snickers as you jab him discreetly in the ribs. At the same time, the squire finally makes his announcement — “His Royal Highness and Lady Anastasia!” — and the doors open.   Your expressions wipe over with only the corners of your mouths pulled and you enter together.   You make sure your back is straight. That your head is raised. Chin out. Steps light. Every scrutiny and detail about perfect posture is displayed right into your body language and the pair of you stop momentarily at the stairs with your plastered smiles.    Everyone watches as you both descend the stairs.   It’s quiet — some older women awed behind their feathered fans, men sipping their glasses of bubbling champagne. But their gazes are loud as Jungkook guides you to the middle of the cleared floor.   Nearly eighteen years of lessons have led up to this moment.   Jungkook kisses your knuckles and you slip into position — right hand in his, your left on his shoulder as he mimics you. The mellifluous violins in the corner start to crescendo and you follow Jungkook’s lead, stepping from side to side, back to front.   “Looks like you’re not stepping on my feet,” Jungkook murmurs as the two of you begin to take bolder steps and sweep across the ballroom floor.   “I might’ve skipped dance every chance I got but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do it.”   “Touché. Just keep smiling.”   “I am.”   “You look too concentrated.”   With his criticism, you fix the furrow of your brows and your smile tries to widen. It feels a bit stiff and psychotic, like you’re forcing yourself to pretend you’re Rose from Titanic who went with Jack to dance when in reality, this is as fun as watching paint dry. “Better?”   Jungkook grins. “Sure.”   The music continues as you dance, but while you maintain your bright expression, your eyes flicker through the thick crowd. You spot the King who sits in a grand chair at the back. He nods along with an approving expression and your parents are standing by him too. Your dad seems to be getting a comment in every other minute while your mother appears wholly satisfied.    You’re happy at least someone’s enjoying this debutante ball.   But you don’t look at them for long, not when you’re focused on searching for a girl you have yet to see in the flesh. The main character. The heroine of the game. You know she’s in the room tonight.    You know she’s watching right now.   Yet, as your eyes travel through the surroundings, instead of trying to find the girl, your mind strays for someone else — Taehyung. He said he would be here tonight. But you don’t see him…   “Anna, it’s over,” Jungkook mumbles and you snap back to attention, giving a curtsy.   The Prince bows as well and the music continues to a jovial tune. The people around start to enter the floor, dancing with their partners and from your peripheral vision, the King approaches.   He’s gotten old since the first time you met him. Each strand of his hair has turned gray, wrinkles deepened and eyes slightly protruding. Yet the man is still dignified and the righteous King of the empire with his commanding, aristocratic presence. But you wonder if he aged so quickly because of the Queen’s sudden death years ago, an event you know shook the Royal family.   “Your Majesty.” You curtsy again, pulling the edges of your dress.   Jungkook smiles. “Father.”   “Very well done job, you two.” He smiles. “I’m confident that the pair of you will lead this empire well.”   “Thank you, Your Majesty.” You smile cordially at the older man. “You’re too kind with your words. I can only hope that one day we shall live up to your legacy.”   He laughs merrily from the pit of his stomach and even though you and Jungkook both know you’re laying it on thick, there’s no harm done. “Spectacularly spoken. I’m sure you will.” The King turns to his son. “I heard you were managing the finances in the Southern provinces well.”   “I was actually going to seek council on that issue,” he exhales and in the meanwhile, you notice a few potential ladies-in-waiting looking at you. You try to ignore them, but their stares are too pointed. They’re outright gawking at you and you grit your teeth, knowing there’s no other choice.   “If you’ll excuse me.” You dip down and the King nods.    As Jungkook continues talking to the King, the both of them striding to his throne, you’re trapped in small talk.   “I believe we’ve met once before. I am Countess Ashburnum.” — “I am Lady Herington, my husband is Baron of Herington.” — “Oh my! You absolutely look beautiful in your gown.” — “I know a seamstress who makes the best lace dresses in all of Ashea!”   The conversation drones on and on with the circle of women and you make short replies while maintaining a friendly smile.   It’s only when your eyes boredly wander off do you notice a girl eating at the refreshments table.   She’s out of place. You can tell with how her eyes dart around the hordes of people and she fidgets alone, dressed in a yellow dress that looks like it’s been sewn from sunflower petals but worn at the hem as if it’s someone else’s. But as unremarkable as her presence is, her features are soft — eyes rounded, lips pouty and cheeks full.   You’re beginning to understand how someone can be described as lovely as a rose.   “If you’ll excuse me, there’s some few other people I need to meet.”   “By all means.” The ladies dip down and you nod your head, beelining through the people to the refreshments table. But it’s hard to get through with the amount of people that want to stop and greet you.   You watch the girl in the meanwhile.   You don’t blame her for appearing so awkward, like she’s not sure where to go or who to talk to or what to do. If this is who you think it is, then she’s just a baron’s adopted daughter. She hasn’t been to many social events. She hasn’t been exposed to high society. And it’ll be a world that’ll be difficult to adjust to.   You remember in the original game, Jungkook just chose her because she looked out of place and he wanted to get away from dancing with you. But considering your relationship with Jungkook isn’t sour in any aspect, a catalyst might be needed to continue the plot.   If you start the encounter, then perhaps you’ll have control over it.   “The desserts are delicious, aren’t they?” you pipe up beside her, stuffing your cheek as you look out at the crowd.   The girl is taken aback at someone initiating a conversation and her excitement is practically tangible. “Yes, they are! I like the strawberry cream one.”   “Ah. I’m more of a fan of the fruit tarts.” You turn and meet her eyes with a smile. “What’s your name?”   “My name is Lucienne, but my family calls me Lucy.”   “Your family?”   “The Helena family. My father is Baron of Liza,” she says and that’s enough to confirm it. This is her. The heroine. The main character. The one who will take your place, become the Crown Princess and be with Jungkook. And if such a thing is inevitable, then you can make her perception of you different from how it was in the original game. Just like you did with Jungkook.   “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you then.” You curtsy and she does as well after a delayed moment. “My name is Anastasia Loretta Devereux.”   Her eyes widen. “You’re the Crown Princess! Oh my goodness, I just watched you dance! It was amazing.”   You smile and this time, it's more genuine. The heroine’s personality traits are dependent on the player, but it looks like in this world, she’s pretty excitable, extroverted and innocent. If you weren’t so secretly tense, you’d muse that you might actually make a good friend tonight.    “Thank you and thank you for coming. I hope you’re enjoying the ball.”   “Yes, I am, your grace— I mean, my lady.”   “Please, you don’t need to be so formal with me in private,” you tell her even though she insists otherwise. The conversation starts to slow and you scramble for ways to continue it. How did you use to get girls to like you back in school? What the hell did you use to do again?    The answer comes a second later— “I love your dress.”   Lucy’s eyes light up and she looks down. “Really? I actually sewed it myself.”   That revelation has your eyes turning into saucers and your sociable facade falls. “What?”   “It’s not much,” she giggles. “The servants were taking down some dusty curtains back at home to replace them, but I thought it was such a waste, so I washed it and hand sewed it myself. I was afraid it would look shabby for tonight’s ball.”   “N-No, it’s amazing!” She looks like she’s straight out of a fairy tale. She is straight out of a fairy tale! Even Snow fucking White would feel outdone. “You have some real talent.”   You wonder if the girl sings to squirrels in her spare time. You wouldn’t put it past her.   She beams. “Thank you.”   The violins seem to dial down into a waltz piece and several more people enter the floor with their partners in hand. You turn to Lucy with a smile. “You should dance.”   “Oh, well, I’m not much of a dancer.” She brushes a strand of her hair loose from her bun behind her ear. “And I wouldn’t know who to dance with either…”   You hum and at the exact same time, someone with doe eyes unsuspectedly passes by. You steal the opportunity when it’s handed to you— “Jungkook!”   The Prince turns at the familiar call of his name, one without any title to it. His brow is quirked and you take Lucy’s hands, pulling her along with you as she remains stunned. This is it. This is the first meeting.   For you, it’s like you’ve dragged your best friend down the school hallway to talk to her crush. But for them, you wonder if it’s a life-changing moment. One of the ones where time seems to stop and fireworks are bursting in the air and their breaths hitch and their hearts sycroniz—….   Probably not by the confused look on their faces.   But you’ll take it!   “Prince Jungkook, meet Lucienne. She’s Baron of Liza’s daughter and she goes by Lucy.” You turn, hand gesturing out towards him. “Lucy, meet Prince Jungkook.”   “N-Nice to meet you, Your Highness.” She curtsies and you can feel her nervousness by the way her hand shakes in yours.   “Likewise.” Your fiancé turns to you with a skeptical brow raised. “Seems like you’ve made a friend tonight.”   You plaster on a big smile. “I know right.” He and you both know you don’t like to play nice and hence, don’t have friends at all. So it’s an oddity for you to bring around someone you met five minutes ago. But you don’t let Jungkook ask too many questions. “You should dance with her.”   “Pardon?”   “Why not?” You push the girl towards him and she nearly stumbles into his frame. “Ball’s are all about dancing and Lucy here’s looking for a partner and I know you have to get that practice in!”   By the narrowing of his eyes, you can tell Jungkook’s suspicions of your intentions or what could possibly be up your sleeve. You wish he was as dumb as he was seven years ago. “Anastasia.”   “Umm...I really don’t have to, Your Highness.” Lucy bows her head, placed in an awkward position and you internally apologize to her, but you gotta do what you gotta do.   “Come on,” you continue to pressure Jungkook. “You’re not going to leave her hanging, right?”   Jungkook exhales out of his nose and he looks like he’s not going to let this go so easily, but for now, he relents. He bows slightly and takes Lucy’s hand. “Will you have this dance, Lady Lucienne?”   “Yes…?”   Okay. It’s not a storybook, fairy tale moment or anything like the game, but this is as good as it’s going to get. This way, your engagement with Jungkook can smoothly end, Lucy will take your place and you’ll be able to survive in peace while supporting them like a secondary character instead of the villainess.   With your arms folded, you stand at the sidelines and watch them dance together.   It’s stiff at first, but soon, Jungkook’s murmuring something to her and she’s laughing.   They look like the picture perfect couple. Even others are nudging each other and watching the pair. A smile tugs on your features, but your observation as an audience member soon is interrupted.   “Would you like to dance, my lady?”   It’s a husky timbre, one that startles your senses and has your head whirling around.   You didn’t know you were waiting for him until he appeared, until a feeling of ease that you didn’t know existed washes over you. Taehyung has his arm extended, a tender smile on his face. His dark brunette hair is combed to the side and he’s dressed in a black jacket with a navy cape draped on his left shoulder, not any less handsome than the others in the room.   The corner of your mouth curls. “If you don’t mind me stepping on your toes.”   Your hand slides into his palm and he grasps your fingers. “I don’t.”   If Jungkook and Lucy had eyes straying then you and Taehyung have eyes turning — most don’t know who he is when he’s never shown up to any social engagements, but few do and while they’re shocked, already whispering tales of scandal, you don’t notice.   You’re far too mesmerized by him. By the fact that he’s here, that he’s looking into your eyes, guiding you along the ornate ballroom floor. The skirt of your dress sways as he twirls you carefully, the two of you synchronized to the rest of the dancing crowd.   “I didn’t think you would show up,” you murmur once you’ve landed back into his arms again.   “Were you waiting for me?”   “I decline to answer.”   The corner of Taehyung’s mouth tickles into a smile. “Well, looks like it was a good thing you skipped out on that dance lesson since you obviously didn’t need it.”   You grin, scoffing lightly. “That’s because you’re a good lead.”   “You’re a good partner,” he replies as the music diminuendos. You wonder since when the pitiful boy you knew became so sly and mischievous. Or maybe he was always this way and his mother’s passing simply made him quiet. “And of course I would come if you were here.”   Your brow lifts. “And why is that?”   Taehyung hums. “Let’s just say, I’ve been meaning to get a chance to speak to you for a long time now.”   You wonder what he means. If he’s simply planning to build rapport to conspire with you. But your relationship with the royal family and Jungkook is known to everyone as being decent. The Taehyung in the game also never went out of his way to meet Anastasia either.   It was always her. Anastasia’s choices led to her being used as his pawn.   Taehyung breaks your train of thought as he leans in close to your ear, “I’m always scared of getting you into trouble, but you can’t when everyone’s here. We can chalk it up to a coincidence that we met and danced, right?”   “That’s the bastard’s son, isn’t it?”   Your ears suddenly tune into the murmurs, words hidden behind gloved hands and feathered fans.   If people didn’t know Taehyung before, word was spreading like wildfire. “The one who was born from that maid.”   “You mean the King’s first son?”   Your head turns when there’s a heavy set of eyes placed upon your form and you realize the King is sitting on his throne, expressionless. He’s staring at Taehyung who hasn’t noticed, or maybe has and yet chose to ignore.   Taehyung’s right.    A ball like this is truly the exception. The only time you and Taehyung would ever be able to meet in public.   His eyes meet yours once more and you realize the reason Taehyung never sought you out. He never looked for you because he was afraid of what that would mean for you.   How the slander and hatred of his name would attach to yours.    The dance ends as the turmoil inside of you overboils. Your mouth parts to speak, but Jungkook approaches and interrupts. “Taehyung?”   The younger brother has his eyes wide and the older smiles. “Good evening, Your Highness.”   Jungkook laughs. “What’s with that? Actually, no, what are you doing here? You never come to these things!”   Maybe because he’s not allowed to.    You haven’t seen the half-brothers interact before. But you wonder how much Jungkook really knows about Taehyung — probably not a lot based on what you know in the original storyline.   The two brothers had to fight each other to the death in a civil war.   Jungkook came out victorious.    And knowing that future makes you feel queasy as you look at the both of them being friendly together.   “I just thought it was time to change that.”   “You should’ve appreciated not having to go for longer. These things can be so boring. You’re honestly the lucky one,” Jungkook says.   Taehyung’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Am I?”   “I wish I was in your shoes sometimes,” Jungkook sighs and turns to you. “Anna. Anna? Anastasia!” You’re startled, brought out of your trance and Jungkook grins. “I was going to ask you how the dance was.”   You loll your head to your shoulder. “Taehyung’s a better lead.”   Jungkook’s jaw drops in offence and he scoffs. “He’s probably too nice to say anything badly about you.”   You roll your eyes and glance to his side, wondering where the main character went. Lucy should be here or at least beside Jungkook. Or maybe something went wrong….   “If you’ll excuse me, Your Highnesses.”   You bow, eyes already set off on the crowd. You don’t notice Taehyung reaching out, brows lifted, expression distraught that your moment together was so short. But by then, you’re already gone.   You look around, searching for the girl in the soft yellow dress.   But instead, your arm is yanked back roughly. You spin around to meet wrinkled but stern gazes. The ones that can only belong to your parents — the Duke and Duchess of Devereux.   Even if you’re in the castle now, you’ll never be able to be free of them.   They pull you out to the hall and into a nearby private room meant for quieter conversations for the guests. The doors shut and the silence simmers tensely around you.   You muster a smile. “Mama, papa, how have you bee—?”   There’s a sharp sound that echoes throughout the empty space and you’re shaken, breath staggering when you find your head whipped to the side. Your right cheek is numb.   She just….slapped you.   You turn to her, voice shrill. “What was that for?!”    “How could you dance with that man?”   “What?”   “Did you know you could ruin your entire marriage by associating with the likes of that man? Everything you’ve worked for, Anastasia, everything that your father and I set up for you and the Devereux house could be ruined.” Her voice sends chills to your spine, quiet, deadpanned and yet full of venom. “Do you know who he is? He’s the bastard son. Do you want to get on the wrong side of the King? Or are you trying to show that you favour him as the next heir instead?”   “What?”   They’re jumping leaps and bounds, thinking ten steps too ahead.   “Do you know how much trouble that would cause?” Your father pipes up behind her, his voice low. “It could get the entire family executed for treason.”   From the corner of your eye, you see your mother’s hand raise again. But you clutch her wrist before she has the chance to slap you another time.   “Once is enough,” you spit through gritted teeth. “You don’t want people outside to know, do you?”   She yanks her hand out of your grasps. “Ingrate. If you’re not careful, everything the family has done for you will be gone in an instant. Don’t you know everyone in that room is watching your every move? You are the only heir of this household. You are the Crown Princess. The future Queen. Every decision, every choice, from what food you choose to put in your mouth to what colour you decide to wear, it affects not only yourself but everyone.”   You know. You know the burden on your shoulders better than anyone else.   But is one dance with Taehyung not even allowed?   Your mother rounds the table and sits down on the sofa. “Not to mention, you allowed another whore to dance with your fiancé. She’s just a measly baron’s daughter. There’s no royal blood in her.”   “Neither does our family have any,” you mutter.   The Duchess whirls her head around in absolute shock.   The Duke is the one who intervenes, level-headed yet stoic. “You must be the Crown Princess, Anastasia. You must keep that status and causing the King to be unhappy will do nothing to help.”   “There are other ways to stabilize our family status,” you reason with him. “I don’t understand—”   “No matter how talented you are,” he says slowly as he paces to your mother’s side, “even if you can wield a sword better than most palace knights, this is the only way.”   Your staggering breath inhales through your mouth and out your nose, frustration, torment suffocating. You want to leave this place. Leave the castle, leave the Devereux name, leave these duties burdened onto you. The scrutiny that comes along with the wealth and power.   You want none of it.   You might be Anastasia. But you’re also Y/N.   Wanting to survive and living a long and fruitful life was your goal even before this lifetime. And as selfish as it may be, you cannot fulfill that wish while maintaining your parents’.   You can’t.   You can’t fight to be the Crown Princess if you want to live. You can’t see yourself into old age if you’re executed. You can’t keep Jungkook close and Taehyung at a distance. You can’t run away, but you can’t ground yourself and stay either. Everyone! Everyone wants something from you, everyone is expecting you to play some kind of role — daughter, survivor, saviour — and you don’t know what to pick and choose. What decisions to make and how to make them.   And because of this indecisiveness, the half-hearted middle ground, you couldn’t save Taehyung’s mom.   “It’s because of your narrow mindedness that you’ve pushed yourselves to only one option.”   You turn and leave the room, slipping away before they can say another word.   If you choose happiness — the happy ending of Jungkook and Lucy with your survival and support, an ending where you will be able to stand in the background, the Devereux house will fall. If you choose to follow duty and selflessness — you will die and ruin their name anyway.   You’re not so sure why it’s so hard to make a choice. In the original game, the Duke and Duchess cut ties with you anyway. They threw Anastasia away when she needed them most.   But even with that resentment, it still hurts.   You exhale, escaping to the terrace and leaning against the stone wall to look up at the stars.   Your own words echo back to you and you wonder if you’ve narrowed yourself down to only two options. You wonder what other possible way you can have it all. If it’s even possible….   Or what fate has in store for you.

[nobodyfamousposts]

ML/DC Crossover: Mominette with Dolls

Conner was having a rough time of things.

He was a clone of Superman. Meant to be his successor and replace him if at any point he should die or be deemed unfit for his role. Though admittedly a lot of people didn’t want to think too hard on that part.

Conner admired the man. He wanted nothing more than to be like him. But for all that he tried to reach out, Superman remained a distant speck in the sky that Conner’s stupid lack of flight would never let him reach.

It was a clash of emotions he had to deal with. To be so angry with someone while at the same time wanting nothing more than their respect and attention.

And Conner tried. Really, he tried. But no matter what he did, Superman refused to acknowledge him. And as if his life wanted to shove it in his face how much of a failure he was, not only did he not meet Superman’s standards, his own physiology failed to be like his progenitor as well.

Then he found out why.

Lex Luthor was the other donor. Superman’s sworn enemy.

It was a crisis of faith. Superman was a hero but would not accept Conner. Lex Luthor at least seemed interested in Conner, but was clearly a villain and no doubt only had interest in how he could use the clone to his own ends.

Conner was...conflicted. What was he? What should he do?

It was perhaps fortunate...or maybe fate that led to an interesting discovery hidden within some previously unnoticed Cadmus files on the Kr project.

The specifics of it went over his head, but from what he understood, the gist was that the attempt to create a viable half-Kryptonian clone still wouldn’t have worked. The scientists couldn’t get Superman and Luthor’s DNA to link without causing abnormalities, so they sought a different means to unite the two.

The “means” in this case involved the use of magic to weaken the Kryptonian DNA enough to allow it to bond with the human DNA and stabilize without degrading. The magic in question came from a mysterious third donor. Another person unaware of Cadmus or the cloning project.

A female magic-based superhero from Paris by the name of “Ladybug”.

He...he had a mother.

Or at least a female genetic donor, he told himself. Given Superman’s response and Luthor’s...Luthorness, Conner was wary of getting his hopes up that this time would be different.

But...he wanted to at least meet her.

M’gann was supportive and fully willing to take him there during their downtime. She didn’t know much about human mothers, but she spoke a lot of what she observed. She also offered reassurances as best she could. That this would be different. That even if the worst happened, the Team would still be there for him.

He knew she was trying to help, but he was anxious.

What would he even say to her once they met? Much like Superman, this Ladybug was unlikely to be aware of the theft of her DNA or what it was used for. She certainly wouldn’t know about the cloning project.

Ladybug had been active in Paris for 4 years by this point dealing with an empath-based terrorist. She couldn’t be older than 20. How would she feel knowing she suddenly had a biological child who looked maybe a couple years younger than she did?

M’gann was able to notice his anxiety. Pointing out that going into this already tense would only make things more difficult, she suggested they take a break once they had reached Paris. After all, Ladybug only appeared during the “akuma attacks”, and may not have been able to meet him just yet anyway.

He agreed, though it was more out of numbness and the need for distraction than anything.

While looking around, M’gann pulled him into a bakery she noticed, exclaiming they could try some French pastries while they were waiting.

As soon as they entered, his attention was drawn to the young woman behind the counter.

Dark hair. Blue eyes. Pale. Freckles.

And a feeling...a buzzing sensation he couldn’t explain.

The woman smiled at them as they entered and M’gann started up a friendly conversation with her as they were the only ones in the shop at the time. But Conner barely heard them.

It felt strange to claim a connection to someone he had just met, but he could swear there was something about the woman...

Was she...?

His thoughts were cut off by the sensation of something grabbing his leg.

Looking down in surprise, his eyes widened at the sight of what appeared to be a...doll? A little doll wearing black, with blond hair and glowing green eyes peering up at him happily.

The woman noticed the commotion and gave a high pitched shriek, though it sounded less out of surprise and more out of concern and fear.

“Chaton! No!”

And...what sounded like a name?

M’gann was also surprised at the sight. Uncertain what the little thing was or if it was a construct, she attempted to link to it telepathically to see if it had a mind.

‘New one! Yay! Little brother!’

It had a mind...albeit simplistic. Downright childlike.

‘Welcome! Hi! Happy! Meeting you! Yay!’

M’gann gasped. Whatever it HE was, he was alive. And...was he calling Conner ‘little brother’?

Conner picked up the creature, a doll from the looks of him. The doll beamed brightly up at him. And while Conner couldn’t hear him, he somehow knew what he was saying.

‘Welcome home!’ Chaton hugged Conner’s hand, his tail wagging happily.

He felt warm.

“What is this?” He marveled, looking up to the woman at the counter who was watching him warily.

The woman who...actually had a rather strong resemblance to the superhero he was here to meet. Who looked too much like himself to be coincidence. Who Conner found himself having a strange feeling about...

“That? He’s just...a toy! Yes! A new creation from Japan! That I won in a tap-dancing contest!”

“He’s alive. A living creation with a mind!” M’gann confirmed. And Conner held the doll closer to him at that.

The woman winced.

“Please, don’t hurt him.”

The emotion in her voice and the sheer amount of concern she had for this doll made his heart ache.

If she could care this much for a living doll...would she care for him?

Chaton purred, offering comfort and encouragement. Conner felt himself emboldened by the affection. It was as if the doll (his ‘big brother’?) was giving him strength, and wanting him to succeed.

“My name is Conner.” He told her, getting her attention.

He took a breath.

“And I am your son.”

A pause.

The woman stared.

Conner waited. Patient. Hopeful.

The woman covered her face with her hands.

“TIKKI! I DID IT AGAIN!”

He blinked.

“I don’t think you had anything to do with it this time, Marinette.” Said a tiny red...floating...thing that suddenly flew out from the woman’s pocket. “The connection is there but it feels artificial. Are you a clone?”

He blinked again.

M’gann gasped. “Wait! Are you...Ladybug?”

The woman groaned.

But she didn’t tell them to leave.

She didn’t try to foist him off on anyone else.

Instead, she locked the doors to the bakery and took him and M’gann to a kitchen.

“Let’s...have some tea. I have a feeling you have a bit of a story to tell me.” She stated as she handed them both cups and a dish of pastries.

It..wasn’t quite the reception he’d either been worried or hopeful he would receive.

But he had a big brother doll clinging to him and purring up a storm in his arms. As well as a woman who was not yet a parent to him but was certainly willing to talk to him without subterfuge or manipulations and at least seemed willing to get to know him (if not just a bit exasperated by the craziness of the situation)

It was a strange first meeting.

And yet, he got the sense it was the beginning of something good.

[saladejin]

Call An Uber? | 01

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader | Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut 

Summary:  Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking. 

Warnings: Mild swearing, hysterical fan behaviour 

Word Count: 7.1k (Chapter 1 is longer than usual)

A/N: Okay, so in my next phase of finally crossposting my works to tumblr, I’m adding this massive multi-chapter fic. 

I began this slow-burner (emphasis on slow-burn) a couple of years ago, so it’s easy to see how my writing has changed and evolved throughout.

Basically, I wanted to imagine what it would be like to have one of those ‘chance encounters’ every fan has thought of at least once. Thus, this fic was born, and though it is full of coincidences and wishful thinking, I always try to work realistically to make it enjoyable (and not as foolish as the premise makes it sound).

I hope you enjoy the ride, and feel free to check out the rest on my Ao3 in the meantime while I try my best to transfer everything in an orderly fashion! <3

»»————- << masterpost | next >>　————-««  

      Reader 1st person POV

Imagine being asked to remember the most boring day of your whole existence. If you're anything like me, then it's a bit hard to recall...but for once I was certain.

Today was that day.

Or it was, until something outrageous happened. Something so unprecedented and so unbelievable that I struggle to recall it at all.

I suppose I'll give it my best shot anyway. 

A clear and uneventful morning leading straight into the annoyingly peaceful afternoon, and I had still only picked up and dropped off a measly number of people. Yes, being an Uber driver had its ups and downs, and I had been one for about a year and a half already. It paid decently enough most of the time, and the job just worked hand-in-hand with the flashy new car leaving a gaping hole in my bank account.

Despite all these alleged perks, today had been an obviously gruelling exception.

The lack of activity could be blamed on a number of scenarios, for instance a public holiday or event stirring attention somewhere else. Whatever it was, it was decreasing the number of customers in this usually bustling city of Seoul much to my dismay. I needed good cash, and I’d been working my ass off lately in order to get exactly that. Even closing myself off to social media and other forms of communication with friends helped me focus solely on working nowadays.

I need a real job… 

Then suddenly, even as cliché as it sounds, God decided to answer all of my prayers. A loud ding emitted from my phone and I almost veered off the road in sheer astonishment.

“Thank the Lord!” I pulled up quickly onto the curb and examined the Uber request, almost questioning if I had imagined the whole thing out of desperation.

The name read ‘J’. Literally just the letter, boldly sitting in the middle of my screen. I raised an eyebrow, and normally would have considered declining the request if it seemed too prank-worthy, but I needed this job. I didn’t think the person had even registered or used the service before, as there wasn’t a clear rating to be seen anywhere. Once again...I needed this job.

The pinpoint appeared nearby, and luckily it was only about a five-minute drive to reach the destination. It was located just outside a large shopping mall in central Seoul, and even though this was a seemingly quiet day, it shouldn’t have been this empty. There were of course a few groups of people and individual shoppers wandering about, in and out of the entrance looking for easy buys. Even so, I knew this place to be quite popular and to say I was astounded would be an understatement.

There must be something going on in the city somewhere. 

Making a grab for my phone about three minutes after looking around for ‘J’, I considered sending him or her a text to ask where they were. The place was basically empty, so spotting someone on the lookout for their ride shouldn’t have been too difficult.

“They mustn’t be out yet.” I clucked quietly to myself, typing out a message to indicate I had arrived.

The gentle hum of my engine was the only sound accompanying me as I waited. After another thirty seconds, I received a short reply of “there soon”. I glanced at the simple words a second time before lightly scoffing.

“Okay ‘J’, I’m in no rush.”

Still amused over the less than eloquent reply, I leant back into my comfortable leather seat and hummed to myself to pass some time. I would’ve usually had the radio going, but for now I wasn’t really in the mood for any background distractions. I liked silence when it was comfortable, and especially in a place such as this shopping mall, it was rare to come by.

The reverie was soon shattered when faint sounds of various screams erupted from somewhere in the distance, and I instantly jerked my head up with squinted eyes to observe the area. Tinted car windows revealed just enough of the area to discern an overall lack of movement.

The paved courtyard outside the mall wasn’t occupied by a single human being, which was even stranger than before. The only moving things I could eventually see where a couple of dirtied napkins being thrown around in the slight breeze, and a ripped paper cup from a popular juice bar rolling around caught in the same fate.

The frantic screaming continued. Should I be worried? The shouting wasn’t in terror or anger, that much I was sure of. I usually would pin it on some brawl breaking out nearby, but these sounds where mostly female when I listened closer. In any sense, it definitely sounded extreme.

I wondered briefly if there was some massive sale happening at a famous clothes brand down the street, causing a flurry of panic within female shoppers. The anticipation from the sounds caused me to tap my fingers on the steering wheel in curiosity.

Then it happened. An enormous group of Korean women and probably a few men, some looking fairly young, flocked around the corner of a building in an intense hurry.

Was the sale here or something??

My eyes widened in shock, as the group only seemed to be growing in numbers. Many were holding their phones out, as if recording something, and I scanned the rapidly moving crowd with anxious eyes to spot the source of the commotion.

Two well-dressed men seemed to be caught in the centre of it all. The pair that stemmed this chaotic crowd were clad from head to toe in designer clothes, including darkly coloured masks and sunglasses, not to mention the hoods covering their heads. The shorter of the two donned a lighter colour palette through a milky white button-up, while the other was dressed in a charcoal black hoodie and black ripped jeans.

They appeared to be trying to escape the bundling mass of people, as they moved quickly and swiftly ahead of the horde in their haste. I gripped the wheel in surprise. The screams where deafening and I could feel them grating my nerves. I hoped my client would not be caught in this mess. I wanted out, and I wanted out as soon as possible.

Maybe they’re famous, maybe idols?

A small excitement sparked at that thought, but I was still daunted by the scene playing out in front of me. If they were idols, I felt incredibly sorry for them. This was a clear breach of privacy and personal space, and they didn’t deserve it at all. This was the reason for hatred against K-pop fandoms all around the world.

“Who do they think they are?” I found myself muttering, eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.

Suddenly, the more brightly dressed man glanced around and pointed directly at my car, turning to his well-built friend to shout something following a flurry of gestures. I stiffened and my breath hitched when both started sprinting towards me, their fans following desperately to try and at least touch them.

Oh no.

My breathing sped up and the situation finally dawned on me. The empty mall, the shady name and blunt text response. The timing…

I unlocked all my doors and gripped the wheel harder, if that was even possible. The mass of people followed the two guys as they drew closer to my car, and I prayed to God that they didn’t leave any scratches or dents by the time I was gone. The one that acknowledged me first reached the car, and I jumped slightly when he opened the passenger door and clambered in swiftly. The other darkly dressed one threw himself in the backseat next and I jumped again when both doors slammed shut simultaneously.

“Hello!” The first guy cleared his throat from where he sat next to me and I could see he was bouncing his knee in apprehension, obviously wanting to scoot the fuck out of there, but still trying to be polite towards me. His breathing was shallow, and I could see large beads of sweat rolling down the side of his half-hidden face. I was in no mood to sit around and ponder about him.

“To hell with this!” I exclaimed with a squeak, and the second after the passenger door closed I shifted the gearstick and floored the pedal. Making sure that no people were in my way before skidding slightly around the pick-up bend. Only the sound of one singular hand slapping the boot of my car made me wince, but I was glad there was no other physical contact on my precious red Hyundai.

Only the sound of laboured breathing could be heard amongst sighs of relief as we pulled away from the mall. I looked into the rear-view mirror to see some people giving a hearty chase down the road, but most of the fans had broken away and were just waving towards my car as we rolled down the street.

Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and I could feel a small smile resting on my face at the thought of escaping something like that. What a turn of events for this tedious day! A muffled gasp caught my attention and I looked into my mirror again to see the darkly dressed guy’s eyes screwed shut as he laughed breathlessly, one hand slapping his knee. His friend was just leaning his head back against the headrest as he gulped in large breaths of oxygen through his plump lips. They had both pulled down their masks and lifted their shaded glasses to catch their breaths, but the sight caused my own eyes to widen dangerously.

Holy shit on a stick, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook are sitting in my car. What in the ever-loving…

My breathing hitched at the realisation, but I continued to drive steadily. The thing I needed to focus on most of all was getting away from the crazy population of the city. I knew internally I was freaking out a little at the thought of members of my favourite boyband sitting in my own car, but I kept it under wraps knowing they would definitely not appreciate another bout of whatever that shemozzle was before.

I guess nothing goes unnoticed when you’re that famous. Why the hell were they alone?

Jungkook stopped laughing as he looked at my wide-eyed and slightly terrified expression. He suddenly grew apologetic due to his unexplained laughing.

“Sorry, uh, just how you drove off… sorry.” His voice died down as he gradually started to regain his composure, and I watched a shy demeanour suddenly take over his form, as if he had been hit with a realisation of overstepping his bounds. Jimin just turned and glanced pointedly at him, and then back at me to search wearily for a response.

“No it’s fine, I’m just a tad shaken,” I huffed out an exasperated breath, amusement showing on my features at the maknae’s sudden behaviour change. The idol next to me cleared his throat as I turned another corner, luckily no traffic barred my way and I was easily able to fly down the main road.

“We’re very sorry for what happened back there, that was probably quite troublesome for you. We apologise for the inconvenience.”

“Seriously don’t worry. You guys definitely needed an escape from…that. I’m glad to help, honestly.” I smiled to ease any worry radiating from the two flustered boys. “J, right?”

I glanced upwards into the mirror to lock eyes with Jungkook, not missing the way Jimin tried to conceal a smirk from the younger member. “Ah, he’s not that creative with names it seems.”

The older boy’s melodic speaking voice caused my lips to part in an involuntary breath of awe. I had always loved Park Jimin’s voice, whether it be singing or speaking or doing literally anything. Jungkook’s amused exhale and gentle chuckle also made me quite soft.

“Ah, sorry about my rude message too.” He looked downwards and bowed slightly. I noticed how politely he spoke and my insides turned to jelly once again. I felt warm and fluffy from their pleasant mannerisms.

“Don’t worry guys, how could I expect an essay when you were running for your lives?”

The two boys couldn’t contain their amused smiles as they exchanged another glance, seemingly conflicted. I could tell they didn’t know quite what to do with themselves in this situation, as they surely seldom had to get rides from anyone else other than their own personal drivers. I saw Jimin’s brows crease in concentration next to me, as if he was trying to figure out how to maintain his sense of professionalism. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt anxiously.

“You guys may want to start with an explanation, if that’s alright?” I decided to help them out a small bit. If I could establish a comfortable atmosphere here, it would be much easier to converse and work out what to do.

“I notice that you put the next street over as your destination, but I’m fairly sure you’d both want to go further than that.” I made my point with a raised eyebrow and gestured to my phone sitting on the dashboard, destination showing clearly across the bottom of the screen.

Jimin clicked his tongue and leant in to read my phone more clearly. My skin tingles at his closer proximity.

“Seriously Jungkookie, any other place would’ve been better,” he eventually spoke, and although his tone was whiny with complaint, I could see the traces of a smile dancing across his features. He was obviously trying his best to remain stern.

“Ah, sorry hyung. I didn’t have all that much time in this case, did you forget?”

The cheek of this boy.

Jimin turned around and pointed at the younger boy while failing to hold back a giggle.

“Oi, show some respect you brat.”

Jungkook was snickering to himself, and I couldn’t help the smirk from tugging at my lips involuntarily. The group these guys came from always had this certain dynamic of playful teasing that won over so many fans. I included myself in that list honestly, as I always managed to have a good laugh watching their energetic interactions. It made me feel so youthful, as though an inner child would come out to play even though I was still adolescent at the age of 22.

They were fine joking around with themselves for a bit, but I could tell they were still very conscious of me and my presence in the car. They stopped chuckling and Jungkook cleared his throat noticeably in the back, silently handing over the responsibility of the situation to his elder.

“Um, sorry about that as well,” Jimin began to launch into a heartfelt apology, his bouncy blonde hair lowering with his head in a meaningful bow. I stopped him softly with a smile and made steady eye contact for a couple of seconds. His oak-brown eyes were confused, and I knew he was trying his best to deal with the situation properly. Just as his leader would.

“It’s fine, no more apologies please,” I requested warmly, easing the tension as he leant backwards in his seat to relax.

“I just want to know how you both ended up there, if you don’t mind sharing that is. Also feel free to give me somewhere to drop you both off.”

Jimin glanced over at me once more as if calculating my chances of being a threat. I made sure to keep my expression calm and clear while focusing on the empty road in front of me.

“Do you know us?” the sudden question from behind caused Jimin’s head to snap backwards, and my heartbeat to speed up incredibly. It wasn’t an accusing tone Jungkook used, but more on the curious side. Jimin still showed slight disapproval before turning his gaze back to me, a newfound curiosity also flashing across his features. It seemed he became a little shy after the topic of their fame rolled around, but I could tell he still wanted to know pretty badly.

“I’d consider myself a pretty big fan, not insane but you get what I mean,” I managed to force out, swallowing the lump in my throat at the thought of explaining my admiration for them.

They were literally sitting in my car and I never thought I would be shy, but here I was with an embarrassed blush alighting across my face. Jimin widened his eyes next to me, his mouth parting slightly in his shock. Jungkook inhaled a sharp breath before letting out another hearty chuckle.

“Wow! I never would have known.”

“Neither, I guess you must not be as emotional as many ARMY are when they see us,” Jimin smiled at the thought, and it was easy to say he didn’t mean anything bad by the comment.

“I’m just here to do my job. I’m not usually one to express my emotions that intensely, but I’ll let you both know that you’ve made my entire day.”

I saw Jimin turn his radiant smile towards me with an abashed sound falling from his lips. “Thank you, you’ve done so much for us already. Thank you for rescuing us.”

I saw him throw a questioning glance at Jungkook, who in turn squinted his doe-like eyes in confusion.

“It’s (Y/n). You can use honorifics if you want, but I don’t care much for them,” I explained softly, easing his sudden bout of guilt for not even knowing my name.

“Ah, thanks once again (Y/n)-ssi.”

Both of the boys were nervous, as they had just learned that I was a fan and were probably expecting me to flip out on them at any given moment. I knew Jungkook was shy around girls especially, but even he was kind of uncharacteristically silent in the back.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to freak out on you,” I assured them, keeping my eyes fixated on the road with a mostly amused expression. “I’m curious as to why you guys were alone with no protection out there. That usually doesn’t seem to happen.”

“No, definitely not,” Jimin sighed and I heard Jungkook hum in agreement.

“We didn’t mean to get separated from the others, we were all meant to just be shopping,” Jungkook huffed, and I could tell the young man was still shaken from his escapade from the mall. His large dark eyes were still slightly widened from the adrenaline spike.

“Yeah, everyone was together, and then we weren’t. Then the fans appeared and all we could do was run. Jungkook had to download Uber and make an account and everything on the spot. Lucky you were there because our drivers weren’t going to be around until a few more hours,” Jimin provided, his voice rough and raspy with weariness and relief. I could tell the shorter member was finally beginning to relax in the presence of the vehicle.

“Shit, I gotta call the Boss!” Jimin whipped out his phone and groaned when he discovered a couple of missed calls from his manager already.

I gave him a nod to let him know he could make the call safely. I wouldn’t record it or anything shady like that, I respected them too much and it wasn’t in my nature at all. Jimin gazed over a final time before finally deciding to place his full trust in me. I was already driving the car he was hitching a ride in, so trust honestly couldn't have mattered less when both of their lives were pretty much already cradled in my hands.

“I’d like to thank you as well (Y/n)-ssi, you really did save us back there,” Jungkook commented quietly as he leaned forward so I could hear. Neither of us wanted to interrupt Jimin as he fell into a heated discussion with his manager, or possibly Namjoon from the sounds of his replies over the phone.

“It’s okay Jungkookie, I know you guys deserve a much-needed break after all that. Sit back and enjoy the ride is all I'll say,” I said with a sigh, and finally decided to relax as well by releasing the tension in my muscles to sit more comfortably. I noticed Jungkook smirk cutely at the nickname accidently slipping out, and was just glad that he didn’t find it inappropriate.

“No, I swear she’s fine. She won’t do anything like that hyung,” Jimin’s suddenly louder response caused my smile to drop and my eyes to swivel around to the blonde boy. His temperament had grown agitated and I could see he was having difficulty trying to convince his managers and group leader. His round cheeks were blown out in exasperation, and I could clearly read the worry flitting across his expression.

“Jimin-ssi, if he wants to talk to me he can,” I offered softly so I didn’t spook him, raising my eyebrows in encouragement. We’d travelled a fair way, so pulling over was an option even though it was probably still too dangerous to linger in one place for long.

“No thanks it’s fine, I do trust you.” Jimin shook his head and I couldn’t help but smile at his kind, yet stubborn nature. These boys had no idea who I was, yet they put their faith in me and my driving ability for longer than they even needed to.

Jimin finished up with his call after another few minutes of stressed reassuring.

“Um, (Y/n)-ssi? I have an address I need to put in. If that’s okay.” He turned to me after letting out an explosive sigh, and I nodded towards the phone resting on the dashboard.

“Go ahead, distance isn't an issue.”

Jimin smiled at my response and shyly reached forward for my phone, still trying to be respectful.

“Hyung said it would be ideal if you dropped us off somewhere nearby the dorms so there’s no suspicion, but apparently all nearby areas are swarming with fans trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“Shit,” I breathed, the full realisation dawning on me. If their fans found out who I was, I wouldn’t be left alone for a while. I could imagine receiving threats and loads of unwanted attention, possibly not even being able to leave my house for a few days at the very least.

“So, you’ll have to drop us at the actual dorms then.”

“What?” I questioned in an instant. That sounded like the dumbest thing I’d ever heard.

“Isn’t that the area where most of the fans would be?”

“Well, most likely, but there's security.” Jimin ran a hand down his face as if trying to rub away the sudden bout of stress brought on, and I could fathom just how tired he was from all the rambunctious disorder.

“Why not drive you somewhere far away and get your driver to pick you up or something?”

“I did suggest that, but they just want us back as soon as possible so they can calm everyone down. I don’t mean to be rude, but they can’t exactly know or predict what you’ll do.”

That definitely made sense. Watching another car pull out of the building might also cause the fans to suspect the worst. They could even believe that I kidnapped the two band members instead of saving them. Well, that and there was absolutely no reason for their company to trust me with two of their idols that much.

“Okay, but one of you lend me a mask or something. I’m not going in there with a death wish.”

Jungkook chuckles from the back seat, and I’m slightly startled due to not hearing from the younger boy for a while.

“You’re right though, here you can use mine. I have my hoodie anyway.” A hand appeared next to me holding a familiar black mask, the faint but fragrant smell of a rare cologne wafting around me at the action. Of course, anything he’s worn would smell this expensive. Seeing how normal they can act, it’s hard to remember just how rich they actually are.

“Thanks.” I slipped on the mask and the smell was now stronger. I almost swooned.

“It’s actually not as far as I thought,” I commented when the map displayed the route to take. I knew the traffic was most likely to be more congested in this area than the city mall was before, so I decided to take a couple of back routes.

“Good plan,” Jungkook piped in with a nod and I saw the excited grin plastered on his face.

“What are you so happy about?” Jimin scoffed with a raised brow.

“I dunno, just this whole thing is so… exciting? Nothing like this has ever happened before,” Jungkook replied while trying to smother his grinning, but failing miserably.

“True, you guys would usually be living a careful life, right?��� I decided to join in. Jimin and Jungkook didn’t seem to be shy or guarded around me as much as they were, but I knew they were still keeping face amongst all the drama.

“Of course, we don’t want our precious fans to worry about us,” Jimin went on in a level tone, his hand flying up to emphasise his point. I still couldn’t get over how captivating his voice sounded in person, and how it was this close to me...

“Speaking of fans, you’re an ARMY?” Jungkook’s cheeky lilt gained my attention and caused me to look up and lock eyes with him in the rear-view mirror.

“What of it?”

I try to suppress my sharp exhale of amusement, but fail miserably as well. Kookie’s adorable expression of playful confidence, bordering on egotistical even, made the laughter bubble up.

“Well, obviously you’d have a favourite, a bias.”

The question causes me to now laugh loudly, smacking the wheel once.

“Ah, I should’ve seen this coming honestly.”

Jimin clicked his tongue at his junior band member. “As if it matters.”

His voice is also playful, and I can tell he’s just as curious as the maknae by how he looks across at me with raised eyebrows and a small knowing smirk adorning his full lips. They were both taking this as a joke, and I was not going to be any different.

“Of course it matters Jimin, this is the question that decides my fate,” I feigned offense, and watched as his smile caused his eyes to disappear in the cutest, squishiest way imaginable.

Before I could say anything else, an embarrassed blush swarmed my cheeks as I spluttered, “Oh crap, I forgot the honorific.”

“Its fine,” Jimin assured. “You mentioned you don’t care for them before, so I can live without it.”

I smirked at him and shook my head slightly. “You’re actually too nice.”

His melodious chuckle was then interrupted by the mischievous maknae in the back.

“Hey, don’t change the subject hyung. Who’s your favourite member (Y/n)?” I noticed he took instant advantage of the honorific drop, and almost slipped an amused snort.

“Well it’s not either of you, that’s for sure.”

I knew they could tell there was a certain level of sarcasm in my tone, but they still let out varying noises of defeat.

“What, no way. It must be Jin-hyung then,” Jungkook groaned and I couldn't contain a giggle. His narcissistic nature was showing, and this time I wasn’t even sure if it was a joke or not. Jimin chose to pipe in as well, obviously enjoying the mystery that was my ‘supposed Bangtan bias’.

“Nah, I reckon it’s Tae. She’s weird enough to be a perfect match for him.”

Oh my, he really went there.

Both of the boy’s breath hitched, as if they thought I was going take offense and kick them out on the curb.

“Honestly, if you think Tae’s weird then I’m a whole other level. Although I guess I can never know who you guys are behind the screen.”

Jimin visibly relaxed after hearing me take the joke, but then grew serious again after my last comment.

“We’re fairly genuine to our fans, as much as we can be,” He defended, but wasn’t insulted. Jungkook nodded in agreement from the back, still smiling from the joking around that happened before.

“Of course, that’s why you’re one of my favourite groups, but you have to admit it is kind of impossible for someone like me to make a judgement on someone I’ve never met.”

“That is true, I guess. We really do try hard for you guys. I never thought super hard about that,” Jimin looked upwards as he pondered, and I felt proud that I’d gotten more than enough glimpses of both their true natures just from this simple car ride. Though, realistically they could be phenomenal actors and I wouldn’t know any different.

“We may be one of your favourite groups, but I’m still waiting for the member~,” Jungkook started lowly from the back, his sentence breaking off into his famous high pitched giggle when he saw my deadpan expression staring him down in the mirror. Jimin joined in and I sighed in defeat.

“Okay. I don’t have one.”

There’s a small silence, but both boys explosively let out sounds of understanding.

“Ah, you’re one of those.”

I was about to question what Jimin meant, but Jungkook cut me off.

“I was just about to pin her as a Yoongi stan.”

The sudden and serious statement made me cackle, although the sound was muffled by the black fabric of the mask over my mouth.

“Oh boy, you have absolutely no idea. My best friend…” I trailed off as laughter gripped me, almost causing me to veer off the road uncontrollably.

“Jesus Christ, watch out!” Jimin breathlessly squeaked as he made a grab for the wheel to steady the moving car. I gripped the wheel harder in fear, but amusement washed over me once again.

“Hyung did your voice just-”

“Shut up.”

I couldn’t stop the amused snort, but managed to regain control. My chuckles were now borderline wheezes, and I could hear Kookie in the back sharing the same demise.

“As I was saying,” I began, but erupt once more as the memory of Jimin’s voice crack surfaced back to the front of my mind. Jungkook is in shambles, but Jimin is just sitting with his head buried in his hands next to me, shoulders shaking as he tries to avoid his inevitable embarrassment.

“Stoooop.” He drawled it out and reached behind him to smack the chortling maknae on the knee somewhat harshly. I knew he hated the fact that he just got embarrassed in front of some stranger, who had also been established as a pretty avid fan. Poor Chim.

“You forget I’ve seen videos of your many embarrassments,” I offered in between chuckles, and caught the moment his face scrunched up in an adorable cringe. A sigh of defeat fell from his lips. “Yeah, I give up.”

He still chuckled and shook his head, the tinkling sounds causing me to bring a hand up to clutch my chest dramatically. Both boys laughed cutely once again at my reaction, Jimin’s eyes disappearing as he covered his face with one small hand.

“You sure you’re not a Jimin stan, noona?” Jungkook chimes in. I raised a brow and decided to skilfully avoid the question.

“Ah, so you picked up that I’m older than you?”

Jungkook stopped, his jaw going slack at the sudden question, and I found myself face to face with his widely memed blankness instead. I almost can’t contain myself.

“Oh, yeah maybe? It kind of actually just slipped out.”

I find myself giggling at the return of his shy persona, and he smiled bashfully at the floor in response. His tongue pushed out one of his cheeks in shame.

“Yah, don’t assume such a thing,” Jimin chuckled, obviously grateful that the heat was finally off of him.

“Don’t worry, I’m the same age as Jiminie I believe,” I decided to help the poor boy out, craning my neck forward to check the next turn off for oncoming cars.

We were actually almost to the destination, and the trip had flown by way too quickly. After Jungkook made a noise of comprehension, Jimin looked around suddenly and grunted in surprise.

“Crap, I was meant to call Namjoonie back a few minutes ago.”

“What are you doing hyung?” Jungkook chided in flippant scolding, to which Jimin responded with another angered slap. He brought out his phone and dialled a number quickly, obviously not concerned that I could very well easily read and memorise it in two seconds flat.

As If I would anyway.

I fell silent as Jimin waited for the phone call to connect.

 Jungkook 3rd person POV

 Jungkook also waited, breathless at the thought of how dire the situation was to their careers as a whole. This was such a strange occurrence to the famous band members, and he thought about how normal and relaxed the car ride had actually been when compared to how awkward they thought it was going to turn out.

When Jungkook had made the Uber request originally, he and Jimin were prepared to face the worst. Anyone who had the opportunity to drive a car unsupervised with two famous idols in tow could easily turn the tables and expose them more, or maybe even do worse things…

He shook his head at the thought and silently swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He glanced over to your form sitting in the driver’s seat, stiffened slightly due to the very important call being made.

You had been nothing but kind and understanding so far, not to mention hilariously easy going. Jungkook found himself respecting you immediately. You could have freaked out and demanded autographs or photos from them at any time. You could have decided to not drop them off where they wanted and just continued to drive for eternity. You could have even taken them anywhere you wanted to, but no, you listened to them, respected their privacy and even agreed to risk your reputation to drive them into their dorms where countless fangirls could eat you alive if they found out.

You were just amazing, and Jungkook knew his hyung felt similarly. Well, considering how he defended you without question before when Namjoon probably jumped to conclusions, it was evident that Jimin trusted you too.

Jungkook was completely numb from bewilderment. Everything could have gone wrong for them in their haste to escape the mob of their excited fans, but it didn’t, and it was all thanks to you.

These types of people drive our purpose, we’re so happy to have reached you.

Although if he was honest, he wouldn't mind at all if you got all flustered and cute while gushing over him. Just a little bit.

 Reader 1st person POV

 I watched as Jimin jerked the phone away from his ear suddenly, a loud voice booming loudly through the tiny speaker to reach even my ears. Jimin’s face winced as he brought the phone back to his ear hesitantly.

“We’re so sorry for the mess Sir, but it worked out.”

I knew that he was most likely talking to his manager or director with how his language changed. He ruffled his blonde hair anxiously and continued to listen to the voice on the line, eventually digging his teeth into his bottom lip in another bout of anxiety.

“Wait, we’re almost to the dorms, she’s got a mask on and everything-” Jimin was cut off and my eyes darted in between him and the road ahead to try and figure out what was happening. His breathing sped up and I could see his own eyes meeting mine a few times worriedly.

What is going on?

We were getting close to the dorms, and I had already noticed how the housing had become wealthier the more I drove through the city. The streets were becoming beautiful and cleaner. I knew that the boys lived in most likely the richest place in the city, and this place was by far the definition of that.

One thing I also noticed is that there were a few groups of girls dotted here and there that were walking or sitting around the footpaths. Some even saw my car and started pointing and taking photos while jumping up and down.

“Well, there goes my anonymity.” I sighed and slumped further in my seat, as if to hide my face better than it was already hidden. The only sound as I drove onwards was Jimin’s occasional reply into the phone next to me. His responses were becoming less worried, but still sounded unenthusiastic.

“Yes, I understand, okay I’ll tell her,” Jimin murmured and I held my breath at the sound of the call being hung up. My curiosity was nothing short of burning, and I instantly turned to the blonde boy when he looked at me pointedly.

“Um, our manager needs you to come in with us so you can speak with him and sign some stuff.”

I look forward again and nod once in understanding. “Yeah, I knew this would most likely happen. Confidentiality, right?”

I crack a smile at the thought of actually going in and meeting the famous Bang Sihyuk, CEO and founder of Bighit Entertainment.

“Wow,” I breathed after fully wrapping my head around what was happening.

“I guess you never thought this would happen.” Jungkook chuckled from the backseat, and I scoffed in disbelief.

“Yeah it’s not every day you meet two members of Bangtan and their producer.”

The sarcasm was heavy, and the two boys grinned in amusement. Jimin leant forwards to rest his forehead on the dashboard in a weary manner. “Ah, I’m so sorry for forcing you into this mess (Y/n)-ssi.”

“What did I say about apologising? I love you guys and your music; this is the least I can do to repay you for all the happiness you have brought me.” My voice became emotional and quiet as I let out all my pent-up feelings. I didn’t know how exactly I could express my bundling thoughts into formed words, but I felt as though that might have been just enough to let them know how ecstatic I truly was that this miracle had happened to me.

“You must be an angel,” Jimin smiled at me so sweetly and genuinely that I had to rip my gaze away from him in order to prevent tearing up. I heard Jungkook sigh in awe at my words, and I looked up to see him smiling shyly at the ground before glancing forward.

“Devoted fans like you are the reason we have made it this far, (Y/n).”

Jimin turns his head and gives Jungkook a look that says 'Well that was fucking sappy' but I can’t help but smile wider and let out a tiny gleeful squeak unknowingly.

His words had caused my emotions to storm again, and I was so fortunate to hear them in person that I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I gripped the wheel tighter so I wouldn’t let go and do anything stupid. Since I had my mask on, they could only see my smile through how my eyes and cheeks bunched up, but unfortunately the mask wasn’t large enough to cover my entire face.

“Awe you’re so cute when you blush like that!” Jimin laughed loudly, reaching out to poke my reddening skin. I gasped and knocked his hand away softly with one of my own.

“Leave me alone, I can’t control it or anything.”

Jungkook was also sniggering in the back, his cheeky nature making a comeback as I shook my head to try and rid myself of the heat.

“Sorry for that noona.”  

Now he was using the word to tease me, and I fought the urge to slap him like Jimin did before. “Silly boy, I swear you’ll never make me blush again.”

“You sure about that? I’ll accept the challenge.”

“And we’re here!” I dragged out the first word to hopefully try and cut him off. I could still hear him giggling in the back, his knowing smile holding an impish quality.

The sight before me was spectacular, if that was even enough to sum it up. The area in which BTS lived was absolutely breathtaking, and I knew that this was in fact one of the, if not the richest place in all of Seoul.

The gardens were marvellously well grown and maintained, while the architecture seemed to gleam and glow in the sunlight, too perfectly constructed to be true. Modern was also an understatement, as this place seemed borderline futuristic. To describe it in one word, glorious.

“I don’t even know if someone like me should go in there,” I stammered, my voice cracking multiple times in sheer astonishment.

“Don’t be silly, how else are we gonna get in there?” Jimin joked and I snorted lightly at his change of demeanour.

“Walk, silly.” I shared a cheeky glance with the maknae behind me when Jimin gasped.

“Rude, and here I thought you were a fan?”

“I’m joking Jimin, alright how do we actually do this?” I looked around and saw a parking space out the front of the main building. Jimin gestured towards it and nodded, giving me the go to proceed.

There were no fans lurking around this place due to the security, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape any photographers if they were there. Luckily we had only a few brief, yet concerning encounters with the fans while driving in to the complex itself.

If Kookie hadn’t given me the mask I would be dead meat cooking on a spit. 

I parked the car carefully and fell back into my seat with a sigh. Jimin and Jungkook eyed me with concern clouding their features.

“We’re so-”

“Park Jimin, will you eventually heed my words?” I tilted my head and blinked rapidly at him with a smile on my face. He sees my playful, yet tired expression and shakes his head with an annoyed groan.

“I probably will never stop apologising for the trouble we’ve caused.”

I sighed again and exaggerated a pout, borderline mockery if you will. Jungkook let out a huff and a click of his tongue indicated the long-awaited comeback of his cocky attitude.

“Come on hyung, she already said it doesn’t matter.”

His tone caused Jimin to narrow his eyes towards the back accusingly, and I watched as the younger member sat back down, satisfied with the reaction.

“Thank you maknae,” I rolled my eyes and suppressed a chuckle at his scoff, catching Jimin’s amused and appreciative look. I observed around one more time before turning my gaze upwards to glance at the building next to us.

“Okay it’s now or never boys, run and don’t look back.”

            Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Chapter Seven

“good morning, kids. gentle reminder that chapter eight of the Mad Prince is up on my patreon for the $1 tier, so you don’t have to wait!”

You exit the bathroom, hair still damp, and swing around to where the prince is, his back turned to you, his telecom pressed up against his ear, entire body tense. Thinking that the uneasy conversation is just probably some political strife and you shouldn’t bother him about it, you take a moment to look over the sheer size of his bed. Sure, while his torso bit is about the same size as a rather large human male, the rest of his body does need a lot of space to stretch out and relax, which is probably why his mattress is easily the size of some of the apartments you’ve stayed in before.

“How did you let this happen?” You hear him say as you climb on to the silken sheets. The actual bed isn’t all that high, it’s about average, so you don’t struggle to get on there. “Are there any leads?”

Laying your entire body out flat against the mattress, you take a moment to stare up at the ornately decorated ceiling. Unlike your suite, gilded with glittering metals, the stone of the walls and ceiling are whorled with different deposits of minerals, grays, blues, and even dulled violets seep and curve through the surfaces. Then there are all the carvings, worn with time, but still evident enough that you can immediately pick up on the overarching pattern that converges on a single, circular centerpiece in the middle of the ceiling.

“You’re very, very lucky that she is with me right now.” The dangerous edge of the prince’s voice gives you a jolt, and you sit up. “I don’t care for excuses, Elias. I care about the results.”

“What’s going on?” You ask, and he twists around to give you a look of… relief? He holds his hand up, requesting for one moment away from your attention, and then he frowns.

“Find who did it, and leave them alive for me to deal with.” The threat in his voice is clear, and it sends icy shivers down your arms. You’ ve- you’ve never seen him like this, so enraged that he looks like he’s shaking, as though he’s only three slights away from going on a bloody rampage. His main seeing eyes narrow as whoever is on the receiving end offers up some empty reassurances, but he doesn’t respond before hanging up.

Finally, you’re under his full attention, which doesn’t make you feel any better. There’s a sick pit at the bottom of your stomach because you know something has happened, something big, but you don’t grasp what. Did they find something incriminating? Has the maid gone through your things? No, no, you don’t think you would still be standing if that was the case, though can you really be sure? Maybe, just maybe, it’s something as simple as someone reporting that you’re missing.

He lets out a long sigh, and you’re almost screaming for him to just tell you, because you’re about to crack under the pressure. Finally, he shakes his head. “Someone broke into your suite.”

Which is usually a minor thing to you, it happens all the time whenever you stayed in the seedier parts of the galaxy. But,, but definitely not now that there are things in your room which can incriminate you in something nasty. “What happened? What was stolen?”

He doesn’t answer, and you feel like puking. “I wouldn’t know, you’ll have to do a full inventory of your things.”

There’s something else, something he’s not telling you. You’re about to fucking explode, but somehow, impossibly, you manage to keep your voice calm enough to say, “Aksanos, just tell me how bad it is. Be honest.”

“Your security detail is dead.”

You sit back, mulling over his claim. One, you didn’t even realize you had a security detail, which was awfully stupid of you because of course you would, and two, you are very aware of just how much danger you are, just as the matchmaker rep had warned.

“Someone- or a group of someones, most likely political opposition to my family’s caste, broke into your suite, murdered your guards, and were most likely looking to kill you as well. Or, at the very least, take you hostage.” The way he says it, his voice almost cracks during the last sentence, you suddenly realize that you might actually mean something to him.

You take a deep breath. “What about the servant? Semele?”

He looks at you strangely, then away at the ceiling, admitting in a low, defeated voice, “Semele Leos was one of your guards.”

You think of her motherly, tender eyes, the way she smiled when you asked to be of any help to her tasks. And you think of the callousness of which your last words to her were, I don’t want to be disturbed. That was that, no thanks, no gratitude for all the effort she put into keeping your space liveable. Oh god, she wasn’t even a maid, was she? It must have been torturous to babysit someone who didn’t even bother to try to clean up after herself. But also, there’s something else, some other realization clamoring in the back of your head, something so obvious you don’t know why you hadn’t seen it before. “She wasn’t just a guard, was she?”

The prince clears his throat. “No, she wasn’t. Elias thought it would be… prudent, to keep an eye on you.”

“But you agreed.” It wasn’t an accusation, you just don’t feel like allowing him to deflect any guilt.

“I did.” At least he admits it easily enough. “There was cause for concern, in case your position on the match had been… compromised.”

“Well, it wasn’t unwarranted.” This will be the closest you’ve ever admitted to the real reason that you’re here, but you don’t elaborate, not even when the prince gives you one of his careful, questioning stares. In fact, you’re satisfied to let the room slip away into silence, if only for a minute because you need the time to quietly grieve for a life that didn’t have to die. Not for, at least, you’re quite frankly sick of how people seem to drop dead around you. Carefully, to keep the tears from your eyes, you take in a deep, cleansing breath, and let it all out. “So, what now?”

“Given the fact that the traitors seem to have had an informed advantage over your security measure, and perhaps even your movements, I believe something drastic must be done to ensure your safety. What did you tell your guard when you went crawling about in the vents?”

You feel your throat tighten. “That I was going to lie down for a rest.”

He nods as if he suspected as much. “It is quite possible your room was somehow bugged by this traitor faction. Given the fact that I don’t know which of my underling staff to trust, except perhaps for the ones that are already dead, then I’m afraid that it would be rather unwise for you to have a suite of your own.”

Well, correct, and you also don’t want to tell him that your matchmaker rep was also fully programmed in all forms of defense, making her probably be the biggest adversary to overcome. Funny coincidence on how her programming was hacked and had to be fully shut down for everyone’s safety, hm? “Um, what do you suggest, then?”

“That you stay in here with me.”

It’s a simple enough solution, but you’re still taken aback by the ease that he says it. Oh, right, just share a room, why hadn’t you thought of it? There’s an odd twinge in your chest, one that you’re a little too bit receptive to, and you have to calm the resulting nerves that seem to be steadily building up in your stomach. Yeah, just share a room.

“You’re tense,” the prince notices quickly, “was the suggestion unbecoming of me? If so, I apologize.”

“It’s probably a smart thing to do,” you say, slowly.

“And yet?”

“Well, the thing is,” you let out a breath, “I know that you mean the best when you say it, but I’m not really the best roommate. You’re not just going to get me when my hair is nice, or when I’ve had a couple of hours to wake up and get my shi- er, stuff together, you’re going to get me when I snore, or when I have to use the bathroom at some ungodly hour of the night and trip over just about everything on my way there, or how absolutely obnoxious I get when I’m tired, and just a bunch of other things that I’m sure you’re not going to be so fond of. We’re still kind of strangers.” Also, there’s only one bed. Not sure how you’re going to handle that one quite yet.

You’re not sure if the best or worst part is that he hears you, clearly running over your immediate offer of cons to the idea in his head, hair falling over his shoulder as he looks to the side while he thinks. Finally, after just a moment of reflection, he says, “I still don’t understand why you find the idea unsavory.”

“What?” You blink. “I just - I just was not really prepared to be in such a… a domestic situation so quickly. But I can be, I guess since it does seem like the best outcome. I’m just letting you know that I should come with a warning label.”

“I’m sure all individuals can agree that they come with a unique set of issues, myself included.” The prince offers you what you think is a hesitant smile, but he could just be moving his mouth weird. “You aren’t repulsive.”

“Oh, thanks.” You say, knowing that he probably doesn’t mean it the way he said it. “You aren’t repulsive, either. Just… I want to be aware of these things, alright? I mean it, too, I don’t like being kept in the dark about anything. Let me know if I’m in danger, and from where it might be coming, I’ll do a better job at keeping myself out of it if I know what’s happening.”

It doesn’t take him much more persuading to agree. “I do believe that you would be a greater asset than hindrance if your quaint atmosphere duct maneuvers have shown, but you must at least be willing to do the same for me. No more escapades without my knowledge, hm?”

“That’s fair.” You agree, reaching your hand out. When the prince doesn’t do anything, you take one of his long-fingered hands in your own and shake it firmly. “That’s the human way of coming to an agreement.”

“I see,” he says, and yes, you think he’s actually smiling now. “That’s an interesting way of showing it.”

“How do the people here do it?”

“Oh,” he waves his hand, “we don’t have any gestures or symbols beyond that of piety and respect. We hold each other to our word, or there will be bloodshed. There are traditional punishments for those who go back on their promises, usually involving plucking out a limb or two.”

“Cool.” You say, deciding never to double-cross anyone, ever, then and there. “Would love to talk more about the ceremonies involving dismemberment, but I just remembered how hungry I am. Is there anything we can do about food, or am I stuck being starved until everything gets sorted out?”

That snaps the prince out of whatever trance he had been in briefly. “Of course, allow me a moment to order something up. Please, how do the humans say it… ‘make yourself at home,’ while I do so.”

While the prince goes back to speaking on his telecom device, you’re back to laying out against the covers of his bed, staring right back up at the ceiling. And then the sick feeling quickly returns, seeping through your veins like a stab of poison, eating at your heartbeat until it rockets around your chest like an unstable core. Honestly, you’d think that you could take a close call like that in stride, you’ve done so before, but it’s a reminder of just how open you are in this unfamiliar environment. Because yes, you’ve had close calls. Sometimes ever closer than this one!

But you’ve always seen them coming.

You’ve seen the glint of metal in someone’s pocket. You’ve smelled the burning acid of lighter fluid. You’ve noticed a person’s shifting glance or a nervous lip bite, or the tense way a double-crosser might turn their eyes, looking for help. But you didn’t even have an inkling that a bullet was heading for your forehead this time. And maybe you would have heard the struggle of a trained guard outside your bedroom door, though more likely, you wouldn’t have, and you would have ended up as a corpse. The thought of being taken alive doesn’t even cross your mind, though, because at least then you have the street smarts to escape and evade capture. Death, that’s what you’re afraid of. Once your brains are splashed out on the wall, there’s no running from that.

You swallow thickly as the prince asks you what you feel like eating. Typically, you might shrug and offer a halfhearted response, but you know that something left for interpretation might get you a bowl of writhing bugs. “Remember that dinner we had when I first arrived?”

“Of course, anything else?”

“I’m good, thanks.” The brief conversation snapped you out of that depressive spiral, so you wait, not so patiently, for the prince to finish ordering your food, and then you pounce on him. “I’d like to hear more about you, please.”

“What do you wish to know?”

He had a full profile on the official matchmaker site, there was a complete list of hobbies and things he might do for enjoyment, but you didn’t know what any of it was. Now’s the time to figure it out, though, before you go insane with guilt. “What do you do for fun?”

In a couple of steps, his spindly body is back over to the foot of the bed, where you lie. “Before I answer that, humor me for a moment.”

You look up, trying to pull yourself back to the moment, to reality. “Yeah?”

“Move over to the side, just a bit, then up to the top.”

Dubiously, you do as he says, scooting your body until you are in the very corner of the mattress. “Like this?”

Without answering, he slides his entire body up onto the sheets, large abdomen able to somehow dwarf the gigantic bed itself. Yet above all else, he somehow manages to line his head and torso up to yours, almost making it seem as though the two of you are about the same size, so long as you don’t look down at the massive amount of long, thin legs, that is. Still, the gesture doesn’t escape you, and your chest begins to fill with something other than anxiety.

“During childhood, we’re expected to be able to make a show of superiority and strength, so the sport of wrestling is highly encouraged. Youths are expected to compete against each other, though the disgrace of losing isn’t carried outside the ring. Adulthood, though, brings many different expectations to those who compete. Winning against a weaker opponent brings little respect; however, managing to wrangle a much stronger opponent does plenty of honor to their status.”

“Kind of like the Galaxy Wrestling Entertainment?” You ask, though you haven’t heard of driders or drows competing.

“None of the matches are televised,” Aksanos says, “it is entirely a private matter between the families and judges. The outcomes may sometimes be publicized, though the details are not given beyond the winner and loser.”

“So no one knows if it’s a close win or not,” you clarify.

“Correct, people only know the most basic outcome.”

“That’s-” awful, you don’t say, so much pressure to put on someone, “an interesting way of doing things.”

“Perhaps,” he responds, “but that is how we have done it for generations. Though once most driders have fought each other, and really, truly wish to give a show of strength, they must wrestle the dragons of the deep.”

It takes you a minute to fully process what you’ve just heard. “I’m sorry- you’re expected to wrestle a dragon?”

“I’ve done it many times,” he says, as though that somehow puts your mind at ease. “It might be difficult, yes, but it sometimes is the only way to earn respect. Anyone who does not partake in a show of strength, wrestling or not, are seen as weak, or unworthy of their stations. I must do every little thing to earn what I can.”

You’re still stuck on the fact that he’s fought dragons that you almost don’t notice when he reaches over, tucking stray string of drying hair behind your ear.

“Do not fret,” he says, “for I am strong and have always emerged victorious.”

“Everyone’s victorious until they aren’t,” you respond dully, tucking your hand underneath your chin.

“Perhaps that is true,” he allows, “but you have naught to worry about.”

You’re tempted to argue further, but there is a brisk beeping in the direction of the door, and you dully remember that he had ordered food for you, not so long ago. Before he can even think of getting up, you do so first, reaching over to where he placed your thiamas, braced for attack. Adrenaline has yet to do your body the pleasure of dissipating, so you’re just as ready to rip someone’s face off now as you were a few minutes ago, despite the… relief of talking to the prince about his dragon wrestling escapades.

He doesn’t seem to find your tense reaction strange, if anything, he seems less worried than he was just a few minutes ago. It takes him a good minute to haul his behemoth body out of bed, but once he is on his feet, his movements are swift and graceful. The two of you exit his bedroom, the same, intricate carvings engraved into the walls, the low lamps almost flickering like candlelight. You’re struck by the thought of how this must of been what it was like for the first driders that went underground, that is, if the stories of the legend were to be true. They were only able to see very faintly, even with the dim, warm glow of fire before they were blessed by their mother goddess with the Night Sight. It’s a strange feeling, but you’re also hit with a brief memory from when you were still at the mining colonies, stringing up little fairy lights when you were younger, making a fort of light, flat stones.

The door opens when he swipes the control panel to the side, revealing two very nervous drow, pushing a tray full of food into the room. Both of them look like they would quite enjoy being anywhere but here, and though you aren’t really used to gauging the tones of their skin, yet, one seems a little paler than the usual pallet. They work on setting the small table on the side of the room, setting the table with dishes, silverware, the works, then laying out the platters in the center. You watch them operate, see their worry, their terror, and only briefly wonder what they’re so afraid of before glancing over at the prince’s face.

Oh, that’s probably why.

He’s staring them down, head tilted slightly to the side, his mouth no longer in the gentle curve of an almost-smile. The way he stands is different, too, his legs stretched out longer, his shoulders broad, and arms crossed tightly over his chest. Even though he’s significantly taller than you, he never made it seem that way, or at least, he never looked down on you with such a contemptuous gaze of bitter distaste. In fact, a shiver goes down your spine when you see him like that, even though you know you aren’t the recipient of such feelings.

One everything is settled, the drow make a move for the door, but the prince stops them with a firm, ”wait.”

They both freeze.

“Come here,” he orders, gesturing to the food. “Doesn’t it look remarkably delicious? I think that the both of you should have the honor of trying some before you leave.”

The drows don’t speak in response, only hesitantly approaching the table they had tried to leave. A part of you sees where this is going, the other part wants to fade away in the shadows. You’ve never seen the prince act so much as firm before, let alone murderous, and despite his reputation, you had begun to think that perhaps it was all hyperbole. Now, maybe you can bear witness to how it probably wasn’t.

“Go on,” the prince says, his voice condescendingly harsh, ”eat the food.”

One of them does, reaching over and pulling something off one of the platters, popping it into their mouth. The second one follows suit, taking something else, and eating it. Mouths either chew quickly or not at all, one of them picking to swallow the bite whole, probably so they could leave faster. But the prince doesn’t offer them the dignity of being dismissed, instead, he watches their reactions, the room eerily silent. If there was a clock, you might be able to time the seconds, though instead, you watch the way they both shake, hands jittering, shoulders tense, eyes either darting too fast or merely fixated at one place on the floor.

Nothing happens. And still a few minutes later, nothing more. The prince finally waves his hand in a gesture of dismissal, not even bothering to tell them that they are excused. They both catch the drift, though, bowing deeply and then rushing out of the room as quickly as they can without also running, their movements smooth and fluid. You watch them leave, still in shock from the viciousness emanating from the prince’s body posture, then suddenly remember your manners.

“Thank you!” You call after them just as the door shuts.

“You should not do that,” the prince says, voice still echoing the tone he used on his servants.

“I shouldn’t be polite?” You clarify, walking over to the table and looking over what they brought. There’s certainly plenty of stuff for you to sample, not just the things you requested.

“Politeness differs between cultures,” the prince elaborates, the tight, regal words slowly dissipating as he slips out from conqueror and back to hesitant lover. “What you see as kindness is considered a weakness here. People might try to take advantage of that.”

“Don’t mistake my kindness for stupidity.” You spear something you don’t recognize with a two-pronged fork, “I’m being nice, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

It takes him a moment to process your words, probably because he hasn’t heard that saying before. “Still, I think that you should at least consider stopping thanking the servants every time they do something for you. It will be seen as unsightly.”

“Or, the alternative,” you suggest, “your servants, so shocked at someone being nice to them, will now be more likely to do what I saw because I, a kind person, asked it of them.”

“They should do as you ask because of your station, not because you’re ‘nice.’"

“Care to make a bet?”

“This is a bet that you are going to lose.” The prince says.

You settle down on the chair and arch your eyebrows. “Did they tell you that I’m a gambler?” At the sharp, shake of his head, you wonder if the matchmakers left that part out of the report or if you failed to mention it on the form. “The thing is, I’m a good gambler because I don’t throw money in unless I know that I’m going to win. The fact that I’m willing to even mention it should warn you off.”

“What do I get if I win?” He asks, mildly bemused by your words.

“Well,” you say, “it has to be something that you want, and it has to be something I can give. And the other way around for when I win.”

“I’ll have to think the terms over. How will I know if you win?”

“If I need someone to do something, and they do it, not because they must, but because they want to.”

The prince settles in his section of the table, reaching over and grasping one of the delicacies laid out. “And how will we know which of us is victorious?”

You shrug because his end of the deal seems a lot more challenging to call. “I guess it’s more subjective, but my point still stands. If I win, I want a tour of the solar system, in person, on a spaceship. And I want to pilot it.”

He cocks his head, clearly thinking it over. “I suppose that would be acceptable. You might have to give me some time to think over what I might want from you, if that is somehow in line with the rules of this little game.”

“Usually not, but I’m fine with bending them a bit for you.” You twirl your fork around in the bowl. “Just let me know sometime, I guess.”

And then you begin eating, trying to take your mind off how you’re going to be sharing the spectacularly large bed soon enough.

[drakewalkerfantasy]

Consequences: Chapter 4 (M)

Synopsis: Two people from two different worlds, two complete strangers come together for a night of solace from their moment of anger and hurt. By consequence, they were brought together and their fates intertwined. What will happen when the reality of the one night’s actions filled with lust and anger will hit them both? What will happen with two complete strangers who seem to have nothing in common? Or do they have more in common than they thought?

Words: 2922

Authors notes: Some chapters maybe NSFW or have a mature content.

This series will be including some crossover with Mother of the Year. MoTY’s MC Katrina is Beckett’s dear sister.

Beckett x TE MC (Maeve)

Katrina Day Harrington (MoTY MC) only mentioning

**Warnings: some curse words, some d*** words, mentioning of drink drugging, implied intercourse, unplanned/unwanted pregnancy, Beckett is kind of a d*** in this chapter but no hate please, here maybe something else I may missed so please if you underage or easily triggered don’t read after the CUT**

Beckett shifted uneasily on the bed, the heavy silence hung between two friends. Swallowing hard, he watched how Zeph’s expression, usually radiating warmth and excitement, changed, his eyes darkened, and the pure fury reflected on his face. His brows furrowed, processing the information he just received and without another thought he slapped Beckett in the back of his head, making him wince in pain.

“Ouch,” he gasped, reaching for the place of impact and rubbing it, his brows furrowing in return, and he glared at his friend, ready to say something before Zeph started to speak first.

“Boy, really? Could you not, keep it in your pants? I actually liked this one, she is funny and seems a genuine person,” he huffed, standing up from the bed and pacing in front of Beckett. “What is wrong with you?”

“I…,” Becket tried to say something in his defense before being interrupted by his friend again.

“No…. no… no…. you go and undo it,” Zeph cried out, folding his arms in front of him.

“How on Earth I can undo it? Go and unsleep with her?” exploded Beckett, his breath elevated, and his eyes darkened.

“No--- But probably thinking with something else next time will help?" Zeph noted, checking Beckett with a mocking look, making him blush before frowning again.

"Here will be no next time," Beckett growled, his voice dropping on a couple of octaves.

"How do you even know that this is not your mother’s plot to set you up with someone? Did you ever thought about the possibility that your mother is behind this?” Zeph said, ignoring Beckett's comment, his eyes widened with realization. “Now, when I think about it--- Oh my God, this cannot be simply a coincidence. The same day when you bumped into her in the library, you run into her again at this party. And more than that, you are roommates. What if your mother called you on purpose to make you angry and lower your guards?”

“She... she wouldn’t,” Beckett mouthed, his blood running cold, his eyes meeting Zeph's in a sheer terror. The memories of his sister filling his mind, and the sickening feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

“Wouldn’t she? Did you forget about your sister and a one-night stand orchestrated by no one else than her own mother? The Mother you both share,” Zeph reminded, raising his brow.

“This… this is different. We knew Ledford. We knew this fucking bastard. And I… I never met this girl before moreover, I even didn’t know her name till you told me.”

“Probably this is her new plot. As if you knew the girl, you could get suspicious. Don’t you think so?”

“I… it makes sense, I suppose,” Beckett breathed out, his lips got dried, and his heart started to thunder uncontrollably. “But why?”

“Could be to make you quit studies? She never approved of you choosing the Medicine field.” Zeph shrugged, sitting on the bed and patting him on the back.

“I still don’t understand how, me sleeping with the girl, could achieve that? Not like I will run and marry her straight away or would quit studies just because I slept with her,” Beckett said in amusement.

“Boy, please say that you at least used protection,” Zeph asked cautiously.

“We… I… didn’t,” Beckett mouthed, his face turning the shade of crimson, and his palms started to sweat. He lowered his gaze, trying not to meet Zeph’s, feeling ashamed and uncomfortable to share such intimate details.

“Did you LOST your mind,” Zeph cried out, jumping up from the bed, his eyes widened, and he looked at Beckett as if seeing him for the first time.

“I was drunk… okay,” Beckett huffed, the anger from helplessness rising in him once again.

“Yep, drunk, and definitely thinking with something else, not your brain,” Zeph sighed. “Do you need a reminder of what happened with Katrina? Your mother and Guy orchestrated her sleeping with him. He was in the right place at the right time. He drugged her's drink and used the opportunity.” Zeph started to speak articulating, making Beckett swallow thickly. The memories made him sick to his stomach, but the anger he felt for this guy rising once again to the surface.

“But I… I don’t remember drinking with her,” Beckett tried to interrupt Zeph, just for him to ignore it, continuing to speak.

“Everything would be okay if she didn’t get pregnant. They got married, and she quit her studies, abandoned her friends, and moved away with him. Everything would be okay if at some point his family wouldn’t tired to sponsor his every whim, disowning his own son. That, no one expected, especially Guy and your mother. And then he showed himself in his best, as did your dear mother. She stopped all her support, and Guy--- he became even more manipulative, son of a bitch, blaming Katrina, and everyone around him, including his own daughter, in all his failures. So your sister finally got courage and divorced him.” Zeph spoke without stopping, his chest heaving matching Beckett’s. And their eyes both filled with rage from this memory.

“And now, when he became rich once again, he wants to get Lydia back just to hurt my sister. And my mother… she helps him to do this, ripping Katrina even more, setting her up. Doing her best for Katrina to lose a custody battle. Yes, this is our mother. And if she can drop so low, why I even doubt that she can hire someone to do the same to me. All that she ever cared about weren't us, but her business and money. So why now should be different?” Beckett growled, bolting up from his bed. The phone call with his mother, clear as day popped up in his mind, for the first time since yesterday.

“Good evening, mother,” Beckett said warily, taking a call.

“Why didn’t you pick up the phone?” his mother’s voice barked loudly through the device.

“Sorry, I…,” started he, interrupted by his mother’s voice.

“Did you went to see your ungrateful sister? Are you with her? I need something to tell her,” mother interrupted him, not caring what he was about to say.

“No mother, I didn’t. I’m with Zeph,” Beckett said through the gritted teeth answering to her next question. “Yes, he is still my friend,” replied Beckett listening to his mother.

“And you still planning on wasting your time and my money on this subject that isn't worth your attention.”

“Mother, no. I still plan to study Medicine and not a business,” said he, annoyed by yet another remark from his mother.

“And from my understanding, you still refuse to open at least a private practice instead of spending your time at children’s hospital? Сhoosing instead, to care for bastards the likes of your sister’s little guttersnipe,” she said spitefully.

“MOTHER,” shouted he, losing control for a split second, before taking a deep calming breath. “This is my life, and I have all the right to decide what I want. Look what you have done to Katrina? Isn’t it enough…,” exasperatedly said he, only to be shut up by his mother once again.

“Don’t you DARE to speak with me like this.”

“Yes, mother,” mumbled he, feeling how his blood started to boil, wanting nothing more than to get drunk and to forget about his family at least for once.

“Let me know when you finally decide to change your mind and abandon this waste of time. You have great potential, and you easily can earn money if you would put your brains in the right direction.”

“No, I will not change my mind,” said he, ending the phone call abruptly.

The memory faded, and without another word, Beckett marched toward the door, his expression grim, and his hands balled tightly into the fists.

“Where are you going,” Zeph called after his friend, running after him downstairs, catching up with him only on the kitchen. Frozen in place, he looked at Beckett rushing toward Maeve, abruptly stopping in front of her. His breath elevated, and his anger obvious in his features. Everything in him told Zeph that this is better not to interrupt him, at least not now, feeling pity to everyone who would cross his path.

“What are you…,” she started to speak, turning to face him, her voice dropping lower, looking at him in confusion.

“How much did she paid you?” Beckett asked quietly with barely constraint anger in his voice. His brows furrowed, and his eyes, black as night, looked at her intently.

“Who? What?” Maeve exclaimed in surprise, looking between two men in confusion.

“Did my mother paid you to sleep with me?” he growled in a low shaking voice.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she bellowed, trying to walk around Beckett, but he blocked her way not letting her escape.

“You will not leave until I get my answers,” he hissed, ignoring Zeph who tried to reason with him. Feeling worked up like this, for the first time. “How do you know me and my family?” Beckett asked, stepping closer to her but meeting silence in responding, his heart thundering, and his anger ready to explode. “Tell me, what the fuck did you slip into my drink to get me into your bed? What did my mother want from this… from us sleeping together? For you to get pregnant? So I would end up as my sister? For you to get me to quit my studies? What the fuck does SHE wants?” he screamed in despair, starting to shake from the fury overwhelming him, the air between them electrifying. His eyes burning with the intensity she never has seen before. The heavy silence hung between them before the loud sound of a slap broke it. Beckett’s hand quickly flew to the place where she hit him, rubbing his cheek in shock, looking at her with bewilderment.

“Listen to me,” Maeve growled in a low, furious voice poking him firmly in the chest. “I have no idea who are you or what stick up your ass to even think that you are SO important for someone to drug your drink. And I have no idea what happened with your sister, but IF your mother did something like this with her, she is a sick woman, and I definitely would want nothing to do with her or your family. NOTHING. And I'd rather starve to death than even thought of taking any money to sleep with you.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last night when you cum all over my dick,” Beckett hissed, the distance between them shortened, and they found themselves standing just a breath away from each other. The tension crackled between them, and their eyes dropped to each other lips simultaneously. A feeling of impending catharsis hung in the air. But before Beckett could move any closer or do anything, Maeve turned around storming out of the kitchen.

“Jerk,” she hissed loud enough for everyone to hear. The muffled sob escaped her throat, and angry tears started to run down her face when she ran upstairs toward her room. Leaving both men to stand dumbfounded behind.

“Don't you think you went too far? You see what your words have done to her. I think that my first impression of her was correct,” Zeph said guiltily, looking after Maeve. Both still hearing her sobs while she was running up the stairs toward her room, hearing the loud thud of her door shut behind.

“Do you? Really?” Beckett asked sarcastically, feeling that he made a huge mistake accusing her in all of these things. The feeling of guilt settling in him, and he sighed heavily, sitting on the high chair at the kitchen island.

“Sorry…,” said Zeph, climbing on the chair next to Beckett. “I just looked after my boy. And after everything, I know about your mother... Here were too many coincidences,” Zeph sighed heavily, turning to face Beckett. “But she was genuinely surprised and hurt by your accusations. I don’t think she even knew what you were talking about regarding your mother, sister, and all these. I can see that she is genuinely a good person, no malicious here. I just didn’t want you to go through the same as your sister.”

“I know…,” Beckett mumbled.

“You need to go and apologize to her, and then you can put all this ordeal behind you, and we all can be friends,” Zeph spoke, excitement slowly creeping back in his voice, and a smile brightens his face.

“I…. I don’t think she will even want to see me right now, not to mention talking,” Beckett said with a bleak chuckle. “I will speak with her, but later, when we both will calm down and our emotions will not run high.”

“True. You are right as usual,” Zeph laughed before jumping down from the high chair and patting Beckett on his back. “I probably need to go, or my roommates will get worried where did I disappear. And you… you go and fix this when you both will be ready. Just don’t drag it until your apologies will get a little too late.”

“Noted,” Beckett replied, walking Zeph to the door and saying goodbye before moving back to his bedroom.

Back in her room, Maeve bolted toward the bed, falling onto it, the soft sobs breaking the silence. She felt hurt and angry, her body trembling, and her thoughts were all over the place.

How dare he? He is such a jerk, how he even could accuse me of doing something like that. For sleeping with him to get pregnant? To take money for this? Drug him? If his mother is really capable to pay someone to do THAT... she is even worse than Justin’s mother. And she tried to pay me to dump him and when I refused to do that... she gave money to him so he would dump me, and he accepted them.

Her thoughts returning to the previous evening, to the events that brought her to this humiliating argument that just happened downstairs.

“Honey, don’t be like that,” Justin huffed, the smell of vodka reached her nose, and she wrinkled it with disgust.

“Leave me alone. Don’t you get it? I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear anything from you. And I don't want to have anything to do with you. We are done. The moment you agreed to take this money, we were done for good. I won't be your pretty little secret,” Maeve said, turning around to leave.

“How you don’t understand that I did this for us. Don’t be like this, kitten. We still can see each other and have fun. The only difference will be we cannot let my mother know about it or see us. We both winning. You have a great time with me, and at the same time, I have money to treat my princess,” he grinned, catching her hand in his in a firm grip, turning her to face him and trying to pull her closer.

“For US?” Maeve cried out in frustration. “And which princess exactly you are going to treat? One of those, your mommy chose for you? Or the one who has money and social status? Again mommies choice. Or probably the one my friends told me about, and I never believed them because I was a blind idiot. No... thank you. I want nothing to do with you or your family. I finally see clearly what the person you are. So let me go,” Maeve growled angrily, wrestling her hand from his grip. “I said, LET... ME... GO,” she repeated, yanking her hand from his grip, feeling the pain shooting in her hand, sure that by tomorrow, there will be a bruise. Finally, getting free, she stormed toward the exit to calm her nerves.

Her thoughts shifted, remembering how angry and upset she was. Not upset by the loss of this douchebag, but upset by not trusting her instincts. Or not believing her friends, who never trusted Justin, and not listening to her mum, who warned her against these types of guys. She should have been smarter. She should have trusted her gut that literally screamed at her every time she was near him. Instead, she ignored every single sign she seen, silencing every single instinct, and now she was furious with herself. She growled, rolling on her side, curling up and wrapping in a soft blanket. Her thoughts returning to the evening prior, remembering the moment when her body collided with Beckett’s whose exterior practically screamed, another reach boy in town. Their bodies pressed firmly against each other, and their eyes burning intently. The anger and frustration lit in her with a renewed vigor, fueled by their bickering. And when he yanked her closer to him, and their eyes met once again, all this anger flamed into a passion with an intensity she never felt before. She closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing that elevated with the rising anger. Her thoughts involuntarily returned back to the previous evening, feeling emotionally and physically exhausted by the last day’s events. Feeling confused and hurt by the words that left Beckett’s lips. After a while, her breathing calmed down, and she drifted into a deep slumber, seeing dreams she never thought she would ever see. Drifting in and out of them, the lines between the dreams and reality blurred.

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[dontdietwd]

Don’t Die, day 1

I had just changed busses, leaving the first one and taking the second on my way to work. I had to get up before the sun could even start to pale the Savannah horizon if I was to make the early morning shift to wait on breakfast tables. It was a nine-mile distance between home and the 24/7 diner close to the army airfield. But it was fine, I was used to it.

I sat at the back of the bus, as deep down into the seat as I could, a red hoodie up and covering my head. I knew I may be looking like a crackhead, but whatever. As the bus drifted away, I opened my old backpack over my lap, found a small hand mirror inside and looked at myself in it, maybe for the third or fourth time this morning. Once again what I saw made me relive the slap I’d received across the face, disgust closing on my throat as if it had just happened. My right eye was smeared with a bluish-purple bruise; small, but very visible, even though it was not swollen. Seething, I shoved the mirror back inside and zipped it closed.

I hadn’t slept that night. I just calmed down enough to get up from the floor and go to the kitchen to drink all the water I could manage to drink, pushing down the painful knot on my throat. Moving to my bedroom and locking myself in, light off, I sat on my bed, back to the headboard, knife still close to hand on the mattress, and listened, simply listened for hours. It took an eternity for the house next door to go quiet. Maybe the men had left. Or maybe they had all passed out from drinking so much.

Fuck, last night was hard. I could have used a drink or two.

Ok, who am I kidding? I could have drunk the house down and passed out and never woken up again.

The fury I felt now was for more than D and his friends. It was for more than for being harassed cowardly by a man bigger and physically stronger than me. It was for my own fucking hesitation. Weak, momentary hesitation made me not grab the knife sooner. It had given him time to get hold of me, touch me, lick me, and even after that, to hit me, the mark of his slap angrily visible on my face. I hesitated and I hated herself for that.

I wanted a drink, even now on the bus, going to work. The smell of weed I had smelt last night coming from the Dixon’s was still very much alive in my nostrils. God, I missed it bad. A joint and a glass of wine? Heaven.

People at the diner stared, my co-workers asked if I was ok, what had happened, who did this, and to dodge the questions was more work than I had energy for the morning. I would have kept the hood on if it was possible, but instead, I had to change the uniform, pull my dreadlocks back, and raised my head, refusing to look down. It was not just my colleagues or manager who gave me weird looks; the customers did, too. Mr. Smith, the inn next door’s manager who had breakfast there daily, wanted to know who the miserable soul who had hit me was. Bless him in his good heart. I thanked him for his empathy as I filled his mug with freshly brewed coffee.

Hours later, midway between breakfast and lunchtime I was almost distracted by the memories of last night, that insisted on coming back when I didn’t want them too. I heard the door open to let in a late customer, the doorbell singing delicately. Jar of coffee in hand, standing behind the counter, I froze in place as she saw Daryl stand there, looking around searchingly as if checking to see if he was at the right place.

His eyes found me in a moment. He took in my beige uniform and white apron garments, looking quickly up and down at me. I knew they looked completely out of character on me because I had blonde, long dreadlocks, which I was pretty proud of, a pierced nose, right arm closed with tattoos, and the left one nearly so, so wearing beige waitressing uniform did, in fact, look weird.

I guess Daryl saw the moment of surprise quickly disappear from my face because I controlled it fast, giving place to sheer coldness and despite. Lowering his head, Daryl walked in my direction, hunched, finding an empty seat by the counter, all the while being followed by my eyes. Silently, he looked up at me again and then down to the counter one more time, as if he couldn’t meet my eyes for too long.

I took a moment to realize I probably should move. I thought of asking Rosa to wait on him, but she was taking plates from the kitchen counter now and making her way to serve some customers. Swallowing a sudden lump on my throat, I breathed in deeply and took the few steps that separated me from Daryl across the counter. I just stood there looking at him, who was still looking down. He was wearing a black Megadeth t-shirt and I hated it because I kinda liked Megadeth. I sighed to get my annoyance under control and took a clean mug from under the counter, placed it roughly there, startling him and making him lookup. His eyes seemed even more clear blue now than by the distance that I was used to seeing them, and I could also see bags under them. It looked like he also hadn’t slept last night. I filled the mug with coffee, eyes still on him.

“Gonna eat?” I asked coldly.

“Eggs,” he mumbled.

Raising my left eyebrow, as I used to do unconsciously, I walked away from him without another word. There was work to do, after all. I placed his order, deciding he was going to have them scrambled, no matter what kind of eggs he had meant. I moved around the diner, waiting on tables, refilling mugs, but I couldn’t stop looking at Daryl every minute or so. He had never shown up there before, I had no idea how he knew where I worked – obviously, it couldn’t be just a coincidence. Why would Dixon come have breakfast ten miles away from his house? The fact that he did so after what happened last night made me wonder. When I reached him again to refill his coffee he was already eating, Rosa must have served him. This time though, Daryl stared up at me.

“What?” I barked annoyed but kept my voice down.

“D’s an asshole.”

“No kiddin’.”

“He hurt ya.”

It was not a question. He looked pointedly at my bruise, ignored fork falling from his hand to the plate with a clatter.

“Yeah,” I rose my chin even more. “And I hurt him back. Your point?”

“Knife might not be enough next time,” he muttered looking down to his plate again and picking up his fork before completing his sentence. “Big guy.”

“I can also bite,” I placed the coffee mug on the counter before resting both her hands on it right in front of him, leaning a little to look at him. “The fuck do you want, Daryl?” I hissed and he looked up. There was a second of surprise in his eyes at the sound of his name. “I can take care of myself,” I continued. “Met worse than D”.

I moved away again, picking up the jar before he could say anything else. On my way towards the tables, I asked Rosa to wait on the band t-shirt guy at the end of the counter for me. Rosa didn’t ask why, just nodded and moved on.

I tried to breathe normally and feel relieved I would not have to speak to Daryl again, but I didn’t. His very presence annoyed me, like a big reminder of what had happened last night – a big, blue-eyed reminder, I hated that the looked that good. I knew Daryl wasn’t the worst of those men; he never did anything wrong to me, but he's trying to talk to me after having been assaulted by his friend last night made me angry almost to the limit. My hands were a bit shaky and even that made me angrier.

He left money on the counter and left the diner without another word, not even five minutes later. For some strange reason, it didn’t make things better, on the contrary. I had no idea what good this visit had been for, other than to let me know that the Dixons knew where I worked. The next hour dragged by, the diner emptying little by little until it was possible for the waitresses to take a break. Rosa went first, leaving me alone for twenty minutes to clean up all the tables and sweep the floor. The movement of using the broom surprised me with a slight pain in my arm muscle, right above her elbow. I looked down at it and found a different color on my tattooed hummingbird, some purple where it should be only green. Rosa returned just then, catching me as I had her eyes closed, controlling my breath to keep from having an angry fit.

“You should go to the police,” I heard Rosa say in a heavily accented worried voice, just as I felt her hand on my shoulder. “Ask for help.”

“Don’t worry about me, Rosa,” I tried to smile at the sympathy. “I fought back. I always fight back.”

“But he looks very strong,” she continued, worried stamped on her dark eyes

“He..?”

“The man in the t-shirt,” Rosa explained pointing to where Daryl had sat before.

“Oh no,” I understood and smiled. “It wasn’t this guy. It was someone else.”

“Oh, ok”, Rosa nodded. “But be careful, comprende?”

“I can take care of myself, Rosa. But thanks anyway. I’ll be fine”.

“Good. Now go, go have a break”, she motioned me, taking the broom off my hand in the process.

Thanking her, I did as dear Rosa said, yanking off the apron from my waist before finding my backpack in a locker under the counter and taking out a pack of cigarettes from inside. I headed out quickly; those break minutes being very necessary to calm me. Leaving through the back door, I walked towards the street across the parking lot as I lit up a cigarette, a plastic cup of coffee held in the other hand. I reached the small fenced area where a dumpster was hidden and leaned on it, inhaling deeply and closing my eyes for a moment.

“Can I get one?” I heard from somewhere to my left.

Daryl was leaning in the same position as I was, on the other end of the brown fence, one knee bent with his foot resting on the wood. I stared, the cigarette between slightly parted lips, eyes narrowed as the smoke reached them.

“The fuck you doin’ here?”, the cigarette almost fell.

Daryl straightened up and took a short step in my direction, but still kept his distance, looking pointedly at the pack of cigarettes in my hand, still asking for one. I rolled my eyes and threw it at him.

“Lighter’s inside.”

He caught it in the air and stayed where he was, taking his time to take one out, light it up and replace the lighter inside. I still stared at him, carefully watching him inhale deeply, lips closing around the yellow filter, a small pout as he blew the smoke upwards. He looked at me then, catching me staring, but I didn’t mind, eyes still locked on him, a frown clear on my forehead. Daryl took a tentative step towards me, reaching out to carefully give the pack back.

“Not gonna pull the knife on you, Daryl,” I finally spoke out of my shock, as I took it and looked down at my feet and kept on smoking.

He huffed out a quick laugh. “Jus’ being careful.”

“What you want?” I asked, going straight to the point.

“D’s mad,” he delivered as if it explained his presence

“Boo-hoo”.

“Kept talkin’ ‘bout how he’s gonna get back at ya”.

“Not afraid of him.”

“Ya should be.”

“And why’s that?”

He raised his voice a little. “You know why,” he stated, getting visibly annoyed.

“Yeah, I hurt his fuckin’ masculinity,” my voice sounded louder as I looked up back at Daryl. “And I’ll hurt it more if he comes near me. I told ya I can take care of myself.”

“Ya can’t if he ain’t alone,” his voice chanted very clearly in my ears.

I could tell he was getting pissed. “Oh, he ain’t gonna be alone?” Merle gonna help him? Or you?”

“Not us,” he mumbled. “We ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

“Funny, Daryl, how in all the years we’ve been neighbors, you’ve never spoken to me until today.” I paused to take a puff, my back no longer against the fence as I turned to him. “Ya know how long I lived there? Eighteen fuckin’ years. Was a freakin’ kid, and so were you. Tried to talk to you at first, remember that? Only time you talked to me was to say fuck off. Now ya wanna talk? Alert me? What is it?”

“Look, I ain’t never done anything to you,” he flicked the butt of the cigarette away. It fell on the curb, the still lit ember flying around. “Or Merle. We don’t need all this hate.”

“So Merle never did nothing to me?” I inquired indignantly. “You really think that?”

“What, did he?” Daryl challenged.

“You think to humiliate me, scaring the fuck outta me with the things he says, the gestures he makes is nothing? He fuckin’ threatens me every time he sees me. That’s nothin’?”

“Ain’t never touched you,” he said still pissed but a little less forcefully

I also lowered her voice. “It’s a matter of time.”

“Merle ain’t no rapist.” He took one step closer.

“Speaks and acts like one.” I flicked the cigarette away as well and drained the cup of coffee that was still in my hand, grimacing because it had gone cold. “And you, I don’t know why you’re talkin’ to me now. You hear what he and all those fuckers you have around all the time say and you see them do all kinds’a things and all you do is just sit there, doin’ nothin’.”

“Ya know what? Forget it!” Daryl barked angrily, stepping away from me. “Trying to warn ya and ya keep bitchin’ at me,” he turned to go away. “Fuck you.”

I closed her eyes and took a deep breath, my heart was pounding. As I reopened them I watched him walk away for a moment, his steps denouncing just how angry he was.

“Hey!” I called aloud and he stopped and turned, already far away. “When?”

“Tonight,” he yelled back.

“I’ll be ready for him.”

 * * *

 I’d been going to an adult education program in a community center of Savannah for about a semester now. I’d dropped out before high school and this was a decision I couldn’t regret more. Now I was a thirty-two-year-old adult education student, a waitress at a cheap diner, living in one of the poorest and most dangerous neighborhoods in the city, with no perspectives of getting out of there.

And craving for a glass of wine. Or a bottle.

I lit yet another cigarette – this habit I didn’t even try to quit – taking a deep puff and closing my eyes for a moment. I’d been in this position for almost two hours, standing at my bedroom window, looking out, hidden by the shade. The window allowed me to look out at the front yard, the unkempt yellowish grass, and old, rusty barbecue grill abandoned there for a long time. The family across the street was fighting again, unrecognizable yelled words filling the otherwise silent, deserted street.

The only light in the house was in the living room, the TV also on, soundless. There was a talent show tonight. Bobbi-Jo was out again, of course. My roommate – I refused to call her anything other than that – was out more often than not. It was better this way, being alone at home tonight because I knew something bad was about to happen. D was coming, I was sure of that. I did question myself as to why I believed what Daryl said that morning, but the fact was that I just did. Merle’s voice could be heard from inside the house next door, speaking loudly as he usually did, although he didn’t have friends over tonight.

That was weird; it was Saturday. He always had people over on the weekends.

I had been watching the right side of the street attentively, guessing that if someone came, he’d come from the Dixon’s house direction, but a movement by the left side caught my attention. Two figures approached and I thought they’d come from the empty field there was at the end of the street. They lurked in the shadows until the street light let me see their faces. I took a moment to recognize them, and I was glad to see it wasn’t Merle or Daryl. I tried to remember the name of the second men who were walking with D, was it Owen, or Morty?

There was no chill in my spine this time. I was ready.

The two men approached my front steps and tried the door, finding it locked. Nobody in this neighborhood left their door unlocked, especially at night. I put her cigarette down in the ashtray that sat at the window frame and withdrew from it slowly, heading to the door that led to the living room. Standing there, I could see their shadows going around the house, moving to the kitchen door. With another couple of steps, I was by the kitchen counter that separated it from the living room, and paused there, taking a deep breath. I felt calm and prepared, but my goddamn heart insisted on beating fast.

The door clicked open after a moment and was pushed in with a careful, slow shove. I heard it creak but nobody came through it for a moment. D took his time in appearing, only his head first, taking in the space in front of him. He saw me then, standing right there on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. His eyes hardened instantly, a creepy disparity with the smile bloomed in his lips.

“What are you doing here?”, I asked breaking the silence, chin raised.

“Well, well, well”, the man drawled, taking a step into the kitchen; Behind him, the second men followed close, also looking around, “Not so brave now, are ya?”

“You should leave,” I affirmed, eyeing Owen – or Morty, as he took careful, slow steps into the living room, while D stood where he was.

“Yeah, not gonna happen, sugar,” D licked his teeth.

“Don’t think ya understand,” I dared to smirk. “Ya should go…For your sake.”

They laughed, both men exchanging amused, yet still hardened looks.

“Say please, sweetass,” the second man said from now almost behind me. “Always wanted to know what ya’d sounded like beggin’ me.”

“This is because of last night, ain’t it?”, I asked looking over her shoulder at him and them back at D. He had taken a couple more steps towards me. “Thought you said you were only kiddin’. No big deal, huh?”

Behind her, the man snorted just as D jawed “Well, ya see… Thing is, Samantha, I ain’t actually foolin’ around. Not kiddin’ at all.”

“Yeah, thought so. So what, you couldn’t get me then, so had to bring by a friend as a backup, ‘cause ya didn’t think you could do that by yourself?”

“Can take ya easy on ma own, girl,” D opened his arms and shrugged, “but I ain’t no stingy guy, ya know?” He stepped towards me one more time, now closer. Just close enough. “Got no problems sharin’ stuff with ma boys.”

“I ain’t no stuff, D”, my voice was still collected even as my eyes traveled around the room to take in Morty – or Owen and D again.

Don’t hesitate…

“And just so ya know…” with a whisper, I took a slow, deliberate step towards D. “My name’s not Samantha.”

With a sudden intake of breath, I raised her right arm, the heel of my hand connecting upwards with his nose. He cried out, hands flying to cover his face. As much as I wanted to see him bleed for the second time in twenty-four hours, I had no time. The man behind grabbed me, arms circling my shoulders from behind, holding me strongly.

“Chill out, angry bird!” he growled in my ear, taking the opportunity to bury his face in my neck. I almost puked; he stank.

“Fuckin’ bitch!”, D cried yet again, hands dropping allowing me to see blood oozing from his broken nose, even as I struggled against the arms around my torso. He licked the nose blood out of his stubble and then smirked dangerously. “Told ya, ya cunt, ain’t gonna mind taming ya.”

His smile dropped, though, and I saw the surprise in his widening eyes when he saw me reach for my waistband.

“Owen, look out!” D yelled.

Oh, so it’s Owen.

Owen couldn’t react fast enough. I knew he was distracted by grinding his hips against my ass, grunting, arms keeping me in place. I raised her arm, fueled by disgust, and lowered it strongly behind me.

He screamed and let go.

I didn’t know where I hit him, but I heard his heavyweight hit the floor, his movement making the knife slide out of him and remain in my hand. D lunged for me and I raised the knife hand again, but he was faster than I had expected. With the force of his weight, he pushed me to the ground, falling in top of me and holding my arms down against the floor. I struggled and I might have screamed without even noticing it, but he was nearly twice my size. As I fought him, he laughed, drops of spit and blood falling from his open mouth to my cheek.

I was probably going to vomit after it all was over.

D used his knee to press my right forearm on the ground. It hurt badly and I couldn’t move for a painful moment, I thought my bone might break. He took the knife I was still gripping and pressed it to my throat.

“Now how does it feel, huh?” he roared and a shower of spit fell down on her. “How does the other side of the knife feel?”

“You’re a coward, ya know that?” I enraged up at him. “And fuckin’ pathetic, ‘cause ya can’t get a girl to want to fuck you!”

“Funnier that way.” D replied and licked his blood again. D was sitting on my stomach, just under my breasts, and he left my left arm free.

Damn males, always underestimating women. My free arm reached down for a second knife, hidden inside my boot. My fingers brushed over the handle for a moment before they closed firmly around it. I felt the coldness of the blade slide over my skin, leaving a burning sensation behind as I cut myself pulling it out.

There was no more thought then. I didn’t aim, I didn’t plan, I didn’t even breathe. In a second, the knife was stuck in the side of his neck, blood oozing out, rolling down his neck and shoulders, raining down onto my face. I may have screamed but I’m not even sure, because I was looking up at D still on top of me, his eyes wide in despair, mouth opened in a silent, desperate scream. I pushed him away from me with all the force I could at the moment and he fell to the side, unmoving.

I sat up, unable to think of anything other than the layer of blood and spit on her face.

Behind me, I faintly heard Owen shout “You fuckin’ whore!”, but just barely over the sound of my own heart pumping on my ears. I looked back over my shoulder and saw him getting up from the floor, cradling his hurt thigh. He was behind me and holding the knife D dropped. “You killed him, bitch!”

I had no time to react and I knew it. In that split second, all I thought was fuck, looking up at his red, ire filled eyes, but something hit him on the shoulder and he screamed again, the knife falling from his hand to the blood washed floor faster than his own body.

I whirled my head around looking for the source of whatever it was that had happened, and there was Daryl walking into the room, some sort of medieval-looking weapon raised and aimed at Owen, who was now crawling backward until his back hit the couch, right-hand cradling left shoulder, screaming in a very unflattering way.

“Shut up!” Daryl barked approaching and looking down at his pathetic form. “Another word and the next is through your eye”.

Astonished, I saw another form entering the room as well and moved my eyes from Daryl to see Merle also moving in. The man leaned down to get the knife on the floor and away from Owen’s reach. He stood by my side and handed it back to me, the blade coated in thick, dripping blood.

“Think this is yours,” he said calmly.

I looked up at him from where I was still sitting on the floor, legs straight in front of me, mouth agape. Soundless, I took it from Merle’s hand and looked around to my other side. And saw D’s lifeless body.

I had just killed a man.

 * * *

 Owen was silent and breathing hard, back still to the couch, a hand on his shoulder, the other on his thigh, both pressuring his deep, painful wounds. His eyes were red and trained on D’s body. He was dead, blood pooling around him, lifeless, opened eyes staring up at the ceiling. I was sitting on the other couch, hands resting on my knees, unable to tear my eyes off his inert form.

“Bobbi-Jo’s gonna kill me,” I mumbled to myself and I’m not even sure why because Bobbi-Jo’s reaction was the least of my concerns now and started patting my jeans pockets looking for a pack of cigarettes. I found it in my back pocket, all creased, and took one out. It was nearly broken in half, but I didn’t mind. Placing it between my lips, my fingers trembled a little before I started patting myself again looking for the lighter.

Daryl approached, lighting his own and offering light mine too, without a word. I looked up at him for a moment before leaning in to light it. After I had taken the first puff, Daryl handed me a piece of cloth. “For your face”, he grumbled as I took it, once again looking up at him questioningly. When I did nothing except for holding it, he made a swiping gesture over his own face.

“What are we gonna do?” Merle’s hoarse voice came from the kitchen, pulling me out of a daze. “Can’t call the cops.”

“It was self-defense,” Daryl answered and Merle laughed.

“I don’t want no fuckin’ cops pokin’ around. You used the fuckin’ crossbow as a fuckin’ weapon. Wanna go to jail, too?”

They discussed it heatedly but in low voices. Everything else was silent. The house, the street, the neighbors. It was unnerving. I looked from D to the cloth Daryl handed me and stared at it for a second before bringing it up to scrub my face. It was cool, Daryl must have wet it in the kitchen sink, and it made me snap back to reality.

“What about him?” I asked looking at Owen and the Dixons went quiet. I took another puff. “They broke in and attacked me. I was jus’ defended myself. Ya heard me scream, came to help. You didn’t kill anyone, I did.”

“Should’ve killed him, too,” Merle raised his voice and walked from the kitchen around the counter, stepped over D’s body and crouched in front of Owen. The man’s eyes widened impossibly and he flinched. “Smart, brave guy, huh, O?” Merle spoke slowly. “While we’re at it, why don’t ya tell me where the fuck you hid my dope, huh?”

I didn’t want to hear a fucking word of it. I got up and went to the kitchen where Daryl was standing looking at the two men. “I don’t fuckin’ believe your brother”, I told him. “A fuckin’ crime scene and he wants to know about his meth.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna miss him,” Daryl said. “Fuckin’ junkie, no family.”

“You’re talkin’ about D now, right?” I asked filling a glass of water from the sink, cigarette between two fingers. Daryl snorted rudely as I drank it quickly. “Rapists, both of ‘em,” I completed. “I just wish I’d done more to him before. Shoud’ve cut off his sorry excuse of a dick.”

“I say we get rid of the body. Nobody gonna look for him.” Merle suggested.

“What about him?” I asked again, my chin pointing at Owen, surely considering dumping D’s body an excellent option.

Merle got up and kept looking down at Owen. “Owen ain’t gonna say a word, is he? He’s good to go on girls and to steal from passed out friends, ain’t ya, O? Give ’im someone bigger, he’ll shit his pants. Ya owe me, O, gonna forget that?”

On the floor and looking up, wide-eyed, he grumbled ‘no’ many times, terrified.

“Don’t forget ‘bout the girl here”, Daryl said pointing at me with his hand. “Beat ya, didn’t she?”

“Hey, ya got any food?” was what Merle said when he turned back towards the kitchen. “I’m starvin’.”

Stunned, I stared at him, hips against the counter, a deep frown on my face, cigarette still between my fingers, eyeing Merle with his slightly raised eyebrows, sincerely waiting for me to answer something.

“What?”

“Food?”, he repeated, and the look he had was one other than the evil fun, lustful one he’d always given me. He seemed just normal; not exactly friendly, but simply like a regular person would treat their neighbor when saying hello on the sidewalk, instead of in their living room with a dead body between them.

“Hum, ah…” I stuttered in shock. “The fridge,” I finished motioning my thumb over my shoulder. Merle nodded and once again stepped over the dead man, his boots making a blood trail on the worn our wooden floor, went around the counter and joined me and Daryl inside the kitchen. He opened the fridge and crouched down to examine its contents, my eyes glued to the back of his head and very aware of his movements until Daryl caught my attention by poking my arm with a finger.

“Hey”, he murmured and I looked at him, eyes still somewhat perplexed. He continued. “You ok?”

“Yeah. They didn’t hurt me.”

“No, I mean…” he dragged on and pointed at D’s body with his chin.

“Yeah,” I repeated, trying to be clearer, but still needing to clear my throat before continuing. “He deserved it. I’d do that to any fuckin’ rapist. Might jus’ do that to Owen. Ain’t gonna lose sleep for him.”

Slowly, he nodded avoiding my eyes to instead look around, down at Merle and at the two men on the living room floor. The three of us were silent for a while as I finished my cigarette and Merle fussed over how little food there was in the fridge. Daryl turned around to lean back on the counter to avoid staring at D’s dead body, his big, heavy weapon resting against the wall near him.

“Hey, what’s that?” I asked Daryl, pointing at it.

“Wha’, that? ‘S a crossbow.”

“You shoot arrows with it?” I approached it on the wall and bent a little to see it better.

“Yeah, like a normal bow but the mechanism releases it.”

I straightened again and looked at him. The thing was pretty damn cool and now that I was getting calmer I remember the image of him entering the room with it raised, his arms tense holding it up and damn. I didn’t really know or like him very much but let’s be honest, it’s not like I was blind or anything.

But “Badass,” was all I said as I returned to lean against the counter. He nodded, a bit surprised, eyeing me for a moment longer.

“What the fuck…” Merle mumbled from nearly inside the fridge.

“Munchies?”, I asked him as I pressed the butt of my cigarette on a forgotten wooden ashtray that rested nearby.

“Course”, he said, getting up and still looking inside it. “The fuck is it with all the veggies?”

“They’re mine. Lower shelves are mine, the upper is Bobbi’s. Make sure ya don’t touch any of hers, she goes nuts when someone –”, I stopped then, making Merle look at me, and I gave him a sudden smile. “You know what, knock yourself out!”

Merle laughed back, “There ya go”.

I turned away from him, and also from Daryl just then, feeling completely mesmerized by what was happening. Two men entering me house to assault me, me killing one of them with a knife to the neck, my nearly stranger neighbors coming to help, having them both in my house since then, Merle speaking to me as if we were friends, and what freaked me out the most – me, talking to him as if it was no big deal. It’d been a long time since I remembered any dream I had; perhaps I was gonna wake up anytime now, and never even remember this insane dream. The taste of the cigarette in my mouth felt real, though. The smell of blood too, now mixed with an extremely sweet smell that, when I looked back at the men to figure it out, I saw it came from a Bosco chocolate syrup Merle was pouring directly into his open mouth. Daryl only shook his head. I wasn’t sure if people could feel such clear, strong smells in dreams.

“Shit!” we all heard Owen say, but none of us looked at him. Daryl fished his own pack of cigarettes from his jeans’ back pocket. “What the fuck? Guys!” Owen spoke again, his voice more urgent.

“Hey, Pop Rocks!” Merle was fussing over the fridge again. “Why’s Bobbi keeping Pop Rocks in the fridge?”

I shook her head. Fuckin’ Bobbi-Jo. “She thinks…Geez, that the heat could make it explode.” Merle laughed aloud and Daryl snorted. “Yeah, she ain’t the smartest person I know.”

Merle was about to say something, I saw him open his mouth, Owen interrupted again, his voice loud and desperate, a tone that made it impossible for any of us to keep ignoring him.

“No, no, no, shit! Fuck! Help me!”

We all turned at the same time because it was clear that something terrible was happening. But of all things that could have crossed my mind, of any imaginable possibility, I’d ever have thought of that. Nothing in my life so far had ever prepared me to see what I saw then. And nothing, in any of our lives from now on, would ever be the same.

I was frozen froze in place, my brain working too hard to understand what I was seeing to send any order for my body to move. By my side, the Dixons were also silent, stiffened. What we saw was D – whose dead body had been lying there for all that time, probably most of his blood now drenching the room’s wooden floor – agitate with strange and unnatural movement a moment before he sat up, a grotesque sound coming out of his mouth, his back turned to us as he faced Owen, who was now screaming in absolute terror and trying to stand up. Having lost his own fair amount of blood himself, Owen couldn’t, his wounded leg slipping over D’s blood. With now more excited grunts, D moved towards him, crawling faster than he had sat up. Owen wailed for help franticly, as D moved over his sitting form until he reached the chubby, sweat-soaked flesh of his neck, where he urgently sank his teeth. Owen fought him with his only available arm, but it seemed to be no use because D was biting and swallowing his flesh, and he kept doing it as if nothing had happened even after Owen stopped fighting, blood oozing out of the wound fast enough to kill him. He had stopped screaming, dead…Just like his friend was. Or should have been. Because there was no way he’d be alive after all the blood he lost, and the knife was still fucking poking out of his neck, for fuck’s sakes!

Daryl, Merle and I stared at them, absolutely still. Paralyzed. Shocked. None of us seemed to be breathing, all I could hear was my heart in my ears. My stomach churned and I felt bile in my throat, and that was the only thing that made me sure I wasn’t having a cinematic, sci-fi nightmare.

D kept on eating Owen, groaning, moaning, feeding. It was that, literally a person eating another just like that, in my living room.

By my side, Merle broke the silence with a weak, trembling voice, something so unlike him it nearly made me look away from the gore scene happening right there, “D?” As nothing happened, Merle stepped behind me and around the counter, very carefully. “Doug?”

I don’t know what part of my brain could still register that information. D’s real name was Douglas, not Dickhead.

D stopped moving then and damn, I knew shit was about to get even worse. My stomach went cold and I felt a sharp ache on my right wrist – it was a weird thing I had every time I got apprehensive about something as if my mind was sending me a signal of whatever it was, I felt this weird thing on my left pulse point. And there it was, sharper than ever. D’s groans also stopped for a moment as he turned around, still crouched, slowly. And when he faced us, the communal, strong intake of breath sounded over D’s new groan. Merle took a step back, nearly tumbling. That was not D. D wasn’t there, he was dead. His neck still carrying my knife, blood still rolling down his chest, there was a piece of Owen’s flesh hanging from the corner of his bloody mouth, his eyes completely lifeless with a nauseating shade of grey, but yet he stared at Merle, who was the one standing closer to him and raised up, his movements unnatural, and took an unsteady step towards him, moaning wordlessly.

At his dead, walking body’s back, the front door clicked with the sound of a key turning. The door was pushed open and the sound attracted D, who stopped mid-step towards Merle and turned around. Bobbi-Jo appeared under the doorframe, tight black dress showing up much of her thighs and a lot of her breasts, and she was laughing, completely unaware, pulling some random guy inside with her.

“Bobbi, no!” I screamed coming out of my shock as D lunged his dead body towards her.

“Run!” Daryl shouted by my side.

It was no use. In a second, his teeth were on her face, her cheek coming out in one bite. She yelped and fell to the ground, D on top of her, biting more chunks out of the right side of her face and I swear he wasn’t even chewing, he was just biting piece after piece of her face and swallowing it whole. The man who came with her backed to the wall, close to my bedroom door, eyes and mouth wide open but soundless, shocked frozen.

None of us saw Owen getting up, I was honestly too concerned into trying not to piss myself, my body moving and coming back to my place as I had no fucking idea of what was happening and what to do. Owen’s flesh was missing from his neck and chest. Just as he was crawling across the room, the Dixons saw him, his eyes as dead as a doornail, and they both seemed to wake from a daze at the same time. Daryl moved out of the kitchen towards Owen just as he raised his dead body from the ground to stand up right in front of Bobbi’s friend. His teeth were already sunk into the guy’s neck when Daryl reached and tackled him away, only to turn himself into Owen’s chosen meal.

I still hadn’t moved, watching nervously as Daryl pushed the dead man away from him over and over. On the other side of the room, Merle had shoved D away from Bobbi-Jo and was now fighting him, punching him in the face repeatedly. Looking from one fight to the other, nervousness making me hesitate – and once again hate myself for it – I tried to decide who I should help, and how, for that matter. With difficulty, I registered that Owen seemed to be much closer to Daryl than D was to Merle, so I forced myself to move, the knife Merle had given me back in hand. I rushed over behind Owen and, without a second of thought, stabbed him right on the nape of his neck. Owen’s corpse groaned louder and his movement slowed a little, giving Daryl the opportunity to move away. I had to stare again, though, eyes wide, because Owen hadn’t stopped moving. He had a fucking knife jammed in the base of its skull, but he still moved. How the fuck was he still able to move?!

“We gotta get out! Merle!” Daryl yelled as we both turned for a moment to look at him after a particularly worrying yelp. D was on top of him now, Merle keeping his jaws away by holding him up by the neck. There was blood oozing everywhere and cursing words could be heard coming out between Merle’s clenched teeth.

Daryl tried to keep Owen away from him and I saw that his movements seemed slower now, so I decided to go help Merle. As fluidly as I could with my shaking muscles, I reached for the knife in his neck, held it and took it out of his flesh and slammed it rick back into his temple. I felt bone under the flesh the knife perforated, unable to get in.

“Son of a fuck!” I cried out, reaching for his head with my other hand and grabbing a handful of his hair, pulling it back and further away from Merle. D’s face turned up, desperate groans coming from his open, near toothless mouth. I saw he looked exactly like his old self, except for his eyes and the fact that he was trying to eat Merle. Fighting hesitation once again, I tightened my fist around D’s hair, raised the knife hand and stabbed down, blade easily perforating his eye socket. He stopped moving instantly, groans dying out, as the batteries of a nasty toy had been removed, and his body fell heavily on top of Merle.

“The brain!” Merle shouted from under D’s body, who now I believed to be really dead, because damn, with a stab to the keck and other into his brain via his eye just fucking had to kill a person! I understood it at the same time Merle did.

“Daryl! Hit the brain!” I also screamed.

Daryl ran from Owen just as he heard us and Owen looked around, lost for a moment. I crouched behind D and Merle, who remained there under the dead weight. When Owen focused his attention on Daryl again, he had already reached his crossbow, and he had apparently been able to reload it as well, because he then aimed and shot an arrow right into Owen’s eye. The groans stopped and his body remained still for a second before dropping backwards to the ground.

Though only for a moment, silence filled the room once again.

Merle angrily shoved D away from him and sat up looking down at himself seeing all the blood dripping. “What in the fuckin’ fuck was that?” he questioned aloud, trembling, now looking at his hands. He wasn’t answered. I stood up, breathing hard, hands raised to my head. Daryl lowered the crossbow that had still been aimed at Owen. I felt like throwing up. We went silent, the sound of our breaths the only sound in the house. It was like a war zone; blood everywhere.

The silence was broken by a groan, a different one, coming from somewhere on the ground. We all swirled around towards it, the crossbow raised again. Bobbi-Jo was moving, sitting up and looking right at me. Her jaw moved, slamming closed with a noise, half her face and a large chunk of her neck gone. I flinched.

“Let’s go. We gotta go.” I whispered urgently. The unknown man, his back to the wall and neck torn open, also groaned, much louder. “Now! Get up, Merle!” I shouted down at him and moved to the kitchen door. “Daryl, move!”

[fallen029]

Alone Time

Mirajane had spent the majority of her life living with someone. As a young child, she was crammed into a too small shack with her mother, father, and two younger siblings. Then, following the two former's deaths, she eventually found her way to Fairy Tail with the latter and immediately set out to buy a home for the three of them. Even during Lisanna's absence, Elfman was always hanging about. And after her return, it was the three of them once more and, given all the grief they'd suffered together, they all seemed content to carry on that way for the rest of their lives.

But the trauma and it's reckoning faded as time went on and, though they all still recognized the blessing in which they'd been bestowed, the three siblings found themselves out growing one another. Honestly, Mirajane feared at first that she'd be the last one standing in the Strauss house, as Lisanna only found more freedom and Elfman seemed to be getting closer and closer to Evergreen.

This wasn't the case, however, as she found herself calling a Strauss house meeting one afternoon to inform the two of them that, in the coming month, she'd be moving in with her boyfriend.

Not the best received news in the world, Mirajane did convince her brother, eventually, that no, Laxus did not have to come to him, man to man, before this took place and ask his permission, as well as come to an agreement with Lisanna over just how many fights Laxus owed Natsu, as repayment for her giving up her older sister to him.

And she assured both of them that they could visit whenever they wanted.

Only for Laxus to correct that they definitely couldn't and if they wanted to see her, they better memorize her schedule up at the hall.

But she was assuring them that he was just kidding.

Mostly.

While living with a man was a new experience for the barmaid, Mirajane was quick to find that the majority of the time she wasn't; living with the man that was. Laxus was always gone on his typical long, S-Class misadventures and though he spent more time hanging around in those days, completely infatuated with his current relationship, the draw to travel always came calling.

It was weird, the first time he went away for awhile, after they'd just moved in together. Mirajane awoke in the morning, just the same as she always did, to get to the hall early, and they arrived together, him hoping to snag a job before the guild even opened.

Then began a grueling day of the typical grind and by the time she tumbled into the bed at the apartment, she hardly had time to notice it was without the slayer. Through sheer coincidence, the following day was an off day and though she peeked her eyes open just before sunrise, much like she would were she headed to open the hall, it was only to lay in bed for a bit, breathing in the new day.

As the grogginess faded, Mirajane was welcomed to…

Nothing.

Recently, it was usually the snores of her sleeping dragon beside her, but even before she moved in or began staying with him so much, the sounds of the household she shared with her siblings brought a melody of sounds. Elfman always got up early in the morning, to head out to train, but he usually stumbled into many things in the cramped things along the way. And if Mira was off in the morning, that meant that Lisanna had to go in, to open up the hall, so she'd groan and moan loudly thoruhg this, until she had her first cup of coffee.

And that was assuming they didn't need something from her.

Because someone always needed something from her.

There wasn't anyone there though, that morning, as she rested on her belly and watched the time click away on the clock in silence. As the light from the sun changed from early morning oranges to the bright yellows of the coming day, she found herself not speaking or humming either, things she did frequently, even when alone, as not to ruin the current stillness.

It was a laze she never quite knew she possessed and when, eventually, she knew she had to get up, least she tempt herself back into falling asleep and wasting her day off, Mira didn't find herself rushing off to shower or even thinking about leaving the apartment. No.

She knew that she'd like to go and check-in on Lucy, who'd gotten rather shaken up on a recent job and though Erza assured them all she was in the most capable hands of herself, Natsu, and Happy, Gray had more than informed the others that maybe some other faces would raise her theoretical spirits. Then there was Levy, who she'd promised the next time they were both free, she'd head to the market with. And Elfman was still rather pitiful, in the cooking department, so she should probably head over to the house, to cook him some breakfast.

Considering she was off and all.

But Mirajane didn't want to rush to shower off. Go see anyone. No. Only yawned through making some toast and falling into Laxus' nice, sleek couch with little care as to the time.

Everything felt so...distant. Far away. Like nothing beyond the apartment door existed. And did it? Nothing was imminent or required her absolute attention. For the first time in what felt like her entire life, Mirajane was completely free to do as she pleased.

And she was finding that she really didn't want to do much of anything.

Following her tiny breakfast, Mirajane found her eyes traveling around the apartment, trying to find something to occupy her solitude. Still freshly moved in together, the apartment still had a heavy presence of Laxus and very little her, but the man did have a rather sizable bookcase and, as she rose to peruse it, she found her attention drawn somewhere else.

In the corner of the living room sat her mostly unused in those days guitar, in a stand, where it looked just as lonely and dusty as it had in the corner of her tiny bedroom back at home. A smile slowly spreading across her lips, she moved instead to snag it and, when she fell into something that time, it was Laxus' recliner. It smelt of the cigars he puffed and the cologne he wore, but this was just as big a comfort to the woman as the way she sunk right into the fabric, and she never thought it could be so nice.

To be so alone.

But oh, it was.

As her fingers easily found the frets and strings, Mirajane giggled, finally, softly, before humming along to a melody, breaking the unintended vow of silence she'd lapsed into since waking.

"I don't think I saw you at all yesterday," Lisanna remarked the following day. She came in around noon to find her older sister there, as she always was, diligently refilling drinks and taking lunch orders. "Were you feeling well?"

"Oh, I was fine," she assured her sister with a bright grin as she passed with a tray of drinks. "Just took a day off. A real day off."

"A you day," Cana corrected for her around her barrel of wine. Nodding her head over at Mirajane, she said, "Everyone deserves one sometimes."

"I'd wager you've probably had your fair share by this point," Wakaba remarked as he puffed at his cigar at a nearby table.

"Maybe she's been dipping into Mira's," Macao offered.

But Mirajane only hummed softly under her breath and could hardly wait for her, hoping she wasn't too tired, when she got home to the empty apartment that night.

Mira never knew such a thing could be so welcoming.

She enjoyed the solitude for a good two weeks until, one day when she arrived home from work, he was just there. Sitting in her guitar strumming chair, sipping on a beer with a cigar dangling from his mouth. He rose though, the second she entered the apartment, a cocky grin on his usual void face.

"You're," she remarked rather than rush to hug and make over him, like she was sure he was expecting, "home."

Laxus frowned at that. "Don't sound too thrilled."

"Oh, dragon, no, it's not that." Coming forwards then, she did go to hug him though it was much less reciprocated this time. Against his chest, she explained, "I've just kind of liked it. Living alone."

"You don't live alone," he grumbled back as he did give in and pat her gently on the back. "I was literally gone, at most, twelve days."

"It just felt that way, is all."

Grunting, he muttered, "Sorry," but Mirajane was quick to shake her head at this.

"No, Lax, don't be." Mirajane smiled up at him then as she said, "I've actually had a great time. Every night I come home, I've been playing my guitar again and one day, even, I had it off and I just… I'm so happy you're home though. Of course."

"Of course," he replied dryly back and she could tell he was doubtful.

Still, as he took his seat once more, cigar dangling from his lips once more, Mirajane was all ready for him to begin detailing his adventure to her in full detail, oohing and awing in all the right places. But just as she was about to suggest he start and offer to make him something to eat, Laxus was plucking the cigar from his mouth once more and asking instead, "Did you say something about your guitar?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "It's just so quite, with you gone, and I-"

"Did you think," he asked, "that you'd wanna play something for me?"

Her grin felt more natural that time and, as Laxus returned it, she rushed to grab it from it's stand in the corner of the room.

"But," she added her one caveat, "you have to let me sit in your recliner while I play."

Laxus only blew some smoke her way. "Don't push your luck, demon."

Giggling, she nodded her head as she said, "I'm really glad that we're living together, Lax. I love you, you know."

His cheeks seemed a bit rosy then, maybe, as he was quick to take a swig from his beer.

"Yeah," he remarked as she took her place on the edge of the couch, guitar in hand, ready to yawn through some strumming and humming. "I love you too."

[faemoria-arch]

okay so a few days ago i received a mysterious anon asking ‘ how do i draw the characters ’ && given the context of what had been previously posted i assume this was asking for advice on how i draw tooth , jack , && pitch specifically . so this is . . . that . starting with toothiana . this isn’t like a step-by-step guide on how i draw her character so much a bunch of rambling of things i keep in mind for what i feel is right to communicate my portrayal of a character that was not fully designed by me . which means i don’t know if it would really help anybody else actually do anything , but maybe it’s interesting to consider when it comes to making choices for your own characters && stuff  ? idk . w/e here we go .

okay so really basic fundamental strictly relevant to drawing her is that i treat her feathers like clothing which means i always draw her basic body shape first && then add them on . pushing gestures is extra important for characters who’s bodies are padded with other stuff because the clothing/feathers/fur/etc. will tame it down a lot , which can lead to them looking stiff if you don’t overcompensate to start with .

i hate that drawing WHAT A GOOD START . another small thing i try to keep in mind is that i actually draw her line of balance as though she is standing from her shoulders to her hips , && in most drawings only shift her legs to show that she is not , this is because at some point i realized that unless i’m trying to make her positioning seem awkward or draw attention to the fact that she is flying , it’s just really jarring to our eyes to see a humanoid exist upright in a position where they should not be able to balance . the movie does this too ( although it liked to position her more as though she’s sitting in the air really ) , which is why one of the more memorable shots in the movie is this :

because it’s really throwing in our face that tooth is not bound to the laws of gravity like we are && she is very accustomed to that . it’s impactful because she’s not constantly seen in poses like this . it is also not a coincidence that this is shown when she is reflecting on the supernatural reality of her work/life && playing the role of a mentor . my tooth in that scene would probably look more like this , because personality wise she’s obviously different in some ways . i studied && adapted a lot of the body language tooth displays in the movie for my portrayal ( why wouldn’t i , i still feel like it’s one of the most gorgeously animated movies in terms of its characters ever ) , but ofc it’s still not an exact match if i put my version in the same scenes .

movie tooth looks like she’s holding herself for comfort , almost like she’s cold . legs brought together , she’s trying to make herself smaller as a result of her uncertainty . my tooth is more aggressive in nature , so when she is anxious && talking about something that makes her uncomfortable she’s more likely to cross her arms over her chest which is still a subconsciously defensive gesture but a far more stand-offish . her legs are rarely poised in unison because she’s more than happy to take up more space . on the other hand :

my portrayal of tooth is also hyper-empathetic so talking to someone else about what’s hurting them ? she’ll subconsciously express her understanding of their hurt through something like placing a hand over her own heart . anyways my portrayal of tooth is still supposed to be petite but she’s also more curvy than the movie’s version in some areas ( something i decided to emphasize when i realized movie tooth is supposed to look like a young teen body-wise apparently ?? )  , so even though she usually ends up looking less bodacious in the end , this is pretty much her body shape if you took all those feathers off .

by default tooth is meant to be an exceptionally graceful looking character . i try to portray this in pretty much any situation of course , but one of my favorites is portraying it in the context of battle-readiness / battle-motions , because it gives a really stark && dramatic visual contrast to draw attention to it . a.k.a. her weapons .

i’m pushing curves as much as i can where i can . the motion through her body should seem as fluid && light as possible like she’s in the middle of a dance until it comes to the taut energy being held in her weapons . her blades are harsh angles in the midst of everything else  - it’s something i over exaggerate all the time by making them literally nothing but straight lines . that is what spells out ‘ all her anger && tension is right here , in this sword . ’

( yeah don’t worry i’m gonna get to my thought process on drawing that asshole later ) it’s a useful norm on its own for another point of contrast to explore : when toothiana is in the mindset where her entire body is displayed as a weapon , more feral && wild . then it’s angles everywhere i can get away with it because the tension is everywhere , while still following the general ‘push && pull/squash && stretch’ rule of curves in drawing ofc .

in the movie tooth fights strictly with her wings ( && bunnymund’s boomarangs for a scene but she seems to use them like melee weapons )  so they do the same thing when she’s hostile at all . it’s just a visual storytelling shorthand for our society : whether its fangs , claws , bristling fur , a knife . sharp = dangerous . you want your character to look dangerous ? one way to do that is to make ‘em sharp !

lol butt . her crest of feathers on her head also flares out when she’s angry in the movie , which is something i used to have a good gif of their testing for but i can’t find it now . it’s another thing that gives the impression of being more sharp && jagged even just from a sheer consideration of silhouette , while also mixing in a more natural feel to the fact that she’s covered in feathers if she expresses herself through them .

last but not least , all that personal stylization really is in anything - drawing , writing , graphic design , whatever - is knowing the rules well enough to figure out how you can break them the way you like . i fudge things in how i draw toothiana all the time , but it’s always an intentional design choice , && i’m consistent about it , && that’s all it takes to make it go past the radar of suspended disbelief . for instance i never show toothiana’s ears with her feathers no matter how realistic it would be to see them . the golden ‘earring’ feathers are always covering them no matter what .

why ? because i tried to show her ears once && i didn’t like how it looked && that’s it that’s all the excuse you need . another thing i once realized was how difficult it was to position toothiana’s wings when she was sitting or laying down . so now when they’re at rest i act like they’re a cape && make them magically flexible . problem solved , thematic , && way more fun to draw .

&& that’s what matters in the end . your character should be fun to portray !

[geosbooksandthings]

Chapter Three:

HER:

The day is perfect. The birds chirp, the wind is cool, but you can still feel that summer breeze. I inhaled and I felt him deflate beside me.

“You know, looking back, no one really likes me in high school. Good thing, college really turned it around for me.” He nodded unconvinced. “What? You don’t believe I had friends in college and wasn’t a loser?”

“No, it’s just that you don’t want anyone in high school. You got that wrong.”

“Funny.” I snorted.

“You don’t really talk to anyone. You punched Victor when he told you he likes you, remember?” I can’t believe he knows that, but it’s not a surprise since they have the same circle of friends. If I’m being honest, it’s the reason why the boys snickered when I walk by and girls don’t want to hang out with me is because apparently, I hate everyone, and not in a cool badass way.

“You made it seem like you are better than anyone of us.” I once silenced by that “but maybe, you are.”

He wants to make me feel better, but it just made me feel more alone. I never wanted that. I want to belong anywhere, somewhere.

“Except that young music teacher, what a shame he resigned, right?”

She’s alone in a café near the school. She’s waiting for someone, an unlikely friendship, or not. He’s a teacher, a very young one but still a teacher. They shouldn’t be hanging out outside school, but he insisted he needs to get the music sheet at home and that it’s not illegal to meet outside if it’s school related. So, she plays with her fidget cube, the one her psychiatrist insists she bring “just in case”. This is the first time she’s using it and it seems to get her mind off things.

“Here.” He put the sheet gently in front of her. He came looking so.. young, handsome. Her blouse felt too sheer and her hair unlike her. “Your hair looks good on you.” He said not moving, small smile on his lips.

“Thank you.” She said. She have never felt this self-conscious in her life. “I need to go Mr. Miller, but thank you for this.” She shoved the sheet in her bag, feeling embarrassed of making him think that she doesn’t really care about it.

“We can talk for a bit if you want. Are you really in a hurry? Will your parents get mad?” She consider his questions but he really need to focus on her adversary which is her Math assignment.

“No, I just really need to finish my homework. Math. I have zero ability in understanding this and I might fail. I am sorry.” She silently cursed her friend who promised that he will help him but he has been AWOL for weeks now. Rumor has it that he’s busy with his girlfriend.

“I can help you out. Math is my favorite subject. Second from Music of course.” Girlfriend or not, the fact that there’s a knot in his stomach thinking about him made her say yes. That handsome smirk is just a bonus.

It became a habit of them to hang out at least twice or thrice a week in the café. She didn’t get better at Math but it made her feel less alone. There’s something to look forward to, finally. Until one day, while walking to her locker someone shouted, “Here goes the teacher leech!” A group of boys howled. She didn’t need to know who is included in that group. She’s afraid of going to class that day so she did what she does best – hide. She went home, skipped school and stayed inside her home lest she gets called into the Principal’s office.

The next day, she received a text from Mr. Miller asking if she will go to school that day, she didn’t respond. She didn’t go to school again, and the day after that.

The next week her anxiety of going back almost made her puke but no one bothered her the whole day. Her teacher didn’t even ask her why she’s out, apparently someone call and said she’s sick. She figured her mother saw her at home and bothered to call the school, at least she did that.

Her:

“I wonder what happened to him, he was just gone.” It bothers her how someone can just pop in and out of your life when they want to. In these wonderings he learned through the people who did it to her. In college, she ghosted guys, older and younger they’re all the same to her. Once they get too close, it’s an absolute goodbye.

“Do you still have it?” he asked distracting my thoughts “do you still get too afraid to function?” he remembered how I described my anxiety before, it makes me smile.

“Sometimes, but I am fine now. High-functioning anxiety it is. As if there’s something high and mighty about it." There's an awkward silence and then he just said.

“We should go.”

He stood up, covered me with his hoodie and kissed my forehead. I feel like a little girl and it makes me feel good. I hope every day is like this.

Back at home,her husband is in the police station talking to his mother over the phone.

“She’s gone for the weekend, mom.” He said perspiration on his upper lip reflecting through the harsh police station lights.

“No, don’t call her. I’ll do it. She’ll be upset.” His head is pounding, he doesn’t know what to do.

“Just let her enjoy her weekend with her friends. I’ll handle it” he said, making himself feel in control of the situation.

“Mom, whatever happens, don’t call her.” He said with finality.

The police are looking into the evidence, is it coincidence? But too much similarities is a pattern, and a pattern definitely means something.

[ramblesandmumblesofanerd]

Rambling Review: EQG - Rainbow Rocks

When we last discussed Equestria Girls, I came to the conclusion that, in spite of the numerous moments of sheer blandness and ridiculousness, the film itself was essentially harmless. The “villain”, if you could even call her that, did not impress me, the plot was uninspired in spite of the addition of MLP elements, and the structure was a complete mess from my personal perspective. So, imagine my surprise when a sequel was announced in 2014.  And by surprise, I mean revived agitation. Don’t get me wrong, while I now see that a sequel was inevitable, I was less open minded to the concept at the time. But, casual fans and critics alike all say that Rainbow Rocks is a vast improvement over it’s predecessor to this day. Are these claims true, or is the sequel just as nonsensical as the original film? Well, let’s jump through the mirror again and take a look.

We begin in the human world this time, as we see three obviously evil magical girls are feeding off a green fog surrounding a bunch of arguing teenagers. They talk about how the “food” has been quite insubstantial in recent years until the climax from the last movie explodes in the distance. The leader with a hairstyle fluffier than the fluffiest of unicorn plushies marvels at the light-show, and tells her sisters that their time has come. Equestrian magic has appeared in the human world, and they shall us it to make it’s denizens adore them. Cut to about maybe a month or so after the Fall Formal, where everyone is giving Sunset Shimmer the stink-eye after what she did. This is actually important for two reasons:

1. Consequences. I commented in the last film that leaving Sunset in the human world rather than have Princess Celestia punish her was not the right thing to do because it gave Sunset a “Get Out Of Jail Free” card. In this film, that point is rendered moot because nobody trusts Sunset, not believing for a moment that her days as a tyrant are over. And why should they? They were all used and abused by Sunset in various ways prior to the end of Equestria Girls, indirectly or otherwise. Which gives way to…

2. Regret. Sunset actually feels bad for what she did, and this time it feels more believable. There’s nothing like an entire school turned against you to make you feel cast out. Every time the subject of the Fall Formal and Sunset’s transformation is brought up, she becomes depressed or agitated about it. She wants to put the incident behind her and prove that she is better.

Which is why she has agreed to show some new transfer students around the school before someone tells them about her past. But, surprise, surprise, the transfer students are three familiar girls in tacky clothing. Sunny shows them around and mentions a school-wide musical fundraiser, which certainly gets the attention of the girls who start to act noticeably weird when Sunset asks about their matching necklaces.

Huh, obvious baddies who don’t want people to touch their bling. Are we sure Evil Sunset didn’t somehow multiply?

In all seriousness, the Dazzlings are a breath of fresh air to me, as they actually are given a little bit of character in comparison to Sunset’s one note “gimmie the crown” shtick. I especially love the Megatron/Starscream-esque relationship from Adagio Dazzle and Aria Blaze with a little bit of Sonata Dusk making memes in the background. And then things get even better after they sing their first song, “Battle of the Bands”. The three sisters saunter into the cafeteria and pretty much undo what Twilight did in the previous film and begin to divide the students. The Dazzlings manipulate everyone but Sunset and the HuMain 5 into fighting one another and turning the musical fundraiser into...well, a Battle of the Bands. And as the students argue, the girls feed off that familiar green fog again as our heroines watch in confusion.

Sunset, showing some more brains than in the previous film, comes to the immediate conclusion that the three girls obviously have dark magic on their side, and the gang goes to tell Principal Celestia in order to kick them out. But, unfortunately, Principal Celestia and Vice-Principal Luna are weaker than their Alicorn alternatives, and are already under the thrall of the Dazzlings, leaving the girls at a lost until Sunset remembers about a journal she had brought from Equestria years ago. The journal apparently acts as a primitive form of text messaging, allowing Sunset to send a message across the dimensions by writing a message in her book which will appear in another back in Equestria. By sheer luck, Twilight is already in possession of the magical, glowing, vibrating second journal which receives Sunset’s message, and she not only determines that the Dazzlings are Sirens banished from Equestria by the Dumbledore/Gandalf/Merlin of Pony Lore, Starswirl the Bearded, but she also Macgyvers a way to open the portal between the two worlds early using the journal’s magic.

So, Twilight and Spike return to the human world, leaving the others behind to avoid the confusion that would come from having two of everyone running around. Everyone back in the human world is excited to see Twilight come back, even Sunset, who offers to help Twilight up after a rocky entry. This brief moment is important. The way Twilight initially hesitates shows that even she rightfully doesn’t trust Sunset yet. It, again, shows that all is not forgiven like we thought back in the previous film’s finale.

So, by now you're probably asking “why is Twilight even here?”. Well, since Principal Celestia is basically a puppet, the HuMain 5 believe the only way to deal with the Dazzlings now is to blast them back to the stone age with the same Deus Ex Machina attack from the Fall Formal. But, since this film isn’t supposed to be thirty minutes long, this plan backfires, not only making Twilight and the HuMain 5 look like fools, but also expose their resistance to the Dazzlings’ mind-control. While Adagio theorizes that these girls could be the source of the Equestrian magic she had witnessed long ago, the girls retreat to make a new plan at Pinkie’s house during a slumber party.

So Plan C goes something like this: have Twilight write a “counter-spell song”, play it during the Battle of the Bands and defeat the Dazzlings. Why would this work? Well, because the HuMain 5’s magical powers seem to pop up whenever they play their instruments for a band Rainbow Dash and her friends started for the fundraiser. What a coincidence. Actually, while we’re here, can we discuss how the human version of Rainbow Dash acts throughout this film? While the pony version has been known to be quite egotistical and self-absorbed at times, this version multiplies these attributes to the point of being abrasive. Constantly calling the band “hers”, cheating at video games, not wanting to back down as lead vocalist when the others volunteer Twilight in order to pull off the counter-spell, even ignoring Fluttershy when she wants the band to try playing a song she wrote herself. I know technically the human one is not the same character as the pony one, but Rainbow Dash is just so unlikable in this film.

After a brief moment to both address how Sunset and Twilight are not so different after all and to have a shout-out to all the Maud Pie fans, the gang return to the Battle of the Bands after a less than successful rehearsal which mostly consisted of bickering more than music. The Rainbooms flub their first outing through the obvious sabotage from Snips and Snails, but they somehow get to move along with the other competitors who won Round One. That doesn’t mean everyone is happy about the competition however, as even Flash Sentry starts spewing insults at the girl he once crushed on thanks to the Dazzling’s magic. Speaking of, Sunset tries to talk her Equestrian foes down, but the Sirens know of her past endeavors and turn the tables before they take the stage.

After another great, if not more blunt song, called Under Our Spell, we see that the Rainbooms are actually making progress in spite of the constant internal drama and the sabotage from their premiere. More on that in a bit, as another great song pops up...only to end right away. This song sung by Trixie, Tricks Up My Sleeve, is actually quite a good song, and I wish we could have heard the whole thing in the film if only just for one lyric. So, just for you guys, allow me to play this one lyric. LadyTenkage, this one’s for you~

And this is what happens when online friends subscribe to me on YouTube: inside jokes with a dash of schadenfreude. Oh...I’m so gonna get murdered for that when we next meet face to face.

Anyways, after more of Rainbow Dash feeding her ego by singing a song about how awesome she is (which I cannot stand), the girls start to show their pony powers, but Sunset intervenes before the Dazzling can feed off them. She and the Rainbooms are booed for this, but the Dazzlings use their ever-growing power to manipulate Principal Celestia and Vice-Principal Luna into allowing the girls to advance to the final round, much to Trixie’s rage. But, again, the Dazzlings stroke Trixie’s ego and plant the idea to trap the Rainbooms as an act of revenge, which she does. This prompts the HuMain 5 to, once again, bicker and unintentionally feed the Dazzlings their magic as the Sirens perform on stage above them.

This is where Sunset finally shows some backbone and tells her new friends to stop arguing and instead focus on actually solving what is causing the conflicts, otherwise the counter-spell Twilight has been trying to make this whole time will never work and the Dazzlings will win. So, of course the Rainbooms reconcile, of course Spike rescues them with the one background character who isn’t under the Dazzlings’ control, and of course they go to face their enemies in eye-gouging-ly colorful outfits.

And now, for the best climax in Equestria Girls history...until the next one.

Okay, first the Dazzlings go through their own pony transformation complete with ears, fin-wings red eyes, and astral-projections of themselves in their pure Equestrian forms. Then, the Rainbooms show up with Vinyl Scratch who somehow owns a transforming car.

Transformers! Hasbro doesn’t care.

Next comes an all out rock battle, with guitars blaring, vocalists giving it their all, Sirens screaming red versions of Danny Phantom’s ghostly wail, and the Rainbooms needing Sunset to help win the fight. And, with a toss of her jacket, she does. She starts to sing alongside the people who have stood alongside her through thick and thin throughout this movie, and she goes under the standard pony-fication, leading up to the most awesome thing I have seen in all of Equestria Girls. Period.

Through the power of friendship and music, the Rainbooms summon a giant, rainbow maned alicorn who blasts the Dazzlings and shatters their gems, which reduces them to being ordinary humans, all while epic music plays in the background.

Where was this in movie one!? This epic finale which shows how much power these characters have when they actually have a sense of unity is so much better than “lol, you can’t hurt us because friendship”. And the fact that it took the help of Sunset to summon what I shall now call the Alicorn God of Rock not only shows how much power these girls truly have, but it also begins a new chapter for Sunset’s redemption. Moments like this actually grab my attention, more so than the obligatory easter eggs and using even more stale high school movie plots.

Back to the film, the Dazzlings run off the presumably starve in an alley while the Rainbooms send Twilight on her way home. Twilight makes an obligatory speech about how this is “goodbye ‘til next time”, but a little cliffhanger begs to differ, as we’re finally shown that Twilight and Spike indeed have counterparts in the human world, and the human Twilight has set her eyes on Canterlot High’s magical mischief.

And with that, Rainbow Rocks ends with a nice credits montage of Canterlot High’s students starting to truly accept Sunset Shimmer as one of them. So, what did I think of Rainbow Rocks in comparison to it’s predecessor? Well, on the whole, I have to say that Rainbow Rocks obviously excels where Equestria Girls fails. It actually dedicates time to establishing characters and their traits rather than copy and paste typical high school stereotypes for the sake of filling in the blanks. For example, Sunset Shimmer, a character I despised for being a bland villain, actually makes an attempt to be a better person in spite of the insurmountable odds placed against her. And good Lord, the Sirens! Compared to Sunset Shimmer, these ladies were fantastic villains. Unlike the she-demon, they actually had presence and were a constant threat both on and off screen, making it feel like there was more at stake than just popularity. And the music! Unlike most of the songs from the original film, Rainbow Rocks succeeded in...well, rocking! The Dazzling’s songs, Tricks Up My Sleeves, even The Rainbooms’ songs (so long as we ignore the ego-stroking “Awesome As I Want To Be”) were all incredible, and I would listen to them all again if given the chance.

However, like the original film, there are also some notable faults in Rainbow Rocks. The HuMain 5 were easily the weakest part of the film, their constant arguing became a tad grating in spite of it’s necessity to the plot. Which reminds me, the award for most annoying character of this film goes to Rainbow Dash, whose entire routine in this film consists of her stroking her ego to the point of climaxing. While I’m not expecting her to be as restrained as her pony counterpart, I expect at least some form of control from her even if she is a teenager.  Also, some of the plot elements, such as how the magic that has suddenly appeared in the human world works, is not explained as much as an intellectual audience would like.

“Who cares” RD? Well, I care. The audience cares. Everyone cares! Which is why one of the shorts made before the next film focuses on Sunset actually trying to explain the magic in a logical, scientific way...with less than satisfying results.

And, yes, much like I stated in in previous review, this film uses more high school movie tropes: The Battle of the Bands. But, unlike Equestria Girls, there’s something that actually allows the film to stand on it’s own. Maybe it’s the Dazzlings manipulating the students and staff like puppets, maybe it’s the Equestrian magic, maybe because it was an actual Battle of the Bands, or maybe it was that incredible ending that I love so much. All in all, Rainbow Rocks was actually fun to watch in comparison to Equestria Girls. I’m glad I watched it, and I think I would actually watch it again should the urge take me over. Is it perfect? No. But I can forgive Rainbow Rocks for it’s flaws because I feel like it actually made an effort to have a higher quality than Equestria Girls. It actually feels like a competent story that I can enjoy over and over again. 

All I can really say is Rainbow Rocks rocks.

In the meantime, never stop rambling. TM

[mrvdocks]

Lifetime

no one requested this but I had this in my head for a while now and I just had to get it out.

I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we'd choose anyway. And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you

Ireland, 1900

You first meet Cassidy as a teen, particularly 1916, just shy a few months before he takes part in the Easter Rising. He’s cocky, rebellious, and just a bit of a prick, but you see something in him. In that same year, you both only share each other’s company a few times.

You two never talked, mostly exchanged some glances here and there. You two lived in such a close proximity and yet in that time, you two never not once, talked. There seemed to be an unspoken silence between the two of you. The occasional glance you both gave each other was enough. But he was a complete fool, always doing things to catch the attention of a pretty girl. 

Billy always teased him about his silly little crush, egging him on to find some courage to do something about it. He always brushed it off, never really thinking too long on it.

On a warm day in February, you overheard him talking to Billy about joining the Brotherhood. Once he spotted you from the corner of his eye, he instantly fell silent. His eyes focused on you as sudden as he quieted, and you could only stand there, baffled. 

Then, came the day before the Rising, and everyone was celebrating for some reason. You remembered the day clearly, the jeers, the festivities, and most importantly, Cassidy.

It might've been the large amounts of alcohol he consumed that allowed him to do this, but that day he couldn't help himself. You’d had a few drinks yourself, but you remember being at least a little dazed. He takes your hand, and entwines it with his, bringing your body closer to his. His long arm wraps around your waist, head crashing against his chin, as you share a look. 

The action makes you laugh in surprise, and his fantastic brows furrow in confusion. “I’m not that funny looking, am I?” 

You shake your head in shy response, opting to not stare straight into those dangerous eyes. 

The both of you stay still in that position, the sounds of drunk giggling and cheers all around fading out. It feels like it’s just you two in the moment. He makes a pain expression, taking you out of the loop. Just before you can ask him if he’s alright, the hand wrapped around your waist comes up to cradle your face. It sends shivers down your spine, and your hair stands on end when your lips finally connect. 

He tilts his head slightly to kiss you properly. All in all it was clumsy. Tongues and teeth colliding together, desperate touches and a want that burns you both. The feeling of your lips against his feels perfect, as if the two of you are pieces that were supposed to fit together. You were avoiding this all along, and now that it was happening, it felt like that warm feeling you get once you've ached for it for so long. It felt like coming home.

You almost feel betrayed when the next day, you wake up alone and a bit chilly. But the thought of that night was burned into the back of your memory. You’ve come to realize, he’s gone. Probably for good. 

Maybe you were right. Because he did leave, but not entirely. He abandoned the war, and just when he thought he was safe, the unexpected happened.

1922

This time, you don’t meet Cassidy. You’re walking down the street, minding your own business, when the heading of a local newspaper catches your eye. It makes you halt your steps and a mental picture forms. The picture is gruesome nonetheless, and you immediately feel pity for the poor victim’s family. 

The killer, which was seen in broad daylight, was describe very fantasy-like. The witness was declared insane, as they reported the attacker to be a vampire of all sorts. You snorted, thinking it to be just something that would be forgotten very soon. 

1940-1950

You’re a secretary for a mob boss this time, and while it’s a dangerous job, you think you can handle yourself. It’s comfy with great pay and protection. Nobody gives you lip unless they want to meet the end of a fist with three gold rings decorating it. You’re adored, is the point. 

You've seen your fair share of men that come and go, usually with a few body parts missing here and there. You think you've seen enough trouble for now, but then he appears. 

Cassidy walks in, looking like a bat out of hell. He’s fidgety and does double takes every time someone walks past the window of your office. It’s not until your boss walks out and greet him like an old friend, that you feel a sense of familiarity about the panicked man. 

You don't mean to overhear, but he's in some kind of trouble. The big kind. He’s asking for favors and lots of money at the same time. Says he feels like there’s people after him. Your boss tells him he can get these people off his back, for a price. Cassidy practically begs, which seems uncharacteristic of him, and thanks your boss a million times. You tune out once they get on the topic of his past crimes, and resume your daily routine. 

Cassidy walks out, looking more confident than before, and he directs his attention to you. He makes a suave move, and leans on his left arm, grinning that toothy grin. 

“Don’t.” You begin. 

“Don’t?” 

Every man to so much as lick his lips towards you has received the very bad end of the stick. Stick as in beat down. This guy seems nice, but you don’t want to get him hurt. 

“Let’s just greet each other and just go our separate ways, alright?” 

He pulls back from your desk, and gives you a lopsided smile. You get the sense that you've just urged him on further.

“Alright, luv.” He drawls, and winks. You sit up straight, taken by surprise as he makes his way towards the door. 

“See ya later.” He said sheepishly.

You narrowed your eyes, watching him disappear. 

That night, he appears at your doorstep, flowers in hand and a shit faced grin. You decide to let him in to see what happens. 

That had been 10 years ago, and all you’ve heard now about him is that he’s in very big trouble. Of course he was. He’d managed to get away and become a recluse somewhere in New York City, or that’s how it was rumored. He’d cheated your boss and ran away with a few thousand dollars to do with as he pleased. 

The other bosses were not very happy about this. You’d taken this as a guess as you stared down the barrel of a gun, one pointed at you and one at your boss. Wrong place, wrong time.

1961

You bump into Cassidy out of sheer coincidence outside of a drugstore. 

“Sorry.” You mumble, as you try to get past him. 

He gives you his signature grin and then books it out of the place. You don’t realize what he’s done until you hear a pharmacist and two officers yell and chase after him. 

You chuckle to yourself, but then trail off. Something about him seemed familiar, you couldn’t place it. It’s almost as if you’ve seen him somewhere before. You search your memory to find where you’ve seen him. 

You come to the conclusion that maybe you’ve seen his sketch on the nightly news.

You brush it off as quickly as you thought it, carrying on with your day. 

2017

“Jesse could you please stop leaving your notes everywhere? I’m not your maid.” You sigh in frustration, picking up each piece of paper that has been mindlessly thrown on the floor. 

As always, Jesse’s passed out drunk on his bed. You stand in his doorway, hands on your hips, shaking your head. His snores fill the room as you walk in and remove his shoes. 

“I should get paid for this.” You mutter under your breath. 

You weren't his caregiver, and you most certainly weren't his sister. But you felt your relationship was something like that. Jesse had been there for you since you were little, after Tulip left, you two had each other. 

You didn’t approve of his lifestyle, that’s for sure. But you went along with it because you cared deeply about him. 

You sighed heavily as you plopped down on the couch in the living room, flipping on the tv and just staring up at the ceiling. 

Knock 

Knock

You peered up from your comfortable position, meeting a tipsy Cassidy.

“Get kicked out again?” You quipped dismissively. 

He grunted in response, almost tripping over his feet and plopping next to you.

“Ugh.” He reeked of the usual, cigarettes and alcohol. 

“You find it odd ‘ere?” He says suddenly.

You give him a daft look, unsure of what he means. He copies you, and the thought begins to sink in.

“Alright, who are you and what've you done to Cassidy?” You noticed he pressed the palm of his hand to the back of his neck, holding himself in an uncomfortable position.

You sighed, weary. “I guess. Everything’s off around here. The air, the people....you.”  

“Me?” He blurts, taken by surprise.

“Yeah you. There’s something about you that seems so familiar but I can't figure it out.” 

“How familiar?” He shoots you an interested brow and cheeky grin. You can't help but roll your eyes.

“You know what - forget it.” You chastise. 

“Oh c’mon. Alright look, I’m sorry.” 

You shot him a look of doubt, pursing your lips. Your eyes flickered from his body to his face, and without hesitation you wrapped your arms around his torso, heaving yourself up and close to his body. He froze instantly, this form of affection feeling foreign to him. 

You could feel it coming, the snarky remark. 

“Don’t even think about it, you big lump. Just let me have this.” You nestle your face near his collarbone, and close your eyes. 

You could feel a hesitant hand come up to rub your back softly, and then lay firmly on your shoulder. His arm draped around your back. 

“I’m not funny looking am I?” You mumble under your breath.

“You know, that sounds familiar somehow.” 

A pleasant smile grew on your face, and for the first time in your life, you wondered if past lives were possible. You made a note about asking about that later, when Jesse wasn't so intoxicated and when Cassidy wasn't so worrisome. 

[writtenin-themargins-blog]

A certain painting has been suddenly appearing multiple times. It’s Hokusai’s The Great Wave, perhaps one of the most famous East Asian works of art, arguably even one of the most famous works of art ever. 

The first time the painting appeared was in the form of a pin I bought as a souvenir during my solo New York trip. At the Met, I didn’t plan a route in such a large space full of their own smaller, intricate mazes. I was my own guide, lingering a few seconds longer at certain works, arresting and enchanting. I found myself at a small souvenir shop near the bathrooms and could not resist the niche art products that I would not get anywhere else. I have always been a collector–– of books, photos, birthday cards (I read these when I feel lonely and sad, I advocate this as a cure to knowing you are loved and appreciated, sometimes the mind is too good at deceiving us from truths that we unconsciously obscure), magazine clippings for collages, and journals. I have recently been collecting pins because they personalize whatever it is you put on them–– I have pin collections on my backpack and denim jacket. There were pins that were scans of Monet’s water lilies, a Renoir, and the The Great Wave. Although I love Monet, at that moment, I felt more drawn to The Great Wave, and I can’t explain what influenced that tiny ebb of a gravitational pull. I am such an indecisive person and I can easily change my mind. In a way, this can be seen as the virtue of flexibility, which is much needed in our ever-changing world, but it has been my downfall too many times, especially in my most critical life decisions. 

One thing I have observed that is not valued as much is intuition. We as a society are taught that evidence and logic should be at the forefront of worldly operations. It’s the bread and butter of law and science. Even outside of these academic realms, we don’t feel like our observations and thoughts are validated unless we have something to back it up. Evidence and logic even influence our relationships, whether we feel like someone reciprocates our affections, cares for us, or is worth keeping around based on our give and take. But intuition is totally opposite from this concept, because it’s not based on evidence and logic, it’s based on what we call “our gut feeling.” Sometimes, when you ask people for advice they say “go with your gut,” but evidence and logic whisper they should be consulted first because it’s hard to trust our own feelings, especially when they have engulfed us so deeply that we need to seek others. 

The force in that moment of choosing between the Monet and the Hokusai was intuition. That’s the other nonsensical thing about intuition–– there is not much of an explanation.  ironically, though society indirectly communicates that intuition is not as important, what do we hear from most people’s love stories? “I knew he/she was the one. i just knew.” There was a grasp inside of me clutching onto the part of my brain that was flashing “Hokusai, Hokusai.” And I could not ignore it. 

Little did I know how significant and apparent this painting would be after my visit to the Met. 

A month before my trip, I received exciting news that I got an interview for an fellowship. It was my first post-grad choice. I would live and work in an Asian country for a year, and my heart was set on working at a newspaper so I could develop professional experience in journalism while also living abroad, which has always been a dream of mine. This soothed me because I was going through an emotionally hard time, trying to figure out my self-worth and also, my confidence. 

After the interview, I made my way towards the Metro station right outside of Georgetown. I walked away from the interview feeling good about myself and my chances of landing the fellowship. As soon as I walked under the campus gates, and crossed the street, there it was, in front of me–– The Great Wave, but much, much greater. It was a direct copy of the painting, but in the form of a wall mural. 

At this point, when I felt like this opportunity could possibly be my ticket to happiness and a full life, this appeared and changed my whole perception of the painting. In such a large scale, the illustration is clearer to see. In this mural, I noticed there were boats and people in the midst of the wave, and I never noticed that before. I remember being perplexed and I felt like I had lost my bearings. Did the original not have boats and people? Did the artist just add them in? 

Then, a little later, as I walked past my housemate’s room, I noticed she had a poster of The Great Wave on her wall. It had the boats and people, so I realized that I failed to see it the first time. I told her about my discovery, and she also was surprised–– she hadn’t noticed their presence before either. 

The passengers in the boat makes the painting so much more epic than just the sheer magnitude of the wave itself. They’re on the cusp of the inevitable descent, but this is a piece of art frozen in time. In the world of the painting, the wave will never fall–– it will be curved in that arc forever. So the passengers are still safe, untouched. 

The Great Wave kept appearing. When I was walking with my friend, I was wearing the denim jacket with the pin, and he complimented me on it. I started talking about where I got the pin from, when a girl crosses paths with us, and she’s wearing a shirt with the Great Wave. I don’t believe in coincidences, because I don’t think certain things just “seem to happen.” I believe everything has a purpose. I felt like it was eerie to encounter the painting when I was just talking about it. 

And then I saw it again, in the form of a poster in the hallway when i walked out of the bathroom. 

Finally, I saw it at a playground we passed by on the way to church. Yes, a playground. It was printed on the side of a play set, except it wasn’t exactly like the painting. Someone added fish in free-fall, floating above the waves. 

I knew there had to be some meaning to this repeated encounter. I felt like it was following me and was prodding into my life, trying to deliver a message. Like I habitually do, I assigned life to an unconscious thing. Physically it was, but art is never truly unconscious. We have spaces dedicated to housing works of art because they are magnetic, pulsing lifeforms demanded to be seen, admired, even repulsed by. 

I felt like I had to write about this, but a voice (again, that intuition) was telling me to hold off on it. I had to wait for something big to happen to prompt a comprehensive written thought. 

As the weeks went on with no reply from the fellowship, I became discouraged. In order to keep my expectations low and to subside my disappointment, I told myself that I got rejected. I do this a lot with notifications and responses–– it helps soften the blow. When I did get the email saying I didn’t make it, however, the rejection hurt, raw and real. My mind immediately jumped to conclusions: What made certain people more qualified than me? Was it their school? Was I over-qualified even? Even though I mentally prepared for this kind of answer, it’s clear that it didn’t actually prepare me. Instead, I found myself in the same mindset whenever I encounter rejections. I play the comparison game and comparison always wins. It always wins because I can find every single thing possible to compare myself with. I also play the “coulda shoulda woulda” game and the hypothetical always wins, because I can easily pinpoint that I could have done something else to make me first choice, not second, or last.

A day after the news, the pain was still fresh. But as time went on, scrambling to apply to jobs and other fellowships bandaged the wound of rejection. It was an antidote of security. If I could just find something else to replace that void, if I could feel validated that someone saw me as worthy that they would hire me, then I would be okay. All this information and work was piling and weighing down. Instead of healing me, it burdened me. 

Then I let comparison involuntarily enter because it has been a frequent guest in my mind, making itself too comfortable in that space, stretching itself to fill the room of worthiness narrowing ever so slightly. 

I felt like the passenger in the boat face to face with the wave crashing towards me. We like to use the metaphor of a wave crashing over when we go through obstacles, and I don’t really know why. Maybe it’s because water is soothing, pure, and the liquid of life. I have always been afraid of waves. There’s a video of me when I was four at a beach in California. I was traipsing through the shallow part of the sea, when suddenly, I got submerged from a wave I wasn’t expecting, and I emerged from it, full-on sobbing. I think that traumatized me in the long-run, because I have been wary of going in what I call treacherous seas (basically anything that isn’t still and calm). 

The wave I experienced, of feeling lost and unworthy, is more painful than the wave that crushed my four year old body. Though I cannot see it or touch it, I too easily feel it. 

Through recommendations via Instagram posts (social media can do good, cynics), I decided to read New Seeds of Contemplation by Thomas Merton. In a small step of instilling discipline, instead of ordering it, I checked it out from the library to save money (though I do foresee buying a copy for myself because it’s just that good). Every other page is underlined because he so clearly communicates truths about our identity in Christ. One of the most convicting passages is this: 

“All things, except our own sins, are carried and come to us in the waters of this pure and irresistible stream. 

If we accept them in tranquility, submitting to the pressure of the waves by a clean and unquestioning faith and a love perfect and detached from all resistance, God’s will enters into the depths of our own freedom and carries our lives and all our acts and desires away on the tide of his own joy. True peace is only found by those who have learned to ride and swim with the strong current of this stream. For them life becomes simple and easy. Every moment is rich in happiness. All events are intelligible, if not in their deaths at least in their relation to the great wholeness of life. 

But if we refuse to accept His will (and this is sin) we are nevertheless overwhelmed by the flood which no power can resist.”

Thomas Merton was describing my condition and the decision before me–– to resist God and keep going my own way by concocting my own medicine or to kneel by his streams of mercy and goodness and submit myself to drink from it. 

I don’t like to submit. I question authority figures and don’t always follow what they say. I am prideful and independent, sometimes to a fault. Even though I have gone through so many trial-and-error experiences where error resulted most often, I have fallen into the same patterns. And yet God lavishes the most incomprehensible, undeserving grace. I have found myself in the same position twice before where I have been totally lost with the direction of my life. And then a month later, things start to fall into place and God gives me what I had desired. 

I know that God will provide a few months down the road, and it will probably be the most surprising, satisfying blessing ever. In the meantime, this is what I want: 

I want peace. I want stillness from the rushing streams of his goodness at work, flowing into the cavern of my heart that must empty itself to store it there, because I know only this can come from Him who created me and knows my very being. And this can be found in no one else, nowhere else.