#I have no idea what the story is around this but y'all. rain and sun and rainbows

[rip-quizilla]

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 5

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: Everything is falling- leaves from the trees, rain from the sky, you for Eddie, and Eddie for you.

Word Count: 10.1 K

A/N: Big thanks to @the-unforgivenn (happy birthday❤️) for all of the help you gave me on this chapter, and honestly this whole fic in general. You've been an invaluable part of the writing process of this story, and the fact that you care so much about Eddie & Ace just makes me feel so loved... you don't even know. Ily wifey✨

Thank you @vintagehellfire for your priceless tattoo knowledge- I hope I did you proud!!

Also thanks to @blueywrites for helping me decide on what Eddie would tattoo on reader back in our Tumblr DMs in June😂 y'all that's how long I've had this scene in my brain. This part of the story has been a long time coming.

Divider was created by the lovely and talented @hellfire--cult❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 5

Fall, 1983

“Rick, are you serious, man?”

“Dead serious, I’ll sell it to you for twenty.”

You caught the tail end of their conversation as you approached the red plastic picnic table in Forest Hills trailer park. Today was the first day of fall, and while it may not have felt like biting cold and crunchy leaves yet, it did feel like flannels tied around waists and long-dead grass that broke beneath the soles of your shoes. You hopped up onto the surface of the table, swinging your feet around to rest beside Eddie where he sat on the bench. 

“Sell what?” you asked, producing three cans of Coke from your bag that you’d brought from home and handing one to each of the boys. Rick had grown accustomed to your presence since the spring, so he actually cracked a smile when he answered your question and nodded in thanks as he accepted the can.

“Munson wants to buy my old tattoo gun.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, seriously?” you asked Eddie.

He didn’t take his eyes off Rick. “And I’m wondering what the catch is if you’re selling it to me for so cheap.” 

You cracked open your can of soda with a hiss, joining Eddie in his Rick stare-down. “Hmm,” you mused, “I bet he forgot to clean it and it’s staph-infested.”

“Nope,” Rick popped the ‘p’ after taking a swig from his shiny red can. “Never been used, so I can guarantee it’s staph-free. Always meant to use it, but after that brush with the cops I had last month, I don’t want to risk having it.”

You narrowed your eyes at Eddie, trying to discern whether or not he’d thought about the fact that if he bought it, then he would be in possession of paraphernalia for illegal Indiana activities. 

Then again, you knew he smoked weed and that was most definitely against the law as well, and he hadn’t been caught yet. You trusted him not to be stupid enough to get arrested.

You turned your line of questioning on Eddie. “Why on earth do you need a tattoo gun anyway?”

“Well you see, Ace-” Eddie lifted one of your feet up from the bench, straightening your leg and presenting your right shoe- your white converse, half covered in mythical creatures and random doodles that Eddie had slowly been adding to with his fine-tipped Sharpie ever since you’d bought them in early August. “-it seems that I need a canvas for my art, and it won’t be long before I run out of shoe.” 

You quirked an eyebrow. “So now people are the canvas?” 

Eddie held up his arms, bare skin nearly translucent in the afternoon sun. His nearly-too-small Iron Maiden tee showcased just how much bare skin he had to spare along the contours of his limbs. “If by people you mean me, then yeah.” 

“You’re going to tattoo yourself?”

“Yep!”

“Without practicing on someone else first?”

Eddie smirked, “You volunteering?”

You rolled your eyes, but for some odd reason the idea stuck. You decided to play along. 

“Let’s say I am, what would the tattoo be?” 

Eddie hadn’t anticipated this answer. He was so surprised, in fact, that he choked on the soda that he’d just sipped into his mouth before your question. In a cacophony of coughs and wheezes, Eddie managed to regain his composure as you smiled wryly, feeling as though you’d bested him somehow in some small way. To fluster him with something as small as this, something he hadn’t expected. 

“You’re serious? You want a tattoo?” Eddie responded skeptically, before turning away from you to fiddle with his soda can still held in his hands. 

You shrugged, as if he were asking if you wanted a pizza, not a permanent brand inked on your skin. “Why not? I think I’d look pretty badass with a tattoo.” 

You weren’t sure what was making you feel so bold today, but you had a feeling it might be related to the thought of Eddie covered in ink that wound up and down his skin that was making you ache to touch it when it was still naked and peach-pale. You scooched a couple inches down the tabletop to the left, placing your seat directly behind Eddie’s neck. 

Then, in a stroke of something between bravery, stupidity, and need, you carefully slung your legs over Eddie’s shoulders so that they sat in the bends of your knees.

It was a simple gesture- familiar, even. You made a point to lean back a little, bracing your hands behind you on the tabletop so that the apex of your thighs stayed a good distance from the back of Eddie’s neck. You felt Eddie’s shoulders stiffen, each muscle under your jeans tensing for a moment before relaxing into the closeness. 

Then Eddie brought his hands to your ankles, his fingertips brushing the spare skin between your high tops and the cuffs of your jeans. The pads of his thumbs barely caressed the skin but they felt like a kiss- a thing coveted and then forbidden, then coveted even more. 

His touch drifted over your legs, warm hands coming to rest over your shins and squeeze, heating the denim that separated his skin from yours. You were holding your breath. You’d been so confident a second ago yet here he was, knocking the very air from your lungs. 

You waited anxiously for him to say something; if he didn’t you were sure you were going to do something stupid. Something that would involve more of his skin on your skin.

“Would you want this tattoo of yours to show?” Eddie asked at last, breaking the silence between the two of you- well, the three of you. Rick was still there, taking in the sight before him with a smirk on his face. 

“Not easily, my parents would kill me.” you said, ensuring that your tone of voice was nonchalant, casual. “But I don’t see the harm in something small that I could hide.” 

Eddie tilted his head back and up, earthen eyes flicking up to yours. “What happened to ‘looking badass’?”

You pursed your lips as you leaned forward, bringing your faces to hover parallel over each other. “You’re saying that taking my pants off to reveal a surprise tatty isn’t badass?”

You watched as Eddie’s eyes flashed darker for a split second- nearly imperceptibly so- before his lips stretched sinfully into a mischievous grin. “Oh, under the pants then, huh?” 

His hands traced higher, ghosting on your knees and burning his fingerprints through your jeans. 

“Easy to hide,” you said, struggling to keep your voice even. “It’s a practical placement.”

Eddie’s thumbs stroked absentminded circles into the flesh of your lower thighs, tight denim puckering with the motion. “Practical placement…” he murmured, low enough that it sounded like he hadn’t even meant to say it out loud. 

“You could put it on your hip.”

Both of your heads whipped around to focus on Rick, who was grinning at both of you like he’d just discovered a fun new game to play. He shrugged, hopping up to sit beside you on the tabletop. “You want it to be hidden all of the time, right?” he leaned to shove you congenially with his shoulder. “When’s a good girl like you gonna be showing off some hip? I bet the only one who’ll see that will already be married to you when he lays eyes on-”

“Hey!” you interjected. “You act like I’m some prude, I’m not a nun.” Rolling your eyes, you looked back down at Eddie hoping to meet his gaze and laugh together over how ridiculous Rick was being. However, you looked down only to find Eddie’s chocolate browns trained on Rick with wide-eyed warning. A silent message was clearly being exchanged, but it wasn’t for you.

Rick was smiling smugly down at Eddie, unbeknownst to you, and Eddie was getting the message loud and clear:

It’s time to raise the stakes, kid. 

“Perfect!” Rick chirped, smug eyes still trained on Eddie’s. “So you wouldn’t mind letting Eddie use your hip as his, uh… canvas, then?”

If Eddie’s looks could kill, Rick would be a dead man. 

“Yeah.” you choked out, refusing to give yourself time to chicken out of what you’d gotten yourself into. “Yeah, why not?”

Rainy days in autumn just felt right.

Sure, you were in Latin class. Sure, you were supposed to be working on a packet the substitute teacher had just passed out. However, it was raining outside. The sub was easygoing enough that she hadn’t made a move to stop Eddie from doodling on your shoe that was perched comfortably on the crook of his hip. 

You sat behind him in every class you had together- there were four of them this year- and Eddie had gotten into the habit of reaching back to tap you on the leg whenever he knew he was losing focus. Every time he tapped, you would carefully stretch your leg forward until his hand caught on your ankle, lifting it up until it rested on his lap. His sharpie would go to work on whatever blank spots he could still find on your white converse, and the mindless activity of his drawing would keep his mind awake enough to listen as teachers droned on and on. 

The change in Eddie wasn’t lost on his teachers- they had all noticed the impact that your company seemed to have on him, and it was the only reason why they hadn’t had any issues with your constant companionship. When you were around, Eddie actually paid attention in his classes and turned in work- that was good enough for them.

The silence of the classroom and the soundtrack of rainfall beating against the roof and windows had created the perfect work zone for you, and your focus on your classwork was only interrupted when you noticed a folded piece of torn notebook paper on the edge of your desk. 

Smirking as you felt Eddie continue doodling on your shoe, you unfolded the paper and read the slanted scrawl that you’d come to recognize instantly as Eddie’s handwriting. 

Were you serious about the tattoo thing? It’s OK if you’re not.

Your cheeks heated, contemplating whether you were still serious about it or not. The only fears you had about it were completely logical- Eddie had literally no clue what he was doing. Yours would only be his second tattoo after his own. Worst case scenario, the tattoo would get infected and you go to the hospital. Eddie gets arrested for tattooing without a medical license. Best case scenario… you get to sit there while he grips your naked thigh for as long as it takes to leave a permanent reminder of him on your hip. 

You blinked a couple of times, letting that mental image wash over you, before confidently penning your answer beneath his message. 

I’m serious. 

Folding the scrap of paper and handing it back to him, you felt his Sharpie leave your shoe as he took the note and read it. You watched him register the two words, glance back at you through the loose strands of hair that hung over his shoulder, then smile softly into a shake of his head. A second later, he was handing the note back to you.

If you say so, Ace. What am I tattooing, and where?

You had to think about it for a moment before passing back your answer

Hip is fine. What are you gonna do? We could match.

Eddie’s reply came faster than you’d ever seen him write any of his notes in class, that’s for damn sure.

You want matching tattoos?? Are you sure?

Your heart began to race. Was that bad? Was he judging you for wanting to match him? Maybe you were being too clingy, trying too hard… you glanced down at his jacket, which was wrapped around you almost every day at this point- it was practically a second skin. His handwriting was all over your shoes. You stared at your fingers, scarlet polish chipping from the tips of your nails, and you remembered that you’d chosen red solely because he’d mentioned it was his favorite color. 

Were you coming across as desperate? Were you weirding him out? Maybe you needed to dial it back-

A new piece of paper slid across your desk, Eddie’s eyes glancing your way with nothing but warmth in his gaze before he returned his attention to your shoe on his lap. 

I’m fine with it if you are. 

Putting bats on my forearm. 

You released a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, giving ways for butterflies to take flight inside your chest. You grinned, jotting down your reply beneath his writing. 

I’m more than fine with it. 

Could you do just one little bat on my hip?

Eddie took a little longer this time with his response, and you understood why once you saw the adorably small silhouette of a bat penned in black on the paper he’d passed back to you. 

You leaned forward, letting your chin nearly brush the fabric of his denim jacket as you whispered low enough that the substitute teacher wouldn’t hear. 

“It’s perfect.”

A snicker from the other side of the classroom caught your ear. Eddie and you both turned to see a cluster of letter-jacketed assholes staring at the two of you, whispering and laughing with each other. 

You knew deep down that you didn’t care what they thought. You knew that you should just keep your head down. Ignore them. 

But then you caught the tail end of one of their sentences.

“...fucking freaks.”

Two things happened simultaneously: your eyebrows jumped, and Eddie’s stomach dropped.

The ringing of the bell was all you needed to angrily shove your belongings into your backpack and march over to the other side of the classroom, stopping the jocks in their tracks. Eddie was right behind you, tugging you back by the crook of your elbow as you steadily ignored his pleas to sit down and ignore them, they aren’t worth it.

“You want to repeat what you were saying over there, Alan?” You stared up at the freckled boy, his harsh features sneering down at you from where he stood nearly half a foot taller than you. His height did nothing to deter you, however. Neither did Eddie’s death grip on your arm.

Alan snorted, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the two of you before him. His eyes flicked over you, appraising for about two seconds before directing his attention to Eddie behind you. “You letting your girl pick your fights for you now, Munson?” 

Eddie didn’t have a chance to respond; you didn’t give him one. “Don’t look at him.” you stepped forward, bringing you mere inches from the freckled football star. “I asked you a question.”

Alan and his cronies laughed, apparently amused by the show of dominance you were trying to make. You opened your mouth to berate him further, but the sharp tug on your arm from Eddie was strong enough this time to jerk you away from them and toward the door of the classroom. 

“Wh- Eddie, quit it!” you tried to shake off his grip but it wasn’t going to budge; Eddie marched you out the door and down the hallway like a man on a mission. 

“Yeah, Eddie, quit it!” You both could hear Alan’s patronizing whine from the classroom, his voice thrown into a reedy falsetto that made your blood boil. His voice trailed off, melting into the nasal snickers of his friends.

Eddie didn’t let go of your arm until the two of you reached his locker, at which point he finally looked you in the eye- and his stare embodied an intensity that you hadn’t seen from him ever before. You’d seen him intense, of course… just not like this. 

This looked like fear. 

“What the fuck was that for?” Eddie bit out, his teeth clenched and eyes wide. 

You crossed your arms, suddenly defensive. Had you messed up, somehow? “I… I mean, they were calling us names, I wasn’t going to just sit there.”

“Alan’s an illiterate asshole, you don’t need to explain yourself to him.”

“I know I don’t need to, but…” You chuckled humorlessly, that familiar vengeful feeling from moments ago beginning to bubble back up. “You know what, no. I do need to. I’m not the kind of person who can just sit there while jerks like him run around slandering good people, it’s wrong!”

Eddie huffed, his hands on his hips as he glanced around and shook his head. “Slandering, huh? That’s a big word, Ace. What’s that, the college word of the day?” You raised an eyebrow, watching him closely and curiously. 

He was fidgeting nonstop, repeatedly picking up his feet and replacing them on the floor only an inch or so away from where they’d been before. His eyes darted in every direction, as if scanning for potential threats so that he could run from them before they decided to pounce. 

“Eddie, why are you so afraid of those guys?” 

Big brown eyes widened to saucers, refocusing on you. “This isn’t fear, Ace, it’s just common sense.” Eddie checked over his shoulder to ensure the jocks were gone, then took a step closer. He leaned his shoulder against the locker, lifting his opposite arm to gently place his hand on your upper arm. You shivered, feeling his thumb trace small circles through his own black leather. Maybe that’s why he’s so scared all of a sudden, you pondered, leaning closer to Eddie. He’s given me his armor. 

You lowered your voice, sympathetic to Eddie’s plight. “You know I wouldn’t let them hurt you, Eds.” Looking up into his eyes, you expected to see them soften, gratitude coating his gaze. Instead, they widened and crinkled slightly at the edges. Eddie huffed out a gaudy laugh, incredulous at your admission.

“Hurt me?” he shook his head, stunned, and began to rifle through his locker for the books he needed for next class. “Ace, I just don’t want them to hurt you!”

You balked. “Me?” an eyebrow raised, you crossed your arms over your chest, defensive once again. “You really think they’d hit a girl? They’re jerks but I don’t think they’d go that far-”

“Nah, they’ll only sick their girlfriends on you.” Eddie punctuated his sentence with a slam of his locker door. “Purebred harpies with matching scrunchies who’ll make your life a living hell and then pretend that you’re the crazy one.”

It was a struggle to keep up with him at the rate he was walking, strides each a yard wide as he tugged you along by your hand. 

Your hand. Eddie Munson was holding your hand. 

“You, uh… you speaking from experience?” You stuttered over your words, cheeks heating at the sudden skin-to-skin contact. He had just admitted that he didn’t want to see you get hurt- his blatant protectiveness of you coupled with the way he was decisively dragging you by the hand to your locker right now was nearly too much for you to handle. 

“Trust me,” Eddie sighed, swinging you around as he reached your locker and (to your dismay) letting go of your hand. “You get asked out on a dare enough times, you figure out how their coven operates.” 

Eddie wasn’t meeting your eyes. You had to actually place your hand on his shoulder to capture his gaze. “Eddie,” you said, making a conscious effort to keep your voice steady and be something stable for him to feel at least a little grounded on. “Deep breath.”

Surprisingly, he did as you said. Eddie closed his eyes, inhaling deep and allowing his lungs to fill long enough that his chest expanded before his exhale blew softly on your cheeks. It smelled like the apple you’d brought for him at lunch.

 When you were once again treated to that warm hazelnut gaze, your hand acted without thinking and flew up to gently rest against his jawline. You were crossing some invisible line- you knew that- but the light in the hallway was causing shadows to take up residence in the dusting of whiskers that decorated the sharp incline that led to his chin. Your fingertips brushed his skin reverently, and he seemed frozen. Eddie didn’t dare move; you were like a butterfly that had deigned to land on him of all people, and damn it all if he was going to fuck it up and scare you off. 

“I’ve got you, you’ve got me… right?” Your voice was barely loud enough to be heard through the noise of bustling students. “We look out for each other, Eddie, we’re stronger together.” 

Eddie remained still under your caress, wishing he could focus on your touch. Wishing he could rip his eyes away from where they were trained behind you- held in terrified contact with a sadistic-looking Alan who stood with his cherry-lipsticked girlfriend across the hallway. Alan’s lips were curled into a sneer, watching as the thing that Eddie wanted most became his worst nightmare.

You were openly touching him, while wearing his clothes, standing in shoes covered with his drawings- and Eddie watched in horror as the harpy pushed up on her tiptoes to whisper something in Alan’s ear before both of them refocused not on Eddie, but on you. 

They laughed like fucking heyenas, eyeing their next meal. 

It took every ounce of self control Eddie had, but he gently took your hand in his and lowered it from his cheek. He ignored the way your eyes gazed up at him the same way a scorned puppy begged for some kind of affection, any confirmation that they are, indeed, loved. 

“It’s the together part I’m worried about, Ace.” Eddie whispered, keeping his voice low. 

You were quiet, which Eddie hated because it was his fault.

“Oh, and um-” Eddie raised his shoulders and shivered, rubbing his hands along his upper arms to warm himself with the friction. “-it’s a little chilly today… you mind if I wear the jacket?” His hand drifted down to the flannel that hung loosely tied around your waist, taking a corner of the material and feeling it between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

“This’ll keep you warm, yeah?” 

You stared blankly for a moment, stunned. You had nearly forgotten that the jacket was his to take. You’d assumed he liked that you always wore his jacket, but… perhaps you’d made that up. You were eager for him to want things like that, after all… ‘more than friends’ kinds of things. However, asking for a borrowed item to be returned was completely normal for friends. You chided yourself for reading too much into it and smiled warmly up at him.

“Yeah! Of course!” you sprung into action, setting your backpack down on the floor as you began to shrug off the jacket. “You’re right it’s frigid in here today.” 

You handed the jacket to Eddie, who donned it with a thin-lipped smile. Parting ways for your next class, you departed in opposite directions down the hallway. 

Upon arriving in your calculus class, you glanced out the window eager to zone out as you watched the rain, only to be greeted by a gray sky drained of its water. The rain’s reprieve left nothing in its wake but a tired sun, soft mist that obscured all surety, and packed Indiana dirt softened to mud too loose for one to find their footing. 

The sort of mud that, should you try to walk through it, you’d be destined to slip and fall. 

When Eddie thought of Halloween, he thought of blood and sugar. 

It was a strange contradiction, the way that Halloween’s association with horror and gore had balanced itself out with candy corn and fun-sized Snickers bars, and yet the juxtaposition of the two brought a smile to his face. The combination of sweet and terrifying embodied the holiday perfectly. On Halloween, there was no need for any kind of steely exterior that might protect him from judgment. No need to hide the way he really feels behind the scary metalhead armor he’d so carefully curated as a defense mechanism. 

On Halloween, he wasn’t just allowed to be a freak. He was celebrated for it. 

On Halloween, he could just be. 

It was the reason why Halloween just so happened to be the day he’d had enough courage to look through your bedroom window exactly four years ago. It’s the day when Hell meets Heaven to make something sweet, and anything can happen.

Anything- including matching tattoos on the floor of his trailer. 

Everything was ready- Eddie had laid out sheets of newspaper to cover what he’d deemed the tattoo zone, and broken down a cardboard box to act as a stable surface on the soft carpet of his bedroom floor. Eddie had scrutinized every instruction he’d been able to wrench from Rick for how to work the tattoo machine. Grips, needles, fucking rubber bands that were apparently very necessary… he’d made sure he had it all. He’d even practiced on an orange that he’d swiped from the kitchen counter.

A thick black cable now snaked across his carpeted floor, connecting the machine to a pedal, the pedal to a power supply, and the power supply to the yellowed plastic outlet on his wall. Beside the machine sat a stack of paper towels and all sorts of other shit Rick had advised him to make sure he used. He was lucky that Rick had bought a bottle of black ink- Eddie wouldn’t have known where to seek out medical-grade ink in a state where it was illegal to ink your skin without a license. 

Your knock at his door made Eddie jump; he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It would be easy to write his nerves off as adrenaline before his first tattoo, but who was he kidding- it was you. You’d gone from someone who made him nervous to someone who made him nervous for different reasons, and all of this was very inconvenient for Eddie. 

“Trick or Treat,” You’d chirped when he opened the door, and it was at that moment Eddie realized that this night may very well be the death of him.

You wore your favorite baggy sweater over a tight black tank top, which you’d tucked into some high waisted acid washed jeans. Unsurprisingly, the chucks on which he’d scribbled his claim were fastened securely on your feet. In your hands was a variety pack of halloween candies and a shopping bag from the local drugstore. Everything about you radiated warmth, and Eddie had to fight the urge to change tonight’s itinerary to movies and a blanket fort and spend the whole evening on the couch with you, surrounded by candy wrappers and the light of his television set. 

“I brought antibacterial soap,” you said, bringing Eddie back to reality. You rifled through your shopping bag to show him your spoils as you stepped through the threshold and into his trailer. “-large bandages, and a little travel first aid kit just in case. Oh, and I did a little bit of reading at the library and I couldn’t find much on tattoos, but the one commonality between every book and article I could find said to make sure you wash the wound often and disinfect everything-”

“Ace,” Eddie interrupted, taking the bag from you and closing the front door. The corner of his mouth quirked up, keeping an amused chuckle at bay. “You went to the library to read about how to safely care for an illegal tattoo?” Your expression soured, shifting to a half-scowl, half-pout. 

“Well one of us has got to do it,” you huffed, grabbing the bag and marching towards Eddie’s room. “And I know you wouldn’t set foot in the library unless you were forced.” You continued to yell at him from his room, “You’ll thank me when your kitchen-scratched tattoo doesn’t get infected, and you get to grow old with all of your limbs intact!”

Eddie stayed glued to his spot as his smirk grew into a goofy grin. You were fucking adorable. 

You hadn’t argued when Eddie insisted that he start with his own tattoo- before he got started on permanently marking your skin, he wanted to be sure that he at least had gotten the hang of it first. He immediately started getting to work with his trusty fine-tipped Sharpie, sketching out a scattering of bats on his forearm and glancing every once in a while at his notebook for reference. You’d flipped through that notebook on several occasions when the two of you had sat idle during classes or study sessions. The drawings were always sprawling, sharp and gruesome in a way that wasn’t so much scary as it was fascinating to you. 

You laid stomach-down on his mattress, positioned behind where he sat on the floor, his back leaned up against the bed frame and close enough that you could probably reach down and play with his hair if you were bold enough. You didn’t- no matter how tempting it was, you didn’t want to risk anything that might mess up his focus. You settled for watching Eddie’s reflection in the mirror that sat leaned up against the wall in front of him. 

When the Sharpie stencil had dried and Eddie picked up the tattoo machine, you couldn’t deny the nervous uptake in your heart rate. You watched him gingerly begin the process of permanently inking his drawing into his skin, and before the needle touched skin, Eddie looked over his shoulder at you and winked, whispering a surprisingly shaky “Point of no return.” Before you could ask if he was having second thoughts, he was already outlining the first bat, his socked foot pressing decisively on the pedal that whirred his machine to life. 

Minutes ticked by before you uttered a soft “Does it hurt?” to break the awkward silence. Normally, Eddie had some sort of music playing, Metallica or WASP or something along those lines spinning on his cheap old turntable- but tonight there was nothing but the electric buzz that filled the small bedroom, and it was starting to make you antsy. 

Eddie huffed, and it was as much of a laugh as he could afford while holding still. “Well, Ace, it’s a needle sticking in and out of my arm repeatedly, so if I’m being honest it ain’t exactly sunshine and rainbows.” You watched him wince as he moved on from outlining the first bat and started on the second. 

“Does it at least make you feel a little badass?” You watched his reflection in the mirror glance up through the curtain of his hair and raise an eyebrow at you. 

“That depends,” He said, “do I look badass?” 

“A little.” You teased. “You’ll look more badass when the tattoo is finished.” 

That earned you a snort from him. “What, fifty percent of a tattoo doesn’t cut it?” His reflection flashed you a genuine smile, that lopsided grin affecting you the way it always does, spiking your body temp and rushing the thump of your heart. 

“Nope. Though, if your intention is to tell the world that you have commitment issues-”

“I do not have commitment issues-”

“Then what kind of issues do you have?” 

Eddie parted the needle from his skin, taking a moment to glance wryly over his shoulder in your direction. 

“You.” It was punctuated by a tongue that peeked out from between his lips. You followed suit, shoulders shaking as you chuckled.

Silence threatened to fall for a moment then, but Eddie put a stop to that. “Keep talking.”

“Huh?”

His voice was quiet, muttered like he was biting the inside of his cheek as he spoke. “Hurts less when we’re talking.”

You smiled, watching as he avoided your eye contact in the mirror, focusing on his arm as a subtle blush began to creep onto his cheeks. Tempting as it was to tease, you opted for a more neutral topic.

“Which is better, sour candy or chocolate?”

You could barely see his eyebrows furrow behind his curtain of curls as he considered your question. “Chocolate.”

“You’re crazy.”

He barked out a laugh. “After all the ridiculous shit I’ve said, that’s what crosses the line for you?”

You shook your head, amping up your reaction for his benefit; he was laughing, and it was music to your ears. You were greedy for more of it. 

“Sour candy is a whole experience, chocolate is just sweet! That’s all it has going for it!”

Eddie gawked but kept his eyes trained on his skin. “What do you have against sweets?”

You rolled your eyes, flopping from your stomach to your back and staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling. “I haven’t got anything against sweets… I just like a little tart to go with it. Oh hang on, that reminds me-”

You stuck your hand into the plastic bag you’d brought with you, producing a variety pack of cheap Halloween candies. “Do you normally get trick-or-treaters? I thought we could pour these into a bowl and set it out on the porch- you know, so we don’t have to keep answering the door.”

Eddie Shook his head. “Nah, not a lot of kids who live here. Those who do always high-tail it to the neighborhoods where the good shit is, like-”

“Loch Nora?” you finished, smirking. 

Nodding his approval, Eddie echoed, “Loch Nora.”

“Well in that case,” you yanked open the bag of candy so hard that a few individually wrapped pieces were flung onto the bedspread as well as the floor below. “I guess we’ll have to eat all of this ourselves.”

Eddie paused his tattooing to glance at a fun-sized packet of sour gummy worms that had landed on the carpet beside him. “Gummy worms?” he asked.

You flicked the back of his head while the needle was off his skin. “Uh, yeah, they’re delicious.”

“Did you at least get candy corn?”

You gagged. “Candy corn?!”

The two of you passed the next hour like that, debating about various arbitrary topics and inevitably disagreeing on almost all of them. There were only three things that you both agreed on without any debate whatsoever: Santa Claus was the superior holiday mascot, Joan Jett could easily beat Cyndi Lauper in a fight, and The Empire Strikes Back was way better than A New Hope.

When Eddie was finally finished with his tattoo, you were off the bed in an instant and already reaching for the antibacterial soap. 

“You should wash it under some warm water first before anything gross has a chance to get in there-”

“Hey hey hey, whoa hold on!” Eddie was laughing, eyes wide as he smiled at you. Your hand was already encircled around his wrist, tugging his arm (and the person attached to it) toward the bathroom. “Ace, you haven’t even looked at it yet, c’mon you’re bruising the artist’s ego here.” 

You sighed but couldn’t hide the rueful grin that danced on your pursed lips. Softening your vice like grip on his wrist, you shifted your hands to cradle his forearm and survey the last hour’s work.

“It looks good, Eddie… really good, actually.” You absently swiped a thumb over the soft skin of his wrist. “If you’d told me it was professionally done, I’d totally believe you.”

“Yeah?” He looked up from where your thumb stroked the base of his forearm, eyes shining.

“Yeah,” you smirked. “Of course, I’d tell you to try and get your money back, but-”

“Oh shove it up your ass, Sweet Tart.” The playful shoulder-check had you letting go of his arm, but both of your faces were painted with ear-to-ear smiles. 

Eddie washed his new tattoo in the bathroom sink, admiring the way the bats stretched and shifted with every flex of his forearm. Your mouth hurt, as did the muscles in your cheeks; you couldn’t stop smiling. He was so happy with his work, and you had to admit that he had actually done a really good job with that tattoo machine. 

“We’ve got to get you out of Indiana, Munson,” you murmured to the mirror where he continued to scrutinize his work from every angle. “I think you may have just found your calling.” 

His eyes were wide and shining with pride as they glanced your way. “You think?” 

You nodded, that saccharine smile stubbornly staying put on your lips. To be fair, you didn’t fight it.

“You’re coming with me, then.” Eddie replied, his own smile glowing in the dying light above the bathroom mirror.

There it was- that familiar fire beneath the skin of your cheeks.

“Oh I am, huh?” 

“Hell yeah.” Eddie braced his arm on the doorway, leaning over you until your faces were mere inches apart. “We’re stronger together, remember?”

Breathe. Breathe… Why can’t you breathe?

You’d barely managed a nod before Eddie was ducking around you through the doorway, grabbing your hand, and leading you back to his room. 

“Your turn, Ace.”

Oh yeah, you were also getting a tattoo today. You’d almost forgotten. Were you nervous? You weren’t sure. Actually, yes, you were very nervous- not so much about the tattoo as you were for where the tattoo would be. 

In minutes, you were both sitting on Eddie’s bedroom floor- Eddie readying everything he needed for your new ink, and you sitting eerily still as your soul started to feel like it might leave your body.

“Ace,”

Eyes refocusing, you blinked a few times. “Yeah?”

Eddie’s expression was calm, sympathetic to the inward freak-out he had a feeling you were on the verge of. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out sounding a little more strained than you had intended. “Hah…you saying I have commitment issues?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but Eddie’s eyebrows stayed knitted together above his big brown eyes. “No,” he murmured. His voice was soft, as if he were speaking to a stray animal and trying not to spook it. “I guess I’m just… trying to give you an out, so you don’t feel pressured or anything.”

You shook your head, “I don’t want an out.”

Eddie blinked, “No?”

“No.”

There was a second of silence between the two of you before you both took in a collective breath, exhaling simultaneously and giggling when you both realized that you were breathing in sync. Perfect harmony; sour and sweet, nervous but willing. 

“You, uh…” Eddie stammered, his eyes flicking down to your lap and back up to your face. “...you still want it on your hip?”

Your heart rate doubled. 

“Um, yeah.” you awkwardly shifted your weight onto your knees, grabbing hold of your waistband and unbuttoning your shorts. You shimmied them over your hips, revealing the rest of your leotard- leotard, Eddie realized. Not a tank top. You were wearing a black leotard. It was almost like the kind that he’d seen ballerinas wear, except it cut so high on your hips that he was sure it wouldn’t be allowed in any of the dance studios he could think of, and….yep. YEP, it was practically a thong. Your ass was out. You were sitting on the floor of his bedroom with your ass out. 

Chill out, Munson! He screamed inwardly at himself, Chill the fuck out!

Of course, you couldn’t tell that there was a war going on between Eddie’s ability to function and the short-circuiting that threatened to render him unable to do anything but stare at you. All you could see was the way his jaw had gone slack and his eyes bugged out of their sockets.

You smiled shyly, a twinge of something between satisfaction and guilt nudging at your heartstrings. “I figured this thing would be less awkward than if I was sitting here in my underwear,” you laughed nervously as you gestured to your leotard.

Eddie gulped. He couldn’t see much of a difference. “Yeah, totally.” 

A beat passed. You grabbed a bag of gummy worms from the floor, tearing it open with a crinkle of the plastic that would not have been so loud if the two of you weren’t dead silent. You bit into the candy where the color changed from pink to blue, then finally muttered through your chewing, “Ready when you are.” 

Eddie blinked rapidly, taking his Sharpie in his hands. “Uh, yeah… yeah, okay.” 

With your free hand, you pointed to the part of your hip where your flesh naturally creased as your thigh met your pelvis. 

“Is here good?”

Eddie gulped. 

“Yeah, that’s good.” But Eddie was very much not good. He was the opposite of good, he felt like he was malfunctioning. When he placed his free hand on your upper thigh, he almost apologized. Why the hell did he feel like he had to apologize? He had no clue. His palms were sweating- did you feel how sweaty his palms were? Oh god. He forgot what a bat looked like- you were trusting his artistic skills enough for him to permanently ink his drawing into your skin and he couldn’t even remember what a goddamn bat looked li- oh, wait, he had them on his own forearm now. Eddie glanced at his arm, reminding himself what a goddamn bat looked like. 

He’s never felt like more of a nervous idiot than right now. 

Meanwhile, you felt like you were about to explode.

His hand was warm. So warm as he grasped your thigh. Whenever he’d touched you before, there was always a barrier, some form of separation between his skin and yours- jeans, a sweater, a flannel. 

A leather jacket.

That’s right- he had taken his jacket back. Maybe you were reading too deep into things, but you had this unshakable feeling that taking back that jacket had been a message. 

We’re just friends. Nothing more.

But if that was true, then why was he looking at your thighs the way he was? Why had he looked at you the way he did when he said you should go with him when he leaves Hawkins? 

He wasn’t your boyfriend… you knew that.

So why couldn’t you shake this undeniably girlfriendish ache in your chest?

“Okay.” Eddie’s voice jolted you out of your downward spiral into your very inconvenient feelings. “Check that out in the mirror, make sure you like it.”

You straightened up, walking on your knees until you faced the mirror leaning against the wall and inspected the tiny, perfect little bat that he’d drawn on the fullest part of your hip.

It matched the bats that now decorated his arm, now surrounded by an angry red halo that bloomed across his skin. Once that bat was inked, it would be something connecting you and Eddie forever- a shared experience, a secret that the two of you would always be in on. 

Suddenly, you realized that in this moment there wasn’t a single thing you wanted more than a matching tattoo with Eddie Munson.

Well, there was one thing. But you had a feeling that wasn’t happening tonight. The tattoo, however…

“I love it.” You looked over your shoulder at Eddie, but his eyes were a little too busy staring at your practically naked behind to meet your gaze. 

“Ahem.”

Breaking free of his trance, Eddie shook his head a tad, which drew a small chuckle from your smirking lips. Eddie couldn’t help but smile too, albeit more shyly than you.

“Distracted?” You teased, unable to hold back your glee at this kind of attention- any kind of attention- from Eddie. 

He sighed, blinking rapidly while he finally met your eyes. There was something new in the way he was looking at you- if you didn’t know better you might call it frustration, but it was an amused sort of frustration. Almost like his eyes were saying “what am I going to do with you?” but through sunglasses tinted with desire. 

You wanted to bottle that, stow it away for emergencies. Wanted to preserve the way that gaze made you feel so that you could experience it over and over again. 

“No.” Eddie murmured through a rueful grin. “Lie down, it’ll be easier to ink the skin while it’s flat.” You did as he instructed, feeling the crinkle of newspaper underneath the skin of your rear. Once again, you found yourself staring up at the water stain on Eddie’s ceiling until his face came into view, looking down at you as he readied the tattoo machine. 

“Are you?” You heard him ask. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

The pads of Eddie’s fingers poked and prodded at the skin around where your tattoo would soon have an indefinite spot on your hip, and you wondered if he could tell that your temperature shot up ten degrees each time you felt his hands on you.

“Are you distracted?” he clarified. “Because it hurts less when you’ve got something else to focus on.” 

“Oh.” Suddenly, your mind went blank. Of course, the moment you wanted something to distract you, all ideas turned tail and ran. “Um…”

Snap!

Your jaw dropped as the elastic of your leotard snapped back to your skin from where Eddie had pulled it away with his pointer finger. “Where’d you even get this thing?” 

Now it was your turn to short-circuit.

“Uh-” You stammered, interrupted by the machine beginning to buzz. 

Eddie didn’t wait for you to finish your thought before reminding you what he’d asked. “C’mon, Sweet Tart, where’d you get the leotard?”

You knew he was trying to distract you so you didn’t feel the pain, but you couldn’t help the tensing of your muscles as the needle pierced your skin. You winced, staring at the water stain with a newfound intensity. “Dance store.” you gritted through lips that formed a tight line. 

“Dance store, huh?” You could hear the smile through Eddie’s words. “And why were you in a dance store?”

You huffed out a short, breathy laugh, careful to keep your hip still as Eddie’s needle continued to do its work. “I was making a Flashdance costume. Heard about this Halloween party a few weeks ago, but then we made the tattoo plans… and I had already bought the leotard, so…”

It was disconcerting to speak with Eddie without looking at him; he was a very expressive person, always talking with his hands, always making sure that he looked you in the eyes when you spoke to him. But now he was focused on his work on your hip, leaving your eyes to shift between staring at his ceiling and fluttering closed.

“You were going to wear this thing to a party?” he asked, incredulous. 

Your eyebrows wrinkled over your closed eyes. “I would’ve worn tights under it…” 

He snorted. “That wouldn’t have made a difference.”

You winced, groaning as the needle hit a nerve that particularly stung. “What- ah, shit- what are you trying to say?” 

The buzzing stopped for a moment. “Fuck, you okay?” Eddie’s face leaned into your field of vision, his frizzy brown hair backlit into a halo by the light from the lamp behind him. “You want to take a break?”

You shook your head, taking a mental snapshot of how ethereal he looked like this. “No, you can keep going, I’m fine.” 

Cautiously, Eddie got back to work. A few wordless seconds ticked by before you spoke. 

“What did you mean, ‘that wouldn’t have made a difference’?”

Eddie’s reply was matter-of-fact, but you could have sworn that you heard a hint of protectiveness in his voice when he said, “Tights or no tights, the whole party would have been staring at your ass, Sweet Tart.”

The “T” sound in “Tart” was soft this time. So soft, it was barely there at all, and it almost sounded like he’d just called you sweetheart. If only. You’d give anything to be Eddie’s sweetheart.

Whether he’d meant to blend that consonant or not, it made you brave. “Is that a bad thing?”

A pause. Then, “Is this a trap?”

“Answer the question, would a bunch of people staring at my ass be a bad thing?”

Eddie sighed. “This is definitely a trap,” he muttered, before replying “No, Ace, objectively it would not be a bad thing. But sometimes people view girls differently when they walk around with their asses out.”

“Do you look at me differently when my ass is out?” You were being cheeky, you knew it. 

“No, I don’t look at you differently.” came his instant response, muttered through nearly-closed lips. “I just look at you.”

Nothing could stand against your smile, not even you. “Yeah, that much I could see in the mirror.”

“You don’t sound too upset about that.”

This was different from the flirting you were used to with Eddie. Your regular flavor of flirtation had always been surface-level banter; nothing past a jab here and there, a joke at his expense or a nickname thrown your way. 

Now? You were talking about the way he looked at your body, and the fact that he could tell that you liked when he looked. The two of you were in uncharted territory, and you buzzed under his touch in time with the inky needle at the beautiful unknown of it all. 

“Okay, the outline is done but I’m about to start filling it in.” Eddie warned. “This part hurts a little more. You wanna take a break?”

You nodded. While Eddie jumped up to get you both a glass of water, you sat up on your elbows and peered over at your hip to get a look at your new ink. When you saw it, you gasped so fervently that you startled yourself.

It was perfect. The perfect little bat. 

It wasn’t completely symmetrical. The outline was a tad thicker in certain places than others. But those imperfections made it his. And the fact that it was on your skin made it yours. 

You couldn’t wait to wake up and stare at it like this every single day. 

Eddie returned a moment later with two mismatched cups of tap water. Once you’d both rehydrated, he got to work replacing the needle at the end of the machine with a new one, as well as changing out various attachments and fiddling with a knobby-looking piece until he seemed satisfied with what he’d changed.

 You were impressed with how intensely focused Eddie was on this sort of work; it didn’t seem to be taking him long to get the hang of this. It also didn’t take him long to come up with another topic of conversation that teetered on the line between friendly and flirty.

“Ever played Fuck, Marry, Kill?”

You had not, but the title of the game brought an unexpected chuckle out of you. “Edward Munson, I am a lady! At least take me out to dinner first-”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Eddie chuckled, and you could hear his deadpan in the tone of his voice. “I say three people’s names and you have to tell me which you’d fuck, which you’d marry, and which you’d kill. Comprende?”

“Uhh-” whatever you’d been about to say was cut short by a harsher buzz than before, accompanied by the aggressive sting of needles on your skin. “Mmh, shit, okay yeah sure let’s play.”

Eddie smiled to himself. He wasn’t sure why he loved the little noises and whispered curses that spilled from your mouth while he tattooed you, but he honestly thought they might be the cutest sounds he’d ever heard. You were taking the pain like a champ- he was actually pretty proud of you in this moment as you remained still through the sting.

“Lars Ulrich, James Hetfield, and Kirk Hammett”

You rolled your eyes. Eddie had ensured over your many rides in his van this summer that every Metallica song he’d played had been an educational experience. Eddie had picked up a cassette of their debut album in July, and ever since he’d become obsessed. Already, he was trying to persuade the other members of his band to figure out how to play The Four Horsemen by ear. 

Needless to say, you knew enough about the band to at least answer the question. 

“Well I’m killing Lars for sure.”

“Poor Lars never stood a chance.”

You grinned, willing the distraction into something great enough to numb the pain. “And I think I’m gonna have to fuck Hetfield.”

“‘Have to fuck Hetfield,’ such a sacrifice.” 

You carefully stretched your arms up to rest above your shoulders, cradling your head on your hands like a pillow. “Hey, if someone’s got to do it, I’ll take one for the team.”

You heard him snort, then after a moment’s quiet he added, “So you’re marrying Kirk Hammett, then?”

“I guess so.”

“What makes Kirk marriage material? Over the other two, I mean.”

You thought about Kirk Hammett’s wild, dark curls. His build. His brown button eyes. The way he looked holding a guitar.

“I don’t know, there’s just something about him.”

Eddie thought about the way he’d been trying to make himself look more like a rockstar ever since he���d first seen the tiny, grainy picture of the Metallica members in the corner of a page of Rolling Stone; he’d been bumming copies off Jeff’s subscription since the seventh grade. How he’d started growing out his hair after seeing Kirk’s long, black mane. He smiled. 

He must be doing something right.

“Alright, Mrs. Hammett,” He quipped, “My turn, hit me with bachelorettes one through three, please.”

You thought over your options, trying to think of women you’d heard him mention before. Wondering if he thought any of them had something in common with you, and praying to God he didn’t kill them.

“Olivia Newton-John,”

Already, Eddie was descending into a fit of giggles. 

“Why are you laughing? She’s pretty!”

Eddie launched into a falsetto rendition of the chorus from Grease’s Hopelessly Devoted to You, and you were instantly fighting the giggles too. 

“Shut up! I’m not done yet. Olivia Newton-John… have you seen Fast Times?”

His response came in a tone of voice that was the vocal equivalent of a side-eye. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I don’t know if you know who Phoebe Cates is.”

“Oh,” Eddie sighed dreamily, “I know who Phoebe Cates is.” 

You rolled your eyes, but chuckled nonetheless. “Okay then- Olivia Newton-John, Phoebe Cates, and Carrie Fisher.”

Eddie barked out a joyous “Ah!” before answering, “Well this is easy, Ace, say goodbye to Newton-John!”

You mock-gasped. “You’re killing Sandy?”

“I’m killing Sandy.”

“That is brutal. She was so innocent, too.”

Eddie squinted at the half-filled tattoo, smirking into his explanation. “Okay, I see the appeal, Ace, I truly do. That outfit at the end is killer.” He paused. Should he say it? Would he be too obvious if he did? 

Ah, fuck it. 

“I’m a sucker for a woman in red shoes, let me tell ya. However-” Eddie quickly glazed over that last sentence, as well as any opening you might have gotten to think about how that might relate to you. “-I’ve gotta fuck Phoebe Cates. Because… y’know-”

“Boobies?” you beat him to the punch.

Eddie confirmed with a matter-of-fact “Boobies.” He glanced up at your face for a moment, curious to see if he could read what you thought of his answers, but you were staring pensively at his ceiling, expression unreadable. “And you have to have known I was marrying Leia the moment she was an option.” 

“You have a thing for Princess Leia?”

“Are you joking?” Eddie asked, incredulously. “How could I not? The woman’s the definition of a spitfire, she kicks ass and takes names. Not to mention, she’s got a thing for scoundrels.” 

You hummed. “Do you think you’re a scoundrel, Eddie?” 

“Well I’m certainly not a scruffy-looking nerf herder, I’ll tell you that much.”

You winced playfully, “A nerf herder you are not… but you are a bit scruffy.”

“You’ve got me there, princess.”

Eddie went silent. The nickname had just slipped out- all this talk of scoundrels and princesses and strong women who weren’t afraid of a fight and before he knew it, he was seeing more similarities between you and Leia than he’d realized were there before. 

Princess had just seemed right. It just slipped out. 

The line between friendship and dangerous territory had been so clearly drawn in Eddie’s mind before tonight. Where had he gone wrong? That once clear line was getting blurry.

Eddie was absolutely convinced that he would probably find a way to single handedly ruin your friendship before he was finished filling in your tattoo- which you would inevitably hate, because it would remind you of the asshole who you used to be friends with before he made things weird between you.

“My turn,” your voice cut through Eddie’s downward spiral, drawing a relieved sigh from him that tickled the skin of your thigh. “Let’s make this round more interesting. Only names of people from Hawkins.”

“Hm, that is interesting.” he mused, the needle inching its way toward the last remaining centimeter of bare skin left within the outline. “Let me think… Chief Hopper-”

You barked out a laugh, “Oh great start, Eds.”

“Chief’s a good looking guy! I don’t know why you’re laughing!” but Eddie was smiling ear to ear, delighted that his awkward apprehension had already begun to dissipate. “Principal Higgins-”

“Are you only going to give me old men as options?”

Eddie was going to do exactly that, because he didn’t want to picture you marrying or- God forbid- fucking any men in Hawkins that you might actually enjoy doing either of those things with. He wasn’t jealous, per se… but none of the shitheads in Hawkins were good enough for you. Eddie wasn’t even good enough for you; not yet, at least. He could picture a future version of himself one day taking his chances with you, once you’d both skipped town and found your way in some thriving city somewhere. 

You were both too good for this place- you were the first person to make him think that about himself.

“What was that security guard’s name at the mall? Average joe looking guy? Quentin? Quincey?”

“Oh, you mean Quinn?”

“Knew his name started with a Q.” Eddie softly bit his bottom lip as he finished the last bit of your bat’s wing. “Hopper, Higgins, and Quinn. Those are your options.”

You groaned. “These choices suck, can I just kill them all?”

“I kinda like it when you go all bloodthirsty, Ace.”

You rolled your eyes before letting them flutter closed. “Ugh, well I’m obviously killing Higgins… he’s never been nice to you and all he cares about are school sports. I guess… I mean if I have to, I’ll fuck Hopper.”

Eddie was beside himself with giggles, “I mean, that’s one way to get out of a speeding ticket.”

“You’re lucky I can’t smack you right now.” You ignored Eddie’s snickering and continued. “And I don’t think I’d mind being married to Quinn, he always smiles at me and asks how my day was. Plus he’s kind of cute, he’s got nice hair.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “I don’t see it.”

You laughed, and the jingling tone of your voice suddenly sounded too loud as the buzzing of Eddie’s machine stopped. 

“Alright, Ace,” Eddie announced, leaning back to survey his work. “Check out your new ink.”

You didn’t need to look at it again to know it would be perfect, but you looked anyway. You stood on your sleeping legs and gazed at the little black bat on your hip- it sat beautifully balanced on the skin framed by your high cut leotard, and you knew at once that you’d think of Eddie each time you saw it. This was exactly what you wanted- a daily reminder of exactly how he made you feel, of who he was to you. 

At this moment, it dawned on you exactly what it was that Eddie made you feel. The way you always wanted to be around him, and the way he had become a balloon that inflated your chest every time he made you laugh, and how you knew- just knew- that you’d follow him anywhere if he asked. 

You loved Eddie Munson. You were in love with him. 

And you couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot at that little asymmetrical bat.

Part 6

Taglist: @emma77645 , @rustboxstarr, @josephquinnsfreckles, @rozxartaki, @sheneedsrocknroll92

[drowninginblox]

Divine Rights

This is part one of an MCYT fanfic that I came up with at 3am. There's gonna be a lot of different people gracing these pages from many different points in the community's history so fair warning (look to the tags y'all). I hope you enjoy it!

“Once upon a time," The children's mumbles hush as the traveler spoke. "there was a king. He was dark, darker than anything else you’ve ever seen. Even the void pails, compared to the vibrant evil that burns in his heart. You all know of him by name, I don’t need to remind you. But did anyone ever tell you that he had children?” The man asked the pod of children. He arrived in town earlier that day, playing the lute, the flute, and a thing he called "the keys", playing melodies that mesmerized the town enough to let him stay for the day. They were gracious. In the last town, Oli was in, an old man threw his cane at him while he was halfway through a bit. He still had the lump on his head to prove it.

A long pause rushes over the children as the bard bit back a smile. not even a yard away and he could see the whimsy in each child's eyes. He loved his job, truly even though he didn't have a warm meal every night. “The first was cocky, callous even at times, but he was born with the gift of optimism." with a sleight of hand, he reached into one of his bags to retrieve a prop that suited this tall tale. "Even on the darkest of days, this young man could see a bright, ember lighting the way. His name was Skyloft. Given for his birthplace. But," He whisks a shiny chain, adorned with an amethyst amulet as big as his palm. "We just call him Sky.” He mumbles words even he doesn't know and motions vicariously to the necklace, flicking a switch in his movement, making the thing glow at the mention of this prolific man. The children "awe" and "ooo" at the act. From the greater crowd of onlooking parents, he could see an eye roll and a few amused smiles. But that's okay, he knew who his audience was.

“The second, his name is lost to time." He starts, carefully placing the prop back into his bag all the while feeling for the next. "But we do know the gift that he was born with! He was born with loyalty!" With that, he pulls a ring. Worn and wooden, with a small sapphire embedded into it with cuts littered around it. "Devout to anyone, and everyone who he felt was worth fighting for to the bitter end! Whether it be his life or those he trusted.. well, that's up to fate.” He smirks as the children grow uncertain about the brother, but Oli has no time to dwell on that. He put the ring on his ring finger and continued in his tale.

“The third was named Eric. He was born with joy. He could smile so brightly that it could blind someone.“ An idea sparked in the bard's head. "That's what happened to my pappy, Oli senior. He'd always tell me," He coughed slightly to give way to what could be an older voice. But it was still Oli. " 'Oh my boy, everyone may say that I looked at the sun for too long, but I knew what I saw- I saw the smile of a god like no other. He could've snuffed out the sun with his smile if he wanted to. It's because of him that our crops grow as so, as bountiful every year!'" some of the children leaned into his story while others chuckled about where this bit was going. Oli in turn grabbed his lute and began to strum. "And to this, I told him, 'Oh papa, you need to take your medicine, because it isn't some random man's smile that makes our crops grow, why- rather its the rains!" With that, the bard begins a melody about prolific rain that hails from a place called Africa. Whatever that may be. By part of the way through the song, he had the whole crowd, even the onlookers singing along with varying looks of amusement. All the while, in the pit of his soul, Oli was fulfilled for yet another lifetime.

The children started to scatter when the sun began to set. To this, Oli bid farewell to all of them, meanwhile motioning for the parents for a generous donation for babysitting. Some obliged, others didn't, but by the end of the day he was happy to find that he could get a warm meal, and maybe even a room for the night. He smiled at the possibilities of what could fill his stomach. Anything over that cheap ramen stash he's cultivated. Maybe a steak? Perhaps a pork chop? "Hey, bard guy!" Oli turned away from his earnings but made sure to fold the hat it was in so tight that not a coin could slip out. When he turned, he saw a man unlike any other he'd encountered. Granted, he seemed unremarkable. One of the common villagers he'd seen in every common town. But there was an air about this guy that Oli couldn't place. Almost like he deserved attention even though the streets were now empty. A bittersweet taste graced Oli's tongue, making him stand a little straighter for the stranger. "What can I do ya for, stranger?" The man rolls his shoulders slightly, giving Oli a chance to eye him up. He was wearing armor. Not leather, but he couldn't get past that since the sun was down and the street lamps weren't lit. Under his armor was black, even his boots. The sheath for his blade was hidden slightly by the stranger's stance, but the amethyst that made up the pommel gave it away. It was glowing on its own.

"Can you tell me where you got that necklace from? The one you were showing off in your story." The stranger clarified while resting his hand on the grip of his blade. Oli sighed as he weighed his options, what little he had anyway. "There was a woman who was selling wares on the side of the road somewhere. She said it was... well, the last trace she had of her husband." The man visibly tensed. He started to open his mouth but Oli continued. "She said he died and she wanted to get rid of everything he held dear, 'let me part with it for a pretty penny, but she was happy and so was I." The man remained in his silence. Oli indulged him for another moment before turning back to his setup. It wasn't until he got everything put down and packed away into a bag of holding that the stranger spoke once more.

"How much for it?" The bard turned back. The streetlights were lit now. The tears streaming down the knight's face reflected the light beautifully, they looked almost golden. If only he could see his eyes.

Oli would be lying if he didn't feel bad for the guy. But considering the shine of his armor and the most likely magical blade he was wielding, the chance of saying the wrong thing could cost him his life. Emotions are fickle things after all. That's why people like Oli exist, to bring out the best if not for a while. "A hundred." He replies, leaning into the tree he was situated by for most of the day. "And that's at a bargain, the woman sold it for twice that." With that, the stranger held out his hand. For a moment, lilac mist of various shades and luminosity fountained from his palm. Until they solidified into a bag, holding something weighty in the man's hands. "Done. Get it out and it's all yours." Oli's eyes go wide. He fumbles a hand into the bag of holding and urges for the amulet. When it does he shows it to the man, slightly awe-stuck at the current circumstance. "Tose it." Oli does so. The man catches his prize and toses the coin at Oli's feet, leaving him to pick up the pieces.

[bookwyrminspiration]

half-baked concept hear me out: Linh having some sort of breakdown or upset and she starts to lose control, heavy rain turning everything grey and soaked. she isolates herself outside for dramatic reasons and so she doesn't hurt anyone. Marella comes after her out of concern that's not entirely platonic. I don't know what happens in the in between but when they kiss the rain fades away and the sun comes out because Marella is the sun in Linh's life. it's symbolism. it's gentle. it's damp and cold but Marella's hands are warm because fire and also the sun. everything is still wet so rainbows in the sky because the sun is out now because Marella is there. they're in gay love

[1025cherrystreet]

reasons

harry and y/n exchanging vows on their wedding day

a/n: i was listening to music and feeling real lonely tonight, so i basically just wrote everything i want to hear from someone one day :) i never know how to end stories, soz! hope y'all like it, any feedback is appreciated!!

warnings: none, just fluff <3

The white chairs are filled with their family and friends. Gemma, Michal, and Anne sit on the groom's side while Y/N's parents and brother sit on her side of the aisle in anticipation. They didn't expect to be the people who have big weddings, and it's not even that big, but everyone they know is in attendance. James Corden and his family are in the audience, Louis, Liam, Niall, Zayn, and their dates all sit to watch their friends get married. Smiles adorn everyone's faces as the couple take platform at the front while Jeff (who got ordained just for their wedding!) reads off statements of marriage.

Y/N's best friend Claude is her bridesmaid (or 'bridesman' as his boyfriend, Frankie, liked to call it) and Mitch stands next to Harry as his best man. Everyone in shades of beige and sage green as it's Y/N and Harry's favorite colors.

"Y/N you can start with your vows, now." Jeff smiles at her, gesturing with his head, signaling Claude to take her handwritten promises out of his suit jacket pocket and hand it to the bride.

She mouths a watery, thank you, to Claude before turning back to face her fiancé standing in front of her. Even on her wedding day, she gives a bashful smile to Harry before clearing her throat.

"Harry." She starts nervously, "You are my person. You look at me as if I hung the stars and I can only hope you know I feel as devoted to you as the moon. The way you shined your bright light on my life is something I will never take for granted. You are my every reason. You are my lifelong dream to go to Italy and you are the endless praises I've always craved." Her hands shake in both exhilaration and trepidation.

"You are good books on long evenings... You are flowers in the middle of spring, you're long night car rides with blaring music, and you are the smell of rain on a cool evening in June. You're the cold side of my pillow in the middle of a hot summer night... the feeling of warm sun-kissed skin from showering after a beach trip...and the split second of silence when it's raining as you drive under the overpass on the interstate... You are 'that part' of a good song and the moment it would rain at school and everyone would just stop and stare out the window," She says, stray tears rolling slowly down her face, trying to ignore the way she can feel everyone's eyes on them in that moment.

"You are a pinky promise I hold so deeply... You are laughing so hard to the point of pain and you're rediscovering bagels every five months." Y/N smiles and glances up at him from her paper just quick enough to catch his chuckle as he knuckles the trapped tears in his green eyes. The last line gaining laughs from family and friends in the crowd.

"You are all of my reasons to live, H. Both the big dreams I've had my whole life and the little things I appreciate in my day-to-day. Of all these reasons to live though, most importantly.. you are Harry. My Harry. There's not enough words in the English language to convey my love for you, but I would spend the rest of my life searching for the right ones if that meant I got to spend it with you." She pauses to look her love in the eye, Harry staring right back at her with so much adoration for the girl in front of him.

She looks back down at the papers, tears catching on the edges. "So, with that, I vow to be your person. I vow to be your every reason to live another day and every small encounter that brings you even an ounce of joy. I vow to be your best friend and your indescribable love, if that's what being your person entails. I will be anything you need and everything you want, if it means we could happily grow old together."

"I love you, Harry Styles... and I can't wait to be your wife." Y/N finally lets the tears flow freely from her eyes as she stares up at her soon-to-be husband, Harry raises his hand to gently wipe them from her face with a breathtaking smile on his lips.

Tears of his own fall down, Y/N reciprocating the loving action. The two of them smile at each other for a moment, taking each other in. Harry has never felt more loved in his life, feeling honored to even be that person to someone, let alone his girl. He takes her hand and raises it to his cherry stained lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"That was beautiful, Y/N," Jeff whispers with a grin and turns to Harry, "Now, Harry you can now read your vows."

Harry drops her hand to retrieve the hand-written pages from his blazer pocket, quickly unfolding it and taking Y/N's hand once again. He glances at her before clearing his own throat and starting.

"Y/N, I want t'start off saying I love you. I love you so much it scares me."

"Y'have no idea what y'mean to me and what all y'have done for me. Y'keep me sane when my life tries t'drive me crazy. Y'make me feel normal when my job gets too much t'handle. You make me feel loved when it feels like everyone is out t'get me and y'make me feel like Harry when the whole world wants me t'be Harry Styles," He says, glancing up from the paper ever so often, his hands shaking in turn.

"I used t'resent being known as Harry Styles. My name became a bad taste in my mouth and sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I felt like Harry Styles always had t'be polite and put together and had no room t'make mistakes. It was exhausting trying t'be perfect all the time, I started t'lose myself... But you. You, Y/N, made me want t'become someone I wasn't ashamed of anymore. Y'showed me what it was like t'feel safe and content, and y'taught me t'never be anythin' but authentic because you said Harry Styles was just as capable at love and acceptance as Harry... You made me fall in love with myself again, and f'that I could never repay you. I love you so much that I can't even explain it, but f'your sake, I'll try, so here goes..." Y/N smiles at him with glassy eyes.

"I love how y'are so kind and loving t'everyone you meet. I love how you're a hugger from the first encounter and how y'always ask people if they are okay twice, just to make sure they know y'really care and will listen if they need it. I love how y'throw spilled salt over your shoulder and believe in the stars as some form of higher power. I love how y'decide to have a dance party two in the morning 'just cause' and sing songs at the top of your lungs f'the world t'hear. I love how y'have 86 spotify playlists because 'you need one for every memory or feeling'. I love when y'show me new music and bring me t'find a new appreciation t'my craft and others'. I love how y'look at the smallest moments in life and cherish them. I love how y'take nothing for granted and live everyday as if it's your last. I love how y'always choose t'view life for its beauty and child-like innocence, than for its deception and cruelty, first."

"I love you...Truly, Madly, Deeply," He chuckles out and Y/N laughs out loud, shaking her head at him playfully. Four loud wooo!'s sound out, the rest of their loved ones laughing at the cheeky reference. "I love everythin' about you and everythin' that has made y'who you are today...I love you, Y/N. My Y/N." He proclaims with a boyish grin.

"So, I vow t'be your husband always. I vow t'be your husband when you're angry at me f'messing up the laundry and when you're crying over not feeling enough f'people. I vow t'be your husband and love you when you get tired of rewatching The Notebook every time we have a movie night. I vow t'be there for you, even if you may not want me anymore-" She scowls and swats his arm for him even thinking that, making their guests let out a good chuckle.

"And, lastly, I vow t'be your best friend and lover 'til the day we die. You are not my Allie, you are so much better. You are my Y/N and I can't wait t'create my own movie with you."

Salty tears flow down their faces as they stare lovestruck at each other, the eyes of their family and friends all fade away and it's only the two of them in that moment. Hands intertwined, lost in each other's gaze, the only thing they comprehend is the, you may now kiss one another, that comes from Jeff's mouth.

'Awes' and coos sound from the crowd, Niall and Louis cheer the loudest, the other boys smiling at the newly-weds. Gemma and Anne are bawling their eyes out, just like Y/N's parents are. But, neither of them notice any of it as Harry wraps an arm around her waist, the other cupping her tear stained cheek and pulling her in to kiss her passionately.

[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 5 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: Jackson Lee Davis/AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: With a storm approaching, you offer to house Negan for the duration and maybe in the process deal with all the nagging thoughts that have come up during all the sessions so far.

Word Count: 2232

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Keeping Your Head Up” by Birdy

Note: This one is more like an intro to the next one, but I thought I’d post it cause I’m posting these in between some angsty stories!

---------

The constant arguing was finally getting on your nerves. 

Sitting in the meeting hall, you listened to the council and other key members of Alexandria argue about the same thing as always: Negan. This week’s issue was that there was a storm coming in that would most likely bring lots of rain, at least that’s what Eugene was thinking. Whether he was right or not, there was still the question of where they were putting their prisoner so he didn’t drown in his cell. 

There were those such as Aaron and Rosita who couldn’t care less about what happened to the man, but then there were people like Gabriel who were still mildly concerned. They had locked him up, kept him fed, and Gabriel didn’t think it was fair to keep him in such a vulnerable position during the potential downpour.

Nobody wanted to leave him alone in an empty house and Aaron had even suggested tying him up in the watch post, but Michonne had shot that down immediately. 

You sat in the back row of the hall, waiting for them to stop hollering at each other. The last conversation you had had with Negan hadn’t ended well. You were tired, he was curious, and you were not in the mood for his...negan-ness at all. The realization that you and the former leader were similar had rocked you a bit. You weren’t sure what to do with the information. 

There was a part of you that wanted to just walk out the front gate and not look back. Running away had once been a pattern for you before the world had ended, but you had fought to break that streak once you joined up with this group of survivors. However, spending a few days in the woods alone seemed not too bad right now. Daryl did seem to have the right idea at times, you thought. 

The hum of arguing continued and you fought against everything you had not to yell at them. If Alexandria didn't have strong walls, you were sure the Dead would have been called from miles away with this volume.

"I'll do it," you said, more to the wall than anyone. The yelling continued so you stood up and projected your voice louder, "I'll do it!"

Everyone in the room turned to look at you, Michonne pausing mid-sentence. "What?" Aaron asked.

"I said, I'll do it. Negan can stay with me at my place for the duration of the storm." Nobody knew what to say as you offered your home to be Negan’s temporary cell.

"(Y/N)," Gabriel began, unsure how to continue.

"I have an extra room," you explained, "my fireplace works, I live alone, and I'm already his therapist, might as well be his warden too."

"It's not your job to...house him," Rosita said.

"No, it's not," you agreed. "It's probably Michonne's considering she's head of security, but she has two little ones. Now, I doubt Judith and RJ would care if Negan stayed in their living room, but this way I keep him from all of you and y'all can stop bickering like a PTA meeting." 

"And if he tries to leave?" Aaron asked, but you rolled your eyes.

"He won't," you assured him, "though, if he managed to sneak past me, all the other houses, and get over the walls in the storm, then hell, he would deserve the escape." 

"Let's try not to let that happen," Michonne said and you nodded. "Are you going to need extra supplies?" She asked simply. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at how easy it was to take on the responsibility. You knew it was just a matter of time before someone spoke up and you also knew that person was going to be you.

"I think we'll be okay. I'll wait until the sun goes down and then drag Alcatraz on over.” 

You didn’t wait for a response before grabbing your jacket and exiting the hall. All around Alexandria, people were prepping for the storm. There wasn’t much they could do considering there was only a few hour warning. These were the days when you missed The Weather Channel the most. Since the world had ended, it was the small things that you missed about the old world rather than the big ones. 

Waving to Gracie who was sitting on the steps of her house, you continued on your way to your small home near the South wall. It wasn’t much and it was smaller than the rest of the homes, but you preferred it. Rick had once called it your “crows nest” which was appropriate considering your time as a sniper. 

Rosita’s house was locked up tight as you passed it and jogged up your front steps. There wasn’t much more to do as you tended to keep your house secure most of the time.

You spent the next couple of hours taping down the windows, grabbing firewood from the communal supply, and taking inventory of your food stock. The whole thing was becoming...odd. It was as if you were a kid again, making sure the house was clean for company so your parents didn’t feel embarrassed.

The thought alone made you chuckle as you finished off your chores by grabbing extra blankets from the hall closet. Glancing outside, the sun began to dip and droplets of rain were already spattering against the windows. With a sigh, you grabbed your coat and began the walk over to the cell. 

There were very few people out on the streets and you had a feeling Gabriel and Michonne had spread the news that public enemy number one would be lead out on his leash tonight. Walking by the Grimes’ house, Judith looked at you through the window. You sent her a wink and she grinned back, giving you a thumbs up. 

You often wondered where her constant optimism came from because it definitely didn’t come from being raised by Rick or by her biological father. Shane was never one to see the glass as half full for as long as you knew him. However, now that you were thinking about it, Lori did have that little spark deep down...very deep down. Perhaps Judith Grimes was one of a kind after all.

Pulling the keys from your belt, you shuffled down the steps and unlocked the large door. Stepping inside the cold room, you were surprised to be met with silence. You stepped closer to the bars and then you understood why. 

Negan was fast asleep. 

You took a moment to watch the sleeping man. There was something so innocent about the way a person slept. It was like a reset button for a night and right now he didn’t look like the monster Alexandria and others feared, he was just a man trying to get some rest in a screwed-up world. Rest that you felt bad about interrupting. 

Pulling the right key, you inserted it into the cell door and pushed it open. Negan remained asleep as you crept forward. Leaning down, you gently shook his shoulder, trying to wake him. Negan’s eyes flew open and his hand tightly gripped the arm that was resting on him. “Ow,” you grunted at the pressure, trying to pull your hand back. 

“What’s going on?” He muttered, blinking in the darkness. 

“I’ll tell you if you let me go,” you hissed. Negan finally focused on you, his brows furrowed. 

“(Y/N)?” he asked.

“Negan, hand,” you reminded him.

“Oh, right,” he said, releasing you from his grip. You stepped back, rubbing at the skin that was sure to be bruised later. He slowly sat up and glanced at the open cell door before looking back at you. “What? Has the Queen of Alexandria finally agreed to a public execution?” he asked bitterly.

With a roll of your eyes, you reached over and grabbed the thick jacket Gabriel had gotten for him a few weeks ago. You threw it at him. 

“There’s a massive storm rolling through and Eugene thinks it’ll flood some areas. You’re staying with me until it passes. No more than two days,” you explained, crossing your arms. Negan was silent as his fingers played with the thick material of his jacket. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Why what?” you asked, exasperated.

“Why would anyone care if I succumbed to the elements?” he asked with narrowed eyes. 

“You don’t want to come? That’s fine. I don’t mind being alone,” you said with a challenge in your eyes. Negan quickly stood, shaking his head. 

“No, no, a warm house sounds very nice,” he quickly said. “I’m a great house guest.”

“Right,” you said, still feeling the awkwardness that remained between the two of you from your last conversation. Negan shrugged on the jacket and then you walked to him, producing a pair of cuffs. 

“Seriously?” he asked, staring at the chains with disdain.

“Either this or learn to swim,” you said, dangling the cuffs. Negan huffed but offered you his wrists anyway. You quickly fastened them and then took hold of his arm. “Come on, it’s already started to rain.

Negan followed you out of the cell, hesitating on the threshold for a moment. You squeezed his arm briefly and he kept walking. The two of you pushed out into the damp air and you let go of him for a second to close up the room tightly, trying to reduce the amount of water damage that was sure to come.

Turning back to Negan, his attention wasn’t on you, but on the overcast sky. His head was tilted back as he breathed in the night air. A look of content was on his face and you almost thought he was smiling slightly. It was then that you realized this was the first time he had been outside in...you didn’t know how long.

Taking his arm again, you pulled him away from his thoughts and tugged him after you. Negan kept pace with you as you began the walk home. The streets were completely empty now, but it didn’t stop Negan from looking around with those curious eyes of his. 

You didn’t know what compelled you to do it, but you easily slowed your pace, letting the walk take twice as long as usual. Looking up at Negan who was completely focused on Alexandria, you let yourself feel a bit sorry for the man. Obviously, Michonne had her reasons for keeping him locked up. You knew them and so did Negan, but you thought that perhaps he should be let out a bit more often. 

Michonne had asked you to start visiting him because she thought all the isolation was bad for him, but she also didn’t realize that it wasn’t just being alone that wasn’t good for him. He needed to be out and even if it was starting to pour, you were going to let him have this moment. 

Sliding your arm off of his, you let him wander ahead of you a bit, keeping him close, but not so much him being a dog being lead on a leash. He took the paths with grass on them and ran his hands down light posts and across fences. It was like watching someone rediscover the world and it made you oddly happy. 

“This way, genius,” you called when he began walking down another street. He quickly walked to your side with a grin on his face. “What?”

“I just never imagined you’d be taking me home so soon,” he joked and you rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I didn’t think you would enjoy spending the night in the stables,” you explained, kicking at a loose stone on the road. 

“And Michonne and Gabe probably told you that I needed a babysitter.”

“That too,” you agreed. You finished the walk in silence. There were moments when you had to steer Negan in the right direction, but overall, you let him walk on his own without a guard. Arriving at your house, you pulled him up the steps, ignoring Rosita who was glaring at him through her window. Negan didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he didn’t say anything.

“Home sweet home, huh?” Negan said as he stepped into your house. The fire was already burning as your pulled of your jacket and lay it across a chair near the flames. Negan was looking around at the warm room when you walked to him and grabbed his wrists, the key to the cuffs in your hand. “Really?” he asked, surprised. 

“Did you expect me to keep them on?” you asked, removing the cuffs.

“Kind of, yeah,” he admitted. 

“Well, this is not the cell, it’s my house. My house, my rules, and I say that nobody needs to wear handcuffs. So, here you go. Two days of whatever you want. The kitchen is stocked, there’s decently hot water, and the spare bedroom is the final door on the left. However, you touch my weapons and I will put the cuffs back on, deal?” Negan stared at you for a second before nodding. 

“Yeah, no problem,” he said and you gave him an awkward thumbs up before leaving him be in your living room. Walking into your kitchen, you wished for whiskey, another small thing you missed from the old world.

“This is going to be a long two days.” 

TAGS:  @thanossexual​ @yes-sir-hotchner​ @boom-bunny​ @delusionalteenagewhispers​ @sophia-gwendolyn​ @ritajammer21

[ephemerlskies]

in the stars tonight | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members - seokjin, taehyung, namjoon]

⇢ genre: series, ANGST, enemies to lovers au, actor!jimin, actor!oc, (eventual) fluff if you squint

⇢ word count: 8.4

⇢ genre: Landing a role that might launch your entire career as an actor had come with the most unpredictable and daunting circumstances: grappling with the tragic loss of your boyfriend, Namjoon, and co-starring in a film with the vexing yet enchanting (and famous), Park Jimin.

⇢ warnings: explicit language, themes of grief/loss, themes of depression, (many) mentions of death, mentions of driving under the influence (please stay safe!!), themes of alcoholism, themes of escapism, mentions of alcohol, mentions of marijuana, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of internal dialogue with one deceased boyfriend, arguing/bickering, seokjin being seokjin, eventual love triangle (ish) feud

♪ playlist: dynamite - bts, move! - niki, saint nobody - jessie reyez, through the night - iu, ilomilo - billie eilish, the truth untold - bts, slow dancing in the dark - joji ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: i, and i cannot emphasize this enough, can't believe this came out of me.... it was just a lil idea in my head, but then it expanded into this entire story that was way too long to fit into a one shot. so, here's me serving up a hot plate of enemies to lovers with a generous side of angst and longing!!! i hope y'all enjoy (and hate) arrogant jimin as much as i did hehe <3 ps i have no idea how long i want this series to be i'm lowkey winging it

The world does not slow down for anything. Not for catastrophes or miracles or even something as devastatingly common as death.

When your boyfriend of three years, Namjoon, lost his life due to another's drunken mistake, you realized this. The world revolves on a scheduled orbit, and not even your tragedy wedged a wrench big enough to halt life just a moment. Just to let you breathe and grieve without feeling left behind. However, you were left behind, both by the world and him.

Every sun and moon, every skipped meal, every unfulfilled rain-check, every isolated Saturday night, and every cancelled audition that came as quickly as they left paid tribute to this merciless phenomenon. It seemed you now existed just to watch the days pass, just to balefully relive the moments before Namjoon's passing. And that seemed to have been the only way you could have survived. To make a recluse of yourself because if the world was careless enough to let someone as amazing as him go, then what held it back from spilling even more wreckage into your life? For the past six months, you stuck to the cold, dead past. It was all you had to hold onto; letting go meant plummeting into a depth far too unknown and inescapable.

You and Namjoon were steadfast. You were still steadfast, or more appropriately, stuck now that you had no one to be loyal to anymore.

You and him were one of those couples other people saw and wished they could replicate into their own lives, but when it came down to it, rooted for your happy ending with him. The type similar to that of highschool sweethearts who beat the odds, or the type whose encounter fell along the silver lines of fate. Something beautiful that automatically made all the love poems authenticated by you and him. And when he held you, the idea of worry or evil seemed like concepts that did not exist past fictional tales. So warm, so loving, now gone.

The way in which you and Namjoon grew over the three years you were able to love him was in a convergent manner.

Your branches and vines were woven into his, and his into yours. Even your roots, the elements of your past, began to entangle beneath the soil. To root between each other meant there had been a foundation from which you grew, a stability that was once neat. There was no boundary of which would discern your life from his. And at one, more favorable, point in time, your life did belong to him. Namjoon was someone you only knew for a mere fraction of your life, however the moment he wandered into it, you had unlearned how to continue without him.

You didn't think you would have to relearn.

But then one decision forced you to do so. One person, who decided paying fifteen bucks for an Uber was not a wise enough investment, ripped out the plant of his body from your shared soil by means of inebriated judgment and a missed red light. You had no choice but to absorb the cruel sustenance of the sun completely alone. Most of your branches of life were left barren, with torn twigs where your body once borne fruit and leaves and beauty. But the roots were where most of the pain inhabited. A stubborn, sharp ache resided in your chest, deep enough that you might have had to be cut open and searched through to find the source.

It had been six months of 'Sorry for your loss' and 'Gone too soon' and your personal least favorite 'He's in a better place now'. It made you angry, because was there a place better for him that didn't have you in it? How could anyone know what was better for him when they didn't experience something as tender and gentle and loving as your relationship?

But none of the sympathetic smiles or half-hearted condolences made you quite as angry as the monster who was too selfish to call someone to drive them and consequently punctuating the eternity you were meant to spend with Namjoon. You always followed the virtue that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Forgiveness was a sweeter release than anything else, but if you could, you would take that drunk driver's life in a heartbeat. You would have gauged out your own eyes if the chance fell into your reach.

Though, no matter how hard you screamed at the universe for hurting you, despite the countless pleas to somehow retrospectively tell Namjoon not to go out for something as trivial as toothpaste so he might be alive today, holding your hand in this waiting room, telling you that you're going to do great, you knew the world wouldn't stop for you or your sorrow.

It revolves, waits for no one, and you had to pace yourself to jump back into the turning carousel of life.

"___. We're ready for you!" His voice was ten notches above a volume that wouldn't irritate you. The only hint you let slip that his tone made you want to throw this script at his crotch was the muted sigh.

You knew this audition was going to play out like the rest. They would ask you to read, stop you in the middle of your monologue, then say something like 'Thank you for your time, we'll get back to you soon' which was show business code for 'We are not giving you the role'. The only reason you were here was because you had been out of work for too long, the piles of overdue bills on your kitchen table a cruel reminder of that. Plus, you knew Namjoon would have told you to go.

He would have said something like, 'Get your lazy ass out of bed and go to that audition! You don't want Hollywood to miss out on a star just because you want to sleep in fifteen more minutes'. And it would have worked. It always had. Now, the only motivation that came to your aid was the echo of his voice, and even that had begun its slow descent into forget. Other than that, guidance of your own volition was as fleeting and disarrayed as a violent wind.

"Hi, my name is ___, and I will be auditioning for the lead. Jordan." Your hand must have been fielding its way through a nervous tick. The person you assumed was the director was eyeing the way it had been contorting at your side, and you hated showing that you were nervous.

"Perfect! We've already casted the other lead role. This audition will mostly be based on whether we think you'll have good chemistry with him." Him. So your possible running mate was a man. Before a list of names engraved on rows of stars cemented into the Hollywood walk of fame ran through your head, you lifted the script and collected all the air your lungs would allow.

Maybe, you thought, my courage and passion might come with it.

And when you opened your mouth, something magical that you credited to talent claimed sovereignty over your body. Now, you were Jordan. Jordan didn't have a dead boyfriend, now ex boyfriend, or luggage enough grief to sink a depression into the crust of the Earth. Jordan was a kind, low-energy, and sentimental artist coming into an age of overwhelming success and fortune —and love.

That's what alluded you in acting. For a moment, you could escape your life, leave your pain on the back burner while you emerged into someone who was unacquainted with the pain of losing the love of your life. It was akin to a drug, administering an intoxicating fill of temporary serotonin. Instant relief, and if you got this job you would have your fix of this twisted sort of high that tempered the Namjoon-sized void in your life. And Jordan's life definitely seemed to have, quite literally, all the things yours lacked.

"Wow, ___, was it? That was absolutely incredible!" The hand-covered whisper that followed this appraisal gave you time to begrudgingly peel of the Jordan mask. Within a half second, all the pain seemed to compound into your body. If you hadn't already shaped your entire life around that weight, you would have fallen over. Though you had done this, and even worse, you had been shouldering it for so long, you would have felt naked without such a burden. "Okay, well, we have a few more auditions but I think we have our Jordan! We'll send your manager the full script along with the schedule for the first week of shooting in about two weeks."

"Uh-" If you had not said something quick, the opportunity might have slipped away all too fast, the way Namjoon had. You vowed to grab hold of anything remotely good that arose into your life, giving you more than late nights of choked sobs and transfixed gazes out of half-curtained windows. This offer was clutched tightly in your fist. "Oh... Th- thank you! Thank you! Fuck, thank you so much. This means so much to me, thank you!"

Before you proliferated the meaning of the words thank you and the director's smile turned into rolled eyes, you stumbled your way out of the door. Waiting on the other side was a world that might strike against you with partially docile cruelty. The wind pressed against your skin, almost blowing away all your grief with the help of this successful audition.

That feeling, as always, was as comforting as it was fleeting. Because the scars of your past would not have budged for any brash current. Because your next thought disrupted the scant flourish of joy. It was the thing that came easier and sooner to you than eating and blinking; telling Namjoon any news of both good and bad ranks, sharing your life to celebrate or stress over. One of the many things that remained by an undissolvable adhesive along your mind. You tried to soak it away with liquor or smoke it out with weed, but there was no breaking of habits you loved almost as much as Namjoon.

I did it, Joon. I landed my first role. You thought, because that was the closest you could have gotten to relaying the news.

Your heart began to physically hurt. Heartaches were literal in your case. Literal and grim. You felt the grip of loss pierce its sharp thorns into your flesh. It had nearly been as painful as all the times your words were met to deceased ears, speaking to someone that had not belonged to you anymore. Six months had passed and pain cannot tell time in the way people can. So, you knew the marathon of your grief was one that followed its own metaphorical clock. You just had to keep running in hopes you could make it out alive.

Though, being Jordan for the next six months would help momentarily satiate your grief. If there were a remote for your emotions, this role would be the mute button. Your pain would still move as it usually would, but now it would be silent. You wouldn't have to listen to its unforgiving taunts and crippling obscenities. It was only just that you were paid reparations for six months of utter misery with six more months of narcotic, soundless distractions.

Two Weeks Later

If the universe had given you one good thing, it was skill and dedication to your craft. The script was memorized in just short of four days, and even a sizable amount of lines of the other characters had been stacked atop your memory. Doing an acceptable job at this role wasn't something that was worried you. In fact, the idea of wearing another's life on your body and on your heart was something you looked forward to. 

It was a bit difficult to convince yourself how good this natural born gift was when the universe took something that felt a thousand times more crucial to your existence. Acting, or anything else that planted joy in you, was a consolation prize for merely participating in life. Namjoon was the reward you were meant to win in the end.

And you had no idea what the hell to do when the prize becomes in all of the sense of the word unattainable.

You hadn't driven in six months, despite the run-down Honda parked in front of your street, desperate to be given some sort of purpose. It was too much. Ever since the accident, the idea of manning a wheel that could take away more than it could ever offer was a responsibility you felt entirely too daunted to assume. Even though seat hogs, missed busses, and overcrowded walkways had been inconveniences of an indescribable level, it wasn't enough to put your body into the same vehicle that derailed your life.

Luckily, the bus stop was only three blocks away from the studio. It gave you plenty of time to get into character, however it also nestled in a span of time for Namjoon's voice to filter in and out through running your lines.

He talked to you a lot. As much as it made you want to cry, you held onto it, feeling as though it might be the last of his voice you'd be able to recall. If Namjoon's internal commentary were to suddenly disperse, you might forget his voice entirely. And you wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but you would always answer back. Sometimes out loud, and sometimes, when company forced you into sanity, you responded mentally. It kept you separate from life and any form of interaction with actual people, but it felt better than living in a world without him. Additionally, it helped keep his voice alive, which when you thought about it, was such sick irony. His voice, alive, his heart and mine and soul, dead.

And that was the only downside to acting. When there was another mind you had to engage in, Namjoon couldn't have broken the barrier and his voice wouldn't even register as an echo. Perhaps that was why you waited so long to dive back into your job. It felt synonymous with betrayal to do anything that would sever your connection already hanging by a single, fragile thread.

"___? Hello?" You were immune to every condescending gesture or vernacular weaponized in Hollywood by now. Your makeup artist's snaps fell into the base of annoyance you had grown used to. "Did you hear me? You're all ready."

Her voice wasn't too abrasive. If anything, you should be the one apologizing for dazing in and out of consciousness. Though, Namjoon's sweet compliments about how beautiful you looked with your stage makeup should have been the one to acquire this remorse.

"Sorry. I'm, uh, tired. Not used to waking up at six in the morning quite yet."

"Well, get used to it, or you'll have a rough few months ahead of you." Her laugh had shed whatever shell of pretentiousness once veiled her previous impression. "I'm Nayeon, by the way. I've heard many great things about you, ___. Let's hope you live up to the hype."

Nayeon's nudge was friendly, and it comforted you that within the first day you hadn't pissed off the person who could easily turn your face clown-like with a few heavy strokes of her brush. She was beautiful, too. If she hadn't been dressed in a black T-shirt strewn with foundation and powder stains, then you would have mistaken her for an actress.

"Let's hope so... I guess the director was selling me better than myself." Your eyes scanned the area, though no one seemed a fitting candidate to be your lead. "So, who's the other lead?"

"Park Jimin. I'm surprised they didn't tell you yet. I guess it's some obscure, artistic director decision to keep you in the dark. I’m lowkey fangirling right now… But, don't tell anyone that." Before you could respond, let alone react, Nayeon had collected all the products she needed for her next subject and was about a yard away from you. "Good luck, rookie!"

Park Jimin. You've definitely heard of him, but it surprised you that someone like him accepted a role in a romantic, indie, coming of age film that had not the budget to pay half of what he usually made in his repertoire of previous movies. He was certainly what one would consider an 'A-list' celebrity. The type paparazzi actually cared to stalk, and fans recognized in public, but were too shy to approach due to his sheer intimidation. It hadn't eased your nerves that he was notoriously withdrawn when it came to the behind the scenes portion of shooting a movie.

And, like any decent person, you did your very best to refrain from placing judgments without the opportunity for them to fill in their own narrative. Most of what you ‘knew’ of Jimin had been hearsay. However, you had some hunch Jimin wouldn't qualify as one who labored tirelessly for the roles he had landed or authenticated any sort of compassion with his rising fame.

See, acting and snagging a big role in a movie was characterized as a tall building for you. If one reached the top floor, then they would assume a wealth of opportunities and Oscar nominations and acclimation. Of course, this film industrial structure had various modes of climbing to the top. Some had stairs which called for more excretion and effort but still, all you needed were persistent legs, then each step would eventually get you where you wanted to be.

You had more of a ladder. Each wrung was slanted at an angle of which only deepened your brawl with success and had not been sanded down enough to save you from a generous supply of splinters. After a while, your hands began to ache and the fear that some high-society type would kick the base of your ladder always stalked the forefront of your worries. It certainly had not been a choice means of arrival to whatever awaited you on that top floor, however it was the only one available.

And while you had a ladder to overcome, Jimin had an elevator. The most he'd ever expend to reach that coveted floor was a few presses of a button. And perhaps his only sacrifice would be sharing the elevator with one or two others. Things just worked out for people like him. And an elevator’s delivery was always in a manner that was quicker than the likes of a staircase or a ladder.

When he arrived on set, dragging himself like his own body was a weight he shouldn't have to carry himself, you fought that instinct of yours to assume everything you needed to know from him.

Just because he's wearing sunglasses inside doesn't mean he's some arrogant asshole, even if that is the most cliché character trait of one. This internal lecture was certainly of Namjoon's doing, since he was always one to never run out of allotting the benefit of the doubt.

Yeah, I guess. But, come on, he looks like a fucking idiot. You replied as if he were really there before walking up to the callous man with your gauntlet thrown down by default. No need getting on Jimin's bad side, because you were sure it's complement was being blacklisted from the film industry. Instead of sharp edges you offered him a non-threatening smile and handshake.

Play nice. Namjoon reminded you before you had the chance to decide what you wanted to say.

"Hi! It's such an honor to be working with you. I'm ___." Jimin looked at your hand like you had filled it with mud and were intending on smearing his Gucci jacket, which you assumed was worth more than your monthly apartment rent. "Um, wanna touch base before we start shooting or..."

If his admonished glare at your hand wasn't encouragement enough to retract it back into yourself, then what he said, or more fittingly, what he didn't say next was.

The way his sigh infused a scoff within it made you feel small. It felt like fire, how thoroughly it burned you into a pile of ash, but then it felt like a gust of prickled wind that would scatter your remains completely. If it had not been for the way his head shifted from your head to your toe, you wouldn't have known that his shielded eyes were trailing the length of your body. Such a glare seemed like a calculation of your worth; it must have totaled out to that of a fly he had to swat away because the second you stood on the outside of his peripheries you stopped existing in his world altogether.

His back made a longer impression on you than his eyes, and that was your que to huddle yourself in the corner and stick to the two things you were best at.

Imaginary conversations with Namjoon and rerunning through your already memorized lines.

Before you say anything, I already think he's a prick. It might be pathetic to have instigated theoretical conversations with your dead boyfriend, but the world wouldn't know he would have scolded you first for already constructing an agenda to avoid Park Jimin whenever you could. You just felt an itch to lay down the first word.

You never know, maybe he had a bad day.

Yeah, well people like him don't need to be professional unlike the rest of us. I mean, I'm on the verge of openly conversing with you and I'm the one that has to turn the other cheek? Your script was decorated with a number of wrinkles. Proof that your anger was sleeping from your insides in the form of tightly gripped hands that were pretending to pinch Jimin's skin instead of the script. For once, you felt some grain-sized semblance of luck for having a grasp of acting to pull off pretending to love Jimin.

"Hey." You weren't quite thrilled to meet the person you had imagined pushing down a staircase standing over you. Without his glasses, it was difficult to remember why you had been so angry with him and you hated that. His eyes consisted of more than just irises and pupils, though you would not have been able to place what exactly accompanied these features. They were just eyes, after all, parts of a body. Functional. Mechanical facets of being. And yet, his seemed more than that. More than just sense mechanics. Perhaps beauty. 

But for him to have been beautiful, it would have tainted the very idea of beauty.

"We're about to start shooting. Don't make this difficult, I'm trying to leave on time." 

"Okay... Sure." Those were the two words you substituted for the 'fuck you' itching to crawl from your throat.

"I'm Jimin, but you know that already." The way he spoke was punctuated as though it was a waste of his time to spend any attention on you. If you weren't already drained of your strength from that tube of toothpaste that was some sort of paraphernalia of the night Namjoon became an article of your past, then you would have rolled your eyes or retorted with something that would knock him down a peg.

"I do." Your own weak will bothered you more than Jimin. "Um, I-"

"Let's not." Though he had no idea what you were about to say, a part of you agreed to not even indulge in small talk with him. It would be too forced and uncomfortable and that might leak into your performance on camera. Still, he had an abrasive way of going about it that made you want to disagree with him just to be able to lie contrary to him.

"Fine." It rolled off your tongue easily, like silk. His lingering eyes had you wondering if you somehow impressed him with your passive agreement or insulted him for not groveling for his approval. Either one would have satisfied you.

"Alright! Looks like you two got acquainted. We're jumping right in." The director, Kim Seokjin, was chirpy. Even if this project wasn't necessarily mainstream or highly anticipated, he was the type to salvage all his passion and pour it into anything he created. It comforted you knowing someone other than you found this to be somewhat life changing. "Please, Jimin, ___, on your marks. This is the scene where you two meet, so we're hoping you two can infuse that feeling of being slightly awkward but nevertheless enthralled in each other's presence. Got it?"

"Yessir." You said, and Jimin only produced a nod which seemed generous for him. Fighting the urge to snarl or squeeze your brows together came as a difficulty you had to practice at.

"Slate! Quiet on set..." Seokjin’s voice filled the empty space of the entire studio.

"Scene one, take one." Just as the snap of the slate reverberated through the room, your eyes changed just as abruptly. Your gaze upon the set transformed it into your reality. You looked at Jimin and now saw Laurie, a young soul filled with enough dreams and kindness one could have mistaken him for a cloud; the kind that spoke in loving whispers and gentle caresses. He reminded you a lot of someone else you knew.

You tucked Namjoon's voice away with the rest of your grief and became Jordan.

Amazing things seemed to happen when you least expected them too. You guessed that was the nature of amazing things, for if you expected them then they probably wouldn’t feel so amazing. About halfway through the scene, after a number of cuts, re-shoots, directorial notes, you noticed something. Or more so, this something willed you to notice.

Once you fell into stride with your character, it became easier to pick up on the person acting opposite of you. Maybe you hadn't given Jimin enough credit before. You knew maybe was an understatement, though you felt a sting admitting talent had fallen into his hands just as all his accomplishments had.

Jimin's acting rested on the side most polar to your own. You replicated, he revolutionized. You became your character, shrinking yourself enough so that one wouldn't have been able to tell who you were beyond who you were playing. Jimin, however, made the character his own. There was no minimizing his own body to fit into the mold of the character. Jimin was the mold, and he sculpted the character to fit along himself. He forged his movements, voice, and confidence into whichever role he played and brought life to someone strewn with a signature of his own soul polishing said character. All the while, he was inventive with each intention and emotion that were strung into his lines.

It was difficult to pull this off, being that you could easily begin to just play yourself in a movie and neglect any character mannerisms that you were supposed to portray, however Jimin seems to slip in and out of his role with ease. And with each take, he peppered in more dimensions to a character. He gave meaning and depth to a person constructed onto a paper script until you couldn't believe this person didn't exist in real life.

That was the amazing thing that kept your well-rehearsed lines behind an impermeable wall of reluctant admiration.

What hadn't helped, though seemed to have been timed to a tee to unwind your sensibility, and timing had always worked against you like you had done wrong to it, was the part when Laurie was written to sneak his hand along your waist after Jordan stepped backwards into his body.

His palm felt so warm. So warm that the entire world felt too cold for you to be anywhere but apart from his touch. Then, all your lines spilled from your recollection. He was standing close behind you, the plush of his cheek tickling your ear and sending the entire world away so you and he could reserve this moment just for yourselves.

"Your line." His whisper wouldn't be picked up by the mic, though it had no trouble debilitating the rest of your senses. Did he intend for it to blur any sort of attraction his character felt for you into the life beyond the camera?

The director called cut to the scene, and it felt like a lifetime before you were released from the entrapping heat of Jimin's body. When you spun around, hoping you could at least dig through your throat to pull out a deflated apology, the smirk laced along his lips illustrated every bit of his arrogance and once again shut you up.

From the way his eyebrow was arched, you assumed he must have read your mind. He knew what he did to you, and it reminded you of everything you disliked about Jimin. Presumptuous, prideful in his taunts. It also reminded you that he stood many floors above you in this architectural competition of acting. You were grabbing hold of each wrung as you went, unprepared for something as disarming as Jimin. All he had to do was peer down at the sight of you to make you feel a hundred times lower than him. 

“___? What’s wrong?” You looked over to find Seokjin’s half worried, half irritated expression. 

“No, nothing. Sorry, I just blanked for a second.” Jimin’s snide chuckle at your confession to a faulty performance didn’t help simmer the burn of embarrassment.

"It’s okay, I get it.” The director offered a smile as a peace offering, and since he looked not seven years older than you, it had you assuming he was the laid-back type. “Let's take five. We'll block a few of the scenes and finish the rest of this and we'll call it a day."

You made your nest over at the snack bar. Shoving half of a donut into your mouth had almost resurged your energy. Nayeon made a swift return to pat your face with more powder.

"Hey, you're pretty damn good." You were stuck with a mouthful of donut to null any chance of responding. "Except for when you kinda just shut down at that last scene."

You would have felt embarrassed, or rather more embarrassed than you currently did, if it weren't for the light laugh that followed. All you had to reply with was a shrug.

"I mean, I don't blame you. Jimin's pretty hot and if I were cozying up to him during a scene I'm sure I would also fuck up my lines." Nayeon finished applying whatever touch ups she felt necessary, not without a suggestive eye arch. This either meant she was going to shuffle over to another actor in need of visual repair or she would stay and talk. Her continued monologue advocating for Jimin's talents and good looks proved the latter was what you had in store. "I mean, damn. Also, I'm pretty sure he's got abs under that shirt. So, are you into him? Is that it?”

"It's not like that." The harsh delivery gave an impression contrary to what you said. "I mean, I just... He's just really good at this. I guess I got kinda intimidated."

Normally, you would have sought Namjoon's voice ringing in your head about how you could do this, reminding you how he believed in you. It would have gotten you through the scene however, Jordan didn't know Joon.

"Well, he won an Oscar for a reason, babe." You finished the rest of your donut and begun a prowl for another savory comfort food. "I mean, damn, twenty-five and already winning Oscars and getting nominations. It ain't for nothing."

"Yes, this is helping so much, thank you." You twisted in sarcasm as if that would make you seem any less intimidated. Again, Nayeon laughed off any shroud of roughness coating your words.

"What, do you want me to lie? Is that how you want to start this friendship, with lies?" Her elbow nudged you, and that alone communicated more than the brief exchanges you two shared. Now, you had a friend. Someone else to talk with that wasn't a figment of your own imagination.

Look at you, already making friends. Your smile was not as hidden as you attempted for it to be. Namjoon's little encouragements had that effect on you.

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing." You scarfed down the mini muffin, turning towards Nayeon. "Just happy my makeup artist goes easy on the blush."

She winked, and you felt ready to be sent back into the throes of this film. You weren't keen on Jimin feeling closer to a competitor than a partner in this project, however if that is how he wanted it to be, you were never one to submit so easily. You were determined to level this playing field, and your communion with victory felt like a well-deserved birthright.

"Thought I told you I wanted to go home on time, rookie." You watched his lips shape such venomous words, since his eyes, the unnamed, nearly beautiful presence, might have sunk you back into that state of speechlessness.

"I take it you're not a method actor, since Laurie is so sweet and you're a fucking ass." It felt good for all of one second before a series of reprimands fueled by none other than Namjoon now had you on the brink of apologizing.

"Feisty, huh?" Again, his lips eased out sharp words as if they would not nick the plump skin as it went.

You hoped Joon had nothing to say about how you were now tracing the lush of Jimin's lips. And yes, it had been six months, though you knew your love-ridden heart had yet to free its hands from grabbing hold of Namjoon, still, the feeling of attraction, no matter how brisk it might have been, felt like you were committing adultery. Adultery, over someone who was dead. You weren't the one who left him behind, and at the same time, you never got that shiny patent of closure. There was no break-up, so perhaps that was an explanation as to why your heart was foolishly stuck in love, never realizing its oath to loyalty was graced upon the deceased. 

You thought of love now, while you were supposed to be getting into character. You thought of the one thing you once had held worn so easily, and now you had been chasing it knowing your legs weren’t enough to catch up.

There was a well in your eyes, supplied by the same source which fossilized a ragged lump in your throat. And you must have blinked twice as many times as you normally would since Jimin's eyebrows met halfway between his forehead as he watched you. Or, more disappointingly, he might have noticed your tendency to grow red in more places than just the whites of your eyes when you were about to cry. Holding those tears in hadn't helped with keeping your skin less flushed.

It frustrated you that he might have noticed, which only twisted you tighter into the verge of crying. You knew it was unlikely that his watchfulness of your pre-breakdown expression was due to a lapse of genuine concern. For all you knew, he was subtracting even more value from your worth, plummeting you into negative integers.

And if you weren't so dedicated to your craft, then you wouldn't have the ardor nor the ability to pull off acting like you loved him.

Nayeon is a good makeup artist, I think you have a thick enough cover of foundation and powder to hide it. That of course, along with any sliver of light in this dark tunnel, had always been attributed to Namjoon. He was the reason you kept going, the reason you had been able to get out of bed to drink a glass of water once in a while, the reason you did not completely break down every time a tube of toothpaste fell into your line of vision. Him and the memorialized voice was what chipped the lump free from your throat and dried your tears before they had the chance to spill.

"What-" Whatever motivated Jimin to ask you something had been gone almost immediately after it sprouted.

"Quiet on set!" There was no way you'd figure out what he was going to say if the director had mandated pre-shooting silence.

The rest of your day went accordingly. Nothing too devastating happened that cleared away the momentum of excitement of this being your first big role. Though, not that you weren't beyond grateful for this chance, you made a chore of reminding yourself to be aware of your good fortune.

And, with the help of a few well-placed improvisations that made you seem somewhat of a visionary in your craft, your previous mistake had been washed with water under the bridge in the director's eyes. It escalated your ego and confidence to watch Jimin scavenge for an unpracticed reaction to go along with the slight details or lines you infused into the scene. At a certain point, you could almost describe him as impressed with your acting. Maybe enough to bump your worth up a few decimals, not that that should be occupying your worries.

"Wow, ___! Look's like we hired the right thespian. Great work! By the looks of it, things will flow easier from here." The director, who you finally felt on a first name basis with, approached with a hug. Though, usually this would have sent red alerts, you could tell Seokjin had no ill intentions of the predatory type. "Also, you two have chemistry, but it's not quite there yet. I want this to be believable. There has to be some real life element of camaraderie if this story is going to be genuine."

"So, what exactly are you asking of us?" Jimin, of course, sounded all but thrilled with whatever Seokjin was suggesting even when it hadn't been specified yet. And though you hadn't expressed it outwardly, this aversion for what Seokjin has been suggesting was shared.

"I don't know, get to know each other? Method acting works usually. I mean, Jared Leto did it for that movie and he seemed pretty crazy." The attention was never yours to claim once Jimin had already pressed his phone to his ear and Seokjin was off reevaluating the shots taken today.

You were alone again. Surrounded by an entire crew and cast, but alone nonetheless. Your version of escapism was never as consistent as you needed it to be. All it took was a moment of stillness for you to drift into some place much darker than your current reality. Jordan was sealed away for now, and you were trapped in your own body. It felt horrible. Being you without the man who loved and cared for such a kindred soul felt no different than writhing in pain. Being you without him was empty. Before long, you might have fallen faint in front of your coworkers.

The only target you could acquire as of now was Jimin, taken away from the world for reasons much less burdensome than your own. Where you had a plight of grief to sift through, Jimin had a phone and most likely a supply of friends to text and busy himself with. Seokjin wanted you to get to know him, try your hand at method acting so to speak, and that was the excuse which allowed you to walk over and try to kindle some sort of conversation.

"Hey, so, uh..." The pause came to no avail, since it seemed as though you could have said nothing at all judging from his reaction. "Hey."

It took a fictitious clearing of your throat and three more seconds of unwavering silence to lure his eyes from his phone.

"What?"

As it had been for this entire day, everything involving Jimin was made to be some sort of challenge. A feat you had to overcome without an ounce of reprieve, just to remain standing.

"Seokjin said we should, like, get to know each other. Or, at least get along. I think that's a good idea." His eyes gave absolutely no clues to anything below the exterior of an expressionless face.

"Why are you trying so hard?" You waited for him to laugh, or even for a laugh of your own to slip and loosen the tension. A laugh to make what he just said a joke, victimless banter, because it would have been wildly insulting if that were the most genuine thing he had said to you all day.

"What the hell does that mean?" Your arms were crossed as if that would keep your heart safe from his cruel tactlessness.

"I'm not taking this shit seriously." He laughed, but it wasn't the one that you wanted previously. It sunk wounds deeper, with such a dull edge too. "It's just a side job so people think I'm humble, or whatever my manager said."

The puzzle began to piece together, it took this admittance from Jimin for the picture to emerge from ambiguity. This movie was some form of damage control for his reputation, and that might be because your accurately placed criticisms of his lackluster humbleness did not stand solitarily. Your big break had been reduced to a convenient plot of image reconstruction. You were familiar with anger, it was one of your trickier stages of grief to surmount, but it still affected you to the same degree as before.

He didn't expect a response. You could gather that much from the way he instantly turned back to his phone, rendering you nonexistent once again. Namjoon would have told you to remain civil. But Namjoon was gone. It hurt to think that way, but if his voice hadn't emerged to mitigate this situation now, then Jimin was yours for the taking.

"You're a fucking ass." It seems brash was the only approach to seize immediate attention from Jimin. His eyes widened as if you had grown twice as large and the vision of you wouldn't fit in his narrowed, judgmental glare. "This may be a joke or a throw away gig for you, but this means a lot to me."

"Wanna back off, Jesus. I only-"

"No, I don't wanna back off. I haven't had the best year, and having a co-star that treats me like shit isn't really helping either. And, I get it, you're some sort of elitist who thinks they earned their success." You scoffed, tethering his eyes with yours as though there were a string tying them together. And with each step closer you took, the knot only secured tighter. "But people like you, men like you, don't do shit to earn where they are. But it's so cute the way you think you did! Truly, it's embarrassing watching you flaunt your ego around like you actually have something to be proud of."

"So it's like that, huh? You know, I was almost starting to respect you." The fact that his delivery suggested this was some sort of badge of honor made him all the more pathetic. You should not have put it past Jimin to boast over paying a fundamental level of respect where it's due.

"Wow," You doused a generous layer of sarcasm over your throat so the words came out so. "Basic human decency? From you? How can I ever repay you for such kindness?”

"I said almost."

"You're pathetic."

"Like you're one to talk."

"Yeah, well at least I don't pretend I'm hot shit." The tip of your shoes finally closed the gap between his. Again, you were snared in his warmth, however it didn't feel as tranquil as before. Now, it was closer to a pot of boiling water, evaporating flesh and bone until you were steam floating along the air, bendable and displayed out thinly.

"You don't pretend because you're just that bad of an actor, huh?"

It suffocated you, being this close with him; the blurry details of his face became sharp this way. His eyes were hypnotically watchful of your lips, preparing for your next gambit. You surrendered only a smirk, hoping it would antagonize him. And you could have sworn standing at the furthest point of the Earth from Jimin wouldn't appease this invasive thronging. The universe had yet to expand wide enough to provide an acceptable distance away from him. Until then, you were left with shallow bouts of breath tasting of metallic hatred, hoping those would alchemize into words that would make you seem more intimidating that you really were.

"Please, I could act circles around you. Your performance is transparent. Anyone with a scope of the basics of acting could see through you."

"Is that so?" You hated how quick you had been to notice his tongue slip along his lower lip. He must have found this delicious, patronizing someone who only had 'friend number five' or 'cashier' as proof of their employment. Jimin was greedy, devouring all the blood spilled from his wounding retorts.

In some perverse way, being the focus of his attention had you feeling fulfilled. Jimin, the man commonly sought after among the demographic of teenagers and middle-aged women. Not only were you proving your merits of qualification to act alongside him, but you had something to prove to yourself. You weren't going to let Jimin push you around without pushing him right back. You were strong enough to fight. It seemed to have come natural to you to enjoy provoking anger in him. It felt as if you were finally accomplishing something that was unattainable to anyone else. 

And even if you wanted to retreat, his gaze guaranteed your obedience. It was a battle, along with every other exchange you have had with him. Even when silence was the only parcel between you two, when the only semblance of noise was heavy, jaded inhales, it felt as though you and he were at wits to gather more air than the other. To see who would fall breathless first.

"You're pathetic." His words hit like physical blows, and you might have had to check for bruises along your ribs and torso from the churning sensation in your stomach.

"If I'm pathetic, I don't know what that makes you." You wanted your rebuttal to feel like fire. You wanted to scorch and sear blisters along his flawless skin for proof of any successful hit. “A privileged boy with enough of daddy’s money to get him any job he wants. But, I’m the pathetic one?”

He appeared unscathed, with one end of his lips rugged upwards, mocking you without needing any of the words to do so. Perhaps he'd gotten the best of you, as you were searching through your arsenal of refutes only to find it overspent. It would not have surprised you to discover his supply of acidic insults piling without a visible dent. 

His eyes looked fully employed in studying you, and you felt disrobed to be under such scrutiny from a stranger. Jimin seemed to have been reading you like words on a page, armed with a twisted smile that was unnervingly addictive, but you tried your hardest to keep your book closed. You didn’t want him to know how weak you really were.

"God, you're so-"

"Oh, great! Both of you are still here." Seokjin's voice reminded you that there was a world of events beyond you and Jimin. For a moment, you had felt secluded into a universe constructed especially for any collateral destruction that might have come of whatever war was about to be waged. "I have some notes for you two. Go home, read, digest, and come prepared tomorrow! I have full confidence in the two of you."

"Thanks." Succinct yet not lacking any tonal sentiment, Jimin got the first word in with the director, leaving you scrambling to find yours.

"Thank you." You were frustrated in how recycled your responses felt after Jimin handled them. Actors like you always fed on scraps of the higher-ups, and they were never as appetizing or filling as you would hope.

"See ya, ___." Your name sounded awful on his tongue, like his voice had filtered out the good parts of it and the waste remained spilling from his lips. Like dirt or decayed flesh, or both, and saying your name was akin to saying a slur.

"Fuck you." Those words couldn't sift through your screwed jaw or muffled throat, but it gave you satisfaction that it had been said in the slightest.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the bus stop that the realization pummeled you down a hole you hadn’t recollected being dredged. That whole time, what might have been the product of a mere ten minutes, was the longest segment you had gone without thinking of him.

It was the most intimately you had ever engaged in a conversation with someone other than the late, imagined voice in your head. And it was the most you've gone without consulting with said voice before speaking. You simply spoke, and listened, and responded; like you were normal. You couldn't tell whether that was good, because maybe you would finally be able to move forward with the world, perhaps catch up with the life you were supposed to be living. But, at the same time, the guilt festering something acrid in the pit of your stomach had you convinced this wasn't entirely sunny skies and bright futures.

"I'm sorry." What frightened you, besides your mental slip to keep the words meant for Namjoon in your head, was the unreturned sound of his ringing through. It took the longest ten seconds of your life for the mental silence to be furtively trimmed by your own train of thoughts.

Jimin had done this to you, that you were entirely sure of. Jimin and his carnivorous tongue and greedy glare had drained your head of its second conscious. The one it had adopted when Namjoon's body could no longer harbor it. And that's how he lived on, through you.

Jimin took that away, somehow. You could almost kill him for it, but you had not favored a life in prison nor tabloids that headlined the Park Jimin being murdered or 'Crazy, Jealous Co-star On Murderous Rampage Targets Jimin'. So, for the time being, all that was accessible was quiet hatred.

And you took that over nothing. You hated Park Jimin.

[kmomof4]

The Moon... Tells the Sea

Oh y'all!!! I can’t tell you how excited I am to finally share this fic inspired by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ were-mermaid aesthetic for the @cssns​!!!! When she showed me what she was working on back in February, an entire outline of a story just spilled out of me. And with her blessing and tremendous excitement, I wrote it! I truly hope you enjoy it! Please make sure and give Kayla lots of love!!!

Muchos love and thanks to @searchingwardrobes​ for her outstanding beta services. I am truly embarrassed at how all over the place my tenses were before she got ahold of them 🤦🏻‍♀️. Also to @hollyethecurious​ for her help in brainstorming early on, and last but not least to Kayla herself for making this GORGEOUS and PERFECT aesthetic that inspired the entire fic!!!!

Fic Summary: Nearly a century has passed since she became what she is when a new figure enters her lonely world. Who is he? And more importantly, WHAT is he?

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: Nearly 7100

Tags: Werewolves, Mermaids, Kidnapping, Smut

Find it on ao3 here

Tag list: @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @snowbellewells​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @jennjenn615​ @kingofmyheart14​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @branlovestowrite​ @thisonesatellite​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @flslp87​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @searchingwardrobes​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @superchocovian​ @artistic-writer​ @donteattheappleshook​ @doodlelolly0910​ @seriouslyhooked​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @nikkiemms​ @xsajx​ @klynn-stormz​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

He appeared for the first time just after the full moon. The pale moonlight shone down on his face, turning the dark hair on his head to almost a silver. He was tall and lean, and the scruff on his face lined a perfectly sharp jawline. The melancholy on his countenance was achingly familiar and somehow soothed the restlessness and agitation in her soul. She felt a drawing to him that she couldn’t explain, a kinship, a connection. He walked back and forth along the beach of the lagoon where she made her home, sometimes keeping his eyes on the white sand beneath his bare feet, other times gazing out at the water. She hoped that he saw her beneath the gentle waves, a flash of gold from her hair or the moonlight reflecting off the sea green scales on her tail. Alas, after several circuits on her beach, he turned back into the woods in the direction of the village that she once, long ago, called home.

It was nigh on a century ago when Emma walked this beach and splashed in this lagoon as a sixteen year old girl. There wasn’t much time allowed for leisure in her life, but she and some of the other girls were able to come down to the beach on occasion for a modicum of recreation. They would remove their shoes and wiggle their toes in the sand and splash in the surf which would inevitably devolve into a water fight, competing to see who could get who the wettest before they inevitably had to return to the tavern of their employ.

It was on one of these excursions that the most lovely music reached her ears. Music from across the water. When she walked further out into the lagoon seeking the source of the tune, she was suddenly pulled under. Her companions stared in shock, too far from her to even attempt a rescue. The water closed over her head, turning her screams into a gurgle, as she reached out for anything that would keep her from being carried away. Once underwater, she became aware of what exactly had pulled her under. The orange arm of an octopus was all she could see wrapped around her ankles and working its way up her body, pulling her away from everything that she had ever known, further and further away from the sunlight on the surface of the lagoon and closer and closer to the dropoff marking the boundary and the open ocean beyond. The sense of flying under the water intensified as the melody continued on, and even became louder the deeper she went. It was working its way into her heart and mind, telling her to not resist, that she was safe, that she would live forever. The assurances did nothing to assuage her fear and anger, even as a creeping lethargy enveloped her limbs, halting her struggles against the iron grip of the tentacle. Finally arriving at the bottom of the ocean, the tentacle released her to join its brothers as part of the most horrifying sight she had ever beheld. A green skinned man from the waist up, while below, a multitude of orange tentacles waved lazily in the deep water currents.  

Neal had taken advantage of her passivity, brought about by the melody that apparently he had sent to lure her into deep enough water that he could take her and make her his own. Upon her arrival in his underwater home, he immediately gave her fins instead of legs. He spoke words of love and tenderness to her, thinking to woo her to his side, but when he was unsuccessful after several weeks, his supposed love descended into a violent possessiveness, making her his by force. It was at this time that the full moon rose high in the sky and even though its light didn’t reach the depths, she still nearly drowned in her wolf form. If she hadn’t been fighting for her life, Neal’s surprise would have been comical. His surveillance had obviously been incomplete as he had no idea that he had kidnapped a werewolf. His magic placed her back on land where she’d be safe from drowning, but he warned her when the sun rose and she reverted back to human form, that she belonged to him and that his eyes would always be watching her when she was on land. He would not hesitate to kill anyone that tried to take what was his, including her, should she try to escape from him. Resigned to her fate, she endured the transformation each month and returned to the lagoon from whence Neal had taken her when the cycle came to an end. At least he allowed her that, only summoning her to his side when he wanted to remind her who she belonged to, which was, thankfully, relatively seldom all these years later.

She shuddered as the memories washed over her. Pushing them back down where they belonged, she looked back in the direction that the man had gone. She could only hope that he might come back.

The next night, he did come back. And the night after that, and the night after that. Every night, about an hour after sunset, he arrived at her beach. Some nights he would simply walk. Back and forth. Back and forth. She wished that she could speak to him, bring him some comfort in his distress. Other nights, he would sit on her beach and stare out at the sea for hours, tears tracking down his cheeks. It was those nights that the desire to reveal herself to him nearly overwhelmed her. But then she remembered Neal’s threats. She would not put this man in danger.

The next night was the first night of the full moon. She swam to the shallows as the sun set and she could feel the first stirrings of her change coming upon her. It was one thing to endure the pain of the transformation as a human, but as a mermaid, it was so much worse. She first had to face the agony of becoming human before she became the wolf.

Once the transformation was complete, her wolf still trembling with the aftereffects of the torment that had lately seized her, she ran for the shelter of the woods, desperate to hide herself among the foliage before he came for his evening constitutional. Tonight, being on the land instead of the sea and possessing the enhanced acuity of a wolf, she became aware of his presence before he was even beyond the borders of the town, about a mile away.

His steps were a bit slower this evening, and she was able to perceive details of his appearance that had been hidden in the previous weeks. The scruff that lined his jaw was tinged with ginger and his eyes were the blue of the lagoon that she now called home. He was dressed in the garb of a laborer and his hands were filthy. She wondered if he worked in the blacksmith shop.

He made the cover of the trees and her nose twitched with the scent she perceived on the night air coming off of him in waves. It couldn’t be. He turned from the path and disappeared from her sight. She was still over half a mile away from him. She ran to him, desperate to see if what she could smell was correct. Jumping over the detritus and long fallen, rotting trees that lay along the unseen paths used by the inhabitants of the forest, she raced toward her goal, her salvation. Arriving at her target, she came to a sudden stop. There, nestled in the bracken of the forest floor, was a wolf. A wolf dark as midnight under a new moon. His transformation was complete, but he had not yet recovered enough to make any sort of move against her.

She trod gingerly over to him. A low growl, full of menace reached her from deep in his chest. He may not be quite recuperated from the transformation, but he was far from defenseless, if the strength of that growl was anything to go by. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. Electric blue met verdant green in a dance as old as time. He rose from his forest bed and nosed along her muzzle. She held as still as she could while he nosed along the length of her, pausing below her tail to scent her. His tongue flicked out and the vibrating tension that had held her still since their eyes met broke. Emma spun away from him and mouthed gently at his muzzle before taking off through the woods. She didn’t need her heightened hearing to know that he was following her lead. The blood sang in her veins as she unleashed a howl at the full moon up above. He joined her in a chilling duet that carried both to the village and to the lagoon. She made to jump over a huge decaying log across their path when her back leg was caught in the rotting bark. A surprised and pain-filled whine was torn from her as she landed on top of the log. Mere seconds passed before the other wolf was by her side and ripping at the disintegrating log. Finally free, she jumped off the log, landing gingerly on the injured leg. The pain speared through her with each step she took, so she walked with a slight limp. He was by her side in an instant, bumping into her, supporting her as she tried to walk off the pain.

It took a few minutes, but the supernatural healing did its work and she resumed the chase through the woods until they burst through the foliage onto her beach. Suddenly mindful that Neal would have a much easier time seeing her and her companion when they were this exposed, she ran back for the cover of the forest. She came to a stop and turned back towards him, just as he burst through and tackled her. They rolled a few times until Emma laid on her back. The black wolf hovered over her before he lowered his face to hers and stretched himself out, half on top of her, half along her side. A wolfish sigh left her as she tentatively licked his muzzle. The crystal blue eyes half shut in pleasure and a pleased low growl left him.

She was still coming to terms with the fact that this man she had watched all month was also a werewolf like her, but as she snuggled closer into his solid bulk and her eyes fell shut, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had found her true mate. Now she just needed to figure out how to get away from Neal.

~*~*~

The sun was just breaking over the horizon when Emma woke, back in her human form. She was naked and the huge black wolf stretched out next to her was keeping her warm in the chill of the dawn. She looked around and found that they collapsed under a small copse of trees that the morning light was just barely able to penetrate. She wet her lips as her attention was drawn back to the creature next to her. She couldn’t help but reach out to touch his fur to see if it was as soft as it looked.

She buried her hand in the scruff of his neck, eyes rolling in the back of her head as the softness enveloped her. She came back to herself and studied him again. In the light of the morning, she could see that his fur wasn’t as dark as she thought last night. There was some white mixed in on his head, making it more of a dark grey rather than solid black. His underside was also more grey than black. He stretched beside her and she snatched her hand away, not wanting to wake him. With his back legs stretched out, she could clearly see that he was taller than she was.

She looked around, trying to find a place to hide from him. He’d be awake soon and she didn’t want him to see her like this. Not for a first meeting, anyway. His eyes were starting to open, the deep blue shining through his still half closed eyelids. She stood and suppressed a shiver brought on by the sudden loss of his body heat, and moved to hide herself behind a tall tree just at the edge of their sanctuary.

She hunkered down, trying to conserve her own body heat when she heard him stand in the loam where they made their bed. Peeking out from behind her tree, she was captivated by the full effect of the vivid blue eyes as they met hers. She couldn’t look away as a full body shudder ripped through him and he crouched there without moving as his own transformation overtook him. Once it was complete, he stood before her, in all his glory. He was beautiful. Tall and lean, with a dusting of chest hair leading down to where his hands covered himself. He obviously felt the same way she did about their initial meeting. His arms and legs were strong, perfectly toned muscles that she’d love to feel under her fingers. She knew that he saw her, his blush and heavy swallow testimony to that. Her eyes widened and fell away from him as she felt her own blush spreading over her cheeks.

He moved a few feet away and hid himself behind another tree. Moments later his voice reached her.

“Are you alright, lass? No worse for wear from our romp last night?”

His accent seemed to wrap around her and draw her to him. She peeked around her hiding place once again to answer him.

“Oh, my leg?” She moved it just to make sure. “Yes, it’s fine. Thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Silence reigned for a long moment. “I’m Killian. Killian Jones.”

“I’m Emma,” she replied.

“How have I never seen you in the village, Emma?”

“I’m not from the village. Not now, anyway.”

“What do you mean, lass?”

“I’m originally from the village, but I haven’t been there in many years.”

“I see.” He obviously did not see. She knew for a fact that he hadn’t been aware of her presence in the lagoon all month, and without that essential piece of the puzzle, there was no way that he could understand exactly what she meant. “Do you need anything? Since you’re hiding yourself from me, I can only assume that you’re also nude. Do you have clothes to put on?”

She blushed even harder at his perceptiveness. “Uh, no. I don’t.”

“May I bring you some from the village? My clothes are where I left them last night and I have some time before I’m expected in the blacksmith’s shop.”

“That would be lovely,” she breathed, utterly flabbergasted that he’d want to help her in this way. “Thank you.”

“No problem at all, Emma. I’ll return shortly.”

It was only about thirty minutes before he returned to her hiding place, bearing a white shift in his arms.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you anything more substantial, but I didn’t have much money with me.” He reached behind her tree, where she was still hidden, and held it out to her. She took it and let the soft cotton slide through her fingers. She hadn’t felt anything like it in so long, she couldn’t wait to feel it against her skin.

She slipped it on and came out from behind her tree. She swallowed heavily before looking up at him from beneath her lashes, feeling very exposed and bashful now that she was face to face with him. He reached up and drew his knuckles down her cheek as he looked into her eyes. He smiled gently at her.

“It’s very nice to meet you face to face, Emma.”

“You too, Killian.” She couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Will I see you tonight? The blacksmith doesn’t close down until the sun sets, and I’d assume that since you were already a wolf before I was last night and were human again before I was this morning, that you’ll be in your wolf form before I return to the woods tonight?”

She nodded. “Yes, I turn with the sunset and rise.”

“I can control my turning,” he shared with her.

“So that’s why you didn’t turn until you were in the woods, and were still a wolf when I woke?”

“Aye,” he acknowledged. “So will I see you again tonight?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking back up into his incredibly blue eyes.

He looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the town. “I have to get to work. Until tonight, Emma.” He turned back toward her and placed a tender kiss on her cheek.

Her hand raised to where the place he had kissed her still tingled as he walked away. “Until tonight, Killian,” she murmured.

~*~*~

Emma was never far from his thoughts the entire day. It’s a wonder he didn’t lose a hand, given the work he was doing and the level of distraction he was dealing with.

He may have only just met her, but the connection he felt with her last night and then this morning could not be denied.

A connection that made the wolf inside of him howl with delight and filled him with a joy that he hadn’t felt in ages. Not since long before he’d wandered into this small village about a month before.

Killian had been traveling from kingdom to kingdom, village to village after losing his brother almost three years before when he was only 15. He and his brother had been raised on the ship where their father had taken work after their mother had died when Killian was only a toddler. Today, he couldn’t imagine how hard it had to have been for his father to lose his wife and having to take work anywhere he could find it while raising two boys on his own. Two boys that were destined to become wolves when puberty hit. By the time his own time came, their father had passed and Liam was the one to help Killian through the transition and teach him how to control his shift.

It was the following year when Liam had been lost at sea during a storm and Killian had gone ashore. Life on the sea was in his blood, but with the painful memories that came with it, he decided to forge his own path on land.

Since then he’d drifted. Never staying in one place for more than a few months. Never long enough to form a connection with anyone, never long enough to put down roots. But meeting Emma last night changed everything.

She was the most beautiful wolf he’d ever laid eyes on. Fur as white as the freshly fallen snow. Green eyes that glittered under the full moon. He remembered the scent that had flooded him as he still lay recovering from his shift. The scent of were. He knew when he finally gazed upon her that she was not just a wolf. She was also a werewolf like him. He knew as they ran through the forest under the light of the moon that she was his and he was hers. His true mate.

Beholding her beauty in the flesh this morning, it was no wonder that even now, thoughts of her had his blood running south. Blonde hair that looked kissed by the sun, green eyes that had so captivated him the night before, firm muscles still supple with youth. She looked to be about a year younger than he was, or no more than two. She had said that she was from this village originally, but hadn’t been there in many years. How many years? Where had she been in the meantime? And why didn’t she have any clothes? The mysteries surrounding this woman swirled around in his brain until the sun finally set and he was free to leave.

Reaching the edge of the village, he looked up to the tree line. There she was. Mostly concealed, but the large pupils flashed under the light of the full moon allowing him to see her. He quickened his pace until he joined her under the canopy of the forest.

“Emma?” he asked. He knew it was her, but he just wanted that little bit more. Confirmation that she was what he thought she was. Her expression softened before she turned her back to him and moved forward. A grin broke out on his face as he followed her deeper into the woods.

She led him back to the same copse of trees that they slept in the night before. She turned in a circle a couple of times before curling up on the ground. Even with the white of her fur, he could barely see her in their safe haven. The light of the moon didn’t reach this deep into the forest, much less through the intertwined boughs of their shelter. It was more that he heard her settling and the pants of her breathing that told him where she was.

He settled down next to her and reached out to try and touch her. His hand found the deep, thick fur of her scruff. Never had he felt anything so soft. He moved his hand until it reached her ears and he could feel her raise her head, seeking more attention in that spot. He chuckled and proceeded to scratch at the sensitive area. After a few moments of the activity, Emma giving a contented low whine as he continued his ministrations, she stood from her spot, moved in front of him, and jumped up on him, placing her paws on his shoulders, pushing him backward into the earth. A laugh broke out of him as he lay still and waited to see what she would do next. This close, he could finally get a good look at her face. Her green eyes sparkled in the low light as she brought her muzzle close to his face and nuzzled into his cheek before she surprised him with a slow lick. He grabbed her scruff and nuzzled his own face into the softness that he found there. Pulling away from him, she turned around right above his head before she laid down again, scooching as close to his head as she could. When he raised up, trying to catch her eyes, she slid herself underneath his head, so that when he lay his head back down, it was the softness of her fur and underbelly that met him rather than the hard ground.

“Is this comfortable for you, Emma?” he murmured. His position allowed her to reach his face with another lick. She continued licking, as if she tasted something good along his skin. Laughing, he finally pushed her away when he’d had enough of her affection. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Laying there in their own safe place, he gazed up through the branches trying to see the night sky above. There was one area off to his left that was completely unobscured both by their little den and by the forest at large. He looked that way, seeing just a sliver of the full moon. He was pretty sure that he had time to tell her about himself before the whole of the full moon flooded their hideaway. Once it did, he wanted to turn and run with his mate.

He told Emma of his earliest memories aboard the ship and how he didn’t remember his mother at all. He told her about his father and brother, how they taught him about his wolf nature, and how he lost both of them. By the time he got to the current time, the full moon lit up their retreat. He raised himself up and looked at the beautiful wolf beside him.

“Are you ready to run, darling?”

She lifted her muzzle to the sky and let out a ringing howl. He raised his own face to the moon and joined her in her wolf song as he gave his shift full rein over his body. Short minutes later, his wolf senses much more attuned to the exquisite creature by his side, he tore through the underbrush of their oasis into the forest, Emma right on his heels.

They ran like the wind, indulging in their delight at being together. The scent of a rabbit crossed their trail causing them to run back toward the village that was Killian’s temporary home. Catching up to the terrified creature, they made short work of their meal before engaging in a game of tag that ended when Killian was so caught up in the presence of her that he lost track of where he was and instead of jumping to sidestep the edge of the ravine they were running along, lost his footing and fell to the bottom of it. Landing on his feet, he looked up at where Emma stood watching him, tongue lolling, her green eyes filled with mirth. Running back up the side of the ravine to her, he pounced, his front legs laying across her shoulders and neck, mouthing gently at her snout in a sign of affection. Her head turned toward his as she accepted his overtures before he got off her and she turned back toward their secret hideaway.

Once they arrived safely, they snuggled together and slept.

~*~*~

Emma was awakened by a hand rubbing up and down her naked back. She was snuggled into Killians side, head on his shoulder and the rest of her body flush with his side. She buried her face into his neck and let out a distressed moan.

“What is it, Emma?” he asked, gently, never halting his light touch.

“I should have awakened and hidden before you woke up. Like I did yesterday.”

Killian chuckled. “Why? I don’t know about you, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m yours. All of me.” He took her hand in his other one and brought it up to his lips where he kissed each finger tip before looking deeply into her eyes. “I’ve never met a female werewolf, darling. How could I possibly be with anyone else?”

“But you don’t know anything about me,” she protested. “You only met me yesterday! At least I had the benefit of hearing your story last night and watching you all month when you walked along the beach. I knew that there was just something about you. When I watched you walk along the beach or sit and stare out at the water, I wanted nothing more than to reveal myself to you. Comfort you. Be with you.” The last part was a whisper as she looked away from his piercing gaze, only to be met with his naked body.

“So tell me,” he encouraged her. “When I felt you turn with the sunrise, I allowed myself to turn as well. I thought it might be comforting for you and I to have a few minutes together as humans before I had to go back to the village.”

She looked up into the azure blue of his eyes that she thought she would surely drown in. Seeing nothing but honest sincerity in his gaze, she began her own tale.

“I was born in the village, but abandoned as a baby. I was raised by Granny along with her own granddaughter, Ruby.” Killian’s brow furrowed at the mention of the names. “They were werewolves and owned the Red Wolf tavern. Granny somehow knew that I was were and took me in because of it. Granny taught me everything I needed to know about being a werewolf. How to live as a wolf during the full moon, how to keep my secret the rest of the month. Ruby, the other girls employed at the tavern, and I would come to the beach on occasion for some fun. Just a chance to relax, play, forget our troubles. Just for a little while…” her voice trailed away into a whisper.

Killian had gone very still. “Yes, Emma?” he questioned, “Keep going. I’m listening.”

“I was 16. I had apparently attracted the attention of a merman, Neal. The girls and I  were just doing what we always did when I heard the most beautiful music. Music that he sent to lure me to deeper water so that he could take me. When I was far enough away from Ruby and the others, he kidnapped me. Brought me to his underwater home, turned me into a mermaid, and tried to win my affections. When I refused him, he forced me to remain with him. When he realized that I was a werewolf, he allowed me to spend those days and nights on the shore, after making sure that I knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone that tried to take me from him. Including myself, if I tried to escape from him.”

Emma could feel Killian’s fury rolling off of him. “I’ll kill him, Emma. I’ll kill the bastard. When was this? How long ago were you kidnapped?”

She buried her face into his neck again, not wanting to see his face when she told him. “It’s been nearly one hundred years.”

Killian grabbed her shoulders and lifted her away from him. It was all she could do to meet his eyes as he scrutinized her. “I knew that it’d have to have been many years, because the Red Wolf tavern and most of the village burned down 70 years ago. By that time, Granny was long gone, and Ruby was killed in the fire. The old timers still talk about it like it was yesterday. But I had no idea how long it had been for you.” He pulled her to him and held her gently as the tears that had gathered in her eyes started to fall.

Once her tears were spent, she looked back up to him. Raising her with him, he sat up, tenderly cupped her face within his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. A soft moan worked its way out of her mouth as she opened beneath the cautious questing of his tongue. He was so gentle and loving that she never wanted this to end. Her arms wrapped around him, her hands plunging into his raven locks as they rocked together. He lay back down with Emma atop him, never releasing her lips as his hands began to roam her naked body. Her nerve endings fired wherever he touched, leaving anticipatory shivers in their wake.

When air became necessary, they broke apart, both panting heavily. “As much as I’d like to continue this, Emma, I’m expected in the village soon.”

“I know,” she murmured into the space between them. She was loathe to let him go, but knew she must.

“We’ll continue this tomorrow morning,” he assured her.

“But I’ll be a mermaid again with the sunrise!”

“Then we’ll wait until next month.” He pushed back on her shoulders until his fierce blue eyes bored into hers. “We will be together, Emma. I swear it. I will always find you.”

“I will always find you,” she whispered back to him. She pressed another kiss to his lips and rose from their makeshift bed. Donning her shift, she turned back to where he was pulling his own clothes on.

“Until tonight, Emma,” he whispered, pressing his lips to hers and running his fingers down her face.

“Until tonight, Killian.”

~*~*~

That night passed in much the same way as the previous night did. Killian arrived shortly after the sun set and joined Emma in their wolf form. They ran together under the full moon, played a game of hide and seek (Emma could only stand playing one round, her white fur making it very difficult to hide from another were), and hunted for their meal before they finally collapsed together in a fluffy pile in their temporary home.

It was about an hour before sunrise when she felt Killian change beside her. Still mostly asleep, she barely remembered him whispering to her that he’d be back in a bit before pressing a kiss into her scruff and leaving the copse. She had gotten so used to having Killian beside her the last two nights that she couldn’t fall back into the sleep that beckoned her. She finally gave up and rose to go look for him.

His scent led her to the beach. Was he walking along the beach waiting for the sunrise as he had been doing all month after darkness fell? She came to a sudden stop at the edge of the forest, just before it met the beach when she heard two voices raised in anger. One beloved, the other a voice that she would have been quite happy to never hear again as long as she lived. In the gray morning before the sun rose, she could see Killian, as a man, standing before Neal, his tentacles undulating on the surface of the lagoon. She could hear Neal’s laughter as Killian’s voice rose in a shout demanding her freedom.

Several things happened at once. Neal’s face morphed from taunting mirth into a sneer as one of his tentacles surged forward and wrapped securely around Killian’s middle, squeezing tightly and dragging him toward the water. Emma could no longer remain hidden. She knew that Neal meant to drown Killian and she couldn’t let that happen to her love. To her mate. She burst from the trees and raced to the shore where Killian was being dragged. He was transforming within Neal’s grasp, perhaps thinking that Neal would lose his grip on a wolf instead of a man.

She could see the fury in Neal’s eyes as she arrived at Killian’s side. His turn halted as his arms reached around her, resulting in a tug of war between herself and Neal. Killian’s arms grasped desperately and she pulled back with all her might, trying to get him away first from Neal and second from the dangerous waves that seemed to nearly be an extension of Neal himself. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but they seemed to be grabbing at Killian as well, trying to drown him within their depths. She was able to get close enough to one of Neal’s arms that she clamped down on it, biting all the way through, a clean amputation in between the adversaries. Neal roared, releasing Killian to fall to the beach, gasping for air. She leapt at her captor, heedless of his other tentacles writhing in agony and the waves where he could easily drown her.

Neal was unprepared for her leap, and though he caught her in his arms, her bulk pushed him beneath the waves as she clamped her teeth down on his throat and ripped it out. His blood painted her muzzle bright red as the water closed over them. His arms loosened from catching her and she watched as the light dimmed and was extinguished from his eyes. Blood continued to pour from the gaping wound into the water that surrounded them. Swimming as best she could for the surface, her head broke through just as the sun peeked over the horizon. Helpless to stop her change from coming over her, she nearly whimpered in relief as strong arms wrapped around her body and carried her to shore. Never had she been held in someone’s arms as she turned. Never had she felt so safe, so protected, so loved as she did at that moment. Killian gently lay her on the white sand of the beach, staring into her eyes so reverently as she recovered from her transformation.

When she came back to herself, cradled in her mate’s arms, staring into eyes the exact same shade of her lagoon, she reached up and pulled him down into a desperate kiss. It was when his hands began caressing her hip that realization dawned. She was human! The sunrise should have brought her mermaid form with it, but with Neal’s death, his curse on her was broken as well. She pulled away and stared down at her body before meeting Killian’s amazed and joyful gaze with her own.

“I’m human.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “That you are, lass.”

Her mouth opened and shut several times before she found her voice again. “I’m not a mermaid anymore.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m free,” she breathed, “Neal is dead and I’m free!”

Killian gathered her in his arms and held her close, their heartbeats synchronizing in their elation.

It wasn’t long, however, before they both became aware of Emma’s nude state. Drawing back from her, Killian raised a salacious eyebrow at his beloved. “We need to get you dressed, my love, before my desire overrides my good sense.”

“No one comes to this lagoon, Killian. No one,” she asserted, vehemently. Her green eyes were filled her own desire and her hands were busy opening his shirt and then pushing his trousers over his hips. “Please make love to me, Killian. Make me yours.”

A groan worked its way out of his throat as he acquiesced to her demand and crashed his lips to hers. With nothing but the light of the sun touching her skin, he drew back and drank in her beauty. Her pupils were blown wide in desire, the green only a thin ring around them. Her golden tresses shone in the light of the rising sun. If he was struck blind in that moment, he’d never forget the sight of the sun in her hair as his hands roamed her succulent body, memorizing her contours and all the places he touched that made her gasp, moan, and sigh.

She was not idle as he set about worshipping his love, his mate. Her fingers trailed through his chest hair, sending shivers throughout his body, before following the trail down to where he was hard and aching for her. He thrust his hips into her hands as they began stroking him from root to tip.

He nuzzled into her neck, placing open mouth kisses before sucking hard at her pulse point, drawing heat to the surface of her skin, and causing her to cry out in pleasure. One hand caressed the fullness of her breasts as the other sought out her most intimate place. When he found his treasure, he found her folds drenched in her want of him.

Pulling back from her, he looked into her eyes. “Are you ready for me, my darling?”

“Yes, Killian,” she cried, “Yes, please!”

He lined himself up and slowly pushed into her heat. Twin sighs of relief escaped them both as they were now joined in every way possible. He rolled his hips into her until her gasp told him that he had found that spot inside her. He determined to hit that spot every time until he watched her fall apart. He began measured thrusts into her, seeking the place inside her that would bring her the most pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust until he was helpless in her embrace. He drove himself into her, staving off the tingling in his spine as he felt her walls begin to flutter along his length. He reached between them and caressed the swollen nub just above where they were joined until she shattered in his arms.

Murmuring praise into her ear as she shuddered with the strength of her climax, he began to chase his own release. Moments later, his climax rolled through him, joining his mate in the ultimate bliss of their union.

The drift back to earth seemed to take forever. He slipped out of her and rolled to the side, not wanting to crush her with his weight. He drew her back into his arms and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Still with me, Emma?” he murmured.

“Mmmmmmm,” she hummed, still blissed out from their lovemaking.

Killian chuckled and drew her closer until they were flush from shoulders to feet. “So what now?” she asked, “What do I do now?”

“Anything you want, my love,” he replied. “We can go anywhere you like or we can stay here. The blacksmith is getting on in years and doesn’t have children to take over when he is gone. I think that’s why he was so eager to hire me. He seems to be about ready to hand over his hammer. We could make a life here. Raise children here.” He blushed, scratching behind his ear in an adorably nervous gesture. “If you’d rather leave, I do hope that you realize that I’m coming too. I can’t live without you, darling. Please don’t ask me to.”

She closed the distance between them and found his lips with her own. “Of course, I wouldn’t. I can’t live without you, either. Don’t you know that? You saved me.”

“You are the one who did the saving, darling.” The sincerity in his eyes had her pulling him to her again in a kiss that threatened to spin out of control before she broke it.

“I’d be happy to stay here, if you are,” she asserted.

Killian let out a whoop of pure happiness as he hugged her to him. “Then let's go, Emma. We have time to get to the village and get you settled in my lodgings before I have to be at work.”

They rose and made it back to their copse where they dressed quickly and departed for the village. Killian was correct in his speculations about the blacksmith. When they got into town, Killian introduced Emma as his betrothed to his boss, Marco, who was absolutely delighted to hear the news. As soon as they celebrated their nuptials, just before the full moon the very next month, Marco indeed handed the hammer over to Killian in order to adequately provide for his bride and any little ones that God would see fit to grant them.

And so, Killian and Emma Jones built a life in the small village, enjoying their children, and eventually grandchildren in their own happily ever after.

The End

Thanks for reading and sharing!

[kkintle]

Looking for Alaska by John Green; Quotes

“Francois Rabelais. He was this poet. And his last words were 'I go to seek a Great Perhaps.' That's why I'm going. So I don't have to wait until I die to start seeking a Great Perhaps.”

Because you simply cannot draw these things out forever. At some point, you just pull off the Band-Aid and it hurts, but then it's over and you're relieved.

“'He'—that's Simon Bolivar—*was shaken by the overwhelming revelation that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was at that moment reaching the finish line. The rest was darkness. ”Damn it,“ he sighed. ”How will I ever get out of thislabyrinth!'“”

She had the kind of eyes that predisposed you to supporting her every endeavor.

Because you may be smart, but I've been smart longer.

(...) the most important pursuit in history: the search for meaning. What is the nature of being a person? What is the best way to go about being a person? How did we come to be, and what will become of us when we are no longer? In short: What are the rules of this game, and how might we best play it?"

I learned that myth doesn't mean a lie; it means a traditional story that tells you something about people and their worldview and what they hold sacred.

She smiled with all the delight of a kid on Christmas morning and said, “Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.”

(...) and I jogged after him, trailing in his wake. I wanted to be one of those people who have streaks to maintain, who scorch the ground with their intensity. But for now, at least I knew such people, and they needed me, just like comets need tails.

“You've got a lifetime to mull over the Buddhist understanding of interconnectedness.” He spoke every sentence as if he'd written it down, memorized it, and was now reciting it. “But while you were looking out the window, you missed the chance to explore the equally interesting Buddhist belief in being present for every facet of your daily life, of being truly present. Be present in this class. And then, when it's over, be present out there,” he said, nodding toward the lake and beyond.

“I may die young,” she said. “But at least I'll die smart. Now, back to tangents.”

“Getting out isn't that easy,” she said seriously, her eyes on mine like I knew the way out and wouldn't tell her.

“Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia.” “Huh?” I asked. “You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.”

“Sometimes I don't get you,” I said. She didn't even glance at me. She just smiled toward the television and said, “You never get me. That's the whole point.”

“He loves me,” Alaska told me as we walked back to the dorm circle. “He loves all y'all, too. He just loves the school more. That's the thing. He thinks busting us is good for the school and good for us. It's the eternal struggle, Pudge. The Good versus the Naughty.”

“Sometimes you lose a battle. But mischief always wins the war.”

“So Friday? Do you have plans for Friday?” And then I laughed, because the Colonel and I didn't have plans for this Friday, or for any other Friday for the rest of our lives.

And I vaguely remember Lara smiling at me from the doorway, the glittering ambiguity of a girl's smile, which seems to promise an answer to the question but never gives it. The question, the one we've all been asking since girls stopped being gross, the question that is too simple to be uncomplicated: Does she like me or like me?

“It is sad,” I repeated. “I mean, it's stupid to miss someone you didn't even get along with. But, I don't know, it was nice, you know, having someone you could always fight with.”

“Sorry. Don't worry, dude,” he said. “God will punish the wicked. And before He does, we will.”

“Hold on.” He grabbed a pencil and scrawled excitedly at the paper as if he'd just made a mathematical breakthrough and then looked back up at me. “I just did some calculations, and I've been able to determine that you're full of shit.”

“It's not life or death, the labyrinth.” “Urn, okay. So what is it?” “Suffering,” she said. “Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?” “What's wrong?” I asked. And I felt the absence of her hand on me. “Nothing's wrong. But there's always suffering, Pudge. Homework or malaria or having a boyfriend who lives far away when there's a good-looking boy lying next to you. Suffering is universal. It's the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.”

“You shall love your crooked neighbour/ With your crooked heart,”

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

“Night falls fast. Today is in the past,”

Alaska decided to go help Dolores with dinner. She said that it was sexist to leave the cooking to the women, but better to have good sexist food than crappy boy-prepared food.

“Don't you know who you love, Pudge? You love the girl who makes you laugh and shows you porn and drinks wine with you. You don't love the crazy, sullen bitch.” And there was something to that, truth be told.

People, I thought, wanted security. They couldn't bear the idea of death being a big black nothing, couldn't bear the thought of their loved ones not existing, and couldn't even imagine themselves not existing. I finally decided that people believed in an afterlife because they couldn't bear not to.

The Great Perhaps was upon us, and we were invincible. The plan may have had faults, but we did not.

“Prick us, we bleed. Prick him, he pops.”

I don't know. Like the way the sun is right now, with the long shadows and that kind of bright, soft light you get when the sun isn't quite setting? That's the light that makes everything better, everything prettier, and today, everything just seemed to be in that light.

I found myself thinking about President William McKinley, the third American president to be assassinated. He lived for several days after he was shot, and toward the end, his wife started crying and screaming, “I want to go, too! I want to go, too!” And with his last measure of strength, McKinley turned to her and spoke his last words: “We are all going.”

There comes a time when we realize that our parents cannot save themselves or save us, that everyone who wades through time eventually gets dragged out to sea by the undertow—that, in short, we are all going.

“Pudge, what you must understand about me is that I ama deeply unhappy person.”

“But a lot of times, people die how they live. And so last words tell me a lot about who people were, and why they became the sort of people biographies get written about. Does that make sense?”

And what is an “instant” death anyway? How long is an instant? Is it one second? Ten? The pain of those seconds must have been awful as her heart burst and her lungs collapsed and there was no air and no blood to her brain and only raw panic. What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.

Straight & Fast.

How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?—A. Y.

“Because everybody who has ever lost their way in life has felt the nagging insistence of that question. At some point we all look up and realize we are lost in a maze, (...)

I wondered if there would ever be a day when I didn't think about Alaska, wondered whether I should hope for a time when she would be a distant memory—recalled only on the anniversary of her death, or maybe a couple of weeks after, remembering only after having forgotten. I knew that I would know more dead people. The bodies pile up. Could there be a space in my memory for each of them, or would I forget a little of Alaska every day for the rest of my life?

“You can't just make me different and then leave,” I said out loud to her. “Because I was fine before, Alaska. I was fine with just me and last words and school friends, and you can't just make me different and then die.” For she had embodied the Great Perhaps—she had proved to me that it was worth it to leave behind my minor life for grander maybes, and now she was gone and with her my faith in perhaps. I could call everything the Colonel said and did “fine.” I could try to pretend that I didn't care anymore, but it could never be true again. You can't just make yourself matter and then die, Alaska, because now I am irretrievably different, and I'm sorry I let you go, yes, but you made the choice. You left me Perhapsless, stuck in your goddamned labyrinth. And now I don't even know if you chose the straight and fast way out, if you left me like this on purpose. And so I never knew you, did I? I can't remember, because I never knew.

The times that were the most fun seemed always to be followed by sadness now, because it was when life started to feel like it did when she was with us that we realized how utterly, totally gone she was.

'Everything that comes together falls apart,'” the Old Man said. "Everything. The chair I'm sitting on. It was built, and so it will fall apart. I'm gonna fall apart, probably before this chair. And you're gonna fall apart. The cells and organs and systems that make you you—they came together, grew together, and so must fall apart. The Buddha knew one thing science didn't prove for millennia after his death: Entropy increases. Things fall apart."

We are all going, I thought, and it applies to turtles and turtlenecks, Alaska the girl and Alaska the place, because nothing can last, not even the earth itself. The Buddha said that suffering was caused by desire, we'd learned, and that the cessation of desire meant the cessation of suffering. When you stopped wishing things wouldn't fall apart, you'd stop suffering when they did.

The hardest part about pranking, Alaska told me once, is not being able to confess.

I'd finally had enough of chasing after a ghost who did not want to be discovered. We'd failed, maybe, but some mysteries aren't meant to be solved. I still did not know her as I wanted to, but I never could.

Did I help you toward a fate you didn't want, Alaska, or did I just assist in your willful self-destruction? Because they are different crimes, and I didn't know whether to feel angry at her for making me part of her suicide or just to feel angry at myself for letting her go.

“After all this time, it still seems to me like straight and fast is the only way out—but I choose the labyrinth. The labyrinth blows, but I choose it.”

(...) we had to forgive to survive in the labyrinth. There were so many of us who would have to live with things done and things left undone that day. Things that did not go right, things that seemed okay at the time because we could not see the future. If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can't know better until knowing better is useless.

I still think that, sometimes, think that maybe “the afterlife” is just something we made up to ease the pain of loss, to make our time in the labyrinth bearable. Maybe she was just matter, and matter gets recycled.

But ultimately I do not believe that she was only matter. The rest of her must be recycled, too. I believe now that we are greater than the sum of our parts. If you take Alaska's genetic code and you add her life experiences and the relationships she had with people, and then you take the size and shape of her body, you do not get her. There is something else entirely. There is a part of her greater than the sum of her knowable parts. And that part has to go somewhere, because it cannot be destroyed.

Those awful things are survivable, because we are as indestructible as we believe ourselves to be. When adults say, “Teenagers think they are invincible” with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don't know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail.

So I know she forgives me, just as I forgive her. Thomas Edison's last words were: “It's very beautiful over there.” I don't know where there is, but I believe it's somewhere, and I hope it's beautiful.

Most loves don't last. (Whitney sure didn't. I can't even remember her last name.) But some do.

Almost by definition, last words are difficult to verify. Witnesses are emotional, time gets conflated, and the speaker isn't around to clear up any controversy.

I was born into Bolivar's labyrinth, and so I must believe in the hope of Rabelais' Great Perhaps.

[fleurdeliszt]

lightweaver (seokjin x reader)

absolutely inspired by spin of the dawn, it's a great book y'all should try it sometime!

Rating : T+

Word Count : 9k+

 //

 “Rise.”

You rise up from your kneeling position, eyes still fixed on the ground, hardly daring to meet the eyes of the man who had summoned you. The man who is also the Emperor of this country.

 “Will you not look at me, seamstress?” His voice is melodic, playful almost, yet the queasy feeling in your gut does not dissipate. Here is a man who had climbed the throne at 14 and managed to keep it, despite all of the scheming that surely surrounded him.

 Nothing about him is playful, at least not to you.

 “If Your Majesty wishes,” you answer, careful to look once and then quickly away.

 Even that short glance at him has you feeling breathless, as you think that the rumors that the Emperor really did descend from the gods must have some substance to them. He did look the part.

 “Your Majesty does,” he answers, sounding amused.

 You remain quiet even as a blush dusts your cheeks. What did he want? You are nothing, nobody! There was no reason offered to you when you'd been abruptly summoned to the capital, tucked in a caravan surrounded by gruff guards who would not speak anything except to say “The Emperor has ordered us to bring you to the Summer Palace.”

 “Your Majesty,” you begin, voice steady and not belying the tremor in your heart, “I'm a humble servant under your reign. What wish do you have of me?”

 “Humble servant?” He questions, stroking his chin.

 You stare quietly at him, as he paces across the room.

 “Humble servant, hmm? Well my humble servant,” here he grins at you, surprisingly boyish, “Will a humble servant of mine keep secrets from me?”

 No.

 Your mind is racing because there's no way he would know, no way he could know, yet he does, he does--

 And he stands now in front of you the boyish grin morphing into something more knowing.

 “Would they, seamstress?”

 “No, Your Majesty.” Your voice is a whisper. You pray to the storm god to keep your parents and siblings safe, because now that this --- man knows your secret, they will be next.

 “So? Do you have secrets of your own, lovely seamstress?” The flattering adjective is like a slap in your face, a mockery, but you manage to keep a straight face.

 “We all have secrets, Your Majesty.”

 He raises an eyebrow.  “You are brave. Or foolish.”

With that, he whips close the fan in his hand. As if issued a silent command, his guards leave the room.

 You watch in bewilderment, as you're left alone with the Emperor.

 “As you probably know, I haven't been coronated yet.”

 You knew. In fact, it was a question that plagued the entirety of the kingdom. Why had the Emperor not been coronated yet?

 He was of age, was the legal heir, there were no pesky siblings that claimed the throne, the Empress Dowager had all but retired to the Autumn Palace and never left the place. Which begged the question, what was stopping him?

 “My Father,” he speaks these words with no inflection in them, lifeless, “desired that the robe I be coronated with should have the laughter of the sun, the tears of the moon and the blood of stars.”

 You can't help it, you laugh.

 The Emperor looks at you, amused. Your laughter stops abruptly, even as your heart thump-thumps in your chest erratically.

 “You're right to laugh. I laughed too, thinking it a joke. Then I thought it was a metaphor. But then I realized it's true.”

 Your brows furrow.

 “The Glass Throne will not seat me.”

 “What?”

 He is the one to laugh this time, sharp and brittle.

 “But-” you sputter, “I've heard of stories telling how you passed judgment while seated on the Glass Throne!”

 “Tell me, my lady,” the Emperor murmurs, “how many of the common folk have seen the Glass Throne?”

 You still. It's true that while you have heard legendary stories about the beauty and splendor of the Glass Throne, you haven't actually seen it.

 “I sit on the replica,” he says, a trace of bitterness coloring his voice, “the real throne is kept away, in the Winter Palace.”

 “You're the rightful heir,” you say, indignation seeping into your voice, “the throne should respect that.”

 The Emperor smiles at you. “You're a kind person, but magic doesn't work like that.”

 You turn pink at that, eyes on your feet, wondering why this strange turn of events is happening. What need does the Emperor have you that he has summoned you from the backwaters of a small town?

 “I need you to make that robe for me, seamstress.”

 //

 “You have a quest!” Your little sister whispers, excited, and your tears stop, even if for a second.

//

 “A quest?” Your brother snarls,”It's a suicide mission!”

 //

 “The blood of the stars will be the most difficult,” your grandmother tells you, “you could lose your soul. But fear not, lovely child,” she kisses your forehead, wrapping you in her comforting embrace, “wear this and you'll be safe.”

 It's an innocuous pendant, with a red stone that glimmers in the moonlight.

 “It will protect you,” she whispers, “from things that wish to harm you.”

 //

  “How do you fare, seamstress?”

 It's the Emperor, come to visit you in your quarters.

 It's a bit improper isn't it, you think, as the moonlight spills through your curtains, but then again he's the Emperor and no rules bind him.

 “Very well, Your Majesty,” you bow into a neat curtesy, “I think I might know where to capture the laughter of the sun.”

 “Very well, you say?” He moves closer, his intimidating presence almost suffocating you.

 His fingers brush lightly across your cheek bones.

 “You've lost weight.”

 Of course I have, you think savagely, you are the one who gave me an impossible task.

 “Do you sleep well?” His fingers draw underneath your eyes.

 “No.”

 He laughs then, pulling back his fingers. “Oh how you must despise me,” his eyes glitter in the moonlight, “lovely seamstress of mine.”

 I'm not yours, you want to retort, but he's right. All of your people are his, to bow to his whims, to do as he wishes.

 “Do you know my name?” He asks.

 You stare at him mutely. What use do you have for the names of royals?

 “It's Seokjin.”

 //

  You gasp breathless and throat burning with a thirst that feels like would kill you, but you are triumphant.

 For in your hand, captured in a bottle is the laughter of the sun.

 //

  “So it's real.” Seokjin's face looks even more radiant in the glow of the sun, and he breaks out into a beautiful smile.

 “You're a wonder,” he tells you, gazing at you with such awe, that you blush.

 “A miracle,” he whispers.

 There's silence for a moment and then -

 “You can use magic.”

 It shouldn't sound like an accusation, but it does. You bristle.

 “I can't,” you say, “but I can channel some magic through powerful objects.” You glance at your scissors, lying innocuously on your work table. Seokjin follows your gaze and it lands on your scissors.

 He moves closer to your work table. “Is this magical?” He touches your scissors almost reverently, as he looks up to meet your eyes.

 “I'm not sure,” you admit, “It's been in my family for generations.”

 “Is this how you're the most renowned seamstress in your town?” He looks amused, and you feel your lips pulling down into a scowl.

 “Not everybody can use that. You need to be skilled enough surpass most ordinary people, and then and only then,” you glare at him, “will a person be able to harness the magic in those blades.”

 “Oh?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, “Quite proud of your skills, aren't you?”

 “Yes,” you raise your chin defiantly at him.

 “But you are a strange, wonderful thing indeed,” he admits, “To not have an ounce of magical blood, and in this day and age when magic seems to be waning,” he steps forward to you, gazing directly into your eyes, “you are truly fascinating.”

 You meet his dark eyes, intense and captivating, completely focused on you, and you cannot hold his gaze. You look away, clearing your throat. “I will start my journey for the tears of the moon in two weeks,” you inform him.

 When you hear no reply you turn around, only to stumble back when you find Seokjin startlingly close to you. He catches your arm easily, steadying you, and you pull back from his touch as if burnt.

 “Sorry,” he grins, unrepentant, and your anger fizzles away as quickly as it had appeared.

 “How quaint,” you retort, “The Emperor apologizing to a mere seamstress.”

 “I am a kind and generous Emperor, after all,” he winks at you, and with a swish of his royal blue robes, turns around to leave.

 You snort in disbelief, but a warmth surrounds and lingers in your heart.

 //

 You will be leaving in a week, to catch the tears of the moon and make fabric with it.

 You touch the ruby red pendant in your throat, and pray for courage.

 You have split the sunlight into thin strands with your scissors, and they now adorn the pure white cloth you had purchased from merchants across the sea.

 It isn't enough, you think, eyeing critically at the dazzling gold light emanating from the cloth, it almost looks gaudy.

 You frown at your work for a few more minutes before an idea strikes you.

 You set aside your scissors and leave hastily.

 //

 “I wish to meet the Emperor,” you inform the guards, who eye you skeptically.

 “I'm the royal seamstress,” you tell them, “I need some measurements.”

 “The Emperor is in an important meeting.”

 You huff. “Just ask if he can see me.”

 The guard rolls his eyes, before announcing carelessly, “Your Majesty, some lady is here to see you. She says she's a royal seamstress-”

 “Ask her to enter.”

 The guard stops mid-sentence, gaping stupidly.

 You giggle at the look on his face before entering the Emperor’s chamber.

 Seokjin is seated at the head of the table, but he looks exhausted and irritated. Royals courtiers sit around him, arguing in animated voices. Seokjin's eyes meet yours when you enter, and he gestures for you to come to him.

 “What is it?” He asks, “I hope it's more interesting than discussion about how to conduct rain rituals.”

 “Rain rituals are sacred!” You whisper, scandalised and Seokjin grins at you. “I don't believe in them,” he tells you in a low tone, and you gawk at him, open-mouthed.

 “How can the Emperor not believe in-”

 “And who is this?” A cold voice interrupts your conversation.

 “My seamstress,” Seokjin answers, equally coolly.

 “A seamstress? In a meeting regarding the royal budget?” The man who had interrupted you asks, “Could Your Majesty be neglecting his duties because of, ah,” he coughs delicately, “your seamstress?”

 Seokjin smiles, but there's no humor in it. “You would be assuming wrong, Chancellor, for I have been merely sick to do my duties, that is all. If you lot,” he addresses the remaining crowd sharply, “are done arguing, you may leave.”

 The crowd murmurs their dissent, but Seokjin watches them impassively until one by one, the courtiers leave, all except one.

 Seokjin's eyes are closed as he says, “I thought I asked you all to leave.”

 “Your Majesty,” the Chancellor begins, but is cut off by Seokjin.

 “Leave.”

 The Chancellor scowls, before throwing you a furious look and exiting hastily.

 “Did you have to be so mean?” You ask idly, playing with the paper fan at your feet.

 “I assure you I'm not mean. That man would happily have seen my death without batting an eyelash.”

 “Still,” you insist, “you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

 “I don't need to catch flies, I'm an Emperor,” Seokjin states absently, and you glance at him. His eyelids are drooping and he looks tired.

 “You're hardly an Emperor when you're like this,” you sigh, “I'll tell your guards to leave you alone for some time.”

 “Hmm,” he agrees, already half-asleep.

 Unbidden, your lips curve into a smile.

 “Sleep well, Your Majesty.”

 //

 The night before you're set to leave to find the tears of the moon, there's a knock at your door.

 You open it eagerly.

 It's a guard.

 “Oh,” you sound disappointed to even your own ears, and your disappointment catches you by surprise. Who were you even expecting?

 Then the guard raises his face to meet your eyes. “It's me,” he whispers, and the dark eyes and mellifluous voice soothes your disappointment and instead evokes a strange mix of excitement and happiness in you.

 “Why are you disguised?” You ask him, once you're both safely inside and he has taken off his guard helmet.

 “There are too many eyes in the palace,” he confesses.

 “Oh,” you say, “but what does it matter if you visit a seamstress?”

 “You mean,” he sets his clunky helmet on your work table and settles comfortably on your floor, “what does it matter that the young and dashing Emperor is visiting a girl in the middle of the night?”

 “You've visited me before in the night,” you point out amicably, settling down next to him.

 “Well I was stupid then,” he says.

 “Stupid about what?” You laugh.

 “Everything. Nothing.”

 This answer earns him a raised eyebrow and he bursts into laughter.

 This is the first time you have heard him laugh, and you stare at how undignified his laughter is -almost like a window being cleaned - yet so so adorable.

 “You really have no respect for me,” he marvels, and you shrug.

 “I might either be your most prized court member or dead,” you reply, “I've had months to come to terms with this. There's no point in being afraid.”

 “Such cheek,” he moves closer to you, and you stare back at him, at his dark eyes that drop down to your lips for the barest flicker of a second and at his full, rosy lips that he wets with his tongue.

 Suddenly your throat is parchment dry and your cheeks feel red hot.

 “You should go,” you manage to say, in a hoarse voice.

 “How dare you order me around,” the words aren't threatening, instead lazy and languid.

 “Your Majesty,” you begin, but Seokjin glances at you, and you quiet down.

 “You are very pretty, you know that?” he tells you, and you flush.

 “Yeah I do,” you respond, even though your cheeks are crimson with embarrassment.

 “Not as pretty as me though,” he says, and you almost shove him. Seokjin catches your hand movement with his eyes and chuckles. “I do wonder,” he murmurs, drawing closer and closer to you, “if you find me attractive.”

 “Everyone probably does,” you blurt out, and Seokjin laughs, high-pitched and squeaky.

 //

 The next morning, the two of you are entwined in each other's arms, but both of you resolutely refuse to address it.

 //

 You return two weeks later, with the tears of the moon, injured, bruised and bloody.

 //

 5.

 “Welcome back,” Seokjin says, but he sounds anything but welcome. His eyes are cold, and completely unlike the last day the both of you spent together.

 You hadn't expected anything from him, but it still stings the way he looks at you like a stranger.

 “Thank you, Your Majesty,” you reply, and he nods at you, before turning away to a ministry official.

 You keep your head bowed, waiting until he leaves to look up at the sky.

 The sunlight seems muted, the air chilly. It seems autumn has arrived.

 //

 That night, you sleep badly. There are dreams of your near death experiences, dreams of you failing and getting your family killed, there are dreams of broken promises and spilt milk and then there are dreams of him.

 “-wake! Just wake up already!”

 Your eyes fly open. Someone is bending over you, shaking you awake.

 “Finally.” The voice says, and with a pang you recognize it as Seokjin’s. “I thought you'd never wake.”

 “Why-” you begin, but Seokjin swipes his thumb across your cheek.

 It comes away wet.

 “You were crying in your sleep,” he says, “Nightmare?”

 You half-shrug nod at him and he accepts your response. The two of you sit in silence for a while before you say, “It won't be long now.”

 “What?”

 “I have found where the blood of the stars is. I'll be leaving soon to-”

 “No.”

 “What?” Your eyes are wide, shocked as they look at Seokjin.

 “You cannot leave my side,” he says, “At least not until I say so.”

 “I'm not a toy,” you seethe quietly.

 “And you have no free will of your own. So what does that make you?”

 “Get out,” you say.

 Seokjin pauses, looking almost guilty for a second, before his features fall into their familiar cool mask, as he storms away.

 //

 The next day on your table, is a single blue rose.

 You stare at it for a moment before noticing a parchment underneath that.

 It's a letter.

 I'm sorry. Jimin said I was being stupid by not telling you exactly what I feel. It's easier to write this than telling you directly.

  I was worried about you.

 It annoyed me immensely that I allowed myself to be so affected by you that I started blaming you. It's not your fault that I'm being immature. I really did miss you. I do wish you wouldn't have to leave so soon and on such a dangerous mission, but I won't stop you.

 Stay safe,

Seokjin

 But it's a mission you gave me, you think coldly in your mind, even though his words have thawed you somewhat.

 The blue rose is admittedly gorgeous and you wonder where on earth he found it.

 //

 The robe is coming along nicely.

 The moonlight is a glittery white substance that blends into the fabric and makes it shimmer, balancing the golden yellow of the sunlight.

 You still have to wear protective glasses though, as working with such potent magical substances could be dangerous. It is up to you to dilute their magic in a way that would be suitable for human eyes.

 Your eyes stray to the blue rose lying to the side and wonder what he is doing. You have been here for months, yet you the only times you have met are usually in the cover of the dark, secretive and away from prying eyes.

 You set down your work and pick up the rose, marveling at the beauty of it. You almost prick your finger on a thorn when you hear a knock at your door.

 “The Empress Dowager wishes to meet with you for tea,” comes the message and you rise up in surprise.

 You open the door, and receive a gorgeous invitation, written in thick white parchment reserved for important people. The words written on it confuse you, yet who are you to refuse?

 “I will be there.”

 //

 Maids scurry around you, dressing you in finery, dusting your face with powder and smearing your skin with fragrant oils.

 You had tried to deny them at first, but you realised the futility of it, and let them have their way.

 You are dressed in red silks and your hair in an elegant top knot, but you still survey yourself critically in the mirror. You do not know what this meeting entails and you hope you do not disappoint the dowager empress.

 //

 “Enter,” a cool voice comes in through the partition where you are kneeling, having been announced to the Empress Dowager.

 The door part and you slide in, taking with awe at the beauty of the Autumn Palace. The Autumn Palace is the residence of the dowager empress and her court ladies, even though traditionally court ladies were present at the Summer Palace, and the Emperor's residence.

 However, Seokjin being unmarried and owning no concubine meant that the Summer Palace had no use for court ladies and hence they had all chosen to surround the Empress Dowager.

 The Empress Dowager is beautiful, almost shockingly so. It makes sense, you reason in your mind, for her son was uncommonly beautiful as well.

 “Will you sit?” she smiles kindly at you, while she orders her ladies with silent commands to serve you tea.

 “I brewed that myself,” she tells you, “And there are some cakes as well that the maids prepared.”

 You sip slowly at the flavored tea, trying to discern why you might be summoned here.

 “Is the Emperor well?”

 You must look startled by the question, because the Empress laughs. “I may be his mother, but he's still the Emperor of this country. He is much too busy to visit an old lady like me.”

 “He's fine,” you say, “I think.”

 The Empress laughs again.  “And here I thought you were the most informed about his well being.”

 “I'm sorry but why would you think that?” You ask, confused. It's not like Seokjin regularly visits you, or has ever spoken anything beyond superficial things to you. You do like him, and he seems to enjoy your company, but it's a tenuous relationship.

 The court lady-in-waiting tuts at your irreverent response, and you bow your head, suitably chastened.

 “Look up child,” the Empress says, “I admit I might not know the workings of the Inner Palace. But if I, who has been isolated away in the Autumn Palace have heard of you, surely you must mean something to the Emperor?”

 You remain quiet. Where is this conversation even going, you wonder.

 “Do you miss your family?”

 “Yes.”

 “I could arrange for you to be taken away to them.”

 So she disapproves, you surmise. She doesn't want her son to be caught with some peasant girl with no value when he could easily be marrying princesses and securing alliances.

 “It's not that I don't like you,” the Empress laughs lightly, reading your expressions like a book. “I do like you very much, that's why I want to help you. Go home. The Palace is no place for innocents like you.”

 “There's something I must do here, Your Highness.”

 “The robe, I presume?”

 You blink. You had no idea she knew.

 “Do you really think I know nothing? There have been others before you. They have failed. They will always fail. The blood of the stars requires a sacrifice. Would you be willing to pay the price?”

 You sit quietly, reeling in shock at her revelations. You did not know there were others. Had they all failed at the third task too? Why had Seokjin not told her?

 Instead of mulling deeper, you meet the Empress Dowager’s eyes. “Yes,” you say resolutely, “I will.”

 Her expression softens. “I hope you succeed in your endeavor.”

 //

 The next day you send a letter to Seokjin.

 Seokjin arrives in the night, this time disguised as a kitchen aid.

 What is this relationship, you think wildly. What is this relationship where the Emperor meets you at night, comes when called, sends you blue roses with letters and stares at you with such intensity that you can feel your whole body burning?

 “You called me first.” He looks happy, you note.

 “Your mother summoned me today.”

 Seokjin looks surprised for a moment, before laughing.

 “Did she threaten you? Ask you to leave?”

 “Not..really,” you say. Did she threaten you? She didn't feel very threatening. Mostly she felt sad, and… lonely.

 “Don't be fooled by whatever she says,” Seokjin tells you, “My mother is a dangerous person.”

 “She didn't feel dangerous,” you protest, “She was so nice. She offered me cake.”

 Seokjin cackles at you. “You're so gullible. If all it takes for your trust to be won is cake, then I'd have offered you some ages ago.”

 You blush. “Your Majesty but-”

 “Have you been calling me that all this while? Doesn't it sound wrong?”

 “What?” You're confused by this turn of conversation.

 “Won't you call me Seokjin?”

 You hide your face in your palms, trying to quell your rising embarrassment. Why is he like this, you wonder, always blindsiding you with almost romantic statements like this, yet-

 “No, I'm too-”

 “I call you by your name,” he points out.

 “You're the Emperor!” you hiss, frustrated, “You can call me whatever you want!”

 Seokjin laughs, looking delighted. “Yet you insist on disobeying me at every turn, and even snapping at me like this,” he moves closer, so close that you can smell the faint scent of wood incense on him, “but you balk at calling me by name. I thought you'd be delighted at the opportunity.”

 “We were discussing something important,” you say in a whisper.

 “What could be more important than this?” Seokjin says, his voice low and intimate, and you really want to shove him for being so playful.

 You move away from him, putting a healthy distance between the two of you, and Seokjin looks slightly disappointed but acquiesces with a smile.

 “So what else did my mother tell you?” He asks, as you pull a wool blanket around you.

 “She told me there were others.”

 “No others.”

 The conviction with which he replies makes your heart flutter, and you almost want to ask him what he means by that, but you resist.

 “Seamstresses I mean,” you say, “She said they failed.”

 “They did,” he agrees, “But none of them even survived the first task. You're the first one to have survived twice.”

 “So you knew I could die?”

 “Yes.”

 There's silence for a moment. You hate it. You hate that he makes you feel warm all over with loving words like before and then be so cold and callous the next moment.

 “I had my enchanter follow you for the second task.”

 Your eyes snap up.

 “What?”

 Seokjin looks away, as he begins to speak fast, “I had to know if you were skilled enough to survive the sunlight. Only then could I risk-” he pauses, looking conflicted.

 “Your enchanter helped me?” You ask, still surprised at this revelation. Royal enchanters were notoriously difficult to command, especially when they were away from their masters. The fact that Seokjin had taken such a risk-

 “Taehyung is a friend of mine,” Seokjin says, “A pesky friend who causes more trouble than he helps, but he's trustworthy. That's why I thought I'd send him.”

 You sit there reeling in shock at these revelations, while trying not to let much show on your face.

 “You have an enchanter,” you say, “Why do you need me then?”

 Seokjin makes a low noise of frustration in the back of his throat. “Maybe an enchanter could get those things for me,” he says, “But not in a way that would be useful, and certainly not in a way that would let the materials be woven into cloth. There is a special type of magic in you, you know that.”

 It is much more nicer when you aren't discussing things that threaten your fantasies, you think to yourself. It's so much easier to just admire the sharp curve of his jaw or the gentle slope of his nose or the plump softness of his lips - yet, you cannot help but think - what is the future for this relationship?

 Seokjin is watching you carefully, you realise, and you look up at him to offer him a wan smile. He looks unconvinced, and gently cups your cheek.

 “You look sad.”

 “You sound sad,” you laugh, and why is it that he looks so devastated by your sadness when he is mostly the reason for your heartache?

 The fire in your hearth gives a loud sizzle then, and you turn around to tend to it, giving you a chance to compose yourself. You have two choices - to let this play along its course or to deny it and send him away.

 The fire crackles merrily as you stoke it, and when the firelight falls across the Emperor's face, his dark eyes are on you.

 And just like that, your decision is made for you.

 //

 The dowager has invited you once again.

 This time for a dinner.

 You're unsure of what this means and whether you have the right to refuse, because there is so much to be done, and you're running out of dyes and silks.

 It's almost time to set sail to find the blood of stars, (three days, to be more exact) and your robe is giving you much trouble.

 You're not exactly in the ideal mindset to visit a supposedly cunning former Empress or play her mind games.

 All you want to do is to set to town and buy supplies.

 You could ask Seokjin, but he'd have them bought for you, right here at the Palace, and you've always preferred to see the materials you purchase.

 You rummage through your wardrobe to find something simple yet elegant, so that you don't get mistaken for someone of commoner origin (which you are, but you've learnt that the cloth sellers usually give better prices to the nobles) when a maidservant enters through your door.

 You are checking how the simple blue cotton dress you've chosen looks on you while she sets a small envelope on your table.

 “A message from Your Majesty, my lady.”

 You raise your eyebrow as you eye the Imperial seal encrusted enveloped lying on your drawer. What is it that Seokjin wants now?

 His note is short and to the point.

 I heard that you're planning to dine with my mother. Would you like to be rescued by a charming prince from this unpleasant scenario?

 Yours,

Seokjin

 Unable to help yourself, you snort in laughter even as the maidservant gives you a look of polite judgment.

 //

 “Who do you think you are?” You poke his chest, once you see him, this time dressed down as a simple stable boy.

 “Your Prince Charming?” He grins at you, even as he brushes a horse meticulously.

 “You're not a prince,” you point out, “And how did you even know about the invitation?”

 He shrugs, and feeds the horse he's grooming a cube of sugar from his pocket. The horse swallows it in a single bite and he smiles fondly at it.

 “Your Majesty?” You ask again, and he turns to you.

 “Yes, my lady?”

 You roll your eyes.  “What did you want to do?”

 “I wanted to see you,” he says, pretending to look hurt, “I wasn't aware it was such a crime.”

 “I refused an invitation from the Empress,” you poke his chest again, “Because. Of. You.” You poke him three more times for emphasis and he guffaws.

 “You're adorable,” he catches your impertinent finger and kisses the tip of it. “Anyway, I have a rare few hours off. I wished to spend them with you. That's why I made you refuse.”

 Your cheeks warm at his words and he notices almost immediately. “Oh?” He sounds delighted, “Are you blushing?”

 “No,” you hiss at him, cheeks crimson.

 Seokjin's only answer is a merry peal of laughter.

 //

 “This is the market district,” you tell Seokjin, whose sharp eyes take in the bustling crowd.

 “I've visited in disguise,” he says, and you nod, hiding your surprise.

 “So what do you want to eat?” You ask, almost bouncing on the balls of your feet, as the familiar smell of fried seafood and vinegar tickles your nostrils. The whiff of the ocean air, the busy mass of people who mill around you, the sharp tang of soy sauce in the air mixed with the smoke and dust makes you feel free in a way the pristine palace had never felt.

 “Eat?” He looks at you, “I thought you wanted to buy silk and threads.”

 “Well yes but how do you come into the market and not eat? Let's eat something and then we can get to business.”

 “I'll rely on you then to guide me,” Seokjin bows his head, and you grab his hand dragging him to a sweet stall.

 “Fresh pears drizzled in honey,” you grin at him, offering him a plate while simultaneously arguing with the shop owner that he's ripping you off.

 “Two silver pieces? Who do you think I -”

 Seokjin places a hand on your arm, amused. “It's fine.”

 “No he thinks he can-”

 He darts forward to kiss your lips briefly and you still. The shopkeeper hoots in delight, but immediately falls silent when Seokjin shoots him a look.

 “For that my angels,” the man grins, “you can have your plates for free!”

 //

 “20 meters of all your dyed threads and-”

 You pause, feeling Seokjin's eye on you.

 “This is a good bargain,” Seokjin says, “It seems cheap.”

 “Shut up,” you whisper back at him, “I know the rates, they're scamming me because of you. You look way too well bred to be here.”

 “Oh what does it matter?” Seokjin waves a hand, “It's my money. Why are you so stingy with it?”

 You pause for a moment. “Money is money, isn't it? Why waste it?”

 Seokjin gives you a fond look at that. “Don't argue with shopkeepers anymore,” he tells you, and when you open your mouth to protest, “Unless you'd like a repeat of what happened earlier.”

 You immediately close your mouth shut, cheeks pinking.

 //

 The two of you trudge outside with the violet sunset in the background, only for you to drag Seokjin to more food stalls.

 “This,” you shove into his plate, “is the best food ever.”

 To his credit, Seokjin doesn't eye the fried squid drenched in chili sauce and vinegar with even a shred of suspicion. Instead, he picks a piece with all of his royal elegance and places it in his mouth, making an exaggerated moan of approval.

 “This is so good,” he groans and you giggle.

 “Have a drink with it,” the stall owner urges them, “It tastes better that way.”

 Seokjin accepts the drink and downs the small cup in a single go. You whistle, amazed.

 He coughs and then grins. “Your turn.”

 Your turn has you flushed even by the first cup, and the second cup makes you pleasantly buzzed.

 “I think that's enough?” Seokjin tells you cautiously, but you only grin and drink a third, fourth and fifth cup.

 By then you're swaying dangerously, and Seokjin curses as he hurries over to catch you before you fall.

 “My Prince,” you slur, batting your eyelashes at him and Seokjin bursts into laughter.

 “Why,” he questions you, breathless with laughter, “do you insist on making things difficult for yourself?”

 “Mhmm,” is your intelligent response, nuzzled comfortably into a warm chest and thoughts blurring into a soft haze.

 You feel the soft press of lips to your forehead, and you grin sleepily. “Seokjin,” you murmur, “Seokjin.”

 “Hmm?” is the warm rumble from the chest you're buried in, and you giggle, drowsy.

 “Seokjinnie,” you repeat, “wanna go home.”

 “I'm taking you home.”

 “Mm,” you say, “That's nice.”

 “Glad you approve.”

 //

 Morning dawns for you when sunlight falls across your face, brutally harsh with its intensity.

 Your hazy mind is surprised at first, as the sun doesn't shine into your room until mid afternoon. Slowly your mind catches up to the fact, and you bolt upright in your bed.

 A mistake, as the copious amounts of alcohol you'd consumed left you dehydrated and thus with a throbbing headache.

 You groan in misery, curling in on yourself, before you spot the glass of water in the side of your bed.

 You reach for it, and a paper flutters down.

 To,

The One who calls me Seokjinnie,

 Drink up the hangover potion and apply the salve on your table.

 Yours,

Seokjinnie

 You clutch the piece of paper in dismay as the previous events flood into your mind.

 Despite yourself, a small smile curls at the corner of your lips as you recall his words in the letter. He may not be at your side now, but the letter and its contents wrap around you like a warm blanket.

 You quickly grab the hangover potion and chug it, trying to ignore the burn, and settle back into the sheets prepared for a day off.

 //

 When night falls, the burn of acid clawing up your throat wakes you.

 You rise from your bed, the nausea leaving you a bit shaken, as you hadn't eaten anything the whole day choosing instead to languish in your bed.

 You sit back on your bed contemplating whether raiding the kitchens at this time of the night would be worthwhile or not.

 You decide that the hunger in your belly is much too fierce to let you think, and so you leave your room in pursuit of food.

 //

 To your surprise, the royal kitchen still has a warm fire going and a few stragglers working to scrub pots and pans as you enter it.

 Since it's almost empty your presence is noted at once. A hard faced man armed with a heavy-looking skillet gives you a piercing look.

 “And who might you be?”

 “I am a seamstress. I haven't had any dinner. Is there anything to spare?”

 The harsh look in his eyes softens at once.

 “Mina, fetch the girl some soup. Come here,” he tells you, “Eat by the fire.”

 The soup is simple fare, likely made from leftovers of the dinner taken earlier by the nobles, but it still tastes heavenly. “Give her some rice will you,” the man tells a small boy, who scurries at once to follow his orders.

 “Thank you,” you incline your head gratefully at him. He gives you an assessing look instead, before pulling up a stool to sit next to you.

 “You're close to Jin, aren't you?”

 You hope your puzzlement shows on your face. “Jin?”

 “The Emperor. Don't tell me you don't know his name. After all, there's talks of him taking his first concubine.”

 You color slightly at the words, coughing into your soup a bit. “Umm no. I didn't know he's called Jin. I thought his name is Seokjin.”

 “To friends, he's simply Jin. He spent much of his boyhood in the kitchens. I know him well.”

 “The kitchens?” You are surprised. You would have pegged Seokjin for a poet, maybe. Or a calligrapher. Not the sort to languish around kitchens. What did he do here anyway?

 “He loves making new dishes and forcing us to eat it.” The man laughs, “We're lucky he's a good cook.” There is fondness in his words and a smile on his lips as he recalls a young Seokjin's antics.

 “That sounds…” You fall silent.

 “He's a sweet boy. Who grew up to be a ruthless Emperor.” His eyes are sad now. “There is word in the Palace that you are bewitching him. You should be careful.”

 Your hands still over your soup. Sorcery performed by anyone other than the royal enchanter or extended members of royalty is punishable by death.

 “I am not a sorceress,” you laugh airily, “Or I would have conjured food out of thin air instead of coming here.”

 The man doesn't smile. “I can sense magic. We come from a long line of royalty where a distant cousin married a far off princess. Of course, my magic is faint and diluted by the years of mixed marriages, but I just want to say, I'm probably not the only one with this ability.”

 It takes all of your willpower to continue eating and keep your face a careful mask of blank indifference. “I see,” you smile at him, “Thank you for the food. It was much appreciated.”

 //

 You walk through the dark hallways of the Palace like a ghost.

 The royal chef's words haunt you, as they should, but you're distracted by other things, things like the fact that you have to leave to retrieve the blood of the stars soon. Things like, this dalliance with Seokjin is just that, a casual fling that has no hope of going anywhere.

 Your life is at stake here, yet you have forgotten, grown complacent by his sweet smiles and dark eyes and suddenly you feel so alone, in this dark Palace with its glass walls and gilded floors.

 You miss your family with a fierce longing it almost hurts to breathe.

 Tears fall freely from your eyes, and you sink to the floor your back against a wall, a fist across your mouth as you muffle the sound of your sobs.

 Your chest aches with a sharp pain not borne of any physical hurt, but only your loneliness. You quickly stop crying once you hear a quiet sound - much like the swish of a cloak.

 You turn around, scanning the dark for the intruder, but decide to leave to your quarters as soon as possible when an arm pulls you into a darkened corridor.

 Your surprised gasp is muffled by a rough hand, and you almost bite it before the familiar scent of wood incense fills your nose.

 “Your Majesty-!” you begin, surprised.

 “Are you crying?”

 You shift your eyes to your feet.

 “Why are you away from your room? Crying in the middle of the Palace?”

 You remain silent.

 He sighs and then embraces you close to him. You hug him back, with a fierceness, and a grip that must surely hurt.

 “You should tell me what's wrong.”

 You are what's wrong, you want to say, your kind words and your cold actions.

 “Can we go to my room?” You enquire plaintively instead, and Seokjin scoops you into his arms, carrying you the rest of the way.

 //

 “What is it then,” Seokjin asks, once the two of you are settled under the warmth of your covers, “What pressing issue do you have that you hide away in the dark and cry?”

 “I'm afraid,” you blurt out, and then clap a hand over your traitorous mouth.

 “Afraid of what, my love?” And the endearment hurts.

 “Do you know,” you ask him, pushing away the hair that falls into his eyes, “the story behind the laughter of the sun, the tears of the moon and the blood of the stars?”

 “Yes,” he says, “It's a common folktale in our kingdom.”

 “So do you know what they stand for?”

 “Yes,” Seokjin says, and then recites obediently, “A test of courage for the sun, a test of the mind for the moon and a test of…” He falters mid-sentence looking horrified.

 “A test of the soul for the stars,” you finish for him, smiling slightly. “The price for the blood of the stars is my soul.”

 “No,” he whispers.

 You lean across and kiss his lips. It's chaste and wet with your tears, but you are happy. Happy that your questions are finally answered, about why he would send you to your certain death. Happy that Seokjin loves you enough to stop you.

 Seokjin is a practical person, who probably didn't believe in fairy tales and had not assumed that the price would be too high.

 “I will get you your kingdom, Your Majesty.”

 //

 The two of you spend the night arguing.

 “Not worth it,” Seokjin snarls at you, when you explain to him what the cost for the stars is.

 “It's a mythical object, and nothing can be obtained without sacrifice,” you explain to him patiently.

 “Sacrifice? You think this is a sacrifice? It's a death sentence!”

 “Your Majesty, please be rational. The courtiers know that you sit on the replica. Sooner or later they will wonder why you don't sit on the original. They will spread rumors about why you don't sit on the real Glass Throne and question your parentage and your claim to the throne.”

 “You were crying about this just a few minutes ago! Why are you so desperate to die now?”

 “I wasn't crying about dying,” you scowl, “I was crying because I didn't know if you knew I would die. I was crying because I thought you knew anyway and didn't care.”

 Seokjin look stricken. “How could you even think that?”

 “Well it's not like you told me,” you say, indignation sparking in your eyes.

 He wilts. “I cannot- how do you think I can live with the idea that you-” He rubs a hand over his face, looking tired. “Don't do this. You are the only good thing in my life right now.”

 The words strike a chord in your heart.

 “There is no way we would be together even if I could live.”

 Seokjin's eyes flash. “Oh? Have you thought it all out then? How are you so sure that I'm the one who would leave? Maybe you would be the one who would get tired of being around a man who barely has time for anything, let alone his wife.”

 “Maybe,” you concede, “But we will never know now, will we?”

 “We will never know because you won't give this a chance. I don't need that silly robe. I am the Emperor of this country. I don't need a robe to rule, nor a throne to reinforce the fact that I'm the ruler.”

 “That,” you admit, “is true.”

 “I also don't want a kingdom built on blood and death,” he says. “It's a barbaric way to live.”

 “Then, what will you do?” You ask. Hope blooms in your chest, as his words convince you that you do not need to die in order for him to rule.

 “I will do what must be done. I will be coronated without the Glass Throne.”

 “It's a centuries old tradition-”

 “Traditions are meaningless if they are harmful.” Seokjin's eyes are grim. “I will outlaw the Glass Throne.”

 You gasp. “You can't just outlaw a throne, how will we know who is the legitimate heir and who is not?”

 “Well I am the legitimate heir,” he says, “And the stupid throne won't seat me.”

 Surprised laughter bubbles out of you at his disrespect.

 “This has gone on too long anyway,” he grumbles, “Maybe my father was just senile in his old age. How do we know that the will is even correct? Do we really have to sacrifice people just so I can prove that I'm the real deal?”

 You smile. “It's your decision, Your Majesty. I am merely following orders.”

 He huffs incredulously at that and you giggle.

 “The Council won't agree though,” you warn him.

 “I am the Emperor,” Seokjin's face breaks out into a sudden grin, “What can they do to me?”

 //

 Despite all his bravado of outlawing the throne, Seokjin consults his trusted confidante before doing so.

 “Blood of stars requires a soul, this much I know,” Taehyung says, “But that is dark, dark magic and the Glass Throne is a much more benign object than that.”

 “So? Just give me the answer Taehyung, if I wanted to be confused I'd just ask my council.”

 “So,” Taehyung grins, flashing pearly white teeth, “You should try sitting on the throne, now that you've proven that you won't kill innocents to keep your crown.”

 “What?”

 “It was a test,” Taehyung says, climbing over a desk to settle comfortably on it. “Your father was worried you'd be a tyrant.”

 “Me? A tyrant?” Seokjin looks so outraged, that you can't help but laugh.

 “Oh don't worry,” Taehyung laughs, “It's a test all rulers have gone through, to make sure no usurpers get seated on the throne.”

 “You think this is funny?” Seokjin glares at Taehyung so fiercely that you feel surprised that Taehyung is still watching back with steady eyes, “That she almost died? What if I hadn't come to that decision?”

 “Then you would not be deserving of the throne,” Taehyung hops off the table, and smiles. “But I had my full faith in you.”

 //

 The coronation ceremony is beautiful.

 You had completed the robe of the sun and moon in a week, and the coronation ceremony was two days after that.

 Seokjin looks like a god of the old, descended directly from the heavens as his silver-gold robes flash around him, lighting up his already handsome features even more.

 You smile, ducking your eyes shyly when he catches you staring.

 You watch as he climbs the iridescent glass throne, and sits. A crown of silver is placed on his head and the man next to him shouts,

 “In the name of the Gods, the Emperor of the Great Qing, may he live and reign for ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand of ten thousand years.”

 ::

 “Then? What did he say?”

 “He said that I'm too soft. That not taxing people enough would end up with empty coffers and a rebellion on my hand.”

 You trace the curve of his jaw with your fingers.

 “Are you paying attention?” He asks crossly and you peck his cheek.

 “Yes, yes I am.”

 “Then what are you doing?” He grabs your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

 “Nothing,” you grin impishly, and then grow serious as you note the dark circles under his eyes.

 “You should rest more.”

 “Should I?” His demeanor has changed now, his shoulders, tense from discussing about work, now relax. His eyes survey your sprawled form and suddenly you feel self conscious.

 “What? What is it?” You ask, dragging the covers over your body, feeling shy.

 “Nothing,” he answers back with a lopsided twist of his mouth that makes your heart race.

 “Your mother seems intent on me leaving.”

 Seokjin glowers. “I've told her time and again-”

 “She's only looking out for you.”

 “I'm old enough to look out for myself.”

 Your eyes soften as you observe his mutinous face and he looks at you, sighing. “I wish this were easier.”

 You feel a pang in your chest.

 He burrows his face in your neck and you hold him close, brushing his dark hair softly.

 You feel the warm brush of his lips against your neck and gasp in surprise. He peppers your neck with kisses, trailing upwards to your lips, pressing his mouth firmly against yours.

 You kiss him back, eager and hungry, as his hands move up, up, up.

 He draws back to watch you gasp for breath, eyeing your red lips with hooded eyes.

 “Pretty,” he murmurs, before kissing you again, this time with more intensity.

 ::

 You spend much of your free time in the kitchens, chatting with the royal chef who has thawed immensely and offers you sweet treats everytime you visit.

 “Is it true that you're a sorceress?” asks the shy Mina, the girl who you had often seen scrubbing dirty dishes.

 “Oh yes,” you grin, “I'm a sorceress of the thread. A tailor.”

 The royal chef hits your head with a spoon. “Don't even joke about it. You're becoming more and more notorious.”

 You smile innocently at him.

 “Last week an ambassador from Caledonia visited,” a gruff looking serving boy tells you, “Asking for His Majesty’s hand in marriage. To their Queen, you know. She's pretty old though, I think.”

 Your smile slips from your face.

 The chef notices it at once, cuffing the boy in his arm. “Go wash the oven, you simpleton.”

 But the damage is done. Your good mood has evaporated, and you leave the place, pretending to smile and deny any heartsickness, as Mina called it.

 ::

 Sometimes you hang around Taehyung.

 “The rook should go here, I think.”

 “How are you an enchanter yet do not know how to play chess?”

 “I'm an enchanter,” Taehyung says looking puzzled, “How is it related to chess?”

 You sigh, exasperated.

 “He refuses everyone else, you know.”

 Your eyes meet his.

 “The Emperor. He said he has no interest in marrying a royal.”

 Your heart stutters in your chest, but you give him a cool look.

 “I did not ask you.”

 “But you did,” Taehyung grins wide, “I heard it.”

 ::

 “Nothing you bring will give my son anything.”

 Your head is bowed, your hair meticulously arranged into a top knot, surrounded by jasmine flowers. You are dressed in rich cream silk, fit to be a noble woman.

 Yet the dowager eyes you with trepidation.

 “I know that, Your Highness.”

 “Yet,” she places her cup of tea on the china plate with a soft clink, “you bring other priceless things. Happiness. Temperance. Beauty. Magic.”

 Your nails dig into your palms with how tightly clenched your hands are, but you keep your face placid.

 “Tell him I've given my approval,” she sighs.

 Your heart gives a strange leap in your chest, and you clutch your chest, startled.

 The dowager empress smiles at you, looking weary yet satisfied.

 “You will make a fine Empress Consort.”

 ::

 Yet.

 All these things, and yet.

 He has not asked.

 ::

 Seokjin is reading a book, his eyes scrunched up as he peers closer to the candle, trying to see.

 You smooth the creases on his forehead with your fingers. “Stop it, you will ruin your eyes.”

 “I have to finish-”

 “Just stop,” you place a finger on his book, “Or go to your room. There's more light there. My room is quite dark.”

 “But I like it here,” he whines.

 “Why?” You roll your eyes, “Surely your room is more comfortable?”

 “Because you are here,” he wraps an arm around your midriff, pulling you closer, even as your cheeks burn at his words.

 “Your mother met with me today.”

 “More threats?” He laughs.

 “She said to tell you that she approves.”

 Seokjin goes still.

 “Approval for what, Seokjin?”

 “Oh must be the new-” he begins flippantly, but falls silent at the look in your eyes.

 “You know what,” he refuses to meet your eyes.

 “How will the Council approve, I'm not of royal blood-”

 “Leave that to me,” he tells you, eyes glittering strangely. “All I care is what you want.”

 “I want you,” is your hushed whisper, and he darts forward to kiss you deep.

 “It will be difficult,” he warns, “Being a royal is the most annoying thing there is.”

 “I have practice with annoying things,” you laugh.

 ::

 “This is absurd! She's a charlatan! How can you marry-”

 “Are you questioning me, Minister?” Seokjin's voice drips with barely concealed anger, and the man immediately backtracks.

 “I wouldn't presume, Your Majesty,” he simpers, “I'm merely offering counsel, that there are other matches, useful matches-”

 “Since when has choosing the Empress Consort been any decision of the Council? End this inane argument at once.”

 “Your Majesty, but the-”

 “But what?” Seokjin almost growls, and the Minister gives him a frightened look, before laughing nervously.

 “The Councilor wouldn't like it, he has an eligible daughter of age, and much influence in court-”

 “Is that a threat?” Seokjin's voice is calm now, icy cold.

 “It's a fact, Your Majesty,” the Minister wipes sweat off his brow, “I am merely giving-”

 “Counsel, I know. For too long I have given you free reign. Choosing the Empress Consort has always been a right of the Emperor's mother. You all meddle too much.”

 “Of course, Your Majesty, merely stating that it would make no sense, just that she's a commoner's-”

 “Ridiculous.” He rises up from his throne, eyes glinting with displeasure, “I cannot believe I'm having this conversation. We have so many more important things to discuss. The royal seamstress will become my Empress Consort and that is the final thing I will be saying about this matter.”

 ::

 The wedding takes place three weeks later.

 The Council threw a fit, but in the end were forced to accept that Seokjin was breaking no royal decrees. He was marrying a woman who could read, write, recite poetry, brew excellent tea and sew better than the best of noble women. By all means, you were an excellent choice except for your birth.

 Maybe your accent was a bit off, not the stiff court dialect, but a looser more friendlier version of it, but that only endeared you more to the masses.

 Any lingering doubts about you vanished the day of the wedding though, where people whispered that you were secretly of noble birth, because surely that gown must be a family heirloom?

 (It wasn't. You'd stitched it yourself, with a little help from the leftover moonlight and your scissors.)

 Now, you gaze at your husband, speaking animatedly to a foreign envoy. As if sensing your gaze, he turns to look at you, and you duck your chin to focus on your glazed chicken.

 You look out at the hall and spot your family dining happily, and allow yourself to smile, finally content.

 ::

 “Do you know,” Seokjin says as he shrugs off his golden robes, “that your grandmother asked me about the various types of threads used for various occasions?”

 “What?” You laugh.

 He nods, looking mournful. “She deemed me useless because I couldn't answer anything, and then said, Well, at least you have a nice face.”

 You cackle with mirth, rejoicing that your grandmother gave him at least half the trouble his own mother had given you.

 “Shut up,” he groans, “I was so humiliated.”

 “You do have a nice face, though,” you climb into bed with him, and he turns to look at you, eyes bright.

 “I do, don't I?” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I should install a mirror on the ceiling. So I can see my face first thing in the morning.”

 “No,” you complain, “How would you even do that? It's so annoying and useless. I don't want to see my face first thing in the morning.”

 He laughs and hugs you tight, as you squirm in his hold. “Well don't worry,” he tells you, “I hope to see only your face every morning I wake.”

 You're so overcome by your embarrassment that you hide underneath the blanket.

 Unfortunately for you, the two of you are in the same blanket, so this only means you're hiding in his chest.

 Seokjin laughs, his chest rumbling with the sound, and you burrow your face deeper into his neck, as his arms come around you to wrap you in a comforting embrace.

 You fall asleep to the familiar smell of wood smoke and incense, wishing this dream would never end.

//

end notes : uh yeah. its been 3 years since i wrote anything and this was completed in Sept 19. so sick of this sitting in my drafts, so there u go i guess. 

[hms-chill]

A Channel of Your Peace

Summary: Following Henry being outed, the election, and the end of the book, Henry and Philip slowly start to fix their relationship. There’s blood that can’t be unshed, but there’s also a chance that things could get better.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Where there is Despair, Let Me Bring Hope

Chapter 6: Where There is Darkness, Let Me Bring Light

It happens slowly, starting over the course of the week while they're both in Kensington. Henry finds himself smiling at Philip during a meeting, a genuinely happy smile rather than the half-smiles he's gotten used to falling back on. The next day, during a break from meetings, they eat lunch together at a place Philp likes, with outdoor seating because they've been in stuffy rooms all day, and it's nice. They've finally stopped tip toeing around each other and are starting to just be friends, and Henry is so, so glad. Bea joins them for a movie one night, settling across the couch from Philip with Henry in the middle, and they argue over popcorn flavors instead of anything serious, and it feels good.

When Henry goes home to Brooklyn, he promises to call. Philip says he'd like that, and he seems sincere. So Henry does call, and Philip gets added into his weekly phone call rotation, and it feels right. When Philip gets a therapist approved, he calls Henry to talk about his first appointment, and it's five AM in New York, but Philip needs someone and Henry is so glad they're starting to fix things that he can't find it in himself to be upset he's up early. He just helps convince Philip that the therapist is a good fit, and he gets to ask about Martha and the baby, about how they're painting a room with a little forest and working on finding the perfect first bear. Bea's sent them a few already, and Henry knows he has a few to bring when he visits next (he and Alex are arguing about whether the beagle or the longhorn will be more popular), but Philip and Martha want to get the baby one from Mom and Dad, and Martha in particular wants it to be perfect. Then Philip talks about the charity he's still working on starting, and Henry gets to listen to him talk about how amazing Martha is, which is something he didn't realize he loved so much. He'd never really gotten to know her before he and Philip started to get along, but the way Philip tells it, she's some sort of nearly perfect superwoman who can single-handedly design a nursery, set up a charity, and be a royal, all while hiding some particularly nasty morning sickness from the nosy British press. Henry knows he's working hard, too, but the way Philip tells it, he's doing next to nothing while Martha saves the world. He clearly adores her, and when he talks about her, he gets more excited than Henry's seen him about anything else. He changes from a perfect heir to a lovesick teenager, all excited praise and rambling stories. Henry just grins and laughs through it all, settling at the computer and placing a few very special Etsy orders. A week later, People's front cover is dominated by a picture of Philip on a run, sporting a t-shirt with a collage of Martha's face and the words "Martha's Biggest Fan". #MarthasBiggestFan trends on UK twitter for hours, only bolstered when Philip tweets a picture of a mug covered in her face with a thanks to Henry. Alex sees it, and he laughs, and it's nice. A few days later, a package arrives with a shirt covered in Alex's face and the words "Alex's Biggest Fan".

When Martha's first ultrasound picture comes in a group chat to him and Bea, Henry's not sure if it's intentional, but he likes it. The baby is healthy, and Philip is starting to be more excited than nervous, and it feels right to have a group chat with his siblings, even if it's an accidental one.

He texts their group chat when numbers at the Brooklyn shelter look good for the next year, and his siblings get to celebrate with him. When Bea and Philip get tea together somewhere, Bea sends a picture of them with an empty chair and a packet of Jaffa cakes to tell him they miss him. When Bea and Henry meet up at a youth shelter in Argentina for a D&D fundraiser, Philip texts them saying he's got to go to bed before the stream starts, but he hopes they win and will watch tomorrow.

Slowly, the three of them start to be actual friends again. The next time Henry goes to London, right before the appointment where Martha could find out the baby’s sex, Philip invites him and Bea to lunch. They go, the three of them together, and it’s nice. They catch up, and eventually, Philip puts his fork down and says, "I... while you're both here, I sort of wanted to ask something, if that's okay? Mazzy and I, we don't know the baby's gender-- sex, or well, either, I guess, yet, but we were thinking... if it's-- they're a boy, we're thinking of maybe naming him for Dad? As a middle name. We're still not sure on the first, but I... I wanted to ask you both if that's alright, I suppose. Mum said it was alright with her, but you were both closer to him than I was, and I don't want to... to steal the name or anything if one of you wanted to use it. It's just... Mazzy and I thought it might be nice."

"It's alright with me," Henry says. "I don't think Alex and I are particularly concerned with children, but if we did want some I think we'd adopt, especially if you've got some to follow the line of succession. Not that it matters to us, but just for everyone else."

"I think it's a good idea," Bea agrees. "You're the only one of us who's particularly likely to have children you can name; I think it's right to name one for Dad. What other names are you thinking?"

Philip grins, the nervous energy he's been radiating all meal fading away. "Thank you. I'm glad you don't mind, and that I get to do something to sort of... celebrate him, I guess. First names we're thinking Victoria or Elizabeth for a girl, but we're not quite sure for a boy. We thought Owen, maybe, or Oliver. We considered Peter, but didn't like how that went with Arthur as a middle name. But then, well, we... we actually thought, maybe, if it's okay with Henry, we'd name him Edward."

Henry freezes with a bite halfway to his mouth. "Edward? That's... that's one of my names."

"I know. And we don't have to use it, but we... Martha and I, we both liked the sound of it, and... and we wanted him to be like you. When he grows up, I mean. You don't have to say yes, we can go with something else."

"No, I.. I'd be honored. Really. I was surprised, but it... that's really kind of you both. Thank you."

"Edward Arthur? Or are you thinking of more middle names?" Bea asks. Philip shakes his head.

"No; we didn't want to do the seven-names-thing to it. Them. Shit. I just remembered trying to write our full names in grammar school and didn't want to put a child through that. Edward Arthur Fox Mountchristen-Windsor felt like enough."

"And if they're a girl? You mentioned Elizabeth or Victoria, any specific middle names you're thinking of? Cat, for Mom?" Bea asks, and Philip smiles, and they go back to a lunch where Philip is relaxed and happy, talking about baby names and charity names and whatever else comes up.

As they head back to Kensington, Henry's struck by how impossible this all would have been a few months ago. Somehow, though, he and Philip and Bea have all changed. It makes sense now that, when the sun disappears and it starts to rain, he and Bea are grabbing Philip's hands to pull him into a run toward Kensington. It makes sense that, instead of calling a car or lecturing them about how running will actually get them wetter than if they just walked, he laughs a bit and runs with them. It makes sense to get dried off and pile into a movie room, where they say they'll all do work but really just end up turning on a TV, settling on the couch in front of it with blankets while Henry calls the kitchen for three bowls of differently-flavored popcorn and Bea channel surgs.

Henry's getting their popcorn sorted out when Bea and Philip both go quiet, and when he looks over, Bea's found a Bond movie. Henry passes out popcorn and finds a spot on the couch between them, and together, they watch their dad fight bad guys, the rain against the windows behind them a quiet backdrop. They've caught it near the end, which means they're just in time to see their dad save the day. As the credits roll, Henry asks, "can... can y'all tell me about Dad? And what it was like to know him when you weren't just a kid? You don't have to now, but... sometime? Because I... I sort of only knew him when I was a kid, and I feel like it's different when you're older, and I just wonder what that would have been like sometimes."

Bea pulls him into a hug, nodding, and Philip says, "I wasn't the closest to him, but of course."

A moment later, Bea looks at him more closely and asks, "did you just say 'y'all'? What are they doing to you over in the colonies?"

"There's no gender neutral, plural English 'you'!" Henry protests. "Y'all is the only one we have!"

Bea laughs. Philip opens his mouth, then closes it again, and Henry can see the wheels turning in his head.

"So... so 'y'all' is better than 'you guys', because 'guys' is for men? Is that right? Could I say 'you all' and be alright? Or... what should I say?"

"I think 'you all' would be alright, it's just a bit clunky. Just say 'y'all'. Give Gran a heart attack," Henry says. "Both of you adopt it, and we'll horrify her into retirement."

Bea laughs again, and Philip smiles, then says, "I... is it okay if I ask you things like that? I want to understand, but it's... a lot of things are confusing, and there's so much to learn. I thought I would be okay when I learned about the LGBTD, but now there's more, and there are some things I thought I wasn't supposed to say but some people say that's okay, and I... I don't know what to think, or where to find things, and a lot if it is complicated."

"Of course you can ask me. I'm not... I'm not an expert, really, but I've learned a lot from the kids at the shelter, and I'll do my best. But can I ask, um... D?"

"For drag? Is that not one of them? It's okay; you can laugh at me." So Henry does laugh a little, and Philip laughs, too, and Henry explains a bit of what drag is and how it interacts with queerness. Then, he googles the full acronym, noting that it's not all the identities but it is a start, and he watches Philip's eyes go wide.

"There's so many. I just learned 'bisexual' and 'transgender' a few months ago; I thought that was it."

"What... But you've known 'LGBT' longer than a few months. What did you think the B and T stood for?"

"Bottom and top? Lesbian, gay, bottom, top."

“Long ago, the four sexualities lived together in harmony, but everything changed when the bottom army attacked,” Bea says, switching the TV to music, “only the verse, master of all sexualities, could stop them. But when the world needed them most, they vanished.”

Henry laughs, and so does Philip. For a minute, they’re kids again, the three of them on a couch against the world. Philip asks what a verse is, and Bea explains. Henry has tea and biscuits brought up, and they go through the acronym, then talk about pronouns and terms like 'nonbinary' and 'aromantic' that aren't part of the official list. Then Philip has about what he should do if his kid is queer, and about whether or not he can say 'queer', and what he should say if he can't, and they talk about it over dinner. He takes notes on his phone, his questions coming more and more easily as he realizes that Bea and Henry won't be upset with him if he asks something the wrong way. Catherine finds them finishing dinner and joins them, asking questions of her own about what things mean and how she can better look after them and queer folks in the UK more broadly. Philip answers one of her questions, looking to Bea and Henry for confirmation but answering it well, and Henry feels a little rush of pride as the night closes in around them.

On AO3

Notes:

This is the chapter where I almost accidentally named Philip's child after Pez because "Percival Arthur" sounded nice and I forgot "Pez" is a nickname lmao.

--

Want to support the Hannah-Makes-Art fund? You can tip me in ko-fi here!

[spideypool504]

Little Things

KamiDeku

Kaminari x Midoriya

Denki x Izuku 

The gentle morning sun is what woke up Midoryia  this morning. Which he's thankful for because normally Denki is the first one up, which just would not do for what he has planned today. 

It's their tenth  wedding anniversary and thankfully it's Izuku's turn to plan something for them. Ever since their first anniversary when they first started dating 15 years ago when they were 17, they've unintentionally slash intentionally  switched off every year with the planning.

Three years ago Denki surprised him with a three day trip off of work to go to America to visit Izuku's parents  in New York. After his mom got remarried  to the really nice man, James  Barnes, they lived in Japan for around six years before moving to America. They visit every few years or so and he and his mom talk to each other every Wednesday like clock work, but for Denki to go out of his way to not only get them the time off but book the tickets and plan things with his mom and step dad and fly them all the way to America? Izuku fell even more in love with him than he thought was possible. 

Then again Denki does things daily that make him fall more and more every day since their first together. It's small things like bringing him a cup of coffee made just how he likes it on his breaks even when Denki has days off. Small things like making sure to bring an extra one of Izuku's jackets with them to work because he knows that his husband will most likely get cold later on that night but won't admit to it unless he sees the jacket in Denki's hand. Izuku loves all the little thing Denki does for him in their daily life both at work and at home. 

He's the sweetest most loving person Izuku has ever met and it is a privilege that he chose Izuku to spend his life with. Izuku knows how lucky he is. 

Not only is his husband the sweetest, but he's also the most handsome and adorable person around. He's not the only person that knows this, the more than several magazines that have come out over the years ranking Denki as the cutest thing alive proves him in his drunk rants. He's just speaking facts. 

Denki knows Izuku better than he knows himself and takes care of him so well that he does his damnedest to make sure his husband knows just how much he means to him. That he really truly is the love of Izuku's life. 

So this year he's decided to make sure Denki knows it irrefutably. 

First on the list is go make breakfast for this human form of sunshine. Which sounds easy enough but that includes getting out of bed without waking up said sunshine who is currently latched onto him with a vice grip with no signs of loosening anytime soon. He's going to try though. 

He starts with the arms that are wrapped around his chest and clasped together at his side. Denki's often said that if he doesn't hold hands with himself while he cuddles Izuku then his arms will just fall to the side and "that's just not real cuddling babe". He can hear his  Honey Bee's  voice in his head and he has to hold back a chuckle but lets his smile make up for the suppressed chuckle. So he takes Denki's hand that's resting on top and gently pries it away from its twin. 

Which is when Denki intertwines their hands together and snuggles even closer to him. Okay so at least he's got his hands unwrapped from around his chest, even if it did create another obstacle to get through. He just has to try to slip a pillow in his place and he should be good, right? Well he slowly starts to slide his shoulder  out from under the blonde's head, keeping it level with his hand so he can put a pillow under him and then-

He's up.

He's staring right at me with amused sleepy eyes.

He's got his eyebrow arched in a way that he knows I know that he knows what I'm trying to do. 

"Are you trying to es-capay my sweet husband?" The humor in his voice brings a blush to the tips of Izuku's ears. 

Izuku mildly panics and draws out a "Whaaat? I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm just laying here giving my husband the best cuddles, and I'm being accused of trying to leave him. I'm hurt. Truly." Izuku throws his head back on the pillow and huffs dramatically. 

"Just callin' it like I sees it." Denki shrugs his shoulder that isn't pressed to the bed and smiles up to Izuku. "Why were you trying to get up though, KuBear? We don't have to be in to the agency till tonight. What nefarious plans are you up too, good sir?" He snuggles his face into the broad and scarred chest in front of him, wiggling his body in content like a puppy would, even though they're 32. Well Denki is 32, Izuku's birthday is in a few days, today being July 9th and all. But he's positive that his short blonde husband will remain a child at heart for the rest of his life. He can't wait to see a grey haired Denki  pulling pranks on their friends, it's going to be great. 

"Nothing too serious, I just wanted to make you some breakfast before you woke up." Izuku pouts his bottom lip out because now his plan that started with a surprise breakfast is no longer a surprise. Even though he knew if he didn't give up his "nefarious plans" he would have gotten a zap to the hip till he gave them up.

"Aww! Babe! You're too sweet to me." The blonde stretches his neck out to reach Izuku's and plants a soft chaste kiss on his lips. He pulls away before it Izuku can even process the kiss. 

"Uh uh, come here." He pulls his giggling husband back to him and smiles into the kiss he gives the blonde. There's no fighting in the kiss, it's all soft passion filled to the brim with love. 15 years, countless fights and smile, laughs and tears and they're still hopelessly in love with each other. They truly married their best friend and it was the best feeling in the world. 

When they pull away from each other, Izuku is almost blinded by how big and bright Bee's smile is. He's mesmerized by it every time he's graced with it. With nothing but pure warmth and joy in his heart he starts covering Denki's face in kisses. He starts with his nose and then his cheeks to his eyelids, from there to his forehead and then hugging  him to his chest and a finally kiss placed on the crown of his head. He breaths in the smell of thunderstorm with is so distinctly Denki that he's come to look forward to when it rains so he can be even more surrounded by what reminds him of his love. 

"Okay, so I already had something in mind to make for breakfast but any suggestions or special requests?" His muffled by the hair he's burrowed himself into but he knows Denki heard him, or at least he knows what was asked. Just like he understood Denki's muffled response that was muffled into his chest. 

"Well what did you have in mind?" 

They pull away from each other and Izuku squints an eye at him and asks, "Well what do you want?" 

Denki squints back and it's quiet for a moment. Then they're both smiling at each other. "Same time?" They're in sync with their speech. They give a small laugh and nod to each other. 

"1"

"2"

"3"

"Banana stuffed french toast with chocolate chips"

"Banana stuffed french toast with chocolate chips"

"I knew it." Izuku does a little victory wiggle of his head at knowing exactly what his husbands favorite breakfast is. 

Denki sits up to give a full deep from the belly laugh and lightly pushes Izuku's shoulder while he's still laying down. "You dork!" he laughs loudly again and scoffs. Then the cracked door flings open and the bed dips and there's a total of two tiny bodies and a wiggling pit bull piled onto the bed with a 16 year old  leaning against their doorway. 

"I told them they had to wait till at least one of you were up and being loud. They heard y'all laugh it was on. Happy anniversary Dad and Pops." Wade sounds nonchalant but there's a really big smile plastered across his face. 

"Thank you, sweetheart. Wanna come join the pile? You know you wanna." Denki enticed their oldest son to come join the pile including his brothers and family fur daughter with a waggle of his eyebrows and overly big smile that pulled his face tight. 

Wade laughed at his Dad's antics and came to sit next to Izuku who wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders. The whole family was in the King sized bed  and the small family decided that before they got up for the day they'd watch an episode or two of cartoons, just because they could. 

Izuku watched his family enjoy the morning with no worries in sight and felt content with the world. He began to think back on how they'd gotten to where they were right now and smiled back at his memories. 

While the two were in America visiting Izuku's parents, they ran into the then 13 year old. Like Wade literally ran into them. After settling the situation between Wade and the shop owner who accused Wade of stealing, which he didn't by the way, they walked the boy back to the orphanage he lived at. While they walked him home, they got to know the boy and were actually sad when they finally reached the orphanage. The boy ran had run inside before they could ask him any questions so they left back to their hotel room. 

He and Denki talked about it all night before canceling their lunch get together with Izuku's parents, telling them that they had something important pop up, but not to worry because they were still going to make it for dinner that night. Then they made their way back to the orphanage that they'd dropped the boy off at and walked inside to speak with the social workers. When they told the social worker there that came to the front desk after recognizing them, when they mentioned Wade by name the lady had gotten exasperated with the situation before they'd even said another word. She told them that she apologized for whatever Wade had done to them and said that she'd make sure to reprimand the child herself. Then she went on a mini rant about how terrible of a child Wade was and Denki had cut her off before Izuku could, which was probably for the best.

Well what happened then is for another story. By the end of Denki's quiet and polite "go fuck yourself" rant the head social worker, Pepper, had shown up and taken them into her office in the back. She actually listened to what they wanted and needed to say and to say she was just a little  surprised at what they wanted was lying. She had brought them to one of their meeting rooms the was filled with toys and had a table and two sets of chairs  in the middle of the room. There were also bean bags so of course Denki had drug one over next to the table and plopped down on it. Before Izuku could call his husband an "overgrown child" and ask him to pull another one over for him, Pepper had walked in with a disgruntled Wade. 

He had looked surprised to see the two of them  but sat down with a weary eye nonetheless. The boy had seemed to be on edge like he wanted to get right to the point, so with a quick look between Izuku and Denki then the former just came out with it. "We want to adopt you." 

The way Wade's face went from surprise to excitement and then watch his face fall and then have him tell them, "I don't to be adopted by you. Either of you." He looked heartbroken.

Then he had startled at Denki asking him,"Why's that? Is it because I accidentally zapped you? I'm so sorry! I didn't mean too! I promise my quirk doesn't misfire almost ever anym-"

"It's not that. I promise." Wade held his hands out to stop Denki from trying to apologize any further. Which had calmed Denki down considerably, he'd always been afraid of accidentally hurting anyone with his quirk after a small electrical fire when he was younger that burned his mom. 

"Oh." Denki paused and then looked back up to Wade. "Why then? If you feel comfortable telling us that is. It's okay if you're not, we're not here to push you into anything that you don't want. We're just curious if there's anything we can do to maybe change your mind? We'd really like for you to be apart of our little family." Denki looked hopeful but there was an acceptance in his eyes that told Izuku that he'd be crushed if Wade decided in the end to not allow them to go through with the adoption. It would be hard to walk away but he knew neither him nor Denki would force the boy. 

Wade stayed quiet for a moment and looked around the room for a moment till Pepper spoke up. "How about I go get some water for everyone? Would it be okay if I left you with Izuku and Denki for a moment Wade?" Wade looked up to the red head and gave her a small smile before nodding. "I'll be right back then." With that she nodded at Izuku and Denki and closed the door behind her quietly once she stepped out. 

Wade's shoulders dropped a bit like he'd relaxed when he heard the door close, it made Izuku quirk his eye up and look towards Denki who was almost hyper focused on the boy in front of them. 

"Would you like to tell us now? Or is it something you'd rather to keep to yourself? We'll understand either way, Wade." Izuku tried this time, letting him know that it wasn't just Denki who was hoping to fix whatever it was that was keeping Wade from telling them that he wanted to be apart of their family. 

Wade was quiet for a moment before he uttered out a quiet reply. "I'm sorry, I just get kind of nervous around any of the worker here. They don't really like, Mrs. Hogan is really nice to me, but I just don't want to accidentally say or do anything that would change that." The duo nod in understanding, they'd noticed the side looks they got mentioning Wade's name. They didn't like it one bit. 

"That's okay, there's no need to be sorry." Denki was quick to reassure the brunette boy. Wade nods and then looked like he wanted to say something and then bit his lip to stop himself. "What? There's basically nothing you could tell us that we'd get mad at, hun." The word "hun" coming from Denki in his Japanese accented English was... it was something else. He's so glad he spent so many hours with Denki on his English work in school. He struggled sometimes but he was pretty fluent because of all the interviews the duo have ended up doing in the past 13 years of being pro heroes. 

"It's just," Wade looks like he's struggling to find the words to put with his thoughts, "they're not going to be mad, White." There's a pause and the husbands look to each other in concern. Was wade okay?  "They said they wanted to know how to fix it, they actually want us. No, Yellow. Just because they'll know about him won't mean they'll just throw me to the side. They said they wanted me first, they can't go back on that. But they're not like the others White!" Another pause and the duo look to the boy in concern, what was going on in the boy;s head?Wade had his face turned towards the table so they couldn't see his expression but they could tell from his voice he was getting desperate in his thoughts, or conversation it seemed.  Izuku almost had a flashback to when he used to mumble bad when he was still in school. He only really ever did it anymore when he was really excited or nervous or stuck in an extra delicate or complicated situation. This though seemed like Wade was talking to someone, two someones, in head head. "Peter!" The two across from the boy jumped a little at the outburst. 

"Peter who Wade?" Izuku asks him quietly when nothing other than the name comes from the boy's mouth. 

"Parker. Peter Parker. My best friend." Wade looks up with tears brimming on his eyes and Izuku sees Denki clench is hands in his lap to keep from going to hug the boy who seemed to be almost on a mental break. 

"What about Peter Parker, Wade?" Denki is quiet in his question trying to not startle the boy. 

"I can't leave him. I can't leave him here Mr. Midoriya." Wade's bottom lip wobbles and Izuku knows his husband is already on the move to hug him before he even looks over. "Pete is so tiny and he gets picked on because of his quirk and I have to protect him because he doesn't deserve that! Just because his quirk lets him be like a bug doesn't mean he is one! Spiders aren't even bugs! They're arachnids! But none of the kids care so they call him Bug Boy and it hurts him and it makes me angry and it makes me want to hit them but if I did that then Peter would get mad at me and then he'd be sad because he's mad at me because he hates being mad at me and then I get sad because he's sad and I JUST CAN'T LEAVE HIM!" Wade was full on sobbing into Denki's chest now and they could barely make out half of what Wade said but Izuku heard enough to be mad. 

With both Izuku and Denki being victims of bullying as children they knew how bad other kids could get when they latched onto something. Izuku growing up quirkless and Denki growing up being teased for his quirk misfires, it was hardly a thought they needed actually discuss with words. Just one look into Denki's bright yellow eyes and Izuku was up and walking out of the room to ask Pepper to find a little Spider quirk boy named Peter Parker. 

Peter now sat snuggled next to Denki, who was holding their youngest and newest addition to the family Hitoshi. Hitoshi was supposed to be just a foster child that was with them for a short while but with how well he got along with  Wade and the way he and Peter almost clung to each other through mutual bullying experiences over their quirks and the way Denki looked at him like he was already apart of the family, Izuku had just filed the papers to adopt him not even a full three weeks after he started staying with them. 

Wade was almost as broad shouldered as Izuku, so he laid back in Izuku's lap with his arms crossed. Their rescue pit, Knick Knack, was contently laying at the foot of the bed  sleeping not bothered by the random laughs and giggles of her family. 

Izuku looks over to his right and finds his husband mid laugh at something Bugs Bunny was doing and fell just a little bit deeper in love with him. 

It's mornings like this filled with hundreds of little things with the love of his life and his sons that keep him happy. 

"Pops, I'm hungry. Can you and Wade make breakfast already?" Peter pipes up from his position cuddled into his Dad's side. 

Izuku chuckles and asks Wade, "Wanna help me in the kitchen?" Wade's head thunks against Izuku's chest to look up at him and then a smile graces his face accompanied with an enthusiastic nod of his head. "Alright, then." Izuku turns his had to kiss Denki, Peter, and Hitoshi's foreheads. A groan comes from all three of them.

"You're blocking the screen Pops!" Peter pouts  at him. 

"Yeah Pops!" Denki sarcastically agrees with Peter with a pout of his own. 

"Alright, alright. We're going. I'll come get you guys when we're done." The smile on Denki's lips warms his heart. 

He and Wade duck under the television that's mounted on the wall and make their way out of the room to happily go make their family breakfast.

[existing-on-cloral]

Brooklyn’s Night Terrors

Chapter Eight: Keep Away

You and Steve continue your odd affair during your 'recovery time'. Meanwhile, Peter and Bucky begin to train Pietro for life as an Avenger. A full-scale Stark-level party thrown by Pepper brings around an opportunity for relaxation.

It had been one week since you and Steve had come back from the Reaper's labyrinth coated in her poison. One week since Pietro had reentered the lives of the Avengers. And one week since the most amazingly mind-blowing sex you'd ever had. Steve had come and found you the next day, after you went back to work, and bent you over your desk. You dreamed of him almost every night, and woke up to the dawn, realizing that it had only been a dream.

Like today.

Your eyes opened to the sun streaming in through thin curtains. The room was quiet, and the sheets were comfortable on your bare skin, and the arm thrown over you was warm...

"Steve?" you gasped, remembering where you were and that you were most certainly not dreaming. "Steve?"

Steve's arm shifted across your waist, his breath tickling your neck. "Morning," he whispered, cuddling closer to you. "How do you feel?"

"Good. Really good," you said, twisting around to face him. His eyes searched yours as he pulled you into a kiss, sliding his thigh between yours. "Steve, we just did this last night."

"And I want to do it again," Steve mumbled, blinking sleep out of his eyes. "C'mon, baby, morning wood's a thing and since you're here..."

You sighed. Super soldier stamina meant insatiable habits. "Steve, don't you want breakfast first?"

Steve kissed down your neck, making his way to your breasts and closing his mouth over one. "I'll handle that," he joked, squeezing your hips gently. "Just let me make you feel good."

After about two seconds of Steve's tongue working magic on your chest, you relented. "Okay, but I have to go to work in about five..." You trailed off as Steve made his way lower, kissing at the inside of your thigh. "...minutes."

"I'll make you cum in one. Time me." Steve licked a stripe up your entrance, dipping his tongue into you. "I'm serious."

Laughing, you reached for your phone and went to the clock app, setting your finger over the stopwatch. "And, go!"

Steve went absolute nuts, diving between your legs and licking up your wetness greedily. "Baby..." he rumbled, low in his chest, and his voice sent vibrations through your whole body. You could already feel yourself drawing towards a fast orgasm. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, darting out his tongue to lick over you again, then with a final lick all the way up your cunt, you fell over the edge and came, hard.

"Steve!" you cried, arching your back into his hands as he ate you out through your orgasm. His hand reached out and stopped your stopwatch, and as he lifted his face from between your legs, he picked up your phone and grinned.

"Doll, look at this," he said. You were panting, completely flushed underneath him, but you raised your head enough to look at the screen, which flashed 58.25 seconds. "That was the fastest I've seen you come apart like that."

You smiled up at him, untangling your legs from his and climbing out of the bed. "I know, I get it." While collecting your clothes from the floor, you looked back at him and grinned mischievously. "I bet you could..."

"Do that all day?" Steve cut you off, laughter bubbling up low in his chest. "I could. You're so sweet, doll." He climbed out of bed and walked towards you, leaning down to steal another kiss. "You're so good to me."

Pressing your lips to his again, you reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair, gently pulling him back. "Steve... I gotta... I gotta go to work... Madwoman terrorizing New York and all that."

Steve nodded, stepping back. "You'll be back here later, I guess?"

"Yeah." You dressed hurriedly, keeping an eye on Steve. "I'll... I'll see you tonight."

Without further ado, you hurried out of the apartment, slamming the door behind you. "Fuck," you cursed, checking your phone for the time. "I'm gonna be late." Darting down the hallway of Steve's new apartment building, you ran to the "borrowed" company car, changed clothes in the backseat, and started the ignition.

"Hello."

You screamed at the appearance of a red mask in your backseat. "Who the fuck-!"

Peter slammed a hand over your mouth. "Relax, I'm not gonna kidnap you. I'm not the freaking Reaper or anything." He gave you a smile in the rearview mirror that seemed more mad than genuine. "I just needed a ride to HQ and I recognized the car you picked me up in."

"Why are you even here, Peter?" you asked, slowly prying his hand off your face.

"I was coming by to see Steve about my history project that I'm doing for school, and then hopefully snag a ride from him, but then I saw your car was here so I just figured I'd wait for you." His smile swung from mad to innocent, then to devious. "What were you doing over here?"

Blushing, you got out your keys to start your car. "I needed to run some files by Captain Rogers."

"Where are the files?"

"How did you even get in my car anyway?"

"It was unlocked for some reason, and, by the way, your shirt is on inside out."

You cursed under your breath, buckling your seatbelt. "Parker, I..."

Peter sat back in his seat. "I am seventeen, not stupid. I know why you were there. Look, if you're dating Steve, that's fine, and I'll keep it a secret, but don't you think it's better to go public with it?"

"We're not dating," you said, putting the car in reverse and driving off.

"But you're definitely fucking," Peter joked. When you made no comment, his eyes widened. "Oh, shit. I didn't mean..."

"I know, Peter." Your hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Can you still keep it a secret? We don't... We're just..." You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "Steve and I have a lot going on and it's a good way to get rid of some of the stress of all this... insanity."

Peter shrugged. "But is it healthy?" He leaned forward, crossing his arms over his thighs. "I know how these things work, I've read too many of Aunt May's books. I'm telling you, somebody's gonna catch them feels."

You kept your eyes on the road, focusing on driving. "Why are you going to HQ? I thought they transferred you upstate yesterday."

"Change of plan." Peter's relaxed form screamed casual, but suspicious. "Bucky specifically requested that I stay here so I could help train Pietro. After a few hours of Wii Sports, you really get to know someone."

"Wii Sports... You know what, Parker, I'm not even gonna question it." You looked in the rearview mirror. "And buckle up! Safety first."

Peter smirked. "Tell that to your precious Captain I-Don't-Need-A-Parachute Rogers."

"Shut it."

"Don't tell Bucky."

"I won't, I promise."

You and Peter entered the gym to see Pietro and Bucky already sparring. Bucky made some comment in what sounded like Russian and Pietro responded with some more words that were total gibberish to you. "Do you know what they're saying?"

"No idea," Peter said. He rushed into the gym, waving to Bucky and giving Pietro a quick hug before going to the rack of weights and waving the other boy over. You smiled, watching the two talk about exercise and whatever. Peter was truly a special boy, and you made a mental note to send a thank-you note to May for raising him right.

"Why's your shirt inside out?" Bucky asked. You jumped, not having noticed him coming over to you.

You laughed, faking embarrassment. "Got dressed in the dark cause my power went out. I'll go fix it."

Bucky shrugged. "If that's your story. Who's the guy? Or girl, I don't judge."

"There is no guy or girl, Bucky," you said, turning away. Bucky whirled you back around.

"C'mon. You can trust me. I'll keep it a secret. But I gotta tell you," he winked conspiratorially, "between you and me, Stevie's got a bad crush on you. He came to me for advice about it."

Your heart fell into your stomach. "He what?"

Bucky patted your head, ruffling your hair. "You didn't hear it from me!" He dropped his hand and gave you a look. "Last time I saw that glow in your cheeks, you were leaving the compound with Sam for... Was it coffee?"

The reminder that if you got Sam back, this thing with Steve would have to end in fairness to him hit you again. "Yeah, coffee," you said. Bucky shrugged.

"Well. We're doing our best to get him back from the Reaper. I'm just scared that-"

"Hey! Mr. Barnes!" Peter was bench pressing. Not the bar, the bench press machine itself. "Check this out!"

Bucky shook his head. "Rain check on this conversation. I'll catch you later. Gotta make sure the kid doesn't kill himself." He turned to go, then stopped and pointed at your chest. "Fix the shirt. Sharon'll ask." Then he was gone, jogging over to the boys and making a show of bench pressing the machine with his metal arm.

You left the three laughing and pretending to be bodybuilders or something, headed for the bathroom first, then your office. It was going to be a long day.

"You know, if we configure the time machine in her lab so that it only sends her to a specific point in time and a specific place... and then put a tracker on the machine..." You trailed off, pointing to a couple of your team's equations on the board.

"That could work," your lead mathematician, Molly, piped up. "If I'm correct, a trip through the quantum realm is roughly 38 seconds per person?"

Drake, the physicist, rolled his eyes. "Mols. It's 38.5749 seconds. We don't deal in roughly."

A loud cough came from the opposite whiteboard, followed by a muffled, "Get a room!" Your slightly dirty-minded chemistry expert, Daniel, grinned from behind his closed fist.

The team laughed, making fun of the two who, honestly, should just date. "Y'all." You clapped your hands for attention. "Let's focus. Yes, Drake, it's 38.5749 seconds. For the sake of saving the Avengers time..." You wrote 39 on the board. "39 seconds. To me, this means that we need a notification about ten minutes before-"

"Can I interrupt?" Sharon knocked on the open door. "Sorry, it's just... Ms. Potts said that I'm supposed to make the rounds and tell everyone about the party. It's Friday night, to boost company morale.”

"Ha, Friday," Daniel joked.

"Like the AI." Molly said dreamily. Drake smiled at her and you winced. Fucking get a room, dammit!

Sharon pulled a piece of paper out of her jacket pocket, unfolding it. "She also said that dates are optional, but recommended, especially for certain agents." No one, except for the ever-oblivious Drake and Molly (of fucking course), missed her cold stare towards the two. "And it's mandatory." This time, her gaze fixed on you. "You have to log at least an hour in."

You gave a theatrical groan. "Sharon..."

"Doctor Workaholic won't need a date, she's married to her work already!" Daniel laughed at his joke, and, unfortunately, everyone joined in.

"That's enough, Dan," you said, pointing at him with your marker. "We have to finish these before noon."

Sharon saluted the group with a nod, winked at you, mouthed 'If you don't ask Rogers, I will', and then left.

You gritted your teeth and turned back to the board. "As I was saying. We need ten minutes because we have to wake up the Avengers who are staying here, get them ready, and get them in the time machine at least one second before the Reaper enters hers."

The rest of the morning was spent answering questions, finalizing calculations, and then finishing plans to work on the information Steve and Peter had returned with. Still, you had other things on your mind. Like Steve. And Sharon's threat promise. And Steve again. And Steve's...

You shook yourself out of your daze and hurried out of the room at lunch. The cafeteria was pretty much empty, as usual, due to everyone grabbing their meals and bringing them back to their desks. Your team, however, was required to take a break every day. You headed for the team's usual table, but saw a hand waving out of the corner of your eye. You turned to the booths in the corner of the caf and spotted Peter, arm raised, waving you over. Giving your team a nod and a promise to join them tomorrow, you headed over to Peter's table.

"What's up, Pete?" you asked, sliding into the other side of the booth.

Peter clenched his fists, almost decapitating his muffin. "You heard about the party, right?" He bounced in his seat, shaking the table.

"Sharon interrupted a very important discussion to tell us, yeah. Why?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Well, I wanna ask someone," he muttered. "And I know you do some setups among the scientists, so I was wondering if you could help me."

So the rumors of Doctor Matchmaker did get around. "I may have dabbled in Cupid's field a bit," you teased. "What, did Wanda finally catch your eye?"

Peter stuck his tongue out, then blurted, "More like her brother."

You gasped. "Peter! Oh, this is so cute." You took out your phone and snapped a picture of his blushing face. "This is blackmail for later. You're gonna get this done by tomorrow at four o'clock or I'm sending this to Pietro."

"Nononononono, I'll do whatever you say, just don't send that!" Peter tried to grab your phone but you yanked it back. His hand fell to the table and, unfortunately, this time did decapitate the muffin.

"Okay, so you want to ask this guy out and you met him..."

"One week ago." Peter's shoulders slumped. "I'm doomed."

You shook your head. "No, Pete. It's normal to crush on people quickly."

"Very normal. And then it proceeds to..." He made a hole with his right thumb and forefinger and slid his left finger into it, giggling like a teenager. (Well, he is a teenager.)

"No. Special cases. Not yours. Let's talk strategy." Right now, the Reaper could go fuck herself. You wanted a normal life for just a little longer.

As a plan began to form in your mind for Peter, another one took shape. Bucky's words from earlier had hit you a little harder than you'd like to admit. If Peter was right...

Maybe taking another someone to the party would help you prove it, one way or another.

[ambersky0319]

2068

Warnings : Blood mentions, Injuries, Amputations, Abusive Parent Mentions, please tell me if I should add anything!

This was for creative writing and this ended up being the final draft, and since I'm actually proud of the story, here y'all go!

Masterpost

------------------------------

Silence. It was uncommon but welcomed in the Westbrooke household, a relief to the two young residents. The third, a much older man, hated the silence. It indicated he had finally fallen asleep, and both his children believed that it was because of the punishment his son received.

Micah took in a shaky breath as he stared at his elbows. He could almost feel the rest of his arms, despite knowing that they had been tossed into the dump along with the garbage. His blood sullied the ground outside the bulletin containing flyers of runaway children, people who escaped the hellhole that had become their town. They escaped the cruel law the president was too stubborn to eradicate.

He looked to his twin, wincing slightly as he finally took notice of the dark bruise forming under her eye or the gash along her jaw from a shard of the vase Micah had broken over their father’s head. “You sure you want to go through with this? We can always just stay and if we try extra hard we might… we could maybe survive.”

Olive looked up from her work of putting the finishing touches on the prosthetics. Illegal prosthetics, Micah reminded himself. She glared at him slightly, taking a moment to sign.

You know it’s not possible.

“Right. And.. it was your idea. It’s just, he’s not that bad!” Olive looked at him skeptically. “He was only following the law, if I hadn’t fought back and we had just taken his beating, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” She shook her head, and instead of commenting further, she began to hook the arms to Micah. He inhaled sharply as the cool metal pressed against his still healing skin. She fastened both arms in place and flexed her own hand, gesturing for Micah to do the same.

He did, and he found it strange, being able to see your fingers moving but not actually feeling them. “Where did you even learn to make these?”

Peterson, she signed, about a week before he kicked the bucket.

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “So, we ready to go?” Olive nodded, picking up her bag filled with enough food to last them both two weeks. She slung it over her shoulder, and picked up Micah’s bag, passing it over to him. He threw it over his shoulder, and as quietly as they could, they crept out the front door.

-

Micah looked up from his notebook, away from the memories he’d collected over the course of three months on the run. There was a soft clicking on the ruined tile of the collapsing building, a sound different than the rain or small pebbles falling from the ceiling. He narrowed his eyes and glanced to Olive, fast asleep from a fever in her cot. Micah took a deep breath, reaching for the gun at her side.

“‘Ello?” The voice was croaky, and Micah furrowed his brow, getting to his feet and rounding corner. He held the gun up, training it on the only person he saw. An old man with a cane, small and frail and smiling as bright as the morning sun in spite of a gun in his face. “‘Ello! Are ya by any chance a Westbrooke Twin?”

Micah frowned. “Who’s asking?”

The old man grinned. “Ah, so ya are!” The man walked forward without a care of the gun, holding out a stub where his arm ended at his elbow. The cane he walked with was similar to Micah’s prosthetics, attached at the elbow and extending all the way to the floor. Micah’s grip on the gun faltered, but he refused to shake the stump. “I‘m Matthew Lewis, it’s a’ honor! Truly!”

“And uh, fill me in on what’s going on?”

Matthew’s smile never faded. “I been searchin’ all over for the amazin’ twins that have helped so many like us.”

“Like you?”

“Those who’ve suffered from the law, o’ course! Y’know, the one tha’ caused this.” Matthew tapped Micah’s arms with his cane.”Fightin’ back against those messed up men and sufferin’ the consequences.”

Micah swallowed, pulling his arm away and tucking the gun into his waistband. “I know the one. But what does that have to do with me?”

He noticed Matthew was missing a few teeth as the man’s smile widened. “For the rebellion!”

“Rebellion?” Micah was getting tired of repeating whatever Matthew said, but everything coming from the older man’s mouth only proved to confuse him further. Matthew nodded.

“Yes! Yes! The rebellion!”

Micah scoffed, taking a step back and shaking his head. “Those never work.” He glanced back down the hall, taking notice of how Olive had shifted. “We aren’t going to put ourselves into more trouble than we’re already in.”

Matthew’s smile finally fell. “Oh, but you must! We may have a chance! An’ after, you both can return to wherever home is, and live the rest of your lives without fear!”

He looked away from Matthew again, taking a deep breath. “Do you guys have proper doctors at your headquarters?”

“Yes! Of course! We have anythin’ you need!”

There was a moment of silence between them following Matthew’s words. Hesitantly, Micah reached out.

-

Olive’s eyes narrowed, gun held tightly in her hands and trained on the president. She was one of a dozen armed, the various others in the room with her and Micah keeping theirs locked onto any guards. Micah remained without a weapon, the violent creations too much for him. They felt wrong in his metal hands. Matthew stood much closer to the president, not a gun but a large knife held tightly in his own prosthetics.

“Now Kingsley, we don’t have all day. I’ll say this once more, and only once. Just sign the bill.”  The words felt foreign rolling off Micah’s tongue, the venom dripping from his voice so unlike his usual bittersweet and comforting one. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice would turn away from how similar to his father’s it had become. But his following words just left a horrible aftertaste. “We might let you live.”

President Kingsley laughed, nervous but attempting to hide it with frail confidence. “You kids wouldn’t kill me.”

Olive narrowed her eyes, sneering slightly at him and pointing the gun down slightly. She fired, hitting his knee exactly. Kingsley cried out, crumpling to the floor and curling in on himself. Olive scoffed, and Micah glanced away, expression changing to one of disgust. How dare he think that’s pain? He thought bitterly, rage bubbling in his chest. A bullet wound was nothing compared to the blade of a saw, cutting effortlessly through flesh and struggling to break through bone.

Matthew held out the bill for the president, glaring down at the government figure many had come to despise. “You are the one thing tha’s preventing us from ending all this sufferin’,” he whispered. “Now I don’ care if you sign in blood or ink, but you’re signin’ this here paper. And if the fact that ya will bleed to death without help isn’ enough motivation, I won’ know what is.”

Kingsley whimpered, grabbing his leg and putting pressure on the wound. Matthew slapped his hand away, and shoved the paper forward with a bit more force. “You’ll get medical attention after ya sign,” he hissed.

Kingsley took a shaky breath, looking around the room. Stalling for time, maybe a last-minute rescue. The one person with the power to eradicate the cruel law was hesitating to do so. A chance to put an end to people quite literally losing their hands for fighting against abusive parents, and he was hesitating. That alone was the most disgusting thing about Kingsley to Micah.

Slowly and with a trembling hand, Kingsley signed the bill in his very own blood. Cheers erupted around the room, someone snatched the bill from Matthew’s hand and raced to the window. They opened it and waved to the gathering crowd below, and the echoes of their own cheers made their way up to them.

It was finally over. Micah’s shoulders slumped for the first time in his whole life as he processed this. It was finally over.

[ariskevil]

Out of Place

I looked around as I woke up to the hum of wheels and car horns and the lull of the aging engine to the truck.

I lifted a hand to the passenger car door playing with the handle. With each inhale I took in the smell of rain in the cotton seats running down my leather jacket and collecting itself in my jeans. The car slows on the highway and I look away from the traffic to take a glimpse at Jim. I smile shyly at him as we make eye contact. Jim mindlessly scratches his tangled beard and lightly taps the wheel to an unheard beat.  There was an accident on the side of the road. Minor, but enough to break the flow of the car's smooth rhythm on the highway. I didn’t have the patience for this right now and I knew Jim could sense it. I counted the numbers on the road signs and added them up to an even number. Then I started dividing that number by four. Numbers always calmed me down. They were so normal so stupid and emotionless and I loved that.

“You like the radio?”

“Whatever is fine” I hated when he asked for my opinion because I knew he truly cared. Two-hundred and fifty six divided by four is sixty four…

“Come on everyone’s got a tune”

“Yea”  and nobody ever did. Care that is. eight…

“Nothing?”

“Mmh” two…

He coughed nervously and I felt him shift in his seat so that his hand rested in the space between us. I was being unfair and I knew that. Jim was saving my life. The least I could do was have awkward road conversation. I laid against the window as my kinky hair framing my face cushioned my head and drifted asleep.

Cities became suburbs and suburbs became thinner roads and dimmer lights. Jim eased up on the gas as we got off the highway into “Clifton”. I had honestly no idea where we were going. Just as long as it was safe.

The thinner paths narrowed into one remote dirt road and I changed my position from the passenger window to the front to get a better view as more and more woodsy trees blocked out the setting sun. The rocking of the truck nudged at my fluttering stomach as we slowed to a stop in front of a house with a massive frame. The house was white with green shutters and stood impressively at two stories. Surrounding it were several towering trees that teased what little sunlight was able to shine through to the house as the sun headed west.  Several of the windows sprouted lights from the inside telling me how late it was. I closed my leather jacket around me even closer to shake off a shudder as the wind licked at the holes in my weathered jeans. I stepped out of the car and jumped to the ground and felt the gravel meet my worn out converse.

“Come on let’s get ya inside” Jim placed his hand on my shoulder and carried my duffel bag and suitcase. I wasn’t sure how long I was staying and Jim didn’t seem to mind.  Why was I being so selfish? Jim could’ve thrown me out like the rest of my family. Hung up the phone, blocked my number and scorned me the way the family did to him. He was so kind and didn’t bat an eye when I told him I needed his help. He had much reason to curse my name and cast me to the side but I knew he wouldn’t. I knew his warm heart was the same thing that got him shut out from the family in the first place.

We got to the door and Jim yanked his keys from his front belt loop and opened the front door. I couldn’t help but notice the obscured “Welcome” that decorated the mat as I swiped my feet across its surface and stepped inside.

“I’ll get your things in your room so you can start settlin’ in. Go ahead and find somethin’ warm to drink in the kitchen. I’m bettin’ Linda left some tea on the stove.” He walked through the expansive living room and started up the stairs behind the enormous couch facing a large television.

“Come out you rascals I know y'all’ ain’t sleepin’!” giggles echoed the house and I jumped in surprise. Jim and Linda were driven so far out of the family circle I never learned about how many kids he had. How many more cousins I have. My family was very controlled with my Father at the head of the table pushing all the right buttons. Either you played by his rules, or he played you.

“Where’d you say the tea was again?”

I yelled towards the staircase so that he could hear me but I got no response. I took the time to notice the architecture of the stairs. The wood of each step hardened with shine. Nothing was out of place in this house. With the amount of giggles I heard there must be at least three kids. Whoever the housekeeper was they had their hands full.  I suddenly remembered I had heard no creaks as he trekked up the stairs.  Not a hair out of line. Not even their stairs. No matter how estranged Jim was to the rest of the family he still occupied one of the families many properties. I scanned the living room and took in my surroundings. adjacent to the couch on the opposite wall of the stairs stood a glorious fireplace mantle sprouting with pictures. I walked over and tears almost filled my eyes. There stood Jim and his family on a beautiful sunny day in front of this house. His arm graced the shoulders of presumably Linda. To say Linda was beautiful gave her no justice. Her looks were poetic. She had large but piercing dark brown eyes that complimented her full lips. Her effortlessly styled locs framed her heart shaped face. and her dark skin glowed like the sun's reflection on the sea. I found myself being filled with jealousy. Here stood this stunning woman that had welcomed Jim with open arms as his family discarded him to the side. and of course the children. That's what hurt the most. They would probably never know their family. Do you still call them family when they do what we did to Jim? They smiled back at me with such glee. I glee I didn't think I could experience anymore. Brown dimpled cheeks smiled back at me and a tear finally dropped out my eye. I looked around the cozy living room again and sighed. This house has been in their family for generations. I recognized it from the pictures. All of the pictures. All those memories. With such an old house they would’ve had to spend a fortune to make it accommodating to the kids.

Just I shifted to move to the kitchen a snap of a twig broke the silence like a whip. Why did I feel like eyes were glued to the back of my neck? The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood up and I tensed. I wanted to peer out the window but it was too dark and that would alert whoever was watching me. No I felt it. Something was wrong. No, it couldn't be happening here there's no way anyone could know I'm here I made sure of that. I stilled so all I could hear was the sound of my own breath. The giggles upstairs had ceased and worried me that something was very, very wrong. I started to panic. Wait, stop no don't panic!

Why hadn’t Jim come back downstairs yet? And where was Linda? It was very unusual in the south for the woman of the house not to greet a guest. Was Linda still angered by Jim's exile? I’d never met my Aunt but I was assuming that I’d be safe if Jim trusted her enough to marry her.

“Jim?!” I ran through the living room to the kitchen and rummaged violently through the first drawer to my left. I looked up and by the stove a wooden stand held several cooking knives. I grabbed the largest steak knife and held it by my side. Listening. Waiting.

Knock. Knock. Knock

No no no no this can’t be happening there’s children here they can’t get in the way. Four, eight, twelve, sixteen, twenty…

Knock. Knock. Knock

I couldn’t even tell where the knocking was coming from, the front door, a window, the house was so big and it was unfamiliar. And all the damn lights were on. Whoever was out there was definitely watching me right now.

I heard footsteps pummeling down the stairs and I strengthened my stance with the handle of the knife firmly held in my hand.

“Jim?!”

He had a gun in his hand. I was glad that I wasn’t the only one who had heard the knocking but now I knew for sure someone was here. “Jim I’m so sorry” I said.  I had done this to him. His home. His family. I didn’t know who was out there but I knew they weren’t leaving anytime soon. How could I have been so selfish? It was always like that. In her tiniest memories Jim was the one who showed her passion and love as a child. And then one day he just wasn’t there anymore. He looked into my dark brown eyes and said nothing as he met me in the kitchen and took guard in front of me. I knew that look. It was the look he would always give that I could never forget as a child. The look I could never get from my own father. It said “I gotcha”.

The door exploded open and a creature jumped inside. It was the size of Jim’s truck with four sturdy tree trunks as legs that held its massive body. Jim had already begun to shoot at it raining bullets in its direction as it made its way toward us. It’s eyes were blue. A beautiful icy blue. As if it couldn’t see. “Jim it’s blind!” He nodded in response and shot above the creature’s head. Large chunks of debris rained upon its head and it whimpered as it fell to the ground. Piles and piles of the house just fell from above, the living room ceiling pinning the beast to the ground. Then there was silence.

“Jim, the kids, Linda, are they okay?”

“Yes let’s go we don’t have time”. He opened a drawer and reloaded his gun and I stood still in disbelief. His family was in this predicament because of me. I did this. I brought this thing here.

“Ingrid” he snapped. “Please we don’t have time we need to leave now”. He grabbed my hand and we ran around the pile of concrete and wall plaster that trapped the creature. His beautiful house. Nothing out of place.

He let go of my hand so we could run down to the truck. His dark skin caught what little light was alluding them from the house and I opened the door and hopped into the passenger side. I screamed.

Just as Jim went to slide into the driver’s seat the monster grabbed his torso.

"JIM!"

It swung him from side to side with its snarling mouth as Jim let off a round of bullets into its abdomen.  It dropped to the grass with Jim still in his mouth as it collapsed. Its rugged breath no longer filling the silence of the woods.

“Jim! Jim! Wake up man come on come on come on!” I wanted to cry but no tears came. I bent down at his side and took his hand tightly in mine. He opened his eyes and I stopped my breath. They were a beautiful icy blue.

I loosened my  grip from his hand but he kept holding on too tightly for me to release my fingers. His face distorted into a smile that should have been too large for his face. He flashed his teeth and each one had a razor sharp point that glowed against his skin. Jim smiled when he was nervous. He smiled all the time. This wasn’t the same smile. One of his hands grabbed my neck and I wrapped my fingers around his arm as his hands squeezed tighter around my windpipe. I choked and tried to scream. I dug my nails mercilessly into his skin to loosen his grip with no prevail. This wasn’t the Jim I knew. This wasn’t the man that would sneak me tamarind balls under the dinner table when I didn’t want to drink my soup. This wasn’t the Jim that took my face in his hands when I was a little girl and told me I was gonna change this family forever. This wasn’t the uncle I wished had really been my father.

I was starting to lose my strength. His icy blue eyes where the dark brown ones had been, stared into me waiting for me to give out. So was I. “I’m sorry Jim” I thought. I’m so so sorry.

The grip abruptly loosened and I dropped to my knees in the grass. I looked up and Jim lay sprawled on the floor. A bullet straight through his head. I looked behind me to see where the shot came from. A woman stood ten feet behind me with a rifle still raised. “Oh Jim” I moaned.

Linda lowered her gun but kept her eyes on Jim as the wind blew her locs pass her face, “wasn’t Jim anymore hon. Wasn’t him”. She walked back towards the house dragging the butt of the rifle in the grass. I stayed kneeling and wept the tears I couldn’t weep before.

[snowwritesall]

Writing update #2 Anathema + new WIP!

Hi folks, hope y'all have been doing well and staying healthy - I've had a pretty trying week and my financial situation is gonna be tight at best for the next few months but I'm still trying to maintain a positive outlook. With that being said, I'm gonna give you guys some updates and excerpts on my current WIP, Anathema, and a new novel that I started the other day (yes I'm well aware I have way too many wips but I'm dumb and listen to no one's advice :)

Anyway, that being said, onto the updates!

Anathema is my surreal sci fi novel that I came up with last year and has spent many months under development. A brief summary on the novel for you!

The tea on my novel: 

I absolutely love the concept of my novel - keeping in mind that there is a lot of the plot hidden because I don’t want to spoil the entire book - however, there are a lot of things that need work. Seraph - my main character - still feels a little flimsy and underdeveloped - as well as my side characters, who have had limited interactions with Seraph throughout the novel as far - mainly due to the reason that I’ve been focusing on narrative rather than characters. The next thing that I’m finding is a problem is that there’s barely any dialogue between what character interaction I do have. I’ve been focusing a lot on the vibe and feeling of my book - I really want to create an eerie, almost alien feel, without being fully horroresque - think Coraline x Limbo. 

The things that I do like about my novel: 

- I really love the literary devices that I’ve come up with to help give the story that eerie vibe I want. 

a) Really weird rhetorical questions

b) interjections of two unknown characters that comment on Seraph and his friends when they’re together

c) POV of animals and inanimate objects 

Here are some examples of both: 

a)  Really weird rhetorical questions

The wind seems strangely muted to Seraph, as if moving through a half-awake dream, or sinking in murky water that chills the bones.

Why does the water hurt? This is only one of the questions hurtling through his mind, but there are many more barrelling inside his head; a turbulent chamber of thoughts and unspoken quandaries that crescendo in the night hour. He is curious. And that - that, is what will save him.  

ai)

The beetles crawl up the blackened bark, wings glistening from between the cracks. They make soft, chittering noises as they climb aimlessly up the branch. Their path is strangely linear, their wings a malachite soaked fluorescent in the bitter, fuse sharp breeze. If they were to travel down the length of Seraph's spine; their strange, crackled wings fluttering against his ashen, ghostly skin; they would calm him as they walked up the shallow curve of his spine and nestled in his hair, a dim saucer of moonlight that they would bathe in.

Is the moon ever lonely?

b)   Interjections of two unknown characters that comment on Seraph and his friends when they’re together

“What was it like?”

His voice shakes as he asks, still staring at his hands. Wilbur is teething his lip, his jaw hardening like clay left in the sun.

  “Were there others? Are we the only ones left?”

Are we the only ones left?

They both look scared, don’t they?

     No. Not scared. Doomed.

Why are they doomed?

      Because they were never meant to be here.

Wilbur continues to stare out at the forest, and after a moment takes a few steps forward, shoveling his feet into the soil; the wind rifling through his clothes. He looks like a scarecrow made of marble, distant, ghostly - not real.

  Were any of them real?

c) POV’s of animals 

Seraph had stroked the snake gently, the scales cold and undulating under his fingers, the snake mothers eyes dark and pupils, her nose nudging the wings of the fledglings.

“Don’t eat your babies, mother snake. They love you. Don’t leave them.”

I have found my new children. My own children were buried in a sandstorm, and I milked my venom from my teeth on the carcass of a deer. There was no one to sing them to sleep as they died. I will listen to this strange boy. I will take care of my children.

I will not leave them.

ci) 

The forest is very cold for us. Even we, with our wings like a shield and a fur coat, even we feel the wind. The bark splinters are like earthquakes under our feet, even though there have been no earthquakes for centuries. We remember. We remember when the earth shook and trembled, and when we would seek shelter amongst the splintering trees and scuttle for cover under broken fern leaves. He comes to see us. The boy with curious eyes that glint like the rock in the sky, his hands are as pale as the eggs the birds lay. He brushes his fingers across our coats, and we shiver; with a strange fear and an even stranger contentment. We are not alone.

 He is not alone. 

Here are some excerpts from the novel that I really like: 

- POV of the boy that drowned in the lake. Seraph remembers this when he looks at the jars of butterflies that he keeps on his windowsill. The clear, glossy surface reminds him of how the lake looked when he watched some of the village men pull the boy’s body out of the lake. 

- Seraph is remembering the first time that one of the children stuck their head in the guillotine in the schoolyard. He remembers thinking how odd it was that they would have something so dangerous where children could find it. Maybe they wanted them to use it. 

Seraph is watching his school teacher polish the guillotine blade through the cover of pine trees. One of his friends, Beluah, creeps up behind him and startles him. They both watch the teacher and talk. 

More commentary of Seraph and Beluah watching the teacher together: 

Okay, that’s all on this novel for now, onto the new WIP! 

Basically, this idea arose from two things - I felt like I was constantly writing in the same sort of style - ie, cold rivers, frost, rain, foggy forests - and I was majorly inspired by Fairytales for Wilde Girls by Alysse Near. This woman has an absolutely INCREDIBLE writing style - I would compare it to the bright and shiny treasures that magpies collect, and her plot and characters are amazing; so a big part of why I’m writing this is because of her. 

The characters appeared really easily to me, and after only a few minutes, I already could feel them writhing around alive inside my mind. But, before I tell you about the characters, a summary of the novel for you! 

When three dead girls show up at school with flowers where their eyes should be and birds living in their chests, Ariel isn’t sure what to think. She’s never really been sure what to think, since her mother sells beads and homemade jewelry for a living and her sister is a snake. Well, two snakes, really. Her parents keep strange things in the closet, like elephants with jellyfish swimming in their stomachs and siamese twins with leopard skins in the attic. And then there’s that strange girl that lives in the mirror.

When three dead girls demand to be brought back to life, you start to panic a little when you realise the closest things you’ve made come alive are the ragdolls in your toy chest.

It gets even worse when they tell you you only have a month or they’ll take you back to the underworld with them. Then you really begin to freak out. And begin to have a mental break down in the middle of class which involves involuntary tap dancing (Except the tap dancing is actually crying. Ariel doesn’t own tap dancing shoes. Not even doll tap dancing shoes.)

It doesn’t help when your best friends are literally ragdolls. She actually has a few real friends. I promise.

Now onto my babies/kids/characters! 

Ariel Hakens: 

has a big giant ball of curly red hair that she likes to dye a new colour every week. She likes glitter but also loves black. Big boots and shiny raincoats are a thing. She love to collec. She loves to garden, but her methods are...unorthodox, shall we say. Loves Edgar Allen Poe, and recites it to herself on the way to school. Does she ditch a lot? Maybe. Who knows. Can apparently see the dead and do weird stuff nobody should be able to. Favourite animals are mice and rats. Is fascinated with the legend of the pied piper. Is like a beaver in the fact that she chews pencils. They’re basically like a midnight snack for her. Favourite foods are peanut butter and cherry tarts.

(yes I am fully aware this is Leigh-Anne Pinnock from Little Mix, but this is what she looks like in my head) 

Gwendolyn Spires: 

She is as extra as the name sounds. She dreams of participating in an illegal dance competition in an abandoned subway tunnel. Her mother is the principal of a ballet boarding school, and highly disapproves of her daughter's skateboarding fetish. Her father is completely on board with it, and also her addiction to gumballs and love for all things haunted. Yes, those spell books are completely real. The amount of salt rocks she keeps in her bag would put a shaman to shame. African American. 

Indie Brooks:

 She’s basically a giant nerd, but covered with tattoos. And piercings. She actually needs those glasses, and she refuses to put in contacts for fear that the government will be able to read her mind. She has a conspiracy theory Youtube Channel, but her theories are really??weird??

Think: we are all giant animals living in a zoo for aliens

Does she have evidence: Yes. Is it sketchy evidence? Also yes.

May or may not have broken into area 51.

Native American/Latina.

Callum Prikhill:

pervy, but not in a sexual way. Will he sell you exam answers in exchange for candy? Possibly. Ironically wears caps. Unironically wears light up shoes. Likes sci-fi movies from the early 70’s. Skinny dipped and LOVED it. Is a theater boy. If he were an animal he would be a lizard. His mother is a low-end movie producer and his father is an accountant. Often stays at his nan’s place a lot because she has a hidden bunker under the house and he very much down for that. Because the acoustics are amazing.

The first time Ariel saw the three dead girls sway through the doors of Helkbud Senior Preparatory School, she was whistling Sissyneck while flipping through her collection of rained on vinyls that she’d chanced to pick up from the thrift store, her tanned dewy legs slick with snow and hail as she pushed hot pink cat eye sunglasses up her freckled nose.

They looked like nesting dolls all jumbled up in a lolly bag, corpse candy sucked dry of their colour and watermelon blush that should have twisted their cheeks into marionette smiles.

The girl in the middle wore poppy red heels that spun and shone like a disco ball at a teenage party where the parents were gone for the weekend and everyone was drinking punch mixed with vodka in cheap, crinkly red cups; and was the shortest of the three; yellow daisies and white crocuses growing out of her eye sockets, petals drinking salty tears out of a chipped watering can that dangled over her head.

Hope you enjoyed hearing about my WIPs, and I’ll keep updating about them as I continue to work on them :)

That’s all for now, folks! 

- Bella. 

[imawhoreforkpop]

Color of his eyes

Wonho (Monsta x) x Reader

Genre: angst, break up au

Warnings: slight cussing and Cheating

Word count: 3.3K

Summary: Winter can be beautiful to some but to others it's a painful reminder of what they used to have.

A/n: Oof this was a pain to type but i hope y'all will enjoy it, also please feel free to leave feedback.

If I had told myself that my life as I used to know it would dramatically change at the snap of his fingers. I would have been in denial, I would have told you he loved me and wouldn't do anything to destroy what we had. But that’s exactly what he did 6 months ago, the memory of that night still haunts me when I'm laying in bed at night, when I'm laughing with my friends, even when I'm doing simple tasks such as washing my dishes he was glued to my brain, a ghost I could never escape, always lingering around never once leaving me alone.

I asked myself why can't I move on, why do I still hold on to those words he said to me that cold winter night? I always seem to land on the exact same answer every time. I gave him everything, I gave him my heart, he wasn't my first love but it felt as if he was made just for me. He was perfect in every way; his soft black hair that I loved running my hand through on nights I couldn't sleep, his plump lips the I kissed good morning and goodnight, his hands that fit in mine like a puzzle piece. His arms that held me close on cold nights, his smile that lit up an the entire room in seconds and his beautiful brown eyes, they were warm like hot cocoa on a snowy day. Even though he was my everything, heart and soul, in the end he didn't feel the same.

I wish I would have had paid attention to the signs but I was blinded by love, blinded to the cold reality. Our relationship had lasted 3 years, we met at a coffee shop I was working on 18th Street. He made me feel alive, he made me feel wanted.  We had only been talking for a few months before dating but everything felt right, it feel like we were destined to be together, I remember our first date as if it just happened yesterday. He had taken me to a movie he had been dying to see for the longest time, it was the first time I truly listened to his laugh and it made me feel blissful to see him bubbling with life. His large hand grabbing a hold of mine, a simple action, yet made my stomach filled with butterflies. He walked me home that night, were we shared our first kiss at my door, his lips gently touching mine causing my heart pounded hard against my chest. His cologne flooded into my nose reminding me of Christmas day, that snowy day was our beginning to love and heartbreak.

I told him that I loved him four months into the relationship, and he had told me he fell in love with me the first day he laid eyes on me. Our relationship was like a match, burnt brightly but died out right underneath my fingertips. Seemed that he loved me one day and the next he was walking out of my life. I always ended up dwelling on our memories always wondering what went wrong or where it had gone wrong.

It was our first Christmas together, we were sat around a fake Christmas tree that was decked out in ornaments of all kinds, the smell of gingerbread and Pine danced around the air, as gifts passed around to one another, and bold colors popped out at every corner. His eyes showed kindness and love, lighting up at everything around him. An smile plastered his face as his arms surround me with warmth while he softly placed a kiss my forehead as we swayed to the music that flooded into our ears. Out of nowhere he picked me up and started swirling me around the living room, giggling at his sudden action, his long fingers push my hair out of my face so he could see me properly, I felt him softly grab my face bring it closer to his, resting his forehead against mine. “I love you, Y/N.” his voice softly called out to me. “I love you too.” I pull him towards me closing the gap between us, capturing his lips with mine. Remembering this moment it for what it was, remembering him. A tear roll down my cheek without me knowing, quickly wiping it away before any of my coworkers saw, I'd only worked here at the small Cafe called Moonlight for a few months, I had ran away from everything when he had left, I had moved cities, change jobs, and even got new friends.

In fear that everything would remind me of him, in fear that I would fall worse than hitting rock bottom. This Cafe became my own version of a safe haven, smell of brewed coffee, soft music that was the type that reminds you of rainy days, and regulars that come in with a smile on their face. I've had made good friends with one of those regulars an little old man named John. His struggles, his pain, his stories help me feel not so alone. Making me see that I can move on one day from the pain he caused me. The sound of a bell snapped me out of my thinking, dusting my hands off on the red apron while placing a smile on my face as I walk towards the counter where the customer was standing. “Hi, How may I help you ma’am?” I asked the tiny black-haired woman, the woman looks up at the chalk written menu, “Can I have 2 salted caramel lattes, one poppy seed muffin, and…” she looks at the baked goods, thinking of what else she wanted,”and an chocolate chip muffin.” her voice was high-pitched, try my best not to get annoyed at the doe eyed person, “ sure thing, $10.50 please.” I fake a smile holding my hand out for the money, “Really,$10 for this?” she scoffs before handing (more like tossing) me the money before storming off over to the table by the window. Rolling my eyes at the rude customer as I walk over to the machines to make her order, as a few minutes passed, I placed the order on the counter, “ order number five please come up” I holler out, “ my name is Polly.” she sneers at me, “sorry, ma'am.” I gave her a small smile before going towards other customers waiting for me to take their orders, after the hoard die down, my favorite customer popped up.

“ hey John, what can I get you today!” I greet the tiny man, “ hello dear, a plain black coffee like always and one of those carrot cakes” he gummy smiles, “$4.50.” I tell him, “Here you go, Hun” he say as he hands me the money. “ so what have you been up to John?” I gently ask while making his coffee,” just been painting.” he continues on with what he started saying, you should stop on these days and I'll paint Peanut Butter for you.” smiling at the thought of my small Cuddle Bear of a dog sitting there getting his portrait painted, “ I'm sure Peanut Butter will love the attention, just let me know when is a good time to stop by.” I hand him his daily order, “can you sit with me dear?” he asks me, “Of course! My shift just ended just let me to clock out real quick, okay?” he nods, I head back to the break room grabbing my coat and purse before clocking out for the day, walking towards my friend, taking the seat across him. “So how's your dog, Sugar?” I look at him, “She's good, sleeps all the time but I still love that silly old dog!” he smiles as he talks about his companion. “Glad to hear that, we should set up a doggie play date..” His face lit up from my offer, “That's a wonderful idea!” He beams in happiness, “well thank you for talking with me dear, I need to go before it starts raining.” He pats his lap, “see you Monday, John!” I yell out to him. “Have a good weekend!”  he waves at me before going out the door. Still sitting were me and John had just chatted a moment ago, I look out the window to see the clouds rushing in over at the lively city, I used to hate the rain I felt like it hit the beauty of the sky. But now I take refuge under the dark clouds, the rain making my weary skin wet washing away the day. The rain shows me that even the sky needs to cry. I sigh getting up and pushing in the cedar wood chair, heading out towards the glass doors into the never ending city, Zombie-like I head towards the bus stop, waiting for my ride home to pick me up, The rain started to pour down upon us, watching people of all ages run towards shelter. I softly laugh because only 6 months ago I did the same thing now I just soak in the Earth's tears, letting it claim me.

 After the 20 minute drive I arrive home to my small run down apartment, sluggishly walking through the entrance to my living room, I was greeted by a happy puppy, my world stops for a moment to greet my best friend. The small dog was a light tan covered in a fluffy coat, his ears were tiny but soft to the touch and his love was never ending. I had found Peanut Butter the day I had just moved here, he was scared not knowing where to go or who to go to. He reminds me a lot of myself, we're both trusted someone that had hurt us and tossed us out to the wolves. I scooped him up of the box he had been living in for god know how  long. Since I saw him , I knew that this small puppy had saved me from the world that had hurt me. PB started barking at me, begging me to pay attention to him then what I was currently doing. Saturday had rushed in before I knew it, the sun screaming at me to wake up and start the day. PB patting at my face to get me moving, “I’m up, I'm up!” rolling onto the floor, to get ready for PB morning walk. “Do...you...wanna..go..for..a walkie!” I hype him up, snapping the leash into his blue collar. Heading out the door with my jumping happy-go-lucky dog by my side. Autumn had properly arrived, colorful leaves falling around us, wind making the naked tree dance to the rhythm. My dog's paws is hitting the leaf covered sidewalk, an sound that became my comfort zone what had replaced the beat of his heart. The brightly yellow sign for PB’s dog park reaching our view, PB feet going faster than his body. “Whoa, there bud!” I laugh at my puppy's eagerness to meet new friends. I open the chain linked gate letting him loose to run and play as he pleads. Going toward my normal spot, a wooden bench under a cherry blossom tree, pulling out a book to read to only getting half way through when a voice snapped my attention it remind me of him, my stomach drops, my walls feel as if they'll crumble down.

The door slams open, making me jump up into a sitting position from the sofa that I had been laying on. “Hey, what's wrong?” I gently ask him, “I can't do this anymore.” He paces around our living room. “Do what?” my voice trembles in fear. “This.” he takes a deep breath as if he was going to snap at any given moment. “What do you mean by “This”’ I stand up, trying to stay calm.  His eyes piercing through my soul, I tried to reach out for him but he moves away from me as if I were disgusting. “I don't love you, I haven't for a while”, I felt as if the whole world was crashing around me. “How could you do this to me!” i throw my hands up, “To us!” I angrily snap “It happened so fast that I couldn't stop it, but at the same time I didn't want to.” he defends himself. Tears flood into my eyes, “I've been seeing someone else.”, “How long?” I weep, “A few months.”, “I loved you” I sob, He pushes past me, “I think I’m in love with her Y/N.” He looks down not wanting to see my face as he leaves our apartment. I break down against the door not knowing what to do or who to go to. The love of my life just walked out of my life, my life soon became my worst nightmare. Knowing he'll be back to get his stuff, I decided not wanting to be home I packed up all my clothes and a few personal belongings, before I took off into the night, catching the first bus to take me out of this hellhole. Feeling my heart break even more as I say goodbye to the town that I  built so many memories within and set off for a new start, without him. Feeling myself wanting to break down as I began to look for the owner of the voice. Failing to find where it had came from, I begin calling my dog over to me wanting nothing more than to leave.

“PB come here baby!” I yell out as my dog runs towards me happily. “let's go, Hun.” picking up my dog before taking off, trying to get away from the voice and wanting to hide from it. Collapsing onto my cheap bed as I shut my eyes while taking a deep breath. “You were doing so well.” I whisper to myself as the tears nearly spill out, “Why can't I just move on from Him, PB” I mourn to my dog, He whines as he curls up against me. “You're right” petting him, laying in bed for the rest of the night. Sunday went by as normal other than  I had decided to walk PB somewhere new, to void breaking down again, and then taking him to get a hot-dog to make him forgive me on bailing out on his park.

                                      ~2 months later~

Clocking in for what felt like the hundredth day in the row, Snow laid all around the outskirt of the small shop. Christmas is right around the corner and the cafe saw new people as they visited their families. Setting out the fresh baked goods for the ongoing day as we waited for the people to stop by, I could already tell today was going to be a slow day. People coming in here and there, nothing too interesting. Jess, my coworker started telling me about the latest gossip,”So you know that girl named Polly who gave you attitude, well she came in with here with this guy who I'm assuming is her boyfriend. Was asking for you.”, “What For?” rolling my eyes, “She wanted to give you a piece of her mind for giving them “Shit” Coffee.” Jess informs me “ I only served her coffee three times and I know it wasn't “shit” coffee.” I started to feel annoyed. “Her boy-toy seems like he was wrapped around a leash.” She laughs, “Pussy-whipped for sure” I join laughing with her. Jess made the boring day more bearable, She made me laugh on days I thought I couldn't,  She was like family away from family. She knew everything that happened between me and him, she was there for me when no one else was.

“Hey, You wanna come over to my house for Christmas?” I ask will scrubbing the round tables, “Hell yeah!” she pops up from behind the baked good case. “Christmas Traditions will start with me now.” She smiles, the bell rings loudly throughout the cafe, seeing Polly standing there, “ you're Y/N, right?”, “Why? Are you needing something?” I stand up straight looking down at her, “Yes, I’m here to tell you that your coffee is the worst I've ever had!” She yells at me, “Sorry Ma'am” I look at her before walking away, “Don't like my coffee then don't come in when I'm working, It's simple as that.” I say to her in a voice laced in annoyance. “whatever.” she storms off to a guy waiting outside for her, they linger outside for a few minutes, talking about something that clearly made her “Boyfriend” upset. “I bet you, they won't last more then 6 months.” Jess comments at the drama happening outside. “Christmas Joy, am I right.” as I watch her flip the sign to tell people we're closed for the night. “They're still arguing, Dude.” Jess tells me while dragging a yellow bucket from mopping the floor, “wow, what a lovely couple. Seems like they belong together.” I laugh at the thought of “true love” as I finishing up the cleaning for the night. I begin to head home after the long day, the snow rushing down around me and the winter wind harshly brushed against me, making my face flush with red. Wishing I had brought a thicker jacket to block out the bitter cold, last-minute deciding that I didn't want to ride the crowded bus, even though it was freezing cold out. Wanting to get a fresh breath of air to escape for a little and become one with nature for a short moment. Coming across a small park, a few blocks from my place, my heart telling me to go towards the playground, I head towards the swing set, the cold metal touching my skin and plastic sea covered in snow, the swing had pulled out all my emotions, I laid my head upon the chains supporting me. Looking up to the sky where the snowflakes said goodbye to their home, I felt their sorrow, I had experienced their sorrow. I knew one day I'll be okay, that day may not be today or tomorrow as I thought about the boy who broke my heart, he was everything I ever wanted but maybe we weren't truly destined to be together. My heart may never stop loving him, but I knew that I had to move on even if it hurt me more than anything to let go of this false sense of hope that he'll come back. Pushing myself off the swing, needing to head home to my waiting friend, the street lights showed the beauty of winter as a snow-covered the harshness behind it.

Christmas wasn't as lonely, Jess filled the gap he had left, she made me think about the joy of being with the ones I love instead of the painful memories of the past. It was a few days after Christmas, people were heading back home to their lives before the holiday hit, business was back to normal, the air still filled with gingerbread men and eggnog, music upbeat for the next year to come. I was talking to Jess about what PB was doing last night with his new toy, when she-hell popped up once again asking for the same thing she always did, giving her a coffee before wanting to get off work to escape the aura she placed on the small cafe. I was halfway home when I thought of a good idea, grabbing PB I decided that we're going to take daily walk instead of doing our walks on the weekends for the new year. It was late into the night, Stars above watching us from above when I accidentally bumped into someone, “Sorry.” I'm mumble, “It's okay.” He gentle says. Freezing in my spot I feel my stomach hurl, slowly turning around praying it wasn't him. “It's nice to see you again, Wonho.” my voice wanting to give up on me as I look at him one last time.