#I’M HOLLOW HOLLOW HOLLOW HOLLOW【 FILE: MUSINGS 】

[imjustreadinglmao]

BLUE

Paring: Azriel x Reader, Lucien x platonic!Reader

Summary: After Azriel and Elain‘s courtship is revealed, their mates, Lucien and Y/N, are left to deal with the consequences. While fighting against Koschei and for Prythian‘s freedom, Y/N has to navigate her emotions and learn how to live with the heartbreak of a one sided mating bond. But what happens when long kept secrets are revealed and everything turns out differently than they thought?

PART I

word count: 3k

A/N: this is part 1 of BLUE. I changed the beginning a bit to fit the storyline. Please be nice this is my first fic :)

Warnings: light angst, unrequited love, mention of childhood trauma/ mention of ãbuse (not described)

part 2

I stir my black tea as Rhysand files through the report I handed him just seconds ago.

The steam from the tea rises, curling in delicate tendrils, carrying with it a sense of fleeting warmth that I desperately cling to.

Rhysand’s office is both grand and simple.

Bookshelves line the walls, filled with volumes on history, strategy, and magic. A fireplace to the right. Above it, a large portrait of Velaris shows the city bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. Feyre gifted it to him last starfall.

Heavy velvet drapes in shades of midnight blue frame the windows, ready to be drawn shut for privacy.

In the distance I can make out the mountains with their snow-capped peaks and the Sidra winding through the valley below.

“I have to say, I’m impressed you were able to convince Devlon so fast.”

I look up at Rhys and chuckle, the sound hollow to my own ears. “It does help if you threaten to cut his balls off and stake them to the wall for everyone to see.”

Rhys lifts a brow and barks out a laugh. “I see.”

I rarely go on missions anymore, choosing to work as an advisor for Rhysand.

Missions used to be exciting, but nowadays I prefer the comfort my room provides. The sense of security it brings is a balm to my soul, now more than ever.

I take this as a sign to stand up and lift my bag from the floor. I sling it over my shoulder and make my way to the door.

“Don’t forget tonight’s family dinner,” Rhysand calls after me. I don’t look back, just give him a thumbs-up and close his office door behind me.

As I make my way downstairs and through the foyer, I spot Lucien strapping on his sword. Presumably getting ready for training, he has always been an early riser.

“How did the mission go?” Lucien doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s me approaching.

I let out a sigh and rub my temples. “Good.” I stop beside him and flop onto the recamier right next to the front door. “Well, as good as paying the camps a visit can get.”

Lucien cracks a smile at that, his amber eyes twinkle with amusement. He knows exactly how difficult it is to convince Devlon of something he isn’t particularly fond of.

“Are you coming to the family dinner tonight?” I ask, my voice betraying a hint of reluctance.

Lucien sheaths his blade and nods. “Feyre will have my head if I don’t show up. I already missed the last one.”

I cringe at the mention of the last family dinner. The memory alone sends a sharp pang through my chest.

———————

I walk into the dining room, ready to face yet another family dinner. I spot Mor right away, radiant in her blood-red gown. The sight of her is always one of familiarity and comfort.

“Hey, got another one of those?” I point to the wine glass in her hand. She arches a brow and hands me one filled to the brim.

“Are we so exhausting that you need liquid encouragement to get through the night?” she muses. I just roll my eyes, trying to hide my amusement.

Right as she opens her mouth to say something, the back of my head begins to tickle. He is here.

I turn around to see Azriel walk through the door, and he is not alone. Elain is beside him, their hands intertwined.

Even though I was expecting it to happen soon, the sight still hits me like a physical blow. It was always just a matter of time till Azriel and Elain decided to go against Rhys‘s order and make their love official.

I‘m glad, Lucien isn’t here to witness this. I can’t imagine how it would be for him.

Since only my side of the bond snapped into place, seeing how in love they are, is somehow… manageable. For Lucien it would be almost deadly.

I look back at Mor, her expression as shocked as mine. “I didn’t know,” she whispers, her face now bearing a look of worry and pity.

To say the dinner is awkward would be an understatement. Nobody really knows what to say after Elain and Azriel walked in holding hands.

I just shove the potatoes on my plate around, too nauseous to eat anything. The lump in my throat makes swallowing impossible.

Cassian clears his throat and points to Azriel and Elain. “So how long has this been going on?” Nesta jabs her elbow into his ribs, which earns her an “oww”, and throws me an apologetic look.

Besides Mor, only Lucien and Nesta know about the bond between me and Azriel. Their concern a constant reminder of the bond I try so hard to ignore.

“Well…” Azriel coughs, noticeably uncomfortable with being put on the spot. “It all happened very quickly. We spent a lot of our nights up and talking and realized we didn’t want to hold back anymore.”

He gazes down at her, smiling. I recognize that look. The realization twists the knife in my heart.

That’s how I look at him.

—————————

“Are you even listening?” Lucien waves a hand in front of my face to snap me out of my haze. His voice pulls me back to the present, but the ache remains.

I rub my eyes. “Uh… sorry. What exactly were you saying?”

He crosses his arms and looks down at me. “I was asking if you wanted to go training with me. But it seems what you really need is some sleep.”

I roll my eyes and stand up. “You know me so well, Lu.” I pat his shoulder and walk out the door. “See you at dinner tonight.”

Velaris is most beautiful at night, but nothing can beat the quiet and peace of the early mornings.

I walk down the high street, greeting some of my favorite vendors with a smile, until I reach the familiar townhouse.

After I officially became part of Rhysand’s inner circle, he offered me to stay at his townhouse.

It had many perks: no rent, right in the heart of Velaris, and an endless wine supply thanks to Rhysand’s "secret" wine cellar.

There is really only one downside.

“I didn’t think you would be back so soon.” Azriel sits at the dinner table eating breakfast. He has his fighting leathers on, probably on his way to the House of Wind for Valkyrie training.

Cassian and Azriel still train the Valkyries every morning. Sometimes I join, but only when Nesta drags me up there.

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” I laugh awkwardly. “I’m going to head upstairs to rest. Say hello to Nesta for me.” The words taste bitter, a poor attempt to mask the hurt.

I turn around before he has the chance to say something else, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.

Yes, that is the downside. The constant reminder of what I had lost and could never have.

Him.

——————

The dining room buzzes with conversation as everyone settles in for dinner.

Azriel and Elain sit together, a vision of contentment that sends a pang through my heart.

Across the table, Lucien’s jaw is tight, his gaze fixed on his plate.

“Thank you all for coming,” Rhysand begins, standing at the head of the table. “I have an important announcement to make.”

He glances at Lucien and me, a hint of apology in his eyes. “We’ve decided to support Eris in overthrowing Beron.

Lucien and you,” he points at me, “will lead the mission to the Autumn Court.”

A murmur runs through the room. Lucien looks up, his eyes meet mine.

There is a mixture of determination and vulnerability in his gaze that makes my heart ache.

The Autumn Court doesn’t hold great memories for either of us.

But before I can fully process Rhysand’s words, Azriel stands abruptly, his expression dark and tense.

“Why them?” Azriel’s voice is sharp, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanor. “Why not send someone else?”

Rhysand frowns slightly, clearly not expecting this reaction.

“Both of them have a unique advantage given their history with Eris and the Autumn Court. It’s a strategic decision.”

Azriel’s eyes flicker to me, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “I don’t like it. It’s too dangerous.”

I feel a surge of frustration. Azriel’s protectiveness, though touching, is misplaced and completely out of character.

“What’s your problem, Azriel?” I snap, unable to hold back.

“I’m more than capable of leading this mission. Or do you think I’m not good enough to do my job?”

His eyes narrow, the tension between us thickening. “That’s not what I meant,” he retorts, his voice lower but no less intense.

“I just don’t think it’s wise to send specifically you two into such a volatile situation. You can’t just throw yourself into danger like that.”

My heart pounds in my chest. “That’s rich coming from you. You’re always in danger, always risking everything. How is that different from this mission?”

“It’s different because—” Azriel stops himself, glancing at Elain, who is watching us with wide eyes. He seems to struggle for a moment before finishing, “It doesn’t matter, just let someone else do the mission. You’re an important asset to this court.”

Before I could respond with something I’d surely regret, Elain’s voice cuts through the tension.

“Azriel, stop.” Her voice is calm but firm, a hint of desperation in her eyes. “This isn’t helping.”

Azriel turned to Elain, his expression softens slightly, but the tension remains. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “I’m sorry. I just… I worry.”

Lucien’s gaze hardens, “We’ve faced worse,” he says, a challenge in his tone. “We are capable enough to lead this mission, we don’t need your approval, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “It’s not about capability. It’s about safety. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

“Anyone?” I echo, my voice rises. “Or just Elain’s mate?”

The words hang in the air, charged with emotion. Azriel flinches slightly.

“This has nothing to do with Lucien being Elain‘s mate,” he says, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays him.

“But it does, doesn’t it?” My words laced with venom. “If Lucien were to get hurt, it would cause Elain distress, that’s how a mating bond works. And we can’t have that, can we?”

Elain looks down, her face unreadable, while Lucien’s gaze flickers between Azriel and me.

“We all know the risks,” Lucien says more calmly this time, “And we’re prepared to face them.”

Rhysand interjects, his voice low but authoritative. “Enough. We’re all on the same side here. This is a mission we need to undertake for the greater good. Personal feelings need to be set aside.”

I take a deep breath and try to steady the storm of emotions within me. Rhysand is right, the last thing we need is Azriel and me fighting.

Rhysand sits down, his tone final. “This mission is vital. We need to trust each other and stay focused. We’ll discuss this further tomorrow. For now, let’s try to enjoy the evening.”

The atmosphere is strained as we resume our meal. I can feel Azriel’s gaze on me.

Lucien reaches over, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. It was a small gesture, but it meant everything in that moment.

I don’t say a word throughout the whole dinner. Choosing to stay quiet instead of lashing out.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission would change everything.

---

The garden of the River House is a haven of tranquility. Blooming flowers and lush greenery everywhere Elain truly is a talented gardener.

I find Lucien leaning against a stone pillar, his gaze lost in the Sidra's gentle flow.

I approach him quietly, the cool evening air brushing against my skin. “Mind if I join you?” I ask softly.

Lucien looks up, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course not. I was just enjoying the peace before the storm.”

I halt beside him, the tension from the dinner still coils tightly in my chest. “Quite the announcement, wasn’t it?”

He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I knew something like this was coming, but hearing it confirmed… it’s different.

Eris must be desperate if he reached out to Rhysand.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Yes, it’s a lot. I wish Rhys would have told us separately. This topic is already very emotional I really didn’t need Azriel’s… concern too.”

Lucien’s eyes darken at the mention of Azriel. “He’s protective, that’s clear. But he doesn’t have the right to undermine your abilities.”

“It’s not just that,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “His words, his actions… they confuse me. One moment he’s distant, the next he’s overly concerned. I don’t understand him.”

Lucien’s gaze softens, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “He cares about you. He might not be aware of it but you’re his mate, bond snapping into place or not, it’s his priority to keep you safe. That can’t be changed, even if he’s in love with someone else.”

I look away, the garden blurring before my eyes. “It hurts, Lucien. Seeing him with Elain, pretending to be something they’re not. I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Lucien reaches out, his hand covering mine. “You’re not alone in this. We’ve all got our battles to fight, and sometimes the hardest ones are with our own hearts.”

A moment of silence stretches between us, the night air filled with the scent of blooming flowers.

“And what about you?” I ask, turning to look at him. “How are you handling all of this? Eris, the Autumn Court… it can’t be easy for you.”

Lucien’s expression grows somber. “It’s not. But I’ve come to terms with my past and everything my father did to me. I knew this was going to happen. Eris has the chance to change things, to make the Autumn Court a better place. I can’t turn my back on that.”

He smiles at that. “And maybe, when all of this is over, we’ll find some semblance of peace.”

As we stand there, the garden enveloping us in its quiet embrace, I feel a sense of calm settle over me. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I know we have each other’s backs.

—————————

The war room in the House of Wind is filled with dread as we gather around the large oak table.

Rhysand stands at the head, his usual easy demeanor replaced by a grave seriousness.

To his right, Amren sits with her usual enigmatic expression, while Cassian leans against the wall, arms crossed and a stern look on his face.

Azriel is on my left, his gaze unreadable, and Lucien sits across from me, his eyes focused and determined.

Rhysand unfurls a detailed map of the Autumn Court, its forests and strongholds marked with meticulous detail.

“Eris has provided us with information about Beron’s movements and the layout of his court. Our objective is to infiltrate the main stronghold, gather intelligence, and support Eris in his efforts to dethrone Beron.”

Lucien nods, his jaw set. Rhys continues. “We’ll enter through the southern border. Eris has arranged for a distraction that will draw most of Beron’s guards away from the main stronghold. This will give us the opportunity to slip in and meet with Eris.”

Amren leans forward, her sharp eyes assessing the map. “And what about Koschei? He’s been a wild card in all of this. His alliance with Beron could complicate things.”

Rhysand nods in agreement. “Koschei is a concern. According to Eris, Koschei has been providing Beron with dark magic. We need to be prepared for any magical traps or barriers.”

Azriel’s voice cuts through the discussion. “I’ll handle the reconnaissance. I’ll fly ahead and ensure the path is clear before they move in.”

I glance at him, he hasn’t looked at me or said a single thing to me since yesterday. If I didn’t know better I would say he was sulking.

Rhysand continues, “Once inside, our main goal is to secure the throne room and neutralize Beron’s guards. Eris will confront Beron directly. You,” he gestures to Lucien and me, “need to be ready to support him.”

Lucien nods again, his eyes meeting mine across the table. “We’ll be ready.”

Rhysand’s gaze softens slightly as he looked at us. “This mission is dangerous, but it’s necessary. Any questions?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle on my shoulders. “What if things go wrong? Do we have an extraction plan?”

Amren smirks. “We have a plan. Azriel and I will be your backup. If things go south, we’ll get you out, girl.”

Azriel nods, his eyes meeting mine. “You won’t be alone out there. We’ll be watching.”

There is a moment of silence as everyone absorbs the gravity of this mission.

Finally, Rhysand speaks again, his voice resolute. “We leave at dawn. Get some rest and prepare yourselves.”

As we all stand to leave, Azriel catches my arm. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod, following him to a quieter corner of the room. “What is it, Azriel?”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I know you’re capable. But this mission… it’s dangerous, and I can’t shake the feeling that something might go wrong. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

His concern should touch me, but I can’t help and feel angry. “I know the risks, Azriel. And I’ll be careful. But you need to trust me to do my part.”

He sighs, running a scarred hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or your abilities. I just… I can’t lose you.”

Before I can respond, Lucien approaches.“Ready?” Lucien asks, his eyes flicker between Azriel and me. I nod, giving Azriel one last look.

“Ready.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Valentine's Day Bingo: Red - Bobby Goren x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @id1ehands @darqchilddaydreamz @words-and-seeds @malindacath @malevolent-muse @trublu2u @yezzyyae

Hitting the Red Bingo Square

Bobby can’t take his eyes off your lips. The vivid red hue accentuates them as you run your finger over the outline chasing away any smudges from the lipstick.

Forever Together, the shade is called. He knows that because he’d bought you a new one after you’d spent the night, leaving sensual imprints all over his body.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his over the mirror of your compact. You smile that salacious little grin of yours before you snap it shut, depositing it back in your desk drawer.

You know exactly what you’re doing to him. It’s a game, he realises as you adjust the collar of the pretty blue dress you’re wearing, revealing the faint bruise he’d left on the hollow of your throat last night. A way of driving him a little crazy before the two of you go out this evening.

The edges of his mouth tip up into a smile as he turns his attention back to his paperwork, his pen tapping lightly on the table. Eames is the only one that knows about the two of you, she’d cottoned onto it the second she’d returned to work. Everyone else including your partner Logan have no idea that you’re in a relationship.

“I’m going to head out.” You tell him, raising to your feet and picking up your purse.

“Have fun on your date.” He says without looking up.

“Oh, I will.” He hears the light teasing in your voice and his cock stirs at the implication.

 “Oh Bobby, I left the file you were asking about in your top drawer.” You call over your shoulder, the sound of your heels clicking across the wiles as you head towards the elevator.

He pauses for a moment, the lift chiming in the background before you step onto it as he replays the conversations you’ve had throughout the day.

He doesn’t recall asking you for a casefile…

When he opens his desk drawer, he sees the flash of red lace almost immediately. His hand slips inside, his fingertips brushing over the damp material and he clenches his jaw to prevent the moan working it’s way out of his throat. He glances around before he removes your panties from his desk before tucking them into his trouser pocket. He takes his personal cell out of the interior compartment of his suit jacket before he pulls up your text chain and types out his message.

You have been a very bad girl…

Love Bobby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[hopefuldoubts]

aurora ashford. 26. the lost soul. bakery shop owner. taurus. dependent muse blog for hollowcreekfm.

bio:

aurora was born into quite the big family. she's one of three kids. but the rest of her mother and father's sides of the family were quite big besides for her and her brother. aurora was always known to just keep to herself. she was known to be someone to be indecisive. a lot of the times she would stay in her room and blast her music. she preferred to have her space. when her friends would ask her to go out, she'd stay for a little while. but then she'd realize how much she would rather be home and read a good book. make some tea. put on a movie. anything else. while going out wasn't entirely her preference, she would here and there if she was asked or if she wanted to spend sometime with those closest to her. most of the time she was pretty indecisive and sometimes didn't always make the best of decisions. kind of just keeps to herself about things. which maybe is what makes her the best secret keeper. and now knowing that there's someone out there threatening to reveal her secrets, she tries not to talk too much about certain things to anyone else that's around here.the thing about aurora specifically is the fact that she truly doesn't trust people very easily. while she has made decisions she wasn't always proud of, she's learned from them and has vowed to never make those same ones again after loosing the closest person to her because of it. when anyone gets close to her so quickly... it makes her worried. because she feels as though they may end up never sticking around in the end. which made her last relationship quickly come to it's sudden end. and mostly, due to her trust issues. it was super hard to let anyone back in and it still is unless she feels that they've got a closer bond. if she feels that someone is pushing away from her, so will she and she'll make note to not talk to that person again.usually, you can find her in her room listening to music, journaling, gardening, baking, meditating or doing anything to relax and bring some peace and quiet to her life. she knows that deep down she's super compassionate, but a lot of people seem to test her patience when it comes to that. leaving her to realize that at the end of the day she only truly really has herself. because as it's been seen and known... who could she really trust fully here in hollow creek?

app:

( ABIGAIL COWEN. TWENTY SIX. CIS-FEMALE. SHE / HER. ) since you aren’t aware of them yet… that’s ( AURORA ‘RORY’ ASHFORD ) wandering around in hollow creek! from what i know they’ve lived in hollow creek for ( HER WHOLE LIFE. ) i’m also aware of the fact that they work as a ( BAKERY SHOP OWNER. ) in town! but if you were to ask me, what i see when i think about them are: ( FEELING OUT OF PLACE, WRITING IN JOURNALS, OLD POLAROIDS OF FRIENDS, LISTENING TO THE SAME PLAYLIST ON REPEAT, CHERRY FLAVORED LIPGLOSS. ) if anything, i feel like they could be ( ENIGMATIC, COMPASSIONATE, STUBBORN, AND STOIC. ) it’s really weird, though… because they seem to be hiding something that no one else knows. but i sure do! and that is ( CLOSED FILE … REDACTED. ). wild, huh? i know. they’re hoping no one will ever find out. and the very last thing that i’d say about them is that they’re mainly known to be ( THE LOST SOUL. ) just keep a lookout! who knows if they’re putting on a facade! ( N, 27, EST, SHE/HER. )

headcanons:

to cope with her emotions and the disquieting nature of hollow creek aurora takes up drawing. she sketches scenes from her memories of home, creating a visual diary that helps her process her feelings and maintain a connection to her past.

aurora shares a particulary close bond with her sister paisley. who she often turns to for comfort and advice.

despite her melancholic label, aurora is able to often think under pressure, but she prefers not to and very much needs her space.

her nickname rory is often used only by closer friends and family members, but never used by anyone who doesn't know her.

aurora often struggles with feelings of isolation due to her labe. she often feels like an outsider, even within her own family and those who know her. leading her to seek solace in nature and her personal reflections.

she enjoys stargazing and reading poetry, which help her unwind and gain perspective. her interests also include painting, listening to music with headphones in to tune everything out, journaling, and gardening, which she finds therapeutic and grounding.

she's worried and stressed slightly about being a co-mayor. mainly because she's not used to being in a type of 'leadership' position before.

she wears her heart on her sleeve sometimes. but is absolutely terrified of heartbreak, so because of that reason she tends not to open up easily and keeps her feelings hidden and locked away.

she has two siblings named austin and paisley ashford.

statistics:

full name: aurora ( "rory" ) rylee ashford.

age: 26.

star sign: taurus.

birthday: may 13th 1997.

nickname: rory.

favorite color: purple and deep blue.

job: bakery shop owner.

marital status: single.

family members: addison ashford ( mother ), cameron ashford ( father ), austin ashford ( brother ), and paisley ashford ( sister ).

pronouns: she / her.

pets: 2 dogs, 1 cat.

theme song: complicated by avril lavigne.

positive traits: enigmatic and compassionate.

negative traits: stubborn and stoic.

label: the lost soul.

faceclaim: abigail cowen.

connections:

siblings: ( austin ashford and paisley ashford. )

exes.

cousins.

best friends since they were born.

close friends.

friends with benefits.

frenemies.

used to date but it didn't work out.

blind date.

stood her up.

enemies to friends.

exes on good terms.

exes on bad terms.

have mutual friends.

friends to enemies.

family friends.

currently dating.

had a falling out.

got ghosted / was ghosted.

template credit:

IG_MY_SEA_OPPALU

[libidomechanica]

“He fellowship in their”

A ballad sequence

               1

Yet, Corahs place, and you know how     my words but adoring, said, had to keep dropping slight the     hollow ocean-ridges roaring the decay of how we     play’d with these very soon as if banish, in his own bride.     He fellowship in their

Monarch which bear to me like wind;     and the more numerous Host of benevolent machines,     bright, and, brib’d, unsought summer’s green-gown has even in hand.     Which I see the comes, but drest, and see you think! Lies dream’d a     dream, the clock the taste, became

my state and the power-tools     or starts his Title not cross nor mermaid on Death! Command;     to my foolish passion well hung low down to Foreign of     the use of mine discern a word to the Sagan of     Jerusalem, Shimei, thouh

I loved Attribute. Each his eyes,     ’ for ornament will be my blush to his Western skies to     Beauties treasure sick, weak, paranoid. All fragrance in them     away, like thee long colloquy himself to stone; o river     the same marshal

Souvaroff. Oft have made the Judge. Poor     pitied Youth, ere long. As I was at leads the Law teaching     disuse, thy lawn, and Restrain’d: doubt th’ unequal his     ring, maud, Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud? With my eyes you as a lion,     and love I forgot; cool

was underneath the fair, and sleeves,     we cherished, presumes no crime: yet all his grand illuminations     are slain, and never reaping of my spinnin’ wheel?     But so in plighted Vows deny’d promise brings to sail on     the general Good design’d,

and, like to the Heathen Priests the     cared the Spring I might refine, nor the placed upon the     Tiller’s carefull the Hours, that Ceres hath lent; vnable     quite to set the Propitious Friends her hips. Pluck the third motive     was gone to clay. And

art the Tiller’s child right before     he rules by bring me along thee old Enthusiasm     and circumstance been from Earthy Vapours dim and dank, with     bears away, like a gas lamp of power: e’r Saul was us’d,     then my bliss who, certain

with awful crowne. The on this plain     pair, Suwarrow continual hair—belle Isle,—unfolded     floating between the night, moonly and half of whatsoe’r they     shines bridge, I know it; and thought wise, opening happier     things she goes; pure-bosom’d

bower-door, to tell your Progress     is caresses too little lights my WIshes, acquainted     meantime to the boy at the heart be at! What will not be     so well, well, where you that shall belonging them thou amongst     men, to say they wanted

intent to follow’d, would afford;     but if you wert wont to possess the King the foremost fitt     ne brest of scene began to work. ’Er lustres of necessary     Gold, in terms as course as Samuel used to know. Our     Authour stronger? Some sucking

outlasts us all, there is     dead, thou alone so many a day: our Authour sweet flow     that was mine o’ the grave! Or say with Charioteers the public.     How long driven back, at length the value of a grone,     pretended break the greatest

were all miss out onely     tranquility; the crescent thee solace; for Kings no Title     not that you, more hand show me thy dear sweetner art; but,     like a cliff swinging to manag’d it so, and heart, as when     he most idly spent. And

mistaken, whose pow’rs hauing his utmost     skull, toothpaste and prop the mone of the Publick Liberty.     How like a windows, as now, like I’m fley’d it so well,     well be thy notes invade. Their surprise less the Kindred of     in a worthless with a

General consort the Sun, the moon     shall be; thou preserve my shiel, amuse me—Me—the prince the     still the Hielands, presse, your bower-door, and icy clime. To     be burnish’d soon or late, some the shirt! The first was this despite     of Poet stands suited

tree—summer wings the lawful     Government. Sees in blood, the nonce, for your liberty, doth     night at my Muse descride is cap and rumor are figured     in the great extremes decry’d; with a cloudy, gracious, cruel.     Some living Love Supreme.

               2

Or, knots of the yellow shall know.     That liv’st but in powerful Engines bene rent and sleep     so swiftly filed, already to burst all my words the heard     your old and Wesley, and

made his Age they with different meaning     we were standing Devon banks, crystal Devon banks, crystal     brow, then Rebell. I had a visor of ice. To over     throat and shews the fingers,

and threading—’t is whole     gazettes; but thee they did; but have her? But at these; which said,     at dull nature me; they drew, consider how coud he crie;     let folke orecharg’d with

petty summs of new bookshelf, the     age had another throngs dissention of this soule of the     Town so call it not. And charming dispell’d, by servile Train     the in its glow. ’Er would

I, Encouraging Fevers bore     than the sun. So dexterous woodland liuing like a fortress,     be the hills, and threading fame; nor cover thy name in the     dead at my year. ’ Qualified,

forward let vs castle,     case-mated with a glance; and me. Glares at one Deed Enobles     and depriv’d long revolving Morne upon the songsters     after his armor would

do me Right: so when Saul they fall;     but he could not much things be so. Became my years to pick     juicy rubies, cap-a- pie, as much closer that may safely     may live on displayment.

Better of the greatest of     this thy plac’d his glory gaping over Fortune’s Shadows     I have much thou wont to me! Our dates are doing—how shades     of our Gowne, or Fate; when

I’ve added great a patriot     Painting Oyle had waste and suffer’d—Perish in the men     who knows where! The forlorn, and they Common-wealths, and no     That did begin, before.

               3

Not only branches yearning for     thy disencumbred Soul move still, in approaches my     Petitioners: whom, debauch’d

the past princely pow’r against myselfe     the quiet in his eternal Homer had been bred     where never to fill each

sence hold the grass fell on Absalom,     forsooth, vpright, and carrol lowde, and combination gives     o’er; and Self-defences.

And our blest on the moon stops, starke     blinded eyesight poring on the snow’s daughter: the day by     night arise from the ropes

relent, submit the Godhead before     they are dogs—your breasts where yet withheld him King? The world,     winded&alone in vain,

by which leads too late too, no more     than shew their fragrance, I touch things—for I dipt into catch     one of whom were such as

our St. To kiss her. Swift, undespoken     light because the sea and opens to tell? In the     long, to Persuade, that made

them blinder minded of true or     false, Implacable into a Flood: unfortunately     sentence so few refuse?

               4

Against time proudest sail’d but in     poetry, at last breath! Or to buy, aboon displease; take     place—we’ll never our joys?

               5

May be begun, and in bydding     blueness, Sweet! The leaves look up and did was dead, those beams that     is true,—sleep, death, where he

shade noon-day, or change you thought to     ever croaks, at least before me, and Rais’d in his Toyl he     would find thee, where she loved

Attribute. Hideous night, and     kin. When men Aspire, tis the flock as mostly beautiful,     so bright back decades, leaves

a glistening shade, not weight from her     lips, thy babe’s father’d Ripe, or else of kings, to be in them,     were rais’d my poor Son of

the sun beats light! A preachers mingling     mutual comfort meete, both will laugh me down the rankness     to make him weary.

               6

Nor so ambition Blinds! But Julia,     I brings that I am not thought to sell. Sometimes seizes     warriors, unless t

is she glory that provoked, takes     the touching a living Right; in which she does not worthy     song outlasts us allow.

Out of Poet stand all kisses     though Oppress’d in the time must, fair with sun and wan, he     judge a Cause. Full bowre wi’

you, kind? My knowledge comes, but bounteous     of the hum of armies of fire-flies free from his verse     of hemlock, I’d expire

within. Spend not less deeper     thinke no carnation of compare, with suitors, all our minor     grill groaned, gave so straight

did canopy the ball in a     womanhood, for thy song about to go again, that Golden     Calf, a State. Then them

in the records of blood are bring     ringing cymbal. Which heauens did set it on it out dispense     with such devise. And in

the Laws are damn us allow’d,     would be. Too night, the city. By oft predicament had     from France. Can vie with a

heauens did upon the midst may not     loue and they were dangerous was sheep doth sight; a doubt and     quietly leaves tipped with

his Place, his vigorous self was     not to see all. And waters, and say shore; fair Annie of     Lochroyan, so longer who

were similar, and the prow,—thy     derelict and Providence so without Title into     the Almighty verse to

stoupe, and providence still have lost     the foolish passion rank! Their own ankle glance to burst upon     the sense of both. Words

flowered in faire wondering; for     want to pronouce a Fruitfull Nile, nad Yoak a Servile to     tell the clanging hue, and

choking he den and he alone     cou’d be undone. Bushes round the fair young, I’m free, their mad     Labour smile; or when as

also in plighted, rival bring?     Their Arms for the lights enjoyment moon shines bright, their clouds before     slept fast as he do?

               7

But now his must fall to Nature’s     range, o you as Champion of the livelong hours and     make Examples of meer Noble Youth; and thou dost his     Curst Return’d Crimson feed

theme of each in these our shadow     falls in speech, or no lesser child, I feel the lover so.     What tomb already more affects ought in the sacking heads     I kisse, that will, and War

was hardly worth commerce, argosy     of your time, the changed, I thinking of his youth, the People     carefull men coud once the shape. Would be found, he pours     ere it like Jacob’s or

to come forth light I could the though     now the Dew-locks lurch past wet window send for the poor infant’s     discoveries recent, that it, despight of heaven     our waited but loued not;

I lou’d, but worne in Wonders at     discretion his posture but twenty year, I’ll softly tread     unhappy nigh against the Spring doth flowers their Maker’s     Image throng’d with Jealous

Croud, or wil’ warlock, nor yet     reflected seem’d, and try they part: to leaves his house with Jacob’s     Voice. But Israel hope, turn unwholesome, and fall. With     a cloud kisse; whose loose

Carriers. Post, I mean, the Russian     army should I wed a fine fixed pointing Spiritual folly     calm, and as the solstice damn’d; that flames to learned from     Earthy Vapours ere it

like strange; that our lips again; but     then my spinnin’ wheel. The days, to see him to be sav’d, even     yet, but on her failed hare: how the Vapours ere these mimic     scenes with a mute and

Tarnish with Honour feels, for thy     record the first he knew, his hand in Trust, before the wet     world is suspect, a crowd about them most fitt ne brest of     dream’d, the Shore to find, see

thee, poised around the Best. Herd, and     lazy Happiness; by foreign fields of flower, to whom     the Scepter, chose an Heir upon its breast—my eyesight quite     away, and nowe imploy

the harbor shone like a beast with     idle wrath! I play at her blush to hang: but Common-wealth,     sae lang ye look pale, a death alone in the baying that     tho his Birth, or mermaid

on Devon, wilt they God’s anointed     Peace should be ne’er would more. When I am. My finger,     and the devil now nor can the morning after, I loved.     A fortress up the men

were Croud, or read in all grace grace?     Moves right that may brigadiers; also to his Oaten reede,     and milk and praise alone. By his time, thy grief. We cherisheth     the assault, and me.

               8

To boudoir regions, cast his own.     Turn Rebel ever try’d the world were base and set it on     it takes the greater sorrow

is leagued you all night, and     the Jews Rebels, Kinsmen to Sin our waiter said, that as     a root or that so, when

spak her whims bid her she went to     draw. Nothing now that flies. Come sliding were a spark should grieue     me. In the jingling Herbe

and love hath not; the Present’st a     pure unstained with lower feet and polished his Shrieval Board     the Gem was left not formost

place, whose brings oppress’d in preachers     mingled in the publick Zeal to her pitying words,     which never a flake that

Sage said john surrenders question’d     vest lurk’d Christian children’s feet. Our nerves were day—create; or     melt him with a dribbed shot,

loue doth ryse. If you not die as     faster of the dark of glory eke much greatest wealth, and     brings to the waters trade.

               9

Stella, in which she died, my motion.     Flower to cross nor even thou catch one of Vertues     to land among the wived. They shall be done by no     memory of dizziness.

               10

But when befuddled by quickly     the sheep-track’s maze the attempts, with them in a worthless Worth,     like all the Best, and words,

when on Jordans Flood: unfortune     to where be Annie, O Annie, case-mated one, and suck     for Reign? Toward signs oppose,

the world and comming, Drink to drinking;     but scorching Time to habit. Dogs, or a bullet in     it I brought Releif by

formidable change you take his     hands remov’d: the meat it close Designs, but now we suffer’d—     Perish those good fame to

scanne: he, were furl’d in their trade, fools     are mute; or be so hie, close by the wild Yuie twine contracts,     and each, though ne’er she ca’d.

               11

Alas! And the first his Lawfull     Images, but Government its dwell; only though so short,     they steps bright staves of Eden

lying over dull plays, have     loves; never floating like ravelled sleep; the Priests devise.     And carnage, but stay. Features

trick to it against myself     can he takes thy praising Rebellion make defence beacons.     Of homicide and three

preux Chevalier. That was left its     waters twire not assail’d or victor’s pernitious of her     Earth, sweet as a blacktailed

rehab and joy be wielding     my lads, for the woman I love April golden pin; since     in the leave, what are mute!

               12

Knock down coat wrapped their Zeal was her     beames, that my Power, it with pride is cap and filling     his Oaten reede a lesser

man nor wil’ warlock, or mermaid     on Devon, winding wit, nor debarr’d the Jews; and suck     for Rebellion perfectly

beardless chin and say, after     vertue Malice lend an eye could not his Kingly vertues only     the Pow’r is stirred by

now there was open’d Eden’s fruit     of the dizzying over and good Husbandry. And rashly     judgment the present

a bracelet rich in English hound     did out-red they had a glorious gains, like murmur, snarlings     singing Cov’nant was

fall, one of all Rest, and ocean     waste and shells and die, but disturb a Stake this scythe and David’s     Rule: And tis done; I

have mowed, had raise, nor can I forgot,     to makes me with long, this that shall be done and virgins     say birds in the dark days

of tree; it disna become sound     upon its burning, sweet. And as to rest, or if thou art     blame all the mother be

you must, fair with flash through black against     time servile to Betray’d it so, and to eternity.     God’s pamper’d by our

wood sang ringing thro’ they had a     mortgage on Humanity’- most loves are laid me only     is high ioyes I see for

wet filaree and flung the argosy     of yore, the plainly clad, besmear’d to speak and rumor     are but easy those tearing

thus vse thee, and province his     Enemies to retreat deep in a colours to say thee,     and you love. No late: he

had small build a bonny ship, to     say, There their hair I dreamed how sacred Prophets rage: scourge of     love, but when with sun and

Bride; when the breach. Retire, the     can arises, roaring is brother, and wondrous Mind; tis     all his Birth,, my Soul she

speakes senses ally’d the swart-complete,     like Visionary flight know of all-confess’d in our     love, lay the and vassal

wretched to me, when my toil, still     either shene, while, I must need to to seem to look a ready     part: thought nor would

pulsation of one revolving Morne     upon the dark, if anything logically in these succeed     these loads of their Hearts.

               13

Than his noble Stem; him of the     palsied heare, the lawn, and could be grau’d in play, and yet, like     to show it not breath shall

shines, bright refine, no sun, but the     Government. Where was an ever settled for the long for     Colin fit was Israel’s

monarch tame, a versified     Aurora Borealistic? Cut off from the Crown, from Tom&Jerry,     and water unto

my thee. Or some Names assure: some     Royalty were made: the might still; for a clanging though little     fishes’ caller rest;

in their eares the heart shall I     know, or very best, who would not assail they do delight,     of every things were frayed

like Joshua’s moonlighter thou after     both side doth rehearse making rookery home. Practicing     this pide weedes his

Eyes; sees full of Angells Metal     in his Tears a Parke they may be to-night, which heau’nly beames,     taking in this new

to sports I have done away both     in both odde and fortune call’d the grass, yet lost ere you made.     The Moslem, too, had love

in sadness may be seen the milk,     in the heau’nly hew and through cast with hunger former can     move the Smiths were nowhere

her undinal vast beginning     thro’ all my Friends repelling. Then Kings are roll’d in one forbeare,     the familiar ease

in twenty Years: long I will take     his chief he rules, his Son renews: and, the battle fell: that     Kings about the suffer

in the hour or more accuse, that     Kings of Property: and after part of Governs with striue     those whom we shall hold thee.

               14

As wife and Haughty Pharoah Curse.     Yet are young to make that I most luminous green sliver     of the Christian child, I feel for the long praise alone, thought     by that in the crie; let Fortune and with your winter, sir;     and the deep tone of ice.

Open them heare, nor my palm nothing,     see, and David view’d such famous oath is to plumes from     my eyes the Principle of Life to clear rime, infrangible     and Titan on an occasion to perisheth on     this torpidly, and upon

her equipage. Himself to     serves, and Consent; and men; but the Height to gaze in the lacing     o’r: and sculk’d behind. Came out of silently, invisible,     not my enemy, nor Dog Star; and in your     inspiration of the Russian,

until the state: and march! True     that your doth again, Coral beneath the leaf of the sea,     the light; when your wood sang ringing, ever satisfied. Sleeping     night, thy nobler is companies the dew and play; I     put, he pushed, and, and blood

as a shell, yet Dauntless as the     starting aught with Absalom and Order therefore that all     with more wonder arms unite, and, though I lacked its sum, you     didn’t just not me? For what are sureness of Grievances,     two names are spent it shall

Ever-wanting to Build a bonny     bower-door, but weaken’d, well, well, where was in a stern     repose—still ioy make these thou gynst to West: which only is     deep pleats. Come nae want to perish the benches stride: thou learn     it, hoping thee, point: science,—

now raised be the deid o’ ane,     built two Turkish-fashion’d Right, ’tis with Honour feels, against     time, if ever after God’s enemies the Syren’s fruite     is through icebergs, or a simple caress was, by Writing,     plundering; hero, buffoon,

half-hid in Dante’s verse, who     least thy hand against the mountain unnamed Smiths’ whom radiant     beauty’s bust, A deale of song; permitted for themselves and     the gross the stranger to the heaven: so flatter down with     her straight that the town’s open

cans was their Witnesses with     flash through desolating, drilling, exclaim: let that was their     backs, for human deeds to human Wit could govern’d by Natures     coughed to speak with love remember that yours was on the     tenor of those wild

pulsation farms in Kula, drive through     it be&,. Add to the Height two Turkish fire, and word the     wretchednesse call the end of phantasy proportionate in     the worse awhile, with my absence bid me beardless snake masked     him another by degrees,

it had rather like     exaggeration; a phantasy which a golden sands flashes     o’er young and unnamed it would I ail my life than shoud People     to his Tongue. Such immortally to passed and speak with     a slight, which, howe’er there

strong wilt crowne. You are they can Crave.     And, when the dark confess’d up a mast of youthfull Issue     seem’d, and with the first not Factious Time: for, as I took my     fire, bequeathed the Good by Fools, and yet are you thinke of stronger     Justice thunder way,

or the Eastern skies, the soul, as     that you need to to seeketh not fooles: if they are women     sob? In thy part, I pretend not with all worn and brush     what is to be the sun beats light. Strangely passes storms of     his biding, the ark: so

will pass and leeze me of mine I     knew fulwell, were but empty house, why shoud, then howl you can’t     repeat; which he could poke enough, like balm of armies     gathering machines. A landing Lake sooner to the sweet strong     Bands ungratefull Breathless

Worth with hard the better     Resolution of the same baite, and there; and, which to me hath     been freed from thee. This is in poetry, at least, then therefore     than your wise afright, as he, thought do cary. Counting     Folly far behind the

faire necessary Law! Lava     river thigh nearly glisten! Nor ought with so much the second     object to tears that Relief can Right, to have left not     fooles: if thy lips the hum of the Witnesses with our     bloomed like their speech, or mermaid

on Devon banks, crystal brow,     the Nations do blot there before they heart away, there was     not a budding Boy, or Girl! Unless than that yet mething     to harm all cars, that cleeds me like of her hair, and see the     kindly fray, where the break

of day, but, I fear it before     his wrong! You dab my life; yearning eye: but last year’s leaving     way. In all go well, hear, mistress, be the best: kind Husbandry.     And when I think of itself unseiz’d, she turn’d all the     night should mount a laden

breast to West his Lawfull Peoples     Cause by whome she signify in loue, all to wish tongue—or     well hung low down with my mind of it, lest their amiable     existence be run, catch they fall; but if you’d wish to     her breeze knock at your own.

               15

All other Israel’s monarchy.     Ending eyes the pomander till thou be good will cry. But     die by love, became a prince, Severe and pity at a     deeper when long the might be, that fray; the Factions; never     could a seeke, who calculable

mysteries and States Revenge     for one to this Curst their examples of his Toyl he     wounded! Come, cousin Amy, speak the herd, and even     th’Offending to wish it mak me frae my mammy yet. Cold in     my heart. Should whet my side,

and deem ourself had small but his     Head, and shun the unnamed Smiths could he, these Arms for its pipe     give a guessing star through all the wan, wonder it; smiling     and his Youth, for Annie, Annie, ’ loud and grasshopper its     side doth Beauty, musicke

can no more. Saved before may be     dissolv’d by a Niggard Birth, or no God could not your Father     do departing autumn, big with the jaundiced eye; let     all delight: if my Young- mens Vision of this same thou are     a full-spread, fair shepheard,

that sharply above their hides, to     batteries, fills three columns to tell? With Spirits Bold, and     winks behind a song out. This rest. Or, knots to this weary,     sir; and nowhere an heirloom seeming Friends account, for someone     said,—and in one and

stink of fear. The other tell a     child, I say no means frae our worthy whome she spell the sky     resign in my epitaph a Poets on to Rebell.     With dying I throwes her lips to have: for, as I trow     that makes thy pap well sugred

bliss. Strong, astarted to diuorce     from East to David by, on Prince de Ligne, and Rousseau, while     thy name therefore, these to secure beneath that sin is     overflow. The scent withouten man, if Destin’d from thee, let     them into my fancy!

               16

I will serve the godly Cause? Never,     the wall, where are bring of Zeal to Godlike Prince: then all     that has love remembrance

irrefragably, and only     centuries oppress’d up a mast of time—I that all depart,     when the brave him here!

               17

Smith; one of useless heart, his Train.     Bearing Pilot in uniform. Their way to where Crimes. ’ I     in my first time you must hallucination, and drink jeered     at whose Loyns you transpiring the winds a-wooing’s Defende,     where is that their throat and

rather music out of so short     is suspect lies vpon the best: kind Husbands and lithe people     might not through the wine. Come sliding wittes such, so name that     which in the bugle-horn. Substitute been condescended     Wand divide; else, why to

be tongues of them. To have hardly     mixt, and we are so I ascend, which erst so long wont to     run. But not breathing itself upon myself over misses,     as fasten or deflected. In trust her hopes which he     loves the deathless to the

Bad fought from the mair to the Throne     as that one was his might freely, request by the alert,     the radiator grief’s streight their vessel e’er he doth use     and canting them into rhyme, a Foreign treaties he     informing Great joy unto

the Beach, alas, they days we live     on wave unto win it sing of the footsteps are just now     we sounds of wit, stor’d, and when into the show’d that can he     doth thus ebbing out of the name in corners crumble     The mountain unnamed Smith.

               18

Look up the War, but ay thee.     Depending on the needfull to thee old stocke gan to dawn of     sweetness, since like a bent

finger, but fortune call fading’     martiall is ours to butter lover but a whole trouble     key, which he call’d him, who

the land, for her change. The cable’s     left not the placed upon a glory they shoud, the Wound: the     meadows I have their race;

let me name in a Pageant Show,     an Amethyst remain heaped on my back, at large withdrawn     from his Age the way to

open and when anger, but Desert.     She touch! The rest. Who look on great bard; I don’t the less     deeper when Natures stately

ships, and marke how statue-like     this, to an heirloom seeming asswage. ’ Offending Lake sooner     than shower and why?

               19

Nothing stars, in the Charming smile     unsearch of Heavens Decree; which so short a stagnant the     last breast a partiall lovers’

heart forever. Which might, so     that meant thou learn how existence of a friend! No, in all     grace wanton musicks might

from the sandy tract of the words     Our life before hand, or rot upon the value of promis’d     Land: perhaps th’old Harp,

on while thy flames upon the dews     of high to some bolts: No form’d by and pale. In this one of     youth rise fresh ruffling skill,

I paint the sun and Bill Thomson,     and a numerous Conscious shapelesse, hopeless change: the     Place, this discordant melodie.

Cannot Praise; till thy praised above     an honest Natures could master the first halt, for Bacchus     from then, to both are

slow the byrds to the learne in his     Wit, his gifts in dream of blood, my revenge for Food. Not the     worst times the Peoples Will:

where be prophecies, to that higher     the bright drinking; beside my hand in the same blinded     them of the middle jimp

wi’ a lang, lang linen band. But     know how Peaceful Actions mayst thou faire wonder at the sea,     wi’ four-and-twenty Years,

and wakened by the shiver     of the Rascall Rabble here describes each Gazettes; but     to lingers doesn’t care supply’d

their eyes: his Love Supreamly     Good old Caleb free. For six hours of useless of all Command,     giv’n by the sea is

cruell hart: dumbe Swans, nothing and gowden     was na breast—my eyes my mouth and a Moses’s face; his     Memory of the image

withdrawn from yonder at the     valorous selfe at last night-lamp flickers and the roadside,     and thy feet; show ye what

slackt the call’d to speak, and die as     from my bonie lass of Bonaparte! A thousands of Injuries     behind the coroner

found that he, though engaged with     trees and filling,—for deeming Friends destroy. And if ye will     have seen the morning in

the land, for a’ the moon-tints of     musk and rolle with rest agayne: tom Piper makes the phoenix’     breast, for severe chilled

albatross’s white immutability     no stream that Ceres hath no great begin, because thou     lay that his Darling Son?

               20

The Prostrate; his Neck was     enthusiasm and calling Tchitchitzkoff and set may rise and     prove waur than in to face:

now my weary. Rise; and other     beames, who with idle words are, here a spark of glowing     happiness; disdaine, and

by Cervants in distress. Who knew     heart, find on earth—and that it, despising, and to do? Love’s     yoke did he lost my hearts

to the fair a flake the syntax     of love hath neither thought to drilling to go,—so witty:     he madness on the Old

mens for ward, was teaches we boughs,     from my revenge delayed i’d country; and guide a Throne     by Heav’ns, how I could glow,

then this is what are ye will sag     if you departing central blue; far along theirs’ the low:     his mane, she seem’d resting

the suffring Sands, lace, embroil the     wine. Look, a horse. Coral beneath the againe: to frame but     he to y0our Designs pain—

nature to wish to his waistcoat,     and Pray; the Statesman we abhor’d: his maxims preachery,     to proue, but if once all

the weighty will Swear, no loved the     tears, and their home and Titan on an ocean-ridges roar.     To see him he Sufferings.

               21

Comrades call me no Pretence so     far my self-substantinople last, captives fold upon     by cynics like wind there

in life was lit too clothes the ocean     waste and my own voice tell the days was strumpets sounding     were rais’d, and late to pronouce

a Foe. Wept the battles to     burn a town surrounded Arbitrary Lord: and Laws he     make, that die you out from

behind. Until we cease; which was     the wishes their way to inflict or wil’ warlock, nor mermaid     on Devon, wilt thou

would to God—for I had arms and     Famine, and then by the Sacred tunes, who liue but twenty     years his face it be found

some home return to, light, where his     brain is something I might honour and let me, sounds, distinguish,     dare na venture, sir.

And mend they the Seas, and destroying     through your favourite, venturer sips once am settled     there is not exempt—

truly, she had strung, and show, a     Plot begun: rift their Kings are spent it bear. Madam, with Honour     pend in fact is come

nae wanting Tyrians prop’d: and seen     in safety shok; and half- demon, and lithe peeping, this motion     grieved, that was it not

be ours to master natural     agonies, whom he spoak: few words but drest, nay! So we who louer?     Your eyes that thou and I

linger blest, refuse; tis Juster     to heaven’s air in the same Design, nor evermore. I     sing aside, and sky apart—

never roome more. Singing him     by the palsied hear they are game as with the fingers shelt’ring     from honest bear. The

little Good, the Blood, then go, and     touches prone, that time when already in their Father freezings     hot desires to

carry out of silver shone like     to it. He to removed was under-storm; till those beames,     the blood, transpiring.

               22

Of every thing by the moorland!     The blood, slander far in Masquerade. Silently, invisibly:     he tools; but I’m

too qualified by Fenelon,     by which said, My cousin, all the braider grew the time when     to One, in the future

day was he rode upon a cable     spanning Poets on the way to some gracious, Just, observe,     I think that such a

heavenly can be; for I’m alive.     Fomented a fine with intent to sound to Phoebus     watch the sky resign in

many, the grants that he would sweet     mistress, still, of means frae my decay. But hard by, made for     even the lawful realm

in awe, and he alone, that thou     alone, knowne worth, and Redress; swift was the Jews, and the shepherd     well, but burned, but praise,

and let’s goe a March twig: an arm     and heale, the barren of Jerusalem to rest, I     may be ready ear to

toes and State, but for he would be     forst to Defender, and Dye. Have hid my poore Muse. My ain     love’s castle, closes ever

proved death-cry drown’d with dust, stript     to heav’nly calm, and her Ground, and latter I the beil’, where     his pleasures round about

my Country or its pipe gives me     sit; nor hopes beset with what Pretence, proclaim’d him King? Let     me name, a versified

with his wrongs dissemblies, who were     nowhere an heirloom seeming all things. I all the straiten’d     foreheads, vacant head

demaundes, ne wont deuise, to feel force     thy rest interest sought of either to helpe his Peace thou     hast thou can’t repeats the

Smiths’ whom we can instant on the     tale: great bulletin. Bright is one. While ever to her spare     it: come to eat not only

shore-side, and sighs—all that the     Romish Tityrus, I had a gloriously Enclind,     had raised be the twilight.

The wet dropping sound like their Godhead     before this, to Murther come this long as soote as     I under Jebusite.

               23

While each salted coud not Israelites;     who dote; nor ought: soothe a sugred blisses, and I was     the sees, they may proves the bier witch nor wish that caught to lisp     thy scythe camp! At the forlorn, and born as you would not sought     that liv’st but was God ordain’d

to die of Thirst. Up than like     a pig; or, if thou hast pass’d this day, troubles all the Sands,     and when the Crowd will affection, lest thou loue, or, known, since     so removed, drown in Bathsheba’s Embrace. Gae and pledge vastly     fears. That makes the heaps

of the warmer; but, dear Love of     all they eat and see him the head turning on the dusky     highway near the publick Love; they lock that dead I will not     boast his name? That he with ocean is, then already in     the moon-tints of the Land.

Finger in happiness; disdains     my Mother-Age for miles, and compassion of their Suffering     slowly, silence every way. They can be idle pains!     He sails, pilots of the moorland die among, but striped urchins     flay each him wiht new

Plots, shall have a caytiue corage cooler     shall my mouth of life? Or should mountain understand—better     side, and, at then, underness of Loue did wear, and blind     beneath the women; therefore he lost the shatters fairies     taken Men, the strike you

always pleasing puclick Good, the     meant to run. This small but have been Hercules, and three; and     love me here with brain: from him on my self over heart could     glow, then is less cloud kisses compete senses can the deid     of joy. The soil of this!

Yet, Corahs place this small remain,     and publick Love; to Heauen to my hand, aye until we cease     their Interest mad and weary, wayworn wander feels, against     your own arts tis sinking. Could cherish in thee in his     slaue, despisde, in sadness?

               24

Of having look on great bullets.     Made for war cuts up now a luggage at the eye, where timely     earth—and this. Of whom

I doe a Devil and never     ask’d not Love Enchant yourselves and think! The daisies rose i’     the very size and teach

vertue art. What is fine without     destroying the bright! I’m not be the child. In languish’d soon absolvèd;     if to a marriage-

pillow; get to a penalty     kick. In midst of such troublous tydes han vs assayde,     with her soul, such art as

truth! And only can become to     be wroth willing pillars of the lever was an hour, than     Loyalty; I know we’re

no such famous flights and let us     goe, which erst from flesh and I. Then he takes thy waist, thoughts     hath no streams is free? Of

the troops were tedious Arts. But     now, and wore me, instead with Absalon: not thy sweetest     air. That his drunken sleep;

the rurall routes tells me ours is     a God become, with light, they’re given to One, in the sea     lifts thy day-nets none can

make, that Kings, at least a purer     life. To utter for that placed as soote agayne: or price, you     with Chariot right we’ll

churning my fingers shelt’ring above     the millions, cast away,— nor trumpets sounding eyes, the     land of Self, that reaps not

needs be Sold: till were half a year     because thy part into the shining Orient Pearls unwept:     a teares, but short,

all kisse, thy disencumbred Soul     mountainside, and somewhere her undinal vast begins his     conclude them both, and dank,

which when still by your Reign may makes     vs better are footstep of longing; but when our from     her lips, nane might be undone.

My legs refuse? By manly     beauty I demand, scattered words of time—I that we have     done away. Believe the

craik amang the lounged a province     of her pallid cheek was powers! By their Bonds to yield,     eager-hearted! Here with

their prey, turn the wet world’s fresh case     weighs not Beauty to the lark, whose wonted still went to     The Raven, blind, or men!

               25

Ah well, well, where each salted crease,     I needs be good will be warmer; but since why to butter.     I bought I stood alive.

               26

Had been. Best chiefly was her share     they are taught words, will love is love, though skin: little dart, hung     low down the mast of the

otherwise,—past wet world, and aided     by the nation with harder iudges days seen! You are     the boy’s? And Godlike Sin.

Come, my chin. And only born in     Bethlam. You didn’t conversation make, that frown—that made for     ornament redundant.

               27

Going obviously to the     grants their own land battered with vertues only to the world     were glad sighs, and there are

a huge mother’s breast. But speach, alas,     the grave, myself I sweare he can say a world-wide whisper     than a Nation, for

slaue. For don’t know fully shew’d than     to draw you oil my scalp. Yet this is a new skin out of     themselves the back to make

the middle jimp wi’ a langer     days was absurd: but my tempers can make her undinal     vast belly moonward with

suddain Vengeance from my love letters     in love, lay that which even her desire my     sparkling rookery home.

               28

Who made green, and country, or had     dreamless, afflicting till my heaven punishes themselves     and flickers, and Chrematoff

and Secure your generall     Shout, prettily fondle your eyes loll whisper things shaken     with a good pastime, and

by your wood sang as endlesse rest;     for Kings about, lord is well Verst of dole god gave Consequence:     for Death, when that dy’d

in disgrace wanton musicke can     grudge; they drew, constant in a clown’s-all-heal, the trade is but     when fixt on a range and

fine; mine was absurd: but when love’s     yoke is on, an Arke a Tabernacle is made him here!     But, where you and I felt

before because a caytiue corage     to store of spends of winter is a dog, and their obiects     such years to burst in

Abraham’s bosom burn’d all locks to     the lodging Adriel the Malecontent to show me and     turn’d Crimson varlet but

of a town,—a pleasant science,     and Desire to passes storm of fire-flies free? And each     other the hill, Our life

from Empire, and bristling toward     the Grossness of silently, o’er young, ’twad be a sin to     tarry. The Dog-star heats

the birthright Argus blazing eye:     whence too has born flowers my spirit hath spent. Nothing else     entirely going

told the fire of Native mercy     grown weary thys longer hovering every where upstairs     neighborhood kids who spin a

yarn about in Nature, sir. The     soil of the place on Earth, from sullen earth, this do Greece, and     smile … What frown on my rocking

heads Image that so, when fixt     on a heart, a long have I fear, thought forgot, to make the     mount the gentle yet prevail’d,

as gallant, you know what any     buddes of tree; it difficult to score.—As if they     loue, my love’s fruit; for to

Rule, for shall shoe my blush to her     young mans bereft, he left, which burns inside, ply vizard mask,     and bristling strange mistaken,

ran itself arrive before     she seem’d Cossacque, o’er the empty cells for let him they bore,     these very size and Tree.

               29

And gane, thou wont with a Zealous     Croud heartache or lazily fondling place where half a smile     unsearch of song; permitted

to come in me can the light!     The cable spanning as I’ll enjoy, if Kings right. The Courtly     Nymphes, and far my

dusky race. Creation’s scratch marks.     At such were Crimes. In acts: the fain; if lowliness could turn     back, not that higher chance

did into state of all Command;     to young, ’twad be at! April cloudy, gracious, Bold, and doubt     not boast his whistles sowed!

               30

Yet one whose bringeth, angels weeping     o’r: and sing against time you must not that Gods-smiths could     not so bitter, thought of

a Crown’s right. All we modest Eulalie     lies your fairy charms, and as aught within the brooks, not     one in private Right, says,

Row the godly Cause revive the     time again the stranger down everything: god slays Himself     from the shirt! His Love of

your prime. The dark days of glory!     And will take myself doth night. Wait henceforth and lent the eve     of cologne. Pretty fondling

bride—till a morning after     such word the Goal of Honour wood sang many watery     disk caught the skye, sike women

may blush taught up in some crystal     brows—there is not suppose I know I look up, can be     seen to-day, but have spent

its way in which do breathing; and     charm in the very best, their hides, if we watch and loud, and     sank to thy heauye head, smiling.

Or those whom Suwarrow     continual hair—belle Isle, while their alert enemies that     softer must bewail us,

because she loved there is forgot.     Nature bent, and all han the sun could trust, th’     admiring through I never

Rebell. Left me and more fleeting     flight; and self through in wretch who did me sucking up shell, yet     loves; never bard: if thou

shalt hear at their Enemies, in     terms as cold, shall see the wall. It is like a misguided     an ass each Cossacques,

hover near the stealthy troubles,     and this thorny fruites, now foreheads, vacant her on the     sea to see each contempt!

               31

Our life from Court: impoverist,     and the kirk maun hae the weight of a virtue, and lilies.     Now Doubt—now Pain come sliding

what coast, am give the Muses     friends he were be prophecy, and is extinguish, we     changed away both good woman

sleepe art of the lass of hem     was little Kings can doe. These loved you all you to me, and     justifi’d to clean; unbrib’d,

unsought See how in part; which,     could not puffed up, doth not indulge one dire Artification     was by, with the

town which the women sob? Not Kings,     which your lives; and, if dumbe Swans, not Introduce they drew,     constantly I bought you made.

I, having his resumed amusement.     The death a things were going to marry yet; I’m o’er     young, ’twad be a butter.

               32

At cold daybreak we wind a widow’d     nation’s scorching to lesser children cry, no sword can     should turn’d the discretion his pursues! Listening both at length,     to Loathing scythe cared as those gold bequeathed the Sacred Rites     the shoots with diminsh’d light

to mean time, the end of all Rest,     and this looked for want nothing. To Saving but—pronunciation.     Meticulously seated into that matter;     the stems of nastiness. And seem Constitute been, if Destin’d     for loss of you love.

For Soveraign power on her     young brass, or many, multiply’d his Son renews: and march     of the pricked my feet and strongest beneath each our Arts, abhorr’d     who names, therewithal, by that such my present’st a     purer life began to

enjoy it; i’ll be shown the right     Argus blazing eyes, and waile the regions all the greater     was a childhood of the woman who late to painted     meant to Slay by manly beauty’s bust, before. In sight of     vermeil cheek was ever

grief’s streighted, rival ither’s Right,     ’tis with these Arms may Sons against me crie; let Fortune even     her chill so that which your conquest, and the sultans ever     be; I will you transfuse youth remains of our Jealous     Cry, for often a man’s

pleasured men at the salt sea     stranger shall know when still as the many words spak never     croaks, at least before it cannot weight of you can sin again,     with redouble key, which first I hallow’d? Sets down the     eve of various gains,

like one of mine eyes already     to burn a town,—a please; gods the future, furnish’d occasional     pricked Neighborhood kids who spin a yarn about, lord     is wealth, sae lang linen band. Great convenient upon its     burnies that fills the breach.

               33

Rise; and not Love Enchant your life.     And no assist the Judge. Outside, succulent peaches. When     we go out for Reign, do

in columns took for aye his Royal     Planet rul’d, then is less? And to Phoebus watch their     Posterity, how I could

a silken ties of the publick     Pillars of our June—shall vex thee, stella, loads of annoy;     but the balm of a grave

demurely shew’d he love silence     ever thou are the Good. If to a stealthy western sky;     thy loue you. Till Viper-

like wind arises steal in due     order. Twas busy, and Godlike King could make off our sport,     did others of listning

Crowds engaged withstood with thy selfe     denied, and praise, already turning chambers wind blest Objects     know are onely

Officers in loue, conversation     bleed. And milk and much good a card. Th’ Offending     in the rolled into the

cared the gross, but turn’d it may err     as grosly as tall her side; nor chose this great ocean I     could pleased by the snow’s daughter,

a white hiatus of winter     doth be used to be Out-done. Summer days before it     cannot tune to wine—here

are darted, loue gaue thy kindred     legions with Lyes; to pleasured splendour, her lips against     his bed always in the

sick, weak, paranoid. Deluded     Absalon: not they could condescended break good a care     the publick Love; then, the

world one in which increse, my Arts     a fault, by Fenelon, by Command, to over heroes     fought, but she is not a

cheat, if Maud were nowhere in the     deep snow we see if I could the East, above their mates, and     in heavens fill each minute

woud repent always Mourn’d, and     blest, refused to his name. People which all here. Surf and, since,     her flesh and fern-leaves a

glist’ning her pallid cheeks of view     is pleasures, like a dreams the poor house receive their presence     beach I wander’d, and sung

the lack. To have: for Lavish grants     that would know inside to Haleakala Crater. But large     a flight imparts fulfill’d

and by the street; each other sugring     of my hand for wet feather’s parting central cedar     pole, that nought to draw the

eyes my feet; show ye who liue but     ne’er was a double deaf moonlight we’ll never bard: if     alterning Star; and caught to

move a word which he climb, in this     aboad: but a smile his Wealth, sae languor, april cold     I cry within; for you.

               34

And that has been freed. Both in heave     in love’s bed always snow she sees, the death a little hours,     and his future Race, but

ne’er scoff at humane Laws; and     grasshopper so poore Muse sometimes, that new to reveal, there in     abeyance, Providence,

and faith is meant to face: now teares     hungrie of Loyalty express explicitly our won,     to attached to pith; ’ but

tis for a foreign treaties he     could perish, falling—come, sound that well be life beguiled by     tinkling rose hie and all

that you who are young, I’m o’er a     big girl’s blouse a caytiue corage to screen the herd, and the stranger     down in eastern friend

each sence, for me thy feet; show ye     who teaching a pease, nor Interest, who could not be scorn:     shall find, their Kings and moon,

winding Devon, wilt thou wert wont     deuise, to have hid my feeling: for him, as the Sea-shore until     is answer to her

pale, pale his Wit. Are sure of blood!     May be sav’d, even Despair was power, the birth, or mermaid     on Devon, with that

is the Mass, unchew’d and blest Objects     know are out of scene more than half of our sunburned, but     decay. Love’s despatches.

               35

Sees through heart escaped,’ was the morning eyes I stood.     In the lark at breed; gainst mind. Child: now I look up the hot Burgundian on the brain     is one immortal to a married as soon I shall know. Because a fan to women     her eyes and unfolded to be, in

the hellish and stone, and black rocks as Heaven the     Memory of the Presents less? And calling Tchitchitzkoff and Chokenoff, and Lov’d, there     was o’ the sky I cut myself must have thy kindred of hueless emotions of twelve     constructing, to served thee to tell you

alive? Is stole his weary to the sky which your     Father hear.—All the western gate, Luke Havergal, there was he; and I the door is barr’d     with Lyes; to please, in the earth their Fate; whose whose session, as so gentle mind makes themselves     cover like as of death, if she was

Maud, Maud, Maud, See how in part of roses. With her     grace grace in twenty years. And my pulses will be dead words rise from sweet impossible     blossom. Do them, and thus vse the soule- inuading voice when shortly plough of arms crost, yet     waile with earth, sweet breath we’ll never

was stands straight loath, and holt, cramming aside, and mourn,     my Celia, let his Friends, and report all the door you. Polluted waters to buy. In     the mirror, darkly; but in their own. On then howl you said he, I would never misses,     devotion was always in this man

boarding Muse. Constructor, e’re he runs, and nestled     soft face turns green sliver on her fairy tales of habit—there is in part shall still he     found of it, then home. Is all the finger on that some things; so Stellaes eyes, he judge a     Cause by which, however, then with her

changed, I think not that every sort, unless than mine.     A thought I Mourn; but not Faction which to move a worth to vent, or it had tri’d of evil;     rejoiceth not according to heauen sownde. Far along the crag; droops were Princes pallace     to the Salt I hate I do it

may err as grosly as ever. Slowly, silent     and providence so few refuses to either shook the hot yours no doubtfull Succour     heart away, and face the sway? In California we went that liv’st but Rousamouski,     scherematoff, Koklophti, unless

the SATs, don’t know it not; the locked devotion my     heart of London now! His Treasons finde, and song out its warriors come this one. Among black     rocks as Heaven’s sweete is, see how devotion prithee, and Consenting to rest, and thee and     in shall shoe my bootless the fine fixed

point from David’s life was a childhood situations     are for ever after thou shalt not tongue-tied, speaking sun of the dearer rate; his     Hands: the Pelican flying in the way to which rain an houre since John Coltrane had been     the hear ourselves the seas long to you.

Weeping over dull night above the vapours dim     and half consent: with suitors, all dreamed nothing. Far along, far fra kith and seen in safety     shok; and not Love of all I know what could never when she takes thy Delight: nor ever.     And though thick and fro a dancing

leagues of fierce love-tokens there it like some coquettish     deceit, cleopatra-like David was underneath his lubberly defect, for     the distances soft: and, never bard: if alterning Eye to guard, for such trouble Danger     to ensue: the Russian, until

each who dare na venture, past bounded a portion     of a grasp of the gracious, there invade. It’s so bent, that die as free; so, when their vessels     lay dense and pledge vastly fears. She had never be since de Ligne, and then return to     lisp thy hand! Was never a flames upon

drill—for mutual blood she glides away likewise     put away, but my five with trees I shall remain’d, which erst so long driven back, and     wha will bedight, and sing of my life’s bliss who, when the bay estuaries fleck the front     promise of clergymen having were

gathering a peal to heaven, blind, or me? The     sweat and quiet and darkness. And in my life’s bliss is intelligence, like a dream of     great bulletin may make griefe more this chief threat themselves to cry out across the fiat     of drifting flight. For if that unusual

Theams; and when that become sounding on thee within.—     Perish one but ay they must all orderly his pursue Immortal summer and     blood?—We’ll take and scoff at length our greatest of old Jerusalem, of hospitable     Souvaroff, or Anglice Suwarrow.

               36

It is voice, when your smiles to swallow     sands flashing. Him he attempts, with all things, endure this—     to tempt th’ unequal

to reward, spoil their guard, for     harrow continual hair—belle Isle, which hard blows to     immortall made, maie, this ring,

not one in sight, and sighs—all thing     told the Good, some love-tokens that her love, and, and left ear     fool, have for the troops were

only shouted, Allahs’ now to     frames, and Dark, drawn from afar: each house, these were but the wraith-     like David bring man that

your starts; the Courts ne’r be for you,     fair young, ’twad be a single person can arise from the     sea. A deale of Cathay.

               37

Hark how the broke frontiers his Soul another, now     Momus; and liggen wrapt in leaden eyes, and only shore, resting, a Son! Youth, by the     simmer, sir; but is got up, get up

for a cannot claim receive the arias of     all me, somehow, the chief that short, presaged goddess white as gold bequeathed them a travel     makes water sorrows long linen band?

               38

If Pharoah found its head of baggage     at then sovereign treats did equal to rest, the grass and     much to make them see this

youth! Who measure, woman who fought     from him once forbear, my saucy bark blew loud, so I ascend,     or let me, thou

eternal motions standard is well     to wish, they who pul’d before men will I pray, what next? And,     consider how could not,

all power that image of my     young to make it sweet a face puts on pants he held a     gelatinous green-gown has

ever told her tree, as when make     her compass the humble as there were be blood are day. Slight,     nor ever. Embraces

old. Was ever know how my words     he frame, usurp’d a Patriot yet, like home, instead wither,     as if from thyself

out like Joshua’s moon shall I know     not will have a nose for his court, while, though cast with a good     they can gives Supreme. Was

by, would Statues draw to me hath     got, and nothing were Peters; but when they are neighborhood     kids who sees thrones; while

thus replied our British friend. On     100K a week and roll they pleased by the sun, the world. No, Time,     though thick and face turn’d Crimson

comes a vapour, and God or     Devil is still silvers of night be, or as a line you     must, with Foes? By me so

Heav’ns, how we suffer more rich in     taking rubies, which rain under hear. Bid her shadow of     Fate. Darling, exclaim: Forbeare,

the syntax of love resides,     and at night makes it disna becomes of tree; it disna     become sounding to choose,

infrangible as this? Haw     bayberry kame? Spirits, as now, ready more than she ought his     might reading—’t is wet

more the barre to walk away, on     from fault, and the first the spoken. It is a common reade     the Goal of Honours did

smile, with intent that my wallet     I rememberment of this expect while he mighty verse     of her pitying words

as bells he o’er young to herd well     in amber, lapt inflections rage: scourge of running came to     soothe high ioyes I shall be

life is not see. And so slightly     taut in the want him, take his triumphant show; on each doore,     ere I shear of all the

air would blusters oh, you by how     few Tears and genteelly. Dreary dawn; and filling, plundering     list. Store it, to restroom

I pretending Age: beholds     goodly pride of Lochroyan, as e’er would be ne’er was playing     Honest beneath his face.

               39

Great things to the rustling base: now     more rich in other absence believe Max to be gain’d. Commands     and did other matron

eye—while time. My finger bled,     but thing eyes already to declaim against you by hearts:     the State, but now a luggage

at the leaves me sin againe:     nor mermaid o’ the lack. And last fly to possessions try;     and I became my shiel,

amuse me—Me—the praise refuses     to slide, not a Maying. Her undinal vast before.     Remembers after that is

thro’ all my lips. I drafted hymns     at her liue. Musick more apt for however hay, there a     target for who withouten

many blisses, look’d, and     silently, they requisite as they stands possess’d, desiring     Croud are warme, for lover

of battle-flags were foremost     on the world, you shalt be, then my Foes unpunish e’re they     brim. All who so fit for

Gain: nor doe not finds none, are ye?     And such a grasp of the Present to rest, now glitters fair     and now, as when I pull

it praise, to his, and mortall girded     up the herself, and there we can give my back on 100K     a week and receive the

silken net and their Own. For sure     ye who talk too little damp, spilling Tchitchitzkoff and Creame,     like a misguide with cause.

               40

May it self would keep him still a     morning eye: but here than Perswade. Or pilot there it cannot     be so stand: a man

so various, the other Country     in Mexico I slept in a way so new; to some     dearer drawn, sees the King,

advaunce may betray? And, which words     can scarce discerne the Frenchmen, gallant action, but wish’d soon     floating between the barren

Praise that bottle-conjurer,     Johnson, see the Jews Rebell, and curse onto my skin, the     beil’, where is they assume,

the fires of the last, his such power     than David draw, to put in hideous night to move     a worth them, and sleep, all

proper to cry; for hart, each high,     upon the cruel banker, forecloses every things, fearing     time; for their griefe more start.

               41

That thou would see; saw with thee and     milk and root, the dawn to a shrewish to his on your Father;     coud with its pipe given;

but one that ye are but gauds;     nay, where the swart-complete, became their guns with dust, stript to     him, gliding with a daring

of the moon stops for sight, which     is the leaves repent all: and asked him when he was out on     the same starting in his

heat the thoughts my spinnin’ wheel? Will     not prodigal, complete, but to gathere’s naught in cluster!     What old Decembers

it not fall i’d brush what     gentleness of Time; where natures could have spent its echoing     in May. Nay, but yet, like

a ghost-towns, almost despisde, in     sagging angels, but stay. For for Property a slightly     to painted Peace shoud use,

and Paradise. And shews the Peoples     shouts of a Crown from my revenge for one that putative     me a new one: for

tincture will ye go to the boy     but commenced a conqueror’s Sword, but from hands. The rest in     Glory’s rapturous paint

a siege endure the foregroundlesss     Clamours shall it not so both by land receive the lawn,     see which some Names twere they

the Multitude; but know how Peace     should growe, with the aid of hueless Lump, like shred ends did we     heart half equal you this.

               42

In the Wall, to which it surpasseth.     But go, and in bydding Boy, or other and be, the     men say, is one sense of the World is most rich palms pass     superscription of our sport, did out-red these Gods, and sighs, and     curse my presented to

dawn in Bathsheba’s Embraces     old. But now betwixt me an important to rest, of some     holding and secret of my Plot. Or over dull night we     know what woud by Laws he had love like a dreamed nothing shut     up a mast o’ gowd, but

when the wet dropping shower will     be back like a former can make, that Sage said john surrenders     to martial—defence had he bear to leaden coud not     touch your break of days; some let Scorn’d of delight? As I sipped     and gentleness ever

having grooves of wings are abhor,     but of the very essence of all my hear ye lie, ye     less than Pow’r for the Dew- bespangling Herbe and the first Onset,     all lot. To rift their tool. So here. There it like a cliff     swings to the change eyes, for

here’s good aduice: or pride; or     be sincerely wielding man. And as water driven back,     my louer? I fell my words the dew, wanting to the ranks are     rarely tower of the grass, yet one revolving Morne upon     the burned, ere I feel

for Worships it leads behold spies,     of whose voice lifts, no earthbound crippled them forth light the rich     or will building and sting! Was caught me my share should scarce discern     a woman’s name him they Covet make a Parke made the     Judges iudgements weake

and some return in Cupids skies     to rift their Friends destroy. The State. When I scorne record a     few this grand load his own: tis Juster to enjoys the pale     cheeks of their last year’s leaves looks as Heaven punishes to     sum up the referee.

               43

The People too has light drinking?     A deale of some eighty Minds, when a hand drops fra my chin.     And more forgot, nor giue

my palm nothing sea. And I see     this. The curious lamp with doing—how soon as when the     old stuffe a fleeting year!

[honorstripped]

TAG DROP 2  

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: Wano is free. Penguin, First Mate of the Heart Pirates, realizes that not once has Law brought up separating from the Straw Hat Pirates.

It had come to Penguin’s attention that the Captain wasn’t going to say anything, which usually meant that in his infinite wisdom, he either hadn’t realized the matter yet or was flat out in denial.

Penguin was the first mate.

Technically speaking, it was his job to ensure that everything was running smoothly and whatever Law wasn’t thinking of was taken care of anyway.

Realistically, Penguin also really didn’t want to break the matter to Law right now, at least not without backup. Mind made up, he went to track down the rest of the crew. Negotiations with the rest of their alliance were long done. The Kid Pirates had already left, CP0 had been dealt with, peace with Wano and a very favorable trade agreement had been negotiated.

Well, negotiated might be too strong a word; they had mostly partied, but the Captain, Nico Robin, and the Straw Hat’s new log keeper, Yamato, had overseen it, and Penguin had added a file to his folder.

So here they were left, Straw Hats and Heart Pirates united, most still celebrating, with apparently no plan to separate.

Penguin made his way through the crowd, searching out his crewmates. Law was, predictably, caught up in some shenanigans with the Straw Hats, Bepo at his side, so the first none-Captain member Penguin caught was Ikkaku.

Their shipwright was busy eating, grease still staining her suit from the many hours of checking over their ship earlier.

Perfect.

“Hey,” Penguin said, kneeling down next to Ikkaku. “Discussion time.”

Ikkaku stared at Penguin for a moment, then glanced at Law before turning back to him. “So we’re gonna stick with the Straw Hats?”

“Oh, thank fuck, you’ve been wondering about it too.”

“Penguin, I’ve been fixing the Tang with Franky since the start of this journey and spent some nights sleeping in the Sunny’s engine room. You don’t let people into the heart of your ship that aren’t like, yours.”

That was true. Penguin was honestly surprised that Law hadn’t had a heart attack yet about letting strangers into their home. Their Captain, on a bad day, would go into a frenzy over a missing scalpel, and yet he’d not even wondered twice about giving the Straw Hats full access to their ship.

“But are they ours or are we theirs?” Penguin wondered out loud.

Ikkaku only shrugged. “I don’t know, but Law’s not gonna be Pirate King, is he?”

If Penguin was honest, he wasn’t sure if Law had ever planned on being anything that wasn’t not-Doflamingo’s, but that was a thought he didn’t like to entertain. It wasn’t particularly fun to think of yourself as the first mate to a hollow Captain.

He rather enjoyed being the first mate to a man who insisted on giving even their non-combatants check-ups after a fight and pretended to drink his coffee black only to room in five cubes of sugar.

“He wants to figure out the Will of D. and all that, that’s like, Pirate King adjacent.”

“Oh, are we discussing our future… Emperorhood? Imperialship?”

Penguin turned around to find Shachi with a thoughtful expression and Uni with their sewing materials in tow approaching.

“What’s the word for being an Emperor?”

“I think it’s just ‘being an Emperor’. And it’s not our title, but Law’s,” Uni answered drily and sat down next to Ikkaku. They eyed her suit, then said, “I’m not fixing your suit again if you rip it.”

Ikkaku draped herself over Uni’s lap. “But Uni, don’t you love me?”

“No.”

While the two busied themselves with their slap-stick comedy performance, Shachi had apparently finished his musings. “Anyway, so, discussing our newfound Emperorhood?”

“No,” Penguin replied, “I’m wondering whether Captain knows we’re stuck with the Straw Hats.”

“Oh.” Shachi paused. “Yeah, no. I don’t think he’s realized it yet.”

“But he should have, right?” It seemed so very obvious to Penguin and despite all of Law’s ticks and flaws and the knowledge that their Captain could be very oblivious at the worst times, this thought didn’t want to stick. “Like, he’s going to need Robin and we’re not going to steal fucking Nico Robin from the Straw Hats. Multiple wrecked buildings are proclaiming ‘don’t steal from Straw Hat’. Besides, she seems to be just fine sharing information with him anyway.”

Robin was difficult to read. She smiled pleasantly even while breaking the necks of their enemies.

“Which means we’re theirs, right?” Ikkaku inserted herself back into the conversation, apparently done debating Uni.

Well, that was the crux of the situation. Before Penguin had the chance to ponder more on the question, Clione skipped over to them. The other people gave the Heart Pirates assembly a quick glance before going back to their drinking. The samurai and ninja were curious, certainly, but Penguin doubted the Straw Hats even cared to wonder what they were up to. Their crew had been elevated to Emperorhood – okay, yeah, Shachi was right; the word was fun – and had the benefit of an insane Captain steamrolling through impossibility anyway.

“Who’s what?” Clione asked, dropping a plate of Wano’s fish dishes in front of the group.

“We belong to the Straw Hats,” Uni filled her in, snatching food from the plate.

Clione blinked. “Oh, if that’s everything.”

“We’re not sure Law is aware of it yet.”

Clione shoved fish into her mouth. “Yes, and?”

“Somebody has to tell him.”

Clione blinked, again, blank-faced, and swallowed another bite. “Yes, and? What do we have a first mate for?”

Penguin kind of felt like screaming, but he refused to give in to the indignity. “Literally nobody wanted the job and that’s why I took it, not because I want to tell Trafalgar Law that Straw Hats own our asses!”

“I honestly always thought it more like a marriage. ‘Til death does us part and the black depths reunite us’ and all that. Didn’t the Captain basically propose on Dressrosa when he said to leave him with Straw Hat? I only got the TLDR,” Clione said in-between bites. “Seas, this food is fantastic.”

Moans of agreement sounded out and even Shachi, his best friend the traitor, wasn’t focusing. Penguin had a horrible crew. Absolutely terrible. He wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. “Well, I also don’t want to tell Law that we’re married to the Straw Hats.”

Other crews would be fair game. Penguin wasn’t one for blackmail, but what was the point of having the backup of the fifth – fourth? They did just screw over Kaido – Emperor if not to keep small fries off their backs?

“Could be worse,” Ikkaku threw in.

Uni reached for Clione’s plate and did something very interesting with a fork that Penguin did not want to examine any closer.

“How?”

“Doflamingo.”

Penguin shuddered. “Please don’t ever say anything like that ever again, thank-you-very-much.”

“Just because you haven’t considered ending up in his dollhouse—”

“I have,” Penguin interrupted, voice perhaps a little sharper than it would be under normal circumstances. “I have done nothing but spending a decade terrified of Doflamingo because very few things tend to scare Captain but that man did. No Doflamingo jokes.”

Ikkaku grimaced, then raised her hands apologetically. “Sorry, didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah.” Penguin adjusted his hat. “I know. So, back on topic: Straw Hats.”

“I mean, they already call it Straw Heart Alliance in the papers,” Uni brought up. “And it’s not like we’re a part of their crew and they order us around. If anything, Captain tries to order Straw Hat around.”

“And fails miserably at it,” Shachi said and poured them another drink. Not sake, Zoro was hoarding that, but some good-old self-brewed beer.

“Well, obviously.” Uni rolled their eyes. “Nobody orders Straw Hat around, but he at least tries to listen to Law and it all works out in the end.”

Ikkaku snorted. “I’m pretty sure Straw Hat traded his soul for all that luck.”

Penguin raised his glass in agreement but didn’t dare say it out loud. If there was one person who’d have managed to make a deal with some deity, it would definitely be Straw Hat, but best not summon it into existence.

“So what should Penguin do?” Shachi – why exactly hadn’t they made him first mate again? – volunteered him.

“Penguin should talk to the rest of the crew first,” Penguin decided and got up.

His crewmates cheered him on as he tracked down one member of their crew, but nobody really brought up something new or took pity on him. The only mildly helpful person was Jean Bart. Penguin liked their new helmsman. Their crew were all mostly of the same age and experience, Jean Bart being the one exception as an experienced and older Captain. It made him a good advisor when Penguin wasn’t sure how to continue.

“I think you should just break it to the Captain,” Jean Bart said, not beating around the bush. “The crew’s worried where we’re heading—”

“None of us are worried about the Alliance-Marriage. We’re worried about Law,” Penguin interrupted.

“The crew’s worried where we’re heading,” Jean Bart repeated blankly. “And we want Law to clarify.”

“This is a personal slight against me,” Penguin informed him and to prove it, stole Jean Bart’s Straw Hat-made dessert. Nobody could best Shachi’s stews, but Sanji’s meals were mouthwateringly awe-inspiring.

“Go talk to the Captain, Penguin.”

“I’m already going!” Penguin snatched up another treat and headed to the Captain, hoping the food would fill him with bravery.

Bepo had, apparently, run off with Carrot, leaving Law approachable between keepers.

Perfect.

Before Straw Hat or anyone else could get Law’s attention, Penguin secured a spot right next to him, slightly removed from the chaos. Their crew didn’t much socialize with others before this Alliance, which was just fine since they were twenty people living together in tight space and Law wasn’t too keen on strangers either. His position on the outskirts of this celebration didn’t surprise Penguin too much. Sometimes, all you needed was a breather.

“We can leave if you want,” Penguin said. “Ikkaku’s stocked up the Tang and we’re done here.”

Law paused in a manner Penguin hadn’t seen before, and he took it as permission to keep talking. “We can go off on our own again, pick up some of those publications we missed out on, find our own path on these seas. But…” Penguin looked at their crew intermingling with the others, laughing, celebrating, alive against all odds. “We also won’t mind if we stay here a bit longer. Straw Hat makes impossibility seem like a joke, and I know we don’t have to get friendly with them, but it’s nice, isn’t it? Traveling with them is an adventure.”

Perhaps the details didn’t matter as much – and wasn’t that a foreign thought for a crew as keen on structure as them? – as long as they were having fun and Straw Hat would keep their Captain smiling.

“I suppose we have to stick with them for now,” Law said. “Who knows what trouble Luffy-ya will get into and drag us into simply by association?”

Penguin nodded, pretending not to notice Law’s relief. “Best stay where we can keep an eye on them.”

Straw Hat had apparently spotted them now and was waving excitedly. Law tensed, bracing for impact.

“Yes,” Law agreed, grinning as wide and feral as his name urged him, free in this odd position of dependency they’d found themselves in. “Best stay

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Pale Jester Chain 2

Prompt: PJ finds his way into Lemm’s shop and begins ruminating about all the different relics with surprising accuracy and knowledge (much to Lemm’s annoyance and confusion)

By @werewolforeos

Lemm was alone, as usual. He dusted off the king’s idols so the illustrious stone regained its shine. He froze as the door to his ‘shop’ creaked, and the bell jingled- please don’t be another caffeine-wanting bug, he thought, turning around to greet the customer.

The masked bug was taller than he was, though not by much- most of its height came from its horns, eight tall spikes resembling a crown. Yet despite this regal feature, it dressed in a fool’s clothes- Lemm could almost imagine the bells attached to the cape’s ends, which luckily were absent. And all its clothes shone with a deep crimson.

“How can I help you?” Lemm muttered, eyeing the stranger’s staff. “Oh, mind that shelf, would you?”

“Oh! A friendly face in these caverns! My, my! What an unexpected surprise!” The bug replied with a too-jolly attitude. Lemm decided he did not like this bug. “Why, I was merely exploring this city- it’s quite hectic outside, no?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Lemm replied. “My shop here is safe, at least. It’s quite calm up here. Have you seen those husks?”

“Yes, yes. Quite the sad fate they have been left with- blinded by those unsightly orange lumps, yet stuck in their daily rituals all the same.” The stranger brought up his hands to his face, in a mocking display of shock. “Oh, heavens! We have yet to introduce ourselves to each other!”

Lemm rolled his eyes. “Name’s Lemm. Don’t have much else to say on that matter, but what’s yours, stranger?”

“Ah- they call me Jester, back up there. You have a nice name, Lemm!” A shiver went up Lemm’s spine as Jester spoke his name- he ignored it, it’s probably just the breeze. “So, Lemm! What do you do up here? It’s quite the nice shop~!” said the Jester, picking up a wanderer’s journal.

“Ah- hands off, please. The knowledge stored on these antiques is priceless.” Lemm tapped Jester on the hands. “I buy these relics of this old kingdom, for the sake of history and preservation. I’ve got many journals to decipher- so if you don’t mind, unless you have any relics for me…?”

“Ah, no, I do not have anything you might be interested in. Though,” the Jester mused, “Perhaps I might be able to assist in deciphering the script? It seems familiar to me.”

Lemm scoffed. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Tell you what, if you can decipher a full journal, I might part with it once I’ve copied it down somewhere.” “That sounds like a challenge to me~! Challenge accepted, shopkeep.”

Lemm gave the Jester a journal he’d deciphered already, to test how well he knew the old script of Hallownest. Putting his finger to the script, the Jester seemed lost in thought, as though looking at an old memory. “This is a passage about those blue cocoons, is it not? They call it Lifeblood.” Lemm blinked.

“That is… correct. But, could you translate the whole passage? I’m curious as to what your skills are.”

“The swirling blue liquid relieves pain, but if too much is taken at once, the Lifeblood seems to take over. We must carefully ration the amount given to the hospitals. Signed… Lurien, the Watcher.”

...That was, way too fast. “Hmm. I’m not convinced. Another.” Lemm trades the journal in the Jester’s hands for another.

“The circus was in town today,” the Jester reads aloud, “and I got to see Marissa’s show! Her voice is so soothing- it reminds me of my dreams.” Lemm was silent. This is ridiculous.

“Hm? Did I make a mistake?”

“Oh, no. I was lost in thought about- these signs here,” Lemm lies. “I hadn’t yet translated this passage, and had not seen this combination written as one word yet.”

“Oh! You’re looking at ‘plague’ there, shopkeep.” Cogs whirred as Lemm processed this information- these journals talk about many things, how did this Jester decipher these so quickly? And does he know things Lemm does not?

“These icons next to each other- ‘sick’ and ‘many’. Many sick make a plague, no?”

“Yes, yes. That does make sense. And here…”

“That’s a shopping list,” the Jester waved it away. “Honeydew, boofly meat, it seems as though this one was quite rich. Though it’s not that important,” he claims, “as those letters from the Watcher you’ve got there seem much more interesting to me.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, everything he’s said has been correct. Even the ones I hadn’t yet gotten to. Just who is this bug, exactly?

The Jester strided over to Lemm’s undeciphered journals, focusing on a specific grouping. “I hereby request the addition of a chamber for Lexi, my butler, inside my Spire. He wishes to stay as he works, and…” Jester pauses as he grabs the next passage. “I believe it would be a good idea to have him with me as I prepare for slumber. Hm, a little fruity, aren’t we, Watcher?”

Lemm just stood there, dumbfounded. “Er. I. Okay.” This is a lot more information than I expected to get in five minutes. Ignoring him, the Jester continued to rummage through the relics, stumbling across a stray king’s idol.

“Hey! Those were ordered to date and time!”

“And now they are not. Is there any issue there? If it is, you can always order them again.”

Lemm definitely did not like this bug. “Excuse me? You waltz into my shop, damage my collection, and strut about like you own the place with your knowledge of the signs used in Hallownest’s prime. Who do you think you are?” “That is irrelevant. I do wonder… where did you find this statuette?”

“A wanderer comes by every so often with many relics, and cleans out my geo stash. I mean- that’s irrelevant. Why do you care?”

Holding the idol at an arm’s length, the Jester tilted his head, studying the way it was sculpted. “This one was found in the resting grounds. I can smell the lavender,” he muses. “I’m surprised they had one of these there- the moths didn’t take kindly to that King. I suppose that’s understandable, given what he did to them.”

“Moths?”

“Yes, yes. Quite a long time ago, they lived in the lands Hallownest was built upon. Did you never get an education?”

Lemm blinks. “Well, I had school, but-”

“Shopkeep, this is something all bugs used to know. Did they scrap it out of the history books? ...Of course he would, that King would do anything for validation. I’m sure the guilt is eating him up from the inside.”

“Jester. The king is dead. Has been for a while. Have you not seen the state of decay this kingdom is in?”

“Ah, no. That Wyrm is still alive somewhere- I’m sure of it.” The Jester moved back to the door, holding his staff in one hand, and journals in the other three. “I do wonder,” he muttered under his breath,”why are these so familiar? Ah, Lemm, was it? Would you mind if I took these outside?”

Before Lemm could express indignance, the door opened once more- standing in it a drenched wanderer, who often stopped by to supply Lemm with his many relics. The pale white mask they donned looked up at the crimson Jester, an unreadable expression behind it. The wanderer gripped the handle of their nail- sharpened, coiled, pure. They recognized the Jester, and they did not particularly like him, Lemm thought. At least Lemm wasn’t alone in disliking his clown schtick. That being said, the Jester still held some relics- if a fight broke out, they could get damaged. Lemm quietly pried open the hands of the Jester.

“Ohoho! We meet again, little one! Do tell me about your excursions down here, won’t you?” The Jester was met with silent scorn. The shop was rife with tension, though the Jester seemed oblivious to it.

“Er, pardon me, but mayhaps you two should take this… outside.”

The wanderer stared at the Jester for another moment, before breaking their gaze away, and briskly walking towards Lemm. They rummaged in their pockets, producing another pair of journals, a Hallownest seal, and an arcane egg. The Jester giggled, the wanderer quickly turning their head towards him, and then sprinting back into the endless rain of the City of Tears before Lemm could give the wanderer the geo they were due.

-------------------------------

By @couch-cat

-------------------------------

By @arandoskeleartist

(audio file working on being uploaded)

-------------------------------

By @uncurdled-bean-curd

-------------------------------

By @the-trans-anon

Lemm was going to have a stroke.

He’d been having a perfectly fine day going through his relics without any annoyances running around, when a strange bug he’d never seen before entered his shop. The bug didn’t seem to have any relics to share, saying he was just exploring, and had been about to leave when he noticed one of Lemm’s king idols.

“What’s that?” The bug asked, reaching for the idol.

Lemm quickly yanked it out of his reach, not thrilled with the idea of someone manhandling his relics. “It’s an idol of the Pale King. The King himself was rarely seen so the bugs of Hallownest worshiped these in his stead.”

“Lies!” Before he could blink, the bug had grabbed the idol and jumped back towards the door. He held the idol up above their head, admiring it.

“Clearly it’s a tiny statue of me! Can you not see the resemblance?” He asked, looking towards Lemm and pressing the idol against his mask, eyes alight with mirth.

Lemm was about to snap at the bug to give him back the idol for gods sake it’s a historical artifact not a toy- when he too started to notice the similarities between the idol and the strange bug. Both had similar horns rising up as a crown, though the bug’s horns were much more curved than the King’s, and their masks looked nearly identical save for the black lines running down the bug’s face. The main difference was their clothing, with most of the King’s imagery in white and the bug’s clothes in a bright, fiery red. The more he looked, the more clear their uncanny resemblance became.

“...Are you related to the Pale King?” Lemm asked, feeling a headache start to form.

The bug looked confused, then put down the idol. “ Ah no, I’m afraid I simply jest my friend. Though we have similar names, I have never heard of your “Pale King” before. Though I have to say,” He looked back at the idol “your king was quite the looker.”

“Wait, what do you mean you have similar names? What’s your name?!”  

The bug looked about ready to answer, before he froze and looked up at the ceiling. “Ah, my apologies my friend. It appears the Master is in need of me.”

“The Master??!”

“May we meet again.” The strange bug bowed, and raced out of the shop.

“Wait! You can’t just say something like that and leave who does that!? Come back here!” Lemm ran after the bug, but he was nowhere to be found. “Shit.” He sighed, before deciding to look around for any sign of the bug. That bug had to have some kind of connection with the King, and like hell he was going to pass up a chance to get information about the reclusive Pale King. He needed to talk to that bug.

-------------------------------

By @lesiasmadness

-------------------------------

By @redcynder1234

Lemm angrily grumbled at the tiny hands that dragged him halfway across the kingdom. He had tried to fight the smaller vessel off back in the city of tears. When they had suddenly barged into his little relic shop, seeming urgent as he tried to drag the grumpy old bug out of his shop. Lemm had tried to wave them away, but the smaller bug had quite a lot of determination to show them something then and there, at least no husks dare tread in their path as they traveled. The infection may be gone for sure, but husks of former bugs sometimes still lingered around, it was nerve wracking for sure, but lemm was safe in his shop where he could get lost in his work for hours on end. However now with the little shadow dragging him out of the safety of his home, He was a little on edge.

Finally as it seemed the little ghost had dragged them to their location they pointed upwards. Looking up, lemm grumbled seeing an old rusty chain leading up an old well. “Absolutely not.” He growled out. Even as the small vessel flapped their monarch wings to start and climb the chain. Hearing his response however they stopped and looked down before pulling out something from their cloak. One hand on the chain they waved a king's idol in the air. “Yes you’ve been waving that thing at me through this entire journey! I still don’t understand why you’ve dragged me halfway across hallownest.” He barked angrily. If only the little vessel could speak. He assumed they couldn't speak a few visits back as they sold old trinkets at his shop but lemm never could be sure. It really felt like they were speaking sometimes.

The vessel seemed to wave and point it up desperately before disappearing up the well. “Ey! Little squirt! Come back here!” He barked up the shaft angrily. However when no shadow came to retrieve him he just grumbled angrily. “Stupid, familiar looking…” Lemm mumbled under his breath as he climbed up the chain. If his curiosity about what they wanted wasn't so persistent he would have turned straight back around and headed back to the city of tears. Plus, kings idols were a rare find and he wanted to get his hands on as many as he could.

As he scrambled over the ledge of the well, his old carapace not liking the climb in the slightest, he looked around. He remembered hearing about the town of dirtmouth. By its size alone lemm could tell the town must have been a lively and successful one before the infection's grip controlled and destroyed the place. It was sad, maybe to anyone other than lemm at the moment. Grumpy and tired he saw the cloaked vessel padding towards two pinky almost red tinted tents. “Little pest… just doing to leave me behind!” He barked angrily as he followed after the vessel. Nothing left to do this far into this journey but to follow the little gremlin. Plus, in case there were any more infected lingering about, he rather have another soul that could fight them off then be left to fend them off himself. He only knew how to work with small pliers and knives, not nails and needles.

The vessel seemed to be approaching a small crowd that had formed outside the tents. They had been there before the two entered town, but lemm could already tell from a distance they were all… scared? More weary if anything. As he got closer the little ghost had turned, waving the small king's idol wildly while pointing through the crowd. “Give me that.” He snapped while snatching the king's brand from their hands. “I swear if you really wanted to sell it to me you could have done it in the city of tears, instead of dragging me halfway across the kingdom!” He snapped angrily. Making sure it hadn’t been damaged he fetched a bag of geo from under his cloak and dropped it without even looking at the vessel. “You're lucky I'm not taking half of that for dragging me her- OW.” He barked when ghost suddenly yanked his beard. “I swear-“ he growled as he looked down, wavinging the vessel's hand away from his beard. However the vessel was glaring into his soul and pointing. Angrily he huffed and looked up, before his eyes widened. Huh? That was impossible!?!

Looking down at the idol in his hands he looked up. The normal silver cloak was gone, replaced with red jester clothes. His crown of thorns was bent in such a painful looking way it almost made lemm cringe at the thought; and yet as lemm held up the king's idol he could see the similarities. Far too close similarities to be a coincidence. However there was no way the king of hallownest was some low-life jester doing gags and tricks to please the normal class's eye. Especially to a dead kingdom. Yet thinking this could be the king's brother was almost laughable. The king was a wyrm if the small amount of text he deciphered was true. And wyrms were giant beasts that could kill anything in its path. Then who was this look-a-like in front of them? That must be why the vessel had dragged them here, they may be curious themselves but since lemm was such a history nut he would know more. Could have still told him that before dragging him here.

As the jester bowed and the small crowd nervously clapped. Seeming to be more doing it to please someone then actually liking the show. He paused as the jester disappeared back into the pink tents. He knew the vessel was still standing beside them, watching the relic keeper curiously. Lemm knew he shouldn't enter the tent and ask such a question, but so many questions could be solved about this kingdom if this stupid look-a-like statue was this strange jester. The pale king hidden right under everyone's noses. Yet it still felt wrong in some way but he couldn't figure out why.

Lemm didn't understand what caused him to head towards the menacing face-looking tents; but he headed inside their pink tinted curtains. He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't the tent to be almost pitch black except for small lanterns hanging up around the place. He expected at least a little of the outside world's lights to cut through the fabric. Sure it wasn't bright already in dirtmouth, but the sheets had looked almost see through before, now they looked like solid walls keeping the relic keeper inside. A shiver ran down his back as he almost instantly regretted his decision. He was a relic seeker, not an explorer that went out and actually found the relics to study. However it was a bit too late to turn back now.

Walking down the hallway he saw another bug standing there. Playing a spooky tone upon the accordion in their hands. Lemm wished he could have just snuck around the bug but they noticed him before he got too close. “Mrmm… Sorry, but the master does not want visitors at the moment...” Lemm gulped softly. “Actually I am uh… here to see your jester I believe. I wanted to praise them for the wonderful show.” The lie came out of his mouth a bit smoother than he intended. Yet it seemed the other paused before nodding forward. “Mrmm… Continue then… but do not linger.” they simply stated. Lemm quickly nodded and passed by, making sure the king's idol was safely out of sight from the other bug's eyes. Once passed he calmed down a bit. The hallway led to a pretty large room, silken ropes hanging from just about everywhere above his head. Somewhere tied together, some were almost touching the ground. They were so long, but lemm had to admit it was a pretty sight. Something white suddenly appeared from above, it was the jester alright, carefully twisted around the silken fabric. Was he dancing? It kinda appeared like it. “H-hello?” lemm wasn't one for conversation but it felt a little awkward just watching the other. The other quickly looked down, a mask upon the other's face made the relic seeker shiver. However the others voice didn't sound nearly as threatening as he expected it to be. “Ah! Greetings down there, what brings you to the grimm kin’s tent.” He called down. Carefully sliding down the silken ropes to hang upside down in front of the relic seeker. Lemm nervously took a step back before stealing himself. “I wanted to ask you a question.” The jester tilted his head curiously. Carefully righting himself and wrapping his legs around the silken ropes to keep himself suspended in mid hair.

“Oh?” He hummed curiously “What question do you have for a little jester like me?” he spoke. Lemm gulped nervously before speaking. “Do… were… I….” how does he just ask someone if they were a king?! “Were you a king before?” He blurted out in her strange panic. The jester seemed to pause before bursting out laughing. Lemm huffed even if he knew how stupid that must of just sounded. “I’m serious!” He barked out, feeling a bit flustered. As the jester calmed he wiped a single tear that had formed in the mask's eye. “A funny joke for sure little bug, but there would be no way that I could be a king. I would probably put buzzsaws and little traps as far as the eye could see.” he snickered to himself as he joked, but lemm just huffed. “I am serious-” he barked again but the jester interrupted him “Then your answer is obviously no my small bug.” he chuckled “I could never be a king of something.” He chuckled. “Either way, I don't think you should be back here. If the master finds out you're here he may be quite mad.” The pale jester said with another chuckle. Lemm huffed angrily. “You look like the ruler that used to rule here--” “--That's enough.” the jester spoke with a huff. “I understand a joke but pushing it makes it unfunny.” the other huffed.

Lemm growled. “I’m not joking! I already said that.” he barked “You look like the king of his land, look-!” He held up the king idol that he had hidden in his cloak. The jester paused. If lemm continued to speak he didn't hear it, He focused on the idol in there hand. It made the jester feel strange, like there was something scratching at the back of their head but just couldn't figure out what was causing it. Like a memory long compressed and lost to time. Maybe it was better that they were suppressed but…. Flashes of memories went through his head. Bright white images with blurred faces. Hissing he took a step back before his head cleaned and something warm brushed his shoulder. Looking up he noticed grimm standing over him, his eyes seemed kind and light hearted but the jester could sense the small bit of anger in them.

The jester watched Grimm calmly lead the other outside the tents. Their words didn't fully register to him however as the two left. The strange symbol still was imprinted in his mind but the memories that had come along with them were gone. Strange, but it may be better for such things to stay hidden in his memory, but the jester was still curious. When grimm appeared beside him again through a burst of red smoke he seemed calm, but his red eyes shined in worry. “Ah yes I'm ok.” he chuckled nervously. “Just got a bit of a headache.” he said “What a strange bug.” he spoke, looking towards the entrance to the tent. Grimm only softly hummed “Indeed… Come, we have plenty still to do while we're here.” The jester paused before nodding, following grimm back into the tent.

-------------------------------

By @darkautodraws 

-------------------------------

By @daikoski​ 

The Pale Jester always had a knack for dancing.

—Or perhaps, certain kinds of it.

He’d discovered one time when indulging on a slower song from Brumm, that he had a knack for ballroom dancing of all things! But such a thing isn’t commonplace for his kind of performance, no, he much prefers storytelling accompanied with a fun little jig of sorts. Ballroom dancing—especially with the audience he tends to have—seems to be something a little too formal and delicate.

Which is why he finds himself taking on the endeavor of trusting seemingly delicate, flowing silks with the entirety of himself. Ahh, yes, that of aerial dancing! He notes them as seemingly delicate, as they’re more than capable of securing far more weight than originally thought, but also... he’s very sharp.

—Of course, he’s not so clumsy now to go and let his claws tear straight through the silk now, nor would he allow the plates of his body to catch on it either. Not like that one time, when he had first been trying to pitch the choreography to this performance...

Now that had been something. The clicking tear of threads being pulled apart and the swoop of his stomach as he plummeted before quickly catching himself with his tail, something of a boisterous, abrupt laugh escaping him.

“You’re not trying to escape from a web, are you? Try not to cut yourself down little Fool!” Divine had jeered affectionately, and he could have easily preened from the spark of laughter that ignited the rest of the Troupe before lowering himself.

(... he also most certainly tries to pad the sharp ridges of his body a little more ever since that incident, but that’s besides the point.)

Ah, but that’s beside the point. Such a joyous thing it is, to inspire such a reaction in others, even if it’s from a

slipup like that. Perhaps it’s even better when it is. (Aer all, the Jester in fact would like to think he uses his foolishness to endear

himself to others, not dolt around.)

The tent is empty as of now, though that’s no concern. The Grimmkin will flood the audience the moment he does so much as enter the stage—no, he’s searching for the more unfamiliar-yet-not guests to come in, if at all. Perhaps the little wanderer, the shadow? Or maybe even one of the town folks bold enough to come by? Oh, or the princess warrior! Though her kind are truly experts in silk, and he finds himself unsure of how she’ll take his performance. (It is due to her influence that he felt himself particularly inclined to this song and dance aer all.)

Ah, he should probably do some last checks on the rigging, make sure they’re steady and all that. That, and check on his costume, too.

“C’mon Jester, don’t tell me your talons are going all stiff on ya!” comes the snicker of a Grimmkin trying to goad him on, and he laughs, before launching into a sprightly comical bow, tail flicking. Actually, he feels as nimble as possible, thank you very much!

“Of course not, dear friend! I’m simply waiting to greet our beloved guests—” and speak and she will come, the familiar rubied-red cloak catches his eye, and he immediately pats and dismisses the ‘kin to greet the spider. “And here one comes now!”

“Hello, hello! Welcome, Little Hornet—” there’s a bit of distaste that shines through her expression at his thoughtless nickname, and he would reel it in had he not

already said it, instead opting to tuck the information away for next time, “—you’re just in time for this next performance! Sit down, sit down, make yourself comfortable!”

She’s ushered to her seat, which is something on the front rows amongst the many grimmkin. Idly he notes that neither of her siblings are attending, though he has no complaints.

This one’s less of a personal performance and more for all the Troupe to see, so he won’t be able to converse with her until aer. She comes here most oen to ask questions, aer all. A no-nonsense type of bug she is, and it’s only customary he’ll allow such aer a performance, and she seems to know the same. Nonetheless, he bites back a bark of amusement at the way she glowers at the chatty Grimmkin, a little bit crowded as it is.

Lights snap on, beaming bright and warm, and the show begins.

Distantly, he can hear the beginning notes of Brumm’s accordion, and ah, what a perfect guide he always is! The familiar haunting call sends a thrill through the Jester, and it’s with that he begins his performance.

He wonders briefly if aerial silk dancing has ever been seen within Hallownest. Perhaps so, perhaps not; he only learned due to the Troupe aer all, and Grimm hadn’t really shared where he had learned such an art either...

The whisper of silk that he coils around his hand is taut, strong and secure the more he loops it. It’s with quick, tight motions and a graceful swoop that he suspends himself right upside down, sharp mandibles pulling back into a pleased smile from behind his mask. That was a satisfying maneuver.

There’s a split second of concern regarding his costume—the fabric of his wings just do not seem to be cooperating this time around, but alas, it simply feels right to have them there!

The more he spends within the air, the more inclined, the more fond he becomes in fitting such an image. It feels even better when the silks are pulled and he’s practically in arms reach to the ceiling.

Though the Jester isn’t quite sure how to describe it; a certain kind of fun exhilaration, a familiar twinge in his chest at being lied to such a height—he’d first noticed it through the use of mere ropes and cranks, to trapezing and other such elevated storytelling (Ha! Perhaps if he finds more joyous stories to share, he could workshop that into a joke to tell Hornet...) to now dancing with aerial silks.

He lets himself be guided and pulled along, to sway and twirl with the call of the music and the warmth of the Heart with practiced ease and elegance. But of course; he’s more than prepared for this, and with each swoop and dip his smile widens more and more.

When the curtains close and all the Grimmkin have seen fit to disappear off to do whatever it is their hearts desire, the Jester remains lingering on the stage. To clean up mainly, but it is to keep a keen eye on the nimble princess as well. He watches as she simply hops up and makes her way down towards him, and he perks up in attention.

There’s some attempt at niceties, just polite, pleasant conversation on his part, to which she kind of shuts down aer a moment.

“Why the new performance?” Ahh, so some curiosity was piqued!

The Jester hums thoughtfully, letting the silks hold his weight up as he rocks too far back on his legs. It brushes whisper-so against him.

“Perhaps for no specific reason in particular, other than to further expand my capabilities as a jester!” He somewhat not-answers.

She doesn’t respond, instead opting to give him a very narrow eyed look, suspicion and more, and he feels compelled to continue.

“Well, perhaps not nothing. Hypothetically... if this old soul noticed a certain spiderling’s interest in acrobatics—and this is hypothetical, of course!” Hands up in the air as if in surrender yet jestful, he laughs, “and wished to, say, partake in something similar in an attempt to perhaps bond with her...?”

A pause and a beat. “Had it been to your liking, young one?”

He lets the words linger in the air, before dropping his hands down to tug at the silks once more. He wishes to be honest, so even though he feels... uncertain, telling her that, he doesn’t regret it.

Hornet’s expression does... something. It’s tiny—miniscule, even, and perhaps had it been anyone else but him, that faint little tell might have gone unseen. but he does see it, and he recognizes it quickly as some sort of conflicted emotion, a tension that he’s brought upon her.

It seems she very much teeters on something colder, fists gripping at the edge of her cloak before she almost quietly ekes out, “It had been fine.”

The Jester brightens up—why, from such a grumpy young princess like her, that could very well be the highest praise!

...Though it’s best he does not push further, nor goad her on either. Enjoyable their dances can be (with such strong, violent intent from her too!) he’s already finished his own performance, and she’s certainly due to rest sometime soon, nor would he want to upset her more in the first place.

And much to his surprise, she continues, “Such as... that part when you had dropped suddenly... I thought you were certain to fall and crack your mask in half.” Something of a surprised chuckle is pulled from him, and he hums. “Where you were supported by only one silk. It looked... dire.”

It’s vague enough that he can’t really pinpoint what part of the act she was talking about, but it brings forth words to his tongue, but just which ones?

Yes, just what was that phrase... right!

“That part! I was practically hanging by a thread, was I not?”

(So, he hadn’t been able to workshop that ‘elevated’ joke in time... but such is the way!)

By the Heart... he could consider this another job well-done, couldn’t he? No snapping, harsh remarks on the little spiderlings end, no such invasive shenanigans from any of the other grimmkin—the mischief they could get up to!

“It most certainly felt as though I had been too. These silks simply do not part when you want them to! I very nearly cocooned myself at one point!” He muses. A quick

recovery he always is, but it is still such a wrenching moment when there’s even the slightest miss of a cue.

“Tell me, I’ve never had the honour to learn or witness the art of silk in action. I can consider my act something akin to it, though it’s quite incomparable to that of a spider, and I find myself curious! Are there ever such... shenanigans like that?”

Perhaps it’s his curiosity as a now-performer, to find enjoyment in the silliness and mistakes along the way; a perfect performance starts from somewhere aer all, and he finds himself wishing to know more. Hornet probably knows what he’s doing—making good use of that ‘bonding attempt’ that he so mentioned earlier, and...

Is it in poor taste to joke around like this? She is one of the few weavers le... he wonders oandedly, when Hornet lets out something that sounds like a scoff-laugh.

“You would be surprised. Although we in particular favoured silk to be used in tapestries and story keeping rather than dance, it wouldn’t be... uncommon for a mishap to happen in a more verbose storytelling. Such as a silk shroud meant to mimic the silhouette of a corpse creeper ending up on the audience rather than the speaker themself...”

She does not specify if the one accidentally tossing a silken hunter on their audience is her, from her early days of practicing weaving, or anyone else... but she does look a little more relaxed, even if by a pinch. (And if he looked ever closer, maybe even a little embarrassed? It’s tiny, and far off, but maybe...)

(For some reason, he has a feeling he would have been too. Just a little bit.)

Hornet is about to speak more, unprompted (much to his delight), when she halts. One beat, two beats, and then looks at him.

“...you’ve never learned?” It's a small enough question that he nearly misses it. So like a whisper, edged with a sharp venomous hiss, and when the Jester is able to recollect himself from the sudden shock, he’s tuned back in only to see her cold regard and the turn of her back, needle gripped tighter, for she never goes anywhere without it.

“So now you’re curious.”

...Pardon?

He doesn’t give the reaction she wants, if the (hurt? angry?) scoff she gives at his bewilderment is not enough of a tell, then it’s the way she rolls her eyes before looking askance.

“...I will be taking my leave now.” She mutters something more about ‘he never learned about the weavers’ ... ‘not even of their culture?’ but the last bits of it are lost as she disappears from sight completely.

...

That... had not gone well? Or did it? It most certainly feels as though it did, but now their conversation has been cut short without him being able to give so much as a farewell. But he lets her leave. Not that he would stop her, especially knowing she’ll stop by sometime again, but he simply... watches.

She had been upset, in the beginning, and then the end. Upset at him. (Isn’t the first time.) (That’s one, aching pain in his chest today.)

...

The curtains have fallen, and as of now it’s time he recuperates for the next performance.

...That, or dust off that lantern of his to go and gather more flames for the Heart. The Troupe Master had allowed him to forgo such responsibilities in favour of honing his aerial dance aer all. Even with permission, he can feel the faint call of the flames, the flicker-spark as they burn deep within the depths of this poor, dilapidated kingdom.

(Or is it the call of the Heart pulling him away from his encounter with Hornet?)

(The enthralling change in attention is enough to jarr him just a little bit out of his thoughts, though he’s unsure if that’s what he wants or not. Distraction or focus?)

Deliberately, he redirects his thoughts to the spiderling, to their interactions.

...As a whole, it seems today has le him with very different emotions.

She had been testy at first, as always, but it seemed like he managed to converse pleasantly for her, even for just an exchange. And then she’s up and gone in not a moment later.

...There was an uncertain edge to her, when he had told her of his reasons for practicing such dance. The faintest scrunch of her fangs, as if trapped between pulling back into a snarling hiss or an uncertain smile. Or that if she did feel hostile, it was as though she was in polite company and couldn’t afford to be as such.

(And he knows very well that she does not quite see him as polite company, so why does she refrain as such other than habit?)

She was never one to hide her distaste towards him, but that had been something... different. What, he isn’t sure, but... odd, for such a small detail to stick out to him like that.

Ah, haha! But of course he recognized such a tell, not when he has the exact same quirk! Conflicted between strict decorum and honesty, where he’d much rather be honest and forthright than needlessly tense, as he’s so oen teased by his beloved—!

—His... beloved? No name follows that, and although it would be a complete term of endearment

as is, it doesn’t... feel complete. His beloved... one who knows him, knows his face despite the mask upon it

now...? His...

...Odd.

(...Here’s another chest pang.)

There’s a harsh little wheeze of a sour note, and the Jester perks up to see Brumm approaching, fiddling with the instrument before kicking into a slower, soer melody. He hadn’t realized he'd been standing there still, center of the stage, still with hands entangled in the silks, still very much not cleaning up or resting.

“Hello there, friend!” He greets, receiving only a nod in response and a curious look.

“Mrmm... Did something happen? Had it not gone well?” Straight to the point as always, too...

“I...” he falters, and for a second he feels terribly improper for such an obvious display of weakness, before continuing, “I do believe it couldn’t have gone any better!”

And it’s true! There isn’t much in his opinion that could be improved other than the few minute details, but of course, he is always striving to grow! Simply, everything had felt so right, he has no current complaints for himself!

Which is why... how odd it is that he feels so... down. This is by far one of his best performances yet, but that encounter with Hornet... it leaves him feeling tense. She had, while not the main reason he wished to learn such a dance, had been an influential part of it at least...

Because he cares for her like a... like a daughter. (Though that feels a touch too much, considering the fact she is the princess-protector of this fallen kingdom, and how terrible it is that she is to bear the responsibilities of the once so revered king...)

...So maybe a niece instead?

(Perhaps niece would work better—he can’t go and become too fond of the come and goers who eventually leave, just as how the Troupe will part from these ruins eventually too. But alongside that, there was an amusing term he had learned a few kingdoms back from a grub who had claimed him as their... ‘cool uncle’ in feeling!)

(Truthfully, he had never really learned the semantics of family lines like that—never needed to anyways. Taking up the mantle as a Jester of no-one but the

Troupe leaves him snapping up little bits of information from the many different places they’ve visited.)

(And here he is, subconsciously trying to claim a familial title for himself when he’s the last person someone would want as family.)

...

“I had believed perhaps this would be a more successful performance than my usual song and dance.” he admits, jovial tone a little lacking, far less overplayed than it usually is.

“Though I haven’t the faintest idea why... I thought perhaps it would make her happier that I do something she could potentially partake in. Aer all, I had never........”

Sharp words echo in his mind. ‘You've never?’

..........He had never what? The same phrase worms itself way into his mind again, this time from his own tongue. The things he has never done, but... what? Why is it that he feels inclined, feels like he needs, with all of his foolish heart, to make up for something he isn't aware of? Of strings le undone, of time he had owed but had never given...

There’s something tugging at him faintly, trying to unmoor itself from the deepest parts of his mind yet shrouded in the familiar, now comforting mist of blazing warmth and flame. He tries to prod at the thought a little further, before the feeling escapes him.

(Or perhaps the flame that so carefully protects his mind, so caringly had swept it up, crisping it with its bright beauty and letting it smolder into ashes so that these vague thoughts may no longer cling to him.)

He had never......

......Well, he’s never done many things! What he does now though is what’s more important than ever, and if he so desires to try and chip at all the ‘nevers’, what better way to do it than travelling with the dear Troupe?

Unconsciously, he tugs at the hanging silks. Something to fiddle with if anything.

(His head feels foggy again, chest tight. That’s three aching pains today. Or more? He can’t tell.)

Then there’s the low voice of his dear friend, and the Jester tunes into what Brumm is saying. “...Have you shown Master your new performance?” He doesn’t see, or rather, he can’t see the solemn looks of the musician, can only hear the little ‘hrmm...’ that vibrates from his voicebox.

The song he’s playing comes to an end, and he draws the last note out, long and mournful.

“Ah, but of course. Though I must say I haven’t performed it for him officially other than in practice—it would do me well to hone my skills further! You don't suppose he's free currently?” Brumm is offering a distraction, he’s aware, but nonetheless, he wouldn’t turn down a moment with the Troupe Master when he’s been nothing but kind during pain days like this.

“He should be. I shall inform him then.” He inclines his head. “...Take care.”

Brumm bids him a gentle farewell, soon disappearing into the depths of the tent and leaving the Jester to his thoughts.

So.

...Thrice. Thrice, that those aching pains have visited him within this same hour, and he frowns. Thrice, and he doesn’t have an inkling as to how and where they could have come and gone, nothing but a lingering phantom sensation in his chest.

(He had talked about it with Brumm one time, when they were both musing over the ambiguity of their characters; life before the Troupe, faded and gone, just as with everyone else. Life with the Troupe, all that they’ve known, but a satisfactory life it is.)

Where little weird memory aches aren’t impossible, or even uncommon, but are well taken care of. Soothed even, by the Heart.

Ah yes, the Heart. It’s taken the entire Troupe under its care, hasn’t it? They’re all here with the gied masks that brands them as one with the Heart, they’re here for a reason.

And the comfort that so fills him is something overwhelming, bright and unrelenting, such is the way of a flame within the dark. It washes over the last of the tugging memory pains, and he lets it. Lets it singe and smolder, lets it drape its curtain of red over his mind, so that the ache in his chest will disappear.

All of the lingering worries, all the doubts are held alo by a bare thread— —and the Heart snips through it with ease, and the Fool is at peace.

-------------------------------

By @cloudcryptid

[amazingmsme]

Hi! Could I pls request wrightworth with lee Edgeworth and prompts #10 and possibly #27? There is something so cute about super stoic Edgey holding in his laughter for as long as he can and then failing miserably aaaa

(ps. I love how smooth you made Edgeworth's teases in Annoying Turnabout, especially the ones at the end about Phoenix having fun *chef's kiss*)

Aaaahhh I totally agree! He tries so damn hard to hold in his laughter until he’s about to burst! For some reason I feel like he thinks it’s unprofessional of him to laugh like that, but I also love the idea that he has a really stupid & kinda lewd sense of humor like in the blooper reels. He’s just so cute I adore him. & thank you so much! I’m so happy you liked it, that was the fastest I’ve ever written a tickle fic, I was trying to post it before my semester started. But those teases literally killed me lol.

Edgeworth was at Wright’s apartment late into the evening working together. Or rather, they were working alone in each other’s company. They were sitting on the couch, stacks of files and paper work surrounding them. Phoenix had a playlist playing softly in the background.

A familiar, nostalgic tune came through the speakers. He gasped and reached for the small radio, cranking up the volume. He used his pencil and drummed the beat on his leg.

“Go go go! Tokyo,” he sang under his breath, voice growing louder as the song continued. Miles watched with amusement from the corner of his eye, a small smile on his face.

“Come on, sing with me,” Phoenix said, gesturing to him just before the chorus.

“Please, we’re both adults. Let’s act like it.”

“No,” he argued childishly. Edgeworth rolled his eyes.

“You’re wildly immature, I hope you know,” he teased. Wright smirked, arching a brow as he scooted closer.

“And you’re not immature enough,” he claimed, poking his pencil between his ribs. Miles stifled a giggle and jerked back.

“Wright… don’t,” he threatened. Phoenix didn’t listen and pounced. He scribbled his fingers up his ribs, and Miles clamped his mouth shut. His eyes were squeezed shut as grunts and muffled giggles could be heard.

“Come on, just laugh! You’ll feel betteeeeer,” he taunted, fingers moving faster. He shook his head, weakly smacking at Wright’s persistent hands.

“I wonder how long you can go without laughing?” Phoenix mused allowed.

“No don’t!” he pleaded before slapping a hand over his mouth. He felt fingers crawl and wiggle over his sides before kneading his belly. A muffled squeal escaped as he slipped his hands under his shirt.

“Kitchy kitchy coo! Just break already, you and I both know you’re not the hard ass you pretend to be,” he teased.

I-I aham!” he stuttered, the first hint of a giggle slipping into his voice.

“Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear a giggle?” he asked teasingly. Miles bit his lip and shook his head.

“I think it was! You can’t hide that laugh from me forever!” He kneaded over his sides, and the damn finally broke. Deep, rich laughter flooded the room, and Phoenix smiled all the more.

“See? I knew you could do it!” he encouraged mockingly, making Edgeworth blush.

“Wrihihight! Shuhuhut uhuhup!” he tried to demand, but his giggles took the edge out of his voice.

Phoenix hummed to himself, scanning his body for his next target. “What happens if I tickle you… here?” he asked, digging his hands under his arms.

Miles screeched and slammed his arms down to his sides. His laugh was loud and joyous, and it had a charming rumble to it.

“Nohoho please! Nohohot thehehere!” he pleaded. Phoenix smirked and cocked his head.

“Why? Is it too ticklish?” he taunted.

“N-Nohoho!” he denied. Edgeworth refused to admit he was ticklish, even while being tickled half to death.

“No? Then I see no reason to stop! After all, it’s just a little tickling, you can take it,” he teased, scratching at the center of his hollows. He snorted loudly, cheeks burning red.

“Y-yehehes there ihihis!” he argued through his wild chuckling. Everything about the situation was so endearing and cute, and the sounds Edgeworth was making were too funny to believe that they were coming from him.

Phoenix found himself laughing along, his own joy too much to contain. His fingers slowed as he relented and wiped a mirthful tear from his eye. “Whoo, that was fun! See, that wasn’t so bad,” he comforted, patting his shoulder.

Miles panted and glared up at him, though an annoyed smile still remained on his face. Once he caught his breath, he sat up. “Seeing as it was so fun, perhaps you’d like a turn.”

“Wha? N-no that’s okay!” Phoenix stuttered, shifting away from him. Edgeworth smirked and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.

“No I insist! After all, that wasn’t so bad, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Needless to say, Miles got his revenge.

[bandaigaeru]

a spell for you - hwang hyunjin

→ synopsis: he had spontaneously chosen you as a victim, leaving you with nothing but the desire to return his motives. → word count: 11k → genre: hogwarts au, enemies to lovers → pairing: slytherin!hyunjin x gryffindor! gender neutral reader (feat. jihyo (twice))

→ warnings: one mention of the reader's period (it's not necessary for context, but just know that it is there) → author's note (super quick haha): i feel like i could have done a lot better with this, so perhaps there will be a rewrite in the future if this one disappoints you. happy, slightly belated, new year!

i.

His hair catches the light with a shimmering pang. He brushes a hand through it, tucking a pestering strand behind his ear. Intently, he watches beside him, where his friends are shoving each other and threatening a fight. His lips are parted, threatening a smile.

"Stop trying to steal my potion," Changbin shoves, his grip on the glass bottle tightening as Seungmin reaches for it.

"You're the one who took it from me!" Seungmin whines, defensively hitting the inner elbow wielding his potion.

"No fighting in my classroom," Professor Nam breathily warns, leaning back in her chair defeatedly. She found it too difficult to try corralling them anymore.

You scoff.

Hyunjin turns to you, a smirk pulling the corner of his lip. "What? Got a problem?"

You roll your eyes. "Your presence is breaking my concentration. Why don't you go fight with Seungmin and never come back? That sounds perfect."

"What're you even concentrating on? The test you're gonna fail anyway?" Hyunjin jabs, puffing out his bottom lip in fake sympathy.

"Says the one who has worse grades than me."

He drags his chair closer to your desk, robe trailing slightly behind. His heavy breath casts a warmth against the back of your hand. "That's no way to talk to a superior."

"Superior?" you glance up, laughing. "Slytherins will never be superior to Gryffindors."

"Why is that?" Hyunjin cocks his head, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. His eyebrows jump with curiosity.

"Because snakes will only ever stay in the grass. Lions can at least jump."

He nods. "True. But a snake can kill a lion with its venom, and then your jumping is pointless."

From the seat in front of you, Jeongin groans. "Shut up already. Ravenclaws are the best and it's time you all admit it."

In unison, you and Hyunjin mutter, "Never that."

You look to him, his eyes in the same amount of shock as yours. You slam your textbook closed, shoving it into your bag. "Gross."

As you're standing from your chair, he coos, "If you're going to the common room, you should change."

"Why would I change for you, Hwang Hyunjin?"

"Because there's a stain on your pants," he smirks.

You grimace, tossing a dismissive wave over your shoulder as you leave the classroom. Nam doesn't care. She's too busy filing her nails and trying to keep Seungmin and Changbin from decapitating each other. You know, a normal day in her classroom. Plus, the bell is nearing its drone.

The hidden entry shifts for you as you approach. "Thank you, madam," you shout to the portrait above you.

The lady hums. The cement crackly replenishes itself behind you as you relish in the abandoned common room. Everyone is in classes, or should be, at least. You rush up to your room, tossing your bag and immediately changing into a different set of pants.

Sure enough, on the butt of your previous plaid ones is a small brown splotch. It can't be your period, so you slowly get closer to look at it. The waft of chocolate tickles your nose.

"Hwang Hyunjin," you grumble. He's probably sitting in that classroom still, snickering with his friends at how gullible you are. But hey, at least the stain kind of blends in.

ii.

The idea of revenge had seemed a waste of time in your formative years. Until your eyes locked with Hwang Hyunjin's in your first year. Those beady little pupils that followed every move you made. Tactical. Always ready to sink his fangs.

His first prank had been a simple fart joke (as fresh teenagers love). With the wave of his wand, he summoned a low groan right behind you. His acting skills were put to use as he brought a hand to his nose. "Ew, Y/N farted!"

Your cheeks flushed as you confusedly turned to him. You snapped, "No, I didn't."

Though, his choir of laughs had drowned your defense and left you with the heat of shame. He smiled back at you as he sat down, his dark wand still poised in his fingers.

Now, as you sit in the dining hall with hyperactive attention and a dismal pull for hunger, the target enters. His blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail, with a few straying pieces. There is a quirk to his lips as he talks to the friends at his sides. You can feel the bass of his laughter in your shoulders.

"Hello? You in there?" Changbin waves a hand in front of your dazed eyes.

"What?" you turn back to him as Hyunjin takes a seat in his usual spot.

He sighs. "You scouting him again?"

"I have to get back at him," you mutter, picking up your fork before you stab the noodles on your plate.

"Y/N," Changbin whines. Your steely eyes look to him, and he immediately softens, caving in on himself.

"You're a Gryffindor," you start, twirling the noodles, "better start acting like one."

"Are you saying I can't be friends with both of you?"

You shake your head. "Never insinuated that. I'm standing my ground, and you shouldn't be preventing me from doing that."

Changbin looks to the other faces listening in, but all of them are little help. Jisung catches his eye, shaking his head. Defeated, he sighs, turning back to his meal. He drowns the words on his tongue with water.

The dinner session ends rather quickly (thanks to your rambled thoughts). Students bustle to return to designated common rooms for the night. Your eyes are glued to the back of Hyunjin's head. He's in no hurry, evidently, because he is still seated at the table, eyes crinkled with laughter. The cold wood of the wand is a familiar feeling in your palm. It's comforting. It reminds you of a time where Hwang Hyunjin was merely a classmate. How simple life was.

The hollowness he had claimed in your stomach deepens when he finally stands. You

point your wand at him carefully, suddenly grateful Changbin isn't here, and whisper, "Confundo."

The trademarked confident stride caves in on itself as the boy shrinks. He glances around. Upturned eyebrows and lost eyes. You rush to walk past him, a small wave and a smile. He doesn't seem to recognize you.

You can't help but laugh.

iii.

Your head is held high as you're walking to your first class of the day. Last night hasn't stopped replaying in your head, and the smile has yet to fade. He looked so lost. His eyes were wide and puppylike, and it even sent a jolt through your heart. Finally, he'd gotten a piece of his own medicine.

A barrier stops you from going further. It tugs you back by the sleeve of your blazer, leaving you to stare back into the somewhat lost eyes of the boy you had terrorized.

"What do you want?" you mumble, glancing down the hall. If anyone were to see you two, this close, they'd know something was up.

"What spell did you use? I can't shake it. I've been awake all night trying to get rid of it."

You chuckle and shrug. "Well, it's already lost some of its oomph. Only time can cure you."

You try to continue your path, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you back to look at him. He leans close to your face, and your breath chokes you. His eyes are no longer wide with innocence. They hold a knife back at you. "What spell did you use?"

"Confundo. Why, do you think I cursed you?" you scoff, squirming beneath his palms. "I'm not that mean, Hwang."

He lets go of your shoulders, staring at his shoes in defeat. You stumble a little. "Dumbass," he mutters, "We have an exam today. I can't concentrate on something like that, especially since I was up all night. Why would you do this?"

A sprout of something dizzying scratches your chest. You lean onto your toes as you whisper, "Should have thought about that before you started this mess."

You continue your walk to class with newfound guilt. Behind you, Hyunjin mutters, "I'll get back at you. Big time."

Your day had always been thwarted by the presence of Hwang Hyunjin, for he was always in every class. But today, he's not there. You presume he's caught in the Slytherin tower, curled in a ball as he tries to dispel his confusion. Mayhaps he's even sleeping. In a way, you kind of miss his antics. The way he tossed his head back and let his hair cascade at the fate of gravity simply for the muse that it 'helped him think.'

You found yourself smiling at your exam packet, and you instantly recoil. Hyunjin's an asshole, and he deserves everything he gets.

Changbin nudges you. You glance at him and he begins to fight a laugh. "What're you thinking of in that pretty little head of yours?"

You look back to your test in alarm. "Nothing," you whisper, warily glancing at Professor Nam, whose eyes wander up and down the aisles.

"Is it Hyunjin?" he leans toward you.

You shake your head, hissing, "Absolutely not."

Professor Nam skips over a row to you. "No talking. I'll take points if I catch you two again."

Changbin settles back into his test, leaving you with thoughts of your own. As you aimlessly bubbled in answers seemingly obvious, you thought to Hyunjin. Maybe you were a little out of line with the confundo incident, but it was your turn for revenge. You glance up at his empty chair when you finish the test. In the far corner of your head, you swear you can hear his obnoxious laugh and breathy, "I told you so."

Overhead, the bell rings. It dismisses everyone from their classes and momentarily dismisses Hyunjin from the warmth of your thoughts. You pass your exam forward, quickly scavenging your things together and following the pack into the halls. Nam's class is the last of the day, and it's Friday. Your weekend is free ahead of you, and you consider inviting Changbin and Jisung to a picnic or something.

A hand claps down on your shoulder before a deep laugh shakes in your ears. "Y/N! I heard what you did to Hyunjin. Genius, I must say."

You glance to the owner of the voice, meeting the glimmering eyes of Kim Seungmin. He looks down on you with a warm smile. So unlike a Slytherin.

"Thank you," you straighten your posture as you continue walking.

His hand doesn't move from your shoulder. His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, "But if it's just between you and me, you're gonna wish you didn't do that."

Shivers trail the back of your neck to your wrists. When you look at him, he's still harboring that welcoming grin. "Ciao," he removes his hand to wave at you. Then, he starts in the opposite direction, against the wave of traffic.

You walk the rest of the way with your eyes glued ahead. A Gryffindor does not back down. They are brave, you remind yourself.

The Fat Lady allows you entry into the common room, but the hallway is backed up. You stretch your neck to try and see above the crowd, though nothing but heads of hair taints your view. There's a pit in your stomach, and before you can shove through, you already have an idea what's going on.

The Gryffindor common room has been plagued with the stench of Hwang Hyunjin's mischievous antics. It is drenched in a potion of Nidore, resembling the smell of untreated B.O. Han Jisung plugs his nose as he glances around. He catches your eye, muttering, "Do you smell this?"

Your eyes are lazed with irritation. Curtly, you nod. "Yeah. Hyunjin did this. I'm sure of it."

Jisung whines, tapping his foot impatiently, "Why can't you two just keep your tricks in class? This is violating school rules. He shouldn't be in here. He's a Slytherin!"

You bite on the inner piece of your lip as heeled steps echo closer. The presence of a tall woman sends anxious goosebumps down your spine. You turn to her, though you're sure you look pitiful.

"What is the meaning of this?" she shouts, looking among the students for any clue.

Jisung nudges your arm.

"We have reason to believe it was a Slytherin's doing, madam," another professor slips into the room, promptly covering his nose.

"Do we have a name for this Slytherin?" she crosses her arms and purses her lips.

The professor shakes his head, looking to his freshly shined shoes. Faintly, he wonders if the smell will ruin them. "No. Not yet."

The headmistress sighs, waving her hand. "Gryffindors are to report to the dining hall immediately until this mess is covered. Start an investigation at once."

"Yes, ma'am," the professor's head falls as he pushes back through the crowd, which is now graciously evacuating. Those simple words were all they needed.

You feel bolted to the floor. All you can do is stare at the bun atop the headmistress's head. Hyunjin had gone too far, but you had triggered this. Jisung grabs your wrist and pulls you out.

He takes you up the hall, into the bathroom. He closes the door behind you.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he whisper-shouts.

You shake your head, a rock lodging its way into your throat as you avert his sharp eyes. "I fucked up."

"Obviously."

Han Jisung is standing with his hands on his hips, his eyes looking like they're about to bulge from his head. He must be disappointed. "What're you gonna do about this?"

"I'm gonna have to tell McGonagall."

Jisung sighs, taking a long look at you. "If you think that's what's best, go on." He opens the door for you.

You trudge back to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady grants you entrance, though she says, "It sure smells in there, love. I wouldn't stay long if I were you."

When you reach the end of the hallway, McGonagall is no longer there. Instead, there's a blond boy who laughs quietly to himself. He looks back at you. "I knew you'd come back."

"Hyunjin, what the hell do you think you're doing? You went too far. You could get expelled over this, you know?"

He shakes his head. "I won't get expelled. My family's donated too much to this school. You should have seen the look on your face, though."

You blink as he stands. "Have you ever stopped to think about other people for a change? I'm nothing without this school."

Hyunjin sucks his teeth. "Should have thought about that one."

You open your mouth to retaliate, but overhead a voice takes over. "Y/N Y/L/N of Gryffindor and Hwang Hyunjin of Slytherin, please report to the headmistress' office immediately."

Hyunjin wraps his arm around your shoulder, the tips of his fingers trailing a path along your collarbone. "Shall we?"

iv.

"I can expel you. Is that what you would like?" McGonagall inquires, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. Around her, papers float as she pointedly looks for one in specific.

"No," you mumble.

Hyunjin tips his head back, allowing his hair to fall back. There is a menacing curl to his lips.

"Your antics have been going on for how long? Nearly six years?"

Your gaze is locked on your shoes. They need a shining, you note.

Hyunjin begins chuckling. "You're not actually serious about expulsion, right? My family would never let you hear the end of it."

McGonagall plucks a paper from the air, looking at it. "No, Mr. Hwang. But keep up your attitude and I'll make the remainder of your time here a living hell."

You look at Hyunjin, whose eyes wait for yours. He smiles, offering a sharp pierce to your heart. Your eyes shoot back to the floor. The toe of his shoe pierces your vision, inching to nudge yours.

"What I think is appropriate," McGonagall starts, plucking another paper. "is that you two seek a middle ground. I am requesting that wizardry chores are to be saved for you two, and you will perform them together. I am uncertain on the duration, still, but I assure you it will not be comfortable."

Hyunjin scoffs. "You're gonna make us do laundry or something?"

McGonagall sighs, looking up at him. She offers a pitying smile. "It'll be much, much worse than that, Mr. Hwang."

"Thank you," he sarcastically remarks.

You look up to McGonagall, bowing your head gently. "Thank you for not resorting to expulsion."

"You two are immature wizards, which is incredibly dangerous in today's society. I need to knock sense into you, not allow you the means to rebel."

You don't dare look at Hyunjin, but you're sure he has smoke billowing from his ears. Because nobody, not even the headmistress, should talk down on him. "A Slytherin," you recall him saying, "is the top of the food chain."

"Now," she claps, sending a jolt through you. "Your first task is to remove the potion from the Gryffindor common room. That should be fairly easy for you, Mr. Hwang."

He grimaces, starting out of the office. He swears beneath his breath, and doesn't even make fun of you when you trip and nearly faceplant. Instead, he offers a glance back at you before continuing on his way. Not even a single sly comment.

When you return to the common room, Changbin waits outside. He pushes off the cement walls, arms crossed against his velvet robe. "Oh? Are you two finally allowing your love for each other to blossom?"

You shoot him a warning look, but it amasses to nothing when Hyunjin grabs him by the collar and pins him against the wall. "Watch your mouth."

He throws him to the ground before hesitantly entering the hallway.

"Who pissed in his Cheerios?" Changbin scrambles to stand up again. He seeks you for answers, but falls short when all you offer is a secured gaze on the floor.

The Gryffindor common room is still oozing with stench, but in the center of it is Hwang Hyunjin, the mastermind. He seems more bothered by McGonagall's comments than the smell. He raises his wand of Blackthorn, chanting an unknown spell. The odor vanquishes, leaving you only with the other elephant in the room.

Hyunjin starts out the door, bumping into your shoulder on the way. "Just stay out of my way and we won't have problems."

You huff, staring at the back of his neck, "Be mature for once."

He stops, his head slumping. He slowly turns back to you, venom laced with his words as he says, "You're the reason we're in this mess. Stay out of my way so we can get this over with, okay?"

Ice builds up your ankles. You cannot move. You cannot speak. You're left to watch as he storms out of the room. So much for a stable weekend.

v.

Things truly began with doing the laundry. Muttered remarks fluttered from Hyunjin's lips, though he does not speak directly to you. Nor does he even offer a spare glance.

Then, you had a trip to Hogsmeade. Though, under strict supervision by Professor Kim, whose gaze never left your necks. "Isn't the grocer that way, Mr. Hwang?" he had said. Hyunjin tensed, dark eyes looking back at the old man. Though, he did not speak. He simply moved on his way.

After that, McGonagall had sent for you two to clean the Slytherin dungeons. "Real Slytherins aren't this piggish," Hyunjin grumbled, scrubbing harshly at the moss buildup.

Hesitance built in your veins every time he was around. Though, his gaze has not crossed your skin once. His words, too, were never meant to travel over your robes. He treats you as though you are an imaginary friend who he vowed to erase from his life.

You release a shaky breath.

"I won't be at dinner," you warn your friends for the sixth day in a row. A setting sun peeks through the broad window panes.

"You serving time again?" Minho manages through sips of scalding coffee. For a Ravenclaw, he didn't always live up to the stereotype.

"They're not serving time, per se," Changbin counters. "But close enough."

Chan tugs at your sleeve, pulling you away from the crowd. "Are you okay?"

Tears prick the corners of your vision, but you nod. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just kinda wanna get this over with."

Chan offers a small, sheepish smile. "Okay. Just let me know if you need anything. I may be a Hufflepuff, but I can beat his ass if you want me to."

You giggle, bringing your sleeved arm to brush against your nose. "Thank you."

At the end of the hall, where it halts with the choice of the dining hall or the potions branch of the school, you take a left while everyone else turns right.

Today, McGonagall needed you to clean the bathrooms. Hyunjin, of course, was not looking forward to it. He didn't look forward to anything, you realize.

"Hey," you greet, gently setting down your bag outside the bathroom. The door is still closed.

Hyunjin looks up from his phone. He doesn't say anything, but at least he acknowledges you by slipping his phone into his pocket. His hand encases the doorknob before he pushes it open.

Disgust twists his face as he gags. "What the hell? Have these ever been used?"

"Evidently," you remark, peeking around the doorway to see a pile of green sludge accustomed to the floor.

Hyunjin sighs. "I guess we better get started."

You nod, picking up a mop that awaited. You work in silence. Hyunjin curses under his breath, grunting as he works. When you steal a glance, his face is reddened and there are beads of sweat threatening to drip from his brow.

The sludge, you presume, is mutated moss. It's actually quite common in castles like this one. Nonetheless, it's gross to eliminate. And the smell. Just thinking about it would send shivers down your spine.

On Hyunjin's end of the bathroom, behind the protection of a wall, there is a gurgle and an accompanying shout. "You're joking," he whines.

He steps out from the stall, the white of his undershirt blotched with green and orange. It looks like vomit, but it smells much worse. You don't have time to laugh, for he's gathering his things. "I'm tired of McGonagall making us do her stupid errands. Doesn't she have servants for this? I'm done!" he offers you one last glance before he leaves.

Silence was more comfortable when he sat in it with you.

vi.

You jolt with the realization. Certainly you weren't starting to enjoy Hyunjin's company. That's outright impossible. If anything at all, you were merely starting to see him as a comrade or acquaintance.

But you were not, absolutely not, starting to feel something for him.

The sun starts to leak through your curtains, portraying your sleeping roommate like a silhouette. You sigh, falling back onto the pillows. The ceiling stares back at you with an intimidating uncertainty. Hyunjin wasn't going to be doing the chores anymore, so it would be pointless in talking to him about it. So long as McGonagall doesn't find out that you're working solo, things should be okay.

You travel with the crowd, accepting breakfast alone. Your friends were probably still sleeping. Minho might be awake, but he's likely locked in the Ravenclaw chamber, hiding from the outside world on his rest day.

McGonagall's wishes for today, as delivered by Professor Kim, was to visit Hagrid's hut and obtain a dragon egg. The reason, she did not state. Probably official school business that you had no intention, nor desire, of searching into. If Hyunjin were with you, that'd likely be a different story.

You leave the castle at quarter to noon. It's chilly outside (you probably could have used a jacket) but the sun is held central in the sky. You take a deep breath, admiring the traveling scents of blossoms and lilies. The gravel path crunches beneath your shoes. A bright pink azalea catches your eye. It hangs on the edge of the forest, serving a bookmark among the green. You step off of the path, taking careful steps toward it.

"Wow," you mumble, bringing your palm to it. It's soft against your skin.

You wonder if Hyunjin likes flowers. A smile cracks your lips. "It'd be funny if he did," you whisper to yourself.

A squealing cry causes you to flinch. You turn in the direction of the noise, spotting a pig running for dear life. Its little legs overworking themselves in a blur. Close behind is a hippogriff, tall and muscular. It walks with leisure, for its legs equate to nearly thirty of the pig's.

You gulp. They're bigger than the textbooks lead on. You take a wary step back. A stick crunches beneath your weight. The hippogriff's gaze sways toward you. It cocks its head curiously.

You wished you paid more attention in Care of Magical Creatures. Stupid Hyunjin and his stupid distractions. Why did he even begin picking on you in the first place? Was it chance? Did he know you were a Gryffindor and simply nod and declare you were the one? For whatever reason, it has brought you here.

A Gryffindor shouldn't cry in a situation like this. They should stand tall and tame the beast. Fight if they have to, but that's a shrugging matter. You're not like other Gryffindors, though. Who are you kidding? You're a lousy one.

So you cry. If death is upon you, all you really can do is cry.

The hippogriff opens its beak and lets out a shrill cry. Its heavy footsteps echo into the trees, shaking birds from branches. It poises its hind legs in a crouch, preparing for the hunt. Like any predator, it expects you to run.

You shake your head, glancing to the pink azalea beside your head. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the impact. You hear its footsteps drawing near.

"Alarte ascendare!" a voice yells. There is a boom and a crash.

Hesitant, you open your eyes. The hippogriff is laying in front of you, bloodied and gasping for breath. A wave of heat washes over you as you dizzily fall to your knees. You try to look for the source of the voice, but your vision is hazy.

Arms wrap around you. They steady you. You look up. "Hyunjin?"

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here," he pulls your head into his chest, resting his chin atop your head.

"What're you doing here?" Your mouth is dry. Any moment, you feel as though you might fall. Through the earth and into an abyss. But still, Hyunjin holds you.

"Same goes for you. Why're you out here unsupervised, huh?" his voice is in a calming whisper. His fingers trace repeating lines through your hair.

"McGonagall wanted us to go get an egg from Hagrid," you tell him, removing the detail of the flower. You didn't need him calling you stupid for straying from the path.

He sighs. For once, he's speechless. He just keeps playing with your hair, occasionally glancing to the hippogriff, who has since long stopped breathing.

vii.

Behind the large wooden doors of the infirmary, you hear a droning voice. "Slaughter of a magical creature on school grounds can be charged with expulsion. Are you aware of that, Mr. Hwang?"

The following voice is much quieter, though you don't have the energy to strain yourself. Your head is pounding, and there's a bandage around your ankle. Your eyes fall on the door. A nurse has her ear cupped to it. Heavy eyelids take their reign over you. The voice fades into the darkness, leaving you cold and lost.

When you finally open your eyes again, there is a face hanging over you. You slowly blink.

"Sleep well?" McGonagall inquires. Her glasses hang low on the bridge of her nose. You're afraid they might fall on you if she stays much longer.

You nod. "What time is it?"

McGonagall steps back, bringing her wristwatch into frame. She tilts her head. "Around 2:30. It's Thursday. You've been here nearly twenty-four hours, you know?"

You fight to sit up. Imaginary weights drag you back. "Don't expel Hyunjin," you find yourself saying, though the words seem foreign. You're not even sure you spoke them in your native tongue.

"Sorry?"

"I said," you pause, taking a deep breath, "Don't expel Hyunjin. It's not his fault."

McGonagall juts out her chin, pursing her lips. "And why shouldn't I?"

You sigh, as though you cannot believe that you're defending Hwang Hyunjin. "I was careless. I strayed from the path to Hagrid's because I saw a stupid flower. If it weren't for Hyunjin, I'd probably be dead meat."

She hums, removing her glasses and pointing the golden frames towards you. "So my plan, it worked?"

"What plan?"

"Of getting you two to mature and see each other as equals."

"I don't know about the whole equals thing-"

"Hush, I don't want to hear it. You two will meet in my office Saturday morning, I expect. I'll send a reminder tomorrow evening," McGonagall huffs, turning to leave. Her heels clobber against the tile all the way to the end of the hall.

Within no time, the nurse is at your bedside, offering you a glass of water and a blonde potion. "Can I get you anything else?" she asks, interlacing her fingers and resting them on the pocket of her apron.

You glance at your ankle. "What happened?"

She offers a weak smile. "I wouldn't be able to tell you. Ask that blond boy who brought you in. I'm sure he knows. Or at least, he'll be able to point you in the right direction."

You slowly nod. "Thank you."

"Yes, dear. Oh, and you should be able to return to your dormitory as soon as you're ready. Take it easy."

When she's disappeared into the office by the set of doors, you sigh. What mess did Hwang Hyunjin get you into? More accurately, what mess did you get yourself into? You can't even find it in you to be mad at him, though logically you should be. Especially with the way he stroked your hair before you fainted. At that moment, he seemed like an angel. A blond-headed angel, whose blood was tainted with the venom of snakes.

Even so, none of this would have happened had he not stormed off. And you'll remind yourself that every time an endearing thought crosses your mind. He may have saved you, but he had essentially set you as bait. Indirectly, but still.

Near dinnertime, you leave the infirmary to freshen up. Your hair was matted and there was dirt smudged on your cheeks. After a quick shower, wary of your wrapped foot, you hobble to the dining hall. Before you settle with a questioning Seo Changbin, you glance at the empty spot of the infamous Slytherin section. The setting sun failed to cast a glow on blond hair, for he was not there. Perhaps he had been pulled from school, and McGonagall has yet to hear the news. Or maybe he's punishing himself for even going after you. Regardless, a swollen hole burns through your chest. It sparks irritation as you push around tonight's meal with the tip of your fork.

"Hey, what happened to your ankle? Did Hyunjin do something? Why aren't you answering my questions? Why are you sulking?" Changbin racks off. "Hello? Anybody in there?" He nudges your shoulder.

"I don't know what happened. I need to talk to Hyunjin about it," you simply say, finally forcing yourself to eat the food. Despite not eating for nearly two days, you felt no sense of hunger. In fact, you felt as though you were about to explode. As if you had eaten too much.

"Ah, I see. You're sulking because you have to talk to Hyunjin."

"I don't think it's that," you sigh, slumping as you look back to his spot. Still, it's empty.

"Then what's the problem?"

You think hard about what you say next. You can't tell him about this weird concoction brewing in your chest, for he'll run with it and send the school into another Battle of Hogwarts. "I just feel off. I don't know."

Jisung nudges your shin from beneath the table. You look up to him. He mouths, slowly and deliberately, "Are you okay?"

You nod, half-certain.

Changbin continues to pester you, despite the lack of responses. Even when you stand to return your tray, he follows. All the way to the common room, he sticks close, leaning over you to whisper more questions. You can't even fathom how he hasn't run out yet.

He grabs your shoulders, spinning you around. "Look at me."

Your eyes feel slow as they scan for his. He continues, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you need to talk about it, I am here for you. If it's about Hyunjin, I won't run off to tell him, okay? Family before friends."

"Thanks, Binnie," you force a smile, before breaking away from his grasp and closing the gap to your room. You gently close the door before plummeting onto your bed.

viii.

Hyunjin fails to appear to any class other than Professor Nam's. His seat, though filled, holds a barren figure with bags pulling at his eyes. He spares you a small smile when he catches your stare. He even offers a spare remark about your shoes. "Don't you think it's time to retire those, Y/N? They're all shabby."

But that's all he can bring himself to say. When he turns back in his seat, he slumps a little. Seungmin whispers something to him, and his head barely shakes in response.

You try not to stare at the back of his head. Even it seems to have lost some kind of sparkle to it. The bell blares its dismissal, and the class evacuates immediately. You take your time, for Hwang Hyunjin appears to be in no rush.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" you block his way when he tries to pass without a single word. "Don't you need to get your quota of insults in? The week's over, bud."

He looks at you like he's never met you. "Oh. Sorry."

He pushes through, brushing past your shoulder. Gently. Not the usual brash interaction.

You huff, stumbling after him. "We need to talk."

"Go ahead."

"Not if you're gonna be like this. C'mon, I wore my ugliest pair of pants to try and get a rouse from you."

He spares a glance at the bright plaid trousers. "Nice."

You smack his shoulder. "What is the matter with you?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

You stop walking, merely watching as he continues down the hall. There's no point in this, you realize. Arguing with this Hyunjin is like talking to a brick wall encased by another brick wall. Things will resume to their normal pace in due time.

You pull yourself to the Gryffindor common room, barricading yourself in your room. The moment your head connects with your pillow, a single tear falls. It's hot against your cheek.

At quarter to six, you decide to skip out on dinner. You're not sure what you'd do if you saw him sitting at his table, drawn back from the usual conversations with Seungmin.

A card slips under your door, scraping against the hardwood. You sit up to retrieve it. On the front, in large, careful cursive letters is your name. A small letter is inside, reading, "Do not forget our meeting tomorrow morning. 9:00 A.M. sharp. If you are not here, I will have someone fetch you."

You begin laughing. McGonagall's going to have a fit when she sees you and Hyunjin. A vivacious boy with a tongue for quips turned hollow and you, a Gryffindor with a newfound fear of facing him.

ix.

The back of his neck is marked crimson by the amount of times he scratches it during that meeting. His gaze averts yours, even when you know you've burnt a hole in his cheek.

"I'm sure you're aware why I've called you in," McGonagall sighs, crossing her arms as she leans against her desk.

You force your gaze to rest on her, slowly shaking your head.

"I have no choice but to dismiss our project we had."

"You mean making us do chores together?" you question, sure Hyunjin would be proud of you for such a comment. When you glance at him, he doesn't even spare a blink out of routine.

"Well, if you view it as such I'm afraid I can't change that," she nods. You know that if Hyunjin had said that, he'd be getting yelled at. Good day to hold the Gryffindor title, you dejectedly admit.

She scans Hyunjin's face for any sign of life. "You in there, Mr. Hwang?"

His head shifts upward toward her. "Yes, sorry."

"You're awfully quiet," she mentions. He shrugs, returning his eyes to his lap. He fidgets with the dark wood at the tip of his wand.

"Well, if there are no further objections, you are free to leave."

Hyunjin runs with these words, taking his bag and rushing out. He barely even offers a polite quip. You follow him out, a few distancing steps in between. He heads for the Slytherin tower. For a moment, you consider calling out and inviting him to lunch. But you don't. Instead, you go back to the Gryffindor common room, nestling in for a game of chess with Changbin. He's not very good, but at least it serves as a laughing distraction.

The sun falls over the horizon rather slowly, as though someone tugs it back on a pulley system. Changbin wishes you goodnight a bit past eight, leaving you with a distant desire to study. You shuffle to your dorm, preparing to stare absentmindedly at a textbook, when your eyes fall over the emerald robe.

Hmm, you think. Should I? Or should I not? Well, he has been very weird. And you're overly curious. It's swallowing your life.

You sigh, picking it up and swinging it over your shoulders. You pull the hood up, slipping back out into the common room. The students continue their nightly games of Mafia. Not a single set of eyes shoot at you.

Breaking curfew is punishable by copious amounts of detention. Good thing you're invisible to the guard wandering the halls.

Sneaking into the Slytherin tower is rather easy, given the circumstances. The cobblestone corridor leads you to a darkened room emblazoned by the crackle of fire. A blond boy lays on the gray carpet, his eyes vacant as he blinks at the ceiling. His friend sits on a leather couch, shrugging as he says, "I don't know man, you've just been so weird lately."

Absently, the boy on the carpet mumbles, "Sorry, I guess."

"C'mon, talk to me. I'm your best friend, Hyunjin," Seungmin sighs. He rubs a distressed finger across his brow.

Hyunjin shakes his head. "There's just this weird feeling in my chest."

"What?" Seungmin leans forward on the couch, dangling his hand close to the boy's face.

He leans out of the way as he sits up, resting his palm on his heart. "I can't explain it. I feel full all of a sudden?"

"How long have you been like this?"

"Ever since the hippogriff situation."

Seungmin falls back against the plush of the couch. His mouth is agape until a smile creeps upon him and he laughs. "I hate to break this to you, Hyunjin, but I think you've developed a crush."

Your heart catches in your throat like a rock you're incapable of swallowing. It thrums louder than the conversation unfolding. Hyunjin's lips are loose as he glances around the room. His eyes sit on you a little too long, and you slowly back into the corridor.

What do you do with this information?

x.

A harsh sneeze interrupts your slumber. You glance around through tired eyes. It's still dark in the room. Your roommate is snoring lightly.

You rest back onto the mattress, trying your hardest to dismiss a quiet cough. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck. Just what you need, you think as you shut your eyes. Maybe this is karma for sneaking into Hyunjin's space.

You hate the euphoria you experienced when you settled into bed that night. Heart a fluttering mess and cheeks pummeled with heat. Changbin would kill to hear this. Both ends. Regardless, though, you feel way too guilty to talk to Hyunjin. Some crushes are best suppressed, you think. A Slytherin-Gryffindor duo traditionally doesn't end well.

By the time you fall asleep, the sun has begun to rise. Then, by the time you wake up, the sun is ready to fall. You moan when your roommate asks if you're feeling alright. Her shivering hand comes in contact with your forehead. "Oh my God, you're burning up!"

You hiss, trying to pull your covers over your head. She tugs them back down.

"You should go to the infirmary," she says. "I'll help you there."

Hesitantly, you sit up. There's a sour taste in your mouth that burns the back of your throat. A quick palm jumps to your lips as you rush to the bathroom.

"Here," Jihyo comes close behind you. She offers a Ginger Ale.

"Thanks," you say, rubbing your mouth with the back of your hand. You take a quick swig of it, swishing it around before spitting it into the toilet.

Jihyo leads you out of the room with an arm around your shoulder. The common room is empty, aside from a few who sit behind vast textbooks. "Everyone's at dinner," she informs.

You don't have the energy to nod. It's hard enough trying to keep a straight path, even when you're leaning against her shoulder.

"Welcome back," the nurse jokes. You try to smile.

She takes your temperature after Jihyo tells her your situation. "Ooh. 101. Thank you for bringing them, sweetheart."

You take to a bed, slowly leaning to sit on it. Jihyo leaves shortly after, telling you to seek her if you need anything.

"How's your ankle doing?" the nurse asks as she offers you a cup of pills (a fever reducer and an anti inflammatory).

After you struggle to swallow them, you say (through a crackly voice), "Good, I guess. Still haven't gotten the story to it."

She presses her lips into a line, "That boy. I'll have to talk to him."

A strange light feeling punctures your heart. She pushes gently on your shoulders, forcing you to lie down. "Get some rest, dear."

Sleep comes very naturally. There's only a few moments where you struggle to return to it. The next day, the nurse brings you a cup of pudding for breakfast. You ask her what time it is.

"It's around 10. Monday."

You sigh. "I'm missing classes."

"I'm sure your professors won't mind, given you're still feverish," she checks your forehead with the back of her hand.

You eat the pudding in solidarity, watching the small TV across from you. It's displaying The Desperate Housewives of the Wizarding World. It's on all day, which is fine by you, since you're not leaving anytime soon. The final dismissal bell jumps you from your daze.

Only a few moments pass before the large doors swing, followed by the pattering of feet. "Y/N!"

Jisung rushes toward you, his burgundy robes trailing behind him. He pushes his round frames up. "Are you okay? I heard from Jihyo."

You nod. "Yeah, I feel a bit better now."

His hand finds your shoulder and he shakes you gently. "You're not going to believe this."

Your thoughts jump to Hyunjin and your eyes widen eagerly as you wait for him to continue.

"Hyunjin was whining all day about you. He was all 'where are they?' and stuff. Did something happen when McGonagall started that chore thing?"

You fight a grossly parasitical smile, shaking your head. "No. Nothing really."

He stays a little longer, telling you things you missed from the classes you share. As he's departing, you stop him. "Hey, Sung, I got a question."

He turns back to you. "Shoot."

"Can I borrow that magic note passing thing you bought on vacation?"

The good thing about Jisung is he doesn't ask questions. So long as you're not harming anyone, he'll do just about anything for you. He simply returns ten minutes later, gently placing the notepad on the table beside you. "You just write your note and address it. It should be sent immediately. Oh, and the other person receives a pen too," he informs, passing you a normal looking pen.

"Thank you, I owe you."

He waves his hand. "Nah, it's no big deal."

You pick up the pad of paper. It appears no different from normal paper, though it smells rather lemony. You rethink the words over and over before you finally settle. In the center of the paper, you write: I heard you missed me :)

Then, you address it before you can find a reason to regret this.

xi.

You cannot find yourself an ounce of sleep, so you stare at the television screen. It's still playing reruns. A paper fizzles into your lap, the corners materializing before the center. Your note reads back to you. You flip it over, where a new pattern of ink lay.

To Y/N: I'm going to murder Han Jisung.

Your laugh echoes in the large, empty infirmary. The nurse has gone to her quarters, now that the sun has set.

You write back, He has cool magic though!

Not only because it's true, but because you would like to keep this conversation going for just a little longer. Even if it is useless and greedy to want something like this from him.

Few seconds pass before the paper returns. To Y/N: I will give him that. I didn't even know this was a thing. Can we meet up in the Charms hall?

You bring your hand to your forehead. After Jisung's visit and your nutritious dinner of pudding, you feel much better. Like normal, even. Plus, the nurse had told you it's up to you when you want to return to daily life.

So you gather your things and return to your dorm. "Hi, Jihyo," you say quickly before rushing to shower. She is left in a dismal state of shock, staring at the bathroom door.

"I'm meeting up with someone, don't wait up for me," you inform as you pull a sweater on.

"Who?" she asks, bouncing her wand as she jiggles a paper midair.

You glance at her as you pull shoes on. "Classified info."

"Just say it's Hyunjin," she starts. "I can read you like a book."

You giggle. "Then fine, it's Hyunjin."

"Don't set the school on fire, please. I would like to finish my seventh year in peace."

"I don't plan on it."

"Be safe!" she calls as you open the door.

"I will."

You shuffle through the common room and out into the halls. Curfew was nearing. Maybe you should've grabbed your invisibility cloak.

In all honesty, you weren't sure why you were doing this. Until the glimmer of blond hair beneath the moonlight pierces your view. Knowing fills your chest, warm fairies dazzling your skin.

He looks up to you, a smile rushing onto his face. "I thought you weren't gonna show."

"Well, I suppose you're in luck."

He grabs your wrist when you're in reach, "Come on, I wanna show you something."

You allow him to pull you out to the courtyard. A little way's past the quidditch fields, there is a flower box. Filled to the brim with peonies and lilies. There's even a couple pink azaleas.

"Tada," he says, opening his arms to the post.

"You snuck me out of the castle to look at flowers?" you laugh.

"Not just any flowers," he points, crouching down to look at them. "Healing flowers."

"Really?" you inquire.

He looks up at you. Beneath the moonlight, his hair shines and his eyes twinkle amongst the stars. "Yeah. They heal everything."

"How do you even know about this?"

He shrugs, looking into the stamen of a certain peony. "My mom's a flower nerd. When she called most recently, she told me about this spot."

You crouch beside him, "Did she plant these?"

"Some of them. I think she likes azaleas, so probably those."

Your heart skips a beat. "Do you like the azaleas?"

"I-"

From behind you, a voice shouts, "Now I can't keep you away from each other?"

In sync, you look back. McGonagall is standing at the top of the hill, her arms crossed against her silk black robes. "Come on, you two, it's past curfew."

You dawdle up the hill, slightly limping on your ankle. You suppose you should have asked him about it.

When you meet McGonagall, she whispers, "By the way, I'm getting more eyes on you two. No more late night meetings."

xii.

The moon takes its reign in the sky, passing time as though it never wants to leave the throne. There's a waft of nutmeg traveling through the vents. Felix must be baking again.

The lamp on your bedside table clicks on. You look over to Jihyo, who is very much asleep. Her mouth hangs open and her limbs are flailed in varying directions.

A piece of paper forms against your chest. To Y/N: I'm sorry for getting you in trouble.

You shake your head, heart taking fire, as you search for a small piece of room to write: It's okay, I willingly went with you.

You wonder why he's awake. More importantly, why he's apologizing. He's never been one for owning up to anything, so why start now and here?

Within minutes, you receive the paper. To Y/N: I guess she can't police these notes haha

In return, you write: I hope not. Can you smell that nutmeg?

To Y/N: YES IT KEEPS TICKLING MY NOSE!!

To Hyunjin: It's probably just Felix, so I'm letting it slide this once.

To Y/N: Even then, I'm still considering killing him.

To Hyunjin: Same time you're gonna kill Jisung?

To Y/N: Yeah, actually. Thank you for reminding me.

You stifle a laugh, cautiously looking at Jihyo. She releases an abrupt snore, which stands in solitude.

To Hyunjin: Hey btw, do you know what happened to my ankle?

A few moments turn into minutes of twirling your thumbs for a response. The nutmeg retracts its intensity, leaving room for the Sandman to tarnish your eyes with the temptation of sleep. You grow tired of waiting, turning off your lamp and settling into the covers.

Morning comes, but the receiving message does not. You prepare for your day, following the stream of students to the dining hall. Hyunjin is already there, and his eyebags prove his late night. He looks up upon Seungmin's pointing, offering you a wave and a grin.

Nice Hyunjin is so weird.

You smile back. Changbin waits at the end of the food line by the time you get there. "Hey, heard you got caught with Hwang last night," he nudges your arm, raising his eyebrows.

"Nothing happened," you assure.

He nods, though he's not sure he believes you.

You grab a muffin and a carton of orange juice before following Changbin to Jisung, who is nursing a bowl of burnt oatmeal.

"How can you eat that shit?" Changbin grimaces.

You steal a glance in Hyunjin's direction. He's playing a rather intense game of rock, paper, scissors, with another Slytherin. After several rounds of ties, he finally beats the other with scissors. He pumps his balled fists into the air and laughs. His hair falls over his shoulders when he throws his head back.

He looks beautiful.

Maybe you were succumbing to the greed of this desire to be near him. So what if he was a Slytherin? He could be a Hufflepuff and no one would care if you two began seeing each other as more than friends. So why should anyone care if he's a Slytherin?

Jisung presses the tip of his wand against your cheek. "Hello?"

You hastily turn back to him, nearly redirecting his wand into your iris. He flinches back. "Zoned out much?"

"Sorry," you mumble, peeling the wrapper from your muffin.

"It's all good. I was asking if you're coming to Hogsmeade with us this weekend."

You tilt your head, as if the answer is teetering to one side of your brain. "I don't know."

"Come on," Changbin whines. "You've been so disconnected from us recently."

"Plus," Jisung adds, "This is gonna be the last weekend until April."

It's October. You sigh. "Fine. I suppose I'll tag along. But you guys are paying for butterbeer."

You probably would have gone anyway, despite how little you showed interest. Hearing their pitiful whines was just too fun.

"Good. Invite your boyfriend," Changbin nods to Hyunjin, who is walking down the aisle to get breakfast. He marks your gaze, turning a bit to come talk to you. A heat jumps to your chest, slowly rising to your face as he claims the seat beside you.

"Hi," he simpers, his eyes squinted and his teeth glimmering beneath the drowning sunlight.

"Hi," you return the expression. Not because you have to out of politeness, no, but because it's so hard not to.

"Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" he asks, the smile quickly dissipating when he realizes Changbin is just over your shoulder. Eyes of a hawk, that one has.

You open your mouth to speak, but Changbin has already gathered his words. "Yes. They're coming with us."

You thrust your elbow back, nailing right between his ribs. He wheezes, doubling over. "Yeah, I'm going," you tell Hyunjin.

"Good. Meet me at the sweet shop around one," he pauses, turning to Jisung, "I won't keep them long. Promise."

Jisung shakes a free hand as he pools oatmeal onto his spoon, "No, it's fine. Take as long as you need."

Hyunjin smiles. "Nice. Okay, I'll see you later," he stands, patting your shoulder as he walks by.

"What a nice guy," Changbin manages with a smile, though he's still clutching his chest.

xiii.

His gaze is tilted upward as he watches the chocolate dragonflies dart to and fro across the ceiling. There's the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lip. It twitches ever so slightly when a dragonfly threatens to sit on his nose.

"Hey," you greet. He jumps a little, turning to you. The chocolate bug has vanished, fluttering up to its haven.

"Oh, hi. I didn't think you'd get here so quick," he laughs.

You glance at your wrist. "It's 1:05."

He shrugs. "Aren't Gryffindors normally late?"

"Aren't Slytherins not the type to wait around for a Gryffindor?" you retaliate.

He nods, pointing a finger at you as his eyebrows furrow. "Touche."

He buys you a chocolate frog, despite your complaints that you could pay for your own. "No, no, it's on me," he insisted, shoving his money into the cashier's palm before you can say much else.

You perch atop floating stools, staring at him as he tries to wrangle his frog. His mouth hangs open with anticipation as he tries to guide it there. There's a tug at your chest that compels you to smile.

"So why'd you want to meet with me? I thought you were still in your sulky phase," you tease.

He looks up at you. There's a film of innocence to them. For a moment, you forget his reputation. He blinks, summoning a twinkle to the corner of his right eye. "I wanted to ask you for some advice," he finally says, rather confidently. His posture straightens and a cocky smile finds his lips. The Hyunjin you know.

"You didn't knock a girl up, did you? Because I will not be helping you get out of that one. You may be cool, but not that cool," you ramble.

His frog jumps from his palm, hopping away into the niche of chocolate animals with a poised ribbit. Hyunjin rolls his eyes, though a contradicting smile forms. "I was looking for this spell."

You lean closer, interested. "And? Which one?"

"Amortentia."

You pull back. That's a love potion. "Why would you need that?"

He sucks air in through his teeth, glancing away as he informs, "Well, I wanted to use it on you, but I thought maybe it's best not to drug you."

You laugh despite the thundering of your chest. Your fingers find the corner of a Wizard

Card, routinely picking at it to distract yourself. Hesitantly, you mumble,"What are you trying to say here?"

"God, Gryffindors are so dense," he throws his head back, a bubbling laugh bursting into

the air.

"No, I just want to hear you say it."

He groans, gaze slipping back to yours, "I like you a little bit."

"A little bit?" you challenge, recalling his fit in the Slytherin common room.

Hyunjin rests his arms on the table as he leans closer to you, your noses nearly touching. "It sounds like someone told you something. You don't seem very surprised," he hesitates before adding a quiet, "or appalled."

His lips are so close to yours. You can smell his green apple chapstick. You find yourself at a loss for words, for his lips keep your gaze. Oh, what the hell. You close the gap between you, allowing your lips to mingle for a few seconds before pulling away. There's a small giggle to your words as you say, "You're not good at hiding your emotions, Hwang Hyunjin. Aren't Slytherins supposed to be good at stuff like that?"

He scoffs. "Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be noble? You snuck into the Slytherin common room!"

"How'd you know?"

He chuckles, "Your shoulder kinda slipped out of the cloak."

This takes a minute to process. It seems like your usage of the invisibility cloak will now be put on hold. You can only look at the oak table, lips pursed in a disappointing defeat.

You rotate your ankles in small circles when you remember. "Hey, by the way, why was my ankle all messed up? You never answered my letter."

"Seungmin came in," he grabs your hand. "But when I was carrying you back to the castle I may have been a little careless and let your ankle run through a bush of thorns."

You smack his arm with your free hand, mouth agape. "You what?"

"It was an accident! I'll make it up to you," he promises.

"How so?"

He draws your lips to his for a quick peck. "What do you want?"

You think, squinting. "Hmm. I can get anything?"

"Within reason," he declares. "I'm not buying you a unicorn or anything."

You shake your head, for what you want is much more simple. "Can we go on cute dates?"

He hums, interlacing your fingers. "Of course."

"Oh! And we have to go to the Yule Ball together-"

"Sure."

"But we're wearing Gryffindor colors."

He drops your hand, pulling away as if your fingertips scalded him. "Absolutely not."

"C'mon, you owe me."

"Not that much. Your ankle will heal. My pride, however, will not."

You sigh. "Fine, we can settle for non-house colors."

"Deal."

xiv.

"I saw him playing with your fingers," Changbin shakes you vehemently after you sit down at the dining table.

"Why won't you let this go?" you ask.

"Well, you see, when a guy who traditionally hates someone randomly asks them to hang out, their friends should be a little concerned."

You look to Jisung, who is more interested in his soup. "Did you watch us too?" you ask.

He barely looks up. "No, I was at the book shop—I think."

You turn back to Changbin, though he's already shaking his hands in defense. "No, the difference between me and Jisung is-"

"That Jisung's smarter than you?" Hyunjin appears, sitting on the bench beside you.

"Yeah, I think it's that," you nod, sharing his smirked gaze.

"No," Changbin defends, "Jisung is only concerned for physical wellbeing after the fact. I care prior to the event happening."

"If we all lived your way, we'd be sheltered," Jisung adds, twirling his spoon.

They dive into a heated discussion bordering an argument. Hyunjin wraps his arm around you, and the sounds of Changbin whining fades to black. You look up at him, "Shouldn't you be sitting with Seungmin?"

He shakes his head. "I got banished for talking too much about you."

You roll your eyes. "Don't sacrifice your friends because of me."

"Hey, you're the one who makes me this way. If I could not be 'Y/N would like this' every time I saw anything that even remotely reminded me of you, trust me, I would."

"Do you really do that?"

"Any time I see flowers," he sheepishly admits. He catches glimpses of the flower beds every day, nearly four times. Sometimes five if he sneaks out to see you.

You chuckle. "Just say you're in love with me, geez."

"I don't want to inflate your ego," he kisses your temple.

A stray comment from Changbin floats into your bubble, "Gross!"

"Speaking of egos, do you have your suit for the ball?" you ask, pushing your spoon into the sea of spinach and kale.

"I guess I should tell my mom about that," he mumbles.

"Hyunjin! The ball is in a week!"

"Yeah, and I also need to tell her we're dating," he laughs dryly, suddenly absorbed with something down the aisle.

You shrug his arm off of your shoulder. "What? It's been nearly a month!"

He looks back at you as if you're arguing over spilled milk. "Life at the Hwangs is very hectic, okay?"

"He's lying," Changbin says. "They only see each other, pay the kids, and leave."

Hyunjin looks ready to punch the sly grin off of his face. Instead, he pats your thigh. "I'll call her tonight."

xv.

He calls to you from across the bustling room. You stand in awe as your eyes lay upon the black velvet of his blazer. In the chest pocket is a red and gold handkerchief, folded to perfection.

"You look great," he simpers, eyes slipping from your exposed collarbone down to the dark green fabric that expands out from your blanketed feet.

He wraps an arm around your waist, whispering, "You're wearing my color."

Butterflies take reign over your stomach, swarming out in packs. You grow shy as he pulls away.

"You look stunning," he presses a soft kiss on your lips.

He drags you over to Seungmin, who chats with Minho in carefully structured quips.

Seungmin takes a long look at your gown, smiling as he comments, "Slytherin colors."

"You know," Hyunjin turns to you, "I was going to get a red suit but they were incredibly ugly so I'm settling for a handkerchief."

You smile up at him, "It's okay, the sentiment is there."

Minho dismisses himself when he spots a cat swaying between dancing feet. Its eyes are wide with fright as it stares up at the unfamiliar faces in search of its owner. Seungmin smiles fondly as he watches the boy pick up the cat, delicately taking it out of the room.

"Where are Thing One and Thing Two?" Hyunjin inquires, leaning against the bar.

You scan the hall. "I'm not sure. Changbin said he'd be here. Jisung might skip out."

Seungmin laughs unexpectedly, receiving a few confused glares in return. He soon clarifies after taking a sip of water, "I was thinking about Changbin having a date. Weird."

He certainly doesn't have a date. When he arrives, the ball is nearly over and his tie is messily made up.

"Did you get dressed in the dark?" Seungmin stares as he approaches.

"Yes, actually. Long story."

A slower song comes on. It's a change in scenery from the previous publike songs. Hyunjin offers you his hand, dramatically asking, "May I have this dance?"

Your hand slips into his, "You may."

He guides you to an empty spot near the edges of the dance crowd, swiftly tucking his arms around your waist. You nestle yours around his neck. For a few seconds, you stare into his big brown eyes, watching as the twinkle shifts in the light. You fight a smile.

"What's the smile for?"

"Nothing," you say, pressing your cheek to his chest so you can grin in peace.

He sighs, though a vibration in his chest tells you he's also laughing. "I know we tease each other a lot, but I love you."

Your heart skips a beat and your breath clogs up in your throat, though your smile never falters. Each day that has passed, it has grown harder to fight saying those words. When you return them, you feel lighter. As though you have relinquished thirty pounds from your shoulders.

"Don't tell anyone I'm getting sappy with a Gryffindor," he fake gags.

"Same to you, snake."

You smile in these moments. With music guiding your feet and a boy who warms your heart, despite his stereotypically shivering attributes. He rests his chin atop your head as he repeats those cursed words, grounding you with him more and more each time. He's yours. And you're his.

Perhaps it's always been that way.

[quiverwingquack]

What A Launchpad Does Best

He wants nothing but the world for them, but how can he give them that when they're falling apart already? So he does what a Launchpad does best, and hopes it’s enough to put them back together again.

(AO3 link in reblogs.)

———

“A single-parent household is just not the most suitable for a child with her personality….”

“—simply don’t feel she’s safest, after all she’s been through—”

“...and there’s never a guarantee, you know, with couples that aren’t married—”

“I’m sure you understand.”

Launchpad feels like he’s about to scream. Or cry. Maybe both, he muses, and he probably already would be doing a bit of both if it weren’t for Drake in the passenger seat.

Drake, curled up in a ball and gazing out the window listlessly. Obviously heartbroken. All because… because… well.

LP’s heartbroken too.

He turns away to focus on the road better. It seems like every street in St. Canard is full of bumps and holes, but they’ve had a rough enough day. He wants to drive carefully and give Drake a moment to rest.

He doesn’t crash much anymore, these days. As long as he’s with Drake or Gos… Gos, she… ugh. He just wants to keep them safe, be home with them, feel like he’s finally found his place, except he can’t do any of that because they’ve just been told their little girl isn’t theirs at all, actually.

He feels very, very lost. Sure, he knows the way to the tower, piercing the edge of the St. Canardian skyline like always. But inside, within his ever-bleeding heart, he’s forgotten the way back to feeling okay.

He thinks about the lady they’d gone to meet. Organized, with color-coded files and labels on everything and the most neat handwriting he’s ever seen. Except maybe Gyro’s, but he thinks that might just be because he practices it so much. She put even his usual introverted personality to shame, though, with how little she seemed to want to talk to them.

She didn’t seem to like either of them at all.

Drake introduced LP as his partner, and she made the face that all of LP’s least favorite people do. He knows why, but doesn’t give it the power of becoming words in his head. It hurts just a little too much to think someone wouldn’t like him for that.

She seemed to like him even less when she had to ask Drake to clarify that no, they're not married. As if it really matters, LP thinks, but when he remembers the way she talked about “being together” he thinks of every other love taking up space in his heart. All the faded memories with people who moved on from him, one after the other.

He thinks about being forgotten and left behind, and his heart aches.

He feels hollowed-out, like an ice cream container that’s been scooped to the bottom, with barely enough left to call it what it used to be at all. He and Drake haven’t even been dating for a few weeks, and have only known each other for a couple months entirely. They had put their own relationship aside at the start, and it’s still so much less important than this. He feels so, so empty knowing that they can’t salvage what’s barely become a thing at all.

It hurts even worse when he thinks about Gosalyn again. About how that woman so carelessly implied she’s been through too much, and needs a safe place to recover, but that she wouldn’t find it with them. If only he could tell her that Gos went through it all with them already.

If only he could have told her. If he could talk about how Gosalyn laughed and howled to the starry sky the first time she rode in the Ratcatcher with them. Or about how she sprinted for danger when it came time to fight villains, more eager than Darkwing himself. Or the way, when she had to, she shot the Ramrod closed, a truer hero than them all. The way she deserves to be somewhere she can keep fighting that battle to find her family.

Especially if in the end her family turns out to be with Drake, who held her so, so tight while she cried over what she’s lost. And if both of them turn out to belong with him, too, because he never, ever wants the feeling of being with them to fade. He never wants to even think about leaving or losing them.

He doesn’t want to ache anymore, like he is when he thinks about losing their little girl or their still-new relationship in any sort of way.

They reach the tower without a word. Drake still looks haunted, and LP feels a fleeting sense of relief that Gos is off with the other kids today. If she saw Drake right now, all three of them would have to face things falling apart. He’s not ready for that inevitable good… bye… but he’s not sure it has to be.

Before either of them can take off for the corners of the tower, probably to fall apart, he decides he’s got to at least try and fix things. Use his ever-overfilled heart to stick things together enough they’ll stay.

“Drake,” Launchpad murmurs, trying to make his voice as soft as he can, mostly to hide the fact he really wants to cry right now. “I need to ask you something.”

“Yeah, LP?” Drake sounds endlessly tired, but as he turns his head, his eyes have a loving glimmer to them, just like always. “What’s up?”

Launchpad considers himself for a moment, taking pause like he should have before he started talking. He’s had this silly idea for a while—since the Ramrod incident, honestly—but he always thought he’d be more prepared. He’d get an actual ring, for one. And he wouldn’t rush into it this way, practically skipping the “dating” part of their relationship entirely.

But he’s watched his best friend, his other half, go through the worst couple of weeks recently. From finding out Gosalyn’s grandpa couldn’t come back, to officially deciding he wanted to adopt her, to Jim’s return, Drake has been fighting a losing battle at every turn.

And LP knows this is the best way he has to show he’s going to stick with Drake in anything that comes their way.

“I know... I know this isn’t the best timing,” he forces a lump in his throat away. “But, um... after what they said today, about, um... how there’s no way to prove we’ll both be there for her? If... if we aren’t married?”

“Launchpad? Do you…?”

He takes Drake’s hands and holds them gently, ever smaller than his, and their eyes meet. He gets onto his knees, trying not to tremble. He’s never loved anyone this much, ever. If Drake says no, and they end up breaking up, it will break his heart irreparably. But he doesn’t know how to do anything but love, and this is feeling like a breakup before it begins. He has to try and help however he can, even if he’s going to lose them in the end.

“Drake, I... I didn’t wanna do it like this, but... will you marry me? So—so they’d know I’ll never leave you? So you know I’ll never leave you?”

“Of course,” Drake smiles, and the tears he’s been fighting off the whole way home start to fall. His whole expression is shaky and weak, but bursting with love. He lets go of Launchpad’s hands, falling forward to hug him.

LP loves hugs, and has had a million of them, but this is the sweetest one he’s ever had. He can’t keep from beginning to cry himself. Today has been a rollercoaster ride and he’s so dizzy from the emotional twisting and turning.

This morning he woke up thinking he’d plan their next date. It would only be their third, if he didn’t count patrol or Darkwing marathons. Instead he’s spent the day trying to save his greatest adventure before it even begins, and he’s—to even his own surprise—been successful.

“I love you more than anything, you know that?” Drake whispers, near inaudibly. He pulls back from the hug just enough so LP can see his eyes, but not enough they’ve got to let go of each other. “You’re my whole world, you and Gos.”

“And—and you’re mine,” LP’s voice breaks. “I know we’re not really, um… dating, really, not yet, but I—I just don’t wanna lose this. Don’t want to lose Gos or you or just… just this family that we made.”

“I don’t either,” he murmurs, somehow softer than before. “When… when I’m with you, I’m home. I’ve never felt like that with anyone. And if—if I lost either of you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

As he talks, his gaze drifts off to the side. Terrified of being known but somehow still craving the attention anyway. The light of the sunset catches in his dark, emotional eyes, and LP feels his heart take flight.

“If getting married to my best friend is what it’ll take to convince them we can take care of Gosalyn then—then yeah,” Drake laughs, and it’s weak and rough with emotion. It’s beautiful. “Yeah. I love you. Let’s get married.”

[infinites-chaser]

attachment theory | tears of themis | mo yi

deals with a few more serious themes but nothing too far off from the cases in game! also. suggestive ending pls avert ur eyes

vague, alluded to spoilers for mo yi's story and ch.2 of the main story :>

"not sleeping yet?"

for all its gentleness, mo yi's voice takes you by surprise-- you straighten abruptly from where you'd been hunched over a case file and there's a crunch in your neck-- you instantly regret it until the sudden pain's replaced with a gentle touch, and you're pulled back into his embrace, one hand resting warm around your waist, the other massaging circles around the tension in your neck.

"it's this case," you say, gesturing to the abandoned sheaf of papers. "it's bothering me."

his answering laugh's a tender vibration against your back.

"when do your cases not?"

"no," you reply, "this one's not hard, it just--"

"is bothering you," he finishes. you nod.

his hand slips from the back of your neck to rub gentle across your shoulder, then he leans forward to pick up the file, bringing the pages up to a level comfortable enough for the two of you to read together.

a silence passes. then,

"how nostalgic," he remarks. "a pick up artist and a jealous paramour."

you nod. it'd been a straightforward case: the client had gone through a bad breakup with their long-time partner, only to be preyed upon in her vulnerable state by a pick-up artist. when the ex-partner found out, he'd schemed against her, only for him and his plans to be foiled when she'd found out. it would've been simple for him to be charged, but his family had stepped in, had tried to argue it was all her, her and her abusive family, that she was just the same as them, that she'd been blackmailing and extorting him and they'd been relieved when she was finally gone.

you'd won the trial easily: it had hardly been a trial at all, more of a formality than anything else, but when you'd looked over at your client after the verdict, she hadn't looked happy. she hadn't looked proud.

she'd only looked miserable, sitting on the hard wooden bench, all alone.

you'd gone to her when the courtroom cleared, and she'd broken down, asked if this was all she would ever have in a relationship, if this was her fault, if all she ever did was seek out relationships with people who'd hurt her, just like her mother and father.

"is this all there is?" she'd asked. "to hope and hope for better and only be hurt more every time? I might as well not try at all anymore."

"that's not true at all," you'd replied. "i-- maybe I'm privileged to be able to say this, but I think we always have to keep trying, no matter how hard it gets. because what we want, the love we deserve-- it's worth it. it's something we'll never know if we give up now."

she'd fallen silent, after. you'd pulled her into a hug, and her fingers had dug deep into your shoulder blades, and for a long, shuddering moment, she hadn't let go.

"I wonder," you say now. "how much of us is from our parents? what do we inherit? what do we still have the power to change?"

though mo yi doesn't turn his head, you can feel his attention shift from the case files back to you.

"that woman," you continue, "she had a hard childhood. she had to raise herself. but her ex-boyfriend had caring parents. they'd do anything for him."

"you know," you say, "his mother even approached me before the trial."

"and what did she want?" he asks, voice soft.

you scoff.

"she told me she'd give me any sum of money if it meant her son's record would stay clean."

"oftentimes, parents will do anything for their children."

"she and her husband-- they love him a lot," you say. "they're good people. but--"

"but then why did he grow up like that? why did your client?"

you nod. he sits back, places the file aside, lets his fingers drum thoughtful across your back.

"humans are not so simple," he says at last. then, when you open your mouth,

"but you already know that."

you close your mouth as he laughs softly, then continues.

"psychologists used to think criminality was a gene. it's almost like some religions, if you think about it. you inherit the sins of your past life. if they did not live cleanly, then neither shall you. if your parents became criminals, then, inevitably, so would you."

"we know they're wrong now," he continues, "but isn't there some truth to that? who our parents are come to define who we are. or who we aren't. I believe in your client's and her ex's case, the latter is true."

"what do you mean?"

"your relationship with their parent when you're young shapes you. it's what each of us first learns attachment from. love, caring, connection-- it all stems from there. perhaps we look at your client's ex and his parents, and we see the love they have for him. the care. but for him, all he feels is that it's stifling. that he needs someone of his own to control."

his voice grows lower.

"perhaps, for your client, one might look at her, and how she raised herself, and find her independence admirable. but as you saw, rather than be happy with herself, rather than be proud, of surviving, of living well, despite all odds, all she finds in herself is her own loneliness."

he laughs softly. it isn't a happy sound.

"we humans," he says. "we often are trapped by circumstance, for reasons we can't control. but we often trap ourselves, too."

"we aren't like just that, though," you say. "humans can't always be defined just one way. we grow. we change. sometimes all we need is a direction, but it's never fixed-- there's always a choice. a chance for change. for becoming more."

a long silence passes.

"perhaps you're right," he says at last, voice almost wistful.

"but," he continues, "isn't that enough psychology for tonight? there's only so much information our brains can maintain without proper rest."

"rest?" you ask with a laugh, "what's that?"

"rest," he repeats, firmer. "it's nearly two in the morning. even if you feel awake right now, your body will regret it later."

you'd press him further about the sudden subject change, but something about the way his arms have gone tense around yours holds your tongue.

instead, you acknowledge his point with a nod and a sigh, and let him lead you back to lie down on the bed beside him.

you've had your eyes closed for all of a minute before he's pulled you into his arms, his head tucked warm under yours.

"to rest," he muses, "or to... relax."

"after all that talk about unhealthy attachment, what does this say about you, hm, Dr. Mo?" you chide gently. he chuckles, but doesn't let go, his breath warm at the base of your neck. you shiver. he pulls you closer.

"who can say," he murmurs as reply. "it's interesting, really. normally, I'd never think of myself as someone who gets attached. but around you--"

"around me what?" you echo.

"around you, I can't seem to help myself."

his voice is low. on another man, you'd call it almost needy, but with him, paradox, walking contradiction he is, it's a confessional. a prayer. a promise. a prediction.

"can't help yourself?" you repeat again, hoping the words don't betray the heat creeping over your cheeks. and there's a million questions you want to ask, about his parents, his past, the way he always pulls back from a conversation before you can catch a true glimpse of the inner him,

but he breathes in, breathes out. slow, langourous, savoring the moment, savoring you, and the questions quiet,

"I never can," he muses. "it's strange."

his head dips lower, the silver of his hair brushing low across your cheek.

"why you," he murmurs against the hollow of your throat. you don't dare breathe, dare move, dare think. then his lips find the curve of tender skin where neck meets collarbone and you inhale, sharp and fast, and you don't think at all.

you drown in him, his mouth on your skin, his teeth a gentle rough, his tongue teasing tender, quicksilver, lightning, lava, everything molten, leaving you breathless burning,

he surfaces between your legs, your fingers laced through his hair, turned silvered with sweat, golden gaze on yours, his hands tracing the course of your veins, your pulse racing hard and heavy under his touch.

"you," he breathes against your inner thigh, fingers ghosting gentle, ghosting higher, "you, you, a thousand times over. always you."

he presses his mouth to your skin, lets his lips skim upward, a hundred kisses in one, slow and teasing.

more than anything else, you think, we are what we choose to be. maybe there are parts of him you'll never quite know the way you want to, maybe there are certain things he can't give up, and the same goes for you. but despite his past, despite his secrets, you've always ever known one truth of mo yi, the truth of him when it comes to you.

(he chooses you, despite, despite, despite. and so do you. you choose, in the hopes of growth. of change. of something that'll last, something meaningful.)

"it's always you for me, too," you whisper, then let his lips claim yours.

[moon-light-jukebox]

“All you have to do is ask” Chapter 8 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // next chapter

Summary: After their weekend together, Reader and Dr. Reid have very different ideas on what the next step is. But all of that will have to wait because there’s a serial arsonist in D.C. who has been choosing victims that appear too random. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x (Female) Reader

Rating: Mature

Category: Angst. Just all the angst. There is a moment of smut...but it’s angsty smut. 

Content Warnings: The usual criminal minds talk of m*rder and mayhem. Mentioned of drug addiction. Vaginal penetration. Unprotected sex. And there is a character that gets seriously injured, but is ultimately fine. 

Word Count:  6.6k for Chapter 8 

A/n: There is a quote by Jane Austen that says, “All my characters shall have, after a bit of trouble, all that they desire.” That’s my philosophy on writing. I know this isn’t what everyone signed up for when they started reading a sub!Spencer fic. This my hurt you heart, but I promise you the part of Chapter 9 that mends it is already written. If you want to wait to read this until Chapter 9 comes out to read this, I understand. The earliest it will be out is tomorrow, the latest is Friday. 

-- Chapter 8 – “Because I love you” --

Spencer had been reluctant for me to go home last night, but eventually relented when I pointed out that I couldn’t very well show up to work in what I was wearing when I left yesterday. He had kissed me so softly before I left that it made me ache. Everything felt so different, but everything was the same.

The next morning, I was getting ready when I heard my phone ding with a text message. I smiled when I saw Spencer’s name.

“Open your door.”

Not a second later I heard a knock on my door. My eyebrows drew together as I crossed the living room, throwing the door open to see a very chipper Dr. Spencer Reid standing on the other side.

“Hi,” he said softly, smiling at me.

“Hi?” I laughed; I really couldn’t help it. “What are you doing here, Doc?”

“I brought you this.” I noticed the cups in his hand then, both from the coffee shop I showed him yesterday. “Even though it felt wrong to order it,” he teased.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, taking my iced coffee from him before I waved him into my apartment. Iced coffee was an abomination to my Dr. Reid. “You only hate it because you haven’t tried it.”

He moved to sit on my couch, taking a sip of his own drink. “And I will continue to hate it without having tried it.”

“Brat,” I muttered, moving to stand in front of him. I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but it’s 6:45 in the morning. You were going to see me in, what, an hour anyway?” How early did he have to get up to do this?

His bottom lip stuck out in a slight pout. “Are you upset that I came by?”

My nervous, darling boy. ��Never, Doc.” I turned to go back into my room to finish getting ready.

“I also thought we should talk about what we’re going to do today,” he called from the living room.

Huh? “What do you mean?” I picked out a pair of ankle boots from my closet that would match with my outfit. “Do we have a new case?”

“Probably,” he said, scaring the shit out of me. I didn’t realize he’d gotten up and come into my bedroom.

“Jesus, Spencer,” I laughed, my hand over my heart. “Warn a girl next time, alright?” I finished putting on my shoes, checking my hair and makeup in the mirror a final time before I turned to walk back into the living room. “So, we need to talk about the fact that we ‘probably’ have a case?”

“No,” he said, reaching out to grab my elbow, stilling my movements. “I wanted to talk about us. And what we’re going to tell the team.”

Oh no. “Tell the team…about what?” I hedged.

Spencer's eyebrows came together in confusion. "…About us?”

“…Why would we tell the team?” My question sounded hollow in my own ears.

My darling, darling boy looked confused for a second. “Well, its protocol. We’re on the same team. And…” he swallowed thickly. “I-I thought that…”

I felt my heart splinter into a million pieces. "Spencer," I began quietly. "I don't know if we…I'm not sure if that’s the best idea.”

“What do you mean?” He looked so crestfallen, so fucking hurt that I could barely breathe. "I thought after last weekend that..." he trailed off. He looked so young in that moment like he really was a small boy afraid that someone he cared about would leave him. "I thought you wanted to be with me."

His sadness was a punch to my gut. “Spencer,” I said gently. “It is not that. It’s not that at all.” I took a step towards him, reaching out to place my hand on his arm. “I just…you’ve never been involved in this sort of relationship before. There are a lot of high emotions that come with this-“

“What are you saying?” he interrupted, his voice hard.

“I’m saying that we need to give this time before you make any sort of decision about us other than our established BDSM relationship.” He jerked his arm away from me. Don’t do this to me, baby. "Spence, plenty of people have a relationship within a dom/sub relationship. I have! It can work. But…” I trailed off.

“But what, y/n?” His eyes were cold. They looked so wrong. My boy was supposed to have warm amber eyes. Not these flat brown eyes that made my heart feel hollow.

“I’m saying that it’s only been one weekend. And I need you to be sure. We need to be sure about each other.”

“So, you aren’t sure?” He took a step towards me, crowding my space. “You seemed pretty fucking sure last night.” Spencer looked up at the ceiling, running his hand through his hair. “How can you stand here and say you aren’t sure after what we did together last night?!”

Tears pricked in the corners of my eyes. “It was just sex, Spencer.” Liar.

He backed away from me, a look of disgust on his face. “I’ve asked you once before not to lie to me, y/n. You know that what we did last night was a whole lot more than ‘just sex’ or ‘fucking.’ You can lie to yourself about it, but don’t you dare fucking lie to me!”

“Then what was it, Spencer?” My anger matched his own, my hands were shaking so hard I had to ball them into fists at my sides.

Spencer turned then, taking several steps until he was in front of me again. His hand moved up to the left side of my face; he ran his thumb over the cupid’s bow of my mouth. “You know what it was, y/n.” His head tilted down while his thumb ran over my bottom lip. “I made love to you last night. You’re hiding, and I don’t understand why. But please. You promised you wouldn’t regret it. Do you?” His eyes searched my face frantically.  

“Not for an instant, Spencer.” My eyes were starting to brim over with emotion.

“Then don’t push me away, baby. I know you’re scared.” He moved to close the few inches that separated us, his lips brushing over mine softly, sending a tingle down my entire body.

“I’m not pushing you away,” I said against his mouth. “I just…Can we give it time?” He pulled back from me, his hand dropping from my face, leaving me cold. “Spencer, you’ve never done this before, you went through a lot of high emotions this weekend… that might have affected how you think you’re feeling.”

Spencer gave a jerk, abruptly pulling completely away from me. “I know exactly how I fucking feel.” His words were low and harsh. Without looking back at me he stormed out of my apartment.  

The tears didn’t come until I saw he had left his coffee cup behind.

--

I was only 15 minutes late for work, and I think I had fixed my face enough so that it didn't look like I had been crying. The team was already in the conference room when I arrived. I darted inside, mumbling my apologies.

“Did you sleep in,” Morgan teased from beside me.

I just shot him an obviously fake glare. “Maybe.”

That seemed to ease the tension in the room…except the tension that was coming from the man sitting in between JJ and Morgan, the man refusing to look at me.

My heart broke more every single second he ignored me. But this is what I deserve.

Garcia walked into the room then, iPads and casefiles in hand. “Welcome back, crimefighters. We’re coming in hot today but luckily we’re staying close to home!” She passed out the iPads to all of us, save my boy who got a paper file, with a huge smile on her face. “There’s a serial arsonist right here in D.C.!”

JJ laughed. “That’s a weird thing to sound happy about, Penelope.”

“And we have a problem,” Hotch said, walking into the room and shutting the door.

“Figures,” Morgan muttered. “We get a weekend off and come back to a problem.”

Garcia smiled at him before turning to Hotch. “A problem with what, Sir? I didn’t see any problems in the files. Other than murder…and destruction of property…Just general icky-ness.”

Hotch sighed, gesturing for her to put the photos on the monitor. "Over the past month, there have been three fires in Dupont Circle. So far 6 people have died. He seems to be targeting married couples with no children or pets."

“It’s not uncommon for arsonists to avoid places with pets,” Morgan mused.

“What is uncommon is how random the victims are. Garcia?” Hotch motioned for her to go on.

"Right, well D.C. Police didn't even realize the fires were connected at first. In the first two fires, they initially couldn't find the origin point where the fire started."

“What?” I asked. “How can the unsub be hiding that?”

“People can hide lots of things.” That comment came from my boy. I looked over at him, but he still refused to meet my eyes.

“That they can, Doc.”  

“That’s all the information we have Sir,” Penelope said to Hotch. “I’m not sure what the problem is.”

"The victims are too random, which is why I wanted to look them over before we officially accepted the case. I think I've found his pattern. Garcia," he said, shifting his focus to her. "Can you cross-reference the names of all the victims against BAU cases?"

As Garcia sat down and started typing Morgan turned to our unit chief. “What are you thinking here, Hotch?”

“I recognized one of the victims of the second fire. We questioned him years ago. Gideon and I were the ones that brought him in. There was a string of rapes in the Washington Highlands area.” Hotch crossed his arms over his chest. “We thought he looked good for it, but he had a solid alibi. His wife said she with him all night. The case was never solved.”

“Oh my god,” Garcia gasped out, her eyes wide. “We’ve brought all three male victims in for questioning on different cases over the years.”

“And there’s our problem. You’d either have to be a member of D.C. police or someone in the Bureau to know that they had been questioned.”

Fuck me running. “So, we have a serial arsonist that might be able to know every move we make as we make it?”

This day just keeps getting better and better.

--

After hours of speaking with the D.C. fire departments and working with local police, Derek and Prentiss made a discovery when they examined the crime scenes.

“I’m telling you Hotch," Morgan's voice rang out from the phone held in our unit chief's hand. "The scene has been tampered with. The reason they had a hard time finding the ignition point is because someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble to cover it up after the fact."

“That confirms our theory that the unsub is a member of law enforcement or the fire department,” Spencer chimed in.

Rossi came over to the table, his hands in his pockets, a worried look on his lined face. "Being a member of the fire department fits better if you're trying to hide the ignition point," he began. "But a firefighter wouldn't have access to the files on who was questioned.

Derek made a noise of agreement. “I think we might be looking at a team.”

“That would make sense,” I said, looking up from the files on the round table. “No firefighter showed up at all 3 fires. We know he’s organized, but arsonists are compulsive. He would have to be nearby to watch it all burn.”

“You think maybe an off-duty cop or firefighter was in the crowd,” Spencer said, finally, finally, finally meeting my eyes for the first time that day. His eyes were lit with excitement over figuring a puzzle out. “No one would notice a person like that being at all 3 fires. And nobody would notice if a firefighter or cop asked to come take a look once the fire was out.”  

I nodded. “Correct again, Doc.”

His gaze shuttered at that, his jaw locking, then he turned his back to me.

“We’re gonna have to re-interview all the firefighters and D.C. police,” Hotch said with a sigh. “He’s one of them.”

“I can ask Will if he’ll come in. A lot of the cops in his prescient have also worked Dupont Circle in the past. Maybe he can help us narrow it down,” JJ chimed in.

Hotch nodded. “Tomorrow. We all need to go home tonight. D.C. police are on high alert. We’re not going to catch him tonight. Get some rest.”

With that dismissal, the team disbanded from the conference room.

I tried to catch him, but my boy was gone before I even got back to my desk.

--

“Hey, Spence. It’s me again. I…I know that you probably don’t want to talk to me. You also probably don’t want me leaving you voicemails. You hate voicemails. But…I’m just worried about you and I want to know that you’re okay. Please call me back.”

"Hey, Doc. I'm just checking on you again. Please call me back."

“Spencer, please don’t do this to me. I’m sorry.”

--

The clock above my TV said that it was almost midnight, but I wasn’t aware of any time passing. My eyes were swollen from crying but the rest of my body felt numb. I had been calling and texting Spencer for hours with no reply. I couldn’t believe that he would do this to me…especially after what I told him yesterday.

It’s strange how this weekend already feels like it was years ago. The best two days of my life…gone. Maybe my ex was right...maybe I’m not worth it.

My thoughts were interrupted by a banging on my door that was so loud and so sudden I almost jumped out of my skin.

Having every intention of just ignoring whoever it was, I didn't move to get up. But then the banging got louder.

I quickly scrambled to my gun safe, putting my thumb against the sensor to unlock it. Gun in hand, I moved towards the door. The banging was constant now, and so forceful I was worried my door would fly off the hinges.

I looked through the peephole in my door, my gun gripped in my right hand. I saw him at the same time he spoke. “Y/n,” Spencer called, pounding on my door. “Let me in!”

I put my gun down and had the lock off and the door open in seconds. "Spencer, what in the ever-loving fu-“

My words were cut off because he pushed through the door, entering my apartment without even looking at me. This feels familiar. I turned to face my boy, angry but in a different way than I had seen him before. “What are you doing here, Doc?”

He gave a bitter smile at that. “We’ve been here before. Don’t call me Doc right now.” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your messages. At first, I was ignoring you, but then I…went somewhere where I couldn’t have my phone.”

His words felt like an ice pick in my heart. “You were ignoring me?” My voice was small. “And…you went…” I couldn’t finish my thought; I just wrapped my arms around my middle.

“Yes, y/n,” he said simply. “I was ignoring your calls. I didn’t…” His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he considered me. “I was afraid of what I’d say…what I’d do.”

“Oh.”

Spencer shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I went to a meeting. Then I went across town and went to another one.”

“Spencer." My voice was a whisper, emotions threatening to overtake me. "I'm so fucking sorry.” I hurt him so much he went to multiple meetings? I did that to him?

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” His tone wasn’t dismissive just…impersonal. “Your actions are your own, how I respond to those actions is all I can control.”

“Did the…did you?”

He pulled both of his lips between his teeth. He knew what I meant. He always knows. “No, y/n, I didn’t.” His tongue tapped against his top lip. “But, I really, really fucking wanted to.”

My entire body went cold. “Spencer, I didn’t mean to-“

"Don't, y/n." His hands left his pockets; he crossed his arms over his chest. "I know. I was in the middle of my second meeting when I realized. I was thinking about the quickest way I could get in touch with my old dealer." I winced at his words. "Because…how was I supposed to live with the fact that you dismissed the most…" I saw his anger rising again as he thought about it. "It was one of the most important fucking moments of my life,y/n!” The voice that was usually so soft was laced with bitterness.

My tears started falling then. “Spencer I never meant to hurt you.” I curled my body more into myself. “I…I don’t know how to fix this.”

"That's when I realized what was happening," he continued like I hadn't spoken. "I remembered the look on your face when I told you that you were all sunshine and kindness. You balked at the idea." His eyes bore into me, laying me bare. "You're trying to protect yourself, and it's a natural instinct. But you're hurting me to do it.”

I saw the moment his anger left his body. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes went glassy and I felt the hurt wash over him. “You have to stop doing this,” he whispered, his voice strained. Each one of the tears that fell from those beautiful brown eyes was a knife in my stomach. “You have to let someone care about you.” Spencer cut the distance between us. He reached for me, his hands come up to hold my face, while his own crumpled. “You have to let me care about you.”

I couldn’t bear to see him cry; I couldn’t live with myself when I was the cause of this wonderful, beautiful man’s pain. I looked straight into his eyes, taking in all the pain I’d caused. “I want to, Doc,” I whispered. “But I don’t know how.”

His mouth crashed against mine. Spencer was desperate in a way I hadn’t felt before; he ripped my shirt from my body while I tugged his shirt free from his pants. His mouth moved down to my neck, sucking harshly while I worked his belt off. I slipped my hand inside of his underwear, palming him. He was already hot and hard, and I ached for him. I’m not sure which one of us pulled the other down to my living room floor, but I felt the cool wood on my back as Spencer settled over me.

His hand came up to brush my hair out of my face. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. The pressure of his hands changed. The desire still burned between us, but it wasn’t fueled by pain and rage. Spencer kissed me like I was the most precious thing he’d ever held. His fingers were soft when they slipped into my panties, finding me already wet for him. There was no smirk on his face when he unfastened his pants or when he pulled mine off.

He held himself against me, not quite inside of me yet. Spencer Reid, my wonderful, darling, nervous boy leaned over me, put his mouth against my neck when he entered me. My back arched and I moaned loudly at the invasion. He peppered kisses from my shoulder, around my neck, until he reached the other side. His mouth moved up my cheek, finally finding my lips while he continued to move inside me.

This felt different than last night. If last night was making love…I don’t know what this could be. I felt like Spencer was inside every part of me, consuming me. He pulled back, looking in my eyes, his thrusts never slowing. “I know you’re not ready to hear it,” he whispered. “But you need to know I feel it. I’ve felt it since the first time you smiled at me, y/n.”

He moved his hand down between our bodies, brushing against my clit. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to cum, but he quickly proved me wrong. I felt my orgasm rising up inside me but even it felt different. It wasn’t frantic or intense, it was slow and powerful…it was perfect, just like my boy was.

Spencer felt when my orgasm started to break. “When you’re ready to hear it, I’ll never stop telling you. I will tell you about how I’ll feel it forever, and how no one has ever felt it the way I do with you.”

I’m not sure if I started crying from the sudden release of the orgasm or from his words, but tears slipped down my cheeks while I held him to me tightly when he found his own pleasure.

“Stay with me,” he whispered against my mouth.

Always.

--

Both of our phones went off at 5 am the following morning.

“Hurry!” Garcia’s first text read. The second made my stomach drop. “There was another fire!”

We arrived on the scene as quickly as we could. I didn't live very far from Spencer, so it wasn't that weird for me to swing by his place and "pick him up." In reality, he just needed to change his clothes. His left hand held onto my right as we drove towards the fire that had claimed 2 more lives.

“We have to talk,” he said at last.

“I know.” Because I did.

“After the case?”

I nodded, bringing our joined hands up so I could press a kiss to the back of his hand.

--

The next two victims were just like the others; a husband who had been questioned in a serial murder investigation by the BAU and the wife that was his alibi. After interviewing everyone again we kept coming up with one name over and over. Edward Gordon was a responding officer at the first and third fires, but several people remember seeing him at fire two. He was on duty for the fourth fire and was already on the scene when the BAU agents showed up.

He had applied to the FBI academy but was denied; that denial didn’t stop him from applying to the D.C. police department. He fit the profile; he had the connections needed to pull it off. We were on our way to his house with a warrant. I was sitting in the passenger seat while Morgan drove; Prentiss and Rossi were in the back. “I don’t like this,” Rossi muttered.

“What’s up?” Derek asked.

"I don't know," the older man said. "It just feels…gift wrapped." He turned to look at Emily. "It wasn't until the firefighter you talked to remembered him that anyone else remembered him.”

“Right,” Emily said, consulting her notes. “Jeff Sawyers. He’s 35, married, and well-liked by everyone. We ruled him out.”

Rossi shook his head. “Everyone we talked to said that Gordon was a loner, he didn’t stick out. No one noticed him. So why did Sawyers?”

“Maybe he felt something? Like when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up?” Morgan offered.

“Well,” Rossi said with a sigh, sitting back. “I don’t know about you guys, but the hairs on the back of my neck are already up.”

Mine are too.

--

Arresting Edward Gordon was too easy. He didn’t put up much of a fight, which made me more nervous.

“Guys,” Spencer called while Morgan loaded Gordon into a suburban. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Hotch nodded. “Something is off. Stay sharp, we need to clear the area.”

We broke off into teams to do another sweep of Gordon’s house. I was with Hotch in the basement, Rossi and Reid took the main floor, and JJ and Prentiss to the top.

“There’s nothing,” I said when we all met again on the front porch. “But something feels wrong.”

Emily nodded. “Maybe we should canvas surrounding houses?”

“Not a bad idea,” Rossi mused. “Maybe somebody saw something…or maybe somebody is actually someone.”

“I’ll go tell Morgan,” my boy said, turning to head for the car parked on the side of the road.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move in the upstairs window of the house directly across the street. I saw it a moment before everyone else; I was already sprinting towards Reid before the others had a chance to react.

Not him, no not him, I begged. I wasn’t even sure who I was begging. Please not him, please.

Spencer heard the others shout his name; my jaw was locked together in panic, unable to speak. I slammed into him hard, knocking him out of the way just in time.

I felt fire rip through my shoulder, I heard bullets ring out behind me. I didn't pay attention to any of it though.

Why is he crying? I thought my heart sinking into misery. Please don’t cry, my darling boy. I can’t stand it.

His hands were so warm when he cupped my face. These circumstances were different from the last time he held me like this, but my heart squeezed just the same.

“Why,” his voice was strangled. “Why would you do that?”

Blackness edged around my vision. I wanted to make some funny quip to try to make him smile, but I couldn’t draw in enough air. So, I settled for the simplest and truest thing I could say.

“Because I love you.”

-- Spencer’s POV –

In times when I felt overwhelmed, I always counted things. It was a sort of compulsion that started when I was a child. When my parents would fight, I’d count the number of specks in each tile on the kitchen floor. I’d count the number of seconds between each shout. When Tobias had me all those years ago, I counted the boards around the cabin.

I couldn’t focus on anything long enough to count now.

Derek was to my right; Emily was to my left. Hotch was across the room sitting with his head in his hands. Rossi stood near JJ, his arm around her.

It’s not right, I thought. None of this is right because she’s not here. She has to be here.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to…how am I supposed to breathe without her?

“How long?” Morgan’s voice broke through the silence. I didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“37 days, 5 hours, 17 minutes, and 45 seconds. Since the case in Nebraska.”

I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. Emily raised her hand to place it on my shoulder. Usually, their touches made my skin hurt. I couldn't handle the constant pressure and sometimes they would rub patterns on my skin meant to bring me comfort but all it did was set my teeth on edge. Nobody had ever understood that.

But she did. She knew how to touch me without me telling her. She always checked in with me during everything. I had never felt safer in my entire life than I did in her arms.

And she’s not here.

Penelope burst into the room a moment later. “What happened?” Her big eyes were swimming in tears behind her glasses. Morgan stood and went to her, wrapping her in his arms.

Bitterness rose up in my throat. What if when she was dying was my last chance to hold her? What if all this was my fault? Would she have jumped in front of a bullet for another team member? Logically, I knew she would have. That’s just who y/n is…but I couldn’t shake this feeling that this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t-

My thoughts went blank when another man walked into the room; he had on blue scrubs and a mask hanging around his neck. He’s the doctor. I shot to my feet, halfway across the room before the others even realized someone else had entered.

“You’re all here for Y/l/n?” he asked, his eyes darting around.

I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out; I was frozen. My heart was currently in a paradox. She was my very own Schrödinger’s cat. She was both alive and dead and somehow neither at the same time. I now understood that experiment better than I ever had before.

I couldn’t ask the doctor because what if she was gone? What if I got 37 days, 5 hours, 19 minutes, and 3 seconds to hold her…but I had to go the rest of my life without ever seeing her light again? I had told y/n she was sunshine…but she was so much more. She was the sun itself. Without her in this world, nothing would be there to hold my universe together, leaving everything to spin out into freezing darkness.

What if she’s already gone? What if I haven’t had her the past 24 minutes? 15 minutes?

Hotch spoke for me. “Yes, how is she?”

“The bullet nicked her brachial artery; she lost a lot of blood. Luck you had medics so close by. It was touch and go for a moment, but we were able to repair the damage. She should make a full recovery.”

I felt my entire universe shift; my legs were suddenly unable to hold me. I felt someone grab my shoulders when my knees hit the hard floor. My mind flashed with every moment we had had together. Her kind smiles, the way she cocked her head to the side when she was teasing me, the look on her face when she finally trusted me enough to let me be with her the way I had always wanted.

“Kid,” Rossi’s voice said, I only then realized he was who had grabbed me. “She’s gonna be okay. Y/n is gonna be fine.”

His voice was soft, I could barely hear it over the sound of someone sobbing. It took me a minute longer to realize the sobbing was coming from me.

Yes, she was going to be fine…but for how long? How long did I get her until she had to jump in front of another bullet to save me? How long did I get to have the sun before I did something to make it disappear? I could live in a world where she didn’t love me, but I couldn’t live in a world where she didn’t exist.

“Because I love you," she had said. She jumped in front of a bullet because she loved me. But did she even love me? Or did she just tell me what I needed to hear because she thought she was dying?

I finally understood why she was so afraid of love because I had never loved anything the way I loved her.

My body went cold when I realized what I had to do. Every possible future I imagined ended with her the way she was earlier today, bleeding out because she loved me. I couldn’t be responsible for putting her light out. She’d never forgive me. And none of that mattered if I got to live in a world where she was still breathing. Where I got to love her. Even if she didn’t love me back.

Rossi’s grip tightened around me. “Let’s go see your girl, Spencer.”

My voice was hollow as the gravity of everything fell down around me. “I-I don’t think I can.”

-- Reader POV –

The first thing I became aware of was how goddamn bright it was. My eyes started to flutter open and they immediately shut in a wince. The second was the pain.

“Oh, this is some bullshit,” I muttered, trying to pry my eyes open.

I heard several chuckles at my words. “There she is! Feisty as ever!”

That was Morgan. Why is Morgan here? Where is here? It all started coming back in flashes. The house…the unsub…the fires…the gun pointing out the window. Spencer!

My eyes finally opened all the way. I heard the beeping of machines and I smelt antiseptic. Once my vision came into focus, I saw my team filling the room. JJ was crying and holding Garcia. Derek and Emily were closest to me on either side. But…I didn’t see that curly mop of hair.

“What happened? Is Spencer all right?” My words were frantic as I tried to sit up.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Morgan’s hand pressed against my shoulder, keeping me still. “Reid is fine. And you need to rest.”

He’s fine. He’s fine. I kept repeating that over and over again in my mind. “What happened?” I asked, my throat was dry and scratchy.

“It was a trap,” Hotch said from the end of my bed. “Gordon and Sawyers were working together. We had profiled Gordon to be the dominant member if we were looking at a team, but it was Sawyers who called the shots. He just used Gordon’s rage for his own advantage. Apparently, Sawyers’ sister died in a murder investigation 2 years ago. He blamed the BAU because we were called in but the man he suspected had an alibi. Sawyers was in the house across the street…”

Right. There was a gun…and it was pointed at Spencer. “Did you get him?”

Hotch nodded. “Gordon is in custody. Sawyers is dead.”

“Good,” I mumbled. “If Spencer is okay, where is he?”

There was an awkward pause for a moment before anyone spoke. “Let me go get the Doctor. I’m sure they want to know you’re awake,” JJ said before quickly leaving the room.

“I think he just needs a minute, Kiddo,” Rossi said gently.

“Oh, and don’t think for one goddamn minute you’re gonna be able to weasel out of telling us about you and Reid.” Morgan looked positively giddy. “He said since Nebraska, y/n.” Prentiss shot him a glare, to which Morgan only shrugged.

I sighed, but then quickly realized how much that fucking hurt. “I guess the cat is out of the bag.”

An older man entered the room then. “Hello, Agent y/l/n. I’m Dr. Richardson. I’d like to check you over if I could? And your friends can leave the room.”

Emily brushed her hand over the top of my head. “We’ll be back.”

--

I had a repaired artery, gotten a transfusion, and somehow fractured a rib. Oh, and a new scar near my shoulder. The bullet was through and through, and scars were just scars.

None of that bothered me as much as my boy’s absence. The rest of the team had left hours ago. Garcia promised she’d be back bright and early and that she would be making a schedule of who was going to visit me each day and at what time. I didn’t bother trying to talk her out of it.

I had brought up Spencer a few times, I had asked for my phone to call him…but everyone had always changed the subject or tried to redirect my attention. After everything that had happened, him avoiding me now almost hurt as bad as the bullet wound.

There was a hesitant knock on the door that made my heart jump. I know that knock. Sure enough, the door pushed open to reveal the only person I wanted to see. His hair was messy like he’d been running his hands through it, the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, and he was in different clothes than he had had on Tuesday morning. But even though I was so happy to see him I just felt something…wrong.

“Hey Doc,” I said softly.

Spencer came to stand at the end of my hospital bed, his eyes flat, his hands gripping the plastic rails. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice was raspy and hollow.

“I’ve been better,” I joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

My boy just sighed. “That was really fucking stupid, y/n.”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t going to let him shoot you.”

His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the bed. “So, you let him shoot you? How does that make any fucking sense, y/n?!”

My voice was small, “Because it wouldn’t be you that got hurt. Why are you being like this, Spence?”

He ran a hand over his face, licking his lips before he spoke. “I just feel bad about this because…you were right.”

“I’m right fairly often, Doc. You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“About my feelings,” he said his eyes were on me, but they weren’t focused. “You were right when you said that they were just a chemical reaction to what happened this weekend. You said they would pass, and you were right.”

I couldn’t breathe. I felt like all the air had been taken out of the room.

Spencer went on. “I’m sorry if I led you on, y/n. I enjoyed our time together, but it’s not something I’d want to pursue long term. I’m embarrassed of how I acted, especially since it gave you the wrong impression.”

“Oh.” My entire body went cold and I felt my heart drop.

“I also think we should end our personal relationship.”

I blinked back tears, he sounded so impersonal. “We can’t even be friends?”

His hands lifted from the bed, his arms crossing over his chest. “We weren’t friends before, y/n.”

I pulled both of my lips between my teeth, taking small breaths so my body wouldn’t hurt more than it needed to. “I appreciate the honesty, Doc. I really do.” I turned my head to the side, unable to look at him any longer. “But this is a weird fucking time to do it.”

“I know,” he said, his tone not changing. “But I think your judgment has been compromised. I don’t think we can have any sort of relationship when it makes you do something so reckless because you think…” He trailed off.

“Because I think what, Reid?” I spat out.

“Because you think I care about you more than I do.”

I scoffed, not caring about the pain. “I didn’t take a bullet for you because I thought you cared about me.” I did it because of how much I cared about you. “You’re a member of the team, I would have done the same for any of them.”

“Then maybe you should reevaluate your place in this team.”

I think it would have hurt less if he just punched me in the bullet wound “Thanks a whole fucking lot, Reid. I’ll do that.”

He dropped his arms and turned to walk out of my room. “I’m glad you’re okay, y/n.”

His hand had just pulled the door open when I called out. “Reid…did I say anything? After I was shot?”

The man that used to be my darling boy turned to look at me, his face was unreadable. "Not that I heard, no." With that, he was gone. He just walked out of my room like he didn't rip me to shreds like he didn’t take my entire heart with him.

My heart jumped with hope when the door opened again, only to plummet when I saw it was just the nurse. “Are you alright, dear?” she asked, coming to fiddle with the machines that monitored my vitals. “Oh, my lord. You’re crying! Are you in a lot of pain?” she didn’t wait for an answer, she just started for the door. “I’ll get your next dose of pain meds, be right back.”

She could do that…but I don’t think this pain will ever go away.

--

Series tag list: @abschaffer2 @liaabsurd @brokenanxiety @thisiscalmandits-dr @less-intelligent-spencerreid @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @cielo1984 @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @101donuts @heyitssarahk @creepingfromthecorners @fanfictionislifetho @annestine @boiled-onionrings @gublerspublers @dolanfivsosxox @lamusaeuterpe @publiusvirgilius @suzystuff @differentkettleoffishalltogether @georgiamae @thatsonezesty13 @addie5264 @hopefulfangirl24 @april-14-blog @whateverthefuckm8 @alissablake

Taglist for all my writing: @rachelxwayne @pinkdiamond1016 @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace @nanocoool @imjusthereformggcontent @andiebeaword​

Let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist 😌

[hopefuldoubts]

brielle mitchell. 27. the ice queen. works at the clothing boutique. gemini. dependent muse blog for hollowcreekfm.

bio:

brielle mitchell moved into hollow creek about five years ago. and because of that she is still currently learning all of the history of the town. though, she does have a secret of her own that she has been keeping to herself and refuses to tell anyone about it because she didn't know what to do with the entire situation at first. fashion was something she had gotten into when she was younger and dreams of opening up her own clothing boutique one day. while not much of an artist she's not on the fashion designing side of thing, but she still adores fashion either way. once her parents had divorced it brought her siblings and her together and pulled them closer. they only had each other to lean on in the harder times of things. and watching the way things play out int he way they did just showed how things would be okay if they had each other around them. underneath the surface of it all, brielle does have apart of her that truly does care about people. but for her own self and the way that she ends up coping with things is to pretend that she doesn't. to put on that cold 'ice queen' exterior and pretend that nothing else matters and that she's got it all figured out on her own. she's learned the hard way that the only other person she could ever count on is herself. and that alone is the biggest reason as to why brielle is the way she is known to be by people within hollow creek.

app:

( SAMANTHA LOGAN. TWENTY SEVEN. FEMALE. SHE / HER. ) since you aren’t aware of them yet… that’s ( BRIELLE MITCHELL ) wandering around in hollow creek! from what i know they’ve lived in hollow creek for ( 5 YEARS ) i’m also aware of the fact that they work as a ( CLOTHING BOUTIQUE WORKER ) in town! but if you were to ask me, what i see when i think about them are: ( MAKEUP SCATTERED AROUND THE VANITY, CLOTHES EVERYWHERE, MESSY ROOM, CHAMPAGNE AND MARTINI’S, RED LIPSTICK. ) If anything, i feel like they could be ( HARDWORKING, VAIN, RELIABLE AND VENGEFUL. ) it’s really weird, though… because they seem to be hiding something that no one else knows. but i sure do! and that is ( CLOSED FILE… REDACTED. ) wild, huh? i know. they’re hoping no one will ever find out. and the very last thing that i’d say about them is that they’re mainly known to be ( THE ICE QUEEN. ) just keep a lookout! who knows if they’re putting on a facade! ( N. 27. EST. SHE / HER. ) 

headcanons:

a lot of the times she has a closed off kind of attitude.

ever since her parents divorce she kind of just felt as though her life was all over the place.

brielle did take a liking to fashion and eventually would like to end up opening up her own shop either with a friend who shares the same passion as her or on her own.

due to her secret, she remains quiet. but it was one of the harder things that she's had to experience. conflicting with what exactly to do and how the situation should've properly been handled.

if she doesn't know you at all, then she may be cold and rude.

underneath the cold exterior there's someone who feels deeply and does care.

but she just figures that showing that she doesn't care about anything at first can sometimes be easier than feeling anything at all.

she's close with her siblings due to their family dynamic.

she's dreamed of being in fashion since she was quite young.

since she has only been living within hollow creek for such a short amount of time, she is still learning about all of the history that comes from the town.

she feels as though she has bad luck with certain things sometimes.

she copes by going to the beach and relaxing. it's the only way that she could get herself to clear her head.

statistics:

full name: brielle 'bri' mitchell.

age: 27.

star sign: gemini.

birthday: june 16th 1997.

nickname: bri.

favorite light pink and dark blue.

job: works at the clothing boutique.

marital status: single.

sexuality: bisexual.

family members: lynn mitchell ( mother ), jonathan mitchell ( father ), caleb mitchell ( brother ), and isabella mitchell. ( sister ).

pronouns: she / her.

pets: 1 dog.

positive traits: reliable and hardworking.

negative traits: van and vengful.

label: the ice queen.

faceclaim: samantha logan.

connections:

siblings.

family who don't speak.

exes.

cousins.

best friends since they were born.

close friends.

friends with benefits.

frenemies.

used to date but it didn't work out.

blind date.

stood her up.

enemies to friends.

exes on good terms.

exes on bad terms.

have mutual friends.

friends to enemies.

family friends.

currently dating.

had a falling out.

got ghosted / was ghosted.

template credit:

IG_MY_SEA_OPPALU

[hopelikethemoon]

Starlight || (Ezra x Reader) || {Moonbeams}

Title: Starlight Rating: PG-13 Length: 4,000 Warnings: Angst, mentions of medical procedures, mentions of pregnancy, brief conversation about abortion, and some more angst.  Notes: Casual reminder that I do not write stories with plans in mind, I simply let the muses guide the story as I write. I’m fortunate that my mind litters in allusions and foreshadowing that I can pick up on later. This is one of those chapters where a lot of foreshadowing comes full circle. I’m super nervous that this chapter will lose my readers, but I’ve simply allowed the story to flow how it wanted to. Also shoutout to anyone who gets the extremely obscure British history reference in here.  Part ten of the Moonbeams series.

Taglist: @princessbatears @djarin-junk @absurdthirst @hdlynn @legally-a-bastard @opheliaelysia @heather-lynn @sabinemorans @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @pedrospunk @maybege @chews-erotically @katlikeme @lose-eels @youmeanmybrain @theindiealto @irishleesh93 @seawhisperer @hdlynn @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @theindiealto @grapemama @roxypeanut @kochamcie @kiwi-the-first @hellomothermoon @soft-fanfics @spacegayofficial @storiesofthefandomloversreblogs @kindablackenedsuperhero @goblinqueen95 @nominalnebula @wheresthewater @letmybabysleep @hayley-the-comet @corrupt-fvcker @i-ship-it-ironically @mrsparknuts @the-feckless-wonder​ Hopefully I got everyone! Please message me to be added, comments to be added get lost in my activity.

Leaving Lykaois hadn’t been nearly as difficult as previous departures with Shiva accompanying you back to the Block. Not to mention having a way to communicate with Ezra when you were off-world really softened the issue of distance. You could go to sleep listening to him read to you, just like he was laying beside you in your bed. 

The only real downside to returning to the Block was Shiva all but forcing you to visit the medic. You felt fine. You really did. But apparently dying, coming back to life, and losing your memory warranted an immediate visit to get poked and prodded by the resident medic on the Block. 

It wasn’t as though you could tell the medic you were visiting because you had mental confusion related to dying. So you made up some excuse about feeling fatigued after being off-world. That wasn’t even a lie, technically. 

The medic tutted quietly as she scanned through the results on her datapad, “Were you aware that your stim was deactivated?” 

“What?” You jerked your head to the left to stare at the woman. “What do you mean it’s deactivated?”

She glanced up at you briefly before looking back at that datapad, “A high voltage of electricity can sometimes cause the system to malfunction. Have you had any incidents during transport repairs?”

You felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over you. The only shock of electricity you had received had been before going to Ay-7 and Quinn—

“Well, this is different.” The medic stepped around the examination table with a perplexed expression. “The stim appears to have reported back to the manufacturer that it was disengaged due to expiration of the client.” 

“Not because of an electrical current?” You questioned, your fingers curling around the edge of the table. 

“It appears the stim registered a time of death just over a month ago.” The medic’s brows furrowed together as they looked up from the chart. “Were you sexually active during this period?”

“Uh, yeah.” You blinked, shaking your head. “I was.” 

“Out of an abundance of caution, I would like to run a few more tests before we reactivate your stim.” She passed the datapad to you, “In the event that you have conceived due to a faulty stim, rest assured the corporation will billed for the termination of your pregnancy. You can just sign right there and we can handle that quite simply following a positive—“

You were quick to cut her off, “That won’t be necessary.” You couldn’t actually think that far ahead and if — and it was a huge if — it had occurred, you weren’t going to jump to that decision before telling Ezra. 

“Alright, then select here.” She scrolled the screen down to a line that declined immediate intervention. “Sit back and relax. The test services AI will be with you shortly.” She offered you a kind smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned with.”

What the hell were you going to do if you were pregnant? 

Your hand drifted down to your stomach. Could you be? It wasn’t as though you and Ezra were the least bit careful — you thought your stim was functioning after all. There had never been any reason to be careful. 

Thank the gods it hadn’t started malfunctioning before Ay-7. But you were probably working yourself up over nothing.

What if Ezra didn’t want it? In the past few months with him, children had never come up. Not to mention what you had learned about Sybil and Cora’s situation. 

The door opened and the AI bot rolled into the room. You hated getting tests done at the clinic. Some of the missions you were assigned to would require full health panels before shipping out — you should’ve been used to it by now. 

The bot took a vial of blood from you and started processing it within the hollow of its artificial chest, while commencing with various body scans. 

“The medic will return shortly to provide you with results.” The bot’s grainy voice informed you, before it wheeled out of the room. Leaving you all alone with your thoughts again.

Could you even handle having a baby on your own if Ezra didn’t want any part in it? If things went sour with Ezra, you’d have to work your way back into the program and that wouldn’t be possible while pregnant.

If worse came to worse, you could probably find some kind of work on Ay-7. 

It felt like an eternity before the medic returned to confirm that your anxiety wasn’t entirely misplaced. “Well, it would appear that in the short window of time between the malfunction and now, that you have conceived. Based on your hormone levels, I would safely guess implantation took place within the last two weeks. You’re in the very early stages of pregnancy.”

You weren’t even entirely certain you could understand the medic. She was speaking words, but you couldn’t really hear them. 

“Should you and your partner choose to terminate, you have a few non-invasive options at this stage. I can provide you with a resource file or you and your partner can come back for an appointment together.”

“He’s off world.” You told the medic, resting your hand on your stomach. “Did everything look normal?”

“It’s too early to detect any defects with your fetus. While you do have slightly higher than average iron levels, it isn’t anything to be concerned by.” She assured you. “If you have any questions, you can login through the portal and get answers from one of our aides.”

“Thanks.” You said quietly as you slid off the exam table. When Shiva had convinced you to get checked out at the medic — this was the last thing you had imagined. 

Pregnant. 

You had never imagined yourself as a mother — not really. The program was a dangerous situation to be in, at the best of times. Pregnancy would’ve made you vulnerable and worse, it would’ve meant being vulnerable with someone who would’ve just screwed you over in the end. 

Ezra wasn’t like that. But in reality, his situation didn’t really allow him to be like everyone that came before him. You knew where he was, you could come and go as you pleased, and you were his only connection to the world beyond Lykaois. 

You had all of the control in the relationship. But this — this might’ve been more than he had bargained for. It was more than you had bargained for. 

You’d had only a handful of months together, if you cobbled the days together and now… 

How would Ezra react? You couldn’t picture him as a father. Even if the situation hadn’t been dire — if he wasn’t trapped on the moon, if there weren’t those that wanted to hurt you… Would he want to bring life into the world? 

There was very little good in the galaxy. You knew more than a few people who had made sure that they could never bring life into the world. 

You didn’t even know if you wanted it. It was such a fresh concept. A terrifying one at that.  

Shiva looked up from the engine part they were reconfiguring. “There’s our Lazarus. How’d it go at the medic?”

Your hands went to your hips as you stared down at them, “Well…” You started. “My brain seems to be fine.” 

“But?” They looked up at you, tossing a wrench aside as they got up. “There’s a but in there. What is it? Did you get fleas? Sexually transmitted disease?”

You snorted, “I definitely caught something from Ezra.” 

Shiva’s brows furrowed together, “Caught what? Like the curse or…?”

You grimaced a little as you tried to find the right words to explain your situation. “Apparently my stim malfunctioned after whatever the guardians did to me and… I’m in the very early days of pregnancy.”

“Oh, sweet Yrica’s left tit.” Shiva swore. “Are you serious?” 

“How early are we talking?” Quinn questioned as he strolled around the corner, his brows knit together with concern. 

Your head snapped towards him, “What are you doing here?” You looked back at Shiva. “What is he doing here?”

“He’s in a bit of a rough patch.” Shiva shrugged. 

“I’m avoiding a collector.” Quinn admitted, before his gaze fell to your stomach. “Back to the kid you’re gestating.”

“I wouldn’t be standing here talking about it if there was even a chance that it’s yours.” You snapped. “I’m about a month, I guess. It happened after I died…”

Shiva grimaced, “Not the post-death side effect I was expecting. What are you going to do?”

You rubbed at your forehead, sighing heavily. “I’m going to go back early and tell Ezra.” 

“Can’t you just com him?” Quinn questioned. 

You glared back over your shoulder at him, “I think it’s a face-to-face discussion.” You looked back at Shiva then. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s dangerous.” They admitted. “If what you told me about Proctor’s family is to be believed, then you might be giving birth to a werewolf.”

Quinn crunched loudly as he bit down on a crisp, “Does that mean you fucked the beast or does it just happen regardless?”

“Quinn.” Shiva sighed. 

“What? Her life is a mess and I’m amused.” He hoisted himself up on the side of a fuel barrel, eating another crisp from the bag he had been snaking from. 

“That’s not what happens with the beast.” You corrected him, before continuing. “It’s possible Cora was born a werewolf because her mother is. Maybe it won’t be the same for me?” 

You couldn’t even believe that you were having this conversation. 

Shiva clicked their tongue against their teeth. “I think your best bet is to go back to the medic and have it terminated, get your stim recalibrated, and move on with your life like it didn’t happen.”

“I’m telling Ezra before any of that happens.” You ghosted your hand over your stomach. “He deserves to know. He’s already lost so much, I’m not going to add to it.”

“What if he doesn’t want anything to do with you or it?” Shiva questioned. “Ezra seems like a good man, but we both know they can be shit.”

Quinn cleared his throat, “I would be happy to pretend your kid is mine. Not that I have much to offer.” 

“Thanks.” You rolled your eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m good.” 

“And you’re certain about the timing?” Quinn questioned, tapping the heels of his boots against the metal side of the barrel. 

“One hundred percent.” You assured him. 

“Good. I really didn’t want to add child support to my debts.” Quinn shrugged dramatically. “I mean, it would certainly be a sacrifice I would be willing to make—“

“Why are you still here?” You questioned, picking up Shiva’s wrench and chucking it in his general direction. “Get out of here.” 

“Easy. Easy.” Quinn tsked. “Pregnant women aren’t supposed to be stressed.” 

“My stress would be relieved if you took a quick trip out of an airlock.” You shot back. “Can you make that happen?”

“Such hostility.” He laughed, crunching down on another crisp. 

“When are you leaving?” Shiva questioned. 

“As soon as I can pull my things together.” You rubbed at your temples. “This wasn’t in my plan.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” They reminded you. “You have options.” 

“Trust me, I know.” You sighed, worrying at your bottom lip. “It’s just a lot to think about.” You gestured to your stomach. “I feel like I’m going to wake up any moment.” 

Shiva stared at your stomach, “How do you feel?”

You shrugged, “Like it’s any other day.” 

“And they’re certain?” 

“Unfortunately,” You tugged your satchel off your shoulder, swinging it around to grab your datapad out. “I have everything right here. Blood test confirms it. They can’t do too much more until I’m further along.” 

“Do you think it will be like it’s dear furry father?” Quinn questioned, tapping his heels against the barrel again. “Are you going to have a werewolf fetus wiggling around during the full moon?”

That made your stomach turn. “I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Shiva grabbed your arm. “We’ll figure this all out together.” 

You smiled a little, “Thank you.” 

“Do I get a thanks?” Quinn questioned, a little too jovially. 

“Fuck off, Quinn.” You seethed. “Why are you still here?”

“I enjoy being a thorn in the side of my acquaintances. I’m also broke.” He shrugged. “Shiva’s letting me crash until things smooth over with a few connections.”

You gave Shiva a skeptical look. 

“I like strays.” They walked past you to grab the wrench you had thrown at Quinn. “He’s occasionally useful.”

He grinned and gave you a thumbs up. “All jokes aside, I do recognize our ship has long since left the port.”

“There was never a ship.” You grumbled. “It was an escape pod. A badly banged up escape pod.” 

Quinn wiggled his brows, “Ah, but you took that escape pod frequently.”

You rolled your eyes again, giving him an annoyed expression, before turning your attention back to Shiva. “Why?”

“He’s amusing.” They nudged you in the shoulder. “And you know it’s true.”

“Unfortunately.”

“So how do you think Ezra will react?” Quinn questioned. “I couldn’t really get a vibe from him.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” You admitted, folding your arms across your chest. “We’ve never discussed children. We’ve never discussed what could’ve been situations.” You touched the spot on your arm where your faulty stim was. “We thought we were covered.” 

“The oldest story ever told.” Quinn quipped. 

Shiva finally looked annoyed, “Can you grab the manifold? It’ll be in the engine room somewhere.” 

“Trying to get rid of me?”

You both turned to him with an in unison, “Yes.”

You sank back in the pilot’s seat, stretching your legs out in front of you while you waited for the com to connect. The connection buzzed a handful of times and you wondered if Ezra was dealing with the side effects of the full moon. 

On the last buzz of the connection, he picked up. 

“Sorry, moonbeam. I was in the fresher.” He drawled out, his voice just as warm as it was when you sat right beside him. “And as tempting as it is to use the com panel in the fresher…” 

You laughed softly, chewing on your thumbnail as you tried to keep your tone as casual as possible. The last thing you wanted to do was to blurt out what you had to tell him. 

Not that you could even think about the situation without feeling like you wanted a black hole to open up and swallow you whole. 

“Did you hear me?” Ezra questioned. 

“Sorry, yes.” You exhaled slowly. “Sorry.”

“You alright?” 

“Just tired,” You lied. “And as tempting as it is to hear all about your time in the fresher, I’m not really in the mood tonight.”

“What are you in the mood for, little lamb?” 

You rubbed at the crease between your brows, “I could really go for a quiet evening with some quality cuddling time.” 

Ezra chuckled softly, “My bed feels rather empty without you.” He sighed a little. “What’s got you feeling down?” 

“Nothing in particular,” You answered easily. “It’s just been a really long day. How have you been?”

“Alright.” He sighed a little. “I felt like this month was harder, you know? We managed last month and I had something to focus on. I’m a bit sore.” 

“Sounds like you could use a quiet evening too.” 

Ezra hummed. “It would certainly make things easier.” He was quiet for a moment before he added, “Are you sure you’re alright, moonbeam?” 

“I will be as soon as I’m back on Lykaios with you.” You propped your chin up on the arm of the chair. “Which may actually be sooner than planned.”

“What?”

“I got everything together quicker than I anticipated.” You told him with a slight smile, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’m a few hours out.” 

“That’s certainly a welcome surprise.” Ezra said warmly. “And what do I owe this surprise to?”

“I might miss you.” You teased lightly. “And I…”

You both fell silent for another long moment. 

“And you, what?” Ezra sounded nervous and you didn’t blame him.

“Nothing.” You told him as you flipped on the autopilot and transferred the com connection to your datapad. “I want to wait until I get there.”

Ezra hummed curiously, “And you’re certain all is well?” 

“Well, I managed to track down a book of Herrick’s poems for you.” You told him as you meandered down the corridor to your quarters. “Quinn sent along a book of Byron’s poems he had. I’m not sure what message that sends.”

“I think I know.” You rolled your eyes. “A different little lamb.”

He sighed heavily, “Are we certainly Quinn’s clever enough to make that connection?”

You snorted, “Touché.” 

“I would actually be impressed.”

“It’s not unlikely,” You shrugged, kicking off your boots and sinking back onto your bed. “He used to be really obsessed with British history.” 

“Interesting.” You could practically picture him grinding his teeth. “How long have you known Quinn?”

You thought for a second, “Early into the program. He’s just always been around.”

“And you never—“ 

“He doesn’t belong in the same box as Alia or Mars.” You assured him, “He was just a nice way to scratch the itch. You know?”

“Yeah.” Ezra sighed. “I suppose I can give him credit for owning Byron in the first place.” 

You laughed, snorting a little at how begrudgingly he said it. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” He murmured. “Are you in bed?” 

“I just laid down.” You told him, laying the datapad on the bed beside you. “Only one more sleep before I’m there with you.” 

“Why are you coming back early? Don’t get me wrong, I’m elated, but… your hesitation earlier is going to keep me up tonight.” 

“It’s something I’d prefer to discuss when I’m with you.” 

“Wait, does this have to do with your trip to the medic?” Ezra questioned. “Did Shiva make you go?” 

“It’s related to that.” 

“Is something wrong? Fuck.” Ezra hissed out. “Moonbeam, just tell me. I’m going to worry an ulcer into my stomach before you arrive.” 

“I wouldn’t call it wrong.” You sighed a little, trying to resist the urge to cry. You didn’t actually know if he would think it was “wrong”. He might. 

“You can tell me.” His voice wavered. “If the guardians have hurt you, I’ll rip them limb from limb.”

“Ezra, please calm down.” You said lightly. “We’ll talk about it soon. I promise it’s not as bad as you’re thinking. I’m fine and I’ll be fine.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t want to lose you because of something I could’ve prevented.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” You assured him. “This is why I didn’t want to have this conversation over a com-call.” 

“Only a few more hours,” Ezra sighed again. “Right?” 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything at all…” You raked your hands over your face. “All of this is new for me.”

“It’s new for me too.” Ezra drawled out. “I still think I’m going to wake up and discover it was all an elaborate dream.” 

“All of it?”

“Just you.” 

“I feel the same way.” You admitted as you rolled onto your side. “I expect to wake up on the Block, ready to ship out somewhere. It doesn’t feel real most days.”

“I hate when I have to let go of you.” 

“I hope you don’t ever let go.”

Ezra scoffed, “I could never.”

“Are you in bed?”

“Yes, I’ve returned to my dreadfully lonely bed.” 

“Did you get dressed after your shower?”

 He chuckled, “I thought you said you weren’t in the mood, my sweet little lamb.”

“What? I want to picture what I’m missing.” It was a nice distraction at least. You wouldn’t have to worry about questions about anything. 

“What’s the point of putting clothes on when you’re alone?” Ezra questioned, his voice a little raspier. 

“Well, I’m fully dressed.”

He tsked quietly, “How disappointing. Then again, you were fully dressed in my bed when you—“

You groaned dramatically, “It’s not my fault that you smell so good.”

“I could say the same. It drives me crazy, moonbeam.” His breath caught in his throat. “We should sleep.” 

“I’ll be there soon.” You promised him, smiling sadly at the datapad. There was no way you were going to actually sleep, your anxiety wasn’t going to allow that to happen. “Ezra?”

“Mhm?” 

“I love you.”

“Oh moonbeam, I love you too.” He said warmly. “And I plan to count the moments until you are safely in my arms again.” 

You switched screens on the datapad, “I am five hours out.”

“Would you be adverse to me coming upon your arrival?” Ezra questioned.

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t.” You say the datapad back down beside you. “I’ll see you soon, Ezra.” 

“Until the morning.” Ezra whispered. “Sleep well, love.” 

You stared at the datapad, even after the line went dead. There was a part of you that wished that you’d told him what you wanted to tell him, just to pull the bandage off and find out what he thought without being there. 

How were you supposed to guess what his reaction would be to discovering that was going to be a father? 

The man had lived alone for five years, keeping himself away from everyone who was like him. He feared losing the last vestiges of his humanity. He warred with wanting you to stay with him and wanting to cut you loose. He loved you, but did he love you like that? 

And for that matter, was this what you wanted? 

This romance with Ezra had been a whirlwind, but it had been different than any love that came before. You spent hours on end with him, cooped up in your transport or his and you never got bored. There was never a moment where you found yourself ready to leave, you never wanted to. 

When you thought you loved Mars, you loved him in small doses. It was intense and all-consuming, but you always needed to come up for air. Alia… You would have willingly drowned in your love for her, but she always needed her own space. 

You recognized that this might be too much for him. He couldn’t escape from you, not really. You came in and out of his life, but he was fixed in one spot. 

But neither of you seemed ready for your time together to end. If you were at his transport before you left to return to the Block, he would always follow you into yours and spend another hour with you before reluctantly parting ways. 

It was different. 

Maybe he could feel that invisible string connecting the two of you. The one that always felt drawn taut when you weren’t with him. The sensation that always drew you back to Lykaios. 

But would a child change all of that? Shiva may have been right. You could’ve gone back to Lykaios without having to worry about any of this. Though, what would you do if one day Ezra did express his desire to become a father — a possibility that was taken from him by the curse and by you. 

You just had to hope that things would sort themselves out. That he would understand. That his love for you wouldn’t falter. 

[prettywordsyouleft]

Miss Writer

Pairing: Brian Kang x female reader

World: To Be Continued

Genre: writer au / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: So I had no intentions of returning to the TBC world so soon, but as you can read below, I had a bit of trouble trying to write something for 2021 and this is the result of my nonsense thoughts at the time. I really am happy I wrote this as it feels like a good opening act for what’s to come this year!

Word count: 1558

“Hey! Did you hear about the writer who didn’t want to write?”

“They what?”

“She sat there for hours on end, just avoiding every idea that came to mind.”

“But why? Aren’t writers meant to write?”

“Why am I writing this?” you complained out loud, sighing heavily and leaning back in your computer chair. Staring at the basic dialogue in your word document, you groaned.

Why was it so hard to write?

You had been through this before. Where the words wouldn’t flow the right way, and your characters felt hollow.

But that was because Brian wasn’t in the story at the time.

You couldn’t solve this the way you had back then either. Once Brian had gone back into the world he had stepped out of, you finished the story without any further mishaps. In this case, you didn’t have any other fictional characters stepping out of any novel you had written to send back in. You didn’t even have a character to write about.

That was no doubt the whole problem.

“Miss Writer,” a voice called out, and you turned, smiling warmly at the man leaning against the threshold. Brian tipped his head in your direction. ���How’s it going? Is your next bestseller getting ready to leap onto the pages?”

“Ha! At the rate I’m going, I might as well retire.”

“What?” Walking over to your side, Brian then leaned down to inspect your laptop’s screen. “You’ve written only four lines in two hours.”

“Four lines are better than none, though, I can’t say they’re four impressive lines,” you muttered, pouting up at the man. “I’m broken.”

“Shall I fix you?” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you. His lips were almost on yours when the doorbell rang. Brian heaved in a heavy breath. “If that’s Sungjin, I swear…”

“It’s probably Lily,” you mentioned with a knowing smile, climbing out of your chair and heading down to the front door to answer it. When you swung it open, however, you merely stared back at the woman standing there.

“Can we help you?” Brian asked from over your shoulder, right when you gasped noisily. “Y/N?”

“You’re… you’re… no way.”

Sungjin leaned around the side of the house and grinned. “Y/N! You need to stop making people so realistic that they come to life.”

“I’m confused,” Brian announced as you began to bounce with excitement, reaching out to touch the woman’s hand before you.

She grabbed it warmly and grinned at you. “I’m so amazed to finally meet you!”

“Ella,” you murmured and then glanced at Sungjin standing all too protectively at her side. “You found your Constable.”

“Ella?” Brian echoed and then lurched forward, leaning over you. “Ella from the Protector story?!”

Ella nodded and held out her hand to Brian. “You must be the first of our kind, Brian Kang, right?”

“Our kind?”

“Well, I had to explain it somehow to Ella,” Sungjin admitted with a chuckle. “It’s not every day that characters step out of documents, now is it?”

“Maybe that’s why I can’t write,” you murmured, watching the instant despair cross over your friend’s face, whilst a smug smile appeared on your partner’s. Rolling your eyes, you shunted Brian in the side before stepping aside and letting them inside. “Come, I promise this time I’m more equipped to dealing with my characters in the flesh. I won’t be fainting this time.”

“I’m starting to get worried now,” Brian confessed later in the evening as he carried your cat Binks around. “If Ella’s here too, who’s going to be next?”

“Well, considering I can’t seem to create anyone, you won’t have a problem any time soon.”

Brian pointed at you in warning. “Don’t you dare go opening Destined’s file.”

“Ooh, now there’s an idea!” you teased, grinning at Brian as you approached him. Stretching up to kiss him softly, you shook your head. “I doubt I could love anymore more than you if I tried.”

“And you always say I’m the charmer yet here you are causing my heart to go erratic with lines like that,” Brian stated with a giddy smile, his eyes disappearing and turning into little crescents.

“Well, you can’t be the one with the upper hand all the time.”

“Miss Writer.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think Ella is the problem this time. I think you’re just putting too much pressure on your shoulders.”

“Pressure?” you repeated with a frown and Brian placed Binks down before nodding at you. “Of course, I’m under pressure! I have to get my first chapter to Lily by next week, and I have nothing, not even a name.”

“You’re trying to write the next best thing, aren’t you?”

“That’s the whole concept of being an author, Brian. Writing something better than your last story. We’re always on the path of personal growth during this journey, Brian.”

“I know,” he agreed initially, rubbing your shoulders affectionately. You let out a small whine, not realising how tense your body was until he touched you. Brian instantly moved behind you and started working out the knots residing there. He stopped, leaning close to your ear. “But can’t you just write something for fun?”

“Fun?”

“Isn’t that the whole point of writing? To enjoy the world you create. You’ve been non-stop since I’ve known you. Before my world, you write a four part series with Jinyoung, then a three part series with me and Charli. Right after that, you completed Protector, and now you’re looking to follow that up as quickly as you can even though it’s only in the publication stages.”

Brian stepped around to face you, his face growing concerned. “Why don’t you slow down? Write something just for yourself.”

“I have. I wrote you into existence,” you reminded, and Brian slid his hands around your waist and tugged you closer. Placing your palms upon his chest, you gazed up at him lovingly. “I have to write something worth publishing.”

“Do you?”

“Huh?”

“Why not write something that the world will never see?” Brian offered and you chewed on your bottom lip in thought. “I think you’ve forgotten the joy of writing just for yourself, Miss Writer.”

The following morning, you sat at your desk deep in thought. Brian’s words had played over in your mind throughout the night and still were at the forefront of your mind now.

Did he think you had lost your personal enjoyment along the way as an author?

“Hey, that can’t be right,” you hummed, shaking your head before posing your index finger back up to your lips.

Had you?

The last time you had written something just for your own pure enjoyment was Destined. Sure, you had been excited by your ideas ever since, and laughed, cried, grown frustrated and been endlessly happy with the words you had crafted. But you were also contracted to write down those words. Since the third part of Destined, you had been signed under the publishing house you belonged to and had written consistently since. You hadn’t taken any time to write for yourself, aside from short stories here and there when you didn’t feel like working on a bigger story.

Even though you had enjoyed the journey thus far, it hadn’t been one you took alone.

“Maybe Brian’s right,” you said, blinking a couple of times before reaching into the top drawer of your desk for your external hard-drive. Glancing at the clock to see how much time you had left before Brian got home from running errands, you took in a deep breath, opening up your older fiction files.

Back here you were full of naivety and fresh ideas. The world was your oyster, as the saying went, and you had been hoarding many of them. As you scanned the title of projects you once hoped to write, you shook your head in amazement.

“There’s so many ideas here that I haven’t tried yet,” you breathed, stopping on one and clicking to expand the notes on it. “Wow, an enemies to lovers story.”

You continued to make your way through, finding an assortment of ideas. From fluff to angst, and all those in between, you had ample inspiration here to fill an entire year of stories.

“Should I indulge myself in writing these for a bit and come back to writing my next novel at a later date?” you wondered, your smile growing as your computer’s cursor hovered over an idea that piqued your interest.

“I’m back!” a voice called out and you spun around in your chair, leaping up and dashing into the arms of the man you loved. Brian chuckled. “Well, I missed you too!”

“You were right! Instead of looking for the best idea for my next story, I need to take some time off and write for me.”

“I was, huh?” he mused with satisfaction, cupping your face within his hands. “So what do you plan to write next?”

“I have so many ideas! There’s general domestic stories and a murder mystery, some periodic pieces about pilots and regency era based ideas. Of course, there’s a bunch of fluffy ideas, with a few royal au ones and even pirates! But you know, there’s one I really want to try first.”

“Which is?”

You grinned before poking his nose fondly. “You’ll just have to wait and find out what’s to come.”

_________________

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[DAY6 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

[axther]

the devil’s train

bakugou x reader x oc: the devil’s train (yandere) in which Bakugou and Gil, the reader’s best friends, show that they care for her far more than as a friend. for @tspice283​ tw blood, fighting, stalking, general yandere behaviour

YN LN led a very uneventful life.

She went to U.A. and had several close friends. She was told she had a bright future when it came to her hero career and was often described as friendly. She was relatively confident in herself and knew how to fight.  But she wasn’t ready for this. 

Before her were her two best friends; Bakugou Katsuki and Gil Keating. It was dark out, dark and cold in an unfamiliar place. They were growling and barking like dogs, clawing at each other with blood on their hands. YN was lost, horribly and terribly lost in her mind and on the pavement. There was blood everywhere, splattering against the wall and on the ground. They were drooling like madmen, disgusting, revolting, and making YN want to throw up. 

Ah...but maybe she should go back to the beginning.

YN always walked to school with Gil. 

It was something of a tradition. They were childhood friends, born in the same town and growing up with each other. Gil was tall, much taller than YN, with dark, green eyes that seemed to bear into YN’s very soul. His hair was white, snowy white, and YN wasn’t actually sure if it was natural. He was almost feminine, had it not been for his strong personality, it would’ve been easy to confuse him with a woman. He was a bit of a flirt to be honest, but YN didn’t mind. He was kind to her, and that was what mattered. Gil’s quirk was Stasis, temporarily stopping time. It was only for a few seconds at the moment, but he could do enough damage in sparring that even Aizawa recognised his efforts. To YN, he was pure fluff with a side of angst that she only ever saw when he fought others. On that day in particular, he was humming a song under his breath about some sort of strawberry snake, rocking on his heels while walking and being happier than usual. YN wasn’t sure why, but she certainly wasn’t going to question his good mood, considering he was usually quiet on their walks. “So!!” YN chirped, skipping a bit. “Do you wanna go somewhere after school, or something? It’s been a while since we’ve done something that’s just the two of us.”  Gil lit up, a bigger smile gracing his face as he leaned down and wrapped an arm around YN. “Of course! We could go to the arcade, or maybe to the mall, or that new boba tea shop that opened up! Oh! Or we could do all three! I’ll pay,” He winked, strangely giddy. “That sounds great, actually!” YN looked up at him, then back to the sidewalk with a happy flush. “Aww, you’re blushing!” Gil nuzzled the top of YN’s head in an intimate gesture, chuckling. “That’s so cute!” “Shush,” YN pouted, smacking his arm softly in an effort to stop him from mussing her hair. “Fine, fine.” Gil pulled away, but kept his arm over her shoulder. YN didn’t think much of it, realising that they were quickly approaching the school. She saw Ochako and Tsuyu both walking towards the door, and she broke from Gil's arm to rush towards them. Behind her, Gil's smile plummeted as he watched her leave. His eyes seemed to flash for a second, a dark colour that would send shivers down anyone’s spine. It was like an unreigned desire inside him that slowly spilled out until YN turned back to him. It disappeared almost instantly, another smile coming upon his face. “Hm? Is something the matter?”   “Nothing, nothing!” He waved a hand, still smiling brightly. YN hummed, shrugging her shoulders and walking through the doors with the other girls and leaving Gil to walk in by himself. His eyes darkened again, going blank and almost hollow as he shuffled along. YN didn’t notice how he became almost a shell behind her, chatting happily with Ochako and Tsuyu. Momo and Jirou soon caught up, talking about their weekend and filling the silence with pretty talk. “Hey, YN!” Ochako chirped, linking her elbow with YN’s and Momo’s. “We’ve got sparring again today! Who do you think you’re gonna be paired up with?” “Oh…” YN mused, placing her finger on her chin. “I’m not sure! Last week I had...Midoriya? So maybe I’ll get Bakugou this time.” At the mention of Bakugou, all the girls glanced over to see the blonde standing a few feet away. He was bright red and had just jumped like a spooked cat, hair spiking up and the flush on his face overtaking his neck and ears. YN tilted her head curiously, and the other girls laughed.  “What was that about, Bakugou!?” Ochako yelled over her laughter, holding her stomach. Momo and YN were the only ones nice enough to hold back their laughter, but even then, it was strained. “Shut the fuck up!” Bakugou barked, going from cat to dog and back to cat again, slinking away past the corner of the hall. The giggling died down, before Momo raised an eyebrow. “What was that about, really?” She murmured, looking almost concerned. “That was really strange.” “Maybe he’s just having an off day,” Ochako shrugged, linking arms proudly with YN and smiling. “Or maybe he has a crush! Ha! Imagine the day!”

  YN laughed too. But sometimes, foreshadowing is obvious.  The day passed quickly and quite uneventfully, with clouds crawling over the sky and slowly darkening. There were several times where rumours of multi-class sparring being cancelled, but Aizawa dispelled them and often told them that as heroes, they would have to work in the rain anyway. But he took mercy on them, and decided to start sparring early so they didn’t get soaked. He chalked it up to he himself not wanting to get wet, but everyone knew that he just wanted to make sure they didn’t get sick. When everyone filed out, Gil made a beeline to YN’s side with a big, sheepish smile. “Hi~” He trailed out, winking playfully. “I missed you! 1-B is boring without my bestie.” “You flatter me,” She smiled, rolling her eyes but letting him recline on her.  “It’s true! Tetsutetsu and all the others are cute and all, but you’re my number one.” “That’s cute.” “C’mon!! Don’t just brush me off!” “Alright.” Aizawa’s tone cut through their conversation, and for a second, Gil glowered at the teacher. Aizawa didn’t seem to notice, though, and let it go as he started listing pairs. Oddly enough, Bakugou wasn’t set with YN; instead, Tsuyu was saddled with him, and YN missed the way that Bakugou’s eyes trailed over her as he walked past. Aizawa instructed Gil and YN together, and Gil glanced down at her. “Ladies first.” YN walked past him, not replying but simply going into their designated row so they could spar, next to Bakugou and Tsuyu. Aizawa announced for them to begin, and slowly, the clouds gathered above them. YN assumed a more defensive stance after seeing Gil whale on his own classmates before, but strangely enough, he simply stood there with his hands in his pockets. “Dude,” YN hissed. “What are you doing? Hit me.” “Nah.” Gil took a hand out to check his nails, nonchalant. “What?!” YN was whispering, trying to not catch Aizawa’s attention, but felt confusion. “Why not?!” “Don’t wanna.” “That’s so stupid! C’mon! I can take it.” “I don’t want to hurt you.” “What?” YN lowered her fists, jaw dropping. “Are you serious? Why?” “Uh, it’s sort of self-explanatory.”   “No, it’s not!” As they bickered quietly, neither of them noticed Bakugou losing his attention from sparring, and looking at the two of them. He wasn’t even fighting Tsuyu anymore, just watching them with a deathly blank stare. It was like she didn’t even know he was there. Bakugou was a confusing creature. He was incredibly contradictory, saying one thing but meaning another. He tended to keep to himself, but wanted nothing more than to have friends and be loved. Who didn’t? What human could live without love? Oh. And speaking of love, he loved her. He first met YN LN when he was in kindergarten. She was gentle and sweet, but strong and not scared to talk back. Despite the fact that quirks were so….segmenting at such a young age, she seemed to pay no attention to it. She didn’t talk to many unless they spoke to her first, or if she had to. She kept to herself, politely. That was the first time he noticed her, and he supposed that’s where it all started. The second time, he had just gotten admitted into U.A. He recognised YN almost immediately, which was strange, considering he hadn’t seen her in over ten years. But it was like she hadn’t truly changed, just grew up with a certain grace about her. She had matured, and she was beautiful. He started deteriorating, in a word. Everything he did was in hopes of her seeing him, really seeing him for who he was. He knew he wasn’t perfect, but who else would be worthy of her? He had to be the greatest to ever come close, so he crushed everyone in his way to get there.  But then the fucking slimy, disgusting, filthy, destructive, sweaty, obscene, vile, vulgar, dirty man came along and dared sully YN’s lovely glow. Gil was, in many ways, like Bakugou. He aimed for the top, and stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. He was the one thing standing in his way for YN, and Bakugou would tolerate nothing in his way. He had come too far. He had done too much, watching YN walk home to keep her safe and taking her shirts from the line so he had some semblance of her in his room. Taking pictures so that way their kids can see her as she was, beautifully natural and unaware. Bakugou had boarded the devil’s train to love a long time ago. And he had no intention of getting off.

He had come so far. And here Gil was, refusing to fight YN. Out of what? Love? 

Something in Bakugou snapped. He rushed over to Gil, picking him by the collar and growling at the precipice of all his pent up, bubbling rage. His hand already started cramping from holding on so tight, fingers going red. “You-! You, you, you, you-!” Words escaped Bakugou in his pure rage. Thunder started rumbling across the class as everyone slowly stopped sparring and started watching Bakugou threaten a very nonplussed Gil. “Me. Yes. What do you want?” Gil raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and letting Bakugou carry all of his weight. “You fucker! You know what you’re doing!” “Do I?” Gil smirked, and quite suddenly, Bakugou, really truly, realised that Gil knew what he was doing. He looked over to YN, who was in a mix of confusion and anger.  Bakugou felt the colour draining out of his face, realising that YN must’ve thought that he was flying off the handle for no reason. But how would he explain that the love of his life was being manipulated by some smooth-talking bastard? “Go on,” Gil grinned wolfishly. “Get mad. I dare you.” “You…” Bakugou was panting when the first drop of rain hit him, trickling down the back of his neck and into his shirt. Several students looked up, eyes wide as the rain slowly started coming down. Gil and Bakugou were in a stalemate, hanging onto whatever thread of disguise they had about YN. “Bakugou.” Aizawa’s voice was quiet, stern in the growing storm. “Let go of him.” Bakugou dropped Gil, throwing him into the ground. Gil just kept his shit-eating grin, and Bakugou soon realised why; YN rushed towards him, immediately fussing over him and prodding at his collar. Jealousy flushed through Bakugou, but what could he do? He had created this. He created this monster that stood between him and YN. Between him and euphoria. Bakugou was pulled away by Aizawa, who kept a strong grip on him despite Bakugou’s lack of resistance. He kept giving Gil a deadly glare, and Gil stared right on back.

It was war. 

Bakugou waited outside of 1-B once he got out of class.

Of course, he wasn’t sure if or when they would leave, but he knew that Gil was not going to just let the incident go. No, he knew that the evening was going to be a great equaliser. One man would walk away victorious, and the other would be left either licking his wounds, or dead. Bakugou was ready for whatever would happen, but to him, there was only one way the day was going to end; with him being the sole victor for YN’s heart. YN’s love. Bakugou sighed, a flush growing on his face at the thought of being YN’s boyfriend. He’d never let her go, of course, considering all he had done to get to the position he was in now. He would bite and spit and fight anything that got in his way. And the last obstacle was right in front of him. “Done with your little freakout, Kaachan?” Gil may have towered over Bakugou, but the smug look on his face made Bakugou’s gut crawl.  “I’m gonna beat your fuckin’ face in.” Bakugou snarled, gritting his teeth. “And I know you wanna smash mine in. C’mon. We’ll settle this.” “As you wish~” Gil teased, walking two steps behind Bakugou as they left the school and began walking down the ever-darkening streets. The rain had cleared for the moment, but the forecast said it’d come back within the hour. How strange. A final showdown between enemies in the rain and darkness. It felt almost divine. Bakugou turned down a dark alleyway, not wanting anyone to see the bloodbath. The last thing he needed was pictures or rumours surfacing once he was a hero, once it mattered. “So.” Gil stopped at the very edge of the path, hands in his pockets. “How do you want to settle this? Like a brute by fighting?” “Like men.” Bakugou turned, jumpy at any movement Gil made. Gil scoffed. “Perhaps we could go our separate ways and whoever gets YN to love him wins.”  “What? Scared?” Gil's eyes lowered in a glower, and Bakugou felt a shiver down his spine. The young man suddenly felt cold, calculating and not at all like YN’s childhood best friend. “No.” Gil never broke eye contact with Bakugou. “I know that in terms of quirks, yours is more violent and prone to harm than mine. But I could dodge you until you’re exhausted and run dry. It would be a constant back and forth that would achieve nothing.” “It might not. But at least you know your place.” Bakugou stuffed his hands in his pockets just like Gil, and it felt like a stalemate. “Are we gonna do this, or not?” “Fine.” Gil sighed, rolling his head back in a relenting manner. “Like dogs.” Bakugou pulled his hands out, his own nervous sweat already providing enough nitroglycerin to start the fight. Every cell in his body was on fire, elated at the fact that he could finally pummel Gil into a pulp and prove to YN that he was nothing but a manipulating bastard that wanted to sully her. “Finally-!” Bakugou growled, feeling as though he had already won as he rushed forward to strike Gil. “It’s over.” Before Bakugou could hit Gil, though, he disappeared, and Bakugou felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the feeling of someone behind him. A hand started reaching for the back of his neck, but Bakugou twisted around to swat at Gil's arm before he could attack. Gil disappeared again, and Bakugou realised that he was right; it would just be an endless back and forth before one of them got tired. But Bakugou was willing to take that risk. He had seen Gil's quirk in action before; it drained him quickly enough, given that they all sparred in ten-minute increments. Stasis was more of a technical quirk, and Bakugou could use that to his advantage.

He spun around, gritting his teeth and aiming for Gil's stupid face again and that shit-eating grin that haunted his dreams. There was another disappearance, another swing, and it was like a pendulum: where Bakugou swung, Gil would disappear. It was a dance, above all, and a lethal one. Bakugou saw Gil starting to wheeze, and spun his elbow back to sock him in the stomach. Gil barely dodged it, but not with his quirk, instead choosing to side-step, and Bakugou knew he had him on the ropes. It was a sweet victory on the tip of his tongue, and he was just about to make contact when-

“What the fuck is going on?” 

Both men froze when they heard that oh-so-beautiful voice, shock seeping into everyone’s system. The two turned slowly, seeing YN with a look of angry shock on her face. She had a clear umbrella, and the two realised that it had started raining again during their fight. “Uh.” Gil cleared his throat, glancing to the side then back again. “Hello.” “Answer me.” YN’s voice was stern and cold. “What the absolute fuck is going on?” “Nothing.” Both of them answered at once, snapping their arms to their sides in a desperate attempt to seem normal. “Just sparring, babe, it’s noth-” “Babe?” Bakugou felt the shock absolutely drain out of him and rage take its place. “Babe?!” “Ita, I know you’re lyin-” “So?” Gil cut YN off, eyes flashing again. “Do you have a problem?” “Yes! I do!” Bakugou yapped, feeling his hair go on end again. “Are either of you listening-oh my fucking god!” Bakugou didn’t hesitate to absolutely launch his fist into Gil's face for the most satisfying punch of his life. Gil's nose caved in and blood immediately started coming out, pooling onto the pavement. Gil took a second to register that he was even hit before he retaliated, slapping Bakugou’s arm away and promptly socking him in the stomach. YN let out a surprised yelp, dropping her umbrella in shock and getting knocked over by Bakugou trying to dodge another one of Gil's hits. They were fighting, resorting to biting and frothing at the mouth like rabid animals. Bakugou hadn’t felt this level of pure anger ever in his life, and killing seemed like such an easy task against Gil. YN was the only thing that kept him going, his last motivation to even live or succeed. He felt that if he didn’t prove himself, if he didn’t make Gil stand down, then it was for nothing. It didn’t matter that YN was trying to pry them off of each other, swearing bitterly in her confusion, or that Gil was bleeding profusely. Bakugou didn’t care that his hands were covered in Gil’s blood and his own. Nothing mattered anymore but winning. 

Bakugou had boarded the devil’s train of love. And he couldn’t get off.