#also surprise ! family bonding is now with the entire town. don’t know how that happened but we’re rolling with it hard

[peachcitt]

merry christmas again @burntwaffle12 there is another installation to your gift :^)<3

read the first chapter here

read the most recent chapter here

thanks for reading!!<3

[moohnshinescorner]

Book details:

All Our Secrets

by Michelle Gross

Publication date: December 12th 2022

Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense

Synopsis:

“Moments define us. A split-second decision can shape your future, and you don’t realize it until it’s too late.”

Peyton Johnson:

The day I meet my boyfriend’s best friend, King; my king disappears. Everything’s fine when my gaming friend fades away like smoke because Theo consumes me entirely. Theodore Johnson becomes my husband, and our life is beautiful until it isn’t.

Theo’s gone and all that’s left of him is the unborn child in my stomach.

Silas King: The day I meet my best friend’s girl, my heart recognizes her as my Peyton. I loved her first, but that doesn’t matter. Theo’s the only family I’d ever known and compared to him, I’m ugly and scarred. Peyton’s king disappears because Theo is everything I’m not. He will make her happy. I think that will be enough for me to let go, but it isn’t. Then he dies, leaving her behind…

Until he comes back and I’m the only one that can see him.

Theodore Johnson:

The day I meet Peyton; my life is complete. I want to give her the world, but life doesn’t always work out that way. Now, I’m fog, slipping through her life without her knowing. Silas is the only one that knows I’m here, but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to steal her away. I can’t let him.

I loved her first, and forever will.

A romantic standalone with a ghostly twist!

Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61138059-all-our-secrets

Purchase

:Amazon:

https://amzn.to/3XVWWHo

AUTHOR BIO:

Michelle is from a small town in Eastern Kentucky where possums try to blend in with the cats on the porch and bears are likely to chase your pets—this is very true, it happened with her sister’s dog. Despite the extra needed protection for your pets, she loves the mountains she calls home. She has a man and twin girls who are the light of her life and the reason she’s slightly crazy.

As a kid, she was that cousin, that friend, that sister and daughter, the talker who could spin a tale and make-believe into any little thing so it was no surprise when she found love in reading, and figured all these characters inside her head needed an outlet. They wanted to be heard, so she wrote.

The voices keep growing faster than she gets the time to write.

The stories are never going to end. That’s perfectly okay, though. We never want to stop an adventure.

She writes and loves many different genres so sign up to her mailing list to keep updated on her releases!

Author links:

https://michelleann92.wixsite.com/website

https://www.instagram.com/michellegrossmg/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15037639.Michelle_Gross

https://www.facebook.com/michellegrossauthor

https://twitter.com/AuthorMichelleG

BOOK REVIEW  ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Wow what an emotional and heart wrenching story. The characters in this book go through so much turmoil and have some major emotional baggage to deal with. It all started with a video gamer named MoodyKing1. Silas King has finally got the nerve to meet his gamer friend face to face. But when his best friend shows up with her ... his Peyton, he denies what she knows is true. He is MoodyKing1. This moment in time changes everything and sets in motion a turn of events that is sure to make them all suffer dearly. This book really digs deep into the guilt of loving someone you cannot have, yet have to watch them fall in love with someone else. It has a lot of guilt and missed chances. It touches of the struggles of being a single mother and issues that mothers experience when bonding with their newborns. It shows how grief can put a lot of pressure on a person and the guilt they can carry around because of it. Overall this book is a really realistic story. It touches on very sensitive subjects that some may experience in their lives today. The struggles that grief can bring to a person. Also how sometimes allowing someone we care about to move forward without you and how it can bring a person to their knees. It has depth and complex characters. Be prepared for the hard truths and go into this with an open mind.

[latetaektalk]

a lover’s bond | jjk

“what’s jungkook supposed to do when he loses you, but go beg the god of the dead and king of the underworld to give you back?

or a retelling of the greek myth of orpheus and eurydice, a tragic love story.”

— genre: greek mythology! AU, orpheus and eurydice! AU, implied smut/light sexual themes, fluff, heavy angst

— pairing: jungkook x female reader

— word count: 18.766

— warnings: major character death, cursing, light alcohol consumption, themes of grief

— playlist: click here

— a/n: this fic is inspired by this post and this reel! there are also probably a few influences from song of achilles by madeline miller because i looked at it a lot when writing this! also!! you can find a collection of posts/quotes i looked at while writing here! and, of course, huge thank you to both lira @koocycle​​​ and mala @subways-stuff​​ for helping me with this one!! ily!!

Jungkook falls in love with you the moment he sees you.

He’s playing the lyre in the local tavern like he does every now and then, seated on a table with half of the town crammed around him while the other half is huddled outside, his voice carried through the air to them. 

It’s then that he sees you in the crowd, off to the side, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed.

It’s love at first sight.

It’s funny in a way how quickly he falls for you. He doesn’t even have a choice in it, plummeting into the dark the moment his eyes meet yours and he sees that smile of yours on your lips. (Two things he’ll become all too familiar with and learn to love more than anything else.) It’s like Eros shot an arrow straight at him, the tip ripping through skin and flesh and muscle, tearing into his chest, before boring into his heart. The spark is instant.

And when the corners of your lips curl up, he almost stops singing. His fingers begin to shake, the strings slipping his fingertips—something that’s never happened to him before. After all, this—playing the lyre, singing, performing for people—is something he was born to do, a god-given talent. His father, Apollo, taught him. But looking at you, the delicate instrument feels fragile and almost strange in his hands. He can barely focus, his heart beating in his chest like it wants to jump out and walk over to you.

And so when he finishes the song and after thanking everyone for the applause and praise that rains down on him instantly, he does just that. He walks over to you, jumping off the table and hurrying to you, almost as if you would maybe run away from him, disappear into the distance and leave him. But you don’t.

“Hello,” he says with his lyre tucked under his arm and just a little out of breath. “I’m Jungkook.”

You grin when he stretches out his hand for you to take, finding amusement in the entire situation. 

“Hello,” you return, head tilting to the side. “Y/L/N Y/N.” 

Your last name rings a bell in his mind. Jungkook places it quickly where he’s heard it before. The move of the Y/L/N family to Thrace! it was all he heard about the last few weeks. Understandable since your family consisted of a long line of physicians and academics, running in the same circles with Socrates and Hippocrates. Such a prominent and influential family moving from Athens to Thrace excited many.

“A Y/L/N,” he says. “What an honour.”

You laugh then. “You’re one to talk, son of Apollo and Calliope.” 

That makes Jungkook laugh in turn. He isn’t surprised that you know of his parents. Most people do. The tales of them, especially his divine father, and childhood have always preceded him. Fame came quickly and instantly. Ever since he could think, people have flocked to him, like moths drawn to a flame. 

It’s not hard to understand why. As a demigod, Jungkook is intriguing. Especially with the talent of song and melody. But even when he isn’t singing or playing the lyre, letting everyone in on his divine gift, he naturally draws attention to himself. He is tall, towering over everyone. (It’s always been like this. Even when Jungkook was a little boy. It’s something he learned to take pride in.) And once he started maturing, puberty blessed him with muscular arms and legs instead of blemishes and overly long limbs. His strong physique makes him look like he was born to yield a sword like Achilles rather than a lyre. With time, Jungkook also grew into his features, his face taking up sharpness and softness where it needs. His face that many used to describe as cute and adorable became handsome and stunning, and his smile that used to elicit grins now made hearts beat faster and breaths hitch. Puberty treated him nicely, just like life always did.

“Ah, please. I’m merely a singer,” Jungkook says, shaking his head, feigning humility and modesty. 

You raise a brow. 

“We both know you’re more than that,” you say. “Look around. They are all here for you.”

He does as you say, noticing how everyone was glancing your way. But you don’t seem to be bothered by it at all. He grins.

“Please, they’re not here for me-”

Your laugh interrupts him. Normally, he wouldn’t allow it. 

“Oh, please. Who are you trying to fool here?” you hum, and Jungkook likes the way you grin. “We both know that you relish in the attention, son of Apollo and Calliope.”

There’s something playful in your eyes, a twinkle that he identifies as mischief, just a little tamer and nicer. And there’s something almost dangerous and threatening in the way you call him the son of Apollo and Calliope. You’ve sharpened the syllables like the edge of a knife, digging the blade against the pulse of his throat.

“You’re making a lot of assumptions about me right now,” he hums. “And we’ve just met.”

“Well—” You kick yourself off the wall, and when you stand straight, you’re a lot closer to him, the tips of your shoes brushing his. He itches to pull you towards him, and when you go on your toes, your mouth just right next to his ear, he stops to breathe. “—am I wrong?”

Jungkook’s speechless, and it isn’t just because you are spot on—he d oes love the attention, reveling in how everyone always came rushing to hear him sing and play the lyre. But because right in that moment, he knows he’s met his match. You’re challenging him, playing push and pull with him. Something no one has ever dared to do. There’s a certain level of respect and awe that people offer him, a package deal with being a demigod. But there’s neither of those things to be found with you. Jungkook should be offended, his pride and ego bruised and hurt. And yet, all he is is speechless. It steals his breath, your courage, your boldness, your shamelessness. Things he didn’t expect from you when he first laid eyes on you. 

He loves it.

“Got nothing to say?” you hum and linger there for a moment before leaning back, a smile on your lips. It looks kind and nice, but Jungkook realises that in the corners there’s more. 

He tongues his cheek and holds onto his lyre tighter. You’ve won this.

“You got me,” he admits quietly, and even though he’s known to be a sore loser among his friends and family (has always been ever since he was little), he doesn’t mind. Somehow, there’s no bitterness drilling into his chest as he acknowledges his defeat. Maybe it’s the grin that spreads on your lips when he declares you the winner. It softens the blow significantly, reduces it to nothing.

“Of course, I do,” you say, the corners of your lips curling up even more. “I know people like you.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “Do you?”

“Grew up with someone like you,” you tell him.

“Someone like me?” he repeats. “What do you mean by that?”

You give him a look and push yourself off the wall. His hand itches for you, to wrap around your waist and hold you there. He thinks you’re going to whisper something into his ear, send a shiver down his spine once more and steal his pulse and breath. But you just brush past him, and it makes him freeze.

When he snaps out of it and turns, you’re already pushing the door open. Jungkook knows you can feel his gaze on you, that you’re aware that he’s waiting for you to look at him one last time. But you play the game well, the game of push and pull, cat and mouse. 

You don’t give him that last glance.

And when you walk out of the tavern, he knows you’re walking out with a lot more than when you came in.

The shelf is curved from all of the ceramic jars its holding, the dip blatantly obvious. It’s going to break at any point now, he’s sure. Curiosity gets the best of Jungkook and he dares to grab the lid of one of the jars, about to peek inside when-

“I wouldn’t touch that.”

He almost drops it, his heart giving out, before he turns and meets your eyes. You’ve got an almost stern look on your face. It brings an apologetic smile on his lips.

“Sorry,” he quickly tells you, carefully putting it back. He wipes his hands on his tunic. “I was just curious. Wanted to know what it is.”

“Ointment,” you tell him, gesturing for him to sit on the examination bed he had  first been pointed to when he came in. He should have stayed seated. “You shouldn’t touch anything in here.”

And even though Jungkook isn’t one to let other people tell him what to do, he agrees with you, nodding. It makes you smile. You sit down in front of him.

“What brings you in today, son of-”

“Jungkook.”

You still. 

“Call me Jungkook, not son of Apollo and Calliope,” he explains. “I’m more than my parents.”

You try to hide it but he sees it, that flicker of surprise in your eyes. He knows you thought he’d love it if you emphasised his parents, the divine half of him. He almost starts grinning.

You purse your lips and nod. “Okay, Jungkook.” 

And instantly, he’s already in love with the way you say his name. It sounds prettier on your tongue. 

“What brings you in then, Jungkook?”

He loves it so much.

Clearing his throat, he speaks, reciting what he’s practised to say all this time in his head, “My pulse has been going painfully fast and my chest has been hurting too.” 

He places his hand above his heart, and you hum, your mind already going over every possible illness that could cause his symptoms.

“Can you describe the pain a little more?” 

“It’s dull. It doesn’t hurt too much, but it’s noticeable.”

Your brows pinch together. You can’t think of an answer to his symptoms, especially not when Jungkook looks perfectly healthy and when there’s divine blood flowing through his veins. It should make him practically immune to most illnesses.

“When did you begin noticing the symptoms?”

“A couple days ago.” He pauses. “Now that I think about it, the first time I began experiencing the symptoms was the same day we met.”

You still. 

“I’ve gone to Hippocrates about it,” Jungkook says and he can no longer hide the smile that’s wanted to form the entire time. “He diagnosed me with lovesickness, the reason for it supposedly being rejection.”

You’re silent as the purpose of this visit dawns on you.

“You went to Hippocrates?” 

You arch a brow, knowing that he isn’t in Thrace right now from what your mother has told you.

“Of course,” Jungkook lies. Obviously, he hadn’t. He’s skilled in many ways, but he doesn’t even know where to begin to arrange a meeting with the most famed and concurrently busiest physician in all of Ancient Greece. “And he also told me how to fix it.”

“Did he?” You look a lot like you did in the tavern, leaned back in the chair and arms crossed. “Care to share?”

Jungkook’s grinning. “He told me to seek out the person responsible and ask them to please accept my love.”

You sigh, almost like you’re annoyed with him. But the fact that you don’t throw him out and tell him not to bother you (because you have the power to do just that. This is your place after all and not his.) lets him know that you’re feeling quite the opposite. And the hint of amusement in your voice confirms it.

“Why don’t you follow Hippocrates’ advice then? There’s no better physician than him.”

Jungkook leans forward, gesturing for you to do the same. You’re hesitant, but he’s insisting and stubborn, signaling to you he’ll only tell when you come closer. So you relent. Not without sighing deeply and rolling your eyes though. But he knows. It’s an act. He grins. Your knees touch.

Just like you had in the tavern a couple days ago, he leans in closer to you, his lips just right next to your ear. He holds onto the sides of your chair, subsequently caging you in. He thinks he can sense you stiffen, your breath hitching in your throat. And so there’s a grin on his lips as he speaks, voice low and quiet, words barely audible,

“What makes you think I’m not doing that right now?”

The idea for this comes to Jungkook a day after your meeting when he relayed the events to Seokjin, seeking advice from his older friend. He suggested it casually, mostly as a joke—You say she is a Y/L/N? Just book an appointment. Complain of lovesickness and ask her to heal you. And so he does expect a certain reaction from you—warmth creeping up your neck, quickening of your breath and pulse, eyes averting, voice lost and gone. He wants it. Craves it. His ego and pride fills his chest at the mere thought of it. It would satisfy a need in him, however childish and immature it might be. He’s humble in many ways, and in many ways he is not. It’s the divine blood, the godly half of him. It comes with a certain self-image and expectations, expectations of what an effect he should have on others, especially on mere mortals like you. His father is to blame.

But you surprise Jungkook, just like you had in the tavern, reacting the opposite of what he expects and desperately wants you to. You meet his gaze, no signs of nervosity as you do. There’s a quiet confidence surrounding you, and Jungkook realises then just how far your shamelessness and courage reaches. 

He will lose this.

“I broke your heart?” you ask, quirking a brow. Your faces still impossibly close, words whispered between each other. 

Jungkook grips the chair tighter, the skin stretched white and thin over his knuckles. It almost offends him that it’s his heart that’s beating as fast as it is. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. And yet, he can’t pull away from you, drawn in, practically brought to his knees.  

“How did I do that—” He anticipates the end of your question. He knows it will be his name. And he also knows that you’re aware of how desperately he loves to hear those two syllables spilling from your lips. He’s almost sure you won’t give him the satisfaction, until you do, finally, thankfully. “—Jungkook?”

He wants to shake his head, scoff at the innocence you’re feigning, the act you’re presenting him with—eyelashes batting, head tilted to the side, a smile quirked up on your mouth. A part of him is almost infuriated by how you have him hanging on your lips.

“You left me,” Jungkook reminds you, staring into your eyes and he thinks he’s going to get lost in them. “Remember?”

“Oh, did I?” you gasp, and it makes him tongue his cheek. You’re playing this well. “I did, didn’t I?”

You wait a beat, and he knows what you’re going to ask before you even do. 

“Did that hurt your pride?”

Jungkook takes his time to answer your question, letting you mull in silence. Partially to see if you’d grow uncomfortable, and partially because he isn’t sure if he wants to admit to it or not. It would be another hit to his ego and pride. But when he remembers the way you smiled when he declared you the winner and gave in, the choice is easy.

“You know it did.”

The answer satisfies you, your mouth splitting into a grin. 

“And why’s that?”

When he meets your gaze, he can’t believe it’s his face that flushes, his breath that hitches, his pulse that triples, his voice that dies in his throat. That, even though Jungkook came prepared, you’re the one in power after all. 

He exhales a quiet scoff and shakes his head. “You know why.”

The small laugh you let out then should probably offend him. And yet, all he can think about is how beautiful it is, how melodic and delicate. It’s ingrained in him already, replaying in his mind.

“What now?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. “How do you want me to fix it, hm?” You put your hand on his chest, right above his heart. He stills. He’s sure you can feel the way it beats and thumps in there, loud and fast. “That broken heart of yours?”

This game you’re playing, the dance you’re dancing, he’s bad at it. You’re winning this without even trying. It was foolish, he realises, to have thought that coming here might allow him to even out the fields, score a point himself. You’re running circles around him without even running. 

“Have dinner with me,” he whispers, unable to speak louder than this.

You tilt your head to the side. “You think that will help?”

“I think—” The words come out slowly. “—it will do a lot to mend my heart.”

If anyone was to see him now, he’d be the talk of the town. Jungkook, son of Apollo and Calliope, a demigod, crumbling in front of you, a mere mortal. Your gaze and presence and everything else about you doing things to him they surely shouldn’t be able to. 

Your smile widens and you lean back. Even though this could be interpreted as a defeat on your part—you needing distance from him—it’s certainly anything but that. Your decision to move feels like you’re showing mercy to him because you know all too well what effect you’re having on him with your knees pressed against his, your face mere inches away from his, your smile plastered on your face, your voice low and quiet. You know all too well the pride and ego in his chest won’t allow him to back away. You give him space to breathe.

So it doesn’t feel like a victory when you agree.

“Come back around sunset.”

And when Jungkook is standing at the doorway, he can’t help but look over his shoulder, glance at you one last time. You’re too busy placing back the chair to notice, but he doesn’t mind, appreciating this moment he gets to look at you. 

You’re beautiful.

“It’s nice here,” you say, looking around the tavern like this wasn’t where you first met.

“I’m glad you like it,” Jungkook smiles, playing along. “I just recently heard of this place.”

“Oh, did you?” You feign surprise. 

Jungkook leans his arms on the table and shifts forward, head tilting to the side. “I did. Made sure to ask everyone for the best place to take you to.”

You meet his gaze, mirroring his position. There’s courage and confidence as you face him, leaning in as well. 

“Put in a lot of effort, didn’t you?”

“For you, of course,” he mumbles. “The best of the best.”

And that makes you smile, the corners of your lips lifting at his admission. Neither of you break eye contact even though Jungkook does want to look away, his heart slowly rising into his throat. It’s a competition, a battle. Like it always is with you. Something he learned quickly. And so far, the scoreboard was tilted in one particular direction.

But before a winner can be determined (who was most likely going to be you), your food is served. Jungkook stopped by earlier and asked for the best table as well as the food to be ready for you once you arrived, so it doesn’t surprise him when it comes this quickly. You, on the other hand, startle a little, head snapping around as if you had still been on high alert even when you were staring at each other, your surroundings not slipping you.

Your features soften quickly once you realise it’s only your meal. Your mouth splits open as you take in what’s being presented in front of you—freshly baked bread, warm from the oven, fish still sizzling from the oil it was being cooked in, thinly sliced carrots and cucumbers and, of course, olives and wine on the side. 

“Thank you,” Jungkook mutters to the women who served you and you echo him.

His eyes find yours once you’re alone again, a satisfied smile curled on his lips. You laugh when you meet his gaze, shaking your head.

“The best of the best,” he repeats quietly, and that makes you roll your eyes at him.

“Shall we eat?” he asks you with a hum, and grabs a piece of bread. It’s warm and soft. You do the same.

Dinner passes quickly, filled with playful jabs and jokes. In other words, it’s the usual program. And by the time you walk out of the tavern, you both don’t only feel drunk (well, tipsy) on wine but on the food too.

“You’re a good listener,” you say, and Jungkook looks at you. Your eyes are narrowed, lips pursed. You’re seizing him up. It makes him frown and smile at the same time.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

You hum and turn away, crossing your arms behind your back as you seem to think about his question. And when you face him again, your nose is slightly scrunched. 

Jungkook can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the late hour or the heavy food or the hours you spent together, eating, drinking, laughing, or maybe it’s all of it, but you seem less on guard, your words not hitting quite as sharp as they usually do. He’s seeing another side of you. He likes that, to get to know you more.

“It’s because I am.”

“You’re surprised I know how to listen?”

You give him a smile. “I mean no ill.” 

“What-”

He stops when you suddenly do, your feet coming to an abrupt halt, eyes squinting as you see something in the distance. He watches you as you go off the trail and step into the bushes, uncaring of how your tunic gets tangled up and dirty, the twigs digging into the soft flesh of your calves. You reach up into the branches and pick something from the branches. He laughs when you thank the tree.

“Sorry,” you tell him when you come back, brushing the dirt off your tunic, handing him what you’ve picked. A fig. “They were ripe, so I had to.”

“You’ve got a good eye,” he laughs, the fig soft and still warm from your touch. “Well, thank you.”

You smile at him. 

“I love figs-”

“How’d you know I adore figs-”

There’s surprise on your faces, your lips slightly parted as you realised what either of you had wanted to say. Your eyes light up.

“Look at that. Something we have in common,” you laugh, and your shoulder softly knocks into his. 

You take a bite from your fig. He grins, quick to do the same. You really did have a good eye, the flesh sweet and tender when his teeth dig into it. The juices explode in his mouth, the seeds soft on his tongue.

Looking at you, Jungkook thinks to himself how he could get used to this—having dinner together, walking around, sharing figs, talking and listening to all of the things you have to say. 

He hopes you feel the same. He prays you do.

Jungkook’s prayers are heard.

He doesn’t know if he’s just that desperate and the gods take pity on him, or if you’re the one taking pity on him, but you spend more and more time with each other. 

Jungkook shows you Thrace, taking you around town. It’s nice, blissful. And it doesn’t take long for people to recognise the two of you as a couple. It was ironic because you hadn’t even kissed or held hands yet. And though he denies it when you’re with him, he lets the comments and looks slip when he’s alone, just wanting to relish in the fantasy of him being yours and you being his for that moment. It’s stupid, but he’s unable to bring himself to correct others. He wonders if you maybe do the same when you’re alone, if maybe he and you could possibly be more. He wants to ask, but he refrains, settling for showing Thrace to you instead, taking what you’ll give to him for now.

Today, he takes you to his favourite spot in all of Thrace: the coastline where the sand is soft and—just like the water— always warm from the sun. Close by, there’s green too, vibrant and full. It’s right there where land meets water, the waves far enough to be of no bother but still within reach, enough to plunge into whenever the heart desires to as well, that he finds peace. And so he shares it with you.

You’re leaned against a piece of driftwood, the two of you choosing to be closer to the land than sea.

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook mumbles. The wind blows through your hair. He tucks a strand behind your ear. Your eyes travel to him at his touch.

“Do you want to go?” you ask, and Jungkook could swear, you lean into his palm. Maybe he’s imagining it, stupidly hopeful and desperate, wanting any sign you might reciprocate his feelings. He can’t tell. He doesn’t want to.

“No, no, of course not,” he quickly says, shaking his head too. “I just wonder what your father and mother will say. I don’t want them to worry or blame me-”

“Oh, please,” you laugh. “They love you. You could do no wrong in their eyes.”

And even though it wasn’t news to Jungkook at all—it was obvious your parents have taken a liking to him, your mother always inviting him to dinner and gifting him baskets of figs, and your father always pulling him aside to ask if he and you were together yet, nervously waiting for it to finally happen—it still makes him grin like an idiot and pride swell in his chest to hear you say it. 

You shove at his shoulder. He laughs.

“I just don’t want that to change,” he says. 

“Trust me, you have nothing to worry about it,” you say with a click of your tongue, and you watch the sea ahead of you again. He follows your gaze, but his eyes wander to you soon enough.

Everything about you glows from the warm sunlight, the rays bringing out your features and dipping them into a golden glimmer. He can’t help but think how he’d give everything to memorise this, have this moment go on and on until eternity. Just looking at you is enough for him. But he knows this will end soon. The sun will disappear and it will grow cold and the waves will become harsher and it will be time for you to head home. And so when he looks at his lyre that he brought that’s been lying beside him, untouched all this time, he knows to pick it up.

The song Jungkook begins to play is new, same for the words that spill from his lips, syllables rolling off his tongue easily. And just like when you first met, his eyes find yours. He can’t look away, not that he wants to anyway.

The melody is sweet and quiet, accompanied by the soft sounds of the waves. His voice adds warmth to the strings, doing things to your heart you can’t even begin to understand. And as he continues on, everything begins to still. Birds come down from the sky, perching themselves on the driftwood to listen. The trees freeze, the rustling of their branches fading away. The sea grows calm, the waves slowing, brushing ashore. Even the sun stops, halting her descent to linger, unmoving in the sky, spellbound.

Jungkook doesn’t know what he’s singing until halfway through—it’s a confession. He didn’t plan it. He sings to you and tells you just all of the things you do to him when you smile at him and roll your eyes and laugh and shake your head. He shares all of it with you, leaves out no detail, speaks even of how his heart grows heavy and warm when you’re with him and how it longs for you when you’re apart.

It’s a lovesick confession, sticky and sweet. 

Song has always been the easiest way of communication for him, allowing him to express himself more eloquently than simple words could. Something about singing makes it easier to be vulnerable and open. But when you don’t say anything after the last note has rung out, your face unreadable to him, Jungkook begins to grow nervous, panicked.

“I’m sorry-”

You pull him close by his tunic, grabbing the soft cloth. His body stumbles forward, his lyre slipping from his grasp, landing face down in the sand. He should turn it around and care for it—it’s a delicate instrument after all, one his father had given to him—but when you kiss him, he forgets all about it. 

He’s imagined what it would be like to kiss you, thought about it every night since he first saw you. But his mind didn’t prepare him for just how soft your lips are. How warmth spreads through him the moment your mouths connect, blossoming from his chest. How his soul comes to life. How an urge shots through his body. More. He’s greedy.

Jungkook places one hand on your waist and the other one on your cheek. He leans into you, desperate to be closer and closer to you. You hold him by his face, tilting your head to let him deepen the kiss. It makes him smile. You want this as much as he does, maybe even more.

When you part, the both of you panting, he realises you’re lying in the soft sand and he’s on top of you. It makes you laugh. He joins you, eyes closing shut as he keeps his forehead pressed to yours. 

“Y/N,” Jungkook mumbles, his lips ghosting over yours, voice sounding strange, hoarse. “I-”

He loves you so much, but he can’t bring the words to form, his tongue clumsy in his mouth. The words are new and strange to him. He’s never felt like this for anyone. He wants to pick up a lyre and sing, but he stops himself and wills himself to say it, taking a deep breath,

“Be my love, please?”

You smile and press your lips to the corner of his mouth. “I’d be my pleasure to.”

Jungkook kisses you again.

Jimin visited from Athens for the first time two months after your move here, a month after Jungkook and you shared your first kiss.

From the moment he sees him, Jungkook hates him.

Jimin does everything wrong—he stands too close, laughs too loud, smiles too big, dresses too well, tries too hard, lingers too long, gazes at you too much. It’s all wrong, no things a mere childhood friend should be doing.

By the end of his visit, Jungkook knows Jimin harbours more for you than he should.

When Jimin returns just less than a month later with gifts this time for you and your family—new ceramic jars, pristine plates, bottles of expensive wine—Jungkook despises him.

The hate is petty, coming from the mere fact that he can’t compete. As capturing and mesmerising as his talents were, they don’t bring Jungkook much wealth. He lives simple considering his divine heritage. His life’s still better than most people’s, blessed with adoration from everyone, but monetary wise he isn’t as well off as some might just believe.

Jimin, on the other hand, dons tunics and capes, dyed in rich purples, and rings made of the finest gold, the kind that shimmers even in the dark. And worst of all, he sings too, showing off his talents one night after you’ve all had a little too much wine. Jungkook’s voice is better than his, proving this shortly after Jimin’s performance with one of his own, his talent on the lyre already enough to beat out the older man, but his heart’s still bitter, the victory not feeling like one.

Maybe he wouldn’t loathe Jimin as much as he did if you didn’t seem so unaware of it all. You laugh at his jokes, delight yourself when your mother invites him for dinner, show him Thrace like Jungkook had when you first moved here. But worst of all, you say his name like you do Jungkook’s. You put this ring to it, your tongue rolling out the syllables perfectly. It’s like you want to irritate him.

Maybe then his feelings of unworthiness wouldn’t have grown as much as they had.

Maybe then Jungkook wouldn’t have felt like he didn’t deserve you, like he was stopping you from achieving a future with someone who could give you everything the world had to offer and your heart could possibly desire. 

Maybe then Jungkook wouldn’t have thought that Jimin could be your true happiness and he was merely in the way.

The thoughts plague him every time Jimin’s in Thrace, and even though they tug and pull on his heart, steal his last bit of mind and peace, he can’t bring himself to tell you about them. Seokjin urges him he to, but he doesn’t. His ego and pride won’t allow Jungkook. Foolish, he knows. But that’s him, a fool.

It all boils over when Jimin visits again a few months later.

Jealousy is ugly, even on Jungkook. It brings out a knit between his brows that will remain there permanently if it stays too long, forces his mouth into a thin line that’s hard and stiff, kills the spark and glimmers in his big brown doe eyes. 

“Jungkook!” you call out when you see him in the doorway, catching sight of him only now. He snaps out of his trance, having completely forgotten about the reason for why he was here when he saw Jimin and you sitting there together in the living area—you. 

He tries to soothe the grimace, schooling his face into something more neutral as he walks up to you. It’s hard, but when you reach out to him, your hand in the air for him to grasp, it gets easier. He takes it and slips into the seat next to you, wrapping an arm around your middle, pulling you closer there, his grasp firm around your waist. You’re his. 

Jungkook can’t tell if Jimin is truly unbothered by it, or if he’s just that in control of his features, or if maybe he’s blind and simply can’t see it, but his face doesn’t falter. He wishes it would.

“Back so soon?” he presses, offering a smile with teeth and edge. Jimin smirks.

“Ah, not soon enough, I believe.”

“Wasn’t your last visit just recently?”

“I wouldn’t say three months to be recent.”

Jungkook quirks a brow. “Someone’s keeping count, huh?”

“Well, of course,” he looks at you, “I’m counting every day I’m forced apart from Y/N.”

If he didn’t have his arm wrapped around you already, Jungkook would do so now. Jimin doesn’t care for it though, and it makes Jungkook boil with rage because he doesn’t know what else to do, how else to make it known that you and he are something.

You sputter. “Jimin!”

He only laughs and shakes his head. “I’m joking.” 

He’s most definitely not, but you fail to realise it. Jimin gives Jungkook a look, and he wishes you’d just see it, open your eyes and see it.

“This reminds me,” Jimin leans back and grabs a small trunk that’s been tucked under his feet, “to make up for all of the time we had to spend apart, I brought gifts.”

When he lifts the top, jealousy twists Jungkook’s features again. There are small golden mirrors, a handful of bottles of perfume, bracelets and earrings with jewels and gems, and beautiful gold and silver rings, shimmering in the light, big emeralds and pearls embellishing them. The sight makes Jungkook’s head spin. Even though he’ll fight for you without a beat of hesitation, yield a sword and bleed for you, he cannot fight this, wealth and luxury. He can’t compete, no matter how much he wants and would for you.

“Jimin!” you gasp.

He grins at your exclamation. Your eyes are big as you stare at everything presented in front of you, mouth wide open. Jimin laughs and takes one of the gold rings, the biggest one out of them all, beautiful and expensive green gems lined around the band, and grabs your left hand, sliding it onto your finger.

Your eyes bulge and though you try to resist, Jimin insists.

“Please,” he says. “I bought this one just for you. I want to see it on you.”

And with those few words, you let him, giving up the fight.

All while Jungkook sits there, his heart breaking into a million pieces in his chest. Because it’s then, with that ring on your finger, beautiful and perfect, he can see your future in front of his eyes; expensive jewellery dangling from your neck and hands and wrists and ears, your hair twisted with dyed purple ribbons, matching your tunic, the same gold ring on your left hand. You’ll be beautiful, living in wealth, everything brought to you at a mere finger snap. It’s the life he wishes for you. He wants you to live well. And it’s a life he can’t afford to offer to you.

“It fits perfectly,” Jimin observes, and slowly, Jungkook’s arm slips off your waist. “You look beautiful with it.”

You really do.

Jungkook wonders if he can die from lovesickness.

“Jimin, I can’t-”

“Y/N, don’t be modest.”

It’s a scold, but you take it with a smile.

“I really can’t,” you repeat, but you’re staring at the ring around your finger, in love with it. “This is all- you’re too generous, Jimin.”

And something about the way you say his name, the way you repeat it over and over again like you want to hurt him, stings. It drives Jungkook almost insane right then and there. 

He clears his throat, and you look at him. “I’m going to go.”

You blink. “What?”

“I just remembered Seokjin asked me to help him with… something.” It’s a terrible lie, but under your gaze, he can’t do more. You raise a brow, suspicion reflecting in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You reach out to him, wanting to hold him back and question him, but Jungkook twists out of your grasp and stands up, bidding you farewell. He refuses to acknowledge Jimin as he walks out, not wanting to see the smile on his lips. His steps are quick—he’s fleeing—allowing you no time to interject.

Once again, Jungkook has lost.

In hindsight, he maybe shouldn’t have come here. 

In hindsight, he maybe should have gone to Seokjin, hidden there, but his legs had simply brought him to the coast. Because maybe then, you wouldn’t have found him so quickly and he wouldn’t have to deal with you right now when his head’s still so full and spinning and his heart’s bitter and hurting.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, and he can hear you stop at his voice, hesitate. 

You sit down next to him. He wants to tell you not to. The sand’s wet from the rain earlier today and your beautiful tunic will be ruined, your calves and heels scratched up by the shore. It’s all not worth it.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you say with a laugh, trying and failing to lighten the air around you. “How’d you know it was me?” 

Jungkook looks at you, catching a glance of your hand. You’re not wearing the ring. He was almost sure you would. He averts his gaze, an ironic smile on his lips, and his head lowers as he pretends to rub the sand off his hands. 

“Oh, please,” Jungkook laughs, scoffing, and you wince. “I know you.”

He shakes his head.

“I know you by the way you walk and the way you breathe. I could recognise you by the smallest gestures, by the way air lightens when you’re around.” His eyes lock with yours. “You can’t surprise me.”

You don’t say anything to that, unable to even begin to speak. He looks away again.

“How did you know I’m here?”

You smile, but he doesn’t see it. “I know you the same way you know me. You can’t surprise me either.”

Jungkook hums, lowering his gaze. You know each other too well, would do so blind and deaf. 

It’s harsher today, windier, the waves washing ashore with more force and upset. You shiver involuntarily.

“It’s cold,” Jungkook mumbles. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You shouldn’t be here then either,” you counter, and he can hear the edge in your voice, your patience wearing thin. There are unspoken words hanging between you, and it’s only a matter of time until they’re said out loud. He feigns ignorance.

“That’s different. You should go,” Jungkook repeats, and he wishes you would listen to him for once, not fight him on this. But it’s you, and you’ll always fight.

“How so? 

Sighing, he shakes his head. This conversation is futile. You won’t go, so he will.

“I’m leaving,” he tells you, standing up, but this time, you catch on quick enough, rising to your feet and blocking his way. 

He looks at you. There’s irritation flaring in your eyes. It’s bright and hot, your jaw flexed. You press the words through gritted teeth.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, demanding answers. “Why are you behaving like this?”

Jungkook forces his eyes away. He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the reason for all of your frustrations and anger. He still hates it, even if he knows he is. He doesn’t want that. He never wants to elicit these emotions in you. 

“It’s nothing-”

“Jungkook!” 

And when his name spills from your lips this time, his heart hurts and aches in his chest. Because upset and exasperation swing with your voice as you say it. Two things that have never accompanied his name.

“Tell me! What’s going on?” 

You move closer to him, trying to meet his gaze, but he avoids it like if he doesn’t, he’ll turn to stone. And the longer he refuses to look at you, the more it hurts you, frustrates you. Your hands clench into fists at your side as you wait, hoping he’ll give in, but he doesn’t.

“Jungkook!” you say, grabbing him by his tunic. “Look at me- talk to me!”

He does neither. It spares him of seeing your face crumble, of watching your anger subside and morph into something sadder, of realising your eyes are beginning to fill with tears.

You let go and move away, your hands returning to your side. 

The silence is suffocating.

“Please—” It comes out quiet, broken. And once he hears the quiver in your voice, the fragility, he has to look at you. “—just tell me. What’s wrong?”

He knows he’s defeated. You’re pleading with him, the words soft and gentle. He realises he’d rather have you scream and yell at him, demand an answer, than stand in front of him, tears in your eyes.

“What did I do wrong, Jungkook?”

And like he’s been bitten by a snake, struck by lightning, Jungkook rushes to you, shaking his head, cupping your face into his hands. 

“No, no, no,” he whispers. “You did no wrong, my love. You could never do anything wrong. It’s me. It’s only and purely me.”

He wipes the tears for you. You’re never one to let others see you cry, he recalls your father telling him once. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you whisper, swallowing. “Please.”

Jungkook closes his eyes.

Telling you would mean sending you in Jimin’s open arms, opening your eyes to the truth, to the bright future that awaits you, a future without him. He’ll have to watch you grow happy with Jimin, kiss him, love him, marry him.

“Because you and I can’t be,” Jungkook whispers and holds you close to him, pressing his forehead to yours, one last time. “You shouldn’t be with me.”

His heart breaks as the words slip, everything in him dearly yearning for the opposite, but it’s futile, wishful and foolish thinking. There’s no you and him. Not when Jimin could offer you so much more. 

“You should be with Jimin.”

“Jungkook-”

You stop when he shakes his head.

It’s hard to speak, the words refusing to form on his tongue. But he forces them out, knowing that by the end, you’ll be happier. 

“Jimin can offer you so much. He can offer you all of the gold and jewellery in the world- everything your heart desires. I can’t, my love. I can’t give you the life you want- the one you deserve. But Jimin can. With him, you’ll live easy and happy and-”

You push him away. Jungkook barely stumbles backwards. You’re weak and exhausted, but your push is still enough to jolt him. He looks at you in shock. There’s anger in your eyes again. But it’s tamer this time, softer. It borders on something else. He just can’t place it.

“You’re foolish, Jungkook,” you hiss, wiping the tears that roll down your cheeks when you blink. “You’re foolish and preposterous!”

He blinks at you, speechless.

“What are you talking about?” you laugh, and it’s bitter and empty. You look like you want to strangle and kiss him at the same time. “What’s going on in that head of yours that makes you think I should be with Jimin? That makes you think that Jimin is who I want?”

He opens his mouth, wanting to tell you that he could see it, how beautiful you’ll be covered in purple and gold and green. Your future that will be awaiting you with Jimin—you’ll thrive. But nothing leaves him, not when you’re standing in front of him like that with your tunic tangled around your ankles, dirty from the wet sand, your cheeks damp with tears, your hair wild from the wind, your chest rising heavy from everything you’re feeling.

“Do you believe jewellery and gold and wealth is what my heart desires?”

Jungkook wants to let out an empty and bitter laugh now. The answer is obvious to him. He doesn’t know why you ask this.

“Is it not what everyone’s heart-”

“Do you believe that by the end of time when my mind is old and body alike, jewellery and gold and wealth will bring me happiness? That when my deepest fears come back and it’s my time, those vapid and superficial things will soothe me? That a steady hand to hold won’t be what I’ll yearn for? A heart to confide in?”

He looks at you. He can’t speak. The silence kills you.

“It’s you!”

You’re yelling. 

You close the distance and push both of your hands to his chest.

“It’s you I desire, Jungkook!” 

And even though the words ring loud in his ears, unmistakeable, he doesn’t comprehend.

“You’re all I want, Jungkook,” you repeat. “You’re my love! You’re my world! You’re my everything! It’s you, Jungkook, and no one else—not Jimin or any other man! I do not care for gold or jewellery or wealth- I do not care for such things. I only care for you, Jungkook. Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I did!”

He’s dumbstruck and blinks. “You did?”

“Of course!” you cry out. “I cared so much I was scared you didn’t! I was scared that to you I’ll be just another conquest, another heart to break, another one to forget!” 

You push him again. And once more, he just jolts backwards. You’re not strong enough to do more. 

“You think I would have dined and shared figs with you and kissed you and spent every turn of day with you if I didn’t care for you from the beginning? If you didn’t mean everything to me from the moment I knew you?”

Push.

“I only want to be with you, Jungkook!”

Push.

“My heart is full of you. You’re all I’ll ever desire, today and tomorrow and even when my body hurts and my mind is gone and my days come to an end.”

Your voice grows quieter and quieter with each syllable, tears filling your throat and making it impossible for you to speak. The last words come out broken and slow. 

Push. But you can’t muster up enough strength, and it ends with your hands pressed against his chest.

“It will always be you.”

And right then, Jungkook knows he’ll never let you go, ever. He’ll never let anyone or anything ever hurt you. He’ll always be there to tend for you, care for you, comfort you, listen to you, love you. He wraps his arms around you, heart aching in his chest. You’re right. He’s foolish. And his foolishness caused you to shed tears. Something he’ll never let happen ever again.

“Forgive me, my love,” Jungkook begs, whispering the words against the top of your head. “Forgive me, please. I’ve wronged you, my dear. I’m foolish. Forgive me, please, my love.”

“You’re stupid,” you mumble into his shoulder, your words lacking any bite and edge. You hug him back and Jungkook tightens his embrace, thankful you’re in his arms.

And when he sinks down to his knee, holding onto your left hand as he asks for your permission and you accept, he knows his heart is no longer his anymore. It hasn’t been for a very long time.

The entire wedding takes place over the course of three days.

On the first day, Jungkook and you make the sacrifices you’re supposed to make, the two of you paying the gods your respects. You thank Artemis for all of the years she’s protected you and Aphrodite, who you ask to take you under the wing from now on.

On the second day, you begin the morning with a bath, washing yourself with a loutrophoros, a water holder for special occasions. Afterwards, your mother and the women of your family help you get dressed. Jungkook in the meantime makes sacrifices to his parents, neither of which were a big part of his life once he was deemed old enough to take care of himself, residing on Mount Olympus instead with him in Thrace. Still, he’s grateful for the fame they provided him with, offering him a life he else wouldn’t have gotten.

By the time the sun is high in the sky, vibrant yellow against crystal clear blue, the gods blessing you, the wedding is in full swing.

Jungkook dons his best clothes, an intricate and detailed cloak hanging off his shoulders, a beautiful olive garland perched on top of his head. And while he’s beautiful, the focus is on you. Rightfully so because when he sees you for the first time while he’s standing next to the altar, his hands crossed in front of his body, his heart seizes to a stop and his breath hitches in his throat.

You’re stunning.

Jungkook has met princesses, nymphs, goddesses even during one of the few visits he’d be allowed as a child on Mount Olympus, and yet, none of them could compare to you. 

You’re wearing a beautiful floor length white gown that cinches perfectly at your waist. The white veil, though it covers your face, isn’t enough to hide your beauty and the smile on your lips as you walk down arm in arm with your parents. Your garland’s made out of daisy, white and yellow, matching your gown.

And as he watches you walk down, with your family and friends gathered around, struggling to hold back tears, Jungkook falls in love with you all over again.

He’s truly the luckiest man in all of Ancient Greece.

“You’re beautiful, my love,” he whispers. You grin underneath your veil, something you shouldn’t be doing, but you don’t care.

“You too,” you whisper back and he takes your hands into his, rubbing his thumb back and forth on your knuckles.

He smiles and takes a deep breath, lifting your veil. His heart stops again in his chest.

“My love, my dear, my everything, my beloved Y/N,” Jungkook begins, speaking from his heart like how his mother taught him to, prose coming easy to him. “I still remember the first night I met you. You were leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, listening to me sing. I’ve yet to tell you—though I’m sure you know this by now—but from that very first moment when my eyes met yours, I was in awe with you.

“I’ve never been in awe with anything or anyone in my life ever. But you had me struck, wholly and completely. Mesmerised from the very first second. I couldn’t finish singing soon enough and greet you. It’s almost embarrassing now that I think about it, how desperate I must have seemed to you and others. But after all this time with you, I realise I do not care.

“Because in the end, I’m standing in front of you, marrying you. Words can’t even begin to describe just how lucky I feel, how incredibly blessed. I thank you for choosing me, my love. For deciding that someone like me, whose gifts only lay in melody and song, whose foolishness sometimes drives you insane, was worthy of you and your mind and your beauty and your affection.”

Your shoulders shake as you try not to cry, your hands tightening around Jungkook’s.

“And so I promise you that until the end of time, until the gods force us apart, I will spend every second I’m blessed with you only appreciating, cherishing, caring, protecting, providing and most importantly, loving you.”

You’re both grinning and crying at the same time, and though he hates nothing more than to see tears in your eyes, it does make him proud to know his words tug on your heartstrings. 

“Jeon Jungkook,” you begin, a slight quiver to your voice from all of the tears you’ve swallowed. “I feel anxious as I stand before you and try to express just how much I feel for you. Unlike you, I’m far from gifted with words. More times than not, I don’t even know where to begin.”

He shakes his head, mouthing quiet ‘no’s. He wants to tell you that you’re more eloquent and well-spoken than he is and ever could be, but he refrains, knowing an interruption, even a well meant one, would anything but delight you.

“So I will try to keep this short in hopes not to embarrass myself too much. But please, Jungkook,” you take a step closer to him, your eyes glossing over, “know that my mind and heart is solely yours. That even if I might not say it enough, I cannot imagine being with anyone but you.

“I’ve never known a home to be anything but a house. It’s always scared me to think that one day I’ll be on my own, not surrounded by the familiar four walls I’ve always known. But ever since I’ve met you, I’ve learned that it’s not scary, that home can very well be a person. 

“From the moment I looked at you, I knew you were my person, Jungkook. From the moment I dined with you and we shared figs, I knew you were the one I’ve been looking for, the piece and half of me that’s been missing this entire time.”

There’s not an eye left dry among your friends and family, not even Jimin can stop himself, who’s chosen to come though his heart’s bitter.

Jungkook’s garland almost slips as he captures your lips. His hand is on the small of your back while the other one cups your cheek. You hold onto him, pulling him down to you. You’re both grinning as you kiss each other, your love finally official.

Cheers and applause erupts. People congratulate you as you walk back down the aisle together. 

Jungkook looks at you and all he can think about is how his heart has never been safer than in your hands.

He cannot await his future with you.

And he makes sure you know it when you go home together for the first time, pressing a path of kisses from your lips to your collarbone, down to your soft belly, whispering into your skin just how truly beautiful and wonderful and breathtaking you are as he does.

He sings to you, humming a melody, a song meant for you and only you. 

You hold your breath, and he familiarises himself with the arch of your spine and the pitch of your voice when the relief finally arrives and the prayers you mumble into the air in between. It’s beautiful, you’re beautiful. Jungkook can’t get enough of it, and so rest comes only when the sky turns bright again.

On the third day, it’s tradition for the newlyweds to welcome friends and family into their new home and receive their gifts, with dances and meals set later in the day. And as great of a tradition as it is, Jungkook wishes it wouldn’t be one right now, hating the thought of your first morning cut short.

Slinging his arm tighter around your waist, he pulls you flush against his chest. You giggle. He presses a few kisses to the top of your shoulder.

“Hello, my love,” he mumbles, his nose brushing your neck. You place your hand on his, fingers interlacing. “Did you sleep well?”

You hum, closing your eyes and breathing in audibly. “Very well. Did you?”

“With you by my side?” He’s grinning. “The best.”

His words, as cliché as they are, make you laugh. But you shake and roll your eyes too. You turn to face him, the blanket twisting around you. 

“They’re coming soon,” you say, lightly tracing his arm, up and down, up and down. “We should get dressed.”

But you stay there in Jungkook’s arms and make no effort to get up. So he takes your words with a shrug, dismissing them because there’s truly nothing important enough in this world to pull him away from your arms, from you, his wife, his beloved wife. He grins. 

He presses kisses to your cheek and neck and ear and lips. You laugh and giggle. He does it again and again and again until you’re forced to twist yourself out of his grasp. But he holds you close, his hand sliding underneath the blanket.

“We can’t,” you reprimand, grabbing his wrist. “People are going to be here soon. Do you want them to see?”

“We are married, are we not? Husband and wife?” He speaks with a smile, still kissing every inch of your skin. “This shouldn’t be surprising.”

And when you lightly hit his arm and shove at his shoulder, he’s anything but surprised. You click your tongue at him and get up. He groans.

“Is it truly reprehensible for a husband to want to spend his morning with his wife?” he asks you, watching you slip into a tunic. It’s simpler than the one you wore yesterday, but you still look equally stunning. It’s not the garment but you, he realises.

“No, it’s not,” you say, not looking at him as you speak, busy dressing yourself. “But it is if you know guests are coming.”

There’s something almost childlike in the way Jungkook pouts and whines, upright in the bed now.

“Please don’t go,” he asks you once you’re fully dressed, reaching out for you. You, as much as you shouldn’t, slip into his grasp, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and squish his face to your body. The response is automatic, his arms your comfort and home. You can never resist.

“I don’t want you to go yet,” Jungkook tells you, and you thread through his hair, scratching his head. It makes him hum and close his eyes, his mouth curling into a satisfied smile. “I’m sure they’d understand if we stayed in bed-”

“It’s tradition.”

“I don’t care.”

You sigh, but it’s not ouf of annoyance. He can hear the smile on your lips. You relax in his grasp. Seeing his chance in your inattention, he pulls you down and switches positions with you, pinning you down. A yelp escapes you, and there’s almost something like exasperation in your eyes. It’s close to disbelief, but it’s quickly mixed with adoration too once you realise what he’s doing.

“Jungkook!” you reprimand, but it doesn’t sound like you’re trying (and you are not). “You can’t-”

The words die in your throat, quickly replaced by giggles when he presses his lips to yours. You don’t fight it, pulling him down to you and reciprocating the kiss. He smiles. He doesn’t think he could ever get enough of your lips. Kissing you is his favourite thing. When his hands begin to wander again, you stop it.

“I’m serious,” you whisper against his lips, breathless. “We can’t.”

Jungkook sighs and lets his head hang, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Fine.”

And that makes you cheer. He rolls over, allowing you to stand once more. 

“Great, now get dressed please. People should arrive soon.”

You’re truly the only person who could give him orders and make him follow them. He sighs.

Jungkook is still in the middle of dressing when you return from the bathroom, your face damp. When you snake your arms around his middle from behind and press your cheek to his back, he believes, at first, you’re trying to make up for before. He stills when he realises you’re not.

“Are you drying your face on my-”

He doesn’t even bother to finish his sentence, sighing instead. He pats your hands, letting you do it. He could never tell you no. Especially not when you’re giggling the way you are right now. The sound weakens his heart.

“Thank you,” you say once you’re done, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. He smiles. 

“I’m going to go to the agora,” you say, market. “I need to get some ingredients.”

He hums and turns around, his hand snaking around your waist and pulling you close. “Or you could stay here-”

“Stop,” you whisper, and he pouts.

“I just don’t want you to go.”

You roll your eyes. “I have to,” you hum. “I’ll be back.”

He sighs and presses a kiss to your lips. “Be back quick”

You laugh and pull away, squeezing his hand. “I will. I promise.”

Looking back, Jungkook wonders if his reluctance to let you go all morning was maybe a sign, a sign from the gods, his father possibly, to stop you. He wonders if he tried a little harder, held onto you a little longer, insisted a little more, if things would have turned out differently. He wonders if he could have done anything to change the outcome. He wonders if he had the power to convince you to stay.

Because you don’t keep your promise.

By the time he's done setting up your home for the guests, you’re still not here. And when one of your aunts and uncles arrive, he begins to worry.

“I’ll look for her,” he tells them, apologising for the wait and asking them to make themselves at home in the meantime. They wave him off, telling him there’s no need to apologise. You’re family after all, but Jungkook doesn’t hear them, already rushing out and thinking about where you could have gone, his mind conjuring up every possible scenario that could explain your delay, each one getting worse and worse.

His head whips around as he looks for any signs of you, something that could give him a clue about where you’ve gone. He’s tempted to run back to the market, maybe you’re there. But something within tells him you’re close by. Jungkook can’t place what it is, but it’s strong enough to convince him. 

He looks at the forest behind your house, and somehow, he knows, you went there.

Jungkook can feel his heart beating heavily in his chest as he runs, a sticky film of sweat forming on his skin. The sun’s beating down on him, hanging high in the sky, no cloud in sight. Under different circumstances, he would have taken the time to appreciate the weather, thank the gods for blessing you with it and keeping the rain away during your wedding. But now the sun feels like it’s mocking him, shining high and bright to punish him.

Buying a home away from the city and closer to the forest seemed like a great idea—Jungkook thought he and you could make it a tradition to take walks through it after dinner, thought later on, it’d be the perfect place for your future children to run around in and play. He imagined you and him teaching them of nature, which plants were edible and which weren’t and when to pick fruits—but he’s beginning to regret it now. 

“Y/N!”

Jungkook feels crazy calling your name into the trees. 

“Y/N! My love, where are you?”

The longer he looks for you and gains no response or sight of you, the more he thinks he’s going to lose his mind. 

“Please, my love! You’re scaring me! Where are you?”

He comes to a stop when the trail splits into two, heaving, hands on his knee, sweat dripping down his temple. His eyes scan both paths—they look the same. 

But when he looks closer, he sees fig trees in the distance down the left one. And the moment he realises, he also sees a bit of white in between the trees. It’s you, arms up in the branches, picking figs.

The air is knocked right out of his lungs, relief hitting Jungkook in the gut. His eyes fall shut, his hands pressing over his heart.

You’re fine. You’re safe. You’re well.

It brings him instant solace. His worries had been in vain. 

“My love!” Jungkook calls out and there’s no more panic and fear swinging with his voice, only relief. 

You whip your head around, your eyes finding his. And at his sight, that beautiful smile of yours curls on your lips. It warms his heart, quenches all of his worries.

“Where did you go? I was worried,” he tells you with a laugh, shaking his head.

He walks to you, and you do the same, slowly stepping out, trying not to rip your tunic on the bushes.

All is well.

“I just wanted to pick some figs for you-”

Until it’s not.

He freezes. He knows something’s wrong even before it happens.

You trip. Your bag slips off your shoulders and its content spills out. The bread, nuts and olives you bought roll out. The figs you so preciously picked for him explode on the dirty ground, red on brown.

You let out a yelp. His knees lock in place, his body frozen in something like fear. It isn’t until he sees it, wrapped around your ankle, that he snaps out of his trance and runs to you.

The snake bites down into that soft flesh around your ankle, teeth breaking skin and ripping into muscle. 

It’s black and thin. You didn’t see it, stepping on it accidentally. Jungkook grabs it, crushing and removing it from your ankle. It goes limp in his grip. He throws it aside, not even looking where it lands, dead.

“My love,” he whispers, falling to his knees when he sees your blood soaked hands wrapped around your ankle, your face twisted in pain. 

He was too late.

“No, no, no!” Jungkook cries out, putting his hands around your ankle too, trying to stop the bleeding, but it only gets worse, his fingers staining with your blood, the red continuously gushing out. It makes him sick.

“Oh god! No, my love, how- how do I stop this? What shall I do?” He breathes unevenly, chest rising and falling heavily. Panic is pooling in the pit of his stomach, his hands shaking. “I- I don’t know what to do! How-”

You place your hand on his and squeeze. The blood on your hand mixes with the blood on his.

“Jungkook.”

He looks at you, fear and hysteria in his eyes. Yours, however, are gentle, a soft smile curled on your lips. 

He remembers when he first met you, how you had that sparkle of mischief in your pupils, of courage. Jungkook thinks about how his heart was yours from that very first second, how the last few months had been the best of his life. He thinks and wants to go back to your first night. Because your eyes are glossing over now, the spark darkening—that sign of you dying—and he doesn’t like that.

“It’s alright, Jungkook.”

The knowledge seizes his heart then, cold and suffocating. He shakes his head—no, no, no, no, no!—but that smile stays on your face, a calm and almost tranquil look he’s never seen on you before finding your features. He doesn’t like it, utterly despises it. He wants it gone. Your face shouldn’t be settled with such peace. It’s only reserved for the old and ill and frail, not for you. You, who’s still so full of life, so young, so vibrant.

“No! Tell me what to do, my love!” he begs, holding onto your ankle tighter, trying and failing to stop the bleeding. Your grip weakens, the venom spreading fast.

“It’s okay,” you repeat, and Jungkook wants to yell and curse and tell you the opposite, that you can’t be doing this right now! He wants to say so much, do so much, but he can’t. Not when you’re looking at him like that.

He cradles you in his arms, like you’re made of glass, delicate and precious and oh so fragile. He hugs you close to his chest, his knees scratching up on the dirty ground as he shifts and tries to not let the dirty ground touch you. His hands soil your tunic bloody. The red spreads fast. It’s a mess. You look like you’ve been in battle. The sight makes him dizzy. 

“My love, please don’t!” Jungkook pleads, his voice breaking and cracking with every word. He shakes his head. “I need you!”

You squeeze his hand again. The blood staining your skin is drying. Your eyes are slowly falling shut.

“Please, look at me!”

You’re trying your best to.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice weak and strange. Jungkook wants to curse and yell.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” The words come out slow. “I just wanted to pick some figs. We would eat them.” 

You shake your head and try to laugh. It’s humourless. It’s hard for you to speak. 

“Like we did on our first-”

“I know,” he mumbles when your voice breaks. “I know. You don’t have to explain, my love. I know.”

You smile, squeezing his hand. You reach up with your other one. Blood stains his cheek when you brush away his tears. Jungkook didn’t even realise he’s crying. He chokes.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “There’s blood-”

“It’s okay,” he says, shaking his head and forcing a smile. “It’s alright. I don’t mind, my love.”

You nod and open your mouth to speak again, but life is slowly slipping further from you, your soul beginning to lift out of your body. Hades has come to claim you. You know. He knows.

“Rest, my love,” he tells you, quietly and broken. He hates the words spilling from his mouth. He hopes they offer you comfort. “All will be well. Just rest, my love.”

The corners of your lips lift up, and you grasp his hand with yours. He squeezes. Your smile, it makes his words seem true. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it will all be well. Maybe you’re more than a mortal. Your smile, it makes him want to believe himself.

“It’s alright, Jungkook,” you say. “Really, it’s alright, Jungkook.”

And Jungkook has never been more grateful to hear his name escape your lips. He truly loves it, the way it rolls off your tongue. Because for a moment, when he hears you say it, he’s reminded of your time together, how he feigned lovesickness to talk to you, the game you used to play, the glances he’d always steal from you and the glances you’d never give him. He’s reminded of a happier and simpler time. A time, where you didn’t lay in his arms, slipping further from him, where death didn’t seem possible.

You open your mouth, trying to speak. But you don’t have the voice for words anymore. It makes no difference. He understands perfectly. 

“I love you too, my love,” Jungkook whispers, his smile breaking. A part of him dies as he tells you this, for the last time, he knows. “So much.”

You give him a smile, and he memorises it—the curve of your lips, the crinkle of your eyes, the scrunch of your nose; everything. He commits it all to his memory.

Jungkook kisses you. His eyes are squeezed shut. He wants to be blind to it all, for just a moment. He doesn’t want to see as you fade away from him, take your last breath. He can’t bear the thought. So he allows himself to think it’s all fine, lets his mind to believe that you’re not dying in his arms right now. It keeps him sane for that moment. 

Jungkook had only ever had one conversation with his grandfather, Zeus, before. It was short, but he still remembers it vividly. He wanted to know if it was true what people said—if humanity was originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces and if he really did split them into two parts out of fear of humanity’s power, dooming them to look for their other half until the end of time.

To this day, Jungkook still remembers the way his grandfather looked at him, his eyes dark and old. It made him freeze with fear. He wanted to take back the question right then, apologise and tell him how foolish it was of him to ask. But he’s glad his younger self couldn’t find the courage to. 

He’s glad he knows the answer.

He’s glad because Jungkook knew from the moment he locked eyes with you on that night all those months ago in the tavern, he found his other half, that he’d been looking for you and solely you all this time.

He’s glad he knows that there’s always been a connection between you and him—a lover’s bond. 

It’s how he knows when he parts from you—before he’s even peeled his eyes open—that you’re gone.

Jungkook weeps as he holds you close to him, your body limp in his arms, eyes shut. Sobs tear through his throat, raw and painful. But it’s not enough to encapsulate the tremendous agony rippling through his body, the loss his heart and mind feels, the passing of you.

And as he holds you, rocking back and forth with you in his arms, he remembers how he naivelly asked his grandfather if separating them from their other half was enough to contain humanity. 

He can still hear the chuckle his grandfather let out, the way his hair moved when he shook his head. “You’ll understand once you’re older.”

And he does now.

He finally understands as he holds your limp body close to him, his face buried in the crook of your neck, crying out for you. 

It’s more than enough.

Jungkook has never buried anyone. 

It’s a fate he’s never had to experience with his father a god and his mother a nymph. It’s a fate he never thought he would experience for a long time. When he imagined his future with you, he was always sure it would end with him first. You’d come after. It only made sense to him. So, he doesn’t even know how to begin. Arranging a funeral for anyone, he couldn’t do it. Arranging your funeral, the funeral of his wife, the love of his life, it tears his heart open.

But it has to be done. 

You need a proper funeral and burial. It’s the only way to let your soul rest, and it’s what he wants, your peace. He doesn’t even want to imagine the opposite for you, the torture and agony you would go through as you’re left to wander earth, unable to rest.

But grief, he learns, is paralyising. 

It chains Jungkook to his bed. It’s all he does, lie in bed, staring ahead of him, waiting. He can’t say what he’s waiting for, maybe it’s death or maybe it’s you, miraculously, awakened from the dead. Either way, it’s futile waiting. You won’t return and death won’t come, your family and Seokjin taking care of him, forcing him to eat and drink and rest. Days pass in a blur, and it’s at your funeral that he regains consciousness.

It’s the sight of you that awakens him.

You’re lying on a table, a soft white silk cloth underneath you. Flowers have been put around your body, vibrant and pretty and full of life. Simple but expensive gold jewellery hangs from you. And for once, Jungkook’s glad for Jimin’s existence in your life. You’ll be taken care of in the underworld. Your hands are neatly clasped in front of your stomach, and you’re donning a gown that he, on the first glance, mistakes for your wedding dress.

Looking at you right now, it’s easy to pretend that you’re merely in a very deep sleep. He wants to believe it, turn to your family and tell them it was all a big mistake. You couldn’t be dead. They should look at you! No one could possibly be this beautiful in death. You were simply sleeping a little longer than usual, exhausted from the wedding. That’s it. Nothing more. All of this is a grave mistake. But mistakes are fixable. You just need to be woken up, and you’ll tell everyone then. The funeral, it will make you laugh. You’ll tell your children of it later, how, for a moment, their dad thought he had lost the love of his life, his wife-

A hand seizes his shoulder. 

Jungkook looks. It’s Seokjin. His friend’s face is pulled into something he can’t pinpoint. Tears are brimming Jungkook’s eyes, blurring his vision.

“I-”

“She’s gone,” Seokjin says quietly, squeezing his shoulder, and Jungkook looks at him, blinking a few times.

And even though he knows that deep down, of course, he does—he could feel life leaving you, the warmth seeping from your body. He could feel you dying in his arms—Seokjin stating it, you’re gone, no longer walking with him, by his side, breaks him.

Jungkook falls to his knees, his forehead touching the cold hard ground. The tears are hot as they roll down his cheeks. He bites his lip, trying to silence the sobs and cries that bang on his throat. It’s futile. They spill. His cries fill the room, the sounds escaping him primal. His lungs are crushed and crumpled up within him. Breathing is hard. He feels like he’s suffocating and choking.

Rising to his knees, he grasps your wrist. It’s cold. You’re cold. It scares Jungkook, makes a new wave of tears rush down his cheeks. He always thought that it would be you burying him one day. Your life just seemed so much more of value than his. You made a difference every day. He didn’t. He wants it to be him, lying on the table. It should be him! He promised to protect you. And he failed, miserably.

“Y/N, my love,” Jungkook whispers, shaking you lightly as if you’d maybe wake up from it. “I’m- I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, my love. I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect you.”

The words soon morph into something unintelligible, losing their meaning and distorting into a cry. People turn away from him, averting their eyes, refusing to look. Not even Seokjin can bring him to watch, lowering his head too. 

It’s a pitiful sight.

The anger and fury doesn’t come until a day after your funeral. It brews in him, along with the guilt. It quickly consumes him whole, eats away at his mind and body, steals his voice. His hands are bloody and soiled from banging the ground holding you, begging for you to just please, please, please come back to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over. “Forgive me, my love.”

He touches your tomb, traces the letters of your name.

“I shouldn’t have let you go. I should have gone with you. I shouldn’t have let you go. I should have gone with you.”

He chokes.

“Please, my love, come back.”

He’s gone mad, people say. Jeon Jungkook, the beloved demigod with a divine voice, has fallen from grace. He’s lost himself.

But he doesn’t care, not when this world has wronged and taken you from him, closed the book on him and you before it could even begin, separated you two once more in life. 

He’s a lover without someone to love. What else is he supposed to do but lose his mind?

Jungkook stays at your grave day and night, refusing to go. The house feels haunted by your absence, a hole in the world without you. But worst of all, he can’t bear the thought of you being here, alone, your ashes in the cold urn buried six feet under soil. It must be lonely and scary. He can’t leave you, stuck in a state of utter and complete loss.

“It’s not what she would have wanted,” Seokjin tells him. “You should rest. You need to eat something.”

“I can’t.”

The words come out quiet but cold. His voice, once beautiful and melodic, sounds rough and torn from all of the screaming and crying.

“Jungkook, you should go home-”

“Don’t you understand?” He whips around and Seokjin almost flinches. “Don’t you understand I can’t leave her? Don’t you understand there’s no such thing as home for me anymore?”

And if he wasn’t already kneeling in the dirt, next to your tomb, Jungkook would fall to his knees now. Seokjin doesn’t recognise his friend anymore. Jungkook’s face is twisted in desperation, eyes blown out wide and empty, nose and cheeks red from his hands dragging on his skin.

“Don’t you understand that she was my home?”

He chokes on the words, voice breaking the same way his heart is as he speaks. He doesn’t know what to do without you.

Seokjin closes his eyes, his mouth pressing into a line. He crouches down and hugs his friend, wrapping his arms around him. They hold each other. Jungkook weeps again.

His anger and fury soon turn against the gods.

He stops asking you to come back and instead demands the gods to bring you back. But the gods are stubborn. And so is Jungkook, the divine bit of him determined to receive an answer. He screams and screams, uncaring of the damage he’s doing to his voice. 

“Cruel!” He repeats the word over and over again, like a prayer. “Cruel, that’s what the gods are! Selfish and cruel!”

And though rage is all he feels, there’s a tremendous amount of grief swinging with his voice. 

“How dare you take her?” He stares into the distance like the gods are in front of him, his face twisting as he thinks about your last moments together. “How dare you separate me and her, again?”

His heart is heavy as he speaks. It hurts in his ribcage, like everything in his body does. He falls to his beaten up knees, purple and blue from all of the kneeling, bloody and scratched up by the ground.

“How dare you, pappos?” Jungkook spits, fingers curling around the dirt, the skin stretching thin and white around his knuckles, grandfather. “How dare you do this to me? To her?”

He wants to climb Mount Olympus and confront his grandfather. But he can’t leave you either. So he stays and yells instead.

“How could you be this cruel, pappos? Did you fear me and her?”

Silence.

“Why didn’t you take me?” The words are bitter and grief stricken. “Why did you take her? Why did you leave me on earth without her?”

Jungkook wants answers, but no matter how many times he asks and demands for a response, screams and yells into the air, he never receives anything. Not a word or a sign or anything. It never even rains, no clouds in sight. The sun is the only thing in the sky. He hates it. 

You’d be able to handle yourself so much better if he was the one in the urn. He’s sure of it. You’d always been the stronger one between the two of you. He’d always admired you for it. 

He doesn’t understand why he’s here, why it couldn’t have been him, bitten by the snake. He doesn’t understand because you helped people. You healed them. You brought comfort and assurance to the world. You should still be here. Not him. 

Jungkook falls to the ground.

“Don’t you know she’s more worthy of living than me, pappos?”

Soon, his words lose their snark and bite.

Jungkook begins to plead instead, apologise profusely for his foolishness and all of his accusations, asking for forgiveness, hoping maybe in doing so, the gods, his grandfather, would be appeased and unify him and you again, grant him his wish. Maybe he’ll hear something from them then. 

But he receives no answer.

So he grows silent, mute. He just sits there at your grave, waiting.

Until one day, when the sun is rising, the sky orange and warm and full of life, and he just begins to sing. It happens without a second thought. The words spill from his lips, quietly and soothingly. His voice, even though it’s raw and broken, still has melody to it. It’s still capturing and mesmerising. He doesn’t have his trusted instrument with him to accompany him—he’d usually never sing without it—but right now, he doesn’t care. 

Everything stills the same way it did when he sang to you at the beach. The birds quiet their song to listen to him, the wind halting to not interrupt him. The sun lingers again, captured by his voice. 

The melody and words are somber and sad, the notes and syllables carrying his grief and pain. He wouldn’t be singing this in the tavern. Or to you. This song isn’t for anyone but himself. For once, Jungkook doesn’t sing to impress or perform. For once, he sings because it’s in his nature and it’s the only thing he knows how to do anymore. Music, it’s all he has left in this world.

He sings of the guilt plaguing him, how he should be the one in the urn, how he should have gone with you and protected you. He tells of the pain of losing you, of being unable to help you, of seeing you suffering and not offering you the comfort you deserved in your last moments. He admits to his fears that one day he’ll forget the sound of your voice and the crinkle of your nose and the spark of your eyes, things he knows will slip his mind with time. Things he doesn’t want to lose but will, regardless of how desperately he holds onto them. He cries of the time he’s been robbed with you, how he hasn’t had his chance to make sure you’ll know you’re the only one he loves, has ever loved, and will ever love. Jungkook loves you more than anything in this world can love, and it hurts him to know you don’t even know. 

And when the last words slip out, his cheeks are stained with tears and his hands shaking. He’s kneeling in front of your burial, knees bleeding from the stones digging into his flesh, tearing open old wounds.

It’s quiet around him. Even the birds aren’t singing anymore, fearful to follow his voice. The silence lingers, heavy and full.

“Yios.”

Son.

Jungkook hasn’t heard his voice in ages. It still holds the same vibrato as it did all the years ago. 

He looks up. Even with tears brimming his eyes, he can see his father hasn’t aged much. It’s always been like that. His father blessed with seemingly eternal youth.

Jungkook doesn’t wipe away his tears. He doesn’t care to.

“Pater.”

Father.

Jungkook thought he’d be furious if one of the gods dared to speak to him. And if it was his grandfather, he’d fight until his death. But he just stares at his father.

He sits down next to him, dusting off his tunic and carefully placing his precious lyre on the ground. Jungkook feels filthy and dirty next to his father, aware of the soil and grime that stain his skin.

There’s a heavy silence around them, neither knowing how to begin. The last time they talked Jungkook was still a child. Now, he’s a widower.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looks at your tomb, eyes welling. He swallows and nods.

“She seemed like a nice and kind girl. Beautiful too-”

“She was a physician, pater,” Jungkook hisses. “She’s the nicest and kindest and smartest and most selfless person in all of Ancient Greece. Of course, she’s beautiful.”

His father lowers his head.

“I apologise.”

Jungkook closes his eyes and turns away. He doesn’t want his father here, his presence irritating and draining. He wants to be alone with you.

“I would have liked to meet-”

“Did you know?”

He turns to his father, face hardened, the tears gone, hands curling into fists. The anger is rising in him again.

“Did I know, what?”

He’s feigning ignorance. Jungkook might not know the man in front of him, but he still has eyes. 

“Did you know it was going to end like this?” he asks slowly, his voice shaking. “Did you know it will come to this?”

His father turns away, averting his eyes from him and your tomb.

“Eleithyia made prophecies about your life.” The goddess of childbirth, overlooking in particular the births of demigods. “I remember her saying certain things would occur-”

“So you knew,” Jungkook spits, his eyes boring into his father’s face before he looks away, unable to stand the sight of the man in front of him, not when he doesn’t even try to deny it.

He feels sick.

“You knew what would happen,” Jungkook’s words are as bitter as his heart, pierced with pain and grief and anger, “and you did nothing to stop it. You-”

“Prophecies aren’t made to be stopped, yios.”

Jungkook snaps his gaze back to his father, jaw clenching painfully.

“Aren’t made to be stopped?” he repeats, hissing the words through his teeth. “Then what are they made for? What use do prophecies hold when you do not act on the gained knowledge? When you don’t try to prevent the pain and suffering that’s foretold?”

Jungkook stares at his father, waiting for some answer, a rebuttal, for him to tell him, like his grandfather did, he’d understand once he’s older-

“You’re right.”

The admission isn’t much. But it makes Jungkook’s anger and fury vanish. 

He presses his lips together and looks at the ground. “Why are you here?” 

“I heard you,” his father whispers. “I heard you sing. Everyone did.”

He means the other gods. 

“Pappos too,” he continued, and Jungkook scoffed. “We’ve all been hearing you, even before you began singing.”

Jungkook doesn’t know how long it’s been exactly, but he’s been pleading and screaming for days at least. His father only came now. He’s truly despicable.

“Your singing has evolved beautifully-”

“Why are you here?” Jungkook asks again. “And do not dare to tell me you’re here to praise my singing. If so, I’d rather you leave.”

His father looks at him, tries to meet his gaze, but Jungkook refuses. The tension is thick and suffocating, but he doesn’t care for it. He wants his father to go, leave you and him alone. And when his father’s gaze turns to your tomb, he wants to tell him not to look. He knew of your death and didn’t try to prevent it. He’s not worthy of being near you.

“She meant a lot to you, didn’t she?”

“She’s my heart and mind,” Jungkook tells him, his words sharpened, cutting through the air. They hold weight, defy gravity, linger.

His father nods again.

“What would you be willing to do to have her return?”

“Anything.”

It comes quickly and without even a second of hesitation. His father nods again, it’s all he seems to know how to do.

“Did I ever tell you of my uncles?”

Jungkook says nothing. He doesn’t think there’s a need for him to. Their relationship is non-existent aside from the few lyre and singing lessons in his childhood. There was no time in between for conversations about family. 

“Poseidon and Hades,” his father continues, and Jungkook just lets him speak, closing his eyes. Maybe he has something useful to say. He hopes this conversation ends soon. “God of the sea and God of the dead.”

He pauses, as if waiting to see if Jungkook had anything to add. He doesn’t.

“I’ve only talked to Hades a few times. He’s nicer than you would expect the God of the dead and lord of the underworld to be.” 

There’s a chuckle, but it dies quickly. 

“Persephone supposedly made him kinder.”

There seems to be no point to his words-

“More understanding of love.”

Jungkook looks at his father. There’s something in his eyes.

“If you’re lucky and plead your case with him,” he pauses, “maybe he’ll grant you mercy and release-”

“How?” Jungkook asks, straightening up. “How do-”

“Let me finish first.” 

And like the god he is, his father clears his throat and lets Jungkook wait, hang on his lips. 

“You have to know that it is true what people say. Hades rarely ever leaves the underworld. He doesn’t even at request.”

There’s something like a frown on his father’s face as he speaks. Jungkook has never seen it before.

“If you want to talk to Hades, you need to go to him. But-”

“How do-”

“You’re not listening, yios,” his father scolds and it marks the first time in Jungkook’s life, he’s been scolded by his father. “No mortal has ever gone into the underworld and come out alive-”

“I’m no mortal.”

“But you’re no god either,” his father reminds him, and Jungkook presses his lips into a line. 

“I can’t ensure your return.” 

Jungkook sits back down, lowering his head before his eyes lift to your tomb. Your name, it hurts him to see it carved in stone.

“But there’s a chance of hers?”

The realisation sets in with his father then, realisation that Jungkook isn’t going to hesitate, that he’s going to run and dive headfirst, blind and unarmed, into the underworld the moment he tells him how to. Your possible return, it’s all he hears, you by his side again, in his arms. 

It’s true what people say.

Jungkook has gone mad.

He’s gone mad in a way only someone who’s truly loved and tragically lost can. He’s gone mad in the most human way possible. He’s gone mad loving and losing all too soon.

“I’ll pray for your success, yios.”

And when his father places his hand on his shoulder, Jungkook knows there’s no looking back.

“You know I could very well send you to Tautarus right now.”

Everything about Hades is frightening, from the way he’s leaned back in his throne, sounding bored as he makes his threat like he isn’t telling Jungkook he’s considering sending him to the realm of endless suffering. His voice, though it’s quiet, is unlike anything Jungkook has ever heard, holding no light or warmth. And though he speaks casually, Jungkook knows there’s weight to his words. Hades wouldn’t blink twice. 

But Jungkook isn’t afraid. Punishment isn’t something he fears anymore. Not when he’s already been through the worst imaginable. 

He straightens up. “I do.”

Jungkook holds Hades’ gaze, forcing himself to. He can’t waver even for once. If he does, his request won’t be heard.

“Tell me,” Hades tilts his head, eyes narrowed, “do you have a death wish?”

“I don’t. The opposite for a fact.”

The god raises his brow. He’s asking for an explanation.

“I had to come. I’m out of options.”

The words come out stable and even.

Hades looks at Persephone next to him, sitting beside him in her own throne. She hasn’t said anything so far, remaining quiet, observing.

Unlike her husband, she looks kind. She dons a long white gown, the complete opposite of his coal coloured tunic. The god of the dead and the goddess of spring. Love works in funny ways.

“What is it that you want here?” Hades asks.

“My wife,” Jungkook says, swallowing. “I’ve come for my wife.”

There’s no reaction.

“She must have come through recently,” he explains, pausing. It’s not that he wants to keep the gods waiting, but the words are heavy on his tongue. “She’s a physician. Her name’s Y/L/N Y/N.”

His voice wavers for the first time since he’s begun speaking, your name bringing tears to his eyes. A pain pierces his entire body, his throat closing. His hands tighten into fists by his side. He takes a deep breath.

“I’ve come to ask for her,” he says, swallowing.

The air is heavy around him, sitting like bricks on his shoulders and neck. They force Jungkook’s head down, but he fights it. He can’t look away. He can’t appear weak. He has to excude the same quiet confidence you always had around you. 

“Bumptious of you to come here and make such a request wouldn’t you say?” Hades hums, raising a brow. “Insulting even. The underworld is no place to make wishes.”

“I’m not trying to be either of those things,” Jungkook says. “I’m merely here to beg for my wife’s life.”

“And yet you’re on your feet.”

Hades stares at Jungkook with that same stoic, almost bored, expression as before, lips pulled into a straight line. He’s looking for entertainment.

Jungkook sinks to his knees. The floor is cold and hard and it digs into his bones. Even though he does exactly what Hades asked him to, the god looks unimpressed. So he folds his hands to the floor and presses his forehead to them. Jungkook, demigod, son of Apollo and Calliope, most talented and famed musician in all of Ancient Greece, is begging on his knees and hands. There’s none of that pride and ego to be found within him anymore. He’s given that up a long time ago.

“Please,” he begins, “she’s been taken too soon-”

“I’ve had parents tell me the same thing about their children,” Hades interrupts. “Children who haven’t loved and laughed and eaten like she’s had. What makes her life more worthy than theirs?”

Jungkook looks up and quiets. He has no answer.

“Life and death are inseparable,” Hades continues. “You’re attempting to cheat death. How dare you ask me to grant her life when the Fates decided otherwise? Can’t you see how foolish and arrogant, impudent even, you are by being here?”

The words are disapproving and scolding. They dig into Jungkook’s wounded heart and gnaw on his confidence, make his reasons for coming seem inane and fatuous.

But when he looks down, on his knees, the image of you, lying in his arms, flashes in front of Jungkook’s eyes. And though you’re weak and frail, the light diminishing in your eyes, there’s a smile on your lips, and it haunts him. It haunts him that despite your warmth and beauty, you died. He misses you dearly.

“I’m no one,” Jungkook says quietly, meeting Hades’ gaze. “And maybe I’m being foolish and arrogant, impudent even, to you for making such a request, but I do not believe it to be true.”

Jungkook doesn’t see the smile that lifts on Persephone’s lips.

“I do not believe it to be foolish or arrogant or even impudent to want to share the joys and pleasures of life with her until the end of time.”

There's confidence as he speaks. It’s not his. It’s yours. You’ve taught him. You’re more him than he’s himself. He’s made of you.

“How can I be foolish or arrogant or impudent for loving her?”

He lets his words sink, thinks of you. You’re always on his mind. His heart aches. It’s been so long.

“It is the only wish I have. And I’d be willing to do anything for its fulfillment. Whether that be beg on my knees and give up my pride and the divinity within me and put shame to the names of my father and mother and be deemed foolish, arrogant, and impudent for asking, or fight and yield a sword until the very end. Her return is all I’ll ever long for.”

Jungkook pauses and looks straight at Hades, his gaze unwavering.

“Because she’s my heart and mind.”

Hades doesn’t turn to Persephone when she grasps his hands. But he interlocks his fingers with hers and squeezes.

It seemed simple enough. Jungkook can’t turn around and look at you or talk to you during the entire journey. It seems easy and nothing in comparison to the price, your return. 

But Jungkook soon realises it’s anything but either of those things. 

Fear begins to ingrain in him. Fear that he’s been tricked by Hades, made to return to Thrace just to look and see that it’s never been you, that no one at all was following him all this time. Because from the very beginning, he can’t hear you. While his steps echo back to him, loud and deafening, even his breathing ringing in his ears, he can’t hear you. Not your steps nor your breathing. It’s like you’re not there. 

It makes him lose his mind all over again.

But what if Hades didn’t lie to him and is merely testing him? Maybe his father was right. Maybe Hades did become more understanding of love and he’ll be granted the greatest reward of all. What if, when he turns around and checks for you, you’re actually there and he’ll have to watch as he loses you once again? 

Jungkook desperately wants to turn and look or ask you, hear your voice, gain the confirmation you’re right behind him. It kills him that he can’t do either.

And though he frantically tries to cling onto that hope that no one could be this cruel, not even the god of the dead and lord of the underworld, his steps begin to grow unsure. He wants to shake it, but trusting Hades starts to seem foolish and naive to him. But it’s the only thing he can do, have trust. 

He holds onto it until he sees the first glimpse of light. It’s a fleck in the darkness, but it grows. Jungkook stops when he first sees it before leaping for it. His vision begins to swim, knees buckling as he sprints. He’ll know soon enough. 

Maybe he’ll look back and realise what a fool he had been, or maybe he’ll look back and realise having trust is the right thing. 

Either way, all will be well somehow.

Because he won’t give up if this turns out to be futile. He’ll climb Mount Olympus personally and demand his grandfather to act. It will be fine, somehow. Jungkook’s sure of-

It surges in him rapidly. The same way it did the first time. That feeling that something’s wrong before it even happens. He feels it deep within him, his heart dropping in his chest, his feet freezing to a halt, time slowing to a stop. He’s never felt like this for anyone before, never had a sixth sense for someone like he has for you. It’s that little something connecting him to you that alerts him, that part of him that will always look out for you, ensure your safety. 

Jungkook doesn’t even realise what he’s doing until it’s too late. He has turned and caught you before you could fall.

He looks at you and you look at him.

Surprise flashes across your features, eyes wide, unblinking, your lips parted. The light illuminates your face, soft and gentle. It twinkles in your eyes, igniting the spark in them. You’re warm and vibrant. Life, he realises, is just within reach. And he’s just taken it all from you. You’ll begin to fade again. 

Everything crashed back down on him. Regret comes instantly and knocks Jungkook in the gut, the air pressed out of his lungs in one exhale. The realisation of what a grave mistake he’s just made, of what he’s done to you, sets with him. It breaks him. He falls to the ground. It’s dark around him again. The doors to the surface have been closed.

“Oh, god!” Jungkook cries, and you kneel beside him. He can’t look at you and lowers his head. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry, my love. What have I just done? Please, forgive me. How can I ever-”

“Jungkook-”

“I didn’t mean to!” He lowers his head to the floor, begs. “I really didn’t mean to! I can’t explain what overcame me. I-I thought you tripped-”

“Jungkook-”

“I should have resisted! Please, do not abhor me. I’m weak and-”

“Jungkook!”

He stops when you cup his face and force his gaze to you. You wipe away the tears that spill. He hasn’t properly looked at you all this time, and now that he does, his heart breaks all over again in his chest. You’re as beautiful as he remembers you to be, your eyes full and bright. It’s also there, that smile of yours that he has committed to his mind. It holds that same soft and gentle edge as he remembers it to. 

“It’s alright,” you tell him, and there’s no waver in your voice. “Do not cry please. It’s alright, Jungkook.”

And now that you’re in front of him, holding him, smiling at him, talking to him, looking at him, he realises just how much he’s missed you. Everything from the way you gaze at him to the way you hold him to how you say his name. He’s missed you so so so much. His heart aches in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook chokes out, and you press your forehead to his. He can feel you slipping again. 

“It’s alright,” you repeat. “Truly.”

It’s hard to believe your words. He wants to, but he can’t. Not when he knows he’s the one who’s doomed you to death.

“Do not cry please,” you say, wiping away his tears. He nods.

“I-I won’t. I’ll stop.”

But he continues crying. He can’t help it. You take it with a smile.

“Thank you for coming for me, Jungkook,” you say, and he hiccups. “Thank you for loving me so much, Jungkook.”

He hugs you, closes his arms around you so tight as if all he’ll need to do is hold onto you enough, as if that will stop your soul from being claimed. He can’t and won’t let go.

“Thank you for looking and catching me in your arms, Jungkook.”

He weeps into your shoulder then, shaking uncontrollably.

And despite your smile, your eyes are glossed over. This hurts you too. You know how close you were, how within reach a future together was. But you’re not bitter at all. Your smile is genuine on your lips, just like your words. And how could you be possibly unhappy when you were so loved by your husband?

Jungkook loses you by loving you.

“I’ve never been loved like this,” you say. “No one has ever cared for me as much as you do. I’m glad you know me so well.”

A breeze blows past. It’s cold and haunting. Hades is close.

“I’ll come for you, my love,” Jungkook tells you, holding you even tighter. “I’ll come for you again. Nothing will stop me. I’ll always come for you, my love. I’m gonna walk every road to you. I’ll follow you until the end of-”

You shake your head. 

“Please, do not do that, my dear. Don’t attempt this again, Jungkook,” you say, tilting your head to the side, looking at him so gently like he’d break any time in front of you. As if he hadn’t already. “The gods won’t be so kind the next time, I don’t think.”

“I do not care. I do not fear death or eternal punishment. Not-”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, and he’s still shaking when he looks at you and listens. You’re the complete opposite of him, grounded, calm. “It’s alright.”

You’re still smiling.

“Someone always has to go first,” you say, quietly. “It will always be like this. And I’m going first.”

He shakes his head. He wants it to be-

“Please live well after this,” you hum, brushing away his tears. “Live a full and happy life, Jungkook. Go on and continue to love someone else, bless them with your beautiful heart and mind. And don’t deprive the world of your singing, please. Never lose your talent. Live, and come back to me and tell me all about your beautiful, beautiful life. I’ll wait to listen to your stories, Jungkook.”

And your words make him weep again. You won’t be in the stories. None of them will be about him climbing Mount Olympus and confronting his grandfather. 

“Promise me that, please?”

It’s hard to breathe. 

“I will,” he whispers, chokes practically. “I promise you.”

Your smile morphs into a grin, your nose scrunching. He loves it so much, the happiness in your eyes, almost more than you.

You nod, and he cries into your skin. You pat his head, fingers carding through his hair.

“It’s alright.”

And when you say it this time, he has to close his eyes and hold you closer to him. You’re slipping further and further. 

You kiss for the last time, lips finding each other. It feels like your first one. Jungkook still feels that same warmth growing in his chest as he did the first time, spreading throughout his body, reaching even the tips of his fingertips. And his heart beats loud and heavy in his ribcage, eyes screwed shut to block out everything. 

But this one entails a goodbye, a see you later. Because Jungkook will see you again. He and you will be reunited once his time has come too. And you’ll be there to welcome him with open arms and he’ll leap into them. He’ll count the days until then.

Jungkook doesn’t open his eyes when you part. Because once more, he knows it before he even looks. You’re gone. And though he cries out for you, his other half, his most beloved, again and again, he knows he’ll survive this and go on.

Because he promised you.

It takes long.

But the day comes, years and years after yours did all that time ago. And when it does, Jungkook is prepared to let go and leave, does so with a smile on his lips. Because some things never change. His love for you hasn’t wavered a day.

You’re sitting along the shore, watching the waves. The wind blows through your hair, tugs on your tunic. He hasn’t even taken a step, only standing there, admiring you, when you suddenly turn. You know he’s here. You feel it.

Your eyes meet. He watches as your face breaks into a smile, crumbles into something so beautifully soft and gentle. Tears fill your eyes, just like his.

He leaps for you, throws his arms around you. You both fall back into the sand, your tunics soiled. His lips find yours, and he tastes the sweet figs on your tongue. As he kisses you, holds you, he feels the other half of him heal, a bond mending.

Your lover’s bond.

→ thanks for reading !! if you have any thoughts, id love to hear it!

[bokettochild]

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones

Angst! My Beloved!

Not a lot of whump here, but I put Wild through the wringer!!! Lots of BotW2 ideas and concepts here, but nothing really cannon.

Also, disclaimer: I think Flora is a wonderful person, a bit harsh and sometimes unkind, but I feel for her a lot. The prompt submitted to me however asked for her as an ass, so that's what's here, for angst reasons. THIS IS NOT HOW I PLAN ON WRITING HER NORMALLY!!!

When Wild left the Chain behind in the woods, it was with a soft smile and a hesitant wave of his right hand. It was with a gentle ‘See y’all later’ that made Warriors shake his head with a sigh while Twilight offered a wobbly grin.

He would join them again, he knew that. After all, Hylia wouldn’t have chosen him to go with them in the first place if he was only supposed to leave before they’d even really started to know what it was that they were meant to be doing.

He’d see them again, and he’d fall back into a routine with all of them, sparring with Warriors and teaching Hyrule to cook and shield surfing with Wind and learning to carve from Sky. He’d go back to sewing with Legend, to exploring with Hyrule, to learning the Ocarina with Time and teasing Twilight about his terrible singing. He could work with Four on the Sheikah Slate and experimenting with different plants he’d gathered. He would see them again, and he’d go back to being busy and smiling nearly every day.

For the time being however, he had to square his shoulders and harden his jaw as he stepped through the swirl of black that had repulsed all the others every time they tried to enter. He had to tame his mind and wild spirit and come to stand before the Princess of Hyrule in all of her stern glory and receive the scolding he was due for wandering off without permission.

He never had time to question what she meant by being gone for ‘two whole weeks’ before she was marching off towards the labs and explaining that there was a new task for them to complete.

Such a task was one that left in his mind no time for thoughts of his brothers save on the lonely nights in the sky when the islands above the clouds were silent save for the birds about him that reminded him of Sky, or when he ran across the forests and was reminded of the wolf that once ran at his side. And, alright, the tiny people in the grass and the fountains reminded him of Four and Hyrule. When the wind sang strong in his ears as he dove towards the earth from the highest places in the sky, he couldn’t help but envision a small hero whose laughter danced like the sea and who’s fingers mastered the currents of wind and sea both.

It was a lonely quest, just like his last before it, but somehow it was more painfully so, now that he knew what it was to have brothers at his side to catch a monster’s blade when he was too slow or to help him patch himself up afterwards. It was quiet when the Princess and he sat around the fires as night, she studying him as he sat still and stonelike as she worked.

The hand that had waved goodbye to his brothers now flickered green and ethereal in the night shades, iron bands clinging to the wisping appendage and acting as a bond to hold its form together. It was nothing like what he’d known or studied in the Sheikah technology, or even what he’d seen from the many worlds he’d traveled with the other, and it earned many a stare and twist of the lips from those he met and traded with during his journey.

The arm was only the first of many changes, it’s power seeping through his body and altering him before he even knew what was happening. He’d hated it at first, disliking how it changed him, made his eyes glow and his hair touch with the same ethereal shades, red bleeding through at the roots and earning him even more wary looks.

Ganon, in all his terrifying power, had been a surprising comfort during the quest, an aid to discovering his new abilities and training them to bend to his own will. The Princess had been wary of their relationship, but had accepted it when she saw what he learned to do, and every evening she would require a report of his newfound skills, as well as the occasional demonstration or examination.

It all came to an end both too soon and not soon enough.

Ganon was gone, as if he’d never been there at all, and the Princess was as cold as ever even after their second adventure at each other's sides. And now there was no use for the abilities that had fused to his soul like the arm had to his flesh. He’d asked Purah if there was something that could be done to restore his body to its normal Hylian state, without the glowing limb that earned his only stares and insults from the village people, but the Princess had overheard it and declared that such a thing should not even be attempted.

“You don’t understand, Link. Don’t be foolish! We have here a scientific marvel ready for our investigation and exploration and you want to get rid of it just because it looks odd?”

He’s shuffled his feet slowly, resisting the impulse to rub at his chest where the Hylian part of him ended and the eldritch horror began. “I can’t live like  Hylian anymore.”

“Because you aren’t one!” Her Highness rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Sir Knight, after everything I certainly doubt that Hylian even applies to you anymore! Hylians do not possess the qualities that you now do, and they most certainly do not travel through stone or time or any other such thing at will. Think would you! You’re something else entirely, and I intend to find out what that is!”

Purah had frowned at that, eyes full of sorrow as they met his own with an apologetic sigh. But there was nothing the de-aged scientist could really say against the royal Sovreign of Hyrule, not as a Sheikah sworn to the service of the royal family. The woman/girl had offered him a sympathetic pat on the head later after climbing up to reach high enough to do so, as well as a few dumplings that Paya had sent on her grandmother’s behalf the day before. It was a welcome gesture, but amounted to so little on the grand scale of life. Not when so many others he had once called his friends had so blatantly rejected the mere sight of him.

Bolson and the other carpenters shied away from him with harsh whispers as they spat insults across the distance.

‘Half-blood’.

‘Gerudo Bastard’.

‘Freak’.

‘Demon’.

There were favorite insults spread from stable to stable and up and coming village to up and coming town and slowly all of Hyrule knew of the monster that had once been the hero. Gossip abounded, and he couldn’t even turn to shield his face with his hood without drawing attention to his arm.

It was only the koroks that welcomed him, themselves all too accustomed to the strange and ethereal. Them and the blupees.

Maybe it was the knowledge of how it felt to be shot at for his oddness that allowed him to ease into the graces of the flighty animals. And maybe it was his lonely heart crying for comfort, but when nestled in their midst, it almost reminded him of how it felt to be hugged by the salty veteran, on the rare occasional that the pink-haired hero had let down his guard.

The fairy’s tangled themselves in his hair and the blupees gathered at his feet, koroks dancing around him and flying to his side as if he was some sort of forest god, but the strange rise of his spirits in their presence shattered the instant a traveler caught sight of him.

Arrows and fire, once his favorite of weapons, were turned against him as words in every language of the New Hyrule had burst from the mouths of its people, and like his namesake, he ran before them, darting through the forest and fading in amidst the trees, hiding, incorporeal and translucent within the halls of the forest as those he’d once seen as allies pushed him away.

He’d begged the new Queen for aid, for relief or even just a word to the people that he wasn’t the evil they had come to think he was, but she only waved him aside with a purse of her lips. “You are not meant to be here without first asking.” The Child of Hylia declared, eyes as cold as the Shrine’s waters themself. “And why should I make a declaration on behalf of a man who refuses to even speak to me properly? You come groveling like a worm, yet for years it was I who you ignored. See how it feels, Sir Hero, to be the one left helpless at the hands of the country. Know what it is to be scorned by those who you thought would love you.”

He’d barely made it out of the window before the trainee guards of the newly repaired Hyrule Castle had caught him and Queen Zelda Diana Hyrule had stared after him with eyes colder than Hebra’s tallest peaks.

It was the Father Tree -the Deku Tree as the Queen had called it, but the koroks laughed at him for using the name, so he’d adjusted in kind- who suggested that he hide the changes, and he’d begun to wander Hyrule as much as possible to find the materials he would have needed.

The Queen still required his presence regularly so she could inspect him; her love of science no ways tainted as to stop her from ordering him to appear regularly, as there was now no need or safety in his acting as her guard. The Queen sought her people’s respect, and to employ such a being as himself, not Hylian and not quite mortal, would be to spark fear in the people. Indeed, when he skirted villages, he would wince at word of ‘the queen’s monster’ as gossip was traded. Those who didn’t see him themselves knew him as a beast of feral nature who lived amid the lost woods and destroyed any who came close.

“A specter that glows with the light of the shrines.” They would tell each other over campfires. “It has eyes like a ghost, empty and lost, with no care for humanity or Hylia’s chosen. They say it was once the Hero of this world, but he died ages ago.”

“I heard it’s the body, possessed by a being beyond this realm, a monster escaped from the edges of reality that tried to hide in our midst but corrupted it’s host so that it only scares away others, leaving it roam the earth in a shattered body. If you get too close to it though, it’ll take your instead.”

He’d stayed away from towns after that.

The blupees and koroks had been happy to help him to find what he needed to hide among the Hylians should he wish though, and two in particular guided him; the korok swinging little twigs like they were batons and humming swinging little shanties as it hopped along the path, the blupee snorting softly and nipping at his heels when he wandered too far, unnatural purple eyes staring up at him with something that was fondness and a reprimand all at once, and in their care he’d made his way across the land of Hyrule to find what would be needed to return to his once life.

The fairies and their Great cousins had been welcome help, and in time, he’d been able to walk amid the populace of Hyrule like any other, as long as he kept a long cloak about him and his hair pulled back to hide where the roots would begin showing again in gold and ethereal blue.

Once Hyrule had talked about needing to hide in his world, about the curse that followed him and made the Hylian people afraid. He’d thought it bizarre and ridiculous of the people at the time, but now he understood what it was to live it.

When the portal opened beneath his feet the day that the Queen had reprimanded him for concealing and potentially damaging the strange limb, startling the Skeikah scientists and Queen both, he’d nearly cried tears of relief.

He was going away, somewhere where he wasn’t a science project and where, unless they traveled to his world’s future, no one would know how much he had changed. His copy of the slate had enough hair dye to last him a few months, and he was certain he could make more over time, and as long as he continued wearing the tunics and gloves the fairies had helped him to adjust to hide the glow the others would probably never catch on. Or well, he could extend it anyway.

His brothers greeted him with open arms and teary eyes, and in a strange parallel to his adventure, he found himself thinking of blupees when Legend had curled against him, stiff and cold on the outside, but with fingers that clutched his tunic just a bit too tight to really be reluctant. And Four, Hyrule and Wind’s exuberant hugs and chatter brought to mind tiny forest people and koroks with twigs for batons.

It was good to be home.

It was good to cook for other people again, and they were glad to have him cook for them, even if his fondness for both Gerudo spiced dishes and fae like sweet things had increased exponentially during his newest adventure. It was good to fight at their sides, even if it was strange to once again have to take others into account before he could select a weapon. It was good to sit around a fire and talk with the others too, but that was perhaps the hardest one; it had been ages since he’d had a proper two-way conversation with anything other than a tree or a korok, and neither of those was good at either staying awake or staying focused for very long.

There were some harder things to adjust to though. Fire, for one. Unlike before when he’d have been happy to burn an enemy camp to the ground, now he was wary of using faming weapons or spreading heat further than necessary. The same went for hunting; he couldn’t bring himself to shoot an animal unless it attacked first or they needed the meat it would provide, and even then, he felt a bit bad for doing so. Is this what Twilight had felt like? Is this why the rancher never liked hunting? Because he too knew what it was like to be on the other end of the bow?

But the hardest thing by far to readjust to was his name.

‘Wild’ they had called him again, and after months of ‘the wild one’, ‘wild beast’, ‘monster’ and every other insult, slur or title that had been used on him, it made him flinch ever so slightly at the words. And unlike the other things where his brothers dismissed it as a change caused by his adventure or an increase of maturity, it was something that the others seemed to either not notice or to excuse as situational.

He had adapted though, learned to keep a smile on his face where blankness had once been required in his knightly duties, and the more he wore the mask the easier it was to put on again.

He’d reveled in traveling across time again, in dancing through battles and exploring the world without the Queen reprimanding him in her cold tones to stop wandering off. He’d pushed himself to learn more music in the last adventure, and even if his experience was more with what few instruments Ganon had had time to help him learn, he’d enjoyed sitting down with the others and borrowing one or another instrument to play a tune and sometimes he even got to sing.

He fell to comfortably into his role though, even with the changes, and he hadn’t even noticed when they’d come back to his world. To be fair, it was different in the daytime, and Hyrule had changed so much in the absence of her hero as he hid himself away from the eyes of civilization. Towns and roads had sprung up where there had only been fields before, and the Guardians that had littered the land had all been dug up and hauled to the castle to be either restored or destroyed by the Sheikah, depending on what Queen Zelda decided after she looked at them herself. The world was so different to him, so unlike that which he knew, that he’d failed to keep as alert as he ought to have been when he wandered about an open market with the others, laughing and chattering away with the other younger ones as Time and Legend herded them towards the needed stalls.

It was a traveler that was his downfall, a man who’d seen the Monster Hero and had been among the first to discover the disguise he wore.

No questions were asked when the word spread, and Wild hadn’t caught on to the whispers until a stone had struck his cheek and he was stumbling forwards on the path.

“Wild!” Twilight was at his side in a minute, Time right after him as Legend launched a barrage of insults at the guilty party who’d thrown the thing.

“’m fine.” He was careful to wipe the blood away with his cloak, holding the fabric to the wound to prevent bluish blood seeping down his face and exposing him to his brothers. He wanted to keep them as long as possible and proving himself to be a monster, not even Hylian, would surely have them turning their backs on him.

“Get away from him!” A woman scolded, grabbing ahold of two of the younger heroes while several other shoppers had like ways grabbed Legend and Sky. “Are you dears alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“Freaking what?” Legend shrieked. “Who’s the injured party here?”

“I’d avoid that thing, son.” A man huffed through a frankly walrus like mustache, eyes hard as they trailed to where Wild stood, cloak still pressed to his cheek as he attempted to wave off a fussing Twilight and Time. “It’s not natural. Sure, it looks like a normal Hylian, but that’s just an effective ruse.”

Another villager nodded. “It’s one of the Calamity’s puppets, a Gerudo-Bastard set on destroying the kingdom!”

“He’s the freaking hero!” Legend shrieked, barely being held back by a steely eyed Sky. “He saved all your freaking asses and all you can do is insult his flipping guts? Who’s the-”

“Enough.” There were few times that Sky’s voice reached levels worse than Twilight’s growls, but the stern command, regal and firm, froze all present as the man stiffened with a cold nod towards the villagers. “I see we are unwelcome here, and with that being the case it would be wise to spend our rupees elsewhere. Legend,” A tug to the boy’s shoulders. “Let’s join the others and be out of their hair. If they cannot be welcoming and kind to our brother than they will not receive our patronage.” And like a swan gathering it’s cygnets, Sky swept down the street, cape fluttering as he ushered the rest of them out of the town and back to the safety of the wilds. The village stared after them with wide eyes, as if they’d just been judged by a breathing god.

The stiffness in Sky’s shoulders faded as they neared the edge of the forest, and instantly the Chosen Hero been tutting over Wild, gently but firmly prying his hand away from his face with a kind smile that almost set Wild at ease. Almost.

“It’s fine, it’s just a scrape.”

“Still.” Sky crooned softly. “I’d rather we clean it up now and make sure it’s nothing worse than let it sit and get infected later.”

And though he’d tried to fight, his single Hylian hand was no match for the firm grip of the Skyloftian, and within minutes his face was exposed to the shocked faces and flickering eyes of his brothers.

“It’s blue...” Wind breathed as Hyrule darted forwards, hands already glowing softly only for them to stutter to a stop over Wild’s skin.

“It’s... Wild, why is your blood- why is-” The healer’s eyes had flickered golden for a moment, wide as they stared up at him. “What happened to you-”

“What the freak!” Legend had startled, blinking in surprise as he stared. “Your eyes are glowing!”

Shit! The healing properties of the arm had already taken affect and it was making everything act up all weird! He shot a glance down at his arm, one hand raising to tangle in the long hair he couldn’t even see at the moment, praying silently beneath his breath that nothing was showing through. It wasn’t, but that didn’t change how Hyrule had come to fixate on his right arm, or how the healer's fingers hovered over it sparking and eyes twinkling as he whispered softly under his breath.

“Wild.” Time had sighed. “I think this one is going to need an explanation.”

All the breath left his lung in instants.

He’d panicked to say the least and Time had eventually shooed the others away to make camp as the eldest hero had sat at his side, waiting silently for him to regulate his breathing. Touch was too much right now, and any attempts from the others to ease him down or help him level out his breathes had only made him panic more. But when at last his blue eyes blinked back to clarity it was to see Time sitting at his side, a gentle tune wafting from the Ocarina at his lips.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, trying his hardest not to startle Time or otherwise make the situation worse. “I should have said something, I know. I just- missed being Wild and I wanted to come back and be normal and I didn’t want to-”

“It’s alright.” Time’s voice rumbled softly, a single blue eye turning to him with a pained look, even as the man offered him a hint of a smile. “None of us talk about our adventures either.”

“Yes, but you’re people.” He sighed, rubbing the fingers of his glove together. “You’re allowed to choose things.”

There was pain in Time’s voice when their leader answered. “And you’re not?”

“I’m not Hylia anymore.” He whispered. “I don’t count.”

“You count to us.”

“That’s because you don’t know.”

Time shifted, turning to face him fully as the ocarina was set firmly in the grass. “That’s because you’re family and we care. Wild, I don’t care if Demise himself named you the king of the dead, you’re still my kid and Nayru knows I’m not going to let you go without a fight. If that means fighting you, alright, but you’d best better believe that no amount of physical or mental changes will break the bonds we all have with you.”

Something, something damaged and crushed and stitched up and torn open again clenched inside of him, tears pricking at his eyes as he stared up at Time’s royal blue gaze. “W-what?”

“You could be granted godhood, made a monster, I don’t care. You’re ours and you’ll have to deal with that.” Time smiled, warm even with the pain in his eyes as he looked down at him. “So how about you start again, maybe with the facts rather than the insults. Or,” Time softened, brows furrowing lightly. “If you want, we can just sit here and you can choose to talk about this later. We do need to know, so we can help you and keep you safe, but you don’t have to tell us right now. You can take some time to figure out what you want to say if you need.”

And, well, shoot him, but Time’s arms had always been a safe place and there was one thing he’d wanted more than anything since he had come back. Wild threw himself into his grand-mentor's arms with a soft sob, clutching tightly to the other, ignoring the armor and its sharp points and awkward shapes as he tried to hold back all the emotions swirling in his chest.

Time’s arms folding around him broke the floodgates though, and when the man’s hand had stroked through his shortened hair, he’d had to bury his face in Tim’s neck to muffle his sobs.

“There, there,” Time hummed softly, rocking slowly as he held the broken wild hero. “Let it out, little one. I have you, I’ve got you and I’m not letting anyone hurt you.”

[shootingstarwritings]

Couples Therapy

Marcus glanced at his client before going back to his notes. As usual, it was a young woman who looked as though she was on the verge of tears after giving him a mile-long list of grievances towards her husband. For the first few years, everything was like an eternal honeymoon until the two began to drive the other crazy. From the little info Marcus had, the blame seemed to rest on two personalities that didn't feel like compromising—as it usually was.

However, compromises didn’t put food on Marcus’ table, so it was in his best interest to pin the blame all on the husband. “Like my services advertise,” he told the wife, Julia, while sliding a sheet of his talents over to her, “I can fix your marriage to be as blissful as it was on your wedding night. All I need is your consent and I can shape your lover as you need him to be.”

The tears soon dried up. "Um, huh…?" Julia grew sheepish as her eyes skimmed over the sheet. Not good. "Shape him? My friend said your type of work was unique, but changing my husband…? I didn't hear anything about that."

Tilting his head, Marcus said, "Did you not notice how your friend's partner changed? He was happier, more agreeable, and far more pleasant overall. Always carried a strong conversation and had the manners of a perfect gentleman. Don't you want the same for your husband?"

“I-I thought you just gave them counseling!” Julia stood up from her chair, hands clasping her purse as though Marcus was a violent, money-hungry criminal. “This is crazy. A-And, honestly absurd. I'll have no part in this lunacy!"

“So you’re okay with your husband’s divorce?”

Julia stopped just before her hand reached the door. Though she didn't turn around, she said, "What do you mean?" Her voice was tinged with fear despite her attempts to hide it.

“When you made your appointment, I did a little digging on your husband,” said Marcus, lying as naturally as he breathed. “Digging into his soul, of course. My abilities allow me to do so.”

He stood up and strode over to Julia. “He’s growing increasingly dissatisfied with your union. Every little action, every little word, every little annoyance from you pushes him more and more towards the arms of another.” While Marcus remained stone-faced, he was smirking inside as beads of sweat cascaded down Julia’s brow. 

Perfect.

“A young woman your age already divorced? What will the neighbors think? Your friends? Your family? But,” he shrugged and made his way back to his desk, “if you insist that you don’t need my services, I can do nothing about that. I sincerely wish the two of you a happy marriage. However long it lasts.”

Julia excused herself to go to the bank but promised she would return with the payment.

Marcus’ target was a man by the name of Trevor. Attractive, admirable, and breakable. All it would require was a few weeks in his body and Marcus’ job would be finished. Julia had signed the contract, so his body was completely available.

That was the limit to Marcus’ powers. Without some sort of consent from one who at the very least shared the name or a bond with his target, he was unable to do anything. Now, all Marcus had to do was take over Trevor’s body.

But first, Marcus was curious about what was going to happen in their ordinary lives. While Julia had given him a whole list of things that she wished Trevor would do, Marcus skimmed it before throwing it away. For the most part, his clients didn't know what they wanted—and what they did was something ridiculous like 'makes me breakfast in bed every single day.' It was all nonsense straight out of a soap opera. Marcus preferred to just take a look at what pissed his client off and doing a few favors here and there. The only part of Julia's list that Marcus even remotely paid attention to was, "Being more open to pegging."

Other than that, Marcus would just sit by and watch how a typical morning went for the couple. He made his way to the address Julia had provided him during their meeting in an astral form and peeked into their lives.

“God, another spill, Jules?” Trevor groaned as he looked down at his stained pants. “C'mon." While Julia let out a stream of apologies, Trevor just rolled his eyes and said, "I'm trying to get a goddamn promotion here!"

“I-I’m trying…!” Julia said, backing up as Trevor grabbed the empty mug and smashed it on the ground. “Th-That was mine...”

“And so’s the mess,” Trevor shot back. “When you’re the breadwinner in this relationship, you can decide what does and doesn’t get broken.” With that, Trevor left to get changed while Julia cleaned up the kitchen.

That was all Marcus needed to see. The bastard needed a major attitude adjustment. His wife was a complete klutz, but there was no need to bite her head off for making a mistake. Marcus didn't feel any particular sympathy for Julia, but assholes like Trevor pissed him off to no extent. "Only natural," Marcus said to himself. "Assholes hate assholes. Don't like pricks like him on my turf."

Floating over to Trevor and Julia’s room, he admired the assets he would borrow for the next few days. Trevor’s pants were off, allowing Marcus to get a nice glimpse of the package he would be showing off for the next few days. Along with that were nice, juice thighs and a good chest peeking out of the nice polo shirt he wore. No longer able to resist, Marcus just dove towards Trevor.

"HNNG! What the fuuuuck?!" Trevor moaned as Marcus phased through his back. Entire body tensing up, Trevor stood in place, his back arching while his head was thrown back. Feet planted to the floor, he moaned in pleasure and panic. "Wh-Who the hell?! What the—HAA! Ahhh…! What the fuck are youuuu?!" Unable to keep his balance amidst the barrage of pain and pleasure mixing, Trevor collapsed onto his bed, convulsing uncontrollably as the foreign intruder wore him like a suit.

“Mmm,” Marcus moaned, rubbing his hard-on against the mattress. “Oh, that’s niiice. Thanks, Julia.” Still face-down on the bed, he spread his legs and let his hands wander towards a certain untouched hole. “Don’t worry, I’ll turn your hubby into the subbiest bottom in town.”

Purposefully ignoring Julia, Marcus left the house and headed towards Trevor’s place of work, relying on muscle memory and the information Julia had given him for navigation. Eventually, he arrived at some fancy insurance firm full of suits who looked like they could use a healthy dose of Viagra.

Once more, Marcus relied on Trevor's muscle memory to guide his way through work. And once settled into Trevor's impersonal cubicle, Marcus began his work. At once, he worked on smiling more in Trevor's body. Man was a creature of habit and the human mind was a sponge for information and mannerisms. Because of that, Marcus would adopt certain behaviors for the week or so he would be in his hosts' bodies. The end result was a spouse that would compliment their partner far more.

On all levels, it was wrong. However, Marcus continued without losing a wink of sleep.

After making sure Trevor was smiling more, Marcus also stretched and relaxed his muscle. "God, you're so tense," he mentioned as he rolled his shoulders back. "Or, I'm so tense." Grinning, Marcus continued chatting to himself. It was always fun getting into a role. Perhaps it was his theater kid days, but adopting a new identity was always fun. "I should get more into yoga," he said, stretching as much as he could in that uncomfortable suit. "Do some squats. It'll help me make my ass all nice and firm. Flexibility'll be nice in the bedroom for Jules," he proclaimed, repeating it to himself to make sure it remained imprinted to Trevor.

To make sure those thoughts remained in Trevor's head, Marcus headed off to the gym after each workday. He worked until Trevor's already well-developed muscles were pleasurably sore by the time he arrived back home. "Keep acting as though I'm Trevor," Marcus had texted Julia before. "It'll make it easier for these thoughts to stick to your husband." His words didn't ease Julia's awkwardness, but Marcus didn't mind. Working with pathetic actors wasn't anything new for him.

By the final day of Marcus' planned stay, Trevor's boss called him into his office. "You're not in trouble," his boss, a man by the name of Arthur said. "Just wanted to catch up with you, is all." His words were even, but Marcus noticed that his gaze was not. Arthur's eyes kept traveling and his fingertips kept grazing Trevor as much as they could while retaining that facade of professionalism. "I've noticed your recent change in attitude. Rumors travel quickly throughout the office."

“When there’s not much to talk about,” Marcus began, “it’s easy to become the talk of the town.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow. “Your attitude and your tongue’s changed, Trey. I'm surprised but pleased. Productivity for the whole office has gone up this week. And your more positive attitude has really helped with that. I've noticed the environment in general is a lot less toxic."

“Sorry about that, sir,” Marcus said with a curt nod. Yet, he made sure to keep a cocky, inviting smirk on his face. The blood was rushing to Arthur’s cheeks despite his stony expression. “Hadn’t realized how much my attitude had an impact on the office. But I’m sure you’ll be just as satisfied as my wife about the new me.” By now, Marcus was happily rubbing his thighs, making sure they stood out alongside his bulge in those tight slacks he had purchased for Trevor. During the week, he had made a habit of dropping his things and bending over to reach for them in front of his various coworkers. If his eyes didn’t deceive him, he was certain about the office spent more than half a second staring at Trevor’s assets.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Nonetheless, just wanted to show my appreciation for this sudden turn. Always happy to see my workers in a relaxed, pleasant environment.”

Standing up, Marcus leaned in close to Arthur’s lips. “I can think of a few other ways you can show your appreciation, boss,” he whispered, unbuckling his belt. This same scenario had played out so many times Marcus was certain his gaydar was impeccable. “Why don’t you bend me over your desk and show me who the boss is?”

Arthur hesitated for about a second before locking the office door and tying Trevor’s mouth shut with his own tie. “Take! This! You! Slut!” Arthur roared as he pounded Trevor’s ass raw. Marcus, back arched, face pressed up against the cold desk, just moaned like a slut. He eagerly met each of Arthur’s thrust with his strong workout for his hips.

This is my favor for you, Julia, he thought as Arthur pulled on his hair. Your husband’s hole might not be as tight as you want it to be, but he’ll definitely be up for stuff up his ass by the time I leave.

"Make me your bottom bitch," Marcus begged, trapped in a nirvana of pleasure and pain.

The next time Marcus saw Julia and Trevor the two of them were walking down the back, arms linked. Both were smiling and laughing so animatedly that Marcus was certain the songbirds were jealous. On occasion, he spotted Julia lightly slapping Trevor's ass and her husband reddening like a tomato at the sensation.

Marcus returned home satisfied at another successful trip.

[silvercaptain24]

This is your free pass to talk about your story!

Really? Great!

@skyloftian-nutcase ( and now @despicable-denizen) asked about it as well, so I’ll answer you all here.

It’s set in the Cyclaya kingdoms, and there five of them: Sealah, Bearon, Horia, Denian, and Clya. Clya is in the middle, surrounded by the other kingdoms. At the time of the story, no one from Sealah has been heard from in over a hundred years, so it doesn’t really come in.

It starts with the main character waking up- he doesn’t know where he is, and he doesn’t remember anything except the name ‘Zephyre’ but he doesn’t think it’s his. (This is important.) After he saves a young girl from a rak (a ram-like creature with eyes on its horns), one of the town elders gives him the name Hero.

So Hero ends up after this other creature, and ends up meeting a woman named Zari, who happens to also be the princess of Denian (although she definitely doesn’t seem like it). They defeat the creature, and since Hero has no idea who he is, he just joins Zari. After a couple of bullies in a tavern try to go after Hero, he gets saved by Simaron, who’s the prince of Horia. Simaron is chasing after a group of bandits who are working for a man named Kamari. Kamari is important because, as it turns out, he just took over Cylca, and is aiming to try and take over the other kingdoms. In fact, he is the reason that Simaron’s older sister, Rahana, recently died.

(Important note: before Simaron got rid of the bullies, Zari was telling Hero about the different kingdoms and giving him a sample of their languages. To the surprised both of them, Hero knew Clya, which is only known by the royal family and those close to them.)

(And fun fact: the Horians somehow ended up with a British accent and I don’t know how.)

So those three, after fighting off an attack on the town by another group of Kamari’s bandits, decide to try and get rid of them for good. After getting some information on the different groups, they head off. After an ambush by some creatures known as Aquarins, and an impromptu river ride, they meet Zeen, a prince from Bearon. He had heard about the bandits and decided to try and stop them as well, so he joins the trio.

Then there’s some stuff I’m not entirely sure about the ordering, and actual things that happen, but Hero does regain some memories within this part, and we get bonding together with all four of them.

After the stuff that I’m not entirely sure about, and taking care of a few of the bandit groups, they get ambushed and Simaron gets hurt. Hero has a memory of someone else getting hurt and himself trying to save him. Then once again, some stuff that I’m not entirely sure about. *shrug*

Eventually, we get to a point where Zeen gets hurt, and we found out that Zeen is not actually Zeen- a mulan got pulled, and Zeen is actually Zelena, the real Prince Zeen’s sister who took his place to keep him safe. Which, when looking back, makes sense to everyone, but they are understandably a bit hurt by the lie.

Then (finally), the four take on Kamari. They sneak into the castle, getting help from a man named Zephyre. (Remember the beginning?) they don’t get too far in before Zephyre reveals that he is actually Kamari’s right hand man, and Hero has a memory of right before he lost his memory- a memory of Zephyre betraying him. They get taken to Kamari, and there’s a room full of statues. Hero and Kamari fight, and Hero defeats Kamari. Just before he passes out after the fight, someone calls him ‘my hero’.

While Hero is passed out, he has another memory- and when he wakes up, remembers everything. Turns out, he was the bodyguard of the Princess of Cyclaya. As well, Simaron’s sister Rahana, turns out to not actually be dead- along with a lot of other people, she was just turned into a statue.

Sorry, this is really long! But it’s one of my favorites, and I wanted to do it justice.

[kozumekenza]

on my mind :: one

:: suna rintarou x f! reader :: playlist :: masterlist :: 

:: taglist: open :: wc: 1.2k ::

After a drunken one-night stand with your ex, you thought you could get him out of your life for good. Unfortunately, the two of you can’t seem to keep away from each other. Why can’t you leave each other alone? And more importantly, why is he still on your mind?  

tw: mentions of alcohol, hangover, talk of sex, one-night stand, profanity, past toxic relationship

As you slowly drifted into consciousness, the first thing you noticed was the intense pounding in your head. The second thing you noticed was that you were not in your bedroom. 

You blinked slowly, squinting at the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. You laid there for a second, allowing your body to finish waking up while you assessed the situation you were in. You were on your stomach on a comfy bed, one cheek squished into a soft pillow. The window with the offending sunlight was to your left. The walls and decor that you could see definitely did not match what was in your own apartment. The throbbing in your head led you to believe that you did some heavy drinking last night. 

You lifted your head, about to turn, when something moved next to you. Okay, you went home with someone last night, no big deal. You continued your slow move to your back, hoping the person next to you would be asleep. It appeared that you were in luck. You were faced with a very muscular back. You leaned up a bit, trying to get a glimpse of whoever you slept with last night. Strong arms, sharp jawline, and shit. 

You slept with fucking Suna Rintarou. 

Now you were in a hurry. You had to get the fuck out of here before he woke up. You had no desire to speak with him, no desire to see him, and definitely no desire to sleep with him again. You gently left the bed, praying to all the gods that he would stay passed out. A few quick glances showed you that your clothes were strewn about the entire studio apartment, so you just grabbed the first things you could find. Yesterday’s panties, check. Random t-shirt that definitely wasn’t yours, check. And there - on the kitchen counter - was your skirt. It was almost a complete outfit, thank God. You tiptoed towards it, grabbing the fabric to put it on, and goddamnit, it was fucking ripped down the entire side. You didn’t want to even think about what that implied. Another quick glance, and at least drunk you was in the right state of mind to hang up your jacket with your wallet and your phone in it. You swung the jacket around your body, stepped into last night’s heels, and cast one more wary look towards the sleeping figure in bed before shoving the door open and disappearing into the morning light. 

---

After stepping out onto the streets of Tokyo, you were lucky enough to see that Suna’s apartment wasn’t too far from your own. You kept your head down throughout your walk of shame, crafting an SOS text to your best friend, Yachi Hitoka. You had met the girl in college and bonded over your shared love of volleyball. Now, she was the closest thing you had to family in this big city. 

Walking through the door of your apartment, you made a beeline for the shower. How could this have even happened? Last you had heard, Suna was in another prefecture playing volleyball. Why was he here in Tokyo, your safe haven? You hadn’t seen him in eight years, after you graduated from Inarizaki and left Hyogo (and him) for good. 

Your high school relationship with Suna Rintarou wasn’t the best. You could admit that. It was constantly off-and-on, full of toxicity, jealousy, and emotional unavailability from the both of you. It was part of the reason why you left after high school - you had to get away from him and the cycle of pain you always put each other through. 

After leaving, you enrolled at Tokyo University and pursued a sports medicine degree. You dreamed of one day working with professional volleyball players as an athletic trainer. It was the only aspect of your relationship with Suna that you allowed to remain; after all, you had fallen in love with volleyball just as you had with him. 

The last time you had heard anything of Suna was a few months ago after a MSBY vs. Schweiden game in Tokyo. You were still close to the twins, and made a point to see them whenever they were in town for a game. Atsumu had mentioned Suna’s recent EJP game, and Osamu saw the look on your face and thumped his brother on the head. The conversation steered away from Suna after that. 

A knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts. You pulled on some sweats and a t-shirt, thankful that today was Sunday and you didn’t start your new job until tomorrow. You swung the door open to reveal Yachi, complete with a perfect “disappointed, but not surprised” face. 

“Hey, Hitoka. Thanks for coming over.”

She gave you a small grin. “How could I not? When your best friend texts you ‘I slept with my ex’ with six exclamation points, you come running.”

You laughed at your situation and pulled her in for a hug before drifting towards the kitchen to make tea. She sat at the breakfast bar as you boiled water, squinting at you as if she wanted to say something. 

“Spit it out, ‘Toka, you can’t make me feel any worse than I already do.”

“I’m not trying to make it worse, I promise! I’m just worried about you.”

You sighed, “I know. It’s not like I did it on purpose!”

“That’s the worst part! How drunk were you that you didn’t even stop yourself from sleeping with your ex, who you haven’t seen or spoken to in eight years?”

Grimacing, you finished preparing the tea and sat down across from Yachi. “I know.”

“Well, what are you gonna do now?”

You cocked your head to the side, “What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes, “You slept with him, y/n! What are you going to do about it?”

“Uhh,” you shrugged your shoulders, “nothing? Forget it happened? Ignore it?”

Yachi just sighed. “You aren’t going to talk to him?”

Your eyes widened in fear. “Fuck no.”

“I take it you didn’t talk to him this morning?”

“He was still asleep, thank God. Plus, it’s not like he’ll remember anyway. The only reason I knew was ‘cause I woke up next to him.”

“You didn’t leave anything at his apartment?”

“I don’t think so. I have my phone, wallet, keys-”

“All of your clothes?”

“FUCK!”

Yachi let out another sigh. “What did you leave?”

You buried your head in your hands. “Oh, y’know, just my ripped-up skirt and my bra! Oh, and I stole one of his shirts.” Yachi patted your shoulder. “And it was my expensive bra!” You let out a groan. “He won’t know it was me, right? I mean, he might not have even recognized me last night.”

“Maybe. But you also don’t know what you talked about last night.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Alright,” Yachi stood up with a grin, “Show me which t-shirt you stole from a rich, Division 1 volleyball player.”

---

“You are so fucked, y/n.”

“I know.”

In your hangover haze this morning, it appeared that the “random” shirt you had grabbed was Suna Rintarou’s volleyball jersey. 

You flung yourself across your living room couch and watched out of the corner of your eye as Yachi approached with the jersey. 

“He needs this, right?”

“He probably has an extra.”

“Y/n.”

“Hitoka.”

“You do know what jersey this is, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

“And you do know what job you are starting tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately.”

[tenthgrove]

LA SQUADRA SEPERATLY FINDING OUT THEY HAVE A YOUNGER SISTER HC?

La Squadra Discovering they have a Younger Sister

La Squadra x Reader, Platonic / Familial, SFW

Formaggio- Out of everyone in La Squadra, Formaggio has some of the closest contact with his birth family, so a secret sister he didn’t know about would be a huge surprise. The only way you could possibly exist is through an extramarital affair that got swept under the carpet, but Formaggio is still going to be thrilled to hear of you. He will want an in-person meet-up within days of learning you exist, or even sooner if you’re available. His goal from the get-go is to make up for lost time, in order to strive for as close a relationship as if you had been raised together. He’ll announce your existence to the squad and happily introduce you to them if you wish. He knows it’s dangerous to involve you with them, but he’s going to make damn sure himself that nobody will ever hurt you.

Illuso- Having lived through a sad, lonely childhood, Illuso’s initial outward reaction to finding out he has a sibling is apathy. Though he will seek you out, he will insist to anyone who asks that it’s out of pure curiosity. Things start to change after your first couple of interactions. His questions turn from frivolous curiosity to genuine concern. Was your childhood any better than his? Are you happy now? Once your relationship resembles a friendship, Illuso will meet with you regularly to catch up. He won’t say anything to the rest of the squad beyond the essentials and he won’t be seen with you in public, but with his stand, he doesn’t need to. Even if you are not a stand user yourself, he wants you to know about the mirror world. He wants you to be proud of what he’s capable of. 

Prosciutto and Pesci- (A/N: I will be using my personal hc of these two as biological brothers. I know that the canon evidence for this is questionable, but making them related just fits better with the way I view them.) To Prosciutto and Pesci, family has always been the most important thing, so there is no question that they will accept you as kin no matter where you are in life. Prosciutto in particular is not surprised to learn of you- he already knew his father was disloyal because Pesci exists. Another child in the mix is not a major shock. Building bonds with people who aren’t gangsters is not Prosciutto’s strong-point, but he will be happy to support you financially or offer you protection if you ever need it. Though he may not meet with you frequently, you’re welcome to call him if you are ever in need of advice or an ear to listen. Pesci’s reaction is a little different. He desperately wants to be close with you, but he fears being despised for what he’s made of his life. Prosciutto has to tell him to grow up and face you. Once things are less awkward, Pesci will do his best to stay in touch with you regularly, frequently meeting up. He will be a very sweet, supportive older brother, always offering encouragement and boosting your self-esteem. 

Melone- The chances are, he encountered you completely by accident. It began the day he first saw you, most likely either at a bar or online, and was struck by your similar features. He did some digging, got hold of your DNA, and the results confirmed his suspicions. You are Melone’s little sister. His first port of call is to contact you and explain himself. He makes no attempt to hide the bizarre life he lives (excluding the fact he regularly commits murder) and the way he found you, which is enough to make you call him for bullshit until you’re also forced to acknowledge the resemblence you share to him. With you convinced, Melone visits you in person to find out how you’re getting on, and to shed some light on your interests and personality so he can engage with you better in future conversations. He also wants to know about your relationships. Do you have a partner? Children? If so, he’ll definitely want to be involved in their lives, offering to take babysitting duties whenever you need. If you’re single and don’t want to be, he’ll be happy to help matchmake for you. Just don’t ask about his methods.

Ghiaccio- He’s very cautious about getting you mixed up with him because if you’re his sister and younger than he is, that makes you a kid. Some of the others say he’s a kid, but he wouldn’t go that far, thank you. However, he still wants to have contact with you out of an abundance of paranoia for his own shitty, shitty childhood. Who is taking care of you? Do they treat you well? If you’re being subjected to anything close to what your parents put him through, he’s going to be angry and there’s going to be blood. The last thing he wants is for you to be lonely, so he’ll suck up his reluctances and hang out with you from time to time, to see how you’re doing. But please, for the love of god, don’t try and follow him into Passione. He could never forgive himself if that happened. 

Risotto- Another one in the ‘not surprised’ category. Risotto’s parents ditched him at birth, so he’s always known there was a fair chance they would have had other children after him. The wounds of his parents’ abandonment are deeper than he’s willing to admit, but he won’t hold it against you. You are a reminder of the peaceful life he could have lived, and for that he wants to cherish you. In-person meetings are going to be rare. He can’t stand the thought of Passione learning of your existence and using you against him. However, he will still make time for you in texts and phone-calls, listening to you describe your day-to-day life and offering advice where you ask for it. Perhaps, if everything is calm within the gang, he will sneak away for a few days around your birthday or the holidays, to spend time with you in person.

Sorbet- Reluctant, but don’t take it personally. Sorbet’s entire childhood consisted of caring for his younger siblings while his mother was in no condition to do so herself. He’s not angry to find there was another sister he didn’t know about (most likely born after he ran away), but it is going to have some bad associations for him. Gelato will be the one to push him into meeting you, but despite his reservations Sorbet will treat you with absolute respect. His ongoing relations with you will be quite similar to Prosciutto’s, offering you support when you need it but otherwise keeping a distance. Perhaps once things are easier for him and Gelato, Sorbet will be able to become closer to you. He hopes you know that he wants things to be like that.

Gelato- His first reaction is caution. The rest of the family were absolute trash to him, and if you’re just going to look down on him and criticise his choices he doesn’t want to go near you. This goes double if you were actually raised by his estranged parents, as he’ll see you as some sort of replacement. That’s a thought that absolutely disgusts him. Rest assured he will come around eventually, once he sees you’re not the same as the rest of his family. He’ll invite you to hang out with him whenever you’re in town, and stay in touch via text whenever you aren’t. Sometimes you wake up at 3am to the most incomprehensible messages you’ve ever seen, frequently followed by an apology from Sorbet. Your brother is a real highlight of your life, always sure to make you laugh.

[jostepherjoestar]

👑Hewwu Queen 👑 is it alright if I request DIO in part 3 meeting his descendant?. Like he basically had a kid accidentally in part 1 and now he’s meeting their great grandkid who looks allot like him and seems to not be fully human. Maybe he meets them at night since their family was traveling around the world and stopped off in Egypt where he found them maybe listening to music?

Since you write for DIO, is it alright if I request that he somehow meets one of his kid after they get into some time travel shenanigans. Maybe his kid has a stand that is kinda similar to his but they aren’t confident in using it

DIO aiding his helpless descendant 

sfw / gn reader 

notes/warnings: implied assault (on your great-great grandmother)

Another case of two anons thinking alike!! It was really fun to think about this and sorry for taking so much time to get to it :o I hope you’ll still enjoy 💖✨also the pacing is strange/fast (to me), but i felt it fit with how frantic i imagine meeting Dio is

Somewhere between irking Jonathan and wishing to destroy any respectful sliver of the Joestar bloodline, Dio had his own way of indulging and spending his time. Men, women; any creature he could manipulate to his will and suck the life out of to join his dark army was welcome in his dimly lit hideout to meet their fate. The self proclaimed god that had surmounted humanity took pleasure in playing with his food; leaving them in complete darkness, literally. He’d let them suffer in silence, hearing them whimper and regret their choice to ever step foot inside the wicked monster’s palace. But it was always too late.

Except for the very night Jonathan had decided to come spoil the fun and ruin Dio’s playtime. The woman hadn’t meant anything to him, just a toy to play with and to later discard on the pile of other bodies strewn about. Was she glad to have been saved by the burly Joestar? At first yes; brought back to her senses, out of that monster’s grasp but left terribly violated. Left to carry and care for the offspring Dio would never know or care about, too busy being left to slumber in the ocean and gaining a new form from his hated ‘brother’.

Dio rose again, skulking in the shadows of dimly lit cities, looking for any and all petty humans and stand users to claim for his side. It took time and patience he didn’t know he possessed to get fully comfortable in his new body. There was always this inkling, a nagging sonar that kept getting louder and louder, not much unlike his connection to the new generation of Joestars. It grasped at his thoughts, kept him from any semblance of peace of mind -as much as he could acquire it- and there seemed to be no way of silencing it. He couldn’t see a clear picture; it was just nothing but an annoying sense of something being near.

He had searched for weeks like a bloodhound hot on a trail, irritated that he of all people, nay creations, was being made to follow and be obedient to the terrible nagging. It angered him greatly and only when he found a mere youngster sitting on a bench, you, a simple looking human, did it boil over. Sat with your walkman resting next to you on the wooden seating, head bopping along to your newest cassette in the middle of the night. Completely lost in the song you’d been drumming along to with your fingers. Dio was furious but knew better than to strike before investigating, he needed answers and he needed them now.

As he got closer to you, sneaking from behind, he noticed an immediate shift. You were no longer alone. An image, a blur that became clearer and steadier and more live-like as each second passed; posing defensively, staring down Dio with a fire in your eyes not much unlike the tall blonde’s. Not for a moment does he fear for his safety. Even though The World is a newly acquired power it could easily wipe out a scrawny kid without even hitching a breath. He smirks, eyes cast over in shadow by the dim street light as he hears you pause your cassette player.

“Oh? Was I disturbing you?’ he mocks in a smirk, catching the way your eyes glint and the vaguely familiar image you awaken in him. Just like before he’s left to figure out who this annoying hazy memory is. His voice shivers down your very being, goosebumps taking over your skin; not sure if you had already missed your chance to run. It was like his glare fixated you in place, finger still resting on the pause button of your player while the other reached up to remove the flimsy headphones.

“You…” you barely get out the word. The accusatory tone you had tried to convey had watered down to a whimper. You had felt the connection too, something nagging at your soul and stringing you along until you’d finally found the source. “Me? Hah! No, you.” Dio slid closer, his steps so quiet and calculated that even though you couldn’t take your eyes off of him you swore it seemed like he floated. You swallowed thickly, the huge figure that excluded an aura so menacing only a meter away from you.

“So. Who are you and why was it so disgustingly annoying to find you?” he joked impertinently, amused by the way you clenched your jaw at his remark. “I could ask you the same.” a brave little spark still smouldering inside. “DIO. Now don’t make me ask again, you’re making me dreadfully inpatient.” He hadn’t felt the need to kill you, at least not yet. Dio was truly curious about your answer but by the looks of it you really didn’t seem to know all that much.

You begrudgingly gave him your name, in need of some answers yourself. The sound of your name didn’t ring a single bell, not a tick, not a clank. Nothing. Not a single step further to knowing anything. “Well it seems like you do have a stand. Maybe you possess a great power that might be useful to me.” that wicked grin on his face told you a little too much of his motivations. He reminded you of those Saturday morning cartoon villains. But still you felt compelled to listen, ignoring every single red flag.  

Deciding to humour him you give out your stand’s name. “Trust me, we can’t really do much.” you huffed. You’ve only obtained your stand recently and honestly, it has been pretty shitty so far. You didn’t know exactly what it could do, it was just there. Any time you felt stressed or in danger it did come to your aid but it remained awfully docile. Their presence comforted you but you just knew it was capable of so much more.

“Are you a vampire?” The sudden question came out more surprised than Dio had hoped to let on. He regained his posture, opting to slide next to you on the bench with a swift move. There was something… off about the way you carried yourself that reminded him of himself and the other vampires he’d created. The question stunned you, your eyes that had already been widened in shock only growing more so. The way he had changed the entire conversation that had barely earned its start urged you to think quickly. “I don’t know.” you mumbled demurely. You really didn’t know. So many weird things had been happening to you lately that you being a vampire would explain a lot.

Your answer seemed to change the imposing man’s gaze and expression. It hardened a bit, his grin now slowly diminishing into a straighter line and his pointed brows resting down at a more natural angle. Even in this low light his image felt so familiar, like you were already supposed to know who he was but the memory remained hidden. Locked away for your safety. “You should feed. And don’t go out in daylight anymore.” Dio paused for a second. “Strange...” He pondered to himself out loud. He’s only seen a few cases like this, vampiric genes passed down through generations. For some reason he pitied you, as much as he could muster it. The unknown bond you shared felt too unusual to write off.

“What am I supposed to do?” you felt tears prick your eyes, trying your best to remain strong but you’ve been so tired. You couldn't confide in anyone, not about this. Tears started rolling, falling in thick streams down your cheeks and dropping onto your lap. Here you were, crying to a stranger named Dio about being a vampire and having weird powers. A bizarre twist of fate.

“First of all, stop crying. Then, widen your stance when you’re about to fight someone. I could have easily knocked you down with that flimsy imitation. Fix your posture while you’re at it. Call out your stand again.” He rattled off his demands quickly and flatly. Was he helping you? They were barbed complaints but it seemed like he actually wanted to aid you in whatever it was you were going through. You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks. You felt like a kid again; asking your parent for any reassurance when life knocked you down.

Dio actually offered a lot of viable advice, telling you about techniques to silence your steps, how to take someone down easily, to feed on humans within an inch of their life. You had asked him, just in case. You weren’t planning on killing anyone; a comment which made him scoff. That intimidating impression and overall feeling of having to bend to his will had lessened the more you talked to the blonde. He casually sat with you for what felt like hours. He hadn’t divulged into his own history, instead asking you about yours. He was still trying to figure out what this weird pull was.

“No one in your family has experienced anything like this before? Hmph. It seems to have skipped multiple generations then.” he was asking about your great grandmother and all the others that came before you. It could have occurred to them but you would have never known. “My family did come from England, though. My great-great grandmother fled in a hurry. We don’t really know why, Windknight’s Lot seems like an unusual place to frantically run from.” As soon as the small town’s name left your lips everything fell into place for Dio. His grin grew again, satisfied to finally know your connection to him.

Family.

One he made for himself, by accident, by a relation created on his own devious whim. Not that horrible Joestar bunch that kept ruining his fun or his horrible father that was but a faint minuscule memory. Something he did. It brought him even more satisfaction to know how perfectly in place it felt for you to be the one to develop these powers at the perfect time. His mind could have exploded with possibilities; a thousand ways to make you join his side. But it didn’t, he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted yet. And he surely wasn’t going to tell you of your bond either, lest you get attached too quickly.

As you finished up and the early signs of a rising sun were starting to make itself known on the horizon, you were saying your goodbye’s. “Thank you for helping me. Truly, I- I don’t know how I-” you weren’t allowed to finish your earnest thanks. Dio knew you meant it, one of the only few truly grateful acknowledgements he’s ever received. “I’ll be taking over the world in a few months. If you feel so inclined to join, you know where to find me.” His lips curled into a smirk and he was making his move to leave you behind, alone on the bench again. Left to scramble for your stuff to try and stop him but he was already out of sight. “WAIT! I don’t know where to find you! You never told me!” you yelled into the empty streets, heart thumping out of your chest, hoping this wasn’t just a very elaborate dream you were caught in.

“Trust your instincts.” The voice felt incredibly close but so far away, like catching a falling snowflake; as soon as you grasped it, it just melted away.

[pinkchanelbag]

— sorry it took so long; chapter one.

oikawa tōru x reader

series summary: in which, to oikawa’s surprise, he realizes he’s fallen in love with his best friend’s little sister. so what now?

cw: none! 

wc: 1.4k. 

note: this is a repost off my old account that i wrote manyyy months ago! the series was more or less discontinued lol until my loooveee @elysianslove​ sal showed love for this and inspired me to get back to this series. this is just me reposting onto my new account! enjoy :)

oikawa was always the calculating type. it was a skill he had honed well in volleyball especially, but it extended to all of him. despite his boisterous personality, he was really always thinking, whether or not he put it to use. but every problem had a solution and his mind was a problem-solving machine. he could be childish, he could have outbursts, but never did he panic. why would he? he had all the answers.

looking back, he did suppose that was a naive way to think.

after all, there were things he simply couldn’t predict or overcome. life didn’t go how you wanted it to simply because you saw it a certain way in your mind’s eye. because there are exceptions. because what if you, for instance, get mugged? there is no thought process or planning to stop that. because what if you lose a match in a tournament because you couldn’t move fast enough no matter how well you knew the play? the mind can be as smart as it wants but it is not everything.

because what if you fell in love with your best friend’s little sister?

—

he’d grown up with you. both of you. hajime’s home was oikawa’s second home, as best-friendships usually went, and their families were friendly with each other early on. as a result, oikawa often found himself in the unaffecting but strangely enjoyable presence of a mini-hajime. in fact, in the very early years, the three of you often played together. when he was young, he had liked that you weren’t so much of a girl. that you weren’t annoying. you hadn’t been the type of sister to tug on your brother’s shirt and beg to come along and play, but more the type that oikawa and hajime ran into the family room to find watching tv to ask you to throw up volleyball tosses for them, and you agreed pleasantly. you and hajime were close in a quiet sort of way, but you and oikawa found a bond over teaming up against him. in fact, you were the very first oikawa had deemed “iwa-chan.” it was a fond name his middle school self had given you, and whenever hajime bothered him, he would call him it also, up until a point where it became unironic.

oikawa thought about those times often and missed them always.

the years passed. he and hajime got to high school, and somehow the middle school-high school gap between you and him, despite you being only one year younger, had become too great. he had always taken volleyball seriously, but in high school it was different. he found that he was not often at hajime’s house anymore, but instead they met at school and stayed at the gym practicing late into the night. months went by where he didn’t see you, and in those months you became a girl. he didn’t know how to talk to you (in the moments where he craved talking to you) when he saw you at games or the rare drop-in to hajime’s home. it’s not that you were on bad terms; it’s just that time had turned loud children’s laughs and fond nicknames to quick smiles and casual greetings. in some ways, he believed you were still close…that the years together were largely present in both your heads as you talked briefly about school while hajime ran to get his bag. that both of you at the forefronts of your minds were thinking, “do you remember when we were kids and we would race to see who got to the court the fastest and we threw loose grass in each other’s hair and then apologized and spent hours pulling it out of each other’s heads and the lunches in town after winning a match and sharing our fries and onion rings and when baby takeru was born and we’d play with his fingers and sing him lullabies and falling asleep under a thousand blankets in the den watching movies and we swore we’d have each other’s backs and do you remember when you smiled at me and i couldn’t not smile back even if someone had wired my mouth shut?”

well…he could only hope it was mutual. but again, oikawa was always thinking, not that he put those thoughts to use. he thought about everything all the time, a constant flow in his head like a calm stream of water no matter what he was doing. he thought about volleyball a lot, thought about girls and his schoolwork, thought about hajime, his parents, brother, and takeru, and about you too. when you entered the stream he tried to ignore the childish and excitable fondness in his chest, chalking it up to nostalgia. that had always been his justification for the way you caught his attention; he remembered the good times when he saw you.

so what happens when you get to high school?

at first, not much. oikawa’s second year was a whirlwind. his volleyball career picked up as he stood out for his talents and girls began to flock to him, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy and entertain it for some time. but with the life experiences he gained, he found that they caused his impression and feelings toward you to morph too. oh, he ignored you for your entire first year, and in truth you ignored him too; there was simply too much going on. but he found that with every girl he finished his endeavours with, he saw you a little differently. the excited fondness he felt at your presence grew to be calmer but greatly more constant than it used to be, like he gravitated towards you subconsciously. and you were growing too. sometimes when he saw you in the hallway you were a woman to him. it was a scary thought because it felt like he didn’t recognize you, but it also pulled at something inside him that he simply could not depend on nostalgia to justify.

his third year of high school came in a blink. things slowed down. he ignored the girls. he focused on volleyball and his loved ones. spent more time with his nephew and hajime. he was growing up, and this time it didn’t feel like he was standing on a conveyer belt that moved through the years at a million miles an hour. this year felt like a year of appraisal, evolution, and finding where he belonged.

if one believed in that sort of thing, the events that led to him finding you could be the responsibility of fate.

haijme and oikawa sat in the den of oikawa’s home on the weekend, giving their phones time to charge before they headed out for a jog. oikawa’s mom sat at the table on the phone with oikawa’s older brother trying to plan takeru’s upcoming sixth birthday. oikawa and hajime made bemused eye contact after frustrated remarks.

“well, if you don’t like him then don’t invite him…………….well, if his kid is takeru’s best friend, you have to invite him! ………… then don’t invite parents! …………….it’s a children’s party, what do you mean you don’t want to have just kids there????”

she groaned and pulled the phone away from her ear, telling her eldest son to stop talking for a moment.

“hajime,” she called kindly. hajime looked up from the tv screen, giving the woman his full attention. “would you and your parents want to come to takeru’s party? i know it might be a bit boring for you, but he really does love you and the whole family will be there.”

hajime smiled and nodded. “i’d love to, i’ll let them know.”

oikawa watched his mom smile in relief, then seem to genuinely lighten up. “oh good, it’s been so long since we’ve all been together. that’ll be great.” she looked back at hajime again. “oh, bring [y/n] if you can. i do miss her, i’d love to see her.”

hajime heeded her request happily before relaxing back on the couch. oikawa quickly reached for his phone to appear occupied so the frozen look on his face didn’t reach hajime. bring [y/n]? he hadn’t seen you for an extended period of time since…he can’t remember. it was always quick moments at hajime’s house, the few times you attended the matches, or split-second eye contact in the hallways. moments not long enough for so much as a proper appraisal of your appearance, almost like you were a ghost fleeting past his vision before he had the mind to double take. a small smile found his lips.

he was going to see you, then.

[smilesthroughfandoms]

Every single episode of Ducktales (2017) Summarized in Roughly in One Sentence or Less!

Thank you Frank and team so much for introducing this family to a new generation of kids while remaining faithful to your source material. I hope you all enjoy my attempts at humor!

Woo-oo!: We don’t really know what’s going on yet but let’s do this!

Escape To/From Atlantis!: “Well I’m wearing a kilt McDuck! A kiiiilt!”

Daytrip of Doom!: They’re all siblings now and I love them all.

The Great Dime Chase!: “Shut up, everyone! I’ve done something brilliant!” (Also: Guess’s who my favorite character is?)

The Beagle Birthday Breakout!: Lena and Webby are best girls, fight me on this

Terror of the Terra-firmians!: This is the Spoopiest episode and also the most heartwarming.

The House of the Lucky Gander!: He’s an asshole but I love him.

The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks!: He’s an even bigger asshole but I love him.

The Living Mummies of Toth-Ra!: I too would do anything for a good burrito.

The Impossible Summit of Mt. Neverrest!: “If I had a nickel for every person who cursed me with their dying breath, I’d be twice as rich as I already am.”

The Spear of Selene!: Of course Scrooge showed up freaking Zeus.

Beware the B.U.D.D.Y System!: The fusion of Iron Man and Sailor Moon I never knew I always wanted.

The Missing Links of Moorshire!: I always knew My Little Pony had a deadly fandom but this is ridiculous…

Mystery at McDuck Manor!: Took you long enough, Duckworth, welcome back.

Jaw$!: In this house, we love and respect Tiffany. (Also: Whoever came up with this episode title is the coolest person ever)

The Golden Lagoon of White Agony Plains!: Scrooge and Glomgold are in love with Allison Janney, and honestly, same.

Day of the Only Child!: Doofus is even creepier than Lil’ Gideon, and that is saying something.

From the Confidential Casefiles of Agent 22!: *hums James Bond theme intensely to myself*

Who is Gizmoduck?!: He’s not throwing away his shot! (I’m sorry, I had to)

The Other Bin of Scrooge McDuck!: I love Louie in this episode, he’s such a mood.

Sky Pirates… in the Sky!: The Pirates of the Caribbean meets High School Music crossover starring evil Panchito I never knew I needed.

The Secret(s) of Castle McDuck!: We’re all Webby in this episode.

The Last Crash of the Sunchaser!: *ugly sobbing*

The Shadow War, Part 1: Night of De Spell!: Donald finally gets the love he deserves.

The Shadow War Part 2: Day of the Ducks!: *spoiler warning* How is she still alive?!?!?!

The Most Dangerous Game… Night!: David screaming “GAME NIGHT!” is the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.

The Depths of Cousin Fethry!: I love Cousin Spongebob!

The Ballad of Duke Baloney!: Dammit, Frank.

The Town Where Everyone Was Nice!: They’re boyfriends mates, sorry I don’t make the rules.

Storkules in Duckburg!: Storkules is the ultimate Donald Duck fan, we cannot comepete.

Last Christmas!: Somehow the Ghost of Christmas McBrayer is the least surprising thing I’ve ever seen in this show.

Whatever Happened to Della Duck?!: Oh, so that’s how she survived.

Treasure of the Found Lamp!: Dijin is the best character.

The Outlaw Scrooge McDuck!: Yee–and I cannot stress this enough–haw.

The 87 Cent Solution!: *wheezing* Dammit, Frank…

The Golden Spear!: Oh my god, they were roommates!

Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!: Dammit, Frank!

Raiders of the Doomsday Vault!: “So stand out, above the crowd! Even if I gotta shout it out loud!”

Friendship Hates Magic!: Webby gets two friends for the price of one seance!

The Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee!: BEAKS SMASH… THAT LIKE BUTTON! (I’m so sorry)

The Duck Knight Returns!: *spoilers* The single best superhero, origin story-based episode ever! 

Whatever Happened To Donald Duck?!: *sobbing* He’s a good dad!

Happy Birthday, Doofus Drake!: This entire episode is creepier than most indie horror games.

A Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!: All the kids’ dreams are moods… except Huey’s, his dream can go jump off a microwave.

The Golden Army of Cornelius Coot!: Della is just pulling a Donald and adopting any and all kids within arms reach at this point.

Timephoon!: “I’m on it!” *gets struck by lightning* “I’ve immediately failed you!”

Glomtales!: I don’t know what’s more surprising, the fact that Louie won the bet or that they used Glomgold’s theme song takeover as the intro.

The Richest Duck in the World!: Drag them, Owlson. Drag them all…

Moonvasion! Part 1: *deep inhale* D A M M I T F R A N K!

Moonvasion! Part 2: Glomgold is my new favorite villain character.

Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchuck!: Huey and Violet fight for the right to be crowned the squarest of squares.

Quack Pack!: Radical dude! *insert cheesy 90s riff here*

Double-O Duck in You Only Crash Twice!: We were all simping SO HARD this episode don’t think I forgot!!!

The Lost Harp of Mervana!: Scrooge fails a vibe check.

Louie’s Eleven!:  Is it really a heist movie if something doesn’t go completely wrong?

Astro B.O.Y.D.!: So much ANIME!!!!!!

The Rumble for Ragnarok!: Eh, the MCU did it better

The Phantom and the Sorceress!: Seeing Gladstone suffer brings me an odd amount of joy

They Put a Moonlander on Earth!: They’re lesbians, Harold!

The Trickening!: Did… did no one really tell Launchpad how Halloween works?

The Forbidden Fountain of the Foreverglades!: If I had a nickel for every time a cartoon version of Ponce de Leon died a gruesome death on screen, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?

Let’s Get Dangerous!: *spoilers* THEY ARE A SUPERHERO FAMILY!!!!

Escape from the ImpossiBin!: Scrooge and Beakley are a little too excited to traumatize their family because of their trauma.

The Split Sword of Swanstantine!: Dewey and Webby literally walk in blind, Violet spices things up, and Huey unleashes the Rage™

New Gods on the Block!: The most accurate representation of Zeus ever.

The First Adventure!: Young Donald is one heck of a mood.

The Fight for Castle McDuck!: The sibling culture episode.

How Santa Stole Christmas!: Charles Dickens would approve, probably.

Beaks in the Shell!: Huey ships Fendra and Gyro needs to stop hiding in the closet.

The Lost Cargo of Kit Cloudkicker!: The Battle of Theatre Kids... in the Sky!

The Life and Crimes of Scrooge McDuck!: All the emotional weight was nearly overshadowed by One (1) attractive goth twink.

The Last Adventure Part 1; A Tale of Three Webbys!: They’re so cute! I love them!

The Last Adventure Part 2; The Lost Library of Isabella Finch!: Letting the kids on the plane is the single smartest decision Scrooge has ever made in his life.

The Last Adventure Part 3; Tale’s End!: *ugly, happy, heartbreaking sobbing* Woo-oo!

[danielleslegacy]

For the Soul || Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

MASTERLIST

Request: yes / no

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Summary: Reid Request because you gained a follower with your recent story!!: Can you do one where Reid and the (non-BAU) reader have a flirtationship and he’s trying to hide being a genius/being FBI because she’s more “on track” with their age range and he doesn’t want to freak her out (idk how specific you take your requests lmao)  

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: it is just fluff that is all, its tooth-rotting, you’ve been warned.

Pairing: fem!Reader insert x Spencer Reid

All writing is my own, so please don’t steal this. Also, I would appreciate any feedback/comments/requests! xx

*GIF IS NOT MINE SO CREDIT GOES TO THE OWNER*

“Amazing Coffee for the huge loser in the corner,” I shout out, a grin stretched across my face. The man stood, a magnetic smile on his face, and walked over to the counter.

“Is that any way to talk to a loyal customer, Y/n,” He says, taking the black coffee (with like 6 sugars) and bringing it to his lips. I lean down onto the counter in front of me, resting my chin on my hands.

I roll my eyes in response, “What are you gonna do? Report me to the manager?”

He smirks up at me, knowing good and well that I own the little coffee shop that we’re currently standing inside of. “That and all of the other patrons might take offence,” He gestures to the empty cafe.

A laugh erupts from my chest, “We’re only empty because it’s after hours, you’re the only one that drinks coffee at this time of day, Spence.”

“We get it, you’re successful,” Spencer says, a smile still playing on his lips, “And I’m not the only one that drinks coffee at night thank you.”

“Oh yeah?” I say teasingly, raising an eyebrow in question, “Tell me, who else is drinking coffee right now?”

“Well, statistically speaking,” He begins and it's almost as if he catches himself, and he stumbles for a moment, “With there being seven billion people alive right now, there is bound to be at least one other person drinking coffee.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he says breathily, stifling his laugh, he leans down onto the counter too so that our faces are level.

I rake my bottom lip between my teeth, his eyes watch the action intently, “I’ll have to take your word for it, pretty boy,” I say, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

“I like to think you’re the pretty one,” He says smoothly, “Must be why I keep coming back to this god awful coffee.”

My mouth drops open with a gasp, “How… DARE.. you, Spencer!” I shout, taking the cup of coffee out of his hands, “You’re not allowed to have my amazing coffee anymore, I will ban you.”

He lets out a hearty chuckle that makes my heart squeeze with affection and takes the coffee out of my hands again, “I was joking, it’s my favourite coffee.”

“That’s much better,” I say a grin spreading across my face, “How was work?”

“Long,” He says, taking another sip, “I’m just glad to be home. I missed my bed.”

“And me,” I finish for him, giving him a wink.

He nods his head bashfully, “Yes and you.”

“Where did you go?” I ask rounding the bench and begin packing away the rest of the furniture for the night.

“Florida,” he says, grimacing.

“Oh gross,” I say with a laugh, “What was happening there?”

“Nothing really,” He says quickly, “How’s the shop been? Uneventful without me dropping in at,” He checks his watch, “Seven-thirty?”

“Same old, same old,” I say waving my hand, “Can you throw me the spray and wipe?” And he does, “We had one guy come in on Tuesday morning completely hammered, he could barely stand, I had to ask him to leave.”  

“You okay?” Spencer asks, walking over to hand me the tools and I begin to wipe down the tables.

“Yeah, but he was freaking out my employees, kept talking about the FBI and stuff,” I huff, “He must have been drinking at the Bar across from Quantico and walked down the street to try and have breakfast here. But I didn’t like the vibe I was getting from him and neither did the girls that were working so I asked him to leave.”

“What was he saying?” He asks, voice completely serious.

I wave my hand, “Just saying things like the FBI, only consisted of robots and people who wanted the world to burn. You know normal conspiracy theorist stuff.” I laugh. Spencer doesn’t. In fact, I can practically feel his discomfort radiating off him. I finish the table I'm on and turn around to face him, “What’s wrong?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, he left pretty quickly, I wasn’t too worried. I think a couple of my regulars are agents so I wasn’t too worried that he would get violent,” I say, letting him know that it’s not something that was bothering me.

He nods his head and leans against the counter once more letting me finish my cleaning.

After finishing it all up, I throw the spray and wipe into the back room, and walk back out to Spencer. “What’s your plans for the night?”

“I’m about to head home,” Spencer says, finishing his coffee and handing the cup back over to me, “Why?”

“I was planning on a quiet night,” I say honestly, placing the cup into the sink for the morning crew to deal with, “But if you didn't have any plans, did you want to stay here a little longer? My apartment is upstairs.”

When I was looking at a place to start my business, I remember meeting the landlord, who loved me and offered to rent me the place above it for a decreased rate if I accompanied both places, and I was quick to jump on the offer. I knew how convenient it was to be so close to my workplace and it was in a prime part of town. And quite honestly I loved the place before I even stepped into the space. It was a fairly small apartment, pretty much entirely open plan except for the bathroom, and a small space that I had turned into my study. My bedroom, living area and kitchen were all connected, with no walls separating them. And I loved it that way.

“Yeah sure,” He says, following me around and up to my apartment.

“This is where the magic happens,” I say opening the door and gesturing for him to enter, “And by magic I mean the cooking and sleeping kind.”

Spencer lets out a hearty chuckle. He throws his eyes around my apartment, and they land on my coffee table, which is littered with books. “I didn’t know you were a reader.”

I nod my head, “I love it, it lets me relax before I sleep. What about you?”

“You could say that I enjoy it,” He says taking a seat on my sofa and pick’s up the book that was on the top of the stack, C.S Lewis’ “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”. “I’ve read this one before, it is speculated that Lewis was actually experimenting with hallucinogenic drugs when he wrote the book. So it’s not really the innocent story that it seems like originally.”

“Okay, wow, how did you know that?” I ask, impressed with his knowledge of the book.

Spencer adverts his gaze, “I think I read it in a journal once.”

I take off my coat and come to sit down next to him, sitting on it sideways, so that I can face him. “So you’re a smartie,” I say giggling.

He places the book back down and turns to me, “My coworkers like to call me the resident genius,” He says, almost as if he wasn’t sure what he was saying.

“Wow, impressive,” I say smiling up at the man, “What other things do you know?”

“You’re going to need to be more specific,” He says facing me, “I know a lot about a lot of things. That’s kind of my job.”

“What?” I ask, slightly shocked, “What do you do?”

“I’m with the FBI,” Spencer says, voice laced with self-consciousness, “I’m with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Spencer!” I say enthusiastically, “That is so cool! Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I didn’t want to freak you out, it’s a pretty intimidating job, and I didn’t want to lose you,” He says honestly, placing a hand onto the one I have rested on the top of the sofa.

I take his hand in mine, “I am continually surprised and impressed by you mister Spencer Reid.”

“It’s actually doctor,” He smirks, his confidence building.

“Sorry, Doctor Spencer Reid,” I giggle, “so tell me, mister FBI, what’s it like?”

Spencer rolls his eyes, “It’s not as fun as you would think.”

I nod my head, listening to him tell me about his job. It’s almost like a different version of Spencer appears as he talks animatedly about each of his coworkers and what it is that he does. “And my eidetic memory helps me remember all of the things I need for cases.”

“Okay, when you said that they call you a genius you weren’t joking.”

The blush rises in his cheeks and Spencer bites his lip softly. “This isn’t freaking you out?”

“No, Spence,” I say shifting so that I’m closer to him, “Not at all, it’s incredibly attractive.”

His eyes flick down to my lips, and before either of us could make a move, his phone lets out a loud ring. To which Spencer groans and throws his head back, fishing it out of his pocket. “Sorry, it’s work,” he confesses.

“It’s fine, answer,” I say, smiling at him.

“Hello Garcia,” He begins, and I get up and walk away, to give him a little privacy.

“I’m actually with a friend,” He says, his gaze drifting to me, “Is he sure? Okay, I’ll get back to you. Bye.” He hangs up and stands, crossing the room so that he’s in front of me, “What we’re your plans for the night again?”

I look at him sceptically, “I was spending time with you, why?”

“Would you like to come to dinner with my coworkers, well they’re more like my family, because I spend so much time with them,” He starts rambling obviously nervous.

“Yeah, I would love to come, Spence,” I cut him off, “You want to drive or me?”

Tension releases from his shoulders and he beam at me, “I’ll drive.”

Once in the car, Spencer tells me that his whole team is having a group dinner, a kind of team bonding session. He briefed me on each of the members, trying to help as much as he can.

“You know I can take you back home if you’ve changed your mind, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” He says as we pull up in front of the impressive mansion, and turns the car off.

“Spencer Reid,” This draws his attention towards me, his eyes lock with mine, “I’m excited to meet them, no need to be worried.”

He nods his head and we exit the car and walk up to the door. Spencer rings the doorbell and is quickly back at my side. Nerves begin to bubble in my chest, until hours ago I didn’t even know who these people were, and they most definitely didn't know me. What if they don’t like me? Or that I’m not welcome or don't fit in? I don’t think Spencer would stop being friends with me over that, but my growing feelings for the man would complicate the situation. It’s almost as if Spencer can feel my doubts, as his hand reaches down to join with mine, he squeezes it softly.

“Thank you, pretty boy,” I say, throwing him a wink. The door opens to reveal a man, with a cloth tossed over his shoulder.

“Ey, Reid,” The man says, pulling a laughing Spencer in for a hug, and a kiss to each of his cheeks.

“Rossi,” Spencer says, stepping back, “This is Y/n.” He gestures to me.

“Hi,” I say softly, extending my hand out to shake his. But instead, the man wraps me in a hug and I let out a surprised laugh and hug him back.

“Sorry I’m a hugger, I’m David Rossi, but please call me Dave,” He says once he releases me. “Come in, Come in. We were just about to pour the wine.”

We make our way into the large kitchen and I notice the group of people stood around the island. Their laughter and conversations subside as they notice our presence. My eyes flick over the group. Each of them wears a matching expression, surprise, eventually my eyes make it to a familiar face.

“Wait, JJ?” I say, my face breaking out into a grin. The woman makes her way over to us and wraps me in a hug, which I return quickly. Once we release, she hits Spencer’s arm softly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew, Y/n?” JJ says accusatory.

“Wait, how do you know each other?”

I let out a giggle, “JJ was my first customer when I opened my shop, and now shes my second most regular customer, I can always guarantee that she will come in and order her black coffee as soon as I open the shop.”

“Hey, I can’t help that the coffee is so good,” JJ says, shrugging.

“So you know JJ and Spencer, but not the rest of the team. So let me introduce,” Rossi says, placing a hand on my arm to guide me over to the rest of the team, JJ and Spence following soon behind. Dave introduces me to each of the members, all of them give me a warm smile and tell me that they’re glad I’m here.

“So how long have you two been dating?” The dark-haired woman, Emily, asks. “Uh,” Spencer stutters, “We’re not dating.”

“No?” Morgan questions, clearly puzzled.

“Nope,” I say, “We’re just friends.”

“Pretty boy come on,” Morgan groans.

“That’s what I call him,” I laugh, to which Morgan hums, asking what I meant without words, “Pretty boy.”

Morgan lets out a laugh, muttering that he likes me already under his breath.

“Wine?” Dave calls out to me.

I shake my head, “No thank you, I’ve got the morning shift.”

“Wait you didn’t tell me that, when do you need to be home?” Spencer quickly interjects, clearly unsure if I should be out, as he knows that I have to be up to open the shop at 4:30 if I’m on the morning shift. I wave my hand letting him know that it’s okay. Looks are thrown between members of the team, all silently swooning of Spencer and I’s obvious feelings for each other.

“Where was your shop again Y/n?” Penelope asks, a smile on her face.

I smile back at the woman, “It’s actually just down the street from where you guys work, next to Taylor’s bookshop.”

“Wait, what was the shop's name again?” Hotch questions.

“Pour l'âme, It’s french,” I laugh, “It means for the soul, but doesn’t the french version sound so much better.”

“Spencer has definitely brought group coffee to the BAU from there at like 9 o’clock at night,” Morgan says, “And there is no way that you’re open that late.”

My eyes flick to Spencer, whose face is red, “You would be right.”

“So that means that you’re making at least seven coffee’s for dear boy wonder here in your after hours,” finishes Penelope.

I nod my head in response.

“Far out Reid, if you don’t make a move I will,” Emily jokes and the group lets out a collective laugh.

The rest of the night goes on without a hitch, the team continues to make jokes at Spencer’s expense, and I'm sure that it's a normal thing for them to do anyway.

The clock ticks over to ten thirty, and Spencer and I say our goodbyes to the team. Each of them gives me a hug, aside from Hotch who had already left.

“Thank you for dinner, Dave, and thank you for having me everyone, it was great to meet you all,” I say, placing my coat over my shoulders, hoping they understand how truly grateful I am to be included.

“You’re more than welcome at my dinner table any night of the week,” Dave says, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

The rest of the team makes comments that suggest they agree. And my heart squeezes, they have successfully made me feel so welcomed and like a part of the family already. We throw goodbyes over our shoulders, and Spencer's hand falls into mine and we walk down to his car. He opens the door for me, but before I get in I wrap my arms around his waist.

“Thank you for taking me, Spence,” I say, burying my head into his chest. Spencer’s arms wrap around me and we just stand together for a moment. My heart races at the intimate moment.

“I’m so glad that you could come,” He mutter’s into the top of my hair, “I don’t think I’m going to be allowed to come without you anymore.”

I let out a laugh and pull away from him and get into the car, and we travel back to my apartment. Spencer parks his car and gets out following me to the back entrance to my apartment. We stand outside of my front door.  

“I don’t want to leave you yet,” I confess, a surge of confidence racing through me, “I like being around you. In fact, I think I’m going to surgically attach us together so that I’m always around.”

The two of us laugh. Our eyes lock in the light of the moon, cliche I know, and I can tell that Spencer’s eyes are concentrated on me. His eyes flick down to my lips and I rake my tongue over them.

“I like being around you too,” He whispers, inching closer to me. I can feel his breath on my face at this point, the cinnamon scent that he's always wearing envelops my nose and I feel at home, I feel safe. He leans down slowly and hovers his lips over mine, leaving me time to pull away if it’s not something I want. And oh god do I want it. I step up onto my tiptoes and press my lips to his, bringing my hands up to hod his face. His own go around my waist and pull me closer to him. Our lips move together in perfect harmony and it's almost as if the rest of the world slips away. I swipe my tongue over his lips and he opens his mouth to me. We fight for dominance and eventually he wins, pushing me backwards a little bit and we hit my door with a thud, causing us both to laugh and break apart. I grab the back of my head.

“Ow.”

“I’m so sorry,” He says laughing. He places a hand to the back of my head, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say smiling, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth slightly. “So, when are you finally going to ask me out?” I tease.

He lets out another laugh and steps back from me, oozing confidence, “Hey you're the one that told the team that we’re just friends.”

“We are just friends,” I quip back.

He shakes his head, “Do you want to be just friends?”

I shake my head no.

“Good, me either.”

Taglist

@saucybeeches​ 

[chickenmcfly1]

Since you said you’re a guitarist and music major yourself, do you have any thought about Marty as a musician and his path?

omg you should not have gotten me going on this. Music and Marty are my favorite topics of ramble about and now you’re letting me ramble about both together gajagska. Anyway, here are my thoughts about Marty and his music

He started showing musical inclination when he was quite young. Grandma Sylvia (aka Trixie Trotter) would sing and play for Marty and he loved it

He expresses want to learn an instrument when he’s around 8 years old and there’s already a plunky little piano in the McFly home. By no means is it a good instrument, but George has Sylvia teach him.

Marty likes it a lot and he practices and becomes pretty proficient. Neither Lorraine or George expect much to come from it, but they’d rather have Marty playing jazz standards and Beethoven than have him setting fire to the rest of the house

After Sylvia passes a few years later, well one, Marty is absolutely destroyed because he’s not that close to anyone else in his family, but also the piano lessons stop. George and Lorraine can’t afford lessons and they don’t really care enough to encourage Marty’s musical goals

Marty keeps up with his piano playing, but around this time, at age 10, he begins to get really into Rock n Roll. The record store by his house is where Marty goes to escape his family before Doc and he becomes obsessed with all the Rock Stars and their records.

There’s a video of Jimi Hendrix explaining how to play the guitar that plays at the music store on loop, and Marty watches it over and over and over and over until he has it pretty much memorized

He mows lawn for a week and the first time he gets paid, he goes straight to the record store and buys the tape and the other guitar lessons that come with it

And Marty decides right then that he wants to be just like those rock stars. Because their music is so incredible and they’re so entertaining, and talented, and cool.

The older Marty gets, the more fascinated with all kinds of music Marty becomes. He applies himself to learning the melodies and analyzing the elements of the music with a dedication that his teachers wish he could also apply to literally anything else

He also tries his hand at writing his own music. It comes surprisingly easy because Marty’s a very emotional person, even at like 12, but he’s really scared of expressing those emotions. He’s afraid of being made fun of and rejected and judged and called weak, so he writes music, but nobody ever heard it.

By 12, Marty is begging his parents for a guitar, but they don’t want to spend the money on an instrument or lessons. Marty; however, is desperate and is willing to do literally anything to get his parents to buy him one.

Hill Valley is a small town, and the record store owner obviously had noticed how Marty comes by every single day, so he ends up giving Marty some trashy old acoustic that needs to be tossed

The guitar is probably only given to Marty because fixing it up to put it in selling condition would probably cost more that they could ever make from it, but looking at Marty, you’d think he’s just been given the best gift in the entire universe

So he watches the Jimi Hendrix tapes another 10,000 times and works his ass off and improves an enormous amount and by the time he’s 13, Marty is quite a good guitar player

In 8th grade, he’s able to save enough for another (equally crappy and equally used) guitar but this one’s electric and its the most incredible thing Marty has ever seen and he adores it

Marty’s super insecure in pretty much everything he does, and nobody feels good about themselves at age 13, but at this age, Marty really starts doubting himself way more and struggling with confidence. Music is an escape from that. Marty works so hard with his piano playing, with his singing, and especially his guitar playing, and making music is the place where he feels most comfortable in himself.

At this point, Marty’s family life is getting worse and worse, school is hard and friends are hard, but he has music and he throws himself into it 110 percent.

That all comes crashing down at Marty’s first audition. Marty auditions for Jazz band in 8th grade, and that rejection shouldn’t be a big deal because there two spots and 8th 9th and 10th graders, but Marty’s quickly rejected and it breaks it heart. This had been the one thing that was simple for Marty. There was no chaos or fighting or compilations behind it, he just did it and it made him happy, and now that’s been taken away from him too

He pretty much decides he’s giving up on music forever after that and is never playing for anyone else again, but as usual, Doc comes into Marty’s life at the perfect time.

Music is one of the first things Doc and Marty bond about. Doc tells Marty he’s welcome to play any of his records while they’re working. His music is mostly jazz and 50s stuff, and Marty absolutely falls in love with it.

After listening to more of that, Marty discovers a love for combining the classics with a new unique kinda heavy metal sound

He asks Doc about the saxophone and Doc teaches Marty quite a bit of it. Marty’s not as great at sax as he is at piano, singing, or guitar, but it’s fine because he has a duet partner now.

He and Doc play together a lot and he’s the only one that gets to hear Marty’s original music. Marty writes a bunch of jazz and rock pieces for Sax and Guitar too, and being able to play with Doc gives Marty a lot of the confidence boost he needs. Doc makes a point to always encourage and compliment Marty’s performance. And it’s not hard to do either, because Marty really does have something special.

Improvising with Marty is a wild ride. He’s able to change keys, styles, and go into mixed meter in a way that seems almost effortless and with alarming speed. Anybody with him really does have to ‘try to keep up’

Once he gets to high school, Marty tries auditioning for a few things again. To his surprise, he’s picked for a few small things. Nothing as big as he wants, but it’s better than nothing. Someone somewhere thinks Marty’s good and that’s something.

Marty also gets into a little bit or recording, mixing, and composing. [There’s a tiny electric or MIDI keyboard in his bedroom in the Polaroid from the set so I’m assuming he’s writing music for full bands and playing some parts on MIDI with a software instrument, but idek if that technology existed back then, so who knows right]

For his 15th birthday, Doc gives him the rest of the money for the guitar he’s been saving up for. It’s an Ibanez and when he plays it or the first time, it feels like the instrument was made just for him and everything is right in the world

He throws himself even more into practice after this and music goes from a hobby to the thing he wants to do with his life. Marty’s always felt lost and directionless when it comes to his future. It’s always felt like he isn’t good enough and won’t really amount to anything. His family are all nobodies, and nobody thinks Marty is capable of achieving anything. But Music gives him purpose and hope for the future.

Doc’s nonstop encouragement is what pushes Marty to finally take the first step and decide to pursue music

In sophomore year, the pinheads come together. Marty is a lot more serious about the whole thing than the others, but being in a band is cool, so they all carve out a few hours every week to rehearse. Marty pushes and pushes them and himself to be better.

He starts dating Jennifer in junior year and Marty writes a lot of songs for her. He finally gets the courage to show her one. Jennifer loves it and becomes Marty’s (second) biggest cheerleader. Any audition, rehearsal, and rare performance Marty has, she’s there. She knows how much this means to him and she takes any opportunity to encourage him

By senior year, everyone seems to know what they want to do with their life, and Marty knows with absolute clarity what he wants to do too, but he’s so scared to take the leap and go for music. He wants this so badly and it means so much to him, and someone telling him he’s not good enough to make it would absolutely destroy Marty. So he keeps these dreams close to his chest and only tells Jennifer and Doc, who convinces Marty to send an audition to the record company

Making that audition tape is the most miserable experience ever. He does over 100 takes of the same song because if it’s not absolutely perfect Marty’s entire world is going to be destroyed. The recording is never perfect (and Doc tells Marty that no recording will never be perfect enough in Marty’s eyes, and what he has done is incredible but Marty doesn’t believe it)

In the timeline where Marty breaks his hand, the second he wakes up in the hospital and sees his mangled hand and feels the way his fingers move so disjointedly, he knows he screwed up and everything is ruined

The loss of music, which was the one thing that made Marty have hope in himself, sends him spiraling and leads to the broke version of him in 2015

In the timeline where everything works out and Marty doesn’t race, he ends up sending the audition to the record company right away. Obviously, insecurity, confidence issues, and an obsessive need for validation don’t just disappear with one trip to the old west, but after time travel, he’s able to put himself out there with his music a lot more

After time travel, Marty is stuck in his own head a lot. He’s often very confused about the terms of his own existence, and existentialism aside, he’s struggling to cope with trauma bc guilt from what happened on his travels. And while Marty doesn’t care what other people think of him that much anymore, his own opinion of himself has gotten worse, if anything.

Getting over the initial thoughts of ‘you’re not good enough so why even bother’ is a whole process but he and Doc work through it, and Marty is finally able to commit himself wholly to his music.

Being on stage and performing and just playing gives Marty a reprieve from the trauma and the confusion he’s dealing with and his music gives him another safe space

As Marty starts to heal more and more he also starts auditioning more, playing more confidently, performing his own music and Doc (who moved back to the present) is his biggest cheerleader and is there at every performance

The new McFly parents really push Marty to study music at a college so he can get a college degree, and Marty ends up auditioning for college and studying Guitar Performance with an emphasis on Music Education

He writes several albums, a few become huge sensations, he is able to tour for a bit and he performs quite a lot. Once the kids are born, he stops touring as much, and once they’re older, he pretty much fully stops so he can fully focus on them.

He becomes a music teacher instead and it allows him to encourage so many other budding musicians while still staying true to his own passions

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

[This Anon is referring to this game theory.]

...I can see that happening, yes. Crowley must, after all, appeal to those with a preference for glasses on their pretty boys.

This became its own set of shitpost headcanons in of themselves, but I will allow it for now because it supplements my ever-expanding pretty boy game theory. I only wrote for the students, NOT faculty because the list of students itself is already super long.

Enjoy.

Riddle wrote an entire speech to the headmaster about how he will contribute to NRC and improve the school community if he gets accepted. All of that went right out the window when Crowley clasped his hands during the interview and shouted about how Riddle is perfect. That strict persona, coupled with the contrast of his boyish appearance...it is perfect for appealing to those that like the youthful look, but still want someone respectable!

Trey had a relatively normal interview. Crowley was impressed by how reliable Trey seems to be--he’s sure to make use of Trey’s “big brother”/”boy next door” vibes for NRC advertising. He didn’t find out about Trey’s thing for dental hygiene until after Trey was already accepted, but Crowley was quick to dismiss it as a real concern because it’s not like he’s going to sell pictures of Trey brushing others’ teeth for extra profit (well, not unless there is a high demand for that).

Cater was very relaxed, even slouching a bit in his seat. He interrupted Crowely in the middle of one of his questions to ask to take a photo for his MagiCam account. Though Crowley found this to be a little irritating, he knew that social media is a good way to reach a wider audience. Having a handsome student well-versed in the use of the web and able to capture candid photos of his peers seems like a huge advantage to NRC’s social media presence!

Ace was super casual. He showed up a few minutes late and sat down without being given permission to. He’s nothing like his older brother, according to the records Crowley consulted. Ace’s brightness was able to charm Crowley in the interview, and he allows the trickster in just because of that infections, albeit shit eating, grin of his.

Deuce tried very, very hard to show off how “reformed” he was. Came to the interview in a full-on suit and gelled back hair so he looks like a responsible young man. Lost his shit mid-interview when Crowley brought up his past delinquency as a potential issue. He was still let in because Crowley knows “bad boys” with a soft side can be appealing to some.

Leona got to skip the interview. Not because he’s royalty or anything, but because Crowley knew just from reading Leona’s application and seeing his picture that he would be a worthwhile student to slap onto advertisements. THE ANGST PRACTICALLY WRITES ITSELF. Look at how handsome Leona is, and how dark his backstory is. You can change this arrogant, broken cat boy, Crowley will hawk at his audience, all you need to do is donate your money to NRC!

Ruggie was accepted for his mischievousness--and partly due to his sad history in the slums. He didn’t show up to the interview wearing the fanciest clothes, but there is a charm to his humility, his frugality. Crowley thinks that winsome laughter of his will net the school some extra cash. Some would love to dote on people like Ruggie, after all!

Jack has muscles, and that’s all Crowley needed to see to accept him. Sure, he may have only responded to interview questions with simple, short answers, sometimes punctuated by grunts, but...muscles. Crowley’s already thinking of throwing as many sports-related events as possible for the upcoming school year, just so Jack can get all hot and sweaty in front of a live audience. NRC merch sales will go through the roof.

Azul groomed himself for several hours in advance, and practiced interview questions with the Leeches beforehand. First impressions are very important, and attending NRC would be the opportunity of a lifetime! He performed very well and dressed sharply. When his interview wrapped up, Crowley started questioning his eyeglasses, which confused Azul a lot. He was told that he is accepted, granted that he maintains wearing spectacles. Azul, being the big brain octoboi that he is, understood Crowley’s game and complimented his shrewdness. Crowley killed so many birds with one stone by accepting Azul...he appeals to those that like smart boys, glasses, and...well, tentacles.

Jade & Floyd spent even more time preparing than Azul did. They are concerned about Floyd making an outburst or a comment that could jeopardize their acceptance--and if they don’t also get into NRC, then Azul will be all alone. To their surprise, Crowley accepted them a few minutes into the interview after he asked them to sit and just...interact with the other brother. He was shouting something about how twins are a “rare find” and that “people love having two lovers tease them” while furiously shaking both of their hands. They left the office very confused, while Crowley was smirking to himself about his great find. Not only do the Leeches have a strong brotherly bond that will melt people’s hearts, but their whole butler/bodyguard dynamic will play well off of Azul. And those fangs...that’s the cherry on top!

Kalim is automatically in thanks to that massive donation the Al-Asim family oh-so-generously gave to the school. It didn’t matter if he was bouncing off the walls and veering way off topic during the interview. Crowley knows that Kalim’s endless, youthful cheer is sure to appeal to someone.

Jamil is calm, poised, controlled. Almost too much so. Crowley was on the fence about him--doesn’t Jamil seem a little too boring upon first impression?--but his beauty is nothing to sneer at. He allows Jamil in, if only to be a companion to Kalim...and boy, does Crowley not regret that decision. People sure do love the “super repressed crazy one”, huh?

Vil came with a perfectly coordinated outfit and makeup, ready to kill the interview. A shame that Crowley cut it short to congratulate him on his acceptance. Such beauty and confidence will do well at NRC and shilling NRC merch...! His status as a MagiCam influencer and model is also sure to attract Crowley some sweet, free publicity!

Rook was dubbed “the token pervert” in Crowley’s mind the moment he strolled into the office for his interview. He took a great fascination with the headmaster himself, asking many personal questions and even if he can touch Crowley. A very forward lad, even back then. Still, there’s a market for these types of things! Rook’s French (one of the romance languages!) also played into his acceptance--multiingual people can have a broad appeal...!

Epel’s innocent outer appearance instantly won Crowley over, even though he didn’t speak clearly and didn’t wear nice clothes at the interview. Sure, he’s just the son of some farmers from a backwater town, but Epel is just so meek and beautiful! He’d be perfect for those in the public who want someone to take care of. That mild rebellious streak of his may also be popular!

Idia almost didn’t make it. He stuttered and mumbled through his interview, avoided eye contact, and sweated bullets the entire time. It also didn’t help that he looked so disheveled. Crowley forced Idia to change his clothes and wash his face to see how well he cleaned up--and Idia cleaned up very well. The headmaster let Idia in after that to have “otaku” type for advertisements and to potentially beg the Shrouds for donations. Plus, having another sharp-toothed boy doesn’t hurt. The Leeches can’t be the only ones that appeal to the public’s fang fetishists!

Ortho didn’t really have an interview. It was more like Idia made him one day and asked if Ortho could be enrolled as a student. Crowley just shrugged and let it happen. He’s sure that someone out there is into robots in “that” sense.

Malleus did not need an interview. His magical ability already speaks as to why he was an instant acceptance--and he’s related to the Great Witch of Thorns! That, combined with his commanding presence and mysterious allure, makes him a powerful force to be reckoned with. Plus, he has an emotional vulnerability behind all of that...

Lilia spooked Crowley by dropping in from the chimney. Despite this, he nailed the interview and now supplies Crowley with all the content he needs for his “thousand year old vampire that looks like a 12 year old” trope folder. He looks young, but he’s wise and will bite if you’re not careful! On top of all of that, Lilia has a fatherly side, which Crowley knows will make him endearing to some.

Silver fell asleep mid-interview...! Oddly enough, Crowley still accepted him despite that. Soft, sleep boys, after all, have their own sense of charm! Besides, what kind of self-respecting pretty boy fan wouldn’t want to stare at Silver’s peaceful face as he rests?

Sebek’s booming voice nearly sent Crowley flying out of his seat. So loud, and so assertive--yet Sebek also expresses his strong, burning desire to be at the Young Master’s side. Crowley knows that such devotion and boisterousness can be a charm point, so Sebek was accepted!

[tenthgrove]

Yandere La Squadra- Illuso, Prosciutto, and Pesci

(Cw: Abduction, Forced Relationships, Obsessive Behavior, Murder)

Illuso

It’s probably a given that Illuso never intended to find love. For a person so proud and jealous, a romantic obsession would most likely arise out of just that- jealousy. You were a bystander, a mere distant relative of Illuso’s mark. He probably never would have even heard of you, had it not been for the party.

As Illuso watched the happy revellers from the safety of his mirror world, his efforts to observe the target were hampered by a far more appealing distraction. You. You were exactly his type, beautiful and amicable. As you spoke to your friends and family, he found himself wishing you were saying those words to him and not those worthless nobodies.

He tried to shake off his captivation, leave the room you were in to focus just on his target. But when he returned, you were talking with another man. As envy cut through his chest, he came to understand how he really felt. You were not something he could leave alone.

For months, Illuso did nothing but watch you. When he would normally go down to the bar or for a walk around town, he would head into the mirror world and watch you go through your day. He would even talk to you, secure and yet saddened in the knowledge that you wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Then one day, Illuso had a stroke of luck. Another individual vaguely in your social circle has been pinned as La Squadra’s target, and this time, Illuso is going to use it to the fullest. He goes out of his way to exaggerate the connection between you and the target, saboutaging all the usual routes the team would use to hunt them down until the only option seems to be going through you. Finally, Illuso gets permission to abduct you and take you in for interrogation. His plan is to be your saviour, to convince the team to let you go and carry you home in his arms like a knight in shining armous. Unfortunately for him, it takes all of 5 seconds of talking to you for Risotto to realise what’s really going on.

Illuso gets hauled to one side, and after getting one of the biggest dressing-downs of his life, is informed that he could have very well gotten you killed since La Squadra can’t let witnesses go. Risotto informs him that if he wants you to live, he’s going to have to keep you captive himself now. He started this mess, so he’s going to deal with it.

Illuso always intended to have a ‘normal’ relationship after the whole kidnapping stunt, but he supposes keeping you prisoner is a close second. Since he never planned for this to happen, his home is completely unprepared for holding you, and he has to keep you in the mirror world for the first few days.

Once he has a suitably secure room set up, you’re allowed to come out of the mirror world again but on the strict conditions you don’t act up. After spending days in an alternate dimension at his control, you would have to be very brave indeed to ever go against Illuso’s word.

Illuso tries to win you over with gifts. He misses the way you acted when your life was happy and is annoyed he can’t see that side of you now you’re finally together in person. Don’t be surprised if he offsets his anger by hunting down those you loved. If you had a partner before, you can be certain they’ll be first to go.

Despite this cruelty, Illuso genuinely begins to feel remorse for your sorry state. It will lead to him doing some self-reflection for the first time in his life, and he will genuinely try to be a better person around you to make you smile again.

Prosciutto

By the time Prosciutto fell for you, you had already been having a bad time of things. Trapped in Passione through no fault of your own, you were unfortunately no stranger to peril. It’s this reason that attracted Prosciutto to you in the first place.

As a standless, low-ranking newcomer to the syndicate, you were as vulnerable as they come. And yet, as Prosciutto listened to your story from someone who knew of it, he felt intrigue. You presented to him the opportunity of a project. Someone to mold.

Prosciutto sought you out a few days later. His offer was simple- a friendship and nothing more. In exchange, you would gain the company of a far more distinguished member of Passione who could teach you the unspoken rules of survival. For some weeks, this is how things were. He would teach you his skills in his spare time and talk with you afterwards. The two of you began to develop a genuine, warm bond.

That’s where the problems started, however. As Prosciutto learned more and more about your story, he began to question his original plan. You didn’t belong here, there were no two ways about it. You may be showing potential in your training, yes, but would you ever truly belong in such a syndicate? Prosciutto didn’t think so, and he couldn’t bear to imagine you spending the rest of your life this way. Second, there was the issue of his romantic feelings. They were getting hard to ignore.

So, Prosciutto comes up with a proposition for you. Disappear off the map entirely. Prosciutto will handle everything, and you can live comfortably with him in hiding for however long is necessary. He also pleads with you to become his lover.

However, you just can’t find it in you to trust him on something so important. You turn him down, thank him for all he’s done for you, and leave. Prosciutto is heartbroken. He can’t let you continue like this, especially not without his protection, and so, he’s going to do something he knows you’ll hate him for. Prosciutto breaks into your hideout and murders your entire team, planting evidence to look like a rival gang did it. As you cower in the corner, tears streaking down your face, Prosciutto whispers an apology and presses a chloroform rag to your nose and mouth. He takes you to his house.

The next day, Prosciutto is holding you against his chest as you cry, even as you hurl frightened profanities about how much you hate him for doing this. He’ll take it all, and remind you calmly everything he does is for your sake. He promises again and again that he loves you, unconditionally.

Prosciutto tries to make things as bearable as possible for you to make up for keeping you captive. He buys you anything you want on a whim, and looks after you when you refuse to look after yourself. He encourages you to find new interests, since your life is no longer dominated by Passione’s orders and you can be yourself again.

As much as he wishes, he can’t let you leave the house, except on closely supervised trips in the dead of night where you can’t possibly be spotted. If Passione were to find out you were alive all along, they would surely have both of you killed. Prosciutto dreams that one day, perhaps when La Squadra has the status they deserve, he can give you the freedom he owes you. Maybe then you will find it in you to forgive his betrayal.

Pesci

Pesci is certainly not the type to resort to the extreme actions of a yandere unless he felt truly desperate. It’s for this reason he becomes a yandere for someone he has an existing relationship with.

Pesci didn’t think he would find love at all now he worked for Passione, especially not a squad as feared as La Squadra. And yet the stars aligned and brought him you- a wonderful, kind-hearted civilian he met by chance and began a steady, loving relationship with. Several months in, the pair of you couldn’t be happier together.

There was just one thorn in this relationship threatening to bring it all down: you didn’t know that Pesci was a mobster. He couldn’t bear to tell you. Would you hate him? Fear him? He didn’t want to even think about it. All he could do was hold you tight and pray, pray to whatever would listen, that the two of you could be like this forever.

What made Pesci’s worst dreams true was a simple, awful coincidence. You were out shopping alone, when, across the street, you spotted your boyfriend headed in the other direction. Pleasently surprised, you chased after him and called out, but he didn’t seem to hear you. Not giving up, you followed him into an alleyway, and what you saw turned your stomach.

There on the ground was the writhing body of an injured man. Above him, stood Pesci and a stranger, a tall, well-dressed blond man who spoke to your boyfriend with an air of authority. As you watched in horror, the stranger took a knife to the injured man’s throat while your boyfriend watched emotionlessly. You turned tail and ran.

By the time Pesci gets home, you have already gone through everything. His phone, his diary, his checkbook. You know everything, and you can’t stand to be a part of it any longer. With tearful eyes, you announce you are leaving. If he doesn’t want to be turned in to the police, he won’t try and stop you.

Pesci panics. He can’t let you go! Can’t! You’re the first person who has ever loved him! In a brief act of fear, Pesci hits you over the head to stop you leaving. He’s knocked you unconscious.

Dismayed at his actions and cradling your body in his arms, Pesci breaks down crying. But then he makes a decision. He regrets that it came down to hurting you, but he isn’t letting you go. He isn’t letting his love leave him. When you wake up, you’re in Pesci’s apartment, tied to the bed with a gag in your mouth. As much as it hurts him to hear your distress, Pesci forces himself to hold to his promise. He isn’t letting himself lose you.

Pesci comforts you as best he can, but knows it could be a long time before you trust him again. He explains his actions whenever you show signs of sadness, and tries to tell stories of his team that will paint them in a better light. He knows deep down, however, that what he’s done is unforgiveable.

Should the day come when your bitterness finally disappears, and Pesci can trust you full-heartedly not to tell anyone of what he really does, he is more than happy to return all your normal freedoms. You can even return to living part-time in your old house, if it helps. Just remember, should you ever abuse this freedom to try and flee, don’t think he won’t hunt you down. Pesci swore to himself he wouldn’t let himself lose you, and that promise doesn’t end now your original abduction is over.

[sammystep]

No One Lives Forever- CH13

(AO3 link)

Stardust Crusader Wolf Pack AU

[From the beginning- CH1]

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New York streets are busy at any time of day and more so this early in the morning, people rushing their way down the street to get to work. Avdol and Joseph took a more sedated pace, letting the stream of humans flow around them like the torrents of a river. The walk to Avdol’s family’s shop was a fair distance from the new apartment but the act of patrolling around the new territory had a calming effect on their instincts. And since there was no real rush, why not enjoy the feeling for a bit?

Avdol’s tests and research the night before had revealed there were no active spells placed upon the pack, but faint magic residue was definitely attached to Joseph and Jotaro. It explained the frequent encounters and led Avdol to believe this was indeed being orchestrated by someone with a grudge against the Joestar line. The spell work was too faded to trace back to the caster, but with some specialized tools from the occult shop they could ward themselves from future spells.

“I still wish we had you examine that hunter from upstate. Maybe you could have traced the magic sooner.” Joseph grumbles as he puts his hands in his jacket pockets and sulks as they walk.

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t have done much good. I’d still be lacking the tools I need. After all, we weren’t expecting to encounter anyone, much less magic users.” Avdol does his best to reassure the older alpha, reverting back to their rolls of alpha and beta from before Jotaro was named leader of the pack. Joseph grumbles a bit more but lets the issue go, relaxing slightly as they continue their walk.

Avdol’s pace quickens slightly as the shop comes into view as they round the last corner. The occult shop occupied a narrow business space at street level, only a single door and large window with the words ‘OCCULT SUPPLIES * TAROT READINGS * WALK-INS WELCOME’ in gold font painted on the glass. Arrays of crystals, decorative knives and card decks lay just behind the glass on display to entice visitors to enter.

A bell attached to the door jingles pleasantly as they enter. From the back of the shop an older female voice calls, “Make yourself comfortable Muhammad, we’ll be out in just a moment!”

Joseph blinks in astonishment before catching Avdol’s smirk as they seat themselves at the reading table. He nods as he laughs a bit, “Right, fortune teller. She always catches me off guard with that. I’m not used to being on the other end of that trick.”

“You know by now it’s no trick Joseph.” An older black woman exits the back room of the store with the help of her cane. Her hair is styled into braids forming a bun on the top of her head, once black hair now mostly grey and silver. He half moon glasses are decorated with a beaded chain that clinks together with her jewelry as she moves.

Joseph just laughs “Well it is a trick when I do it Mrs. Avdol. I assume you know why we’re here then?” She nods and takes her seat at the table.

“My sight has shown me many things in the last few weeks. Your pack has encountered many bizarre things these past few days, correct?” Her kind brown eyes are serious as she looks at Joseph, waiting for his response.

He confirms with a nod and attempts to lighten the mood with a grin as he turns to Avdol, “How did you ever surprise her with birthday gifts?”

“Just because I’m not surprised does not mean I’m not happy, especially to see my only son.” Mrs. Avdol teasingly pinches her son’s cheek as he laughs with her.

“Mother, please!” Avdol brushes off her pinching fingers, “You act as thought I don’t visit!” he gives her hand a squeeze as she takes it back to rest both on the table.

The grandfather clock in the shop chimes 9 o’clock as Avdol’s father enters with a tray of coffee. “Right on time as always dear. Have you started the reading yet?” Mr. Avdol asks as he hands out the beverages.

“How could I concentrate on that if I know there was coffee on the way?” She grins and cackles as her husband takes his seat as well. “Thank you honey. Now…” Mrs. Avdol pulls a box from a nearby drawer and opens it revealing a deck of cards. “Before we get to the reason for your visit, first things first, the reading of your cards.” She slides the deck across the table face down to Joseph and Avdol. “Place your hands on top and we’ll see what fate has in store for you.” They both do as instructed and Joseph swears he gets a tingle in his fingers every time he does this.

“Good. As always, we start with the past, so we understand the context of the present and future.” Mrs. Avdol shuffles the deck a bit before spreading them in an arch on the table and indicating to her son. “Three cards please, Muhammad.”

One by one Avdol turns cards picked at random from the spread, first the tower, followed by the moon and strength. “Ah, so your journey has already been interrupted by calamity. Three powerful encounters behind you, but many more to come.” She picks up the rest of the undisturbed cards and re-shuffles them before spreading them out again. “I’ll draw your present.” The next three cards are even more ominous, the devil followed by justice and the world. “These represent the current danger, though I feel as though these two are more passive at the moment. A long-term danger to your pack.” She says as she points to justice and the world.

“You’re telling me we’re going to have to fight the devil?” Joseph groans and rubs his face, “Seriously? What crappy luck we’re having lately.”

Mrs. Avdol chuckles and corrects him “You know it’s rarely that straight forward. The devil is a subjugator, you will probably be facing a servant sent to fight you.”

She picks up the deck once more but pauses as she’s about to shuffle. A look of deep concentration passes over her features before she hands the deck to Joseph. “I feel you should shuffle this time, Joseph. And pick as many cards as you feel you need.” Mr. Avdol’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead in surprise but he remains silent as they continue the reading.

“Well, this is new.” Joseph is also surprised and quickly takes the cards and starts to shuffle. Instead of spreading them on the table he holds them as he draws a few cards from the middle. As they leave the deck, two others slip with them and fall to the floor face down. He tries to laugh off his clumsiness and quickly pick them up but Avdol stops him, his face serious as he watches his mother pick up the cards and turn them face up on the table. The Avdol family share a look between them before they turn back to Joseph.

“Even accidents hold meaning when reading the cards. These two,” Mrs. Avdol taps the fallen cards now revealed to be the hierophant and the hermit. “Together they represent knowledge and reflection, but that they fell… there will be a price to pay for the knowledge gained.”

Joseph’s brows furrow as he looks on at the ill-fated cards. Mrs. Avdol reaches out to gently take back the deck and his chosen cards, startling Joseph out of his thoughts. His cards remain face down as he asks, “I’m assuming when a psychic tells you there ‘will be a price to pay’, you aren’t talking about cash. What’s going to happen? This is my pack- my family we’re talking about. I’d gladly pay any ‘price’ to keep them safe.”

Mrs. Avdol pats his clenched fist on the table as Muhammad claps a hand to Joseph’s shoulder. “You know I would tell you if I could see, Joseph. All I can tell you is you will have to make this choice; the rest is foggy. Events are fluctuating around you and your pack.” She turns back to the cards he picked out and flips them face up: the star, the magician, the chariot and the fool. “These however look like good omens. Your pack learning and growing in strength and number. The way forward is a hard path, but the bonds of your pack are strong. If you rely and trust each other and your allies, I predict you will prevail over the enemies I cannot see.” With the reading over she scoops the cards back up from the table and shuffles the deck before putting it back in its box.

Joseph remains tense and contemplative as Avdol turns to his mother again, “Thank you, as always, for the insight. But we need to ask for an additional favor. I fear our enemy, or enemies, have a magic user with them. Would you be able to…”?

“Make you some protection charms?” Mrs. Avdol motions to her husband and he reaches for a tan drawstring pouch that had been sitting on the shelf full of miscellaneous items behind him. The contents of the sack clink gently as it’s placed in front of Avdol. “As I said, my visions have been unusually active for the past few weeks. I didn’t know when you would need them so I prepared them beforehand. Wear these charms at all times and you will be protected from nosey witches and the evil eye they cast on you.”

Avdol looks through the pouch of charms for a moment before taking out and opal earing and holding it to the light to inspect it. “Ah, this spell work should do nicely. Thank you.” He clips the earing to his ear before rifling through the bag and handing Joseph a metal bracelet, silver vines and thorns twisting around the band in intricate knots.

Mr. Avdol rises from his seat and makes his way to the back room with the empty coffee cups as his son secures the pouch in his travel satchel. Mrs. Avdol grabs his attention again, “Be warned, these will not be able to block more powerful spells entirely. Use caution and put up your wards like I taught you.”

“Of course. I’ve already started placing wards on our new lodgings. Now, about the shop… I feel it may be best if you and father left town while we get the situation under control.” Avdol places his hand on his mother’s arm as he implores her to close up shop.

Mrs. Avdol just chuckles as Mr. Avdol returns to the front room carrying luggage with him. Mr. Avdol chuckles along with his wife, “Don’t you know by now Muhammad? Your mother was just waiting to say goodbye to her son.”

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Author’s Note:

I am alive! Sorry everyone, life got real crazy for me for a while. Had some family health scares (everyone is fine now), work schedule changes, moved, gained a roommate... still adjusting to the new changes but I've found time to write again! artwork is still on pause till I can set up my workspace properly.

Anyway just wanted to say sorry for the long break, but I'm gonna finish this thing no matter what- 13/52 complete so far !