#but nothing of the sort even exist :') so i just writes drabbles and make drawings

[averageanonymous]

Summary: In the aftermath of Aziraphale’s return to Heaven, Crowley plays the piano to chase away the silence.

i.e. I chronically have Crowley playing the piano on the brain. Today, that resulted in an angsty drabble.

Words: 642

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His apartment is dark, swathed in heavy silence that echoes off the empty caverns in his own soul. It's been too long. Too long with no sound but the trickle of a fountain, no voice but that which resides only in his mind. Now, he begins to feel it. The quiet - always before a numbing, soothing comfort - is beginning to crush him.

He approaches the large mahogany instrument tucked into the corner of his study, runs a hand over its surface, breathes. Years since he last played. Years since he wanted to.

His heart aches.

He doesn't want music.

Not really.

Whatever is broken in him relishes the quiet, the stillness.

No, he doesn't want music. But…he thinks he might need it.

So he slides onto the bench, eases back the fallboard, and lifts his hands. Black and white keys gleam under dim lights. He hesitates. His hands hover, silent, over ivory.

Finally, after what might be hours or only seconds, when the silence beneath his fingers begins to feel like agony, he settles on the keys and releases a single chord. Its sound rings into the emptiness and lingers there like a question. A pause. A breath. Then, gently, softly, slowly, notes like butterflies begin to lift from the keys. A few at first, then more, dozens upon dozens, until something begins to take shape beneath his hands.

He doesn't think about the melody that flows through him. It's nothing he has played before, nothing he has heard or seen. It has a life of its own; as though it has always existed, raw and pure as uncut diamond. The melody and harmony wind and twist through him, singing to his anguish with a beauty so sharp it cuts like a knife.

The music crescendos. He feels his soul lift with it, feels the weight of his misery, his loneliness, begin to slough away with each measure. Not enough to save him. But enough to keep him going. So he does. He plays and plays and plays.

He doesn't know where this ends. Part of him hopes it never does. Now that the music has chased it away, he finds that he dreads the silence waiting for him on the other side. That silence which drowns him and calls it solace. But that's all that is left to him, isn't it. And after all, what is the point anymore? This interminable existence, untethered from any harbor, adrift without anchor. The only thing that made it worth it, made it mean something, is gone from him, gone to a place he cannot follow. He is alone, here, alone-

His muscles quiver with exertion, his breath shallow, his heart racing. He feels himself losing the thread of the melody, feels it unraveling like loose thread from an unfinished tapestry. Something like panic grips him.

Suddenly, he strikes a wrong chord, and it's dissonance shatters what was left of the song, jarring him to his bones. He glares at the keys, breath heaving in his lungs, and with a snarl, drags his hands down the keyboard, a violent spray of discord flung after the ghost of the music that has left him wrung out and defeated on the piano's bench.

After precious few moments, the sound of his anger dissipates as thoroughly as the song, and he is left again in utter silence.

Silence.

He draws closed the fallboard, careful not to let it make a noise.

He slides away from the bench, away from the instrument, out of the room.

He lies down on his couch, the quiet wrapped around him like a cocoon. He lies there for hours (or days or weeks) and it doesn't matter. Eventually, the silence takes him deep enough that even his thoughts grow quiet, and finally, finally, he sleeps.

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Thanks for reading!

This sort of thing falls into the category of me just sitting down with a picture in my mind (or maybe a comic strip) and trying to write it in a way that captures the feeling of what I'm seeing. In my brain. I rarely succeed 🙄

[mypersonmyg]

The Misery Chick | MYG

thank you to my favorite @kimtaehyunq for the wonderful banner, ily you talented cutie <3

pairing: Yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, a lil tiny bit of angst, college au

wc: 5.2k (issa short one)

warnings: language

summary: maybe yoongi has a fat crush on you OR he notices, that’s all

a/n: happy birthday to the one and only min yoongi! i am so so fond of him and i couldn’t not write something for him, so I hope you enjoy :D and as always feel free to send in drabble requests for the fic and blah blah blah...

honorary tag: @gukssunshine​

masterlist

To wonder about the quickened stride of the beating appendage in Yoongi’s chest, would be to question the routine catch of gaze to the lone figure at the far end of the classroom, dwarfed by cuddled fabric, consumed with the rapid turn of the lengthy page. His arm rests atop the desk’s surface, supporting the chin that minutely dips with your every flicker of expression, the parting of your lips in gasp mimed by his own. His eyes are glazed under bright light, lids threatening to blink, the passage of time too fast, but oh so slow. 

Yoongi’s knowledge is second hand, rumblings of your demeanor spread through the vine of dialogue that floats coincidentally through his ears to connect with the edges of his brain, chewed and regurgitated without second thought. He holds his refusal to high regard, refusal to believe that you’re nothing more than a student, disgruntled by circumstance. It’s not simple attraction that guides his mind to the eye of logic, the region of reason, though it was the peak of initial interest.

He notices, and that’s all. 

He notices the round of your puffed cheeks that follows a particularly surprising piece of narrative. He notices the seat left empty between you and the wall, open but not a forced invitation, and he notices the way your posture straightens when someone grazes a hair too close. He notices the deflation of your shoulders when you’re left without pair during lessons framed with the inopportunity of interaction forced to simulate the false reality of reality itself. He notices the things others are blind to in their half squint, though the picture is still blurred like the edges of a polaroid. 

The numbness of his wrist, angled by the rest of his chin, draws him from captivation despite motivation to outlast the congregation huddle before you, their fronts focused toward him, his view obscured by obligation of association. His lips form the curvature of amiability necessary for pleasantry, neck craning to the defense of blue jeans offending his locked gaze.

“Can you stop staring so hard? She’s gonna eat you alive,” Hoseok’s finger nudges at the round of Yoongi’s jaw, urging his attention completely away from his person of interest. 

“Fuck off, you don’t even know her.” 

“Neither do you, despite your dedication to staring holes into her side every chance you get. They don’t call her ‘the misery chick’ for nothing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile.” The jab rubs the wrong direction, Yoongi’s hand landing with a thud to the thick of Hoseok’s skull. “Come on, it’s a joke.”

“Maybe to you, and to everyone else, but she is a person. You guys just don’t look beyond what you wanna see because then she’s more than just a good laugh.” Every utterance of the moniker draws is lips to a downward twitch, fists balling in the pocket of his hoodie or scraping at the fabric of stressed jeans. It’s knowing that if he’s heard it you have ten fold, the thought harboring the wish that he could fold you inward, close to the beat of his chest to shield from the displeasure of words half baked with stupidity and the ignorance of hilarity. 

“Well not everyone wants to see her between the sheets.”

Interruption of the education saves Hoseok from the verbal spar pending within the fire engulfing Yoongi’s pupils. A place of love harbors the words of war, he knows this, knows that Hoseok’s plan is to rile to the point of action, but he’s driven to the brink of insanity by twisted words of encouragement. The kindest person on the planet playing into the stereo of broken records hurled toward the edges of your delicate framing, . 

Yoongi’s hands curl around his pen, ballpoint and already dancing the page, jotting words flown from one canal to the other and back to the atmospheric toxins of brains shorting caffeine. His sleeves are suddenly burning, neck itching with the heat of nerves crawling outward from within the confines of his collar. He glances toward Hoseok staring absently at Yoongi’s decorative scrawl, raising a brow to colliding gazes.

“Is it hot?” Yoongi puckers in mumble, swiping at the skin kissing the fringe sweeping his eyeline. Hoseok’s head careens in the negative, averting gaze to the front of the room, professor droning about the coming assignment, a project that Yoongi barely catches wind of. 

The plague responsible for his discomfort of familiarity is comfort enough to stop the distant tremble of shoulders keen to the stare that meets his eyes from the room’s opposing side. He jolts, or rather the calm of his heart picks back to pace, when his eyes meet irises reflective of his own.  They’re gone as soon as he finds them, but he’s confident that the cool of his neck is confirmation that sanity isn’t all lost. 

“Dude, could you take your notes? I’m gonna need those later,” Hoseok nudges at his forearm, limp from distraction. Yoongi hurries to scribble missed lecture, patient for a lull in speech to make room for declaration. 

“She was looking at me.” 

“What?” 

“Y/n, she was looking at me. I saw her...I felt her.” 

“Maybe she was just staring off into space because this class is a snooze-fest.” Hoseok speaks through the timing of yawn, perfectly punctuating his point. “She probably doesn’t even know you exist. Though, I guess everyone knows you exist, so maybe she just doesn’t care.” 

The words aren’t false, Yoongi’s following his beyond the definition of quaint, his celebrity following him from the rush of the court to the thrill of the keys. He’s hard pressed for a moment of peace, but he often finds it here, lost in you. 

“I’m serious.”

Yoongi sighs an audible defeat, Hoseok’s dropped lids and the rest of his chin atop folded arms a clear sign that his mind is beyond the classroom and beyond Yoongi’s own romantic woes. The end of the lecture appears miles from the start, the wave of dismissal a spell releasing its hold on the shackles chaining the  ghoulish appearance of sleepless students. 

Yoongi has worked himself to the brink of decision by the end of the lecture, sure enough that his stride to your desk will prove a build in the shy tint of his cheeks when he musters a faint ‘hello’. The pan of his half thought out plan doesn’t sort as well as he hoped, the rush of legs scurrying for the door tripping him up in his rush to the chair where you patiently filed notebook to bag. 

His vision is blurred by the passage of sweaters and hoodies, emblems emblazoned on sleeves and beanies sagging from the tips of bedhead. Hoseok follows after his stride in a confused wake from the desk that housed his sleepy head for the last seventy minutes, stumbling along with the drag of feet on tile. 

When destination is met, your chair is neatly housed, your figure nowhere to be found, Yoongi paces back, his sizable sneaker just scuffing the metal recline of an adjacent chair. 

“What are you doing?” Hoseok clutches the muscled fabric of Yoongi’s shoulder, stopping near disaster following the weighted displacement of the two. 

“Nothing, let's get lunch.”

The passage of days are a haze in the midst of the craze of midterms and Yoongi’s attempt to find reason to believe your glance was more than a passing innocence. The press of his back to his mattress, sheets freshly laundered, linens, scented of the artificial makings of fresh lilac courtesy of Jeongguk, are used to his mid-day collapse for a pre-study snooze. He’s swallowed whole beneath the dense of his comforter, fingers curling into the soft material, lips emitting a sigh of satisfaction. 

The buds in his ears are a dull hum, white noise to saturate the crevices of his brain still vibrating from the surge of knowledge consumed at the twice rapid pace of the semester’s schedule. His lids are aflutter, pupils rolling to the dark precipice, the unconscious already tugging at the bits of his subconscious manifested to snooze.  

The muscles of his pillowy cheeks fight upward against the smush to the firm cushioning of his mattress, arms cuddled around the decorative cushion of deep blue. A pitched giggle echoes in the receptors of his brain, bouncing against the walls, a comforting sound. It’s foreign though, the melodic stutter, yet it engulfs his chest with the warmth of affection, his stomach turning with nerves of the giddy sort. 

He teeters on the edge of more, features dancing between streams, a waterfall blur. Yoongi aches for the reach, his physical and metaphorical being extending from the depths of his full size bed, yearning for the exploration of the four walls and beyond. He can swear his fingers graze the soft of skin, the trace of lip curved in sensuality just visible through sleepy haze. The giggles grow in volume, almost as if guided toward his hasty reach. 

“Jeongguk, shut up!” Yoongi falls forward, just catching onto the ledge of his dresser, quick reflexes doing wonders for his physical well being, but the skip in his mental and the stop of his heart are undeniable. 

He's heard the voice a handful of times, an arm eagerly shooting to respond to a professor’s quarry, the hidden mumblings that he swears he’s the only one to pick up on, his smirk almost never enough to stop impending chuckle.

It’s you. 

He knows, but can’t quite grasp that just beyond the barrier of belief, past the door sealed to keep from disturbance you’re somewhere laughing with Jeongguk. He listens for a moment, unmoving, to attempt a deciphering of your intentions, but laughter has turned to the inaudible mumblings from the room across the hall.  He’s silent in his trek to the door, pulling it on rusted hinges, cringing with every scrape of copper and wood. 

He slips down the hall on tiptoe, unsure if you’re attune to the other members of the house, but not ready to face you if Jeongguk’s door swings back to reveal the occupants of the small cubical. Yoongi makes way to the kitchen, surprised to find the rest of his roommates crowded into the sizable space, each occupied with their own endeavor of strewn textbooks and half frozen toaster strudel. 

“Well well look who’s awake,” Jimin sneers playfully in Yoongi’s direction, drawing attention from the rest of the room. 

“Bet I can guess why,” Taehyung snickers, glances exchanged with a conspiratorial air, the shift of Yoongi’s feet not unnoticed by his personal tormentors. “We told Jeongguk he might wanna keep it down, we know how you like your rest.” 

“Jeongguk didn’t wake me,” Not the correct turn of phrase, realized just moments late, the flicker of pupils raising with the feigned ah ha! Yoongi side steps them all, settling on the sphere of orange grabbing his interest from the bowl on the table, plopping into the nearest chair. 

“Oh he didn’t? Well what other reason could you possibly have to forgo your pre-study nap, hmmm?” Jin pokes at the slightly greened peel of Yoongi’s fruit, hand smacked away with haste. He withdraws to card through his hair, lengthening by the day, framing his face with more beauty than should be allowed by the ethereal senior. 

“I was hungry, s’all.” He tosses scraps with each peel of fruitful flesh, eagerly sliding bits of tangerine past his puckered lips. Anything to keep his mind from the fresh dose of giggles eating at his brain like a love bitten parasite. “Who—umm, who does Jeongguk have over.” 

“Oh, Kookie has a friend over? We had no idea,” Namjoon hums, glasses perched to the bridge of his nose, arms eaten by the sleeves of his hoodie. 

“Maybe you recognize their voice? I mean, you’re the only one close enough to hear it.” Hoseok’s grin is shit eating, half hidden behind the length of his hand, fingers curling in position at the tip of his chin. 

“Oh, oh! I think I recall him saying something about a...Y/—hmmm was it…” Taehyung fakes stumbles over the name, tips of his fingers tracing the glass of his crumbed plate. 

“Y/n.” Yoongi speaks through teeth clenched, his cheeks rosy from snatched sleep and the scrutiny he’s placed himself under, the heat of a lamp concentrated in the five pairs of eyes trained on his every movement for their amusement. 

“So you do know her, why don’t you go say hi?” Jin pats him with vigour, the sound of an echoed frame permeating the air of what Yoongi has affectionately titled, friendly toxicity. Those same muffled voices grow with the trek down the stairs, threatening to give way with each step. Yoongi lifts his eyes from his half eaten fruit for the first time since he sat down, daring them to say a word out of turn with a single look. 

“It’s pretty quiet considering seven guys live here,” Your voice is audible from the front door, Yoongi’s grip tightening, juice spilling down the crevices of his hand, soiling his shirt sleeve, palms already sticky from the stress. “I have one roommate and, as you’ve seen, she can be loud enough for the both of us.” 

“I’m just as surprised as you are actually. I know Yoongi is probably asleep,” Yoongi sinks into his chair, knowing glances threatening to drop him straight through the wooden surface. “The rest are probably out.” 

“Yoongi?” Your voice strays a bit, Yoongi’s lip twitching, unsure what to think of the sudden strain in pitch. 

“Yeah, do you know him?” 

“Oh, um...kinda? Not really, we share a class together, but we’ve never talked. I’m pretty sure he’d think he’s too cool for me anyways. You know, ‘misery chick’ and all.” Yoongi levels a stare at Hoseok whose arms lift in readied defense, though his own face conjures frown at your words. Your attention clearly never spotting the longing with which he’s leveled you for the past few months. 

“You’re not the ‘misery chick’,” Jeongguk’s voice holds firm reassurance, something Yoongi wishes he could give you, but he’s glued, too curious for the thought of impromptu interruption. “People are just jerks. Besides, Yoongi-hyung isn’t like that at all. He likes to pretend he doesn’t know how cool people think he is.” 

“Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Koo.” 

The door closes, Jeongguk just as soon rounding into the kitchen, tracks dead when there are six pairs of eyes trained on his figure. “Wha—have you all been here the whole time?” 

He only takes pause momentarily, his stride leading to the fridge, a juice box of all things pulled from metal confines. The naked eye would never guess the soft interior of Jeongguk, his features contrasting with the boots swallowing his feet and the tattoos eating his arm, tracing his digits. But he’s the walking embodiment of the careful youth painting each man posted in the room, a piece of him nursed by a piece of them with each day passing. 

“Yeah, we’re just hangin’ around, Jeonggukie.” Hoseok shrugs, ruffling the base of Jeongguk’s wild curls. 

“Well you’re doing it pretty quietly, Y/n thought it was weird.” 

“Are you guys dating?” Jimin’s question is thrown with abandon, eyes trained on Jeongguk with absolute focus, Yoongi sending a glare toward the silver haired fiend. 

“No.” Jeongguk pays little mind to the question, too busy squeezing every last drop from the box clutched in his fist, doe eyes glistening with concentration. “We met last semester in lit and she’s really cool so we started hanging out. You guys should meet her sometime, she doesn’t have a lot of friends because of this dumb rumor that she’s ‘the misery chick’ which is ridiculous because she’s one of the nicest people I’ve met here.” 

“Yeah, you can bring her over any time.” Namjoon encourages, book lowered to the table, face scrunching in mental agony when he realizes the corner of his novel is soaked with the spill of orange juice. 

“She said she knows you from class Yoongi, but she doesn’t think you’d like her. I think you would though! Maybe you should try to talk to her next class.” 

“Yeah,” Yoongi readily agrees, new found vigor in his speech. “Maybe…” 

Over the next several weeks, Yoongi is sure that coincidence isn’t what found his stare locked to yours, Jeongguk’s overheard conversation clearly leaving your interest peaked about Yoongi who was forced to make his own gazes less frequent for fear of being caught. His first sighting after he floated the walls of his home like a ghost in haunt was next lecture. 

The nerves that ate at his skin the first instance of your curious scan was turned bearable by the itching of excitement to his every nerve, skin alight with the tango of possibility traversing his very being. His attention was wayward, standing at the head of the class, scooping the pages required for lecture from the overflowing desk, a minute ‘excuse me’ cutting through the thick of his cogged brain. 

“Yes?” Was his response, regurgitated dumbly despite the forming line waiting for him to budge to his waiting seat. 

“Uh...could I get by...papers.” He smiles, unintentional, but the effect is the duck of your head, refusal to meet his eyes under such a heated gaze. He’s left to stare a moment longer before the snag of his sleeve, Hoseok forcing him away, calming the mob of students too impatient to momentarily still for the fruition of his romantic interest. 

Lately, your exit from class seems somehow quicker than usual, the practiced haste too much for him to master, another obstacle to his formal introduction. Though it seems your professor can read the tension that hovers the expanse of the classroom, a thread itching to be linked by two lovers, one unknowing of the delicate pull she has on her soul suitor. 

“Okay!” The professor stands at the front of the room, barely holding the attention of the class, barely holding Yoongi’s attention until he speaks once more. “Instead of a formal midterm, I want you all to complete a joint essay, yes you heard me correctly! I want you to pair up and write an essay on the topic of your choosing—as long as that topic is related to the course.” 

Yoongi perks up, ignoring the telltale that Hoseok hopes to grab him as soon as the class is dismissed because Yoongi has a plan of his own. 

“Of course I won’t force you to choose a partner, I know some of you prefer to work alone. But no more than two people to a group. Now I can see that you’re all on the edge of your seats, but I’m feeling generous today, so you’re dismissed, but your pages are due on my desk beginning of class Monday!” The final words of the professor send the class into frenzy, those who were paying attention quick to grab hold of their half and those who weren’t suddenly catching up and scrambling for someone who’ll make do.

“Hey, we’re partners, right?” Hoseok looks at Yoongi hopeful, but Yoongi already has his sights set on you, watching everyone link up, resigned to working solo. 

“Nah, I’ve got another partner in mind if that’s okay with you.” Hoseok catches the drift rather quickly, wide smile forgoing slight disappointment at his loss of the sure A on his midterm. 

“Go for it,” Hoseok gives a light shove forward, much appreciated by Yoongi whose heart threatens to burst from his chest, sure that the nerves are painted on his face like a slice of Van Gogh. He’s just in time, your hands shoved into your pockets, ready to leave the suffocation of a space smothered in unwelcome. 

“Hey.” Yoongi can see the uncertainty, your eyes glancing to either side to ensure that he is certainly addressing you. 

“Hey…” 

“So, this midterm thing is kinda weird, right?” He can already see the snicker on Hoseok’s face, though his friend is posted at the door opposite him. Your own lips quirk, his only thought of coherency aimed at how cute the action is. You rock on your heels, he notes your style isn’t far off from the bones of Jeongguk, hoodie black and heavy boots ready to stomp through endless waves of the nauseating sea of university. 

“Yeah...I guess it’s a little unconventional. But great for people who get test anxiety,” You humor him, hands withdrawing from jeaned confines to gesture wildly to the room void of anyone but the three remaining vessels, two of which are engaged in unlikely exchange. “Did you need something?” 

“Huh?” 

“Sorry! I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a class to get to and I have a thing about being late. I figure there’s a reason you’re talking to me seeing as we’ve never actually talked before…” You catch yourself in ramble, tripping over phrases whilst Yoongi watches without missing a beat. 

He’s incredibly taken with the way the words flow without pretense, a nice change to the closed off demeanor people falsely associate with you. He would listen for a lifetime to the things you have to say, hopefully with the clasp of finger and longing glances. Your intent is nonsense, nerves eating away at the buds of your tongue. To him it’s a poetry specially curated, a tickle to his throat bringing forth the soft laughter that halts your speech. 

“I’m sorry, you go ahead I’m just...nervous.” 

“No no, don’t apologize, I like listening to you,” He coos when you smile, quick to recover before your eyes, wide and attentive find his own once more, now notably softer, safer. “I love your smile too…” 

“You’re not so bad yourself…” Soft spoken and not altogether sure is the way you speak, your class long forgotten, a blip in rear view shadowed by the shining beacon before you. “So…?”

“Right, right...I was just wondering if you’d maybe wanna work together?” Despite compliments and hinted flirtation you’re taken aback by the offer, your eyes skirting Yoongi completely, raising question to the figure station by the exit. Hoseok offers you a smile you can’t help but return his thumbs raising in the affirmative. 

“He’s all yours,” Hoseok assures, taking his leave prematurely, Yoongi still waiting for confirmation. 

“No pressure, just thought I’d ask. I think we’d work well together,” And I wanna know you, he withholds for fear of frightening you more so than the sudden acknowledgement already has.

“Well I don’t know about that, but yeah I’d love to if you’re sure.” 

“I’m positive. Wanna meet at my place after school?” 

“Sounds good.” You pull your phone swiping at the screen before passing it over. “Just text me when you’re free.” 

“I’ll text the address,” He knows it’s unnecessary, just taking precautions to shield from the admission of his eavesdrop the last time you occupied the residence. You wait until you’re once again clutching the spherical confines of your devices, checking and double checking that all digits are present, not unfamiliar with the harsh reality of falsehood buried beneath genuine interest.

“Oh, I actually know where you live. My friend Jeongguk is one of your roommates, so I know my way.” 

“Well I’m sorry we’ve missed each other, that it took me so long to say hello.” Yoongi’s legs lead him half a step closer, an accidentally purposeful close of the gap between, your eyes avoid the bottom half of his face, focusing instead on the bill of his cap and the dark hair tickling the edges. 

“Guess you’ll just have to make up for it somehow.” 

“Guess I will.” 

Your visits to Yoongi are routine over the next week, the laughter filling the hectic halls caused by him rather than his roommates. He’s seen more of you in a week than he could’ve hoped in a lifetime, even more confused about the way you’ve been outcast by a majority of your major. He’s awed by your lack of reaction to the judgement of peers, often citing it as a joke, sarcasm lacing the words. 

It’s the day before assignment is due, you’re perched at Yoongi’s desk, he’s laying on his bed, tossing his basketball in mock free throw simultaneously with his toss of ideas while your fingers type vigorously in final draft. 

This particular evening leaves you alone with Yoongi, the other members of the house trying and failing to convince you to join for their weekly outing to the nearest bar where they would no doubt drink their weight to poorly prepare for the week to come. Yoongi was swift to opt out, much preferring your company to the stench of stale beer and jokes poorly executed by Jin after he downs his fifth shot. 

You were insistent that he let you handle the rest of the paper, just pages standing between you and your final product, but he’s too fond of the way your post-its decorate the shelf over his desk, different colored notes for every paragraph, the ink of your pens highlighting each point in magenta saturation. He’s obsessed with the way you hunch to close to the pages of your textbook while scolding him for getting too close to the screen of his laptop in the next breath. 

He can’t help the thought of what could be, close calls and a hair’s breadth stepping between you all week. It’s the price of seven roommates and a lock loosened with the jiggle of a handle. The hesitancy that still fills your pupils despite the easy way his words lace with genuine interest. 

Yoongi remembered what it was like to notice, deciding that it’s much better to experience you. The moment is delicate, your soft suggestions and argumentative replies tossed with a hint of tease lacing the bite of your tone. He doesn’t try to hide the smile that breaks the mold of his face, lips dampened by the press of gums prominent from healthy reach. 

“Can I ask you a question?” He raises, your fingers slowing against the keyboard, chair swiveling to offer full attention. “Does it bother you...the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?” 

He’s not sure what possesses it, but he is sure that knowing will make things easier, break a barrier that to him doesn’t exist. He knows your breath is baited, knows you’ve been waiting for the pull of the rug, so he offers a tug, a comforting teasing sort of thing to ease your mind and close the gap of misunderstanding that he could never blame you for. 

“Can I ask you a question? Do you believe the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?” You counter, scooting along hardwood until your knees are pressed to his mattress, sinking into the cushioned flesh as far as it allows. Your stare is careful, not expectant of the negative or offended by the positive. “It’s okay if you do, just don’t lie about it.” 

There's a sadness in your delivery and Yoongi notes it immediately. Your attempt to hide the twitch of your lip and the anxious fold of your hands in your lap don’t escape him. Your tone is even, your eyes much the same and he wonders how anyone could ever believe it, he’s grateful that he never did. 

“Not for a second.” He responds almost immediately, waiting for any lingering doubt on your end. It never comes.

“Good.” Is your reply, just as even as the question itself. Your shoulders relax, posture not as stiff as before. “It does bother me, not as much as it used to, but it does. It bothers me that they don’t like that I’m not like them. I don’t mean that in the whole ‘I’m not like other girls’ way, but I’m just not Cathy college, you know? I don’t get excited about parties and drinking, I don’t need to go out all the time to have fun, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you if you do, but I don’t and because I’m not like everyone else I have to be ‘the misery chick’.

He’s sure you don’t realize it, but Yoongi see’s the build of tears in your eyes, unshed but there and it breaks him. Breaks him that something so trivial could be the defining factor of someone’s experience, that you can hide it so well at the cost of your own happiness.

“I mean, it’s college, you’d think that people have better things to do than come up with reasons to ridicule someone, but I guess I have too much faith.” You finish, glancing up to find Yoongi all ears, lips etched in frown. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for all of that.” 

“People suck.” Is all he says, hand extending toward you, inviting you to join him on his island, silent but sure. You crawl the length of the mattress, your back pressing the headboard, fingers laced with his own, warm and sweaty from nerves, yours or his neither of you are sure. 

“People do suck.” 

“I know what’ll make you feel better.” He offers, thumb running along the jagged edges of your knuckle, skin kissing skin. You lift your head, half leaning on his shoulder so your eyes meet, a reflection of picture perfect, a record in perfect sync. 

“Yeah?” 

“You should go out with me.” Yoongi doesn’t expect a snort, but the response is exactly what he receives your head averting to conceal your laughter, hands shielding your face from the expanse of an ego deflated by the graze of your accidental needle. “Why are you laughing?” 

“No I’m not—I just—you’ve been looking at me like I’m completely insane all semester! I didn’t think you liked me, I thought you were looking right through me...I kinda thought you were just coming to class high every day.” 

“I don’t even smoke, those were not the eyes of a stoner, they were the eyes of a man who’s very fond of you.” Yoongi defends his position, his usually dormant stare now bugged to exaggeration, unavailable for serious consideration. 

“My mistake, though I don’t know whether to be weirded out or completely flattered.” 

“You better be so flattered that I can see hearts in your eyes because you were pretty quick to agree to be my partner for this project!” Yoongi keeps the charade, glad to lighten the tension and draw from the heaviness of the previous conversation. It’s not a chapter that’s closed, but the beginning is the build and he’s planning an entire novel with you, so he figures his time isn’t limited by the tick of a clock nearing the midnight hour. 

“I heard I’ve got a sure ‘A’  and I’d be an idiot to pass that up.” 

“You could get a passing grade in your sleep, you can’t fool me. But you can go on a date with me.”

“So you, cool guy Min Yoongi, want to go on a date with me, ‘the misery chick’?” You gasp, hand clutched to your chest, Yoongi’s hand catching hold and bringing it to his own, to the beat of his heart, the bass begging for a melody that only you can satisfy. 

“More than anything.” 

“Well when you put it that way I have no choice but to say yes, but to be clear, I’ve definitely seen you looking at Hoseok with that same look in your eyes so you might wanna sort some stuff out first—”

[universitypenguin]

Is there any sort of ETA on the next chapter of Restitution? That cliffhanger still has me shook!!!!!! 😍😍😍😍

I am writing it, I promise!

At the moment I’m really wrapped up in stupid stuff like grad school, which has proven more challenging and time consuming than I had anticipated. Finishing Restitution is my top priority. I will also be completing the last eight letters of the Alphabet Series as soon as I am able.

Thank you for caring about the story and I’m definitely going to pull it over the finish line soon. (Also: there will be assorted drabbles after Restitution ends. One-shots of our quartet, historic content of Duchess and Andy, that sort of thing.)

Below the cut, more details about my personal drama, all because of a 57 year old Norwegian chemist who likes to grade free response tests! Love that for me… not! 😭

So much drawing. I hate drawing. Ugh. In regards to Restitution, the next chapter is half written and depending on how tomorrow goes, I could finish it. I also need to edit the extraneous parts out and peel some of the exposition into dialogue and what not. What’s been interfering with my writing is that some of my questions take more than an hour to answer. I’m so eager to be done with this.

My top priority is to finish Restitution and then get around to the final eight letters of our Alphabet Series. What I have planned for “R is for Risk” is awesome. At the moment it only exists in my head because I haven’t had time to write at all. (Fun fact, the last chapter of Restitution was written when our software at work went down yesterday. That’s literally the only free time I’ve had. Which is a surprise to me, because school has never been this time consuming. But graduate vs. undergraduate coursework is a beast of a different color. Who knew?)

My final is on the 17th and after that I’ll be free! For the next seven days I’m locking my doors and muting my phone and taking a deep dive into hydroxide ion promoted hydrolysis reactions. Plus all the other stuff I’m supposed to comprehend by now but uh… 🤪 Send thoughts and prayers. (Jk, I’m sure God’s like, girl, that’s a you problem. You did this to yourself. Leave me out of it.)

You can expect to see more of me after next week, contingent on my survival. My professor is this older Norwegian chemist who likes to tortures my class with tests he clearly authors in the seventh ring of hell, with Lucifer advising him. You think I’m joking, but last time he asked “Explain different ways you could synthesize succinic anhydride,” and then gave us a blank page to write out the reaction steps. He didn’t even describe the molecule we were supposed to be making! No other words, not even a hint, nothing. I miss multiple choice tests during undergraduate. Those things you could just waltz through if you understood enough to eliminate the bad answers. Graduate level has definitely been an *experience* (GIF below reflects my verbatim thoughts during recent lectures.)

If I had anticipated what I’d be going through right now, I would have wrapped up Restitution several weeks ago. But the beginning of the semester was deceptively easy.

(Also, yes, I’m trigger warning this post as chemistry. Just in case someone on my dash sees the homework and gets re-traumatized. I feel their pain.)

[just-a-poor-boy-queen]

To the anon who requested the school prompts; I attempted to write something about a parent-teacher meeting, but I couldn’t come up with a believable way for both Freddie and Jim to attend, given that Freddie would draw way too much attention. I hope you don’t mind if I skip that one. Here’s your request for Freddie picking up Khaleel from school!

Part 36 of Jimercury Kid series

‘Fucking vultures.’ Freddie muttered under his breath, as he sat with Kashmira in her car and observed the small group of journalists who had gathered at the corner of the street opposite Khaleel’s school.

They always hung around there, holding out hope that the little boy might walk through the gates, and they would finally be able to snap a picture of his face to put on the front page of their shitty tabloids. But they were wasting their time. Special arrangements had been made to ensure that Khaleel always exited the school from the back of the building, where Jim or Terry would be waiting to pick him up. By the time the vermin from News of the World had set up their cameras, their target was long gone.

The school run was something that Freddie had always longed to be involved in. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he just couldn’t help it. He wanted to be able to sit in the car and wait for his little boy to come bouncing through the back doors and into his arms. He wanted to help Khaleel put his seatbelt on and laugh when the child insisted he was a big boy and could do it himself. He wanted to sit in the passenger seat, Khaleel’s bookbag and lunchbox balanced on his lap while his bijou excitedly chatted away about what he got up to in class that day, while Jim turned on the radio and made faces at their son through the rear-view mirror.

He wanted to do what every other parent did. But he couldn’t, because he knew wherever he went the paparazzi would be hot on his tail. All sorts of rumours were still circulating in the press about Kenny’s origins. Some still believed he was the secret lovechild of Freddie and Mary, others reported that he was the result of a one-night stand with a fan and perhaps the worst was a statement made by an anonymous “inside source,” who claimed Freddie had purchased him from the Middle East for over fifty million Indian rupees.

He had resigned himself to the reality that there were some things in Khaleel’s life that he would just have to miss out on. Like end-of-year plays, and parent-teacher meetings, and taking the boy to and from school.

That was until Kash had came up with a rather genius idea.

Freddie’s private car would be easily noticed by the paparazzi. But hers wouldn’t.

‘There he goes.’ Freddie said as the Volvo in front of them pulled away from the pavement and began driving towards the back entrance of the school. ‘Be ready, Kash.’

‘Feels like bloody Mission Impossible.’ Kash laughed, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. ‘I don’t know how you put up with this every day. Why didn’t you just save yourself the trouble and stick to painting?’

Freddie chuckled despite himself. ‘Sometimes I wonder.’

He was glad they could still have conversations like this. They had briefly fallen out of contact after the whole ordeal with social services, but Freddie quickly realised that Kashmira wasn’t the one at fault and she had proved her loyalty to him by telling the truth. Even if they weren’t children anymore, defying their parents was no easy feat and poor Kash was withstanding the worst of the fallout.

‘How are they?’ Freddie asked quietly, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear him. But he should have known better; nothing got past his sister.

‘Not good.’ She replied, still looking out towards the road. ‘They keep asking after you, wanting to know if you’re alright. They ask about Khaleel a lot as well. I never know what to say.’

Freddie felt his jaw clench instinctively. ‘Tell them the truth. It’s been two years and he still has nightmares about what happened. He’s still scared to be left alone and can’t stand to be away from us for too long. It was months before he would go into school without clinging to Jim and begging him not to leave. Dr Atkinson says it may affect him for the rest of his life. You tell them that next time they have the nerve to ask you how Khaleel is doing.’

Kash sighed, glancing down at her hands which were gripping the steering wheel. ‘They really regret what they did, Freddie.’

Freddie rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t start, Kash. If you expect me to forgive them-’

‘No, I don’t.’ His sister cut in, her voice eerily calm. ‘If they had done that to Nathalie and Jamal, I wouldn’t forgive them either. I’m not questioning your decision. I just…’ her hands tightened around the wheel a moment as she lost herself in thought, ‘…I need you to know that they’re truly sorry. I know their apologies mean nothing at this point, but they’re not trying to justify their decisions anymore. They’ve accepted that they did a terrible thing and brought everything that’s happened upon themselves. They’re not asking for forgiveness; they just need you to know that they realise they were wrong.’

Freddie hadn’t anticipated such an answer. He was dumbstruck for a moment, tongue retreating behind his teeth as he allowed her words to sink in. As much as he would deny it, there was still a part of him that longed for the company of his mother and father again; he still found himself lingering by the phone on occasion, half hoping they might call or listening for the buzz of the intercom in case they decided to drop by. Knowing that they were truly sorry didn’t make the pain go away but it did give him an odd sense of comfort.

Before he could respond, he saw the Volvo pulling out onto the road ahead, slowly turning the corner until it was out of sight.

‘Here we go.’ A grin spread across Kash’s face as she belted herself in. ‘Keep your head down.’

Freddie ducked out of view as they passed the huddle of reporters, raising his hand to flip them off before sitting up straight in his seat while Kash cackled like a hyena. They drove up the street and turned the corner where the Volvo was sitting waiting for them.

‘Thank you, Kash.’ Freddie said gently, knowing they only had a limited amount of time before the rest of the students came pouring out onto the street. The last thing he needed was to be chased by a gang of schoolchildren at his age. ‘For this, and for telling me how Mama and Papa are. I appreciate it.’

Kashmira smiled at him, though it looked rather strained. ‘You’re welcome.’ Then she added, almost nervously. ‘You know I love you, right?’

‘Yes.’ Freddie replied, voice almost catching in his throat. ‘I know. I love you too.’

He opened the car door and went to step out, glancing over at the Volvo where Khaleel was sitting in the backseat, bouncing excitedly at the sight of his Baba. Freddie hesitated a moment, before turning to Kash again. ‘Why don’t you and Roger come over for dinner tonight? Bring the kids with you?’

Kashmira’s dark eyes batted in surprise, but she didn’t look displeased. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Jim’s making shepherd's pie tonight and he always makes too much, so…’ He shrugged in a rather lukewarm effort to display indifference, when in fact his heart was hammering painfully. To his relief, Kash smiled.

‘That sounds perfect. I’d love to come.’

‘About six ’clock?’

‘We’ll be there.’

Freddie nodded, the tightness in his chest finally ceasing to be. He wandered if he should embrace her, but decided he wasn’t quite ready for that step and simply said, ‘see you later,’ before shutting the door and making his way over to the Volvo.

‘Baba!’ Khaleel cried as soon as Freddie was near, and he rolled his window down so Freddie could poke his head through and start covering him in kisses. ‘You came, you came!’

‘Yes, I did!’ Freddie blew a raspberry into the child’s neck, making him squeal. ‘We better take you home and get your homework finished – Auntie Kash and your cousins are coming over for dinner.’

Khaleel’s blue-green eyes went wide with joy. ‘Are Dādī and Dādā coming too?’

Freddie’s smile disappeared and he briefly made eye contact with Jim, before saying, ‘I’m sorry, darling. Dādī and Dādā are very busy.’

Khaleel crossed his arms and pouted, ‘they’re always busy.’

‘I know…’ That familiar tightness returned to Freddie's chest, squeezing until it almost hurt to breathe. ‘But let’s not think about that now. Daddy’s making shepherd’s pie, and if you finish your homework on time, you can help him stir the pot.’

This seemed to put the boy in good spirits again and he spent the majority of the car ride chatting away to Freddie about his day as Jim drove them home, careful to keep themselves scarce from any prying eyes. When Khaleel eventually trailed off and turned his attention to the contents of his bookbag, Jim glanced at his husband in the passenger seat and murmured, ‘are you sure you’re okay having Kash over tonight?’

Freddie took a deep breath, staring out the window at the people passing by, not really caring if he was recognised. ‘I can hardly go about the rest of my life pretending she doesn’t exist.’

When this didn’t earn the chuckle he had anticipated, he sighed. ‘None of this is Kash's fault. I know she could have told me sooner about Mama and Papa calling social services, but what matters is that she did tell me. She chose me over them, which must have been the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. I’ve already lost most of my family, I don’t need to lose anymore. It's time to make peace.’

Jim nodded wordlessly, reaching over and gently grasping Freddie’s hand. ‘I’m really proud of you, sweetheart.’

Freddie lifted the Irishman's hand to kiss his knuckles. ‘Thank God somebody is, darling.’

This was a perfect mix of sweet and angsty. Lol at the beginning I thought it'll be about our dads picking their baby up from school and being all cute and adorable, then BAM, came the angst. But I absolutely loved it!

Someone recently asked in the notes of one your drabbles about any lingering trauma that Khaleel feels at this point in the series. I think they've got their answer now. It's plausible really, for a child to experience the after-effects of being so harshly separated from his parents. I can only imagine how painful it must've been for the real Freddie to be isolated from his parents at such a young age. Poor baby.

I am glad Kash and Freddie are mending their relationship. I often get the feeling that Kash was never too involved in Freddie's life, but had Freddie survived his illness, it's possible that they may have grown closer. In the context of what has happened in this universe specifically, it'll be a while before they're completely comfortable with each other. But I am glad that Freddie is making an effort.

The end was so sweet, my heart. The perfect end to all the angst💙

(More drabbles by writer anon)

(All the parts of this series can also be found under the tag #freddie and jim and their baby on this blog)

[feeling-weirdy]

I loved your Halloween fic!!!!

Would you consider writing a follow up where Wanda and Vision finally get to walk down the yellow brick road 😉😉 once trick or treating is done and the kids are asleep? Maybe they have to take a shower to get all the makeup and stuff off???

Love everything you write!!!

Make sure you check out part 1 first!

Explicit for suuuuure

"Looks like the kids are down for the count. I never thought a sugar crash would be our saving grace, but there you have it."  Vision plopped himself on the bed, straw pieces littering the bed with every movement.  He and his costume had been positively spent and he found himself no longer caring where the bits of his costume fell.  “The night is officially over.” 

Wanda came in from the bathroom, meticulously removing both of her earrings with a thoughtful glance.  "That wasn't too bad now was it?"

"You do have to admit...”  Vision grunted softly, pushing himself up so that he was leaning on his elbows against the bed.  “Your costumes are a bit...outdated."  His face scrunched at the word, his lips tugging outwards as his eyes scanned her perfect form.  The blue and white checkered pattern suited her quite nicely, a small slip of fabric hugging her waist together in a most delicious way that only stopped once it twisted around itself to form the bow that sat at the small of her back. 

"Outdated?”  She scoffed, making her way towards him.  Placing the earrings on the nightstand, she leaned over him and placed one delicate kiss on his lips.  “I think you look quite handsome if I do say so myself."

"Mm, thank you, darling."  As she pulled back, he followed her sneaking in one last kiss before she stood up straight. “Yours is definitely worth all the fuss.  I think I could get used to seeing you in little numbers like that.”

“Oh yeah?”  She giggled, sauntering toward the bathroom with exaggerated movements. Her hips swung back and forth as she peered over at him with a loving glance. "Maybe you should help me get this little number off then. Find something else you'd enjoy more?" Wanda leaned against the bathroom door, daring him to follow after her with teasing eyes.

Vision cocked his head to the side, a knowing smile gracing his lips.

"Pretty sure we're supposed to follow that yellow brick road, hm? You wouldn't want to keep me from finding my way home, would you Mr. Scarecrow?"

Vision chuckled, pushing himself to his feet as he closed the distance between them. "I'm pretty sure we can drop all that, yeah? Maybe it's not quite as sexy as I thought it was." Slipping his hand around her waist, he used his right to trace the edge of her jaw, pulling her lips up to meet his.

"Worth a shot." Wanda shrugged, grinning up at him. "Maybe we should just...take this off and put things back in order."

"I think that would be for the best."

They kept their eyes locked on each other. Wanda reached around her back, slowly undoing the bow that kept her little dress tight around her body. She turned, silently asking for help with the zipper. Vision complied, brushing her hair out of the way as he steadily pulled the zipper all the way down her back.

Slipping his hands beneath the fabric, he ran his cool digits along her skin, tracing the indentation of her back until he reached her shoulders. He flicked the straps off of her shoulders allowing the entirety of the dress to fall to the floor, revealing her voluptuous body.

He allowed his fingers to explore her skin, tracing over the patterns of her black bra. With a soft sigh, she turned in his arms, stretching her arms around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss.

"No fair," she breathed against him, peering down at his still clothed body.

Vision laughed. " I wouldn't even know where to begin to take this thing off."  He raised his arms slightly, feeling as if he had been sewn inside this blasted thing, and as the person who did the sewing, she knew full well what she had done.

"Can't you just...?"  Wanda's eyebrows danced, moving in all sorts of directions in implication. "Plus...you gotta change...all that anyway." She circled her finger around his face, a dazzling smile crossing her face.  "If I'm going to make love to my husband then I'm going to make love to my husband."

"Ah...right." His human disguise dissipated, giving way to the reddish-purple tint of his normal outward appearance. Changing forms gave himself the opportunity to shed his costume, leaving him in nothing but his black boxers. His wife gazed up at him, her approval evident.

“Much better...”  

Vision set to work where he left off earlier in the night, peppering kisses along the nape of her neck.  Teasing his cool fingers along the sides of bare skin, eliciting all sorts of sighs and squeaks as he made his way around her body.  He could feel Wanda’s warm fingers make their way along his hard chest, the temperature difference sending shivers through his very core.  Soft moans escaped her lips, nagging him on until it was his tongue trailing along her soft, delicate skin.  While he couldn’t taste in the same way a human could, he could still feel the metallic tang rest along his tongue.  He could take in her heat if nothing else, only growing more pronounced as he made his desires known.

Not allowing himself to rush, Vision took his time as he worked his way up her neck drawing out all sorts of delicious noises from Wanda’s lips as she wrapped her arms around him.  Her fingertips scraping along the sensitive part at the base of his neck only driving him mad.

Finally making his way to her mouth, Vision crashes his lips to her, his hand trailing back down to the tip of her waist as she pressed against him.  The passion between them built by the moment, pulling each other closer until air no longer existed between them.

Wanda hops and wraps her legs around his waist and he carries her to the bed, stripping off her panties in one quick motion.  She arched her back, hurriedly removing her bra, never breaking their kiss as he climbs on top of her.  Tossing her underwear to the side, she allowed her fingers to explore his body once more, reaching down to tease him through his boxers.  A powerful feeling exploded within him as she ran a finger along his cock, coaxing him forward.

Happily obliging, Vision pressed himself against her center, teasing the folds with the bulge keeping them apart.  The feeling of her warmth against his swollen muscle drew him, easily phasing through the last of his clothes until he was completely engulfed within her.

Despite her attempts to keep herself quiet, Wanda’s whines dripped from her lips unashamed as he buried himself within her.  She bit her bottom lip, digging her fingernails into the plates on his back as she braced herself for the friction that built up between them.

He kept a steady rhythm, her warmth drawing him deeper as he gripped the sheets beneath them.  Wanda traced her fingers along his cheeks, pulling him down for another hungry kiss.

They moved together, keeping a uniformed pace as he closed the distance between them again and again.

Vision could feel as she reached her climax, her walls tensing against his member as she tried desperately to keep herself quiet for their children’s sake.  She never could quite get that right, though they had been lucky those same children were hard sleepers.  He hurried his pace, hoping to help her along as she fell over the edge.

Her breathing staggered, her heart rate increased as she began to convulse, biting her bottom lip to keep herself from screaming as he chased his own release.  Vision was never far behind, her soft and desperate expressions only pushing him faster towards his own convulsions.  

His systems erupted with pleasure as his programming replicated the experience of an orgasm.  The intense feeling overtook him, squeezing his eyes tight as he allowed it to wash over him.  Wanda’s fingers danced along his arms, determined to catch her breath as his movements slowed.

Vision kept himself towered over her as she caught her breath.  She leaned her head back for a moment, sweat peppering her brow.  “Now we’re definitely going to need a shower.  Care to join me?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Vision answered, pressing his lips hard against hers one last time into a deep kiss.  Even after all this time together, her kisses sent electricity throughout his entire system.  They spent a moment just absorbing each other in a truly blissful, happy moment.  With a smile and a quick kiss on the nose, Vision pulled away from her as she giggled beneath him.

Following her to the bathroom, the two spent the night consumed with one another.

Check out my other drabbles here or feel free to request some!

[sarahalders]

stay wild at heart / know the end is near

A/N: After watching the finale, I felt that Sarah hesitated when Tally offered herself as as Biddy because she didn't want Tally to have to make that sacrifice. This drabble sort of explores that, and explores this new connection that the two of them share as they both navigate their mutual grief after they return to Fort Salem. So much is still unknown about Sarah and the Biddies and the nature of their linking, so a lot of this is just my interpretation of it! I can't claim credit for the idea of a whiskey cellar on base: that goes completely to the incomparable Lyne Renee, who mentioned it as a personal headcanon in a Q&A on Tumblr! I loved the idea so much that it was partly what inspired me to write this fic. Title is from the song "WLCM" by Lydia Ainsworth.

When you arrive back at base, tired and tattered and full up of nothingness, you and the others follow Tally to her old room and watch her collect her things.

It feels eerily like a funeral; and in a way, it is.

This is the death of Tally Craven.

It’s one you’ve witnessed hundreds of times, in hundreds of haunted faces just like hers. Some were called happily, like Devon. Some were called in the desperation of battle, like Tally. But they were all the same to you -- all daughters whose lives were cut unforgivably short for the sole purpose of extending yours. The life that you were only living, now, to serve this great nation that was equal parts eager and unwilling to let you go. You’ve borrowed more lifetimes than you can remember and it never gets any easier, adding to your own personal death count in the service of this country that only allows you and your kind to exist within the confines of the military. This country that still, after all these centuries, seeks to control you, to use you, to mold and shape and brand you into the face of all its victories and all its failures (anyone who looks at you and sees a choice made willingly three hundred years ago isn’t paying close enough attention). You’ve forgotten how it must feel to have a life with any sort of meaning -- a life that means anything at all beyond what it can provide for America, for the world at large. Whether as a hero or as someone to blame.

But this kind of thinking leads to despair, and despair is not a thing that you are allowed to feel. It comes to you, always, when you accept a new Biddy into the fold: and, always, you swallow it whole before it can swallow you.

“I want to be alone right now,” Tally tells you, and the broken desperation in the sound of her voice (as familiar to you as it is forbidden) is enough to remind you of where you are, what is expected of you, and what duty Tally will soon learn she now must share with you and with the others for the rest of her life.

“There is no ‘alone’ anymore, Craven,” you respond quietly. You feel the heaviness in the truth of those words now more than ever as the faces of the Camarilla appear in your mind, the profane storms they sang into being, the nightmarish weapons they unleashed to announce their unthinkable return.

You should have seen it coming. They’d been the only constant in your life since you were a child and you were arrogant to assume you’d ever be rid of them (you wonder if one could ever exist without the other -- the hunter and the hunted, the power and the powerless). That arrogance had cost you more than just your own pride, but regret was too powerful an emotion to allow yourself to feel now. You siphon it away along with the despair, the emptiness, the nothingness, the numbness coming off Tally in waves, refusing to allow it to take root in the bottom of your gut. Refusing to feel, always. Always.

Tally is silent and sedate, weighted and slowed by the sudden and unexpected burden of your years, which makes it easier to catch her gaze fixed on the quilt draped over Private Collar’s bed. A flash of something like anger, something like pity, whistles through you, and for a moment you’re unsure if it’s hers or yours.

“What will happen to their things?” Tally asks you, and it’s the first time she’s looked you in the eye for hours. “I would take this, but I don’t imagine it will pass inspection where I’m going,” she adds, ruefully.

“It shouldn’t have passed inspection here,” you tell her, matter-of-factly. It’s presence in this room is a side-effect of Anacostia’s blind eye, undoubtedly. “Any possessions left behind by Private Bellweather or Private Collar will be returned to their families. If,” you begin after a pause, a little softer, “there is something particular that you would like to take with you, I will not object. Especially something that should have been disposed of during inspection.” Before Tally can thank you, you add, “But there is a place for such things, and it will not be in your new suite. Come.”  

She follows you wordlessly out of the room and you can feel her confusion as if it were your own. You ignore it. You’re uncertain why you even offered this in the first place. Perhaps it’s because it’s the right thing to do, as Anacostia might say -- perhaps Tally’s sacrifice to you warrants a sacrifice of your own in kind. Or perhaps it is an unwelcome side-effect of the weakness you always feel when your lives are passed between daughters, made even more acute by the particular poignancy of Tally’s unique sacrifice (one made with more honor than you would have ever dreamt a cadet capable of).

The walk to the edge of Fort Salem is a slow and silent one, but one you’ve been making for hundreds of years to this very particular spot, tucked away behind a hill. You lead Tally and the others round to the other side of the incline where a pair of worn, wooden doors sits almost hidden in the overgrowth of grass and ivy. When you turn to your daughters they understand that all but you and Tally must remain outside (a distant mirroring of a similar scene some fifteen years ago when you brought Anacostia here for the first time -- another consequence of unwanted sentimentality).

“What is this?” Tally asks, disbelief etched into her face as the doors shut behind the two of you and you are alone in the dimness of the cellar. “This has been here the whole time?”

“A hobby of mine,” you confess, nodding at the rows and rows of kegs revealed in the muted lighting, stacked carefully against cobblestone walls that you laid yourself -- stone by stone -- over two hundred years ago. “I’ve been known to espouse the belief that whiskey is the one thing civilians got right.” You watch Tally as she takes in the scene unfolding around her, connecting dots that she never even knew were there. “Of course, I made it better,” you cannot stop yourself from adding, the barest suggestion of humor touching your tone. “Some might say.”

“You come here to drink?” Tally asks and accuses at the same time, clutching Collar’s blanket like a Cession churchgoer might clutch a string of pearls.

“To drink,” you concede, glancing purposefully at the blanket, “and to feel.”

Tally begins to crumble as she understands what exactly it is you are giving her -- sharing with her -- and the moisture shining in her eyes has as much to do with grief as it does gratitude. The link between you vibrates with the force of it and you find that moisture gathering at the corners of your own eyes as a result. You would normally blink it away but here, in this place, you allow yourself the privilege of feeling its presence.

“My daughters exercise control over their emotions. Master them, just as I have. Just as you will,” you tell her, not ungently. “But this place is sacred. This place does not have the watchful eyes of our sisters, nor the expectations of our country. Here,” you begin, reaching for two glasses from a cabinet carved into the wall, “we are who we are, without the pressure of who we have to be.”

Tally is soundless as she watches you fill the glasses with the sparkling amber liquid. When you offer her a glass she takes it slowly, reluctant to let go of Collar’s blanket even with just one hand.

“To honor,” you say, proposing a toast. “To duty. To sacrifice.”

“To wasted potential,” Tally adds, bitterly, and you feel that fire igniting within her again because it ignites within you, now, too.

“To wasted potential,” you echo, darkly, and drink.

When both your glasses are drained, you lead Tally through the maze of kegs to an aged door at the farthest corner of the cellar. “The others have seen this place in the shared space of our minds, but none have entered.” You tell her this because you want her to understand your sacrifice. You want her to understand this piece of privacy that none -- not even Anacostia -- have been invited to share. Tally Craven has placed an incredible amount of trust in you in an act of ultimate selflessness and bravery and it is your heart (ancient and broken and held together by obligation as it is) that tells you that she is the only witch worthy of an offering in return.

(You owe her nothing, you remind yourself: even as you feel the untruth in it, even as you open the door.)

It is a small and dusty room with a wooden table and chair positioned at its center. There are boxes and weapons and articles of clothing neatly lining the room’s perimeter, but Tally’s attention is immediately called to the table. On the table is a box, and in the box is, “All that is left of my sister,” you supply for Tally, her power of Knowing all but erased when her identity was partially absorbed into you (wasted potential, the memory of her toast echoes unbidden through your mind). “The only thing they couldn’t burn.”

Tally enters the room with a silent reverence, the tears carving paths down her pallid cheeks a mixture of hers and your own. “I see it,” she tells you, delicately. “Somehow, I see it.” A pentagram necklace, one that, thanks to the link between your minds, Tally can see -- can feel. You stand motionlessly as she draws nearer to you, as the memories continue to unfold one after another and she’s saying, “There are other things here. Other tokens. This is -- ” she falters, looks up at you, “ -- this is how you keep them alive. Everyone. Everyone that you’ve lost over the centuries. It’s a graveyard. No, no,” she stops, correcting herself, “it’s a memorial.”

“It is both,” you confirm. “It is also the safest place for the token that you carry. I cannot promise that you will be given access to this room again, but you can rest assured that here, not only will it be safe,” you promise her, solemnly, “it will also be in the most hallowed company.”

“You’ve lost everyone,” Tally whispers. “I can see them all, feel them all. How do you do it? How do you -- how do you make it go away? How do you -- stop feeling it?”

“You don’t,” you tell her, without hesitation. “You feel it and you turn those feelings into actions, and you turn those actions into honor. And you make damn sure,” you say, with a sudden, fierce intensity, “that you are worthy of carrying that honor in their name. Always.”

Tally’s eyes shine with a renewal of purpose at the mention of honor (just as you knew they would) and she hands you the quilt, nodding her consent for you to find a place for it within the room. “Thank you,” she murmurs, “for showing me how to keep her memory safe.”

“Thank you,” you answer, “for your sacrifice.”

“It is my honor.”

“No,” you correct, “it is mine.”

It will be a new challenge, you realize, and perhaps your greatest yet. One that you will face for the rest of your life.

To be worthy of that honor.

To be worthy of Tally Craven’s sacrifice.

[panlight]

You express pretty much ALL the frustrations I have with the franchise. Amazing characters that were not explored, plot lines that destroyed things that were previously built, etc etc. So with this lasting disappointment what do u think the fandom has to look forward to? I’ve dreamed of a tv series (Netflix/hbo type) that goes into the cullens backstories and also just the general universe before E/B. Volturi! Have u written/plan to write/colab any BD alternative stories?

I would love a TV show that gave other characters room to breathe and/or existed as a prequel. Part of me is skeptical that it would do well without E/B since they were the focus of almost all of the hype original (understandably), but I think certainly now with the ~Renaissance there’s enough interest in the other characters and their backstories that it might draw a large enough audience, and Edward at least would appear in some prequel stuff. I’m much less interested in anything post-BD.  Renesmee just does nothing for me.  Usually I get really invested in parent/kid stuff but she was just so weird and everything happened so fast that I wasn’t really able to connect to her or relate to her as a cute little kid at all. She honestly kind of creeped me out, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing but it didn’t jibe with the tone of ‘save this precious innocent child at all costs.’ I think my favorite BD alternatives involve some kind of ‘cure’ for vampirism. I honestly thought that’s where things might go with Bella’s bite from James, like being exposed to venom but not changing into a vampire might work a little like a vaccine and make her immune to vampire venom so she couldn’t ever be turned no matter how much she wanted it. Then E/B have a REAL dilemma. The problem in the books isn’t insurmountable. Bella WANTS to become a vampire, Edward is just reluctant to do it. But that’s … not that big of a problem. If Bella DIDN’T want to become a vampire or COULDN’T become a vampire, THEN it’s a big problem. Then I was thinking maybe they could use Bella’s blood to create some kind of cure for vampirism, which raises all sorts of interesting issues.  How many of the Cullens would actually want to take it? Would any of the couples be on opposite sides of the issue? How would they hide this from the Volturi? Would other vampires want to take it, or would they see a cure as a weapon? How/when would the Volturi find out? Would Bella be in danger because of what her blood can do, and would the Cullens have to stay vampires to protect her? Hell, she and Edward could even have a normal baby this way if he took the cure, even if it were only temporary. I have written a little on this idea:If Bella were immune to vampire venomQuality over quantity  (this one goes with the assumption all the Cullens would take it, which I don’t necessarily think they would, but for the sake of what I was trying to say with the drabble it was just easier to go that route. If I wrote a longer fic I’d handle it differently). 

[crystaljins]

He’s pretending.

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: Jimin hates you. He loathes you with everything he is. That’s why he thinks about you so much- not because you’re sweet and pretty and kind or anything ridiculous like that. Not at all. Enemies-to-lovers(ish) drabble. Daemon!Jimin x Faerie!Reader. 

Notes: I’m not actually sure what this is. I guess it’s kinda a drabble? I don’t really have plans to continue it, or anything like that. I just wanted to write it, so I did. Maybe you can think of it like a draft? Anyway, regardless of what it is, I hope you enjoy it!

“Jimin, I know you would literally rather die than see her but I really think you need to see the on-duty healer.” Taehyung says, his brows knitted together in distress.

“It’s just a scratch.” Jimin grits out, even though his flesh is literally sizzling where the blacksilver knife had sliced through it like butter. It was foul play, for his opponent to use the one material in the world that could pierce his daemon flesh in what was supposed to be a sparring session for educational purposes only. A bruise or two was meant to be the most severe injury. It is why the trainee in question is currently facing retribution for their dangerous and malicious actions.

But that still leaves Jimin to deal with the repercussions of said actions. Which means gritting his teeth and hobbling towards the room where you are currently the on-site nurse for any injuries. It’s laughable that he, commander of the king’s army and right-hand man to the king himself, has been so severely injured by a mere trainee. And one who had employed cowardly methods to save their nonexistent pride, at that. And the fact that you are the healer on duty to witness him in such a state is rubbing salt in Jimin’s wounds.

“I think the fact that your veins are literally turning black from poison suggests it’s more than a scratch.” Taehyung offers timidly. “You… you don’t have to talk to her or anything. Just… just get healed and go.”

Jimin holds back a scoff partly because he wants to convince himself that you aren’t worth a scoff and partly because the motion of an exhale will cause him an excruciating amount of pain. But getting healed by you is never as simple as “just getting healed and going”. No, as a Faerie, your healing doesn’t involve just spells or salves or ointment like a witch or Druid would use. It involves sharing your essence with him- it involves your magic washing through his veins. He remembers the one and only time he has been healed by you (and for a wound much smaller than this and one that required far less of your magic to heal). He does not like to recall the way he could feel your presence from the centre of his being to his fingertips. Every time he had used his magic that week he could feel the faint pulse of yours behind it like the way sugar clings the corners of his mouth when he’s had a sweet. The experience had left him tense and on edge all week and it is not something he wishes to repeat. You are on his mind enough without your magic pulsing through his veins.

“I’m fine.” He all but snaps, desperate to avoid going to you even though he knows he’ll regret snapping at Taehyung later. But he can’t and won’t see you. Oh, how he loathes you with the very fibre of his being. His blood boils beneath his skin when he sees you, or senses the airy, light feeling of your Faerie magic coming around the corner. It’s not because you are special, though. No, it runs in his blood to hate you- Daemon and Faeries have been sworn enemies since the dawn of their species.

Admittedly, and this is the part that confuses a simple Druid like Taehyung, you do not confine yourself to the societal norms that Jimin clings desperately to. It would be so much simpler if you did, though. If only you acted like the Faerie he expects you to be. Then he could forget your existence and loathe you from a distance. Instead, for some reason, something other than condescension and a sense of superiority fuels your every move. It can be seen in your unusual decision to become a healer rather than a combatant. Had you joined the army you would no doubt be one of the king’s most trusted and capable commanders and one of Jimin’s biggest rivals. But you had not, and instead you spend your time in the far corner of the palace, humming softly to yourself as you blended plants to make healing draughts and making up little rhymes to sing to the children who come to your infirmary from a scraped knee or elbow. And your unusual behaviour extends to him. You are nothing but sugar and sunshine towards him.

It is frustrating because it is some sort of plot, it must be! He does not know how you masked your magic so that rather than icy and intimidating, it is soft and gentle like milk as it pulses through the veins of whoever you are sharing your essence with to heal. But you must be secretly plotting for his demise. The fact that he can never get his mind off you is simply proof of the evil ploy. Why else does he find himself remembering the shape of your smile or the colour of your eyes at inopportune moments? You are clearly a master of manipulation. You have to be. For you are a Faerie and he is a Daemon. There is no way you could truly be as kind as sweet as you pretend to be. It simply cannot be.

And he does not have the capacity to hate you right now, weakened as he is. He would much rather retire to his quarters and allow his enhanced strength and healing abilities to purge the poison from his veins.

“I’ll just rest a little,” he groans, struggling to rise to his feet. He succeeds, somewhat, swaying from side to side on uneven legs and gritting his teeth against the wave of dizziness that floods his senses. “In��� my… own… room.” He gasps and then his effort is wasted for he crumbles to the ground once more. The only thing that stops him from smashing his face against hard tile is Taehyung catching him just in time.

“You’re going.” Taehyung says, sterner than Jimin has ever seen him. “I don’t care if I have to knock you out and drag you there. You’re getting healed before you die from blacksilver poisoning.”

And the next thing Jimin knows is that he’s being hauled through the corridors of the palace, closer and closer to the dreaded infirmary. The whole while, Taehyung grumbles beneath his breath.

“I can’t believe you’re so stubborn,” he complains, supporting almost all of Jimin’s weight with a surprising amount of strength. “You’d really rather go down in history as having died from a completely curable, minor toxin than be healed by (Y/N), the sweetest, kindest nurse this kingdom has ever seen.” The door approaches and Taehyung is still resentfully muttering to himself, oblivious to the doom that approaches. “I don’t even know why you hate her so much. If I didn’t know you I’d say you were Fated for each other because you could fit together so well.”

Jimin is too distracted to take note of Taehyung’s rambling. He’s trying to prepare himself for your presence. His body likes to warn him of the oncoming danger whenever an encounter with you approaches by flooding his stomach with butterflies and leaving his hands slick with cold sweat. The door creeps closer and with his enhanced hearing he can just make out the sounds of you tottering around inside, probably doing something wholesome like watering the little flower pots you keep on the windowsill of the infirmary. He can just feel the faint brush of your magic at this proximity, like a feather tickling his skin. It causes goosebumps to raise across his forearms and he suppressed a shiver. As he is dragged nearer and hope of escape diminishes, your presence grows stronger. Your magic seeps through the cracks beneath the door and soaks into his skin like warm water. It would almost be an enjoyable sensation if it wasn’t you causing it.

“(Y/N)!” Taehyung calls for you suddenly and Jimin flinches in surprise. Such a little movement is excruciating though and he doubles over- it is only the supportive arm Taehyung has around him that keeps Jimin from crumpling to the ground.

The door swings open and your eyes go wide as you take in the sight before you.

“Jimin!” You cry. You dart forward and crouch before him, taking stock of his injury. It is a neat, clean slice from a sword but the edges are blackened and necrotic and dark black veins creep out from it, up his ribs and across his stomach. Without thinking, you yank his shirt upwards to examine the extent of his wound.

Jimin nearly snarls in protest, and this brings you pause. He ignores the flood of guilt as you hesitantly lower his shirt and help Taehyung drag him to an infirmary bed. As soon as Jimin is sprawled awkwardly across the bed, you busy yourself with gathering supplies. He tries to write the way his heart races in anticipation off as mere nerves or discomfort at the thought of you healing him. He doesn’t like your magic. That’s what he tells himself even as he unthinkingly reaches out with his own, brushing against yours. Oddly, the act is soothing, like the wound in his side is responding to your warm aura- the sharp, stinging pain eases just slightly. He does not like to think about what that means- only those who are Fated for one another should have such compatible magic. But he hates you and so you could not possibly be his Soulmate.

Perhaps you sense him seeking out your magic signature for in the next moment you pause your rummaging and turn to him.

“So,” you call softly, and he hates that the sweet lull of your voice makes something in his gut twist. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Jimin is silent for a moment as he realises how silly the whole ordeal makes him feel. And for some reason it bothers him that you might think of him as weak or stupid if you know the whole story. But when the silence begins to draw out, your expression softens and just for a moment Jimin hates himself rather than you. For of course you would never think lowly of him- he does not think you are capable of thinking badly about anyone. There isn’t a bad bone in your body. He’s the nasty one, the terrible, fearsome Daemon, whose only power is to destroy.

“I don’t need the whole story.” You point out when Jimin continues to remain silent. “Just enough to know how best to heal you. You can leave the embarassing parts out.” There is a playful twinkle to your eyes as you say the last bit that, oddly enough, is what has Jimin caving and admitting the full story to you.

“A trainee wasn’t coping well with training… he took it out on his younger peers and when I found out and punished him for bullying, he sought revenge.” Jimin admits bitterly. Bitter, because he should have seen it coming. Should have been able to avoid this whole situation. A skilled commander, one-upped by a nasty, pigheaded trainee who only knew how to bully to get his way? Ridiculous. He is a fool because he allowed himself to be in a dangerous situation without thinking. What if he applied that same lack of forethought when protecting a civilian, or the king himself? He does not deserve to be the commander that he is. “He snuck a blacksilver knife into a training session and by the time I realised, he had gotten me.”

You shake your head, concern marring your features. It is irritating that even with your eyebrows knitted together and your nose scrunched up like you are constipated that you are still frustratingly gorgeous.

“I hope he pays for it.” You say sadly and it is perhaps the meanest thing you have ever said aloud. Jimin, despite himself, cannot stop a slight smile from curling his lips. How unusual, for you to speak sternly of someone else when he’s pretty sure you would have a hard time even saying mean things about vermin. You must be quite distressed at his injury.

“Why are you smiling?” You ask, thoroughly confused. You tilt your head and the movement is reminiscent of a young, curious pup and just as endearing. Jimin catches himself in time and clears his throat and looks away.

“It’s nothing. I’m just surprised that you feel so strongly about this, is all.” He observes and this time he can’t bite back the smile. Your expression twists in bewilderment.

“The wound must be serious.” You comment gravely. There isn’t a hint of irony in your voice as you say the next words completely sincerely- “You would never smile unless you were very sick or dying.”

Jimin abruptly breaks into a coughing fit, surprised by your comment. He’s… he’s not that bad, is he? Admittedly you are not the first to make a comment like this. Usually such comments are more to the point and crude. Resentful mutters about something involving a stick and his ass. He doubles over in pain in the process of coughing though and your eyes go wide and panicked. Spurred into action by the way Jimin has returned once more to a state of agony, you do not hesitate to tear through the cotton of Jimin’s shirt.

It is only after this that you realise what you have done. For a moment, Jimin just stares at you, bewildered. He has not seen you flush that particular shade of red and the effect of seeing you flustered like this is rather… enjoyable.

But then your eyes harden with determination and it is Jimin’s turn to be flustered. You overcome your embarrassment and lean in far too close. He barely has time to flinch before he feels the warmth of your breath skating across his chest as you examine to path of darkened veins weaving across his ribs. He abruptly loses the ability to breathe normally at the sensation. His lungs are caught as he watched your determined expression. Your lashes flutter over your cheeks and your lips purse into a charming pout. It is entirely unfair that you should look so adorable while focusing and Jimin wishes that you were an ugly troll so that his job of hating you was slightly more possible. Though he doubts even if you looked like an ogre that he would be able to hate you as he wants because you are just too sweet. It isn’t fair- you drive him crazy. Particularly when you lift a hand up and slide it across the exposed skin of his abdomen. This time he must release the breathe he has been holding in a shaky exhale lest he accidentally release some sort of embarrassing noise from the burning contact of your skin against his.

“This doesn’t look like something I’ll be able to heal without using my magic.” You admit nervously.

“I see.” He admits, a bit more gruffly than he planned to. Internally he is panicking, though. You blink a few times and bite your lip and that’s an incredibly distracting movement that at least allows him to forget his panic for the moment.

You, on the other hand, are similarly panicking. You aren’t a fool. Only an idiot would miss the way Jimin’s jaw clenches when you enter a room. The way he avoids the infirmary at all costs when you are on-duty. The way his friends shoot you furtive, curious glances as he strides passed you in the hallways. They’re trying to figure you out- what could you have done, that Jimin hates you so much? And you wish you could give an answer, that you could explain what caused this deep-seated loathing for you, but you don’t know. The closest you can think of as a reason is the from the last time you had healed him. Your magic is unique for healing in the sense that rather than spells or enchantments to encourage healing like a Druid or a with would use, you utilise the inherent self-healing nature of your magic. By flooding someone with your magic, it acts on their body like it is your own and heals their ailments. Of course, your healing is not invincible or instantaneous- it still takes a while for your magic to heal most people, perhaps a day or two on average as opposed to a week. In some cases people have to come on several occasions before they are fully healed because they exhaust your magic while healing. The strength of your technique is that people heal faster and you can dispel nasty things like infection or toxins during the healing process where a nurse or druid would need an antidote or specially brew potion to do so.

But healing Jimin is not the one-way street you are used to. Normally, healing someone is like pouring water into a glass- filling them with your own essence. But with Jimin, his magic had reacted, and violently too. Never before had someone’s magic reached for yours and tangled with it like Jimin’s had. It was, perhaps, the first time you realised that perhaps your unorthodox methods of healing were dangerous. But more than that, you had felt something, when his magic collided with yours. Like galaxies colliding. Like sparks flying when two rocks slide against each other. Like fireworks exploding in your very soul. And while you had quickly yanked your magic back and abruptly decided that Jimin had enough to heal adequately, you couldn’t rid yourself of the lingering sense of him, fizzing inside you like expensive champagne. And what if he had felt you as intensely as you had felt him? What if he was disgusted by what he found there? You had felt like he had seen your soul. You can’t shake the feeling that that experience is why he hates you.

Still, the wound is serious and needs healing. So you squeeze your eyes shut and lean in close, closer than perhaps Jimin can bear. Close enough to count each individual lash and to smell the scent of your shampoo as it sinks into the base of his lungs and sits there. His breathing becomes shallow and shaky as you place your hands shut and smooth your expression. How easy would it be, to kiss you? Almost too easy- the distance between the two of you is almost negligible.

And then, as if he weren’t already overwhelmed by you occupying his every sense, he feels your magic begin to trickle into him. It starts from your fingertips where they press against his shoulders and then spreads like melting butter, soothing the burning pain left by the blacksilver in his veins. It’s so pleasant he could almost fall asleep if he weren’t so preoccupied by your proximity.

He doesn’t realise he’s reaching for you until your eyes snap open and then he feels it. Your magic mixing with his like it was made for him- and like his was made for you. He’s leaning in to press his lips eagerly to yours before he can even understand what he’s doing. Before he can comprehend that the tension he felt in his muscles every time you were near was not the hatred he kept trying to pretend it was. No, this whole time, since the moment he laid eyes on you it has been anything but hatred. He’s being trying so hard to hate you because you scare him. Because you’re so much more than he could ever have or deserve but you’re also everything he’s ever wanted. But he doesn’t hate you- not at all. And he doesn’t let himself realise it or admit it even as he tugs you closer. Even as you tentatively respond to his eager kiss and his heart soars in its chest.

It is only the sharp pain in his side from his injury when he leans too far towards you that stops him. He pulls himself from you with a cry of pain and the two of you just stare at each other. That is all the two of you can do, for it is hard to process the gravity of the moment after what just transpired.

And then it becomes impossible because something even more urgent is happening. Jimin’s blood runs hot and he feels a burning sensation just over his heart, like someone has just pressed a brand against his rib cage. You press your fingers into the same spot on your own ribs and glance down, shocked. Jimin’s shirt is torn open, so you can see the way his skin reddens and darkens with what is undoubtedly a Mark of Fate. Were you to unbutton your shirt, no doubt an identical mark would be forming in the same place. But that can only mean one thing. Jimin goes white as he slowly realises it, too.

That mark appears when two people are Fated for each other. And if it is forming on both you and Jimin, then Jimin is your soulmate. 

Only, he hates you.

At least, he thought he did. And you still think he does.

…

This can only mean trouble.

[tesbloodline]

Real Talk

Hi, guys. I don’t usually talk about myself on here (I think I’ve only done it once or twice), but if there’s anyone who still follows this blog, I feel like I owe you an explanation. Or, at the very least, that explaining would be the kind thing to do.

I haven’t posted in a while, about five months if I’m reading the dates right. I’m starting to get back into the swing of things, but I didn’t want to just leave that gap unexplained. It’s there because I hit a very difficult patch in my life, and I just couldn’t keep up.

See, I have, among other things, really bad anxiety. I mean, really bad. “I’ve been in counseling for three years to be able to hold a conversation with someone I don’t know or leave for class less than thirty minutes early without having an anxiety attack” bad. And there was a point, at the end of last school year, where I was spending so much energy on panic and stress and worry that I didn’t even have the energy to be a human being.

I was spending hours at a time sitting and doing nothing: scrolling through pages on the internet without processing anything I was reading, sleeping and sleeping and sleeping (or laying in bed staring at my ceiling pretending I could sleep, if my insomnia was acting up), trying to finish enough homework I wouldn’t fail my classes, or just staring into space while I was either lost so deep in storyworld I forgot the real world existed or blanking out completely (which I’m starting to suspect is actually dissociating). I was pretty much constantly exhausted, from the moment I woke up to the moment I fell into bed.

I kept posting because I loved it. I loved this blog, and I loved these characters, and I was determined I wasn’t going to abandon them like I’ve abandoned so many projects. But I was coasting, really. I was writing slower than I was posting, and my buffer got shorter and shorter. Sometimes I’d have the energy to start up my game, and I’d have so much fun and get so worked up I had the artificial energy I needed to make a new batch of posts, enough to tide me over until I started up the game again.

When my game broke, and all of my saves were erased, this little cycle broke too. I tried to fix it, but my first attempt didn’t work. Then I realized all of my mods needed to be updated (and since Meri’s modlist is something like 300 mods, it takes a while). It was one thing after another, and I just didn’t have the energy to keep up with it. I tried, in September, to keep the blog running with just drabbles. If I remember right, that was the point I ran out of posts in my queue and had no game material to make more. Eventually classes picked up, and I didn’t even have the energy for that anymore. That was when I finally broke my promise and abandoned Bloodline.

I’ve been doing a lot better, recently. I’m finally taking anti-anxiety meds, and I feel worlds better. I’m not completely functional yet (I still need to sort out my alternating hyperfocus/complete inability to focus on anything at all, courtesy of ADHD), but I’m getting there. I have the energy to exist again, now that it’s not all diverted to crisis management, and I’m starting to take back the things I love. All of my little hobbies, like drawing and writing and calligraphy and crafting, and thanks to accidentally opening the Tumblr app on my phone and seeing notifications for this blog, Bloodline as well. 

So what I’m trying to say is, I’m back. All I can hope is that there’s still someone waiting for me.

[sundaynightnovels]

11/11/11

so i’ve been tagged by @kidsarentallwrite​ for this one, and @a-ray-of-moonshine​ , so i’ll be answering both here! thank you so much for thinking of me! <3  What song makes your OC go absolutely, batshit feral? okay i really don’t know the answer to this one, but hmmmm let me think . i think that zhen’s the sort to sing songs loudly and obnoxiously just to be an annoying ass and lu’d join her, and then yu(f) would be really mega pissed because she’s right in the next room trying to do some work when these two tone-deaf idiots are screeching their lungs out in the kitchen so yes, zhen & lu’s singing would make yu(f) go absolutely feral. anything they sing.  i think the OTHER yu(m) would go absolutely feral when jun, being a lil piece of shit who likes to get on his nerves, sings songs about rain. because yknow, yu(m)’s name means rain. right now the song i’m thinking of is jay chou’s 听见下雨的声音 (which means, listen to the sound of rain falling) and jun would sing it whenever yu(m) tries to say something because of, yknow, the title. and then blatantly ignore whatever yu(m)’s trying to say. so yes, the two yu(s) lead very sad lives. please give them more love. (though i’d understand if you don’t, one is an Antisocial Edgelord and one is an Edgy Antisocial Lording Over Others . there’s a difference)  What would your OC go on an hours long rant about given the opportunity? for shou? anything. absolutely anything. off the top of my mind, the sun (i’ve mentioned this so many times, don’t even ask), names (names have meanings to him!! why is zhen called zhen and teng called teng? why is he called shou??? a lot of them don’t share in his sentiments but he has Very Strong Feelings about it) lu is about his sad existence as a little boy who is starving on the streets. he’d say it often in the kitchen, when zhen is preparing some food.  zhen would be about rising costs of living and capitalism and having to work when they’re dead and yu(f) being a loser who only wants to work and teng being a loser who can’t get any girls and about how life is meaningless and the only solace is sleep and jia would rant with her for the fun of it yu(f) would rant about zhen, yu(m) would rant about jun, teng would rant about love and loneliness and ren would run away. (yes that was a pun, if you got it please appreciate)  Do your OCs have tattoos? If not, would they ever get a tattoo? Why or why not? i think i’ve answered this somewhere before??? not very sure . but yea anyway shou thinks it’s blasphemous but he would also consider one, zhen can’t be bothered, lu is a little kid WHAT ARE YOU ASKING FROM HIM teng is deathly afraid of the pain and it’s plainly obvious, jun isn’t scared of the pain but can’t be bothered either but also might already have one, you never know, yu(f) thinks it’s a waste of money, yu(m)... i feel like he might have one, not sure why. jia probably has one, some nice gorgeous insta-worthy one on her collarbone or on her back.  ren probably has one but he keeps it hidden and no one knows about it.  You bump into your OC on the street unexpectedly. How do you react? oh no. which one? if i catch shou in a distracted mood, i probably can get away without him yammering in my ears.  if it’s zhen, i’ll probably get sued for something and she’ll try to extort something from me. probably the bubble tea in my hands, or the money in my wallet. probably.  for lu he’d extort food. even if it’s in my stomach. yu(f) would be the one who bumps into me and continues marching off because she is a busy woman and ain’t got time for this.  ren would probably apologise and yknow, be a normal, nice human being. yu(m) would just stare and maybe walk away, but he looks fierce so it probs looks like he’s glaring and i’ll be scared shitless. or be pissed, depends on my mood. teng would apologise a lot a lot and offer to get my things (even if i hadn’t dropped them) and be a sputtering mess because unfortunately i am Woman and he cannot deal jun would ignore probably. depending on his mood, might make some cryptic comment that’s slightly disturbing. or he’d be really charming . who knows? jia would also probably react like a normal human being. not the nicest, but normal anyway. Which vines best describe your OCs? i am a failure and i don’t really know vines If your WIP is ever adapted into another form of media, what form would you like? Film, television, comic, podcast? Any others? sitcom, probably. also considering the amount of talking they do, maybe podcast. definitely not film. there’s no plot here. maybe theatre, just for fun. What is your favourite part about writing? what are you talking about?? Is you got to have a conversation with your favourite author, what would you talk about? the only author i can think of now is rick riordan and i’d talk about how i appreciate that he’s just doing what he wants and making it fun for him and diversity and lame humour and stupid characters and all that crap Have any writing habits or quirks? don’t write enough to have some. HAHA just kidding i have many many run-on sentences but i need them for RHYTHM and BEAT and FEELING you know???? long sentences are my jam and they help create music structure in writing do NOT TAKE THEM AWAY FROM ME also use oxford commas. sue me. What do you prefer: dialogue or action? stupid banter-ish dialogue. evocative atmospheric-ish contemplation and inner musings no one acts. Who is the first Writeblr you followed? Do you remember why you followed them? i really don’t know! sorry! --

1. Is there a trope you never get tired of? characters who share One brain cell. family.  long rambling stories that go nowhere really bad humour yes some of these are not tropes, i am aware.

2. Who is your least favorite character in your WIP? Why? gasps!!!  okay so let’s go down the list, i hate shou because he’s annoying as hell and he talks so much he himself gives 4k worth of dialogue in a single chapter, i hate zhen because she doesn’t do or admit to anything and trying to figure her out is like trying to get a worm to walk on two feet, i hate lu because he only talks about food and be a dirty lil kid, i hate ren because he is too nice and doesn’t think for himself, i hate teng because he gets easily bullied and he also talks too much for no damn reason, i hate jun because he keeps himself too deep and it’s impossible to get him to do anything serious, i hate yu(f) because she only works and literally there’s nothing to describe in her boring one bedroom can she get out of her room already, i hate yu(m) because i still don’t know him well enough after all these months, i hate jia because somehow i keep forgetting her in these tag games even though her presence is Big in the wip  yup there you go. they’re all my least favourite. 

3. Let’s say I’m planning to visit the setting of your WIP for a weekend. What should I take with me? What are the most important things for me to know beforehand? Which of your characters should I ask to be my guide? uh. i’d just say Don’t.  don’t visit. it’s not a good thing, you can’t choose to visit anyway, you can’t take anything with you because yknow, well there’s this little chinese saying i kinda abide by for this wip and i’m lazy to type it out now but it was in my previous chinese mytho au drabble so yea  also. guide????? maybe the safest might be ren, but also not really. hm. if you want an enthusiastic little puppy, choose shou. but he might talk your ears off and annoy you so you know, pick your poison 4.Beginning, middle, or end—which is the hardest for you as a writer?

middle

5. Which is more inspiring for you: music or visual art?

music!

6. Do you have any other creative interests and hobbies besides writing?

lol i have no interests okay really. hm. i used to draw a little bit but i’ve stopped, used to play piano but i’ve stopped, used to play cello but i’ve stopped.  so yea, really, nothing much. 

7. How close is your WIP now to what you were expecting it to be when you just started?

i’ve finished the first draft since the start of the year, which is great and i totally didn’t expect it! .... am barely into the second draft though, so that’s a bummer. you see, this is why sometimes you shouldn’t get achievements. once that one milestone is reached you just lie down there at the rest stop and never get up. 

8. What are your plans for when you finish your WIP? Traditional publishing? Indie publishing? Putting it online for others to read for free?

traditional probs, because i don’t trust myself enough to do it on my own and i have little visual sensibilities so the cover would be hella ugly. also like, not even sure if traditional publishers would want my odd little plotless thing, but yknow, i like it. 

9. Your MC is here. On your doorstep. Planning to spend the day with you. Oh, and they know you’re the author responsible for everything that’s going on in the story right now. Are you expecting it to be a nice conversation, or do you maybe want to run and hide? :D

thank god i consider my MC to be shou instead of zhen. oh yea he’ll have lots of questions and he’ll poke at my brains a lot and he’d be hella noisy and also he’ll be sweating a lot because of his clothes and long hair, but still thank god it’s shou for the rest of them, i’d run and hide in the bottom of the ocean.

10. Name a song that could be your villain’s personal anthem.

eh. there’s no villain. if you consider the author to be the villain though hMMM i have favourite songs but no personal anthems, sorry

11. Is there anything you would never, ever write a story about, even if you were offered a large sum of money to do so?

eh. probs something like a law drama-ish thing. too many long words and complex jargon, not my kinda thing.

>> i’ll be tagging @coffehousecreations @bookenders @aslanwrites @rktho-writes @bahay-kubo @aloonycynic @arte-muse @elliswriting @mvcreates @inkpot-dreamer @dc-writes and here are my questions (which i think are pretty interesting heh feel free to do it and tag me even if i haven’t tagged you for it!) 1) your wip is now set in percy jackson’s world (if you don’t know, it’s just a bunch of monsters from greek mythologies chasing after young kids who have powers. we’re assuming your OCs are all demigods here, so they have powers and are being chased). who would be the one flailing and crying for help? who would be the one standing in front and thinking of a solution? who would be the first one eaten and who would be the one to survive till they reach camp?  2) after barely escaping percy jackson’s world, they’re now thrown into harry potter. the dementors are everywhere. what are the bad memories that these dementors draw from your OCs? how do they react to it? (don’t worry, they’re saved before being given the kiss. somehow.) 3) they’re now plopped into the good place. who is in the good place, and who is in the bad place? (for those who don’t watch the show, well. i think this naming speaks for itself) 4) ah, bummer. some misfiling of paperwork from the higher-ups, sorry. your OCs are once again alive and kicking, but then things happen again and well, they’re in marvel and the Snap has just happened (i.e., people have suddenly disappeared into dust after an event and no one knows what happened to them). assuming individual scenarios for your OCs where each of them are the only one left in the group, how would they react and what are their coping mechanisms? 5) and then the Blip happens and everyone is back, after five years! hurray! once again, assuming individual scenarios for your OCs where each of them are the only one left in the group, and then everyone suddenly returns like nothing’s happened, how would they then react to this change of scenario? how do they adapt? 6) all is well for a while, until The Fire Nation Attacked. who runs away and hides in isolation? who joins the colonising forces? who attempts a rebellion? who concedes defeat and lets the enemies in? 7) alright, now let’s give your OCs a break. they’re back in school and it’s high school musical! which typical high school cliques are each of them in and why? 8) now we’re in deadpool and it’s time to break the 4th wall and change the focus to: the author. what kind of jokes / things do you want to include in your wip but can’t seem to, maybe because of genre restrictions or age restrictions or it just, well, doesn’t fit? (ryan reynolds would say to include it all anyway, but yknow, that’s because he has money) 9) following the ryan reynolds thread, what is the one most indulgent thing you’ve done in your writing / would do in your writing?  10) who is your favourite friends member and why? (this is important okay? to those who haven’t watched friends... i can’t really give you much of an explanation for this one and more importantly -- why??) 11) this is the end! what is the stupidest thing you’ve done in your / with regards to your writing? it can literally be anything -- a stupid spelling mistake, gaping plot hole, printing it out for a friend to read and missing a page, you can really go crazy with your answer here. okay thanks for reading this massive chunk of text and good day everyone!

[shadowdianne]

Swan queen and number 4 but make it angsty? Haha

*sighsdeeply* Ok, this one was interesting. Not as interesting as llama hell butstill interesting Xd Thanks for the prompt, hope you like it.

Set in: After the fight between Zelena andRegina back in 3x16 since Regina can be a sorceress all you want but she gotthrown into the clock tower and that’s not good for anyone’s health.

Slight changes in canon: Since Regina doesn’tgo to pick her heart is Robin who eventually goes back to Storybrooke with it,hence not getting it stolen by Zelena later on. Just adding that bit in case I’masked about continuity xd.

“Do you…well…I mean…I could give you amassage?”

Emmagrowled inwardly at the fact that her voice broke a little at the end, that shestuttered at the beginning, that she found herself at loss as she leant on thedoorway of the hospital’s bedroom with her hands deep on her pockets of herjacket with nothing to really do but being clenched into tight fists. She hatedhow she felt, useless, so useless, as Regina glanced at her from the bed, superficialcuts on her arms all that more obvious now that she was in a hospital gown.

They had firstbelieved she was okay when they had climbed the tower, the cutting words of howshe was still alive making Emma almost smile; the sarcastic tone one she hadwelcomed it as she had felt like screaming when Zelena had thrown her into theglass of the clock. However, that relief had been short lived as the brunettehad grown pale the moment she had tried to stand up, blood beginning to oozefrom her nose as her magic sparkled around her, trying to repair the damagethat had been done.

For areason, one Emma hadn’t found until Whale had tried to simply check Regina’svitals, the magic didn’t seem to truly be working as it should and Regina hadswayed, almost losing consciousness as Emma moved forward, catching her just intime, beanie askew and the burning need to ask for the brunette to hold on.Which Regina, who had kept a physical distance ever since Emma had returned,seemed to welcome.

Now Emmastared as Regina attempted something close to a snort, one that wasn’t dignifiedand that spoke of the tiredness obvious on her eyes.

“I doubt amassage is going to do me any goods, Miss Swan.”

Emmapressed her lips together at the answer, at the title the brunette had used. Itbugged her, prodding at threads she didn’t feel ready to look at yet and so sheshrugged before taking a step inside the room, eyes wandering momentarilytowards the chair near the bed in where Henry had forgotten his coat after thefew minutes he had been able to spend there before being carried out by Snow,neither of them truly knowing what to do other than wait. Taking a seat at the chairand folding the coat on her knees, the blonde glanced at her hands, now pressedagainst the fabric; the same burning realization of how useless she had beenback at the fight now doubled tenfold.

“I shouldlet you sleep.” She said as seconds ticked by, but she didn’t move from herspot, not really wanting to leave. She had felt the same pull back at the waitingroom; mindlessly walking through the corridors and stopping just shy from thedoor as she pondered what to do. She still didn’t know why she was there, whatshe could say to Regina to make her feel better, to make her feel like she hadher back, but she wished she could do something, anything. Rising her gaze, shefocused on brown eyes that were staring at her quizzically, purple still sparklingthere but still far too faint, far too lavender rather than deep purple.

“Maybe.”The brunette’s answer had the same thickness Emma felt coating the back of herthroat; almost as if Regina was also wondering why she was there too; sittingnext to her bed. Not like they weren’t friends -where they? - not like Emmadidn’t have reasons to worry, but this; being there, in the hospital, waitingfor the other to recover, wasn’t something they had that many experiences todrag from.

Perhaps itwas that, Emma considered, her thoughts scattered, jumbled, they were used tothe fast pace of action, of things happening one after the other with barelyenough time to truly breathe and consider the impact of decisions they made andnow, in the middle of chaos, having this moment felt like something that woulddissolve the second she looked at it too much. Nibbling at her bottom lip, sheshook her head minutely before focusing on Regina once more, on the gashes shewas able to discern, on the ones she was vaguely aware that existed even if thegown covered them.

“It was asmart move to not bring your heart.” The words hung heavy on her lips and shenibbled at them before continuing, not letting Regina to say anything. “Robinbrought it to us, I… do you want him to keep it?”

She didn’tunderstand why she felt so exposed at the question, so tired, but she stillfelt the weight on her shoulders as she blinked before zeroing on Regina’sexpression, on how the brunette’s facial muscles jumped and quivered.

There wasanother thing there, snuggly hiding itself on her own chest, one she didn’twant to say even if the doubt was one that kept on prodding, on burning herinsides.

“I could have protected it too.”

And neithershe or Regina did that sort of thing, they weren’t like that, but Emma had feltat loss when the man had appeared, bow still draw and a familiar reddish glowon his hand. She had almost lunged at him and if it hadn’t been for Snow’sgentle words she would probably had. And that alone, that immediate reaction,was one that made her close her eyes and take a few breaths before opening themagain, magic seeping through her pores, reacting to emotions she didn’t want toeven acknowledge.

“Emma…”

The use ofher name made her gasp and Regina almost smiled a little at that before shestopped the motion, eyes dark and suddenly devoid of the purple from before.

“I knew youwere going to be at the fight. I needed someone that couldn’t get… caught inthe middle of it.”

It didn’tanswer to Emma’s question, the one she had asked outload, but it answered, evenbarely, the other one and Emma almost felt ashamed of how easy was for Reginato read her. Not like it felt all that surprising, she guessed, she herselfcould always know when or if the brunette herself was lying. Which broughtanother, very difficult problem between them; why. But that, she guessed, wasn’tgoing to be discussed, not tonight, at least.

“Do youwant it back?” She asked, pretending to not have heard Regina’s explanation,not wanting to dwell onto it, on how it stung, on how it piled up to theprevious feeling of uselessness. Zelena had called it inflated ego and she wasbeginning to wonder if the redhead wasn’t incorrect. The savior was merely atitle; she lacked every bit of magic knowledge that could help, that wouldalways be needed and there it now laid Regina, with wounds and blood andtiredness scribbled on her body like ink.

She wasacutely aware of the sigh that run through the older woman’s body but, for asharp second, she felt relieved that Regina’s feelings were muted, dormant, asthe brunette didn’t push.

“Once I’mback in full health, yes.”

Emma noddedsharply and stood, Henry’s coat pressed against her front as she hugged herselfwith it. She needed to go, she realized, she needed to go and think and…

Stopwanting to tell Regina how she had been the first thing she had remembered whenher memories had been restored.

“I’ll letyou sleep.” This time, however, she actually followed the idea, walking towardsthe door, steps mechanic, unnatural as her boots squeaked against the floor.

Regina didn’tsay anything to that and when Emma turned momentarily she found the brunette’seyes focused in one corner of the room, painfully and obviously pretending tofeign she wasn’t there anymore.

“Goodnight.”

send me a pairing and a number and i'll write you a drabble

[believerindaydreams]

I forget about International Fanworks day every year. Oughta set up a reminder for myself or something. Anyhow, the drabble prompt this year is “characters discovering a new fandom”. And I’ve just started writing a movie buff, how handy is that. 

(update: not that handy when you end up doing an evening’s worth of research for the fandom yourself. on the plus side, I’ve learned summat and have identified the precise five minutes of cinema necessary for this piece. You can watch this clip from Orson Welles’ Don Quixote for yourself, but that’s optional.)

(wish I had a Spanish beta. I wonder where I might look for one.)

(sort of a slice of life thing. Insofar as you can call anything involving an assassin, his ex and his ex’s partner in crime, slice of life...)

“This doesn’t exist,” Blondie says, pulling another film off the shelf to add to a knee-deep pile. “This one hasn’t been released, this one was bowdlerized so badly they might as well not have bothered...you’ve been busy while I was away, I’ll give you that.”

“A few things,” Angel Eyes agrees, the picture of uninterest. He is making quite a show of cleaning his pipe, a task that couldn’t possibly require the diligent attention he’s affording it. 

It’s as good as a variety show, Tuco thinks: watching these two laying traps, circling each other for reactions. Angel Eyes has the home ground advantage, money and taste and a gentleman’s sense of their proper application. All Blondie has going for him is- well, being Blondie; but that’s enough to make for an even match.

The performances are all for his benefit, naturally; and knowing the value of an audience, he doesn’t wonder too often what might pass between these two when they’re alone. It couldn’t be half so amusing, without that sharp undercurrent to their every word and action; have I made myself look such a fool as this, in front of Tuco? In this game, winning’s not half so important as being seen not to lose.

So when Blondie visibly weakens, one hand clenched tight and a reluctant smile softening his mouth, Tuco knows immediately what’s in the wind. “Something good in there, Blondie? Let me guess. Donald Duck and all the little ducklings.”

“Something even more absurd,” Blondie says. “This one’s never gonna exist, Angel, how’d you get hold of it?“

“Telecine copy. As a favour for me, after I helped him smooth over some troubles with the Franco regime.”

“What sort of difficulties?” Tuco asks, honestly curious. The slightest mention of Spain always affects him, with a vivid, heart-wrenching ache he’d be hard pressed explaining to his own mother- pain, fascination, abhorrence? México, now, that’s a real place, maybe one he could call home once he’s made his pile. But España can’t be, it’s just the stuff of mad legends. Bullfights and windmills and a language he tries not to think in, until the demons are coming for him. Conquistadores sabrían todo sobre los demonios, los culos...

“Elaborate ones.”

“Ask for the salt in this house, they’ll give you an hourglass,” Tuco mutters. He peeks over Blondie’s shoulder instead. “Don Quixote, eh? Only five minutes? Even I could sit still through that.”

“All right.”

He goes and throws himself on the sofa, while Angel Eyes puts away his pipe and Blondie conducts whatever arcane rituals there may be, to make a little strip of plastic turn lively with colours and sound. They have tried to explain the process to him, both of them; and so far he has successfully forgotten every last word. There is always such a thing as knowing too much for comfort.

Like this: the vague embarrassment at realising that in so little time, he has already begun to treat this place as homely. An extra cushion carried in from the dining room, the slight floor scuff left by his boot. Any other rich man’s house, he’d barely dare to draw breath, or else take pride in leaving his mark; neither reaction seems to fit his situation here, but he hardly knows how else to be. 

Sufferance, he must remember that. Always sufferance- why should that line be so famous, about relying on the kindness of strangers? Strangers can afford to be friendly. They know they owe you nothing. 

Tuco sighs, lets himself fall carelessly against Blondie as his partner sits down. A nicely judged thing, to make the action sloppy and slightly, painfully comedic: because to do otherwise would look too much like seeking comfort. 

“Get off,” Blondie mutters. Tuco shifts a little, not really going anywhere. Angel Eyes sits down on the other side, hands sheathed as ever; and the compromise seems to suit them all. 

anybody might think, that we even like one another...

[exyjunkies]

48- andriel (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ thank u

fuck yes more of nathaniel and andrew 

(let’s Make this A Thing, shall we?)

fic meme 1-100: andriel (andrew + nathaniel) + 48. “Boo.”

send me a pairing (preferably from aftg/trc, but you can send me anything) and a number and i’ll write you a drabble (1-50) (51-100)

Ouch. The freshbruise incurred from today’s practice was vying for Andrew’s attention as hetried to sit up. He realized, as he attempted at a better posture, that he hasnever wanted lying down to be a more permanent position for him than he does inthis moment.

Carefully, Andrew lifted his t-shirt and grimaced at thecolor the bruise was already forming. Large and violent, it covered almost theentire left half of his abdomen. It was as big as half his forearm.The reliefwas that there were no broken ribs, but that also meant Andrew can’t skippractice the next day. So much for being a goalkeeper. He was still at thecenter of the action, no matter what he did. Fucking Exy racquets.

“Knock knock,” a voice came from the doorway. Nathaniel,stupid number 3 on his cheek, peered at him from behind the door. An ice packand a half-full energy drink were clutched in his hand.

“You know how Ravens are,” Andrew muttered, heaving himselfback down and winced at the effort it took. “Always full of themselves. Likeyou are.”

“I won’t deny that.” Nathaniel invited himself into theirroom and shut the door gently. Tossing the ice pack onto the side of the bed,he replied, “Maybe if you hadn’t threatened to cut Riko’s balls off, you wouldn’tbe in this shitty state.”

Andrew rolled his eyes so hard, he felt them reach the backof his head. Somehow, he could hear Nathaniel’s disappointment in him, and hecouldn’t even bring himself to care. He put an arm behind his head and kept oneeye open to look at Nathaniel, who was changing out of his running clothes. Hehad opted to spend their afternoon break to run with number-4-on-cheek Jean Moreau. Typical.

“You know half thedamn team wants to cut Lord Almighty’s balls off,” Andrew shot back. “It’sonly a matter of being honest.”

He shut both his eyes again, a half-hearted attempt atanother nap. Having been a Raven for so long, Andrew constantly wonders if itgets easier, or if he just gets used to it. Godforbid it’s the second. He hopes to never completely be one of them, nomatter how hard they try.

“Well,” Nathaniel replied, sitting down on his own bed. “Isincerely hope you don’t get yourself killed in the coming weeks. We need adecent goalie to keep us up the rankings.”

They were going up against the teams in the north thismonth, with North Carolina’s Etherton Eagles first. The pressure has been upever since they received word from the south that Palmetto State has beenmoving above and beyond the public’s expectations. They were far from facingany south team, but still. It’s something Riko likes to assert daily in orderto push the team past their limits.

It’s not as if they were worried – Ravens are never worried, Tetsuji has grilled into their minds morethan once. Once any of you asshats worry,it’s over for all of us.

“You can shut your mouth about that damn game for once,Wesninski,” Andrew grunted. “We’re in the room. No crowds. No team. No racquetsand no scoreboard. Act normal for fuck’s sake.”

Even breathing seemed to be hard, so Andrew opted to limithis. He mentally reminded himself, briefly, that his teammates have gone througha lot worse than a racquet to the stomach. Roxanne, one of the striker subs, hadsuffered a paddle to the ass after saying that Kevin deserved the number 1 onthe cheek and not Riko. Timmy, a backliner, had gone to practice with severehunger after accidentally tripping Riko in the locker room and laughing at himafterwards. Gingerly, he placed the ice pack underneath his shirt and sighed atthe cool relief.

Their room was dark to begin with, but Nathaniel had put in arequest for special neon lights that everyone else thought was only red. At thepress of a button, it became either green, yellow, or light blue.

“Would you have said yes?” Nathaniel asked, as neon lightblue flooded the sides of the room.

“Yes to what.” Andrew didn’t admit it, but he liked the neonblue setting a lot more than the others. Red was too much of a Raven color toenjoy, and green and yellow were too obnoxious when they were neon.

“If it had been you that was asked to go to Palmetto Stateinstead of Kevin. Would you have gone?”

A few months back, Kevin had been asked by Tetsuji to goundercover and join the Palmetto State Foxes, as a means of scoping out Andrew’ssupposed twin, Aaron. The branch family had all collectively agreed that itwould be good for their image to have both Minyard twins on the team. Some sortof reunion would be good for press, and both Minyard twins being good at thesame sport would be a beneficial bonus. There were practically dollar signs inTetsuji’s eyes when he talked to Kevin about it.

Andrew had not visibly reacted when he first heard the news,but he had been aware of Aaron’s existence for some time now anyway. He wouldn’tbe who he was without any sort of connection from the outside. Naturally, Riko hadsent Kevin instead of Andrew because (he made this as obvious as possible) hewas going to use Andrew as some sort of bait if Aaron ever said no.

Andrew stared up at the ceiling. Engraved on the walls besidethe room’s main lights were sets of triple X’s. The Edgar Allan motto: Excellence exceeds expectations.

“Yes would imply I cared about my long-lost twin in theslightest,” Andrew replied, drawing a knee up on the bed. “I think he’d be finewithout me.”

Nathaniel hummed in response. “Maybe if you started actinglike you gave a shit about anything, you’d be living a better life.”

“And playing for such an esteemed Exy team means a good lifeto begin with?” Andrew drawled. Nathaniel chuckled at that. “You know you hateit here too.”

“Boo. Liking thisplace would mean hating myself.”

The wall clock chimed half past 6 in the evening. Dinner wasto be served in thirty minutes, which Andrew barely felt like he had theappetite for. He was neither hungry nor looking forward to having to pretend likehe liked any of his teammates. He was even less excited about Riko’s taunts tohim from across the table. If he was being honest to himself, he should’vepunched him in the nose a really long time ago.

“Your twin.”

Andrew twisted his head to meet Nathaniel’s eyes, blue andfull of curiosity. He raised an eyebrow in response.

“He’s probably a more bearable person than you are, yeah?”Nathaniel’s smirk was teasing, all-knowing.

Andrew went back to looking at the ceiling. If he knewanything about his twin, it was that they were identical, and that was it. Hehad kept himself from looking up anything about his brother, for the solereason that if he brought himself to care, he really wouldn’t know what to do.Being on a completely different part of the world, Andrew had wondered fromtime to time what it was like on his end. If he was being treated like dirttoo. Or if he actually had people who had his back.

It wasn’t jealousy that Andrew felt, no. It was merely wishingthere was nothing worse than what he was experiencing here in Evermore.

“Knowing my genetic composition, he’d probably hate you morethan I do,” Andrew replied, crossing his leg over his other leg.

“Oh,” Nathanielsat up and hugged his knees. Andrew hated that he could hear the playfulness inhis tone. “Thanks for admitting you like me a little bit, partner.”

“You’re going to sport a bruise like mine if you don’t shutup, number 3.”

“I’d bone you too, if it wasn’t going to create more of ahell for us in this shithole.”

“You’re a terrible flirt,” Andrew slanted a look atNathaniel, who wrinkled his nose meaningfully at him.

Nathaniel shrugged. “With an ass you’d wanna fuck, yeah.”

Being homosexual wasn’t taboo among the Edgar Allan Ravens –in fact, Tetsuji jokingly said he preferred it more if it meant birth controlfor the women Ravens. Getting pregnant for any of the women meant eitherabortion or benched for the next three seasons. It was just frowned upon tosleep with teammates, more so the teammate you’re partnered with. On occasion,two Ravens would be caught making out, and it would be reported immediately toeither Riko or Tetsuji, causing them to either be kicked out or to suffer Riko’swill.

Somehow, they both knew that they were partnered by Rikobecause Riko enjoyed their combined suffering more than the others. Plus, Rikojust has it out for Andrew, for reasons he couldn’t fathom.

Andrew sighed and shook his head. Nathaniel got up from hisbed and reached up to adjust the air conditioning. He had to tiptoe, making hisshirt ride up a bit. Andrew saw part of his back and part of his underwear.Obviously, the idiot was doing it on purpose.

“Like what you see, Minyard?” Nathaniel said, grinning as helooked Andrew in the eye.

He absolutely hatedbeing a Raven.

[happy-meo]

Masquerade IV: The Dark Side (Jin x Reader x Tae) Part 4

While love may bring out the best in us, it could also bring out the worst.

** If you haven’t read them already, please read the following BEFORE starting this story: Silver Spoon, Masquerade I, Masquerade II, Masquerade III, Masquerade 3.1 & 3.2 drabbles **

Summary: You were never lucky in love. Through disastrous dates, consistent unrequited crushes, and broken relationships, you’ve constantly been searching for someone to give you genuine love and romance. And through it all, one person had remained your constant shoulder to lean on. Although you had never seen his face, he had given you a sense of confidence and a place of comfort in Club Masquerade. The more times you’ve failed in love though, the more you realized that may be no one would ever choose you. However, one fateful encounter, thanks to your dog, made you want to hope one more time. Did fate bring you to the one who would finally end your streak of being broken-hearted? Or had the right guy been with you all along?

Jin x Reader x Tae (ft. previous Masquerade characters, Silver Spoon characters, & Got7 Jackson) Fluff, Smut, Angst, Romance Host Au, Cook!Jin, Vet!Tae, Bartender!Tae

**If you need a refresher on connections, here’s the diagram: Connections **

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 (Finale)

A/N: Hope everyone’s doing well ~ So happy I could finally sit down and write again! Enjoy :)

           "Hey Y/N. Can you check this over for me?" Hoseok leaned over as he slid a stack of papers towards you.

           You blushed at his proximity.

           Having a crush on your boss was so cliché, but you couldn't help it. Although he had garnered the reputation of being cold, you remembered the days where he was literally a walking sunshine. You still felt his warmth during the times you were alone like this. You knew he was in there somewhere, and you've often wondered if you would be the one to bring him back.

           "Y/N?" Hoseok waved a hand in front of your face, forcing you to realize you had blankly been staring at him.

           You straightened up, flustered. "Y-Yeah, sure."

           "Thanks. Just leave it on my desk when you're done. I trust your critique more than half of these goons here." He snorted.

           You blushed at the compliment. "W-will do, boss."

           "Thanks." Hoseok clicked his tongue and gave you a quick wink before disappearing.

           You grinned widely. Would you be the one to pull him out of his darkness after all?

           Then along came Park Jimin.

           To say you were slightly upset that Hoseok had so easily assigned you to the new CEO would be an understatement, but you continued to delude yourself that maybe pushing you away was his way to stop his raging feelings for you. But Jimin proved to be even harder to resist, with his bright smiles, cute antics, and his constant attention.

             "Hey, what's a pretty girl like you doing hunched over on a desk so late?" Jimin sat on your table smoothly. "It's a 9 to 5 for a reason."

           "I uh...have to finish up a few more things." You blushed as he came up behind you, reaching around to grab the paper in your hand.

           "Y/N." He whispered, his breath tickling your cheek. "This isn't due 'til the end of the week. Let's go home."

           You felt your skin crawl with warmth.

           "Come. I'll walk you out." Jimin gestured. "I can't have one of my workers staying late. I'm not like Hoseok."

           He was the perfect gentleman, opening all the doors, tucking you into your coat, and making you feel comfortable with his easy going conversation. It wasn't hard to fall for Jimin, not when he seemed to give you his focus and attention even with things unrelated to work, unlike Hoseok.

           You rolled on your back and stared at your ceiling, recollecting the events of the night. When you had planned to go to Burlesque, never in a million years did you think you'd return to your bedroom having been asked out on a date by Kim Taehyung.

           He stepped closer to you, "And where do you stand with that now?"

           You felt magnetized by his gaze so you felt yourself shift closer to him too as you whispered. "I'm a bit more open to the risk if the person is right."

           Tae's lips curled up, "Then would you be open to going on a risky date with me, Miss Puppy?"

           Grabbing the nearest pillow, you covered your face to dampen your squeals. Then you exhaled, letting the momentary excitement die down, allowing your fears to seep in.

           You had been here. A countless amount of times.

           Giddy butterflies. Nerves. The enthusiasm about someone being interested in you.

           But one thought haunted you: How long would this last?

           How long would you see Taehyung through rose colored lenses until they shatter and he shows his true self? Would it be your fault or would it be his? Would he choose you? Would he want to keep you? Would he still be the same person you imagined?

           How many times have you been through this cycle? You fall for someone, and it either ends unrequited with only your delusions to disappoint you like it did with Hoseok and Jimin, or they choose you temporarily. No one was permanent. Nothing was guaranteed. No amount of love and effort could force someone to reciprocate your feelings in the same intensity and manner. It was a terrifying realization that there was nothing you could do, because it was someone else's choice.

           "Y-you said yes?" Jin stammered.

           Your lips curled up. "Yeah...I was surprised too."

           Jin took a few seconds to quell his spiraling emotions. The only sanity he was holding onto was the feeling of your hands in his, knowing you were waiting patiently for him to say what you wanted to hear. It was always odd to him that he knew you that well.

           He looked at you and gently stated. "I'm proud of you for taking that risk."

           Your eyes lit up, and he knew he had hit the nail on the head. Then something faltered in your expression, and alternatively, a flicker of hope sparked in his. Were you second guessing your decision?

           "What's wrong?" He asked, breathlessly praying that you were confused...and furthermore, that you were confused because of him. But he knew that was just wishful thinking.

           With just a word of concern from him, your positive facade crumbled. Jin made you feel so safe that your mouth began moving before you could stop yourself. The thoughts that had been circulating your mind since last night came tumbling forward - raw and rushed.

           "It's terrifying, Jin. The feeling of falling. So many what ifs swim through my mind, like what if this guy is just like every other wrong guy I've fallen for? What if he's nice at the start but once he got what he came for, he leaves me for the next chase? What if he's perfect at the start but what if that affection you thought was devotion turns into possession and obsession? What if it all goes wrong? What if he doesn't like who I am like the others? What if he sees my flaws and runs? What if he sees my strengths and sees them as flaws? What if I get hurt all over again? What if that is how I'm destined to spend the rest of my life? When should I draw the line and surrender? When should I accept that maybe no one out there will love me or even want to love me?"

           Jin instinctively pulled you into his chest, burying all of his emotions to tend to yours. It hurt him more to see you like this, than when he heard you were going on a date.

           "Y/N, you enjoy the journey." he whispered. "Yes, you can get hurt again. Yes, they can turn out to be jerks, but you know, I'd rather live than regret and have what ifs. You were able to figure out and be sure that those men were the wrong ones because you tried to be with them. If you hadn't, you might've been hung up on what you imagined them to be rather than for who they really are. Don't let fear stop you from giving a chance to someone who might be completely right for you."

           You lifted your face from his torso, reveling in the softness in his voice, the warmth of his body. "But how will I know if they're the right one?"

           Jin combed his fingers through your hair, "You won't...not until you get to know who they really are. But I can tell you, the right one will be unlike any of the other guys before. He will make you feel special, loved, beautiful. He will want to know you, and he will see both your strengths and flaws as precious because they make you, you."

           You stepped back to get a good look at Jin's face, "Do you really believe someone like that exists?"

           He cupped your face to stare into your eyes with as much authenticity as he could muster, praying his feelings would get through to you somehow.

           "Well, you never know. He may be right in front of you."

           "Okay, this is the 20th time you've sighed. What is wrong with you?" Crumbs appeared beside Jin, but he wasn't even surprised.

           Jin sighed once again. "I don't really know, Crumbs. I just feel kind of blah and everywhere? I have these feelings but blank thoughts. Has that ever happened to you?"

           He stared down at her pleadingly, wanting reassurance that he wasn't going crazy.

           "Come." Crumbs tugged at his apron and dragged him into the kitchen. "Your moping face will scare away the customers."

           Jin exhaled.

           "And for goodness sake, stop sighing." She rolled her eyes and positioned him in front of the kitchen counter. "Now when I have thoughts I can't sort out, I do what I do best and cook. Put your emotions into your art and it'll give you a reply."

           Jin blinked, "You know...you're actually smart."

           "I'm going to ignore that since you're slightly off today." Crumbs huffed. "Now talk to me when you've got yourself sorted out."

           He watched as Crumbs tended to her own batch gratefully. Her sharp gaze, knowing he was spacing out again, jolted him to look down at the ingredients in front of him. She was right. Jumping into something he loved doing often provided him clarity when things became too muddled. So he let his hands find its way around while his mind wandered.

           To you. To himself.

           He knew he had kept his emotions and thoughts bottled up, believing pushing forward was the only way to go. But he wasn't exactly sure why he still felt like he was at the starting line and walking in circles. His bakery was doing well. He was getting enough money to live comfortably. So why did he feel so stuck?

           "Hey." He spoke up.

           "Hm?" Crumbs hummed.

           "Have you ever felt stuck?"

           "Of course. Who hasn't?" She answered so nonchalantly that Jin had to chuckle.

           "Well...how do you get yourself unstuck?"

           "Why're you stuck in the first place?" She raised an eyebrow, giving Jin her full attention.

           Jin kneaded the dough as he pieced his words together. "I just feel like I'm not running fast enough I guess. Everything I want seems to be within my grasp but evading me. With Y/N. With success. With my siblings."

           "Ah. There it is." Crumbs' lips curled up.

           "What?" Jin blinked.

           "Your complex." She pointed.

           "My complex?"

           "You're stuck because you've put yourself inside a box that you don't fit in." She stated.

           "What do you mean?"

           "Jin. You aren't your siblings, and you will never be." Crumbs threw flour lightly onto his face. "So stop comparing yourself to those business goons. You're meant to find success in a different way."

           "I guess." He hummed.

           "In a way you're doing more than them, you know."

           "How so?"

           "Well, they manage different business chains, but do they actually run it?" she smirked. "I think it's tougher to gain the numbers from the inside. It's easy to look at them and review from the outside."

           Jin smiled, "That's a good way to look at it. I would like to see them work here one day."

           "I think it'd be a riot." Crumbs chuckled. "Give yourself credit. What may seem easy for you, isn't for others. And other people's successes shouldn't undermine yours. You're an entrepreneur. You belong to no big company yet here you are, running a well-known, well-sought after bakery."

           Jin reached over pressed his palm into Crumbs' cheek, marking her with flour in return. "You know, you're actually awesome."

           "I've always been." She rolled her eyes. "Who do you think keeps this ship afloat?"

           Jin snorted. "And also, with Y/N...I don't want to just give up like this. Do you think that's low of me?"

           Crumbs smiled and shook her head. "Not at all. It's just a date after all. There's no commitment involved, so you're fair game."

           "I want to put my best foot forward and win her over." Jin stated confidently, feeling a sense of rejuvenation creep into him.

           "Go for it, tiger." Crumbs slapped his back. "I like you a lot better when you're running forward and not standing still."

           Jin grinned. "Thanks."

           "Don't worry about it."

           Crumbs phone rang and she checked it with a sigh.

           "Everything good?" Jin questioned.

           "Yeah. I need to step out for a second." She smiled wryly.

           "No worries. I got things in here." Jin waved.

           She snorted as she took off her apron. "Sure you do."

           "What did I tell you about calling me out during work?" She crossed her arms.

           "I know, I know. I'm sorry. You just keep avoiding me, and I know for sure I can find you here." Jackson stepped out of his car.

           "So? What do you need?" She raised her eyebrows.

           "Here." He handed her an envelope.

           "I don't need it."

           "Crumbs." Jackson exhaled.

           "Tell them to stop doing this, and you stop following them! Have more backbone."

           "I want to do this."

           She shook her head. "I've already made my decision on this matter."

           "I know." Jackson smiled as he stuffed the envelope into her hand. "But so have I."

           "What--"

           Jackson kissed her cheek before hurrying back into his car.

           "Step on it before she breaks the car!" He bellowed with a light-hearted cackle.

           She huffed as she stuffed the envelope into her pocket, watching the vehicle screech around the corner in a hurry. But a small smile splayed on her lips.

           "Stupid Jackson."  

           "Tell me again why we're here?" Dark Angel whispered.

           "We're here to monitor the date, of course." Jungkook hid behind the menu.

           Dark Angel sighed. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't get involved even though we're aware of this love triangle between my family."

           "We're not involved. We're observing. A recon mission." Jungkook's eyes sparkled.

           "It's like you're a cop or something." Dark Angel snorted as she was about to pull off her fake glasses.

           "No! What're you doing?" Jungkook pushed them back onto her face.

           She rolled her eyes. "I hardly think putting on specs is a disguise."

           "It worked for Superman." Jungkook mumbled.

           "Jung--" Dark Angel was about to retort.

           "Shhh! They're here!"

           Dark Angel exhaled but fell silent to appease her boyfriend.

           "Thanks for agreeing to a dog cafe." Tae grinned as he let Soonshim off his leash and you did the same for your puppy. "I feel like Soonshim hasn't been too happy cooped up at home. He's used to being freer."

           "Don't worry. I've wanted to come here, but never got a chance."

           The two dogs immediately began to frolic together enthusiastically while you and Tae watched them fondly.

           "Let's order our drinks." he gestured.

           You nodded and followed his lead to the cash register.

           It was apparent that the worker was intently admiring Tae's extremely handsome face as he was blankly scanning the menu, and while you were a little annoyed, you also couldn't blame them.

           His hair was messily disheveled but fluffy; his bangs falling just around his eye level. He had a casual button up with a design on the collar, and loose black sweats pants that exposed his ankles. On anyone else, it might've been an odd combination of relaxed and formal fashion, but for some reason, he pulled it off effortlessly.

           "Can I have a strawberry milkshake?" He grinned. "How about you, Miss Puppy?"

           You blinked, not having scanned the menu at all since you had been too busy admiring him.

           "Uh a chai latte please." You blurted out the first thing you could think of.

           "Name?" The cashier flashed him a smile.

           "Vincent."

           Your eyes widened. "Vincent?"

           "Vincent Van Gogh." He stated seriously as the worker wrote down the name as best as she could.

           He glanced at you and playfully raised his eyebrows. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh.

           "We'll get your order to you soon, Mr. Van Gogh. Please have a seat anywhere." She bowed.

           "Thanks." Tae knocked on the counter and gestured for you two to step back outside to watch your dogs.

           "Vincent Van Gogh, huh?" You teased. "I didn't know you were named after someone famous."

           "You know Van Gogh?" His eyes brightened.

           "Of course." You chuckled. "Who doesn't?"

           "You'd be surprised. Back at home, not many people do."

           "Where is home exactly?" You questioned.

           "Daegu. I was a farm boy."

           You blinked. "Oh my gosh."

           "Hm?" Tae glanced over from where he was actively watching Soonshim.

           "I totally forgot you were related to one of the Chairman candidates. I'm so dumb." You winced.

           "Why would you be dumb?" he chuckled.

           "Well, no. I knew you and Dark Angel were cousins and she and Farm Girl are sisters so..."

           Tae shrugged. "They're them, and I'm me. I love them, but they don't define who I am."

           "I mean yes, of course." You blushed.

           He chuckled. "You regretting dating the potential Chairman's cousin?"

           You shook your head, flustered that he had reiterated that this was a date once again.

           "Don't feel bad. I mean Jimin still doesn't know." He cackled. "Poor guy still hasn't put it together, and he's really close to my family members."

           "How did that happen?" You chuckled as you stood beside Tae to check on your dog as well.

           "Well I mean other than Burlesque, Jimin and I don't exactly 'hang out' cause of history." Tae shrugged. "Though I'm not weirded out by it, but I guess he still feels guilty."

           "So you're really okay with you know...seeing your ex-girlfriend and well...Mr. Park?"

           "Yeah totally." Tae laughed. "Receptionist and I are really good friends. The more I got to know the true her and not the filtered version I dated, I knew for sure we wouldn't have matched well together. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the fact that Jimin is still nervous around me. It's nice to be seen as a threat and tease him."

           Your lips curled up. "I guess you're not as nice as you seem to be."

           Tae grinned. "You think so? Maybe I've just learned to unleash it more. I've always been playful, but it seems I've turned mischievous."

           You laughed.

           "Drinks for Vincent Van Gogh?" Another worker stepped forward.

           You and Tae couldn't hold back your chuckles at his name.

           "Thank you." He bowed then he grabbed his drink. "I was parched."

           "Same."

           You two sipped in silence until your pets shuffled over to get your attention.

           "What made you want to bring Soonshim to the city?" You asked as you pulled your puppy to your lap.

           "Actually he was the one that wanted to come." Tae shrugged as he ruffled his dog's fur.

           "What?"

           "When I left, my family told me he was really sad. Then when I came to visit, he wouldn't leave my side so when I asked him if he wanted to come with me to Seoul, he barked. So here we are. Right?"

           Soonshim barked in response.

           "You really are an animal whisperer." You recounted, causing Tae to smile.

           "So tell me, Miss Risk Taker, what's the most spontaneous, daring thing you've done?" Tae questioned.

           You hummed and turned warm. "Mmm...well...umm...I'm actually a..."

           "I'll share one after you." Tae urged.

           "I'm a customer at Club Masquerade." You mumbled.

           You weren't sure if it was your imagination, but Tae's jaw tensed briefly at your statement. But maybe it was simply your eyes playing tricks.

           "Oh wow." He chuckled. "Definitely didn't expect that. Do you still frequent?"

           "Um yeah. Sometimes..." You shyly slurped your drink.

           "I've had sex in that Masquerade Ball place with a random person." He admitted.

           You choked on your drink at his bluntness.

           "Do I win?" He teased.

           You coughed and he handed you napkins with a grin.

           "I call it my dark days..." he dramatically recounted. "You know... post-break up mentality?"

           You snorted. "Yeah, me stumbling into Club Masquerade was one of those episodes."

           Tae chuckled. "Isn't it crazy what we do when we're vulnerable and hurt?"

           "Yeah..." You smiled sadly.

           "Hey, do you wanna just walk around the park nearby?" Tae asked.

           "Sure." You were surprised at his sudden segue.

           "I brought my camera and it's been so long since I've taken pictures." He grinned, holding up a vintage looking hand-held camera.  

           Tae never seemed to fail to surprise you, but then again, everything about this was novel. You shook off the question of how long this novelty would last, and followed him out with your dogs obediently trailing after.

           Enamored, you watched him take pictures of everything, getting low on the ground for a lone flower or attempting to take an aerial shot of the landscape from a tree. You admired his passion and carefree nature. You wondered how the world looked in his eyes as you scanned the empty park, and the changing sky. You thought it would be awkward to just follow him in silence, but it was kind of nice...comfortable even.

           "Wanna see some?"

           Your thoughts were broken by the sound of his voice so close to you. You flinched as you noticed he was right beside you, nonchalantly scanning through his photos.

           "Sure." You tried to sound composed, despite the hammering of your heart at his proximity, especially when he leaned into your shoulder to show you his pictures.

           He grinned. "Here's one of my favorites so far."

           You gasped as you saw your silhouette looking out at the scenery, in deep thought, candid, and dare you say, beautiful. "Wow..."

           "Thanks." He smiled, extremely satisfied. "I usually edit a little, but the lighting was perfect already."

           "How long have you been into photography?"

           "Not long, but once I get into something, I put my everything into it." Tae grinned. "I made lots of photographer friends and they gave me tips."

           "What else have you gotten into?"

           "I sing, dance, rap, act, model, and I try to be fashionable." He listed. "Not that I'm super famous at any of them, but when I see an opportunity, I try for it and do the best I can."

           "Wow...I wish I had time for hobbies." You chuckled.

           "Why not?" Tae shrugged with a smile. "There's plenty of time. What's one thing you like doing?"

           "Huh." You paused.

           You had actually never thought about it. Tae stared at you curiously.

           "You know, I actually don't know. For real." You felt a little embarrassed that something so simple was overlooked. Everyone had a hobby. Except for you it seemed.

           Tae ruffled your hair. "Don't live to work, Y/N. Work to live. We can share hobbies until you figure out what you want to dabble in."

           "Share hobbies?"

           "Here." He handed you his camera. "Take some photos."

           "O-of what?"

           "Anything you find beautiful." Tae shrugged.

           Your heart thumped frantically in your chest as you raised the camera in front of him, because it was an instinct and the undeniable truth. He was beautiful-- inside and out.

           He grinned and posed playfully.

           "Then how about one together?" He raised his arm up to get a good angle, and tugged you close to him, arm wrapping around your shoulders. "We survived our first date. Cheese!"

           You couldn't help but grin at that statement, because well, while some of the time, first dates were a chore or stifling to get through, this was easy. Too easy that it frightened you. But you knew you couldn't run away now.

           You were hooked.

           "Well that was cute as fuck." Jungkook chuckled as he and Dark Angel ended up on the swings a distance away from you and Tae. "Why aren't we that cute?"

           "Because you're a little shit, Jungkook." Dark Angel snorted.

           "Orr it's cause you have no emotion." He huffed.

           "Not my fault you have a libido of a hormonal teenager." She rolled her eyes. "And I can't drop my panties when there are things to do."

           "Oh my gosh." He gasped.

           "What?" Dark Angel worried.

           "We sound like Jimin and Receptionist." He frowned.

           "Don't ever say that again." She shook her head.

           "Okay, let's be cute as fuck now." Jungkook held his hand out. "Watch this sunset with me and be soft."

           Dark Angel chuckled and slipped her hand in his as they swayed in unison. "I guess I have no choice."

           "They'll be okay, won't they?" Jungkook exhaled.

           Dark Angel smiled and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Our family bond is strong. Don't worry."

           "Crumbs!" Jin burst into the bakery, panting.

           "I hope you're panting because you ran here and not because you just had intercourse." Crumbs scrunched her nose.

           "Oh goodness. No, I was just at the hotel being a waiter. But that's not the point." He rambled. "Wait, why are you dressed up?"

           Crumbs pulled her curls up into a ponytail and removed her jewelry. "I was at a party that sucked so I came out here."

           Jin watched as she chucked off her heels and slipped into sneakers.

           "So? What made you run over here?" She pulled her apron on and sat down on a stool, waiting.

           "Okay, don't laugh." Jin pouted.

           "I am incapable of laughing." Crumbs shrugged. "You have sucked the joy out of my life with your lame puns and dad jokes."

           Jin rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

           "What do you need, Seokjin?" She urged. "You know I hate when you're going around in circles like this."

           Jin took a breath. "I need you to help me think of romantic moves."

           They stared at each other for a few seconds.

           "Heh." Crumbs chuckled.

           "You said you wouldn't laugh!" Jin retorted.

           "I don't recall ever saying that." She smirked. "So? Jin who claims he has a face sculpted by the gods needs MY help to think of romantic moves?"

           Jin blushed and huffed. "Well I surely couldn't ask JACKSON, and it feels weird asking my cousin, Jungkook, or Yoongi or even my sisters."

           Crumbs exhaled as she stood up, "Well I'm not sure if I'll be much help either, but let's give it a try."

           "You'll help?" Jin beamed.

           "Listen carefully." She beckoned Jin closer. "There is a fine line between harassment and surprise."

           "What the heck?" Jin raised an eyebrow.

           "Bear with me here." She snapped her fingers as she slipped back into her heels. "There is a secret fantasy where women want to be swept off their feet without warning, kissed in the middle of their sentences, pushed up against the wall and cornered. But the same exact scene can be alternatively perceived as kidnapping, sexual harassment, and bullying."

           "Okay... so...?" Jin furrowed his confusion.

           "It's a delicate degree. First off, they have to know you exist, which you and your girl already have established. Second, you have to be sure there's some sort of attraction there. This is important. If someone we're not attracted to does these forceful romantic gestures, they immediately are labeled stalkers or creepers. On the other hand, if someone attractive to us does it, they're viewed as sweet and romantic, breath-taking even. It's the sad reality."

           "Okay, got it. So what're these actions?" Jin asked impatiently.

           "One." Crumbs stepped forward, causing Jin to stumble backwards, and once his back hit the wall, she slammed her hand near his face. "Close the distance out of the blue."

           Jin swallowed and nodded.

           "Two." Crumbs reached over and caressed Jin's cheek gently. "Make contact."

           "And three?" Jin whispered.

           Crumbs smirked as she distanced herself. "Try one and two first, then I'm sure three will come naturally."

           "Is there something...a little more subtle?" Jin scratched his head.

           "Hm..." Crumbs hummed. "A meaningful back hug is always good. A kiss on the forehead is rare and more genuine in my opinion. Any cute gestures like that that don't exactly lead to sex will probably work."

           "That's it?"

           "Well, I mean I'm just being general here. Every female is different in terms of how often and how much we need these reassurances in physical and verbal form, but yes, we're simple creatures. Plus it helps that you're actually attractive." Crumbs shrugged and kicked her heels back off.

           "One." Jin counted.

           "Hm?" Crumbs turned around, only to find herself pressed against the wall all of a sudden. "Jin?"

           "Two." He touched her cheek cautiously, but gently.

           The two of them stared at each other intently then Jin stepped back with a smile.

           "How was that?"

           "Seems good." Crumbs patted his back. "I figured you'd be fine with your hosting experience. You don't need to be so worried."

           "Thanks. That helped a lot." Jin relaxed then peered over at her groceries. "So what's on the menu tonight?"

           "Mmm..." Crumbs picked up the grocery bag on the ground. "I bought ingredients for pizza. You want?"

           Jin beamed as he rolled up his sleeves. "You make the dough and I'll make the sauce from scratch?"

           Crumbs grinned as she took out the fresh ingredients. "Sounds like a plan."

           "So how're things with Jackson going?" Jin bumped her hip playfully. "He asked about you again the other day. Just give him a chance."

           Crumbs shook her head. "If he gets serious, I MAY think about considering it."

           "He's not being serious?" Jin questioned.

           "Not at all." Crumbs snorted. "Now let's get this done before I get hangry."

           "Oh jeez. I hate when you're hangry." Jin rushed to grab the ingredients and hurried to the stove.

           "Like you're any better." Crumbs rolled her eyes.

           "Hey!" You waltzed into Club Masquerade happily, excited to see Jin after what felt like a long time.

           "Hey!" Jin smiled and embraced you warmly, catching you off guard. He was always sweet and playful, but his hug felt different somehow.

           You brushed off the lurch of your heart at his actions and asked, "How are you?"

           "I've been good. Here and there." He brushed strands of hair away from your face. "How about you?"

           "Working, stressed, but strangely happy." You smiled warmly.

           Jin grabbed your hand and led you to the couch, but instead of having him sit beside you, he pulled you into his lap. Your cheeks turned warm as he leaned his head against your shoulder.

           "I missed you." he stated.

           Your heart raced. What was happening?

           He tugged you a little closer when you didn't respond.

           Your hand instinctively covered his as you leaned into him, reveling in the closeness of your bodies.

           "I missed you too, Jin." You smiled, telling the truth.

           Jin had always been your place of comfort in the chaos of your life. You had always known him, and you knew he would never hurt you, which is rare of you to trust someone so wholeheartedly. But Jin had constantly proven he was going to be beside you regardless of what mistakes you did or what messy state you arrived in.

           However, a place of confusion always wedged itself between you two. Was he acting this way because of his job? Or did he sincerely care for you?

           Of course it made things easier to think of the latter. You knew Jin wasn't desperate for money. He had plenty of other customers, more than his schedule allowed much to their dismay, but he had chosen to keep you through it all.

           This sense of being chosen, being wanted for more than just a few months, a few weeks, always ignited something inside you whenever you were with Jin. So it didn't surprise you at all when you lost control of yourself when he had all of a sudden pinned you against the wall, uncharacteristic of him. You didn't hate it though. Contrastingly, he gazed at you with the gentlest eyes, and he touched your cheek so carefully that you felt like a fragile, valuable porcelain.

           So it was only natural when you leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss against his lips.

           And there was a tense silence as neither of you moved.

           Then in one fell swoop, Jin's mouth captured yours and you felt something more. More than his usual gentleness, more than his usual calculated tender touches. It had happened once before, but now it seemed he wasn't holding back. You allowed yourself to dare to imagine that he was making love to you, rather than having sex.

           He worshipped every inch of you, slowly. His plush lips against your skin set your body aflame. The languid way he was undressing you with his mouth was torturous, yet you wanted to savor it. You wanted him, all of him, for a long time.

           "Jin." You whispered. "Let's extend."

           He hummed as he trailed down lower between the valley of your breasts, before picking you up bridal style. You squealed as he did so. He pressed a button on the wall and a bed emerged from inside. He laid you down gently. You felt breathless already and he had hardly touched you yet.

           "Let me tell them." He stated, his voice roughly hoarse, which only furthered how much he was turning you on.

           You watched his chiseled, toned form walk to the speaker in the room, and after a few hushed exchanges, he returned.

           "All good?"

           "It's all good." He climbed on top of you and caressed your face. "You sure about this?"

           "I want to take our time for once." You whispered. "I want you."

           Jin leaned down and kissed you, unsure of how much his heart could take. He felt like it was going to burst with all the emotions he was feeling for you.

           In a few minutes all clothes were disregarded to different corners of the room, and Jin was feasting on your core, as if he hadn't eaten in days. You groaned, clutching the bed tightly. It felt so damn good. He was rough at points then so careful the next. The push and pull game was making you lose your mental strings at a rapid speed.

           "Jin. I'm going to--"

           "Go for it, baby. Let go for me."

           His voice, his statement, his nickname for you only served to send you over the edge immediately. His name coming out in strangled huffs. You were surprised to hear yourself sound so wrecked, so desperate.

           And you wanted him to be the same.

           So you sat up and pushed him down on the bed.

           "What--"

           "My turn." You licked your lips and covered his length with your mouth.

           His groan and the way his body writhed at the command of such a simple flick of your tongue made you feel good.

           "Keep going. Fuck." Jin hissed.

           You knew Jin hardly cursed, and thankfully so because it was extremely hott when he did. So you continued to bob your head up and down, letting your free hand massage the parts your mouth couldn't tend to.

           He tugged at your hair after awhile, forcing you to lift your head up, surprising you with a raw, passionate kiss. Then his hands found its way to your hips, and you knew exactly what he wanted. Without unlocking your lips, he guided you over his length and eagerly, you sat down. Both of you sighed into each other's mouths, overcome with pleasure.

           When you began to move, each sensation filled you up with highs. You gripped onto Jin's shoulders, not wanting to cum first. But he was working your neck tenderly, only egging you further.

           "Turn around for me." he whispered.

           You nodded, wanting to break the wave of pleasure to get grip onto your control.

           Jin turned you so that your back was against his chest and you were slotted into his length while sitting on his lap.

           "Shit." You cursed. This new position felt ten million times.

           Jin bucked into you as he massaged your breasts, and marked your neck.

           You were so close already that it should've been embarrassing. But you could feel the way he cherished you with every thrust.

           Or was that just your wishful thinking?

           But with every kiss on your neck and with every whispered encouragement and compliment spoken against the shell of your ear, it only served to elate you into your high until you were shaking with pleasure and your body chased the sensation as you grinded into him a few more times.

           "What in the world..." Receptionist gasped, face so close to the monitor, people thought she was reading small print.

           "Wow, that's really...wow...holy shit is that Ji--" Jackson gasped as Receptionist clasped her hands over his mouth.

           She turned off the monitor. "Nope."

           "That totally..."

           "No." She widened her eyes, and Jackson glanced around at the curious looks they were getting.

           "You're right. Good job doing anatomy homework." Jackson gave a thumbs up.

           Receptionist groaned and went back to her planner to look busy. What on Earth was going on with those two?

           The two of you heaved side by side, exhausted yet extremely pleased with the session.

           You rolled into Jin's chest and he easily wrapped his arm around your body.

           "That was great." You kissed his cheek.

           "It really was."

           Jin grinned, praying he had caused you to reconsider. Did his feelings get through to you?

           "Jin." You called.

           "Hm?"

           "Have you ever wanted to...you know...reveal yourself?" You asked.

           "Many times." He admitted.

           "Why didn't you? You know my face."

           "I wasn't sure if you would feel awkward if you ran into me outside. Some people enjoy the privacy of not knowing who's behind the mask. They feel safer from judgment." Jin explained. "Would you want to know who I am?"

           "Only if you want to reveal yourself." You smiled. "I think I'd like to get to know you outside of here too."

           Jin's heart did somersaults at the possible implication.

           "I think we'd be really good friends."

           Deflated.

           "Oh, I'm also going on my second date. Breakfast before work." You rambled. "Since we're both so busy. We figured it'd be the best time."

           Jin knew what exactly he had to do. No more of this subtle mind game. He had to take Hoseok's advice and just reveal himself to you. Take the full-fledged risk.

           "Where’s your date?" he questioned.

           "You're WHAT?!"

           Jin pulled the phone away from his ear as Crumbs yelled at him.

           "I'm going to crash their date, reveal myself, and prove to her that I'm the better candidate. I mean, let's be honest, there are only a handful of people who can outshine my handsomeness."

           "Your confidence never ceases to bewilder me." Crumbs droned.

           "Thank you." Jin grinned.

           "That wasn't supposed to be a compliment." She sighed. "Look, I don't think this is a good idea. It sounds immature to crash their date. It's not like the guy she's dating is doing it to spite you. He doesn't even know you exist. Don't disrespect him like that and embarrass her by making it look like she's two-timing."

           "I won't. I'll just act like a crazed, head over the heels suitor, and introduce myself. She'll know immediately."

           "What? You're going to walk up to her in the middle of her date and say, 'Hi...I'm Jin. I want to take the risk with you too. Choose me over this guy. I could love you better.'?"

           "That's actually not a bad idea."

           Crumbs groaned. "Please Jin. Reconsider."

           "I'm going to do this, Crumbs. I can't lose her. I need to show her who I am."

           "Why couldn't you just pull off your mask after you had sex the other day?! Why do you have to make it so... public?"

           "I needed time to prepare." Jin blushed.

           "Look. I don't think it's a good idea, but you do what you want, Jin. Just be prepared to deal with the consequences."

           "What's the worst that can happen?" Jin chuckled.

           "Good luck then." Crumbs sighed.

           "Here I go." Jin smiled and got off the phone as he approached the diner.

           He checked his reflection before entering confidently. Rehearsing his speech, he wandered around the booths, searching for you. Then he heard your laughter. He grinned brightly and spun around in that direction.

           But his heart dropped immediately and his smile faded. The shattering plate behind him only added a touch of dramatics to the horrifying turn of events he was faced with.

           In front of you, making you laugh, dating you -- the man you had a crush on, the man you returned to the dating scene for, the man he wanted to prove he was better than... it was none other than his cousin, Kim Taehyung.

.

.

.

PART 5 

[blueheartedmayor]

I have big big troubles finding new rp partners which causes me to be nearly inactive because I don't have anyone to roleplay with. Searching through tumblr is impossible for active blogs. And if I find someone, they're mutuals only, and I don't know how to interact with those. And many I find also don't want new partners. It always feels like its my fault for not finding new partners

OOC: Sorry about the sorta late reply. I’ve been making icons since yesterday.

I agree. Searching any of the tags is absolutely pointless. I can only speak for this fandom but... Boy are things quieter than they used to be. It’s gotten to the point where some people (myself included) actually stop sharing their own promos because there’s barely anyone to find from that (If anything, I think my last reblog of my promo got more attention from non-roleplaying blogs). On top of that, activity on blogs that are around vary immensely. Because there are fewer options than there were when I started, it’s easy to feel like you’re doing something wrong. I assure you, it’s not the case at all.

You are right about a lot of blogs being more closed off than they used to be, and I do get the reasoning for that. But like you said, it makes it hard for people trying to find their place. I can’t give you guaranteed advice that will bring about success, but I can try and share some ideas.

I know I’ve mentioned before about checking rules pages. Some people might have it that they’re mutuals only by default, but their asks are open for anyone. If that’s the case, I definitely recommend giving it a try. While it can work as an ice-breaker, it’s also a good way to show the blog you exist, especially if, like me, you run side-blogs.

With that in mind, check your own blog and make sure things are accessible and readable. If someone I don’t recognise follows a blog of mine, I’ll usually click through and check theirs out. Now, before you start stressing, I absolutely don’t mean to go build a custom theme with unique photoshopped whatevers. You’re talking to the mun who literally uses the same theme on three different sideblogs but in different colours. Going by personal experience of checking blogs on app and on a laptop, you should instead focus on the following:

Content: Is your information accessible? Do you have a page or post giving information about your muse, and if so, can they be found easily? Common sense things, really, but I’ve seen blogs over the years that either omit this entirely, or make it very difficult to find.

Sample of writing: Not in terms of how active you are. A few months ago, I was checking out a blog on my phone. I had to scroll for nearly ten minutes on a blog before I could find an actual writing sample from a thread. It’s perfectly okay to have memes and related images on your blog (again, I do it regularly), but be sure they’re not hiding your writing. Use the queue to play it safe. 

Silly things, I know, but if you make the first move to follow a mutuals only blog, you wanna give yourself the best chance so they will follow back. I wanna compare it to an artist in a convention’s artist alley setting up their stall. You have to have everything looking just right to draw people in, right?

On the topic of writing, I noticed you mention how you’re not active because of this problem. Perhaps you could channel your creative frustration into short drabbles or monologues? It would be a good way to vent and to make sure you don’t get too rusty.

Another option is to consider crossovers with other fandoms. For example, I have a side-step verse where Damien is Mayor of Ha.llowe’en Town from the Nig.htmare Before Chris.tmas due to a mix-up. It’s also a fun challenge to see how your character might adapt to a different world, whether due to being thrown there, or having lived there instead of their normal world.

Admittedly, the fandom as a whole needs a little kick and some positive encouragement to open up a little more. Myself and some others had hoped Heist would bring some new people in, but it didn’t really work in the way we had expected. It’s a problem I’m not entirely sure how to fix, and I’m sure it’s not even something I myself can ‘fix’ since I’m not any sort of important voice. But I will say this. If you currently do have partners, appreciate and cherish them. They are the ones that will stick by you no matter what. 

I am sorry you’ve been hit with that awful feeling, despite trying your hardest. That’s the part you should make sure to remind yourself of: you are trying. It would be a different case if you were waiting for everyone to find you while you make no effort. Things might seem bleak, but time can do some good things. When I started, there were some blogs I was terrified of interacting with. Like you, I had no idea how I was supposed to approach and interact (especially with me harbouring a fear of being blocked if I made a wrong move). It took time, but the right little connections happened, circles meshed together so I appeared on their dash, and I was eventually noticed by them. That’s why I suggested to make sure you have the necessary information accessible. Any decent person won’t mind whether you have a fancy theme, use icons of any sort, or format your writing. At the end of the day, we’re writing together, and that ought to be what matters when looking at your blog.

...

I realise this is probably me blathering on about nothing, but I hope something in this helped. Like I said, I’m not really a big voice or a popular blog, so I don’t really have solid advice. Keep your chin up and take it one day at a time. I believe in you!!

PS. Just as I was proof-reading this, I remembered that some of the people I got to know over time were through Di.scord groups. While a server can be a great way to break the ice.... I’m not sure I’d recommend setting one up in the hopes of inviting people in. The one that springs to mind first descended into drama that I’m still not sure of and was ultimately deleted when I was asleep. Now I think about it, most of those people either hopped fandoms or went on hiatus... I hope they’re doing okay.

PPS. Another idea. Would checking out people your partners write with be an idea? I always imagine a rp blog to be like a circle, and by interacting with others, you can link to their circle and see their connections. That way, the third person might have experience of you from seeing you on their dash!

[katsuragi-yako]

majin tantei nougami neuro week day five: justice

notes: This one gave me trouble at the end, because it ended up a little different than I had originally planned. I think I’m still... mostly okay with it, but I might try to rework it at some point in the future so It doesn’t bother me as much as it does now. SHRUGS. Also, if this is too hard to read on my blog and you don’t have “Read More Now” for x-kit, all of my drabbles are getting posted onto AO3 as well!

    When she opens the door to the office, her expression is a strange combination of both suspicion and exasperation.

        “Is there any particular reason a woman shouted at me and told me I'm terrible when I got out of the elevator today?” she asks, closing the door behind her and hanging her purse on one of the hooks on the wall. “Did you turn someone's case away again, or did you spread some new rumor about me online that went viral since I checked the news when I woke up?”

    Her tone is sarcastic, but also filled with genuine curiosity when she turns to face the demon sitting behind Troy. It isn't exactly unheard of for him to spread false information about her for a laugh. Though most people usually write it off as gossip unless there's some way to back it up somehow, there's still a decent amount of the public that will take it at face value and pounce. It doesn't usually faze her all that much—she's gained thick skin since being forced into the spotlight during her teen years. Even articles that get published about her outrageous eating habits don't bother her nearly as much as they used to. But the particularly hostile tongue thrashing she'd gotten from the woman on her way into the building does make Yako rather suspicious of what the her partner had done, if not decline a case because there was no puzzle.

    Neuro remains blank-faced for a few moments, almost as though he's trying to draw out any suspense and keep her wondering simply because he wants her to sweat. But, after she nonchalantly expels a puff of air out of her mouth to blow a stray piece of hair out of her eyes, he finally relents with a shrug.

        “There was no puzzle to be had from her nor anyone involved in her case. As I've told you before, the police have likely overlooked something simple,” he explains before throwing a book at her head as though it is a perfectly normal thing to do during conversation ( to be fair, with him, it often is ). She tilts to the right to dodge before taking a few steps forward and leaning against the back of one of the couches. She'll pick the book up later.

        “That may be true, but it's possible I could have helped her. You know I sometimes take cases of my own if I think there's anything I can do,” she says, shaking her head a little and giving him a pointed look. Of course, the work she usually does separate from Neuro more often than not involves negotiation or criminal profiling of some sort. But there is still the occasional exception.

    He raises an eyebrow at her in response before throwing another book. She ducks, once again avoiding being hit.

        “The case did not fit your usual work and would have been a waste of both my time and yours,” he says, green eyes flashing and a slight smirk twitching at his lips. “There is a puzzle nearby that has been ripening for about a week, and I expect that today it will come to fruition. So, be ready to move at any moment, top-slug.”

        “—Well, I'd still appreciate it if you'd let me decide that for myself next time,” Yako shoots back with both an irritated sigh and a resigned shrug. “But I guess it can't be helped if we're chasing a puzzle today. Even if I went after her now, she likely wouldn't want to talk to me anyway with how upset she seemed. What did you say to her?”

        “The exact same thing that I have said to all of the others,” Neuro replies absently, waving his hand vaguely in the air as though he's attempting to bat the conversation away like an annoying fly. He's already swiveled his chair around to look out the window and seems entirely uninterested in talking about the woman with no puzzle any longer. Which she can't exactly hold against him with the knowledge that there's a mystery just on the horizon; it's been a few days since they've had a case and she's sure he's hungry.

    Deciding to let the topic drop, she retraces her steps towards the door to pick up the books that her partner had hurled her way during their conversation. Though, just because she's no longer speaking to the demon about it doesn't mean that she's stopping thinking about it yet. Which, if she's being honest, in and of itself is a bit odd.

    Normally when someone decides to make a big scene to her face, she's quickly moved on and within a few minutes has her focus set on something else. There's been more people than she could possibly keep track of that they've turned away over the years, and the backlash that comes along with it is, sadly, something she's grown rather numb to most of the time. She's sure that within a few hours, there will be a post from the woman or someone she knows popping up on a forum to slam her for not accepting the case. With how worked up she'd seemed, it's likely that it will be a particularly nasty one, too, and spark either a bashing session from other people who still hold a grudge, or an argument if any of her fans try to defend her. It's nothing she ever gets involved with, and has only ever watched from the sidelines if she happens to stumble upon it; she tries to keep her presence on the internet very limited. It will all blow over in a few days, anyway. It always does.

    Of course, the harsh words and assumptions about her can occasionally be a little scathing, even with her aforementioned thick skin. Neuro throws insults at her constantly so she's rarely ever bothered by digs at her intelligence or appearance. But what can actually bother her even just a little bit is when people claim that she has no heart, no compassion, no sense of justice.

    She's been the scared and sad victim that lost someone close to them to an unjust death. More than once she's been in those shoes. She knows what it's like, and knows how desperately those people want results, want any semblance of peace that they can get their hands on. And if it were actually up to her heart, her compassion, and her sense of justice, she'd take on almost every case that comes through her door. But it's not up to those things. She knows she can't take on more than she can carry; it will only hurt both the work she does on her own, and the the work she does with Neuro. If she tries to help everybody, in the long run she'll end up helping nobody. So, unless she thinks there's a special element to a case that fits her niche, she lets her partner send people out the door time and time again, regardless of how it can sadden her to do so. Because she is only one person.

    And Neuro is the same way. Of course, unlike Yako, he cares very little about the emotions of the clients that come through the door and how they feel when they get turned away. He does not solve cases because of a twinge in his heart, compassion, or any sense of justice—he solves them to survive. It is easier for him to turn people down because not only is he not human, but if he does not, it will literally be a detriment to his health. Even though he's a demon and is stronger, faster, and more capable than she is in many areas, he is not invincible. If a case does not have a puzzle big enough for him to gain anything from, he cannot afford to pursue it lest he risk exhausting his demonic energy. He isn't truly meant to live on her plane of existence and therefore needs to be mindful of what his energy will be put towards. Because he can only spare so much.

    Neither of them can afford to stretch themselves too thin.

    And that does not make them heartless, without compassion, or without a sense of justice ( yes, even Neuro possesses some sort of demonic equivalent to those very human qualities—she's seen them herself first hand ). It means they have limits, just like everyone else, and that they know what they are. It means they know how to not be swallowed whole by the desire to do more than they are capable of doing.

    She's been standing stationary with the books the demon had thrown in her arms for a few minutes, lost in her thoughts. But she's snapped free now, and begins to cross the room, so she can put them back in their proper place. Her heels click against the floor of their office, and are soon joined by the sound of a desk chair creaking as it turns. Brown eyes flick to her left, and her gaze meets with her partner's briefly. A soft smile starts to tug at her lips, but she quickly notices that he's wearing a smirk on his face and holding another book in his hand. And he starts to raise it up...!

    Instinctively, she ducks and raises the ones she has in her own grasp up to protect her face from another onslaught. But even after a moment of waiting, it never comes. Instead, when she risks taking a peek back at Troy, she suddenly feels gloved talons latching onto her head from behind, and yanking her violently across the room.

        “It is time,” Neuro says, before she's even had a chance to let out a soft yelp of pain. There's a smile evident in his voice, even though she cannot see his face.

        “All right, all right,” she answers, wriggling in his grasp in an attempt to stand up. “Let me grab my purse, at least?”

    He drops her to the ground unceremoniously, prompting a loud grunt to fall out of her mouth. And not a few minutes later, they're already out the door, hurrying towards a puzzle that will hopefully help keep the demon's hunger at bay. There's anticipation coming off of him in waves, and Yako almost chuckles at how much he's been apparently looking forward to this case. And when they arrive, both bystanders and those related to the victim alike look at them with such relief and sudden confidence that the murder will soon be resolved, that she is instantly determined to prove them right.

    She does all that she can, and it is worth it.